I’m totally in love the Steve Harrington x fem Henderson reader fics… So if you have any recommendations please them comment down below!! I feel like I’ve read all of them already😩.
desc - you and joe find out about a very special new member to your family
influencer / youtuber au
val speaks - yayyy they back ! i think i might've gone over some things i've already said in previous fics bc i haven't written a chapter for them in a while so this was like a refresh for me
if i didnt ignore that
word count: 5.6k
the apartment had settled into that soft, easy rhythm that only came after the last of the wedding chaos had finally faded.
for a few weeks now, everything had felt a little brighter around the edges, like the world itself had decided to be gentler with you both. joe had booked time off before tour, and for once there was no frantic calls between interviews, no half-finished dinners left cooling on the stove because one of you had somewhere to be. it was just the two of you, learning how to be married.
joe was still joe.
still left his coffee mugs everywhere, still sang random songs while brushing his teeth and still wrapped himself around you every night like you were responsible for keeping him alive.
but there was something different now, something that made your chest feel warm whenever you looked at him.
husband.
your husband.
even months later it didn't feel real.
before the wedding people had always joked that nothing changed after getting married. they were liars.
because somehow everything felt brighter.
-
then joe had started going back to meetings.
nothing alarming, just the slow return of work and the fact he was going on tour soon inching its way back into your lives.
some mornings he left early with coffee in one hand and his keys in the other, hair still a little messy, kissing you goodbye with a promise to be back before dinner. some days it was later, meetings stretching on while you stayed home and tried to be productive in the apartment that suddenly felt a little too quiet without him in it.
you told yourself the quiet was fine. normal, even. a natural part of the season you were in.
you were both busy, both trying to prepare for what was ahead.
the tour, the travel, the long stretches apart that would come with it. you'd known from the start that marriage wouldn’t stop life from happening around you, wouldn’t freeze everything in perfect place just because the vows had been said and the rings had been slipped on.
still, on one particular morning, you woke up feeling wrong.
not dramatically wrong, not enough to panic immediately, just enough to notice.
your stomach turned when you sat up, a strange sickly wave rolling through you that made you freeze for a second with your hand braced against the mattress.
you swallowed hard and sat there, eyes half-closed, waiting for it to pass. and it did, eventually. enough that you got through the rest of the morning pretending it hadn’t happened.
it didn't concern you as much as it probably should've. you brushed your teeth, made yourself a little tea and told yourself it was probably something you ate, or maybe just exhaustion.
there was no reason to worry joe about it. he already had enough on his plate, between meetings and rehearsals and tour prep and everything else trying to pull him in a dozen directions at once.
he kissed you on the cheek before leaving that morning with an absentminded “call me if you need anything, okay?” and you smiled and told him you would.
by afternoon, you felt perfectly fine.
which, somehow, made the whole thing easier to dismiss. a fluke. a weird little moment. nothing to spiral over.
except then the next day came.
and the one after that.
and suddenly the “weird little moment” had become a pattern that your body seemed determined to keep repeating.
more nausea.
another morning where you barely made it to the bathroom in time.
a stubborn heaviness in your chest every time you tried to ignore the possibility forming in the back of your mind.
then the period that didn't come, even after you stared at the calendar like maybe it would feel guilty and appear if you looked hard enough.
and that was when the spiral started.
at first you fought it, you really did.
you tried to convince yourself it was stress, or hormones, or your body being dramatic for no reason. but the longer the days stretched on, the more every little sign seemed to align into the same terrifying shape.
the nausea. the missed period. the constant low hum of suspicion that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself with work or editing or scrolling mindlessly until your eyes hurt.
pregnancy.
the word sat in your mind like a live wire.
it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. that was the part that made it so confusing, so impossible to untangle.
you were married to the love of your life. you both had stable jobs, a home you loved, a life that wasn't perfect but was solid and real and full of room for something bigger.
you had talked before, in soft private moments, about a future family. someday. one day. after the next thing, after the next phase, after the next stretch of work had settled.
in future.
not now.
not when joe was about to go on tour. not when your lives were already shifting into motion again. not when you were supposed to be joining him for a big chunk of it, packing your bags and following him on the road like you always tried to do when you could. not when everything was already in flux and the timing made your head spin just trying to think about it.
and yet if it was true, it would still be yours. yours and joe’s. a tiny, impossible thing growing in the middle of all this love.
-
you lasted longer than you thought you would before finally ordering a pregnancy test.
you made sure joe would be out all day before the package arrived, which was ridiculous because he was not suspicious by nature and never would've asked why you were suddenly hovering around the front door with too much energy and a too-bright smile, but it still felt important to keep this moment yours for a little longer.
something about it had made you strangely private, almost protective, as if saying it aloud too soon might break it.
when the apartment was finally yours alone, you carried the test into the bathroom with hands that felt colder than they should've.
the small, ordinary packaging looked offensively normal for something so capable of changing your life. you set it down on the counter and stood staring at it for a long moment before reaching for your camera.
you didn't know why you did that first, maybe because vlogging had become as natural to you as breathing and because, right then, having the camera there made you feel like you weren't completely alone.
like you could speak out loud into the little lens and keep yourself anchored to something outside the panic beginning to bloom in your chest.
you set it up on the bathroom floor first, as if you were just starting a normal vlog, and with a shaky laugh you talked to it like this was any other day.
you rambled, a little aimlessly, about how nice life had been lately.
how after the wedding and the honeymoon and all the little “officially married” things settling into place, everything somehow felt even softer.
you said how weird it was that you and joe had somehow managed to make this whole grown-up married life thing look easy. you joked weakly about how domestic you both had become, how much time you'd spent together in the kitchen lately.
and while you talked, the tears kept threatening.
you blinked them away and looked over at the test on the counter, trying not to think too hard about what you were doing. trying not to think about the possibility that this one tiny object could confirm everything you had been circling for days.
then the timer went off.
the sound made you flinch.
for one horrible second you just stood there, the bathroom suddenly too small and too bright. then you picked the camera back up from the floor and set it on the counter with hands that had started to tremble.
you stared at your own reflection in the mirror for a beat, like maybe the person looking back at you would have better answers than you did. then you turned the test over.
positive.
the world went strangely quiet.
you stared.
you blinked.
you looked again as if the lines might rearrange themselves if you gave them enough time.
your hand flew to your mouth without you even realising it, your knees almost gave out under you and you had to grab the edge of the sink to steady yourself.
for a few seconds, all you could do was breathe.
"oh my god"
the words came out of you in a cracked whisper, barely audible.
you had no idea how long you stood there like that, frozen in place, camera still recording while your entire life shifted underneath your feet.
maybe five minutes, maybe less.
it felt endless either way.
the tears finally broke free, and you laughed a little through them because what else were you supposed to do?
you covered your mouth again and made a helpless, breathless sound as your eyes kept darting between the test and your reflection and the camera, as if one of them might somehow tell you how to handle this.
what the hell were you going to do?
more importantly, how on earth were you going to tell joe?
that question alone was enough to send another rush of panic through you.
because you knew him, you knew him too well.
he could read you like an open book on your best day, and right now you were a mess of nerves and hormones and disbelief, which meant he would know something was wrong the second he saw your face.
you couldn't keep a secret from him if your life depended on it, you never had been able to.
especially not one this big.
but you also knew you couldn't just blurt it out over takeout containers and dish towels like it was a casual update.
this was too huge for that.
was it too little to just tell him, “i’m pregnant”?
did that sound wrong somehow, too blunt for a moment this important?
should there be a dramatic reveal or some kind of heartfelt speech?
you had no idea.
all you knew was that your heart was hammering hard enough to make your ears ring and your thoughts were spilling over each other so fast you could barely catch one before another took its place.
so you took another test.
just to be sure. just to have the proof sitting there in black and white, as if one positive result somehow wasn’t enough to convince your own brain. you sat on the bathroom floor with the second one in your hand and tried to breathe through the whole thing while your camera quietly recorded every nervous second. then you checked it too, and when it came back positive, your laugh broke into a sob.
you were really pregnant.
somewhere between the shock and the tears, your mind started racing ahead to everything at once.
the future, the baby, joe, tour, your work, the vlogs, the apartment, the nursery you'd not even thought about yet, the tiny life you'd somehow made with the man you loved more than anything.
and in the middle of all that fear, there was also something else. something softer, something almost bright.
you and joe had made a family.
the thought scared you and warmed you in equal measure.
-
by the time afternoon blurred into evening, you cleaned yourself up enough to look almost normal, though your eyes were a little puffy and your hands still shook whenever you held them still for too long.
you spent the rest of the day moving through the apartment in a daze, editing a few clips you probably wouldn't post, rambling softly to the camera whenever the silence got too loud, letting the lens become a kind of lifeline.
every so often, your gaze drifted to the clock.
when joe texted that he was on his way home, your stomach flipped so hard you had to put the phone down for a second and hold onto the counter.
now it was real in a different way, because he was actually coming back, and in a little while you would have to look at him and say the words out loud.
no more rehearsing in your head. no more waiting. no more pretending that tomorrow might somehow feel easier.
-
you finished dinner just in time, plating everything carefully despite your trembling hands.
the recipe was one the two of you had learned together recently, and for some ridiculous reason that made the whole thing feel even more emotional.
the apartment smelled warm and comforting, the kind of smell that usually made joe grin the moment he walked through the door, and when he finally did, it was exactly like that.
his shoes came off by the entryway, his shoulders loosened the second he saw you, and then that smile appeared. the one that always made your heart do something soft and helpless in your chest.
“baby” he said, voice already full of affection, and crossed the room to kiss you.
you melted into it for a second, clinging to him just enough to remind yourself he was really there.
he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips again, easy and familiar. he looked tired, but in a good way, like the day had actually gone well.
“i made dinner” you said, trying to sound normal and probably failing.
his eyes lit up immediately. “you did?”
you nodded, and he glanced at the table with a grin that made him look almost boyish. “smells amazing.”
“you had a good day?” you asked, because you needed to hear him say something ordinary, needed one more normal thing to hold onto before everything changed.
“actually, yeah,” he said, settling a hand at your waist while he spoke.
“really good day, productive one too. meetings went fine, got a bunch done. no disasters, no weird stress stuff. just.. good.”
that should have made it easier. it should have made it feel like the perfect moment to tell him.
instead, it made the panic bloom harder.
you must have gone quiet, because his expression shifted almost immediately. joe always noticed even the tiniest change in your face.
his brows drew together just slightly and his thumb brushed a slow line against your hip.
“hey,” he said gently. “you okay?”
you took a breath and let it out too slowly. no point pretending now. not with him looking at you like that. not when the words were already pressing at the back of your throat.
“can you sit down?” you asked softly.
the concern on his face sharpened. “that sounds scary.”
you gave him a tiny, shaky smile. “i know. i’m sorry.”
“baby,” he said, suddenly more alert, but he did what you asked. he moved to the chair near the table and sat down, though he kept one hand in yours the whole time, his fingers lacing through yours like he was grounding you both. his eyes stayed on your face, carefully searching. “you’re freaking me out.”
you almost laughed at that, which only made him look more worried, so you squeezed his hand and breathed in through your nose.
“wait here,” you said. “and close your eyes.”
his eyebrows shot up. “absolutely not. that is not helping.”
“joe.”
“you are scaring me, baby.”
you smiled despite yourself, because he always sounded so offended and so fond at the same time, but he obeyed after a second. slowly, warily, he shut his eyes. his free hand flexed once against the table like he was bracing himself.
you hurried back to the bathroom, your heart in your throat, and came back holding the pregnancy test like it was made of glass.
your eyes were already burning again by the time you reached him.
he still had his eyes closed.
“okay,” you whispered, stopping in front of him. “open your hand.”
he did, palm up and uncertain.
you placed the test in it, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary.
“open your eyes.”
joe did.
for a second, he just looked at the test.
then up at you.
then back down.
silence stretched between you so completely that it seemed to fill the whole room. not tense silence, not exactly, just stunned silence.
his mouth parted slightly. his eyes widened. he looked like he was trying to process something impossible.
his gaze flicked to the lines on the test and then back to your face.
then his eyes filled with tears.
“are you serious?” he asked, voice breaking on the words.
you nodded before you could stop yourself. “yes.”
he stared at you for another beat, as if the answer had to be said twice to become real. “you’re serious?”
your own tears spilled over then, and you nodded again, smiling so hard it hurt. “yes, joe.”
his face changed all at once.
he stood up so fast the chair scraped lightly against the floor, and then he had you in his arms, pulling you against him with such force that the breath rushed right out of your body.
you clutched at him immediately, laughing and crying at the same time, his arms wrapped so tightly around you it almost felt like he was trying to hold the moment still by sheer force alone.
“oh my god,” he breathed into your hair, and you felt it as much as heard it. “oh my god.”
he laughed a little through the tears, low and disbelieving, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you. both of his hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over the tears on your cheeks with the most careful tenderness in the world.
“i’m gonna be a dad?” he whispered.
you let out a shaky laugh and nodded. “yeah, baby. you’re gonna be a dad.”
his eyes squeezed shut for a second, and then he laughed again, helpless and full of disbelief. “we’re-” he stopped, shook his head, looked back at you like he was still trying to understand the shape of it.
“we’re together. like.. together together. like parents together. like family.”
that set you off all over again. more tears. more laughing. you reached up and grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it hard.
“yes,” you whispered. “yes, exactly that.”
his forehead dropped against yours, and for one long moment the two of you just stood there breathing each other in, crying and smiling and trying to make sense of how everything had changed in a matter of minutes.
joe’s hand slid down from your face to your stomach, resting there with so much awe it almost made you cry harder. like he was afraid to move, afraid to disturb the delicate miracle of it.
you watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
“i can’t believe this” he whispered, and there was such wonder in it that your heart nearly split open.
“me neither” you admitted.
he looked up at you then, and there was a brightness in his eyes that made your chest ache. “we’ll figure it out” he said immediately, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “everything. we’ll figure it all out together, okay? every part of it. all of it.”
the certainty in his voice did something to you. soothed something jagged inside you that had been spiraling all day.
you nodded, because there was no other answer.
“okay.”
he smiled at that, soft and shaking, then leaned in to kiss you.
it was the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. the kind that said he was here, and he was staying, and whatever came next would not happen to you alone.
when he pulled back, he kept one hand against your cheek and the other still on your stomach, as if he couldn’t quite bear to let go of either place.
then, because he was joe and because he apparently could never stay in one emotional state for too long, his face shifted into something halfway between disbelief and giddy realisation. he started pacing a little in the small space by the table, one hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
you could see the smile beneath his fingers, the tears still wet on his cheeks, the way he looked like he might burst right out of his skin from the size of the feeling in him.
“you’re pacing” you said, smiling through your own tears.
“i know,” he said, not stopping. “i know, i just- baby, i’m sorry, i don’t know what to do with myself right now.”
“i think that’s fair.”
he laughed, then turned back to you and came right up again, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second. both of his hands came back to your face, thumbs gentle at your jaw.
“we’re really doing this,” he said, quieter now. “we’re really having a baby.”
you nodded, and your smile trembled at the edges. “yeah.”
he stared at you for a second longer, then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your cheek, your nose, all over your face in a soft, overwhelmed sort of way.
you laughed wetly and tried to shove him lightly away, but he only smiled harder and pulled you close again.
then his hand found your stomach once more, resting there with almost reverent care, and more tears slipped down his face.
“hey,” he said suddenly, his voice turning lighter in a way that only made you suspect trouble, “i have always said i wanted to be inside you forever.”
you let out a shocked laugh that was half gasp, half groan, and immediately smacked his arm. “joe.”
he burst into laughter at your expression, full and bright and completely ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, tears still streaking your cheeks.
“what?” he said, grinning wildly now. “i’m just saying, i guess i kind of will be for nine months.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing harder, which only encouraged him.
the two of you were a mess now, crying and laughing at once, and the apartment felt somehow too small for all the love and disbelief and joy packed into the room.
he looked so happy it almost hurt to look at him. so stunned, so undone, so completely and obviously in love with the life the two of you had made.
“you are impossible” you told him, still laughing.
“and you love me.”
“unfortunately, yes.”
“good” he said, and pulled you in for another kiss before you could even finish rolling your eyes.
this one was softer, warm with tears and laughter and the kind of joy that makes the world tilt. he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the moment, like he knew things were changing and he wanted to hold on to this exact second for as long as he could.
when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, and both of you were breathing hard in the quiet that followed.
then his gaze dropped.
“wait” he said suddenly, pointing toward the camera you had hidden nearby.
your stomach dropped for half a second before you remembered. right. the vlog.
the proof of the whole surreal, emotional, life-altering day.
you let out a breathless laugh. “i was filming”
joe immediately groaned, though he was still smiling.
“of course you were.”
“i didn’t know if i’d post it,” you admitted, wiping at your face. “i just… needed something.”
he nodded, all the teasing gone from his expression again, replaced by that same soft understanding he always gave you when words got too tangled.
“i’m glad you did” he said.
you looked at him, still a little dazed. “really?”
“yeah,” he said simply. then his smile returned, smaller this time but no less bright.
“i’ll probably want to watch this later and cry all over again.”
that made you laugh, because of course he would. of course he would want to remember every second of this strange, fragile, beautiful beginning.
you reached for his hand again and he took it instantly, intertwining your fingers like he always did when he wanted to make sure you knew he was there.
then, as if the thought had only just hit him properly, he looked down at your stomach one more time and smiled in a way that was so full of love it made your chest ache.
“hi,” he said softly to it, like he was speaking to the tiniest person in the room. “it’s me. your dad. i guess i should probably get used to saying that.”
your heart melted right there on the spot.
you leaned into him and rested your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you immediately, holding you close while the two of you stood in the kitchen with dinner cooling on the table and the camera still somewhere nearby and your whole life unfolding in front of you all at once.
it was still scary. that part didn't disappear.
the tour, the timing, the future, the suddenness of it all, the way your mind already tried to leap ahead to everything you didn't yet know.
but in that moment, with joe’s hand on your back and his heartbeat steady under your cheek and his tears drying slowly on his face, the fear didn't feel bigger than the love.
maybe that was what being married was really for.
not avoiding the hard things. not making life neat and easy and perfectly timed. just having someone standing beside you when the hard things arrived, and knowing, with complete certainty, that you would face them together.
joe pressed a kiss to the top of your head and sighed, soft and happy and still a little stunned.
“we’re gonna figure it out” he murmured again.
you smiled into his shirt, tears still hot on your cheeks, and squeezed his hand against your stomach.
“yeah,” you whispered. “together.”
and when he kissed you again, it felt like the beginning of everything.
-
a few weeks later, after countless conversations, a lot of excitement, and joe randomly tearing up at least three times a day whenever he remembered he was going to be a dad, the two of you finally decided to tell everyone.
well.
sort of.
because after watching back the footage from that day, the one where you had found out and then told joe, neither of you could bring yourselves to share it.
it wasn't because you weren't happy. it was the opposite, actually.
it was too special, too raw.
that moment belonged to the two of you.
every shaky breath, every tear, every stunned laugh, every second of joe standing there holding that pregnancy test like it might disappear if he blinked.
that was yours.
and somehow, sharing it with millions of strangers felt wrong.
so instead, you posted a simple announcement.
just a handful of photos. one of you and joe standing outside in golden evening light. another of joe kneeling dramatically beside you with his hand on your stomach despite there being absolutely no bump yet. one of tiny baby shoes resting between your intertwined hands.
and the final photo was your favorite.
joe kissing your cheek while you laughed at something he'd said.
the internet absolutely lost its mind.
your phone practically exploded.
you and joe spent the entire evening curled up together on the couch reading comments.
every few minutes joe would just randomly smile at his phone.
"what?" you asked eventually.
he looked up.
eyes suspiciously shiny.
"people keep calling me a dad."
you immediately burst out laughing.
"joe."
"i'm serious."
he shoved his phone toward you.
sure enough, thousands of comments.
dad keery era.
djo - dad
you looked back at him, he looked genuinely emotional.
"you're crying."
"i'm not."
"you literally are."
he wiped under his eye.
"okay maybe a little."
"oh my god."
"leave me alone."
tour came quicker than either of you wanted.
but thankfully, because you were still early enough in your pregnancy, you were able to travel with him for a big chunk of it.
and honestly?
it became one of your favorite periods of your marriage because it felt like this little bubble. just you. joe. and the tiny thing growing between you.
you got to see cities together, eat food from places you'd never been, wander around unfamiliar streets hand in hand, take photos, film vlogs, make memories before life got a whole lot crazier.
if there was one thing that did change dramatically though, it was joe.
or more specifically how protective he became.
it was ridiculous. genuinely ridiculous. the second he found out you were pregnant it was like some switch flipped inside him.
suddenly you couldn't do anything. absolutely anything.
one morning you reached for a grocery bag.
joe appeared out of nowhere.
"baby."
you blinked.
"what?"
"put that down."
"...it's apples."
"still."
"joe."
he took it from you anyway.
another time you stood on your tiptoes trying to grab a mug from a shelf. a shelf, not a mountain. not a dangerous cliff edge. a shelf.
before your fingers even touched it, joe's voice came from behind you.
"what are you doing?"
you looked over your shoulder.
"getting a mug."
"why?"
"...because i want tea?"
he was already reaching past you.
"i'll get it."
"i can reach it."
"you don't need to."
"i literally do."
"nope."
and then there was the infamous airport incident.
you had picked up your suitcase. your own suitcase. the one you'd been carrying perfectly fine for years.
and joe had gasped, actually gasped, like you'd just attempted to bench press a car.
you stared at him.
he stared at the suitcase.
"put it down."
"joe."
"you're growing a human."
you laughed.
"the human is the size of a grape."
"still."
"you're insane."
"thank you."
and somehow he sounded proud.
later in the tour there was a short break where you both got to spend a couple weeks back home.
it was glorious.
no hotels, no airports, just home.
which was how you ended up sitting on the living room floor one afternoon surrounded by pr packages.
you had decided to vlog opening them because honestly there were so many.
the camera sat on its tripod.
joe lounged beside you on the rug, one arm draped lazily around your shoulders.
"hey," you said.
"today we're opening all the pr that's been piling up while we've been away."
joe nodded.
the first box opened easily.
you pulled out tiny baby clothes.
immediately both of you froze.
because they were tiny. absurdly tiny. joe picked up a little onesie, held it up, stared, stared some more, then looked at you.
"our child is gonna fit in this?"
you nodded.
he looked horrified.
"that's way too small."
you laughed.
"babies are small."
"that's not a baby."
he held it between two fingers.
"that's a hamster."
the next package was bottles, those you both recognised which immediately felt like a win.
"we know these."
"yes!"
you high-fived.
"look at us."
"we're basically parents already."
you both nodded seriously then burst out laughing. the confidence didn't last because the next package contained some bizarre baby contraption.
you pulled it out slowly, turned it around, looked at the instructions, looked back at joe. he looked equally confused.
"what is that?"
"i don't know."
"turn it over."
you did, it didn't help.
"still don't know."
"maybe it's a hat."
"definitely not a hat."
by the middle of the vlog the floor was completely covered.
baby blankets. tiny socks. toys. books. feeding supplies. carriers. little matching outfits. you kept stopping to hold things up and stare at them.
because every now and then it would hit you all over again.
this wasn't hypothetical anymore, these things were for your baby. your actual baby.
and every single realisation felt just as surreal as the first.
at one point you picked up an impossibly tiny pair of shoes.
the room went quiet.
joe immediately reached for them, holding them carefully in his palms. they looked impossibly small there.
you watched his expression soften and instantly knew he was having feelings. again.
"joe."
he sniffed.
"don't."
"are you crying over shoes?"
"maybe."
you laughed.
"they're tiny."
"i know."
"you are unbelievable."
he looked at the camera.
"i'm having a moment."
"over shoes."
"tiny shoes."
which somehow made him cry harder.
toward the end of filming you were both surrounded by baby things.
completely overwhelmed, completely clueless and completely happy.
you leaned against joe's shoulder, he immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer.
"you know," you said "we have absolutely no idea what we're doing."
"none."
you laughed.
"but," he looked down at you, that soft smile appearing. the one that always made your heart ache.
"we've got each other."
your expression immediately melted.
"that's true."
"and eventually we'll figure out what half this stuff does."
"hopefully before the baby gets here."
you laughed.
he kissed the top of your head then looked at the camera.
"if any parents are watching..."
he held up another mystery baby gadget.
"...please help."
when the vlog went up a few days later, the comments were absolutely flooded.
comments:
user: you two are gonna be the sweetest parents ever
user: the fact they openly admit they have no clue what they're doing is actually so comforting
user: their baby is already so loved and it's not even here yet
user: the way he constantly reaches for her without thinking i'm emotional
user: dad keery era is thriving
user: can't wait to watch this little family grow 🤍
steve harrington x fem!reader {18.8k} you and steve had never seen eye to eye, to put it lightly. but when you have to work together at family video, you start to realise you might not hate him as much as you once thought. enemies to lovers, no use of y/n. 18+ mdni
You could pinpoint the exact moment that your personal vendetta against Steve Harrington had started. Not that it was hard to remember. You’d just moved to Hawkins, back to your parents home town and away from the warm air of the West Coast, forced to face Hawkins middle school before you’d even got your bearings of the trailer park you’d shacked up in.
It was your second day there, maybe your third. (Maybe your memory wasn’t that great, but the specific day didn’t matter). You were sat alone in the cafeteria picking at the sad meal in front of you, your head down in an attempt to ignore the lunchtime chaos around you.
“You’re new here, right?” A voice pulled your head up away from your tray as a group of kids joined you at your lonely table. You didn’t really know people’s names yet, you definitely recognised them though. Seen them around the yard, an air of importance around them that was only ever found in schools.
You’d kept your lips pressed shut, a small nod the only response you were willing to give. You could tell where this was going by the grins and the giggles and already had no interest in entertaining it.
“‘Course she is, what a stupid question.” One of the girls snipped back to the boy who’d asked the question, elbow digging into his side.
“Heard you live in the trailer park. Moved all this way just to live in a tin can.” The comment earned a laugh from the rest of the group, all far too amused by the snide comment.
“Heard you live in the trailer park. Moved all this way just to live in a tin can.” The comment earned a laugh from the rest of the group, all far too amused by the snide comment.
“Heard you live in the trailer park. Moved all this way just to live in a tin can.” The comment earned a laugh from the rest of the group, all far too amused by the snide comment.
You could feel your skin heating up, some sort of mix of shame and anger and anxiety, and you begged your body to not let your skin flush and give away your emotions.
“It’s rough out there. Must suck, being born on the wrong side of the tracks.” The same boy continued on his attack, clearly made up with himself and the responses he was getting from his friends.
You just stared at him for a moment, eyes blank and brows furrowed, letting the laughs around you trail off in anticipation of your response.
But you didn’t give one, instead picking up your backpack up off the floor and getting up to walk away from the table. Your barely touched food left behind as you stormed out of the canteen and those same cruel giggles followed you even with the distance put between you and the group.
And that was it. A dislike started before you even knew their names. Not that you stayed oblivious to who they were, after a few weeks you had settled in enough to put names to faces. Which meant you could confidently say you wanted absolutely nothing to do with Steve Harrington.
—
You need a job. Well, another job. Your hours at the diner have dropped over summer since people are busy vacationing and generally getting themselves out of Hawkin’s, which leaves you with little leftover each week to put in your savings pot - that coincidentally exists with the aim of getting yourself out of Hawkin’s too.
You do, however, find yourself questioning how much you need another job when you turn up to your Family Video interview only to be greeted by Steve Harrington.
Robin had told you about the job opening, and sure you know they work together. Robin has long since dealt with your disbelief at their friendship, your comments a little less frequent now but you still respond to any mention of him with a groan and overly dramatic eye roll.
But she’d assured you, absolutely promised hand-on-heart, that she would be there when you come in for your interview. But as you stand in the doorway, bathed in the red glow of the fluorescent light, you lock eye contact with Steve and realise that you really should know better by now than to trust Robin to know her schedule.
“Oh for fucks sake.” You grumble, brows pinched together a little as you step up to the counter, the boy behind it watching your annoyance with a smug smile.
“Now that’s no way to get a job.” His tone is condescending, and if you had even an ounce less of self control you think you’d be tempted to smack the grin right off his face. It wouldn’t be the first time, but these things are a bit more acceptable in middle school.
“My bad, Harrington, didn’t realise you owned the store.” You feign shock, hands raised to your side as you gaze around at the shelves stacked with tapes.
“I can’t believe Robin told you to apply.” He scoffs, arms folding across his chest.
“Don’t be stupid, we were friends before you were.” It’s childish, stupid bickering that you really should be above by now. And you are, with anyone else. But not with Steve.
“Oh, real mature.” He draws out his vowels as he rolls his eyes at you, every little movement further lighting that angry fire in your chest. “She can have other friends, better friends.”
It takes everything in you to not take his bait, every nerve in your body pulsing with frustration and rage and you have to take a deep breath in to keep yourself at least somewhat calm.
“You’re a real piece of work, Harrington.” You exhale your words out, eyes closed as you shake your head at him. “Where’s Keith?” You never thought you’d see the day where Keith was the better option in terms of company.
“In the back.” He juts his head in the direction of the office door at the side of the store. “Better hurry up, you’re late.” He taps his fingers against his watch, and you realise that thanks to your petty arguing you’re now late to your interview.
You flip him off as you walk towards the office, feet striding quickly across the store. You can’t believe Steve Harrington was still ruining your life, even after graduation. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you think your dramatics are allowed given the circumstances. If there was anyone you allowed yourself to be a little bit childish over, it was him.
Turns out it’s pretty easy to secure a job at Family Video if you’re a pretty girl who can hold a semi-decent conversation, the interview pretty much consists of Keith scanning over your CV, asking the usual boring questions of why do you want this job? and what would you bring to the store? and after a whopping ten minutes you’re walking out the office with your new FV vest in hand.
You wave it at Steve as you walk out, a smirk on your lips as he glares at you. “See you next week, Harrington.” You sing, not stopping to hear whatever smart response you’re sure he has cooking up and head back out into the parking lot.
—
You’ve worked four shifts at Family Video now, and three of those you got lucky and only had to work with Robin. But today luck isn’t on your side, it’s just you and Steve alone all day. It’s pretty easy work, but with easy also comes boring, and with that comes plenty of time for Steve to try and rile you up.
You’ve spent the past hour trying to put away the ever growing pile of returns, sat cross-legged on the floor as you slot each tape into its rightful place on the shelf.
Except every time you seem to make progress, Steve comes along to move the tapes around, feigning interest in each one before he puts it back somewhere it doesn’t belong.
“Oh now this, this is meant to be good.” Steve picks up Back to The Future, waving the tape at you as he studies the case in fake intrigue.
“Everyone’s seen Back to The Future, Harrington. It’s not some hidden gem.” You huff as you shuffle on the carpeted floor, legs going numb and the rough fabric leaving indents into your bare calves from where they’re pressing into the ground.
“Hm, yeah, maybe.” He puts it back, in the completely wrong spot, before picking up another video case with the same false fascination. “What about this? Y’seen this?” He holds the copy of The Breakfast Club directly in front of your face, your hand quickly swatting it out of the way.
The impact of your knuckles on the plastic stings and you quickly pull your hand away, blowing on the skin to attempt to sooth it. “Yeah, I’ve seen it.” Your voice is blunt, unimpressed at his antics. “D’you not have work to do? Instead of, you know, disrupting mine?”
“What? I’m trying to help.” He acts shocked at your annoyance, bottom lip jutted out in a puppy dog pout as you let out a dramatic sigh.
“You’re a fuckin’ headache, you know that?” You pinch the skin between your eyes, at the point of exasperation with him and his determination to ruin your day.
“C’mon, why don’t you want my company?” His voice is thick with sarcasm, his arms crossed over his chest as he peers down at you on the carpet. It makes you feel small, enough to have you standing up to lessen the height difference between you - though you still have to crane your neck to stare at his face.
“I will never want your company, Harrington.” You narrow your eyes, huffing a little as you pick up the box of returned tapes and make your way to start on another shelf as far away from him as you can get.
But of course, he follows you. This time hanging back so he can lean against the counter and watch as you go on your tiptoes to place the tapes on the top shelf.
“They’re gonna fall.” He nods towards to tapes teetering on the edge of the shelf, and you know he’s probably right, but you’re not going to admit that.
“Whatever.” You grumble, continuing on with your stacking and trying your hardest to block out the boy's presence behind you.
“Look at them, they’re wobbling, if they fall on you you’re gonna get a concussion.”
“Can’t be worse than this.” Your voice is sickly sweet and entirely fake, and you turn to flash him your best sarcastic smile.
You turn back to carry on organising the shelf, maybe being a little too rough with how you’re shoving the tapes on there, lips twisted up into a frown as you feel Steve’s eyes watching your every move.
“You need to-“ Steve steps up behind you, his words halted as a hand goes above you to catch a tape before it can come tumbling down off the top shelf and most likely fall directly onto the top of your head “- chill out.” He pushes the tape back onto the shelf, now positioned safely there away from the edge.
Your body feels tense with how close he is, chest practically pressing into your back as he crowds over you, you think this must be what fight or flight feels like. All the nerves in your body on high alert, chest thumping and skin suddenly feeling too warm even with the AC pumping through the store.
“Whatever.” You repeat, but your words seem to hold a little less bite now. Steve seems to notice, a shallow chuckle coming from behind you before he finally moves away and settles behind the desk.
You find yourself letting out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding, shaking your head to yourself before carrying on with your work as best you can whilst ignoring his presence.
You’ve told Eddie to pick you up when you finish at 5, the promise of a takeout and 4 pack of his choice enough to bribe him into being your chauffeur for the night. You already planned to buy those things anyway, but if it got you a ride home too then who are you to complain.
He’s usually late, nearly always in fact, so you take your time getting your belongings from the staff room. Vest tucked back into your bag, hair pulled out of the knot you’d tied it in to keep it out of your face as you work.
The rest of your shift with Steve had been spent in awkward silence. He’d stopped bothering you after he’d stopped the tape from tumbling down onto you, instead busying himself with other tasks which conveniently kept him at a distance from you. If you did ever have to cross paths with each other there’d be an awkward shuffle past one another or a detour taken around one of the shelves. You weren’t complaining, you’d take uncomfortable tension over him actively annoying you any day.
After dawdling for a few minutes in the back, re-tying your laces and fiddling with how your shirt was tucked into your skirt, you push the staff room door open and step back out into the store. When you see Steve standing at the desk talking to Eddie, laughing about something and seemingly getting along, you feel your lips turn into a frown. Surely they weren’t friends? Surely this wasn’t another part of your life Steve Harrington had managed to wiggle his way into.
You stride over, brows pinched as you appear next to Eddie who stops his laughter to look down at you, face a little puzzled at your clearly irritated expression. “Hey kiddo, you good?”
“Don’t call me kiddo.” You huff, the feeling of Steve’s gaze boring into you and you can feel the blood rush to your cheeks with embarrassment. It’s only made worse when he laughs at Eddie’s greeting, and you suddenly feel about 2 feet tall. “Can we go?”
“Yeah, was just waiting for you.” Eddie shrugs, his eyes still studying you as you shuffle your feet on the carpet clearly eager to leave. “I’ll see you around, Harrington.” He gives the other boy a casual salute, nodding to him as he backs towards the door.
“Later, Munson.” Steve nods back, before turning back to you, your knuckles turning white as you grip the strap of your bag tightly and wring the fabric to try and get out some of your frustration. “See ya, kiddo.” His voice is teasing and his smirk doesn’t falter as you scowl at him, eyes narrowed and stare pointed, mumbling something under your breath before you pass Eddie by and storm out.
“Woah, slow down.” Eddie calls after you, door swinging shut behind him as you stride across the parking lot to his van.
“Since when were you two friends?.” You frown, looking a bit too much like an upset child to try and dispute his nickname for you.
Eddie shrugs, looking back to the video store and then to you. “He’s not so bad, the kids love him.”
“He’s a dick.”
“You two just don’t get on, he’s chilled out since he graduated.” Eddie tries to reason with you, the same point you’ve heard a million times before from Robin.
Maybe he has changed, dropped his stupid high school persona and become a nice guy, for everyone but you. But the grudge you both hold for each other runs too deep to be glazed over with his change of heart, too much said (or maybe unsaid, in terms of apologies) for you to truly buy it.
“He thinks he’s so much better than us, y’know? Because he lives in some big house with all that money and we live in the trailer park?” You lean against the van behind you, metal hot against your skin in the evening sun.
“He’s not like that anymore. It’s not even his money, he works the same shitty minimum wage job you do.” Eddie's hands are shoved into his pockets, and you do feel bad for putting him on the spot with all this, but your anger is bubbling up in your stomach and it’s like it’s consuming your every thought.
“Whatever. If you wanna ignore the fact he’s some rich dickhead, be my guest.”
It makes it worse, in a way, that him and Eddie get along. Because Eddie was one of your first friends when you’d moved to Hawkin’s, looking out for you in the trailer park and school in the same way an older brother would. You had the same lifestyle, grew up with the same struggles but for some reason Steve wasn’t giving him grief. Apparently it was just you. You wish it didn’t bother you, wish you could wring the thoughts out of your brain onto the tarmac below.
“C’mon, don’t let it ruin our night, yeah?” Eddie smiles at you, a sympathetic look because he can see how riled up you are. “I’ll even pay for the beer.”
“You can’t bribe me, Munson.” You huff, but the whisper of a smile appears on your lips and Eddie knows that in five minutes all will be forgotten. Once you’re a good distance away from Steve. “I know you don’t have the money for it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You caught me.” He holds his hands up in faux defeat. “But the thought was there.”
“I appreciate the theoretical generosity.”
Your eyes flick back to Family Video before you climb into the passenger seat of Eddie's van. You don’t know why you do it, torturing yourself with one last reminder of your infuriating co-worker before you close the door and shut the day out of your mind.
—
You should’ve known it was going to rain. Maybe you did, and had chosen to ignore it. The air this morning had that close, sticky heat to it, the kind that comes when the clouds are hanging low in the sky and you can almost smell the deluge that’s just waiting to be spilled.
But the sun had still been high when you’d set off to your shift at the diner this morning, too hot to even consider a jacket and your bag was already full with a change of clothes for your shift at Family Video this afternoon.
You watched the sky open up and douse Hawkin’s in a long needed rainfall from the windows of the diner, eyes darting to the clock because you needed to set off in what, twenty minutes? You found yourself saying a silent prayer to whoever was listening for rain to let up for just long enough for your walk across town.
Unsurprisingly, your prayers went unanswered.
You keep your head down, chin tucked into your chest and eyes focused on the pavement beneath you, as you storm your way downtown. Your bag tucked tightly into your side, as if that will stop the unrelenting downpour from seeping through the canvas and onto your clothes. Your clothes stick to your skin uncomfortably, the fabric of your diner uniform rough and irritating and you really regret selling your car now.
The walk to Family Video was 20 minutes on a good day, but today isn’t a good day and you’re practically jogging as the rain smacks across your face almost painfully so you manage to get there in just under 15. You push the door to the store hard and almost trip over the welcome mat as you bound across the threshold.
Your hair is dripping onto your clothes and into your eyes, eyelashes catching the droplets and blinking them away before they can render you blind, and you’re suddenly aware of the fact you’re probably leaving little puddles of rainwater with each step and Steve is sat at the desk watching you and you genuinely wish the ground would swallow you whole.
“Don’t even fuckin’ start, Harrington.” You hiss as you storm from the door towards the staff room, eyes still focused on your feet because if you make eye contact with him you’re sure the embarrassment and anger will kill you on the spot. You sling your bag onto the floor as soon as your in there, the contents of it soaked only slightly less than the clothes on your back, and you have to blink hard to fight off the sting of tears that threaten to spill.
Because the truth of it all, at the core of all the pettiness and bickering and childish comments, was you felt ashamed. Steve had made you feel ashamed for who you were, where you were from and the way that you lived all those years ago. The fiery anger that came in response was the only way you knew to counter that horrible, achy feeling that sat in the pit of your stomach.
You fumble with the buttons on your shirt, fingers slipping against their plastic as you try to change out of the sodden material. Everything feels so difficult, like you’re having to exert so much energy just to change out of your uniform and you have to remind yourself to just take a deep breath, your hands shaking with the slurry of emotions that are twisting in your gut.
You don’t bother trying to pack your clothes away neatly, deciding they’re a lost cause and just tossing them to the floor next to your bag. There’s no way they’ll dry off before you need to walk home anyway. Your cotton t-shirt clings to you, only slightly less suffocating than the button down you’ve changed out of, and you’re really regretting choosing jeans right now because the damp denim is stiff and unyielding as you try to pull them up your legs.
Everything feels too close, too tight on your skin like your circulation is being cut off everywhere the fabric touches. You pull the bobble off your wrist and scrape your hair up into a ponytail, trying to find some relief from the way it’s sticking to your neck.
You linger by the door for a moment, swaying back and forth a little on your feet as you psych yourself up to walk back into the store. You don’t want to look at your reflection in the mirror, mascara probably smudged onto your cheeks and cheeks flushed to a bright pink, so you take a deep breath and stride out into the fluorescents. They make your eyes squint a little, the bright cold light painful compared to the dullness of the staff room. You walk to the desk, Steve watching you with an eyebrow raised but for once he doesn’t look like he’s going to come at you with some snide comment.
“I need the key.” You hold your hand out, words short as you avoid eye contact. “For the bathroom.”
Steve just nods at you, hands reaching below the counter and pulling out the oversized key ring that identifies the bathroom key.
You mutter a thank you, the words barely audible as you grab the keys off him and hurry towards the employee bathroom. Your hands are still shaky, and the obnoxious key ring only makes it harder for you to get the key into the lock. After a few tries you manage to get the door open, pulling it with such panicked force that it almost makes you trip over your own feet as you tuck yourself away inside.
The hand dryer mounted to the wall is shoddy and barely warm, but you sit yourself on the cold lino floor and wave your hands under the sensors so the weak stream of air can blow over your head. It only lasts about 30 seconds each time, so you have to keep holding your hands above your head to trigger it again in a vain attempt to dry yourself off.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting under the dryer for, losing count of how many times you have to reactivate it as you stare at the tiled wall opposite you. You’re a little zoned out, the loud hum of the machine above you sending you into a bit of a trance, so when the door of the bathroom opens it jolts you back to reality and has your heart beating faster.
“I really don’t wanna hear it right now.” You mumble, not having to even look to know it’s Steve standing in the doorway. You brace yourself for some snide comment, knowing you’re too drained to give anything back.
“Wasn’t gonna say anything.” It’s probably the first time he’s spoken to you without some snark in his voice. You wouldn’t say he sounded warm right now, not by a long shot, but you could probably settle for genuine. “Was just gonna give y’this.” He’s tripping over his words, forcing them out as he holds out a yellow jumper to you from his spot in the door.
You look up at him now, nose scrunched up in confusion as your eyes move between the jumper and him trying to discern any ulterior motive in his expression. But it’s not there, he’s just blinking at you, big brown eyes filled with something close to sympathy. You hesitate at first, clenching and unclenching your hand as you weigh up your decision, eventually reaching out and taking the jumper off him.
“I won’t tell Keith you bunked off for, like, twenty minutes either.” And then he almost smiles, a twitch of his lips that could be put down to a trick of the light. But it’s there, and you catch it, and for once it’s not laced with sarcasm.
You nod in place of a thank you, words caught in your throat because this is probably the first time Steve Harrington has been nice to you and you still don’t know whether to trust it. He leaves you there in the bathroom again, a few more minutes to yourself to try and gather your thoughts before you have to go out there and actually start your shift.
You debate not putting the jumper on, too proud to give Steve the satisfaction of helping you. He’ll probably hold it over your head for however long, until he needs something from you and can bring up the fact you owe him one. But the dampness of your clothes is making you shiver, and you don’t think you can face working an entire shift answering questions from customers about why you’re so damp.
So you bite the bullet, swallow your pride, and pull it over your head. It’s too big for you, swamping your frame and hanging down to your thighs, but it’s soft and warm and dry, and you hate to admit it but it smells great. Some spicy cedar cologne that Steve has obviously doused himself in, the fact you actually like it makes you shudder. It’s almost enough to make you take it off. Not quite though.
You don’t say anything to Steve when you finally step onto the shop floor, heading straight to the desk to see what needs doing. You have to push the sleeves of the jumper up your arms to stop them falling over your hands as you flick through paperwork, not really taking in the words and having to re-read them a couple of times for them to actually register.
It’s amazing how much time you can pass fronting shelves, especially when you’re spending all your energy on blocking out your surroundings. A couple of customers ask you to help them find movies, and you have to blink yourself back to reality so you can actually think about where they’re stocked.
The computer system is clunky and slow and you have to stop yourself huffing as you wait for it to load up the customers details. You don’t mean to be short with anyone, but god you’re ready for the day to just be over. The screen finally lights up and you slide the tape across the counter to the woman in front of you, she gives you a sorry smile - clearly you’ve not fully dried off yet and must look a little worse for wear - before picking the video up and leaving the store.
“You’re gonna scare the customers off if you keep talking to ‘em like that.” Steve’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump as you turn around to face him.
You furrow your brow. “Can you not be a dick for like, one single day?”
You expect some shitty response back, but instead Steve seems to drop the subject.
“Why’d you walk here anyway? Thought you could drive?” He looks down at you, standing in your damp clothes save for his dry jumper, his voice genuinely curious rather than the usual questioning tone you’ve come to expect.
“I can drive, I sold my car.” Your nose is still sniffly from the downpour and it scrunches up with the ticklish feeling, small lines spreading across the bridge.
“Why’d you sell your car?” He’s leaning back against the counter now, hands behind him holding his weight.
“Jeez what is this, twenty questions?” You grumble, pulling the sleeves of Steve’s jumper down over your hands. He just looks at you expectantly, eyebrows raised in place of an answer. “I’m saving up, to move.”
“You gonna get your own place?”
“No, like, move. Away, I wanna go back west.” You shrug, eyes focused on your hands as they twist in the jumpers cuffs.
“Oh, yeah, I forget you’re not actually from Hawkin’s.”
His words almost make you wince, because of course he forgot. There’s no reason for him to remember, not that you moved here from out of state or that he hounded you about it the moment you did.
You let out a dry laugh, a small shake of your head as you keep your eyes away from him. “Yeah, right.”
There’s a weird silence that hangs in the air then, one that’s normally filled by more spatting or sly smirks but instead it just sits there. Heavy and unaddressed, the pair of you stood waiting for something that didn't come. Steve eventually stalks off, busying himself away from you as you hang around by the desk assisting any other customers that come in that evening.
You occasionally make eye contact with one another, each caught glancing from across the store and quick to turn away. The shift is pretty dead, midweek evenings never drawing that much of a crowd, but you manage to make it to the end without having to say anything more to Steve.
It’s still raining when you venture outside after locking up, bag clutched close to your side as you brace yourself for another walk through the torrential conditions.
You debate using your diner shirt as a makeshift hood, but quickly decide against it. It’d probably just piss you off, and you’d end up soaked either way.
You take a deep breath before you step out into the rain, trying to walk as fast as you can across the parking lot but it’s dark out now and you have to squint to stop the rain getting into your eyes and your feet just won’t carry you as quick as you’d like.
“Hey!” Steve calls out after you, still standing under the shelter of the store. You debate ignoring him, ploughing on through the rain and not looking back, but something inside you makes you turn around. “You want a ride?” He nods towards his car.
You stand for a second, processing what he just said. Surely you misheard, because Steve Harrington offering you a ride home must be a sign you’ve lost the plot or the end of the world is actually here.
“Seriously?” Your hand is across your brow, shielding your eyes as you peer back at him.
“Well, yeah.” He acts like he’s stating the obvious. You’d be mad if he wasn’t offering you a lifeline, or at least a dry journey home.
You chew on the inside of your cheek before nodding. “Okay, thanks.” Your voice is barely audible over the sound of the rain hammering against the tarmac, but you start walking back towards Steve’s car so he can assume you’ve taken him up on the offer.
He waits for you to get into the passenger seat before he gets in himself, the noise of the storm outside muffled by the car's metal shell. It smells surprisingly clean inside; not that you didn’t expect it to, or that you’d given it any thought at all. But the air freshener that swung from the mirror had a pine fresh scent and there was a lack of rubbish inside considering the amount of kids he ferries around.
“You still live in Forest Hills?” Steve isn’t looking at you as he turns the key in the ignition, checking his rear view mirror before he pulls out of his parking spot even though the lot is pretty much empty.
“Yep, still there.” You had your bag on your lap, holding it to your chest as if it was some sort of shield, something to hide behind.
The creak of windscreen wipers along with the hum of the radio fills the car, though it’s barely loud enough to make out what songs are actually playing. You wish Steve would turn it up, let the music slice through the silence that sits between you as he drives.
It’s a nice car, sleek and with leather interiors all in tact. It makes you almost glad you don’t still have your car, which would look like a beaten up tin can next to Steve’s. But it would also mean you weren’t having to accept a ride off him, so maybe you shouldn’t write it off so quickly.
“It’s purely selfish, y’know? Me giving you a ride. Just don’t want my jumper to get ruined.” His voice seems to hold less bite than usual.
You’ve been picking at your nail polish, eyes focused on the flaking red paint as a little pile of it collects on top of your bag. You glance at Steve through your lashes when he speaks, eyebrows raised slightly. “Is this you trying to make conversation?”
“No, just wanted to let you know.” Steve doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and you move your attention back to your nails without giving him a response.
That same unsettling silence fills the car again, you debate turning the radio up yourself but decide against it. You think it’d be rude, which is strange because normally that’d only encourage you around Steve.
“Why’d you hate me so much?”
The question makes you stop scratching at your nail polish. Steve’s looking at you when you glance up this time, only for a split second before diverting his eyes back to the windscreen.
“Are you being serious?” You almost laugh, tongue pressed into your cheek to stop yourself saying anymore.
“Yeah, I mean, I know I kinda sucked in school but-“ He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I d’know.” He can’t.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” It almost comes out as a question. Your head tips back to lean against the headrest as you stare up at the car's fabriced ceiling. When Steve doesn’t say anything, just looks at you again as if waiting for you to continue, you press on. “I’d been here less than a week before you and your dickhead friends decided to rip into me for living in the trailer park. Y’all thought it was so funny, couldn’t get enough of the jokes.”
You see Steve press his lips together, out the corner of your eyes. “Pretty sure you gave me shit too.” His voice is quiet, unsure if he really has a leg to stand on.
“Yeah, because I didn’t wanna be a fuckin’ doormat.”
“I mean, I’m not friends with ‘em anymore.” He shrugs, fingers drumming on the steering wheel at a nervous tempo. “Plus, I tried apologising to you and you told me to ‘get fucked, Harrington’.” He mimics your voice, but it doesn’t seem so spiteful this time. It might make you laugh if you didn’t have your guard up so high.
“Look, I’m real glad you’ve done the 12 steps of assholes anonymous or whatever it is that made you sort your shit out.” Steve laughs and you narrow your eyes at him. “What? What now?”
“Assholes anonymous, was pretty funny.” For the second time that day you think you catch him smiling at you.
His comment throws you off a little. “Yeah, well, I’m a pretty funny person I guess.” You sigh, brows pinching as you try to regain your train of thought. “All I’m saying is if you keep being a dick after you apologise, it kinda defeats the object.”
Steve hums, a small nod because you are right. As much as it pains him to admit it. “In my defence, you also kept being a dick.”
He’s right this time. “Guess I’m pretty stubborn, too.” You don’t notice that you’re almost at the trailer park, rolling up towards the Forest Hills sign that’s distorted by the rain through the windscreen. “You can just drop me at the entrance, don’t wanna traumatise you by making you drive through.” You almost sound like you’re joking, a lilt to your voice that Steve’s never heard before.
“Shut up.” He shakes his head, a small huff of a laugh coming from his nose. “It’s still pouring down, looking out for the jumper, remember?”
“Right, course.” You draw your words out, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips. “If you turn left when you go in, then take the second right.”
Steve nods, his car slowing as he turns into the park and follows your directions. You preemptively hold the straps of your bag, like you’re ready to bolt the second the car lulls to a stop. You don’t though, instead fumbling with your seatbelt and shuffling in your seat as you debate on what to say.
“Thanks for the ride.” It feels a bit weak after the conversation you’ve had during the journey. Like you should be coming out with something more profound or resolving. You have no idea what that’d be, though. “I’ll, uh, wash the jumper and bring it to work.”
“No rush,” Steve waves your words off. “Got plenty of others.”
“Right, checks out.” Steve thinks you don’t sound as short as you usually do, you think so too. “See y’around, Harrington.” You nod at him before finally getting out of the car. The smell of petrichor coming from the ground hits you as soon as you step out, the cold air washing over you as you hurry to your door through the rain.
You look back once before you step inside, and you know that Steve hasn’t left yet because you would’ve heard it but it still shocks you a little to see him waiting for you to get inside. He gives you a nod, barely there especially through the rain, but you return the gesture before you push open your door and cross into the warmth of your home.
You hear Steve’s car start up, stood still by your front door in a confused trance about the last ten minutes until your moms voice snaps you out of it.
—
“Since when did you wear glasses?”
You look up from the computer to Steve who’s just walked in for his shift, the glasses in question slipping down your nose bridge as you do. “I d’know, a few years? I normally wear contacts.” You shrug.
Steve stares at your face, eyes scanning over your features and the round metal frames that circle your eyes. You can’t read his expression, his eyes lingering a little too long and making you feel like you’re under a microscope.
“Jeez Harrington, quit gawping.” Your brow furrows and you can’t hold his stare. You hate having to wear your glasses, but you ran out of contacts this morning and had no other option. You can feel your blood rising to your cheeks and hope the pink glow of the neon Family Video logo is disguising the flush.
“Can I try ‘em on?” There’s a playful smirk on his lips, one that makes you only furrow your brow more as you huff out an annoyed noise.
“Get fucked, no way.”
“Oh c’mon sweetheart, just for a minute.” The pet name is laced in fake sweetness but not in the sarcastic way you’re used to, you hate that you don’t hate it.
“No. Way.” You repeat, arms crossed over your chest like a stubborn child.
But Steve doesn’t care for your answer, leaning over the counter and plucking the frames off your face despite the way you swat at his hands and try to move your head away from his grabbing hands. He puts them on, blinking a couple of times as his eyes adjust to your prescription. “What d’you think? Do I look good?”
“No, you look dumb. Now give them back.” You try to lean over the counter and grab them back but Steve quickly steps out of your reach.
“Don’t be cruel.” He pouts at you and you just roll your eyes. “You really are fuckin’ blind though.” He cracks a grin at you and you know he’s not being mean, just trying to poke and prod at you for some other reason.
“Yeah, so give them back.” You round the counter so you’re in front of Steve now, reaching up to try and get your frames back from the boy's face but he sees that coming from a mile off. Before your fingers can even graze the metal he’s pulled them off his face and held them up over his head. That lopsided grin that you’ve seen an awful lot lately spreads across his lips as you sigh in frustration, all dramatics and not much action to back it up.
You’ve got no hope of getting them back as he holds them over his head, even as you’re toe to toe with him and craning up as much as you can. You tug on his arm, fingers curled over his bicep as you try to pull them towards you but his hand braces your waist to try and hold you off and the heat from his palm has you distracted. You can feel each of his fingers pressing against your skin, so hyper aware of each spot he’s touching.
“You can do better than that.” Steve teases, his hand tightening its grip each time you push up on your toes to try and get closer to the frames. It’s childish and stupid and definitely a waste of both of your time but you can feel it in your cheeks.
“Can you two actually do some work instead of flirting?” You’re too caught up in your mission to get your glasses back to notice Keith coming out of the office, stood near the door looking less than impressed at the two of you.
Steve’s mouth drops into a small ‘o’ at the sound, his eyes finally pulling from yours and his hand brought down to his side. “We’re not-“
“I don’t care, do some work.” Keith huffs, pointing between the two of you and fixing you with a firm glare before stalking back into the office.
You take the opportunity to finally grab your frames back, Steve still distracted by the interruption so it’s easy to pull them from his fingers.
“Nice going, Harrington.” You push the frames back onto your face, tone dripping with soft sarcasm and you flash him a small grin before you return to the computer so you can pick up where you left off.
“S’your fault.” He mutters, lingering near the counter and watching as you scroll through the screen looking.
“Do some work.” You don’t look away from the computer, your hand grabbing the sheet that has all the recent returns written on it that need putting away. “Stop causing trouble.”
“You love it.” You can see him grinning out of the corner of your eye, corners of his lips curled up in confidence even when you scoff at his remark.
You wouldn’t go as far to say you love it, not by a long shot, but you definitely don’t mind his antics as much as you used to. The teasing no longer holding that same bitter weight it used to, instead replaced with something softer that chips away at that grudge that sits deep in your stomach. Uncurling it’s way out and leaving the space empty, waiting to be replaced with something else.
—
You’re going to be late. It’s ten minutes past when your shift at Family Video was supposed to finish and twenty minutes before your shift at the diner is due to start, and Steve isn’t here to take you off, and you’re going to be late.
Your bag is already stored under the desk, you didn’t bother putting it in the staff room today because you knew you’d have to leave quickly. But you can’t leave, because Steve’s not here. You might actually kill him.
You drum your pen on the counter, an antsy beat that reflects your current mood because you need to leave and the clock keeps ticking and you’re still here and you suppose this is what you get for putting your strict time schedule in the hands of Steve Harrington.
The second you hear the bell above the door ring and see Steve bundle in looking a little flustered and pink in the cheeks, you grab your bag up from underneath the counter and swing it over your shoulder.
“Hey, sorry, I know I’m late I-“ Steve’s still catching his breath, but you don’t have time to listen to whatever excuse he has.
“No time, gonna be late.” You hurry round the counter, almost tripping over your own feet with how quickly you’re trying to get out of here.
“No, hey, wait a minute.” He reaches out to grab your wrist as you pass, but decides against it at the last second instead hovering his hand over your arm.
You look between his hand and his face, almost amused by how he’s holding it there without actually committing to the act. “What? Make it quick.” You huff.
“Well, I’m having a movie night tonight with, like, everyone. Real big group, lots of us. And some of the group, not naming names because I respect their anonymity-“ His hands are flailing as he rambles on, dramatic and completely avoiding the point of what he’s trying to say.
“Spit it out, Harrington. I needed to be outta here like, 10 minutes ago.” He’s standing between you and the door, and you’re not quite cruel enough to just walk out in the middle of this clearly very challenging monologue.
“Right, sorry.” He nods, brows pinched a little in seriousness. “Some of us, them, wanted to invite you. To movie night. With everyone.” Every time you think he’s done, he keeps on adding to his sentence.
You pull your bottom lip under your teeth, a little taken aback by his offer. Sure, things had been a little calmer between the two of you since he gave you a ride home. Less bite to your words, the occasional smile at something the other said. Nothing crazy though, certainly not enough to expect an invite to his place - even if the invite was technically from an anonymous party.
“I mean, I have work, at the diner.” You glance at the door, eyes darting around everywhere but Steve’s because you’re on the spot and maybe you feel a little flustered with the shock but you’ll be damned if you let him know.
“That’s fine, you can turn up whenever.” He shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets because he wants to fidget and can feel them getting a little clammy from asking you what is really a pretty simple question. He puts it down to the fact he’s not used to being so nice to you, that’s definitely it.
“And it’s at your place?” You know that by asking all these questions you’re only delaying your exit, getting yourself in deeper trouble when you’re inevitably late, but the whole thing is so bizarre you can’t bring yourself to leave.
“Yeah, but it’s not just my thing, it’s the -“
“The group, yeah, got it.” You interrupt. “I guess I’ll see when I finish, how I’m feeling y’know.”
“Yeah, course, no pressure, I’ll let them down easy if you don’t turn up.” He nods, face still serious but there’s a lightness in his voice now, a bit teasing but nothing like it usually is - or used to be, you suppose.
“Anything else?” You start to make a move towards the door, you’re probably going to have to run to work now through the summer heat and blinding sun but somehow you’re less mad than when Steve first turned up.
“No, no, that’s it, you’re free to go.” He holds his hands up and steps back from the door.
“Great, thanks for the permission.” You roll your eyes but there’s a curl to your lips which gives you away, a tiny silent notion that maybe you’re not so mad at him anymore.
“I’ll see you tonight, think of the group.” He calls after you as you head out, and you turn to give him a brief wave of your hand to acknowledge his words. You have to turn away quickly because you can feel a proper grin trying to work its way onto your face and you’re not ready to deal with why it’s there or what that means. It’s easier to just cast your eyes down at the tarmac that’s glowing from the sun and focus on your feet as you put one in front of the other as quickly as you can without breaking into a sweat.
You spend the entirety of your shift debating on if you should go tonight. You try your hardest to focus, you really do, but taking orders and pouring coffee isn’t exactly complicated work and the customers ask the same questions every day so you don’t even need to think about your answers anymore.
You’re standing behind the counter, elbow resting on the cold surface and your head resting in your hand so you can comfortably stare into space. You must look pretty out of it, chewing on your pen and eyes focused loosely on one of the big windows that looks into the diner, because it’s enough for your boss, an older woman called Eileen, to clock you.
Normally you’re a hard worker, chatting up a storm and always busying yourself with something to pass the time but today you’ve been a little clunky, not particularly bad but noticeably distracted. So when she comes to stand beside you, a finger poking into your side that makes you jump and straighten up, you think you’re about to get a scolding. You were also ten minutes late today, through no fault of your own.
“You got somewhere better to be?” She asks, for a moment you panic but once you look at her and see the knowing smile on her face you know you’re not in trouble.
“Sorry, it’s just,” you weigh up what you’re going to say, because you’re still a bit muddled over it all anyway, “a friends having a movie night, and they invited me and I d’know, guess I’m thinkin’ about going if I’m not out of here too late.”
“A friend, huh?” She raises her eyebrows at you, because since you started working here you’ve never been so distracted by a simple invite from a friend.
“Yeah, well, a group of ‘em really.” You put your now chewed up pen back into your apron pocket, swaying on your feet a little as you avoid eye contact with your boss because you don’t like that questioning tone in her voice. She knows you too well for you to try and bluff.
“Tell you what, you get all that cutlery back there polished up and make sure the stations are tidy enough and you can finish early.”
Your nose scrunches at her offer, because she’s not the sort to lie but you’ve never gotten cut early and you’ve barely said anything at all. Maybe you really were out of it today and she just wanted you out of the diner. “Seriously? Like, actually finish and go?”
She laughs, a warm sound followed by a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “Yeah, kid, get it done and get yourself out of here.”
“I will, holy shit - sorry, I mean thank you.” You blurt out, pressing your lips together to try to fight off the dumb smile that’s really on your face. For no other reason than you’ve got a Friday night off, of course.
“Y’make sure your friend knows that this is a one time thing though, alright?”
The way she says friend and the quirk of her eyebrow has you scurrying away back into the kitchen. “For sure, I will, thank you.” Your voice carries through the pass, and you start to make your way through the mountain of cutlery that’s piled up throughout the shift.
It’s close to 8 o’clock by the time you finish, the sun starting to settle lower in the sky and covered by a haze of clouds. There’s a pink tint to everything outside, a nip in the air that warns of the end of summer though you pay no attention to it. You’d quickly changed out of your uniform back into the same t-shirt and pair of shorts you’d been wearing earlier, clothes being pulled out and shoved into your bag without much care as you hurried yourself out of the diner before your boss could change her mind. Though she did send you off with about half a cherry pie in a to-go box, which she only ever did when she was in a really good mood.
It’s not too far of a walk from Main Street down to Steve’s house, or maybe it is but you’re grateful for the time alone to actually decide on whether to turn up or not. You could easily just go home, take the night off and just relax. Plus, it seemed pretty out there for an invite to suddenly be extended to you. You’ve heard Robin talk about their big movie nights before, although you can’t say you paid much attention to what she said after she mentioned the fact that Steve hosts them.
You have to physically shake your head to yourself, shake off this weird doubt that if you turn up it’s all going to be one big joke that you’re the punchline of. You’re too old for that sort of stuff now, surely.
That cold breeze that you’re so determined to ignore seems to pick up once you start getting more into the suburbs of Hawkin’s, your bare arms and legs nipped at by the first signs of autumn. You know you have Steve’s jumper in your bag, the plan had been to give it to him before you left your shift at Family Video but his late arrival had meant it completely slipped your mind. But you can’t turn up to his house in his jumper, can you? You’ve barely buried the hatchet, the figurative soil still fresh. But you are cold, and it’s that or your shitty work vest which holds about as much warmth as tissue paper, so maybe it’s okay to just put it on for now. Just til you get inside.
It’s not until you’re standing there on the doorstep of the Harrington house that you realise you might’ve actually gone a little bit mad. This should be your worst nightmare, the sheer thought of it should have you turning on your heels and sprinting home. But you’re not, you’re knocking on the door and standing there waiting for someone to answer and you have definitely gone mad.
You can hear a muddle of voices inside, they pick up when you knock and it has you suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. Maybe you should’ve just gone home. But before you can think anymore about whether you’ve made the right choice by coming the doors being pulled open and Steve’s stood there and he almost looks happy to see you. “Hey, you came.” His eyes scan over you, specifically his jumper, and there’s a smug smile on his face that is definitely less antagonistic than usual. “Nice jumper.”
“Yeah, got an early finish at work.” You tuck your chin to your chest to look down at your torso “Sorry, I was meant to give it to you at work but I had to rush out and then it’s kinda cold out tonight.” You can feel yourself rambling, quickly cutting yourself off. “I brought pie.” You hold up the plastic bag that holds your to-go container.
Steve waves off your apology, or explanation, or whatever it actually is. “It’s cool, keep it as long as you want.” He steps aside so you can cross the threshold into the house. You’ve never been before, but it seems like everyone knows where Steve lives purely from the amount of parties that were held here throughout high school. “You’ll be popular, gonna be invited every week if you keep bringin’ pie.”
“Using someone for their access to pie is pretty morally skewed.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, voice deadpan but you’re not being serious. It takes Steve a moment to register that, so used to the constant tension between the two of you.
“You’re right, I’ll be sure to tell everyone to not be so shallow.”
You breathe out a laugh, and it’s small and barely there but it’s genuine. You and Steve both catch it, eyes locking for a brief moment before you’re both quickly looking away. You’re still not sure what’s changed, but you’re not going to question it right now.
“Go through, get yourself comfortable.” Steve gestures towards his living room, you can hear hushed voices now that you’ve stopped talking but you try to push any urges to run out of your mind. You toe your shoes off before padding through the house, aware of the fact they’re probably filthy and the house looks pristine. Like it’s barely lived in, it could be one of those model homes.
“You’re here!” Robin practically shouts when she sees you, a grin on her face that quickly turns to a look of confusion when she realises you’re standing there in one of Steve’s jumpers. “And you’re wearing one of Ste-“
“I brought pie.” You cut her off rather than yourself this time, placing the bag onto the coffee table that already holds a ridiculous amount of food. It looks like a kids been let loose in a candy store, but then again maybe they have.
“Oh I love your job!” Robin’s quickly distracted by the gift from your work, and you silently thank your boss for unknowingly giving you a way out of what would surely be an interrogation otherwise.
The room is filled with faces that you recognise, some from school like Robin and her girlfriend Vickie, and you sort of know Nancy Wheeler who’s here with her boyfriend Jonathan. The rest are all the kids that frequent Family Video, coming in usually just to pester Steve rather than actually rent anything. They’re all squished up on the biggest couch, shoulder to shoulder as they all cram in so they fit there.
You give a small wave, a quiet hello and smile to everyone - who don’t seem all that surprised to see you there.
You settle yourself onto the floor, onto the pile of cushions and blankets that’ve been laid there as more makeshift seats. You feel out of place, in the house you’ve never been in before with people you don’t really know other than Robin. You plant your hands either side of you as you sit cross-legged, palms pressing down into the plush fabric as some sort of grounding point. It gets a little easier to not think about how you’re the odd one out once the film starts playing, conversations hushed as the opening to The Goonies starts playing.
You keep your eyes trained on the TV when Steve sits down next to you, his knees almost knocking into your own. You know there’s room on one of the couches, but maybe this is him attempting to be polite.
“Didn’t think you’d come.” He leans into your side as he speaks and you can smell the same cologne that lingered on his jumper.
“Neither did I.” You shrug, lifting your chin to the side slightly so you can look at him. The TV screen is lighting you both up, the light changing with each frame and changing the way the contours of your face are hit by shadows.
“Bit strange, you just know where I live.” He teases, and you knock your elbow into his side but it’s kind of soft and doesn’t hold any real anger to it.
“Everyone knows where you live, Harrington. You might as well have written it on the walls of the school.”
“What can I say? I’m a brilliant host.”
You roll your eyes at him, your stare through your lashes kind of soft in the low light. “Wouldn’t know.”
“You do now.” His voice is a little quieter, words spoken low like they’re supposed to stay hidden.
You ignore the way your stomach is twisting up, not in the same way it used to. “Maybe, jury’s still out.”
His bottom lip juts out, all faux upset and big brown puppy dog eyes. “Even after all my hard work? I slaved for hours over the stove.” He gestures to the table piled high with snacks, hands moving lazily and brushing against your knee. His hands are warm, or maybe you’re still cold from the walk over.
“Can you two shut up? Some of us are trying to watch this y’know?” The curly haired boy, you’re pretty sure his name is Dustin, shushes you from the couch.
“You’ve seen this like, twenty times Henderson.” Steve whispers back, like he’s suddenly conscious of keeping his voice hushed.
“Yeah, and I want to see it again. If you wanna flirt, take it elsewhere.”
You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, a pink flush spreading across the skin and you’re grateful that Steve’s distracted by the boy because you don’t think you’d ever live this down.
“It’s my house, and I’m not -“
“Shut up.”
“Dickhead.” Steve mumbles, but he keeps quiet after that. You’re not sure if he can feel the weird tension that sits in the air between you, you hope he can’t.
There’s a big debate on what to watch next when The Goonies finally finishes, mostly involving the kids who can’t seem to decide on what they want to watch. It’s sweet to watch, if a little bizarre. This is the last sort of thing you imagined to be going on in Steve Harrington's house on a Friday night. After a good twenty minutes of arguing, the red haired girl eventually gets up with a huff and just puts Back to the Future in the VCR. She gives you a small lopsided smile as she sits back down and you recognise her from the trailer park then. She’d not long moved there, just her and her Mom. You smile back, making a mental note to say hi the next time you see her around.
“Y’seen this one before?” Steve whispers to you, cautious to not get another earful from Dustin. There’s a cheeky smile on his face when you turn to him, and it makes you smile too.
“Everyone’s seen Back to the Future.” You mumble, tongue pressed into the side of your cheek to stop yourself grinning too much. Your hands suddenly feel clammy against the blankets, so you shuffle a little so you can hold them in your lap instead.
You can feel Steve’s gaze on you throughout the movie, just for a moment or two before he’s looking back at the screen. You try not to turn your head when you realise, hoping if you keep your eyes on the screen he won’t know that you know.
You look up over to Robin at one point, who’s cuddled up close to Vickie under another blanket and she nods at you. You’re not sure if it’s a nod of approval, or more of a “I told you you’d get along”, or she could just be entirely confused by whatever was happening. It’d make sense, you’re pretty confused yourself.
Jonathan and Steve are both in charge of getting all the kids home at the end of the night, the group split between the two cars. You’re helping tidy up before you leave, grabbing any rubbish you can whilst the kids bicker about who’s going to sit where in the car.
“You have so much explaining to do.” Robin tugs at your arm as you reach down to grab a candy wrapper, Vickie standing off to the side to at least pretend to not be listening.
“I promise there’s really not much to explain.” You shrug, your hands now filled with bright coloured plastic.
“You’re kidding, right? You two hated each other for years and now you’re at his house in his jumper? Get talking.” She pokes your ribs, and you try to wriggle away from her touch.
“I mean, I was told it was an invite from the group.”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
Your mouth hangs open a little, taking a small inhale as you try to process what your friends just said. But you can’t, because then Steve calls your name from his hallway and Robins fixes you with a look and your heads feeling a bit fuzzy as you excuse yourself from the interrogation.
“You want a ride home?” Steve has his car keys dangling from his forefinger as he’s leaning against the frame of his front door.
“It’s cool, I can walk.” You look down to the colourful rubbish in your hands and then back up to Steve. “I do need a bin though.”
“I’ll sort that.” Steve takes the rubbish from you, walking into his kitchen as he continues talking. “It’s dark out, you’re not walking.”
“I walk home all the time.” You pull the sleeves of your, or Steve’s, jumper down over your hands.
“Good for you, not tonight though.” His voice is sarcastic and you narrow your eyes at him once he’s standing back in front of you but it feels different to how it used to, a lot less like a standoff.
“It‘s out of the way, I’m fine to walk.”
“I’m dropping Max off, you live in the same place.”
You huff, eyes locked with Steve’s as he raises his eyebrows at you because he knows he’s won. “Fine, but only ‘cause you’re already going there.”
Robin and Vickie both give you the same look as they pass you on the way to the car, their eyebrows raised and a grin that says you’ve been caught red handed. You’d try to argue a defence but you wouldn’t even know where to begin.
After all the arguing the kids went through to decide who gets shotgun, Steve ends up kicking Dustin out the passenger seat so you can sit there. The boy grumbles something you can’t hear as he clambers into the backseat, but Steve fixes him with a glare and he seems to quiet down pretty fast.
You don’t say much during the drive home, mostly just listen in to the silly arguments Steve, Dustin and Max have. You never pinned Steve as the type to babysit, and maybe this wasn’t quite babysitting, but it was clear how much he cared about them despite all their bickering. It was miles apart from how you two bicker, or used to anyway.
Dustin is the first out, and he actually says goodbye to you as he climbs out, clearly no grudge held over you stealing his spot up front. Once you get to Forest Hills you realise Max’s trailer is opposite Eddie’s as Steve pulls up in front of it, waiting until she’s inside before he starts his car back up.
“I can just get out here if it’s easier.” You gesture out of the window with your thumb.
“It’s fine, you get door to door service with me.” It’s dark in the car, the inky black of the night seeping into the enclosed space but you can tell Steve has some cheesy grin on his face just from the sound of his voice.
It’s only about two minutes before you’re outside your own trailer, the bedside lamp in your room left on for you and emitting a glow through the slatted blinds over your window.
“Y’know, Robin said she didn’t know anything about inviting me tonight.” You don’t know why you say it, wanting to push the words back inside as soon as they come out.
Steve exhales out a laugh, a little awkward because he didn’t really think about the fact you would definitely speak to Robin. “I mean, I did say it was anonymous, so could’ve been anyone else.”
“Right, yeah, I’m sure Nancy Wheeler was really rooting for my presence there.” You raise a fist alongside your words, fake enthusiasm quilted by a genuine smile.
“You can’t get me to reveal anything more, I’ve already said too much.” Steve shakes his head at you and you can’t help but let out a laugh. It’s a proper laugh and it surprises you a little when it comes out, Steve thinks it’s one of the nicest sounds he’s ever heard.
“Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” You nod your head, closing your eyes as if this were a serious issue. “Thanks for the ride, again. Better be careful or I’ll get used to it and start expecting ‘em.” You tease, finally lifting your bag out the footwell and you’re already halfway out the car before Steve can reply and tell you that he wouldn’t really mind that. It’s probably for the best that he keeps that to himself anyway.
You turn to give him a wave, a small flick of your wrist and a small smile that’s barely visible in the dark but it’s definitely there. You almost begrudge yourself for letting your guard down so much, seemingly so easy to just forget how much you really disliked Steve Harrington. You try to tell yourself you still find him annoying, maybe not to the level of hatred as before but he’s not off the hook. Your arguments with yourself become less convincing by the day.
—
By the end of summer, the rain that so often frequents Hawkins in the fall has already started to pour. Most days there’s at least a shower, and if you’re lucky it’s when you’re tucked away in work. But some days it’s like the heavens have opened and weep for the whole day, no relief or break in the clouds, just a solid slate of grey across the sky.
You know to bring a waterproof with you every time you leave the house, so your clothes can at least stay dry as you march across town to your shifts. But the cold of the rain has you sniffling, nose permanently a little pink along with your cheeks even when you’re out of the cold.
It’s also become somewhat of a routine for Steve to drive you home if you’re both working that day, the same argument each time of you insisting that you’re fine to walk or you can call a cab and him being adamant that he’s giving you a ride and that’s that. He’ll even come back to pick you up a couple of times when he’s finished a few hours earlier than you, waiting in his car in the parking lot as you wrestle with the keys to lock up. He’ll try to say he was passing by anyway, you think that he’s lying but you choose not to say.
You’re wiping down the last few tables of the diner, the sun set a good few hours ago now and the harsh fluorescents are making your temples pulse with the threat of a headache after being here all day. Your feet ache, you’ve barely been off them for the last twelve hours and even though you’re used to it, it doesn’t make the pain any less irritating. The venues empty now, at least, so you can focus on speeding through the last of the close and finally return to your bed.
The bell above the door jingles, an indicator that someone pushed it open and you try to stifle the groan that wants to spill from your mouth. You’re too tired to deal with some disgruntled customer who’s about to be told they can’t get a burger.
You toss your cleaning rag onto the still damp table, a little dramatic with it as you smooth out your apron and head to the host desk. “Sorry, but we’re all closed up now.” You call through before you even reach it, hoping they might turn round and leave before you have to face them.
“Damn, can’t even get a coke?”
You peer round the curve of the diner to see Steve standing at the host desk, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans and he gives you a stupid grin and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself grinning back. “Nope, not even a coke.” You’re at the desk now, still behind it so it serves as a divider between you and Steve.
“Oh, that’s a shame. Was really craving one.” He shrugs his shoulders,
“Why’re you really here, Harrington?” You ask even though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.
“Told you, I was craving a coke. But seen as I’m here, and you’re nearly done, I can give you a ride home.” He says it so casually, like it’s just a coincidence and definitely not because he knew you were closing tonight and for some reason he really doesn’t like the thought of you walking home alone in the dark.
“Y’gonna give me a say in that?” You look up at him through your mascara coated lashes, a little smudged under your eyes after your long day.
“Probably not, no.” He shrugs again.
You sigh, all false dramatics and Steve knows it. “Fine, you’re gonna have to wait around for me to finish though.” You gesture to the booths that line the front windows.
He sets himself down in one of the garishly red booths, the leather worn and stitching frayed and still a little damp from where you’ve wiped them down.
You disappear back into the restaurant, just for a couple of minutes, only to return with a glass filled with coke and you set it down wordlessly in front of him. You don’t wait for him to respond, instead moving straight back out of his eyeline to finish up your close. You don’t want him to think it means more than it does, or maybe you don’t want to think about what it means. It’s one of the two.
It doesn’t take you long to finish up your jobs, you’re so used to doing them that you could probably get them done blindfolded or in your sleep. You say a quick goodbye to your manager, gathering up your coat and bag that you’d tossed into the office when you’d arrived and bundling them up into your arms.
When you get back to Steve he’s still sipping on his coke, eyes watching you pad over with your belongings clutched to your chest.
“You need me to pay for this before we go?” He asks, straw resting on his lips so he can go back to drinking it as soon as he’s spoken.
“Nah, you’re good.” You shuffle your bag in your arms when you feel it slipping from your grasp. “Just don’t tell on me.”
Steve mimes zipping his mouth shut, and holds out the now empty glass to you. You raise an eyebrow at him, your arms full and he retracts the glass when he realises there’s no way you’re grabbing it.
“Just put it on the bar.” You turn your body to look back to the bar, and Steve shuffles himself out the booth so he can place the glass on the end of the counter.
“C’mon then, trouble.” His smile grows when you roll your eyes at his nickname, a scoff falling from your lips that holds no real weight.
“Don’t call me that, asshole.” You grumble, walking ahead of Steve and out of the diner, the bell ringing out as you pull it open to leave.
“Don’t call me asshole, asshole.” He mimics your voice, and you turn to shoot him a half hearted glare.
“You’re a nightmare, givin’ me a headache.” You wait at the passenger door, looking over the roof to him and the amused look on his face.
“You don’t mean it.” He hums, eyes fixed on you as he unlocks the car.
“Totally do.” You hold his stare just for a moment before fumbling with the door handle amongst your belongings, huffing a little as you struggle to pry the door open. You manage it, though, with a little stubbornness.
As soon as you’re in the car you toss your stuff in the footwell, your bag has spent an increasing amount of time there to the point where there’s probably various things that have fallen out rolling around there. Pens and hair elastics and maybe a lip gloss, all littered on the floor waiting to be found.
“You got any decent music yet?” You root through his glove box, even though you know he’s definitely not bought anything new since you last looked through his cassettes.
“They’re all decent.” Steve counters, hands circling the wheel as he reverses out the parking spot and onto the road. “You’re just uncultured.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry I ever insulted Bon Jovi.” You pull the tape out and tap it against your hand, the hard plastic leaving your palm a little red.
“Well, that one’s not mine.”
“Don’t lie to me, Harrington.”
“It’s not.” He sulks, and you let out a small laugh as you push it back into its place and close the glove box.
“It’s okay, I’m not judging.” You tip your head back against the seats headrest, twisting so you can look at Steve. He glances at you out the side of his eyes, a look of I know you are in the quick stare. “Someone’s gotta like them Steve, it’s good you’re taking one for the team.”
Steve turns to look at you properly, brows pinched together a little and he looks almost confused.
“What? Oh come on, I was just teasin’.”
“You called me Steve.”
“Well, yeah, that’s your name?” Your brows furrow now, your faces mirroring each other.
“You never call me Steve, it’s always Harrington or some stupid insulting nickname.” He chuckles over the last part, face softening slightly.
“Oh. Right.” You pause, mouth twisting up a little as you think about what he’s just said. “I guess you’re right.” You can feel Steve still looking at you as both sit in silence, your eyes flicking between him and the dashboard. “Stop staring at me, you’re makin’ it weird.”
“It is weird.” He laughs, and you huff, sinking further into your seat with your arms crossed across your body. It’s like you’re trying to make yourself smaller, shrink yourself down to stop him staring at you.
“You’re weird.” You grumble, but there’s nothing really behind your words.
“Y’know you used to be a lot better at comebacks.” He teases, and you rack your brain to try to come up with some witty response but everything feels a little jumbled and the words won’t pull together in a way that makes sense.
“Yeah, well, I’m tired. You tire me out with tryna navigate your shitty music selection.”
“Oh do I?”
“Yeah, you do.”
Steve laughs and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, blood pumping harder and flushing your skin and you’re grateful that the streetlights don’t offer much clarity because you don’t want him picking up on your blush too.
You stay silent until you reach the trailer park, words all caught up in your throat that won’t come out even if you want them too. Steve doesn’t seem to mind though, just keeps glancing at you with a smug smile on his face because he knows you’re flustered, as much as you try to play it off. You caught yourself off guard, and so did he, and now you’re too busy in your own head to actually say anything.
The car pulling to a stop eventually brings you out of your head, back to reality and to the front seat of Steve’s car. You look out the window to your trailer as it sits empty in the dark, no lights left on so it's almost completely enveloped by the night sky, the faintest outline of it visible through the inky black.
You reach for your belongings in the footwell, wringing the straps of your bag in your hands as you press your lips together trying to come up with the words you want to say. Or any words at all at this point.
“Nobody home?” Steve nods his head towards your unlit trailer, and you look over at him with wide eyes, blinking a little as the words process that he’s talking about your home and not about the fact you’ve sat in silence for the last five minutes.
“Oh, no, my parents are travelling for a couple weeks.” You stumble over your words, like your brain has forgotten how to communicate with your voice box properly. You let them sit in the air for a moment, mouth still slightly agape like you’re not quite done. “Do you wanna come in? I’ve got a couple joints rolled, if that’s your sorta thing.” You can’t meet his eyes, instead staring past him into the night beyond the window.
“Depends.” Steve draws the word out, and you have to look at him to try and read his expression despite the fact it’s probably the last thing you want to do right now. “You got any Bon Jovi?”
You roll your eyes at him. “Shut up, absolutely not.”
“I suppose I’ll cope.” He sighs, all over dramatic as he pulls the keys out the ignition and holds them in his palm. “C’mon then, lead the way.”
You push yourself out the passenger door, stumbling a little over your own feet in the dark as you try to dig through your coat pocket for your keys. It probably doesn’t take you that long to find them, but in the dark it feels like time drags on and there’s a million eyes on you watching your every move because what on earth were you doing bringing Steve Harrington into your home out of choice? Maybe it was a moment of temporary insanity, maybe it’ll wear off soon.
You have to kick the bottom left corner of your front door to get it open, some internal part of it sticking and you curse yourself for never actually sorting it because the world around you is as good as silent and the sound of the impact of your shoes on the plastic seems to ricochet around you.
Everything feels a bit less strange once you knock the lights on, the buttery yellow glow over the familiar surfaces seeming to settle your mind. You stand aside to let Steve in, closing the door behind him and cutting off the cold night breeze that was leaking in.
“Stay here, I’m gonna go get changed.” Your hands are still full so you have to jutt your head towards your bedroom, Steve only nodding in response as he gazes around the room.
Your parents have a habit of collecting nic nacs and trinkets from their travels, and they litter every possible surface they can around the living room. It makes for an interesting space to look at, you suppose. Although it could also be bordering on just looking cluttered.
Your room feels a lot calmer, and emptier, in comparison. Most of the decorations are taped to your walls, old tour posters your parents had held on to mixed in with photos of you and your friends. You have a little clutter on your desk, but it’s mostly a mix of pens and pencils and various makeup products you’ve been too lazy to put away. It looks lived in, really. Homely and an accumulation of yourself, everything with its own place despite the mess.
You sling your bag and coat to the corner that’ll be covered by your door once it’s open, your diner uniform swiftly following onto the now growing pile. You pull on a pair of grey sweatpants, that you’re fairly sure used to be Eddies given how you have to pull the waist tight and roll it down in order for them to fit, and a vest top that skims your midriff and leaves a band of skin showing across your stomach. You’re too tired to really care about how you look, contacts removed and glasses replacing them as you glimpse at yourself in the mirror. It’s fine, really. You’re in your space, after all.
With a pair of well worn slippers replacing your trainers, you pad out your room and back to Steve, who doesn’t look like he’s moved an inch since you left him there. “When I said stay here I didn’t mean, like, that specific spot.”
“Oh, yeah, I know, I was just lookin’ at… everything.” Steve nods, eyes moving from one of the many ceramic plates lined up on a windowsill over to you. “The glasses are back.” He grins at you, and you feel your nose scrunch up as you set him with a stare.
“Hands off them this time.” You point at him, his hands raising to his side in defence. “We can smoke in my room, just ignore the mess.”
“S’cool, I don’t mind mess.” He shrugs, and you quickly turn on your heel to walk back to your room.
“Sit.” You gesture over to your bed whilst you scour through one of your desk drawers for the little tin you keep your joints in. You pull various notepads and loose papers out, piling them up on top messily until you feel the cool metal brush your fingers and pull it out. You know there’s a lighter somewhere on the top, amidst the now larger pile of junk. You shove the papers back in, the crisp noise covering the sound of you humming to yourself as you roll pencils and make up tubes around to reveal the well worn lighter. The print worn off where you’ve held it over the course of the last few months.
The joint hangs from your lips when you turn around, snorting a laugh at the sight of Steve perched on the edge of your bed. “You can sit normally, y'know?” The words are muffled into the roach as you flop yourself onto your bed, pulling an empty can off your bedside table that’s been functioning as an ashtray. You cross your legs so it can lean against your shins as you light up, taking a deep inhale as Steve adjusts himself to be sitting a little more comfortably, less like he’s waiting in the doctor's office.
“Your rooms nice, suits you.” He looks around the space before landing on you, joint still between your lips as a smokey haze starts to fill the room.
“Cheers, Harrington.” You hold the joint out to him after taking one last drag, poised between your pointer and middle finger, your equivalent to an olive branch. “M’sure the room appreciates it.”
As soon as Steve inhales he can feel the warmth of the smoke hit his chest, flowing down his throat and spreading across him. “You like living here? In the trailer park, I mean.” His question strikes up some sort of response in you, a panic that you thought you’d moved past but your face must show it because he’s quick to clarify. “I didn’t mean it like that, like, in a bad way or anything. I was just asking, probably a stupid question.”
You shrug, and you can feel yourself cooling a little, shoulders relaxing and breathing deeper. “I guess, it’s just the norm for me though. Always lived in a trailer park.” Steve passes the joint back to you and you’re grateful for the buzz it’s giving your mind.
“It’s cosy, feels like a proper home. Like, real people actually live here.” Steve realises he probably sounds like he’s already high, and maybe it is hitting him a little quickly but it’s mostly the fact he’s just not good with his words.
“As opposed to fake people?” You hand the joint back to him.
“No, well, kind of.” He flicks the joint off into the can, hand brushing your leg as he reaches over. “My house is usually empty, other than me, it doesn’t really feel like a home y’know?”
You press your lips together, corners pulling down into a small frown at his words. “Sounds pretty shitty.”
“I’m used to it.” He shrugs. “I forget it’s not like that for everyone ‘til I’m somewhere like this.”
You never really think about the fact you’re actually lucky to have a good relationship with your parents, a close knit family unit even if it is contained in the small trailer. You must be zoning out a little because Steve knocks his hand against yours to pass you the end of the joint. You take it off him, fingers almost tangling together in the lazy movements of your hands. “At least you’ve got a good group of friends, you guys all seem really close.” You smile at him, taking one last toke of the joint before dropping into the can where it fizzles against the last of the soda in there.
“Yeah, we are, s’nice.” The haze of smoke fills your small room now, and Steve’s words are slow and soft because his heads a little fuzzy and you’d be lying if you said yours wasn’t as well.
You push yourself off your bed, feet sliding across the ground more than stepping as you mooch over to your cassette player, finger tracing over the tapes as you read over the titles you’ve seen a million times. “Any requests?” You call over your shoulder, Steve watching you from your bed with a slack smile.
“I can go get the Bon Jovi from my car?”
“Fuck off.” You shake your head at him, turning back to the player but not before he catches a glimpse of your smile. You settle on a Fleetwood Mac tape, slotting it in and turning the volume down low so it’s more of a background hum as Second Hand News starts playing. You grab a bottle of nail polish off your desk on your way back, returning to your cross legged position opposite Steve as you start painting them, tongue peaking out a little as you focus on the small brush.
You can feel your glasses slipping down your nose, a careful finger pushing them up whilst trying to keep the wet polish intact. Your eyes squint slightly in focus, lids feeling a little heavy from the smoke and your body wants to move a lot slower than you’d like it to so your strokes are a little messy as you apply the black lacquer on the last couple of nails. Carefully twisting the cap back on the bottle, you place it on your bedside table and hold your hands up to admire your work, though there’s arguably not much to admire with the specks of polish that dot the skin next to your nails. “What d’you think? Are they a total mess?” You hold your hands out to Steve, wiggling your fingers a little so the sheen of the paint catches the light from overhead.
“Nah, they look great, a real masterpiece.” Steve glances at them briefly, but even when you’re focused on your nails you can feel his eyes on you.
“What? Did I get some on my face?” You run the pad of your forefinger across your nose and the apples of your cheeks to try and feel for any stray polish, though if it was there you’ve probably just made it worse.
“No, no. Jus’ looking at you.” He pauses, lips pressed together as he takes a deep inhale through his nose. “You’re really pretty, y’know?”
Your brows pinch together, a little confused and your brains a bit too foggy to really process the fact that Steve’s just complimented you. “You’re high, Harrington.”
“A little, yeah. But you are, always thought you were.” He shrugs, leaning back on his palms and head a little crooked as he looks at you through his heavy lashes.
“Oh, really? That why you were so mean to me in school?” You ask, but you don’t sound accusing, maybe it’s the weed making everything a little softer. “What’s next? Pulling my hair in the playground?” Your lips pull into a smirk, a little too sweet for your words to hold any venom.
“Hey, you can’t blame me for thirteen year old Steve’s behaviour. S’not like that’d be my method of choice now.” Something about the way he’s speaking has your heart beating a little quicker, chest suddenly feeling heavy because it feels like he’s saying something more and you can’t deny that you want to know what that is.
“Oh yeah? What’re these methods then, hotshot?” You sit up a little, shifting in your spot because you can feel a tension in the room. It’s like you’re teetering on a ledge, and any tiny movement will send you plummeting into something entirely unknown.
“I can show you, if y’want.” Steve’s almost whispering, voice so soft that you’re not sure you heard him correctly. But the way he’s looking at you, eyelids a little heavy and pupils blown, confirms that you did.
You pull your bottom lip under your teeth, eyes scanning over his face to try and discern any sign of a laugh, trying to wait him out and see if he cracks but the seconds pass and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only other person on the planet right now. “Yeah, you can show me.”
The words have barely left your mouth before he’s moving into you, big hand cupping your cheek and thumb grazing over the trail of freckles that spread across the high point there. You feel the breath hitch in your chest at the contact, reminding yourself to keep breathing as Steve brings his face to yours. His nose nudges yours, a gentle movement that has you tilting your head to the side a little. He follows your movement, lips hovering over yours for a moment and your eyes are squeezed shut because you’re still not entirely sure this isn’t a joke and you’d rather not open your eyes and find out.
But then his lips are on yours. Your eyes are still closed and you’re still telling yourself to breathe and Steve Harrington is kissing you in your bedroom.
It’s soft at first, gentle and barely there, but then you lean forward to bring yourself closer to him and reciprocate his movements and it’s like a switch has flipped in both of you.
Your hands move from their place in your lap to behind his neck, arms draped over his shoulders and fingers brushing into the hair at the nape of his neck. The light touches have Steve kissing you with more urgency, lips parting a little more and tongues brushing against one another and then you sigh and it sends Steve’s head spiralling because you sound so pretty and it’s him who pulled that sound from you.
He keeps a hand pressed against your cheek, guiding you as he licks into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip a little, and the other sits on your waist. His fingers brush the bare skin at your waist and it has your entire body feeling like it’s being electrified, each slight movement of his hand sending another current through your veins.
He pulls away slightly, lips still so close to your own that you feel them move as he speaks. “”Are they workin’?”
You can feel the smile on his lips, and your breath fans against his lips as you exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, think so.”
Then he’s back on you, lips peppering kisses on your mouth and cheeks and jaw, trailing down your neck and sucking on that sensitive spot by your collarbone. You inhale sharp, biting down on your lip that’s a little swollen from kissing to try and stop yourself whining as he leaves purple marks along your throat. It doesn’t work very well, the noise coming out like a whimper and his grip on your waist only tightens when he hears it.
“God, y’sound so pretty.” He murmurs into your neck, kissing over the spattering of pretty lilac bruises that he’s left behind.
“Steve.” You’re definitely whining now, voice all desperate and fingers pulling at his shirt to try bring him back to your lips again.
He obeys your tugging, planting soft kisses on your mouth and pulling back to look at your face in between them. You're looking up at him through your lashes, eyes all bright and needy and probably the softest he’s ever seen them look.
“Can I touch you? Is that okay?” He punctuates his questions with more kisses, loose strands of hair falling down into his face and brushing against your skin.
Your heart feels like it’s rattling around inside your chest, desperate to break out of its confines because it feels so constrained having to stay inside there. You nod at Steve, mouth still parted a little as your chest rises and falls with your heavy breathing.
“C’mon, use your words. Normally got so much to say to me, honey.” There’s a smirk on his lips and a teasing to his voice but the way he’s looking at you gives him away, shows you he wants it as bad as you do.
“Don’t be a dick, Harrington.” You breathe, a smirk matching his spreading over your face. You lean up to kiss him again, his bottom lip pulled between your own as you move away again. “Y’can touch me, want you to.” You whisper the words, just loud enough for Steve to hear, and he’s already moving you so you’re lay beneath him with a hand beside your head holding him above you.
“Back to surnames already? Seems cruel.” He pouts, a finger running along the waistband of your sweatpants and the sensation makes you feel a little dizzy.
You shift up onto your elbows, just slightly so you can brush your nose against his and hold his gaze. “If y’want me to say your name, you’re gonna have to make me.”
Steve almost feels his heart stop at your words, the way you speak softly has his mind running a million miles an hour and his head spinning out. “Oh, I plan to.”
His hand moves slowly past your waistband, movements calculated and teasing but you keep your composure as he trails his fingers closer to your core. His pace is agonising, pulling back each time he edges closer so when his fingers finally brush over the growing wet spot on your panties you can’t help but let a small moan slip from your mouth.
“Fuck, y’already wet, huh? That all for me? Got you all riled up?” His words are smug but you can see how his chest is rising and falling quickly and his pupils are blown out as he gazes down at you.
“You ever stop runnin’ your mouth?” Your words come out breathy, little piques in your tone as he grazes over your covered clit.
He chuckles, fingers finally pushing aside your underwear after what felt like an age of teasing. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”
“In your dreams.” You barely get your words out before your breath gets stuck in your chest from Steve’s fingers rubbing circles against your clit, eyes closed and head tilting back from the sensation that’s travelling up over your whole body. “Fucking hell, Steve.”
One of your hands holds your weight, still sat up off the bed so you can bring your lips to Steve’s between your moans, and the other grips at his shoulders. Nails digging through the material of his shirt as you try to find purchase as his fingers continue their steady motions across your clit.
When he finally slides a finger inside you, your slick meaning he can slip in easily after he’s riled you up, you let your body drop against your bed. Your grip on his shoulders pulls him down with you, his other hand holding him above you. You tug at his shirt, wordlessly urging him to pull it over his head as you pant beneath him. He only stops his motions to remove it, tossing it aside to the floor of your room and you follow suit with your own which leaves your chest completely bare.
“Jesus, you’re so hot.” It’s more like he’s talking to himself than you, eyes scanning over your body and then back to your face as he returns his hand to its place between your thighs.
“Shut up.” You murmur, smile tugging at your lips and you can feel the blood running to your cheeks.
“You are, y’so beautiful.” He kisses you on your cheek, the corner of your lips, trailing them down onto your chest as he pumps his fingers inside of you.
You trail a hand up his bare arm, over his shoulder and to the nape of his neck so you can thread your fingers into his hair. Tugging a little when he finally slips another finger inside, stretching you out and pulling more moans from you as the coil inside your stomach winds itself tighter and tighter.
“Oh my god, Steve, please.” You find yourself begging, everything all too much yet not enough at the same time. Your hips buck against his hand, desperately trying to chase your high as you reach a hand between the two of you so you can palm at Steve’s crotch. Even through the denim you can feel how hard he is, straining against the confines of the fabric and you barely even have to touch him before he’s groaning into your skin in between kisses.
“What d’you want, jus’ tell me and I’ll give it to you.” His voice is strained as you continue to grope him through his jeans, pressing himself harder into your hand as he speeds up the motions of his fingers inside you.
“Want you to fuck me.” Your practically whining at this point, and you can feel your walls clenching around Steve’s fingers as he works you closer to the edge.
“Fuck, yeah, I want that too.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so needy. “You got a condom?”
“I’m on the pill.” Your words send Steve’s head a little dizzy, a deep exhale coming from his mouth and you take it as disappointment. “S’fine if you don’t want to, though.”
“Are you kidding?” Steve locks his eyes with your own, both still a little hazy from smoking and the intensity of the moment. “I want to.”
With his words your already fiddling with the button of his jeans, tugging at the denim and he pulls his fingers out of you so he can tug them down along with his boxers and discard them onto the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. You can see how hard he is now, tip already leaking as he helps you out of your own sweatpants so you’re left in only your panties.
You wiggle your body a little as you slowly pull them off, suddenly feeling a little too exposed despite all that's already happened tonight. But the way Steve’s staring at you, like you’re a work of art, something made just for him, makes you feel a little less self conscious.
“You sure you want to do this? We don’t have to.” His voice is soft and you know that you could turn him down now and it’d be fine, whatever grudge that was held between you is now buried no matter what you say. But you do want it, not even 24 hours ago it might’ve killed you to admit it but not now. Not here, in your room with Steve looking down at you like you’re the only girl in the world.
“I want it, want you, Steve.” You lean up and kiss him softly, a break from the teasing and intensity of your touches. Something more gentle, in place of an apology or explanation, something that says I don’t just want you now, I want you for good. Steve kisses you back like he understands.
Steve pushes into you slowly, gradually hitting deeper inside you with each thrust and it has you squeezing your eyes shut tight and practically seeing stars. When he finally bottoms out, he stays there for a moment, the pair of you breathing in sync. He can feel your walls squeezing him, and he has to take a moment to collect himself to stop himself finishing then and there.
Your arms hang over his shoulders, one hand running through his hair and the other tracing lines on his back. You almost feel bad for how your nails dig into his skin when he starts moving again, but when he moans in your ear you don’t feel so guilty anymore.
“Feels so good, wanted this for so long y’know? Think it would’ve solved all our problems.” Steve’s rambling on, a little drunk on how good you feel and how you look underneath him. “Don’t think m’gonna last long, keep clenching around me and it’s driving me crazy.”
Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of your moans, bed creaking and it’s all a little dirty but you’re too fucked out to care. The knot in your stomach is still tugging tighter from when Steve had his fingers inside you, and it’s only getting more intense now his cock is nudging that spot inside you that you can never reach on your own. “I’m close too, y’feel so good Steve.” Your voice is sickly sweet and only pushes Steve closer to the edge.
“Jesus, fuck.” Steve runs a thumb across your cheek, eyes locked with yours as he pounds into you harder and the sounds you’re making are bordering on pornographic - you’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so clearly into it, kissing you hard and a little messy and you can feel that coil in your stomach about to snap.
“M’gonna cum.” You can barely force your words out, especially when Steve moves a hand back to your clit and begins rubbing circles around the bundle of nerves. It only takes a few more thrusts for you to go tumbling over the edge, walls clenching around him tight as you grip his shoulders and leave little crescent marks as a reminder of the night.
You can tell Steve’s close too, the way he’s moaning your name and his pupils are blown as he watches you unravel. His thrusts get a little sloppy, quicker but his rhythm is messy and when you drag your nails down his back it’s the final push for him. You can feel it as he cums inside you, warm ropes filling you up and he keeps thrusting into you slowly even after he’s finished. His breathing is heavy as he looks down at you, bodies tangled and a little sweaty but he still thinks you look beautiful.
You feel empty when he finally pulls out of you, like your body had gotten used to him being there. You whine a little at the feeling, but Steve’s quick to kiss away the noise as he strokes your hair.
“This mean we’re friends now?” You ask, a little teasing as you smile at him.
Steve shifts his body from its place over you, looking through the mess of clothes on the floor to find his boxers amongst them. He hands you his t-shirt, and you’re not oblivious to the fact he’s giving you his clothes to wear instead of your own. He looks over to your light switch and then back to you, going to flick it off when you respond with a nod. “You do this with all your friends?”
“Well, no. But y’gotta at least ask me on a date before you get to pass that point.” You pull his shirt over your head, the smell of his cologne a comfort as you settle into it.
“What, you wanna be wined and dined, huh?” He’s grinning at you, and you shuffle up to let him lay next to you in your bed.
“Obviously, Harrington. Get with the program.”
“C’mon, surely I’m past the surname point now.” His finger traces along your jaw as he lays facing you, following the curves of your face and nudging it closer to his.
“Maybe, I’ll think about it.” You’re still grinning as you kiss him, just for a moment but even after you pull away you keep your face close to his.
His arm rests over your waist as you cuddle into him, a soothing weight that helps to lull you quickly into a sleep. You slot into his body easily, head on his chest and his chin resting atop of it, falling into a position that feels almost too natural, like it’s something you should’ve been doing for a long time before.
You’re not sure what time it is when you get woken by a knock at your door. Though a knock is probably too gentle a word, it was more like a repetitive slap against the plastic that has you grumbling as you try to wriggle out of Steve’s grip and out of bed. You pull your joggers on, eyes still a little fuzzy from sleep as you make your way out your room and to whoever was pounding on your door.
“Alright, alright.” You’re mumbling so whoever’s out there definitely didn’t hear you. You pull the door open the door to see Eddie standing there, stupid smug grin on his face as you stand there still half asleep. “Jesus, Eddie, what is it?”
“Harringtons here, isn’t he?” He sounds almost giddy with it, because he knows he’s right. He looks behind him to Steve’s car, then back to you as you stand there in Steve’s shirt. And then he notices the spattering of purple bruises along your neck, and that’s enough to send him over the edge with laughter. “Oh my god, I knew it! I knew this would happen!”
You stand there, blinking the sleep out your eyes because you’re still way too tired to be dealing with Eddie and his apparent victory. “D’you actually want something? Or is this it?” You point down to him, the boy still grinning wide and you’re half tempted to just slam the door in his face.
“This is it.” He shrugs. “Just needed proof, and those-“ He wiggles his finger towards your neck “-are proof.”
“Fantastic, thanks so much for waking me up for this Eds.” You huff, hand already on the door ready to shut him out. “Now get lost.” There’s nothing cruel to your voice, Eddie knows you too well to take any offence.
“See y’later, you little harlot.” That’s enough for you to slam the door in his face.
You pad back into your bedroom, Steve groaning as you clamber over him to try and get back into place but inevitably disturb him as you do so.
“What was that?” His voice is thick with sleep, a little gruff and you tuck your face back into his chest with a sigh.
“Jus’ Eddie. Gloating ‘cause he got proof.” Your voice is muffled, lips brushing against his skin as you speak.
“Proof of what?” Steve’s hand trails lazily up your spine, a barely there touch that could easily lull you back to sleep.
“This, us, I guess.”
“Oh, well, that’s not so bad, is it?”
“Nah, I don’t mind.” You move your head away so you can look at Steve, eyes fighting to stay open and a sleepy smile on your face. “D’you?
Steve shakes his head, eyes all doting on you even in his tired state. “I don’t mind at all.”
SUMMARY in which your now ex boyfriend cheats on you with his so called 'work wife.' your solution? getting back at him with his new girlfriend's newly dumped ex, steve harrington. you'll get your revenge for sure.
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI cheating, teamed up revenge dating, fake dating, toxic exes, rom com, rightfully petty reader w/ attitude, angst, fluff, smut every chapter you’re warned lol, steve and reader are both idiots who eventually fall in love, adult language, smoking/drinking, inspired by olivia rodrigo’s “get him back”
WORD COUNT ?
CHAPTER ONE 18+
CHAPTER TWO 18+
CHAPTER THREE 18+
AUTHORS NOTE: hello! this will be a small mini series, i am still very much focusing on 'i'm your man.' it's just good for me to have several projects to go back and forth on whether it's series or one shots, so that way i'm not forcing myself to write something i'm not in the mood for.
due to the amount of requests i received for the 3k special, i am splitting them between the ones i’m making into fics (1.5k words+) and blurbs (<1.5k words).
below are the 3k special blurbs!! fics are linked above.
💗 fluff 💔 angst ❤️🔥 smut
۶ৎ steve harrington
💗 where they can't find us
➜ 1.2k words | fantasy au | stable hand!steve x princess!reader | steve has a plan for you to be together
💔💗 can you keep a secret? (coming soon)
➜ blurb | henderson!reader | you and steve harrington have been trying to keep your relationship secret | @/softstaticclub
💗 a sweet treat
➜ blurb | firefighter!steve x baker!reader | steve decides to pay his favourite baker a visit | @/violatedvibrators
💔💗 hard not to fall
➜ blurb | henderson!reader | steve found it hard to keep things casual, especially when he was so in love with you | request by @/scoopstroops0704
🔞❤️🔥 a dirty secret
➜ blurb | roommates au | curvy!reader | trying to keep yours and steve's relationship secret was difficult when the walls were so thin
۶ৎ gator tillman
🔞❤️🔥 first time for everything (coming soon)
➜ blurb | the first time you're intimate with gator is also the first time he ever opens up to you
🔞❤️🔥not like the others (coming soon)
➜ blurb | you meet gator tillman at your job and you quickly learn that he's not like the other guys
Steve Harrington was perhaps the worst person you had ever met. But unfortunately for you—Hollywood's golden girl—he was also your fake boyfriend.
pairing: rockstar!steve harrington x actress!reader
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) enemies to lovers, fake dating, smut, brat!steve harrington, elements of king!steve, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader. more warnings to be added.
mooney rambles: this idea was sent in by the amazing @djocufics and i couldn't just leave it as a blurb!
CHAPTER ONE: a rockin' rebound
more chapters + titles to be announced!
🎬 to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
summary: when you join the FBI, everybody on your team is so welcoming except for steve harrington. when your team is placed on an undercover case, you're partnered with the one person you can't stand. your ability to work together will be detrimental to the case to save as many lives as possible.
current word count: 11k
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
notes: i miss criminal minds and steve harrington so i put them together </3
warnings: no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted), will add more as i think of them
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.
℘1⋆˚࿔ m.list⋆˚࿔ steveharrington x henderson!reader
Steve spends the rest of the drive pretending he’s listening while Dustin talks, but every thought in his head keeps circling back to you in ways that are becoming genuinely impossible to control. It’s pathetic, honestly. He knows it is. He’s twenty years old and acting like a lovesick idiot over a girl who still has absolutely no idea she’s slowly destroying him from the inside out.
The worst part is that you’d probably laugh if you knew.
Not cruelly. Never cruelly.
You’d just blink at him with that surprised little expression you get sometimes and go, “Steve Harrington is in love with me?” like the concept itself sounds unrealistic.
And maybe that’s his fault.
Because Steve has spent so long making everything feel easy around you that you never noticed when it stopped being casual for him.
You still think his constant touching means nothing because Steve touches everybody.
You still think the flirting is harmless because Steve flirts with everyone.
You still think the long looks and soft voices and late night window visits are just part of who he is instead of what he’s become around you specifically.
Meanwhile Steve feels like he’s standing chest deep in something he can’t survive anymore.
By the time he drops Dustin off at school, his mood has somehow gotten worse instead of better.
“Are you coming over later?” Dustin asks before getting out of the car.
Steve opens his mouth automatically to say yes before stopping himself.
Because you’ll probably be there.
Which is exactly the problem.
“Maybe,” he mutters instead.
Dustin narrows his eyes immediately. “You literally always come over.”
“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs tightly. “Maybe I have a life.”
“That’s definitely not true.”
Normally Steve would argue back. Today he just flips Dustin off tiredly while the kid laughs and slams the door shut behind him.
Then Steve sits there in the school parking lot for another full minute staring blankly ahead because the idea of seeing you right now feels dangerously overwhelming.
Which is ridiculous.
You’re still just you.
Still the same girl who steals fries off his plate and falls asleep against his shoulder and calls him pretty boy sarcastically whenever he’s annoying you.
Nothing has actually changed.
Except now Steve knows he’s in love with you, and suddenly every interaction feels loaded with terrifying new meaning.
He tries avoiding you for exactly one day.
It goes horribly.
By noon he’s already wondering what you’re doing.
By three he catches himself driving toward your street out of pure instinct before swearing under his breath and turning around again.
By evening he’s sitting beside Robin at Family Video looking so miserable that she eventually tosses a pack of Twizzlers at his head without even glancing up from rewinding tapes.
“You’re being weird,” she says flatly.
Steve catches the candy automatically. “Thanks.”
“You’ve sighed seventeen times in the last ten minutes.”
“You counted?”
“I was trying to figure out if you were dying.”
Steve groans softly and drops his head back against the counter while Robin finally looks over at him properly.
And immediately pauses.
Because Robin knows Steve better than almost anybody now.
Knows the difference between his normal dramatic behavior and something real.
Her expression shifts slightly.
“Oh my God,” she says slowly.
Steve closes his eyes immediately.
“No.”
“Oh my God,” Robin repeats louder this time, sounding delighted. “You’re in love with her.”
Steve nearly chokes.
“I am not—”
“You are absolutely in love with her.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You look one inconvenience away from throwing yourself into traffic.”
Steve presses both hands over his face while Robin stares at him with growing disbelief and amusement.
“This is insane,” she says. “Steve Harrington finally falls in love and suddenly acts like a Victorian widow.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Robin grins. “Wait—does she know?”
Steve laughs once.
A genuinely miserable sound.
“No.”
Robin’s smile fades slightly at that.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
For a second neither of them speaks.
The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead while customers wander through aisles nearby, completely oblivious to the emotional crisis currently happening behind the counter.
Then Robin squints at him.
“Why not?”
Steve lowers his hands slowly.
And there it is.
The real problem.
Because how is he supposed to explain this without sounding insane?
How is he supposed to admit that somewhere between late night conversations and stupid movie marathons and hearing you laugh from another room, he accidentally built an entire future around you inside his head without permission?
How is he supposed to explain that losing your friendship feels terrifying enough already, let alone risking something bigger?
“She doesn’t look at me like that,” he says quietly after a long moment.
Robin blinks.
“What?”
Steve swallows hard before looking away.
“You know how some people…” He struggles briefly for the words. “You can tell when they want somebody back?”
Robin stays quiet.
Steve laughs softly again, though there’s no humor in it this time.
“She doesn’t.”
And maybe that’s the part hurting him most.
Because you love him. Steve knows you do.
Just not in the way he wants.
You trust him.
Need him.
Lean into him without hesitation.
Call him whenever something goes wrong.
Look for him first in crowded rooms the same way he looks for you.
But Steve has spent months convincing himself those things meant more than they actually do, and now he doesn’t know how to untangle friendship from hope anymore.
Robin studies him carefully for a second before asking, “Did something happen?”
Immediately Steve thinks about your neck.
About bruises beneath soft yellow bedroom light.
About another guy touching you while Steve sat there pretending his chest wasn’t actively splitting open.
His jaw tightens slightly.
Robin notices that too because of course she does.
“Oh,” she says again, quieter this time. “That serious, huh?”
Steve rubs tiredly at his face.
“I think I’m actually losing my mind.”
Robin softens a little then.
Not teasing anymore.
“You know,” she says carefully, “for someone supposedly good with girls, you are catastrophically bad at communicating.”
Steve scoffs weakly. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious.” She leans against the counter beside him. “You’ve been acting like her boyfriend without ever actually telling her how you feel. That’s confusing.”
Steve frowns slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Robin gives him a look.
“You drive her everywhere. You stare at her like she invented oxygen. You literally climb through her bedroom window at night.”
“When you say it out loud it sounds—”
“Insane? Yeah.”
Steve drops his head onto the counter with a groan.
The worst part is she isn’t wrong.
Because somewhere along the line he got comfortable living in the almost of this.
Comfortable with your head on his shoulder.
Comfortable with your fingers absentmindedly hooking through the sleeve of his jacket.
Comfortable being the person you call first.
And now the idea of wanting more feels selfish somehow.
Dangerous.
“What if I ruin it?” he asks quietly.
Robin’s expression softens immediately because Steve almost never sounds genuinely afraid like this.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” she admits. “But I know you. And honestly? I think you’ve been ruining yourself over this girl for months already.”
Steve laughs weakly into the counter.
“Cool. Awesome.”
Robin nudges his shoulder lightly.
“Just talk to her.”
Steve lifts his head enough to look at her.
“That sounds terrible.”
“It probably will be,” Robin agrees. “But you can’t keep silently yearning yourself into an early grave either.”
Steve snorts despite himself.
Then immediately stills because the bell above the store door jingles softly.
And there you are.
Warm evening sunlight spills through the glass behind you while you step into the store wearing one of those oversized sweaters Steve likes too much and an expression that brightens instantly the second your eyes find him behind the counter.
There’s no hesitation in it.
No uncertainty.
Just immediate softness.
“Hi,” you say.
And Steve’s entire heart betrays him on the spot.
Because God.
Robin sees it happen too.
Sees the way his face changes the second you walk in.
Sees the way his posture straightens automatically.
Sees the helpless warmth that floods his expression before he can stop it.
Her eyes widen slightly like even she didn’t realize it was this bad.
You glance between them curiously.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Robin says immediately, looking way too entertained now.
Steve wants to kill her.
You walk toward the counter slowly, setting a videotape down in front of him.
“You disappeared today,” you say casually.
Steve’s chest tightens embarrassingly fast at the fact that you noticed.
“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Busy.”
“You?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Busy?”
Robin physically turns away to hide her smile.
Steve glares at the side of her head before looking back at you.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Wow,” you say flatly. “Rude.”
But you’re smiling slightly.
Always smiling slightly around him.
It’s killing him.
You lean your elbows onto the counter comfortably while Steve tries not to focus on how close you are standing.
“You missed dinner,” you tell him.
Steve blinks.
“What?”
“My mom made lasagna.” You shrug lightly. “Dustin complained about you abandoning him emotionally.”
Despite himself, Steve laughs softly.
Then your expression shifts just a little as you study him more carefully.
And suddenly your smile fades.
“Wait,” you say slowly. “Are you okay?”
The concern in your voice hits him harder than it should.
Steve opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because you’re looking at him with genuine worry now, brows pulling together slightly while the entire video store seems to blur softly around the edges.
Robin goes very still beside him.
Steve can practically feel her realizing in real time that this conversation is about to become catastrophic.
“Steve?” you ask again, quieter this time.
And God, that’s it.
That’s the thing that finally breaks him a little.
Because every time you say his name with that soft worried look on your face, Steve feels something inside him cave in a little.
Steve opens his mouth again, but before he can force out an answer, you straighten slightly like you suddenly regret asking in the first place.
It’s subtle.
Most people probably wouldn’t notice it.
But Steve notices everything about you now.
The tiny retreat in your posture. The way your expression smooths itself back into something lighter before he can look too closely at it. Like concern is dangerous if it lasts too long.
You do that a lot lately.
Feel something too deeply, then immediately bury it under humor before anyone can touch it.
“I mean,” you say casually, glancing away, “you just look tired.”
Robin looks between both of you like she’s watching a hostage situation unfold in real time.
Steve swallows hard.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Didn’t sleep much.”
Your eyes flick back toward him for half a second too long.
Something unreadable passes through your expression before disappearing completely.
“That makes two of us.”
And there it is again.
That strange ache sitting quietly beneath everything between you lately.
Steve feels it constantly now. Like there’s another conversation happening underneath every normal one the two of you have. Something unspoken and heavy and terrifying sitting just below the surface where neither of you are brave enough to touch it directly.
Robin suddenly claps her hands together loudly.
“Well,” she says with painful fake enthusiasm, “I’m gonna go reorganize the horror section before I throw myself into traffic.”
Steve glares at her immediately.
You blink in confusion while Robin walks away muttering something about emotional incompetence under her breath.
Then it’s just you and Steve again.
Which somehow feels worse.
You lean against the counter quietly for a second while Steve pretends to focus on rewinding tapes behind the register even though he’s very aware of your eyes still lingering on him.
“You sure you’re okay?” you ask eventually.
Steve exhales softly.
“Yeah.”
You tilt your head slightly.
“Liar.”
The word lands gently between you.
Not teasing.
Not accusing.
Just honest.
And for one dangerous second Steve almost tells you everything.
Almost says I’m in love with you and it’s becoming unbearable.
Instead he just shakes his head once.
“You’re dramatic,” he mutters weakly.
A small smile finally pulls at your mouth again, but it doesn’t fully reach your eyes this time.
Because the truth is you know something’s changed too.
You’ve known for weeks now, maybe longer.
You just haven’t let yourself think about it too hard because thinking about Steve Harrington for too long has become genuinely dangerous for your emotional stability.
It started slowly.
Too slowly to notice at first.
One day he was just Dustin’s annoying older friend constantly invading your house, and the next you were measuring your evenings around whether his car would pull into the driveway.
You started listening for him without realizing it.
Started feeling strangely disappointed on days he didn’t show up.
And then somewhere along the line it became worse.
You started noticing things you shouldn’t.
The way his voice gets quieter when he’s tired.
The way he automatically reaches for your wrist when guiding you through crowds so you don’t get separated.
The way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.
God.
That’s the part that really ruined you.
Because Steve looks at you too much.
Like he’s trying to memorize things without permission.
And sometimes—sometimes—you catch expressions on his face that make your entire chest tighten painfully before he smooths them away again.
Which should mean something.
Except Steve is still Steve.
Beautiful and affectionate and naturally magnetic without even trying.
You’ve seen girls flirt with him your entire life. Seen the way people melt under his attention. Half the time he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.
So eventually you convinced yourself that whatever was happening between you only felt significant because you wanted it to.
And wanting Steve feels humiliating sometimes.
Not because of him.
Because of you.
Because he’s become this soft vulnerable thing hidden right in the center of your chest, and you don’t know what to do with feelings that deep except hide them before they can embarrass you.
So you date other people instead.
You tell yourself it’s normal.
Healthy, even.
Maybe if you force yourself forward enough, eventually your feelings for Steve will fade into something manageable again.
Except every date keeps ending the same way.
You compare them to him without meaning to.
The way Steve laughs harder at your jokes.
The way conversations with Steve feel effortless while everyone else sounds rehearsed somehow.
The way Steve pays attention to tiny things nobody else notices.
Nobody touches you like it matters the way he does.
Nobody looks at you long enough to make your heart start acting stupid.
And worst of all, no matter who drops you off at home at the end of the night, somehow you still end up wanting Steve afterward anyway.
Which feels deeply unfair.
The hickeys last night were almost accidental.
Not the date itself.
Not the guy.
Just the decision to let someone kiss you while part of your brain kept wondering whether Steve would care.
You hated yourself for that immediately afterward.
Because what kind of person does that?
What kind of person sits through a perfectly decent date secretly thinking about somebody else the entire time?
The answer apparently is you.
And judging by the expression Steve wore in your bedroom last night, part of you thinks maybe he did care.
Which is terrifying.
Because if you let yourself believe that for even a second, you might actually say something reckless.
You might finally ask why Steve touches you like you already belong to him.
You might ask why he stares at you like he’s trying not to.
You might ask why every room feels different after he walks into it.
So instead you hide it.
Better than he does, apparently.
You joke. You flirt back lightly. You pretend your pulse doesn’t jump whenever he leans too close.
And Steve—poor Steve—still somehow thinks he’s the only one drowning here.
“You’re staring again,” you tell him quietly.
Steve blinks immediately like he got caught doing something illegal.
“I’m literally working.”
“You haven’t moved for like thirty seconds.”
His ears turn slightly pink.
It almost makes you smile for real this time.
God, he’s pretty when he gets flustered.
The thought hits hard enough that you immediately look away before your face can betray you.
Dangerous.
This whole thing feels dangerous lately.
Steve clears his throat awkwardly behind the counter.
“So,” he says carefully. “You uh… got plans tonight?”
The question sounds casual.
Too casual.
Like he practiced making it sound casual.
Your stomach twists a little.
“Maybe.”
Steve’s jaw tightens almost invisibly.
“With that guy again?”
There’s the smallest pause.
Too small for most people to notice.
But you notice because suddenly your heartbeat is too loud.
“Maybe,” you repeat softer this time.
Something flickers across his face then.
Gone almost immediately.
But it looks suspiciously like disappointment.
Your chest aches unexpectedly.
Because suddenly you don’t want him imagining you with someone else anymore.
You don’t want anyone else.
You just don’t know what to do about that yet.
Steve forces a small nod like the answer doesn’t bother him at all.
“Cool.”
The lie sits awkwardly between both of you.
After that conversation at Family Video, something between you and Steve changes so quietly at first that neither of you can pinpoint exactly when it started hurting.
Nothing dramatic happens.
No fight.
No line crossed badly enough to destroy things outright.
It’s worse than that somehow.
Because everything still looks normal from the outside.
Steve still comes over to your house after work sometimes, still lets Dustin drag him into arguments about movies and comic books and whatever new obsession the kids picked up that week. He still sits at your kitchen counter while your mom talks to him like he belongs there already, still steals sodas from your fridge without asking, still throws lazy sarcastic comments in your direction whenever you walk into a room.
But now there’s hesitation inside every interaction.
Tiny pauses where there never used to be pauses before.
Like both of you suddenly became too aware of each other.
You notice it immediately because noticing Steve has become second nature to you at this point.
You notice he doesn’t sprawl across your bed during movie nights anymore. Before, he used to make himself comfortable instantly, all long limbs and lazy confidence while he stole space beside you without thinking twice about it. Half the time his head ended up in your lap eventually anyway while he complained dramatically about whatever terrible movie Dustin rented.
Now he sits at the edge of your desk chair instead.
Like he’s afraid of getting too comfortable.
Like he’s physically stopping himself from drifting toward you out of habit.
And somehow that hurts more than if he’d stopped showing up entirely.
You notice he doesn’t touch you casually anymore either.
No more absentminded hands brushing your waist when squeezing past you in the kitchen.
No more fingers hooking around your wrist while crossing streets.
No more knees pressed against yours in the car for entire drives without either of you acknowledging it.
The absence of it becomes unbearable almost immediately because you hadn’t realized how much of Steve existed in physical closeness until he suddenly took it away.
And God.
You miss him.
Not just Steve himself.
You miss the easy version of him.
The version that gravitated toward you naturally without overthinking every movement first.
Now every interaction feels painfully deliberate instead.
Like he’s constantly catching himself right before doing something instinctive.
Like he wants to reach for you and is actively deciding not to.
Which unfortunately only makes you think about it more.
One night he comes over while Dustin’s upstairs showering, leaving just the two of you alone in the living room with the television humming quietly in the background. Steve sits on the opposite end of the couch for the first time in literal months, one arm stretched along the cushions while he pretends to focus on the movie.
You hate it instantly.
The distance between you feels enormous and wrong.
You glance at him twice before finally saying, “You know this couch is big enough to survive you sitting normally, right?”
Steve looks over.
“What?”
“You’re like…” You gesture vaguely between him and the empty space separating you. “All the way over there.”
A slow smile pulls at his mouth, but it looks tired somehow.
“Sorry.”
And that’s it.
No teasing comment afterward.
No smug grin.
Just sorry.
The quietness of it makes your chest ache unexpectedly.
Because Steve Harrington has never been careful with you before.
He used to lean into your space like he belonged there.
Now he acts like touching you accidentally might ruin something.
You start noticing other things too after that.
Steve looks away faster whenever you catch him staring now, even though he still does it constantly.
Sometimes you’ll glance up from a book or from painting your nails or from talking mid sentence and find his eyes already on you with an expression so soft it physically steals the air from your lungs for half a second.
Then he catches himself.
Every single time.
His face closes immediately afterward like he accidentally showed too much.
It drives you insane.
Because now you know something is there.
You just don’t know what.
And Steve still refuses to say it.
Which means your brain starts filling in the blanks on its own in the worst ways possible.
Maybe he realized you liked him and got uncomfortable.
Maybe he noticed things were getting too intense and started pulling away before it became a problem.
Maybe Robin said something.
Maybe you imagined the whole thing from the beginning.
That last possibility crawls under your skin most often late at night when you’re alone with your thoughts and missing him in ways that feel genuinely embarrassing.
Because maybe Steve was always just affectionate naturally.
Maybe you built meaning out of ordinary things because you wanted him too much.
Maybe all those moments that replay constantly in your head never mattered the way they mattered to you.
The thought makes your stomach hurt every single time.
Then two weeks later, you make a terrible decision.
Not intentionally terrible.
Just emotionally immature terrible.
Because Steve has spent fourteen straight days acting like he wants something from you before immediately retreating the second you get too close to figuring it out, and honestly? You’re exhausted.
You’re tired of feeling insane around him.
Tired of overanalyzing every glance and every touch and every weird moment that never becomes anything.
So when a guy from work asks you out again, you say yes mostly because you want one night where you don’t spend the entire evening emotionally orbiting Steve.
Which is exactly why bringing him into Family Video turns out to be such a catastrophically bad idea.
You don’t even realize Steve’s working at first.
The bell above the door jingles softly as you step inside laughing at something your date says while warm evening air follows you into the store.
And then your eyes land on Steve behind the counter.
Immediately, your smile falters.
Not visibly enough for your date to notice.
But Steve notices.
Of course he does.
He’s halfway through shelving tapes when he freezes completely.
His stomach drops so fast it almost makes him dizzy.
Because you’re standing there beside another guy again.
Close enough that your shoulders brush when you walk.
Close enough that Steve instantly hates him for breathing near you.
And the worst part—the truly unbearable part—is that you look beautiful tonight.
Not overly dressed up.
Just soft.
Comfortable.
Your hair slightly messy from summer humidity, oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder a little while you laugh quietly at something the guy beside you says.
Steve feels sick immediately.
Robin looks up from behind the register, sees the expression on Steve’s face, and physically winces.
“Oh no,” she mutters under her breath.
Your date wanders toward the horror section while you linger awkwardly near the counter.
Steve still hasn’t moved.
The atmosphere between you feels strange instantly.
Tight.
“You work tonight?” you ask softly.
Steve laughs once.
Short and humorless.
“Apparently.”
Your eyebrows pull together slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
But it very obviously isn’t nothing.
You glance at him more carefully then.
His jaw looks tense.
Eyes darker somehow.
And suddenly you realize he’s staring at the guy currently browsing movies three aisles away.
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
“Steve.”
“What?”
“You’re being weird again.”
That snaps something.
Steve sets the tapes in his hands down too hard against the counter before finally looking directly at you.
“Weird?” he repeats.
You blink slightly at the sharpness in his voice.
“Yeah.”
He stares at you for another second like he’s trying very hard not to say something dangerous.
Then quietly:
“Do you even like these guys?”
The question catches you so off guard that you actually laugh once in confusion.
“What?”
“I’m serious.”
You stare at him.
“I barely know what that means.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair harshly, visibly frustrated now in a way you’ve genuinely never seen directed at you before.
“You go out with these random idiots constantly and half the time you don’t even seem interested.”
Your confusion immediately shifts toward irritation.
“Okay, first of all—rude.”
Steve ignores that entirely.
“Do you actually even want to be here right now?”
“What is your problem?”
The words come out sharper than you intended.
Steve’s expression flickers.
Like he’s surprised you snapped back.
But then he looks toward your date again and something ugly flashes briefly across his face before he looks back at you.
“I just don’t get it.”
Your heartbeat starts speeding up now for reasons you don’t fully understand.
“Get what?”
“This.” Steve gestures vaguely between you and the rest of the store. “You keep going out with these guys and then acting miserable afterward.”
Your eyes narrow instantly.
“You’re seriously doing this right now?”
“Doing what?”
“You don’t get to interrogate my dating life, Steve.”
“I’m not interrogating you.”
“You literally are.”
The tension between you feels thick enough to choke on now.
Across the store, Robin very slowly disappears into the back room because she wants absolutely no part in whatever emotional disaster is currently unfolding.
Steve lowers his voice slightly.
“I just think maybe you deserve better than random assholes who don’t even know you.”
“And you do?” you shoot back immediately.
The second the words leave your mouth, Steve goes completely still.
So do you.
Because suddenly the conversation feels dangerously close to something neither of you are ready for.
Your pulse pounds hard in your throat.
Steve stares at you for a long second before speaking carefully.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
His jaw tightens.
You can practically see him fighting with himself.
And suddenly anger starts rising hot in your chest because none of this feels fair.
He doesn’t get to act jealous.
Not after months of confusing you into emotional ruin while never actually wanting anything.
Not after making you feel crazy for reading too deeply into things he probably never meant in the first place.
“You know what?” you say suddenly, voice quieter now but sharper somehow. “I genuinely don’t understand why you’re upset.”
Steve laughs once bitterly.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
His eyes flash.
“Because watching you with these guys sucks.”
The confession lands between you hard enough to steal the air from your lungs for a second.
But then immediately confusion crashes into it.
Because what?
“What does that even mean?” you ask.
Steve opens his mouth.
Stops.
And that hesitation hurts your feelings more than the actual argument.
Because there it is again.
Always almost something.
You take a small step backward.
“No, seriously, Steve.” Your voice shakes slightly now despite your best efforts to stop it. “You don’t get to act possessive over me when you’ve never actually wanted me.”
His expression changes instantly.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“That’s not—”
“Then what is it?” you interrupt, suddenly angry enough that you can’t stop now. “Because from my perspective, you flirt with everybody. You touch everybody. Half the time I can’t tell if you even realize you’re doing it.”
Steve looks genuinely stunned.
You laugh softly in disbelief.
“You think I’m supposed to magically know what you mean when you’ve never said anything?”
“I thought it was obvious,” he says before he can stop himself.
The words hit you like physical force.
For one horrible second both of you just stare at each other.
Because suddenly the entire foundation underneath your friendship feels unstable.
Obvious?
Your chest hurts.
“Obvious?” you repeat quietly. “Steve, I spent months convincing myself I imagined all of this because I genuinely thought there was no way you could actually feel that way about me.”
Something cracks visibly across his face then.
“Forget it,” you mutter quietly, though your voice sounds wrong even to yourself now. Too tight. Too fragile around the edges.
Steve’s expression shifts immediately after the words leave your mouth.
Like he wants to stop you.
Like there’s something sitting right there behind his teeth fighting to get out.
For one awful second, you genuinely think he’s going to say it.
That he’s finally going to grab your wrist or pull you aside or look at you the way he used to before everything between you became so confusing and terrifyingly careful.
Instead he just stands there.
Completely still.
Your chest aches painfully as you look away from him first because suddenly holding eye contact feels impossible. The entire store feels too bright now, too crowded, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead while your heartbeat pounds hard enough to make you feel sick.
Your date says something beside you — asking which movie you wanted again maybe — but you barely hear him.
All you can feel is Steve standing a few feet away not stopping you.
Not fighting for you.
Not saying the thing you desperately needed him to say.
And, maybe that’s your answer right there.
Because if Steve really wanted you the way part of you has secretly hoped for months now, wouldn’t he do something?
Wouldn’t he finally say it?
Instead there’s just silence stretching painfully between you while his eyes stay fixed on your face with an expression you can’t even begin to untangle anymore.
Hurt.
Regret.
Fear.
You don’t know.
You’re suddenly too emotional to tell the difference.
So you force yourself to step backward even though every instinct in your body is screaming at you not to.
Steve’s jaw tightens immediately at the movement.
Still, he says nothing.
And that tiny hesitation completely shatters something inside you.
Because you’ve spent months convincing yourself not to want this boy too much. Months trying to ignore the way your entire body reacts whenever he walks into a room. Months pretending his touches didn’t linger afterward, pretending his attention didn’t feel different from everyone else’s.
And now here you are standing in the middle of Family Video realizing maybe you imagined all of it after all.
The humiliation burns hot behind your ribs.
You laugh softly under your breath, but there’s absolutely no humor in it.
“Yeah,” you whisper mostly to yourself. “Okay.”
Steve’s expression flickers with immediate panic.
“Wait—”
But now you’re angry too.
Not at him entirely.
At yourself.
For hoping.
For reading too deeply into every look and every almost moment until you built something beautiful out of scraps that maybe never meant what you thought they did.
You shake your head once before he can finish whatever he was about to say.
“No, it’s fine.”
The words come out sharp and shaky at the same time.
You hate that he can probably hear the hurt in your voice.
Your date glances awkwardly between both of you now, clearly realizing something uncomfortable is happening but not understanding enough to interrupt.
Steve notices him looking and immediately closes himself off again.
Like a door slamming shut.
And somehow that hurts worst of all.
Because there it is again.
Every single time things start becoming real between you, Steve retreats.
Your throat tightens painfully.
So before he can watch your composure completely fall apart, you turn toward the front door and force yourself to walk away.
The bell above the entrance jingles softly as you push outside into the humid summer night air, but even the warmth outside feels cold suddenly compared to how hard your chest hurts.
Behind you, Steve still doesn’t follow.
And that absolutely destroys him afterward.
⋆˚꩜｡ part 3 will be out tomorrow! was gonna put it all in this part but was wayyyy too long, enjoy!!
Don’t Let This Be A Lost Romance | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader | Part 1
SUMMARY: What was intended to be a summer fling with no strings attached results in Steve Harrington falling for the very girl he never in a million years thought he’d become head over heels in love with.
A/N: Sooo Ik this was supposed to be a one shot, but I’m breaking it up into 3-4 parts because this originally was supposed to only be around 10K words, but it’s definitely NOT. So now igs its a mini series lol
WARNINGS: Suggestive content but nothing explicit, the reader and Steve have a lot of pride, King Steve, reader is kind of an outcast but like not really, El is a menace but means well ofc, summer fling except they slowly fall in love trope (yay!), literally a set up for later angst, maybe bad writing idk I have writer’s block sue me
WC: 9.2K
Main masterlist!
Never did you expect to fall in love with Steve Harrington. The boy you despised in high school and thought was a total dud.
And never did Steve Harrington expect to fall in love with the chief’s daughter. The girl he thought was a complete weirdo in high school.
Yet, somehow, some way, the stars aligned and brought you two together in the form of a summer fling with no strings attached.
Except, every damn string had been tied into the tightest of knots.
Music bumped from inside of Tina’s house. The place was packed with loads of drunk teens.
You wanted to be anywhere but this party. Nancy Wheeler, one of your close friends, somehow managed to convince you to come.
You watched as a small group of teens surrounded a boy. He chugged a bottle of beer and afterwards slammed the glass onto the floor with a loud shatter. The crowd cheered him on as if he had done something spectacular.
You scrunched your nose as you walked past, confused and disgusted at how so many people condoned such nonsensical behavior. “Nancy, this is ridiculous,” you groaned.
She smiled and led you through the house into the kitchen, handing you a red solo cup. “It’s gonna be fun, loosen up.”
She filled your cup with a mysterious red substance. You eyed her momentarily before smelling it, your nose burning immediately. “Holy shit,” you breathed out. “What is this?”
Nancy shrugged. “Gotta try it to find out.” She raised her cup to you and the two of you toasted.
You placed the cup to your lips and took a large gulp. It burned like fire down your throat and you felt it make its way down into your stomach.
You coughed, covering your mouth with your arm. “Jeez, Nance.”
She didn’t seem to have any sort of reaction which was beyond you.
Tina came over a moment later. “Hey guys,” she greeted with a smile. You flashed her a small smile as Nancy said hello. “We’re playing truth or dare in the den if you two want to join.”
You went to decline, but Nancy spoke sooner. “Yes! We’ll be there!”
“Perfect! I'll round up a few more people.”
Tina turned on her heel and walked away. You turned to Nancy. “What the hell?! I don’t wanna play that shit!”
“Yeah you do,” Nancy said, grabbing your wrist and dragging you into the den.
A few people were already in the room. It was a little quieter in there as in comparison to the rest of the house where larger crowds were.
You and Nancy took a seat on the couch. More people filed in, some joining on the couch, and others sitting spread out on the floor. You all surrounded the small coffee table at the center of the room.
Tina had walked in moments later and two people trailed behind her, catching your eye.
Robin Buckley
And much to your dismay…
Steve Harrington.
God, you hated him.
You graduated together that year and he was a total asshole. Or rather, that’s the impression you were under. He played basketball all four years and he was pretty damn good at it, you had to admit. He was confident and cocky, bagging any girl he so desired. He had pride, too much pride and it made you sick. You couldn’t figure out why Robin Buckley of all people hung around him so much.
You never spoke to one another, caught up in your own crowds and own worlds. But you knew of each other’s existence because no one in Hawkins didn’t know who King Steve or the Chief's daughter was.
Steve caught you staring and he smirked at you, eyes slowly dropping down to scan your face and body. You rolled your eyes and turned away.
Tina set down a few shot glasses and a couple of bottles of alcohol before clasping her hands together to explain the rules. “Okay, so,” she began. “Rules are simple. Truth or dare and if you don’t want to answer the question or do the dare, you have to take a shot. Everyone got it?”
You all nodded.
“Okay,” she chirped, drawing out the word. She tapped her chin and turned to Carol. “Truth or dare?”
You were already bored despite the game just having started. Tina asked Carol a question about Tommy H., something about whether or not they were a thing, you weren’t too sure because you weren’t listening.
You were staring at the floor, tapping your foot against the floor to the rhythm of a song you heard earlier at the party. You didn't hear what Carol said in response that earned such loud gasps and you weren’t too sure you wanted to.
You were so fixated on the floor and your own imagination that you hadn’t noticed Steve glancing over at you every now and then as the game went on. He was slightly intrigued by the fact that you were so quiet and didn’t seem interested in any part of the game.
God, he thought you were weird as shit.
It was now Robin’s turn to choose someone. She hummed before turning to Steve, pulling him from his thoughts. “Steve,” she said and he side eyed her. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Steve said without hesitation.
Robin tapped her lower chin as she thought. Something devious flickered behind her eyes as she smiled. “I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room.”
Steve’s eyes lingered around the room. Almost every girl in the room looked at him with anticipation in hopes of him choosing them.
Even after graduation, every teenage girl in Hawkins wanted Steve Harrington. He was known to mess around with girls every now and then. He never had anything serious.
With that in mind, you always wondered why so many girls wanted him knowing he had a reputation for never being into something serious.
What made them think they’d be any different?
He was taking his sweet time to decide.
You let out an annoyed sigh and crossed your arms, leaning further back into the couch.
That’s when his eyes landed on you, lingering a little longer.
You didn’t even notice. You were busily messing with the little bracelet on your wrist.
Steve stood up suddenly and everyone watched him as he rounded the coffee table. The girls he passed watched in defeat.
You finally looked up and noticed his eyes were locked on you as he approached.
You furrowed your brows. Was he…no. No. No fucking way. No way Steve Harrington would ever-
Your own thoughts were cut off as he leaned down, cupping your face with both hands.
You went to ask what the actual fuck he was doing, but it was too late.
His lips crashed onto yours as a wave crashed into the shore at high tide.
Everyone gasped. Even Nancy.
Steve Harrington kissing the Chief’s daughter who was a renowned outcast just a week ago in high school.
And now she’d end up one of the most envied girls in town.
You moaned into his mouth at the unexpected contact and as soon as you did so, his tongue dipped into your mouth.
He tilted his head slightly and hummed against your lips, the vibration, much to your dismay, sending a volt of electricity through you.
He took his hands off of your face and placed them onto the back of the couch as he kissed you deeper, which you didn’t even think was possible.
His lips moved against yours like a man hungry for more.
You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the bit of alcohol coursing through your veins. Maybe it was the fact that this was the best kiss you’d ever had.
But you kissed him and he groaned, smiling against your mouth.
Nancy was still beside you and her jaw was dropped, eyes wide.
What the fuck was going on?
King Steve making out with the weird Hopper girl.
What alternate timeline did she end up in?
Steve pulled away to catch his breath. Your noses were inches apart.
You looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted as you breathed heavily, face flushed.
“Hottest girl in all of Hawkins,” he murmured, just low enough for you to hear.
You faltered for a second but it didn’t go unnoticed by Steve. “This doesn’t mean anything, Harrington.”
He smirked.
“Sure it doesn’t.”
That was the first incident.
The second occurred a few days later when you were at work.
You topped off a cup of black coffee, sliding it over the counter to the older man who thanked you. He was a regular and you knew his order by heart. Black coffee with three shots of espresso.
You told him to have a great day before returning to the cash register to take another order. “Hi, how can I help-”
You cut yourself off, narrowing your eyes. “Harrington? What are you doing here?”
Steve stood tall, black sunglasses on his face concealing his eyes. He smiled at you. “Can’t a guy come get a drink?”
“Not if you’re you.”
You knew everyone who came into the coffee shop. Steve wasn’t one of them. You weren’t so sure he ever set foot in there until now.
“That’s no way to speak to a paying customer,” he teased, taking his sunglasses off and putting them on top of his head. He leaned over the counter, a few inches away from your face. “Especially after he gave you the best makeout of your life two days ago,” he murmured.
Your eyes widened as you stepped back, your cheeksflushed pink. “You’re ridiculous,” you scoffed, trying to conceal your nervousness.
“You liked it,” he said plainly, palms still on the counter. “You definitely still think about it. You’ve never been kissed that good in your life.”
“That’s presumptuous of you.”
“Not presumptuous if it’s true.”
You stood there for a second with your arms crossed over your chest as you stared at him with narrowed eyes.
That stupid smirk on his face made you want to slap him.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, titling his head slightly.
You rolled your eyes with a scoff. “Are you gonna order or just antagonize me, Harrington?”
“I see no harm in both.”
You couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.
“You are ludicrously annoying.”
“And you are ridiculously hot.”
You raised your brows. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“That’s presumptuous of you,” he mocked.
“Not presumptuous if it’s true.”
Steve couldn’t help but to smile with all teeth. He didn’t expect you to have such a radiant personality. In fact, he wasn’t so sure what he was expecting because he never once spoke to you. Not like this. “I’m having a few friends over tonight for a kickback.”
“Cool,” you said dryly.
“You should come.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re gonna be there.”
“Aww, too nervous to see me again?”
You laughed. A genuine laugh. You shook your head, glancing down at your shoes then back up at him. “You’re hilarious.”
Steve finally stood up straight. “Come on. You can even bring Nance.”
You furrowed your brows. “Why do you want me there anyway?”
“Because unlike you, I can be honest about my feelings.” You tilted your head slightly. “That was the best makeout I’ve ever had in my life and I wanna do it again.”
“Oh, so you were projecting.”
“Yes.”
You didn’t understand how someone could be so bold, but then again, you were talking to Steve Harrington.
“So, are you in or are you out?” he asked.
“I’m out.”
“No, you’re in.”
Your lips curved upwards into an amused smile.
That makeout with Steve was quite nice…and…what would be the harm in doing it again?
Besides, it didn’t mean anything, and you were leaving for college at the end of the summer anyway. You could just pack up and forget about this…fling you were about to get yourself into.
“Fine.”
Steve flashed you a smile as he walked backwards towards the door. “My house. Ten. Don’t be late.”
You threw your arms in the air, a perplexed expression drawn across your features. “I thought you were gonna order?”
“No, just came to antagonize you,” he said with a wink.
You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the counter as you watched him go. Steve Harrington confused you. This whole time you thought he was an asshole, which could be true, but…for some strange reason a part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so bad.
You rang the doorbell to his house at 10:32, Nancy by your side.
Nancy had a small smile on her face as she nodded slowly. “So, Steve Harrington, huh?”
You turned to her with furrowed brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before she could answer, Steve answered the door in seconds with a bright smile. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”
You averted your gaze from Nancy, looking up to Steve as he leaned casually against the doorframe. Your eyes scanned over him and you smirked slightly at the blunt tucked stupidly behind his ear. “Yeah, well, my dad still thinks I’m a little kid, so I had to sneak out,” you said with a light shrug.
Steve snorted and motioned for you and Nancy to come inside.
There were a few people in the house and a couple scattered outside, which was where he led you.
Nancy walked off after finding Jonathan, which left you and Steve.
You were both sat at the pool chairs, the summer night breeze blowing your hair gently and Steve couldn’t help but to notice that you were indeed very pretty under the moonlight.
Steve grabbed a can of beer and a pocket knife. He cut the bottom of the can and he chugged the drink swiftly. Once he was done, he set the empty can down and lit the blunt that was tucked behind his ear. He leaned back and groaned, flexing his bicep and side eyeing you.
Your lips curved upward, a very amused laugh leaving your mouth. “Was that supposed to impress me, Harrington?”
He blinked. “You’re not?” he asked, the blunt still caught between his lips.
You laughed. “Not in the slightest bit.”
Steve hummed and took a drag of his blunt. He handed it to you and you took a hit before giving it back.
“So,” he began casually, taking another drag of the blunt. “What are your plans for the summer?”
You hummed and shrugged a little. “Dunno, really,” you admitted honestly. “Last summer in his shit hole until I leave for college.”
“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded, smoke coming from his mouth. “You’re, uh, you’re like super smart. Where are you going again?”
Steve didn’t know you very well and you didn’t know him well either. You always thought he was a piece of shit who just wanted to get into every other girl’s pants. Which, you figured, was probably the case with you, but you didn’t necessarily care. It was your last summer in this town and you’d be off to start your own life in college.
But you couldn’t help but to wonder…did he always talk to girls like this? Ask them about their plans and tell them how smart they were?
“UC Berkeley,” you told him.
He raised his brows. “Oh, shit. You’re moving all the way to California?”
You nodded with an excited smile. “Yep. Indiana is just not for me.”
As much as you loved your small town and tight knit community, it drove you crazy knowing that there were much larger cities and millions upon billions of new people to meet.
Hell, it drove you crazy to know that some people got to live on or near the beach. So of course, you chose one of the most prestigious universities right on the beach.
Steve hummed. “Are you going to stay in California after college?”
You shrugged. “I’m not sure, maybe.”
“Wow, you really hate Hawkins, huh?” Steve joked.
“I don’t necessarily hate Hawkins,” you laughed. “I just…don’t really think there’s anything here for me.”
Steve hummed again and took one last hit of his blunt before offering you more. You declined and he put it out.
“Well,” he smirked, leaning in towards you, your noses just inches apart. Your breath hitched as you froze. “I’m gonna miss that pretty face of yours,” he murmured.
His lips ghosted over yours and your body hated the way he teased you. His lips went up to your ear. “Wanna go to my room?” he whispered.
You nodded and he led you back inside, though the house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom.
As soon as the door was shut, his lips were on yours, moving with just as much need and desire as they did two days ago.
He pushed you against the door and you gasped, giggling against his lips.
He smiled and caught your lips in between laughs.
If you would’ve told yourself two days ago that you’d be giggling and bumping noses while kissing Steve, you would’ve lost it. Completely lost it and maybe burned down the entire town.
Yet, there you were.
Steve’s hands found their place on your hips and he guided you to his bed. You sat down and he sat beside you, your lips never parting.
His hands slid down to your thighs and he lifted you up to straddle his waist. Your knees were on opposite sides of his waist, hands wrapped around his neck and he kissed you deeper, his hands squeezing your hips gently.
He pulled apart, the room filling with the sound of your breaths catching. He leaned back in, this time kissing down your jaw. He inched his way down to your neck and your breath shuttered, a soft sound coming from your mouth that made him groan quietly against your warm skin.
His lips trailed down to your neck and you moaned softly when he started to suck on your skin.
He smirked and his grip on you tightened.
And that…
That was the start of something so painfully detrimental yet exhilarating.
That was the start of Steve seeing you for you and you seeing Steve for Steve.
Maybe you weren’t just ‘the Chief’s’ weird daughter.
And maybe he wasn’t just the asshole ‘King Steve’.
You climbed through your window, your feet hitting the wooden floor with a soft thump.
You walked over to the light switch and flicked the light on. You turned around and jumped, almost falling to the floor.
“Jeez, El!” you whisper shouted. “What are you doing?!”
She was sitting on the edge of your bed in her purple pajamas, her eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest. “Where did you go?”
You eyed her for a moment. “Out.”
“With who?”
“What is this, fifty questions?”
“I only asked two.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh…”
You let out a small laugh. “I went to a kickback.”
El hummed and stared at your neck. Her pointer finger lifted up. “What is that?”
You furrowed your brows and walked over to your vanity mirror.
That little shit.
“I burned myself,” you lied, turning around with a fake smile.
El crossed her arms over her chest. “You lie. Why do you lie?”
“It’s true!” you exclaimed, far too high in pitch.
El stared at you. “I will figure out what you lie about.” El hopped off of your bed and headed for your door. “Told Hop that you were with Nancy,” she said before opening your door. She went to leave but stopped in the doorframe and looked at you over her shoulder. “He will be very upset if he knows you were not there.”
You narrowed your eyes at her, arms crossing over your chest. “What are you insinuating?”
El shrugged. “Tell me everything and he does not have to know.”
Your lips parted slightly. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“Yes.”
You scoffed. “I’m not telling you shit and you’re not telling Dad shit either. Because if you do,” you said, tone dropping as you walked up to her, staring her down. “I’ll tell him about all the times I covered for you and Mike.”
El’s jaw tightened as she stared at you. You covered for her more times than you could and she covered for you. She so desperately wanted to know who you were with. She was your nosy little sister and he’d do whatever it took to get to the bottom of it.
“I will figure out what you lie about,” she repeated before turning on her heel and walking to her room.
“Ahoy ladies! Are you ready to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, I’m Steve Harrington.”
Robin was watching Steve theatrically serve a group of girls ice cream. She leaned against the back counter, her arms crossed over her chest.
Steve handed the last girl a scoop of vanilla ice cream before turning around to face Robin with a bright smile.
He let out a sigh. “Ah…” he exaggerated. “Today is a great day, wouldn’t you agree? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and most importantly, Steve Harrington is one more step closer to getting laid all summer long.”
Robin scrunched her nose. “Gross, dude,” she gagged. The girl then realised what he said and tilted her head slightly. “Wait a minute,” she began, realization written all over her face. “You’ve had flings before, so why are you so chirpy about this one?”
Steve’s demeanor fell. “What? I’m always the same no matter who the fling is.”
Robin narrowed her eyes at him. “No you’re not. You’re never this happy.” Her lips curved upward. “Who is it?”
Now it was Steve’s turn to cross his arms over his chest. “Pfttt. No one.”
Robin started to name off random chicks from the party and he said no to each and everyone one.
Your name then fell from her lips and she noticed the way he just barely faltered. “Aha!”
“No! No! It’s not-”
“It is her!”
“No!”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Robin laughed. Her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, I started this! It’s because you made out at the party!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay fine,” he admitted. Robin flashed him a triumphant smile. “But it’s just like, uh…like, a fling. Nothing more. She’s leaving for college at the end of the summer anyway.”
Robin smirked. “I never asked if it was anything more.”
Steve opened his mouth to say something but he stopped.
“Do you want it to be something more?” she pried.
Steve scoffed. “Hell no. She’s so weird. Hottest girl I’ve seen, but weird.”
Robin furrowed her brows. “How is she weird?”
Steve shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know. She’s into comic books and weird shit like that?”
Robin raised her brows, slight annoyance in her tone. “So…she’s weird because she reads comics?”
Steve nodded affirmatively. “Yes.”
Robin let out a loud laugh and Steve furrowed his brows. “Holy shit,” she breathed out after noticing that he wasn’t laughing along. “You’re fucking serious?”
“Uh…yeah?”
“You’re an idiot. Like, an insanely stupid idiot,” Robin ridiculed him.
Steve scoffed. “How?”
“That’s how. You literally need me to explain to you like a child how what you just said out loud is ridiculous!”
Steve put his hands up in defense. “It’s whatever. It’s just a-”
“Just a summer fling, yeah I know,” Robin interrupted. “I’m just saying, you need to stop being so…you.”
“Me?”
“Yes!”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Stop making hasty generalizations,” Robin said. “Just because she’s a little nerdy doesn’t mean she’s the biggest weirdo on the planet.”
“Yes it does.”
Robin sighed, her palm coming up to her face. “You’re helpless…”
You were over at the Wheeler residence, laying on your back in Nancy’s bed.
“How was Steve last night?”
You shot up from the bed and nearly choked on your spit. Nancy was sitting at her desk, painting her nails as if she hadn’t just asked the most insane question known to man.
“Sorry?”
“Steve. Last night. I saw you go upstairs with him.”
You laughed awkwardly. “That was just…we…I mean….”
Nancy stopped painting her ring finger and put the cap pack on the polish bottle. She turned around and gave you that stern look a mother gives her misbehaving child. “You stuttering and getting all nervous tells me all I need to know.”
“We didn’t hookup or anything!” you defended yourself. “We just…kissed.”
“Kissed?”
“And like…touched.”
“Touched?”
“Yes.”
Nancy’s brows were raised in amusement. “Do you want to hookup with him?”
“No!”
“That’s a yes.”
You scoffed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “He’s just fun to kiss. And touch.”
“So, is he like, a summer fling or do you want to actual be with-”
“No way in hell!” you exclaimed. “Are you insane?! Do I wanna be with him?” you scoffed.
Nancy raised her brows. “Just asking.”
“He’s like a total dud!”
“I didn’t ask that.”
“And he’s so dumb! The dumbest person I’ve ever met!”
“And yet…” Nancy trailed off, tilting her head slightly. “You kiss him?”
You couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “Yeah ‘cause he’s a good kisser.”
Nancy laughed and returned to painting her nails. “As long as you both know it’s just a summer fling. I don’t want you getting hurt by King Steve.”
You scrunched your nose. “King Steve,” you scoffed. “I’d never.”
In your mind, only an idiot would ever get played by Steve Harrington. You knew the type of guy he was. You knew what relationship you two had formed. And you sure as hell knew that there was no way you two could ever or would ever be together.
It was late at night and you were lying in bed on your stomach. Freshly showered with your favorite pajamas on, you lit a small candle and cracked open a new comic.
You kicked your legs up and played with the ends of your hair as you read through the panels.
Tap tap.
You whipped your head to your window.
Your eyes were about to pop out of your head.
You got up and opened your window and without even saying a word, Steve hoisted himself inside with ease.
“Steve!” you whisper shouted. “Are you insane?!”
It had been a few days since you last saw Steve and here he was, sneaking into your bedroom.
He landed on your bedroom floor quietly, as if it wasn’t his first time sneaking into a girl’s room. “Maybe a little,” he said with a smirk.
He looked around your room. You had posters all over the wall, cute little polaroids of you and your friends and family. You had a few little stuffed animals on your bed and Steve immediately smiled.
“Awww,” he cooed, walking over to your bed as if he had owned the place. He picked up a little stuffed deer. “So cute,” he teased, holding it up. “You sleep with all these?”
You looked at him with disbelief. “Give me that.” You reached for the stuffed deer, but he held it up above your head and you rolled your eyes. “Why are you in my room?”
Steve shrugged, that stupid smile on his face. “I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
Steve moved the stuffed deer in front of his face. His hazel eyes peered over the little deer’s head as he looked at you sheepishly. “Because you’re a good kisser.”
You hummed and smirked at him.
He eyed you up and down and put the stuffed animal down. “Cute pajamas.”
You glanced down at your clothes. A baggy X-Men t-shirt and the tiniest pink shorts.
You looked back up at him. “I look like a bum.”
“It’s kinda cute.”
You looked away in an attempt to hide your smile from him. You climbed back into bed and grabbed your comic, ignoring him. You sat with your back against the headboard.
Seconds later, the side of your bed dipped. You side eyed Steve as he sat beside you. That goddamn smile…
“So first you climb into my window. Then, you take my stuffed animal off my bed, and now, you’re just gonna make yourself real comfortable in my bed?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
You scoffed and your eyes diverted back to your comic.
Steve stared at you for a moment, trying to understand you. He never had a girl in his life act the way you did towards him.
It was intriguing.
He looked away and looked at some of the pictures on your wall. You had a bunch of photos with El, a few with Nancy, and a few with your dad.
You had photos from school, vacations, and even from just around the house.
One picture stood out in particular to Steve.
It was a little polaroid of just you.
You had a pink lily in your hand and you wore one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen. He thought you looked pretty.
The sound of you turning the page in your comic snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his attention back to you.
“Can you stop staring at me?”
Steve sat straighter. “I’m not staring at you.”
“Uh huh. Sure.”
“We should play a game,” Steve suggested.
“No,” you replied, turning the page in your comic.
“Why no-”
“Shhh,” you shushed him, pressing your index finger to his lips. “I’m reading.”
You removed your finger from his lips and he eyed you intently. “What are you even reading?”
“Secret Wars.”
Steve didn’t know what the hell that even meant. He just didn’t understand how you could so easily be entertained by literal pictures.
“So you’d rather look at pictures than be highly entertained by me.”
“Not so sure how you’re highly entertaining so…yes.”
Steve smirked, leaning a little closer. “I can be entertaining in many ways.”
You raised a brow and finally looked over at him. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. He leaned a little closer, nose bushing yours. “Why don’t you find out?”
“Why don’t I not?” you replied, leaning away from him and looking back down at your comic.
His eyes widened and he didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. “Are you serious?” he scoffed. You didn’t respond, turning the page in your comic book. Steve saw the slight smirk on your lips. You were clearly messing with him and he was clearly into it.
He smirked and leaned into your neck, lips kissing gently at your skin.
You shifted awkwardly, your breath shuttering. “Steve,” you whined quietly as he started to kiss the spot that he learned you liked the day you came by his house. He ignored you, smiling to himself. “Steve…”
“What?” he asked, playfulness in his tone. “Thought your book was more entertaining than me?” he asked, lifting his head to meet your gaze.
You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. “It is.”
“Then act like it.”
He leaned back down and began kissing at your skin again. He was moving slowly and deliberately. It was driving you insane.
You tossed your comic aside and leaned in to kiss him. He immediately melted into it with a low moan.
He pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, his lips never parting from yours.
His fingers slid up under your shirt and you whimpered against his lips.
One hand stayed splayed on your stomach and the other trailed up your thigh.
Inching closer…
And closer…
And closer until his fingers were dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.
“Steve,” you whispered, breathless. “Are you insane?!”
“Do you not want you?” he asked, eyes scanning your face looking for any sign of disapproval.
“No, I- I want to,” you reassured him. “Just, not now. Not here. My dad and sister are home.”
Something about what you said only turned Steve on more.
He smirked. “Guess we’ll have to be extra quiet then.”
His fingers slid under your shorts and you immediately let out a loud moan.
Steve’s hand cupped over your mouth and his eyes went wide. “Are you insane?!” he whisper-shouted.
Your eyes went wide too, shocked to have been so responsive.
It was quiet as you both listened to hear if anyone else in the house heard.
It was silent.
He slowly removed his hand from your mouth and he smirked. “Barely even touched you and you’re already a mess,” he teased.
You rolled your eyes. “Shut the fuck up Harring- oh…oh, shit.”
The next morning, you were sat at the small table having breakfast with El and your dad.
El was staring at you with narrowed eyes and you were staring back at her. A silent threat.
Hopper glanced between the two of you and set his fork down. “What the hell are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” you both deadpanned at the same time, eyes locked on one another as you took a bite of your waffles.
Hopper rolled his eyes. “Can you guys stop staring at each other like a bunch of weirdos?”
“I know what you did last night,” El mouthed to you.
“Shut the fuck up you little shit,” you mouthed back.
“I am not speaking,” she mouthed.
Hopper looked between you two and slammed his fork down on the table. “What is going on?!”
“Nothing!” you both exclaimed at the same time.
You took an aggressive bite of your waffle off of your fork and El slurped on her orange juice louder than necessary, both of your eyes never leaving one another.
Hopper groaned and wiped his mouth on a napkin, excusing himself from the table before going into his room to finish getting ready for work.
Meanwhile, you and El were in the kitchen. You were washing dishes as she dried them.
“I am onto you,” she whispered.
You glared at her, scrubbing a plate harder than necessary. “You’re onto nothing.”
“I know you and Steve are doing weird stuff. Last night I could hear it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflected, though, you were slightly concerned about the fact that she knew it was Steve.
How the hell had she known that?
“Max taught me about happy screams. That is what I heard.”
You dropped the plate back into the sink and looked at her with wide eyes. “Okay, first of all, there was no screaming, second of all-”
“Yeah huh,” El interrupted you. “You are so loud. I am surprised Dad did not hear you.”
Your jaw dropped as you stood frozen, like a deer in headlights. El snickered and began to tease you like a primary school child.
“Oh, Steve! Oh my-! Steve!”
So that’s how she knew it was Steve…
You flicked water on her and she only giggled. “Steve this! Steve that!”
You clammed a hand full of soapy water onto her mouth and she finally shut up. “Okay I get it!” you whisper-shouted. “Just shut up before Dad hears.”
You moved your hand away from her mouth and she gagged, wiping her mouth with a paper towel from the roll, spitting into the sink dramatically. “Gross! You got soap in my mouth!”
“Good. Maybe you’ll shut it next time.”
You spent the entire day with El, bickering back and forth about Steve as she pried for more information.
Once she realized you wouldn’t let anything slip, she gave up and made you spend the day making bracelets with her and watching old movies.
That night, you were about to go to bed when the landline in your room rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Steve?”
You were taken back.
He chuckled. “Yeah. What are you doing?”
You leaned back against your headboard. “About to go to sleep.”
You expected him to say something like ‘without me’ or something else perverse.
Because he’d spent a week trying to get into your pants and he did. And the night that he did, you both agreed to just be friends with benefits.
Surely, neither of you would end up falling for one another…surely.
“Oh…” he trailed off.
You furrowed your brows. “What?”
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Kind of.”
He laughed. “How was your day?”
Now, you were truly taken back. He was actually curious about your whereabouts? And why was he asking so many questions? Why did it seem like he actually wanted to talk to you?
And why was this so…awkward?
“Hmm…okay. Hung out with my sister.” For some reason you cringed at yourself. Why’d you cringe? Why’d you wish you didn’t sound so awkward. Why’d you care what he thought? “What about you?” you asked quickly before your own thoughts made you spiral.
Steve sighed and you could hear him shifting in what you assumed was his own bed. “Work. Kinda boring.”
You hummed and it was painfully silent for a beat.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Steve asked, breaking the silence.
You went quiet for a moment before responding. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s go skating.”
You furrowed your brows, fingers wrapping around the phone cord. So…Steve didn’t want to hookup…?
What the hell was going on?
Your mind circled round and round, wondering one too many things at once. You were under the impression that you two would only ever meet up to hookup and nothing more. You never thought he’d ask you to hangout with him like you were one of his friends or…or something far worse.
His girlfriend.
“You there?” he asked when you didn’t respond.
“Yeah, sorry,” you laughed awkwardly. “I uhm…do uh…do friends with benefits do that?”
Steve hummed. “Totally. We’re friends, hence the word is in the name friends with benefits. It’s summer, you know, summer fling. We could hang out,” he said confidently. “Unless you don’t want-”
“No, no, I do,” you reassured him. “Just…wanna make sure we’re clear on what we are.”
You couldn’t see Steve, but he was leaning back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “We’re uh…friends,” he said. “Friends who make out and hookup sometimes.”
You sucked your teeth, leaning down into your bed into the same position as Steve. You back against the mattress and eyes staring at the ceiling. “And when the summer ends?”
Steve was quiet for a beat, the quiet hum of the telephone filling your ear.
“Then, we end.”
The following morning you told your dad that you were going to hang out with Nancy. El had her eyes narrowed at you. She knew you were up to no good, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it as soon as humanly possible.
Regardless, you met Steve at the skating rink.
He said he’d pay for your skates and when you insisted that you could do it, he did it anyway.
You sat by one another on a bench as you tied the laces to your skates.
“Can I be honest?” you asked, tying off your left skate.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know how to skate.”
Steve whipped his head to you, a look of pure disbelief on his face. “What? You can’t skate?”
You shook your head. “No.”
“That’s like, a basic life skill.”
You giggled. “No it’s not!”
“Uh, yeah! It is!”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faltered. “I’ll just use one of those stupid skate aid things.”
Steve laughed. “Or, you could use me.”
You turned to him with raised brows. “What?”
Truth be told, ‘use me’, sounded a little dirty in your immature mind.
“You heard me,” he said. “I’ll help you skate.” He tied off the lace on his skate and stood up, extending his arm out to you. “Come on.”
For some strange reason, your cheeks flushed as you reached for his hand. He helped you stand up and almost slipped, catching yourself and looking at him with wide eyes.
“You’re like a baby deer,” Steve laughed. “You can’t even stand up straight.”
“Because I’m standing on literal wheels!”
Steve smiled. “You got it,” he encouraged. You hated the way it made your heart skip a beat.
He held onto your hand as he led you over to the rink. You wobbled on the skates and he looked back at you with a small snicker.
You both made your way to the edge of the rink and he stepped onto the wooden floor, taking your other hand into his free one, so now he was holding both of your hands.
He stood facing you with that stupid goddamn smile. “Okay, step onto the floor.”
You lifted your left leg and placed it onto the slippery floor, your foot slipping. You let out a gasp as you nearly ended up in the splits but you caught yourself, squeezing Steve’s hands.
He hated the way your hands fit perfectly into his. The way you held onto him. The way your soft hands felt on his.
He had felt your hands on his before, but in a lustful, desire ridden way.
This was the first time your hands were enveloped in his in an intimate way. And the feeling was strange. He wasn’t sure if he liked it because why the hell would he feel anything for the girl he thought was weird his whole life?
You looked down at your feet as you placed your right leg onto the floor.
As you did so, Steve’s eyes never left your face. He noticed the way your nose scrunched as you smiled. The way your eyes sparkled as you watched your own two feet. The faintest smile line that was forming on the side of your mouth.
Your gaze met his once you stood fully on the floor. You both stared at one another before he awkwardly cleared his throat.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He couldn’t take the feeling, whatever that might’ve been.
Yes, he was the one to initiate this hangout, and when he hung up the phone, he realized what he had done. He wanted to hangout with you. He wanted to get to know you better.
But why?
He couldn’t understand why.
“Let’s go,” he said, snapping you out of the moment.
He skated backwards, dragging you along with him.
You looked down at your skates, the wheels rolling as Steve dragged you along. You giggled, making Steve laugh as well.
“It’s fun, right?” he asked.
You nodded. “I mean, I’m just getting dragged around in a giant circle,” you laughed, cheeks hurting from smiling too much.
Why the hell were you smiling so much?
“Oh. I’ll just let go then,” Steve teased, letting go of one of your hands.”
“Wait!” you exclaimed, reaching for his other hand again.
He smirked, squeezing your hand. “I’ve got you.”
Somewhere in between your smiles, the loud music, and flashing lights, you two got lost in your own world.
So lost, that you had in fact not seen that your sister and her friends showed up.
“Holy shit!” Max exclaimed, holding her skates. “Is that your sister and Steve Harrington?!”
El furrowed her brows, looking to where Max was.
And there you and Steve were. Holding hands and laughing as he dragged you around.
El’s jaw dropped. “I knew it!”
Dustin scoffed loudly. “He never told me about this!”
Will’s brows pressed together. “Since when were they a thing?”
“Right?” Lucas said. “I mean, they don’t make any sense.”
Max shrugged. “I know. Could just be a summer fling,” she suggested.
Mike scrunched his nose. “That’s disgusting.”
El blinked. “What is a summer fling?”
“It’s a relationship with no strings attached,” Max explained. “So, you just hookup all summer long except, you’re not together.”
“Hookup?”
“It’s just…you kiss. A lot.”
El tilted her head slightly. “Why would you not just be boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Dustin rolled his eyes. “Steve’s got a big ego and so does your sister. He doesn’t think he’d ever fall for a girl like her and she doesn’t think she’d ever fall for a boy like him.”
Will nodded in agreement. “They’ve got too much pride.”
Lucas furrowed his brows. “How the hell could you go a whole summer acting like a couple just to act like it never happened after? If that happened to Max and I, I’d just die from a heartbreak.”
“I wouldn’t,” Max said, earning a shocked look from Lucas. “Though…I would feel horrible,” she admitted with a small smile.
El watched in confusion as you laughed at something Steve said and his eyes looking at you like you were holding the fucking moon.
She just didn’t understand why you couldn’t see what she saw.
You both clearly liked each other.
Scoops was slow despite it being midday in the wake of June. Robin was in the back on her break while Steve sat on the counter at the front, talking to her through the open window.
“I mean, it was insane, Robin,” he went on.
Robin gagged and dropped her head against the table. “Can you, like, not talk about your sex life at work?”
“Sorry,” Steve apologized sheepishly, bringing his legs up to sit criss crossed. “And she had all these little stuffed animals on her bed. It was cute,” he went on.
Robin lifted her head up in an instant. “You think she’s cute?”
Steve opened his mouth yet, nothing came out. His slight hesitation made Robin raise a brow. “No. I- I mean the animals on her bed were cute.”
Robin’s lips curved upward.
“What, Robin?” Steve groaned.
“Nothing.”
“Yes, yes something. You’re smiling.” Robin shrugged her shoulders, her smile never faltering. “I don’t- she’s not-” Steve scrambled over his own words. Robin raised her brows. “I mean the animals are cute, not her!”
Robin nodded. “Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
“Exactly.”
“Totally.”
Steve looked away from Robin as she continued to look at him with a smile.
“Ahoy!”
Steve looked up and saw none other than Dustin Henderson standing at the counter. He rang the bell twice with a small smile.
Steve hopped off of the counter. “What’s up man?”
“Oh, nothing,” Dustin sighed. “Just…well…you never told me you had a girl.”
Robin lifted her head slightly to get a better look at what was going on.
Steve furrowed his brows. “Uh…yeah. I don’t have a girl.”
Dustin narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Well then why were you out on a date with the Chief’s daughter?”
Steve’s eyes widened as Robin snickered in the back. “You little shit, were you spying on me?”
Dustin rolled his eyes. “You just so happened to be at the skating rink at the very same time I wound up there. I have no interest in what you do in your spare time,” Dustin scoffed.
Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Obviously you do since you’re interrogating me about some girl I was hanging out with.”
Dustin pursed his lips and held a finger up. “Except it isn’t just ‘some girl’. It’s the Chief’s daughter. The girl you despised in high school.” He leaned his palms against the counter. “What is even going on between you two?”
Steve glanced around, leaning over the counter too with his voice lowered. “Look, it’s just for the summer. We fling and then forget it ever happened.”
Dustin’s lips parted slightly. “You’re an idiot.” Steve went to say something, but Dustin kept speaking. “You’re gonna fall in love with her,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Steve scoffed. “No I’m not.”
“Then why’d you take her out to skate?”
Now that got him. Usually his flings were just nothing but sexual. He never really took girls anywhere but the bedroom.
“Mind your business,” Steve mumbled before turning on his heel and walking into the back.
And that’s how it went for the rest of the summer. You and Steve doing most of the romantic things together.
Movie dates.
Diner dates.
Arcade dates.
The kids would notice and ask both of you in private why you wouldn’t just date. You’d both say it’s just a fling.
It had become routine by now.
Steve was back at Scoops, but not to work.
He was out with you.
Steve glanced into your little cup of ice cream with a scrunched nose. “Why do you have so many damn sprinkles?”
You looked inside your cup. Vanilla ice cream with one too many scoops of rainbow sprinkles. You shrugged. “‘Cause they’re fun,” you said, going to take another bite of your ice cream.
Steve watched you as his lips subconsciously curved upward into a smile. He thought you having rainbow sprinkles all over your ice cream was cute.
Not you, just the sprinkles, obviously.
You put your spoon back into the cup and glanced inside of his. It was something with too much chocolate. Chocolate ice cream. Chocolate fudge. Chocolate brownies. Everything chocolate was in it.
Now it was your turn to scrunch your nose. “What is all that?”
“Shit ton of chocolate,” he said.
“Yuck,” you grimaced. “There is such a thing as too much chocolate and I think that’s it.”
Steve chuckled and scooped some ice cream into his spoon. He lifted it up towards your mouth and you leaned away. “Try it,” he insisted. “It’s good.”
You eyed him suspiciously before leaning in and taking a bite of the ice cream. You hummed around the spoon as he pulled it from your mouth. Your eyes widened. “That is good.”
Steve shrugged. “Told ya. Better than that sprinkles crap you got going on over there,” he said, motioning to you with the spoon.
You scoffed and scooped some of your ice cream onto your spoon, raising it to his mouth. “Try it.”
He tried your ice cream and let out a sigh. “Mine’s better, without a doubt.”
Your eyes widened. “What?! No way!”
“Yes way. You might as well not order ice cream if that’s what you’re getting.”
The two of you bickered back and forth over ice cream flavors for what was way too long. Consumed in the ridiculous discussion, neither of you noticed the two kids peering around the corner of the entrance, eyes fixated on the two of you.
“Holy shit,” Max chuckled. “No way they’re out on a date again!” she whisper-shouted.
From beside her, Mike’s lips were parted. “Just wait until El finds out, she’s gonna lose it. I mean-”
Max swatted Mike. “Shh! I wanna hear what they’re talking about.”
You giggled as Steve spoke, waving his hands around. Something about some guy who kept coming in trying to use expired coupons for discounted ice cream.
Max blinked, wondering why you thought something so stupid was funny.
Unless, of course, you liked him back.
“And then-” Steve cut himself off, doing a double take and eyes landing on Max and Mike.
They both gasped, Max yanking Mike’s wrist as they disappeared around the wall, sinking to the floor as people passed them by.
“Do you think he saw us?” Mike asked.
“I totally saw you.”
They both slowly looked up, Steve standing before them with his hands on his hips. “What the hell are you guys doing?"
“We uh…” Mike trailed off. “We’re-”
“Shopping!” Max cut in with a laugh. What she said wasn’t entirely a lie. They were both there to shop until Mike swore he saw you and Steve inside of Scoops.
Steve narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “Uh huh. And you’re shopping by sitting on the floor outside of Scoops?”
Mike snorted. “We’re obviously tired from all the walking and needed a break.”
Steve reached for Mike and yanked him up by his collar, eyeing him intently. “Listen to me,” he began, a tone so serious it made Mike’s eyes widen. “I’m gonna-”
“Oh, hey Max. Mike.”
Steve turned around and saw you outside of Scoops with the three of them, a small smile on your face.
Max stood up and waved at you. “Hey! Mike and I were just shopping and needed a break from all the walking when your psycho boyfriend grabbed him by the collar of his shirt,” she explained, eyes darting between you and Steve to see how each of you would react.
Your face heated up and the thought and your eyes immediately went wide. “Oh, he’s not-”
Steve let go of Mike, running a hand through his hair. “She’s not-”
“It’s not like were-”
“We’re not together-”
“God, no!”
“We could never be a thing-”
“We are not a thing-”
“Exactly.”
“Not a couple.”
The two of you spoke over one another, finally finishing to look at Max and Mike. They looked at the two of you in disbelief.
“Oh…” Max trailed off. “See, I was under the impression you were together because you’re, like, always out on dates.”
“This is not a date!” you and Steve exclaimed at the same time.
“Right…” Mike trailed off. “Whatever you say,” he said with an exaggerated wink.
“What the hell does that mean?” Steve asked, growing slightly annoyed.
“You two obviously like each other but don’t want anyone to know because you’re both so stupid with so much pride.”
You and Steve froze, completely taken back by Mike’s words. Unfortunately, he was right. You two were stupid.
Steve looked down at his wrist as if to check a watch. “I’ve gotta go.”
“You literally don’t have a watch on,” Mike deadpanned.
You side eyed Steve and he glanced over to you, seeing if you had noticed, which you had.
“Right…” he trailed off. “I have to go.”
You reached to the floor and grabbed your shorts, pulling them up your legs and buttoning them back up. You grabbed your button up shirt and tossed it on, not bothering to button it yet as you reached for your socks.
Steve walked out the back into the bedroom in his boxers and a t-shirt. He watched as you slipped your socks over your feet.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. His eyes were fixated on you slipping your shoe on.
You could feel him looking at you and you froze. You turned to meet his gaze.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in. He shook his head. “Nothing, sorry.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do you have something to say?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked like a lost puppy meeting your gaze again. “I just…do you wanna, like, stay the night?”
You looked taken back. “Stay the night?”
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “Is that weird?”
“Well, we’ve just never done that before. We usually just leave.”
Steve nodded slowly, eyes not daring to meet yours. “I know…but, what if I don’t want you to leave? What if…what if I want you to stay?”
You blinked. “You want me to stay?”
Never once had you stayed the night at each other’s places before. You typically left and went on about your business, but now…now he wanted you to stay.
Maybe it was Mike’s words from a few days ago, maybe it was just him becoming conscious and realizing that perhaps what he was feeling was something more.
But he wanted you to stay.
It was just a matter of you setting your pride aside too and admitting, even it it was slightly staying, that you were feeling what he felt too.
Summary: Your relationship with Steve Harrington quickly becomes the public's new obsession. The thing is, you and Steve can't stand each other and the relationship between you is just another act.
Warnings: fake dating, enemies/frenemies with benefits, smut, character death, alcoholism, mentions of addiction, the ST characters were all on a teen show together, hatefucking, Daniel Harrington (he deserves his own warning), smoking, past Stancy, modern!AU, lots and lots of drama, no use of y/n for reader insert
A/N: I rediscovered an old novel idea and decided to rework it so I could finally write it. Steve and Sweetheart (aka actress!Reader) have been so fun to write and I'm excited to share their story with you!
I want to start writing fanfics but I’m scared no one is going to read it, I’m not the best writer, and idek how to start.
I feel like I have a pretty good imagination considering the fact that I’m maladaptive dreaming any chance I get. Which is not good for me so I feel like writing my thoughts out would help me big time.
m.list⋆˚࿔ summary ⁀➴ steveharrington x henderson!reader
➺ Steve Harrington never meant for it to become anything serious until she slowly became the center of every late night drive, lingering glance, and thought he couldn’t shut off. Meanwhile, she’s convinced he’s just naturally charming with everyone.
The first time Steve Harrington walks into your house, he’s bleeding from the forehead, arguing with Dustin, and carrying three grocery bags full of junk food like he’s been personally victimized by the existence of children.
“I’m serious,” Dustin complains, stomping into the kitchen ahead of him. “You cheated.”
“I did not cheat,” Steve argues immediately. “You just suck at arcade games.”
“You distracted me!”
“By existing?”
You look up from the counter where you’re cutting strawberries, already exhausted.
“Can one of you die quietly?”
Dustin gasps dramatically. “See? This is emotional abuse.”
Steve laughs at that.
He really laughs.
Head tipping back slightly, shoulders relaxing, the sound rough and easy and completely unguarded.
And for some reason, that’s the first thing he notices about you.
Not that you’re pretty—though you are.
Not even that you’re Dustin’s older sister.
He notices that you look at him like he’s normal. Like he’s just some guy standing in your kitchen bleeding onto the tile floor instead of Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High, owner of a reputation half the town already thinks they understand.
“Your face is gross,” you tell him casually.
“Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You know, most people are nicer to me.”
You shrug without looking up. “Most people want something from you.”
Dustin makes a loud choking sound while Steve just stares for a second.
Not offended. Not angry.
Surprised.
Then slowly, something amused curls into his expression.
“Ouch,” he says softly.
You hand him a dish towel. “Try not to drip blood everywhere, pretty boy.”
And that should’ve been it.
Really.
It should’ve stayed simple.
You were Dustin’s sister. Steve drove Dustin places sometimes. The kids dragged him around constantly now, which somehow meant he spent more time at your house than his own lately.
It wasn’t unusual after that for him to show up halfway through the afternoon carrying takeout or knocking against your window because Dustin forgot his backpack or slumping dramatically across your couch complaining about his day.
You didn’t think much of it.
Steve Harrington was charming with everyone.
That was just who he was.
He flirted with waitresses and cashiers and moms buying groceries. He smiled too easily. Leaned too close. Talked like every conversation was private even when it wasn’t.
You assumed none of it meant anything.
So when he starts aiming that attention toward you specifically, you barely react at all.
And unfortunately for Steve, that’s exactly what gets him.
At first, he thinks you’re funny.
That’s all.
He thinks it’s entertaining that you don’t care about his reputation. Entertaining that you roll your eyes when he flirts with you instead of blushing. Entertaining that when he sprawls across your bed stealing fries off your plate, you smack his hand away without hesitation.
“You know,” he says one evening, grinning lazily up at you from where he’s lying across your carpet, “you’re kinda mean to me.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
“Steve.”
“y/n...”
You snort despite yourself. He notices that too.
Steve notices everything about you long before he realizes it matters.
He notices you hum under your breath when you’re reading.
He notices you always leave the crusts of sandwiches behind.
He notices you tap your fingers against cups when you’re anxious.
He notices you reread the final pages of books before you finish them because you hate endings.
He notices you tuck strands of hair behind your ear when you’re lying.
He notices way too much.
And slowly, without meaning to, he starts looking for you first.
When he walks into your house, his eyes find you automatically.
When he hears your voice from another room, he listens.
He starts showing up even when Dustin isn’t home once or twice, pretending he forgot something.
“You know Dustin’s at Mike’s, right?” you ask the third time it happens.
Steve leans against your bedroom doorway, completely unashamed.
“Yeah.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “So why are you here?”
His smile turns crooked.
“Maybe I came to see you.”
You laugh immediately, not even looking up from your magazine.
“You use that line on everybody?”
And for some reason, that answer bothers him more than it should.
Because he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s different.
He doesn’t even understand why it’s different yet.
So instead, he shrugs and says lightly, “Only the pretty ones.”
You throw a pillow at his face.
He catches it easily, grinning.
That becomes your thing after that.
Banter. Constant banter.
Steve teasing you just to hear your reactions.
You insulting him without mercy while he acts deeply wounded by it.
He leans too close when he talks to you. You stop noticing how often your knees touch in the car. His hand starts finding the small of your back automatically when guiding you through crowds.
He grows comfortable around you in a way he hasn’t been with anyone in years.
It sneaks up on him slowly.
He starts measuring his days around whether he’ll see you.
He pretends he’s visiting for Dustin even though Dustin usually disappears upstairs within five minutes anyway, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen while summer storms rumble outside and the radio plays softly in the background.
“You’re staring again,” you tell him one night.
Steve blinks. “What?”
You glance at him over the rim of your soda can. “You do that.”
“Do what?”
“Zone out and stare at me like I said something life changing.”
His ears go slightly pink.
“Maybe you do.”
You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”
But Steve feels strangely embarrassed after that because the worst part is—you’re right.
He does stare. He stares because you fascinate him.
You move through the world so differently than the people he’s used to. You never perform for attention. Never flirt just to flirt. You talk to him like he’s a person instead of a story people tell about him.
And somewhere along the line, Steve stops flirting casually and starts flirting because he genuinely wants your attention.
The problem is, you don’t realize there’s been a shift.
You still think this is just Steve being Steve.
So when you mention other guys, you do it carelessly.
“This guy at work asked me out today,” you say absentmindedly one evening while sitting beside him on the hood of his car.
The Hawkins night air is warm. The grocery store parking lot glows gold under flickering lights. Steve’s cigarette burns between his fingers.
“Oh yeah?” he asks lightly.
“Mm hm.”
“You gonna say yes?”
You shrug. “Maybe. He’s cute.”
Steve smiles.
He even laughs a little.
“Cool.”
Inside, something ugly twists sharply in his chest. But he ignores it.
Because he’s Steve Harrington. He doesn’t get jealous.
He definitely doesn’t get jealous over a girl who still thinks he flirts with everybody.
Then you actually start dating people and Steve discovers he hates it.
The first time another guy picks you up from your house, Steve is sitting on the Henderson porch steps beside Dustin pretending not to watch.
“He looks like a douchebag,” Dustin mutters immediately.
Steve squints at the car. “Yeah,” he says before he can stop himself.
You laugh from the doorway. “You guys don’t even know him.”
“I know his face,” Steve says. “That’s enough for me.”
You roll your eyes affectionately before heading toward the car.
Steve watches the guy touch your lower back while opening the passenger door and suddenly feels irrationally angry for reasons he absolutely refuses to unpack.
He acts normal about it afterward though.
That’s the worst part.
He still teases you. Still drives you around. Still lounges across your bed talking about nonsense while you paint your nails.
He never says a word about the jealousy eating him alive.
You honestly don’t notice.
Because Steve’s always touching you anyway.
Always close. Always looking at you too long.
You assume he’s like this with everyone.
But then the hickey thing happens.
And afterward, nothing feels casual anymore.
You got home late that night. The house is quiet in the way only late summer nights are quiet. The television downstairs hums faintly from where your mom must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, and somewhere outside cicadas drone lazily in the dark.
Your bedroom window is open just enough for warm air to drift through the curtains.
You kick your shoes off near the door with a tired sigh, already reaching to pull your earrings out when there’s a soft thud from outside your window.
You don’t even jump anymore.
At this point, steve climbing through your bedroom window has somehow become normal.
He stumbles inside gracelessly, one hand gripping the frame while the other holds a VHS tape above his head triumphantly.
“There’s actually something deeply wrong with your family,” he whispers dramatically.
You glance at him through the mirror while unclasping your necklace.
“You came here at midnight for a movie?”
“No,” Steve says immediately. “I came here because Dustin accused you of stealing from him, and apparently I’m the designated problem solver now.”
You snort softly.
Steve kicks the window shut behind him and looks up properly for the first time.
And then he sees them. The marks scattered along your neck. Faint purple bruises disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt. Another just below your jaw.
His entire body goes still.
It’s almost physical, the feeling that hits him.
Like missing a step in the dark.
You don’t notice right away.
You’re still talking casually, fingers moving through your hair while you stand in front of the vanity mirror.
“He actually wasn’t terrible,” you admit with a small laugh. “Which honestly surprised me.”
Steve stares.
Not at your face.
At your neck.
At the evidence that someone touched you there.
Someone kissed you there.
Someone leaned close enough to leave marks on your skin like they belonged there.
His stomach twists so sharply it almost makes him nauseous.
Because suddenly he can see it too clearly.
Some random guy making you laugh.
That same guy touching your waist.
Leaning down toward you.
Your hands against somebody else’s shoulders.
And Steve hates it.
God, he hates it.
Not the guy specifically.
Not even the date.
Just the fact that somebody else got there first.
The fact that someone else touched you in places Steve has spent months carefully avoiding looking at for too long.
He swallows hard.
“Wow,” he says finally, though his voice sounds strange even to himself. “High praise.”
You laugh quietly.
“Right?”
Steve forces his eyes upward.
Your reflection catches his for half a second through the mirror, and he prays you can’t see whatever’s happening on his face right now.
Because he feels insane.
You aren’t his.
That thought keeps slamming into him over and over again.
You aren’t his.
He has absolutely no right to feel this sick over a few bruises on your neck.
But he does.
He really, really does.
You move past him toward your bed, still talking.
Steve barely hears any of it.
Something about the restaurant.
Something about the guy making a joke you actually liked.
Something about maybe seeing him again.
Steve sits down slowly on the edge of your bed because his legs suddenly feel unsteady.
The mattress dips beneath his weight.
You don’t notice how quiet he’s gotten yet.
Your room smells faintly like perfume and laundry detergent and summer air drifting through the window. There’s a lamp glowing softly beside your bed, casting warm gold across your skin.
And those marks.
Jesus Christ.
Every time you turn your head, Steve sees them again.
He tries not to stare.
Really.
But his eyes keep dragging back.
Like touching a bruise with your fingertips even though you know it hurts.
You sit cross legged beside him eventually, absentmindedly reaching for the tape in his hands.
“You okay?”
Steve blinks hard.
“Hm?”
“You’re weirdly quiet.”
“I’m always weirdly quiet.”
“That is objectively not true.”
Normally he’d tease you back instantly.
Normally he’d grin or flick your forehead or say something cocky just to hear you laugh.
Tonight he just watches you for a second too long.
Your eyebrows pull together slightly.
“What?”
His eyes flick downward before he can stop them.
Your expression shifts immediately in understanding.
And for one horrifying second, Steve thinks maybe you’re going to mention it directly.
Maybe you’re going to laugh awkwardly and say yeah, sorry about that.
Maybe you’re going to tell him details.
He thinks that might actually kill him.
Instead you just tilt your head slightly.
“Steve.”
He forces a smile so quickly it almost hurts.
“Nothing.”
You study him for another second, unconvinced.
Then finally you shrug it off.
And somehow that makes it worse too.
Because to you, this is nothing.
Just another date.
Just another guy.
Meanwhile Steve feels like somebody reached into his chest and wrapped a fist around his lungs.
You keep talking softly while flipping the VHS tape over in your hands, completely unaware of the war happening inside the boy sitting beside you.
Steve notices everything now.
The way your lip curves when you smile to yourself thinking about something.
The faint smudge of mascara beneath your eye.
The way you absentmindedly scratch at your wrist when you’re tired.
He notices too much.
And suddenly all he can think about is the fact that somebody else got this version of you tonight.
Someone else got your laugh.
Someone else got close enough to leave marks behind.
The jealousy crawling through him feels ugly.
Not angry.
Not possessive in the cruel way.
Just aching.
Deep and humiliating and impossible to ignore.
Because Steve doesn’t even know when this happened.
When you stopped being harmless.
When he stopped flirting for fun and started looking at you like you were something precious.
When seeing another person touch you started physically hurting him.
He looks away before you can catch whatever’s on his face.
You yawn softly beside him.
“Tired?” he asks automatically.
“Mm.”
His chest aches again at the sleepy sound.
You lean against his shoulder without thinking about it.
Just naturally and comfortably.
And Steve nearly loses his mind.
Because even now—even after another guy spent the night kissing your neck—you still lean toward Steve instinctively.
You still trust him with your softness.
He sits perfectly still beside you, terrified that if he moves too suddenly, he’ll ruin something.
Your head rests lightly against his shoulder while warm air drifts through the open window.
Neither of you speaks for a minute.
And Steve realizes with awful clarity that he is completely, catastrophically gone for you.
Not a crush.
Not flirting.
Not temporary.
Gone.
The realization settles heavily into his chest.
You mumble something sleepy against his shoulder.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“I said you smell like cigarettes.”
Steve laughs softly despite himself.
“Sorry.”
“You should quit.”
“You sound like Robin.”
“She’s smarter than you.”
“Debatable.”
A tired smile pulls softly at your mouth, and steve feels something inside him shift so suddenly it almost startles him. The expression barely lasts more than a few seconds before you tuck your face more comfortably against his shoulder again, but it lingers in his head immediately like something precious he’s terrified of forgetting later.
It isn’t a performative smile or a polite one or even the kind you usually give people during conversations without realizing it. This one is slower, softer around the edges, weighed down by sleep and comfort and trust in a way that makes his chest ache unexpectedly. Steve stares at it longer than he should, watching the way the warm yellow light from your bedside lamp catches against your skin while the rest of the room settles into quiet around the two of you, and eventually he has to force himself to look away because suddenly the feeling inside him is becoming too big to ignore anymore.
The terrifying part isn’t that he wants to kiss you because Steve has wanted to kiss you for months now and has done a decent job pretending otherwise. The terrifying part is that somewhere along the line his feelings stopped being physical at all, stopped being simple enough to explain away with attraction or flirting or temporary infatuation. Sitting here beside you now, with your weight resting naturally against him and your bedroom window letting in warm summer air that stirs softly through the curtains, Steve realizes with horrifying clarity that he wants things he’s never really wanted before.
He wants mornings where he wakes up beside you tangled in sunlight and blankets while you complain sleepily about him stealing the pillows.
He wants late night grocery store runs and arguments over music in the car and your shampoo bottles cluttering up his bathroom sink someday.
He wants this exact feeling stretched out endlessly in front of him, your head resting against his shoulder while you slowly drift toward sleep completely unaware that you’re quietly ruining him.
The realization settles heavily into his chest because Steve Harrington understands relationships that burn hot and disappear fast better than he understands anything else. He knows how to flirt effortlessly and keep things shallow enough that nobody gets hurt too badly when it ends, and for years that’s been enough because shallow relationships are easy to survive.
They don’t ask for vulnerability or permanence or honesty in the terrifying ways real love does. But this thing with you feels deep enough to split him open if it goes wrong, and that thought scares him more than he wants to admit even to himself. He’s never cared this carefully before, never noticed someone so constantly that their absence physically changes the atmosphere around him whenever they leave a room.
He glances down at you carefully after a minute, unable to stop himself even though he knows staring is becoming a problem lately. Your eyes are closed now, though not completely asleep yet, and your breathing has gone softer and slower against his shoulder while your fingers curl loosely against the sleeve of his jacket.
There’s something so painfully trusting about the way you lean into him that Steve’s chest tightens hard enough to almost hurt because you genuinely have no idea what you’re doing to him.
Another guy kissed you tonight. Another guy got close enough to leave marks on your skin and probably thought he had a chance of becoming important to you afterward, and somehow you still ended the evening here beside him like this was the safest place you could think to be.
The thought completely undoes him because it feels too intimate somehow, too vulnerable in ways he doesn’t think you even realize.
He notices every tiny thing now because apparently being in love has turned him into the kind of person who memorizes details without permission. He notices the faint crease between your eyebrows whenever you’re overtired and trying not to show it.
He notices the way your breathing changes slightly right before you fall asleep and the way your fingers twitch absentmindedly against him whenever you’re comfortable.
He notices that your hair smells faintly like shampoo and summer air and whatever perfume you sprayed on before your date earlier tonight, and God, even that thought twists painfully inside him because somebody else got to see you dressed up like that before Steve did.
Jealousy keeps crawling through him in ugly sharp waves that make him feel guilty immediately afterward because none of this belongs to him, not your attention or your softness or the quiet affection you hand him so naturally. But wanting you has become instinctive now, impossible to shut off no matter how hard he tries to remind himself that he doesn’t have any right to feel this possessive over things that were never his in the first place.
You shift suddenly beside him, your hand sliding briefly across his chest as you stretch slightly in your half asleep state, and Steve’s entire body goes rigid for one embarrassing second because even the smallest touches from you affect him too much these days. Your palm only brushes him for a moment before settling again, but his heart reacts violently anyway, beating hard enough that he’s convinced you’ll hear it if you stay pressed this close.
He remembers every touch from you now whether he wants to or not because they replay constantly in his head afterward like scenes from a movie he’s incapable of shutting off.
Every lazy hug.
Every accidental brush of fingers while reaching for the same thing.
Every time your knees bumped together in the car and neither of you moved away afterward. Back then he thought those moments were harmless, but now each memory feels charged with meaning he was too oblivious to understand at the time.
You blink your eyes open slowly after a minute, clearly catching him staring again despite his best efforts to hide it, and your voice comes out rough with exhaustion when you mumble,
“What?”
Steve immediately looks away like he’s been caught doing something embarrassing, which unfortunately is exactly how this feels now every single time he gets too lost watching you.
He mutters a quick “Nothing” under his breath
but you narrow your eyes at him tiredly before accusing softly,
“You keep looking at me weird lately,”
and the casual observation nearly stops his heart entirely. Because if he tried explaining the truth right now, if he admitted that he’s staring because he thinks he might actually love you enough to ruin himself over it, he honestly believes he might combust on the spot from humiliation alone. You’d probably just look surprised more than anything because in your mind Steve is still Steve: beautiful and charming and effortless and incapable of falling apart over somebody this badly.
Meanwhile he feels like one genuine conversation away from a complete emotional collapse.
Because the awful truth is that he finally understands why he notices everything about you now, why your moods affect his entire day and why seeing someone else touch you felt like swallowing broken glass earlier tonight. It isn’t fascination anymore or even infatuation dressed up as obsession. Somewhere along the line it became love, real terrifying love, the kind that sneaks up slowly enough that by the time you recognize it, you’re already drowning too deep to save yourself. And as steve watches you settle comfortably back against him again without hesitation, trusting him completely while summer wind drifts softly through your curtains, all he can think helplessly is that he has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to survive this if you never feel the same way back.
The next morning starts badly and somehow continues getting worse from there because Steve cannot stop thinking about you long enough to function like a normal person.
He burns his toast because he’s staring blankly out the kitchen window remembering the feeling of your hair brushing against his jaw, and then he spends ten straight minutes standing beside his car with his keys in his hand because he got distracted imagining another guy making you laugh during your date.
Every thought he has eventually bends back toward you no matter where it starts, which would probably be humiliating if he weren’t already too far gone to care anymore. By the time he picks Dustin up, Steve already feels exhausted in the way people do after spending an entire night fighting with themselves unsuccessfully. Dustin notices immediately because of course he does, and the second he climbs into the passenger seat he squints at Steve suspiciously before saying,
“You look like you got possessed by something,” with the kind of blunt honesty only fourteen year old boys are capable of.
Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary while pulling away from the curb, mostly because he can already tell he doesn’t have the patience for Dustin’s energy today and also because he hasn’t stopped replaying the image of your neck in his head since midnight.
Normally Dustin talking nonstop barely registers anymore because Steve’s gotten weirdly used to the constant noise the kids bring into his life, but today every sentence feels like someone knocking repeatedly against a headache. Dustin keeps rambling about some campaign Mike ruined and a new comic book he wants and whether Steve would survive in a zombie apocalypse, while Steve responds automatically without actually hearing most of it because all his focus is tied up somewhere else entirely. At one point Dustin starts complaining about being hungry even though he’s holding an entire bag of donuts in his lap, and Steve snaps back so sharply that the inside of the car immediately goes quiet afterward.
The silence stretches awkwardly between them for several seconds before Dustin slowly lowers the donut he’d been reaching for and says, with genuine concern now instead of annoyance,
“Okay, seriously, what is wrong with you?”
Steve exhales harshly through his nose and runs one hand through his hair while stopping at a red light, but even that familiar motion doesn’t calm him down the way it usually does because he feels like every emotion inside him has been dialed up too high overnight. He wants to tell Dustin to drop it, wants to brush everything off with a joke like he normally would, but instead he just stares out through the windshield while morning sunlight spills across the dashboard and says nothing at all. The problem is that Steve himself doesn’t fully understand what’s happening to him yet because he’s never been in love slowly enough to watch it happen in real time before.
Usually feelings arrived fast and burned bright and disappeared just as quickly, but this thing with you crept up on him in tiny harmless pieces until suddenly it had rooted itself into every part of his life without permission. Somewhere between movie nights and late drives and sitting too close beside you on your bed, Steve had crossed a line he didn’t even realize existed, and now he had absolutely no clue how to go back to being normal around you again.
⋆˚꩜｡ hi guys missed ya!!! ill post a p2 to this soon, hope everyone is doing well!! :)
SUMMARY in which you're fresh out of a couple year long mental breakdown & trying to gain control over your life again. after realizing life has not gotten better, you apply as a secretary for attorney steve harrington. he's demanding and quite frankly; a jerk. what starts as heated tension, shifts into feelings of choice & trust when walking into his office. it’s never felt so good to be perverse.
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI dom! steve, sub! reader, plot with porn, bdsm themes, unprofessional workplace dynamics, steve and reader are both freaked out, mean asshole steve but he's still a sweetheart deep down, shy! perverted! reader, reader with agoraphobia & social anxiety, steve with commitment issues, topics of mental health, hospitalization, past suicidal implications, adult language, angst, fluff, smut, readers appearance has nothing to do with dustin or their mothers you can imagine them as biological siblings or not it will never be specified, based on the movie secretary (2002)
t e a s e r
c h a p t e r o n e secretary wanted!
c h a p t e r t w o cruel intentions
c h a p t e r t h r e e after hours 18+
c h a p t e r f o u r here i stand 18+
c h a p t e r f i v e networking 18+
c h a p t e r s i x come to me 18+
c h a p t e r s e v e n kinky love 18+
c h a p t e r e i g h t surrender 18+
c h a p t e r n i n e this is disgusting. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i’m like this. 18+
c h a p t e r t e n #1 crush
c h a p t e r e l e v e n head in the wall 18+
c h a p t e r t w e l v e 24 hours a day, 7 times a week 18+
e p i l o g u e chariots rise
AUTHORS NOTE: was going to start this around two months ago, but have been super stressed with my classes, but finally i’m in place where i’ve been working on it ugh, along with several other oneshots that are nearly done. relieved to be out of awful writers block 😮💨
After years of monsters, grief, and barely surviving adulthood, you and Steve Harrington are suddenly faced with something infinitely more terrifying: a future that actually looks happy.
tags: dad!steve, boyfriend!steve harrington, pregnant!reader, pregnancy reveal, established relationship, post season five, post vecna, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, steve wants a family so bad it hurts, steve being the softest man alive, accidental pregnancy, found family, reader is scared but loved, robin buckley mention, dustin henderson mention, six little nuggets mention, steve harrington deserves a future
warnings: pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, nausea/morning sickness, vomiting, crying/panic, anxiety about pregnancy, brief mentions of hospitals/funerals/monsters/vecna/upside down trauma, references to past injuries/medical trauma, fear of things going wrong, strong language, very emotional steve harrington (as of chapter one)
from jules- i fear dad!steve has fully taken over my brain and i’m not even sorry. this is the first little chapter/part of my pregnancy series and it’s mostly just steve being painfully soft, painfully emotional, pregnancy with steve and he’s absolutely unable to be normal about starting a family with you. there’s some post-hawkins heaviness in here because obviously these two have been through it, but mostly this is fluffy, tender, and very much “steve harrington deserves every good thing actually.”
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
izzy806
ellievsbear
