#lemonade fic

[curiositydooropened]

Lemonade

A look at your week in Hawkins, soaking up the summer sun with your newfound friends. A follow-up to Chamomile.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!reader

Wordcount: 22,214

Warnings: slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, angst with a happy ending, unrequited Ronance, recreational drug use, underaged drinking, sex, gun use, canon-typical violence

No tag list! xo

Chamomile • Masterlist

---

Eddie’s cabin, if you could call it a cabin - more like a shack, sat in a clearing off-the-beaten path. Dilapidated was a good word to use, the timber siding had seen better days, exterior windows boarded. By the looks of it, something had torn through the roof and through the walls, and those had been patched just as haphazardly. If it weren’t for Robin and Nancy’s adamant reassurance that you were safe, you would have assumed they’d dragged you somewhere abandoned for ritual sacrifice.

“Ah, so we’re going to indoctrinate her into the cult?” Eddie greeted from the top step, barefoot and baggy-pantsed, shaggy hair bouncing in excitement, tatted and scarred arms folded cooly over his chest. 

“Eddie,” Nancy shushed him, carrying her handful of grocery bags up the stairs. “What if she escapes and tells the police?” 

Eddie grinned and extended a hand to you, which you took, cool steel tickling your fingertips. “She wouldn’t tell on little ole me, would you sweetheart?” And he gave you a little bow as you approached the top step, pressing plump lips to your knuckles. 

You shrugged. “Depends. What kind of benefits do I get for joining?” You waggled your eyebrows, and Eddie let out a long whistle. 

“Damn, Harrington was right. You’re feisty.”

You were grateful for Eddie’s lead indoors, face heating at the comment. Steve had talked about you, but not to you in the last month. He’d known you were going to show up, and Robin made about a million and three excuses when you had arrived, promising that Steve’s been busy with work and that he’d join you all at Eddie’s the following evening, a fact that had brought more anxiety lurching in your stomach than ever before.

You entered Eddie’s little home with your breath held, half-expecting for Steve to be there, stretched along the length of the polyester couch, but he wasn’t. Instead, you were exposed to a quaint little room, littered with heavy metal memorabilia and empty soda cans and candy wrappers, all juxtaposed with a taxidermied deer on the opposing wall. The room smelled of Eddie, cedar and leather and smoke, and you tried to ignore the pressing anxiety at Steve’s absence while Eddie offered you a seat on the sofa. 

“Beer?” Nancy called from the kitchen, shuffling away the grocery shop she’d made before picking you and Robin up.

Robin was two steps ahead of her, standing near the open refrigerator door with hands outstretched. Nancy made to toss the cans before she noticed Robin, and you witnessed and awkward moments of oops, sorrys and it’s okays. You pinched back a knowing smile before catching Eddie’s eye. He was grinning ear-to-ear.

“So you look nice…” His tongue wet plump lips and he gave you a once over. 

You tugged subconsciously on the soft chiffon of your shirt. Maybe you’d gone a bit overboard. You just wanted to look good, make that stupid boy recognize what he’d been missing. 

“She dressed up for Steve,” Robin explained, popping the tab on her beer as she tossed yours into your lap.

“Robin!” You squawked. 

“And now here I was, hoping you’d dressed up for little ole me,” Eddie smirked again, throwing his legs sideways over the battered armchair across from you. 

“Maybe I was.” You sneered at Robin, who kicked you with the toe of her sneaker, a soft smile on her cherry lips. 

“Don’t stroke his ego too much,” Nancy commented, neatly folding paper bags against the countertop. “That’s why his hair’s so big.” 

“Rude, Wheeler.” Eddie retorted, flipping her the bird over the top of the chair. She just snorted, shook her head, and he turned his gaze back to you, fiddling his rings with the opposite hand. “I’m sorry if my compliments make you uncomfortable. I’ve just seen way too much of these assholes for the last month, and I’m starved for intelligent conversation.” He explained.

“Intelligent conversation, my ass, Munson,” Robin laughed. “Every time we come over, you won’t shut up about Metallica.” 

“And you’re welcome,” Eddie pointed a finger her direction.

You laughed, popped the tab on your beer and sipped the bit of foam bubbling out. “I’m afraid I have nothing to offer in a conversation about Metallica,” you shrugged. “But I did finish the Silmarillion.” 

Eddie sat upright, feet to the floor, elbows on his knees, leaned across the small space. He was all big, brown eyes and shaggy hair, and he whispered. “Will you marry me?” 

—

With thrown garbage and boos, Nancy and Robin ceased your nerd conversation with Eddie so you could all catch-up and enjoy each other’s company. Nancy was writing for the paper. Robin got a job at a local music store, teaching trumpet lessons. Eddie worked as a night janitor for a lab. You vaguely remembered hearing about the lab and some sort of chemical leak, but decided not to bring it up. Eddie was busy, anyway, dodging teasing comments about his uniform from the girls. 

An hour or so had passed, and your cheeks tingled from a light buzz, and you felt warm and happy to be around friends again, and all of that faded from your body the moment you heard tires rolling onto the gravel drive. 

“Must be the po-po,” Eddie laughed, acoustic guitar strung over his lap. He strummed mindlessly, a progression of chords you were familiar with, but fingering foreign to you. Although, all you could really hear was the reverberations of your heartbeat in your skull. 

“Damn. Just before the ritual sacrifice,” Robin toed at you again, and you offered a weak smile. She grinned and leaned over to squeeze your forearm with her hand. “It’s fine.” She whispered. You wondered if she could feel the nerves radiating off of you.

Boots steps creaked the front stairs, and the door handle turned, and in walked Steve Harrington, in all his blue polyester glory. A chorus of greetings were thrown his direction, and he lobbed them off with a soft wave. God, he looked exhausted. Broad shoulders slumped, dark bags beneath his eyes. His jawline and upper lip were speckled with the softest of stubble.

He b-lined it for the kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge and popping it open, chugging half with the door open before he sighed and wiped the foam off the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“That bad, huh?” Robin offered. 

Steve sighed, ran a hand through his hair, a bit greasier than you’d seen it. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.” 

“Any exciting calls at work today?” Eddie continued his strum. 

Steve crossed to the seat just beside Eddie, a metal lawn chair, and sunk into it. He hid his face in his hands and stretched his leg out until his boot touched the toe of your sneaker. You held your breath, staring at the connection point, and then at him, waiting for him to notice. He didn’t. He just mumbled. “Well, I uh… got a call today that someone was vandalizing Palace Arcade.”

Robin snorted. “Bet Keith loved that.” 

Steve shot her a look, but he noticed you beside her. His gaze flitted to yours. You held your breath, fingers slipping from the sides of your can. The corner of his mouth upturned in the slightest way, and his own fingers lifted from his beer can in a greeting, but before you could respond, he’d gathered his attention back on Robin, back on his story. “Oh yeah, Keith loved to tell me that my favorite red-headed brat in a wheelchair was spray painting dicks on the side of his dad’s building.” 

“Holy shit,” Nancy sputtered her beer. 

“Fucking metal,” Eddie laughed, strumming to accentuate his point.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve ran a through his hair. “Only it’s not metal when they want to press charges, and I’m having to handcuff a girl in a wheelchair for the third time this summer. And fucking Max makes me feel like shit about it too. The second we’re in the back of the cruiser, she reminds me that it’s bullshit they aren’t handicap accessible, and like I agree with her, obviously! And it’s like our fault she’s in the damn chair to begin with.” 

“Steve,” Robin whispered, and something fell between them, between all of them, and once again, you were the outcast. You were just a stranger among family members. 

Eddie stretched a hand over to jostle Steve’s shoulder, give it a squeeze. Steve released a shaky sigh into his hand. You sunk further into your corner of the couch, wishing nothing more than to be swallowed up. The weight of Steve’s boot felt heavier against your toes, backing your foot into the tattered upholstery. You glanced sideways at Robin, and then at Nancy, who was staring at you with pinched eyebrows. She stood from her seat abruptly and wiped dust off her thighs. 

“Steve, can I speak with you outside for a minute?”

Steve glanced from her, quickly to you, and back before he groaned and lifted himself from his chair. The two of them exited the cabin, and the moment the door closed, you chugged the last of your drink. 

“Thank God,” Eddie smiled, depositing his guitar back on the ground beside himself. He clapped his hands together and leaned toward you again. “So the Silmarillion…” 

You managed a half-hearted chuckle, but Robin’s fingertips making circles on your forearm brought the tickle of emotion to your throat. You waved her off and shook your head. “Guys, I’m fine. Really. He clearly had a long day. We’ve all been there. Also like what was I expecting?” 

“A white horse,” Eddie pointed out. “Sweep you off your feet. Hurried sex in the backset of his car.” 

“Eddie!” Robin gasped, scandalized.

But you laughed, shrugged. “Something like that.” 

“Well, if you’d like to stay, I can offer you two of three.” Eddie flashed you his canines, and you snorted, tossing your empty can at him. Droplets of beer soaked into the denim of his knee. 

Your name, called softly from the doorway, startled you all, and you looked up to see Nancy reentering the room with an all-too-pleased look on her face. She gave you wide eyes and scooted in tight to Robin. Just beyond her, Steve leaned in the doorway, sunset honeying the flyaways of his hair. He waved, beckoned with soft fingers. You swallowed and stood to join him, flipping off the oohs and ahs you received from the peanut gallery. 

You stepped out onto the porch, wood groaning beneath your feet. Your heart thundered in your ears again, dizzying, the sunset just beyond Steve’s silhouette blinding you. Had it really gotten that late? You felt soft fingertips curl into your hand, bringing you closer, and you angled yourself to look at him, brown eyes, divot in his nose, pink lips. 

“Hi,” he muttered, and you managed to whisper it back. The hand not holding yours found your waist. “I’m sorry.” 

You shrugged. “S’okay.” 

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been an asshole. Work has just been… chaotic. Not that that’s an excuse.” He winced. 

You nodded, gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re taking care of yourself though, right?” 

He blew out a laugh. “Too busy taking care of the whole damn town.” 

You didn’t like the wry tone to his voice, this hero complex he’d built for himself.“Steve.” 

He looked at you, a deep sadness in his eyes you didn’t think you’d ever seen, and he swallowed. “You know that girl, Max? The one in the wheelchair?”

You shrugged, remembering the conversation from minutes ago. You didn’t think you’d ever met Max. 

“Well, it’s like… she’s such a little badass. She’s so smart, hell way smarter than me, but she’s been through so much shit in her life, and I just wish I could help her, you know? But all I can seem to do is yell at her, throw handcuffs on her.” He ran a hand down his exhausted face. “I’m sorry. I just… I feel responsible for her.” 

“You care,” you nodded. “Something I’ve noticed about you.”

He snorted. 

“Hey,” you ducked your head until he met your gaze again. “If I see it, she does.”

“Would you want to come over tomorrow?” He asked, changing the subject, a familiar twinkle fading back into his amber eyes. “It’s supposed to be hot. I’ve got a pool.” 

“I’ll ask Robin.” 

He stopped you then, thumb drawing circles against your wrist. “I was kind of hoping for some alone time?” You stomach swooped at that, and he must have heard the sharp intake of breath because he quickly scrambled for clarification. “I meant time with you. I was hoping to spend time with you. Without those… assholes.” He gestured vaguely within the cabin.

You snorted, nodded. “I’d like that.” 

The softest of smiles cast across his features. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up around noon? You’re staying at Robin’s right?” 

You shrugged. “Eddie offered to show me a good time. Might stay here.” 

Steve’s jaw slammed shut at that. “I’ll kill him.” 

—

Steve arrived a little after noon, and you’d have been irritated were it not for the softness of his shoulders, the sleep crusting his eyelashes. He still had a pillow creased tinged pink against his right cheek. Robin had teased him for it, tugged out the wrinkles of his polo, told him to shape up and take good care of her friend. He apologized to you about twenty-five times on the way to his house, but you sighed into the plush interior of his car, all bergamot and chamomile, and let your hand ride lazily out the passenger’s side window, bumping in the summer breeze. 

The sun was high in the sky and it was hot, as promised, the sheen of sweat licking at the hairs on the base of Steve’s neck, and yours, and your thighs stuck together until he pried them apart, a confident palm to your skin there. You buzzed with it, sunk deeper into the seat, adjusted your hips until his hand slid a couple inches higher.

He had to release you to downshift, turning into the ritzy streets of his neighborhood, and your skin tingled, craving his touch again. He pulled into his driveway and offered lazy smiles as he led you up the stone path to his double front doors. 

The Harrington Home had really changed in six months, not that that should alarm you. New furniture, a new set-up. Peering down the hall, you noticed the entertainment center on the opposite wall, a new L-shaped sofa garnering new throw cushions. You allowed Steve to take you by the hand to lead you toward the backyard. You were stopped by a melodic call from the staircase. 

“Steven, is that you?” 

Steve tucked you behind him, turned back to face the stairs. “Yeah, Ma, it’s me.” He called. 

“Oh, I thought you’d gone to work already.” 

You turned to see Mrs. Harrington approach, the picture of perfection. Designer dress suit, brooches, the fattest diamond you’d ever seen as she reached to cup Steve’s cheek in a beautiful French-tipped hand. She smudged at the crease on his cheek.

He squirmed from her grasp. “No work today, just um…” He allowed you to peak out from behind his shoulder, introduced you to his mother. He introduced you as a friend of Robin and Nancy’s from school, and you tried not to deflate at the descriptors. 

“Well, a friend of Nancy Wheeler’s is a friend of ours,” she gripped your hand tightly, resolute, and her red lips turned up just so at the corner. She was an intimidating woman, but soft in all the right spots. She was lanky, like Steve, all legs and long limbs. He had her smile, her round eyes, the softest bits of him. “Are you coming to the party on the Fourth?” 

You glanced sideways at Steve, who offered owl eyes and the slightest of shakes to his hair, and you shrugged, smiling back at Mrs. Harrington. “Maybe.” 

“Oh, good. I love fresh meat.” She waggled her eyebrows and flashed her canines. Steve got that from her too.

“Ma,” he groaned. 

She swatted at his forearm. “I’m teasing. Alright, alright I’ll get out of your hair. Dad’s at the club, so you know he’ll be out all day.” She threw in an eye roll for effect. “I’m going to the store to pick up stuff for the party. Any special requests?” 

Steve shook his head. “The usual.” 

“Got it, sweetie. What are you two up to?” 

“Just going to use the pool.” 

“Well be careful,” she smudged a red stained kiss to his cheekbone, used her thumb to scrub it off. “Wear sunscreen. Don’t worry, dear,” she turned to you. “My baby is a certified lifeguard and swim team co-captain.” 

“Ma!” 

“Okay, okay. I’m out of here.” She gave your wrist a little squeeze and offered a wink before she floated out of the room. “Love you!” She called, and Steve returned the gesture in exasperation before tugging you outside with him.

The Harrington’s backyard didn’t feel as glamorous as the interior of their house. A slab of pavement run around a kidney shaped pool, everything sun kissed through the filter of trees just on the other side of a large fence, the woods beyond. There were a handful of chaise lounges, one you thumped your bag onto while Steve picked up an oversized net and started ridding the water’s surface of pine needles and water skippers. The tiniest sliver of grass buzzed with crickets and grasshoppers and cicadas.

You wore your swimsuit beneath your clothes, but the thought of stripping down here, in the open, had you suddenly gun-shy. You instead opted to sit on the foot of a lounger and peel off your sandals. The sun-warmed concrete was hot against the pads of your feet, that cool, blue water all the more enticing.

“Your mom seems nice,” you offered when he’d finished his task and met you at the poolside. 

He sunk into his own lounger with a snort, running his hand through his hair. “Can’t believe you agreed to go to her party.” 

“You didn’t warn me!” You laughed, swatted at his thigh.

“I gave you the look!” And he channeled it again, wide-eyed, brows so high they wrinkled his forehead.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, glancing back around the barren surroundings. You felt his gaze on you, softer now, and went you met it, you saw the faintest of smirks on the corner of his lips. His eyes swept your face, your lips, down your front, and back. He pulled himself upright to sit across from you, knees touching. You felt stifled in the proximity, lungs at capacity, air lighter at this altitude. God, that pool sounded nice. “Co-captain of the swim team, huh?” 

“Go Tigers,” he snorted, but he placed his hand on your bare thigh again, just to your left side, fingertips tickling as they trailed from your knee to the hem of your shorts. Your skin pebbled despite how flushed you felt. 

“Why don’t you show me your moves?” You breathed. And suddenly brave, you lifted yourself to your feet and pulled your tank top over your head. You discarded it on top of your bag, feeling exposed and on fire under Steve’s heady gaze. He looked up at you through long eyelashes, your thighs at eye level, and you swallowed back the tightness in your throat while you unbuttoned the fly of your denim shorts. 

His hand helped you tug the material down your legs until they fell limp at your ankles. His fingertips retraced their steps, up from the scars on your knee, to the toggled blue and purple ties where your suit met at your hip bones. You watched his Adam’s apple bob. “My moves?” 

And then he was standing, all in your space, all bergamot and chamomile and the lingering scent of peppermint on his breath that fanned your face, too hot. You felt crowded with him, exposed, pebbled skin, breath caught, and you panicked, taking three hurried steps to the right until you were throwing yourself into the frigid waters. 

You knew this would happen, that you’d be lost under his spell again, the moment he laid eyes on you, hands on you, breathed in your direction. The pool was a nice refresher, a slap of cold water that swallowed you up and reminded you of the longing you’d suffered since Thanksgiving, that yearning that ached in your ribs and warmed between your legs. 

You resurfaced for a breath, combing wet hair back, sputtering chlorine and cold. You scrubbed at an eye until the blur went away and dog-paddled back to the edge of the pool. “Water’s nice,” you hugged the wall, scratchy cement under your fingernails, kicked your legs out behind you. 

Steve stared back at you with that slight smirk on his lips, dimpling his cheek. He looked out at the water, contemplating his options, before he turned the direction of the house and pulled his polo over his head. You watched the span of his back relax and contract with each movement, the ripple of shoulder blades and traps, and you bit back a Jesus Christ while he balled his shirt to toss to the chair beside yours. 

He toed out of his sneakers and tugged his socks from the bottom to shove into them, and when he stood to face you again, a pink tinge had ridden up the front of him. You watched his pecs muscles flex beneath his chest hair, and followed the pattern to his navel and just down the front of his shorts. He moved his hand, and your focus went to the scars he covered self consciously. 

You ducked your head, stared into the pool, took a deep breath, and made a concentrated effort to meet his gaze with an encouraging smile. 

He dropped his hands then, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, and he crossed to you. 

You really tried to keep your focus on his face, but as he found a seat on the pool’s edge beside you, the purpled skin of his tanned torso sits right at eye level. You remembered running your fingers across the torn tissue, only for your hands to be moved away. You gulped and dropped lower in the water, waves kissing your earlobes.

“Remember that girl, Max, I was telling you about?” He said softly, running his fingertips over the puckered skin. 

You nodded, sniffled. 

“During the…” He struggled for words, hand spinning in the air to find them. “Earthquake?”

You nodded again. 

“She was on one side of it, and I was kind of on the other. I was trying to help her, save her. And I couldn’t get to her in time.”

You understood. You reached out to squeeze his ankle. 

He had this far-off look on his face, shoulders slumped from the weight he’d been carrying. You wondered how long, how long had the weight compacted, this unnecessary guilt. “God, I think I’d do anything for her.” 

Something struck you then, a realization, but he must have seen a change in your expression because he quickly corrected, hands shaking out in front of you. “Not like that. No, God no. She’s like twelve. Well, shit, she’s like a junior now, huh? But she’s just a kid. She’s like the kid sister I never had. I guess all of those little shits are like my younger siblings.”

You bit back a relieved smile. “You’re responsible for them.” 

“Unfortunately,” he grinned, nodded, his hair wagged, sunlight glinting off the perfect strands. Then he narrowed his gaze on you. “You ever want kids?” 

For some unholy reason, your stomach swooped. Images flashed in your mind of Steve chasing around toddlers and middle school sex-ed class, a whoosh of opposing concepts that made you a little dizzy. You let out a shaky breath and shrugged. “Someday.”

You thought of the act of making kids, of Steve’s face buried in the pulse of your neck, hips grinding up into your own, and you quickly kicked off from the wall, a back-pedal into the cool waters that were barely keeping you afloat. Your lungs sure as hell weren’t helping. 

“Where are you going?” He called after you.

You’d almost reached the shallow side, the balls of your feet skimming the bottom, and you waited until you could touch to stand and wade your fingertips through the water. “You just going to sit there and flirt with me all day, Harrington, or are you going to come and get it?” The bravery of your word vomit was deafened by the thundering of your heartbeat in your own ears. 

Steve scrambled to his feet and hesitated for a long moment, eyes sweeping the pool for something. He looked up and out at the trees, and then you watched his shoulders release in a breath, and he dove in, biceps to his ears, hands curved in front of him. 

You watched the shape of him, a long dark shadow, scoop to the floor before it inched toward you, like the fin from Jaws, until you felt two, strong hands grasping at your thighs and you were being pushed up against the sidewall, pinned. You felt a nose and mouth against your knee, your inner thigh, jostling the tie of your bottoms, the crease of your hip bone, the ticklish roll of your ribcage. His hand dipped just beneath your breast, a thumb tucking itself under the waist band of your bikini top. His other hand pulled him upward from the pool’s edge, trapping you into him. 

He surfaced with a gasp, lips sputtering. He pinched at his eyes, ran a hand to slick back his hair, and he sparkled with water droplets from his eyelashes to the tip of his nose, to the curve of his cupid’s bow. “I came and got it,” he breathed, all chlorine and sunshine. 

“I see that,” you chuckled, hugging yourself to his waist for balance, sturdy, rock-hard. 

“Gross!”

“Get a room, Harrington!” A cry of protests split you like polarization of magnets. Steve kicked off from the wall, and you ducked into the water and around the curve of the pool to maintain some modesty. 

You peaked over the edge just as you heard Steve say, “Henderson? What the hell are you doing here?”

“What does it look like, Steve?” Dustin approached in technicolor swim trunks, tossing a floaty into the deep side of the pool. “It’s summer, and it’s hot as hell, and my friends and I would like to take a swim.” He gestured to the handful of kids he brought with him. You recognized one as Nancy’s brother, but the girl and other boy with them were new to you.

“Go to the local pool!” 

“And waste our hard earned money when we could spend the day with our favorite babysitter and his girl?” Dustin waggled his eyebrows at you. “How’s it goin?”

You managed a wave and tried not to stare at the curve of Steve’s ass as he pulled himself out of the pool to grip the younger boy by the meat of his arm. 

“Ow, ow, okay, okay, okay.” Dustin scoffed.

“Hey Steve,” Mike called from the loungers. He and his friends were already shrugging off their clothes. “Got any popsicles?” 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, hands on his hips, shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked at you apologetically, and you flashed him a smile and a shrug. “You want anything?” 

“I could do a popsicle.” You nodded, and with a sigh, Steve retreated into his big, beautiful house. You laughed when the splash of Mike Wheeler’s cannonball cascaded over you, coloring everything in cool blues.

—

“I guess I’m going to his mom’s party?” You crunched down on a cheese puff and sunk down deep into the ruffly clouds that were Robin’s bed linens. You were sun soaked, and your muscles ached from hours of water fights with Mike and his girlfriend, El. Your skin was dry and your hair fried from the chemicals, but you were blissed out by hours of Steve’s fingers touching the softest parts of you, soaking in that summer smile. 

“Abort, abort,” Robin shook her head frivolously from her makeshift cot beside you. “Ugh. No. Those parties are nothing but pissing contests for the rich. She’ll just use you to brag to Daddy Harrington’s colleagues about her son’s collegiate conquests, and they’ll all just sip brandy and discuss ring sizes and wedding venues while you and Steve stand awkwardly in a corner wishing your eardrums had burst.” 

“Wow, Rob, how do you really feel?” You snorted, rolling on your side to face her. Your legs were all balled up in covers, but the heat from your sunburn had begun to radiate, so you kicked until your calves were free. The breeze from her cracked window pooled and cooled them, and you sighed. 

“I was invited to one of these parties. Right when Steve and I started hanging out. And that’s precisely what happened. ‘Did you know Robin speaks several languages?’ ‘Did you know that Robin has been in band her entire life? Quite the artiste.’” She used a thick British accent, likened to that of Julia Childs, and you laughed at her impression. “They were halfway through planning our children’s names before Steve had to pull her aside and explain that we aren’t dating. I don’t think she forgave him for a month. She still glares at me every time I run into her.” 

“Well how dare you ruin her hopes and dreams, Robin Buckley?”

She snorted, hands extended high over her face to examine the fingertips she painted an hour earlier. They were smudged and chipped, a neon blue. She picked at a tear in her cuticle. “Tell me about it.” And you thought of the little secret she shared with you over Easter. 

“Still harboring that crush on Nance?” You whispered, leaned into her.

She groaned and lowered her hand to hide behind them. She nodded with a sigh that rivaled Eddie’s dramatics. She split her fingers to look at you just beyond him, big blue eyes full of worry. “I think I’m in love.” 

You reached over to give her wrist a little squeeze and offered an apologetic smile. You shrugged. “You think you’ll ever… talk to her about it?”

“Are you insane?” She drug her hands cartoonishly down her face like her skin had melted off.

You laughed and rolled onto your back, staring up at the myriad of posters adorning the ceiling of Robin’s childhood bedroom. They all made so much more sense with context. Madonna, Bowie, Olivia Newton-John. Jesus, it was a miracle none of you had noticed before. You smiled and felt your eyelids grow heavy. “I think I have heat stroke.” You yawned.

“No, it’s just puppy love. You’ll survive.” She caught your yawn, stretching the vowels of her words. 

You closed your eyes and snuggled deeper into your pillow. “Think he’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

“If he doesn’t, Eddie will.” And you both laughed at that, warm and happy and filled with home. 

—

“You weren’t kidding?” You guffawed as Nancy Wheeler’s station wagon took a front row parking spot at War Zone: Army Surplus. 

When you asked what your itinerary included for the day, and Nancy had casually said ‘target practice’, you assumed it was a euphemism for a jolly game of horseshoes, maybe even corn hole. Something that involved bare foot on a grassy lawn and not something you required ammunitions for. 

“Never question Nancy Wheeler.” Robin tutted, exiting the vehicle beside you. 

“What? You thought coming to Hawkins would involve wholesome summertime fun?” Nancy flashed you that debonair smirk, upturned corners of bubblegum pink lips. 

“Kind of,” you closed your door and followed the girls’ confident gaits inside. 

The War Zone was a mishmash of signage and neon Beer lights and big, technicolor targets. A wall that was lined with firearms stood opposite a wall of animals you’d rather not see on a hike, all stuffed and posed in various attacks. The three of you were by far the youngest and smallest, but Nancy just walked to the ammo counter like she’d been there a million times before. In fact, the big burly man at the counter greeted her by name, and you only managed to pick your jaw off the ground when Robin flashed you a knowing smirk and waggled eyebrows.

Ten minutes later, you were diving headfirst into the backseat of the station wagon with a paper bag full of ammo, paper targets, and ear plugs. 

“This is just a thing you guys do?” You buckled in behind Robin while Nancy backed out of her parking spot. She and Robin shared a familiar smile. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

A half hour later, when you’d arrived at Eddie’s cabin, he greeted you in the brightest orange bulletproof vest you’d ever seen, that familiar grin plastered over his features. “Milady,” he greeted, your knuckles to his lips, and you scoffed. 

“You knew about this?” You thumbed back to Nancy, who was pulling a sawed-off shotgun out of the hatchback trunk of her Mom’s car. 

“I was as shocked as you are,” he confirmed with the bobble of his head. A handkerchief was tied around his hair to inhibit hair movement, and he’d even painted black streaks under both of his eyes, war paint. 

“Have I entered another dimension?” You threw your hands in the air, and the three of them burst into raucous laughter. Eddie doubled over. Robin and Nancy clutched at each other for support. 

“I like you,” Eddie squeezed your shoulder and wiped tears from the corner of his eye. “Come on, time to hike.” 

The hike you weren’t prepared for either, sandals and the denim shorts from the day before, a little tight and bunched from the dried pool water. Stickers and pokies scratched up your shins, and Eddie had to caught you by the arm to ensure you hadn’t face planted over a log, but eventually, you reached a clearing in the trees and Nancy and Robin dropped their hauls. 

The little meadow you’d found was beautiful, a spot of warm sun just in the deepest dip of a valley, breeze floating in and kissing the wildflowers that grew at your ankles. Eddie helped Nancy peel old targets from trees and nail the new ones in, and you sidled up beside Robin with a hip bump. 

“You going to tell me what’s going on here?” 

She smiled, shook her head. “Nah, I’m enjoying your reactions. Wish I had a polaroid.” 

“Hey! Little help here?” A shout from behind you indicated newcomers, and you both turned to see Jonathan and Argyle stumble in, dragging a large cooler with them. Both were panting, hair stuck to their temples, and you grinned as you jogged to meet them. 

“Hey, you two,” you smiled, helping Robin take the heavy cooler out of their hands. It was a two-handed job, but you managed to shimmy it closer to the center of the clearing before slamming it down. Immediately, Argyle reached in for a water bottle and started to chug.

“Whoa, dude, slow down. That’s for everyone,” Jonathan scolded, and Argyle sputtered before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he offered you a lazy smile and nod.

“Mushroom girl, hey.” 

You grinned and waved.

“Are you already high?” Robin snorted.

Jonathan just smirked and pulled two joints from the breast pocket of his shirt. 

“Absolutely not,” Eddie stepped into view, plucking them from the other boy’s hand and pocketing them. “We are not doing drugs around loaded weapons.”

“Someone’s doing drugs around loaded weapons? Jesus Christ, you guys really are trying to get me fired!” Another voice called from a few feet behind, and you glanced up to see Steve approach. He wore his blue uniform, hair perfectly coiffed, aviator glasses resting on that perfect bridge of his nose. 

You sucked back a smile, fought only harder when Robin sent you an elbow to the ribs. 

“Just in time, Officer,” Nancy greeted, shaking a revolver in the air with a careless wrist. You ducked into Robin, who squawked and nearly toppled over. Eddie held you both aloft. “Care for a shoot out?” 

“Jesus, Nance. Can I say ‘hi’ first?” Steve’s approach was painstakingly slow, but he immediately threw an arm around you and pulled you in for a tight hug. You nestled yourself into the curve of his chest, batting eyelashes at Robin and Eddie, both of whom offered dramatic gags and heaves. “Hi, how are you?” He muttered into your ear, warm breath and the fan of fingers on your waist. 

You pulled back to shake your head at him. “You didn’t warn me.” 

“Of what?” His brown eyes twinkled. “That Nance is insane? I thought you knew.” 

And he pulled away from you to join Nancy at her makeshift shooting range. Eddie slipped bright orange ear plugs into your hand, and you’d just managed to hear Steve say, “I’m so fired after this,” before the sounds of the meadow were dulled by the thudding of your heartbeat. 

The two of them shot in tandem, six perfect rounds, side-by-side. Nancy’s stance was strong, firm, shoulder’s relaxed. Steve was much more rigid, feet shoulder width apart, hips stock-still. You were stunned by the volume, even dampened. You didn’t realize you were clutching Robin’s arm for dear life until Steve re-holstered his piece and Nancy dropped hers to her side. With matching smirks, they crossed the little clearing to search their targets. 

You couldn’t hear them, but it was evident Nancy had won by the proud smirk etched into her features, and the slump of Steve’s shoulders, hand to his utility belt like a grumpy dad. Your mind slipped to the question he’d asked the day before, and you bit down hard on your lower lip.

“Who’s next?” Eddie clapped his hands together from beside you, flashing you that Cheshire grin as he gestured for you to step forward. 

You stared at him with wide eyes and popped a plug from your ear. “I’m sorry, I think I’m hallucinating.” 

“Mushrooms,” Argyle confirmed with a nod. 

“I can teach you,” Steve said, hand outstretched. Your stomach swooped when his lips quirked up into that smile, that safe space. “I won’t let you get hurt, promise.” With a shaky breath, you snaked your fingers into his hand and allowed him to pull you up beside him.

“You too, Robs. Let’s go,” Nancy interjected from beside you.

“Uh, I don’t… that’s really probably not the best idea, Nancy. I can’t even walk. I can barely hold a walkman, and it usually strapped to my belt.” She rambled on, but Eddie pushed her forward until she stood between you and Nancy. 

“Come on, Robin. It’s easy. Like holding a trumpet.” Nancy shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” the girl twirled her hair around her fingers. “I think I’m more of a Molotov kind of girl.” 

“Hey, don’t forget you did pretty damn good with that axe.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” And there was something there, shared between them, that traumatic mystery of a backstory of theirs, and the way they shared a smile made you duck your head, like you were intruding.

“Ready? Just do as I say.” Steve’s breath was hot on the shell of your ear, hand at your waist as he rounded to stand behind you.

You gulped. 

Warm, strong arms wrapped around you, all blue and soft cotton. “Alright, stand strong. Feet a little wider apart.” His boot kicked between your feet, and you jolted, grasping at his hands around your waist. “Easy.” He chuckled. God, was it too hot out? You thought you might pass out. 

“Okay, here you go,” Steve offered his gun, and your fingers trembled against the handle. It was heavier than you’d imagined, cool metal. “Good, arms straight out, don’t lock your elbows, but firm. The kickback’s kind of a bitch, and I don’t want you clocking either of us, okay?” 

You whined his name, unsure, hands trembling out of control, but you did as he said. 

“Great, now lean forward just slightly,” and he guided you with strong hands, warm front to your sweat-slick back. His thumb pressed atop yours, helped to cock back the hammer, much stickier than you’d imagined from the quick-fingered westerns you watched with your dad as a kid. “And when I say, you’re going to take a deep breath in, and on your exhale, slowly close your grip on the trigger. Think you can do that for me?” 

His breath was still hot on your plugless ear, hair sticking to the nape of your neck, sweat trickling down your temples. You licked salty sweet from your own upper lip. His arms were removed from yours, replaced at the swell of your hips. You ran his words through your mind, again and again and again, nodded. 

“Great, focus on the target just ahead. Can you see that bright yellow center?” 

Again, you nodded, lined the top of the pistol just to the center of the yellow. 

“Ready? Inhale.” You did, long, labored, shaky. “Shoot.” 

BANG!

The kickback was a bitch, rattled through your wrists, forearms, jolted your shoulder back into Steve’s chest hard enough that he let a little oof escape his lips. 

BANG!

Robin’s gun went off beside you, followed by her own shriek of terror at what she’s done. 

Steve reached to take his gun from you, holstering it, and you glanced sideways in time to see Nancy offering Robin a tight-lipped smile. “Sure,” she nodded. “Something like that.” 

“Should we see how you did?” Steve tapped at your waist, and you went with him, slow staggered steps across the clearing to the targets on the trees. 

A series of bullet holes marred the target near the yellow bullseye. Nancy’s, you noticed three trees down, were all within the yellow. Then there was one lonely hole, just near the bottom rim of the target. You reached to touch your fingers to it, paper charred, tree still warm at its entry wound. 

“Pretty good,” Nancy whistled from beside you. “Next time, keep your eyes open. No flinching.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed at the compliment.

“How’d you do, Rob?” Steve asked, just as a large limb from high up cracked and splattered and came crashing to the ground beside you. 

—

Eddie’s cabin wasn’t built for seven people, long limbs thrown over chair legs and posted up on creaky floorboards. The hot day grew to a sweltering afternoon, and eventually the sun set just beyond the hills, and you hiked back through dusky woods to collapse on a tattered sofa between Robin and Nancy. Steve left before dinner to change his clothes, and he returned with pizza and beer and lifted himself onto the rickety countertop behind Eddie’s throne. Jonathan took the lawn chair, Argyle was wrapped around a pizza box on the floor. 

“They just don’t make pizza the same out here, man.” He argued, but chomped down on his fourth slice. “Chicago style? Deep dish? A travesty.” 

“I think it’s kind of genius,” Jonathan argued. “Although no one does it like New York.” 

“Can I get a bit of whatever those two are on?” Steve quipped, and Eddie dutifully procured two joints from his pockets and held them over his head to the other boy. Steve plucked one from his fingers and brought it to his pink lips, snapping his fingers until someone tossed him a lighter. 

You watched as he lit it up, taking a deep inhale, features pinched as he held it in. When he finally coughed, he slammed his fist into his chest and sputtered. “Holy shit, Byers.”

“Right?” Jonathan grinned, and Steve passed it to him. 

Sun-drunk for the second day in a row, beer buzzing your cheeks, you tapped Nancy’s thigh and smiled at her raised eyebrows. “Nance, truth or dare.” 

The small crowd around you groaned and cheered in kind, and Nancy’s bubblegum pink lips turned up, smug. “Dare, always.” 

You shook your head. “You continue to surprise me today. Okay, um...” You picked a beer off the floor beside Argyle. He protested around a mouthful of cheese, grease pooling at the corners of his mouth. “Shotgun this beer.” 

Nancy stared at it a moment, her expression faltering. She glanced up at Steve, a moment held between them, and then she snatched it from your hands. “Fuck it. Knife?” She stood beside you, caught someone’s thrown pocketknife and puncture a hole in the beer. She took a calming breath before throwing her head back and chugging. Droplets of foam cascaded, staining the floorboards, and when she finished, she did a little curtsy to appease the round of applause from her audience. 

She crumpled the can and wiped her perfect mouth with petite fingers, hiding a very unladylike burb from behind them, before she slumped down beside you. “Eddie,” she hiccuped. “Truth or dare.” 

“Truth, always,” he shrugged with a smile. He’d pulled his guitar into his lap again, began a lazy strum. 

“Would you fuck Steve?”

“Of course, I would. Just waiting for you to ask, big boy,” Eddie flashed his canines and leaned his head back against the headrest of his chair to view Steve behind him.

Steve managed a half-hearted wince. “That’s… ugh. Thanks, I guess?” He groaned and shoveled a slice of pizza into his mouth to avoid saying more.

“That’s right, fill that mouth of yours.” Eddie teased, and Steve threw his slice back onto the cardboard with a groan, cheek chipmunked in disgust.

You laughed along with the group, unwitting, until Eddie rounded on you, ringed finger outstretched. You felt your face heat, forgetting this aspect of the game when you’d started it. 

“Truth or dare?” He asked, a dramatic announcer voice. 

You glanced from him to Steve, who stopped chewing to swallow. Then back to Eddie. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jonathan holding out the joint for you, and you took it quickly, answering, “dare,” before taking a deep inhale.

Eddie’s eyes burned amber, mischievous, while the skunk-flavored smoke burned in your lungs, fucking stronger than anything you’d taken a hit off of before. You winced past the burn, passing it clockwise to Robin, and leaned in to hear Eddie’s dare over the whir in your brain. 

“I dare you to make out with Harrington right here, right now.” 

You sputtered, hacked, coughed. So hard that Nancy had to give you a few firm smacks between the shoulder blades before you could catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ, Munson,” Steve snapped from behind him. “We’re not some fucking porno for you to cream to.” 

“You’re not?” Eddie grinned, and Steve swatted at him. 

“I agree with Steve,” Robin sputtered. “I have no interest in seeing his tongue and/or saliva anywhere near my vicinity.”

“Thank you,” Steve nodded, but he turned his gaze toward you, and there was something heady in his eyes. You clamped your thighs together on impulse, too light headed for this shit. 

“My bed has fresh sheets,” Eddie offered, but his voice was far-off, miles away from where Steve sat, hunched over the counter, watching you. His tongue pulled out to wet his lips. 

“Gross,” Robin whined.

“Wait, are you two like… together?” Argyle coughed from the ground. 

Once again, Nancy Wheeler played her wild card and surprised you. Her lithe fingers touched your wrist, and she pulled you to your feet. “You gonna take the dare or not?”

You stumbled a little, tried your damnedest not to trip over Argyle as you crossed to Steve’s frame on the countertop. You slid between his knees, palming the denim of his thighs, and laughed a soft greeting.

“You don’t have to succumb to peer pressure.” Steve said, but there was a laziness to his smile that suggested he wasn’t going to back away either. “We aren’t monkeys in a cage for them to gawk at.”

“Shut up and kiss her, monkey,” Eddie tossed an empty candy wrapper, and it smacked Steve square in the forehead.

With a measured sigh, the boy in front of you jabbed a pointed finger in the direction of the other. “Don’t make me cuff you.” 

“Kinky.” 

“Steve,” you breathed, growing impatient. 

Steve turned to you then, smile replaced on his sweet features. He brought a hand up to cup your face, brown eyes asking for permission, and when you swallowed, nodded, he closed the distance and swept you into a surprisingly passionate kiss. 

It would have been difficult to make out from the cacophony of noise that surrounded you were it not for the high setting into your bones, jellying your legs. You clutched at his thighs while his tongue licked into your mouth, hand at your neck holding you upright. You moaned into his mouth a little, involuntary, and heard the crack of his other fist around the countertop. He pulled away, both of your chests heaving, a trail of saliva connecting your lips. He wiped at his mouth, eyes darkened, and brought a thumb to your lower lip to do the same. 

You spun in his arms, allowed him to wrap his arms around you, and fought hard to fight back the cheek-aching smile. “Robin, truth or dare?” 

—

The night air painted the forest blue. You said your until-tomorrows to your new friends and followed Nancy and Robin’s lazy stroll to the station wagon. They leaned on one another, Robin a bit more cross-faded than she anticipated, and Nancy tucked her neatly into the passenger’s seat, helping her buckle. A hand caught yours, pulling you back to the bottom step of the deck. You turned to catch Steve, lazy-smiled, half of his face soaked in moonlight. 

“So,” he licked at his bottom lip, thumb brushing your knuckles. 

“So?” You smiled, raised an eyebrow, took a step closer into the warmth of him. Even hours later, even under the tang of marijuana on his polo, you could breathe the soothing floral of chamomile. 

“I work tomorrow, all day, mid-shift.” His tone was graveled with smoke and exhaustion. 

You nodded, reached a hand to pick at a fuzz on his shirt. 

“But I was wondering if you had plans tomorrow night. Or if maybe you’d like to come over? We could watch a movie?” Despite the questioning tone, there was nothing shy in his face, a smug look, dark eyes, the tilt of his head to speak only to you. 

You sunk into him, warm, his large hand snaked to the small of your back, bodies pressed together. “You just wanna watch a movie with me, huh?” 

“Among other things,” he mumbled, and leant in to take your lips in a sweet kiss. 

You sighed into his mouth, the lazy way he stole his hand from yours to cup the side of your face while the two of you leaned into the rickety railing of Eddie’s porch. You ran your fingertips along the buttons of his collar, your other hand clutching his forearm, delighting in the way the muscles rippled beneath your touch as he slanted your face sideways to deepen the kiss. 

Steve Harrington was a great kisser. Sure, that probably meant he had experience, but you couldn’t think about anything except the slow, easy swell of his lips as he coaxed another soft moan out of you. You could stay there forever, lips locked, summer night’s breeze floating in, pebbling the skin of your thighs, sinking deeper and deeper into his broad build, his kneading hands. 

A sound unheard beyond the buzzing in your ears startled Steve, and he pulled away with the slick pop of your lips. You were breathless, face warm, as you watched his frown turn from you to the porch beyond. His lips were pink and swollen, and he licked your saliva from his upper lip. 

“No, please, don’t stop on my account.” Eddie called from behind you in that familiar lilt. 

You ducked your head into Steve’s chest as he reached to shove the other boy away. 

Nancy called your name from the drive, and you pushed off of Steve to look at her. She gave you a knowing smile, one hand on her slender hip. “You coming with me?” 

“Be right there!”

She waggled fingers with a sweet, “Goodnight, boys.” Before climbing into the driver’s side of her station wagon and starting the ignition. 

“So, movie tomorrow?” Steve pulled your focus one last time. 

You nodded, licked your lips. “Sounds good.” 

“Okay,” he smiled, cheeks dimpled. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” You popped on the balls of your feet to press your lips sweetly to his one last time before backing down the driveway. “Goodnight, Eddie.” You waved at the metalhead, who flashed you a knowing smirk, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

—

You weren’t sure which one of you was harder to get out of bed, but no amount of Mrs. Buckley’s blueberry pancakes could remove the dull ache in your skull or the groans of your friend from beside you, pounding her own head into the soft tile of the countertop. 

“Never again,” Robin sighed, watching the syrup from an odd-angle as you poured it over her breakfast. “Promise me, never again.” 

You smiled and spun the top back onto the sticky, sweet spout. “You know I can’t promise you that.”

She groaned again, louder, more dramatic, but sat up to devour her pancakes and dive in for seconds. 

An hour later, you were walking past a slew of electricity towers, side-by-side, Robin swinging her trumpet case with each light step. “So, you have to be careful with Steve, because I know him well, and he will try to impress you with his movie taste. But I just need you to remember that I taught him everything he knows.” 

Your cheeks pulled in a grin, and your stomach swooped at the reminder of your date later that evening. “I’ll make sure he gives you full credit for any movie-watching decisions.” 

“Unless it’s like Weird Science. I stake no claim on the pea-brains of men everywhere.” 

You snorted. “If Steve plays Weird Science, I’m leaving.” 

“Or you’re turning it off to make out.” 

“Who said anything about making out?” 

But the look she shot you was too knowing to shy from. “You sure looked like you were having fun last night. It was disgusting. Borderline pornographic.” 

“Sorry,” but you couldn’t pull the smile from your aching cheeks. 

“No you’re not.” 

“He’s a good kisser!” You tossed your hands in the air for emphasis. 

“Gross,” she scoffed, and helped you under a broken link in the fence to cross into the Wheeler’s backyard. “Nancy said the same thing, and I just don’t see it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my best friend, but the thought of kissing him literally makes me want to gag. I’ve seen the saliva he has on a day-to-day basis. Dude’s always mopping his lips for one reason or another. No thank you.” 

But you’d quit listening to ramble on and on, stuck on the reminder that Nancy and Steve had this impenetrable past. He’d spent almost the entirety of last year on hold for her, for Christ’s sakes. Perfect, beautiful Nancy Wheeler with her bubblegum lips and her killer aim. 

The insecurities rolled out of your mind, however, when you two rounded to the front of the Wheeler’s home to find a gaggle of teenagers in a rousing game of basketball in the driveway. Mike shot for the hoop, an awkwardly lanky throw with horrible aim, clearly it didn’t run in the family, and Lucas recovered it. He dribbled it down the driveway to where two girls sat, El in a folding chair and a redhead beside her in a wheelchair. Max. 

You followed Robin’s lead around the game and up the steps, waving at El when she smiled enthusiastically, but you couldn’t help but stare at the girl Steve talked so fondly of. She was all freckle-faced, blue eyed, beautiful in her own Tomboy way. She protested when Lucas tossed the ball into her lap and immediately began to wheel her down the drive toward the hoop.

“That’s traveling!” Mike protested, shoulders slumped, brows creased in a frown. 

“Her legs aren’t technically touching the ground.” Dustin pointed out, a grin growing on his features. 

“She rounds the idiots,” Lucas narrated. “She shoots!” 

Max laughed and huffed her arms upright, ball flying just short of the backboard. Lucas rounded her chair to throw it up for a lay-up, and you watched the orange ball whoosh through the net and bounce away for Will to chase. “She scores!!!” 

Your heart swelled at the smile on the girls face, eyes rolled in feigned annoyance, cheeks tinged pink. 

“Aren’t they so cute you could die?” Robin startled you, caught in your voyeurism. “Young love, huh?” 

“Max and Lucas are together?” You smiled, watching as they argued over whether or not that could be considered cheating.

Robin nodded. “He took really good care of her in the hospital. Never left her side.” 

“Well, hello ladies.” Nancy opened the door, hand on her hip. 

“I’m here to drop off a package of utmost importance.” Robin saluted, jostling your shoulder with one hand. 

You swatted her away with a laugh. 

“Thank you for the delivery, miss,” Nancy grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you into the foyer. “We’re going to have a lot of fun without you.” 

“Don’t rub it in,” Robin whined, stamping her feet. “I have to cover myself in Timmy Sawyer’s spit for an hour, and then Rusty Bailey’s, and then Amanda Stockton’s.”

“What time do you want us to pick you up?” Nancy smiled.

“4 please.” 

“You got it.” 

“At least pretend to be miserable without me?” Robin shot you big, blue puppy dog eyes. 

“We’ll only sit and mourn.” You promised.

“Thank you. Bye, girls.” 

“Bye.” You and Nancy bid in tandem, and then Robin was gone, and Nancy was leading you upwards to her bedroom. 

Bubblegum pink with white wicker furniture, the ultimate princess’s childhood bedroom. Nancy dumped magazines onto her bed from a little basket while you took a peak at the photos stuffed so tightly in her the little display above her desk that they were falling out. There were images of her as a little girl, making bunny ears between the elfish face of her little brother. There were a lot of photos of her with a girl you hadn’t met, red-haired and wide-rimmed glasses, a childhood friend lost to time, perhaps. God knows you had plenty of those. 

There was one of her and Jonathan, propped against the hood of an old green beater. Her hair was shorter then, a mess of curls, and Jonathan’s eyes weren’t quite as red-rimmed as you’d grown familiar with. They looked so young, like the world hadn’t hardened them yet. 

“Ugh, I think it’s time for a clear out.” Nancy sighed, popping the tab to a condensating Coke can. “I can’t pack it all.” 

“Pack?” You asked, crossing to meet her. You received a second can from her, frigid against your fingertips, satisfying bubble with the pop of the tab. 

“Yeah, didn’t Robin tell you? We’re getting a house next year. Off-campus.” Nancy smiled. “Actually… we were hoping you’d come with? Maybe Carrie and Lydia too. Depending on how big of a house we get.” 

Your heart swelled at the suggestion, and you glanced upwards at the very center photo on Nancy’s pinboard. The group of you at Halloween. You were all green and garish, but held a bright smile beneath the rim of your hat. Steve’s arm was thrown over your shoulders, chest puffed to expose the safety-pinned heart. Nancy’s petit frame and perfect ringlet ponytails covered the right side of you, and Robin was shoved in just behind with her adorable lion nose. 

You were planning on suffering the dorms again, considered applying for an RA position to ward off a potential bad roommate, but this idea, sharing a house with the girls who had grown to become your closest friends? You slumped yourself at the foot of the bed, chuckling when Nancy’s body bounced under the weight shift. “That’d be amazing.” 

“Right!? Okay. Robin and I were already discussing parties. I was thinking John Hughes, right? We can all rock a Ringwald look, maybe Ferris Bueller and Sloan? Robin wants a Bowie theme, obviously. Thoughts?” 

You scrunched your face and thought of a theme you’d always want to dress up as. You imagined Steve shoved under a velvet cape, sporting a golden crown atop his perfectly coifed hair. “Medieval times?” 

The corner of her bubblegum pink lips turned up and she cocked an eyebrow. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.” 

“I need to get a job.” You kicked your legs back to lie on your stomach, flipping through magazines with her. You thumbed through an issue of Cosmo, staring at long legs and bright blue eyeshadow, and you gulped at an article titled 7 Ways to Rock His World.

Your mind strayed to the conversation with Robin from earlier, and you glanced through your eyelashes at Nancy. She was flipping through something a bit harder hitting, National Geographic, maybe? There were far fewer pictures than words in hers, and she seemed fairly in tune with whatever it was, happy face turned into creased eyebrows. You took another sip of your soda, swallowed, cleared the bubbles from your throat. “Hey, Nance?” 

Her brows perked up again, and she smiled back up at you. “What’s up?” 

You let a deep breath escape puffed cheeks and wrapped your nails anxiously against the can between your fingers. “Um… can I ask you about… you and Steve?” 

Her smile turned knowing, and she flipped her magazine closed, leaning closer. “There is no me and Steve.” 

“I know,” you breathed. It hadn’t been confirmed, relief flooding your extremities. “But, what happened there?” 

She shrugged, scooted herself cross-legged against her pillows. “A lot. He was my first… everything.” She turned a bit glossy eyed in nostalgia, a far-off gaze, and then she turned back to you. “He saved my ass. Like, literally saved my life more times than I can count. He’s very protective. He’s like the most caring person I’ve ever met in my entire life. And such a good kisser.” The devil flashed in her eyes.

“Sure you’re over it, Nance?” You managed a weak chuckle.

She grinned at that, canines exposed, and she gave a resolute nod. “I’m sure. Steve and I had a lot of fun, but I’m not his person. He can’t keep up with me.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but you were relieved to hear she was no longer your competition, this smart, slick woman you idolized just under the surface. 

“I’m starting to think no one can keep up with me.” She scoffed, peeling into another magazine. “I might take some time being a strong, independent woman for a change.” 

You smiled and traded your Cosmo for a new one. How to Know He Wants You.

“I’m sorry, by the way. If I hurt you at all, in January.” Her voice was soft now, and you glanced up to meet a sadness in her eyes you hadn’t seen before. Nancy was always fierce, always playing defense, calculated, never apologetic. 

You just blinked back at her.

“God, I was just,” she threw her hands back in a wry laugh. “I was just so jealous of you. I saw you two kissing in his kitchen, and it filled me with this weird… possessiveness. I’ve never felt so insecure.”

“You, Nancy Wheeler, were jealous of me?” You smiled softly, reaching out to pinch her petit ankle in your hand. 

She smiled, shook her head. “It’s not hard to believe, psycho. You’re a catch! And he wanted you, oh my God.” She groaned. “I wish you could have heard him blabber on and on at New Years. He was so drunk and was staring up at the sky at our firework spot, and he was all ‘I wonder what she’s doing right now.’” Her Steve impression made you chuckle, that familiar swoop bottoming in your stomach. “And I just wanted to hit you both.” 

You sucked in you cheeks to avoid a smile and ducked your head back to your magazine. How to Give the Best Blow-Job Ever. You slammed the book closed, cheeks heated, mouth dry. 

“And in January, remember when we came back after break and you came in and Steve had stayed over?” 

You nodded. You didn’t think you’d ever forget that massive black eye. 

“He got in a fight and almost lost his job. His parents were home, and he couldn’t face them. So we offered for him to stay with us.” She explained. “But I was too proud to tell you that’s why he stayed over. And I’m really, really sorry if that hurt you.” 

You reached out, and she met your hand in the middle. You gave it a squeeze, wiggling it in the air between you. “Thank you.”

“We can be best friends now, right?” 

You smiled, slurped your soda, turned back to your magazine. “Depends on the outcome of this quiz. Nancy Wheeler, ‘are you Good-Girl Hot or Bad-Girl Hot’?”

—

An Indiana thunderstorm rolled in just after dinner, greenish grey clouds, too full of rain and hail. A static clung to the air. You felt it as you stepped out of the 7-Eleven with a King Sized bag of Skittles and some chewing gum. If you weren’t nervous before, the weather surely coated everything in a layer of gloom. Robin’s insistence on purchasing condoms didn’t help.

“Nothing’s going to happen, Robin,” your face heated, heart thundering in your chest, rattling your ribcage in anxiety. 

“I mean, you guys did sleep together, right?” Nancy smirked, popping the car in reverse and backing out of the small parking lot.

The inside of your cheek was raw from nervous chewing. You thought of Steve’s pliant body above you, pinning you to your dorm mattress, the muscles of his back beneath your kneading fingers, his delicious mouth hot on your neck, your breasts, the dip of your hips.

“Hey,” Robin snapped her fingers in front of your face, and you wriggled under her gaze. “See? I told you. You’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Have not.” You rolled your eyes. Of course you had. Ever since skimming the 7 Ways to Rock His World reminded you of the three ways he’d rocked yours. 

“God, I wish I was having sex tonight.” Nancy sighed longingly, furthering the warmth of your cheeks and the panic in your chest. “Do we know anyone in Hawkins worth a fling?” 

She and Robin made eye contact and cackled. You could see the blush rising to Robin’s freckled cheeks, kissing her bubblegum pink to match sweet Nancy’s lips.

Out of nowhere, the clouds opened up and poured. Heavy raindrops, lighting in the distance, a few seconds later the loud crack of thunder. Robin yelped and reached across the console for Nancy’s hand. You gripped your seatbelt a little tighter. 

Hawkins looked different in the dark, under the swell of a massive storm, sun and daylight blocked. Just empty little streets, boarded up buildings, rain filling the roadsides until everything was a lazy river of mud and debris. The ghost of what a small town should be. 

Nancy pulled into the lot of the local police station, just between two cruisers, and her and Robin helped when they exited the car, throwing their hands over their hair between car and the awning. You took a deep breath and followed after them, out of the cool dry and into the warm wet. The three of you stamped onto the mat by the door like drowned rats, shaking droplets from your hair, clutching at one another with delighted eyes. 

You peeled your borrowed dress from your front, shoes squeaking against linoleum as Nancy approached the front desk, slamming tiny fingers to the bell about a hundred times. 

“Okay, okay,” a familiar voice called from just beyond, and suddenly you were greeted by the handsome visage of one Officer Harrington. The top buttons of his shirt were loose from a long day, brown hair shagged in his eyes. 

“Officer, we’ve caught a fugitive, and we’re here to turn her in.” Robin gripped your shoulders and pushed you to the front.

Steve eyed you up and down, wet hair to squeaky shoes, gaze lingering on the softest parts of you.

A shiver wracked through you and you stabilized your fingertips on the countertop.

A playful smirk lit up his features. “Thank you, citizens. What’s she in for?” 

“Public indecency.” Nancy replied nonchalant, and you swatted at her. 

Steve snorted, but his tongue licked at pink lips. He scratched at the back of his neck, shaking hair from his eyes. You watched his caramel gaze turn to apology. “Well, I’d love to take her off your hands, ladies, but I just tried to call you.” He leaned over the counter, hands fidgeting with a rogue paper clip. “Callahan’s forcing me to work a double tonight.” 

You tried not to let your shoulders slump in disappointment. You offered him as encouraging of a smile as you could muster.

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Robin scoffed.

“Let me talk to him.” Nancy stood on the balls of her feet to see over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve gave a sad laugh. “He already left. But, I’m doing it so I can have tomorrow off.” He reached across the counter to touch your fingertips, a moment just for you. “Sorry.” 

“Are you really that busy?” Robin looked around. 

Steve shook his head. “No, patrol duty.”

“So you could take a fugitive for a ride along?” Nancy jostled your shoulder again.

Steve stood up at that idea. He glanced behind him, and back at you, buttoning his shirt to the top. “Would you want to come with?” 

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Is that allowed?” 

He shrugged. “Fuck ‘em.” And crossed the little swinging door barrier between the office and you. 

“Great,” Nancy grinned, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “Robin and I will wait up, but be as late as you want. Steve, behave yourself.” She gave him a pointed finger and a grueling stare. 

Steve held two fingers in surrender, but a smile played at the corners of his cheeks. 

The four of you trailed out of the station and back into the downpour. You vaguely heard Steve groan from beside you beneath the rattle of rain against the awning. A gush of water from the drainpipe splashed water into the streets. 

“Use protection, you two!” Robin called before throwing herself into the passenger’s side of Nancy’s car, and Steve tapped the firearm at his hip, receiving eye rolls from the three of you. And as they pulled away, you felt the soft tug of his fingers against your wrist.

“You ready?” He smiled, nodding to the far cruiser.

You held your breath, as though soaking yourself in rainwater was the same as diving into a pool, and splashed your way to the passenger’s side. Steve let himself in and quickly leaned over to unlock your door, and you squeezed into the small space with a gasp. Both of your shook your hair out like dogs, droplets coating the dash interior and the windshield. 

“You sure this is okay?” 

“What are they going to do, arrest me?” Steve grinned and turned on the car.

You were surprised that there wasn’t a big difference between the cramp quarters of a cruiser and the front seat of your Dad’s Pontiac. Only the radio was a little bigger, and attached was a little comms device.

Steve switched everything on and threw an arm over your shoulder to reverse into the flooded streets of abandoned downtown Hawkins, water sprayed his side of the car in a tidal wave. He flicked on the windshield wipers and started again slowly down Main Street, leaning forward for a better view through the windshield.

“Sorry again, about our movie night,” he glanced over at you with a soft smile. “I was looking forward to it.”

Your face heated, and you squeezed your thighs together, trying to find something else to stare at but the length of his fingers against the steering wheel. Stupid Cosmo. You nodded and coughed something along the lines of “yeah, me too.” 

“I thought we could watch Romeo and Juliet.” 

You shot him a look, releasing your smile as he exposed his canines in a grin. “I thought you hated Shakespeare.”

“Oh believe me,” he nodded. “I do. But I don’t know, it’s my mom’s favorite. I used to catch her downstairs crying to it, which I never understood.” He snorted.

Your heart ached at the thought, little Steve coming in to see his beautiful Mother, sprawled out on the luxurious sofa, ten sofas ago now, wrapped in cashmere, blotting at tear stained cheeks with a silk scarf.

“And to make her feel better, I’d make a cup of tea, and we’d watch it together.”

You smiled back at him, soft for an origin story. “That’s sweet of you.” 

He turned over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows. “And you see Juliet’s boobs.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes, but felt your throat lick with familiar heat.. “How romantic.” 

He laughed and tasked himself down a side street. 

“You look nice,” he smiled, voice a little breathless.

You swallowed, ducked your head, tugged at the drying material stuck to your thighs.

“Is that Rose’s dress?” 

You snapped your neck to look at him. “How’d you know?” In a panic, flinging everything you owned from your suitcase onto Robin’s bed, she’d calmly pulled you into her sister’s room to ask for something date-worthy. Rose gave you this little number, gauzy and black with little red flowers, and a dirty look, whispering something about Paris and Steve “the Hair” Harrington under her breath. You wondered now if she’d sabotaged you. 

“It’s not…” He narrowed his eyes, chewed over his words. “You.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, suddenly self conscious about the material stuck to your stomach, your chest.

“I mean, listen, you look beautiful in anything. Like holy shit, breathtaking.” He glanced back at you, something soft in his expression as he up-downed you again. 

You sucked a smile between your molars.

“But when you’re in your own clothes, you’re more relaxed.” 

You weren’t sure how to take the observation, but you decided you enjoyed he took notice.

“Remember that white out party? In Nancy and Robin’s dorms?” 

As if you could forget, Steve’s body pressed to yours all night, his blazer thrown over your shoulders as he walked you home. 

“You borrowed the outfit from your roommate, right?”

You pinched your lips and nodded, wondering where he was going with this. 

“And you looked,” he let out a breath as an adjective, almost like he was panting, or parched. You watched the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Let’s just say I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Oh. Your heart thundered in your ears just as another bolt of lightning shot through the sky. Static filled the car. 

“But you at Thanksgiving? In that cute sweater and jeans and those socks with the little cats on them?” He whistled. 

Your body was on fire, embarrassed, flattered, forcing yourself not to imagine him thinking of you in the white outfit, bunched under the covers of his bed, face scrunched up in ecstasy. You licked your lips and forced yourself to look out the passenger’s side window. “Shut up.” You mumbled.

Steve laughed and pulled down another side street. You noticed the inline of the road now, the downhill stream of water running the opposite direction. Everything grew rockier, water muddied. Just beyond, you could see some relief, a patch of sun tinged peachy pink. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, desperate to pull the attention.

“Sattler’s Quarry. Hawkins is a small, small town. The quarry is one of many places kids like to have sex in their cars. It’s my duty as a police officer to ensure no babies are conceived on private property.” 

You laughed, but it came out weaker than you intended. God, if you just release these nerves bundled up inside your chest. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re good doing this?” Steve asked softly. “I can drop you back off at Nance’s if you want. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“No, no,” you shook your head, adamant. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just a little on edge today.” 

Thunder cracked over the hilltop, too close this time, and Steve flinched, grip tightened on the steering wheel. “That makes two of us.” 

—

Steve Harrington, soaked to the bone, returning to his cruiser after warding off six cars full of horny teenagers, chattered teeth and breath fogging the windshield helped to ease a bit of your stress. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and cranked the heat, splattering you with water droplets with the shake of his wild hair, even voluminous when wet. 

“Jesus Christ,” he held his hands to the vents. “That last car had seven kids in it. Seven? Does that constitute an orgy? And the whole thing reeked of marijuana.” 

“He says as though he didn’t smoke a blunt twenty-four hours ago.” You snorted. 

“Oh my God, I forgot about that. Argyle really has the good shit, doesn’t he?” 

You laughed at that, tension released from your shoulders as the crown of your head hit the bars separating the front and back seats. You reached back to wrap your fingers around them, smooth, cool metal, and you turned your head against the seat rest to watch Steve attempt to peel his shirt from his body.

“You ever arrest someone?” 

He glanced over at you, looked at your arms above your head, then to the back seat before he nodded. “Yeah, once.” 

You released your hold and turned in your seat to face him. “What happened?” 

He stared ahead for a few beats, fingertips tapping rhythmically against the vents. His shoulders rose and fell with breath, and he licked the corner of his lips. “Do you know about Eddie?” 

You slowly shook your head, wracking your brain for knowledge on your new metalhead friend. It wouldn’t surprise you if he’d been the one arrested. You heard he used to deal drugs. That’s why he didn’t partake anymore.

“D’you ever hear that Hawkins was a Portal to Hell? When the Earthquake hit, that’s what people kept saying. The media, at least.” 

You nodded. Sure, of course. Horror in the Heartland, you briefly remembered. Something about a chemical leak, kids dying, a mall fire. You’d heard snippets here and there, saw the destruction from the Earthquake first hand, driving through the small town streets. 

“Do you remember people talking about that cult leader? The one who killed those high school kids? It was right before the Earthquake, so it got kind of swallowed up, mixed up in the news.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. What does this have to do with Eddie?” 

“Eddie was wanted for murder. I think technically, he still is? He didn’t do it.” Steve rushed to excuse his friend. “It was this serial killer, from the 50s. It’s hard…” He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, more droplets sprinkled your cheek. “It’s hard to explain. Anyway, a lot of the town, those that stayed after the Earthquake, a lot of them still blame Eddie. They’re still afraid of him, think he’s this big magic Satanist cult leader. All because he plays that stupid nerd game.”

You shook your head, stared past Steve at passing storm clouds.

“Yeah, it made national news and shit. Eddie’s been in hiding pretty much ever since. And back in January, these guys found out where Eddie was hiding out, and they tried to set it on fire.”

“What?” You reached out to clutch Steve’s bicep, damp to the touch. 

He turned to look at you, jaw clenched. “This fucking asshole named Andy, thought he’d take revenge for the whole God damn town. Luckily, Eddie wasn’t there, and one of Andy’s friends chickened out and called 9-1-1. I was on patrol, like tonight,” he nodded out at the quarry around you. 

“And I was,” he squeezed tighter on the steering wheel. “God, I was so pissed off. So instead of arresting the fucker like I was supposed to, I just started wailing on him. He got a couple of good hits in, but I just saw red. I think maybe I was just so sick of it. You know? We did it, we defeated the bad guy, killed the monsters, saved the entire God damn world. So much death and destruction, and then for this guy to just come out here and try to disturb our peace? What right did he have?”

You found yourself rubbing lazy circles between his slumped shoulders. He let out a long sigh, shiver wracked beneath your palm, and he reached out for the vents again. 

“Anyway, backup showed up, pulled me off of him, threw him in the back of my cruiser. Almost lost my job, couldn’t face my dad, drove all the way to Nance and Robin’s dorm.” He glanced over at you then, brown eyes massive and round. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. You just asked a question, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. This weather is just riling me up.” 

“It’s okay, Steve,” you smiled softly. “You don’t have to apologize for your reactions to the shit you went through. Trauma affects us all in bizarre ways. And it sounds to me like you were protecting someone you care about. Never apologize for that.” 

The corners of his mouth upturned at that, and he slunk his hand over to cup the meat of your thigh, just above your kneecap. “Don’t tell Munson I care about him.” 

“Secret’s safe with me.” You crossed your heart, and he offered you another squeeze before pulling out of his parking spot.

“Shall we head to make out spot number two?”

“Depends,” you smiled, buckling yourself back in. “Do I get to make out with you at this one?” 

“Miss, I am on the job.” 

—

The storm had been long gone, skies dipped a midnight blue, scattered with starlight that you could make out through the moon window in the roof of Steve’s BMW. Cool night air sifted in, pebbling the skin of your arms and legs, everywhere but the spot that was occupied with the scorch of Steve’s oversized palm. His thumb circled your inner thigh, just beyond the pulled flesh of your knee, where everything turned soft, pliant in his grasp.

Although the storm had passed, the static lingered, in the inches between your shoulders, Olivia Newton-John singing a heartfelt melody over the radio, almost too quiet to hear. 

“I really am sorry about our movie night,” he mumbled, turning down a sideroad into a wide Suburban neighborhood. You were nearing your destination.

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “Now I can tell people I rode in a police cruiser. Makes me seem much more dangerous.” 

“Shoulda let me know, I could have cuffed you.” 

You swallowed thickly. You shifted in your seat, backs of your thighs suddenly sweaty, sticking to the leather. Your motion moved his hand centimeters up your leg. You didn’t dare look at him, stared straight ahead at the sleeping houses and car-filled driveways.

“So, what’re your plans for tomorrow? Fourth of July already.” His voice was strained, breathy. 

Anxiety tickled at your throat. You shrugged. “Nancy’s mom’s having a barbecue I guess. Will you be there?” 

“And miss Ted Wheeler’s charred burgers?” He snorted, squeezed your thigh. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Is your mom’s party tomorrow?” 

“Shit.” He slammed on the brakes, startling you. 

You thrust your hands into the dash to stop your face from hitting it, and you looked out along the road for a deer, a cat, a body, anything to constitute the sudden stop.

“Are you coming?” 

“What?” You blinked back at him.

“Tomorrow. To my mom’s party. Are you coming? Because it’s totally understandable if you don’t want to. I mean, I haven’t prepared you at all, and my parents and their friends can be a lot. My dad’s kind of this huge asshole, and my mom like… puts a lot of pressure,” he was rambling.

You placed your hand on his shoulder and shook it. “Steve. It’s fine.”

“No, you don’t understand-“

“Nancy and Robin gave me the full run down.” You snorted. 

He winced at that. “Which is why it’s understandable if you don’t want to go.”

“I want to go.” You shrugged.

“You sure?”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, nodded. “I like your mom.” 

“I like my mom too. Doesn’t mean isn’t a lot to handle.” 

You took his hand from your lap. “How about, if I feel like your mom is too much, or the party is too much, we can pick a safe word, and when I say it, you can get me the hell out of there. Deal?” 

He nodded fervently. “Yeah, okay. Deal.” He shook your hand, firm. “What should our safe word be?” 

You pretended to think about it, looked around at the surroundings, shrugged. “Penis?”

He groaned.

“Okay, okay. You’re right. We’re feminists. Vagina?”

“You’re worse than Robin.” He grumbled, popping the car back into gear to start driving again. 

You barked a laugh and relaxed back into the leather. “Alright, fine. How about Hamlet? If either one of us brings up the Danish Prince in conversation, we bounce.” 

“I thought he was from Denmark.” 

You whipped around to see his sweet little eyebrows furrowed in honest-to-God confusion. You bit back another laugh and reached across the console to pull his hand back into your lap. 

Just around the next corner, the sweet bricks and bright white siding of the Wheelers’ home came into view, station wagon in the driveway. The light from Nancy’s bedroom glowed yellow above the garage. Your heart sank. You squeezed Steve’s hand, strong fingers between yours. 

“I had a really good time tonight,” you mumbled.

Steve rolled to a stop just across the street, pulled the emergency brake, shut off the engine. “I’ll walk you up.” He gestured, but before he could unlatch the door, you grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him in for a kiss. He made a soft oomph of protest before sinking into it, hand finding your thigh again, inching further up the flesh, fingertips kneading under the hem of your dress.

You hadn’t kissed all night. Flirty banter, sure, tantalizing circles to your skin, sure, but each make out spot had been filled with pervy kids, and the moments between were full of anecdotes and laughter. You discussed job prospects, he vehemently suggested you be a librarian - with waggled eyebrows. But not once had he closed the distance between you, so you supposed you’d just take matters into your own hands. 

You carded your fingers through his hair, pulling another soft sound from between his lips, and he parted for a moment to fiddle with the lever at the front of his seat until the whole thing, and him, slid back a couple of feet.

You gulped and glanced around before maneuvering yourself carefully across the console to straddle his lap, painfully aware of the horn on the steering wheel inches from your rear end. One of Steve’s large hands found the crease of your hip beneath your dress, the other cupping the base of your neck to pull you back to him.

These kisses were needier than the night before, like you were on a time crunch, knocked noses and bit lips. His hand massaged your thigh, the motion grinding your pelvis into his own, and boy was Steve Harrington experienced in his craft. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” his voice was husky, hot breath against the shell of your ear as he started to place warm, wet kisses down the column of your throat. “Drove me wild in the pool the other day.” He palmed at your breast over your dress, and a soft mewl escaped your lips. 

Then, he pulled another lever beside himself, and you both went crashing downwards until his headrest hit the backseat. You let out a cry of surprise, and he muffled a laugh and apology into your collarbone. You relaxed your weight into him, hands lazy overhead, and his making their way up your dress to caress your ribcage, the underside of your breasts, licking his way back to your mouth.

“Steve,” you gasped when thumb brushed pebbled flesh, and he groaned, brows knit, and ground up into you, the polyester of his pants doing nothing to hide how he felt in this position. 

Your face heated, and you ducked your head into his neck, heart thundering in your ears to the rhythm of his own. He was warm, bergamot and chamomile, the cool breeze blowing in through the moon roof. You took a rattled breath, sat up to look at him. 

He was cast in soft blues to match his uniform, furrowed brow, heavy chest beneath your palms. You brushed a rogue hair from his forehead, and his lips turned up into that sweet smile. His brown eyes were warm, pupils blown, and he soaked you in from top-to-bottom. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

And you knew then and there, you were a goner.

—

The Fourth of July, all red-white-and-blue bannered suburbia, was the kind of sticky humid that soaked through your shirts and had you in and out of the Wheeler’s air conditioned home begging for the sweet relief of Karen’s homemade lemonade and ice cubes from coolers pressed to the pulse points of your body. 

You helped carry out trays of buns, of patties, of cheese, of toppings, all out the front door and onto the buffet table. They were seemingly feeding the entire neighborhood, the most middle aged and young people you’d ever seen, all suffering together until the sun’s sweltering rays.

You stood beside Robin, hunched over in the shade at the side of the house, quenching yourself with your third or fourth solo cup of lemonade, tangy sweet and iced cold. 

“I think I’m melting,” Robin croaked from beside you, freckled face flushed a deep cherry. 

“Same. How does she do it?” You glanced at Nancy, who was perky as ever, fists perched on her hips while she schmoozed the neighbors with tales of her adventures at college.

“She’s perfect, remember?” Robin sighed.

You elbowed at her ribcage with a smirk. “You’re hopeless.”

Movement caught out of the corner of your eye, the reflection of sunbeam off a car windshield, and you looked over to see Steve pull up, parked in the exact spot across the street you were parked in the night before. You immediately perked upright.

“Who’s hopeless?” 

“Shut up.” The smile couldn’t be slapped from your face. 

Steve climbed out of his car, and you watched in slow motion. The sun hit him bright gold against tanned, dewy skin. He wore those aviator sunglasses, which he pulled up to snag in his hair as that bright smile crossed his features, greeting Dustin with the dorkiest handshake you’d ever seen. He wore a t-shirt, something patriotic emblazoned across the front, logo stretching over the span of his pecs, sleeves puckering around thick biceps. His shorts were short, a bright blue, stunning thighs on display. Your breath caught, remembering the feel of them beneath you, sturdy, warm.

Your name sing-songed beside you pulled you from your trance, and you blinked the sounds of the party back into focus. Sprinklers running, dogs barking, kids cheering and screaming, sparklers hitting the concrete of the driveway. 

“I think you’re drooling,” Robin prodded your arm.

“Shut up,” you repeated, and you knew she was kidding, but you mopped self-consciously at the corners of your mouth.

“Girls,” Holly called, blonde pigtails poking from around the front of the house. The sweet girl had taken on the role of Mom’s Favorite Assistant today, and she’d spent the entirety of the morning bossing you around. “Mom said the tato salad and cole slaw need to go out.” 

“Roger that, Captain. We are on our way.” 

She saluted you both and slunk off in the direction of the house.

You sighed and held a hand out to help Robin to her feet. You glanced over your shoulder just before dipping into the house, catching Steve’s stare from across the yard. You bit your bottom lip and entered the cool bliss of wallpaper and air conditioning. 

“Welcome back,” Karen called from her glued spot behind the kitchen island. She looked immaculate, even through the chaos, and you supposed the cool air kept her coiffed curls in tact. Her mascara hadn’t sweat down her cheeks yet, lips a neon pink. 

“Holly mentioned potato salad?” 

Karen sighed and palmed manicured nails around the top of a pickle jar. She huffed in defeat, attempting to open it. “I think I spoke too soon on the potato salad.” 

“Oh, here let me,” Robin offered, crossing the counter.

You took a sip of lemonade at the exact wrong moment, taking in the breeze of cool air against your sticky neck, because Karen peered right over your shoulder, pickle jar extended past Robin, and said, “Oh Steve, thank God. I need those strong hands of yours.” 

You sputtered, mouthful of lemonade fully launched back into your cup, splashing your fingertips sticky sweet. Robin cackled at your expense, slamming her hand against your back. “Wrong pipe,” you excused yourself, dumping the cup into the sink and wiping your hands and mouth on a paper towel. 

“Great turn out this year, Mrs. Wheeler,” Steve flashed you his canines, smug bastard, and took the pickle jar from his hand. “Must’ve heard your famous lemonade was being poured.” 

“Stop,” she blushed - actually blushed - into her hand.

You stared at Robin, wide-eyed, and she flashed you a knowing smirk, popping a watermelon ball into her mouth. 

Steve barely struggled with the lid, biceps bulging beneath his too-tight shirt, and you wondered if the woman had needed his help in the first place, or if maybe she also wanted to spend her Great American Holiday ogling at the young man. He’d tucked his sunglasses into his collar and fixed his hair, probably the most perfect you’d seen it, to match the perfect house and the perfect woman in front of her. You understood how he’d found his place here, how he’d slipped right in. 

You coughed again, slammed a fist to your chest, and Robin chuckled around her watermelon.

“Are you alright?” Karen touched your shoulder in concern, and you nodded, eyes watering.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Looks like Mr. Wheeler might need a little help.” Steve glanced out the window over your head, and you turned to see smoke rising from the grill.

“Shit!” Karen cried, wiping her hands on her apron. She adjusted the top of her dress quickly and marched out the side door, squawking for Ted to be careful, leaving the three of you alone in the cool house. 

“That woman is something else,” Robin whistled, picking apart a ball of cantaloupe, but your focus had turned entirely back to the man leaning against the countertop beside you.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” 

“Okay, gross,” Robin scoffed and followed Mrs. Wheeler out the side door, calling out for Nancy.

“How are you?” Steve’s voice was low, a rumble that sent shockwaves through you. 

“Hot,” you smiled, turning to face him, allowing him to pull his fingers through yours.

“Yeah you are.” 

You cringed, snorted a laugh. 

He grinned, inched closer. “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded, looked up at him from under your lashes. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “Too damn wired.” His thumb hooked into the belt loop at your hip. 

You were all at once self-conscious about the sweat beading at your neck, the slope of your back, beneath your breasts. You licked salty sweet off your cupid’s bow and watched the way his eyes trailed the action. You squeezed your thighs together and breathed his name.

“Hello?! We need cole slaw. Stat, stat, stat!” Holly barked her orders from the other side of the island, little hands clapping into each other to emphasize each word.

You sighed, deflated against the counter, but managed a half-hearted salute. “Copy that, Captain. Cole slaw, coming out.” 

Satisfied, she disappeared around another corner, and you sighed as Steve peeled himself from the countertop to slide the tray of balled melons onto one hand. You picked up the bowl of slaw beside him and felt your face heat as he pressed a chaste kiss to the wet patch at your left temple. You ducked your head and followed him outside, legs unstable and heart racing.

—

Early afternoon at the Wheeler’s was sweat soaked and lemonade drunk. Well, lemonade and Karen’s vodka that Nancy had stolen from the liquor cabinet to spike each of your drinks. You were dizzy from the heat and from each brush of strong hand to your waist, the crook of your elbow, down your forearm to squeeze your fingertips. 

Hawkins suburbia has feasted and gossiped, mingling in little clumps around the yard. From the cool air of the garage, you watched Steve and Lucas play a game of one-on-one. Lucas kicked his ass. Steve winked at you, hair sticking to the back of his neck. You tucked his aviators into the top of your tank, just between your breasts where sweat cooled with every opening of the adjunct refrigerator. 

When the sweet lime of Jell-O settled into your stomach, and you were fully ready for a nap, Steve slung his arm around you and pinned you to the side of house, where the backdoor leaked into a disheveled basement. You cried out in surprise, but let him hold your weight, all strong arms and broad chest, salty sweet. He kissed you then, took your breath in his mouth with upturned lips and pressing fingertips, and you melted further into him, a popsicle in the hot, hot sun.

“You ready?” He murmured when you pulled away for a breath, and you frowned back at him for a moment until he nodded. “Mom’s party.” 

“Shit,” you shoved at his shoulders. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

You abandoned him at the side of the house to round up Nancy and Robin, both of whom were napping on the sofa inside, legs thrown over opposite arms, hair tangling in one another’s. They rushed with you upstairs for a spruce up, outfit change, perfume, the whole she-bang, and when you returned out the front door, Steve pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, head shaking, mouth agape. You took it as a compliment. 

“What did I say about wearing your own clothes?” He mocked when you both climbed into the hot leather of his car. The backs of your thighs were singed, and you quickly cranked your window for some relief while he banged on the air conditioning. 

“I know, I know, but your mom intimidates me.” You tugged on Nancy’s shirt, red and blue stripes, far too patriotic for your taste, and much too tight in the boobs. But you figured the puffed sleeves would impress, not to mention the barrettes thrown into your hair. 

“Fair enough,” Steve chuckled, placing his hand on your thigh as he skirted around corners of little Hawkins neighborhoods, yards bustling with kids and bikes and barbecues. 

You were blissed out, in a food coma, hot and dizzy. Steve’s hand on your leg, the sting of leather beneath you, it all just brought you back to the night before, and you settled your head against the headrest and shut your eyes for just a moment, a soft smile playing at your cheeks. Only returning to the real world when Steve gently shook your shoulder, parked with a myriad of overpriced cars in his parents’ driveway. 

“You ready?” He hummed, and you let him pull you from the car and up the little steps to his double front doors. “Hamlet, remember?”

You nodded, squeezed his hand, and in you went. 

This party was a stark contrast to the Wheelers. All air conditioned, everyone has chosen to remain indoors, not a drop of sweat to be seen. You and Steve wore the brightest colors, everyone else in boring polos and khakis and dress suits. Mrs. Harrington kissed you both exuberantly on the cheeks, clearly a few sherries in. She poured you both a glass of store-bought lemonade, too sweet to be homemade.

A charcuterie board dwindled on the kitchen counter, ringed in fresh berries and various dips, the cartons for which could be found cluttering the garbage can in the corner. Smooth jazz permeated from the sound system down below, and you could smell distinctly Earth cigar smoke. 

“Stevie, your father’s downstairs with some of his club buddies, if you’d like to say hello.” 

Steve shrugged, rocked on the balls of his feet, not keen to leave you. You offered him an encouraging smile.

Mrs. Harrington took the meat of your elbow into a perfectly manicured hand and offered to introduce you to some of her friends, starting with an alumni of your college. You supposed connections were good to have. One more glance of your shoulder to Steve’s apologetic eyes, and you were halfway across the house, shaking hands with a woman in glasses. 

“Oh you go to the University? What’re you studying?” 

“English literature.” 

“Quite the academic,” Mrs. Harrington pressed on, just as Robin and Nancy had warned. 

It went on like this as you made the rounds. Your name, your major, how you and Steve met - a story you’d twisted into legality, how you were enjoying Hawkins. Again and again, strong perfume clouded the room upstairs, smoke wafting up from the basement. You met a broker’s wife, a lender’s wife, a salesman’s wife. All of which had had higher education, none of which had a career of their own, and although you understood the merit in that, it all felt a little much, and you felt a little suffocated, a little dizzy, the lemonade too sweet with not nearly enough vodka.

You really did think you could handle it, thought Robin and Nancy had prepared you, but then the questions started to change, dig deeper, and you felt a little trapped in this perfect-on-the-outside/haunted-on-the-inside party, home, town.

“I’ve heard Steve’s been working a lot lately,” Judith Perkins mentioned, biting her olive from the toothpick in her martini. 

“He has, nights and weekends mostly, you know how they like to trouble the fresh meat.” Mrs. Harrington chuckled, stirring her own cocktail with a swish of her wrist. 

“Builds character,” Mrs. Bailey agreed. 

“Must be hard for you though, dear,” Mrs. Perkins gripped your forearm a little too hard, meaty fingers coated in freckles. 

“Hm?” You smiled softly, peeling yourself away from her grasp.

“Well, if you’re going back to school soon, that’s weekdays full. Nights and weekends are your only time to see each other? My sweet, Carole, had the same problem. Tommy got that job up in Indy, and they hardly saw each other. Had to break up.” 

The women around you gasped.

“Tommy and Carole broke up?”

“Oh how heartbreaking!”

“I always thought they’d get married, those two.”

“Oh you must be heartbroken, Judith, I’m so sorry.” 

You swallowed. You hadn’t thought about any of that, too caught up in the dizzying heat of summer, in the tangy sweet of lemonade kisses and moonlit car rides. 

“Well, I think these two have nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Harrington gave your shoulders a warm shake, condensation from her glass sliding down the back of your neck and spine. “Steve seems smitten. He’ll make it work.” 

You feigned a smile and glanced over your shoulder for the doors, the ice cold room too stuffy suddenly, filled with too many smells, the lemonade started to rise the bile in your throat. 

“I am sorry about Tommy and Carole though. You thought you were going to be a Grandmother soon, right?” 

The conversation chattered on, and the room slowed around you. You gripped at the arm of the sofa for support, setting your cup on a nearby side-table. You swallowed and mumbled and excuse before searching down the hall for a bathroom. 

The first door to the left opened to plaid walls and a mess of bed linens. Blue polyester and boots discarded just at the foot of the bed, closet door wide-open. You stepped in and closed the door behind yourself, closing out the ambience of the party and breathing in bergamot and chamomile and something distinctly Steve. 

The top of his dresser held his badge, a walkie-talkie, a wrist-watch, a baseball trophy. The top drawer was open to expose a mess of folded socks, a very much visible bag of weed. Beside a large window, his desk was scattered with police academy pamphlets and guide books. The wall was discolored near his bed where a poster would have been, slightly more vibrant than the plaid surround, and you wondered if his mother might have insisted on redecorating, tearing down the old wallpaper for something new. 

You ran your fingertips across the bright patch, down the clean lines of plaid. The drawers of his bedside table were shut, something you forced yourself not to snoop through, but you didn’t have to because at the base of the lamp was a stack of polaroids. You flipped through them, smiling at one of him and Robin cheesing it. He and Dustin made funny faces in one. There was one of Nancy, staring off into the trees, a personal moment caught forever. You swallowed.

Then you found a picture of yourself. You were splayed out, hair a halo around your head against white shag carpet. Steve’s head was in your lap, your hands in his hair. Both of you were grinning from ear-to-ear. Eddie must have taken it when you were under, a flash of light in a world flooded with colors. With a sigh, you set the photos down and turned to face the window.

The pool reflected cool blue against the concrete, a dance of light, unused and abandoned. A backyard that should have been teeming with life on a day like this, left desolate, unwanted, as though there were better things on a hot day than swimming and laughter and fresh-squeezed. You chewed on the inside of your lip, wondering if this would be your future.

Not that it had to be now or never, but you supposed it was something to consider, your future. You were driving home tomorrow, after all, spell broken and teary-eyed, and why not face the truth of it now? Before the sun set and the fireworks started and all of the bubbling excitement made the inevitable hurt worse.

You shuffled back from the window, afraid the hole would swallow you up, and your leg bumped something from its lean against the wall. You side-stepped out of the way of a falling baseball bat, the good end of which was run-through with nails.

Your heart raced, staring down at it, running the gamut of emotions: surprise, confusion, terror, heartbreak. A memory surfaced of you screaming at Nancy and Robin in the library, of the stone-cold glances exchanged between them, cutting you off but full of meaning for each other. Secrets and lies and trauma, horrific, horrific trauma that oozed into these plaid walls and discolored them, turning plaid to vines and overgrowth of tumultuous chaos. Horror in the Heartland, the taste of this small town turning lemonade sour in your mouth. 

You shoved your way out of the bedroom and ran smack into a thick chest.

“Whoa, hey, I was looking for you.” Steve chuckled. “Find anything good in there?” 

You couldn’t breathe. He reeked of cigar smoke and sweat, and you wrestled out of his grasp on your waist until you realized you weren’t alone. His mother was feet away, offering you a tight-lipped smile.

“Everything okay, dear?” 

Your breath shook from you as you tried to stabilize it, shooting her a toothy smile. “Oh sure, just looking for the copy of Hamlet I bought Steve for Christmas. Wanted to make sure he read it, you know?”

She threw her head back in a laugh. “Good luck with that!”

“Okay, time to go.” Steve’s hand found the small of your back, and he led your toward the staircase.

“Steven!” His mom cried in protest.

“Trust me, Ma. We can’t get her talking about Shakespeare, or she’ll never shut up.” 

She reached her hand out for yours. “That sounds delightful. Come back to us, dear.” 

You swallowed, avoided eye contact.

“Ma, really. We have to go. Our friends are waiting on us.” 

“Oh, alright. Us older-timers aren’t keeping you entertained.” She waved her hand, but the look she shot you was something entirely different from the welcoming eyes. There was judgement there, lingering in the deep brown, like she saw right through you. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Harrington.” You felt your bottom lip begin to tremble, betraying you. “It was a lovely party.” 

The corners of her red lips turned up and she nodded. “You two be careful, now.” And something in that felt ominous. Steve pressed a kiss to her cheek and grabbed you by the wrist to yank you back into the sweltering hot and out to his car. 

“Are you alright? What happened? What did they say?” He threw a hand over your shoulder to back out of the driveway. 

“Nothing. It’s fine.” You stared out the passenger’s side window, wiped a tear threatening to fall.

“God damnit, I knew you shouldn’t have come.” 

“To Hawkins?” You choked out.

“What? No, to the party.” He ducked his head to catch your eye, hair falling into his face, cigar smoke heavy in your space. “What did they say to you?” 

You cranked the window down a crack and crossed your arms over your chest. “Nothing. I think I’m just tired.” 

He said your name softly, hand meeting it’s familiar place on your thigh, and you shifted in your seat to push him away.

“Just drive, Steve. Please?” 

With a sigh, he did as you asked.

—

The clearing buzzed with cicadas, sun-kissed wildflowers tickling your ankles, hand over your lashes to shade yourself from late afternoon rays. You’d changed your shirt, slipped into a cut-up muscle tee of Eddie’s that hung lower than the hem of your shorts and exposed the flesh spilling out of the sides of your bra, but it provided a breeze to your lower back, and you were thankful to be out of Nancy’s suffocating shirt. 

Steve and Eddie muttered about you while you changed, discussing shitty parents in hushed tones meant only for themselves, more secrets held from you, and you stormed past them, heaving a backpack over your shoulders to begin the hike. You weren’t sure what you were hauling this time, firearms or grenades, just another mystery to add to the list.

You waited in the clearing too long, too hot. Your pack slumped from your shoulders to the ground and Steve and Eddie shared a cigarette to the butt, commiserating about the heat. You felt their stare on you the entire time, trying to focus on the birdsong in the breeze instead of the weight of your vacation and it’s repercussions on your mental health. 

Jonathan and Argyle appeared through the treeline after a while, sweat-patched shirts and tired smiles. They offered the relief of light conversation and a few canteens of water, and you chugged a few ounces while they discussed Mrs. Wheeler’s insatiable flirting after she spiked her own lemonade with vodka. It became a boys’ club, admiring the middle aged woman and her fashion sense, with waggled eyebrows and lazy summer smiles, and your stomach churned at the thought of how they spoke of you when you weren’t around.

“Is this our final destination?” You asked, short-circuiting their conversation to gesture to the clearing surround.

“No, milady,” Eddie shook his hair from his eyes, flashing his canines in that grin of his. “Weathertop.” He pointed upward, where the hill crested just to the North. 

You made to swing your pack back onto your shoulders, but Steve caught it and thrust one arm into a strap before you could protest. You thanked him and started your climb side-by-side.

“You don’t want to wait for the girls?” He mumbled, falling in step beside you, thighs toned and tanned with each upwards motion. 

You shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind being alone.” 

He rounded on you then, halting your movements with his slender body right in front. “Okay, can you just tell me what happened, please? Because I can’t fix it if I don’t know.” 

“You can’t fix everything, Steve.” You scoffed, maneuvering around him.

“Yeah, I know, but…” He sighed. “I want to apologize, at least. For my parents or my parents’ friends being total assholes, which I know they are.” 

You wiped sweat from your brow, licked it off your upper lip. “They weren’t. They aren’t.”

“So, was it something I did?”

“No, Steve, I just…” You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m leaving tomorrow, okay? I’m going home tomorrow, and I don’t know when the next time I see you will be. And I guess I’m just coming to terms with that. You know? My bubble was burst, and I need some space to cope or readjust to my real life, or whatever.” 

He said your name softly, his hands reaching to link your fingertips with his own.

“Hey! Assholes!” A call from behind you had you both stopping to turn around. Nancy and Robin waved, changed into comfortable clothes, and they both bounded toward you with the boys in tow. “Didn’t want to wait for us?” They grinned.

“Didn’t want to miss the sunset,” you pointed westward, to the sun dipping past the horizon, a smattering of peachy pinks and tangerines that painted blue clouds purple. You avoided Steve’s gaze, let him linger behind as you finished your climb. 

Hawkins was a mess. You knew it, you’d expected it, but seeing it in full-frame really put into perspective the hell they want through. Ruins to the North, the West, the East, a city underseige and struggling to rebuild. Four massive fault-lines merged downtown, bright orange cones changing traffic all around. You could just make out the charred remains of the infamous Starcourt Mall. A vast lake lined with trees formed a heart just before slipping out of view. 

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Eddie grinned from beside you, shrugging off his backpack with a thunk.

You snorted and grimaced at everything cast in shadow, everything not stained peach. 

“Home sweet home,” Nancy groaned, tone as wry as you felt. She unzipped Eddie’s bag and unloaded the bent plastic of red cups, a few bottles of liquid in varying shades, and began to pour. 

You received your cup and downed immediately, no chaser needed for the sting in your throat and your lungs, wetting your eyes. You held your hand out for more, and she obliged.

“Harrington party that good, huh?” She winced. 

You shrugged, sipped at your second serving, enjoying the sting of the spot on your cheek you’d chewed raw. “Apparently Tommy and Carole broke up.” 

Nancy’s eyes widened in something a little maniacal, bubblegum lips pulling into a grin. “No shit.” She carried her glee to the others as she poured, another secret kept between friends with context you’d never understand. 

—

The sun dipped low beyond the forest, warm tones turned cool. The breeze took its place, and the moon in the sky, and stars twinkled high in the atmosphere. Steve and Eddie and Jonathan readied the ramshackle firework stand, as mortars began blowing up far in the distance. You rolled onto your back, grass itchy and head dizzy with alcohol. 

You felt a sturdy shoulder beside yours.

“Mushroom girl,” Argyle greeted. Elusive, an enigma when put alongside his comrades. He was all California rays and good vibes, and they were dark brooding. They’d seen some shit, carried scars like their town. He was waves and sand, an outsider like you, you supposed. “You’re harassing my mellow.”

You let out a sigh and stared up at the clouds, ignoring the pepper of fireworks from the town below. “Sorry.” 

“You’re normally just so bubbly, and now you’ve majorly deflated. Level with me, dude. What’s the matter?” 

You glanced sideways at him, and he’d propped himself on an arm, long hair cascading to the grass beside you from under his flat-billed cap. He was serious, not a shred of red in his brown eyes, and you noticed, for once, he didn’t smell of marijuana. You looked up at the sky, chewing on your words before you asked, “Do you ever feel like you don’t fit in?” 

He snorted at that, rolled back onto his back too, until his head knocked with your own. “Every God damn day.” 

“Even with these guys?” You gestured to the group arguing over positions and weights a few feet off. 

“Especially with these guys. We went through some shit, dude. Bonds you for life, but like they had even more messed up stuff happen before I came in the picture.”

You nodded. You’d heard it all before. “Was it a while before they told you about it?” 

You felt the bob of his head against your own. “I actually got kind of forced into it. A guy died in the back of my car. You’re lucky that shit’s over now. Jonathan’s siblings have superpowers and they pretty much saved the entire freaking world, dude. That shit’s intense.” 

Maybe he was higher than you thought. You closed your eyes, the world beginning to spin, and opened them again when you felt a tap on your knee. Robin stood above you, waggled fingers and shaggy hair. “Ready to light some shit up?” 

You allowed her to to help you to your feet, and she hugged you close beneath her wing as Steve approached for the inaugural blast. He lit the punk with a zippo and watched the embers burn before lighting the fuse. You all took a few steps backward down the hill, your fingers plugging your eyes for the blast-off. The firework soared into the sky above you with a screech, too high a velocity, and the wind cast it a little off-course, but when it finally popped, it cascade down upon you in a barrage of white sparkles.

The little friend group erupted in applause, Robin shaking your shoulders in delight, and you couldn’t help but allow the little smile to play on your lips. 

“I’m so happy you came this week,” she mumbled into your cheek, squishing your faces together. She was a little drunk, but so were you, and there was something so calming about her presence. 

Jonathan stepped up to light the next one, and it exploded in a rain of blue. Eddie was next, hollering like a maniac as his burst in bright reds. They went on and on like that, taking turns, until the stash had nearly been spent, and you watched with sore ears and polka dots behind your eyeballs, buzz and Robin’s body warming you.

The boys and Nancy hunched together in conspiracy with only a small handful more, and you pulled Robin to the side, just out of ear reach. She smiled at you, that sweet, cherry kissed smile, and you squeezed her hand in yours. You considered her one of your best friends, maybe the best friend, and so maybe, she’d answer your questions if you asked.

“Has Steve ever killed someone?” You asked, point-blank, remembering the baseball bat rolling on his bedroom floor, the shiner forming over his eyes and the cut on his lip, Argyle’s words echoing in your head. 

Robin’s blue eyes went wide, and she blinked at you. “No!” She laughed. Then she stopped, thought about it, and shook her head before repeating. “Nope,” popping the P.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” 

She barked a laugh that sounded like your name, and you squeezed her hand.

“Robin, answer the question.” 

“No!” She shook her head vehemently. “Where is this coming from?” 

You held your breath, glancing around at the group, the rag-tag team of barely adults, who shot guns and wielded bats and ate mushrooms together. You let out a long exhale and looked Robin directly in the eye, her own filled with concern. “Will you tell me what happened? Tell me everything?” 

A hand slid into your open one, and you felt the soft squeeze of dainty fingers. You turned to see Nancy offer you a tight-lipped smile, bubblegum pink and cast in midnight blues. “We’ll tell you everything tonight. Promise.” Your breath caught in your throat. “But first, the grand finale.” 

Five mortars stood in a row, propped up in the special woodcraft mechanism Jonathan had built. Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie crouched with punks in each hand, and they counted down from five before lighting the fuses. At once, an eruption occurred as all five cylinders shot explosives into the air. And one after the other snap, boom, sparkle, greens and whites and reds and blues rained down in bright bursts and embers. For a moment in time, the harsh darkness of Hawkins, Indiana was cast in light, in hope, in joy.

—

Your teeth chattered against the chill of an Indiana summer’s night, and you hugged yourself tighter around the middle, Eddie’s tank top not providing much warmth or safety. You stood on his porch, leaning against a rickety railing, needing fresh air from the smokey cabin and the information you’d absorbed.

Your friends kept to their promise. They’d told you everything, all about the murderer, Henry Creel, and his tragic life and death in Hawkins. It all started for them when he kidnapped Will, and ended with a battle of outrageous proportions. He was the reason for everything, the mall fire, all of those teenagers dying, the conspiracy against Eddie, even the Earthquake. That you couldn’t quite settle, and it felt like they withheld a lot from you. Argyle kept insisting on El and Will’s super powers, to which the group reacted in scoffs and groans. But you didn’t feel duped.

You weren’t quite sure how you felt. Satisfied? Not really. More sad, heartbroken that this group of wonderful people had to endure so much in such a short amount of time. Nancy and Robin and Eddie spoke to you with soft words and kind eyes, and Steve watched your every expression with worry and shame. 

They understood when you needed air, and you heard them muttering just inside. You closed your eyes to clear your mind, but they flew open when you heard the snapping of branches in the woods just beyond. Your heart started beating in your chest, alarmed at what may lurk just beyond the yellowed glow of Eddie’s cabin lights. You wanted to cry. This is how they must feel at all times, on high alert, ready to fight. This is why Steve keeps a bat next to his bed. 

You released a shaky breath and turned back to the house for safety, stopping short when you hit Steve’s broad chest. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, Adam’s apple bobbing in your line of sight. “Did I scare you?” 

You released a weak laugh in place of your answer, unsure.

“I just,” he scratched at the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a soft pink under the lamplight. “I wanted to check on you.” 

Steve Harrington, the care taker. It was something you’d always understood about him, always admired, but now the puzzle pieces fit together and created the whole image. He’d always been this way, since he was little, bringing his mom a cup of tea while she cried to Romeo and Juliet. Saving Nancy and Jonathan from a murderer even though he was terrified for his life. Toting those kids around. Signing up for the police force. 

You took a deep breath and slipped your hand into his. His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I don’t want to be another responsibility.” You smiled softly, emotion muddling the words in your throat.

His brows creased at that, shadowing his eyes, the curve of his nose. “What’re you talking about?” 

You shook your head, gave his hand another squeeze. “I don’t want you to have to worry about me, to think you have to take care of me.”

“That’s not-“ 

“Not right now, Steve. I mean all the time.” You felt a tear trickle your cheek, and you laughed in spite of it, reaching it to frantically wipe it away before he got the chance, his hand already raised. “That’s what I mean. You feel this pressure, all of the time, to protect those around you. And don’t argue with me, because we all see it. We all feel it. Karen Wheeler recognizes it, for Christ’s sake.” 

His expression never changed, not understanding, eyes full of confusion and worry. 

“And I won’t be another citizen you can add to your list.” You sniffled, resolute. “I can’t be someone you dote on because you’re worried I’m going to get too drunk at a party or roll my ankle or… do mushrooms!” You threw your free hand in the air. “I can’t be a distraction when you’re here, protecting your town and I’m off doing my own thing.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying,” you released a shaky breath, squaring your shoulders. “That I’m a big girl, Steve. I can take care of myself. And I think it’s best if we,” you gestured between the two of you, inches apart. “If we…” The words stung in your throat.

“Stop.” He released your hand, instead gripping both of your shoulders.

“Steve, no, listen.”

“Will you just shut up?” 

You blinked back at him, almost had to slam your own jaw closed with a hand.

“No,” he shook his head, brown eyes intense. “No. I’m not letting you go that easily. Because you know what? Believe it or not, you’re the first girl I actually haven’t had to worry about.”

You stared back at him, heart racing at the tone of his voice. 

“Nancy,” he gestured back to the house. “I literally had to swing a bat at a monster to keep her safe. Robin? Total klutz. Had me in a straight up panic when she was held hostage by psychopaths who were torturing me, and I was more worried about her than six broken ribs because she can’t take care of herself. Max?” He counted the third on his fingers in front of you. “Put in a God damn wheelchair because I couldn’t protect her. Okay? So where do you get off thinking I only care about protecting you?” 

You gaped at him, trying to form a thought, a good argument, something boiling up in your chest. You wanted to scream at him.

“Exactly.” He huffed, hair floating above his forehead. “Yeah, you rolled your ankle and yeah, you got drunk and threw up. Big whoop, it’s happened to all of us. If anything, I love you because I don’t have to worry about you at all. Anytime I think about you, I’m fucking thrilled to know that you’re sitting at home reading books like a fucking dork and not fighting monsters and psychopaths.” 

His words hit you like a slap to the face, hot air against the breeze at your sides, and you had to stabilize yourself against his chest, pushed until he was at arm’s length. He stumbled backwards, hands reaching for your wrists, but you shrunk away, suddenly shy, exposed, heart thundering in your ears. 

“You…” You gulped. “You what?” 

He frowned, eyes searching your face as he backtracked his monologue, and when he realized, his mouth fell open. 

Your hand were trembling. You balled them into fists at your chest and stared back at him, waiting for a response. When none came, you pushed off from the porch railing. “Steve. You what?”

“Kiss her, damnit!” Eddie called, and you glanced over Steve’s shoulder to see all of your friends lined up in frame, watching the entire exchange with toothy grins. 

A laugh caught in your chest, and you glanced back at Steve, who watched you with careful eyes. 

“If you don’t, I will,” Robin chimed, and Steve flipped the bird over his shoulder before he crossed and pressed into you with a passionate kiss. His strong arms enveloped your waist, and yours fell into his hair, and you breathed a laugh into his mouth as your friends cheered from the other side of the mesh screen. 

Steve groaned and swooped in for another sweet, sweet kiss. 

—

Mrs. Buckley stuffed your car with an oversized workman’s lunch pail packed with sandwiches and chips and granola bars and zucchini bread, and you almost cried into her robust frame as she hugged you goodbye and bid you a safe trip home. You were welcome anytime. 

Even Rose gave you an awkward hug, a sniffled pat to your shoulders before you waved an “au revoir” and retreated into their little home. 

“I will call you the moment I get home,” you nodded, confirming the fact for the fourteenth time today as Robin pried you from your driver’s side door for the fourteenth hug. 

“Do. And will make sure these dipshits don’t shoot their arms off.” She thumbed back to Nancy and Steve, who were waiting patiently for their turns. 

“Please do.” You pulled away warmer and softer and turned to Nancy next. 

“Hey, this isn’t an emotional occasion.” She tutted, finger wagged. “We will see you very soon when we move in. Even earlier, if you want to go with us to look at houses.” 

You nodded, breathed in bubblegum pink and shampoo. 

Nancy and Robin waved and blew kisses as Steve approached, stepping around him to walk up the Buckley’s porch, hand-in-hand. 

“I will call you tonight,” Steve held your card in his hand. Well, it was his card, but you’d scrawled your number on the back to ensure he had it this time, and he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself asking one of the girls for it. 

“Don’t.” You shook your head, remembering the state of your house. “My dad will kill us both.” 

“Okay…?” He chuckled, pocketing it in the blue polyester of his work pants. His cruiser sat just off to the side of the driveway, blue and white and beat to hell. 

“Call me tomorrow, between noon and five. You know what? I’ll call you.” 

“Okay,” he dipped in for a sweet kiss, bergamot and chamomile and mint gum that was stuck between his molars. 

“Before I forget,” you foraged into your own back pocket for a polaroid, passing it to Steve. “Do me a favor and give this to Eddie?” Heat licked at your face as you watched his expression move from confusion to shock to something darker. The girls had coaxed you into taking it after your shower. Nothing obscene, all the right bits of you covered, but your back was arched, hair wet around your face.  You almost kept it for yourself.

“I absolutely will not.” Steve breathed, face tinged pink, eyes black.

You shrugged. “Bummer. I thought it was him that needed it for his nightstand. Maybe I’m wrong.” 

“You snoop,” he poked at your ribcage.

You smiled and tugged at his lapel, running a thumb over his name badge as he tucked your photo into his back pocket beside your card. “Stay safe for me, will you?” 

He snorted, nuzzled your nose with his. “Stop trying to protect me.” 

“Shut up.” You chuckled into another kiss. 

It took everything in your willpower to part from him, warm body sturdy under your palms, yours pliant in his. Finally, a wolf whistle from the porch separated you, and you wiped at the swell of your lips as Steve did the same. He grinned back at you, all teeth and freckles, and he squeezed your hips before releasing. 

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he promised, backing toward Robin and Nancy on the stoop. 

You waved at your friends, heart tight in your chest, before sinking into the driver’s seat and turning the ignition. Your little car puttered to life, and once again you waved your friends goodbye as you headed down the detoured streets of Hawkins, Indiana.

The spray-painted exit sign asked for you to come again soon, and although it said HELL in big red letters, you thought you might.

---

A/N: Thank you for all of your love on Chamomile. I was so inspired by your sweet, sweet words that I wrote this. And if we're being honest, I might work on a third. Maybe I'll write these two forever and ever. Thank you so so much for reading! xo -Amanda

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

Yes 👁️👄👁️ Danny x Reader smut plz. Honestly anything, it's up to you. Maybe some teasing I guess? Work ur magic ❤️🥺

Work Break Fun

Jed Olsen x fem!reader

Warnings: phone sex, slight mention of death, degrading kink, app operated vibrator

Happy New Year!! I was conflicted between doing a few ideas so I decided to do this fic. I hope you enjoy!

The sounds of your keyboard echoed through your cubicle as you were focused on finishing the report on your laptop. Working your office job can be stressful to say the least. It doesn't make it any easier when there’s a deranged killer currently on the loose, scared that your boyfriend Danny would be the next victim because of his involvement with the publication of the recent string of killings. 

The room was empty, your coworkers opting to continue their tasks on Monday morning. Boredom was seeping into your soul as you blinked at the screen of words tiredly. Deciding to take a quick break from your report, you grabbed your phone to send Danny a quick text message. 

‘Hey babe, I’m just letting you know that I'm still at the office.’ You typed out the text with a quick selfie of yourself pouting rather playfully. 

Your hair was tied back away from your face as your soft makeup could be seen. A simple black eyeliner and (favorite scented) lipgloss to be precise. The simple button up shirt was unbuttoned a few buttons down, showing off your cleavage tastefully but not too much. 

A few moments later, you hear your cell phone dinged. You opened the message, seeing a photo of Danny laying on his bed,shirtless- almost showing off the elastic band of his boxers. On the top of the photo was the caption. ‘I wish you were here.’ 

It would be a lie if your heart didn't speed up from looking at the risque photo. Rolling your eyes at his cheesy attempt to be flirty, you decided to tease him back. You finished unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your bra-cladded torso. 

Snapping a quick picture of your shirtless chest, you cheekily responded with a "two can play that game." Before sending the picture and message to him. A brief wave of excitement and nerves filled your body as you realized that you were sexting your boyfriend at your workplace. 

Before you could think about forwarding out, your phone dinged again, distracting you with another message from Danny. It was a simple message. 'Facetime, now.' Followed by 'you best not to keep me waiting.' 

Your heart pounded in response to the sudden change of tone, making the familiar ache form in between your legs. choosing to comply with the texts, you called Danny on facetime. 

It wasn't long before Danny picked up. The sight of a shirtless Danny solidified your arousal. "Damn, you're even wearing my favorite color." He smirked teasingly, referring to your (red/black) colored bra. 

"Although I love the bra, I love it better off." Danny continued, slowly moving the camera down towards his clothed erection. Deciding to take the hint, you carefully placed your phone upright on your desk wall before slowly clipping your bra, leaving your bare breasts exposed for both Danny and anyone to potentially see if someone decided to stop by to check on you. 

Looking back at the phone, you see Danny's toned hand palming his clothed crotch. His soft groans filled your cubicle as you moved your thighs together in desperation for some sort of release. 

"Such a cute little pet. So slutty that you're half naked at work." Danny taunts you, only fueling the heat in between your legs. You grabbed your phone, slowly moving it down your breasts. 

Danny moves his camera back towards his face, his eyes dilated in lust as he takes in the view of your tits. "Now, I want you to take off your panties. Leave the skirt on."

 He watches you closely as you use your free hand to shimmy your panties off, showing him the thin fabric of your matching panties. You tossed your panties towards the pile of clothes on the floor.

Moving your phone down, you spread your legs to show your arousal. An audible curse could be heard from the speaker. "Damn, it's almost pathetic how soaked you are. And we're just getting started." 

You placed your phone on your desk, positioning it so that your nude body is in the frame for Danny to view. "Did you bring that toy we've discussed, pet?" You leaned to the floor, grabbing the app operated vibrator. 

"Such a good slutty pet." He praised tauntingly, moving his phone down to show you his now boxer free erection. You bit your bottom lip with anticipation as you waited for the next instruction from Danny. Your body felt as if you were on fire as you positioned the toy close to your wet slit.

The quiet buzzing sound of the toy came alive as a moan escaped your lips, instinctively bucking your hips up from the stimulation. You slowly move the toy around your clit, letting your moans pour out your lips as Danny begins to jerk himself with his left hand while controlling the toy with his free hand- making the speed faster. 

After a few minutes with the toy on its highest setting, Danny suddenly turns the vibrations down to its lowest setting. You let out a whimper in response to losing the sudden pleasure you were feeling. Danny lets out a chuckle, looking at how desperate you were for the toy’s vibration. 

“Poor pet.. All needy for me to make you cum.” 

Your lustful, half- lidded eyes looked towards the camera, nodding eagerly as you slowed the movement of your hand. Danny’s hand moves faster, spreading his precum down his length. The sight was delightful for you; your mouth dried with a sexual thirst for something more than the toy that he was currently controlling.

Danny switches the viberator back to the highest setting, quickly changing back and forth between going to the lowest and highest setting. Your body shook in response to the sexual torture, causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure. A wild smirk spreads on Danny's face when he sees the way your face contorts of desire. 

Just when you thought that Danny would finally let you cum, he turned the toy off. A desperate whine echoed out your mouth as his laugh could be heard through your phone speakers. “But I think you don’t deserve to cum yet.. Finish your report and come over to my house… Maybe then, you might be worthy of an orgasm.” With that, Danny abruptly ends the call, leaving you with a whole new desire to finish your report quickly. 

[curiositydooropened]

@daydreamerblues Thank you so much for reading ♥️ I wanted to respond via post because I have more thoughts than I think I could write in a comment. Haha!

First of all, I’m so glad it came across that way! And honestly same, I’d also have that sliver of doubt forever and ever. I was really debating whether or not they’d tell her, and I realized that anyone they’ve told has -witnessed- the scary paranormal stuff. Even Erica was confused when they discussed the Gate, thinking it was caused by the Russians because that was her experience. So without witnessing the bad stuff (because fingers crossed, it’s gone), I think the Reader would have thought they were making fun of her for asking. It would have been a dick move.

But I do like to think that somewhere, far down the line, they start to sprinkle it in. Maybe she witnesses El using her powers and Argyle gives her a little “told you”. And that’d be a lot to handle even, so later down the line, they’d just pepper in “oh remember when that demodog ate Mews?” And she is like the what ate who?

Also to answer your other question, they haven’t discussed the “official” question yet, but Steve absolutely brags to Calahan about his “girlfriend” and how smart she is. Reads big books, like really heavy ones. And when she’s hit on at work or at the beginning-of-term frat parties, she proudly claims she’s taken, earning a few eyebrow waggles from the girls.

Thank you so so so much for reading though xo

[larentslovechaos]

ok poll time:

what should my 'Lemonade' fic title be?

Bright Yellow Spaceship (Might Make Me Start To Believe)

A Little Taste (Is All I Need)

Something else/Comment ideas/tags :)

Voting ended onApr 23

Summary, but not the actual summary, but also could be the summary:

Louis wanders off into the jungle on his own in Costa Rica during a lads' work trip, looking for some solitude in the midst of a rowdy night of playing pool and drinking. He just needs a moment to himself to get away from all the noise and chaos. He's in paradise after all. But when he steps out that night, it’s not quite peace that he finds, but certainly something, or someone, otherworldly.

AKA Louis has an encounter with an extraterrestrial Harry Styles and his Bright Yellow Spaceship.

[curiositydooropened]

hello amanda, i hope u r well. i recently read your two stories, chamomile and lemonade, and they were so, so good. i cried during bits of chamomile. more than anything, i was so impressed by how poignant and sharp the loneliness of r felt at times. especially because she doesn't talk about her feelings very often, but throughout there was a harrowing, almost dull sense of despair that happens when you're lonely for too long and can't figure out how to stop it, and don't know how to talk about it, and the crescendo of it peaking and breaking at points was very relatable and emotional. the amount of yearning and pining was crazy. i nearly felt the months crawl by with r and her wish to get close to steve and nancy and robin and i nearly tore my hair out with her as steve nancy and johnathan sorted their troubles out. i don't know if i'm saying this right, but it was just a very emotionally loaded story from all angles that was done really well. looking forward if u ever drop a pt 3 on them!

UM... HELLO!?

This is so so so so so kind. Like truly, I don't even have words to describe how much this means to me.

I'm so honored my little stories resonated so deeply with you. I think the best thing you can do as a writer is to funnel in your own memories and emotions and feelings, and my first year at University definitely felt this way, finding myself in established friendships and relationships and not quite knowing how to navigate. So I definitely think there's a lot of me in this reader. In all of them, but this one especially.

Thanks so much for reaching out. You're so lovely. xoxoxo

[curiositydooropened]

just need you to know that I go back and read chamomile and lemonade all of the time because they make me feel so much and the writing on those is truly one-of-a-kind. I hope you’re so proud of them because you really should be :)

BABE. I could cry. Thank you so much! This is so sweet! I am so so so proud of chamomile and lemonade. They were my first big fics in this fandom, and they truly just flew out of me. Like a fever dream. And I’ll always love those little babies. Thanks so much for reading. I’m glad you enjoyed. You’re so lovely. Xoxoxo

[curiositydooropened]

for me my fave fic of yours has to be a tie between lemonade and my whole life, too!! im an angst FIEND and the angst in both of them is just exquisite 💞 but i do love my happy endings and you ALWAYS deliver <333

This is so nice, friend!!! You know I also loooove the angst, but there’s gotta be a happy ending!

Lemonade was so much fun to write because I really just dove into it headfirst. The scene at the Wheeler’s is one of my favorites. So many cute moments.

And you knoooow I have a big ole soft spot for My Whole Life, Too. That Munson is such a little heart-stealer, isn’t he???

Thanks so much for this! You’re truly kind! xo

[curiositydooropened]

I read Chamomile, Lemonade and Domestically and I have to say you’re an amazing writer. I really felt like i was reading a book. I was so drawn in I even teared up at some points. Just wanted to let you know that you are extremely talented

Stop! This is going to make me cry! Thank you so so much for this lovely comment, and for reading all of my stuff! I'm so honored that you enjoyed it that much, and thank you for reaching out with such kind words. You're lovely! xo