Discover Top Posts Tagged with #hopper!reader

𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲

— steve harrington is only scared of two things: clowns and chief hopper’s gun. unfortunately he is also deeply, hopelessly in love with you, hopper’s daughter and convinced he isn’t good enough for you. when he turns you down to 'do the right thing,' you end up heartbroken but after one rainy confession later you both realize the obvious: you were idiots in love the whole time.

🚛 9.1k — steve harrington x fem!hopper!reader, so much narration it's crazy ( but also if you've been here for some time you'd know how much i love narrations ), fluff, erica and dustin being the ultimate life savers, mutual pining but they share one brain cell, yearning steve harrington, steve “i’m not good enough for her” harrington, hopper being overprotective, reader with a very obvious crush, awkward rejection at family video, rain confession trope, kissing fixes everything, friends to lovers, star wars references ( from someone who has never watched it ) because steve cannot help himself

author's note — the result of me being bored of studying economics and procastinating successfully. hope it still makes you cry when i fail the exam. enjoy <3

masterlist : navigation

gif by @acecroft | divider by @/lavendergalactic

Steve Harrington had only been scared of two things his whole life: clowns, and Chief Hopper’s gun.

The clown thing was ridiculous and he knew it. He had known it since he was eight years old and had cried at a birthday party because a man in a red polka-dot suit made a balloon dog and then smiled at him with too many teeth.

It was embarrassing, deeply uncool, and very much the kind of secret that could destroy what little remained of his reputation if it ever got out.

Still, that fear was manageable. Steve could work around clowns. He could avoid circuses, look away from creepy posters, and pretend those terrifying red noses were part of some joke he simply did not get.

Hopper’s gun, on the other hand, was not something he could avoid so easily. Mostly because it was real, loaded with bullete, and always, always being cleaned in Steve’s general direction whenever he came over to your house.

It did not help that Hopper made a whole performance out of it.

Every single time Steve came over, Hopper was suddenly sitting in the living room cleaning the gun. He would take it apart, put it back together, check it, wipe it down, and then look up just long enough to pin Steve with a stare that said, you know what this means.

Steve, for a fact, did not know what that meant, except if it meant him dying by it, then he was pretty sure he knew what it meant.

But you had reassured Steve at least a hundred times that your dad was not actually going to use it. Still, Steve had his concerns. Very valid ones, in his opinion. Because there was intimidating, and then there was Jim Hopper leaning back on the couch with a firearm in his lap while Steve sat on the opposite end trying to keep a respectable three inches between himself and you like that tiny gap was the only thing preserving his life.

The rule, oh god, the rule itself was torture. If Steve’s hand got too close to yours, Hopper cleared his throat. If Steve leaned in to hear you better, Hopper shifted in his seat. If your knee brushed Steve’s for half a second, Steve could actually feel Hopper’s glare hit the side of his face like heat from the sun.

It was not like you didn’t try to defend his honour. You did, every time. You would roll your eyes and tell your dad he was being overprotective, that Steve was nice, that Steve had literally helped save the world more than once, which should have earned him at least a little trust and maybe the right to sit next to his friend without being treated like a criminal.

But Hopper was persistent in the way only fathers of daughters could be, especially daughters they loved enough to terrify teenage boys over. He would grunt, mumble something about manners and boundaries, and continue staring Steve down like he was waiting for him to do one wrong thing.

Steve, for his part, tried very hard to never do the wrong thing. He was so polite at your house it was actually pathetic. He sat up straight, said sir more than he had ever said it in his life, and once thanked Hopper for passing the salt which very clearly was pepper. And the worst part was that none of it helped.

Still, Steve kept coming over.

Because of you.

Because you were, very simply, the most amazing person Steve had ever met. Ever seen, ever heard about, ever talked with, ever laughed with, ever cried with, ever fought monsters beside, ever bled beside, ever stumbled out of the end of the world beside.

You made Steve feel seen in a way that still startled him sometimes. Like you had looked past all the old versions of him, the ones he was embarrassed by and the ones he still did not fully know what to do with, and decided he was worth keeping anyway. It was a terrifying thing, being cared for by you. Not bad terrifying, not Hopper’s-gun terrifying, but the kind that made his chest ache because he wanted to be worthy of it all the time.

Steve, for his part, liked to think of what he felt for you as admiration. Friendly admiration.

The kind a person might feel for someone they happened to enjoy spending every possible second with, someone whose voice he could pick out in a crowded room without trying, someone whose bad moods he could sense before you even said a word.

It was probably just admiration that made him remember every little thing you told him, like how you hated orange candy but liked orange juice.

It was definitely just admiration that made his chest go warm and oddly tight whenever you smiled at him. And if he thought you were the bravest girl he had ever known, if he found himself wanting to make you laugh even when he was exhausted, if every near-death experience only seemed to increase the thought that being near you mattered more than he knew how to explain, well, that was probably still friendly.

Steve was pretty sure. At least, he was sure enough to keep telling himself that, because the alternative felt a little too big to look at directly.

A hand suddenly snapped in front of Steve’s face, dragging him clean out of the mess of his own thoughts.

“Steve. Hey, Steve. Earth to Steven.”

He blinked hard, like he had just been caught doing something illegal, and turned to find you standing there with your eyebrows raised and your mouth twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “Huh? Hey. What?”

You tilted your head at him, amused in that easy way that always made him feel both warm and deeply ridiculous. “I need to go somewhere. It will only take half an hour. Do you want to stay here, or are you going home?”

Steve glanced automatically toward the living room and narrowed his eyes a little. “If I say stay, is your dad going to kill me?”

You huffed out a laugh. “No, I don't think so. And besides, he is not here today.”

And just like that, the relief on Steve’s face was almost embarrassing. His shoulders dropped, his whole expression loosened, and a smile came over him. “Oh. Okay. Then yeah, I can wait here.”

Your eyes brightened at once, pleased in a way that made something in Steve’s chest do a stupid little flip. You grinned at him, quick and pretty and impossible not to stare at. “Okay. I promise I will come quick. Also, Jane may come in between from school, but I think she will leave for Max’s immediately after. Could you just make sure she has her lunch first?”

Steve nodded without hesitation. “All right.”

You smiled even wider. “Thanks. I will be back. Watch a tape in the meantime?”

He gave you a small nod, still looking at you with a loopy smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Steve had been sitting there for a while, half-watching Star Wars and half-thinking about you (in a friendly way, of course), which was lately how most of his afternoons went.

Then he heard the clicking at the door.

He barely looked up at first, just assumed it was Jane coming in from school. So he kept watching the tape, eyes still on the screen, waiting for the door to open fully. But when it did, the light from outside was mostly blocked all at once, swallowed by a figure much bigger than Jane had any business being, and Steve knew immediately that it was definitely not her.

For one brief, insane second, he secretly hoped it was a demogorgon.

At least with a demogorgon, he knew where he stood.

But the universe was clearly not on his side, because when he turned, it was Hopper.

Steve swallowed so fast it almost hurt and lunged for the remote, pausing the tape just as Hopper stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Hopper’s eyes landed on Steve in that exact way they always did, like he had come home and found a raccoon in his kitchen trying to act natural. He stared for one long second before grunting, “Where are my daughters?”

Steve opened his mouth. “Out.”

The second the word left him, he knew it was the wrong answer. Too vague. Too much like something a guilty man would say right before being buried in a shallow grave. He corrected himself so quickly he almost tripped over the words. “I mean, Jane is at school. Or at Max’s. And, uh, Y/N is out for some work.”

Hopper narrowed his eyes. “What kind of work?”

“I did not ask,” Steve said, trying for honesty and landing somewhere closer to panic.

Hopper kept looking at him for another second, then walked farther into the room. Steve followed every movement.

Hopper came over and sat down on the seat adjacent to the couch, close enough that Steve could smell cigarettes and general parental disapproval.

Steve stood up on instinct almost immediately, because that seemed like the safest thing to do, maybe the smartest, maybe the thing most likely to save his life expectancy.

Hopper looked up at him. “Sit down.”

Steve froze. “What?”

“I said sit down. I want to talk.”

“Cool,” Steve said, nodding too much, as he sat down and looked around. “Cool, cool. Uh, so. Crime, huh? Terrible.”

Hopper did not blink. “I want to talk about my daughter.”

Steve nodded immediately. “Oh, yes. Jane is a lovely girl. Very. . .” He faltered for a second under Hopper’s stare. “Sweet?”

Hopper’s face did not change. “My other daughter.”

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Y/N?” he said, then attempted a smile that came out strained and weird. “Oh, yeah. Y/N is amazing too. Really smart.”

Hopper leaned back slightly, still watching him with that unreadable expression that made Steve feel like he was being measured for a coffin. “There’s the problem.”

Steve stared. “Her being smart?”

“You.”

Steve went quiet, which for him in a bad situation was saying something. Hopper rested his forearms on his knees and looked straight ahead for a moment before speaking again.

“I don’t like you,” he said.

Steve let out one awkward breath. “Yeah, no, I got that.”

“I don’t like you around her. I don’t like how much time you spend here. I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

Steve’s hands tightened together. He looked down at them, then back up, then down again, unsure where it was safest to look. “We are just hanging out. As friends.” He added the last part quickly although he didn't believe it enough himself.

Hopper let out a humorless little sound. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

Steve did not answer, mostly because he had the strong feeling there was not a single correct answer available to him.

For a moment Hopper said nothing. Then, he continued, “You know why I don’t like it?”

Steve swallowed. “Because you think I am a bad influence?”

“No.” Hopper’s eyes moved to him. “Because I think you and me are too similar.”

That, somehow, was not what Steve had expected, and the confusion must have shown on his face because Hopper kept going.

“You walk around like you are trying real hard to be useful,” he said. “Like if you keep helping, keep showing up, keep making yourself necessary, nobody will notice all the things wrong with you. You act like a kid who already decided what kind of man he is and does not think much of the answer.”

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again.

Hopper looked away for a second, jaw working. “And I know that look because I know what it feels like. Thinking you care about somebody enough should be enough. Thinking maybe if you want to do better bad enough, that counts for something. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

Steve’s throat felt dry. “I care about her. . .”

“I know,” Hopper said. “That’s not what worries me.”

Steve frowned a little. “Then what does?”

“Because I'm not good enough for my little girl,” he said. “And if you’re anything like me, then you’re not good enough for my little girl either.”

The words hit hard enough that Steve actually felt his chest go tight. Like he had reached down into the very worst place inside Steve and pulled out the thing Steve already feared most.

Steve laughed once under his breath, except there was nothing funny in it. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Hopper looked at him then, maybe expecting an argument, maybe expecting Steve to push back, to insist he was better than that.

Steve did not. Because the awful part was, he did not really know how to.

He thought about you laughing with him, trusting him, calling him when things went wrong, smiling like he belonged in your life, and all at once that felt less like something lucky and more like something temporary. Like maybe Hopper was just the first person cruel enough to say out loud what Steve should have figured out sooner.

“I am trying,” Steve said after a long moment. “I mean, I know I screw things up sometimes, but I am trying.”

Hopper shrugged. “Trying is a start.”

That was not comfort. That was barely even mercy.

Steve looked down at the paused television screen, at his own faint reflection in it, warped. “She should get somebody better than me,” he thought to himself.

The front door opened.

Both of them looked up at once just as Jane stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hello,” she said.

By the time you got back, the first thing you noticed was Steve’s car was gone.

You slowed in the driveway, frowning as you looked at the empty spot where it had been parked earlier, a small, confused crease forming between your brows.

For a second you just stood there with your keys in hand, staring at nothing, like maybe if you looked long enough the car would magically reappear and Steve would climb out with one of his sheepish smiles and some rambling explanation that would somehow make perfect sense because it was him. But the driveway stayed empty, and that strange little disappointment settled heavier in your chest than it probably should have.

When you stepped inside, you could smell the dinner, and the sound of conversation from the kitchen.

You slipped your shoes off and headed in, only to stop slightly when you saw your dad already there with Jane.

You looked at Hopper. “Hey. Uh, Dad, you’re early.”

Hopper just nodded once. “Come sit for dinner.”

You glanced between him and Jane, still half-thinking Steve might somehow appear from another room, but when he did not, you pulled out a chair and sat down. “Right.”

For a minute, you tried to ignore the odd feeling curling in your stomach. Then you leaned a little toward Jane and lowered your voice. “Hey, where’s Steve?”

Jane looked at you, then flicked her eyes over your shoulder in a quick glance toward Hopper before answering. “He left ten minutes ago.”

Your face fell before you could stop it. “Oh.”

It came out smaller than you meant it to. You sat back in your chair after that, quieting down a little, your earlier ease gone fuzzy around the edges.

It was not like Steve had to wait around forever for you, obviously. He had his own life. You knew that. Still, he could have stayed. Or at least left a note. Or told Jane something more than that. The whole thing sat strangely with you, like a sentence missing its last word.

Later, shut inside your room with the door closed, you called him.

The phone rang just long enough for you to start thinking maybe he would not pick up, and then there was the familiar click of the line connecting. “Hey,” you said at once, tucking one leg under you on the bed. “You left.”

There was a pause.

Then Steve said, “Yeah. Uh, Henderson called me with code red.”

You furrowed your brows immediately. That made no sense. You had literally been with Dustin earlier because he had forgotten something at home and needed it at school, and he had seemed perfectly fine. Nothing about him had said emergency.

Still, all you said was, “Oh.”

The word sat there between you, uncertain.

You stared at the wall across from your bed, turning the phone cord around your finger. You wondered, not for the first time, why Steve was lying to you. Because he was. You knew he was.

But you pushed the thought aside, deciding for the moment not to make something out of what might be nothing. Maybe there was a reason. Maybe he had just had one of those weird Steve moments where his brain tripped over itself and produced nonsense.

You took a small breath, already getting ready to ask him about the movie, already knowing the answer was probably Star Wars because Steve’s devotion to those tapes bordered on religious, but before you could say anything else, he cut in.

“Can we talk later?” Steve said quickly. “I need to go somewhere.”

You blinked. “Oh. Uh.”

The disappointment hit sharper this time, quick and stupid and annoyingly difficult to hide, but you swallowed it down anyway. “Okay.”

And before you could say bye, or even soften it with a laugh or ask one more question or make sense of the strange distance in his voice, the line clicked dead.

Your bye stayed there, useless, hanging.

The next day, you told yourself Steve had probably just been tired.

That was the easiest explanation, and the one that annoyed you the least, so you held onto it all the way to Family Video.

By the time you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you had managed to convince yourself that everything was normal, that you were not thinking too hard about the awkward phone call, and that Steve would take one look at you and immediately go back to being his usual sweet, slightly frazzled self.

Robin looked up from behind the counter when the bell above the door jingled. “Hey.”

You smiled and wandered over. “Hey.”

She leaned her elbows on the counter and gave you a look that was far too knowing for ten seconds into a conversation. “You here to see Steve?”

You widened your eyes in fake innocence. “I could be here to see you too.”

Robin raised one brow.

You lasted about half a second. “Yeah, I’m here to see Steve.”

“Thought so,” she said, not even pretending to be surprised. Then she jerked her thumb toward the back. “He’s in the back. You could wait here for some time.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

So you stayed there at the counter, trying very hard to look casual and very obviously failing, because every few seconds your eyes drifted toward the back room like maybe Steve would appear if you stared hard enough.

Robin noticed, of course. Robin noticed everything, which was one of the many reasons she was so deeply annoying.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “you’re not really subtle with your whole crush thing.”

Your head snapped toward her so fast it was a miracle your neck survived. “What crush thing?”

Robin looked at you like you were the dumbest person she had met all week, and she worked with Steve, so that was saying something. “The whole you having a crush on dingus thing.”

You let out an offended laugh that was entirely too loud. “I do not have a crush on Steve. Pfft. You’re delirious, Robin.”

She said nothing and kept looking at you with that patient, unbearable expression of someone waiting for you to finish lying to yourself in public. You crossed your arms, then uncrossed them, then sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Ugh. I have a crush on Steve. Is that what you want to hear?”

Robin’s face lit up in immediate satisfaction. “Totally.”

You groaned, but now that it was out there, the words just kept coming, all tripping over each other in one giant embarrassing rush.

“I mean, it’s not like I planned it, okay? It just happened. He’s just. . .” You exhaled and glanced away, suddenly very interested in the tapes behind the counter.

“He’s Steve. He’s sweet, and stupidly brave, and always there when it matters, and he does this thing where he acts like he’s joking even when he’s being really sincere, and I know people think he’s all hair and idiot energy, but he’s not. Well, he is, a little, but he’s also so good. Like actually good.” Your voice softened without your permission. “And he cares so much. About everyone. About the kids. About me.” A dreamy sigh escaped you before you could stop it. “He just makes everything feel easier.”

Robin stared at you for a long second. “And you see all that in Steve Harrington?”

You frowned at her. “Yeah.”

She made a face. “Disgusting.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling a little despite yourself.

Then Robin’s gaze shifted past you, toward the back, and her expression changed into one of immediate delight at the chance to make things weird. “Anyways,” she said, “looks like he’s free.”

You turned and there was Steve, stepping out from the back.

You did not even think about it before you started walking toward him.

“Hey, Steven.”

For a second, you thought you imagined it. Hoped you imagined it, really. Because the moment he heard your voice, Steve tensed. Just for a second. A tiny thing most people probably would not notice. But you noticed. Your steps faltered slightly, that strange feeling from yesterday creeping back up your spine.

Steve turned to you, and the tension smoothed out so quickly you almost convinced yourself it had never been there.

“You’re here,” he said.

You nodded, smiling the way you always did when you saw him. “Yes. I wanted to see you.”

Steve blinked once. “Why?”

The question landed strangely, like a step where the ground was not quite where you expected it to be. Your smile stayed in place, but you suddenly felt awkward, unsure what exactly had happened between yesterday and today.

“Do I need a reason?” you asked lightly.

“No,” Steve said quickly. “No, of course not.”

The awkwardness eased immediately hearing his normal response, and you felt your shoulders relax again. That was the Steve you knew. The one who would never make you feel weird for showing up.

Then he added, a little too quickly, “I was just busy today. Rush hour, you know.”

You glanced around the store.

There were maybe five customers total, and two of them were arguing near the Holiday movie section.

You looked back at him. “Five is a rush for you?”

Steve paused. “. . . Yes?”

You tilted your head, concerned now. “Steve, is something wrong? Did I do something?”

His face softened instantly. “No. Of course not. You are perfect.”

The words came out so fast they almost tripped over each other.

You felt heat rush to your face before you could stop it, and you looked away quickly, trying very hard not to blush like an idiot in the middle of Family Video.

Unfortunately, Steve noticed.

Which made him immediately start stammering. “I uh well, I just—” He grabbed a stack of tapes beside him like they had personally called for help. “I just need to organize these tapes.”

You pointed at them. “I could help.”

Steve blinked. “Uhhh. . . okay.”

So the two of you ended up in the back room, standing side by side with shelves of tapes between you and the rest of the store.

At first the conversation was normal. Mostly. You talked about school, about Dustin complaining about science homework, about how Steve had apparently rewatched Star Wars again the night before because he was physically incapable of not doing that at least once a week. For a few minutes it almost felt like everything was back to normal.

But the strange tension never really left.

It hovered there, uncomfortable, like a conversation waiting to happen.

Eventually you took a breath. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

You kept your eyes on the tapes in your hands. “Do you maybe want to go out sometime?”

Steve stopped moving.

You continued quickly, words tumbling out before your courage could disappear. “Like a date. Nothing big. We could just get milkshakes or something, or watch a movie that is not Star Wars for once, which I know is a big ask—”

Steve did not say anything.

The silence stretched.

Your stomach twisted.

Suddenly you were not sure why you thought this was a good idea. Or why you thought the signs had meant what you thought they meant. Maybe you had just imagined it all. Maybe you had read too much into the way he smiled at you, the way he always showed up when you needed him, the way he said your name in that soft manner.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Or not. I mean, that’s fine too, I just thought—”

“No.”

You looked up.

Steve’s eyes were fixed on the shelf in front of him.

“No?” you repeated quietly.

He swallowed. “We can’t.”

Your fingers tightened around the tape case in your hand. “Why?”

Steve finally looked at you then, and something in his expression made your chest drop. “It’s just. . . a bad idea,” he said. “Us dating.”

“Oh.”

The word felt small leaving your mouth.

Steve looked miserable. “We shouldn’t be more than friends.”

The embarrassment came all at once. You laughed a little under your breath, even though you could already feel your eyes starting to sting.

“Right,” you said quickly. “Of course. That makes sense. Totally makes sense.”

You cleared your throat, trying to blink away the stupid tears that were threatening to show up at the worst possible time.

Steve shifted awkwardly. “We can still be friends?”

Even he grimaced a little when he said it.

You forced a smile. “Actually, I think I’m going to need some space,” you admitted.

Steve took a step toward you immediately. “Hey—”

“No, it’s alright,” you said quickly, waving him off before he could say anything comforting that might make you cry for real. “I just feel a bit silly, that’s all.” You attempted another small smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll get back to normal and we can go back to being. . . friends.”

The word caught slightly in your throat.

You looked down at the tape still in your hands before setting it on the shelf. “I just. . . I need to go.”

And before he could stop you, before he could say anything else that might make it harder to leave, you turned and walked out of the back room.

You rushed past the counter.

Robin looked up instantly. “What did you two finally—”

She stopped mid-sentence when you hurried past her, wiping quickly at the tears on your cheeks.

Robin’s expression immediately shifted to concern and she slowly turned her head toward the backroom.

Steve was standing there just inside the doorway, his head in his hands and Robin sighed at the sight.

“Oh, Harrington, what did you do?”

By the time Nancy came over, you had already cried enough to make your head feel heavy and your eyes sore, but the second you saw her standing in your doorway with two tubs of ice cream and that calm look on her face, it all came rushing back again like you had just opened the floodgates.

Now you were sitting cross-legged on your bed with the blanket tangled around your legs, clutching a spoon like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality while Nancy sat across from you with the other tub of ice cream resting in her lap.

“I just feel so stupid,” you said for what had to be the twentieth time, your voice thick as you scooped another bite you barely tasted. “Like actually stupid. It's not even the cute kind of stupid where I can laugh about it later. It's just. . . painfully, humiliatingly stupid.”

Nancy took another spoonful of ice cream, watching you.

“I mean,” you continued miserably, waving your spoon around, “who does that? Who just assumes someone likes them back without actually asking first? Me. Apparently. Because clearly I just decided to invent an entire romance in my head like some delusional idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Nancy said.

“Yes, I am,” you sniffed immediately. “I asked him out. Out loud. With actual words. And he just said no.”

Nancy winced a little in sympathy but let you keep going.

“Like immediately. Just no. Like it was obvious that it was a terrible idea.”

Nancy leaned back against your headboard, passing you another napkin. “Boys are idiots.”

You nodded emphatically, your voice breaking. “Boys are idiots.”

You took another shaky breath and stared down into the melting ice cream. “But he was my idiot,” you said weakly.

That was apparently the breaking point because suddenly your face crumpled and you leaned sideways until your head dropped into Nancy’s lap, clutching the ice cream tub as you started crying again.

Nancy immediately set her spoon aside and started absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair in soothing motions.

“I just feel so embarrassed,” you groaned into her sweater. “Like what if he tells everyone? What if Dustin finds out? Oh my god, Dustin is absolutely going to find out. He’s going to tell Mike and then Lucas and then they’re all going to look at me like I’m some pathetic lovesick idiot who can’t take a hint.”

“He won’t tell them,” Nancy said.

“You don’t know that,” you mumbled miserably. “He might. He might accidentally say something to Robin and then she’ll accidentally say something to someone else and suddenly the entire town knows that I asked Steve Harrington out and he rejected me in the back room of Family Video next to the horror tapes.”

Nancy huffed a laugh despite herself. “It sounds excessive.”

“But it could happen,” you said.

You sniffed loudly and wiped at your face again before continuing.

“And the worst part is that I really thought he liked me,” you said, your voice softening into something more wounded now. “Like actually liked me. I mean he’s always there, you know? And he remembers things I say and he always sits close to me and he smiles at me like. . .” You trailed off, your throat tightening again. “Like I mattered.”

“You do matter,” Nancy said immediately.

“I know,” you said weakly. “But apparently not in the way I thought.”

Nancy sighed softly but kept smoothing your hair.

“And now I feel like every moment I thought meant something was probably just him being nice,” you continued miserably. “Like maybe he was just being friendly this whole time and I turned it into this huge thing in my head and now he probably thinks I’m insane,” you groaned.

Nancy paused. “You just asked him on a date.”

“And got rejected,” you muttered.

There was a quiet moment while you both abe more ice cream and then another thought hit you.

“And he lied to me,” you said suddenly, lifting your head slightly from Nancy’s lap.

Nancy looked down at you. “What?”

“He lied yesterday,” you said, frowning as the pieces rearranged themselves in your mind. “When I called him. He said Dustin called him with some code red emergency.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow.

“But I had literally been with Dustin earlier that day,” you continued, sitting up now, your frustration rising again. “He just forgot something at home and needed it for school. There was no emergency. Nothing was wrong.”

Nancy frowned thoughtfully.

“So he just made something up,” you said slowly, realization dawning in a way that made your chest hurt all over again. “Which means he probably didn’t actually want to stay. Which means he probably left my house on purpose.”

You swallowed hard.

“And I should’ve known,” you whispered miserably. “That should’ve been the sign.”

Nancy reached over and squeezed your hand.

“I mean think about it,” you said, your voice cracking again. “He left early, he lied about it, and then today he basically panicked the second I showed up. I just didn’t want to see it because I liked him too much.”

Nancy squeezed your hand again, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“You know,” she said, “we could go out tomorrow. Just the two of us. Get dinner somewhere. Somewhere far away from Family Video and idiotic boys.”

You let out a weak laugh, even though your eyes were still wet. “That’s really sweet, Nance.”

Your voice wobbled halfway through the sentence and suddenly the tears were threatening again, welling up despite your best efforts to keep them contained. You sniffed hard and pressed the heel of your hand against your eyes, shaking your head like you could physically shove the embarrassment away.

“I just can’t believe I asked him out,” you muttered miserably. “I feel like I should move to another country. Or at least another state.”

Nancy opened her mouth to say something else, but the door to your room creaked open slowly before she could.

You immediately buried your face back into her lap as Nancy looked up toward the door. “Hey.”

Jane’s head slowly poked into the room, her expression curious and slightly concerned as she looked between the two of you. “I heard crying.”

You groaned quietly into Nancy’s sweater.

“Why is she crying?” Jane asked.

Nancy glanced down at you before answering, but you spoke first.

“Steve rejected me,” you said miserably, your voice muffled.

Jane blinked. “Oh.”

There was a small pause as she processed that.

Then she turned to Nancy with complete seriousness. “What does that mean?”

You lifted your head just enough to glare weakly toward the doorway, your eyes still red and puffy. “It means he dumped my ass but we weren’t even dating.”

Jane stepped further into the room, clearly trying to piece together the logic of that statement and not having much success after the 'dumped my ass' part which she had learnt from Max.

Nancy gave a small shrug and then patted your shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

You sniffed loudly.

Nancy turned back to Jane and lifted the ice cream tub slightly. “You want some ice cream?”

Jane’s face immediately brightened, and she opened her mouth to say yes but you suddenly peeked your head up from Nancy’s lap just enough to cut in. “She can’t,” you said hoarsely. “She’s having a cold.”

Jane narrowed her eyes at you instantly. “Buzzkill.”

Nancy blinked. “Did Dustin teach you that word?”

Jane smiled proudly and nodded.

You groaned and dropped your forehead back against Nancy’s leg. “He is a terrible influence on her.”

Nancy glanced between the two of you and smirked slightly. “I don’t know. They look cute.”

Jane’s smile widened at that.

You lifted your head again slowly, squinting at Nancy in disbelief through your tear-streaked face. “Oh my God.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You stared at Jane like you had just noticed something deeply disturbing about the universe.

“Oh God,” you said weakly.

Nancy frowned. “What?”

You gestured vaguely between Jane and the doorway, your voice cracking again in fresh disbelief. “I just realized my little sister is in a relationship. And I’m not.”

Steve was not doing any better.

He was sitting at Dustin’s desk, elbows planted on either side of a half-finished science project involving wires, cardboard, and something that looked mildly capable of exploding if handled incorrectly.

Dustin had been talking for at least ten minutes straight about voltage and signal amplification and something about how if they adjusted the coil just right it could pick up radio chatter from three blocks over.

Steve had not heard a single word.

He was staring at the same screw on the table. Every few seconds he would pick it up, rotate it between his fingers, then put it back down again like his brain had temporarily lost the ability to perform any more complex function.

Dustin finally stopped mid-sentence and leaned back in his chair and squinted at Steve. “Okay,” he said slowly, dragging the word out. “You have not been listening to a thing I’ve said for the last ten minutes.”

Steve blinked like he had just returned from another dimension. “What?”

“Exactly,” Dustin said, throwing his hands in the air. “What is wrong with you?”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing.”

Dustin stared at him. “Steve.”

“I’m fine.”

Dustin stared harder.

“It’s Y/N,” Steve muttered.

Dustin immediately leaned forward. “Oh, what happened?”

Steve dropped his head back against the chair. “She asked me out.”

“Wait,” Dustin said slowly. “Wait, wait, wait. Y/N asked you out?”

“Yeah.”

“And you look like this because. . . ?”

Steve stared at him. “I said no.”

There was a long, stunned silence, then Dustin slapped both hands on the table. “You what?!”

Steve winced. “Keep your voice down.”

“Why would you say no?” Dustin demanded, his voice climbing an entire octave anyway. “That is literally the opposite of the correct answer!”

Steve rubbed his temples. “It’s complicated.”

“It is not complicated!” Dustin said incredulously. “She’s amazing, you like her, she likes you back, that is what we call a win!”

Steve shook his head, his expression tightening again as the memory of Hopper’s voice crept back into his head. “It’s not that simple.”

Dustin crossed his arms. “Explain.”

Steve hesitated for a long moment before speaking again. “Hopper talked to me.”

Dustin made a face immediately. “Oh great. The chief himself.”

Steve let out a quiet breath. “He told me he doesn’t like me around her.”

“Well that’s obvious,” Dustin said. “He doesn’t like anyone around her.”

Steve shook his head again. “That’s not what he meant.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared down at the floor. “He said we’re too similar,” Steve said quietly. “That he knows what kind of guy I am because he’s the same kind of guy.”

Dustin frowned.

Steve shrugged weakly, but there was no humor in it.

“He said he wasn’t good enough for his daughter,” Steve continued. “And that if I’m anything like him, then I’m not good enough for her either. And the worst part is I kind of get what he meant,” he said. “I mean. . . look at me, man.”

Dustin frowned immediately.

Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was trying to physically hold his thoughts in place before they ran off in ten different directions.

“I screw things up,” he said. “All the time. I mean, yeah, I try to help, I try to do the right thing now, but you remember how I used to be. Everyone remembers. Half the town probably still thinks I’m the same idiot who peaked in high school and can’t figure out what to do with the rest of his life.”

Dustin opened his mouth to protest, but Steve kept going. “And she’s. . . ” Steve exhaled. “She’s Y/N.”

He said your name like it meant something big, something impossible to explain in one sentence.

“She’s smart and brave and she actually knows where she’s going in life,” Steve said. “She walks into a room and people listen to her. She stands up to Hopper like it’s nothing. She makes everyone around her feel like things are going to be okay.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“And me?” he muttered. “I work at a video store and accidentally adopt children who get chased by monsters.”

Dustin blinked. “That sounds pretty heroic actually.”

Steve shook his head. “That’s not the point. The point is she deserves someone who doesn’t. . . mess things up.”

Dustin leaned forward, staring at him, frustrated. “So your solution,” he said, “was to break her heart before you had the chance to?”

Steve winced. “I didn’t break her heart,” he muttered weakly.

Dustin stared at him in disbelief. “Steve.”

Steve groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Okay maybe a little.”

“A little?” Dustin said. “She literally asked you out and you rejected her.”

Steve peeked through his fingers. “I was trying to protect her.”

Dustin threw his arms up. “From what? Happiness?”

Steve rubbed his face again, looking completely exhausted now. “From me,” he said.

Dustin leaned forward again, squinting at Steve with the same expression he usually reserved for explaining extremely basic concepts to Lucas.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to explain something to you very slowly.”

Steve sighed. “Great.”

“You are being,” Dustin continued, pointing at him for emphasis, “an idiot.”

Steve didn’t even argue.

Dustin leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “When Hopper tried to intimidate me,” he said, “I shrugged him off.”

Steve blinked. “You what?”

Dustin nodded proudly. “Yeah. He did the whole ‘I’m a scary dad with a gun’ thing and I just kept dating Jane.”

Steve stared at him. “You’re insane.”

“And guess what happened?” Dustin said.

Steve sighed. “What?”

“He gave up,” Dustin said simply. “Because that’s what Hopper does. He acts scary and protective and eventually realizes he can’t control everything.”

Steve frowned.

Dustin leaned forward again, lowering his voice slightly. “Also, you realize Y/N isn’t Hopper, right?” he said. “She gets to decide who she likes. And she likes you,” he contined. “You like her. The only person ruining this situation right now is you.”

Steve slumped back in his chair.

For a moment he just stared at the ceiling, letting Dustin’s words bounce around in his head along with Hopper’s and your tearful voice and the look on your face when he’d said no.

“I think I really screwed this up,” he muttered.

Dustin nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”

Steve dropped his head back down. “Great.”

“But,” Dustin added quickly, leaning forward with a spark of determination in his eyes, “that doesn’t mean it’s over.”

Steve looked at him warily.

Dustin grinned slowly. “We just need a plan.”

Steve frowned. “A plan?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, already getting excited. “And I know just the someone who’s great at them.”

Steve should have been suspicious the moment Dustin said that sentence with that much confidence. There were only a handful of people Dustin trusted to solve complicated situations, and somehow every single one of them was either a genius, terrifying, or both.

Which was how Steve found himself half an hour later sitting stiffly on the Sinclair family couch while Erica Sinclair leaned back like a queen being forced to listen to the complaints of particularly stupid peasants.

The moment Steve finished explaining the situation, Erica slowly dragged a hand down her face and sighed the way someone did when their patience had been tested far beyond reasonable limits.

“Oh my God,” she said flatly. “You’re an idiot, you absolute dingbat.”

Steve turned toward Dustin who gave him a small nod that clearly translated to see, I told you.

Steve looked back at Erica. “That was unnecessarily aggressive.”

Erica crossed her arms and stared at him. “No,” she said. “Unnecessarily aggressive would be me throwing you out of my house for wasting oxygen with that story. What I said was a fact.”

Steve sank a little deeper into the couch.

Erica leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “The girl likes you. You like the girl. And when she asked you out, you said no because some grumpy middle-aged man scared you with his feelings.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I had other reasons.”

Erica leaned forward slightly. “Were those reasons stupid?”

Steve hesitated.

Dustin answered immediately. “Yes.”

“You made her cry?” she asked.

Steve winced. “Probably.”

Erica clicked her tongue in disappointment. “That’s bad.”

Steve blinked. “Bad?”

“Well yeah,” she said. “I actually like her.”

Steve and Dustin both looked at her.

Erica shrugged like it was obvious. “She’s cool. She brings snacks. And she doesn’t treat me like a child.”

“That’s because you are a child,” Steve muttered.

Erica pointed at him without even looking. “See? That attitude right there is why she deserves better.”

Steve slumped further into the couch.

“But,” Erica continued thoughtfully, tapping her finger against the armrest, “she also clearly has terrible taste in men.”

Dustin coughed to hide a laugh.

“So,” Erica said, straightening up slightly, “I will help you.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously. “What’s the plan?”

Erica leaned forward with a slow smile that immediately made Steve nervous. “The problem,” she began, “is that right now she thinks she imagined everything. She thinks you never actually liked her.”

Steve nodded slowly.

“So the solution,” Erica continued, “is not some big dramatic speech where you try to explain your feelings like a sad puppy because you will mess that up. So what you need,” she said, “is proof.”

Dustin leaned forward eagerly. “Proof?”

Erica nodded. “You’re going to show her that you pay attention to her.”

Steve frowned. “I already do that.”

“Good,” Erica said. “Then this won’t be hard.”

She began counting on her fingers.

“You’re going to bring things she’s mentioned liking before. Specific things. Maybe some flowers or something.”

Steve blinked. “You know a lot about this.”

Erica shrugged. “I read.”

Dustin coughed under his breath. “Nerd.”

“You’re going to apologize,” Erica continued, ignoring him. “And then you tell her the truth.”

Steve hesitated slightly.

Erica narrowed her eyes. “All of it.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah.”

“And if she still wants space,” Erica added, “you respect that.”

Dustin frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound like a winning-her-back plan.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “That’s because the goal isn’t to trick her into dating him,” she said. “The goal is to prove he’s not the complete idiot he pretended to be.”

Steve looked at her for a moment. “. . . You really think that’ll work?”

Erica shrugged. “If she likes you as much as you claim,” she said, “then yes.”

Steve nodded, hope and nervousness mixing together in his chest in a way that made his stomach flip.

Dustin grinned. “See?” he said. “I told you she’d have a plan.”

Erica stood up and stretched slightly. “Well, that will be a month of free video tapes.”

It had been raining for hours by the time the tapping started at your window.

You almost ignored it at first, buried face-down in your pillow with the lights off, the room dim except for the occasional flash of lightning slipping through the curtains.

You had told yourself you were not crying anymore. Technically that was true. You had stopped. Mostly. But the dull ache sitting behind your ribs had not gone anywhere, and every time you thought about Steve’s miserable expression in that back room, your chest tightened all over again.

The tapping came again.

You frowned into the pillow, lifting your head slightly. For a second your brain, still fuzzy with disappointment and lack of sleep, tried to convince you it was just the rain hitting the glass.

Then it tapped again.

You sat up.

When you pushed the curtain aside and opened the window, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Steve was halfway through climbing in and he was completely soaked.

Rain clung to his hair, dripping down the ends and onto his jacket, his shirt, the floor under the window. His sneakers made a soft wet sound when he stumbled inside, holding a slightly crushed bundle of flowers in one hand looking like they had barely survived the journey.

You stared at him and he stared back, breathing a little hard like he had run here. “Hi,” he said.

You blinked at him. “You climbed through my window.”

Steve nodded once, like that was a normal thing to do on a rainy night after rejecting someone earlier that day. “Yeah.”

“You’re soaking wet.”

“Also yes.”

You looked at the flowers. “Did you steal those?”

He glanced down at them like he had forgotten they existed. “Technically I paid for them.” He hesitated. “I think the cashier pitied me.”

You stared for another long second, trying very hard to make sense of the situation. “Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?”

Steve swallowed, suddenly looking much less confident than he had climbing through the window in the rain like some kind of very soggy romantic idiot. He ran a hand through his wet hair, immediately messing it up further. “I messed up,” he said.

You crossed your arms, still sitting on the edge of the bed. “You did.”

“I know.”

He stepped a little closer, careful like you might disappear if he moved too fast. The flowers were still clutched awkwardly in his hand, slightly bent but determinedly bright against the dim room.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot,” he admitted. “But it turns out that’s kind of unavoidable.”

You watched him, your heart already starting to beat faster in a way you did not want to acknowledge yet.

Steve looked down at the floor for a second before continuing. “Yesterday. . . your dad and I talked.”

Your brows pulled together slightly.

“And he said some stuff,” Steve went on. “Stuff that kind of stuck in my head. About how I’m not good enough for you. And the stupid part is. . .” He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “I already thought that.”

Something in your chest tightened.

Steve looked back up at you then, eyes honest and a little raw. “You’re amazing,” he said simply. “Like, ridiculously amazing. You’re brave and smart and kind and somehow still patient with people like me who forget basic things like how tapes work or how to act normal when someone pretty, someone just like you, walks into the room. You save the world and then go home and help your sister with lunch like it’s nothing. And you laugh at my dumb jokes like they’re actually funny.”

Your throat felt tight.

“And I’m just. . .” Steve gestured vaguely at himself. “This guy who spent most of high school being a jerk and now works at a video store.”

“You’re more than that,” you said.

Steve shook his head a little. “Maybe. But when you asked me out today, all I could hear in my head was Hopper saying you deserved someone better. And the worst part was I believed him.”

He stepped closer again, placing the flowers on your table like they were something fragile.

“I said no because I thought it was the right thing to do,” he continued. “Like if I stepped back first, maybe I wouldn’t screw things up for you later.”

Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “Steve. . .”

“But then you left,” he said. “And you looked so hurt, and Robin spent the next hour telling me I was the dumbest human being alive, which, fair, but also I realized something.”

He took another small step toward you.

“I realized that trying to stay away from you hurts way worse than any mistake I could possibly make.”

Your heart stuttered.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously, water still dripping from the ends of his hair onto the floor. “I like you,” he said, voice almost shy now. “Like. . . really like you. In a way that makes me forget how sentences work and stare at you like an idiot whenever you walk into a room. In a way that makes every near-death monster situation a little less terrifying because at least you’re there too.”

You felt a small, disbelieving smile pulling at your mouth.

“And yeah,” Steve continued, glancing at you again. “Maybe I’m not the guy who deserves you. But if there’s even a tiny chance you’d still want me anyway. . . I’d really like to try to be that guy for you.”

For a moment you just looked at him standing there, soaked through, nervous, holding onto hope with the kind of stubborn sincerity that was so unmistakably Steve.

“You climbed through my window,” you said again.

Steve nodded. “Romantic, right?”

You shook your head a little, smiling now despite everything. “You rejected me six hours ago.”

“I know.”

“In the middle of Family Video.”

“I am deeply ashamed.”

“And now you’re telling your feelings in the rain.”

Steve hesitated, then cleared his throat slightly. “Actually I had a quote prepared.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He shifted awkwardly. “It’s from Star Wars.”

“Of course it is.”

Steve took a small breath, then said, very seriously, “You’re the Obi-Wan for me but in a less mentor and more girlfriend boyfriend way.”

You stared at him. “That’s not even—”

“I panicked,” Steve admitted quickly. “The other one was Han Solo.” He glanced up at you, a little sheepish before adding, “You know. . . the ‘I love you.’ ‘I know.’ thing.” He huffed a small laugh. “But that felt way too confident for someone currently dripping rainwater all over your floor.”

You tried very hard not to laugh.

Steve looked at you with a hopeful little shrug. “What I meant was. . . I can’t imagine a life where you’re not in it.”

Your heart softened so fast it almost hurt.

You stood up slowly from the bed and walked over to him, stopping just close enough that you could see the nervous flicker in his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” you told him.

“Yeah,” Steve said immediately. “That checks out.”

“But you’re my idiot.”

His breath caught slightly.

You reached up and brushed a drop of rain from his cheek with your thumb. “And for the record,” you added, “I never asked you to be perfect. I just asked you to be you.”

Steve looked at you like you had just handed him the entire universe. “You still want that date?” he asked.

You pretended to think about it for a second. “Maybe,” you said.

Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief.

You smiled and leaned forward, closing the distance between you and Steve froze for half a second before kissing you back, one hand lifting uncertainly to rest against your waist like he was still not entirely convinced this was actually happening.

When you finally pulled back, he was smiling in an amazed way he sometimes did after surviving something impossible.

“Wow,” Steve murmured.

#hopper!reader

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