𖦹 currently writing for steve harrington. my requests are open for him, but i cannot promise i'll be able to write everything. most will probably be answered as blurbs. i also have lots of wips that i'm hella excited about!
𖦹 i write smut, but will not write mommy/daddy kinks, dd/lg dynamics, anything for real people, and other tropes i feel uncomfortable with. this is not an exhaustive list, but please don't request these.
𖦹 there are so many amazing amazing incredible steve writers on here!! if you're interested in some of the ones i've loved, the recent ones are tagged as #lizzy recs: steve! i'll be going back to retag some older ones i've loved and might put together a post of my favs
masterlists
[STRANGER THINGS] steve harrington
[ARCHIVE] percy jackson & the olympians, the last of us
𖦹 i do not consent for my work to be copied across tumblr or any other platform, especially including ai platforms. this is my only active blog, and the only platform i post my work on at the moment. this blog is not a safe space for racism, homophobia, misogyny, ableism, or zionism.
steve harrington x f!reader
words: 23,232
warnings: reader has commitment issues. mentions of underaged sex. mentions of sex. mentions of blood. two idiots who love one another. angst. hurt and comfort. fluff. friends with benefits
summary: You and Steve have always been a little doomed. All longing looks and almosts, circling each other for years without ever landing in the same place at the same time.
a/n: I cannot get “It’s Over” by Djo out of my head. This is very much unedited. And it’s very much the first fic I’ve done in a year.
It was the kind of late summer night that hummed with static. It was warm, soft-edged, and slow. The air in Steve Harrington’s room smelled like dryer sheets and drugstore cologne, like something trying too hard to be grown-up.The ceiling fan spun lazily, making his posters ripple against the wall.
You were licking your teeth, feeling the ghost of braces that had been taken off a few weeks ago. You were sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a mess of playing cards between you, a pile of candy wrappers and loose change serving as your winnings.
Steve squinted at his cards like he was doing something serious. His hair flopped a little too much over his forehead,curls curling the wrong way because of the heat. He laid his hand down carefully, slow and smug. “Full house.” He said, and grinned like he’d just won the big basketball game.
You slumped, dramatic. “You’ve gotta be kidding me”
He reached for the pile, fingers already scooping up his victory, but you were faster. You pressed your cards over his hand. “Sorry Harrington,” You fanned your cards, all hearts, right up to the ace. “Royal flush.”
His jaw dropped. “Shit,” He fell back on his elbows, like the weight of defeat was too much.
You smirked. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No, ‘cause I don’t kiss anyone, apparently.”
You blinked. “What?”
He sat up, expression crumpled between embarrassment and frustration. “Nothing. It’s just…” He looked away again. He brought his knees to his chest and laid his arms on top. You knew he did that when he was flustered, hoping it would hide that he cared what people thought of him. ”We’re starting high school next week, and I’m gonna die before I ever kiss a girl. Everyone else has done it, even Tommy freakin’ Hagan.”
You tilted your head, studying him.. “You’re not gonna die, Steve. It’s just a kiss.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’ve kissed, like, half of our class.”
“Not half,” you said defensively, then shrugged. “Maybe a quarter.”
He laughed, shaking his head, hair falling into his eyes. “Great. So maybe you can tell me what I’m doing wrong. What if I mess it up? Like, what if I’m terrible at it and everyone knows?”
Something about the way he said it. It was too soft, making you pause. He often wasn’t serious. When he was, it always caught you off guard. His hands were restless, picking at the corner of a card.
You titled your head. “You wanna know how not to mess it up?”
He glanced at you, wary. “You’re going to say something mean, aren’t you?”
You nudged his knee with yours. “No,” you said, with a not so convincing tone and a threatening grin. “I’m gonna teach you, doofus.”
That got a laugh, but it faltered when he saw your face. It was the realization that you were being serious. “Oh. You’re… serious.”
“It doesn’t have to be weird.” You assured him. “It’s only practice.” You leaned back, licking your lips.
Steve looked like he was ready to bolt out of the room but another part of him, the way his eyes gleamed with a certain curiosity told you he would stay. Steve was notoriously known as the trouble maker, getting into things, and making teachers think about retirement. It wasn’t until the last couple of months of eighth grade that he started to find girls interesting. You knew Tommy gave him a hard time and that’s why it was bothering him so much. To be truthful, you wanted his first kiss to be with someone he trusted.
In a way. You had always hoped you were each other’s first kiss.
The room felt smaller all of a sudden. The fan kept spinning but utterly useless. Steve scratched the back of his neck, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”
You were a little too eager to stand up and sit on his bed. You patted the space next to you, smiling. He rolled his eyes like it was the worst idea he’d ever agreed to, but he joined you anyway. The mattress dipped under his weight. Your knees brushed.
“So,” he said awkwardly. “How do I even know when to… do it? Do I just ask?”
You bit back a smile. “You can,” you said slowly. “Or you can give them the look.”
He blinked. “The look?”
“Yeah,” you teased, your knee pushing into his. “You know, like the movies. You look her in the eye and then at her lips and then back into her eyes.” You said it like it was simple.
He scoffed. “That’s stupid.”
”Steve,” you said, patient and exasperated all at once. “It works.”
He muttered something under his breath but turned to face you anyway. Then he did it. It was exactly like you described. Eyes, lips, eyes. It was a little hesitant, but you still were annoyed how perfect it already was. You almost thought it was cute. Almost.
You felt your pulse skip. “Good,” you whispered. “See? Now if a girl wants you to kiss her, she’ll lean in too. Like this.”
You leaned in closer.
He mirrored you, hesitating only a moment before closing the last inch of space. His lips brushed yours, soft and uncertain.. But when he pulled back, mouth parted like he wanted to go again.
Your lips tingled lightly at the lingering warmth he left behind. “M’kay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “Not bad for a first try.”
“Not bad?” He echoed, eyes narrowing.
You laughed quietly. “Could be better.” You took his hands, moved them to your waist. His palms were warm. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how big his hands were, how close he was. You never noticed them whenever he picked you up and threw you in the pool. “Like this,” you murmured. “And then I put my hands here.” Your fingers on his shoulders, ignoring how solid they felt.
He breathed out slow. “Okay,” he said again, voice barely a whisper.
He looked at you for a long second before he did it again. The look. Eyes, lips, eyes. Then he leaned in.
The first brush of his mouth was soft. His thumb grazed your hip. You felt him exhale against your skin, the tremor of it making you pulse stumble. And then, like he couldn’t help himself, he tilted his head and kissed you again. Deeper this time.
Every time his fingers shifted against you, the space between you seemed to shrink. You could smell his shampoo, that faint clean scent you’d come to recognize as him. The world outside blurred into gold light and the sound of your own breath.
You parted you lips, just barely, and felt the smallest spark when your tongue brushed his. Your hands had moved on their own, up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His hands found your back, sliding up until you were almost pressed against him.
You were supposed to be teaching him. But now you were kissing him like you’d been waiting to. Like this was something inevitable.
You were kissing your best friend.
You were making out with Steve Harrington.
You pulled back first, breathless, throat tight. He followed, almost. His lips chased yours until he caught himself. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Your foreheads hovered close, his hands still fisted in the back of your shirt before he slowly let go.
You both stared forward, the silence too fragile to touch.
“Well,” you managed finally, voice thin, “you’re definitely ready.”
He licked his swollen lips, trying for casual and failing. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess so.”
You patted his chest, the gesture light but clumsy. “Just… don’t use your new skills to break a girl’s heart, okay?”
His grin was crooked. “Promise.”
Then, after a beat, with the air between you still charged, he cleared his throat. “You’re not, uh… uh gonna show me anything else, right? Like—“
“Oh my god, Steve.” You cut in, laughing, too loud, too quick. “No. I’m not teaching you how sex works.”
He laughed too, that easy nervous kind. “Yeah. No. Totally.. That’d be… really weird.”
You both tried to stop laughing, but it lingered. The kind that lived in your chest more than your mouth. When it finally faded, there was just quiet again.
He looked at you. You looked at him. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like kids pretending to be older. You felt like something had changed. It was something that neither of you could take back. Crickets began to sing and the room bowed with the last breath of summer light.
.-.-.-.
The world had shifted between that summer and now. Or maybe it was only Steve who had.
By the time sophomore year came around, he’d grown into someone that hallways seemed to bend toward. Taller, louder. Hair somehow even bigger. He leaned against lockers like he’d invented them, flashing that grin that made girls bite their lips and giggle behind spiral notebooks.
You were still his best friend.
Mostly.
He spent too much time with Tommy and Carol. He spent too much time acting like he didn’t care about anything. Carol didn’t like you much. It might because you didn’t laugh when they were mean, or maybe because she could tell that if it came down to it, Steve would still pick you. He always did. Movie nights. Lunch tables. The quiet walk home when you wanted to leave a party early.
You told yourself that meant something.
You told yourself that when you stormed down the hall after last period, backpack thumping, heart thrumming hot against your ribs.
Beth Parker had been crying in the girls’ bathroom, mascara bleeding down her face. Whispering something about Steve. Your Steve.
By the time you made it to his house, your anger had settled into something colder. A quiet, steady pulse. You didn’t bother knocking.
He was at his desk when you found him. His hair was a mess, pen tapping against a math book like it might start answering the questions for him. When he looked up, his smile came easy. Too easy.
“Hey,” he said. “You just break in now or—“
”Why was Beth Parker crying in the bathroom?”
He froze for a second, then groaned. “Jesus. You heard about that?”
You dropped your bag, arms crossing over your chest. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
”Steve.”
He avoided your eyes, staring at the book like it might save him. “She’s mad because I didn’t call her after our date. No big deal.”
Your voice sharpened. “Did you sleep with her?”
He blinked, startled. “What? No.” His hands went up fast, defensive. “We just kissed. A lot. And maybe… there was some touching. But nothing more.” His ears went red, the way they always did when he got caught.
You exhaled hard through your nose. “Steve, you can’t do that. You used her.”
”I didn’t use her,” he said, turning in his chair to face you. “I went on a date. Like a normal person. We had fun. I just didn’t think it was going anywhere.”
“Then tell her that,” you said, voice low. “Don’t promise something you don’t mean.”
He sighed, long and annoyed, turning back toward his desk. “Whatever.”
You sat down on the edge of his bed. The air between you went still. It was quiet except for the faint scratch of pencil against paper. You could feel him looking.
When you finally glanced up, he was half-turned in his chair again, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The one that meant trouble.
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”
He leaned back, lips curling. “You know, you’re kinds hot when you’re mad at me.”
“Steve.”
He shrugged.
“Your parents are home,” you warned.
“Hasn’t stopped us before.”
You wanted to roll your eyes, to laugh, to tell him he was ridiculous, but your stomach flipped because he wasn’t wrong.
It hadn’t stopped you before.
What started as one kiss. One stupid accidental kiss. Was not a pattern. Nights when you shouldn’t have come over. Morning where you left before his parents woke. It was supposed to be simple. Secret. An agreement between friends who didn’t talk about it in daylight.
But it never felt simple.
He was still watching you now, that lazy smirk softening at the edges, waiting for you to give in. He knew you too well.
You sighed, standing. “You’re ridiculous.”
You shut his bedroom door gently, the click of it sounding louder than it should have.
He didn’t move. Just watched under his heady gaze as you crossed the room, stopping between his knees. The air was charged, the kind of quiet that made you aware of every breath.
“Just so you know,” you said softly, “I have to leave by seven. I actually plan on graduating.”
Steve’s grin was slow. “I’ll make it worth your time.”
You didn’t even get a chance to roll your eyes before his hand found your hip. The kiss came fast and it was familiar and hungry. The kind that made you forget you were supposed to be mad.
His fingers tightened against your waist, as his mouth moved against yours, you realized what you’d never say our loud.
He always did.
.-.-.-.
Steve’s freckles were one of your favorite things about him. Tiny constellations scattered across his skin, like a map only you could read. You traced them absentmindedly, circles on his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, watching the way goosebumps followed your touch.
The fan above hummed lazy rotations. The light from his bedside lamp was soft and golden, tinting everything honey. His skin, the sheets tangled around your legs, the air itself. It was quiet except for the small sounds of the room, your breathing, the shift of linen, the faint creak of the house settling. That hazy space where everything felt tender and close.
“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice somewhere between a whisper and a sigh. “What’re thinking about?”
Steve hesitated, eyes fixed somewhere near your elbow instead of your face. “Nothing important.”
You hummed, though the sound came out skeptical. You knew him well enough to hear the difference between silence and avoidance. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he leaned in and kissed you once, but it was chaste and apologetic. Then he was gone.
You watched as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants, the movement too deliberate to be casual. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him.
The bed felt colder without him.
So did you.
You lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the fan filling up the space where his voice should’ve been. You tried to tell yourself it was fine, that maybe he just needed air, that maybe he’d had another fight with his dad. That has been happening more lately. It was always sharp words about Steve’s future.
You got up slowly, gathering your clothes from the floor. It was Saturday. Normally, you’d stay the night, steal one of his shirts, wake up to him making burnt toast and pretending it was breakfast. But something in your chest told you this wasn’t one of those nights.
When he came back out, you were sitting cross-legged on his bed, knees pulled to your chest. His hair was damp at the edges. He didn’t look at you. Just sat down at the edge of the mattress, shoulders curved forward, elbows on his knees.
The silence stretched thin. You could feel the question burning between your ribs before you spoke it. “What’s wrong?”
He let out a breath that didn’t sound like it helped much. His voice was low, uneven. “I was just thinking about… what we do when we start dating other people.”
You froze. The words hung there, heavy and delicate, like glass about to slip. “Oh.” You swallowed, forcing a small nod. “You mean… like going steady with someone?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not really. “Yeah.”
You picked at the edge of his comforter, pretending it was easier to look at that than him. Your throat felt tight, like the room had gotten smaller. “I guess we’d stop doing this.”
He nodded slowly, still not facing you. “Yeah,” he said after a long beat. “That’s what I figured.”
The fan hummed, a low, steady whir that felt too loud against the quiet between you. The golden light from his bedside lamp had dimmed, thinning into something colder. You could see the slope of his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders. It was too quick, too uneven. Like he was trying to breathe through something heavy.
“Is that… what you want?” Your voice cracked on the last word.
He then turned, eyes finding yours. For a moment, he looked almost scared. The kind of scared that made your chest hurt, like he wanted to tell you the truth but didn’t know how to survive it.
“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted quietly. His gaze flickered toward the wall again, his hands clasping together in his lap. “What do you know about Nancy Wheeler?”
It felt like someone had opened a window in the middle of winter. All the warmth in the room escaped at once.
“Nancy Wheeler,” you echoed, forcing a breath of a laugh. “She’s… nice.”
Steve smiled. It was small, almost sheepish. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Nice.” He rubbed a hand over his face, his voice turning rough around the edges. “It’s not like that. I mean, it could be. We’ve just been talking. On the phone, for a couple weeks now. I’m just—“ he hesitated, searching for words, “trying to figure it out. What I’m supposed to be doing.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “You don’t have to figure anything out, Steve.” You looked down at your hands. “It’s not like we’re anything.”
His head snapped toward you, brows pulled tight, like he hadn’t expected that. His voice came out softer than you were ready for. “But we are something,” he said. “Aren’t we?”
You wanted to tell him yes. That he was your something , had been for a long time. That the way he touched you, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. It was impossible to believe this wasn’t real. But the words wouldn’t come. They sat in your chest like stones.
“No,” you said instead. It barely came out.
You straightened your back, forced yourself to breathe. You remembered the promise he’d made once. He promised he wouldn’t break a girl’s heart. And somehow, here you were, sitting in the ruins of that promise. Maybe that was on you for letting it get this far. For thinking he’d never aim the hurt in your direction.
Your jaw tensed. “So what is this, then?” You asked, voice sharper now. “One last bachelor night before you tie yourself down?”
He let out a small laugh, almost disbelieving. “Come on. Maybe nothing’ll come out of it.”
You scoffed. “You’re Steve Harrington. Something always comes out of it.”
He shifted, leaning forward a little, hand reaching for you like he could smooth this over. “Here,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. You’ll always be my closest friend.”
That invisible thread between you. The one that had always tugged, gentle but constant, snapping clean. You could almost feel it.
You stood, rubbing at the bridge of your nose to keep from crying. “Steve, you slept with me while liking someone else. That’s kind of messed up.”
He blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you want me to say? You just said this wasn’t a thing.”
“It isn’t,” you bit out. “That’s not the point. It still sucks. You have any idea what kind of position that put me in when you and Nancy inevitably start dating?”
He exhaled hard through his nose, fingers running through his hair. “I said we talked on the phone, not planning a damn wedding.”
You let out a frustrated sound, hands in the air. “That’s not the point, Steve! You never call girls on the phone. You’ve never brought this up about any of them. So yeah, something’s different.”
He looked down at his hands for a long second, then reached for his sweatshirt and pulled it on. The sound of cotton dragging over skin filled the space between you. “It’s late,” he said finally. “Let me drive you home.”
You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. I can walk.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Just stood there, still half in shadow, watching you pull on your jacket, gathering the last bits of yourself before you walked out the door.
You paused, hand on the knob. The air was heavy with things you hadn’t said.
“For what it’s worth,” you said quietly, not turning around, “Nancy’s lucky.” You managed a weak smile over your shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Steve. Even if you don’t know it yet.”
Then you opened the door and stepped into the dark.
.-.-.-.
About a month had passed. Enough time for the bruises on your heart to scab over but not quite heal.
You’d kept your distance from Steve.
He had made his choice, and you’d seen it for yourself. The way he and Nancy Wheeler slipped into empty classrooms, the way their laughter followed after them like a secret. Every time, jealousy twisted low in your stomach, and you hated yourself for it.
It was after midnight when you heard it. It was a faint tap against your window.
You’d switched off your lamp, your room dim and soft with moonlight. At first, you thought it was a branch brushing against the siding. Then came another tap. It was quick, deliberate, almost urgent.
When you pulled back the curtain, you froze. Steve was outside, face half-lit by the streetlight. His lip was split, one cheek bruised, a small cut on his brow. He looked wrecked.
You sighed, already hating how quickly you move to unlatch the window.
He didn’t say anything. Not a single word, before climbing through. Then his mouth was on yours. It was messy, desperate. The taste of blood and salt. His hands came up to frame your face, holding you like he’d been drowning and finally found air.
You stumbled back, heart lurching, your palms pressing against his chest. “Steve… hey, wait,” you gasped. “What happened?”
He just shook his head, breathing hard, eyes wide and frantic. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, voice low. “We’ve never asked why before.” He leaned in again, but you stepped back.
“Yeah,” you said sharply, “but that was before Nancy.”
He let out a short, butter laugh. “Jesus, that whole thing’s over. She’s having a real fun time getting to know Byers.”
You blinked. “What… like Jonathan Byers?” Your eyes swept over his bruises, the ugly cut near his temple. “He’s the one who did that to you?”
Steve’s mouth twitched into something between a smirk and a wince. “He’s mad that I told him the truth.”
You folded your arms across your chest. “God, what is it like to be so completely self-involved?”
His eyes flickered up, and you didn’t stop.
“Unlike you, Nancy actually cares about other people. She wasn’t two-timing you, Steve. She’s been spending time with Jonathan because his brother’s missing.” You could feel your voice shaking. “Her best friend is missing too. And instead of giving a damn about that, you’re too busy worrying about whether she wants to sleep with you.”
His jaw flexed, eyes dark. He didn’t look at you.
The realization came slow, but when it hit, it hollowed you out. “You already slept with her, didn’t you?” you asked quietly.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Something snapped.
“You’re such a dick,” you said, the words trembling out of you. You put your finger into his chest. “You can’t just come running here every time something blows up in your face. I’m not your backup plan, Steve. I’m not the person you crawl to when the world stops giving you what you want.”
He stared at you. He was wide-eyed and stunned. For a second, you almost saw guilt there. But then it was gone, replaced by the familiar, stubborn fire. “You act like you never did the same thing,” he said.
You froze. It hit like a slap. “Excuse me?”
He gave a small, humorless shake of his head. “You used me just as much as I used you.”
You took a step forward, heart pounding. “You know what, Steve? I really wish we’d never kissed.”
He let out a sharp, hollow laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”
The air between you thinned. Every ounce of anger you had curdled into something that felt like grief. You didn’t understand why it hurt this much. You both knew what this was. You’d told yourselves it meant nothing. But somehow it had become everything.
You looked at him then, really look. The split lips, the exhausted eyes, the quiet kind of hurt buried under his anger and your throat burned with regret. “We’re not friends anymore, Steve,” you whispered. “Just… leave me alone.”
You turned before he could see your eyes shine.
You felt it. His fingers ghosting against the back of your arm. Just a brush, light enough to make you stop breathing. The floor creaked behind you, and for a moment, you waited. You wanted him to argue. To say anything.
He didn’t.
When you looked back, the window was open again. The curtain lifted in the night air. And he was gone.
Outside, his car door slammed. The engine started, a hollow sound in the quiet street.
You stood there, staring at the empty space where he’d been. The reflection of your own face looked back at you in the glass, tired, angry, heartbroken, and for the first time, you let yourself admit it.
You’d lost him long before tonight.
.-.-.-.
The annual Fourth of July fair stretched across the Hawkins fairground like a fever dream of lights and noise. The air smelled of popcorn and smoke, a haze of fireworks already threatening to stain the sky.
You spotted Steve before he saw you. He stood behind Nancy by the lemonade stand, his hand loosely on her shoulder. He was laughing, head tilted just enough that you could see the dimples you’d spent too many summers memorizing.
You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you were here to have fun. That you didn’t care if he was happy.
Him and Nancy had made up, you assumed, after the last time you had spoken to him. They were now the couple everyone in school couldn’t shut up about.
”Three shots for a dollar!” Called a voice, snapping you out of it.
You turned toward the bowling pin booth. The attendant was a guy about your age and the kind of grin that came prepackaged with confidence. He waved you over, flashing you a charming and convincing smile. “Come on,” he teased, “let’s see if you’ve got an arm.”
You giggled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “What do I win if I do?” You batted your eyes innocently. They flashed across his name tag which read, Sam.
“Anything on the top shelf,” he said. He looked you up and down, smirking. “Or maybe my number.”
You felt the heat on your cheeks rise. ”Very tempting, but I’m afraid I don’t have the money.”
It was then, someone next to you, slammed a dollar bill on the counter, startling you. You turned, frowning. It was Steve with Nancy lingering beside him. She smiled politely and Steve had an unamused look on his face. He motioned to the game, “Go ahead.”
You weren’t sure what he was doing but the attendant set three baseballs in front of you, winking. You cleared your throat, picking up one of the balls, and throwing it. Completely Missing. Steve blew out a puff of air that sounded like a laugh. You saw Nancy elbow him out the corner of your eye.
To prove a point, you threw the second ball, only managing to hit two pins down. You nearly felt defeated but then Sam put the final ball in your hand. “May I?” He asked.
You glanced over at Steve and Nancy. You knew you should feel insulted or embarrassed but you found a sort of satisfaction in the way Steve’s jaw clenched, eyes burning at how Sam held your arm.
You smiled shyly, nodding. Sam took the opportunity to hold your arm. His touch didn’t make you tingle but you did find it attractive how gentle he was. He counted down and you released the ball, hitting it right where he told you to. They clattered to the ground from the stand. Sam let out a low whistle, leaning towards. “Damn, that was a good throw.”
You bit your lip. “It helps when you have a good teacher.”
He chuckled. “Alright then. I don’t suppose you made up your mind what you want your prize to be?”
The presence of Steve was even stronger beside you, his silence sharp as glass. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand flexed once against his thigh. There was a vindictive urge to let him see that he didn’t own the part of you that used to ache for him.
So you smiled at Sam, all teeth and mischief. “I have a better offer. You free to watch the fireworks later?”
He laughed, clearly delighted, and grabbed a small plush bear from the shelf. “I can make that work.”
You felt the burn of Steve’s stare like sunlight on the back of your neck.
You gave Sam one last smile before turning to face Steve and Nancy. “Thanks for the dollar.” You wanted to make a really low blow. “And I guess for the impromptu date.” It was fueled with sarcasm that only Steve would recognize.
His mouth twitched like he wanted to make a remark. Instead, he grinned. “Anytime. I always look out for my friends.” He then pulled Nancy closer. “Come on, Nance. We should get to the Ferris wheel before the line gets too long.”
Nancy hesitated, then glanced back at you, her tone gentler. “Do you want to join us? We have plenty of tickets.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked from Nancy, who had a soft expression on her face to Steve, who wouldn’t meet your eyes. You expected her to hate you. You had believed Steve told her that they were to steer clear from you. “That’s sweet, but… I’m good. Thank you.” You rubbed your finger on the stuffed bear’s fur. You held it out to her. “Here, it was your boyfriend’s dollar after all.”
“Thanks,” Nancy gave you a small nod, taking the bear from you. She turned and laced her fingers through Steve’s. “See you later!” She called out. Steve followed wordlessly, his free hand shoved in his pocket.
You told yourself you wouldn’t look after them, but when you did, you caught him in the act. Steve had stopped a few paces away, turning his head just slightly. His eyes found you in the crush of carnival lights. It was brief but fierce and it lingered. It was only a second. But it was enough to stir your stomach like you were on the tilt-a-whirl.
.-.-.-.
Halloween really wasn’t your thing anymore.
Sure, it was cute. The kids running around in plastic masks, the sound of leaves crunching under tiny sneakers. Okay, fine. It was really cute.
It wasn’t like you had bad memories attached to it. You and Steve used to spend the whole night racing from door to door, pillowcases dragging against the pavement, and then the next morning you’d sit in front of the TV watching some horror movie you definitely weren’t allowed to see, eating your way though the entire pile of candy.
But high school had a way of killing simple things. Somewhere between eighth grade and freshman year, it became “uncool” to trick-or-treat. You were supposed to party instead.
That first year, Steve threw the Halloween party. Hawkins High still talked about it. It was the night “King Steve” was born, crowned by the longest keg stand anyone had ever seen. It was also the night you’d kissed him again.
You remembered sneaking into his room because everywhere you turned, there were couples pressed up against walls and you couldn’t breathe through the noise. You found him sitting on the floor, staring at nothing, and it was stupid. The two of you, drunk and lonely. But that’s how it happened.
Anyway, tonight was just another night you didn’t want to think about.
Tina’s party was happening across town, and she’d invited you out of pity, probably. Senior year charity. You weren’t going. You had school tomorrow, and you weren’t about to show up hungover.
So you say on your bed, eating stolen candy out of the bowl your mom had left for trick-or-treaters. The wrappers made little paper sighs each time you reached for another. The house was quiet except for the muffled hum of your heater.
Then came the knock.
Soft, hesitant. Familiar.
You froze mid-bite. Told yourself it was the wind. Then another tap.
You sighed, crossing the room. Pulled the curtain back. And there he was.
Steve Harrington.
Half of him caught in the glow of the streetlight, eyes rimmed red. His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He was wearing a black jacket and a black shirt tucked into his jeans. It made him look older. If you two were friends, you’d make a joke about how he looked like a knock-off Tom Cruise. But you didn’t. He already looked ruined enough.
“Hey,” he rasped.
You stepped back a little. “Are you drunk?”
He shook his head, too quickly. “No. I didn’t drink anything.”
You folded your arms. “Then why are you here?”
Steve rubbed both hands over his face, and when he dropped them, his eyes were wet. “Nancy,” he said, voice cracking. “She got drunk, and… I think we broke up.”
You blinked. “What?”
He laughed, a dry, broken sound. “Yeah. She said—“ He stopped, swallowed hard. “She said we were bullshit.”
Your stomach sank. “Where is she now?”
He looked up at you like the question physically hurt. “Jonathan took her home, I guess.”
Something in your chest pulled tight. His lip trembled before he bit down on it, sitting heavily on the edge of your bed. He dragged his hands through his hair and let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know why I came here. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want to go home. My parents are gone, and the house is too quiet and I just…”
You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek, before sitting beside him. Not too close. Just enough. “It’s okay that you came here, Steve.”
Silence settled like dust. The clock on your wall ticked, slow and even, the sound impossibly loud.
Outside, the wind rattled the windowpane, and you thought about how it always used to be you and him. Sugar high and laughing. You thought about how different he looked now, sitting there in the half-dark, hands shaking. You thought about how unfair it was that no one had told you growing up meant losing people before they were even gone.
Then, without warning, Steve leaned forward.
You braced for the kiss. You always did. But it never came. Instead, he pressed his forehead to your shoulder. His fingers caught the fabric of your sweater, knuckles white, like he needed something solid to hold him up. His voice was rough when it finally broke the silence.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For how I treated you. For everything.”
The breath in your throat snagged. For a long second, you just sat there, unsure what to do with your hands, with the ache that spread through your chest. Then instinct won out. You slid your arms around him, felt the sharp inhale he took, the way his whole body trembled under your touch. He was exhausted. Not just tired, but wrung out.
When his head dropped into your lap, your heart lurched. This wasn’t the same boy who used to climb through your window for a kiss or a fight or both. This was someone stripped bare. The same messy hair, the same heartbeat under your hands, but something softer now, broken in all the quiet places you used to avoid.
“Hey,” you murmured, fingers threading through his hair. The motion felt old, like a song you hadn’t realized you still knew. “We can talk about us later, okay? That’s not important.”
His voice was barely a breath. “It’s important to me.”
You pretended not to hear it. “You should get some sleep.”
He nodded, slow and shaky, pulling himself upright. The light caught the wet shine in his eyes, the way he tried to swallow down whatever was left of the night. “Yeah. You’re right.”
You reached out, brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. The gesture made your throat ache. “Do you… want to stay?”
For a moment, it looked like he might.
His gaze found yours, heavy-lidded, soft around the edges. Then he gave you a small smile, tired and almost shy. “No,” he said quietly. “I should probably head home.”
You nodded, but your chest burned when he stood, when he turned toward the window again. The cool air slipped in from outside, carrying the sound of kids still running down the street, their laughter thin and far away.
He hesitated halfway out. Looked back at you. “Thank you,” he said. “Can I… call you later?”
You just nodded. Words didn’t feel like they’d fit right now.
When he disappeared into the dark, the room felt too still. You stood there for a while, listening. You listened for his car, for the echo of his footsteps, for anything. But all that was left was the faint him of the streetlight and the hollow stick of your clock.
Your eyes drifted to the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from where he’d sat, the fabric warm, a faint impression left behind. You hovered your hand over the spot like touching it might make him come back.
You didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the ghost of him pressed into your skin. The weight of his head on your legs, the warmth still trapped in the cotton. And you realized how dangerous it was to open the wound.
He did end up calling. Two days later.
You’d seen him that afternoon, across the quad, sunlight catching in his hair, sweat still drying on his temples after practice. He was in his basketball uniform, jaw tight, expression thunderous. Nancy stood a few feet away, arms folded, eyes glassy, and when she finally turned to leave, she spotted you. There was a flicker of something soft. It looked like pity maybe, or regret, before she disappeared into the crowd.
By the time the phone rang that night, the sky outside your window was ink-black. You were halfway through an essay when your mom called up the stairs, “It’s for you!”
You picked up the receiver, notebook still open beside you. There was a small click, then nothing. Just a breath. It was shaky, familiar, like muscle memory.
“Hey,” Steve said finally, voice low. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”
Your lips curved before you could stop them. “No. I was studying.”
You could hear the faint rustle of sheets, the soft drag of fabric. You imagined him sitting cross-legged on his bed, hair still damp from a shower, one hand twisted in the phone cord.
“Oh,” he said. The word was awkward, small. For a second you could almost see the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can I be honest?”
“Sure.”
You stood, tucking the phone against your shoulder as you moved to the window. The air was cool when you cracked it open. Down the street, a few kids were still dressed in leftover Halloween costumes, the kind of stragglers who didn’t know it was already over. The latch on your window was still loose from the night Steve climbed through it.
“I’m not really sure what to talk about,” he admitted.
That made you laugh. It was a quiet, surprising sound. “Then why’d you call?”
There was a beat, and then, “Because I didn’t realize how much I missed talking to you.” His voice dropped lower, softer. “Especially about nothing. With Nancy it was always… serious. Every conversation had to mean something. Made me feel like an idiot half the time.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. You wanted to feel special, but instead it hurt. Like he was reaching for comfort, not you.
“I don’t really know what to say,” you murmured.
He exhaled, long and heavy. “Yeah. I didn't blame you. I kind of screwed our friendship up, didn't I?”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. It was full of every summer afternoon, every secret whispered between turns at the pool, every Christmas gift that didn’t quite make sense but meant everything. The night he kissed you for the first time. The hundred that followed.
“I don’t know,” you said finally. “I think we both did.”
He hummed, a sound so low it barely made it through the line. “Yeah. Maybe.” But you could hear it, the edge of guilt he always carried when he talked about his dad.
You leaned your forehead against the glass, eyes on the streetlight. You could almost see him, lying back on his bed, eyes unfocused, mouth set in the soft, crooked way he had when he was thinking too hard.
“You know,” he said quietly, “it’s weird. When Nancy said what she said at the party, I didn’t even feel mad. Not really.I thought I would. But even today, when I found out her and Jonathan skipped school together, I didn’t feel angry. I just…” His voice broke into a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “God, I sound like an asshole. I felt hollow.”
You rubbed a hand over your face. “Steve, you love her. Of course it hurts. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”
There was a pause. Then the soft thud of his head hitting the headboard. “That’s the thing,” he said, voice cracking on the edges. “She told me I was pretending to love her too.”
A breath. A small, unsteady one.
“I think she was right.”
Your throat went dry. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. You listened to him breathing, the soft sound of him trying not to cry.
A tear slipped down your own cheek before you even noticed. You wiped it away quickly, like if you could just erase it, none of this would feel so heavy. You climbed into bed, curling under the covers, the phone pressed close against your ear.
“I think I’m broken,” he said quietly.
You stared up at the ceiling, heart hammering, unable to find words that could meet that kind of confession. The line was silent except for his breathing. It was slow and uneven. For a moment, it felt like being fifteen again, whispering secrets through the receiver until one of you fell asleep mid-sentence.
His voice came aforesaid. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. For what I did. For what I said. But I meant it when I said I’m sorry.”
“I know, Steve.” Your voice wavered, but you steadied it. “I forgive you.”
There was a small pause, and you could hear the smile in his exhale. It was quiet, disbelieving. “Do you want to hang out sometime?”
You bit your thumb, trying not to smile, trying not to give in. “I’m not sure, Steve. I’ll have to see.”
“Okay.” A beat. Then, gentler, “And if I call again?”
You laughed, soft and tired and fond. “Guess we’ll find out.”
”Atta girl.” His voice dropped low, the edges warm and teasing in a way that made something inside you ache. “I suppose that’s goodnight then.”
“I never said yes.” You hated how much you didn’t want to hang up.
He laughed, really laughed, and it was the first time in what felt like forever that it didn’t sound heavy. Just Steve. Just you and him again, the way it used to be before everything got complicated.
He said your name, and you closed your eyes, the sound of it humming through the line, through you. It made you feel weightless.
You smiled into the dark. “Goodnight, Steve.”
The click of the line ending came too soon. You stayed there, phone still pressed to your ear, listening to the soft hum of the dial tone.
Broken things, you thought, can always be fixed.
.-.-.-.
You didn’t exactly know how you got roped into a Saturday night involving monsters.
Or how “monsters” turned out to be something Steve apparently had a history with demogorgons? Demodogs? An alternate universe called the Upside Down? You still weren’t sure. What you did know was that Steve Harrington, your Steve, had shown up bloodied and bruised, and you’d nearly passed out at the sight of him.
He hadn’t wanted you there. Said it was dangerous. Said you should go back home. You didn’t listen.
Now, the chaos was over. Whatever had been lurking in the dark was gone, at least for now. Everyone had gathered back at the Byers’ house, voices low, the air thick with relief and exhaustion. You were in the kitchen, standing over Steve while he sat slumped in a chair. His face was a patchwork of cuts and purpling bruises.
“Ouch,” he hissed when you dabbed at the corner of his mouth.
“Then sit still,” you said, sipping the washcloth back into a bowl of water that had long since turned a murky pink. “If you stopped flinching, it wouldn’t hurt.”
He gave you a weak grin, the kind that always managed to twist your stomach, even now. “Bossy.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer, focusing instead on cleaning the dried blood off his cheek. His hair was sticking up in every direction, matted with dirt and streaks of red. You reached up, brushing some of it back from his forehead, your fingers lingering a second too long.
When you followed his gaze, you caught what he was looking at. In the living room, Nancy and Jonathan stood in the corner, whispering. Jonathan handed her a glass of water, and she smiled, soft and small.
Steve’s voice was rough when he said, “Guess they make a good team.”
You didn’t trust yourself to answer. The cloth in your hand stilled for a moment before you wrung it out again. The water dropped red into the bowl.
“How bad does it look?” He asked, trying to catch his reflection in the window beside him.
You tilted his chin toward you, pretending to study the damage, though your heart squeezed at how tired he looked. “You’ll live,” you said finally. “Might even win some sympathy points from all the moms at the grocery story.”
That got a laugh out of him. It was real, soft, and a little hoarse. His good eye crinkled at the corner. “Great. Always been my dream.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Sure it has.”
For a moment, it was quiet. You could hear the muffled hum of voices in the other room, the tick of the kitchen clock, the steady sound of your own breathing. When you looked back, his eyes were already on you.
“Maybe you should talk to her,” you said quietly, still pretending to concentrate on the cut on his jaw. “You did get in a fight to protect her brother and his friends. That has to mean something.”
He licked his split lip, shook his head. “Yeah. No. I think I’m okay.”
You turned, following his gaze just as Jonathan leaned in, whispering something that made Nancy laugh.
Steve looked away first.
You pressed the cloth to his cheek again, gentle this time. He didn’t look at the petite girl again. He just kept watching you. A breath caught in your throat when he reached up and brushed your hair back, fingers skimming over the scratch on your cheek. The touch was feather-light, careful in a way that made your pulse stutter.
You brushed him off, mumbling, “I’m fine,” before he could turn it into something.
So you changed the subject. “For what it’s worth,” you said, wringing out the cloth, “I thought it was sweet. You protecting the kids, I mean. Even if I don’t really understand all of it. I’m sure some girl at school will think it’s hot.”
That pulled a hoarse laugh out of him. “Girls are not gonna find a one-night babysitter attractive.”
“Oh yea they will.” You smiled faintly, dabbing at a scrape along his jaw. “Seeing a guy take care of kids does something to us. You think your list is long now? Imagine the possibilities if you use this to your advantage.”
His brow lifted, then immediately furrowed in pain. “Long list?”
“You know,” you said, clearing your throat, “like… the list of girls you’ve been with.”
”Girls I’ve been with?” The corner of his mouth twitched, half amusement, half challenge.
You huffed, cheeks burning. “Sex, Steve. The girls you’ve slept with.” You kept your tone clipped, your eyes fixed on the butterfly bandage in your hand.
He went very still. The pause stretched just long enough to make your stomach twist. You pressed the bandage gently to the cut on his cheek, but your thumb grazed his skin and the air between you shifted, suddenly thicker and charged.
“There’s only two people on this so-called list,” he said quietly. His tone was soft, teasing, but there was something else underneath. Something like honesty. Like he wanted you to believe him.
You froze. If there were only two… then that meant Nancy and—
“What about Sarah? At homecoming? Or Tommy’s cousin that one summer and spring break?” You asked, the words tumbling out faster than you meant.
He shook his head, wincing as he did. “Never happened.”
“But you told me—“
”No,” he said, looking up at you. “You assumed.”
Your lips parted, breath catching. “You never corrected me. You let Tommy and Carol and everyone think—“
He shrugged. ‘Guess I didn’t really care.”
You arched a brow, unconvinced. ‘Sure.”
A sheepish grin crept over his mouth. “Okay, maybe I cared. But not anymore.”
You stared at him, the cloth forgotten in your hands. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know what to feel. Relief, maybe. Or anger, for all the times you’d thought you were second best.
“Why tell me now?” You asked softly.
He looked down, shoulders curling in like he was trying to make himself smaller. When his eyes lifted again, there was no smirk left. “I care what you think of me,” he said simply.
His finger reached out, ghosting over your knuckle. Just a brush, so light it might’ve been imagined. You felt his name rising up your throat, hovering there, unspoken.
And then—
“Steve!”
Dustin’s voice slides through the air. The moment scattered, slipping through your fingers before you could hold onto it.
”Damn,” Dustin said, skidding to a stop in the doorway. “You look even worse than before.”
You laughed, stepping back as Steve shot him a deadpan look. “Thanks,” he muttered, voice dry as dust. “You come here just to insult me, or was there an actual reason?”
Dustin grinned, eyes darting between you and Steve. Then he leaned in, whispering something in Steve’s ear. You didn’t catch it, but you saw the way Steve’s jaw clenched, the faint pink creeping up his neck before he gave Dustin a half-hearted shove.
“Electricity!” Dustin hissed dramatically, stepping just out of reach like he’d been waiting for the retaliation. He was grinning so wide it was almost painful to look at.
“Shut up, or I’ll kill you,” Steve mumbled, rubbing his temple.
Dustin wasn’t even a little scared. “Oh sure. Because you’ve got such a great rapport when it comes to winning fights.”
Steve shot up, snatching the kid’s hat right off his head. Dustin yelped, immediately jumping to snatch it back.
You couldn’t stop laughing, the sound escaping before you could swallow it. It felt light. Stupidly, wonderfully light.
“Give it back!” Dustin said, jabbing a finger into Steve’s bruised side. Steve doubled over with a groan, and Dustin plucked the hat from his hand like a magician reclaiming his prize before darting off down the hall.
Steve straightened up slowly, wincing, muttering a few choice words under his breath. When his eyes flicked up to yours, you were still smiling, too openly, probably. The kind of smile that said more than you wanted it to.
The kind of smile that said it is attractive being a one-night babysitter.
He gave you a look that was half warning, half plea. Don’t start.
You bit back another laugh. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
But your eyes said otherwise.
“I’m gonna take Max home before Billy comes back to give you round two,” you teased, grabbing your jacket from the back of a chair. “See you later?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, the gesture a little self-conscious, a little too practiced. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good.”
You turned to leave, but your feet hesitated, traitorous, dragging you back around. “For the record,” you said, scratching your arm, eyes skimming the floor. “I’ve only been with one other person too.”
His good eyebrow lifted. “Was it the carnival guy?”
You laughed, because of course that’s where his brain went. “No. I left before the fireworks even started.”
“Then who?”
you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Remember when my family went to North Carolina for Thanksgiving? Sophomore year?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, already smug. “I knew something happened between you and that guy! You wouldn’t shut up about him for like two weeks.” His voice lifted in a terrible impression of yours. “Eric says that smoking is bad for you.”
“Smoking is bad for you.” You peeked at him through your fingers, shaking your head. “Didn’t realize you were paying attention.”
He spoke to himself, “Didn’t realize I could hate a guy I’ve never met.”
You smirked, pulse doing that traitorous flutter thing again. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Only because I was stuck wearing that ugly turkey sweater my Nan made,” he muttered, pretending to pout. “And my dad spent the whole dinner talking about how I needed to bulk up if I wanted to make varsity. Meanwhile, you were eating lobster with Eric.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the way your laugh cracked through the air. It was light and easy.
And even after you left the kitchen, even when you were driving Max home through the quiet streets, that stupid smile wouldn’t fade. Your cheeks ached. Your chest buzzed. It was something close, something bright and dangerous and warm, humming under your skin.
Electricity.
.-.-.-.
The smell of popcorn and pretzels from the food court had gone stale/ Kids ran past clutching strings of arcade tickets, teenagers swung shopping bags from their wrists, and the neon lights bled across the white tile like melted candy.
You told yourself you were being ridiculous. Still, your stomach had that fluttery, nervous ache anyway.
You adjusted your grip on the paper bag in your hands, the one holding the new dress you definitely didn’t need, and took a slow breath before walking toward Scoops Ahoy.
Through the glass, Robin Buckley was leaning against the counter, looking bored out of her mind. You’d made it your unofficial mission all summer to get her to actually smile at you. She never did. Sometimes you wanted to tell her that nothing was happening between you and Steve. That you saw the way she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. That you weren’t competition, not really.
You told yourself it didn’t bother you. That you and Steve were just friends. Just two people who went on a few late-night drives, who talked about nothing and everything like old times.
When you stepped inside, the smell of waffle cones and sugar hit you. Robin glanced up, clocked you, and her expression shifted from mild boredom to complete exasperation. She didn’t even bother hiding it.
She turned toward the back, voice flat. “Dingus, she’s here.”
A second later, the partition to the back swung open and Steve propped his head through, the ridiculous sailor hat slightly crooked on his hair. “Ahoy!” He winced immediately. “Jesus, sorry… hey!”
You tried not to smile but failed miserably. It didn’t matter how many times you’d seen him in that uniform. It always did something to you. The shorts, the ridiculous collar, the way his sleeves showed off the tan line on his arms. Over the summer, you’d noticed how much hairier he’d gotten. His arms, his legs, and especially his chest. God, his chest. When he stretched or leaned on the counter, his shirt would lift just enough to reveal that line of hair under his navel, and you were always the idiot who noticed.
Whenever he’d invite you to come over and swim, you had to keep your sunglasses on and pretend you weren’t staring at how the golden light melted on his skin.
He came out from behind the counter, slinging an arm across your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Robin, I’m—”
“Yeah, I know the drill,” Robin cut in, not looking up. “Forty-five minutes. You went over last time.”
She glanced at you, quick and unreadable. She then turned back around, pretending to clean the counter.
Steve didn’t even seem to notice. He was grinning at you, his voice softening in that way it did when he talked to you. “Double scoop chocolate chip?”
You smiled. “Surprise me, sailor.”
He froze for half a second, like the word hit differently this time. He cleared his throat and ducked back behind the counter. “Go take a seat,” he said, suddenly busying himself with the ice cream scoops. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
You nodded and found your usual spot by the window, pretending not to notice the way Robin was still very obviously not looking at you. You traced the edge of the table with your fingertip, pretending to look bored.
You weren’t.
Your eyes kept wandering, to where Steve was bent over the row of ice cream tubs, his stupid little sleeves hugging his biceps too well as he scooped. The muscles in his arms flexed when he switched hands. You hated that you noticed.
Then Robin appeared beside him, sliding in like she belonged there. Elbows on the counter, voice low. She whispered something that made his jaw drop. Her grin was sharp, her teeth catching her lip as if to keep the laugh in. You could’ve sworn her eyes flitted toward you for a second.
You looked away, your pulse jumping. When you glanced back, Steve was pointing his scooper at her like a weapon, pretending to be mad. He wasn’t. You could see it in the wat his shoulders relaxed. It was the kind of ease he only had when he was happy.
That stupid pathetic thing— something— twisted in your chest again.
You stared down at your hands. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Like you’d said a hundred time before. It didn’t matter if his touches were longer than necessary, or sometimes, when you were talking, and your hair would fall in your face, he’d be the one to brush it back and act like it was nothing.
You were just friends.
A minute later, the seat dipped beside you. Steve slid in, his shoulder brushing yours, holding out a cone. “One Harrington Special.”
You took it, smiling despite yourself. The first lick told you he’d know exactly what you liked. You made the mistake of telling him that when he first started working, and his smile was crooked, his eyes gleamed mischief, and his tone was dangerous when he answered, “We both know I do.” Then he grinned like he’d won something. He probably had.
“She doesn’t like me, does she?” You asked suddenly.
He blinked, spook halfway to his mouth. “Who?” He swallowed, following your gaze toward the counter. “Robin?”
You didn’t answer, focusing hard on your cone.
Steve frowned. “I wouldn’t worry about it. She doesn’t like anyone.”
You let out a small laugh that didn’t should like one. “She seems to like you.”
He looked genuinely confused. “She’s got this board in the back room. Two columns, You Rule and You Suck. She’s running out of space on the You Suck side.”
You looked up at him, half-smiling. “That’s mean.”
”She gives me hell all the time,” he said between bites. “Very hyper know-it-all. Tells me I scoop ice cream wrong. Calls me a dinguse especially when I won’t—“ He stopped midsentence, eyes flicking to yours. “Never mind. Point is, you’re fine. She hates everyone equally.”
“Equal opportunity loathing,” you murmured, your smile loosening.
“Exactly.” He scooped up another bite.
You wanted that warmth to settle you, but it didn’t. It just made the ache worse. You’d seen how fast he smiled at Robin. How she made him laugh. How she was bold and funny and painted her nails strange colors. You pictured them closing the shop together, the way he probably walked her to the bus after. You remembered that one night he’d driven her home, and you you’d wondered for days what they’d talked about.
Steve must’ve felt that shift in you. He tilted his head, his hand finding the small of your back. His touch burned through the fabric. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”
He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. His hand stayed where it was, warm and steady, thumb tracing lazy circles over your shirt. It was the kind of absentminded gesture that didn’t mean anything. Except it did.
Your body went still. Your breath caught somewhere in your chest.
He kept eating his sundae with his free hand, completely unaware, licking whipped cream from his spoon while you sat there, pretending to eat your cone, trying not to melt in the booth beside him.
You saw it happen, the flicker across his face when he realized what he was doing. His thumb stilled. Then the warmth left your back, replaced by the cool sweep of air as his hand slipped away, fingers grazing you in apology.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching his face with the same hand. “Didn’t mean to…” His throat bobbed. The flush climbing his neck made your stomach twist. You shouldn’t have wanted to kiss him for it, that nervous, pink lipped stutter, but you did.
You smiled faintly, nudging him with your shoulder. “Relax, Steve. I would’ve said something if I minded.” Then, before you could stop yourself, “You’re kind of cute when you get nervous.”
His head tilted, skeptical. “Cute?”
The silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been, humming beneath the soft mall soundtrack and the scent of popcorn and sugar.
“Yeah,” you said, your eyes tracing the collar of his stupid sailor uniform. “Especially in that thing.”
He looked down at himself, feigning outrage. “In what thing?”
You gestured lazily. “Your uniform. You pull it off.”
His mouth twitched. “You making fun of me right now?”
You held up your fingers, thumb and forefinger a breath apart. “Maybe a little.”
“Uh-huh.” He leaned in closer, voice dipping low enough that you felt it in your spine. “So just to clarify, you think I’m cute and I look good?”
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat creeping the back of your neck. “I said you pull it off. Don’t let it get to your head.”
He clutched his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “You wound me, sweetheart.”
The word hit harder than it should have. Sweetheart. He only ever used it to tease, but it still made your pulse stumble. You hid your smile behind your shopping bad, clutching it to your chest like it could muffle your heartbeat. The air between you smelled like vanilla and something else, warm skin, detergent, his aftershave maybe, His knee brushed yours again, another “accident.”
To your relief, he nodded toward the bag. ‘What’s that?”
“Oh.” You blinked down. “A dress. Found it in one the stores before I came here.”
He tried to peek inside, and you swatted his hand away. He grinned, leaning back against the booth with one arm over the top. “What’s it look like?”
“Blue. Hand stitched white flowers.” You shrugged like it wasn’t worth mentioning. “I dunno, I probably won’t wear it.”
“Why not?” His gaze flicked between the bag and your face. “I bet you’ll look really pretty in it.”
The words landed soft but sure, and they stole the air right out of your lungs. You didn’t trust yourself to meet his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to find an excuse to wear it to find out.”
He scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward Robin behind the counter. She was watching him with that same sharp smirk. Steve caught her look and cleared his throat, the arm behind you brushing the top of your shoulder.
“I, uh… two weeks is the Fourth of July,” he said.
“Mhm.” You tried not to think about Robin. About how easy their rhythm looked from the outside. Once upon a time, that used to be you and him.
“That means the fair’s be going on,” he added.
“Yeah.” You saw Robin glance over again and, for reasons you didn’t want to name, you scooted an inch away. Purely platonic, you told yourself.
“I could probably take off that night,” he said. His tone was casual, but his eyes gave him away, nervous, dancing between yours like he was trying to hand you something invisible.
Your brow furrowed. “Oh, like you want to go?”
He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing. “Yeah. It’d be fun. Be nice to go with someone, too.”
You forced a smile, glancing at Robin. “Right. I’m sure it’ll be easy to ask her. Maybe wait ‘til after your shift, in case she says no. Wouldn’t want to make it awkward.”
He looked at you like he was trying to read a language he used to know by heart. “What? No—” He leaned forward, earnest and stumbling. “I meant you. I’m asking you.” His voice softened. “If that’s something you’d wanna do. Could be fun. You did say you missed the fireworks last year.”
Suddenly, you saw the rope. It had been dangling there whole time, invisible until now, and you were painfully aware of how badly you wanted to grab it. Heat flushed through you, bright and reckless. Still, it didn’t have to mean anything. You’d gone to the fair with him before, as only friends.
You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “And do you want me to wear the dress then?”
His brows lifted, and in the light you could still see the faint scar Billy Hargrove had left six months ago. The tips of his ears went pink. He tried for casual, but his voice betrayed him. “If you want. I mean… I won’t complain.”
You smiled, looking down at your hands. “We haven’t gone to the fair together since the summer before sophomore year.” That summer still lived in your bones, before vacation in Maine, before Nancy, before everything shifted.
Steve laughed softly, eyes somewhere far away. “Jesus, you’re right. That feels like forever ago. Hey, wasn’t that when you you…uh…” He trailed off, giving you that sheepish half-grin.
Your face warmed. You already knew where he was going. “Yeah. When I taught you how to make out on the Ferris wheel because you were supposed to take Tommy’s cousin on it.”
His lip curved, grimacing. “Right. He was pissed at me for running out of tickets.”
You couldn’t help laughing, clutching your sides. “Because you wasted them all on multiple trips! You were so nervous you were going to get it wrong that you made me go up with you over and over again."
He was laughing too, head thrown back. People glanced over, even Robin, who paused mid motion behind the counter. Her expression wasn’t jealousy exactly. Curiosity?
When the laughter died down, Steve blinked away a tear, his grin fading into something softer. “Yeah. I really was an idiot. Should’ve just been honest back then. I wasn’t even nervous.” He hesitated. “I just didn’t want to kiss anyone.”
You snorted. “Oh, so you just wanted to kiss me?” It came out teasing, sharp enough to make him flustered.
But he didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he said simply.
The air shifted. You froze, breath catching as the noise of the mall blurred into static, the carousel music, the hum of the fountain, a kid shouting down the corridor. It all faded, leaving only him. His freckle dotted throat. The memory of your lips against his skin that summer, or maybe just the wish for it.
You smiled then, small and trembling, pressing your knee into his. You nudged his hand. “So… is it just going to be us?”
He hesitated. You saw it happen, that flicker of uncertainty, like he wanted to say something else. But then he blinked, retreating behind the familiar wall of nonchalance. His hand fell to his lap.
“Oh, uh…Dustin.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Before he left for camp, he said he wanted to go when he got back, so I’ll probably have to drive him. And the other kids.”
You watched him, searching for something that might still be there. That warmth that had just been between you, the rope you’d been ready to grab. But all you found was the quiet thud of your own pulse.
Your eyes dropped, your mouth curving faintly. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”
He shifted beside you, restless. You could tell he knew he’d said the wrong thing. His lips parted like he was about to fix it, but the words never came. He only took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and put it back on like he could hide behind it.
“Yeah,” he said finally, weak and unsure. “It’ll be fun.”
You nodded, smiling just enough to keep from unraveling. “Sure.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of kids running through the mall filled the silence, the mechanical whir of the cotton candy machine somewhere in the distance. Then, Steve’s watch beeped two short chirps that cut through the air like a reminder that time was up.
Robin was already watching from behind the counter, arms crossed, the kind of glare that said don’t you dare take another minute.
He motioned with his head, no words, just that apologetic smile that never quite reached his eyes. You nodded, but before he could slide out of the booth, you caught his wrist.
“Hey,” you said softly.
He turned back. That small crease appeared between his brows, threaded with curiosity and hope.
“You’ve got something,” you murmured. You leaned in before he could react, brushing your thumb across the corner of his mouth. It was quick, hardly anything at all, but it felt like a secret.
His body went still. His breath hitched. For a second, neither of you moved. His eyes found yours and stayed there, unguarded.
You pulled back, your thumb glinting under the fluorescent light. You licked the taste from it like it was nothing. ‘Whipped cream.”
He swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “Thanks.”
The sound vibrated between you.
You nodded, the corner of your mouth threatening to betray you. He stood, adjusting his ridiculous sailor top, and you followed, collecting the napkins and empty cups from the table. He tried to take the trash from you, but you shook your head. You told him the bin was on the way out.
He let you, though you could feel his gaze burn into your back as you walked away. You didn’t turn around, not until you reached the door. Through the glass, you saw him again. Robin had appeared beside him, sliding the window open, marker in hand. You watched as she drew a line beneath the You Suck column.
Steve dropped his head, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. It shouldn’t have hurt but it did.
You stepped out into the mall. The air was different out here, colder. You exhaled, the sound lost under the chatter of passing strangers. Maybe you were right all along. Maybe you really were just friends.
Still, as you walked toward the exit, you licked your lips and tasted the faintest trace of sweetness, the ghost of whipped cream… and him.
You hadn’t gone to the fair after all. Something in you had felt off like the universe had pulled a thread loose and was waiting for you to notice. That’s how you got roped into the business of the Upside Down once again. You didn’t hesitate. You just followed like it was now your job.
You were at Chief Hopper’s cabin, watching El use her powers to find the one and only Billy Hargrove, who apparently was a new host to the mind flayer. Sweat and dirt streaked across your face, the tang of burnt ozone still in your mouth. The strange smell of gasoline. Blood. Fear.
Nancy was in the kitchen, reloading a gun with quiet precision. You hovered near the counter, drinking a glass of water, trying not to notice how her hands didn’t shake.
For a while, there was only the sound of shells clinking against the wood. Then Nancy glanced up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re pretty good at staying calm for someone who wasn’t supposed to be involved.”
You smirked, shrugging, taking another gulp of your water, finishing it.
Another shell clicked into place. Then, after a pause, “You know… I always wanted you to like me.”
You blinked. “What?”
She laughed softly, not meeting your eyes. ‘When Steve and I started dating, there were rumors. That no girl could flirt with him unless you gave the stamp of approval.”
You laughed outright, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s absurd. Steve’s his own person.”
“I know,” Nancy said, smiling faintly. “But I still wanted you to like me.”
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the first aid kit. “I did. I mean, I do. I liked you. I just…” You exhaled, the admission heavy on your tongue. “I wished we could’ve been friends.”
Nancy looked up from the gun. Her expression softened. “Me too.”
There was a quiet stretch between you. A truce hanging in the air. Then Nancy’s voice was quieter, careful. “You know, I broke up with Steve because I couldn’t love him the way he wanted me to.”
You nodded, eyes on your hands. “Yeah. He told me.”
But Nancy’s next words made you look up. “Did he tell you that I didn’t love him because not all of him could love me? That there was always a part of him that belonged somewhere else?”
You froze, your mouth parting, pretending you didn’t know what she meant. “No. He didn’t say that.”
Nancy just watched you. Her gaze wasn’t cruel, just knowing.
You scoffed lightly, trying to shake it off. “Steve and I are just friends.”
She almost smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He would always talk about you, you know. He told me everything.”
You forced a small laugh. “We’ve known each other since grade school. Guess he told all the stories where I pushed his face into mud when we were seven?”
Nancy’s head tilted slightly. “No, I mean everything. What you two were like before we started dating. And how you two weren’t speaking because of it.”
The air thinned. You blinked at her, heat rising in your chest. “Oh.”
She nodded once, as if that explained everything.
You pretended to mess with some supplies on the counter, acting unbothered. Because, you told yourself, it didn’t bother you. Or maybe it did. Why would Steve tell Nancy about you and him? It was nothing. It meant nothing.
“He likes you,” she said simply.
You guffawed, looking up sharply. “Why would you say that?” Your tone came out like it was the most ridiculous, scandalous thing she could ever say. There was a spark… hope? It traveled from your heart, throughout your veins, electricity buzzing at the thought that Steve Harrington… has a crush on you. Or was it beyond a crush?
She smiled faintly. “Don’t look at me like that. I remember the fair. The carnival guy. How badly you wanted him to be jealous.”
Your face fell, an apologetic look. Nancy quickly put a hand up and shook her head, like a silent It’s okay. But it wasn’t okay. “It’s Steve. He’s handsome and charming. He can smile at a brick wall and get what he wants. He isn’t the type to hesitate, with anyone. You’re proof of that.”
Nancy studied you, tilting her head. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Because there wasn’t anything to lose with the rest of us.”
The words settled like dust between you, impossible to ignore.
There was commotion in the living room. You both jumped into action, moving as if the conversation hadn’t just cracked something open. But even as you game planned with the others, the echo of Nancy’s last sentence followed you like a heartbeat.
You hadn’t expected to end up back at Starcourt Mall, everything was going wrong already. But there you were again, standing in the fluorescent ruin of it all. The place that used to hum with laughter and cheap pop songs was now filled with the scent of smoke and melted plastic. Sirens in the distance, lights flickering like a dying heartbeat.
You found him sitting on the curb outside, a bag of ice pressed against his face. Robin sat next to him, laughing at something she had said, it was a delirious, adrenaline high way people do when they survive something they shouldn’t have.
You cleared your throat, standing on the other side of Steve, the two of them, in sync, looking at you. Steve turned to Robin, motioning his head slightly. Robin gave him an awkward tight lipped smile… and you swore… she winked at him. And you swore Steve muttered, “Shut up.”
He didn’t look back up you, but he scooted over as if it was an invitation. You stood there for a moment before sitting down beside him. You winced at the sight of him. His hair was matted, streaked with blood and only God knows what. One eye was swollen half-shut, his lip split, his uniform torn. You could make a joke that his face can’t catch a break. But he probably knew that already.
“How are you feeling?” You asked softly.
He let out a low groan that was almost a laugh. “Like shit,” he said honestly. “I might have to start wearing glasses after this.”
You didn’t mean to, but your brain immediately conjured the image. Steve Harrington in glasses, looking unfairly handsome. You pressed your lips together, keeping the thought to yourself, unsure what to say that wouldn’t sound too much like what it was.
He shifted the ice pack, glancing down at the asphalt. “M’sorry about the fair,” he said after a beat.
You shrugged, keeping your tone light. “I’m sure it wouldn’t have been that fun anyway.”
He huffed a short laugh. “It would’ve beaten this by a landslide.”
That pulled a real smile from you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The flashing lights painted his face red, then blue, the red again. You could see every freckle, every scar, every cut. He looked older somehow.
“We’re you scared?” You asked quietly.
He shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. “Yeah,” he admitted. “The entire time I was like— wow, this is it. This is how I go out. Russians beating me and drugging me, with damn ice cream stains on my shorts.” He gave a soft snort, then hesitated. “Then I was scared I’d never see…” His voice trailed off. His eyes flicked toward you for half a second before darting away again.
Your heart skipped. “Never see what?”
He shook his head, the wall going up before your eyes. “Nothing. I’m exhausted. Just waiting for my mom to come pick me up. Embarrassing, right?” He gave out a weak laugh. “They said they might be able to recover my car keys in a week.”
“Let me wait with you,” you said.
He didn’t even look at you when he answered. “No, go home. I’ll be fine.”
He was so guarded. So unlike him. But then again, Steve had grown up a lot since you met him. He was notorious for withholding information from you. You wondered if that had changed because of Robin. Was it that he was afraid he’d never see someone again? Was it Robin? Or… was Nancy right? That maybe you were the reason he could never give himself away.
The thought hurt in a way you couldn’t explain.
“I lied,” you said suddenly.
That got his attention. His head tilted, one brow lifting, expression soft but wary. “‘Bout what?”
You drew in a breath, meeting his eyes. “About not being sad. About the fair.” You forced a small smile. “It would’ve been nice to have gone on the Ferris wheel with you.”
His gaze lingered on you then, something unreadable flickering behind it. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile or trying not to say something he’d regret.
You leaned in closer, silently begging him to make the reckless choice to destroy your friendship. If you were to regret anything, it was convincing yourself you only wanted to be his friend.
But all he said was, “Get home safe, will you?”
You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. You too, Harrington.”
When you stood, the space between you felt impossibly heavy. You wanted him to stop you, to say something, anything that would let you know you hadn’t imagined all the things that ever lived between you two. But he didn’t.
You walked toward your car, the air sticky with smoke and sugar. When you glanced back, he was still sitting there under the flashing lights, his head tilted up toward the ruined skylight like he could still see the fireworks through the smoke. Your eyes glossed over, wiping hot tears off your cheeks. You followed his gaze, a silent sob, almost believing he could.
.-.-.-.
Mrs. Harrington looked startled when she opened the door. Like she wasn’t sure whether to invite you in or pretend she hadn’t heard the bell. Her lipstick was too red for mid-afternoon, her perfume thick and powdery in the air. Still, she smiled politely.
“He’s out back,” she said, her voice soft and unsure. “Hasn’t really done much since he got home.”
You nodded, murmured a thank you, and stepped inside. The Harrington house looked the same as it always had. It was too big, too quiet, a place built for hosting parties but not to be lived in.
When you slid open the back door, sunlight hit you square in the face. It was too bright for how heavy everything felt. The pool shimmered, the water a lazy, perfect blue. And there he was, Steve Harrington, floating on his back, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Bruises still mapped his ribs and shoulders, a fading constellation of purples and yellows.
You hadn’t seen him since that night. Since Starcourt. You’d thought about calling a dozen times, but every version of hey, how are you felt too small. You felt too small.
You crossed to the edge of the pool and sat down. The concrete burned lightly against your palms. You slipped off your shoes, rolled up your jeans, and dipped your feet into the water.
The small disturbance sent ripples across the surface, brushing against him. Steve tilted his head, squinting over the rim of his sunglasses. He didn’t smile or move closer, just let his head fall back again, the water cradling him.
“Hey,” he said finally, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days.
You looked at him, the cut on his jaw catching a flash of sun. “Hey,” you answered.
A sprinkler hissed on somewhere nearby. A leaf drifted across the pool.
You wanted to ask if he was okay. You wanted to tell him you had nightmares every night about fire and glass. Him being dragged into the Upside Down and never seeing him again. You wanted to ask if he did too.
Instead, you just watched him float, weightless, untethered. The sunlight glimmered across his tanned skin, and for a fleeting second, he looked like he might dissolve into the water entirely.
The water lapped lazily against the sides of the pool. Cicadas hummed in the trees. Somewhere beneath the deck, the filter ticked and hummed, steady and indifferent.
Neither of you spoke for a long while. The sun had slipped low enough to paint the yard in gold and shadows before Steve finally moved. The sound of him shifting, the water breaking around him, felt too loud in the stillness.
He swam to the opposite edge and pulled himself out, the muscles in his arms trembling faintly from the effort. Water rolled off him in thin sheets, splattering the concrete. He sat down a few feet away, elbows braced on his knees, sunglasses still on like a shield. The bruises were worse up close, deep violet along his ribs, soft yellow fading at his collarbone, a healing split at the corner of his mouth.
You tried for casual. “So… how’s your day been?” The taste of regret already on your tongue. You said you wouldn’t ask that.
He rubbed the back of his neck, droplets sliding down his arm. “Fine. Me and Robin started looking for new jobs.”
You tried not to feel the sting in your chest. So, he was hanging out with Robin. “That’s good,” you said softly. He didn’t elaborate. The silence pressed in again, thick and uncomfortable, like something alive between you.
You tried again. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugged. “I’m okay.”
It was the way he said it, empty, too easy, that made something tighten in your chest. You wanted to shake him for pretending, for saying it like it wasn’t a lie.
You stared at him, his reflection warped in the blue water. ‘Why were you out here by yourself?”
“I was just thinking.” His tone made it sound like the end of the conversation.
Frustration crept up your spine. “And you can’t talk to me about it?”
He turned slightly, the lenses of his sunglasses catching the light. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about it.”
You blinked hard, the heat behind your eyes sharper than you wanted it to be. “I’m sure you’re in the mood to talk to Robin about it, though.”
That earned a small, humorless laugh, one that hurt to hear. He shook his head. “Right. Okay.”
Then he pushed himself off the edge and dropped back into the water. The splash shattered the quiet.
“So, you don’t deny it?” You said, your voice rising. “You talk to her about everything now? Are you two—” you can’t finish it, so you don’t. “Are you?”
Steve turned toward you, arms resting on the pool’s edge. His jaw worked as he swallowed whatever he wanted to say. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but you could hear the strain underneath. “It’s not like that, okay? Why are you even here?”
You laughed, but it came out brittle. “Because it’s been a month, Steve. You haven’t even called me.” You look down at the water, then at him. “You used to tell me everything.”
That lands. You can see it, the shift in his shoulders, the quiet sting in the space between breaths. He looks away, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. “The phone works both ways,” he says, low. Then, after a long beat. “I don’t know what to tell you right now.”
You swallow hard, the taste of chlorine thick in your throat. “I just want to understand, that’s all. Did I do something? Did I hurt your feelings again?”
You want to ask the real thing. Did you move on? Was there even anything to move on from? Yet, the words don’t make it past your teeth. They just sit there, heavy and unsaid.
He shakes his head, slow, tired. “You didn’t do anything. I just have a lot on my mind. It’s a mess right now.”
It’s not enough.
You pull your feet from the water, droplets sliding down your skin and darkening the concrete. You stand, every movement deliberate, like you’re afraid if you don’t keep moving, you’ll fall apart.
“Right. Okay.” You laugh softly, but it sounds like breaking glass. “So we’re back to to this.” You bend to grab your shoes, the laces slipping through your trembling fingers. “I’ve served my purpose, your confidant, until another pretty girl like Robin comes along? I know you’ve been through hell, Steve, but you don’t get to be an asshole to me just because you’re afraid of your feelings.”
He flinches. Just barely. Like the words hit someplace you weren’t supposed to touch. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t reach for you.
“So, I’m gonna go,” you say quietly, forcing the knot in your throat down. “You can call me when you’re ready to talk. Or maybe don’t. It’d save us both from this stupid cycle.”
You slip your shoes on and straighten, the world too still around you. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. You wait for him to say something, like wait, or don’t go, or even I’m sorry.
But nothing.
It was all the same sounds from when you arrived. The same sounds as when you thought things might still mean something.
You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles ached, trying not to look back at the house. The air inside the car was hot, the kind that made everything feel slow and heavy. You blinked hard, willing your chest to stop tightening.
You were about to turn the key when you heart it, your name, faint through the glass.
Then again, louder this time. urgent.
Through the windshield, you saw Steve, running barefoot across the driveway, shirt half on, dripping wet. The sun caught on the water flying off him, the sound of his feet slapping against the concrete filling the air.
He stopped in front of your car, both hands pressing flat against the hood like he needed to hold it in place. His chest heaved. When he saw you weren’t moving, he came around to your door, crouching so you could see his face.
You rolled the window down, pulse thrumming. “What?”
He was panting, eyes wide, looking at you like you were the only solid thing in the world. “I don’t…” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”
You blinked, throat tight. “So this is it? You don’t want to be my friend?”
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Wait— yes! I do. I just… shit.” He rubbed a hand over his face, leaving streaks of water in his hair. “Do you know how nervous you make me?”
You gave a disbelieving laugh, half scoff, half defense. “I have never made you nervous.”
He looked up at you through his lashes, lips quirking despite himself. “Yes, you do. All the time. It’s pathetic how nervous I feel.”
You didn’t know what to say. “I don’t understand.”
He exhaled sharply, words tumbling out like they’d been waiting too long. “That night at Starcourt, remember I told you I was scared but wouldn’t say what?”
You swallowed. “Vaguely.” You lied. You remembered.
“I was scared I’d never see you again.”
The words hit the air like a spark. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes burning. “So you don’t call me for a month?”
He looked down, shoulders tense. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But like I said, I don’t know how to do this with you.”
“Communicate?” You said, trying to keep your voice steady.
He raked a hand through his damp hair. “Ask if you wanna do something together.”
You frowned. “You don’t know how to ask me to hang out? We hang out all the time.”
“No!” He groaned, half laughing, half desperate. “I mean… yes, but can you just be quiet for two seconds? I’m trying to ask you out.”
Everything went still.
He sighed, tightening his grip on the edge of your window. “They’re playing Fast Time tonight at the drive-in. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty sharp because I know you can never decide what snack you want.”
You stared at him, words caught in your throat. “Just us?”
That flicker of confidence finally slid back into place. His mouth curved, that familiar, unfair grin. “Yes. Just you and me. A date. See you tonight.” None of these were questions. It was instructions, a demand.
He turned to walk back toward the house, water still dripping from his hair, and you say there, frozen.
“But I never said yes!” You called after him.
He spun on his heel, walking backward now, grin widening. “Oh,” he said, eyes glinting beneath the late sun, “and wear the dress.”
.-.-.-.
You wore the damn dress.
Steve showed up exactly when he said he would. Six-thirty sharp.
You heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, the soft rumble of his car idling. Through the window, you could see him leaning against the door, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, hair still a little damp from a shower.
You opened the door before he could knock.
For a second, he just looked at you, and there was something unguarded in his expression, something that made your stomach twist. His mouth curved slowly.
“So I was right,” he said, voice low, a little smug. “You do look really pretty in the dress.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart wasn’t listening.
He did all the things he always did… the Steve Harrington special. He opened your door with a flourish. He grabbed a box of chocolates from the backseat, knowing well you weren’t a flower person. At the ticket booth, he paid before you could reach for your wallet. He was right, you couldn’t decide which candy you wanted, so naturally, he bought one of everything.
There was something different in the way he did it this time. The glimmer in his eye when you smiled, the grin that stuck even when you teased him.
“You know,” you said as he dropped the change into his pocket, “you don’t have to try so hard to impress me.” Mostly because he had impressed you a long time ago. You weren’t ready to admit that just yet.
He shot you a look over his shoulder, half-smile crooked. “You think this is me trying to impress you? Sweetheart, this is nothing.”
You laughed, but it came out as a giggle. A giggle. What the hell did you become into?
When the movie started, everything felt quieter. The giant screen flickered against the windshield, painting the car in pale golds and blues. You could hear the hum of the radio from another car nearby, the crunch of gravel as people settled in.
It was strange how shy you felt. You’d seen him half dead and bleeding. You’d slept beside him plenty of times, close enough to feel his heartbeat against you. Yet, now, your hands were folded neatly in your lap, and you could barely look at him.
Steve sat close, one arm draped on the door, fingers trapping along to the movie’s soundtrack. Every now and then, his gaze flicked to you.
Halfway through, he leaned toward you slightly. “You enjoying it?”
You nodded, your voice small. “Yeah.”
He smiled, slow and easy, and for a moment he didn’t look back at the screen. You caught him looking at you, really looking, before he blinked and turned away, his jaw tight. He reached towards you, your heart racing, imagining him grabbing your hand to hold it. Instead, he dipped it in the popcorn between you, shoving a few pieces in his mouth and then dropped his arm back into his lap.
You frowned, pulse thrumming with something restless. The space between you felt too big.
You placed your hand on the console between you, your shoulder lightly brushing his. You waited, hoping he’d see the invitation.
For a while, he didn’t move. Pretended to be focused on the movie, his expression carefully neutral. Then, like it was nothing, he slid his hand over too, resting it on top, casual, practiced.
The minutes stretched. The world shrank to the faint buzz of the projector and the heat between your palms.
Your pinkies brushed, barely, and the air shifted. He didn't pull away. Instead, his pinkie rubbed lightly against the side of your hand, once tentative.
You flipped your hand over, heart pounding.
And without looking, he interlaced his fingers with yours, a quiet, steady, motion, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen ahead, but his thumb tracing slow, small circles against your skin.
It was like something finding its place. Like his hand had always belonged in yours.
The movie had ended.
The credits rolled, the screen dimmed, and still neither of you moved. The car lights from other rows flickered on one by one, the sound of gravel crunching as engines started up. You felt the ghost of Steve’s thumb against your hand before he pulled away, slow and careful, as if letting go might break something.
The night hummed around you, windows cracked open, the smell of summer grass, the echo of laughter from cars behind.
“Do you want to go on a walk before I take you home?” He asked finally.
You turned to him, surprised. “A walk?”
He smiled a little. “Yeah. There’s a trail by the lake. it’s nice this time of night.”
You said yes before you even thought about it.
The car rolled to a stop near the edge of Lover’s Lake. The water shimmered under the moonlight, still and glassy, the woods breathing slow around it.
You fell into step beside him on the trail, shoulders brushing, feet scuffing against the dirt. He had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the picture of casual, except for how tightly he kept his jaw clenched, like there were too many words sitting on his tongue.
You shivered when the wind came off the water. Without missing a beat, Steve slipped off his jacket and settled it around your shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against your collarbone, a small, almost accidental touch that felt anything but.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
He just nodded.
You walked in silence for a while, until you slipped your arm through his— testing. You leaned into him. His muscles tensed, then eased, and you felt him smile beside you. You swore you felt his nose brush gently into your hair.
“Does this mean I can ask you what you’re thinking now?” You teased, your voice quiet against the rustle of trees.
He laughed under his breath. “I’m an open book.”
“Okay… scared you weren’t going to see me again?”
Steve exhaled, long and deep. “You start off strong.”
“I mean, can you blame me?”
He pulled you a little closer as you walked, his side pressed into your shoulder. “No, I can’t. It’s… self-explanatory, really. I kept thinking about what you were doing, what our last memory together was. And, Jesus… how bad I wanted to take you to the fair. Just us. I shouldn’t have been such a coward. Should’ve been honest.” He paused, his voice softer now. “It was a lot of regrets I didn’t know what to do with.”
You nodded. “I know you already apologized. But why didn’t you call?”
He stopped walking. You did too. His hands slipped from his pockets, only to shove right back in, his shoulders tight.
“I just… couldn’t talk to you without wishing for more,” he said quietly. “You’re my best friend, and you know… after everything that happened, I didn’t know what to do with that. It’s stupid.”
You tilted your head, eyes searching his face. “So, are you saying you like me?”
Steve huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Of course I do. For a long time.”
He started walking again, and you followed. The night seemed to hold its breath around you.
“So if you like me,” you asked after a beat, “then what’s with all the longing looks? The ones you give Nancy and Jonathan?”
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I wasn’t jealous of them. I mean… okay, maybe a little. But not because of Nancy. It was because she was with the person she wanted. And I…” he glanced at you, small smile, sad at the edges. “I was barely even friends with the person I wanted.”
You were embarrassed how easily the sharp bloom in your chest made you giddy. You let out an involuntary giggle. Your cheeks were warm. You felt full. It was better than what you had dreamed of. Your best friend liked you. Steve Harrington wanted you.
You kicked at a stone. “I wanted the fair to be a date too,” you admitted your voice small.
He stopped again, turning toward you. The air seemed to thicken. The moonlight hit his face, soft and silvers and eyes steady, lips parted like was about to say something but didn’t trust himself to yet.
He looked at you the way people look when they’re trying to memorize something. Like if he blinked, you might vanish.
Your pulse jumped.
“What are you thinking now?” You asked, your voice trembling.
The words landed between you, fragile and bright.
He took a step closer. Then, for the first time in a long time, he gave you the look. His eyes slowly dragged to your lips and then back to your eyes. “I’m thinking about what you’d say if I asked if I could kiss you.”
“Yes.”
For a second, nothing. Just the word hanging in the air, trembling, daring him to move.
Steve blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it. Like the sound had knocked the breath out of him.
Then he moved.
It wasn’t gentle. It was everything.
His hand found your jaw, the other your waist, and the space between you disappeared all at once. The kiss hit hard, teeth, breath, heat. You stumbled back a step, your spine catching the rough bark of a tree, and he followed without hesitation chest pressed to yours, soaking you in.
You gasped against his mouth and he chased the sound, kissing you deeper. His thumb slid under your chin, tilting you up until there was nowhere left to go but closer. The taste of him, mint, salt, the faintest sweetness from whatever candy he’d eaten at the drive-in. It all made your head spin.
His mouth was everywhere, your bottom lip, the corner of your mouth, a breath against your cheek before he found you again. It was open mouthed and messy and so full of want it almost hurt.
You fisted your hands in his hair before you realized you were doing it. He groaned when you tugged, deep and low, the sound shooting through you like a spark. His body pressed harder into yours, the solid weight of him keeping you anchored when everything else felt like it was spinning.
You felt the scraped of bark through his jacket and your dress, the heat of his palm sliding along your thigh. You hadn’t realized your leg was hiked up until you felt Steve’s hand cup your ass. Fingertips dragging slow, like he needed proof you were really there. Every time you parted for air, he found you again, hungrier, rougher, like he was scared you’d evaporate if he didn’t keep touching you.
It was dizzying, the way he kissed you. Like he’d been waiting years and didn’t trust he’d get another chance.
When you finally broke apart, it wasn’t because you wanted to, it was because you had to breathe. Your chests brushed with every inhale, and his forehead dropped to yours. You could taste him still, sweet and sharp, and you couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose.
You had pretty much shared a hundred kisses with Steve, but this one carried through your veins and bones. You wanted this kiss to be tattooed onto your lips forever, to remember it when you two were apart.
“Jesus,” he murmured, voice wrecked, his breath catching on a laugh. “I don’t remember feeling like that on the Ferris wheel.”
You felt your own laugh tumble out. It was small, shaky, completely undone.
His hand stayed on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, tracing the curve of your mouth like he still didn’t believe it. His eyes were darker now, but soft, careful.
Your lips curved. “Suppose you’ve gotten a lot better.”
He furrowed his brows, trying not to smile. “You suppose?”
You shrugged, not answering. Just reached up and pulled him back in.
It turned into lazy languid kisses. Your hands sneaking under, moving up and down his back until it was time to go.
You barely made it to the car.
His hand found yours somewhere between the trees and the parking lot, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist like he couldn’t stop himself. The air felt electric running underneath every step. When you reached the BMW, he turned like he was going to open your door, the perfect gentleman, but then he didn’t.
Instead, he caught you.
Your back hit the car, his mouth already on yours, urgent, messy, like he’d been waiting for this and couldn’t risk losing it. His hands finding your hips, dragging you closer. He groaned against your mouth and it rattled something loose in you.
He hated his hair being touched but your fingers found them, soft, damp from the humidity, and tugged. His hair wasn’t even your favorite feature of his. His crooked smile, the slight unevenness of his nose from too many fights, his hands. The way his eyes look permanently droopy, soft, and gentle. He kissed you harder for it, that maybe he never wanted you to touch his hair because it made him turn into this.
You giggled, twirling his locks. “You need a haircut.”
Steve looked drunk when he pulled back to look at you, his mouth going to your jaw. “…kay, I’ll get it cut tomorrow.”
You smiled. “Just like that? You’re gonna cut it because I said something?”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
He tried to reach for the door handle behind you, fumbling, still half kissing you, his fingers grazing your waist. When the latch finally clicked, it sounded deafening.
He pulled back, just barely. His breath hit your cheek. The air between you smelled like his cologne and sweat and something new and fresh.
You slid into the seat because you had to, because if you hadn’t, you weren’t sure either of you would stop. Steve closed your door gently, taking a long breath before walking around to his side.
You watched him through the window, the way his hand raked through his hair, the faint lopsided grin that gave him away. He looked like he was seconds away from jumping into a heel-click. He looked flushed, dazed, still catching up to whatever just happened.
When he got in, he didn’t look at you right away. The car filled with the low hum of the radio, some song too soft to matter, and the silence between you was bright and alive. You were both smiling like idiots, grinning into the dark like there was a secret only you two knew.
.-.-.-.
The car idled quietly in front of your house. The headlights painted long, soft lines across the driveway. The night felt too calm for how loud your heartbeat was.
“Goodnight,” you whispered, leaning a little closer, kissing his cheek.
He smiled that half-smile. “Goodnight.”
He kissed you back on the lips. Just once. Just a brush of lips, tender, sweet. But then he said it again, quieter this time, almost a dare. “Goodnight.”
You laughed into his mouth, soft pecks, one after another, each one becoming longer, until the line between goodnight and don’t go blurred completely. His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb tracing lazy circles.
It started soft. Then it wasn’t.
It deepened like it had been waiting again, slow burn into something molten. His tongue brushed yours, and you gasped, and he caught it, kissing you through it.
When your hand slid lower, to where his shirt met his belt, he froze. His hand caught yours gently, his voice barely a whisper. “Hey… wait.”
You blinked, frowning. “Sorry. I just—“
He shook his head, smiling, eyes soft and so, so fond. “Don’t be sorry. Just… let’s not rush, okay?”
You nodded.
You kissed him again, slower this time, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, the spot just under his jaw. He exhaled shakily, a sound you felt before you heard.
When you finally pulled back, he was grinning at you, cheeks flushed, lips pink and swollen.
“Go inside before I change my mind,” he murmured.
You wanted to challenge him but instead you only smiled. “Goodnight, Steve.” His name came out endearingly, blooming into a whole new meaning.
You barely made it to the front steps when you heard him.
“Hey! Wait!”
Your name came out somewhere between a breath and a plea, and you turned, pulse stuttering. Steve was jogging toward you, hair a mess.
“Changed your mind already?” You teased.
He slowed to a stop in front of you, cheeks flushed. “No,” he said, breathless. “I just…” he gestured vaguely, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Need my jacket back.”
You were about to laugh, but he was already reaching for it. His fingers brushed your shoulders, slow, deliberate, sliding the denim down your arms inch by inch.
You were supposed to say goodnight one last time. Instead, you kissed him.
It started soft, then didn’t stay that way. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer until the back of his legs hit the BMW’s bumper.
Then you pushed. He let you.
Steve’s hands landed on your hips as you crowded him against the hood, your body pressed tight to his, your dress skimming his jeans. The metal was warm beneath his palms, the night air heavy around you. You nipped at his bottom lip, pressing yourself into him. He groaned.
“Backseat,” he said, voice low and wrecked, like it was pulled from somewhere deep.
Before you could even process it, he was moving, standing, spinning you with a hand firm at your waist, the other on your ribs, thumb brushing the bottom of your breast. Your back hit his chest, his mouth dragging down your neck in a trail of open mouthed kisses that made your breath catch.
He reached past you, opened the back door, and you turned to face him. The look in his eyes made you weak in the knees, dark, steady, head tipped slightly down as he looked up at you through his long lashes.
You climbed in first, crawling across the seat, feeling his gaze on your backside, your heart in your throat. Your hands went to the buttons holding the straps of your dress, but his voice stopped you.
“No.”
You froze. He leaned in, his words barely brushing your ear. “The dress stays on.” His eyes flitted to the seat. “Lay down.”
You’d never heard him sound like that before. A demand laced with dangerous inflection. Commanding without trying.
You obeyed.
The car’s interior smelled like cedar and sugar and him. He climbed in after you, filling the space instantly. The world outside the fogged windows disappeared.
When he hovered over you, the low light from the street lamps caught his face. The curve of his jaw, the faint bruise near his temple, the softness in his eyes that didn’t match how desperate he looked.
You helped him pull off his shirt and your lips kissed his collarbone, your hands ran up and down his chest, feeling the muscles. You kissed him softly but surely.
He pulled back, his free hand running his thumb on your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. Quiet, like it wasn’t for you to hear.
You blinked up at him, breath trembling. He had always called you hot or pretty once or twice, but never beautiful. The word seemed to carry a different feeling, swelling in your chest. “You’ve never called me that before.”
He smiled, small, tender, devastating. “I’m always thinking it.”
He kissed you. It was reverent and slow and deep and full of an eternity of all the things about the other. More things you both thought of, but never said aloud.
.-.-.-.
The car had eventually gone quiet again.
You were still tangled on him, skin damp, heartbeat skipping in the still heat. The faint sweetness of your shampoo, vanilla curling into the corners of the fogged up glass. His arm was heavy over your waist, anchoring you in place. Every few seconds, his thumb moved, tracing idle shapes against your hip like he couldn’t stop touching you.
His mouth followed the path his hand made. Slow and soft. Your shoulder, your collarbone, the space just below your jaw. Not hungry this time. The kind of kiss that stayed.
You’d been toying with his hand, the one resting near your stomach, following the veins along his wrist, the fading scab on his knuckle, the soft pulse beneath your fingers. You brought his fingertips to your mouth, kissed them.
“So,” you muttered, your voice thinner than you meant it to be “What are you doing tomorrow?”
He smiled against your neck, the words brushing your skin. “Hanging out with Robin.”
The name hit fast.
Your fingers froze against his. The air shifted. That same old ache returned. The one that used to live in your chest back when he said he had been talking to Nancy like it didn’t cost him anything.
You’d think after him confessing he wanted to be with you, that you’d believe him. That you believed him after coming undone together. But, you didn’t.
You sat up quickly. Hair falling forward. Dress rumpled.
“Wait— hey,” Steve said, hand dropping to your forearm. He was half sprawled across the seat, skin glowing in the dim light, lips still kiss swollen. “What’re you doing?”
You shook your head. “I should go in. This was… this was stupid.”
His face changed. “What? What do you mean, stupid?” You could hear the scratch in the back of his throat. You ignored it.
You were already fastening the button at your neckline, fingers shaking. “This was a mistake, Steve.”
He sat up straighter, his voice climbing a notch. “Okay, hold on. Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Yes. I don’t…” The button snapped into place, the sound like a gunshot. “I don’t know.”
“You’re not making any sense—“
“This was just a quick fuck, right?” The words tore out before you could stop them, mean and wild and trembling. “Just like before Nancy. Just another distraction until someone else came along.”
He let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, head bowing. His hand flexed against the seat. “Are you fucking serious?” His voice cracked on the edge of disbelief. “You really think that’s what this is?”
No. But you couldn’t say anything.
“I thought you wanted this,” he said, shoved his legs through his jeans, every motion clipped, controlled. “I thought you wanted me.”
Your mouth opened, but no sound.
“I thought you knew me better than that,” he went on, voice breaking around the edges. “I thought I made it clear this wasn’t just some hookup.”
Your breath came out in fragments. “You don’t mean it. You’re just…” you were trying to find excuses. “You’re just emotionally vulnerable right now. Everything you’ve been through, the Russians and… you’re just trying to make it mean something.”
A quiet, bitter laugh came out of him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
You blinked. “Get what?”
“That it’s not me running scared here.” His voice was steady. Every word felt like it scraped its way out. “It’s you.”
Your jaw twitched. Eyes burned.
“You don’t want this to mean anything,” he said. “Because if it does, you don’t get to pretend anymore. You don’t get to hide behind your jokes, or your walls, or that thing you do where you look at me like you already know I'm gonna leave. You know, this entire night I’ve been pretty fucking bare to you but not once have you told me you like me too.”
You were shaking your head, hands twisting in the fabric of your dress. “I— I have… I—“
He leaned forward, voice softer but sharper. “Sweetheart,” he said, and the word hurt, “the only one in this car who doesn’t know what they want is you.”
You stared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah?” He asked. “Then tell me I’m wrong.”
The silence was its own answer.
Another broken laugh. He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I keep doing this because it’s the only way I can fully have you,” he said quietly. “Because you won’t let me any other way.”
The words landed like a bruise.
His next came slower, cracking apart halfway though. “Because it’s the only way you’ll let me love you.”
You went rigid, your jaw slack.
He looked at you then, eyes glassy, voice raw. “I am so fucking in love with you,” he said, almost whispering. “And I have been since freshman year. You act like I’m the one pretending, but you’re the one who keeps running every time this gets real.”
You saw the confession curl into the car as it held its breath, sinking into you, the ache blooming behind your ribs. You wish you could take everything back, instant regret, but it was useless, you had already broken something in him. And unlike before, you had no idea if this could be fixed.
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “But yeah, sure. Tell yourself I’m just vulnerable. That I don’t mean it. That’s easier, right?”
Your voice barely made it past your lips. “You just love the idea of it all,” you said, shaking. “You don’t love me, Steve. You just think you do.”
You have never seen Steve angry at you before. Sure, when you two were younger he’d be annoyed. But his eyes never looked fiery like they were now. He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
You pushed the door open, the night air hitting you in the chest. You stepped out barefoot. The asphalt was warm under your feet, your shoes dangling from your hand. The streetlight painted you both in a wash of orange and shadow.
Behind you, a thud.
You turned just in time.
He’d driven his fist into the back of the passenger seat. Knuckles white, shoulders trembling.
He stayed like that, head bowed, chest heaving.
You stood there, caught in the space between apology and escape.
Then the car door opened. He got out, bare chested, eyes dark, something shattered but defiant in the set of his jaw. He looked at you like there were a thousand things left to say and not a single one would make a difference.
For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moved.
The night hung between you, bare feet, bruised hands. And then you turned. And you ran.
.-.-.-.
It had been two months. Two whole months of silence.
You’d countered every one. Every sunrise that bled into another day you didn’t see him. Every night that ended without his voice on the phone, without the familiar warmth pressed against the edges of your thoughts.
You missed Steve. God, you missed him so much it made your chest ache. But you couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not until you figured out what this was, what you were. It was pathetic, really, how long you’d been waiting for clarity that refused to come. Because Steve wasn’t wrong. You were the one running.
You had been the one to tell him it meant nothing junior year. You had been so obsessed with wanting to be in control. You wanted to control how people thought of you, wanting the people in his life to like you, but never giving them an actual chance. You’d wanted him to choose you since before you even knew what that meant. And he had, in all the ways that mattered. But your small, sharp, predictable jealousy had turned something good into something cruel.
You got word that he and Robin had finally found a new job.
Family Video.
And of course, that’s where you ended up on a Saturday afternoon in October.
The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of plastic cases, popcorn butter, and industrial carpet cleaner. Rows of VHS tapes stretched out like a time capsule. Behind the counter, Robin Buckley.
She looked up, blinking in surprise. “He’s not here,” she said immediately.
You froze mid-step. “Good,” you managed, too fast. “I’m not here to see him.”
Robin’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened a little. “I’m not getting in the middle of whatever’s going on between you two.”
“I know.” You rubbed your palms against your jeans, nerves humming. “I’m not here to talk about him.”
Robin tilted her head, skeptical but curious.
“I’m here because…” you started, then stopped. The words tangled in your throat, coming out softer than you meant. “Because I’ve spent all summer making excuses not to properly talk to you. And that’s shitty. You didn’t deserve that.”
Her brow furrowed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction.
“And now that you and Steve are…” you waved a vague hand. “Friends, I think I need to stop being an asshole. So. Hello.” You stuck your hand out, awkward and sincere.
Robin blinked, then smiled. It was small. She took your hand, her peacock blue nails contrasting against skin. “Hello,” she said, her grip warm.
You nodded, already stepping back, ready to flee before you ruined the moment. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll… uh, I’ll get out of your hair.”
Before you reached the door, Robin called out, “Keith, I’m taking my lunch!”
From somewhere in the back, a groan. “Again?”
Robin ignored him, grabbing her bag. “Come on,” she said, motioning to the door. “You like turkey sandwiches?”
You blinked. “Sure?”
Outside, the heat hit you instantly. The two of you sat on the curb, the pavement warm beneath your jeans. The air smelled like asphalt and cut grass. Neither of you spoke for a while, just the soft crinkle of wax paper.
Finally, you said, “So. You’re in the band?”
Robin arched a brow. “How’d you know?”
You smiled faintly. “Don’t underestimate a jealous woman. I did a lot of yearbook research.”
Robin laughed, shaking her head. “That’s both flattering and mildly terrifying.”
“Yeah” you said, grinning despite yourself.
She took a bite of her sandwich, still smiling. “Well, yeah. I’m in a band. We’re not terrible. I used to be on saxophone until last year I started playing the trumpet. I can pick up most instruments pretty fast. Used to play piano at church when I was a kid.”
You now understood why Steve said Robin was hyper. She talked fast, and you had to pay attention or you’d missed what she was speaking about. “That’s awesome,” you said, and you meant it. “Do you really love music?”
She shrugged, offering you some of her chips. “I do. But it’s not what I’m passionate about.”
You shoved the salty chips in your mouth, motioning for her to go on.
Robin’s face lit up, almost instantly. Her body turned to you, her shoulders upright, hands dramatically moving. “Linguistics,” she said, the word like a spark. “I love breaking down languages. Patterns, syntax, hidden meaning. I didn’t realize how much until Steve and Henderson roped me into cracking that Russian code.”
You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your mouth. Any type of bitterness, resentment, jealousy, evaporated. “That’s incredible.”
Robin looked at you for a long moment, then sighed softly. “Look,” she said, gentle but direct. “I know he’s told you a thousand times, but there’s nothing going on between Steve and me.”
Something inside loosened. The tight knot that had been living in your chest for months started to give. “I know,” you said quietly. “I’m just… scared.”
Robin picked at the crust of her sandwich, voice low now. “I can’t deny Steve and I are close, but he won’t really let anyone be his best friend except you. He doesn’t even try.” She gave you a look. “You know at Scoop, he refused to take breaks until you showed up?”
Your head lifted. “What?”
Robin laughed under her breath. “And now, here, it’s the same thing. Doesn’t matter where he is. If that bell chimes, he’s out front in two seconds flat. Always with this stupid, hopeful look on his face.” She smiled a little. “And when we hang out, he only wants to stay at his house. Says he doesn’t want to ‘miss any important calls.’”
Your throat tightened.
“I gave him so much shit about it,” Robin said. “Even before we were friends, I knew he was into you. I just thought he was y’now, King Steve Harrington. Flirting to flirt.”
You laughed weakly, but unable to say anything.
“But then you came into Scoops that one time,” Robin went on. “You were upset. You had spilled coffee on yourself before an interview. And when you weren’t looking, he looked like someone had kicked his puppy. Like it physically hurt him to see you sad.”
Heat climbed your neck. You could picture it too clearly.
Robin leaned back on her hands, squinting up at the sun. “And don’t even get me started on the number of times you practically threw yourself at him and he didn’t do shit about it. I had an actual board in the back that said You Suck for every time he chickened out.”
You laughed, really laughed, and Robin joined you, your heads tipping back, the sound echoing across the empty parking lot.
The air shimmered in the cool breeze. It was that awkward time of year where the air would be cool, but the sun still blared. Robin brushed crumbs from her lap and squinted at you through the sunlight, her hair haloed gold. The silence between you had stretched thin, but it wasn’t heavy anymore.
Before you could stop yourself, you said. “Are you doing anything next weekend?”
Robin blinked. “Uh, not really. Why?”
“Do you wanna hang out?” You asked, trying for casual but tripping over it halfway through. “Is it… lame to ask someone to have a sleepover at our age?”
Robin stared for a second, then laughed, bright and startled, the kind that cracked open the air. “A sleepover?”
You winced. “Yeah. I know. I just… I want to get to know you. Like, really know you. Because I kind of have this problem where I want people to like me but won’t let them know me. I’d like to talk about things that aren’t Steve.”
Robin grinned, her eyes crinkling. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
You smiled, a small breath of relief catching in our throat. “Good. Because I think we’d actually be good friends if I wasn’t, you know, perpetually terrible at being one.”
“You’re not terrible,” Robin said easily. “Just… catastrophically bad at timing.”
You snorted, because there was no argument there. You bit your lip, voice soft. “But I do want you to promise me something.”
She made a humming noise, finishing the last of her sandwich.
“If you ever do end up having feelings for Steve. Please just tell me. Don’t hide it. I can handle that. I just… don’t want to be that jealous person anymore.”
Robin froze, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face, discomfort, maybe, or amusement. Then she shook her head, smiling faintly. “Trust me,” she said, leaning back on her palms. “Steve is so not my type. No offense.”
“None taken,” you said, half laughing.
Robin’s lips parted, probably to make some sarcastic follow up, but her eyes flicked past your shoulder and she went suddenly still. “Oh my god,” she muttered, sitting up straighter, her voice caught somewhere between dread and disbelief.
You turned just as a red headed girl with soft eyes and an armful of library books crossed the lot.
“Robin!” She called, her smile bright. “I was hoping you were working today.”
Robin nearly dropped her soda. “Hey, Vickie! Yeah, I’m uh… working. Yep.” Her voice cracked on working.
You blinked once. Then again.
Because the look on her face, the wide eyes, the stammer, the shy, almost smile was unmistakable.
Vickie’s gaze flicked to you, polite but curious, assessing in that instinctive way. You knew that look, too. You’d worn it more times than you could count, when someone stood too close to the person you were quietly, hopelessly gone for.
You turned back to Robin, who was doing a spectacular job of pretending she was totally fine.
“Oh,” you said quietly. “Oh.”
Robin’s face went scarlet. She gave the smallest shrug, guilty and sheepish at once.
You stood, brushing crumbs from your jeans. “hi,” you said brightly to Vickie. “We were just catching up, but I should get going. Enjoy the rest of your break, Robin.”
“Yeah,” Robin said quickly, eyes still wide. “You too.”
You waved and started for your car.
Behind you, Vickie’s voice floated across the lot. “Who was that?”
Robin hesitated for a heartbeat, then said softly, “Oh… she’s a friend of mine.”
You paused.
A friend of mine.
It wasn’t the words. It was the way she said them. It was warm and sure. Like she meant it.
Your throat went tight. Something inside you cracked open, slow and aching. Because for the first time, it hit you. You’d had it all wrong. All of it.
You’d spent so long clutching your jealousy like armor, convinced people would leave, that you hadn’t noticed the ones who stayed. Who’d always stayed.
And suddenly, you could see it, every quiet proof of it. Steve showing up when you called. Steve remembering what you’d forgotten. Steve looking at you like you hung the stars over his stupid BMW.
Your breath caught.
The air around you seemed to hum, something electric sparking low in your chest, running through your veins, familiar as your own heartbeat.
It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion.
It was love.
And it had been there all along.
.-.-.-.
The sun was still high when you pulled up to Steve’s house. It looked the same, a little too perfect, a little too lonely. The grass lay in clean stripes, and the air held the kind of heat that didn’t belong to October. You stood on the porch for a moment, listening for footsteps that never came.
Then you heard it, the low, steady hum of a lawnmower from the backyard.
You followed the sound, sandals scuffed through dust, the air smelled like cut grass and gasoline. And there he was.
Steve Harrington. Shirtless. Tanned. Moving slow and methodical behind the wheel of a riding mower.
The sun caught the line of his shoulders, the shimmer of sweat sliding down his spine. His Walkman hung from the waistband of his shorts, the headphone wire trailing down his chest. He was mouthing words, singing, maybe, lost to whatever song was loud enough to drown out everything else.
You should’ve called his name. Instead, you watched.
It was embarrassingly easy to fall back into it, the quiet pull he had, the kind that tugged at the air around him. The gravity of him. The stillness that made you ache.
When he turned and finally saw you, his brows drew together in confusion.
He slowed the mower, rolled closer, and cut the engine. The silence that followed made everything louder. Your pulse, the small tick of the cooling metal.
He climbed off, pulled the headphones down around his neck. A faint song, something old and fast, leaked out. He grabbed a glass from the porch rail, drank deep, then wiped the back of his neck before tugging on a faded T-shirt.
“Hi,” you swallowed.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough with effort.
For a beat, neither of you moved. The air hung heavy.
He crossed his arms, guarded but not cold. “You, uh… need something?”
”Yeah, uh…” you said, fidgeting. “I came by to tell you… I saw Robin today.”
Steve’s jaw tensed, unreadable. “Okay.”
“Oh, uh… we’re having a sleepover next weekend. I think. We’re at least hanging out.”
“Okay…” He softened a little, his arms still folded across his chest.
You noticed then, his hair was shorter. You had to fight back the smile tugging at the corner of your lips, thinking about how two months ago you told him he needed a haircut. Did he keep it short because maybe he was waiting for you?
The faint shadow of facial hair above his upper lip. He looked leaner too, stronger, like summer had burned the softness out of him.
“Right, okay. Yeah,” you said, nodding too quickly.
Steve’s mouth twitched. “So you came here after three months of silence to tell you’re singing Kumbaya with my friend, the one, if I recall correctly,” he lifted his finger in the air like a physical lightbulb went off. “Oh, yeah! The one you think I secretly have a thing for?”
“Yes. Well, no. I never actually thought… I mean, I was jealous. But it’s because…” you groaned, raking a hand through your hair. “Ugh. I realized I hate not being in control, Steve. I hate changes. I get scared when new people enter my life because you’re right… I’m already anticipating them leaving. I have no idea why, but I do.”
You inhaled shakily, words tumbling faster now. “God, Steve. I’m so sorry. I kept pretending to blame you for everything when really I’m the crazy jealous girl who’s kind of bitchy to everyone and too stubborn to admit how I feel.”
You ran out of air halfway through it, standing there, breathless.
Steve just looked at you. Blank expression, unreadable.
You sighed. “Right. That’s about it. I’ll see you… shit, wait.”
You drew in a deep breath.
“Steve, you’re my best friend. Even though I’m a mess, the one thing that’s always made sense to me is you. You’re right. I kept running away. But if you’ll let me, I don’t want to do that anymore. I couldn’t tell you I liked you too, because I love you. I love you that it hurts and saying I only like you felt like a lie.”
You waited, heart pounding, every second dragging. “Okay, now I’m done.”
All you got was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Well then,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I should be done mowing in the next hour. Then I could stop by Family Video and be by your house by, let’s say… five?”
You blinked. ‘You want to come over? Like, just us?”
“Yeah,” he said easily, the grin growing. “I’d hope my girlfriend would want to hang out with me. Especially after that very declaration of love. You already had me at ‘hi.’”
You fought the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re an asshole.” Then belatedly, “Wait. Girlfriend?”
He made a face, shrugged one shoulder. “Yes, my girlfriend. So… what are we thinking tonight? You know we got that new Michael J. Fox movie in. The one where he turns into a werewolf.”
“Teen Wolf?” You said, shaking your head. “Wait, I never even said yes to being your girlfriend.”
He ignored you, already grinning. “Right, okay. Teen Wolf at five.”
You laughed then, a real, hopeless laugh, bubbling up before you could stop it. You were still only a few feet apart when you gave him a playful shove.
“I do hope you plan on taking a shower,” you teased, wrinkling your nose.
He grinned. “What, you don’t like the sweat?”
He hunted toward you, reaching, and you squealed, trying to escape. “No!” You shouted through laughter, running, but he caught you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He lifted you off your feet, laughing as he shook his damp hair against your cheek.
You shrieked, breathless, twisting in his hold. “Steve!”
He laughed harder, then pressed a flurry of quick, ridiculous kisses to your cheek before finally setting you down.
He looked at you, flushed, smiling, alive, and his voice softened. “See you later?”
You tilted your head, teasing. “Mmm, I think I’m gonna stay and watch my boyfriend mow his lawn.”
He raised a brow. “Okay. But I’m keeping my shirt on, you perv.”
You laughed, caught, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, eyes crinkling at the corners, and kissed your nose.
“I love you,” he murmured.
You felt it settle somewhere deep.
Your lips found his, tender and sweet. He had picked you up, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Small chaste pecks between innocent chuckles.
You loved him too.
Not just in the summer, when the air was golden and the world felt easy. But in the fall, when the air turned sharp and the leaves browned at their edges. You loved him when he was wrong. When he was tired. When he tied your shoelaces because you never double knotted it right.
You loved him in every version of the year, when the cicadas fell quiet, when frost crept across the glass, when spring cracked open the cold.
You loved him when it wasn’t simple. When it wasn’t perfect.
You loved him when the world changed and he stayed.
Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.
WC: 18k+
Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.
A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine.
♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬
This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.
Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.
Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.
Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.
Yeah, lucky you.
This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.
You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.
It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.
And that's never your call to make.
Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."
"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.
He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.
Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"
"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."
"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.
"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"
"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."
"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."
"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."
"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"
"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."
Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."
"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"
"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.
Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."
There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.
Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.
Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?
It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.
Until you just… left.
Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.
No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.
You'd drift in, drift out.
Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.
In, out.
All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.
So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.
Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.
When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.
What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?
What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?
What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?
If you stayed… would it have been worth it?
The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.
It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.
That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.
No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.
Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.
Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?
Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.
You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.
Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.
Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.
That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.
Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.
The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.
That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.
You can only tread water for so long, though.
"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"
Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.
"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."
And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.
"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"
"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."
His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.
Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.
What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?
Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.
Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.
"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."
He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."
"God, you're such a bitch."
"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."
"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"
"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"
"Stop!"
"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"
"I meant the van, asshole!"
Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.
Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.
You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.
"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"
Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.
His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"
You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.
Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.
"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.
"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"
He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."
Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.
She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"
You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.
"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"
Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."
"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.
In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.
Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."
"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."
So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.
Fantastic.
"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."
Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.
"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"
"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"
Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"
Hopper.
Oh, boy.
Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.
Well, can't say you didn't try.
Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."
You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.
"Okay, where are you exactly?"
The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.
You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.
Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."
"Language."
"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.
"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."
So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.
Way off.
"I- I don't know."
A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.
"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"
Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.
There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."
Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling a cold.
You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.
"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."
You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."
Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."
"I didn't lose the fucking—"
The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.
"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"
"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."
Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.
Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.
"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."
Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.
"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."
There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.
Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.
He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".
"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."
Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."
Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."
Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."
That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.
Together.
Alone.
"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"
A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.
"Yeah, kid. I got it."
In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.
It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.
Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.
"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"
"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"
Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?
"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."
Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"
"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."
"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.
"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.
There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.
Unless…
There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.
You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.
"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."
But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"
"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."
"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."
"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"
His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.
"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"
"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."
"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."
He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"
Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"
"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"
You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"
"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"
"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."
"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"
"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."
"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."
"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.
Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.
The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.
If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.
Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.
The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.
Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.
Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.
Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.
He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.
And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.
So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.
He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.
By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.
Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?
What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.
To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.
To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.
The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.
The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.
He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.
Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.
You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.
Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.
It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.
Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?
In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.
There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.
"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.
You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.
"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.
When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.
"Ow… S'loud," you groan.
"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.
"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.
It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.
Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.
Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.
"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.
Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.
And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.
Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.
Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.
"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.
He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.
Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."
"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."
"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."
The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.
Yeah, you're worse than he thought.
"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"
"M'yeah, s'kay."
If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.
Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.
Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.
He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"
"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."
"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.
He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.
"Okay, c'mon, boots first."
Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.
Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.
And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.
He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.
You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.
"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."
There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.
At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.
"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.
"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.
"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."
He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.
"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."
If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.
"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."
You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.
"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"
That's a dumb fucking question.
"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."
When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.
About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.
"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."
"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.
"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."
Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.
Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.
But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.
Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"
"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.
You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."
He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.
What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.
Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.
"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."
He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?
That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.
Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.
Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.
He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.
That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.
The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?
God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?
Whatever.
It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.
The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.
Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.
That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.
Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—
"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"
Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.
Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."
Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.
Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.
He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.
"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.
He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.
"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."
Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."
The words ache with more desperation than he intends.
"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.
"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.
"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"
He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"
"Fu- fucking cold."
"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."
You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."
"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."
You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.
Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.
Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.
Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.
"Be n- n- nice!"
"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"
"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"
The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.
Like a fucking fool.
"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."
The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.
"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."
"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"
You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"
"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"
"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.
He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."
"You could h- have some f'ya' want."
"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."
"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."
"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.
You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."
He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."
Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.
"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.
You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.
"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."
Oh, if only you knew.
"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"
"Make wh- what weird?"
Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.
The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."
"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."
"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.
The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.
"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."
"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."
You sound mortified.
"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"
"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"
He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?
"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."
"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."
He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.
There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.
Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.
Talk about something else. Anything.
"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.
"Hm? Wi- with what?"
"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."
"We still ended up in a ditch—"
"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."
You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.
"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."
Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."
"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."
Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.
"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."
"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.
"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."
It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.
"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."
He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.
"… What?"
Because since when do you care about letting him down?
"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."
Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.
"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."
And look where that got the two of you.
Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.
You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."
"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."
"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."
"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."
The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."
We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.
"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."
An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.
Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.
"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."
It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…
Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.
And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.
"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"
"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"
"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."
Scared is an understatement.
He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.
He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.
He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.
And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—
Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.
Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.
Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.
Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.
And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.
Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.
Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.
If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.
And you.
You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—
It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.
He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.
Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.
So much wasted time—
"Steve?"
Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.
Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"
"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"
A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."
"Oh my god, Steve."
"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."
"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.
"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."
Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.
"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.
"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."
"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."
Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.
"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."
A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.
The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.
"Fuck, shit, fuck—"
Yeah. He's hard.
He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.
Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."
"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"
Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."
Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.
"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"
Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."
He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?
"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."
"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"
"Not to death."
"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."
"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"
"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"
"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"
He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.
"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."
"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"
"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."
"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.
No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.
"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."
"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"
He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.
Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.
Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.
Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."
Not like this one's much easier to talk about.
Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.
"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"
"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."
You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.
It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.
"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"
When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.
"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."
For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.
"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."
It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?
There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.
The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.
"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."
Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.
Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.
You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.
He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.
The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.
"Shit, Steve…"
He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.
He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.
"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"
"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.
If, you know, you were into that.
His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.
The two of you just have to survive this night first.
"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."
You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.
Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.
"Finish. The. Sentence."
You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.
"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"
"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."
Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.
"Bet you were this wet before you left."
Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."
"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."
"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."
Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.
"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."
"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.
"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."
Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."
The smug expression falters, "Too much?"
"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."
Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."
Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.
He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.
Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."
"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."
"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."
You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."
"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"
"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."
He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.
And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.
The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.
Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.
"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."
Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.
"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"
Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.
"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."
The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.
"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"
The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.
"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"
Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.
"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"
You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.
This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.
Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.
And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.
He's missed you. So, so much.
The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.
"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.
"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"
Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.
"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."
Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.
"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.
"I- I want it."
"Want… what?"
Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."
"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."
"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.
Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.
Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.
"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."
As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.
You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.
"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"
Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."
He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.
"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."
Steve blinks as the words sink in.
Oh.
"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."
"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"
He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.
"One step at a time, okay?"
He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.
Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.
Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.
"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.
Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.
"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.
In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."
Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.
Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.
"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"
You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.
Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.
Oh, no.
"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"
Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"
"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"
"Steve."
"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.
"Were you— oh my god."
"What?!"
A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.
The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."
He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.
Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"
"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."
"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"
"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."
Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.
You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.
It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.
A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.
Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.
It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.
By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.
Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.
He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.
Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.
"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"
The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.
"S'okay?"
"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.
"But?"
Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.
Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.
He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.
"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"
"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."
Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.
As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.
You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.
Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.
"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.
"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'
Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."
And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.
"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."
"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."
"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."
Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.
"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"
Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.
With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.
"You done talking logistics yet?"
Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.
That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.
No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.
"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."
"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.
Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in.
Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.
Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.
What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.
Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.
It tightens.
Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.
"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.
The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.
"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."
Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.
But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.
Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.
That plucks at his heartstrings, too.
"Steve?"
Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.
"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."
Baby.
Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.
Wait, did you say he was crying?
"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."
"Steve—"
"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."
"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."
"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."
Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.
"St—"
He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.
You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"
"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."
And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.
You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"
He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.
"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"
"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.
You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.
"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."
Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"
"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."
Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"
It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.
His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.
And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.
No one's like you. No one could even compare.
"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."
"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."
Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.
"Steve," you whine.
"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."
You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."
"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."
"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"
"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."
You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."
"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"
"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."
"Please… what?"
"Steve, I s- swear to god—"
"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."
"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.
He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.
"Such a what?"
"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"
Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.
"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.
The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same.
"I… Yours?"
Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.
"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"
Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.
"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.
He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.
"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"
"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you.
"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."
"Y- you."
Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.
"I'm right here."
Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.
The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.
And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.
"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.
It's only fair to match his energy.
"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."
He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.
No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.
"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."
Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.
Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.
God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.
"Fuck, you're unreal."
You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.
Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck
"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.
"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"
He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.
Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.
Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.
Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.
That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.
"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.
All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.
"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."
Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."
"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."
Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.
The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.
"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."
And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.
There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.
"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."
"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"
Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"
"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.
Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.
It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.
"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."
"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"
"Okay."
"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."
This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.
"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."
He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."
"Steve."
The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will.
Need more steve harrington fics that give lumax vibes i.e. highkey depressed girl who fully believes she's the worst x boy who thinks she hung the moon and stars
But first! We must thoroughly understand this man's fractured and devastated sense of self. Only then can we truly appreciate how connected he feels to her while finger-banging the soul from her body.
cw for harassment (nothing too crazy!) & alcohol mentions!
thinking vicious silly cutie little thoughts of friend!steve who is soooo into you but tries to keep it close to his chest because he doesn’t totally know you yet. like, you’re a friend of robin’s, and you’re around each other a lot, but he doesn’t know you, know you. as much as he’d like to.
and one night you’re all feeling a little bored. it’s you and steve and eddie and robin, all packing into steve’s bmw to go to a dive the next town over. steve keeps looking at you in the rear view mirror while eddie and robin battle for who can talk loudest. you look a little too good, in his opinion, and he feels a familiar sense of jealousy twisting in his gut at the thought of other guys looking at you.
it happens. inevitably so. some drunk jerk following you around and not understanding your hints. steve stays close, tries to not intervene and play hero. he’s trying to get rid of that part of him — the part that jumps into things without thinking.
but then he realizes that drunk guy is tommy hagan, and anger rises like bile in his throat when the prick approaches you again.
this time, you’re much less polite, a drink or two in you. steve sees your brows furrow from across the bar, your face curling into a scowl.
then tommy’s hand wraps around your wrist.
it all happens so fast. steve strides over, and tommy’s face lights up, like steve’s a long lost friend.
“harrington! no way! you here with this slut?”
and steve’s suddenly transported back to 1983 in the alleyway by the movie theater, and his face is stinging from nancy’s palm, and his head is aching from jonathan byers doing the one thing steve never did — stand up for who he loves.
steve registers a crack right under his knuckles when it’s too late.
he hears you gasp his name, and he hears eddie coming up behind him, and he hears a beer bottle smash — then he feels his fist knock into tommy’s stupid, freckled fist again while eddie takes on tommy’s plus one, some jock he remembers from the football team.
and ten minutes later, he’s once again back in 83. sitting on the hood of his car, a can of cola on his face where he was clipped at his brow. his knuckles ache and they’re quickly turning from red to purple. thinking about how much he hates tommy.
this time, though, there aren’t any regrets. this time, he punched the right guy. this time, he stood up for his girl. although, there’s some shame that settles on his cheeks as a blush as you approach him cautiously, a new cold can of coke in your hand.
“got this for you,” you say tenderly. “how are you feeling?”
he lowers the can and looks at you. “i’m sorry.”
you move to sit beside him, your thigh against his.
“robin caught me up,” you say, because you didn’t go to school with steve. tommy hagan is just another dumb drunk to you. “and i must say, i think he deserved it.”
he’s a little lost. “i ruined your night.”
you laugh. “ruined isn’t what i would call it.”
your hand gently moves to cup his cheek, and you tilt his head from side to side, checking the damage. steve watches you with doe eyes, enamored with you even more, though he’s certain he’s blown his chances.
“does it hurt here?” you ask softly, running your thumb along his bottom lip.
steve’s breath hitches, and he shakes his head slowly.
you lean forward, your eyes gently fluttering shut, and you kiss him. you both linger before you eventually pull away, your thumb moving to caress his cheekbone while you rest your forehead against his.
“aren’t you mad?” steve whispers, only when he’s finally caught his breath.
“mad?” you laugh. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.”
steve tilts his head, making his lips brush against yours as he smiles. “yeah?”
“oh, yeah. gonna have to get jerks to flirt with me more often.”
neither you nor steve harrington know how to address the fact that you both feel unlovable, in a romantic sense, so you fuck about it, and realize you have each other pretty figured out in most other ways. or, you go on a date and incidentally attempt to talk about it through robin, who really, really just wants to get through her shift.
i started writing this before vol 2 came out because i love mr. clarke and boy oh boy was i excited when he came back. and in a big way!! listen i didn’t like i whole lot about the second half of s5 but that was one of the things i was very happy with. so i might have to write a bit about them in s5… who knows? and boy did i get carried away with this fic. half of this is filth, steve harrington what are you turning me into!
contains: fem!afab!reader, steve smoking in s1 does insane things to me can you tell? smut, mdni. smoking, oral m and f receiving, piv, fingering, car sex, characters avoiding their feelings and avoiding talking about their feelings, robin interfering,single dad!mr. clarke, mentions of readers mother going missing. this is only abt half proofread tbh.
Steve didn’t sleep through his first alarm, but he was late to work anyway. When it went off, blaring in his ear, he slammed his hand down on the snooze button without opening his eyes.
He vaguely remembered you whispering something in his ear about going home for clean clothes before work, and replying that you could just borrow something from him because you looked better in his t-shirt you were sleeping in than he did, to which you had shaken your head and said that Robin would notice.
As he lay with his eyes shut, waiting for his impending second alarm, he let himself imagine that you were still there, that it was you he had his arms wrapped around instead of the pillow you had slept on.
It had been a really, really good first date. At least, he thought so. The plan had been dinner at Enzo’s, and after talking for so long that the restaurant tried to close without either of you realizing, he’d asked if you wanted to actually go and see the movie at The Hawk that you’d mentioned over your shared appetizer. Both too full for popcorn, he’d gotten a giant slushie for you guys to share. Cherry and blue raspberry mixed, like he remembered you getting when you would go to movies at Starcourt with Robin or the kids.
The movie didn’t get out until 1:30. You’d shared a cigarette on a park bench in the town square—a tradition you’ve shared as long as you’ve been friends, and a secret you’ve kept together from your other friends, who all thought you'd both quit. He’d held open the door of his BMW for you as you hopped in laughing at his joke.
Steve had had fun. He’d had so much fun, like he knew he was going to because he had fun every time you were around him. He would have had fun even if you hadn’t leaned over with that look in your eye, studying him as he drove through Hawkins.
“Y’know…” you’d said, quietly but confidently. “I think my dad’s probably asleep already.”
“Yeah?” Steve had said. His heart had been racing, and he was trying to control his voice. He didn’t want to insinuate anything until he was a little more sure you were on the same page.
“And the car’s kind of loud. Might wake him up if you parked outside my house.”
“Are you trying to get invited over, Clarke?”
You’d smiled. Steve couldn’t get enough of it. “Maybe. I’ve heard you have a heated pool.”
Steve laughs, and you smile. His first thought, before the hundreds of others that ran through his head, had been that he was a little relieved he wasn’t going to have to kiss you for the first time in front of his middle school science teacher’s house, even if he was asleep.
You had been serious about the pool, to Steve’s surprise. He found this out when you tried to push each other in at the same time, and he overcorrected by grabbing your head to his chest to make sure you didn’t smack the concrete edge.
He’d come up panicked and apologetic. You’d come up laughing.
“Shut up,” he’d muttered, blushing as you commented on how sweet he was.
“Are you going to make me, Harrington?”
“You’re so cliche,” he said, but he’s sure the words barely came out. He’s sure he looked absolutely insane. But how could he not have, when you were floating in front of him, your shirt sticking to your skin and looking up at him through those eyes, glancing down at his lips?
So he cupped your face in his hands leaned in, his heart still pounding. It hadn’t stopped since the car.
The kiss was everything Steve had been dreaming of every time he stared at you across any space you had ever shared. The two of you, lips meeting perfectly, fireworks exploding like you were back at Starcourt under better circumstances.
You’d wrapped your arms around his neck and for the first time in a long time, Steve had felt wanted. Even on the date, the thoughts had crept into his mind—the ones that said he was having such a good time because you were so fun, not him, not the two of you together. That you were just entertaining him. As the night had crept on, they’d slowly started to fall away, but now—now they were gone. You wanted him, and he knew it.
And it was hot. Steve knew it was hot, because the hands around his neck became your wrists as your fingers threaded themselves through his hair and tugged gently.
You had lifted your legs to wrap themselves around his torso, and he made a noise not unlike a moan. “My room,” he managed weakly. “If—if that’s okay.” Keep it together, Harrington, he’d thought, but it was difficult.
It was difficult when you pulled back to nod, and he walked you to the edge of the pool, reaching under your thighs to lift you out. His mind ran wild as you crawled back, giving him space to get out, and he saw your eyes trace his body as he pushed himself up over the edge of the pool.
He went to kiss you again, but you reached for his wrist instead, pulling him into the house like a dog on a leash. He was far from upset about it. But once you were at the foot of the stairs, he couldn’t help pressing you against the wall, just for a second. You stumbled upstairs like that, kissing and tripping and him half carrying you but causing the problem himself when he couldn’t pull his lips away from yours or bring himself far enough that your hands couldn’t reach his hair, or his shoulders.
“Here, wait,” he paused before reaching his bedroom, pushing the bathroom door open. “We can, um. Leave our clothes in here to dry.”
You pulled back, leaning on the tile wall and giving him a smirk and a look through your eyelashes. “Oh, can we?”
“No! I mean, yeah. I just— I’m sorry. You don’t have to, like. I just figured.”
“Steve,” you laughed. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, of course. Duh.” He swallowed hard. He pushed the door open for you and you leaned against the pink tile wall.
When you started to unbutton your blouse, he let his eyes follow your hands as they uncovered more and more of your chest. You smiled softly as he stared, unashamed, at the curve of your breasts, how they met the lace of your bra.
Steve tensed as your finger brushed his waistband through his shirt.
“You gonna…”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah.” He unbuttoned his shirt too fast, like he was fighting with it. He stopped with his undershirt still around his wrists when he saw you looking at him, his bare chest rising and falling embarrassingly fast, and his damp hair sticking up in every direction.
You undressed the rest of the way in almost silence. You caught glances of each other, but neither of you could draw your eyes away from the other’s. When you were finished, Steve hung your clothes over the edge of the bathtub and on the towel racks, turning when he was done to see you watching him, leaning back against the wall.
You glanced away quickly. Instead, you stared at yourself in the mirror, in the matching bra and underwear you’d dug through your drawer for this afternoon.
Steve could see your head starting to spin. His was, too, the longer he looked at you, but he had to snap himself out of it. He could see your fingers start to twist your necklace around and around, and your legs shift like you didn’t know what to do with them.
Cupping your face in one hand, he whispered, “you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you shook your head, your smile coming back. You grabbed the door handle, twisting as you whispered, “you’re sure no one’s home?”
Steve scoffed. “If my parents come home anytime in the next week, I’ll give you a thousand dollars,” he rolled his eyes, not letting his grin fall.
“I was more worried Henderson might make a surprise visit,” you whisper back against his lips, which have come closer and closer to yours.
“I’d strangle him,” Steve replied, not a drop of sarcasm in his voice. His lips were just barely against yours, like he’d like to speak this way for the rest of his life.
“Okay,” you whispered, pulling away from his almost-kiss. Steve barely contained his disappointment. It was short lived, however, as you grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the door and down the hall.
You didn’t actually know where you were going, and you almost fell when Steve stopped walking outside his room. “Here,” he nodded to the door.
It was warm inside, and Steve could see the relief as you stepped in, the goosebumps on your skin subsiding.
You stood at the edge of his bed, looking nervous and feeling exposed with the way Steve’s eyes traced your body.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.
You rolled your eyes, and he pulled you into him. You were totally engulfed in the warmth of his body, could feel his skin against yours all over. Thick chest hair grazed your boobs where they spilled out of your bra.
Steve didn’t waste any time. He didn’t think he could stand it anymore. He kissed you again, guiding you backwards to sit on the bed. He nudged your shoulder gently, laying you back and positioning himself over your body without pulling his lips away from yours. The five or so minutes your bathroom detour had taken had been entirely too long for him.
Your bodies moved together as you kissed. Soft noises spilled from his mouth to yours as you draped your arms around his neck and pulled at his hair again. You returned it as one of his legs found its way between your thighs, and it met the cotton of your panties. You rolled up against his thigh, and he felt the cotton getting damper.
Steve nipped at your jaw. Your neck, your collarbones.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this,” he admitted, whispering it into your neck.
You exhaled unevenly, almost like a laugh. “That’s a good line, Harrington,” you moaned. Steve’s brows furrowed, but he kept kissing your chest. He reached around you to unclip your bra, and you pulled your arms through the straps.
Your boobs were perfect. Steve couldn’t help staring at them.
He took one of your nipples between his lips, licking at it in a way that made you gasp. He reached up to massage the other.
His huge hands were made to feel you. To press his thumb into your soft flesh, to graze your skin with his knuckles.
He quieted your rolling hips by running another hand over your hip, your stomach, your thigh.
He kissed your stomach, and that space above your panties. His finger dipped below the waistline and pulled out, letting it snap against you gently.
He ran his hands over your hips and thighs, and pulled them apart from one another.
He drank in the scent as he kissed your inner thighs, and you soaked your panties. He nuzzled your clit with his strong nose, and your hips shook. He let you rock up into his face. He tortured you by sliding a finger under the cotton, just to tug it out so he could grab it with his teeth.
He pulled it into his mouth, sucking at the wetness as he continued to let you fuck yourself on his nose.
He released it with a wet snap. The fleeting pressure as it hit your pussy made you gasp. It felt so empty.
Your panties molded to your folds as Steve licked through them, hard enough to get through the layer but soft enough to tease. Your thighs closed around his head as you searched for friction.
You grabbed his head in one hand, fingers threaded through his hair. Steve kept working his tongue as he succumbed to your hold, head bobbing as you used his nose.
He grabbed your hand so he could pull back, and you cried out at the emptiness. His hair brushed your inner thighs as he pulled himself away.
“I gotta get these off, baby,” he murmured, fingers pulling at your waistline. You purred at the nickname, and Steve felt it in his stomach. As he kneeled, you could see the giant bulge in his briefs, and the spot of precum soaking through them.
You sat up quickly, nudging it with your nose and pressing a kiss to what you were pretty sure was his tip, and he almost doubled over.
“You don’t— you don’t have to—” he stuttered, his breath ragged.
You moaned against it, and Steve’s eyes rolled back.
“Just a little, baby,” you repeated the name back at him. “Please?”
Steve Harrington was only a man. Your hands slipped beneath his briefs, sliding them down his strong thighs and releasing his cock with a snap!
You hadn’t thought Steve was doing a good job hiding the monster in his jeans every day. As it turned out, he was.
You inhaled sharply as it almost hit you in the face.
“I’m sorry,” Steve muttered, struggling for breath as you ran your fingers up his thighs.
“I know it’s a lot, you don’t have to—”
“Steve,” you whispered. The breath against his cock sent shock waves through his spine. “Shut up.”
He moaned, but he kept his mouth shut.
You brushed his tip with your tongue. You kissed it, and Steve’s legs shook.
You took it into your mouth, letting your tongue circle it.
Your hand came up to his face, palm open, and Steve whimpered as a glob of his spit filled it.
It wasn’t entirely necessary. He was slick with precum, but you mixed it with his saliva, wrapping your fingers around his cock and running them up and down. You cupped his balls in your hand. You gave them a gentle squeeze, and Steve lurched forward.
You let yourself fall onto your back, and Steve caught himself on his biceps. You grabbed him by the hips, pulling his cock to your lips. You swirled your tongue around him, and his hips shook. You pulled him deeper, until his tip hit the back of your throat, and swallowed.
Steve moaned into his pillow, but even muffled it rang like music.
He didn’t think he had ever put as much effort into anything as much as he did into pulling away from your mouth. But he could feel your pussy grinding just above his knee, and he couldn’t come like that.
He lifted your body, setting your head and shoulders against his pillows. You smiled at him, but without his cock in your mouth to keep you busy, the throbbing between your legs was harder to ignore, and the grin was harder to maintain.
“You’re incredible,” Steve murmured against your lips. He let himself drag his cock over your dripping pussy, and you both whined. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.
“Steve,” you gasped. “Please.” You wanted him to fill you.
“Not yet, baby,” he cooed.
His thumb slipped over your hole for a second, and you chased it when he pulled it away.
He brought it to your lips, coating them in your own slick before he kissed you.
He kissed you hard, sucking softly and teasing your lips with his tongue like he was chasing the flavor.
“I gotta have it,” he mumbled.
He pushed the pad of his thumb just past your lips, but pulled it away as your tongue brushed it. Your breath hitched and you let out a whimper. You wanted his fingers in your mouth so badly.
But he took it for himself. He sucked the last of your wetness off his thumb like he was addicted to it, and you watched his eyes roll back.
“Asshole,” you muttered.
His eyes focused on you. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, that teasing lilt in his voice. “Let me make it up to you.”
His face hovered over your pussy for too long, drinking in the sight, the scent. Until a whine came from your lips, and he admitted he was being selfish.
He kissed it first. Long and slow, like he wanted to make out with it. Then he licked a stripe up between your folds, and back down. He flattened it against your clit, let you roll into it.
He dipped his tongue into your hole, his nose returning to your clit. He was breathing in your pussy. He sucked at your clit, kissed it. He licked stripes up and down. He kept his hands around the globes of your ass, like he was determined not to use them at first, but he squeezed and massaged and pulled you deeper into his face.
It didn’t take long before you came. Steve felt you move to bite down on your hand, and pulled it away, holding it captive in his grasp. You grabbed his hair with your other, and rocked your core into his face fast. Steve was in heaven. Your inner thighs screamed they closed around him, and his hair and his face gave them the friction they wanted.
It tore through you like a tsunami. And it lasted, as Steve kept working his tongue against you.
Your back arched and you moaned his name and your face twisted and Steve drank it in.
And yet—your walls still tightened around nothing.
You squirmed as you tried to speak again. Your clit was already sore, but he soothed it with gentle strokes of his tongue.
He replaced it with his thigh, which you wrapped your legs around as he came up to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips—it would be impossible not to.
He whimpered into your mouth, and you noticed his cock, rock hard and angry.
“Steve,” you whispered in his ear. He could only moan in response.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You teased, arm around his neck, brushing your fingers through his hair. He babbled something nonsensical into your neck, but nodded.
“Have to…” he mumbled. “Have to get you ready.”
You felt your soaked hole. “I think I’ll be okay, baby,” you murmured, but he shook his head.
“Have to wait, anyway,” he muttered. “I almost came a few seconds ago, wouldn’t last inside you.”
You smiled into his neck.
“Gotta calm you down then, baby,” you said softly.
“Okay,” he replied. You gasped as his hands ran down your stomach anyway, and he slipped a finger inside you.
“Gonna get you ready,” he breathed.
You struggled to reach the nightstand as your pussy finally had something to close around. His finger was huge, far better than anything you could do yourself with two or three. Honestly, you thought, it was about the same size as your ex-boyfriend’s dick.
You told him as much, and he laughed. “Fuck Andy Hopkins,” he muttered, and you snickered.
“I don’t want to,” you said as you pulled a cigarette from his pack and put it between his lips.
“That’s right,” he muttered. “Hang on, baby,” he pulled away for a moment. It was painful for both of you, but he stood up and opened the window.
“So responsible,” you murmured as he lay back down, quickly replacing his finger inside you. You were cut off by your own moan.
“Someone has to be around here,” he jested. You flicked your lighter, probably way too close to his pillow, and he inhaled deeply.
When he exhaled, the warm smoke tickled your breasts.
Steve pulled your back into his chest, just not all the way so he could still see your face. He wrapped his left arm around your shoulders so he could share the cigarette with his left hand and fuck you with the other.
It did help. He was still hard as stone, but he didn’t feel like he was about to come the second you touched him again. He could focus on what he had to do, which was opening your pussy for him.
Steve Harrington was in total bliss. Cigarette between his lips that he had to remind himself to share with you because you were too fucked out to ask, middle finger in your hole, fucking it soft and slow, staring into your face. His cock was hard and leaking but it just felt good, like it knew what it was holding out for.
He didn’t even realize you were close until something hot coated his hand. You had squirted all over him, and were gasping and moaning in his ear as your second orgasm rushed up on you. He let you come around his finger, rubbing your folds softly with his thumb as they pulsed.
“I’m sorry,” you managed, and Steve wished you could see the look on his face, because no words could express how ridiculous that statement was.
“Shut up,” he gently echoed you. “Doing so good for me, baby. Just a couple more, I promise.”
All you could offer in response was a breathy combination of his name and please.
“I promise, honey,” he kissed you, firm and steady.
He couldn’t really reach your lips with his left hand as well as he thought, so he held the smoke in his mouth and let it out in front of your face. You inhaled deeply through your nose, until he added a second finger and you cried out.
“Lettin’ it go to waste, baby,” he tutted.
“Fuck you,” you cried.
“I know,” he kissed your head. “You’re almost there,” he promised again, and to humor you, he eased a third finger inside.
The cigarette was almost finished. He went to put it out on a coaster that he’d have to hide from his mother—better that than burn a hole through his sheets—but you took it from his fingers first. You placed it between your lips and took a drag as you slid a new one from the pack.
You almost couldn’t do it—Steve’s fingers quickened inside you as he realized what you were doing, and your back arched again, driving your ass into his hip and grazing his cock.
You took the fresh one, and Steve watched, entranced, as you rolled the filter atop your folds.
Steve almost came on the spot. You slotted it between his lips, and he was reminded of the faint taste of your lipgloss on the one on the bench, only so, so much better. His trance didn’t break until you held the end of the old one to his, and he had to breathe in.
“You’re not real,” he exhaled, and you giggled. It was mixed with uneven gasps as Steve’s fingers continued to work you, and he moaned at the sound.
“When this one’s done,” he swore. But he had only smoked about a third of it before you came around his fingers again, and he just had to have you. You were asking so nicely.
He put the cigarette out and rooted around in his nightstand for a condom. His heart stopped only briefly before he realized he had hidden them in his dresser when his parents had last been home. He had to close the window, anyway.
He tore the condom open and rolled it down his cock. Crawling back over you, he kissed your clit, but you grabbed him by the hair and he surrendered to come up to your lips.
“Don’t even think about it, Harrington,” you said against his lips.
He grinned. “Sorry,” he whispered. His facade faltered as his cock glided between your folds. Not going in, just taunting him.
“How do you want me?” He asked, nipping at your ear.
Your breath caught as he sucked at your collarbone. “I want—oh. I want you like this,” you said. “And I want to kiss you.” Steve smiled into the crook of your neck. “And then—”
“And then?” he teased, dragging a finger along your collarbone.
“I want to turn over, and I want you to fuck me, Steve.”
You felt his exhale on your skin. And then you felt his lips on yours, his hands around your back and beside your head, and his tip splitting you open.
You broke the kiss as your mouth fell open.
“Are you okay?” He cradled your face in one enormous hand.
“I’m okay,” you breathed. “Keep going.”
He pushed a tiny bit further inside, and the pain dulled. You needed him deeper inside you. Only part of you was being stretched, and the rest of you was desperate for it.
“Just— go slow,” you added.
The stretch persisted as he slid inside you, but it was easier.
Your eyes rolled back as he slowly started thrusting. You kissed messily as you got used to it, until you nipped at his lip and whispered, faster.
Steve obeyed. He’d been hard for so long. He loved being so focused on you. He could do it for hours. But his cock inside you, you squeezing him, your chest against his—he could die happy after tonight.
He cried out as he bottomed out inside of you. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock teased your clit, and you clenched suddenly around him. His breath shook against your mouth.
He felt you drench him as you squirted for him again. It was a struggle to slow down, to pull out of you, long enough to flip you onto your stomach.
The new angle drove you to bury your face in his pillows. Steve didn’t stop you. The sound of you trying and failing to muffle your voice just fed his ego.
He held himself up on one hand, bicep straining. You could see it out of the corner of your eye. Your hand snaked around his wrist and you slotted your fingers through his.
Steve kissed your shoulders as he chased his orgasm, as he felt it creeping up on him.
Just as he was considering asking if you were close, you let out a moan that gave him his answer.
He got harder, faster, and you rolled back into him slowly. You didn’t seem like you were in much of a state to do anything else. You came maybe a second before he did. Your fourth orgasm wrecked you. Steve’s vision blurred, and his hips slowed, and he pulled out of you only to collapse beside you, arm over your shoulders.
Your eyes were closed, but as you felt his weight beside you, you turned your head into the pillow to hide your face. He threaded his fingers through your hair and gently pulled you back to him.
You were quiet in the bathroom. What did you say to a person after sex where you so clearly read each other like a book, where you were more vulnerable than either of you had been with anyone in months, if not ever?
Steve sat on the edge of the tub as you splashed water over your face, watching you. He had stood outside while you peed, which felt ridiculous but also less like you were facing something that may or may not be there. When you patted your face with a towel, he got up to rub your shoulder with his thumb, working up the courage to ask the inevitable question.
It didn’t come out as one. “Please stay,” he mumbled into your shoulder.
You laughed softly, like he was being ridiculous. “It’s past three in the morning, Steve.”
“I would drive you, if you wanted to go.” His voice was almost small.
“Do you want me to go?” You gazed at his reflection in the mirror.
“No.”
“Okay. So I’ll stay.”
Steve found an extra toothbrush for you to use. You brushed your teeth together, and as you meandered back down the hall, Steve put yours in a cup next to the sink. He gave you a pair of boxers and a Hawkins Swim t-shirt with Harrington on the back.
“This is such bullshit,” you said sleepily, pulling it over your head anyway. “I’m a better swimmer than you.”
It was true, even Steve could admit it. The girls team was way better than the boys’, and you were its captain. There were three other girls who probably should have been your co-captain, but the school wanted one captain from each team, so Steve got it. It was the only logical reason you had for disliking him two years ago. Fortunately, he’d proven your assumptions wrong.
You crawled under his covers, reveling in the cool pillow that greeted you, and Steve reveled in your sleepy face, inches from his.
“You know, part of the reason I focused on swimming was because of my dad,” you spoke lethargically. “He never would have said it because he didn’t want me to do anything because of him, but I think it was his favorite to watch because of the physics.”
You spoke in drowsy whispers until you stopped responding. Steve had smiled quietly, only seconds behind you, and pulled you into his chest.
So that's what Steve was thinking about as he lay in bed, counting down the seconds until he would be forced to get up. If it had been such a good night, why did you get up and leave? Why were you so worried about Robin getting suspicious? Was the idea of people knowing the two of you were… together? Were you together? Was it that embarrassing?
He was even later after he still stopped to get coffee and bagels for you and Robin. By the time he kicked open the Family Video door, it was 10:09, nine minutes after you open and 24 after he was supposed to be there.
Robin was the only one at the counter, although the door to the back hallway was still swinging, so you were around somewhere. Steve tried not to look too much like a lost puppy trying to figure out where you’d gone.
“Ugh, finally!” Robin groaned, reaching out for the bag of food and the tray of caffeine like a zombie out of the horror section. “I cannot believe we’re here all day.”
Steve handed them over, grateful she at least wasn’t berating him for not having been working. Glancing at the time sheet, he saw someone had already clocked him in.
“Mmh,” Robin moaned as she took a bite of her food. She washed it down with coffee, and then pointed at Steve, almost jabbing him in the chest.
“So glad you’re finally here. Guess who had a date last night.”
“What?” Steve stumbled over his own coffee, not processing exactly what was going on. “How’d— who—” He would have thought another lesbian in Hawkins would have been mentioned before Robin landed a date.
“Was it Vickie?” he asked, at the same time Robin exclaimed—
“That’s my question!”
“What?” They turned to each other in confusion.
“Why would…” Robin narrowed her eyes. “Oh. No. Oh my god. It wasn’t my date.”
Just then, you walked back through the door from the staff room, and Steve put the pieces together.
You had told Robin. You just hadn’t told her it was him. It made Steve’s stomach twist a little more than it should have. Just another reminder that for some reason, you didn’t want people knowing about whatever was going on between you.
Had you been making fun of him to Robin all morning, saving his name from the conversation as a kindness? Were you just sparing him from what would be Robin’s ruthless torment? He had thought the date went well, but maybe he was just being stupid.
You were too good for him. Maybe last night made you realize it.
You froze, and Steve made eye contact with you. Robin didn’t notice. “I’ve been hearing about it all morning,” she kept talking, and then he wasn’t sure if he was more or less confused, and that became confusing in and of itself.
“Robin…” you said. You sounded nervous. Steve hated it, but he felt frozen, too. How was he supposed to get out of this conversation without making a complete fool of himself, or worse, exposing the two of you, which you would evidently not be happy with him for?
He barely even processed the words still coming out of Robin’s mouth. “Long story short, it was apparently awesome.” What? Steve hoped his confusion didn't show on his face. “This guy sounds totally amazing for her—”
“Robin,” you muttered. Steve’s only thought, stupidly, was to help you with the stack of tapes in your arms. His second thought was that you somehow looked beautiful in your Family Video vest. How he had even scored that date was suddenly a mystery to him as he thought about how cool you managed to look in the stupid uniforms you were forced to wear.
“— and she’s driving me insane because she won’t tell me who he is! Like, sorry, there’s no way some guy at Hawkins High knows how to show a girl that good of a time.” That good of a time?
“Seriously, the only time she has stopped talking about it since we walked through the door has been to blush and do that little thing, you know, where she hides her face behind her hands.”
Yeah. Steve knew it.
“Robin!”
Robin waved her hand. “Shut up, it’s, like, adorable.” Turning back to Steve, she added, “My theory is that he’s older, which, if we’re ignoring the man and penis aspect of it all, I think is, like, totally sexy. I mean, not like, some ancient guy, but someone who knows what he’s doing, because apparently the night ended very well—”
“ROBIN!”
Steve’s heart might’ve pounded its way right out of his chest.
“What? You said it was the best sex you’ve ever had!”
Steve caught your eye for a second. You looked a little bit ill. Gorgeous, but also like you couldn’t breathe. You dropped the tapes you were holding haphazardly on the desk in front of Robin.
“I have to go,” you muttered.
You hurried out the front door, and Steve and Robin watched as you got in your car and backed out of the parking lot at the speed of light.
“Okay,” Robin breathed. “In retrospect I understand that I overstepped there.”
“You think?” he scoffed, trying to figure out whether or not he should go after you. He decided against it—he didn’t want to hover over you if you didn’t want it. But was that the right choice? Maybe he could say something, make you see that it wasn’t a big deal, and he really liked you? But still, wouldn’t that just make Robin suspicious? And isn’t the threat of Robin finding out what made you suddenly run away? What if you were spiralling, and him showing up—
“Hey. Steve. I said I’ll apologize to her later. I didn’t realize we weren’t talking about out love lives as a group anymore, that’s my bad.”
Steve shook his head. “It’s probably fine. I’ll… yeah. You should just apologize to her. I’m sure it’s fine.”
He picked up the fallen pile from the desk, and carried it over to the shelves, mentally preparing himself to spend the rest of his shift with his best friend who probably knew far more about his sex life than she realized.
At least she didn’t know about the cigarettes. It would have come up by now.
The first half of the shift passed without incident. Until Robin turned on Man With A Movie Camera, and Steve bitched and moaned about it.
“Seriously? You haven’t had enough Russian? Why do we even stock this?”
“It’s a silent film, dingus,” Robin rolled her eyes.
“Which means you’re going to sit staring at it instead of work. The point of a work movie is to have something we can listen to.”
“The point of working at a film rental place is to have an excuse to watch more movies, Steve. I’m widening my palette.”
“Can you widen your palette when I’m not here?”
“You’re always here, Steve. You’re the one that works here full time.”
“Thanks,” he muttered. Like he needed the reminder that he had probably peaked in high school, and now he barely made minimum wage working for a guy he and his friends had once… yeah. Bullied was probably the word for it.
“Hey, at least you’re the one making full time money. They’re not paying me to sit around all day in prison.”
“Is prison what you’re calling your eight-hour shift staring at Vickie?”
“I’m moving up in the world. At least she doesn’t sing on the bleachers at lunch.”
Steve shook his head and laughed. “And I need you more than ever,” he sang under his breath, in a warbly tune. He smiled when Robin cracked up.
When it went quiet again, Steve could hear the static of the film playing from behind Robin.
“For the love of god,” he said, dropping half his stack in front of her. “Help me, would you?”
Robin rolled her eyes, but jumped down from her stool, pausing the film. “Fine,” she groaned.
“See?” Steve gestured to the frozen screen. “This is why we need a movie with dialogue and a good soundtrack. Dialogue and a soundtrack, Buckley.”
“Fine, but we’re not watching Fast Times again. I swear to god, Steve, you’ve somehow managed to overplay Fast Times.”
“I would never put that on when we’re not sitting at the counter. You watch Fast Times.”
“Trust me, I’m aware,” Robin said, in her sing-song voice. “I’ll find something in a minute.” She crossed into the aisle next to Steve’s, reciting the alphabet under her breath as she sorted.
The silent shop made it all the more dramatic when her muttering stopped and her tapes clattered to the floor.
“Robin! Careful with those,” Steve cried. He was met with silence. “Robin?”
He turned the corner when she didn’t reply. “Robin, are you okay? What the hell?”
She stood facing the shelf, her fingers resting on one of the racks. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth opened slightly as she turned to face him.
“You…” she said, staring past his shoulder and her finger pointing in his direction as if she were telling a story. “You’re older, you’re not in high school anymore.”
“That is usually what’s going on when you go to someone’s graduation,” he said. The confusion on his face was apparent, but Robin either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.
“You told me you didn’t have plans last night,” she narrowed her eyes. Shit. Shit, shit shit.
“I didn’t,” Steve lied, hoping it was convincing. “Robin, what are you talking about?”
“You always have plans Friday night.”
“Not true. I didn’t have a date last week, or the week before that.”
“I didn’t say anything about a date.”
“We both know that’s just usually what I have on a Friday night! You—”
“I know you didn’t go out, you covered my shifts. And I assumed it was because you hadn’t scored that week,” she started. Steve rolled his eyes. “Or, optimistically, that you were in a generous mood, but I work Friday nights with—”
Steve exhaled. “Robin, what the hell is your point?” He spoke over her, hoping to stall.
“Except she managed to get last night off for her date. You came in with wet hair this morning.”
“Yeah,” Steve squinted. “I showered. You should try it out sometime.”
Robin ignored him. “You shower at night.”
“I don’t like that you know that,” he lied again. He wasn’t used to anyone paying close attention to him, unless it was some girl in high school who was uncomfortably familiar with his schedule. He didn’t think anyone really cared all that much what he was up to, but over the years, Robin and Dustin had started proving him wrong. You had too, last night, when you suggested that you knew he hadn’t really given up cigarettes entirely. His mind drifted briefly to the faint taste of your chapstick on the filter, your—
Robin snapped him out of his daydream.
“Which means you had something important last night.”
“Robin, I was exhausted. I showered in the morning, like one time, so what?” He knows he’s doing a bad job of shutting this conversation down.
“Exhausted after what, exactly?”
He couldn’t come up with an answer, so Robin continued. He knew she knew. She was just dragging it out, in her very Robin-ish way. He was sure she was pleased with herself as she watched him search so desperately for a way to stretch the truth.
“Because I know for a fact that you showered after the mall, in the middle of the night after being awake for, like, a million hours.”
“I was covered in blood! And, like, Russian grime, and sweat.”
Robin grimaced. “But chlorine is fine?”
“What?”
Steve realized what she meant too late. Unfortunately, it was written all over his face when he did. And he was late this morning, he missed you telling her what happened last night. There was no way he would know about the pool, unless—
Robin smirked. “It was you.”
His voice dropped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned and kept stacking like he probably should have done minutes ago to hide his facial expressions. His father had told him his poker face needed work.
Robin groaned. “The gig is up, man.”
“I don’t know what gig you’re talking about!”
“So it was some random guy who took her on the perfect first date she described to us? Here, in this very store?”
“Lucky guess.”
“And it doesn’t make you at all jealous that she went to some other guy’s house in some other guy’s sexy car and made out in some other guy’s pool? That he had mind-blowing—”
“Shut up, Robin,” Steve gritted his teeth. “I don’t know why you think I should be jealous.” He shoved tapes too aggressively onto the shelves. “I’m totally, completely, one-hundred-per-cent over her.”
He really was a terrible liar, but in what he saw as a stroke of genius, he thought about Nancy to get the words out convincingly.
Of course, Robin followed him around the corner, continuing to talk his ear off. Usually, her chatter made the clock go by faster, but now he was counting down the seconds until—god help him—ten pm, that he had to hold out under pressure.
“Bullshit. You stare at her like, all the time. You were doing it this morning.”
“Interesting how you noticed that and kept telling me all about her perfect date,” Steve scoffed. “Fine. If I tell you I’m jealous of whoever this guy is, will you give it a rest?”
Robin practically screamed in frustration. “Steve! I know it was you! And I applaud your efforts to respect her wishes not to tell anybody, but can you not see that I am trying to give you an out to go and talk to her?”
Fuck, Steve thought. He’d fucked this up. He sighed, running his hands over his face and through his hair. You were going to be so upset about this, he knew it. And he’d blown his chance with the girl he’d had a crush on for, at this point, a pathetic ten months.
But… if Robin already knew…
He glanced up at her. She was looking at him expectantly, and it took him a few seconds to ask the question. “Did she tell you why she didn’t want to tell anybody?” He asked quietly.
Robin smiled. “No. But if I had to guess, I’d say she’s just as blind as you are and doesn’t want people to know how into you she is because she doesn’t realize how insane you are about her.”
Steve let that thought percolate. Was it possible the reason behind your secrecy was the opposite of what he’d thought? That you weren’t hiding him away because you didn’t want to be associated with him, but because, what, you were embarrassed about liking him too much?
That couldn’t be right. But then again, Robin had read him like a book when she’d asked how long he’d liked you under Russian truth serum.
Way too long to still not have done anything about it, was his answer, and that was four months ago.
He was deep in his own head and hadn’t responded when Robin added, “But you could just go ask her.”
Steve looked up. Then around, like he was surprised he was still at the video store.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Yeah, man. What did I just say?”
“I have to— I have to go find her, fuck. Are you sure?” He looked to Robin. “That she… Doesn’t matter.”
“Thought you were going to ask if I was okay being left alone for the rest of the shift, but yeah, sure, Steve, I’ll sit around and twiddle my thumbs and clock you both out after hours of wage theft.”
He gave her a blank look, halfway through putting his jacket on.
“I’m kidding! Go!”
“Thank you,” he breathed. To both of their shock, he grabbed her and kissed the top of her head, and she stumbled back as he booked it for the door.
“Enjoy the Russians!” He called as he hurled himself around the door frame and started fumbling with the keys like he was locking up.
“Hey!” Robin had to shout.
“Sorry!” He threw the door open and tossed them back to her. As it swung shut again, he grabbed it, poking his head back inside.
He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but decided better of it. Then the temptation won him over. “She said best?” He asked, and Robin narrowed her eyes.
“Go!” She rolled her eyes as she watched him sprint across the parking lot and fling open the door to the beamer with a recklessness she’d never seen around his car before.
He sped out of the parking lot, hanging an immediate right and not realizing until he was halfway down the road that he’d known where to find you before he’d had to think about it.
He saw your car before he saw you. It came into view as he drove up the gravel road, and he parked on the other side of the opening in the cliff’s jagged edges.
He stepped out of the car. The wind blew gently around him, messing up his hair. The quarry stretched out in front of him. “What’re you doing in the trunk?” He called. Your legs were all he could see, swinging over the edge of your car.
You didn’t respond, so he crossed the little distance between your cars so he could see you. You had your walkman on, and he could hear music faintly as he got closer.
He swore his heart skipped a beat when he finally saw your face, and yours must have too, because you jumped about a foot in the air.
“Jesus Christ!” You shouted, ripping the headphones off.
“Just me,” Steve said, leaning on your car. “Sorry. What’re you doing in the trunk?”
You exhaled, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s more comfortable than the gravel,” you said eventually, looking up at him. You had to squint in the autumn sky, as the sun came out from behind a cloud.
“Fair enough,” he shrugged. “Can I sit?”
You nodded.
You had some boxes in your trunk, just far back enough that you could lean back comfortably while still being close enough to the door to see the quarry and the sky.
Steve slid in next to you, bending his knees and leaning back. You sat with your legs crossed.
The silence lasted a moment. Neither of you knew where to start, what to say. The difference between last night and now was heavy, and you both felt it.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said eventually. You looked at him, confused.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come find you.”
“Oh.” You looked out at the water. “It’s okay. I’m surprised you did find me up here.”
“No– I didn’t leave work for a while. I knew you’d be up here. I had a feeling. But when you left, I don’t know. I froze. I didn’t want to annoy you by following you up here.”
“You might’ve.” You looked at him, and you both laughed softly. “I mean, I needed to be alone for a second. But I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“Stop apologizing, Steve.”
“Sorry. Sorry! Fuck.”
You laughed. Steve noticed your fingers around your necklace.
“What is that?” He asked.
You glanced down at it. “It’s an atom,” you said. “My dad got it for me. It’s supposed to represent, like, his love for me.”
“That’s sweet,” Steve said earnestly. “It’s really pretty on you.” You could tell there was something else he wanted to say.
“But?” You asked, a small smile playing at your lips.
He furrowed his brows like he wasn’t sure he should ask, but he did. “It’s just– aren’t atoms, like, the tiniest thing in the world?”
You laughed. “Yeah. It seemed pretty counterintuitive to me too.”
Steve smiled as you spoke. You didn’t miss the way he was staring into your eyes.
“But they’re everywhere. It means that, like, he’s always with me. Even if I can’t see him. My mom, too.”
Steve glanced downward. He knew your Mom had gone missing in November before last. You both knew what had happened to her, and he knew you had to live with the fact that your dad never could. But he hadn’t known much of anything else about her until last night, when you’d shared a sleepy, mumbled conversation on his pillow and you’d told him she was an artist and the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Makes sense,” Steve had replied drowsily. “You must look just like her.”
“I do.” You had both smiled at that.
You glanced down at your necklace, and shivered slightly. Steve got up and jogged back to his car. You looked around the edge of your trunk, perplexed. He was leaning into the backseat of the beamer. Despite everything, you couldn’t help checking him out. How could it be your fault, when his ass was all you could even see from here?
You let him catch you. He held up a bundle of grey fabric, and your lips turned upward.
The sweatshirt was soft on the inside, but you noticed that only after how it smelled like him.
“So, why did you end up leaving work?” you asked.
Steve sighed, and you were pretty sure you had your answer.
“How long did it take her?” You laughed softly. Steve thought he’d do anything to hear it again.
He checked his watch. “About t-minus half an hour,” he shrugged. “She made it this whole thing when she did.”
“Of course she did,” you smiled. He did too. You looked out over the water, at the afternoon sky that was starting to get dimmer.
“I’m sorry I gave it away,” he said.
“It’s not your fault. I probably gave her way too much information.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grinned. You turned your head to look at him, and gave him a gentle shove.
“Shut up,” you muttered.
“I had a really good time last night,” Steve said. When you didn’t say anything in return, he just kept talking, despite everything rational in him telling him to stop. “Seriously, I think that was the most fun I’ve had in… I don’t even know how long.” He quickly added, “And not just… you know.”
You turned to make eye contact with him.
“All I could think about when I woke up was how I should have held on to you tighter so you couldn’t have gone home,” he admitted.
Steve Harrington couldn’t help but put all his cards on the table. He’d done it before, and it had crashed and burned in his face. But he couldn’t help it. Something in him refused to keep his feelings in reserve. So he would throw them all out, and just hope something would come back.
Something in him did want to hold back. To not tell anyone how much he was hurting his morning. Especially not you, who held all the knives poised to stab him right through the heart.
But he just needed to know.
“Why didn’t you want to tell anyone about me?” He asked, his voice dropping quieter and cracking just slightly, making him want to dive headfirst into the gravel outside.
You breathed deeply, and let it all out, dropping your head and running a hand through your hair.
Steve's heart dropped when you spoke.
“I was embarrassed,” you said. Not at a whisper, not a mumble. You said it and the breeze against your face made it louder.
You were embarrassed to be with him. You were embarrassed of falling for someone so directionless, so static, so cliche that even after the perfect night together, even after you’d talked and talked and talked and learned more about each other than you thought existed, you were embarrassed by your taste.
Steve wondered if other people knew him like he had thought you did, things would be different.
“I was embarrassed because I like you so much,” you continued, and Steve’s jaw clenched. “And I didn’t think I could handle the look on Robin’s face when it turned out to be just another date for you.”
What?
“What?” Steve said incredulously.
“Steve,” you looked at him, and all he could offer was a confused stare.
You sighed, and said, “You have to understand what it was like to go to high school with you.”
“What?” He repeats himself like a broken record.
“I can’t even tell you how many girls I overheard crying, or calling you an asshole because you realized you didn’t like them that much,” you said. “ And it’s fine, I get it, you’re looking for… whatever it is you’re looking for, but I just can’t handle the pity from people when you realize that’s not me.” You sounded like your throat was swelling, but you were holding back your tears otherwise.
And Steve, Steve felt completely crushed.
“I was…” he couldn’t even speak properly, too desperate to get you to understand. “My dates have gone so terribly because all I’ve been able to think about is you.”
You scoffed, but it wasn’t mean. More like you weren’t letting yourself believe it.
“And I don’t like you casually,” he said. “I don’t think I know how to like people normally. I tried to. I tried so hard. I could never understand how Tommy was so flippant about Carol. And I couldn’t focus on anyone in high school because I had this insane crush on Nancy.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t—”
“I get it.” He looked into your eyes, and he could see that you weren’t just saying it.
He laughed bitterly. “I even tried to be casual with her, and I just… I couldn’t do it.”
“After last fall, when everything happened… and this spring, being around you all the time… I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but I just started to crave being around you. You’d leave, and I’d just think about what I could’ve said to get you to stay. But I could never do it. I could never actually—”
“I would have,” you interrupted softly. He exhaled. “Stayed. I loved being around you. I love being around you.”
He looked out at the water and thumbed a fraying piece of the mat in your trunk. “When we were in that bunker all I could think about was how glad I was that you hadn’t visited that day,” he said. “That you were safe. At least, as far as I was aware.” He snorted to himself. “And then the drugs kicked in and I started fantasizing about protecting you from evil soldiers.”
“That’s…”
“Insane, I know. I told Robin, and she still hasn’t let me live it down.”
“If she ever does, I’ll give you a hundred bucks,” you smirk.
“Not a thousand?” He drew you back to last night.
“I work less than half the hours you do!”
“Fair enough,” he said. He was still looking into your eyes.
“Well now I feel like an asshole,” you laughed quietly. “Running around with Max and El, and then the others, I just kept thinking about how much I wished you were there.”
He laughed at that, his head thrown back and his eyes crinkled. “You are an asshole,” he said with a grin.
“And Max thinks Scoops Ahoy is terrible!” You exclaimed. “I think I convinced El it was better than it was. I manipulated that poor girl just to see you in those stupid shorts.”
Steve winced. “As terrible as those were, you are the only person I might have pulled them back out for,” he said.
“Might have?”
“Robin and I lit those on fire the second we could,” he nodded, and you smiled.
“I was so jealous of Robin,” you said, quieter. “Before… you know. Obviously. She got to spend so much time with you. I was being insane too. Like, it was clinically insane how jealous I was when we first found you guys that she had been the one in that bunker with you.”
“That is insane,” Steve shook his head, but he smiled at the same time. “You know, she tried her hardest to knock some sense into me down there.”
“But you were scared.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “There was this voice telling me that if I never let you let me down then there was always a chance.”
“Steve…” you narrowed your eyes. “That is so stupid.”
His exhaled unevenly, and his eyes finally started to gloss over.
“I know,” he laughed, voice shaking. “I was so stupid. I was so fucking scared, and I just… I couldn’t lose you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve grown a pair and asked you on a date months ago. Or at least started taking Fridays sooner.”
You smiled. The past couple of Fridays, when you and Steve had worked alone, you had put on Halloween horror movies and shared popcorn and sat too close to one another and closed early to go to the diner and share a milkshake. The week in between them, before Steve had asked if the next one could be a real date, had felt like the longest week of your life.
“Hey,” you smiled. “I could’ve given you… like, any signals. I was scared, too.”
Steve brushed a piece of hair out of your face.
“I don’t want to be scared of this anymore,” he said softly.
“Me either.”
Your voice was hardly a murmur as he leaned closer to you.
This time, when you kissed, Steve’s heart slowed. Like you were a drug calming him down, pulling him above the waves so he could breathe.
He held onto you through the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, which looked better on you than it ever did on him.
You held him around his shoulders, one hand in his hair in that way he had gotten addicted to last night.
“About what Robin said,” he pulled back gently, and you avoided eye contact. Your face felt hot.
“I can’t believe she said that,” you muttered. “You’re lucky I didn’t jump off this cliff hours ago.”
“Really lucky,” he murmured against your lips. Then, “It was the best I’ve ever had, too.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
The trunk was too small. You found yourselves in the back of his beamer, never really having let go of each other.
It was softer than last night, sweeter. Part of it was Steve avoiding hitting your head on the car door, being gentle within the confines of his backseat. But part of it was that he didn’t want to stop kissing you.
You pulled your layers off, but when you shivered he told you to put the sweatshirt back on.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured into your jaw. “Driving me fucking insane in my clothes.”
“We’ve established that you’re past insanity,” you whispered.
He shifted his hips, and his bulge caught against your clit, denim on denim. You gasped and his breath hitched.
He pressed you into the leather seat. His fingers slid over your buttons, and he pulled your jeans down to your mid thighs. He left your panties, dragging his growing cock over you, but without the second layer of thick fabric, it nestled its way more deeply into your core. You felt it in your entire body when he rocked his hips into yours, and you could feel his cock twitch against your pussy.
You cried out when he slid two fingers under the fabric of your panties, soothing your desperate clit with strong circles. “Wrecking my jeans, baby,” he murmured in your ear. How could you not, when his bulge kept rutting into your hole, and all you wanted was to rip his pants off and have him inside you? You could feel the emptiness, feel your walls squeezing around nothing, searching for anything.
His fingers kept circling, firm but precise, and your grip on his hair tightened. He moaned into your mouth.
“Steve. Steve, please,” you said, unevenly and too high.
“I— fuck,” he struggled. The layers between you were killing him, too. “We can’t, I don’t have a condom,” he panted.
“Good,” you said. “That’s good.” He hadn’t come here expecting anything. “But I’m on birth control.”
Steve felt like the clouds had parted ways just for him. “Fuck,” he whined. “I need you.”
“Steve, come in me,” you breathed. “You’ll make a mess anywhere else,” you rationalized.
He let out a stream of nonsense into your kiss. But most of it seemed positive.
You helped him with his belt buckle, removing your hands from his hair in a painful sacrifice. He shoved his pants and his briefs down his thighs.
You thought you were familiar with the size of Steve’s cock after yesterday. You remembered the stretch, how you’d almost come around him as he first bottomed out inside of you. But you were still surprised when it sprang free. It was red around the tip and slick with precum and you wanted it back in your mouth.
But both of you were too desperate. There’s nothing like a heart to heart to make you want a person inside you, their chest as close to yours as physically possible.
He was more gentle with your panties.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” he managed.
“Please fuck me,” you whispered in his ear. His lips closed around that spot he’d found on your neck, and he lined up his tip with your hole. It was you that nudged it inside, him that slowly kept pushing.
You went dumb as he filled you up. You didn’t think you would ever get used to the stretch, the way he fit inside you like your pussy was made to squeeze him.
He thrusted into you just fast enough, just hard enough that all you felt for minutes was bliss. You could stay here forever, building toward an orgasm and right on the edge. But the noises he made in your ears didn’t help. The way he’d been teasing you didn’t help.
He’d slow, letting you feel every drag of his cock against every part of your walls, and then he’d pick back up again.
His lips moved slowly against yours. He buried his face in your neck like he couldn’t take anymore, and then he came back chasing you.
When he started going over your clit with the pad of his thumb, you were done for. Your orgasm rushed up on you. He kept you on the precipice for as long as he could as you panted and moaned in his ear, and then it washed over you.
His cock pounding into you kept it going. When it faded, he slowed, and you managed to tell him to keep going.
“It still feels good, Steve,” you whispered in his ear. “I want you to come.”
The unspoken truth: you still wanted him to come inside you.
He kept thrusting. His sweatshirt had ridden up on you and he could see the bottoms of your tits, taunting him. You caught him starting, and pulled it up to your collarbones. You felt his eyes on you as you squeezed your boobs in your hands, comforting yourself as he fucked you out, biceps bulging as he held himself up on either side of your head.
His hair was damp, his lips fallen apart. You pushed yourself up on one arm to kiss his lips, and he took it in stride, kissing you back, hard.
You felt it in your mouth first, when he came. Felt his gasps for breath, felt him try to say something and fail.
Then you felt the hot ropes of cum filling you up. He pulled your hips up, still thrusting into you like he didn’t want any of it spilling out. When he slowed, it was with several kisses to your lips and neck, and a string of breathy praise.
He was careful in the way he pulled your sweatshirt back over your body, slid your panties up, brushed hair out of your face. Less cautious, more thoughtful.
You caught the rest of the sunset from the roof of your car (you knew better than to try Steve’s), leaning into his chest as you stared at the sky, drawing spirals on his knee.
“Can I take you on another date tonight?” He spoke, and it felt like a whisper with no one around. The wind carried it a little ways, letting his voice dissolve over the deep blue sky.
You grinned, and nestled yourself further into him.
“I have an errand to run,” you said.
“I’ll help you.”
“And I have to take the car back to my dad.”
“Shucks,” he drummed on the roof of the car. “I was really hoping we could keep driving around separately for the night.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you can take me on a date, Harrington.”
He grazed your arm with his hand. “So, what’s your favorite of the four date spots we’ve exhausted in Hawkins?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “We could just rent a movie. Have a quiet night in…”
Steve tightened his grasp on you and kissed the top of your head.
“You’re evil,” he mused.
The boxes in your car turned out to be AV equipment you were supposed to drop off at the middle school after “work.”
Steve helped you unload every single one of them.
“Are we supposed to do anything with these?” he said, dusting off his jeans in the dark hallway outside the AV room, gesturing to the pile of boxes in the corner.
“I don’t think so,” you shrugged. “Henderson’s problem now. I think he still comes over here for… whatever.”
“Awesome,” Steve grabbed your hand and led you back to the parking lot.
“I still have to drive my car back,” you groaned. Steve opened your door for you.
“It’s a five minute drive, baby,” he flirted. “And then you’re not driving for the rest of the night.”
He followed your car back to your house, parking on the street and running up to open your door again. Nervously, he followed you up to your door, because the last thing he was going to do was wait in his car and not be polite with your father. Especially with your father. The man had taught him science. He was going to need to win him over in any way he could.
But it turned out Scott Clarke didn’t hold a grudge against former students who weren’t quite Dustin Henderson.
“Dad!” you called as you walked toward your kitchen.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he looked up from some quizzes he was grading. A takeout menu was mysteriously placed on top of them. “Oh, did you get those boxes—”
“Yep,” you gave him a kiss on his head. “Thank Steve, he carried most of them.”
“Steve!” your father exclaimed, pulling his glasses off his nose.
“Hi Mr. Clarke,” Steve extended his hand, and your dad shook it with a smile on his face.
“I think Scott’s okay, you’re not in middle school anymore.” He smiled. “How’ve you been?”
He knew Steve wasn’t in school, so he didn't ask about it. One thing about your dad was that he’d never made a student feel bad for not sharing his interests.
“I’ve been good! Good, yeah. I mean, I’ve had a great, um, last couple of weeks,” he glanced over at you, and your dad saw it. “You?”
“Can’t complain,” he replied. “This one’s keeping me alive,” he ruffled your hair.
“Not for long if you keep eating this crap,” you pulled the menu away from him. “I made you food,” you said, crossing to the fridge.
Steve watched you move around with your Dad, and it tugged at something in him.
“I don’t know if we have enough left for three,” Scott said, peering past you as you rummaged.
“Dad, this is expired.” He threw it in the trash. “Well, Steve and I were going to go back out, if that’s okay,” you said. “I was just dropping off the car.”
“Of course that’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. He snatched the spaghetti and leftover salad you’d made. “More of this for me.”
“Is it okay if I stay over?” you asked. “I was going to help him with brunch in the morning.”
Steve hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt, but to his relief, Scott didn’t seem to be skeptical. Either that, or he trusted you. Steve was leaning toward the latter.
“Ah,” he said. “Your famous brunch. It is really great, everything you do for those kids, Steve. I mean, these past couple of years with Will and the mall… I’m sure you know, but Dustin speaks very highly of you.”
Steve’s face was definitely red now. “Thank you, sir—”
“Scott.”
“Scott,” he said.
You, who had been watching the conversation with a smile on your face, cut in to tell your dad you were going to get going.
“Alright, sweetheart,” your Dad said, scooping pasta into a bowl to go back in the oven. “Be safe!”
Steve’s heart skipped a beat.
“The roads are starting to get icy,” your father continued, and you smirked at Steve out of his eyeline. Steve narrowed his eyes at you.
“Have a good night, Scott,” he said, as you pulled him down the hall, hand in his.
“You too, Steve! I hope we see you around here some more.”
Me too, Steve thought.
You got in the car, and shivered as Steve opened his door to get in after you. “So,” you said. “Movie, and order food?” You pulled out the menu you’d stolen from your father.
“You’re evil,” Steve said.
“Careful, Harrington,” you said. “Keep saying it and I might internalize it.”
Robin was between dropping her jaw to the floor and jumping for joy when the two of you walked back into Family Video together.
“I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” she exclaimed. Turning to you, she added: “He didn’t tell me. I backed him into a corner of his lies.”
“I know, Robin,” you gave her a hug as Steve rolled his eyes.
“And I’m sorry for ratting you out like that. I mean, I shouldn’t have done it anyway, but obviously if I had known it was Steve—”
“It’s okay, babe,” you grinned and she sighed with relief.
“I mean,” she added, “I was honestly kind of hoping that if I nagged him enough about it it would make him jealous enough to do something about the fact that he’s been totally—”
“ROBIN!” Steve shouted from the aisles.
“Sorry. I’m doing it again.”
You nodded.
“Hey, how do you feel about The Breakfast Club?” Steve asked.
“Steve, we have seen that movie so many times,” you said.
“Exactly,” he said, in a tone he pretended Robin couldn’t hear. “So it doesn’t matter how much we pay attention—”
“Not at work! Not at work,” Robin interrupted.
“Hey,” he protested. “We’re not at work.”
“Tell that to the time sheets that say you two are still getting paid,” she countered. That shut him up.
“You’re the best,” he muttered, hiding the roll of his eyes.
“Let’s do Breakfast Club,” you said. “It is good. I’ll watch it again.”
You actually did watch most of the movie. And the food was good. Steve made a mental note to get it for you and your dad one day. You even made it an interactive experience, revealing at the appropriate time in the movie that you’d been making certain business deals with Eddie Munson that definitely were not appropriate for a sports captain.
Which was how you ended up back in Steve’s bed, moving all slow, letting him manhandle you every way you liked.
He wanted to bury his face in your pussy. Obviously. But you made a compromise, that led to him pulling you down onto his face as your hands ran down his stomach and thighs. His nose taunted your hole, and he kissed suckled at your clit.
You took your time with Steve. You dragged your fingers up and down his cock, enjoying the way his hips bucked involuntarily and the waves it sent through his nose and your core. You breathed through your nose as you let him fuck your throat. You would swallow, he would moan, and it would go straight through you to your stomach.
He whined when it happened too strongly and you had to pull yourself off him.
“Need it,” you swooned, turning to face him as you stroked his cock. You let him manhandle you some more as he held you steady, sinking slowly onto his dick, letting it stretch you out once again. He held you as you bounced, leaning back to get a good look at his stomach. His chest, his happy trail, you wanted to ride it as hard as you were riding him.
Steve gave it to you this time, when you came at the same time. He slipped his fingers inside you, and then watched as you licked them clean, the mix of your slick and his cum.
You passed out naked, still high and dreaming of each other as your sleeping bodies breathed together.
You woke up to footsteps on the stairs and Steve shooting out of bed.
“Fuck! Shit, shit, shit, I must’ve fucked my alarm,” Steve hissed. “I cannot have fucked this up, I finally got Max to come,” he groaned quietly. But his alarm read 8:00 AM. “What the hell?”
“I thought they were supposed to be here at 10?” You asked.
“They were!” He whisper-shouted, yanking a t-shirt over his head. “I don’t know what the hell—”
“Steve!” Mike Wheeler’s voice accompanied the pounding on the door. You rolled over, searching the floor for the sweatshirt you’d tossed aside last night. “Nancy sent us up, we got here early to help you cook!”
“Oh my god,” Steve buries his face in his hands. “They have never,” he was back to hissing, “ever helped cook before.”
“It’s sweet,” you offered, amused as he spun around the room looking for pants. “You need to be more organized when you’re tearing your clothes off,” you added, pulling your skirt on.
He gave you an incredulous look.
“What’s going on?” Dustin’s voice echoed from down the hall.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve whispered.
“I don’t know, man,” Mike replied. “He’s still asleep.”
“Alright, so crack the door open!” Dustin exclaimed.
“You crack the door open!”
You huffed, checked that Steve had pants on, and crossed to the door as he searched for a sweater. You cracked the door, and both of their mouths fell open.
“Wheeler, didn’t anyone ever teach you how to knock like a normal person?”
“I—”
You rolled your eyes. “Go tell your sister we’ll be down in a sec,” you instructed, and Mike gave you a little salute.
“Sorry,” he added, before he turned and hurried back down the hall.
“I knew it,” Dustin remained in the doorframe, narrowing his eyes.
“Henderson, get out of here.” Steve pulled his socks on.
The kid turned around to follow Mike, but not before he slipped Steve a thumbs-up. “Told you, find your Suzie,” he said quickly, and then ducked to avoid you grabbing him by the curls and turning him around.
He disappeared down the stairs, and you turned back to Steve.
“If you think I’m singing Never Ending Story to you anytime soon, you’re out of your damn mind,” you warned. Steve stood up, pulling you into his arms and into a deep kiss.
“Thank you,” he replied, and you laughed into it.
You and Steve ended up making most of the food anyway, but only because Lucas, who was incredibly helpful, showed up later with Max. Nancy, despite her best intentions, had the kitchen skills of a pyromaniac using a children’s toy kitchen.
Steve doled out bacon, the last thing to get to the table and the breakfast item that needed the most attentive rationing.
He put two on his own plate, and the same for Mike, Nancy, Robin, Dustin and Lucas. Then he reached Max and you, and, shocker, split the last six pieces between the two of you.
“What the hell!” Mike and Dustin exclaimed in unison. “What do they get extra for?
Max narrowed her eyes at Mike, and kept eye contact as she split her third piece with Lucas.
“This is bullshit,” Mike rolled his eyes, sinking back in his chair as Nancy kicked him under the table.
“Maybe if you were nicer to me,” Steve snarked to Mike. As Dustin opened his mouth to protest, he added, “and didn’t come barging into my room at eight in the morning.”
“Besides,” he added, taking a swig of juice. “It’s my house. I like Max ergo—”
“Big word,” Dustin interrupted, and Steve gestured as if to say, this is what I mean.
“—she and my girlfriend get extra bacon.”
You froze in your seat.
It was Lucas who reacted first.
“Girlfriend?” He looked up at Steve, then down at you. You didn’t reply at first, just taking a bite and glancing up at Steve.
He looked at you, like, is that okay? You could tell he had slipped up, but that it wasn’t halfhearted. Steve Harrington meant to be your boyfriend. You smiled and rolled your eyes, and Steve wondered if you lived to keep him on the edge like this.
“Girlfriend,” you grinned at Lucas.
You don’t miss the smirk from Robin, or the sweet smile Nancy gives you. You especially don’t miss Steve wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind and kissing the top of your head as he slides into his seat beside you.
A folded up piece of paper wound up in your hand, pressed there by Max.
Talk boyfriends later? You wondered where the hell she got a pen.
You nodded at her. Whenever, you mouthed.
And you let yourself be engulfed by your friends, their laughter, good food, and your boyfriend’s presence.
thank you for reading! reblogs, likes and comments are so appreciated! let me know what you think!
pairing: steve harrington x female henderson reader
summary: no matter how much you loved steve, he had too many eyes on him to ever notice yours. so what happens when someone finally makes a move?
word count: 4.4k
warnings/tags: (mutual) pining, insecure reader, making out, dustin cameo, female OC, family video steve, jealous reader, petnames galore, NO use of y/n
a/n: hiiiiii!!! this is my first ever fic on here! i couldn't stop listening to gold rush by taylor swift the other day, and i knew someone needed to make a fic about him to it. i really hope you all enjoy ! <3
Being in love with Steve Harrington was a double-edged sword.
One edge was the thrill.
The excitement that came with seeing his smile directed your way. The uncontrollable flutter in your stomach. The flush in your cheeks when the light fell on him just right—his hair falling effortlessly. His eyes that called to you, twinkling like ripples in the ocean.
But the other edge was a razor-thin tightrope.
A thousand papercuts coinciding with seeing girls practically line themselves at his door. The burning in your chest that came with his history. The blade against your throat when his eyes fell on Nancy.
No amount of armor protected you from the way he smiled at her. That smile that you daydreamed was meant for you. The enticing gleam in his eyes that you longed to jump into.
But he wasn't yours.
He could never be. Every girl that looked his way had a stronger chance than you ever did. You weren't the type of girl he went after—not even close. Given your track record, you could barely even call yourself desirable.
No matter how close you felt to him, you would never be like Steve Harrington.
You would never know what it was like to grow up beautiful. To become someone's object of affection. To go through life with the safety net that was beauty. You were never the town's "golden girl." You were never so popular you had your own moniker. You were never meant to be the girl who got the guy.
So you could never fall for Steve Harrington.
Because you knew you would crash.
The doorbell to Family Video felt like a knot spawning in your throat.
“Welcome to Family Video,” Steve sighed, his voice monotone and bored, gaze focused on the counter's computer.
“Well, hello to you, too,” you retorted, tilting your head.
It was almost unfair how he glowed upon seeing you. As if the light in his eyes was specifically dedicated to making you weak for him.
“Hey!” Steve smiled, his attention automatically directed to you instead. “Didn't expect to see you here.”
You smirked back at him. “You either, Harrington," you stepped closer, leaning your elbows on the counter.
Steve mirrored the action, his gaze flickering over you before refocusing on your face.
“What are you doing here?” He inquired softly, as if his voice was meant just for you at this moment.
You felt that smile he brought out in you trying to give way before catching yourself, remembering how far the ground was from up in the clouds—the crushing impact you were inviting in. You took a step away from the cliff, glancing down as your arms left the counter.
"Apparently, the party is hosting a campaign at the Henderson house tonight," you cleared your throat, "I just came to ask Robin if I could stay with her tonight," you said quietly, reeling yourself back into your own space.
You looked back at him to see his eyes focused on your arms, a frown forming—barely noticeable. Imperceptive enough that no one else would recognize it, but you had practically memorized every inch of his face.
Every change in his features had been neatly cataloged in your mind. Labeled, filed, and kept away for moments like these.
"Oh, she didn't come in today," he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. "She called in sick," Steve clarified.
You deflated at the news, your head hanging. "Shit..." you cursed under your breath. "Okay, thanks for letting me know, I guess. I'll figure out something."
Steve opened his mouth as if to say something before the bell to Family Video rang out again. You watched as his eyes focused behind you. That's when you turned and saw her.
Olivia Taylor, the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, here for one thing only. "Hi, Steve," she sang, flashing him one of her famous smiles. Shy, flirtatious, and captivating.
You wanted to hate her. That would be easier—to call her a tryhard, to drag her name through the dirt, to say she wasn't beautiful. But no matter how hard you tried, there was nothing about her to criticize.
That was the pattern you noticed with Steve. All of the girls who were blessed to have his attention were perfect.
The same petite bodies, flawless hairstyles, crystal clear skins. They had everything you didn't. Every girl in Hawkins could pass for an angel—a figure of unimaginable beauty. Except for you. You would be better on the sidelines.
The sick feeling you felt just from those two words tumbled in your stomach. You couldn't tell if you wanted to run, cry, or throw up. The tone of her voice left nothing to interpret. You could hear the want. The desire to be noticed by Steve. It was disgusting how familiar it sounded.
"Welcome to Family Video," Steve called out. You turned back to see him smiling at her. "I'll be right with you." You watched his gaze return back to you. The light you had previously seen in his eyes was gone. A bright, beautiful, blonde shadow had casted, completely erasing the sunshine that was solely yours a second ago.
"There's some movies in the back Robin wanted you to check out." He suggested, kindly shooing you away. "Why don't you go take a look at them?" You knew what he was doing. Brushing you off so you couldn't get in the way of his new opportunity.
But it was Steve, so you went down without a fight.
You quietly traveled over in between the aisles like a shadow, leaving him to charm his way into another girl's pants. "What can I do for you?" You heard him ask, his signature King Steve voice making an appearance. The one that he used to wield to get girls like it was a competition he needed to win.
You could practically feel Olivia tilt her head. Probably twirling her hair with a smile. "Do you have any good movies for a first date?" she asked
Wow. She wasn't wasting any time, then.
"Absolutely." You heard him clap his hands before the sound of feet shuffling came closer. "What does he like?" he asked as you crossed over to another aisle.
"Oh, I'm not sure," she said innocently. "I'm sure a handsome guy like you would know just what to watch. What would you recommend?"
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. God, this was torture.
"Well, it depends…" he muttered to himself. You could see in your mind the furrow between his brows as he thought it over.
You briefly wondered to yourself if he could see it. The flashing sign in front of him trying to get his attention. Could he not tell that she wanted him? Impossible. Steve Harrington had the looks to believe any girl wanted him, and the asshole that he was, he was usually right.
"Well, there's Back to the Future. That's always a good one. Or— Oh! Ferris Bueller's Day Off!" You could hear the excited smile in his voice. It reminded you of the one he had when he watched it with you last month. "That's a classic first date movie."
You could hear Olivia giggle sweetly, probably tilting her head again. "Sold."
"Great, let me ring you up." He passed your aisle as he made his way to the counter. He looked at you, giving you the briefest smile—one you had come to recognize as his way of silently apologizing.
You couldn't help but return the smile, unable to help the way he could bring one out of you just by looking your way. You returned your focus back to the tapes in front of you as the cash register chimed quietly.
"That'll be $10.80," Steve said. You could hear the rumbling of Olivia's purse.
"Thank you, you know. You're a total lifesaver."
Steve smiled back at her. "Just doing my job."
She handed him her change. "Are you doing anything tonight?" She asked. Her voice had grown lower, deeper. Your eyes were on the two of them before you could process it.
"Not currently, no," he answered as he carefully filed away her payment.
"Would you like to be?"
Steve's head flicked up instantly. Olivia smirked at him, a knowing look in her eye. She had him right where she wanted him. "You. Me. A classic first date movie…" she batted her eyelashes at him. You could hear Steve struggle to form words as he attempted to gather her change.
"I've- I've already watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off," he responded cautiously. You caught the nervousness laced in his voice. The swallow in his throat. Great. Not only was Olivia the ideal dream girl, but she made him nervous.
"Oh, don't worry," she lowered her voice even further, looking at his lips seductively. "I wouldn't want your attention on the movie, anyway…"
You couldn't take it any more. You rushed your way inside the backroom, trying to keep down the bile in your throat. Your breath caught as you shut the door, desperately trying to pause the movie you had seen a million times before. The film that always interrupted your daydreams. You sat down on the nearest stool, your head falling into your hands.
Why did you do this to yourself? You knew not to fall for Steve Harrington. You knew that you would only get hurt. Romance had never favored you. Cupid arrows were never sharp enough to convince someone they would die without you.
God, you were so stupid. Of course this was how the movie ended. You knew that as soon as Steve "The Goddamn Hair" Harrington stumbled into your heart like it was just a tourist spot to visit. You wished he would have never walked into your life. Never met your brother. Never—
"Hey, where'd you go?" Steve's gentle voice you never heard him use with anyone else whispered as he opened the door. "You know only employees are supposed to be back here, right?" The joke fell flat amongst the static that channeled in your ears.
"Since when do you care, Harrington?" You bit back. You knew it was mean—that he didn't deserve your anger, but there was no one around to be mad at but him.
"I care when you're trying to get away from me."
A heavy silence fell in the room with that. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. Steve sighed, sitting down on the stool across from you.
"Did you still need somewhere to go tonight?" Steve asked you softly.
You looked up at him, an anger still in your eyes. "Yeah, why?"
He met your eyes, wielding your favorite smile of his. The one that reminded you of a shy little boy—nothing but love and kindness in his heart. Not the teenage boy who broke hearts and left without a trace, or the king who had fallen from grace. Just a young boy looking at you like you meant something in his big world.
"Why don't you stay at my place tonight?"
You rolled your eyes at the suggestion. Like you would crash at his place while he "watched a movie" with Olivia at her house. Just the idea of being in his house all alone was enough to have your chest constricting. "I'm not gonna spend the night in an empty house, Harrington."
"I'd be there?" His response took you aback, apparently just as yours did him.
"Aren't you—busy now?" You gestured towards the door—the movie you had paused.
"I'd like to be."
Your eyebrows inched closer together. "What are you talking about?"
"You can stay at my house tonight," Steve offered again, leaning closer. "My folks aren't there. You could keep me company. "
You tilted your head. His boyish smile had probably disoriented you into some kind of hallucinatory state.
"I- I thought—"
Steve seemed to catch onto your thought process with a subtle smirk. "What, Olivia?" he shook his head, smiling. "Nah," he responded. "I said no."
You blinked at him. Well, that was a plot twist if you had ever seen one.
"So… my house tonight?" Steve reminded you. "You in?"
You should say no. You knew you should. Saying yes to Steve Harrington was like jumping from a ship into siren infested waters.
But how were you supposed to resist the tempting waves that sparkled in his eyes? How were you supposed to ignore the living marble statue before you?
No. You could see the sharp teeth of rejection whirling beneath the water. You had learned to filter through the siren's call and turn the steering wheel before you could crash. You wouldn't be fooled into jumping—
"Okay."
Idiot.
If the doorbell to Family Video felt like a knot in your throat, the chime announcing Steve Harrington was at your front door was the noose.
"Coming!" Dustin hollered from downstairs. You could hear him violently stomping as you zipped your backpack, closing your closet on your way out. You hurried down the stairs just in time to see Dustin opening the front door.
The presence of Steve standing on your front porch was enough to make time stop still. You couldn't help the way your eyes fell on the strands of his hair that always landed perfectly, framing his gentle eyes. The unfairly beautiful smile that graced his face so easily—
"Why are you wearing your nice jacket?" Steve's smile quicly turned into annoyance at Dustin's skeptical tone.
"Shut it, Henderson," Steve shoved at his shoulder, his eyes on you as you met Dustin's side.
Dustin turned to you, squinting. "Where are you going?"
"I'm letting her stay with me tonight so she doesn't have to deal with you shits keeping her up all night." Steve supplied, glaring at your brother. "Call it a rescue."
"Down, boy," you quipped at Steve, joining his side with a smile.
Dustin scoffed. "For your information, there is nothing about our campaign that she needs rescuing from! If anything, you both could be enjoying a great night of adven—!"
"Night, shitbird." Steve smirked triumphantly as he closed the door in his face. "Jeez, that kid's relentless," he sighed.
You walked right by his side. "You're the one who's friends with him," you remind him, "I just live with him."
Steve rolled his eyes at you, opening the passenger side door for you. "Exactly, which is why I'm currently saving you, right now. You're welcome."
You smiled as you got in your seat, setting your backpack down. You watched him through the window as he made his way to the driver's side.
Steve opened the door, getting in while looking at you, smiling giddily. "You ready?" He asked, bucking his seat belt.
Once again, you could sense the incoming implosion getting closer and closer every second you were with him. The ticking of a clock counting down until you lost this fragile fantasy of having his attention—
"Always."
The universe was just taunting you now.
Steve was looking up at you from his pool—smiling without a care in the world despite being fully clothed. Under the night sky, though, every beautiful thing about him was practically magnified—the night stars reflecting on the water.
The fucker.
"You coming in, or what, Henderson?" He smiled at you.
You shook your head at him, rolling your eyes. "I'm not getting in there without a swimsuit."
Steve grinned, swimming closer to the edge you were at. "Come on," he folded his arms on the edge. "Live a little, Henderson."
His voice was lower, eyes shining like glittering waters. You felt yourself leaning in closer to his call, the water tempting you more and more—
"Nope," you shook your head. "I'm not getting these clothes wet."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine," he gave up, extending his arm out towards you. "Help me up then?"
You took his hand with a smirk. "Can't even get up on your own, Harrin—?" Steve pulled you in before you could even finish your sentence.
Despite the warm temperature of the pool, you felt the water surround you like a cold plunge. You climbed to the surface to find Steve beaming at you like he was a kid again.
You couldn't help but bark a laugh out of shock, immediately splashing water his way. "Asshole!" He laughed at your dramatics—the sound flying you up into the clouds—before splashing you right back.
Regardless of how angry you could have been, you felt so alive for once you couldn't be bothered to care.
You charged right for him. Steve shoved water at you while trying to get away. "Can't catch me!" He retorted like a child, beaming as he avoided you.
You were both caught in a fit of laughter when you finally reached him, lunging on top of him. The two of you sunk below the surface for the briefest second before you came back up for air.
That second underwater was the most free you'd felt in a long time. You were terrified of drowning—even before you met Steve. You would stay on land as you watched your brother and his friends splash around. It wasn't until Steve offered to give you swimming lessons a year ago that you started enjoying going to the pool.
But you hated spending too much time underwater—afraid of drowning, that feeling where you're unable to reach the surface in time cause you had overestimated your chances and gone too far.
But you weren't scared just now. You were too busy holding onto Steve to remember why you should've been scared. You knew he wouldn't let you drown, anyway. He would go down with you. He would save you every time.
You were busy laughing and combing your hair back once you returned to the surface. "I'm gonna get you back for that, Harrington."
When your eyes finally met his, you saw something there you hadn’t cataloged yet. His gaze was focused on your lips, filled with something you were too scared to call desire.
It was only then that you realized how close he was—one of his hands set on your waist. You could count every one of his eyelashes, the subtle freckles on his cheeks.
You swallowed quietly, the tension making your skin hot. "Steve—?"
You were cut off by the pull of his hand on the back of your neck, his lips suddenly on yours.
Your surprise was enough to render you frozen—long enough for Steve to pull back. His eyes opened to see yours had never closed.
The sight must have scared him. "Shit—sorry. I just—I thought–"
This time, you were the one to cut him off, locking your lips with his before you could talk yourself out of it.
His lips felt like a heaven you had been denying yourself for far too long. The pearly gates you didn't believe a God would be kind enough to let you see. Steve's kiss was your road to Damascus—a blinding heavenly light that you had spent forever cursing its existence of.
At the same time, you could taste the forbidden fruit in his teeth—the temptation you had fallen for. Even devoted and wise, Steve Harrington could fool you into falling from grace.
You tore apart from him—the taste of your sin still on your lips. His eyes were still closed, his lips still parted as if he expected you to come back. After a second too long, Steve opened his eyes. The drumming in your ears distracted you from noticing the dilation of his pupils or the weight of his breaths.
You once again felt his hand on the back of your neck, his fingers half mindedly combing through the soft strands he could reach.
"Why'd you stop?" The ragged texture in his voice wasn't helping. The hoarse quality made your knees weak. You wanted to fall, to let him catch you, to sink into his arms—
No, something was wrong with this. Steve Harrington is not the type of guy who falls for you. And you're not the type of girl who can afford to fall for him.
You shook your head. "You don't know what you're doing," you murmured, pulling back.
Steve's brows furrowed, catching up to your hesitation. "Hey," he pulled you closer, "what are you talking about?"
"I'm not—Steve—this isn't—you don't know what you're doing."
"I know what I'm doing—"
"No! You don't!" You protested, your eyes looking everywhere but him, your breath coming quicker. "You're—you're making a mistake—you're not thinking clearly."
"Hey." Steve refocused your attention onto him. "Look at me, baby. Take a breath," he encouraged, wiping a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, your chest heaving.
He nodded as you tried to calm down, breathing like he had told you. "That's it, honey. There you go," he breathed with you. "You're okay, yeah? Everything's fine."
You nodded back, closing your eyes so you wouldn't have to see the way he was looking at you.
"What's going on, sweetheart? Need you to talk to me."
Your breath caught again as you shook your head. "This—This isn't real."
"Why is it not real?" he asked you softly.
You almost scoffed through your flustered state. "Cause you're you," you reminded him incredulously. "You're you, Steve, and I'm not the type of girl you—I'm not the type of girl you can do this with."
He head tilted subtly. "Do what with?" he questioned gently, deep doe eyes looking at you intently.
"Kiss me like this," you stated, "Like—like it means nothing."
Steve shook his head, his other hand cupping your cheek. "Who said it means nothing?"
You could barely contain the roll of your eyes. "Are you kidding? Steve, I'm not—I'm not the type of girl you fall for," you muttered, eyes cast downwards.
"The type of—? What?" Steve sounded unbelievably confused for someone so beautiful. "Baby, you're not making sense."
You sighed, biting your lip so you wouldn't do something stupid.
"Why did you kiss me?"
"Because I thought it was the right moment?" he answered, blinking at you like you were the crazy one. "I've been wanting to do that since I met you, sweetheart."
You shook your head, denying the possibility. "Why? Just to add another girl to your roster or something—?"
"Hey, stop it with that." His voice was firm then. It almost sounded like he was scolding you for even thinking that. You shrunk in on yourself out of shame.
Steve sighed. "You're not another girl for me," he promised.
"Then what am I?"
"You're the girl for me, sweetheart."
The conviction of his tone would've swept you off your feet if he wasn't holding you like an anchor. Steve leaned his face closer to yours, brushing your nose with his.
"I'd—I'd like you to be mine," he continued, eyes reflecting the glowing lights that brightened the pool. "My girl."
You weren't sure you were alive anymore. The only proof of life you had was the angel of a man in front of you.
"Your—Your girl?" you stuttered helplessly.
Steve chuckled at you breathlessly. "If you'll let me."
Your eyebrows furrowed, causing him to laugh again. He brought his finger up to soothe the crease between them. "You're cute like this, you know."
You didn't have it in you to argue. You just continued to stare at him. "Wh—why me?" You asked. "Everybody wants you."
Steve smirked at you, tilting his head at you. "Doesn't mean I want them," he replied. "I only want you."
You're sure you could've stopped breathing. Perhaps you already had, and this was just some sick dream to transition you into death.
Steve grinned, leaning in to press a kiss on your cheek. "You really had no idea?" He asked, still smiling as he pulled back.
You fumbled for words as you blinked at him.
He chuckled at your stunned silence. "I like you, pretty girl," he tells you softly, cupping your face in his hands once again. His voice gets low before leaning in, "Always have."
Your eyes closed from the feeling of his lips on yours again. Steve proceeded to coaxe you into parting your lips for him, weakening your resolve into nothing. You couldn't process anything other than the taste of his tongue—a flavor you would rather die in vain than lose.
Goosebumps trailed down your skin as his hand returned to your waist, firmer than before as his jaw moved with yours
Your hands carefully traveled to his shoulders, holding tight to this moment. You inched back from his mouth. "Steve—?" Your departure didn't seem to stop Steve as he took the break as an excuse to kiss your face.
He hummed in response, the vibration on your skin making you feel warm.
"You—You really like me?"
Steve kept kissing the side of your face, roaming his lips over to your ear. "Mhmm," he responded. "I really, really like you, beautiful girl."
You blushed at the name, making him smile. "Yeah? You like when I call you beautiful?" Steve teased.
"Shut up, Harrington," you shoved his shoulder, rolling your eyes at him. It only made him grin wider.
"There's the girl I know and love."
You mirrored his smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Yeah? You love me, Harrington?"
Steve nodded, not an ounce of shame or hesitation to be found. "Since I met you."
You looked down at his lips. "Me too," you replied softly. Steve's smile grew impossibly wider. Ridiculously, he ended up lifting you up and spinning you around in his arms, as happy as can be.
You laughed with him as he set you back down, standing you on the solid ground of the pool floor.
"So..." you started, tilting your head, "what now?"
Steve held you close in his arms with the look of a man who's never known beauty, such as the one before him.
He shrugged. "It's whatever you want, baby."
And like you had done in a million daydreams before, you kissed Steve Harrington, just because you could—just because you were the one he chose.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it, 'cause I do
I'm a couple minutes out from relapsing into you, oh, fuck it
I only love it 'cause it's you
Your coworker Steve Harrington is your least favourite person in the world. So why do you love fucking him so much?
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 2.8k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a (slight) plot, frenimes with benefits, coworkers, slightly brat!steve, jealously, fingering, oral (f receiving), mention of p in v, mention of unprotective penetrative sex, semi public sex (in the store room of family video), pet names (sweet girl, baby), no use of y/n, female reader, use of she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: back at it again with another song fic!!! this was one was a request that i loved so much that i took a lot longer with this one than usual so apologies about that but i hope it was worth it! i really really loved writing this one!
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
Robin Buckley had officially made it a rule that you and Steve could only argue once a day. Once. So you tend to pick your battles wisely.
But today, you had decided to ignore Robin’s rule.
Steve had been thirty minutes late to work and, as a result, Keith had assigned you to rewind all the tapes in the returns box. It was meant to be Steve’s job since he had been the one to break the rewinder machine in the first place and it was objectively the worst job imaginable in the video store. And so, you were already pretty pissed off with Steve when he waltzed into Family Video half an hour late.
“Nice of you to join us, dingus,” Robin greets him with a wry smile as Steve strolls into the video store without a care in the world.
His eyes find yours and you see amusement in them as you angrily shove your little finger into the left spool of the tape and turn it counter clockwise. Steve knew how much you hated rewinding the tapes manually. He knew you were already annoyed at him and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. Did Steve feel bad about it? Judging by the way his lips were twitching as he tried not to smile—you knew he didn’t feel bad. Not even a little bit.
“My car wouldn’t start,” Steve says by way of an explanation. No apology. Just another quick glance your way as he tries to hold back a smirk.
It pissed you off even further. You were convinced that Steve Harrington was put on this earth just to piss you off. In fact, everything he did seemed to piss you off. How he always took way too long on his break. How he organised the shelves incorrectly on a daily basis. How he had once ‘accidentally’ eaten your lunch and had still not repaid you.
But mostly? The thing that pissed you off the most was the fact that Steve Harrington was the best sex of your life.
It was meant to be a drunken, one time thing. A stupid mistake fuelled by alcohol where the lines between hatred and lust had blurred. You had run into each other at a party and, after a stupid argument that had begun over who would be doing the opening shift at Family Video the next morning, Steve had asked you to dance. Told you to loosen up. You had bristled but said yes.
What came next was a blur. You remember an innocent dance between coworkers had turned into you grinding on him. How Steve’s hands—large and firm against your skin—had pulled you closer. How you had felt his hardened cock through his jeans against your ass. You remember the feeling you got—starting as a fluttering feeling in your stomach before it had swooped down, straight to your cunt which throbbed in sudden excitement. How your heart had started to beat a little quicker. How you had felt the heat build in your gut, your panties dampening as you moved with him.
You don’t remember who kissed who first. All you knew was that it didn’t stop at a kiss.
You both had stumbled into a nearby bathroom, unable to pull away from each other. Lips locked in a kiss that was all tongue, teeth and a burning in your veins that couldn’t be put out. The world around you blurring as Steve’s tongue slid against yours, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed him back like he didn’t think you were the most annoying person in the world. His long fingers dipping beneath your skirt and slipping your panties to the side before sliding through your wetness. He had been so smug about how wet you were and you didn’t even have time to tell him to fuck off before he was plunging two fingers inside of you.
Steve Harrington had made you come in under five minutes with just his fingers alone and then—he had fucked you mericlessly against the bahtroom countertop. And it was safe to say that you had been borderline addicted to him ever since. You met up after work a lot to fuck. It was mostly you coming over to his house while his parents were away (which happened a lot). Sometimes it happened in his car in the parking lot. Once or two it happened in your house, his hand covering your mouth as he fucked you at a tortuously slow pace, reminding you in hushed whispers of how your parents were just downstairs while he angled your hips so his cock would kiss your cervix in a way that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
But despite the fact you and Steve were fucking on a regular basis, he still annoyed you. In fact, you would consider him your least favourite person in the world. The fact he had made you come more times than you could count made no difference.
At least that was what you had told yourself.
Steve was looking at you as you continued to rewind tapes. He wasn’t subtle about it—he never was. In fact, it was a downright miracle that Robin had not worked out what you and Steve had been doing for the past few weeks. His hazel eyes tracked your every moment while Robin ranted to him about Keith putting her on Saturday shifts for the next four weeks.
“—I mean, I have a life, you know? Like Vickie actually wanted to hang out with me this weekend! Do you know how much of a big deal that is? Sure I wasn’t going to make a move on her or anything, it was just shopping but now I’m going to have to tell her I’m working and—”
The bell above the door sounded and you briefly glanced up and when you did, your heart sunk. Just a little bit.
Penny Baker had just walked in. A regular customer and former captain of the cheer squad at Hawkins High. The one Steve always flirted with just to piss you off. At least, that was what you suspected he was doing when his eyes flickered over to yours with amusement in them.
Today was no different. Penny twirled her dark hair around her finger and laughed brightly as Steve gave nonsensical film suggestions.
You felt something dark twist in your gut the way it always did when Steve flirted with someone else.
You had convinced yourself it wasn’t jealousy. That the feeling in your gut was something else entirely. And so, you ignored it. You acted as though it didn’t bother you. Though, it clearly did and Steve could tell. Hence why his eyes kept flickering over to you every time he made Penny laugh.
“You know,” Steve mused after Penny had left with a Valley Girl tape tucked under her arm. “It’s cute when you’re jealous.”
You let out something close to a laugh, slamming the most recently rewound tape onto the counter. “It’s cute that you think I’m jealous.”
“Oh sweet girl,” Steve murmurs, stepping a little closer to you to whisper in your ear, revelling in the way your breath hitches. That damned nickname he always used. The one that made your cunt clench around nothing. “You were jealous. Don’t bother denying it. Could see it all over your face.”
You say nothing, turning your head to glare at him before grabbing the box of returns on top of the counter. You make sure that your arm collides with his and he laughs openly as you walk towards the stock room.
You know he’ll follow and he does.
Robin was too busy distracted with a customer to notice.
You feel his presence behind you in the stock room as the door closes softly shut behind the two of you.
“You gonna start harassing me at work now?” You ask him as you place the box of tapes onto a nearby shelf, mindlessly organising them as Steve stands directly behind you. You try to ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest.
“Harassing you?” Steve asks, amused as he lifts a hand to brush your hair away from your neck. The action was so tender and intimate it made you drop the tape that was in your hand. “You gonna pick that up?”
You swallow, eyes flicker down to the tape on the floor. “Maybe. You gonna stop accusing me of being jealous?”
“Depends,” Steve murmurs, fingers tracing over the skin on your neck—over the mark he had left a few days prior that hadn’t yet faded—and smiling when you shudder. “You gonna stop being jealous, sweet girl?”
You huff, face warming at the pet name. “Go to hell, Harrington.” You tell him, turning around to glare at him some more but your breath catches when you realise just how close he was.
“You don’t mean that baby,” Steve says, his hand trailing from your neck, over your heaving breasts before his fingers splay across your stomach. “You want me right here, ain’t that right?”
You don’t say anything which was enough of an answer. Steve smiles at you as he begins to kneel down in front of you.
“Steve—what are you—we’re at work—”
“I’m just getting the tape,” Steve tells you innocently, despite the fact his hands were roaming over your jean-clad thighs. Despite the way his pupils were dilated as he looked up at you. Had that look on his face as though he wanted to devour you. “That okay, sweet girl?”
He asks the question casually but the way his nose nudges your cunt over your jeans tells you that Steve Harrington was not just on his knees to help you retrieve a tape.
“If we get caught—”
“We won’t,” Steve tells you before he leans in—unzipping your jeans with his damn teeth in a move that makes heat pool between your legs while simultaneously making you want to strangle him for being so effortlessly smooth.
Steve helped you shimmy out of your jeans, his breath hot against your skin as he left wet kisses along your inner thigh.
“Can smell how much you want me,” Steve tells you, his nose pressing against the damp patch that had collected in your panties. “So fucking sweet as always, baby.”
“Shut up,” you gasp out, your fingers curling in his hair as you lean back against the shelving unit behind you.
Steve smiles, inhaling the sweet scent of your arousal through the cotton of your panties before his lips press against where he knew your clit to be. It was over the material but it still made a small whimper leave your lips. Still had your back arching as he moaned against you.
“Steve—”
“Patience, baby,” he tells you, pulling away enough to look up at you as his hands begin to gently pull your panties down your legs—his cock twitching beneath his jeans when he sees how your pussy glistened in the low lights of the stock room. “Let me take care of her for a minute. She’s crying for me.”
And then, his mouth is on you. His tongue hot and eager as it glides between your folds, coating the tip with your arousal and groaning as he tastes you properly.
“So fucking sweet,” his murmurs against you, his hand wrapping around one of your thighs and helping you lift it over his shoulder. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. You think I want someone else's when I have yours, sweet girl?”
You bite back a moan, knowing that if you didn’t it would be loud and wanton, knowing Robin would hear it. Steve liked to say things like this during sex—liked to tell you that you were the only one he needed. You were sure it was just pillow talk. You didn’t really know if he truly meant it. But it made your heart race all the same.
“You don’t mean that,” you manage to say as his tongue continues to glide through your folds, a slow torture that had your fingers tightening in his hair.
“I do,” he murmurs against you—dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. “No one else.”
There’s a moment where you just look at each other—a quiet understanding there before his lips wrap around your clit and then? You were gone.
Steve Harrington took no mercy on you, sucking on your sensitive bud enough to make you whimper before he dips down to fuck you with his tongue. It was nothing short of torture, his tounge licking in and out of you and his nose—that fucking beautiful nose of his—nudging against your swollen clit. You felt your hips moving without permission. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the quiet store room. His muffled moans against your soaked cunt as your hips chased his mouth, his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs.
You could have come from his tongue alone. But Steve wanted you to see stars.
When two of his long, thick fingers slid into you—you were so close to crying out that you had to stuff your fist into your mouth to prevent yourself from doing so. You could feel Steve smile against you, his fingers curling and finding that spot inside of you with ease. A whimper manages to escape and Steve groans, curling his fingers again and again until your thighs were trembling.
“Stevie,” you gasp out—the nickname that you only ever used in these moments, when you were right on the edge and Steve was the only one you trusted to catch you. “I’m so close—I’m going to—”
“I got you, baby,” he tells you, still moving his fingers inside of you. “Don’t you worry. I got you.”
If you weren’t so close, you may have thought more about the look in his eyes. Would have thought more about the way he was gripping onto you like he never wanted to let you go. But the feeling building in your gut was too intense, too all consuming to think of anything else but his fingers and his tongue and—
“Stevie, oh god—Stevie—”
Your orgasm hits you hard. Had Steve not been holding you so tightly, you may have collapsed entirely. But he held you—steady and firm as your walls fluttered around his fingers, your release coating his tongue and Steve lapping up every damn drop as though it was liquid gold.
Your fingers curl into his hair for a brief moment before you let go. Your breathing erratic as you come back down to earth from the intensity of your orgasm, your eyes wide when they meet his hazel ones.
His lips were wet, soaked from your release and god—he looked so beautiful that it took your breath away for a few moments. You blink, softer now in the aftermath of your bliss. You didn’t argue as Steve helped you step into your panties, as he pulled them up your legs. You didn’t make a comment as he also helped you into your jeans.
“You know I mean it, right?” Steve asks you quietly as he gently pulls up your jeans, his eyes meeting yours as he stands up straight.
“Mean what?” You ask him quietly, your eyes flickering between his as you try to understand what he meant. Though, deep down, you think you already know.
“That I don’t need anyone else,” he says. “Not when I have you.”
You swallow, the admission hanging between the two of you. You’re not quite sure what to say and you’re certainly not sure how to feel about what he had just said. But your traitorous heart hammers against your chest and your cheeks burn.
“Careful Harrington,” you murmur back quietly. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you actually like me.”
Steve smiles—he actually smiles at that—and looks away from you, down at the forgotten tape still on the floor between you.
“Something like that,” he says quietly before he bends down to actually retrieve the tape.
You want to say something more, want to tell him how seeing him with Penny and the other giggling customers made you feel. But you didn’t.
You just watch as he returns the tape to the box of returns. You watch as he adjusts himself in his jeans, shooting you a wink.
“You can help me out later,” Steve tells you and you fight back a smile.
“If you’re lucky,” you say, knowing that you would inevitably have his cock in your mouth a few hours later.
Steve smiles, leaning in to press a kiss that was almost sweet to your forehead.
summary: steve wakes you slow and sweet, easing you out of sleep with careful hands and a lot of praise until a soft morning turns into something much filthier.
cw: smut, consensual somnophilia, established relationship, prior discussion/consent, fingering, oral (f rec.), protected piv sex, dirty talk, praise, sleepy sex
word count: 2k
mdni 18+
You’re barely awake when you first feel him.
Not enough to open your eyes. Not enough to move. Just enough to drift somewhere close to the surface, caught between sleep and warmth and the heavy comfort of your bed. Your cheek is pressed into Steve’s pillow, his scent wrapped around you, his arm banded over your waist from where he’d fallen asleep behind you hours ago.
For a second, all you know is warmth.
Warmth at your back from his chest. Warmth at your stomach where his palm is spread wide and lazy. Warmth between your thighs when something nudges there, slow and careful, like he’s not trying to wake you all at once.
Then his mouth brushes the back of your shoulder.
Soft. Barely there.
Another kiss follows, lower this time, to the warm skin between your shoulder blades where your tank top has slipped down. His breath fans over you, and you make a tiny sound without meaning to, more sigh than anything, body instinctively arching back into him.
That gets a quiet reaction out of him.
“There she is” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and something lower. His hand smooths over your stomach once, soothing. “Hi, baby.”
You hum, still half-gone, lashes fluttering but not opening.
He doesn’t rush.
That’s the thing about Steve—always a little more careful than he needs to be, especially with you. Especially with something like this. The two of you had talked about it in whispers and embarrassed little laughs, your face hot against his chest while you admitted that the idea of waking up to him touching you sounded insanely hot. He’d gone pink all the way to his ears, then immediately started asking questions in that sweet, serious way he does when he wants to get something right.
What are you okay with? What’s off limits? Do you want me to wake you up first? What if you change your mind?
You’d answered all of them. Reassured him through all of them. Told him yes, you wanted this. Yes, you trusted him. Yes, he could wake you up slow and sweet and make you feel good. And yes—if he asked, you’d answer. If you weren’t into it, everything stopped. No hesitation.
Now, in the dark gray quiet of early morning, he remembers all of it.
His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sleep shorts. He pauses there, palm cupping your hip.
“Wanna keep going, honey?” he asks quietly against your neck. “You can tell me no.”
Your brain is syrup-slow, but you manage a sleepy little “Mm-hm.”
His fingers still.
“Need words, baby.”
You swallow, lips parting against the pillow. “Yes” you whisper. “Please.”
The sound he makes is low and wrecked, like that one word went straight through him.
“Yeah?” His nose nudges behind your ear. “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” A kiss to your shoulder. “Good girl.”
The praise sends a warm pulse through you that lands right between your legs. You shift against the mattress, body growing heavier and lighter all at once, and Steve exhales shakily behind you.
His fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts and panties together, easing them down just enough to get his hand where he wants it. He doesn’t tug them off all the way. Just parts you open with maddening patience, fingertips dragging through wetness that’s already there.
“Oh, baby” he breathes.
You whine softly into the pillow.
“So wet already.” His voice is hushed, almost awed. “Was this what you were dreaming about?”
You don’t know if it was, but it is now.
His fingers move in slow circles, just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch. You’re still floating, eyelids heavy, trapped in that sweet dazed state where everything feels ten times more intense. Every little touch sparks. Every graze of his callused fingertips makes your breath catch.
Steve kisses the back of your neck, your shoulder, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder again.
“Still okay?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” It comes out shaky this time.
He rewards you with more pressure, two fingers circling your clit slowly, deliberately, until your hips start rocking back on instinct. He lets you. Just keeps you open with one hand and plays with you with the other, easing you into it until you’re fully awake in the best way—boneless, flushed, dripping, and aching.
“That’s it” he whispers. “That’s my girl.”
You finally pry your eyes open, blinking into the dim light spilling in around the curtains. Steve’s hand is between your legs. His face is tucked against the back of your shoulder, messy hair falling into his eyes, mouth pink and swollen from sleep. When he notices you looking, he leans up enough for you to see the question on his face.
“You good?”
You nod, then remember how he is. “Yes. More than good.”
The smile he gives you is ruined by lust in the prettiest way.
“Yeah? You want more?”
“So bad.”
He kisses you then, awkward only because of the angle, mouth brushing the corner of your jaw before he shifts you gently onto your back. He takes his time, helping you out of your shorts and panties the rest of the way, pushing your tank top up over your stomach. You’re warm and sleepy and open beneath him, and Steve just… looks.
Like he can’t help it.
Like he’s trying to memorize you.
“You’re so pretty like this” he says, voice low. “All sleepy and needy for me.”
You flush and reach for him, but he catches your wrist gently and kisses your palm.
“Let me take care of you first.”
His head disappears beneath the blanket, and your breath catches.
“Steve—”
Then his mouth is on you.
You jolt, hand flying into his hair on instinct, a broken moan spilling out before you can stop it. He groans into you at the sound, the vibration making your thighs squeeze around his head. He spreads them back open with his hands and goes right back to it, licking into you slow and deep before flattening his tongue over your clit.
“Oh my god” you gasp.
He knows exactly what he’s doing—patient where it counts, mean where it matters. Just enough suction to make your hips buck. Just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge without letting you tip too fast. Every time you squirm, he holds you there and gives you another long drag of his tongue that has your back arching off the mattress.
“That’s it” he murmurs against you. “C’mon, baby. Let go.”
Your body is still soft with sleep, nerves lit up and over-sensitive, and it doesn’t take long. Not with Steve between your thighs like he has all morning and all the patience in the world. Not with his hands gripping your thighs, his voice warm and encouraging, his tongue flicking just right.
You come with a helpless cry, legs shaking around him.
He doesn’t stop until you’re whining.
Only then does he emerge, hair a mess, mouth shining, eyes dark and pretty and completely gone for you.
“Hi” he says, breathless.
You laugh weakly, still trembling. “Hi.”
He crawls up your body and kisses you, lets you taste yourself on his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck automatically, pulling him close, and he melts into it for a second like he always does. Like no matter how worked up he is, he still needs that softness too.
You feel how hard he is when he settles between your thighs.
“You still want—” He cuts himself off with a shaky laugh. “Sorry. Still with me?”
You cup his face. “Yes. I want you.”
He closes his eyes for a second like that does something to him.
“Condom’s in the drawer” you whisper.
He reaches over without taking his eyes off you, fumbling one out and rolling it on with a little impatient huff that almost makes you smile again. But then he lines himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your wetness, and all the teasing leaves the room.
“Look at me, baby.”
You do.
“Tell me if anything feels off.”
“I will.”
He kisses you once. “Good.”
Then he pushes in.
The stretch hits both of you at once. You with a soft gasp Steve with a broken groan into your mouth. He stills immediately, forehead dropping to yours, giving you a second to adjust even though you’re already reaching for more.
“Okay?” he breathes.
“Yeah” you whisper. “Move, please.”
He does.
Slow at first. Deep enough to make your eyes flutter shut again. Your legs wrap around his waist and he sinks into you like he was made to, every thrust measured but wrecking, his mouth all over your face, your jaw, your throat. He keeps one hand laced with yours against the pillow, the other braced by your head until the rhythm starts to undo him.
Then it gets harder.
Not rough. Never rough without warning but needier. Hungrier.
His breaths turn uneven. His hips lose some of that careful control. Every thrust lands deeper, making the headboard tap softly against the wall and your mouth fall open on little broken sounds you can’t hold back.
“Steve” you moan.
“I know, baby, I know.” He kisses you sloppy and sweet. “You feel so fucking good.”
You drag your nails down his back and he shudders.
“Been wanting this” he admits against your mouth. “Wanted to do this exactly how you said. Wake you up all sweet. Make you feel good.”
“You are” you whisper.
“Yeah?” His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again. “Need you to come one more time for me.”
Your whole body jerks.
“Can you do that?” he murmurs. “Come on my cock like a good girl?”
The praise turns your bones to water. You nod frantically, already close, and Steve’s face goes wrecked.
“That’s it. Knew you could.”
His fingers work you in quick, tight circles while he keeps thrusting, the rhythm going sloppy now, desperate. You’re not going to last. He knows it. You know it. The pressure builds fast and hot, pulling tight in your belly until you can barely breathe around it.
“I’m close” you gasp.
“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Me too. Let go, baby.”
That’s all it takes.
You come hard, crying out his name, body clenching around him in pulsing waves. Steve groans and thrusts through it twice, maybe three times, then he’s there too buried deep, shaking above you, mouth open against your throat as the orgasm rips through him.
For a few seconds, neither of you can do anything but breathe.
Then Steve kisses your shoulder and your cheek and your mouth in no particular order, all soft and shaky and fond.
“You okay?” he asks, still catching his breath.
You smile, lazy and completely spent. “More than okay.”
He laughs quietly, relief all over his face. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You brush his hair off his forehead. “That was really hot.”
His whole expression goes bashful in the cutest way, which would be funny if he weren’t still inside you.
“Okay, cool” he mumbles, making you laugh. “Good. I was trying to be cool.”
“You were not cool” you tell him.
He grins. “No?”
“You were sweet.” You kiss him once. “And very, very hot.”
“That’s better.”
He pulls out carefully, deals with the condom, then comes right back to bed and tucks himself around you like he belongs there. One arm under your pillow, one over your waist, nose tucked into your hair.
You’re almost asleep again when he murmurs, “Thanks for trusting me.”
Your chest goes warm.
You turn enough to find his hand and squeeze it. “Thanks for listening.”
Steve kisses the back of your neck, lingering there.
“Anytime, baby.”
And with him wrapped around you, morning light still soft beyond the curtains, you drift back to sleep smiling.
a/n: hii babies! sorry this is being posted so late, i wasn’t able to sit down and edit until later tonight. i have soo many requests in my inbox right now, so that’s what i’ll be working on over the next couple days and hopefully i can get a few more out for you soon!! thank you for being patient with me, love you all sm 🫶🏻
steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort
summary: When you find out your college roommate/friend robin buckley's boyfriend, steve harrington— who you thought beat all stereotypical frat boy odds— is cheating on her, you find it hard to understand why she still wants to be with him. But there is more than meets the eye. You aren't sure if you want to be roped into it.
Teaser
Rules/Playlist
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
epilogue (coming soon)
He’s in way too deep now to back down.
“Yeah, I know.” Steve directs his path towards the tower’s electricity shed, pretending it had been his plan the entire time. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You sure?” You call out, annoyance clear in your voice.
Steve ducks his head and continues walking. He knows it’s best not to keep engaging with you. You’re already pissed off at him as it is.
Summary: youve really enjoyed running away from your feelings, dustin is a pain in the ass but also so is steve, youre a part of a radio show for some reason, robin endorses polyamory, and you seriously consider jumping out of a moving vehicle because of idiotic men (typical).
Rating: general, some swearing
Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, trauma lol
Words: 11.4k
Before you swing in: well ,,,, this is it. the final season !!!! i apologize for the delay, i work full time and have been extremely busy but i am alive !!! heres the first chapter, i hope yall enjoy and excuse the probable typos as this wasnt proof read </3
–
November 3rd, 1987.
The rush of blood pounds against your ears, deafening the silence in your head. With every uneven breath, your heartbeat steadies itself. Inside your lungs resides the cold sting of the air, reminding your body of the hill still ahead of you.
You stare at it, hunched over your knees as you struggle to return the much needed air into your lungs. The steep hill of a road has long since been worn down due to use. Its concrete cracked and freckled with debris. Your mother once told you it was the oldest road in Hawkins. The unimportant fact was once the only thing you knew about the road.
Then one November night Will rode his bike down this very hill, before disappearing, changing everything you once knew.
You stare at the stretch of road before you. Every morning you run the same path over and over again. Around Lover’s Lake, through the woods, past the Byers’ old home, before finally coming to the hill. Its steep surface always taunts you.
It knows the reason why you run. It’s embedded with the remnants of the nightmares from the night before.
Running has become all you have left to burn off the exhaustion that follows.
Your legs scream at you to rest. The lactic acid within them burns, but you’ve grown used to the sensation. Struggling to catch your breath, your fingers dig into your knees and your head falls. The lack of sleep snaps every muscle in your body.
Yet you force your legs to push off the concrete, running as hard as you physically can. You have to finish the hill. You have to keep running. It’s the only thing that drives out the screaming within your head.
“Y/N!”
Your mother’s voice causes you to trip. The landing isn’t graceful by any means. You scrape your knees, cutting the inside of your palms and fingertips.
“Oh, sorry, sweetie!” Your mother shouts from the car, parking herself next to you. You hadn’t even heard her driving so closely to you. “Though, I do feel that I need to remind you that this is exactly why I hate you running in the road. There are plenty of perfectly good sidewalks all around Hawkins.”
“Thanks for the concern, mom,” you mumble, slowly wiping your hands off on your leggings as you evaluate whether or not you can stand. The blood that spills from your knees makes you wince. They’ll be a bitch to heal. Sighing, you look up at your mother, “What do you need?”
She sticks her head out of her window even further, doing her best to make eye contact with you from the awkward angle. She flashes you an apologetic smile that you don’t trust. “Well, my sweet girl, I need your help.”
Immediately you know what she wants you to do. “No.”
Your mother pinches her cheeks. “Y/N, dear, I really need to get to work and I’ve already tried–”
“I’m not waking him up.”
“He’s your brother.”
“And he’s your son.”
“Y/N,” your mother’s usually patient and sweet voice turns fatigued. “Please.”
Sympathy floods through you. You know she’s had yet another unpleasant morning trying to wake your brother up for school. Dropping your head, you stare down at the ground. “Fine.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Relief floods your mother’s voice. She then puts on her sunglasses, fixes her hair, and honks a friendly goodbye as she leaves. Before rolling up her window she shouts, “and please don’t get hit by any cars! Have a great day!”
Claudia Henderson speeds away in her car, leaving you to deal with Dustin all on your own.
As usual.
The walk back down the hill serves as a small grace period before the inevitable storm. You dread what will come when you walk through your front door and into Dustin’s room.
You used to love waking him up for school. You’d have pancakes ready for him on the table by the time he finished getting dressed.
Now you stand before Dustin’s bedroom door, hesitant to even breathe too deeply in case he hears you.
Fist hovering over the door, you brace yourself for impact. You knock gently the first few times, hoping the tenderness of the knocks will convince Dustin to finally let you in. “Dustin, you awake in there?”
But all that can be heard on the other side is silence.
You’ve come to expect Dustin’s silence.
Frustrated, with little patience left for the silence, you straighten your shoulders and start pounding on the door. Your fists turn red at the harshness, but you don’t care. The sting in your knuckles gets lost in the insistence that maybe today Dustin will open the door for you. You don’t care whether he gives in due to annoyance or to something else.
All you want is for your brother to let you in again.
“C’mon, Dustin,” you call through the door, voice edging on irritation. “It’s time to get up. You know mom doesn’t want you missing any more school.”
No response.
Your palm slams against the door. “Dustin!”
Yet it all amounts to nothing.
Exhausted from more than just your run, you press your head against the door and softly say, “I love you, you know.”
Silence echoes back at you.
Forcing down the tears that threaten to spill over, you close your eyes. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to for you to come back.”
It’s what you did for me.
Though it goes unspoken, you know that Dustin hears it.
“Come back, please.” Your fingers trace the ridges in the wood of the door. Faint, worn initials are carved into it, down near the hinges: D.H. He used to be such a lively, excited kid.
Grief took him away.
“I miss you.” You exhale softly, before pressing one final kiss against the door that your brother refuses to open. Swallowing down the grief, you know that you’ve done all you can. At least for now. “Have a good day at school, Dust.”
From the kitchen rings the telephone. You glance at the watch on your wrist, though you already know the time. Steve always calls just before he leaves his house to come pick you up. An old, familiar routine.
Though your fingers linger on Dustin’s door. Steve will be expecting you to answer any second, but you can’t bear to leave your brother just yet. But his room remains silent and you know that it’s useless pulling a response from him.
“Hi, angel.”
Steve’s voice is honey. It soothes the wounds in your skin, grazing over the cuts on your knees and the scrapes on your hands. Honey. An old remedy for childhood aches.
“Hi, honey.” Your finger twirls around the phone’s cord. Another familiar routine.
“You guys all set for me to be at yours in fifteen?”
You look at Dustin’s door one last time, biting your lip. It remains silent. Dustin won’t be ready in time for Steve to drive him to school. “It’ll just be me, actually.”
“Oh. Interesting.” Steve clicks his tongue. “That’s the sixth time in two weeks, angel.”
“Yeah.” Your eyes close. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Steve winces. “Sorry, I know it’s been hard–”
“I should get ready.” You interrupt your boyfriend, though not unkindly. The conversation just makes you miserable and you still need to shower. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Steve mumbles softly. There’s more he wants to say, but he knows that now just isn’t the time.
The line disconnects. You don’t have any time to ruminate over the morning’s events as you quickly get ready. You’d hate to keep Steve waiting. Not when your skin buzzes at the idea of being near to him after a night apart.
True to his word, Steve arrives in your driveway soon after. He beams at you through the windshield, winking playfully as he parks the car and gets out, eager to open the passenger door for you because he knows it makes you laugh.
But as you giggle over how ridiculous Steve looks, sprinting over before you can beat him to the car’s door, movement behind the front porch catches your eye. You stop, squinting to figure out what lies behind the brustle, only to catch Dustin trying, and failing, to sneak off on his bike before either you or Steve spot him.
At first you’re stunned, and relieved, he’s even awake and heading to school.
Then you see that he’s wearing Eddie’s old Hellfire Club shirt and immediately you’re pissed off that your brother could be so stupid and infuriating.
Dustin Henderson’s specialty.
“Dustin!” You shout after him. You must not mask your anger very well given the fact that the kid nearly topples over on his bike. Worried you’ll only upset him further, you quickly run after him. “Wait, no. I’m not angry, I-I just wanted you to hitch a ride with me and Steve!”
“Fat chance.” Dustin shouts over his shoulder, already beginning to pedal away. “No way in hell I’m third wheeling with you and Harrington for the millionth time.”
“But–”
“Bye, Y/N.” And then Dustin is gone.
You stand in the driveway, watching him disappear down the hill. At least he’s going towards the high school rather than away.
How depressing it must be that your once prodigious brother now having a dwindling attendance record makes you grateful.
“Is your brother seriously wearing that Hellfire shirt?” Steve scoffs next to you, squinting at the sun.
“It’s been a rough morning.”
“Aren’t they always rough?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, harshly squeezing your eyes shut as if that will somehow dim the sun and diminish your growing resentment. “Not now, Steve.”
“Listen, all I’m saying is–”
“Get in the car before I leave you.”
“What?” Steve whips around to face you, baffled. “I’m the one who drove here, how could you even–”
“You have five more seconds to get in the car before you find out exactly how I’ll leave you behind.”
He drops his head, slowly walking back to the car, though not without mumbling under his breath, “have fun opening your own car door.”
You smile. “I heard you.”
“Didn’t intend for you not to.”
“Start the car, smartass.”
“Yes, dear.”
–
When you first heard of New York University, you’d been twelve. Jonathan had tugged you through the woods, swatting away bugs before they could get to you. It had been the early stages of your first summer in Hawkins.
He dragged you through the thick leaves and tall grass and brought you to a giant field that slowly ascended into a hilltop. Embedded in its weeds were beautiful yellow dandelions and their white seeds.
Jonathan, long past his shyness around you, tackled you to the ground and laughed over your surprised squeals. He had made sure that your head would land on hand, safe, soft. He’s always been soft with you.
It was that day that Jonathan confessed to you that he’d always wanted to attend NYU. Showcase his photography, something he picked up earlier that winter. He asked whether you’d thought about college yet, where you wanted to go.
Truthfully, you hadn’t ever thought about your future.
But then Jonathan had smiled at you, plucking a dandelion seed out of your hair as he did so, and you knew then that you’d never be able to leave him. His dream became yours, though in the end it was only yours to have.
Until Hawkins fell under quarantine and any chance of escaping its nightmares became a dream in itself.
You would’ve been a sophomore at NYU by now, had you stopped Vecna.
Except you didn’t.
Instead, Max lies in a coma while you sit in a formerly abandoned radio station amongst everyone else suffering the consequences of that bastard’s victory.
“Count me in, pretty girl.” Robin’s gentle voice breaks you out of your spell. She looks at you expectantly, though with a fondness that makes you ache.
You’d gotten lost in your own thoughts. Again.
“Right, sorry.” You clear your throat, ignoring Steve’s concerned eyes as you straighten in your seat. Fingers hovering over the radio’s control panel, you adjust your headphones and give Robin a thumbs up. “You’re live in three… two…”
You mouth the final number before pointing both fingers at Robin, her designated signal that the show has begun, and she smiles wide.
“Good morning, Hawkins!” She greets enthusiastically. “This is WSQK The Squawk.”
Quickly you flash a notebook page at Steve, which simply has the words chicken! now! scrawled on it. He salutes you and rushes to punch the poor rubber chicken wired to a mic. It’s a job he takes very seriously.
When Robin first started her show, she was in charge of both directing Steve’s sound cues and hosting. A daunting task, but she managed to make it work.
Then Steve accidentally cued up an applause track for someone’s funeral announcement rather than the mournful piano Robin had originally wanted.
After that she dropped the cue job onto you, all but forcing you to join the production. While you protested and tried to get out of it, secretly you were relieved to have something to do in the mornings to distract yourself.
It also helps that the sound booth is so small that you have to practically sit in Steve’s lap in between cues and that he always kisses the base of your neck in an attempt to get you to break out into giggles that the entire town will hear.
Robin hates it.
It’s her fault for forcing you into the job.
“It’s my 500th broadcast,” Robin spins around in her chair after having made her usual announcements regarding the weather and cues up a celebratory song while you motion to Steve for applause. “Yeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!”
The cheesy audience applause plays over the broadcast and you can’t help but laugh. Who knew Robin Buckley would one day terrorize the town with 500 days worth of broadcasts in the midst of a military coup?
Robin goes into the monologue she’s been writing all week full of not so subtle jabs at all Hawkins has been through this year and the unrealistic regulations you’ve been forced to endure since then.
“And now, I’m stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots.” Robin says, snickering when you salute at her like the diligent soldier Hawkins expects you to be. “And, if I can be brutally honest, I couldn’t be happier. Because when you really think about it, why would you want to live anywhere else?”
You cue to Steve for a booing crowd, but Robin sees and reaches over to tear the page out.
Absolutely not, she mouths at you, eyebrows furrowed.
Lame, you mouth back.
Steve watches the interaction in amusement, deciding to resolve the issue with a sliding whistle he found the other day. Its unexpectedly pathetic sound distracts you long enough for Robin to continue her spiel.
The traitor took her side.
With a sigh, you walk over to Steve and help him find the rest of the tracks needed for the broadcast. The two of you work fluidly together, always anticipating the other’s needs and moving just where needed. He hands you a freshly brewed cup of coffee after a sickly cough tape plays and you couldn’t be more grateful for him as the liquid warms your ever cold hands.
You’re quiet for the rest of Robin’s broadcast, content simply handing Steve the necessary tapes and ordering him around via cues.
“And go on that date! Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight.”
A loud, shocked gasp slips from your lips before you can stop it. Embarrassed, you clamp your hands over your mouth and pray that it escaped Robin’s notice.
You should know better by now.
Hearing your shock, Robin spins in her chair and grabs her chest, feigning pain. “Did you hear that cute little gasp, folks? It seems that Hawkins’ sweetheart is surprised that I have my own sweetheart. Or, maybe…” she leans in close to you now, wiggling her eyebrows at your horror of being publicly denounced, “she’s just jealous that she isn’t the only person in town who gets serenaded via broadcast.”
Steve just barely suppresses his laughter with a cough, which only mortifies you more. Pinching his side, you harshly whisper at Robin, “I’m not jealous! I just didn’t think you’d announce your relationship so openly!”
“Regardless,” Robin ignores your frantic explanation and cues up her next song. “This one’s for you, babe.”
Some new song plays, but you don’t hear it over your struggle against Steve’s hands around your waist preventing you from jumping over the tape player and tugging Robin’s headphones off in retaliation.
“Let go of me!” You whisper as loud as you dare, trying to twist out of Steve’s grasp.
“Not worth it, angel,” he sighs into your ear. “I’ll help you sneak coffee grounds into her shoes after this but–”
Suddenly the broadcast begins cutting in and out. Static leaks into the audio as you and Steve look at each other in alarm. Then, at the same time, you both run to the control panel, hitting every button you can think of in a vain attempt to fix whatever has gone wrong.
Probably not the most efficient method, but the two of you have never been the best under pressure together.
“What the hell?” Robin shouts, watching you and Steve running around like headless chickens. “What did you guys do?”
“Nothing!” You both exclaim in unison, just before the broadcast completely shuts off.
“Oh,” you wince. “That can’t be good.”
Robin tears off her headphones. “Shit!”
She runs out of the sound booth with you and Steve close behind. Irritation and disappointment radiates off of her skin while remorse coats yours. You can’t imagine how excited Robin had been to play her song for Vickie.
“I told you to stop thumbing your nose at the military.” Steve berates as Robin scours the station for any sign of technical issues that can quickly be resolved.
“You really think the military did this?” You ask, scrunching your nose. “I mean, Robin wasn’t as snarky as she could’ve been. I thought it was relatively tame.”
“Thank you, pretty girl.” Robin slams her hand against one of the station’s panels. “Seriously, I was just reiterating their goddamn rules, encouraging compliance!”
Steve sighs. “Right. No sarcasm there.”
“Says the dingus with the rubber chicken.”
“These are very serious people, Robin.”
“They’re morons, not ‘serious people’.” You scoff, but when you see the panic growing in Robin’s eyes, you tuck your hair behind your ears and exhale slowly. There’s only one person you know who’ll be of any use. “Listen, I’ll radio Dustin and see what he thinks.”
Robin doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said, focused on turning some random dial she’s found over and over again without any luck.
It’s Steve who hears you, and he’s the one who grabs the walkie before you can.
“You sure you want to call the kid right now?” He asks you, holding the device over your head. “I mean, no offense, but do you really think he’ll answer after the psychological warfare I witnessed this morning?”
“He’s my brother,” the excuse has become an old friend on your tongue. You’ve repeated it every day, every time, for months now. “We have to at least try before Robin loses her mind.”
Steve wants to argue further, but Robin’s voice starts to raise and you both know she’s five seconds away from a breakdown. Reluctant, he grabs the nearest walkie and extends its antenna. “Henderson, you copy?”
You hold your breath at the silence that follows. Steve looks at you, shaking his head slightly when still no response comes. Growing anxious at the silence, you grab the walkie from him. “Dustin? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” He sounds tired, edging on the annoyance you’ve become familiar with.
Yet hearing Dustin’s voice, regardless of the displeasure that intertwines within his cadence that stings your skin, causes you to exhale in relief.
“Hey, buddy. Listen, we’re having some trouble with the tower.”
“Took you long enough.” Steve snatches the walkie from you, frustration cutting through the room.
“God, you sound swell.” You can practically hear Dustin rolling his eyes at Steve’s impatience. Something you find yourself doing as well. “Let me take a wild guess, you and my sister aren’t calling to wish me a good morning.”
“You’re the one who refused to ride with us,” you snatch the walkie back from Steve, now annoyed with both of the boys. “And I know you heard me standing outside your door this morning.”
“Are you seriously calling just to berate me? Jesus, can’t you just–”
Steve cuts in before Dustin ever growing resentment spikes. “Alright, we really don’t have time for this seeing as how we’ve got a situation down here at the Squawk. The signal’s gone all wonky.”
“I was getting there,” you say through gritted teeth, glaring at your boyfriend. He takes a cautious step back. A wise choice. Exhaling the last of your frustration, you continue. “But Steve’s right. We think Robin finally pissed off the higher ups.”
“Doubtful. She was encouraging compliance.”
“Told you!” Robin shouts, which Steve waves an annoyed hand at.
Biting back a smile, you press for more. “That’s what I figured, but the broadcast suddenly went out and we can’t get the signal back. Any ideas?”
“Check the remote radio head.” Dustin suggests. Faintly you can hear a mixture of voices behind him. He must’ve just arrived at the school.
Steve crosses his arms. “What the hell is a radio head?”
“Remote radio head,” your brother sighs tiredly. “Just read the manual, guys.”
To be completely honest, you had no idea that the radio tower came with an instruction manual.
“Sure, we could read it, but…” You pause, trying to find the right words. “You know I’m pretty horrible with AV stuff. Maybe you could walk us through the more complicated parts? Help us with the terminology?”
Selfishly, you just want to hear your brother’s voice for a little while longer. Even if all he does is give curt, short responses.
You miss him.
“Find a dictionary and learn the terminology yourself.” Dustin huffs into the walkie. You flinch at the tone. “I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Y/N.”
Steve bristles next to you.
You try to still the slight tremor of your hands.
Despite how many times Dustin has rejected you, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how deeply the sting cuts into your pulse.
“But what if I always want you to be there?” You hate how small your voice sounds. How, even with how hard you try for it not to, the waver in your vocal chords reveals the hurt.
A beat of silence passes. Dustin doesn’t say anything.
Instead the walkie shuts off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve runs an angry hand through his hair. “Does he seriously have to ignore you every time you try to reach out to him?”
He throws the walkie onto the couch and paces the room. “It’s his tone. It’s always his goddamn tone!”
Robin turns to you, eyes weary as Steve continues to pace around the room and mumble angrily to himself. She silently asks what you want to do, but you just shake your head.
You’re familiar with Steve’s anger directed towards your brother.
You despise it.
“I don’t know how you aren’t sick of it by now, Y/N.” Steve laughs humorlessly. “I sure as hell am.”
And there it is. The insistence that you be in the middle of Steve and Dustin constantly arguing. As if you aren’t already dangerously close to losing your little brother in his grief. As if you want to constantly be begging for Steve’s understanding and Dustin’s vulnerability.
But as Steve tugs at his hair and continues to talk a mile a minute about how much your brother pisses him off, you just choose to bite your tongue. Like you always seem to do these days.
“We should look for the manual.” You say instead, needing something to distract yourself with.
Steve’s footsteps falter, having not expected you to move on from Dustin’s dismissal so quickly, but Robin seems to sense what he can’t and nods eagerly. “I couldn’t agree more!”
Before Steve can say anything else, Robin takes your arm and drags you away from him, the two of you giggling at Steve’s almost immediate protests.
It’s enough to distract you. If even for a little while.
–
Finding the instruction manual turns out to be a shockingly difficult task.
With how large the radio station’s infrastructure is, trying to find some ancient document is like trying to find a needle in the haystack.
“I swear to God this stupid thing does not exist.” Robin slams yet another filing cabinet closed. Seems her search through the office hadn’t gone well.
“It fucking better exist.” You roll your shoulders in an attempt to lessen the tension within your spine from crouching over a rack of files. “This really isn’t a pleasant experience.”
Jonathan snorts next to you. He’d shown up alongside Nancy just as you, Steve, and Robin started scouring the tower for the alleged manual. While Nancy chose to search through the bookshelf, Jonathan announced that he would search alongside you.
Something that Steve narrows his eyes at.
You choose to pretend that you don’t notice.
“Can you try Dustin again, bug?” Jonathan asks after rifling through the fifth file without any luck.
“He turned off his walkie!” Robin answers for you, rushing over to search through yet another pile of boxes.
“What’s been up with him lately?” Your head falls against the wall at Nancy’s question. Hearing your defeat, she hums to herself. “Noted.”
Eventually Nancy manages to find the manual, which ends up being a giant binder held together with a rather concerning amount of paperclips and tape. She holds it up gleefully and beckons everyone over to a table, dropping the thing down.
You all crowd around Nancy as she quickly flips through the pages, searching for anything that even remotely resembles what Dustin had been talking about.
“Wait, there it is,” Steve reaches over to point at a figure, inadvertently placing the majority of his body against Nancy’s as their hands graze. She tenses at the touch. “There it is. Remote radio head.”
It takes Nancy a second to respond. You watch as she swallows nervously, obviously uncomfortable with how close Steve has become. A thick, dark cloud of uncertain tension ebbs off them, and an unpleasant taste sours your mouth.
The taste only bitters more when you notice the way Jonathan’s disdainful eyes linger on Steve.
He knows just as well as you do why Nancy shifts away from your boyfriend. While you trust Steve more than anything, Jonathan doesn’t.
The small, innocent touch will be yet another rift between Nancy and Jonathan. It will become yet another thing you have to pretend you don’t notice. Something you can’t talk about. Not with anyone.
Steve hasn’t quite forgiven Jonathan for the phone call.
Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?
And Jonathan hasn’t quite forgiven Steve for falling in love with you.
I’ll always love you the most, bug.
Lost in your thoughts, you miss Robin asking how to find the remote radio head and Nancy’s terrifying, yet genius mind coming up with the solution: the radio tower itself.
–
Immediately you hate the plan.
You’ve never stepped foot anywhere close to the radio tower due to its unnatural size and the unease it brings you.
As you stand before the tower alongside the others, squinting against the harsh sunlight and height, you’re reminded yet again of how much you loathe the ideas Nancy comes up with.
“It’s up there somewhere,” she says, squinting at the sun as well. “It’s gotta be.”
“Are we going based on fact or a hunch?” You ask. “Because as much as I adore you, I’m getting nauseous just looking at this thing.”
Robin pokes your side. “Scared of heights, pretty girl?”
“As if you would climb up there.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” Robin laughs, looking around at everyone else. “But, that does beg the question of who will climb to the tippy top of this bad boy.”
Nancy studies the tower, unsure. “Without a harness or anything, it does seem kind of dangerous.”
You choke back a scoff. “Kind of dangerous? C’mon, Wheeler. It’s a death trap.”
“Sounds like a job for me.”
Immediately you grab the back of Steve’s jacket and yank him to your side. “I’ll kill you.”
“Sounds pretty death trap-y to me.” He smirks at you, grabbing the hand that holds him back to kiss the inside of your wrist. He caresses the skin tenderly, amused by your reaction. “Relax, angel.”
In all honesty, he doesn’t actually want to climb the tower. Steve only volunteered because he thinks you’re adorable when you fret over him. He’s about to say as much when Jonathan suddenly steps forward and puffs his chest.
“I actually think this might be a better job for me.”
What little rationality that Steve has quickly gets forgotten when Jonathan opens his mouth.
“I got this Byers,” Steve throws his jacket off and slams it against the other’s chest. A small rush of satisfaction courses through him when Jonathan grimaces at the force. “Don’t sweat it.”
“Steve Harrington.” His name barrels through your gritted teeth. You know that he’s only trying to show off for you. “Don’t you dare.”
Hearing the finality in your voice is almost enough to get Steve to back down. But then Jonathan starts taking his jacket off as well and walks towards the tower and Steve really does wish he knew how to not make stupid decisions based around his pride.
“I’ll be fine, angel.” He calls over his shoulder, unable to turn fully to look at you in fear that your beauty will break him. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t forget about the voltage, dingus.” Robin shouts at him. “Unless you want to fry.”
Embarrassment washes over Steve. He can feel your eyes burning into his back and how eagerly you want to scream “I told you so”.
He’s in way too deep now to back down.
“Yeah, I know.” Steve directs his path towards the tower’s electricity shed, pretending it had been his plan the entire time. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You sure?” You call out, annoyance clear in your voice.
Steve ducks his head and continues walking. He knows it’s best not to keep engaging with you. You’re already pissed off at him as it is.
Finding the necessary dial to shut off the tower’s power surge, he turns it all the way to the left until the faint electric hum shuts off. One step down. Pleased with himself, Steve exits the shed and is about to brag before he sees Jonathan dangling off the tower’s ladder like a fucking idiot.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I got this, dude.” Jonathan’s smug face pisses Steve off even more. “Don’t sweat it.”
And the race is on.
Steve runs towards the tower’s ladder and throws himself up, climbing as fast as he physically can to make up for Jonathan’s head start.
You watch from the ground, not even bothering to try and stop what’s happening. It’s embarrassingly immature. While you understand Steve’s feelings towards Jonathan, you hate how he feeds into them. Anyone can see how fragile Jonathan’s relationship with both you and Nancy has become, and everyone knows that you’ll always be Steve’s.
Yet instead of having a conversation about it, or even allowing himself to be the bigger person, Steve feeds into Jonathan’s insecurity like he’s chasing after the high.
Nancy turns away in disgust as Jonathan and Steve race to the top of the tower, and her sigh echoes your own disappointment.
“How committed are the four of you to monogamy?” Robin throws her around you and Nancy, squeezing the two of you together with a glint in her eyes.
You shove her away. “Please stop talking, Robin.”
She pinches your cheek as she grins wickedly, far too amused with the situation. “Aw, c’mon, I’m sure there’s plenty of room for more in your relationship–”
The rev of an engine cuts Robin off, its harsh sound loudly announcing Murray’s arrival. He waves excitedly from his giant cargo truck and for once in your life you’re relieved to see the bastard.
“I thought the next delivery was scheduled for tomorrow?” You tilt your head in confusion.
Nancy’s eyes draw together. Concern sketches her features. “Me, too.”
Your teeth scrape over your lips. While you’re grateful Murray’s arrival has given you an excuse to turn away from your idiotic boyfriend and best friend, you know that Murray’s early delivery can’t mean anything good.
Something is about to happen. You’re sure of it.
Murray waits for you down the hill. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, eager to show what he’s smuggled in this time.
“Ladies, hello!” He cackles in glee, yellow teeth and all. “Always a pleasure to see your beautiful faces.”
You don’t bother to mask your disgust. “Yeah. Right back at ya.”
“Santa’s brought a full sack today.” Murray ignores your indifference and opens the truck’s backdoor in a flourish. He grabs a large sack of supplies and throws it onto the ground before you. “A fresh telemetry bag. Scarcer than hen’s teeth, these things.”
He hands you the box and you carefully inspect the thing. “This is what Dustin wanted, right?”
“Correct, little miss. His requests are always the most annoying things on God’s green earth to find.” The disdain in Murray’s voice pleases you. He then turns to Nancy and hands her two large metal containers. “As for you, here are enough bullets and shells for Hop to start a small war, if he so chooses.”
Nancy accepts the containers with a small nod.
“And did someone order a salad?” Murray holds up what you sincerely hope isn’t a grenade, but when he smiles wide with a crazed look in his eyes, you know it can only be a lethal weapon he’s playing with in his hands. “A grenade salad. Ha! Get it? I hid the grenades under the lettuce, and–”
“Is there anything else?” You interject, long fed up with the man’s horrible jokes and monologues.
Murray glares at you. “You know, I work really hard to provide for your needs. A little respect wouldn’t hurt.”
You shrug. “I think I’ll pass.”
Robin snickers behind you and Nancy covers her mouth, hiding a pleased smile. Knowing he’s outnumbered, Murray purses his mouth and finishes his haul. “I also brought Gatorade for El’s battery, in case anyone was wondering.”
“God, please toss me one,” Steve slides next to you, severely out of breath and apparently alive with Jonathan, who doesn’t look any better. “I’m dying here.”
Murray happily complies, tossing the Gatorade bottle in the air, not anticipating that you’d intercept it and take the drink for yourself. “Thanks, Bauman.”
“What the hell, Y/N?” Steve exclaims, choking on his own shock and eliciting several dry, overexhausted coughs after you elbow him in the ribs. “Fuck!”
“On a tight leash, Harrington?” Murray clicks his tongue, smug.
Unscrewing the cap off the bottle, you flick the small piece of metal at the guy’s head. “Aren’t you a grown man?”
Murray steps closer to you, eyes seething and on the brink of losing all composure. “Alright, listen here, you little shit–”
“Is there anything else?” Nancy clears her throat expectantly. While she understands your prolonged annoyance for Murray, she wishes you’d piss him off after he’s delivered everything, rather than during. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”
The man inhales sharply for a moment, clenching his jaw as if to steady himself. You watch the overdramatic show of patience in obvious amusement. “Yeah, anything else, Bauman?”
“No,” Murray spits out venomously. “At least, not for you.” He turns back to his truck and fishes out an old cassette tape and dangles it in Jonathan’s face. “As for you, Mr. Byers, I know you’re allergic to jazz, but just a whirl. You might find it rather engaging.”
He then proceeds to use his entire face to wink at Jonathan, laughing to himself over a joke none of you seem to understand. Jonathan quickly snatches the tape from Murray and shoves it into his pocket, face red in embarrassment.
Jonathan’s reaction unsettles something within your chest. The strings snap together in a brutal crescendo, pricking your skin as the lines break apart inside your ribcage. Jonathan keeps his eyes down, low enough that you can’t look into them.
You dislike the way Murray presented the cassette tape. The words he used.
But it all gets forgotten when the man hits Nancy’s head with an envelope of papers. “And for the station manager, the reason for my premature delivery.”
She snatches the envelope and fingers through its contents without hesitation. You all crowd around her, silent. You’ve become familiar with the envelopes and what they bring.
The crack in your left ribcage seeps open.
Dread creeps in.
“A burn? Tonight?” Nancy asks, shaking her head. “But it’s–”
“Too soon. I know.” Murray’s normally overzealous nature falters. Even he can’t mask the worry. “Whatever they’re doing in the Upside Down evidently needs a serious injection of resources.”
Nancy flips through the pages of the leaked document. All crowded with numbers and orders, you’ve lost count of how many correspondences you’ve read through by now. They blur together, yet even as the numbers become harder to decipher due to how quickly Nancy rifles through them, you know why Murray came when he did.
“They’re requesting more supplies than they normally do,” you peer over Nancy’s shoulder, face twisting in concern. “The supply drop could take hours.”
Murray shrugs. “Two, at the minimum.”
“Which gives Hopper plenty of time for a crawl.” The rough timbre of Nancy’s voice reveals more than her words do.
The dread seeps into your lungs. Thick like molasses, you know there isn’t any use trying to escape it.
“Maybe tonight’s the night we finally find that bastard and end this.”
Murray’s words hang in the air.
End this.
But will it ever really end?
You’ve long stopped believing in miracles or that retribution can exist alongside the cruelty that predates it.
Except Nancy’s hands remain steady, without any tremor, still somehow always firm in her belief that one day Vecna’s blood will finally cease the nightmares.
You wish you had her faith.
But for now, all you can do is prepare for yet another crawl.
–
The beginning is always the same.
Nancy’s quick eyes skim through the document’s pages as instructs you to write down every piece of information she deems relevant to the crawl. What time it will begin, how many men will be sent, which route they’ll take.
Once completed, the two of you then pour over the details and try to piece them into a jigsaw code of a puzzle only few will understand.
Steve adds in pieces of his own humor in an attempt to mask the code even further, while Jonathan selects the music that will play and alert the rest of the party to be ready.
Then all Robin has to do is go on air as Rockin’ Robin with her script in hand and deliver the code while you and the others sit quietly behind her, bracing for what’s to come.
The beginning has always been the easiest.
In the midst of creating ciphers and analyzing complex military documents, you can usually convince yourself that maybe this time it’ll be different. Maybe this time the crawl will amount to anything other than disappointment and frustration.
But then you’re perpetually reminded that you will never get what you want.
Nancy always insists that she have you, Robin, Steve, and Jonathan go over what you’ve found in the documents together in the radio station’s basement with nothing but a projector to light the room.
Though you understand why she remains adamant about going over the details and plan, it's become the thing you hate most about the crawls. Being stuck in the dark, rotting basement going over the same gridlines of Hawkins that you memorized well over a year ago as Nancy recites the same plan she always does creates a misery you never thought possible.
“If Murray’s intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp. Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MAC-Z no later than 9:00.” Nancy motions to the military base on the gridmap with a pointer Robin jokingly got her months ago that she still hasn’t thrown away.
Nancy conveys so much confidence as she speaks. It’s a shame it centers around a topic you really, really hate.
“Barring any delays, I expect that the convoy will reach MAC-Z by about 10:15.”
“And the crawl begins." You finish for Nancy with a sigh.
Her pointer now aims at you. “Exactly, meaning Hop will be going a gentle 30 miles per hour while you, Dustin, and Steve do your best to keep up with his telemetry tag’s signal.”
“I’ll blow through any red lights we come across so we stay within range.” Steve nods to himself, satisfied with his own plan that he spoke with no one else about. A terrible plan, at that.
Your foot kicks the edge of his chair fondly, getting his attention. “And that’s why I’ll be the one driving.”
“Oh, in your dreams, angel.” He sticks his tongue out at you childishly, leaning back in his chair so his hair splays across your lap. “My car’s too pretty for you to drive.”
“More importantly,” the slight rise in Nancy’s voice is enough to snap Steve’s chair back to the ground, forcing his attention back to her. “We’ll lose Hopper if you get pulled over,” she then looks pointedly at you, “Regardless of who’s driving.”
Steve waves his hands up in surrender, knowing better than to argue with the girl. You simply place your chin in your hand, bored. Beneath the table you sit at hides your clenched fists. “Carry on, Wheeler.”
She purses her lips and exhales curtly before continuing. “As I was saying, Hop will have two whole hours to search for Vecna, which is ample time. He’s cleared zones faster, meaning all signs point to yet another successful crawl.”
Successful.
“An interesting word choice.” The molten dread within your chest solidifies to bitterness, and you don’t realize you’ve voiced your resentful thoughts until Nancy’s contempt eyes bear into yours.
“I’m sorry?” She asks defensively, arms crossed over her chest. “Is there a problem, Y/N?”
Awkwardly you clear your throat. “Nothing, it’s just…”
“We’re good.” Jonathan shuffles his feet, anxious to move onto a different conversation. He can feel a shift in the air, the charged static forming between you and Nancy that he desperately wants to avoid. “Promise.”
“We definitely aren’t good. I mean, no offense, but Zone G1 is not that exciting or Vecna-y.” Robin’s bluntness cuts through the room, voicing what you’ve been too afraid to.
Taking the risk, you swallow down your own hesitations as well and bite the bullet that Robin has inexplicably shot. “There’s nothing in the zone, either. Nowhere he could hide in that Hopper wouldn’t be able to find.”
The stiffness in Nancy’s posture sends pins through your body. Her eyes, always cunning and alert, darken into something malicious, almost even protective. She doesn’t say anything, though. She simply sets her cold gaze on the room, studying everyone before her.
“Or maybe…” Steve’s loose arm around you flicks in the air, indifferent. “He’s already dead.”
Robin shot the gun, you bit its bullet, and Steve echos its finality.
“Your plan is great, Nance, but this is crawl what? Aren’t we in the thirties now?” He continues, voicing the dread and contempt that has consumed you for months.
“Thrity-three,” you speak slowly, quietly. As if it will hide the pain that the knowledge plagues you with. You’ve written to Max thirty-three times now about the crawls. “This would be crawl thirty-four.”
Steve’s hand rubs up and down your back. Only he knows why you’ve counted each and every crawl. Why their every failure cuts deeper and deeper into your chest, like a landmine waiting to blow.
“El can’t find him in her bath and that Will and Y/N haven’t felt Vecna since the world basically fell apart,” Steve scratches his face, worried he’s overstepping with the reminder that you’re still marked, still a target. “Don’t you feel like we’re scouring a battlefield that we already won?”
“Have you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire.” Jonathan stands in for Nancy’s silence, infuriated. “Karen, Holly, everyone dead.”
“And what about what he showed me?” Your anger flings from your throat harsher than you intend for it to. The anger rings throughout the room, forcing everyone to stand in its messy wake, silent. Fingers digging into your palms, your eyes close and exhale slowly. “He showed me my father. He made me relive Will’s disappearance and-and…”
Your voice trails off as Nancy’s eyes avert yours. She shifts ever so slightly, the only indication of her unease, and you choke back your own discomfort at the memory you both share.
Did you really think I’d forget her, Y/N?
The venom that had laced Steve’s voice will always fester your skin, no matter how many nights you’ve spent trying to forget them.
I can’t. At least, not as easily as your dad forgot you.
You wonder if Nancy has forgotten the venom, or if it haunts her, too.
“What I’m trying to say is that Vecna only shows your worst fears,” your fingers scratch the tabletop beneath you, unable to look at anyone. “He’ll do anything to get into your head and scare you.”
“Yeah, well he did a good job because I am scared.” Nancy blurts out, her composure finally gone. “And you should be scared, Y/N. Because if he’s still out there, I can promise you that he’ll finish you off and end our world.”
As soon as she’s said it, the fire in Nancy’s eyes dims. A frail hand covers her mouth, but the damage has been done. She drops her head in shame. “I-I’m sorry. That was unfair.”
So deeply you want to scream at her how exhausted you are of trying to hold onto a hope that refuses to be grasped after every failed crawl. You want to scream at Nancy that every morning you run until you can’t breathe because it’s the only sensation similar enough to the death that took Max from you. You want to scream that you’re sick of pretending you don’t have the same bloodlust for Vecna’s body, a yearning so intense that it terrifies you.
Above all, you just want to scream at Nancy that all your life all you’ve ever done is fail again and again in what matters the most, in protecting who you love.
To expect you to want to endure it all over again is a fate much more cruel than Vecna’s curse.
But rather than scream until your throat becomes a bloodied mess of vocal chords, you just stare back at Nancy’s mournful eyes and force a smile.
“It’s alright,” you tell her, too tired to mask the apathy. You’re sick of pretending. “Let’s just stick to the original plan for tonight.”
The frown line between Nancy’s brows only deepens. “Are you sure? If you really feel strongly about something, you know I’d trust whatever call you make.”
“I want him dead.” The words come out softly, an exhale more than anything. But they’re the only semblance of truth that you can provide Nancy.
She studies your face, eyes silently caressing the silhouette of your body. The gaze lingers on your chapped lips, your nailbeds that have been picked raw, the way your hair hides more of your face than it used to.
“Then it’s settled,” she eventually announces, gesturing to the others. “Tonight, kill Vecna.”
The declaration should provoke celebration and inspire awe. But no one stirs. Steve remains lock-jawed by your side, fingers pressed lightly into your skin to calm his own uncertainties. Jonathan keeps his head down, caught between relief and mourning. You’re no better, gnawing at your lip until you taste the familiar metallic consequence while Robin picks at her own nails and shifts in her seat, never one for being in a stuffy room for long.
She breaks first.
“Well, this was certainly a pleasant and absolutely not at all uncomfortable conversation,” Robin jumps up from her seat, wringing her hands out as if it will disperse her nausea. “And while I totally long to stay here with you guys, I unfortunately have to go make a rather doomed phone call and cancel a date that I was actually really looking forward to.”
Hand at her temples, Robin salutes the room and leaves you stranded with the ensemble to your estranged love triangle that you want no part of.
Lovely.
“I should go, too.” Desperate for air, you quickly stand and head for the staircase. “Need to call Dustin and make sure he has everything for the crawl tonight.”
Steve jumps to his feet as well. “I’ll help you call him–”
“I’d rather do it alone, actually.” You don’t mean to interrupt him, but it’s obvious how anxious Steve is to go with you and while you adore how tenderly he treats you, you’re terrified that he’ll start yet another argument with Dustin and become the crux of your brewing breakdown.
Seeing the disappointment on Steve’s face, you kiss the crown of his head, stroking his cheek. “I’ll be right back, honey. Promise.”
He sighs into the touch, mumbling softly enough so that only you will hear, “Can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with Byers and Nancy.”
“Why do you think I want to leave?” You whisper, laughing under your breath.
Steve’s eyes shine back, full of the ever present boyish charm that you stood no chance of surviving.
–
You radio Dustin a total of fourty-nine times.
Not once does he answer.
Steve finds you in a spare closet, screaming into a walkie over and over again demanding that your brother respond.
“Dustin Henderson, I swear to God if you don’t answer me I will shove Tew’s litter down your pillowcase and make sure you get pinkeye for the rest of your life!”
“What did the kid do now?” Your boyfriend comes up behind you, wrapping a loose arm over your shoulders.
You brush him off, too worried and overwhelmed to stand still. “He’s not answering.”
Steve snorts. “Shocking.”
“I’m serious, Steve.” You spin around, facing him with anxious eyes. “I’m starting to worry. He’s never been radio silent like this.”
“Are you forgetting what happened this morning? The little shit totally shut you out. Again, might I add. Like he does every time. I’m not surprised he’s decided to go full AWOL.”
“He always answers eventually.” You argue weakly, knowing how pathetic it sounds. “Dustin’s never just gone completely silent without warning.”
“The kid also never used to spit profanities at you until one day he thought it’d be a brilliant idea,” Steve shrugs. “Now it’s all he does.”
Your eyes sting in frustration, though you have nothing left to say. Not to Steve, anyways. He used to be the only other person in your life who truly understood your brother, but lately you wonder if Steve ever knew Dustin at all.
“Y/N? Steve?” A hesitant knock sounds against the closet door. “You guys in there? And, uh, are you… decent?”
Will’s shy voice accompanies the knock, and you swing the door open without second thought, startling both him and Steve.
“Where’s my brother?” You demand immediately, not bothering to acknowledge Will’s previous implications.
He stumbles back, slightly alarmed. “Dustin isn’t here yet?”
It’s the absolute worst thing Will could’ve ever said.
You barrel out of the doorway, ignoring Steve’s small yelp of pain when you accidentally elbow his chest trying to get out of the closet. Instead you start scouring the radio station, slamming every door open and shouting Dustin’s name until your tongue goes numb.
On your rampage you run into Mike and Lucas in the field, both attempting to radio your brother as well. Seeing them prompts bile to rise in your throat.
They don’t know where he is, either.
“When was the last time you saw Dustin?” You demand the minute you’re close enough to the boys, Will and Steve struggling to keep up behind you. “Why didn’t you guys bike here with him? Where did he go?”
“Woah, slow down.” Mike throws his hands up in defense. “We just got here and I can guarantee that we know shit else like you.”
Lucas rubs the back of his neck. “We gotta tell her about Andy, man.”
“Who the fuck is Andy?” Heart rate spiking, you almost pass out from how fast you turn to face Lucas. “What the hell is going on?”
“I just got off the phone with Mrs. Henderson.” Robin joins the group, unaware of the argument unfolding. “She hasn’t heard from Dustin all day.”
“No way we’re telling Y/N about Andy.” Mike scoffs at Lucas, ignoring what Robin has said. “You know that Dustin would kill us.”
Lucas slaps the kid’s shoulder childishly. “We have to! He almost gave Dustin a black eye today for wearing that stupid Hellfire shirt–”
“Where’s my brother?”
Your shout echoes off the woodline. Its reverberation cascades down your spine.
Yet no one can expel the remnants of the outburst with any semblance of what you want to hear.
“We don’t know, Y/N.” Mike murmurs, his careful hand grazing yours. He doesn’t want to give you unnecessary false hope. He understands better than anyone how painful it can be. “He didn’t meet us after school. That’s all I can tell you.”
“But he’ll be here soon.” Will offers, trying to comfort you as best as he can. “Dustin always shows up for a crawl.”
The tall grass beneath your feet tempts you to lay amongst them. You’re so exhausted from it all. “He should be here by now.”
“Yet he’s an hour late.” Robin not so gently reminds you.
“So we go and look for him.” It’s the only answer you’ll accept. You’re not going on a goddamn crawl without knowing whether or not your little brother is okay.
But a look gets passed between the boys. An underlying understanding seems to connect the three of them together, unifying against you before you can even come up with a defense.
“You know we don’t have time, Y/N.” Lucas says delicately, eyes apologetic.
“But–”
“Dustin would want us to do the crawl without him.” Mike cuts in, not unkindly, though firm. “Look, we’re all worried about him, but this is our shot at Vecna that we can’t miss. And if we don’t have your brother… someone has to step in for him.”
They want you to take your brother’s place.
Steve carefully takes your hand, risking everything when he says, “Dustin isn’t a kid anymore, angel.”
I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Y/N.
But what if I always want you there?
The silence that followed had been Dustin’s answer.
You just have to accept it.
“Fine,” you spit out, always prone to succumbing to the needs of others. “But the minute we’re done with this, we’re looking for Dustin.”
“No member of the party gets left behind.” Mike interlocks his pinky with yours. “Promise.”
While the gesture warms your skin, you wish you could believe that its sentiment was sacred and untouchable.
Instead it leaves a hollow pit in your stomach.
–
Everyone gathers their things in silence. No one needs to ask what to bring or where to go. You all have your designated areas and tasks from dozens of crawls before.
Nancy and Will help Mike and Lucas ready their gear for the stakeout. While you’ve always hated sending them so close to MAC-Z, you’re at least comforted by the fact that you were able to secure Bookstrordinary as their base, providing them with information about where to hide and how to escape the building quickly if they were to get caught.
Joyce helps Hopper with his bullet proof vest and readies his gun, Robin readies the radio signal, and Jonathan prepares the telemetry tracker.
You sit in the WSQK van with Steve, going over Dustin’s detailed instructions about how to signal for the tracker.
“Jesus, this kid has awful handwriting.” Steve sighs under his breath, eyes straining at your brother’s messy scrawls.
“No one in our family has nice handwriting.” You sort through your own papers, making sure you have all the necessary data from last week’s crawl. Dustin insists that you help him track the exact distance of each route for crawls as a way to compile more data that could help in the future.
You think it’s unnecessary, but arguing with Dustin never ends well.
The reminder of him tugs at your chest. You wish he was here, you wish you knew where he was and why he always chooses to run away these days.
Steve playfully tosses a pen at you. “I like your handwriting.”
“You’re easy to please.”
“Watch it, angel.”
You giggle despite the grief in your chest, tossing the pen back at him, and for a moment you’re just two kids in a car, happy and in love.
“Harrington, Henderson, you guys getting any signal? Tag is active.” Robin’s voice interrupts from the walkie.
“Yeah, just give us a second.” Steve bites the pen in his mouth and grabs the walkie. He then throws his legs over the driver’s seat and crawls towards the back of the van where the hatch to the antenna resides. He frowns for a moment, unsure what to do next. “Any idea what to do next, Henderson?”
You shake your head. Dustin never taught you. “Maybe twist it?”
Steve spits the pen out and sighs, fixing his hair. “Well, here goes nothing.”
He grabs the handle to the wheel and attempts to turn it. Except it never moves. He tugs at it with more force, but the wheel remains locked. With a frustrated huff he grabs the walkie again. “Anybody know how Henderson’s wheelie thing works?”
Robin takes a moment to respond. “Uh, there should be a safety lock under the wheel.”
“Safety lock, real necessary.” Steve laughs in disbelief, but when he sees your pointed glare, he drops the subject and tries the wheel again. This time, it moves. He turns the antenna towards the station as you hand him a pair of headphones to put on.
“Okay,” he says into the walkie. “I’m getting a signal. It’s pretty quiet, though.”
Steve slowly turns the wheel’s handle, eyes steady on the decibel meter attached to the van. “Okay, signal’s holding a steady 90 dB… But how am I supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?”
“Isn’t Y/N already with you?” Robin’s confusion rings clear through the static.
You crawl over to Steve and take over the walkie. “I have to track the route and time how long it takes us. Dustin uses it to calibrate the telemetry tags.”
The walkie goes quiet.
“Robin?” You look down to see if the signal somehow has been cut off. “Hello?”
“Guess they didn’t consider who to send beforehand.” Steve yanks the headphones off. “They must’ve thought Dustin would show by now.”
“He still might.” You aren’t sure why vehemently insist on believing the impossible.
Steve spares you pity, choosing to change the subject. “Who do you think they’ll send, anyways? I mean, no one really understands this stuff like Dustin does.”
“Nancy should be able to do it.” You say hopefully. “She’s smart enough to figure it out quickly.”
“As if Byers would let her anywhere near me–”
The van’s backdoors swing open.
You turn, expecting to find Nancy climbing through them, but when you see Jonathan, you freeze.
“Oh,” the words tumble out on their own as you stare at him. “They sent you.”
He fixes his jacket, eyes avoiding yours. “Don’t sound too excited, bug.”
In the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s fingers clenching the steering wheel at the nickname. You hadn’t even noticed he went back to the driver’s seat.
Knowing that nothing you can say will alleviate the already choking tension, you force a smile at Jonathan before crawling back to the passenger seat.
“You comfortable back there, Byers?” Steve asks, innocently enough. For a moment you think he’s playing nice, trying to appease you, but instead he turns to look at Jonathan with cruel, teasing eyes. “Or do you want me to get you a pillow?”
Jonathan forces the headphones on. “Just focus on driving.”
Your head drops to your hands. Running on little sleep and emotionally drained, you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night trapped in a van with the two idiots.
From the rear window you spot Mike on his bike alongside Lucas, waving his hands in the air to signal that they’re ready to head towards the meeting point.
It’s time.
Fingers grazing over the knives in your back pocket, you turn to Steve. “Let’s go.”
He nods, starting the engine.
The crawl has begun.
–
Waiting in the hidden alleyway with Steve and Jonathan quickly becomes a nightmare.
While no one talks, the silence weighs so heavily within the van that it cracks open your chest and steals any oxygen left in it.
Your fingers trace over the papers for the crawl, scratching at the ink splotches of numbers and miles written within it and trying to busy your mind to prevent yourself from spiraling.
Steve busies himself with a snack he stole from Murray. He eats messily, noisily, and with every grotesque swallow you can feel Jonathan’s patience waning.
You dread the inevitable explosion.
“We got action.” The crackle of the walkie coming to life with Mike’s voice startles you. You’d almost forgotten why you were even stuck in the van in the first place. “Four trucks, outer east gate on Main.”
Jonathan’s hand comes up to his headphones, the other to the wheel. He readies himself for a signal. He knows how crucial the timing is.
You hold your breath as Mike counts down to the burn. If all goes well, you should be driving in minutes.
“Hopper’s in.”
You allow yourself to exhale. All Hopper has to do now is get through the gate undetected. Your eyes close, silently hoping your luck hasn’t run out just yet as you whisper, “C’mon, Hop.”
Seconds later Mike announces, “He’s flipped.”
Steve fist bumps the air. “We’re in!”
But his celebration is short lived once Joyce takes over the walkie, directing the attention to her son. “Jonathan, signal?”
Jonathan turns the wheel painstakingly slowly, careful not to go over or under. Once he finds Hopper’s signal, he walkies back to his mother, “Snagged it.”
“Should I go?” Steve asks, mouth full of food.
“No… hold.” Jonathan shakes his head. His eyes never leave the monitor as his fingers twist the wheel. You can see he’s holding his breath. “Hold… hold… Go!”
He locks the antenna’s wheel before he can lose Hopper again and Steve speeds off, flinging the van sideways at the abrupt turn. You brace yourself on the dashboard, forcing down the nausea so that you can monitor the car’s speed. You still have a job to do.
You’ve driven this route a dozen times. Looking at your notes, you notice that every time prior the military tanks consistently drove slower. Yet tonight the van flies down the route, struggling to keep up with the telemetry tag in the Upside Down.
At first you think you’ve miscalculated something. Maybe you started the stopwatch too soon, or maybe the speedometer in the van has malfunctioned in some way.
That’s when it all goes wrong.
“We’re losing him!” Jonathan shouts from the backseat, alarmed.
“How?” You spin around in your seat, fearful that he’s simply misread the decibels.
“I-I don’t know–” Jonathan’s eyes suddenly widen. “Wait, stop! We need to stop!”
Steve flings an arm over your chest as he slams on the brakes, the force nearly sending you through the windshield. He looks at you in concern. “Christ, are you alright, Y/N?”
Except you don’t hear him. Your head swarms with dread as you stumble to your feet and kneel besides Jonathan. “What the hell is going on?”
He doesn’t answer you, too busy forcing the antenna whatever way it will go in a desperate attempt to locate Hopper again. Your teeth dig into your lips.
You can’t lose him. Not again.
“We got him.” Jonathan’s relief rivals your own as you both breathe heavily against each other.
You cling to his knee, unsteady as all the dread that built its way to the crevice of your collarbones spikes your blood.
Steve’s gentle voice attempts to coax your heartbeat back down. “Breathe, angel. We got Hop, it’s okay.”
Your nails dig into Jonathan’s skin. “Then why are we stopped?”
Neither Steve nor Jonathan can give you an answer. The three of you sit in silence, all unable to voice what you desperately hope isn’t true.
Suddenly the lights in the van begin to flicker.
The rapid flash of light elicits a sickening sense of deja-vu. It’s happening again. It always happens again.
Something has gone wrong.
“What’s going on?” Steve exclaims, now rushing to join you and Jonathan in the back. “What the hell is this thing doing?”
You lunge for the walkie, shaking as you scream, “Joyce? Joyce?”
No one answers.
“Answer me!” Your vocal chords strain against your screams. “Someone answer! What happened to Hopper?”
But all contact has been lost. The radio station’s power must have gone out.
Back pressed against Steve’s chest, you sit in complete shock as the terror consumes you. You’re helpless against it. That’s all you ever are.
Helpless.
Muffled, static filled panic screeches from your bag.
“Y/N? Do you–copy?” Barely able to decipher the words, you scramble to the bag and find the source of the voice. Dustin left his personal walkie. Robin must’ve remembered.
“Robin?” The panic in your shrill voice nearly deafens you.
“There’s a–demogorgon–” Whatever Robin is saying is barely audible. The walkie isn’t within its normal range. Static infiltrates every word that comes through.
You bring the walkie closer to your lips. “Robin, I-I can’t understand what you’re saying–”
“The Wheelers!” She screams at you, loud enough that the static doesn’t drown her. “There’s a demogorgon–running towards–Wheelers!”
A metallic ringing pierces your ear drums.
The Wheelers are in danger.
Adrenaline infiltrates your veins. Every one of your senses sharpens.
You’re not far from their home. A mile, maybe even less.
You’ve spent all summer running. You could be there within minutes if you left now.
The only thought running through your head as you fling open the van’s doors is Holly, alone without her siblings in the home. She needs you.
They need you.
“Y/N, where are you going?” Steve shouts after you, already stumbling to his feet to follow you into the dark.
Jonathan isn’t any better as he tears his headphones off and nearly falls out of the van. “What the hell?”
“Nancy and Mike need me!” You’re standing in the middle of the road, torn between staying or leaving. But it was never really a decision. “Stay here, alright?”
“Didn’t you hear Robin?” Steve reaches out for you, tries to pull you back into the van. “There’s a demogorgon out there, no way am I letting you go by yourself!”
“I’m going.”
And before Steve’s hand can land on your wrist, you run.
All you do is run.
-
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