forced proximity with Stevie in the van where him and r have to get along during a crawl mission? 🥺
ty for requesting :D — the worst part about hating steve is that he loves how mean you are to him (enemies to lovers, grump!fem!reader, first kiss | 1.5k)
The WSQK van breaks down halfway through Crawl #6, and it feels like the universe is trying to punish you in some way.
You stew in your misplaced annoyance with your elbow propped on the car door and with your head in your hand, gritting your teeth every time Steve crunches into another Bopper. The crinkling of the plastic lights a newfound rage in your chest for a reason you can’t name. Actually, now that you think about it, everything about Steve enrages you so fiercely that it makes wildfires rush through your veins instead of blood.
You hate him so much that it’s turned you less than human.
“Can you stop chewing so loud?” you blurt when Steve takes another loud bite of the candy bar.
Your head whips around to glare at the boy slouching in the driver’s seat, set aglow by the amber headlights from the Jeep parked ahead of you, where an annoyed college girl regrets deciding to be a good Samaritan and offering to jumpstart your van.
Steve freezes, mid-crunch of the peanut butter bar. His chocolate eyes go wide as the thing wads in the pocket of his scruffy cheek. He bites down again, slowly, and only slightly less audible this time.
“You want some?” he offers through the mouthful. Brown crumbs fall from the package and onto the chest of his emerald sweater when he motions the thing in your direction.
You grimace and turn away again. “You’re disgusting…”
“They’re really good, actually…” he shrugs through smacking chews. His bushy brows scrunch into a puppy-like look of confusion a second later. “Wait. Why is it so quiet tonight? I feel like it’s not usually this quiet.”
“Dustin’s not here,” you answer in a monotone.
“Oh, yeah…” he hums with a slow nod, then crunches into another bite.
You roll your eyes and slouch further into the squeaking pleather passenger seat. You cross your arms over the chest of your sweater and prop your right foot on the dashboard. Your sneaker leaves a faint imprint there as you huff.
“Can you tell your girlfriend to hurry up, please?”
“I already told you— I didn’t date her, I dated her sister,” Steve corrects through a mouthful. “And you should seriously watch your tone, honey. You’re starting to sound jealous.”
“Jealous?” you scoff, turning to him with your jaw pressed to your shoulder. You laugh when he shrugs in response, gaze averted and pink lips jutted, like it’s obvious or something. “Believe it or not, not everyone is in love with you, Harrington.”
“No, not everyone…” he grins. “But still you.”
Something about the way he looks at you makes you fume. Something mischievous glitters in his melted chocolate eyes, like he can see right through you — like he knows something you don’t. It makes you put up a wall on instinct. It makes you hide, makes you mean.
“Oh, yeah. Because a washed-up radio host, whose greatest achievement is the time he almost won a basketball championship his junior year of high school, is so attractive to me,” you scoff a cynical laugh. “And on top of that, you’re not even a radio host. I mean, you’re barely even a co-host, all you do are sound effects— It’s honestly a little pathetic, when you think about it.”
When your eyes flit back to Steve, you find him smiling — pink lips curled and sitting lopsided, chocolate eyes all softened around the edges. “You know… If you keep being mean to me, honey, I might just start liking you back.”
Your face twists in disgust, though your chest swells at the nickname.
“You’re deplorable.”
“Whatever that means,” he laughs and tosses the remnants of the Bopper into his mouth. He balls the wrapper in his fist. The harsh crinkling fills the quiet van before he tosses it into the cupholder at his side.
You turn away with a roll of your eyes, and your gaze falls back to the young girl — now standing outside of her Jeep and shivering in the cold as she waits for Steve to notice her. You motion to her with a lazy hand. “Your girlfriend’s waiting on you, by the way.”
Steve flashes you a cheeky grin as he reaches for the door handle, “How much you wanna bet I’m coming back with her number?”
Your eyes narrow in a sardonic squint. “If you come back with her number, I’ll start being nice to you, how about that?”
“Aw, but I love when you’re mean—”
He flinches when you toss the empty wrapper back in his direction. It hits his shoulder and tumbles back into his seat when he slinks out of the van with a quiet laugh. You watch through the dirt-stained glass as he saunters towards the strange girl, with his golden hands propped on his lean hips and a crooked smirk on his mouth — always so effortlessly cool in his way.
You duck into the back of the van and slouch into the plush stool by the desk. You exhale a heavy sigh with the knowledge that you’ve certainly lost the signal during your not-so-brief pitstop. You slide the bulky headphones over your ears and reach for the wheel above you. The heavy antenna on top of the van squeaks softly when you turn it, searching for any sign of movement. The decibels remain at zero — Hopper is long gone by now.
Steve returns some minutes later, with a subtle frown on his face and a newly charged van battery. The car rocks slightly under his sudden weight when he ducks back inside. The door slams shut behind him and brings a rush of late-autumn chill in with it.
“Yeah, I didn’t get it,” he announces in a monotone and sticks the key into the ignition.
“The horror,” you deadpan.
The engine cranks for a moment, then sputters when it fails to come to life. Steve talks through a sharp jaw clenched in concentration. “Apparently, I did date her, turns out… Totally slipped my mind, though.”
“Of course it did.”
“But you’d think she’d still be at least a little interested, though, right?” he rambles to himself. “Considering I stood her up the last time we were supposed to go out— you know, back when I worked at Scoops.”
He twists the key once more. The dead engine continues to stutter.
“Right,” you scoff with your gaze still on the decibel reader before you. “Because it makes total sense for anyone to waste years of their life pining for some loser in a sailor’s outfit—”
“Shut up…” Steve grumbles, gritting his teeth when the engine fails to crank.
“—I mean, who wouldn’t fantasize about the weird guy at the mall who has to sling ice cream for a living because he was too much of a loser to get a real job at the firm his dad literally owns?”
“Shut up,” he bites.
The engine roars to life in that moment, but you barely even notice it.
“Because I, for one, wouldn’t be able to get my mind off the boy who was so much of a screw up that nepotism couldn’t even fix him—”
You only vaguely hear the sound of heavy footsteps against the rumbling van floor when you turn over your shoulder. Your heart lurches into your throat when you find Steve much closer than you’d expected — hunched over to keep from hitting his head as he stomps towards the back of the van.
His chiseled features are screwed into a sterner look than you’re used to. Something about it makes your chest ache when the boy towers over you, with one hand curled around the wheel on the ceiling and the other bracing itself on the desk at your side.
“I said shut up,” Steve spits through gritted teeth, moments before he leans down to press a searing kiss to your mouth.
The force of it leans your chair slightly backward and knocks your headphones askew. Your hands dart to keep them from falling down your neck as Steve’s tongue slots between your lips, in a deep and fleeting kiss that makes your mouths smack when he pulls too suddenly away.
His rosy lips curl into a crooked grin at the sight of you — eyes lidded and glassy, mouth swollen and shining with his spit. “Yeah, that shut you right up, didn’t it?”
“Jeez…” you murmur, face screwing. “You taste like that… peanut butter shit.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s the— the Boppers…” He falters for a moment at the look of disgust on your face, then grins all over again when your tongue darts out to wet your mouth, tasting him further there. “It’s good, huh? I told you they were—”
“Shut up,” you grouse in a monotone, and reach for the collar of his emerald sweater.
You curl your fingers into the knit fabric and urge him closer, forcing him to his knees between your parted thighs and pulling him in for another kiss, full of tongue and teeth and spit.
You kiss him hard enough to bruise — even though he tastes like too-sweet peanut butter, even though you should probably be speeding off to find Hopper at this very moment, even though you hate him — and something about it feels like praying.
IN A LONELY ROOM | STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER 3.4K | ANGST, FLUFF
“And that was another song for all of you lovers out there,” Steve intoned, his voice flat, almost wistful. He was tipped back in the radio station chair, eyes staring blankly at the wooden panelled ceiling as he brought the microphone to his lips. “And even if your special someone is mad at you, here’s hoping it’s nothin’ a little smooth jazz can’t fix.”
Steve sighed as he pressed the tape deck and Solomon Burke started to croon through his headphones. He muted the mic and let it drop onto the table top, the sound a heavy thud in the quiet room. Night shifts at the station were lonely when you weren’t here to keep him company.
He hadn’t heard from you since last night, not since he rushed home and dialled your number with the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, one shoe off in the hallway and his arms struggling to free themselves from his jacket. You’d answered on the fourth ring and Steve had greeted you with a rushed apology, sincere and desperate and god - Steve knew you were mad.
He’d seen the hurt flash in your eyes as he’d driven past you on Main Street, your lips painted a pretty shade of rose and your new skirt on, looking entirely stood up as you walked away from the new Italian that had just opened up across from the coffee place. He’d slammed on the brakes, heart in his mouth and Jonathan had almost ended up through the windscreen.
He hadn’t cared, not really. Not about Byers. Not when you were shaking your head at him with your arms folded across your chest, the cold eating at your exposed skin and he wanted to kiss it better, he wanted to get down on his knees and drag himself across the road to beg at your feet. Instead, he got caught fumbling with his seatbelt for a moment too long and you were walking away, down into the side street past the old arcade and Jonathan was yelling at him about the signal, how they were losing Hopper.
He panicked, he lost sight of you and well— he drove off with Jonathan yelling about decibels and interference.
But you’d actually answered his call and listened to his pleas and apologies and heartache for a few minutes before you sighed, heavy sounding and tired, the shuffle of your pillow and duvet making Steve wish he’d driven straight to yours instead.
And then you’d told him, “that’s the third time this month, Steve. What am I supposed to think?”
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Nancy’s crawl plans didn’t factor in perfect excuses to give your girlfriend when cancelling another date night. They had weapons and maps and tunnels under the town but god forbid anyone had any advice to give him on maintaining a healthy relationship.
“Keep her out of this.” Hopper had once growled at him. “For our sake and hers. And especially yours. We don’t have time for another dead body, we don’t have time to fix the people that are grieving. Not anymore.”
No one has said any different, not really. Robin was attempting the same thing, after all. And Lucas? Well Lucas had told him his girlfriend seemed really nice and then he went to spend his weekend at Max’s bedside.
So when Steve finally found his voice, strangled and strained sounding, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tell himself that lying to you was his very best option. Your very best option.
“Babe, I’m so sorry. I- I forgot I picked up an extra shift. I didn’t mean to-”
“To what?” You’d burst out. You were snapping. He could hear the tears that were stuck in your throat and the sound of it hurt him so much more than any interdimensional creature ever had. “To let me see you driving around town with Jonathan Byers? For what? A burger run? For the hell of it? Whatever, Steve.”
That had been fourteen hours ago. And now he was stuck working into the early hours of the morning so Robin could take Vickie to Enzo’s and Steve wanted to punch a hole in something. He sighed for the upteenth time that hour and pushed himself away from the desk, his chair wheels squeaking as they struggled across the old carpet that lay in the sound booth like a rug. The lights were low and almost too warm, the small room bathed in a yellow-orange glow and the whole place smelled like old cigarettes and mothballs, like its old host.
Solomon Burke was fading away now and Steve didn’t bother with any conversation before he loaded up another song, one just as heartfelt and soppy as the last. He’d been playing love ballads for most of the evening, interjecting between each one in the hopes that you were listening. You usually would have been here with him by now, perched on the table edge or even his lap, sharing the quiet space together in a rare opportunity to be alone. You’d bring him dinner, sometimes from the diner out past the trailer park, sometimes cooked in your very own kitchen. He liked those nights the best, he kissed you extra soft when you walked into the station with a bag full of Tupperware, your smile proud as you handed him pastas and soups and homemade cookies.
The place didn’t seem as warm without you in it. He groaned into his hands, his fingers catching on the wire that led to his headphones and pushed at it, annoyed, frustrated. He’d really fucked up. And smooth jazz couldn’t fix it.
Just as he wondered what the longest song was in the station’s catalogue, he heard the door slam.
There you were.
Soft in a pair of leggings, in an old rugby style shirt that once belonged to him. You had a bag in your hand and a scowl on your face, as if someone other than yourself had forced you into coming. Solomon Burke, perhaps, Steve thought.
With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, Steve fumbled with the tape deck. He had a new pulse now and it was electric, it made his hands jittery and his eyes wide. He pushed in a Beatles mash-up that Robin had created on a rainy Sunday and unplugged his mic, only just remembering to shove his headphones off just before they were ripped off his ears as he lunged to the door.
He got to you in a few steps, approaching with his hands out and palms facing up, as one did when facing off with an angry animal. “Hey, hey baby.” Steve’s voice was saccharine and soft, that gentle scratchy way you loved. He could smell food from the bag you carried something spicy and garlicky, something that smelled like fudge brownies underneath. His stomach growled and your brow lifted. “You still brought me dinner?”
You sniffed, side stepping him and moving into the booth. “Maybe,” was all you said. “But if you’re only interested in food, I’ll leave this here and go—”
“No! Nonono, baby, c’mon.” Steve was at you in an instant, hands catching at your elbows and he tried his luck, tried to bring you into his chest but you stood firm. “Can we talk? Can I, can I talk? Please?”
You didn’t reply. But you didn’t leave either. So Steve took that as a sign and breathed out a loaded sigh of relief. He closed the booth door back over and offered you his chair, and when you sat, he knelt on the floor in front of you, his warm hands covering the tops of your knees.
“Baby,” he started, his eyes wide and his brow creased. Fuck, he hated this. He hated the way you didn’t want to meet his eyes, he hated the way your brow was pinched, the way your bottom lip wobbled even though you were trying to act tough. “Baby, please, you gotta believe me, I—”
Shit.
You scoffed, coming to life in a flurry of anger and fury. Eyes narrowed, you finally set your gaze on him. “Believe you? Believe you?” You laughed, humourless and still edging on tears. “Don’t make me laugh, Steve Harrington, I know you better than I know anyone. Or at least I thought I did. You’ve been lying to me for months. Extra shifts? Family dinners? Robin in the hospital?”
Steve swallowed the brick that was stuck in his throat, wincing as it scratched and scraped on the way down. He felt sick.
“Come off it, Steve. Vickie works in the wards. Robin was never sick in the hospital, you weren’t working late last night. Why was Jonathan in the van with you? Was Nancy there too? Huh? What’s even going on? Would you just rather hang out with your ex and her boyfriend than have dinner with me? Is that it?”
“No! No, god,” Steve whispered your name and pushed the heels of his plans to his eyes, pressing until it hurt, pressing until he could think of something to say to fix this. What the fuck was he supposed to say? “Babe, baby, please, please you gotta believe me, okay? I swear, I— I was—”
You stared at him, eyes shining in the low light, glassy and full of the hurt Steve had put there. He wanted to put his own head through a wall. He felt like the worst kind of person there was. He felt like he was six years younger and didn’t know how to treat another person properly yet.
“You were what, Steve?” You challenged him, chin held high despite the one tear that had escaped and was tracking its way down your cheek.
Helping to save Hawkins. Maybe the world. Helping get rid of an evil monster that came from a place underneath our feet that no one else really knew existed. Helping a girl with superpowers find out where the bad guy lived.
Helping to keep you safe.
Helping out just enough to keep you away from all the bad shit he’d witnessed the year before. And the year before that. And the year before that.
Helping keep you alive, he hoped.
Instead Steve clenched his jaw and moved closer. His big hands pushed gently at your knees, hopeful and experimental and shit, he held his breath until your legs gave way, spreading just enough for him to move into the cradle of your hips. He was eye level with you as he knelt uncomfortably on the floor, desperate amongst the discarded tapes that no one had ever rewound properly.
Steve took your hands in his, brought them to his lips as he kissed over each knuckle and he hated the way you avoided his gaze once again. You were crying freely now, tears rolling down your too hot cheeks, anger and frustration and hurt creeping into every one of your pretty features. Steve hated it. Hated himself.
“Baby,” Steve tried, his mouth grazing over the back of your hand, your skin warm and smelling like cinnamon. Probably from the dessert you’d baked him. “Honey, please, look at me?”
Eventually you did, with a sniff and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You didn’t say anything, you just stared down at the boy before you on his knees, his hair fluffy and in a mess from the too big headphones he’d worn all evening. He looked stressed, his brow creased and his brown eyes too wide, worry flooding from him.
You’d never heard him so serious when he spoke next, his lips at your hands, mouthing over your skin as he said, “do you trust me?”
You thought over each word, what it meant, what he was asking. You heard the conviction in his voice, the hope, the desperation. He held onto your hands like a lifeline, thumbs stroking over your fingers, both of your hands clasped between his own like a prayer.
You’d spent the day wondering if your boyfriend was growing tired of you, if Steve was seeing someone else, if he was avoiding you. Each thought had made your stomach knot, a ball of anxiety settling somewhere deep inside of you until it grew too big to be ignored. It turned over and over, made your stomach roll and your chest hurt, an awful type of heat crawling from your chest to your neck to your cheeks until each new scenario made tears prick at your eyes.
You’d turned on the radio as you made dinner, the default setting immediately allowing Steve’s voice to fill your tiny kitchen. He sounded morose, far away. Not at all how a radio host was supposed to be. And as you added garlic and tomatoes and basil to the pot on your stove, Steve played love song after love song. He lamented about partners, about that special someone, about how saying sorry was the easiest thing to do when you loved someone. He did everything but say your name, keeping it as professional as he could despite what seemed to be a lovesick trauma dump.
And despite all the awful thoughts that had haunted you, you packed up some dinner and got into your car before you’d even had the plate you’d dished up for yourself.
Because despite everything, despite your heartache and disappointment and just sheer confusion at Steve’s actions of late, you didn’t think he found someone else. Not really. Not at all.
Not when he looked at you like he did. Not when he kissed you the way he did. Not when he knew how that pain felt.
So you tried not to let your lip wobble anymore than it already was and you nodded.
Steve’s sigh of relief made his entire body sag. His shoulders fell forward, forehead touching your own, noses brushing and he felt how damp yours was, tears tracking over the bridge of it but Jesus Christ, you weren’t pushing him away.
You trusted him.
That made the next part a little easier. Maybe.
Steve smiled as he met your gaze once more, eyes softer than ever, a little dopey with love and relief. “Yeah?” He kissed your hand, his lips warm against your palm and he let his touch skim up your arms, catching at your shoulders before he cradled your jaw between his fingers and thumb.
He pushed away a tear that had made its way down to your chin, frowning at the sight of it. “I’m sorry, baby. I really am. But please, please believe me when I say I can’t tell you what I’ve been doing.”
The words sent another ache of anxiety through you, your face crumpling at the prospect of battling again before what the fuck did he mean?
“Steve, what do you expect me to even say to that?”
“I know, I know,” Steve urged, his voice quiet and still soft and fuck, he hoped Robin had made that tape extra long. “But listen, yeah? If you trust me, then please, baby. Please understand that I’m trying my best. I’m— I’m trying to help a friend, okay?”
Steve swallowed, the sensation of it feeling like glass in his throat because he wasn’t lying, not really. Not like the other times he had to abandon you for crawls and meetings at Hop’s cabin. Not like his shitty excuses of hospital trips and late shifts at work.
No, this time he’d lay it out as best as he could. Within reason. In whatever way kept you safe.
But shit, it still sucked.
“I’m helping a friend do something pretty important. And it’s… it’s not really safe.” Steve grimaced as he saw your eyes widen, scrambling to ease the panic he saw rise in your features and clasped your face in both of his hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in a way he hoped to god was soothing.
“It’s okay though, I promise. It’s not illegal or anything like that.” He wasn’t even sure if that was a lie. Steve didn’t have a fucking clue what kind of laws the military had put down in Hawkins, he just took everything they said as a rough suggestion, as did the rest of the party. A suggestion they all chose to ignore.
“Are you in trouble? Steve, do you need money? ‘Cause I can work extra shifts, I can try and help—”
Steve swore he felt his heart grow too big for his damn chest, your words making his entire being hurt. You were too sweet, you were too fucking good for him, or at least that’s what Dustin liked to remind him. He didn’t often disagree.
He leant forward, kissing at the apple of your cheek and when you didn’t pull away, he snuck another one to your lips, quick and fleeting and soft. “No, baby, no, nothing like that, I swear. It’s just, it’s just a little complicated.” Steve was almost certain The Beatles were running out of songs by now. “I know it’s really shitty of me to try and ask this of you. Like trust me, I get it. But you gotta know I would tell you if I could, alright? I swear. I promise, honey.”
Steve needed you to believe him more than anything. He wasn’t quite sure he’d do very well if you walked out on him. In fact, he was pretty sure he was bound to die off if he didn’t get to kiss you properly soon. Despite your tears and smudge mascara, Steve was positive you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He could wait to tell you that, but he knew well enough to wait until you were a little less mad at him. And perhaps after you stopped thinking he was running Hawkins newest drug cartel.
After what seemed like far too long, you brought your hands to his wrists and curled your fingers there. Thumb stroking over his skin, you nodded at the boy, a quiet acceptance. “Okay,” you whispered. “I trust you.”
And you did. Whatever Steve was telling you, or not telling you, you knew it was for good reason.
Steve let out another too big sigh, his lashes fluttering as he blinked at you before pulling you into him by the nape of your neck. His lips landed clumsily on your own for a kiss, closed lips but desperate, peck after peck landing on your mouth, your cheeks, your nose.
“Thank you,” he murmured into you, his nose brushing your hairline as he pressed his affection and his words to your forehead. “Shit, thank you, baby. And I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fucking sorry, I swear I’ll make it up to you ten times over, I’ll- I’ll take you Enzo’s, to the city, whatever you want.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh at his declarations, the knot of anxiety unraveling itself from inside you. It was a gradual dissolution, a slow ease back into feeling normal and it didn’t happen quickly. Sore chests and hurt feelings still lingered, as did the hidden truth of Steve’s new hobby.
You smiled at him, tight lipped and with a crinkled brow. “You’re safe, aren’t you? You’re okay?”
Steve didn’t know how to answer that without lying to your face. Because no, what he did wasn’t safe.
There was more than a baseball bat under his bed now. There was a small arsenal stashed in his bedroom cupboard, under the seats of his car and scattered around his home. He knew how to load a shotgun now, how to navigate the town he grew up in via underground tunnels and he knew what the things were that went bump in the night. He had panic attacks when the town lost power, his breathing went funny at the flicker of a light and he wasn’t allowed to tell the girl he loved that she was living in a real life horror movie.
So instead he smiled, as real as he could and Steve brushed your hair from your eyes. “Yeah, baby.” He ached to take you home, to pull you into his bed and into his arms. To sleep this shitty day away and wake up in a new one with you against his chest. “I’m okay as long as you are.”
summary: you and steve are really good friends, which is why when you are apart from him for a while you go a little stir crazy. not because you are in love with him or anything lol. not at all. he reaches out over WSQK because he misses his really good friend. not because he's in love with you or anything. (just a confession blurb lowkey)
pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader, best friends to lovers
warnings: none!
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Dusk had already settled in by the time you pulled into your driveway.
You were bone tired from your shift at the diner. That on top of grieving something you weren’t sure you had lost had weighed you down into the driver’s seat, hands pulling down on the skin of your face. It had been roughly two weeks since you had last reached out to Steve— probably three since you’ve spoken to him face to face. You weren’t necessarily avoiding him, nor did you not long to see him. Quite the opposite actually.
When the two of you first became friends something inside of you had shifted. A corner piece of your puzzle had clicked into place. For a long period of time, after the summer of ‘85, it would’ve been odd to see one of you without the other. You were both moths to each other’s flame. Seemingly his flame burned in a much hotter, all consuming way. You fell in love with him in record timing. How painfully obvious you were about it, too— or so you believed.
There were moments where you just couldn’t look away, couldn’t wipe the look of adoration off of your face quick enough. You flinched at his soft hands on you, any touch from him scalded your skin— burning you up from the inside. You were swiftly caught by Robin soon after you had accepted your own feelings for the boy. She offered you an empathetic look and a hand over her heart because she just knew. Steve was notoriously easy to fall in love with. You weren’t the first to suffer, and you certainly wouldn’t be the last. But, the suffering didn’t come from any fault of his own. It came from the fact that you could never have him.
Everyone who knew Steve Harrington knew of his love for the eldest Wheeler. His painfully one sided break up with her had left him hurt and overwhelmingly confused with who he was as a person. You didn’t have to look closely to see it in his gaze when it was directed towards her. No amount of teasing from Dustin would ever change the fact that she was his first love. No amount of self-doubt would change the fact that he was yours, reciprocated or not.
“That was Peter Gabriel’s hit song ‘Sledgehammer’,” Your head shot off the steering wheel at the sound of the voice coming through your car radio. Steve and Robin had taken over WSQK a few weeks ago, after the two older men who priorly ran the station gave it up due to the lock down.
“Now don’t be too alarmed at the sound of this painfully sexy voice…” You rolled your eyes with a chuckle, “Rockin’ Robin did not in fact turn into a man. This is Soundboard Steve speakin’ to ya while she’s off to take a wiz… Wow… I really suck at this, don’t I?” He let out a huff of air into the microphone out of embarrassment.
“Well, never mind that. This next one is a special dedication… to one of my best friends in the world. I haven’t seen her in a while, and I hope she’s listening— I hope she’s doing okay. Miss you honey. This is Telephone Line.”
“Hello, how are you? Have you been alright? Through all those lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely nights? That’s what I’d say. I’d tell you everything, if you’d pick up that telephone.”
You felt the tears stream down your face, frozen in place. Why did he have to be so goddamn good? Why did he have to be so easy to love? Before you could stop yourself you are putting your car into gear and backing out of your driveway— back into the street, and on your way to WSQK. You knew it was late. You knew Robin and Steve would be leaving the station on automate soon in favor of going home for the night, but once again you were being drawn in. You couldn’t just ignore this. He knew you always were listening on your way home from the diner. He knew you would hear him, this was him reaching out first.
The streets grew more blurry as the song played through. Your driving was a second thought— all you could focus on was him. His voice, the words that came with it, his hands, his laugh. Once you realized how much you missed him it was as if you were a ticking time bomb, only to be disarmed by his presence. You didn’t know how much longer his presence alone would be enough. How much longer you had until you needed more— his kiss, his touch, his love. You just needed him. You arrived at the station quicker than you probably should have.
Robin snapped her head towards Steve when the glare of headlights flooded into the windows of the building. His eyes were already outside. He shot up out of his seat, almost forgetting to remove the headphones from his hair— getting himself into a tangled mess while Robin cackled at him. She shouted after him in words of encouragement as he all but sprinted outside to meet you. When he met you at your car door he was all heavy breathing and pinched brow. The remnants of your tears reflected the moonlight.
“Honey, are y—” The air along with the rest of his words were squeezed out of his body as you wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. He stood still in shock until instinct took over— his big hands moving to hold your head tightly to his chest, chin resting on top of it. He felt your tears spilling into his shirt, his arms held tighter to your body and worry consumed his own.
“Missed you too,” Your words were muffled, but he heard them loud and clear, felt the vibration of them in his chest and how it settled into his heart. He let you stay there for a moment, his fingers combing through your hair despite the fact that it was inevitably dirtied by flour. The thought of you missing him to the point of tears brought some to his own eyes. He was only one call away the whole time.
“Talk to me, tell me what’s going on,” His hands slid down your head to hold your shoulders, pushing a slight distance between the two of you so that he could look you in your eyes. There was a slight pout to your lips, and the mascara you had put on early in the morning had collected under your eyes.
“I’m just so overwhelmed, Steve,” You closed your eyes for a moment and he waited quietly for you to continue, palms warming you through your work clothes. When you opened your eyes his were already locked on yours, full of clear distress and another unidentifiable emotion. “It’s work, it’s the lock down, the crawls, you. It’s everything.”
“It’s me?” He tilts his head closer to yours when you try to look away, a deep sigh crawling out of your chest. “I know we’ve been busy, but I’m always here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s… not that, Steve. It’s— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have showed up this late. I’m just tired and I missed you, I just needed you. I’m all over the place.”
“What is it then?” His question comes out more abrupt then he intended it to. There’s a hopeful glint in his eyes as he scans your face. “Because I wanted you here. Don’t apologize for showing up, I needed you too— believe it or not.”
“And I know you are still hung up over Nancy and you have so much to deal with, the crawls and everything. And I also know it’s somewhat my fault that I haven’t seen you in for-“
“What does she have to do with this?” He exhales the words in confusion, and you screw your eyes shut. A small sob escaping your mouth before you can stop it. Everything falls over you at once, and you don’t know why you’re about to lay your heart out to Steve Harrington under the moonlight on a random Tuesday night, but you are. His touch is too much, it’s unwavering. You feel the heat of his gaze even though you can no longer meet it out of fear. You feel the way he is tensing his hand on your shoulder. It’s so much, it’s everything. You can’t stop the tears. The frustration with yourself. It’s the soft whisper of your name that pulls the final string.
“I think I’m in love with you.” Your eyes don’t open, the words are choked on, but he feels them. He freezes, you cry harder. You try to pull away from him, try to turn back to your car to get the hell out of there, but one of his hands moves to the back of your neck too quickly for you to flee. He holds you there, one hand still on your shoulder. He lets himself look at you— your eyes shut so tightly that wrinkles are forming, tears slipping down your neck onto the cold ground. His breath quickens.
“You don’t have to open your eyes yet, but let me tell you something.” His hand on your neck caresses the hairline there as he takes in a deep breath, calming himself before he acts too quickly. He whispers your name again like a prayer.
“It’s been you for about a year now, and I mean only you,” You shake your head mostly in disbelief, your frown deepening. “None of that. Now, I’m not sure where you got this notion that I still have the hots for Nance, but I can assure you that train rolled out as soon as I met you angel. God, you don’t even know— I can’t believe you don’t know. You drive me crazy, you have to know that. Showing up here in that little uniform after I all but begged for you over the radio, just for you to tell me you think you’re in love with me. Honey, I know I’m in love with you. So much so that I think I was put on this earth to love you.”
Your eyes had opened somewhere in the middle of his speech, catching the almost pained expression on his face. You knew he was telling you the truth too, his voice always carried a more frustrated tone when he had something to prove. He looked down at you, the hand he had on your shoulder still, now moving to hold your cheek.
“I know too, Steve. I do. I’m so in love with you it’s frankly embarrassing.” You let out a tearful giggle and let your hands that had fallen to your side find his middle once again. He lets you pull him closer to you with no restraint. His forehead falling onto yours.
“Good, we both know I’ve always been the best at embarrassing you,” He breathes a relieved laugh and the huff of air teases your lips. “Please let me kiss you now.”
You press your lips to his without another word, and the initial contact has his hand tightening around the back of your neck and a deep groan rumbling in his throat. There is no more space between the two of you. The kiss isn’t rushed though, it’s deep and slow. Steve kisses you as if you were going to take everything back, like this is the last time he will be able to. His tongue swipes your mouth open gently, and you let him in. You have spent too much time pretending that this love was an unwelcome visitor. You’re still overwhelmed, but by a much greater feeling. A feeling that weakens your knees and has your heart pounding against your chest.
When he pulls back from you he refuses to separate himself completely— his forehead calls home to your own. A goofy smile rests on his lips as he sways the two of you back and forth to the music that is still playing in your car.
“You can’t hurry love! Noooo, you’ll just have to wait!” He sings along terribly with Phil Collins while all but dragging you from side to side, and it shakes a heavy laugh out of you. He cranes his head over his shoulder to shout back to the girl who was definitely spying from the building, “Great timing, Rob!”
“You’re such a dork,” Your hands lay flat on his chest as you smile up at him lovingly.
“Well this dork, your dork by the way, would love if you accompanied him tomorrow night at 6 pm on the dot for a mind-blowing, life changing, first date.” He exaggerates every word as if he was selling something to you. And of course you bought it.
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