✶ FOOL FOR YOU.ᐟ ⎯ steve harrington x fem!reader au
SUMMARY: in which an injured steve harrington accidentally climbs through your window instead of your brother’s.
WARNINGS: mentions of blood & injury, strong language.
WORD COUNT: 1.2k +
Steve let out a string of curses as he climbed up the drainpipe, his hands gripping the window ledge for dear life as he hoisted himself up. Usually he could make his way up in five seconds flat, but the sharp pain shooting up his side was doing little for his agility.
It admittedly bruised his ego a little to have to rely on a fourteen year old child to patch him up after getting hurt during a patrol, but what other choice did he have? Dustin was the only person who knew about his secret.
He’d always known the little shit was too smart for his own good; he’d discovered there was something going on with Steve before he even knew himself.
From the moment he was bitten, the Henderson boy had hounded him with books about the effects of spider venom, endless questions about his web shooters, and suggestions about how he could modify his suit.
As insane as it drove him, he knew the kid was only trying to help. And honestly, he was just glad Dustin was the one to work it out and not Robin. If it was her, she might as well put a huge billboard up in Hawkins town square with ‘Steve Harrington is Spider-Man!’ plastered on it in bold lettering.
After a couple of fumbles, he finally managed to unlock the window and push it open. He brushed a tuft of hair out of his eyes, poking his head into the bedroom.
Then he froze.
The walls once covered in astronomy wallpaper were now painted a soft butter yellow, with string lights hung from either side. The creased Goonie’s poster had been replaced with a photo of Patrick Swayze in The Outsiders, and the shelf in the corner that was previously full of science textbooks was now stacked with records ranging from Duran Duran to Cyndi Lauper.
Oh, shit.
“Steve?”
His head whipped around at the sound of his name, his eyes comically wide as they set on you, sat atop your canopy bed in your pyjamas beside a copy of Cosmopolitan, with an understandably startled look on your face.
Yeah. This definitely wasn’t Dustin’s room.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” He trailed off, his chest heaving as he tried to come up with an excuse for the insane situation he’d landed himself in, but what could he say? What could possibly justify him stumbling through your window at ten o’clock, with his mask pressed against his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and his suit half torn to shreds?
Oh, God, his suit.
He parted his lips to defend himself, but you beat him to it, swinging your legs over the side of the bed as you sat up straight.
“Oh my god,” You murmured, you gaze lifting from his spandex-covered body up to his wide, brown eyes, “You’re Spider-Man?”
“What? No! This isn’t— I’m not—” He resigned himself with a sigh, “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little.”
You didn’t move straight away. He half expected you to yell at him for breaking and entering, or for getting blood on your new rug, but you didn’t.
You merely stood up and padded past him into what he could only assume was your en suite bathroom, leaving him standing ineptly in front of your windowsill. You returned not a minute later, a pocket first aid kit in your hands.
“C’mon,” You said, nodding towards the bed.
Steve probably should have said no, and if it was anyone else he would have, but much like your brother, you had this stubborn lilt to your voice that he couldn’t ignore. So, he swallowed thickly and staggered towards your bed, the mattress creaking under his weight as he lowered himself onto the duvet.
You sat down beside him, tucking your socked feet under your thighs. “I take it you came here for Dustin?” You asked casually, like you were talking about the weather as opposed to a literal state secret.
“Why would you think that?”
You shrugged as you popped open the kit, “He told me you’ve been helping him with his algebra, but I figured that was a lie, since you had to retake Mr. Thomas’ class last year.”
Steve grimaced. Partly from the memory and mostly from the pain he was in.
“Plus, he hid a book on web fluid under the couch.”
“Of course he did.” He huffed.
After pulling out a pack of cotton pads and a bottle of antiseptic, you nod towards his suit, “Can you take that off?”
“You could at least take me out to dinner first,” He attempted to joke, but the slight tremble his voice carried betrayed him.
You sat patiently and watched as he stripped himself of his suit, the material falling from his frame and pooling loosely around his waist. You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on his chest, dropping down to the subtle curve of his stomach and the trail of dark hair beneath his navel. You were pretty sure he noticed, but he didn’t say anything.
You cleared your throat and refocused your attention on the gash on his side, where dried blood had begun to cling to his skin. After soaking a cotton pad in antiseptic, you leaned over and pressed it to the wound, cringing when you felt him suck in a breath.
“I’m sorry,”
Steve hissed through his teeth and tipped his head back against the headboard, “Its okay.”
“This looks gnarly.” You murmur softly, “What happened?”
He looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “Would you believe me if I said a guy came at me with a knife?”
You shook your head and Steve sighed.
“It was a cat.”
That drew a laugh out of you, “A cat?”
“A really big cat.” He defended, his lips curling up as he struggled to hide a chuckle of his own.
Your eyes were glued to his abdomen as you cleaned him up, but his eyes were on you. He watched attentively, surprised at how gentle you were being with him. There was a practiced ease to the way you worked, most likely from years of tending to Dustin whenever he fell off his bike.
He watched you until you were done, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability that wasn’t there before, “You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?”
You tilted your head to the side, soft and incredulous, “Steve. Who would I tell?”
He felt a little stupid for asking. He barely knew anything about you. Up until now, the two of you had only spoken once or twice in passing. What reason did he have to trust you?
But at the same time, you’d let him into your space and patched him up without so much as a question. That was more than most people would have done.
His mouth pulls into a small smile, eyes glazing over with exhaustion. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
You clicked the first aid kit closed and tossed the cotton pads into the bin before getting up and padding across the carpet into the bathroom. You slid the kit back under the sink where you found it and grabbed a glass, because you figured he needed it, and filled it with cold water.
By the time you got back to your room, water and painkillers in hand, Steve was dead to the world. He laid tangled amongst your duvet with his brown hair sticking up in several directions, soft breaths escaping his mouth as he dozed.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was the most relaxed he’d looked in weeks.
Everything is normal…(or not) Steve Harrington Spiderman AU
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader
Summary: When something bites Steve on the neck, he doesn’t yet realize that his life is about to become more than babysitting and romantic suffering. Suddenly, strange things start happening. His reflexes are too fast. His vision is too sharp. His hair is even more perfect.
…when Steve Harrington become Spiderman
a/n: English is not my first language. Request are open!
The air had a smell.
Not the usual, musty “old house” kind of smell. Something thicker. Like when water sits too long in a basement. Like burnt electrical wires—except there hadn’t been a fire. Just… silence. And the worst part? We were still standing in the yard, so the air shouldn’t have stunk at all. But somehow, mysteriously, it did.
The air had a smell, and that alone was never a good sign. I shouldn’t have even gotten out of my car. At least it smelled nice in there. But the two Hendersons had jumped out the second I parked by the curb, and before I could even blink, they were already yanking at the rusty gate, trying to force it open. Talk them out of it? Impossible. You just have to get used to them. Eventually you realize that once they set their minds on something, there’s no knocking it out.
If someone had told me a year ago that I would willingly walk into the creepiest house in Hawkins with a flashlight in my hand, I would’ve laughed in their face.
And yet here I am, standing in front of the rusty gate, wondering if the movie theater is still running the late-night show.
“We could still turn back,” I muttered quietly, scratching at my nose in hopes of catching a fresher breath of air. No luck. The stench refused to leave. The Henderson duo, unsurprisingly, ignored my suggestion completely.
If anyone ever asks how I died, I’m sure this will be the beginning of the story:
“So there I was, standing in front of the Creel House, and from the very first moment, I knew this was a bad decision.”
The house literally looked like the architect had said while building it:
“You know what would be great? Trauma. Lots of trauma.”
The paint was peeling off the walls, most of the windows were shattered like empty eye sockets, and even the trees leaned over the building as if they didn’t want to get too close. Nobody wants to get close to this house. Anyone in Hawkins with half a brain avoids even the neighborhood.
And here I am with two Hendersons. So clearly, we were not the half-with-a-brain type. But they say you’d do anything for friendship. Even if your friends are slightly unhinged.
“Remind me why we didn’t just go to the movies,” I grumbled, hands on my hips, watching Dustin shrug off his backpack, dig around inside it like a raccoon, and then pull out a hammer.
I should’ve asked. Why do you have a hammer? What exactly do you need a hammer for? But who was I to interrogate a fourteen-year-old menace? Nobody.
“Or get ice cream,” I continued thoughtfully, watching him examine the hammer and then the front door.
“Or literally go anywhere I don’t feel like a demon is about to have me for dinner.”
I swallowed hard as Dustin marched toward the front door. Suddenly I knew exactly why he had the hammer. Did he seriously think the door was locked? No one had lived here for years, and again—anyone sane avoided the place entirely. I highly doubted it was locked. A million rumors floated around about this house. Strange screaming at night. Haunted. Demon-infested.
If I had to guess, the door definitely wasn’t locked—and it definitely didn’t need to be smashed open with a hammer.
“Steve, this is a historically significant location,” Dustin rolled his eyes dramatically as he reached the door. He grabbed the handle without a trace of fear and turned it.
It didn’t open.
Thank God.
Relief flooded me for a split second. Maybe we were locked out. Maybe we’d have to leave. Maybe we could still go to the movies. I’d rather watch a horror film than experience one firsthand.
“Yeah. In the ‘historically terrible decisions’ category,” I muttered, still refusing to move from the bottom step of the porch, watching a child prepare to break into an abandoned house.
Someone snorted next to me.
I turned immediately and watched Rafaela Henderson carefully slip her camera around her neck, eyes fixed determinedly on her brother and the ornate front door. Her finger hovered, ready to immortalize every important moment. Ell’s fingers were as quick as a mouse’s feet when it came to photography.
“Harrington, if you’re that scared, you can stay in the car,” she suggested casually, not taking her eyes off Dustin.
“I’m not scared!” I snapped, offended.
“You are,” she shot back.
“I’m not,” I insisted, more firmly this time—though I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my lips. We were bickering like kindergarteners. That was us. We drained each other’s blood all day, but by nightfall we couldn’t function without the other. It was a miracle we could breathe when we weren’t standing side by side.
“This isn’t fear,” I corrected. “It’s excellent survival instinct.”
She rolled her eyes.
I was seconds away from ordering both Hendersons back into my car when I saw her finger tighten on the camera again—and remembered why we were here. And it wasn’t just because I’m a saint with a golden heart who agrees to every insane plan.
We were here because of her.
The school paper. Rafi had been a pillar of it for years, and this year she was finally in the running for editor-in-chief. Her big moment. If she got it, it would go into her recommendation letters and help her get into her dream college.
And what kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t help her chase that dream?
There was just one tiny problem: Kyle Matthews. Also running. Bigger readership. His biggest article so far? “The Cafeteria Is Giving More Ketchup This Week.” The guy’s a jerk. A redheaded, freckled jerk with too much charm.
But Rafaela didn’t back down from competition. She saw a rival—especially a favorite—and went feral with determination. She wanted an article that would make jaws drop.
Two weeks ago, we biked past this house. She looked at it like it had personally challenged her.
No student had ever dared step inside. Rumor said demons lived here. If she got photos from inside? She’d win. No contest.
And as her best friend, I couldn’t let her execute this insane plan alone.
Because I have rules when it comes to Rafaela Henderson:
• If you’re a Henderson, I protect you.
• If you walk into danger, I complain—but I’ll defend you with my life.
• If you die, everyone will blame me. Especially me.
“Steve,” Rafi sighed, turning toward me. “For once in your life, don’t be the guy in the horror movie who dies in the first five minutes.”
“I’m not dying,” I scoffed. “I’m the survivor type.”
“Yeah?” she smirked, stepping closer. “Then why is your voice shaking?”
It wasn’t. Just… slightly. Pull yourself together, idiot. You’re the man here.
“Fine,” I sighed dramatically. “But let’s be clear—if something jumps at me, I scream first. Then I punch.”
“That’s comforting,” Dustin said dryly.
I climbed the steps and grabbed the handle myself. It didn’t budge.
So I snatched the hammer from Dustin and smashed the glass without hesitation. It shattered instantly. With a slightly trembling hand, I reached inside and unlocked the door from within.
Heroic act of the day: complete.
We stepped inside. Ell moved so close immediately that she almost shoved me forward, and Dustin walked straight into her back. I had to grab the doorframe to keep all three of us from crashing to the floor, then shot them a very unimpressed look over my shoulder. Unbelievable.
I pulled the door fully open, and it made a sound like it was auditioning for a horror movie.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the air turned cold. Which was weird, because outside it had been pleasantly warm. In here? Cold. Not “cool.” Cold.
“Do you feel that?” I whispered, carefully making sure I didn’t accidentally touch anything. Who knew what kind of bacteria were thriving in this place.
“The temperature difference?” Dustin asked, dragging his finger along a dusty shelf. The streak remained visible in the dust, which now coated his fingertip. He grinned and held it up for his sister to admire.
“No. The presence of death,” I said, swallowing hard, not daring to move.
Rafi, meanwhile, walked past me like she owned the place. I swear, this girl. She has zero sense of fear. She used to jump off the swing at the playground mid-air while laughing.
“Steve, it’s just a house,” Ell rolled her eyes and stepped closer to the walls as if she wanted to study them.
“This is not just a house. This is a ‘why didn’t we listen to Steve’ memorial,” I corrected, taking a cautious step toward her.
Big mistake.
The floorboard creaked loudly under my foot. I froze and immediately raised my hand.
“Okay. New rule. Nobody splits up. Dustin, left side. Ell, middle. I’m in front. And you stay behind me. Got it?” I turned to them sternly.
“Since when are you the commander?” Ell asked, frowning.
“Since I’m the best-looking one here, which clearly means main character energy,” I said smugly, straightening up. I was still the oldest. And male. That answered a lot of things.
“That’s not how it works,” Dustin sighed, already exhausted.
“Yes, it is. Pretty people die last. Duh.” I rolled my eyes.
A crack ran along the wall when I glanced up and noticed it. Honestly, it was a miracle the house was still standing. Something fell upstairs.
I froze.
“You heard that?”
“Old house,” Dustin replied casually.
“No. That was something.” I shook my head, listening more carefully. What if the kids at school were right? What if demons really lived here and just caught the scent of our souls? Wait. Do souls have a scent?
Meanwhile, Ell was practically climbing the wall to get a better shot of the wallpaper. The torn wallpaper that didn’t even form a recognizable pattern.
Click.
Click.
“Look at this light, Steve. It’s perfect,” she said excitedly, not lowering the camera from her eye.
“Yeah. For the cover of ‘Impending Doom Magazine,’” I replied monotonously, taking a very slow, very careful step closer to her. Very close. While she was trying to take pictures.
“Harrington,” Rafi said, giving me a full once-over when she realized I was basically breathing into her face, “your aura is literally touching mine.”
“Strategic positioning,” I chuckled awkwardly. If I keep this up, I’ll end up in the photos too. Although that would definitely guarantee her the editor-in-chief position.
“Sure,” she giggled and stepped away, probably because I was breathing in her ear.
I looked up toward the second floor. I didn’t like it. Not the wooden stairs. Not the darkness. Not… anything. Nothing about this place felt right.
“Okay. Let’s take the pictures quickly and then we’re leaving. Five minutes max,” I ordered, my eyes already drifting back to the front door. I’d very much like to see myself on the other side of it. Alive.
“Ten,” Rafi negotiated immediately.
“Six.”
“Eight.”
“Seven. Final offer.” I placed my hands on my hips. Ell tilted her head to the side.
“Are you seriously bargaining in a potentially paranormal location?” Dustin cut in, massaging the bridge of his nose.
“Yes,” Rafi and I answered in unison.
Something creaked again.
I automatically stepped in front of them.
“Okay. If something comes out of that darkness, it has to get through me first,” I swallowed. My voice sounded more confident than I felt.
“Steve,” Ell looked at me with those big eyes. Honestly, she had eyes like a cow. Or Bambi.
“Yeah?” I asked innocently.
“That was… kind of cute.” She nudged my side with her elbow. I playfully shoved her hand away. Don’t mess with me. I am never cute. At most, charming.
I cleared my throat.
“Not cute. Heroic.”
“Same thing,” she smiled.
Not the same. But I didn’t correct her.
Because honestly? Maybe I was terrified. Maybe every nerve in my body was screaming for us to turn back.
But they’re Hendersons.
And I’ve officially appointed myself Head of Henderson Security.
So if this house wants to kill someone?
It goes through me first.
(Although I really, really hope it chooses no one.)
pure fluff. no warnings. nothing much, just fun :)
Platonic Stobin <3 spiderman!steve
steve finally talks robin into taking her for a swing.
"Steve? Do you know where I put my keys?" Robin yells from the living room, searching high and low, mussing up the couch cushions, tossing their jackets onto the floor. "I had them last night…I think."
Steve rolls his eyes looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, combing his overgrown hair one more time from his forehead before sticking his head out into the hallway.
"How would I know that, Robin?"He asks looking at her frantically shifting through the pile of books on their coffee table.
"I don't know-use our trauma-bond to remember where I put them please!" She turns back to him, smiling brightly.
"Or you know- your…" She puts her hands up in a familiar pose, two middle fingers pressed to her palm and the others sticking out towards him.
"Robin-" He sighs, feigning annoyance, a little, he can't really get mad at her. He loves her too much to ever really have… any sense of annoyance to her.
"I know-not how it works… but still! If you think really really hard maybe you can-unlock it? I don't know, find my keys, bug boy!" Robin talks with her hands, wildly flying around her, the oversized (Steve's ) work vest fluttering with her arms. "I truly think you could have more than just- sticky powers!"
Steve gives her that look. The one he always gives her, faux irritation mixed with a bit of the adoration he has for her.
"Sure." Steve says, putting his fingers to his temples as he walks into the living room.
"I'm using my freaky inter-dimensional-sticky spider powers to find your keys right now." He mumbles, closing his eyes and walking toward the kitchen table.
He picks up a jacket that she flung across the room to find her keys sitting right under it.
"Ta-da" Steve opens his eyes, grabbing her keys swiftly tossing them in the air and catching them.
"You're a life-saver." Robin smiles at him, grabbing her keys with one hand, ruffling his hat with the other. She walks towards the door, checking her watch, her whole face drops. "Oh god. We are so late."
"We could-" He shrugs pointing towards the window with his thumb.
"No! No!" Robin shouts out, holding her hands up in a defensive fashion,"Not a chance, Harrington."
"Robin please! You love rollercoasters! It's just- kinda- like that!"
She shakes her head looking horrified.
"No it's not! No seatbelts, no safety checks of any kind!" She shakes her head furiously,"No way, Steve."
Steve sighs turning around on his heel doing a small circle in the living room. He throws his hands up exasperatedly.
"I won't let you fall! Ever! Weird-spider-powers, remember?" He comes closer to her grabbing her hands softly.
Robin bites her lip.
Thinking.
Her freckled face crinkling slightly at her nose as she looks at him.
"Okay."
Steve's eyes widen, sure she was going to take another twenty minutes of begging to even get her on the same page.
"Really?"
"Don't make me rethink this, Steve. Let's go." Robin says gripping his hand tightly and pulling him along towards the fire escape.
Steve smiles at her, pulling his mask out of his backpack and taking his polo off and shoving it into his bag,shuffling to keep up with Robins solid steps.
"You keep that on all the time?" She asks, pointing to his suit.
"Not… all the time."
"Ew."
Steve smacks her lightly with his mask before pulling it over his head and tucking it under the neckline of his suit.
"I wash it."
She scrunches her nose at this.
"Sure you do."
Steve shakes his head, coming closer to her with a strong arm laying tightly around her waist. His hand secure, making sure not to pull on her shirt too much.
"If you drop me-"
Robin doesn't have time to finish before she's screaming. Steve jumps, holding her against his body safely, using free arm to arch a web from his wrist. It lands with an audible thwip towards the building ahead.
The two go flying, nearly free falling from their sixth story apartment window towards the ground. Robins eyes are shut, hands holding onto Steve's shoulders with a knuckle breaking grip. Another sharp sound, like a whip being cracked, sounds from next to her and she can feel the air on her cheeks, the sun on her face, the wind tunneling around her ears at a speed she can't comprehend.
Steve swings with confidence, like a pendulum above the streets, turning down the next block. He looks down at Robin, her eyes finally open and wide, screams of terror turned to her classic-shrieks-of-joy, loud and bright, shining along with the sun.
He shifts his grip on her for the next swing, gaining momentum as he moves his weight towards the building in front of them. She slides down a little, settling in his arms safety, but the scream she lets out tells him she may have be free falling for a millisecond.
"Steve! You said-" Robin smacks her hand against his chest before resuming her death grip.
"And I won't!" Steve promises, strained voice loud enough for her to hear over the rush of the city passing by.
He sees the school coming up ahead, he aims his next web on the top of the parking garage across the street, setting Robin down securely on the concrete a few and letting her settle.
Her hair was wild, wind swept and frizzy, eyes shining.
A smile stuck her face, sudden and real. Robin stares at Steve with a wonder struck look, her work vest disheveled and clinging in the wrong places.
"Why haven't you taken me on a ride before?" She yells, coming up to Steve and pulling him into a hug, a hand hanging on to the nape of his neck, the other curling tightly around his shoulder.
"I've been trying to!" Steve says pulling back to look at her. "For months!"
Steve removes the mask quickly, taking out his shirt from the bag and trying his best to get the wrinkles out before throwing it over his head.
"Your hair is a mess." Robin laughs, running her fingers though his mask-flattened hair.
"You're one to talk." He pushes her needling hands away, giving it his own shot at fixing his hair. Failing horribly.
She smiles again, shaking her head in disbelief.
"You are something else, dingus."
authors note: hopefully this is okay! i probably missed some grammatical stuff but it's okay! this is just a little 1k snippet in the same universe as my fic coming out soon :) more to come!!
chapter summary: As terror reigns in the food court when the Mind Flayer comes to collect, an old friend returns to Hawkins.
🎧 : tracks 02-12
7,615 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains canon-typical gore, mentions of alcohol, blood, vomit, nausea, and parental death // spiderman divider made by @saradika-graphics
“Hey,” his voice cracks, the back of his hand wipes at his nose.
“Hey,” you echo, looking down at the duffel bag at your feet.
A trunk slams closed, knocked twice by your dad’s palm in case you didn’t hear it the first time.
When you look up, he’s smiling at Steve and that same palm is clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, son, you coming with to the train station?”
Steve still hasn’t looked at you, and a mumbled, “No Sir,” and your mom’s unsubtle glare at your father and frantically waved hand from the porch makes him finally catch on.
“Oh, right…um…” he looks at his watch then you and Steve apologetically, “We gotta get going soon, kid, okay?”
“I know,” you nod along with the words and blink about a billion times to keep them at bay, but it doesn’t seem to be working.
Your dad squeezes Steve’s shoulder before he jogs up to the front steps and raises his hands in surrender to your mother, the pair ducking their heads and hissing whispered scolds and apologizes at each other that you try to ignore.
“Did you, um,” you clear your throat and kick the toe of your converse against the crack in your driveway, desperate to say anything impressive, lasting, monumental in terms of your feelings and the moment, but nothing seems right. “You…um…”
Steve doesn’t give you the chance anyways, stealing the air from your lungs when his arms wrap around you quickly, tightly, and like they have no intention of ever dropping. Yours move just as fast, wrapping around his waist and pressing you as close together as possible, your nose squished against his shoulder that dampens beneath your cheek.
He squeezes you harder, a shaky breath slips out of him as your fingers curl into his shirt, knowing what he’s about to do and you can’t stop it.
“Don’t,” he gasps, like speaking is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, he sniffles, and he lets you go, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“Steve-“ your tears slip further down your cheeks, turning the cement at his sneakers a darker gray.
His fingers press to his eyes as he quickly jogs down your driveway, a small shake of his shoulders, and then he’s around the corner and gone from your sight.
Your hand presses to your mouth, but the sob still escapes.
It’s all a blur after that.
The getting in the car, arriving at the station, the getting on the train and resting your temple against the cold glass of a window as your mother’s thumb soothes over your knuckles.
The town of Hawkins, Indiana turning more blurry each second, like it’s a distant and underwater memory, until it disappeared altogether.
Your eyes snap open as your forehead smacks the glass window, hard, as the brakes beneath the bus scream in protest at the sudden stop.
Simple Minds blares then fades from your ears and as you push down your headphones to just catch the driver’s apology.
“…‘Bout that. Looks like we got some kind of road closure, let me go see what’s going on folks.”
By folks, he means you and two other passengers who are rolling their own necks and rubbing at bleary eyes.
Around your neck, Simple Mind fades, whispers of We Belong tickle your ears as you look out the window.
At first, you just blink at what you see. A weary and anxious version of you stares back, one with frizzled hair and sunken skin under her eyes and stained and wrinkled clothing. The night beyond her too dark to make out more than the top of a tree line and the edge of a road sign. But then you catch the faint trail of dark clouds against the darker sky.
Not clouds, but a plume of smoke.
“Hawkins!” The driver’s voice whips you and your reflection’s attention to the front of the vehicle, not realizing you’ve stood while staring, hand now gripping the seat back in front of you so tightly, your knuckles hurt.
A uniformed soldier stands next to the driver, solemn faced and waiting.
The bus driver waves his hand at him and says, “Maybe you should have missed the bus, kid.”
“I’m sorry…” your finger slams the stop button on your walkman as you step into the aisle of the bus, “What’s going on?”
The bus driver rolls his fingers at you and your things, motioning you to pick up the pace so it seems as he sighs. “You’re getting off here, since your destination is Hawkins.”
The military man starts towards you, his boots heavy and thunking the whole way down to your seat ominously as the other two passengers just stare and don’t offer any of their help or even a reassuring smile.
“What do you mean I’m getting off here? What am I - hey don’t, what do you think you’re…” your tone sharpens as the uniformed soldier picks up your bags. Feeling as if you have no choice but to start following behind him as he walks back the way he came with each of your bags slung over his shoulders. “Excuse me? Where are you going with my things? Hello? What’s going on?”
“Some sort of fire or something blocking the road,” the driver’s tone attempting to assure you but doing the opposite as he adds on, “The military will escort you the rest of the way into Hawkins.”
“The military will…” you start, confused, as you’re basically shoved down the steps of the bus and you turn back to face your driver with wide eyes as your feet hit the road, “Why is the military in Hawkins?”
The driver snorts and just yells, “Good luck!” then the door slams closed in your face.
Your hands run through your hair as you watch the bus continue without you, watch as it turns down the road it’s directed towards instead of going straight - a blockade made out of olive and tan vehicles and accompanied by flashing blue and red lights in it’s original path.
“Miss,” a deep voice to your left makes you jump, a hand flies over your heart to settle it.
“Sorry,” the uniformed man apologizes, but his hand gestures to an open military Jeep, your bags in the back already as his brisk voice urges you, “I’ll be driving you to where you need to go.”
Your feet carry you a step towards him, seeing now that he can’t be much older than you.
“What’s going on? Why is the military here? Why…”
“The National Guard is usually called in for these sorts of things miss,” he encourages you forward with a gentle tug of your elbow, voice less severe and more soothing.
“These sorts…what? What happened?” You blink at him as he helps you take a step up into the jeep while holding your door open.
“Relief aid after a disaster, miss.”
“Relief aid after a disaster?” You clarify, certain you’d misheard him.
“Yes.”
Your hand stops him from closing the door as you frown, narrowing your eyes.
“What sort of disaster?”
“A fire,” he sighs, eyeing your hand, and you think he might honest to god be considering slamming the door anyways.
“The National Guard was called in to help after a fire?”
“A big one. Can you please-“
“Where?” You accuse, pointing to the smoke, “That’s not Hawkins. Why can’t we drive into Hawkins on the bus?”
“The mall just outside of town. The new bus route to Hawkins goes by the mall. There’s a stop there. Can we go now?”
He glares at your hand until you move it to your lap, then slams your door closed, like that’s all he’ll be saying on the matter.
Turns out, it was all he’d be saying period.
The entire twenty minute drive into town is silent after your several follow up questions go unanswered. And when he lets you out at your unlit and locked house, he quickly climbs back into the driver’s seat and goes back the way he came.
Your fingers brush your temple before they drop in a half-hearted salute as you scowl and mutter under your breath, “Protect and serve, alright.”
You’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, save for your nap on the bus that left you more unrested than rested. And now, standing on your front porch, no keys and no lights on and no car in the driveway, you’re beyond stressed, tired, and in need of a gallon of coffee and a hug from your mom.
As you stare up at the stars and think of some sort of plan - it dawns on you what day it is and why your parents might not be home. Your legs and back ache and beg you to sit as you make your way down the driveway once more, leaving your bags right there on the porch - nobody is going to steal your shit.
This is Hawkins.
The worse thing that’s ever happened here is when Sarah Gillespie’s mom had that owl fly into her hair in 5th grade.
As your feet bring you around the corner of Cornwallis, you see the big house at the end of the street is just as dark as your own.
There isn’t a line of cars down the block or kids playing with sparklers or running around with flashlights for night games. There’s no adults all boozed up and laughing around a bonfire, waiting for fireworks. No grill smoke in the air or splashes from the pool in the backyard.
Just one woman, mumbling to herself in a matching skirt and blouse as she yanks a large trunk down from the brick step to the curved walkway.
“See how you like it when I’m not here to buy the groceries, or take your car in for its wash, or pour your whiskey and tell you dinner’s ready you lying, cheating, son of-oh!”
Vivian Harrington’s hand jumps to her chest as she turns to see you next to her car. A mess of your old best friend’s hair and eyes and a few of the same freckles as she blinks at you for a few seconds and then gasps your name and envelopes you in a surprising hug.
Not so surprising though, when you smell brandy on her red lips as she takes the smallest of steps back and asks, “What on earth are you doing here sweetie?”
“I…” It’s a shock to hear her voice after so long, shocked that she’s still Mrs. Harrington, though a slightly more tipsy one, but maybe that was just naivety shielding you from that before, “I was looking for my parents. You didn’t have your party for the fourth?”
“Gosh,” she says, grunting again as she bends to pick up her luggage, offering you a charming smile when you pick it up easily for her. She wipes her brow before resting her hands on her hips to watch you with the next two matching bags. “Honey, I think they might still be at the carnival? Larry threw a whole big thing this year. And we haven’t had one of those parties in…four years? Five? Whenever…John,” she grits out his name before continuing, with a smile you can hear her teeth grinding in, “Started going to the office in Chicago more.”
She slams the trunk down as if it’s an axe and the closure a head.
A shiver drips down your back as she glares at the house.
“Chicago?”
“So he tells me,” she waves a hand and sniffles, dramatically, scrunching her nose as her forehead furrows in a way that you’re sure she’ll be pulling and tugging at in a mirror and fretting over later. “Anyways, that’s where John is and I,” she huffs as her heels sink in to the gravel over their driveway before she tugs open the driver’s door, “I will be in Michigan. At my sister’s house on the lake for the rest of the Summer.”
She makes a little oof noise as she misjudges the seat distance from her butt, righting herself and patting at her hair.
“Mrs. Harrington, are you…” you trail off, unsure if it’s really your place to ask her if she should be driving. Especially when she eyes you cooly and her tone is icy.
“Am I, what, dear?”
Your mouth clamps closed as your clammy fingers flex at your sides before they close the door for her.
“Um, before you go,” you force your best smile and polite tone, “Would you happen to know where Steve is?”
Her fingers turn the key and the car rumbles to life loudly as she squints her emerald eyes at the windshield.
“Work? Could be still at work I suppose probably not at this hour…maybe a date? The carnival perhaps? I never know anymore with him, he’s very…moody, lately.”
“Moody?” You ask, your smile turning into a frown.
“God, yes,” she moans and leans out the open car window, forehead in her palm as she stage whispers to you, like she’s told this secret to everyone, “Just sits out by that pool but never swims in it anymore. Ever since that Wheeler girl broke up with him. It’s honestly been a terrible time trying to fix it all. I mean, I’m well respected, as you know, but there’s only so much I can say and do, you understand?”
“Su…sure,” you nod along like you know what she’s talking about and she reaches out and grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze.
“You’re welcome to wait here for him if you like, I’m sure he’ll not be too long and he can give you a ride to look for your parents? I would, but…”
When she trails off and smiles at you, you take a step away from her car, message clear.
“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington, drive-“ She’s already halfway down the driveway, fingers waggling out the open window as you finish, “Safely,” with a wince of your shoulders as she nearly takes out the mailbox.
Your shoulders fall as the taillights burn red, then disappear and the quiet night returns. A pricey perfume lingers in the air and floats on the warm Summer breeze. An owl hoots as you sit on the brick doorstep and lean your head against the post, wondering what in the world you’re going to say to him.
Originally, you thought you’d have so much more time to prepare. Thought on the bus ride from New York to Chicago you’d think of something. When you didn’t, you were sure from Chicago to home you would. And even then, you were supposed to be home - supposed to see your parents, sleep in your childhood room and wake up to pancakes with a smiley face made out of bacon and whipped cream before attempting to go find Steve.
And why hadn’t your parents told you about the carnival? They were expecting you, shouldn’t they have been home? Though your dad can’t pass up a corndog, so maybe they just lost track of time. It’ll be fine. Once Steve is home, you’ll…
“You’ll what?” Question muttered under your breath as your head falls into your palms, elbows resting on your bent knees. “Hey Steve, remember me? No? Cool, can I have a ride home?”
A frustrated laugh and groan slip past your lips as you knock your head against your knees and fight off the urge to scream. You know it’s not reasonable to think he wouldn’t remember you at all, his mother did and who knows how much she’d had to drink.
But you know it’ll be weird. Know you’re both very different people than the ones who saw each other last. Know you’ve had lives outside of one another for a very long time.
You’ve gone to school and graduated. Had jobs. Dated, and thensome, multiple people in the years it’s been. He probably made new friends. Has a social life you don’t fit in to anymore - that was already becoming clear the last time you were here.
The words ‘that Wheeler girl’ and ‘moody’ make your teeth scrape against your bottom lip, cheek to your knee as your back rests against the post and you keep your eyes on the end of the driveway, waiting.
The sound of loud, dragging footsteps makes your eyes pinch closed harder before they start to flutter open. Your mouth is dry and your back and neck may be permanently curved from the crouched position you had been sitting in for -
Every bone in your body protests in the snap of you standing upright, blinking at the dark blue sky just starting to turn lighter, pale pink brushed across the top of the trees. The sound of birds chirping barely breaking through the cotton in your ears until you hear a low, deep laugh that pulls your attention to the end of the driveway.
A boy who looks familiar and yet not at all is walking up his driveway. Longer than you’ve ever seen it brown locks all pushed back in a futile attempt as strands fall over his forehead when he smiles at -
“Oh fuck,” you whisper to yourself and blink your eyes closed then open as your tongue wets your lip and you wonder how the hell you’re going to explain just hanging out at his doorstep as he’s showing up with a girl after being gone all night long and -
Your stomach clenches at the sound of his voice, clearer as he gets halfway up the drive.
“That asshole better have my car in the driveway by tomorrow, is all I’m saying, okay?”
Steve’s got his arm slung around the girl’s shoulders, her’s around his waist as they walk slowly, like they need help themselves, but they’re supporting the others weight too. She stifles a yawn with a free hand before speaking.
“I just think you need to sort out your priorities and also…”
The girl’s voice is a little raspy, tinged with sarcasm and sleep as she trails off when she looks up and spots you.
Steve looks at her, the same furrowed lines his mom had hours ago forming on his forehead and the corners of his mouth curved down in a frown when his gaze leaves her eyes to follow their line to you.
He stands up straighter, his arm lingers against her but then falls limply at his side as he takes a step towards you. He scuffs his heels over the loose gravel of the walk and blinks at you.
Steve’s entire body is one big bruise from what you can see, the worst of it all being one of his eyes swollen and dark purple, his lip split fairly fresh from the way the red on his chin and cheek are so stark against his tan skin. His hands go to the top of his head, all of his knuckles broken, blue and purple or dried maroon and the gesture makes his shirt that’s covered in something that looks like a foul mixture of puke, blood, and something slimy lift, exposing the faintest line of skin and dark hair that disappears into his very short shorts.
It all makes your stomach burn and your chest feel so tight when he swallows and he just keeps staring at you. Part of you wants to find whoever did this and strangle them with your bare hands and the other part of you is…well you don’t know what it is except confusing, and all you can think to say is:
“What are you wearing?”
The girl’s laugh barks out of her in one short burst before her hands slap over her mouth. Until she’s letting them drop and saying, “Steve? Steve!” As he takes off in a run.
His shoulder slams into the gate of his backyard as you and the girl run after him, only skidding to a stop on his back patio as he falls directly into his pool, fully clothed.
Turquoise water illuminated by the underwater lights splashes up and out over the lips of the pool as his body sinks to the bottom. A dark blue Adidas hits the bottom and pushes him back up forcefully, his body shaking as he gasps loudly when his head breaks the surface of the water.
“Fuck! Shit! Oh my god this hurts!”
“Yeah no shit, Harrington! You’re covered in cuts and you just dived into chlorine!” The girl throws her hands up into the air.
Steve’s hands push him up and out of the pool so he can roll out of it ungracefully. He lays with his back against the cement, chest heaving while he keeps his eyes closed.
When he opens them again, he looks at you, then stands with difficulty it seems. Water drips off of his outfit, it curls his hair behind his ears, and pools in his cupid’s bow.
He swipes at his eyes, wincing, and blinks at you but talks to the other girl, “Rob-Robin,” he shivers through the words, teeth clicking together, “You see her too, right? I’m not…this isn’t like a weird dream, right?”
The girl, Robin, looks at you, then Steve, “Yeah, I see her. Who’s…her?”
“I’m-“ Your voice breaks when he gasps out your name in a barely choked back sob.
He falls forward, head landing heavily on your shoulder as his body curls into yours, while shaking fingers grip your shirt at your hips and he just sobs. Cool pool water and his warm breath compete to make you shiver as you run a hand over his spine.
Your eyes widen as they stare over his shoulder at the girl who’s watching him with as much worry as you feel. It’s a whisper against his temple, and it’s all you can think to say, “Hey, stranger.”
His sob rattles your chest as he holds you tighter, like he has no intention of letting you go.
Steve’s staring at you.
And, to be fair, you guess he doesn’t really have anywhere else to look and you’re staring at him too.
“Take a picture,” you soak another piece of cotton with alcohol as you whisper, “It’ll last longer.”
“Sorry,” he clears his throat as he looks down at the floor then immediately back up into your eyes. His one good eye bounces between yours before his tongue pokes at the cut that just won’t quit on his lip as his adam’s apple bobs and he says, “You shouldn’t have come back.”
The words make you flinch, just barely, but enough for the cotton next to his eyebrow to nudge against his skin just a little too hard.
“Shit,” he hisses, grabbing the hem of your shirt and tugging while his lips pout, and he whines, “That’s not what I meant. Don’t attack me.”
Your eyes roll as your fingers go back to tenderly swiping over him, being more gentle with him than you would an egg you don’t want to crack just yet. Each second you slowly patch him up a new discovery about the boy you don’t really know anymore reveals itself in forms of facial hair, freckles you’ve never seen, something that smells an awful lot like your mom’s hairspray, and eyes that haven’t changed one bit aside from almost swallowing his pupils whole because they’re so dilated.
“Glad to see you’re still a dramatic baby,” your voice is as soft as the touch of your fingers against his jaw. Your pulse quickens when he leans his weight into the hold more, his eyelashes fluttering while you turn his eyebrow into the light. “Maybe if you sat still and kept your mouth shut for more than two seconds I could finish this.”
“I like her,” Robin’s voice rises with the steam from behind the closed white shower curtain directly across from the counter Steve is leaning against. Her words breaking up the quiet ‘Never-Ending Story’ theme she had previously been humming.
Not for the first time tonight you wonder, a) if Steve didn’t have something to lean against, would he collapse, and b) how long Robin and Steve have been dating.
You still aren’t sure what is going on. Why they are so beat up. Why Robin didn’t want to shower alone or why the silence seemed to make Steve crazy until his shoulders relaxed when you suggested turning the stereo in his room on. The voices and music of Journey faintly coming from the other room as Robin threw clothes over the shower curtain and Steve spread his legs for you to stand between while he dripped pool water all over the white tiles. All mumbled apologies as knees and thighs bumped, as his hand squeezed at you whenever you started on a new injury.
Like now, as some sort of healing ointment rolls over his brow and his fingers dig into your hip. Your murmured sorry lost as he frowns at the air and sarcastically asks, “Oh do you? Nobody asked for a comment from the peanut gala Buckley.”
“Gallery,” Robin and you say together.
Steve’s frown turns more pout and you sigh when his lip starts bleeding again. He holds an arm over his stomach, fingers twitching at his ribs when you carefully place a bandage over his brow.
“I’m pretty sure it’s gala.”
Your thumb gently swipes over his lip with a towel, his gasp warm against your nose as you lean in to inspect it.
“Dingus,” Robin’s sigh more dramatic than his, “Please, I have to hear, why you’re so certain it’s gala. Peanut gala? Why would peanuts be going to a gala?”
“Oh,” he speaks around you trying to get his lip to stop bleeding, a useless attempt since he won’t stop moving, “And gallery makes so much more sense? At least mine gives Mr. Peanut a reason to wear his top hat and coat and eyeglass thingy.”
“Monocle,” you offer quietly, taking his hand from your elbow and assessing the damage to his knuckles. “And I don’t think peanut gallery is about Mr. Peanut at all.”
Steve’s hand pulls out of your hold, his fingers curl under your jaw and nudge it up, so you’ll look at him. He shakes his head no. “You shouldn’t have come back. Why’d you come back? Why are you here?”
Your pulse races, far too close to his fingers, and you wonder if he can feel it. Wonder if he can see it in your eyes how scared you are and how brave you’re trying to be.
“Why shouldn’t I be here?”
He seems to think you thought he meant here, at his home, and not Hawkins, because his jaw clenches as his thumb taps at your chin and you wonder if he even realizes he’s still holding your face.
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t be here. I asked why you’re here. Because,” he laughs, he shakes his head like he can’t really believe it, “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it. And sure, I’m not the smartest guy around and I took some pretty hard hits tonight, but even I know that it’s weird for a girl, one who I haven’t spoken to in over three years, to have been here, sitting at my doorstep, waiting for me, and is now patching me up like…like…”
“Yeah?” Your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill over your lash line. Body too hot as steam from the shower clings to your skin and anger starts to boil over inside of you. “Well I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around why that boy who doesn’t understand why the girl, one who he used to call his best friend until he stopped calling her and never once came to visit her, started sobbing when he saw her and is covered in injuries he won’t explain!”
“I’m sorry,” Steve laughs, and stands up, toe to toe with you as he looks down his nose and huffs a breath out of it, hand letting go of your face to grab your shoulders and shake, “But when he stopped calling her? And yeah, I didn’t visit! Because you stopped visiting, because-“
“I only stopped calling because it was embarrassing!” You shout at him, shoving his chest and watching his face twist in pain when you do.
Steve gasps and you swipe the tears falling down your cheeks away as you both glare at each other. He rubs his hand over his chest and side with a grimace.
“Take off your shirt.”
He shakes his head no.
“Take off your shirt right now Harrington or I swear to god I’ll-“
“You’ll what!?” He pouts at you.
Your fingers tug at the hemline of his shirt, yanking at it as you grumble, “Still so fucking stubborn, I can’t stand you-“
He swats at your hands and grumbles right back, “I can’t stand you…”
His name is gasped out of you as you get his shirt up and over his ribs. He gives up, arms falling limply at his sides as you continue to pull at the shirt until it’s around his neck. He stares at you, both of you not saying a word but understanding as he slowly raises his arms with a wince and you pull the fabric carefully over his head.
It falls at your feet as tears fill your eyes, your fingers brush over purple and red splotched and angry skin. Steve flinches as your fingers glide over his collarbone, hands instinctively going to your hips again and squeezing. Goosebumps rise to the surface of his skin as your tears fall down your cheeks once more.
“Hey,” he whispers, he pulls you into his chest, one that you can’t believe is covered in dark hair. Arms that ripple with muscles you’ve never seen circle around your waist as he mumbles into your hairline, “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Your nose presses to his neck, dragging against his skin as you shake your head no and pull away from him.
“You tell me who did this right now.”
Steve stares at you and then he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes.
A throat is cleared and you jump, hand over your eyes as Robin’s voice cracks behind the curtain, “Sorry, didn’t really know when to break that up, but I’m getting pretty cold in here…”
Neither of you had heard the water turn off, or noticed the mirror was growing far less foggy during your screaming match. Steve’s cheek blossom pink as he throws a towel over the curtain.
Your arms cross over your chest as Steve’s do the same while she pulls the shower curtain back.
Robin smiles shyly at you and then looks at Steve.
“You got cocoa?”
His brows furrow together and he looks at her like she’s crazy when he asks, “What?”
“Hot cocoa,” she clarifies, holding the towel to her chest and then walking into his bedroom.
She starts pulling open drawers until she finds what she’s looking for. When you both just stare at her, she whistles and turns her fingers for you to spin.
Steve rolls his eyes but does as she asks and you do the same. A towel drops and clothes slip over skin while the radio plays quietly.
“Conversations like this are always easier with cocoa, I think,” she says, much closer now and you turn to find her digging around in his drawers for a comb, a sweatshirt and shorts on.
Steve hands her one as he asks, “Conversations like this?”
Robin shrugs her shoulders, looking at you in the mirror as she detangles wet hair easily and mumbles, “Understand why you got your nickname now. Top tier products, dingus. I approve.”
He rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Robin. Focus.”
“Right, well she,” Robin nods her head back towards you, “Wants to know about all of this,” she gestures to all of Steve’s face and bruised body with a hand. “Christ, you’re hairy. And after tonight, I think I deserve to be filled in on quite a bit, don’t you? So. Cocoa? Marshmallows?”
The way Robin raises her eyebrows at Steve and doesn’t leave much room for arguing has you rolling your shoulders back and asking him, “Your mom still keep that fancy cinnamon kind on the top shelf in the back of the pantry?”
Steve’s a terrible story-teller.
He paces while he talks, he gestures with his hands and leaves sentences hanging in the air as he waits for you to fill in gaps he doesn’t quite remember or know all the details of himself. He asks you to give him a second when he sips his own cocoa and closes his eyes trying to remember things, rubbing at his Hawkins Phy Ed sweatshirt while he thinks. Steve bounces around in a non-linear, confusing timeline order that has you and Robin asking question after question and him clenching his jaw and telling you that, “He’s getting there, alright?”
And none of it makes any sense. None of it.
Not Will Byers going missing but not missing. Not the spray paint on the theater and Nancy Wheeler sleeping but not sleeping with Jonathan Byers. Not the dinner with Barb’s parents and oh yeah his party with the pool and Nancy and Barb going missing afterwards. Not the supernatural dogs that are actually lizards. Not the gray fleshy human not human that he hit with a baseball bat full of nails while Jonathan and Nancy set it on fire in a bear trap and the Christmas lights talked to Joyce Byers. Not the world that’s somehow underneath you but not anymore because the gate, whatever the fuck that is, is closed. Not the girl with superpowers who doesn’t have superpowers anymore though, you guess.
Because that’s what Steve thinks, now, caught up to tonight and the few days leading up to it. He’s just finished telling you about the creature, the giant thing made out of people that destroyed the mall and caused the so called “fire” the National Guard was called in for.
Your name is barely heard through the ringing in your ears as you frantically search his entryway for keys.
His hand shakes your shoulder, hard, and you stop, blinking tears away as he asks you, “What are you doing?”
“Keys,” you gasp, fingers rubbing at your eyes, “I need your car keys. I need to go home, I-“
Steve shakes his head, “I don’t have my car. They had to keep it to sweep it for bugs and explosives and-“
Your head shakes as you rip your shoulder from his hold and yank his front door open. Heartbeat thudding in your ears in time with the soles of your sneakers against the pavement as you run down his driveway.
Sprinklers tick on lawns and mowers wave to you as you run down the street. The town of Hawkins oblivious to what’s been happening underneath them, around them, oblivious that their loved ones could be gone, could be in danger.
Your stomach heaves at the thought, anger with yourself fueling your sprinting legs to go even faster. How could you stay at Steve’s so long? Why’d you go there in the first place? What if-
Your feet only slow when you reach your house.
The driveway still sits empty.
Your bags still rest on the porch.
A sob rips out of you as you run around to the back of the house and search the ground. A large rock hits your fingers, and you don’t think twice about grabbing it and throwing it at your back door.
Your hand pushes through the shards of glass as you unlock the door and push it open.
Steve finds you on the ground, clutching your stomach and screaming, chemical bottles open and drained on the tiles around you, bags of your mother’s gardening soil ripped open on the table and his stomach heaves.
He pulls you into his chest and tries to get you stop, pressing his nose to your cheek and rocking you as he pleads, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you have to stop. You have to stop screaming. Please be quiet, don’t-“
Your hands shove at his chest as you scramble over your bags and boxes that had been shipped a week prior, left in the entryway unopened.
“Get away from me,” you sob, rushing to the stairs as you yell, frantic, “Mom! Dad!”
Photos of you and them stare back at you each skipped step up the staircase as you turn on the lights with shaking fingers and beg the universe for this to be some sick and twisted nightmare. When you push open their bedroom door and find the bed unslept in Steve says your name softly, behind your shoulder.
Your hands shove at him when you turn to face him, smacking at his chest and hoping it hurts as you sob, “Why didn’t you check on them! Why didn’t you call me!”
Steve’s eyes fill with tears, “I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone! I shouldn’t have even told you! I could get in a lot of trouble, I could-“
“We have to call the police, we have to call-“
Steve shakes your shoulders, begging you to listen to him. “We can’t. Hopper knew. He’s dead. There’s nobody else to tell. The government already knows. It is the government.”
“Why’d you stop writing to me! Why didn’t you come with them to visit! Why didn’t you…you…” Your hands shove at him harder, tears and snot all over your face as your fight drains out of you. Anger turns to grief turns to hatred turns to hopelessness in seconds within you, not even knowing what to be the most upset about anymore.
“You stopped coming back,” Steve chokes out, grabbing your hands and pulling you towards him slowly. “Because every time I ran into your dad at the store and he asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner I knew I had to say no because I’d feel like a loser. Coming over here and pretending I was a part of your family still, knowing you didn’t want that anymore. Would have to pretend like the pictures of you and hearing about how much better your life was in New York wasn’t killing me because you didn’t need me or Hawkins anymore, okay?”
He falls to the ground with you in his arms as you sob, clutching his shirt in your fingers and pressing your screams to his chest so they’re muffled.
“I’m sorry,” he sniffles into your hairline as his arms squeeze around you tighter and he presses his cheek to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
The key to your dad’s Bronco swings loosely from your fingers as you hop up the step to the door and tap your knuckles against it.
When he doesn’t answer, you let yourself in and close the door softly behind you as you glance up the stairs.
Music plays loudly from the cracked door of his bedroom and when you hear his voice singing along, you lift the camera from around your neck and start fiddling with the settings, pulling the shutter back as you climb the staircase quietly.
As you peek through the ajar door, you find Steve in front of his mirror, twirling a can of Farrah Fawcett spray in the air while his other hand runs through damp, not wet, hair, before he catches the can in the air and sprays twice.
Then, he sings directly into the can and you snap a picture of it.
He spins at the sound of your laugh and frowns at the held aloft camera in his face.
“Please,” you smile timidly at him as your shoulder rests against the doorframe and the toe of your sneaker nudges the door open wider. “Don’t stop the performance on my account.”
Steve quickly presses the power button on his stereo and picks up a vest from his desk chair. His cream colored shoulders slip into the maroon vest and your lips twitch at the coincidence of the song and outfit he’s chosen today.
“They don’t knock in New York?” He asks, pulling on a pair of Nikes. Lacing them up and avoiding your gaze as he looks around the room, eyes landing on a sheet of paper and nodding his head, like he’s reminding himself of its location.
“Oh they do,” you shrug your shoulders, “ S’why I left.”
“Ha-ha,” he bites his cheek when he stands, hands finding a home on his hips, “So what’s up? Why are you here?”
Something in your chest tightens at the question, especially when he grabs the sheet of paper and looks at you with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and adds, “Don’t you have work?”
Your head shakes no, as you beg yourself to say something, anything, to let him know how sorry you are. To let him know even an ounce of how you’ve been feeling lately. But nothing seems right and it’s selfish to want to have this conversation right now, so you just say, “I start on Monday. Wanted to come say good luck on the interview today.”
He sighs, cheeks and tips of his ears pink as he walks past you out of his room and down the stairs. “Thanks.”
“Family Video, right?” Your tone forced into something light and pleasant as you follow him. “Sounds like a good gig.”
Steve snorts as he grabs his car keys from the table. “Yeah, okay.”
He holds his front door open for you as he walks out it and you follow with a confused, “You don’t think so?”
“No, I do,” he locks the door behind him, shoulders staying up at his ears even after the shrug of them is over, “I just don’t think you, the newest photo journalist and first female one at The Hawkins Post, actually thinks being a clerk at Family fucking Video is a good gig.”
“Well, I do, and that’s all I wanted to say so…” your sweating fingers fiddle with the key as you try to catch his gaze and smile at him, deciding that everything you actually wanted to say isn’t worth it, not when you’re not even sure he’ll want to listen to you. “Good luck, Harrington.”
Your back turns to him as your hand waves pathetically when you start down to his mailbox and Robin Buckley bikes up his driveway.
She smiles at you and hops off her bike, “Hey! How are you?”
“I’m good, good…” your tongue licks over your bottom lip as you squint from the sun at her friendly smile, shielding your eyes with your hand, “Good luck on the interview, today.”
“Thanks!” She turns to Steve behind you, “Ready, Dingus?”
He must nod or something because she waves at you and starts guiding her bike up the rest of the driveway.
When you hop into your dad’s car and turn the key in the ignition, the cassette you’d been playing starts blaring loudly. Your fingers curl around the steering wheel as you inhale then exhale, trying to find the courage to face another day without them and without the Steve you desperately needed, but weren’t even sure existed anymore.
Things weren’t the way they had been with you two, maybe they wouldn’t ever be that way again.
Your head smacks the roof of the car when Steve says your name at your open window, breathlessly.
He winces as your hand rubs at your temple and the other turns the stereo down.
“Sorry, but do you…” he swallows and crosses his arms, uncrosses them and shoves his hands in his front pockets and rocks back on his heels.
“Do I…?” You offer, heart thudding in your chest when Steve looks up from where his sneaker kicks at the gravel and smiles at you.
“Would you um, if I get this job, I’ll get free rentals, and I was just thinking that maybe we could, if you wanted to, have a movie night this Friday? Grab a pizza or something and…talk?”
“Yeah,” you clear your throat and sniffle, blinking your eyes about a billion times and telling yourself to just wait until he’s gone to start crying. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
“Cool,” he smiles around the word. A real one. One that meets his eyes.
“Cool,” you echo with your own smile.
Steve taps the roof of the Bronco twice and it makes something in your chest tighten and melt at the same time. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and starts walking backwards, “Well I should…”
“Right, yeah, good luck,” you tell him again, yelling it out the open window.
Steve smiles at you once more and then jogs up to his car, whistling along to the song playing out of your car. Robin stands at the door on the passenger side of his BMW, pretending not to watch but blatantly watching while Steve says something you can’t hear. His arms held out in a gesture that seems to say, ‘what?’ ,before he’s clapping and motioning for her to get in the car. Even from this distance you can see her eyes roll.
Your smile is barely hidden, bottom lip squished between your teeth.
Maybe things not being like they were between you two will be a good thing.
Change is inevitable, and time will keep ticking by whether you’re ready for it to or not.
summary: you know steve’s secret, but he has another; he loves you. of course, you love him, too, and things change.
word count: 9.3k
warnings: spiderman!steve au, fluff, smut (thigh riding and a hj), mentions of a car accident (nobody gets hurt), idiots in love!!!!!!
a/n: she’s here!!!! thank u guys so much for ur support on this mini series, i have loved writing it so so much <3 this will be the last long piece, but if you guys have requests for blurbs from this universe, i’d love to have them!!!
/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\
You’d never been that great at puzzles, at figuring things out quickly without hints. But for some reason, this was something you’re pretty sure of.
Steve is Spider-man. He’s the one who saved you, who saves people every day, and he keeps it hidden. You understand why he does, and you’d never want to pressure him into telling you something he doesn’t want to, you only wish he knew you were ready to listen. Whenever.
You’re not that strong, but you’d take some of the weight off of his shoulders if you could.
The news plays on your TV now more than ever, as more than just background noise. Your eyes focused on the screen whenever Spider-man is mentioned, analyzing the way he moves, the familiarity of the hand gestures when he speaks, the gentleness when he makes sure someone’s okay.
It isn’t only on the news that you notice things, either. Seeing Steve as often as you’ve grown to, you seem to find more tells constantly. How he can catch a glass before it spills without even looking, the way he’s on edge sometimes, like he can’t focus on one single thing.
You see Steve often, and the clues are there, and he still hasn’t told you about it.
It’s not that you expect him to tell you, or that you’re angry he hasn’t. It’s just been hard to pretend like you don’t know why he’s limping or like you’re still clueless to it all. He’ll tell you on his own time, or maybe he won’t, but you’ll have to be okay with that.
You’ve convinced yourself it’d be best not to tell him you knew. He’s probably stressed out enough, and you didn’t want to add to that if you could avoid it. You’ll be there for him either way, that’s what’s important.
Besides, on top of you figuring out he’s Spider-man, you’ve finally acknowledged the feelings that have been there for a while. The serious ones, the four letter ones. They’ve been on your mind more than anything.
You’re in love with Steve, that’s something you could tell him, in theory, but you can’t bring yourself to. You’d hate to ruin the only real friendship you’ve managed to build since moving.
So, he’s not the only one with secrets after all. He’s Spider-man, you know that he’s Spider-man, and you’re in love with him.
Lately, you’ve actually been thankful for how quiet things have been at work. Your head’s been loud enough. The thoughts of Steve, of trying not to give anything away every time you look at him, of whether he might be going to patrol whenever he leaves.
It’s all-consuming. Pathetic, even.
And it’s what’s on your mind—once again—as you walk home from your morning shift at work. The sun’s out, your eyes squinted when it hits your face. The breeze around you is still chilly, but the promise of spring and warmth is nice.
You glance over to the newsstand you always pass going to and from work, checking the picture on the front page to look for a certain mask. Today, it’s there, and you pause to look at it.
‘Spider-man catches culprit behind string of armed robberies.’
Skimming the article, your heartbeat picks up. The danger this boy puts himself in for the sake of other people. The injuries you’ve seen him come home with. You shake your head and keep walking.
“Mom, look!” A little boy says, urging his mother towards the newsstand. “It’s Spider-man!”
You turn around, a small smile on your face as you see the mother buying her son a copy of the paper. You guess you’re not the only person who can’t keep away from that hero.
Then, there’s a little glow in your chest, the reminder that you’re lucky enough to know the person behind the mask, too.
-
Steve thinks that telling Robin about you might’ve been a bad idea, because she looks like she might slap him right now.
“You’re telling me you kissed her, then told her it couldn’t happen again, and yet you still have that look on your face when you talk about her?”
Robin makes it sound very simple. To him, it isn’t.
“Well, yeah, but it’s complicated, okay? And I don’t have a look on my face, Robs.”
“You absolutely do, all moony and shit. If I didn’t want you to find someone so badly, I’d say it’s kinda gross.”
Honestly, Steve can’t even tell her she’s wrong. If the way he thinks about you tells him anything, it’s that he probably can’t keep it off his face. At the very least, he hopes that Robin can only tell because she knows him so well, not because it’s insanely obvious.
“Thanks.”
“Steve, I know you like her,” she says, gentler than before, careful not to scare him from the conversation.
I more than like her, he thinks. There’s a better way to describe it and he knows that. He may not admit it, not even to himself, but he knows it all the same.
Robin continues before Steve can reply, “and I know you’re scared, I do, but we both know you’d regret it if you didn’t give this a shot.”
He shakes his head. Somehow, every time he sees Robin, the conversation always leads to this. To you.
“I’d regret it more if I got her hurt.”
“Steve, I’ve known about you since the beginning and look at me. I’m right here, perfectly fine,” she holds her arms out, like it’s some sort of proof that she’s okay. “The worst I’ve done lately is scrape my knee, and that’s just because I’m clumsy, not because I know about you being Spider-man.”
He supposes she’s right, that she has a point here, but it doesn’t stop him from being afraid, from feeling an uncomfortable clench in his chest when he thinks about even the slightest possibility of putting you in danger.
“It’s different with her, though,” he says.
“Come on! Remember in high school when you had like four different girlfriends in a month?”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Well, still. Where’s that part of you gone?”
“Um…”
“Shut up, I mean the part that was open to that. To trying to make connections.”
“Maybe the venom from the spider made it disappear.”
She huffs and sinks into the couch cushions. Steve’s always been stubborn, quick to deflect with humor or sarcasm when things get too intense. Too much.
Robin’s a good friend, the best one, and she can see him closing up, so she changes her approach.
“I just want you to be happy, you know?”
“Yeah, Robs, I know.”
“Can you just think about it?”
“About what?”
“Asking her out, telling her how you feel,” Robin lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, gives it a small squeeze. “Don’t close yourself off to it completely.”
Steve’s hand lands on top of hers, squeezes it back before letting go. He may not have that many people in his life, but having a friend like Robin never makes him feel like he’s missing anything.
At least, he didn’t feel that way until he met you. Now, he thinks about what it’d feel like to fall asleep and wake up with his arms wrapped around you, to be able to kiss you and hold you. To have that intimacy that you can only have when you’re in love with someone.
Fuck. In love.
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
-
The good thing about being lost in thought while you walk is that it makes time go by quickly. By the time you’re walking up the stairs to your apartment, you’re not even sure how you got there, your feet having been on autopilot.
Just as you’re fishing out your keys, there’s the sound of a door opening, a pair of voices following. One that’s practically engraved in your head. The other is of a girl, who seems to notice you standing by your door very quickly.
“Oh my gosh! Hi!”
You blink at her a couple of times, because she’s talking to you like she knows you, like you should know her. “Hi…?”
Steve’s leaning a shoulder against his door frame behind her, a scrunch in his brows and a shake of his head. It’s all you catch before she grabs your attention again.
“Sorry! I’m Robin, Steve’s totally, completely plantomic best friend-”
“Oh my god,” he mutters.
“You’re the neighbor,” she continues, saying your name to make sure she’s right, even though she seemed plenty sure of that already. “Steve talks about you all the time.”
“Really?” You can’t help but ask. You try to hide the hopefulness in your voice, the happiness at the idea of him talking about you. All the time.
“Oh, yeah. You have made quite the impact on this guy,” she points towards him with a thumb over her shoulder.
“Robs,” Steve gives her a stare, eyes wide and—if the hint of pink spreading over his cheeks says anything—probably telling her to stop embarrassing him.
“What?” She looks back at him, all innocent.
“Don’t you have to get to work?”
“Okay, okay,” Robin turns towards you again, gives you a toothy smile that’s wide enough to have you sending her a small grin in return. “It was so nice to finally meet you.”
“You, too,” you say, and though she surprised you with a whole bunch at once, you mean it.
She pulls you into a hug and says to you quietly, “thank you for taking care of him.”
And with that, she walks away, retreating down the hall. Steve hears her, Robin knows that. Hell, she probably wanted him to.
He scratches at the back of his neck (that habit of his) and huffs, “I’m sorry about her. She can be sort of a lot.”
“Don’t be,” you shake your head. “She seems great.”
“You’d like her, I think. If you got to know her.”
He still seems nervous, like you and Robin meeting was a really big thing for him. And it is. The two most important people in his life meeting. Of course he’d want that to go well.
“Steve, you don’t need to worry, or anything. I already like her, okay?”
Anyone who seems to make Steve happier is bound to win some points with you. He deserves friends like that, especially with everything he has to carry.
“Okay, yeah. That’s good.”
He still seems nervous, so you step over and place your hand on his arm, giving him the lightest squeeze. He probably wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for how focused he is on you.
“I was just surprised, that’s all. Promise.”
Steve’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers gently, as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
“Thank you,” he speaks quietly. Two words he tries to tell you as often as he can.
-
Steve’s been visiting you at work often, sometimes with food, always with enough to brighten your day. Getting to spend that extra time with him is another perk of working when it’s not busy.
Today, he’s decided to surprise you rather than give you a heads-up over the phone. There’s a takeout bag clutched in his hand, and a little ball of nerves in his stomach. He shouldn’t be nervous, it’s only you. Then again, it’s you.
He opens the bookstore door, the small bell above it jingling. For once, there’s a customer at the register. You glance over at Steve from behind the counter, wiggling your hand in a quick wave before helping your customer again.
And just like that, there’s that feeling in his chest.
Steve waits by one of the displays as you finish up, trying not to make it obvious that he’s looking at you. There’s the soft smile on your face, the tone of your voice, the way the lighting hits your skin. It all has his heart going quicker.
“Hi, Steve,” you greet him once the customer leaves. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”
“Hi, honey. Kinda the point of surprising you with food.”
“Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Hopefully I picked something you like.”
From the packaging he’s seen before in your apartment, he’s pretty sure he did alright, but he waits for your confirmation all the same.
You open the bag he’d set on the counter, a small happy gasp that he likes way too much leaving your mouth, “yay! How’d you know I liked this place?”
He shrugs, “lucky guess.”
There’s a second stool behind the counter, and you pull it up for Steve without a word, patting the seat for him to sit down. He does, consumed by the brush of your arms as you unpack the food, the touch of your knees when you shift in your seat.
“Thanks again, Steve.”
“You already know I owe you for all the meals you’ve made me.”
“And you already know, you don’t owe me anything.”
You’re a kind person, Steve’s known that since he met you. So much so that you don’t even see the value in what you’ve done for him, like it’s the simplest thing for you. It’s the simplest thing to help him.
It makes him want to do things he said he wouldn’t. Things like kiss you.
“Anyway,” he shakes the thought away. “How’s your day been?”
You lift a shoulder as you finish your bite of food before replying, “been okay. I’ve had a couple more people come in than usual, which is good.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, I love the quiet in here, love getting to just read behind the counter and call it work. But, it’s also nice to feel useful at least some of the time.”
“That’s good. What’ve you been reading?”
This is a question he loves to ask you, because you get excited to respond every time. He loves to watch you grab the book and show it to him, to see your hands flick through the pages as you tell him what it’s about, to watch the way your mouth forms the words you speak.
He loves to ask you, because he loves to listen to your voice when you answer. That word’s been in his head a lot lately. Love.
So much that he’s not sure it ever really leaves. It’s a lingering whisper, growing louder when he’s with you. Even after you eat, after the food’s been cleaned, as he walks out the door, the word stays.
“Bye, Steve, see you later!” You say as he reaches for the door handle.
He lets himself look at you again before leaving, his eyes lingering for a second too long. “Bye, honey.”
The bell above the door rings again as he leaves, but it isn’t loud enough to cover what’s rushing through Steve’s mind. I love her. I shouldn’t, I can't. I love her.
God, maybe he should talk to Robin again, he thinks. Or, maybe he could avoid the lecture he’s bound to get and take his mind off things the best way he can: putting on the suit.
-
Turns out that even when he should be focused on patrolling, his mind still likes to wander. That’s probably why he ends up stationed atop the building across from the bookstore, where your closing shift should be ending soon.
He ends up there most nights he knows you’re closing, really.
Before, when he couldn’t even let himself think about his feelings for you, he’d tell himself he stayed near the bookstore because it was a shadier area, more alleyways and all that. Now, though it sort of scares him, he’s able to acknowledge that it’s purely to make sure you’re safe.
He has a whole city to be protecting, but if his senses aren’t leading him anywhere else, he’ll always end up near you.
It’s sort of ironic. You, subconsciously looking for Spider-man everywhere you go, him being right there, and you don’t even know it. He’s so, so close.
Steve stationed himself across the street from you about twenty minutes before the shop was meant to close. His eyes squinted on his mask to see if there was anyone seemingly dangerous around, just in case.
Sometimes, when he does this, he can’t stop himself from thinking about that night when he found you in that alley. When his ears were filled with pure static until he knew you were safe. When he kneeled in front of you and brought you home. He doesn’t want you to go through something like that ever again.
The click of the bookshop door closing behind you has Steve’s heightened hearing turned on, knowing that you’re about to lock up and head home.
You feel like there are eyes on you as you walk. But, every time you look behind you, there’s nobody there. You’re just being paranoid, you tell yourself. You’re fine. And really, you are fine, because the eyes aren’t dangerous—though you don’t know it—they belong to Steve.
He hops across buildings as discreetly as he can while following your pace. Walking you home in his own, secret way.
The next thing happens in a complete blur.
You’re crossing at an intersection when a car runs a red light, speeding and crashing into another vehicle. You’re in the street, the two cars screeching on the pavement and heading straight for you. Even if you ran, you wouldn’t be quick enough.
But he was.
Steve jumped down before it even happened, his vision tunneling on that car, on you in its path. He just knew he needed to get to you first. He shot the web, swung down, and scooped you up right before the collision reached you. His heart pounding, his grip on you tight enough to knock the air from your lungs.
He lands and sets you down at the back of an alley, hidden from the bystanders that screamed at the sight of the crash, at the sight of him.
It takes you an entire minute of silence, of your chest heaving and your ears ringing to grasp what had just happened. How close of a call it was, how he was there to save you again.
Your vision is blurred by tears when you look up at him, at the red and blue suit, the mask. Your breathing is quick, panicked, but it slows the slightest bit when you look at him. Spider-man. Steve. The best boy ever.
When your eyes lock onto his face, Steve rushes forward, holding your face in a gentle grasp. It’s frantic, the way his hands shake when he reaches for you, the way his head tilts all over to make sure you’re okay. His thumbs brush away the tears that fall from your eyes, back and forth and back and forth.
“Hey, look at me,” he says, dipping his head down to make you focus on him. “Breathe.”
You shake your head, trying to calm down the best you can after coming so close. Fuck, it was so close. If Steve would’ve been a split-second later, you would’ve been hit. The thought doesn’t help you calm down one bit.
Steve can see the fear in your eyes, the quick rise and fall of your chest. It clenches his heart in a tight, uncomfortable fist, and all he wants to do is help you. So he lets it slip.
“Breathe, honey. Come on.”
Honey.
That’s all the confirmation you’d ever need. You were right. This is Steve. It’s Steve holding your face and saving your life.
You surge forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and his go around your waist instantly.
“Steve,” you breathe out so quietly, only he could have heard it.
His heart sinks and flips at the same time, if that’s even possible. It sinks because you know, somehow, and it terrifies him so much, he’s not sure what to say. But then, it flips, too, because there’s a relief that’s clear in your voice.
“How did you-” he starts, but you only squeeze him tighter.
“Steve,” this time, your voice breaks when you say it.
Now isn’t the time to talk about this. Not when you were almost hit, not in public. Not now and not like this, Steve knows that. The break in your voice tells him to push that back for now.
“I’m gonna take you home, okay?”
He can feel you nod against his neck, so he lets go of you with one hand and keeps the other wrapped around you and starts swinging.
Right now, at this second, he’s not worried about how you found out, how you know it’s him. No, he only cares that you’re alive, that he can feel your arms squeezing around his neck, that he can squeeze you back just as tight.
As he swings with you clutching onto him, the realization makes his breathing stutter.
You could’ve died just then. In that fraction of a moment, you could’ve been gone without Steve ever getting the chance to tell you he loves you. He can’t let that happen. He’s gotta tell you.
It scares the absolute shit out of him, but he has to do something. He can’t lose you before working up the courage to tell you how he feels, before having the slightest chance at kissing you again.
He won’t let that happen.
-
Steve’s very gentle with you, even when he’s swinging from building to building with you in his arms. The sure grip he has around your waist and the smell of his cologne buried under the suit help ground you as wind rushes by.
You’re alive, Steve’s got you, and he knows you know.
Your eyes are squeezed shut the entire way, and in only a couple of minutes, he’s hanging onto the side of his building by his window and thanking himself for (once again) not locking it.
“Hey, honey, can you open the window for me?”
You lift your face from his neck and nod, twisting to lift it open. Steve’s supporting you with one arm and holding the both of you up with the other. The strength he has is incredible, especially when you’re seeing it first hand.
He helps you get into his room with a hand on your lower back, and lifts himself in right after you. You watch Steve’s back beneath the suit as he shuts the window, watch his gloved hands remove the web-shooters from his wrists.
Then, slowly, watch those same hands lift up to the edge of his mask and tug it off.
Your breath catches. You knew it was him, but seeing Steve’s familiar face and its prettiest combination of features be revealed is different, it’s real.
“Wow,” you say, though you hadn’t really meant to. It slipped. “Hi.”
Steve’s had a twist in his gut ever since he found out that you knew about him, and it only tangles more now that you’re looking at him with widened eyes. He doesn’t want things to change with you, and he’s so scared that they will.
What if you don’t want to see him anymore because of this? What if you’re angry with him for keeping it from you? What if you end up hurt because someone wanted to get to him?
“Um, hi.”
You step closer to where he stands by his side table, your hands twisting in front of you like you’re nervous, too.
“You saved me.”
“Just, uh, doing my job,” he says, shrugging it off.
“Well, then, you’re really, really great at what you do.”
You’re trying to be light with the subject, to take it at his pace given it’s his secret, his life. Steve’s quiet for a few moments, a flicker of something you can’t distinguish crossing over his face.
“How’d you know?” Is all he says, but you know exactly what he means by it.
“Saw Spider-man with the exact same injuries as you on the news. I guess I just connected the dots from there.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
You reach for his hand and hold it lightly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, your touch can help to ground him as much as his does you.
“Don’t be, okay? I understand why you wouldn’t. I just want to be there for you.”
“I don’t tell anyone, really,” he starts, his grip on your hand tightening as he speaks. “Robin’s the only other person who knows. I don’t want to put anyone in danger so I… I just keep it to myself.”
You squeeze his fingers, trying to show him in any way you can that you aren’t going to run away from this.
“You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, Steve. You can talk to me or knock on my door whenever you’re hurt,” he shakes his head. “You can. I keep my first-aid kit stocked for you.”
“It doesn’t scare you? That you might get hurt because of me?”
“I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for you. Going out every night and fighting the bad guys. I’m scared that you’ll get hurt, Steve. I’m not worried about me,” he glances down but you step even closer, making him look at you. “If tonight shows anything, it’s that you’ll save me from getting hurt either way.”
Steve’s hand that isn’t holding yours moves up, pushing your hair over your shoulder before landing on your face. The fabric of his glove rests against your jaw, his thumb running over your skin, his eyes searching yours for a single hint of insincerity.
He doesn’t find one.
“You’re really important to me, honey.”
“You’re important to me, too.”
You’re close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips, his forehead a whisper away from yours. Close enough that you catch the way his eyes flick down to your mouth and back up.
“I know I said we shouldn’t-”
“Kiss me, Steve.”
“Okay.”
The hand on your face tilts you upwards, and just like that, he catches your lips with his. You’ve kissed before and still, there’s a rush of butterflies in your stomach, a warmth spreading over your skin the way a blanket of sunlight feels.
It’s slow, it’s delicate, and it means something. There are a thousand words that neither of you can say buried in this kiss, in the gentle press of your lips. Words spoken with the tilt of his head to get closer, the squeeze of his fingers interlocked with yours.
Steve doesn’t ever want to not be able to kiss you again. Not when it feels like this. Acceptance and reassurance, softness and the sort of glowing feeling he’s only ever had around you.
When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. Your breaths meet between your faces, mingling in the silence that follows. Steve rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you say. Because you’re still shaken from earlier, because you need the comfort that Steve seems to provide simply by being next to you, because you’re afraid that if you let him out of your sight, he’ll pull away from you again.
“You want me to stay with you?”
You nod. “Please.”
“Okay, honey, I’ll stay.”
As long as you’ll have me, he thinks, I’ll stay.
-
Steve did stay that night. After you both showered and got ready for bed, there was a moment where he stood—almost nervous—in the doorway of your bedroom. You lifted the covers for him and patted the spot next to you, and that was it.
He stayed for breakfast, too. This time, it was him cooking for you, stood over the stove in your apartment. It’s a sight you could definitely get used to. Then, like he could get any sweeter, he even called into work for you, saying you should at least get a day after what happened the night before. What almost happened.
Really, as scary as the crash had been, what you’d been thinking about the most was the way he kissed you. The way you’d woken up in the middle of the night with his arm around your waist. The way you fell back asleep easily with him there.
It’s what you’ve been thinking about in the days since. What you’re thinking about even now.
You know that something shifted that night, with him finding out that you knew he’s Spider-man, with you being able to reassure him that it won’t push you away. You could feel that shift, like a tectonic plate.
Despite that, things have been quiet and relatively the same with Steve. You haven’t seen him all that much, but when you do it’s still friendly. Friendly with something lingering between you, unspoken and palpable.
It’s dark out now, the evening news playing on your TV the way it so often does. It’s static to you until you see footage of Spider-man from earlier, swinging around and fighting crime again.
Naturally, your first thought is Steve, and whether or not he’s okay. Before, when he didn’t know you knew, you’d keep all this worry to yourself, letting it build and build until you saw him again. Now, though, he knows you know and you can do something about that concern.
You push yourself up from your couch and head to your door. Knocking on his comes easy, and he opens it quickly, like he knew it was you.
“Hi,” he says. There’s a smile pulling at his mouth.
“Hi. Sorry for bothering you, I just- um. I saw the news and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Seeing you on the other side of his door already had Steve’s heart doing this silly flutter in his chest. Knowing you care enough to check on him this way does something else entirely. It floods from head to toe, the feelings he has for you. The ones he’s identified as love.
“I’m okay, promise. Not even a scratch this time.”
You nod, a pressure lifting from your lungs. You breathe a little easier seeing him unharmed. Seeing him in general.
“Okay. Good,” you should probably stop there, turn around and go back to yours, but you don’t. “I was just really worried, y’know, ‘cause I’ve seen you hurt and all, so I just wanted to see you and check-”
“Hey,” he grabs your hand gently, cutting off your rambling and tugging you into his apartment, pushing the door shut behind you. “I swear not every Spider-man thing I do is dangerous.”
“Yeah, okay, because swinging from buildings is super safe.”
“I’m a professional at that. Nothing to worry about.”
The wood of the front door is solid against your back, and Steve’s hand still in yours is the same. Solid, reassuring, sweet. Steve steps just a bit closer to you, so that you’re toe-to-toe and there’s nowhere for you to escape to.
His free hand reaches up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, gentle in a way that almost feels like you dreamt it.
“Did you really only come here to check on me?” He asks.
“Yeah, I did. Is that… okay?”
Steve wants to kiss you for that. He thinks you might want that, too. So, he dips his face closer to yours, lets go of your hand only to hold onto the nape of your neck instead. He hesitates, waits for you to push him away, but you never do.
Instead, you tilt your head and meet him in the middle.
You never knew that kissing someone could be so easy, that you could fit together so well that it just works. But that’s how it is with Steve, and you suppose that’s how it is when you’re in love. The pink haze and heart-shaped touches.
Steve doesn’t think he could ever get sick of kissing you, of feeling so light when things are often so heavy for him. When you pull away, he chases your mouth and steals two, three pecks from you.
Then, to answer your question, he says, “it’s more than okay.”
You only notice now that you aren’t distracted by his mouth on yours that your hands had found their way to his shoulders. It’s impossible not to notice the muscles under his skin, the clear evidence of his strength. Heat spreads through you, and you have to pull your hands away to speak properly.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he tells you. His hand, still on your neck, squeezes so, so lightly. “I know I’ve said that we should only be friends, but that was before. Before you knew, and I was terrified of what could happen to you.”
“What about now?”
“Now…” He takes a deep breath, and focuses his eyes on yours. Whatever he’s about to say, he wants you to know he means it. “Now I can’t stop thinking about you and how it feels to kiss you.”
“I think about you, too.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, and though being honest makes you nervous, the smile that spreads over his face makes it worth it. So does the slight blush of his cheeks.
“I want to take you on a date. If that’s something you’d like.”
“I would really like that, Steve.”
Right then, there’s another shift, a bigger one. You both know there are feelings here. Big, scary feelings that you can’t say out loud yet.
-
Steve took care of planning the date. He wanted to surprise you, to impress you and do something for you this time. You do enough for him already.
Though Robin assured him—after all of her ‘finally’s and ‘I told you so’s—that it would be great, perfect, even, he’s still nervous when he knocks on your door. He’s shuffling on his feet, puffing out a breath as he waits, and then he sees you and the rest sort of melts away.
You open your door to find Steve with a picnic basket in hand and a slightly windswept bouquet of flowers in the other. You smile as he hands them to you and try to hide it by smelling the flowers.
“Thank you, these are beautiful.”
“‘Course.”
“I’ll just put them in water and then we can go.”
Your stomach is a mess of flutters and nerves as you fill up a vase with water and put the flowers in it. Sure, you’ve spent time with Steve alone time and time again, but never like this. It’s exciting and it’s scary, but the welcome kind of scary that comes with new things.
“You’re taking me on a picnic?” You ask, locking your apartment door behind you and then falling into step next to Steve.
“If that’s okay with you?”
“Sounds amazing.”
“My cooking isn’t as great as yours, I have to warn you,” Steve says, holding the door open to the stairwell.
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“It’s okay if you don’t, I’m just saying.”
He holds the door at the bottom of the stairs open for you, too. And then the one to exit the building.
As you walk along, Steve leading the way, your nerves fade, replaced with the familiarity and comfort of Steve’s company. Replaced with the feelings that sweep inside you like a huge bubble of pink bubblegum, so close to popping and spilling it all.
You talk aimlessly about anything and everything, and Steve does the same. You both try not to make the little catch in your breaths obvious when your hands brush.
He takes you to a park, one with big trees and a walking trail, with scattered flowers and the fresh smell of nature that makes you feel like you’re not even in the city anymore. He keeps going, and you keep following him, until he finds the spot he’d found before. A small clearing between trees, shaded by their leaves and just enough space for him to spread out the picnic blanket.
“Why have I never found this place myself?” You ask, looking up at the sky through the leaves.
“You like it?”
You nod, sitting down next to him on the blanket he brought. “Thank you for bringing me.”
He shrugs, “thank you for coming.”
You share a smile, a slow spread across your mouths as you look at each other for a moment. A smile saying this is real. Then, like it didn’t even happen, he starts to unpack the food.
Steve can’t even remember the last date he went on, but he knows that it wasn’t anything like this. He’s never felt this light around someone before. Somehow, you turn the bricks that weigh him down into feathers.
You’d thought it before, but you’re sure of it now; Steve is the absolute best boy you’ve ever known. The effort he put into making and packing up the food, the shyness he has about it all, like he should be embarrassed for being sweet to you. You feel unbelievably lucky that you moved into the apartment across from his.
The date goes by in a blink. You and Steve subconsciously moving closer and closer on the blanket, your thighs touching and your arms brushing. The food eaten between conversation and giggles. The picnic basket is now packed up again, the containers empty this time around.
You rest your head on Steve's shoulder and say, “thank you for this.”
Steve’s eyes close for a second, trying to memorize how this feels. He opens them and presses the gentlest kiss onto your head. “You’re welcome, honey.”
You stay that way and breathe each other in, once, then twice. That’s all you allow yourself before you stand and brush yourself off even though you weren’t dirty in the first place. Steve folds up the blanket and places it in the basket, and he stands, too.
This time, as you walk back to your apartment building, when your hands brush, you and Steve feel just a bit more confident, enough to reach your pinkies out to each other and lock them.
Steve’s the one who fully grabs onto your hand, letting your fingers intertwine. It’s how they’re meant to be, he thinks, two pieces of the same puzzle that just happen to fit together. You don’t let go for the entire walk.
Outside your building, neither of you really want to say goodbye, to end the date that feels like the beginning of something really, really good.
But, just as Steve lets go of your hand to reach for the door, he feels it. The tingling over his skin, the goosebumps, the static in his ears. He blinks and turns to you.
“I’m sorry-”
“Stop, it’s okay. Just be safe.”
He’ll never understand how you’re so understanding, how you accept it so quickly. All he knows is he loves you for it and so much more.
“Thank you, honey.”
He presses the quickest kiss to your cheek, sets down the picnic basket, and then runs into the alleyway on the side of the building. When he emerges, he’s in his suit and swinging off.
He’d been wearing it under his clothes. Always prepared.
You pick up the picnic basket and walk up to your apartment half convinced that the last few hours have been some sort of dream. Too good to be true.
-
The issue that had Steve’s senses coming alive didn’t take long to handle. Still, he stayed out to continue patrolling, worried that something else could happen. Worried that it might be too soon to go back and see you again.
Not seeing you didn’t erase you from his thoughts. Not one bit. He spent the hours in the suit waiting for the city to die down, waiting for the moment his senses would quiet down enough to let him know he was done for the night.
All because he wanted to see you, kiss you. God, he’s so fucked.
You were faring pretty much the same. Only, you’d changed into your pajamas rather than a superhero suit, laying around on your bed with a book in hand to hear knocks on your door. Or, at the very least, to hear him get home safe.
When the knock comes, it isn’t on your door. Instead, there’s a tapping on your bedroom window by the fire escape. As soon as you hear it, you shut your book and turn towards your window, and there he is.
Steve hangs upside down, his head level with yours when you open the window to talk to him. If you weren’t so busy being in love with him, the sight would be sort of funny.
“Well hello, Spider-man,” you say, leaning your hands against the windowsill.
“Hey, honey.”
“You aren’t hurt are you?” You ask, moving your hands to hold his face, because you’ve seen him injured enough times to be worried about that, to know it’s a possibility.
“I’m completely fine.”
“You’re really okay?”
“Nothing hurts, I promise,” he says, shaking his head. How could it when you’re holding him like that, looking at him like that. Pain isn’t what he’s feeling in the slightest.
You’re not really thinking when you lean in and peck his cheek over the mask, but it’s enough to scorch his skin, to leave an invisible mark.
And Steve isn’t really thinking when he speaks, “have I ever told you that I think you’re really pretty?”
“You’re upside down,” you tell him, fighting a stupid, lovesick smile. “You must be seeing wrong.”
He ignores that comment and twists himself upright, then climbs through your window into your apartment. You have to back up to make room for him, and when his feet hit the hardwood floors, he’s only inches away.
“I’m right side up now. Still think you’re pretty.”
You’ve never been good at taking compliments, never really thought that people meant them, only that they were trying to be kind. Steve is different. You still don’t believe it yourself, but you can tell that he does. His voice holds enough emotion to do that.
Bashful, you walk around him to shut your window and then lock it. You try to keep your feelings off of your face when you turn back around and find him already facing you, his mask now off and clutched in his hand.
His hair is a mess on his head, his cheeks flushed from being upside down and maybe, just maybe from being so close to you.
“So, what brought you to my window?” You ask.
“I wanted to say sorry,” he says, scratching at his neck. That habit of his. “For leaving the way I did earlier.”
It’s a half truth. He wanted to apologize for that. But, mostly, he wanted to tell you he loves you. He’d been thinking about it his whole patrol. Thinking about when the right time would be then remembering how quickly things can change, how you’d almost been hit not so long ago.
With that, he decided that there wasn’t a right time, that he could lose you just like that and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let that happen. Especially not without telling you how he feels.
But, he’s always been more courageous with that mask on, and now, he just can’t get the words to leave his mouth. They hover on the top of his tongue, sticky and heavy.
“I told you it’s okay, Steve. I swear,” you step closer to him and reach for his hand, tugging the glove off before lacing your fingers with his. “I know that you had to, that this is a part of you and I’d never expect you to change or ignore it. I-“ love you, you almost say. But the words get stuck for you, too. “I care about you so much. Spider-man included.”
Every time Steve worries, even the slightest bit, that you’ll feel differently about him because of this, you prove him wrong. You say all the right things to make him feel better, to make him want to fall into you completely and never look back.
You’ve proven to him over and over that you’re in this, that you’re this dream of a girl that somehow ended up in his mess of a life. A mess you’re willing to join, helping him clean it without even trying.
You’re a dream, his dream, and he has to say it. He has to say it so he does, those sticky words forced off of his tongue in a breath.
“I love you.”
He squeezes your hand on the second word, like he’s emphasizing it. Love.
“I love you,” he says again, and you realize you’re not dreaming. He really said it, and he’s really looking at you that way with those soft, brown eyes. “You don’t have to say it, I just needed to tell you. I’ve never had someone make me feel the way you do. Never.”
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
Your heart pounds, thumps.
“I love you, too.”
“Serious?” He checks, because he thinks he dreamt it just like you had.
So you repeat it for him, “I love you, Steve.”
He leans in, not so afraid anymore, and places a hand on your neck, his fingers in your hair. The other hand squeezes yours again before letting go to frame your jaw and tilt your mouth to his.
It’s an easy rhythm to fall into now. Kissing him. And you feel yourself melt into him, your muscles relaxing, your body pushing towards his. Your arms are thrown around his neck, and all you feel is him.
It’s a delicate push and pull, a kiss that’s familiar but now has something new behind it. That acknowledged emotion, the reality of it. It has his tongue sweeping against the seam of your lips and dipping in when they part.
His hand is tangled tighter in your hair, and you’re not sure how long it’s been before you both pull away, breathless, chests heaving, matching smiles on your lips. Your noses still brush, and still, it doesn’t feel close enough.
Steve’s hands shift to run down your shoulders, then your arms, and back and forth.
“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” You ask, still breathing heavy, still feeling his breath fan across your lips.
“I’d like to think so,” he says, his hands now settled around your forearms. “If that’s what you want.”
You nod, kiss him quick. “Does it also mean you’ll stay the night?”
“As long as I can use your shower first,” he says.
“Good idea.”
“You saying I smell?”
You shrug, shoulder to your cheek. He smiles, and in turn, so do you, and it feels like the closest thing to perfect there could ever be.
-
Steve emerges from your bathroom with damp hair falling over his forehead and your clothes on instead of his suit. You lent him a t-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats that are still a bit too short at his ankles. You grin when you notice that.
And Steve grins when he sees you. My girl, he thinks. And it’s for real this time.
You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent and your book in your hands yet again. You needed to occupy yourself while he was showering, after all. Otherwise, you’d just think and think and think about him in the next room, his mouth on yours. His voice saying the words ‘I love you.’
He walks over and sits on the bed by your feet, his side facing you, but his head turned to look at you. Seeing him in your clothes, in your space, you think it’s something you’d like to see forever. Seeing you waiting for him in bed, Steve’s thinking the exact same thing.
“Hi,” you say.
Steve wraps a hand around your bare ankle, his thumb smoothing back and forth. “Hi.”
Though everything’s out in the open now, there’s a shyness there. Like two kids with crushes wondering what to do next. You’ve never loved each other out loud before today. It’s brand new territory.
But with that shyness, there’s so much more. There’s the knowledge of how it feels to kiss each other, to hold each other. There’s want to do it all again.
Steve’s other hand reaches for your book and sets it open and face-down on your nightstand. Then, he pushes your knees over so that he can lean in. He’s not fully thinking about what he’s doing, he’s simply listening to this thread that pulls him closer and closer to you until he’s kissing you again.
It starts with a couple of pecks, innocent, soft, quick. It turns into more and somewhere along the way you’re tugged into Steve’s lap, your knees on either side of one of his thighs. And somewhere along the way Steve’s hands have ventured under your shirt, running across your waist and up and down your back. He groans into your mouth when he notices the lack of a bra.
Steve tugs you impossibly closer to him, tugs you down so that you’re straddling his thigh with all of your weight. You inhale sharp and quick through your nose when he does.
It’s not long after that before you’re panting, unable to keep up with his mouth, and though Steve’s chest heaves, too, he doesn’t take the break to breathe properly. Instead, he dips his head to kiss your jaw, then your neck.
Your head tilts for him easily, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other tangled in the hair at the bale of his neck. You gasp when his teeth scrape against the skin behind your ear, your hips hurting unconsciously to rut against his thigh.
“Sorry,” you say, worried it was too much. Still, it comes out breathily.
He pulls back from your neck, looks into your eyes, his brown ones just a bit darker than usual. “Did that feel good?”
Your eyes search his face for an ounce of discomfort, of uncertainty. All you see is the kind of warmth that spreads through you, the kind of intensity that only comes with lust.
“Yes.”
“Do it again,” he tells you, his hands slipping down to rest just above the waistband of your shorts. He encourages you to move, his hands pushing and pulling. You move with him, slowly at first, letting out the smallest whimper when the angle is just right. At the sound, Steve says, “keep doing it.”
“Steve.”
“You’re okay,” his hands urge you forward again, his thumbs running back and forth soothingly. “I wanna make you feel good. Okay?”
“Okay,” you agree, because how could you not when it already feels so good, when he’s looking at you with kiss-swollen lips, messy hair, and wide pupils. When he’s looking at you like it feels as good for him as it does for you.
You move quicker, his hands encouraging you still. He kisses you again, kisses you until you have to pull away, your mouth dropping open, a moan slipping out before you can stop it.
Steve wishes he could bottle up the sound and keep it, listen to it over and over. Because he’s the one who’s making you feel that way, he’s the one who has your hand tight in his hair. Because he’s thought about you before, and it’s nothing compared to the real thing.
The sweatpants you lent him grow a bit tighter, and his hands don’t stop guiding you over him. He wants to hear you make that noise again.
You drop your forehead to his shoulder, your thighs tightening around his, your clit catching on the fabric of your shorts and his (your) sweatpants enough to make you moan again.
“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good.”
It’s the first time he’s ever called you ‘baby’ and you hope it won’t be the last.
“Steve.”
“I’ve got you.”
The hand that isn’t in his hair trails down his torso and rests above the waistband of his pants for a second. Your hand cups him over his pants, squeezing lightly and finding him hard. Watching you was enough to turn him on, and the thought makes you whimper again.
“Fuck. You don’t have to,” he says, taking a hand from your waist to pull your face from his shoulder, to look at you.
“Want you to feel good, too.”
There’s nothing but honesty in your words, want in your eyes.
“Shit, honey.”
“Will you let me?” You ask, your voice slightly strained from the stimulation you feel, your hips still moving.
“Yeah.”
Your hand slips under the waistband with his consent, and you wrap it around him, your thumb running over his tip. He groans and leans his forehead against yours.
You’re breathing the same air, moving at the same pace, and you don’t think it’s ever felt this right with anyone before. With Steve, you’re not thinking about how you might look and whether or not he’ll like it, you’re only thinking about being with him.
“I’ve thought about you before. Like this,” he says, a quiet confession broken up by heavy breaths.
“Me, too,” you reply in a gasp.
His hands are both on your waist again, squeezing your skin tighter because you have a hand wrapped around his cock and it has his head spinning.
“You getting close, baby?”
“Yeah, Steve. So good.”
“I know. Keep going. I wanna see you.”
His voice is tight, and he’s holding himself back though it hasn’t been long. Your hand is soft, running up and down and he hasn’t been with someone in so long. The fact that it’s you, right now, doesn’t help him last. Just kissing you would be enough, he thinks.
Your rhythm stutters, your eyes squeezing shut, and just like that, you’re tipping over the edge and coming on his thigh.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he hums, low and scratchy. “That’s it. Look so pretty coming on me.”
Your hand pauses where it was jerking him off, too caught up in your orgasm to keep going. You say his name, say it again, and he keeps you moving over him through it all.
“Fuck,” you open your eyes when the last wave draws away, your legs shaking slightly.
It doesn’t take you long to start stroking him again, up and down and back again. Steve grunts and his hips stutter upwards, chasing your touch. It’s your turn to work him through it.
“Gonna come, honey,” he warns you. “I’ll ruin your sweats.”
“Don’t care,” you say, kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I want you to.”
You run your thumb across the tip again and then his fingers are digging into your skin. He’s groaning and you feel the warmth of his come spill onto your hand. Neither of you had taken any clothes off and still, it’s the best you’ve ever had.
“Shit, honey.” This time it’s his head that rests against your shoulder. “I’m gonna need another shower now.”
You laugh breathily and pull your hand from his pants, wiping it off on the thigh you’re not sitting on, ‘cause they’re already ruined, anyway.
“I’ll get you another pair,” you say.
“In a minute. Can’t move.”
A minute is closer to five, and eventually he lets you go. You hand him a new pair of sweatpants, then clean up in the bathroom and change into different shorts. When you come back, he’s laying down under the covers in your bed. Twin smiles spread on your faces.
“You’re cute,” you tell him.
“So are you.”
You shake your head and flick your light off, the street lights flooding through your window the only thing left illuminating your room. You join him under the covers, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and pull you into his chest.
Your head rests by his shoulder, one of your legs thrown over his. Having him laying next to you is much more comfortable than being alone.
“I love you,” Steve says, his lips pushing a kiss into your hair.
“I love you,” you say right back.
And then, just like you’d imagined so many times before, you fall asleep cuddling Steve. And just like he’s imagined so many times before, you wake up that way, too.
/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\
thank you guys so much for reading spidey!steve i hope u liked it!!!! pls pls consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought, i promise it makes a difference <333
Chapters: 19/?
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Johnny Storm, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & The Party, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington & Everyone, Johnny Storm & Susan "Sue" Storm, Ben Grimm & Reed Richards & Johnny Storm & Susan "Sue" Storm, Reed Richards/Susan "Sue" Storm, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Rachel Rozman
Characters: Steve Harrington, Johnny Storm, Susan "Sue" Storm (Marvel), Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Franklin Richards, HERBIE the Robot (Marvel), Dustin Henderson, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Eddie Munson, Mike Wheeler, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers, Joyce Byers, Rachel Rozman, Otto Octavius
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Stranger Things 5, and a fix it, Stranger Things Spoilers, Post-Movie: The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025), Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Protective Johnny Storm, Bisexual Johnny Storm, Johnny Storm Played By Joseph Quinn, Disabled Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington as Spiderman, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Internalized Homophobia, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, spideytorch - Freeform, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper Are Twins, Dyslexic Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Wears Glasses, Blind Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Summary:
Steve had a bad feeling, and this wasn't the first time it had happened.
For as long as he could remember, he had always had hunches. Hunches about events that hadn't even happened yet but warned him before the shoe could drop. He was used to them. To the bad omens. To the anxiety they brought.
Maybe, that's why he was as tense as a coiled spring when they entered Hawkins Lab, as gray as decayed as the rest of the Upside Down. But not even a hunch could have prepared him for what happened that day. He couldn't have braced himself for the party splitting up. He couldn't have braced himself for an argument with Dustin, much less the boy's violent reaction at him bringing Eddie into the conversation.
He couldn't have expected to crack his head open into the ground, nor the world that waited for him when he opened his eyes once again. Neither the spider that bit him, or the powers that would later bring him.
And when this peculiar world welcomed him, he couldn't help but wonder.
Was that Munson? In a big sign? Wearing a hero-like costume?
Like, maybe Steve gets bitten by a radioactive spider in the secret Russian base. Developes powers and does what he's always done, protect people. He and Robin go to New York and rent a shoe box apartment and when Dustin gets accepted to University there he becomes *obsessed* with the local web slinging vigilante that saved him from muggers and then gave him a (terrifying) lift to his classes.
Meanwhile Billy wakes up in the back of a government van with a hole in his chest and a broken mind, probably on his way to be dissected in a creepy lab. No one really knows what happened. Just that the van crashed and went up in flames, Billy's body written off as a loss by the feds. He travels, never staying in one place for to long and minding his own fucking business as much as an undead mutant freak with super strength and impossible healing powers can. He goes to Cali for a while, but that turns out to be a mistake. His mom has a whole new family now, complete with two kids and a golden retriever, not a single picture of Billy in the entire house. It taints everything, and within a week he's gone, on a bus headed who knows where. He eventually finds himself in New York, doing shitty odd jobs for whoever can get past the scowl and faint black veins across his entire body. Not like he shows anyone his body. The scars alone are enough that he's permanently covered with a hoodie and jeans. Through one way or the other Billy finds himself working as a mercenary. The ability to regrow limbs and lift a car over your head really puts you on the fast track. Go figure. He's on his way back from a job when he hears a woman's muffled scream down a dark alley and without thinking he takes off like a shot. Billy ends up beating the shit out of some low life purse snatcher only for her to recoil and run the second she sees his face. Rolling his eyes he pulls up the scarf around his neck so just his eyes are visible. A voice he would know anywhere sounds from behind him.
"Wow, that was fucking rude of her. You alright?"
Billy turns around and his brain short circuits.
Get possessed by a demon shadow monster?
Check ✓
Come back from the dead?
Check ✓
His highschool crush turns out to be a god damn superhero?!
'Nancy you can't leave me!' Steve cried through the flames.
The building was burning, Nancy could save Steve, they both know that. But she would risk losing Eddie if she did. The man, the villain, she had been after.
But Steve knew he was going to die. He could see it in the way that Nancy looked at him.
The way her eyes softened slightly, rounding at the edges, but never did he see guilt. Because Steve knew that Nancy wouldn't regret it.
So he shouldn't have been surprised when she shot a web from her wrist and left him in the flames.
Steve just curled in on himself. Knowing the woman he loved, that he thought loved him back, left him to die.
The flames were getting closer, Steve could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks starting to grow hotter as the flame enclosed him.
He wanted to get up, desperately. But he couldn't. The beam that had fallen on top of them had crushed his leg. But Nancy made it out unscathed.
Steve could feel the flame start to tickle his cheeks and he let out a sob.
And then he felt warmth wrap around him. What he thought was flame.
But next thing he knew. Steve was hoisted into the air and being carried outside of the building.
Steve opened his eyes and saw the man that had started the fire, Eddie. The warlock looked down at him, frown etched onto his face.
'Can't fucking believe she did that to you' he muttered.
Steve couldn't believe that Eddie was saving him.
'Stupid fucking spider girl. Supposed to save her Spider man' he huffed.
Steve couldn't help but cry in Eddie's arms. sobbing into him. He felt bad, the shirt Eddie was wearing felt expensive.
'I know, it's ok. She'll regret it. I promise you' Eddie whispered before Steve promptly passed out.
