#st x reader

[bluetimeombre]

LIKE ME !

→ It’s common knowledge: when the party need help with girls, they got to Steve Harrington, the guy who invented skull rock. When they need help with the boys they go to you, the one who retired Steve the Hair Harrington from his play boy ways

Mike, Lucas and Dustin sat snug on Steve's sofa, watching the guy pace in front of them, his Nike trainers wearing a path into his parents carpet. He hadn't said anything for five minutes, clearly weighing up options.

"Steve! Say something!" Dustin implored.

"I'm thinking, Henderson," he said, prodding at the non-existent hair on his chin. He was only shy of twenty, not thirty and there was yet anything to there.

The boys had come to Steve desperate for his help and not the sort that required a drive down to the old range and a bat wedged with nails. It was the sort of help where they needed King Steve, the Steve that made Skull rock the place.

They needed his help with girls.

Steve dragged a chair from the kitchen island over, sitting himself down and leaning over to the boys. "Okay, so you like these girls. El and Max?"

Mike and Lucas nodded while Dustin cracked open his can of pringles he'd brought along for the ride.

"You want them to be your girlfriends, well, you've come to the right guy," Steve ran a hand through his hair, Mike and Lucas watching him do it. "I've got a few moves that can help you but you have to do exactly as I say. Got it?"

They nodded.

There was a crunch for Dustin that momentarily threw Steve off his game.

You had been painting your nails when the insistent knocking broke you from your careful task. It was a Saturday, the day where you weren't supposed to be bugged for anything- unless it was Steve but even then your boyfriend always called ahead.

You opened the door to find Max, El and Will.

"Hey?"

"Hi," they all greeted and promptly flooded in.

They took themselves to your family kitchen, sounding like they were making themselves at home. You were just thankful your family worked on weekends. You didn't want to have to explain why teenagers felt they were allowed to let themselves in.

"Do you have any ice cream?" asked Max.

"And any syrups?"

You found the three raiding the cupboards and the freezer, El pulling down bowls and getting spoons. "Why?"

Max pulled out the tubs you had. "Because we need your help."

"My help?" typically every time the kids came for help it wasn't an ice cream situation. It was a kill or be killed kind.

"It's the boys," Said Will.

El looked to you sheepishly but you sighed in relief and helped them find whatever they needed.

Because if the boys went to Steve Harrington, the master of dating then the girls went to you. The very one that retired Steve from his old 'playboy' ways and had him happily settled, besotted even.

"What do you need help with?"

"So you want to ask the girls out, okay, easy enough, right?" Steve asked them, having Mike and Lucas and Dustin in a line like they were army cadets.

"Yeah," said Lucas and Mike.

"No!" Steve snapped. "Wrong, not easy. One wrong move and they'll be laughing at you, friend-zoning you."

"Friend-zone?" Asked Lucas like even the Upside down was a preferable place to be then that dreaded zone.

"Yeah," said Steve, dramatically. "I've been there myself, not a good place to be."

They watched as he settled back on his stool, lost in some sort of memory.

He sighed to himself, shaking his head. "Alright look, I don't tell many people this story so if it gets out, I'll know it was one of you three and I'll make your lives hell, understand?"

They nodded.

Steve rested his hands on the tops of his thighs. "I too have been friend zoned, it's not a good look."

"You?" asked Lucas.

"What did you do? How did you get out of it?" asked Mike.

"Well, I pitied myself for an evening, I had to make these mistakes so you boys won't have to. But yeah. I moped. It hadn't gone how I planned but I knew y/n would be at a party that night-"

"Wait-" interrupted Dustin with a cheeky grin. "Y/N friend zoned you?"

Steve looked at him, not a trace of amusement on his face as he re-countered the faithful night. "Yeah, now do you want my help or not?"

Dustin blushed. "Sorry."

"Listen, I moped, I despaired but then it hit me, it didn't have to be that way. So I got in my car, drove to the party-"

"Who's?" asked Mike.

"Stacey's."

"Stacey M or Stacey V?"

Steve frowned at him. "Does it matter? Anyway- I marched in there, ignoring everyone that said hi, I only had my sights on her."

"Then what did you do?" asked Lucas.

Steve wet his lips as he remembered the night he first kissed you, telling you his earlier confession that you pinned down to just being 'great friends' wasn't what he was going for. He stood up, for effect. "I found her on the stairs, she looked miserable to be there but she clocked eyes on me the same moment I did. So I made my way up, pushing past everyone, wrapped my arm around her waist and I kissed her."

He was still proud himself for that kiss, and the ones that only got better along the way.

"Tongue?" asked Lucas.

Steve was surprised a second at his forwardness. "Yeah, duh. So my advice-" he levelled with them. "Take the lead, girls like it when you're in control. Have you guys tried anything yet? Like, asking them to go watch a film together or something?"

The three shared looks.

Mike spoke up first, swallowing back his nerves. "I asked El to the drive in cinema once, but then I remembered I don't have a car. Or drive."

Steve tried not to let his disappointment show. "Easy mistakes to make."

Lucas held up his hand like he was back in class. "I asked Max once if she was on her period?"

"Oh, Sinclair, tell me you didn't."

Lucas's face dropped, eyes widening in terror. "Is that bad?"

Steve threw his head into his hands. "Oh, Sinclair."

"Steve! Is it bad?!" he fell to his knees in front of him.

"It's bad," said Steve, nodding with a wince for his young friend and the misery he was going to face. "You're in the dog house. Not even the dog house, the kneel, the pound. You're being put down."

"How do I fix this?" asked Lucas, hands clutched up to Steve like begging to god. "Tell me Steve, how!"

"He didn't!" you gasped, dropping your spoon in the ice cream tub that laid between you all on your bed.

"Yeah!" said Max, re-counting the time Lucas had asked the dreaded- 'are you on your period or something?' "Has Steve ever asked you that?"

You chuckled at the very idea. "Oh no, no, no, no, Steve knows better."

"I wish Lucas did," grumbled Max.

"How'd you do it?" asked Will, speaking up.

You looked to him. "Do what?"

Will dropped his voice to a whisper like you were sharing a secret. "Get Steve to fall in love with you?"

You smiled to yourself, thinking about it.

All throughout high school Steve had been a tease but not just to you, to any and every girl in Hawkins High. It was like a test to him, how many could he have by the time he reached senior year. You were someone he could just never crack, you never gave into his ways and it started to catch his eye in the most infuriating ways.

By the time the both of you had been brought into this Upside down business Steve had changed, he cared in ways you hadn't thought possible for him. And when the King Steve persona was dropped you finally started giving into him and your own heart.

"Well it's easy really, to get a guy crazy about you," you said, leaning forward on your elbows, already lying down on your bed. "Give him a look, seem like your interested then look away. Drives guys nuts."

"Make them suffer," said Max.

You lifted your shoulder. "I guess, basically, yeah."

"What was your first kiss like?" asked El, eyes wide in wonder.

You grin broke into your cheeks, re-counting the awful party you'd gone to to make Steve jealous after shaming his pitiful attempt at asking you to be his girlfriend. After years of torture from playboy Harrington you needed him to see it wasn't going to be easy.

But he made it so when he turned up out of breath and hair damp from the rain outside. How his eyes were locked on yours as he pushed everyone out the way until he'd pulled you into a searing first kiss, a pull like magnets drawing you in together. It wasn't slow, it was a desperate plea, a last attempt.

By god, it worked.

"Woah," said El as you reencountered it all.

Will was grinning. "What do you even do after a kiss like that?"

"Oh c'mon," said Max with a playful roll of her eyes. "There's only one thing you can do after a kiss like that-"

"Max!" you lectured. "Don't be crude."

Only when El and Will were distracted over the chocolate ice cream did you catch her eyes and give her an approving nod that had her winking at you, a secret safe with her.

"So you chill out," said Lucas after more of Steve's teaching. "Hang out with the boys and act like you don't care."

Steve groaned, hands coming together in a loud clap. "Sinclair! Have you learnt nothing!"

Lucas gulped.

Steve took a calming breath and started again. "Okay, okay... you're not wrong. One way to drive girls crazy is to act like you don't care but more often then not it gets them angry and then they discard you. Learn from me, you take a chance, you tell them how you feel."

"How we feel?" asked Mike, confused by his own feelings.

"Yeah, you look her in the eyes and tell her how you feel," he said.

Dustin chuckled from where he sat watching, still with his pringles and a pillow in lap, getting himself cosy like he was watching his favourite disaster film. "Or get friendzoned."

Steve looked back to him with a pointed look. "I'll tell everyone about the Farrah Fawcett spray, huh, Henderson?"

Dustin's shoulders sank. "Sorry."

Steve returned his focus on Mike and Lucas. "Listen, El is a superhero but also she's new to this whole... life, thing, right?"

"Right," said Mike.

"So you want to be right with her, don't play mind games with someone who can literally see into your mind," he advised. He turned to Lucas. "And Max... well, Max is terrifying okay, she's had to grow up with Billy. She has to be terrifying, why mess her around. Give her something good."

Lucas clicked his fingers, understanding better. "Love."

"Sure, if you want, love," shrugged Steve. It was tough to remember sometimes these were a couple clueless fourteen year olds coming for his help.

Mike fell back onto the sofa, alerting them all. He didn't seem so sure of himself all of a sudden. "How do you know?" he mumbled.

"Know?"

Mike looked to Steve. "How do you know what Love is?"

Suddenly Steve remembered these were fourteen year olds, but maybe not so clueless. After all, they'd fought monsters, faced losing each other almost every day when they knew there was another dimension below their own. They lived fast when they knew they might not live at all.

"Well it's not always easy, but sometimes it is," said Steve, settling down next to Mike. "I knew I loved y/n when I had to go a day without her."

Mike looked up at him, the kind of way Steve imagined a little brother would look at him if he ever had one.

"She had to go out of town for a day, visiting some family and I genuinely didn't know what to do with myself," Steve laughed at the memory, of you calling him the night before saying you were heading out of town, your nana was sick. "All day I just waited for her to get back and it's not because I didn't have things to do. Heck, I had basketball practise, I had this barbeque my dad wanted me to go to. But I just wanted to tell her about it and I couldn't. That's when I realised I loved her. I'm pretty sure I'd loved her since I first met her, really but not being able to call or see her face, made it pretty obvious."

Mike listened and understood.

Love wasn't exactly pulsing in his house. Sure, he loved his family because he had to they were blood. But he'd never seen his dad offer to cook just because his mom said she was tired, but he could imagine Steve doing so for you without you even having to say the word.

"It's true you don't know what you have until you lose it," Steve added.

Mike knew then, just what love was.

"But Mike liked me in a dress," said El.

"Screw Mike!" said Max from where Will was painstakingly trying to paint her nails and to stop her moving.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Screw Mike."

You had been looking in your wardrobe and boxes at the bottom that you had meant to take to Goodwill but never got around to. The girls were insistent that they could also ask the boys out, but they wanted to look right, jaw-dropping. "When was this?"

"When I snuck into school," said El simply. "He said I looked pretty good in a dress."

"Pretty good?" you checked.

El nodded and looked down to the jeans she wore, rolled up several times at the ankle and the checked shirt that looked like it once belonged to Jonathan. "And with different hair."

"Okay," you ditched the boxes and carefully guided El to your bed, the two of you sitting on the edge. "El, it doesn't matter what Mike likes you wearing. It matters what you like."

"What I like?" she asked, a small amount of confusion furrowed in her brows.

"Yeah. What you feel comfortable in. What you like. Hey, if that's jeans and a baggy shirt, wear the jeans and baggy shirts."

El fidgeted with her small hands in yours. "But what if, I want Mike to, like me?"

You squeezed her hands. She said everything in such a same tone, so simple as if the world was made to be that way. "Mike'll like you just the way you are. If he doesn't then we get rid of him."

"Get rid of him," nodded El.

You had the sudden idea what that meant to El, remembering just who you were talking to. You shook away that idea. "Okay, how do you like your hair? What do you like to do with it?"

El looked at the bits of her hair she could just about see. The curls expanding down to waves at her shoulder. "I like it... like this."

"Then we leave it like that and I'm sure Mike will like that you like it," you tell her with a smile. "Tell you what, you and Max go look through the boxes, see if there's any clothes you like. Anything you do is yours."

Max and El shared a look of equal excitement. "Serious?"

You nodded.

The two girls jumped up from their places and grabbed armfuls of clothes, running to the bath room in fits of giggles.

It left Will alone with nail polish smudged on his fingers.

You smiled and dropped down next to him. "You know, painting nails doesn't just have to be for girls you know?"

Will nodded, but seemed shy. "I know."

"Have you seen Bowies nails? They're crazy."

You pulled out a magazine from somewhere littered on your bedroom floor, luckily finding one about Bowie and splaying it out on the bed. The two of you flicked through, smiling and pointing out the colours.

"What's your favourite colour?" you asked him, already lining out the polishes you had.

Will didn't hesitate in pointing out his favourite shade. "Blue."

You took the nail polish and grabbed his hand, laying it out but you hesitated before putting brush to canvas. "May I?"

Will took a deep breath, not a nervous one, not one that told you he was being forced into it. He just wanted to ready himself to remember the moment. "Yeah."

The movie theatre glowed with the latest pic.

Two care were pulled up on the side, a familiar BMW and your own. It had all been arranged, Steve calling at yours to hear the girls in the background and set the plan into action.

Steve found you helping the girls and Will out the car and smiled at you though you couldn't see the crease to his eyes that could only happen when one was as in love with someone as he was with you.

He turned around to face the three in the back. "Right, tell me again, what are you going to do? Go- Lucas."

Lucas straightened to attention, the flowers in his lap. "I am going to apologise to Max and say she looks beautiful. Then I'm gonna give her these flowers."

"Good, good, Wheeler?"

Mike cleared his throat. "I am not going to ignore my feelings and be true to myself, and let El know how I really feel."

"Yes!" Steve cheered. "Dustin? Your action?"

"Not to make fun of my friends or hold it against them if the girls laugh in their face," he recited. "I am going to watch the movie and buy snacks with the money you gave me."

"Yes!" Steve looked at all three of his prodigy's happy.

You settled the engine in your own car, looking at Max and El in the back while Will sat up front with you. "Ok, remember, be yourself, don't let the boys treat you like crap, and if they do, tell them."

"Got it!" said Max.

You held up a pointed finger. "But don't-"

"Purposely hurt their feelings, yeah we got it," said Max. "C'mon."

The four of you got out the car and you watched as Lucas and Mike waited outside the doors for them, Lucas holding a bouquet of flowers that you could tell were not from a gas station.

Will followed quietly after the girls, looking down to his painted nails and smiling at them every now and then.

You even noticed Mike seeing them to, saying how he liked them before he focused on El and Wil met Dustin inside.

Arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you into a familiar hard chest.

"Well hey beautiful," Steve mumbled into your ear, rocking you slightly.

You tilted back to see him. "Hey, yourself."

Steve smiled as he leant down and kissed you, slow and sweet, dragging his lips against yours to keep you in place just that little more longer. "Mmh, I missed you today."

You held onto his arms still wrapped around yours as you looked at where Mike held El's hands and Max was taking the flowers Lucas held up to her. "I was busy. It seems you were to?"

"Yeah. I taught them everything I know," he shrugged like it was nothing but you could feel the swell of his chest, telling you how proud he was.

"Well if they went to the Steve Harrington school of treating a girl I'm sure El and Max are in safe hands."

You turned in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck and bringing him down to you. Your bodies were flushed as his lips moved against yours, without daring to sweep his tongue in- not in front of the children at least.

Steve's arms slowly fell lover and lower until his hands gripped your hips bringing you closer. "Hey, so-" he mumbled against your lips, not wanting to part. "We've got a whole hour and thirty to kill before the kids want picking up. I know a spot, dark, secluded, perfect for us."

You hummed against his lips. The both of you were already having a productive day. You could get a lot done in one hour and a half. "Your car or mine?"

[autvmnangels]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ CAUGHT IN THE ACT

| you and mike are caught in the girls bathroom by max, while still trying to maintain a secret relationship. harrington!reader, fluff, tension, foul language, kissing/making out.

“am i even allowed in here?” mike said as you pulled him into the girls bathroom quickly, the empty school halls now slowly filling up as the next period began. usually, mike wouldn’t dream of missing an important subject like physics, but for you he could make an exception.

“nope. definitely not. just be quiet, ok?” you whispered, approaching a stall and pulling him into it before quickly shutting the door behind you and locking it. you turned around to face him, his lips still swollen and pink from your previous makeout session in the halls, his hair disheveled and brown eyes glossy.

“hey.” he said playfully, pulling you by the waist into him as you placed your hand over his mouth, shushing him quickly.

“shh, wheeler! i know some girls who would absolutely love the chance to rat me out for having you in here. be quiet, ok?” you said, removing your hand from his mouth as he rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“so your telling me you pulled your boyfriend into a quiet cramped bathroom stall to scold him? not to fuck, or anything?” he whispered, watching as you furrowed your brows, tilting your head at him.

“how on earth do you think that would be possible here? a, it’s a bathroom with other people in it, b— there’s a fucking toilet taking up half the space in here, mike.” you said, almost laughing as he huffed.

“well, im hoping you’ll still at least let me kiss you, harrington.” he said, a small smile creeping onto your face as you shrugged.

“i don’t know. depends if you can stay quiet, wheeler.” you hummed, your hand cupping his cheek as he tilted his head into you, your lips meeting quickly.

it started slow. soft, sweet, like he was trying to savour the moment rather than ravage you whole. but knowing mike, he’s never good at keeping his cool when it comes to you. his lips pressed deeper against yours, your back now hitting the wall behind you.

his tongue brushed your bottom lip slowly, before entering your mouth. you whined into the kiss, his lips quickly breaking away from yours as your eyes met his.

“so now we’re making noise, are we?” he teased, giving you no time to answer before his lips were on yours again. his hands were on your waist, one of them now sliding underneath the knitted material of the sweater you wore. your hands were in his hair, deepening the kiss and further messing up his dark curls.

“so, so pretty.” he mumbled against your lips, your cheeks reddening at his words and how genuine they sounded, one of your hands now sliding down his chest.

“y/n? you in here?” a voice suddenly called out. not just any voice though, the voice of max mayfield. max was mike’s friend above anything else, but the two of you had bonded and frequently chatted in your english classes. there was one problem however. max had no idea that you and mike were seeing each other. no one did.

what everyone knew was that mike had become somewhat civil with you, occasionally joking with you in shared classes— but what they didn’t know was that mike was in your room almost every night fucking you into oblivion.

your hand shot over mike’s mouth, preventing him from making any noise as his eyes widened as he recognised the voice. you gave him a look, shaking your head slowly and putting a finger to your lips as you turned your head in the direction of the door.

“yeah? what’s up!” you said, your voice cracking slightly as you cleared your throat.

“well— mr. martin is looking for you. he’s running around the school like a mad man. i just thought i should tell you so you could come back before he tells the office your missing.” max said, your hand instantly slapping your head as you bit your lip.

“uhm— yeah. ok, sure. thanks, max. i’ll be out in a second.” you said, your voice once again coming out uncertain and shaky as you winced, already sensing that the red-head was going to say something.

“listen, if you have some douche bag football player in there with you i could care less, harrington. just come out so you don’t get me in trouble either for trying to find you.” she said, and that’s when you knew the two of you were well and truly fucked.

there was no way to work around this. your secret was gonna have to be shared. you looked at mike, his brown eyes looking just as helpless as he shrugged, telling you he had whatsoever no way, much like yourself, to go about doing this.

it was too late now. if it had to be anyone, you were at least glad it was max.

you unlocked the door, slowly stepping out with mike following behind you like a lost puppy, both of your heads ducked in shame. almost immediately, max let out an amused gasp.

“oh my god? look who we have here!” max said, nudging mike’s shoulder as he gave her a look, shaking his head at her.

“you can’t tell anyone, you got that? this is meant to be a secret.” mike said, looking in your direction as you nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“seriously, max. you promise?” you said, watching as she nodded frantically, eyes shut as she did so.

“i swear. your secrets safe with me.” she said, looking between the two of you before eventually settling her gaze on mike.

“so a harrington, then? way to go, mike.” max said, nudging him again as he scoffed, nudging her back as you smiled awkwardly at mike, his face mirroring your expression.

the three of you walked out of the bathroom, you and max heading to english and mike to physics a separate way, ruffling your hair and offering you a wink as he headed down the hall away from you.

“he hurts you, i’ll beat his ass.” max said, offering you a wink as you laughed in response, slinging your bag over your other shoulder.

[spencersmopbucket]

cherry slushies (2) | steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x byers!reader summary: the three times steve tried to take things further, and the one time you let him. themes & warnings: fluff, reader is hesitant to let herself fall in love, byers!reader, pt two to cherry slushies, friends to lovers, steve is persistent af, YEARNING, slow burn kinda if u squint, will is cute and ships it, kind of angsty if u squint part 2 to: cherry slushies (1)

You were completely thriving.

Letting go of all of your emotional baggage had more benefits than it did the harm you'd thought it would do. In fact, you felt completely and utterly free. And in a wild twist of fate, you'd gained a new best friend (behind your brothers, of course). Steve Harrington was by your side whenever he could manage.

It started with the slushies. Then it became a ritual. Every Tuesday, after his shift at the video store and before you closed up the garage, Steve would appear in your bay, two cherry slushies in hand. No excuses about brake pads or squeaks. Just the slushies, and Steve, leaning against your workbench, filling you in on the latest Hawkins drama.

It was a friendship forged in the quiet aftermath of a war. He’d tell you about Robin’s latest conspiracy theory about the mall manager. You’d complain about old man Murdoch’s ancient diagnostic computer. He’d help you hold a heavy transmission in place; you’d help him brainstorm ways to impress a girl he was never going to ask out (his attempts were painfully transparent, and you took great joy in pointing out every flaw in his plans).

You became a unit. The kids noticed first, of course. Dustin started calling you “Steve’s other half” until you threatened to revoke his arcade fund. Will just smiled that knowing little smile and would casually mention you in conversations with Steve, watching with satisfaction as his friend’s face would light up.

You were the person Steve called when his dad was being particularly shitty, and he’d just sit in silence on the other end of the line while you clanked tools in the background. You were the person he drove to the 24-hour diner at 2 AM after a nightmare about demo-dogs, and you’d share a plate of greasy fries without talking about it.

You were his emergency contact. You were the first person he thought to call when he found a stray, matted cat behind Family Video (you helped him bathe it, and now it ruled his house, named ‘Y/N Jr’ at your suggestion).

It was easy. Shockingly, stupidly easy. He fit into the cracks of your life like he’d always been there, filling spaces you hadn’t realized were empty. The fierce, protective love you had for your family… it extended to him now, too. He was one of yours. Your stupid, loyal, fluffy-haired friend who brought you terrible gas station drinks and made you laugh until your ribs ached.

Being your best friend was great, it really was. Steve never wanted to seem ungrateful for it. But.. there was always that nagging thing at the back of his head, screaming that he wanted more. He'd wanted more since over a year ago. He tried to ignore it, tried to suppress it so that he didn't scare you off or make you hate his guts again. But sometimes it pushed so far forward that you’d started to catch him looking at you sometimes -- during a lull in conversation, while you were bent over an engine, when you laughed at one of his jokes -- with a look that was no longer just friendly awe. It was deeper. Hungrier. A look that promised he was just waiting for the signal to be all-in on something else entirely.

Despite all of the picture-perfect girls in Hawkins, with perfectly rolled hair and glossy, manicured nails, he couldn't even spare them a passing glance anymore. It scared him -- mostly because those were the type of girls he'd go wild about in high school. Now, there was only you. There had only been you since you ruthlessly defended your brother at the expense of Steve's ribs. The wild-haired, deep eyed Byers with a soul-rewarding smile when he finally cracked you up, and a foundational love for everyone you cared about.

After a while though, it pushed so far forward that it was impossible to ignore. He couldn't do it.

The first incident was at the quarry. You were all there -- the Party, Steve, you, Robin -- for a D&D meet that was really just an excuse to skip stones and soak up the last of the summer sun. You were sitting on the hood of Steve’s BMW, listening to Dustin explain something impossibly complex about wizards, or trolls, or some shit.

While the Party nerded out, you, Steve, and Robin went swimming. Robin swam towards the rocks, dawdling about on her own accord, while you and Steve took the more childish approach. Splashing water at each other.

"You look like a drowned rat, Harrington!" You cackled, throwing another wave of quarry water at Steve's face. He wiped it off quickly, a wide, playful grin spreading across his face. "Oh yeah?"

You heard the challenge in his response, gearing yourself up to be drowned.

He launched himself through the water towards you, not to splash, but to gently dunk you under the surface. It was a move born of pure, boyish impulse. You came up sputtering, laughing, shoving his shoulders. He was close, so close in the cool water, your bodies brushing with each small wave, the sounds of the kids fading to a distant buzz.

His laughter died in his throat. Your laughter faded too. You were treading water, faces inches apart, breath mingling. Droplets clung to his lashes, to the curve of your lips. The playful energy evaporated, replaced by something dense and potent. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then snapped back up to your eyes, wide and searching.

This was it. The moment. The water held you both suspended, the perfect, isolated excuse. He could close the distance. He could kiss you, and it could be written off as a crazy, spontaneous quarry thing. A mistake born of sunlight and splashing.

He leaned in, just a fraction. His nose brushed yours. You didn't pull away. Your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat. So close, so close, so close, so--

You pulled away. The relaxed haze in your eyes turned into a startled fear, a realization. You swam backwards with a frantic, uncoordinated kick, putting several feet of cold, clear water between you. The air that had felt charged and sweet a second ago now felt thin.

"Sorry," you blurted out, the word too loud, too harsh. You weren't even sure what you were apologizing for. For almost letting it happen? For pulling away? "I... I think I swallowed some water."

It was the lamest excuse in the history of excuses. Steve just stared at you, the hope in his eyes crumbling into raw perception. He'd seen it -- the moment you'd shut down, the walls slamming back into place. It was a rejection out of fear to allow yourself to feel something.

"Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "The quarry water's... gross."

He turned and swam for the shore, leaving you treading water alone, the ghost of his near-kiss clinging to your lips more persistently than the water. You'd rejected the possibility, and in doing so, you'd confirmed its existence. The line wasn't just tapped anymore; it was glowing neon.

The ride home was silent. Steve didn't try to make small talk about Robin or the weather. He just drove, sensing that you needed your space. When he pulled up to your house, you couldn't even manage a "see you Tuesday." You just muttered a thanks and fled inside.

It was weird for a week or two. But then, you slowly went back to pretending it never happened. You, luckily, resumed being the wild friends with lots of chemistry. It was better for Steve than things being weird. But still unsatisfactory.

The second slip-up was a collective one.

You were sick. Very sick. The product of your cough was yellow, you could barely breath out of your nose, and you had a fever and chills that wracked your body. And to add to the rest of it, your throat was raw from vomiting.

Steve hadn't seen you in a week. He was suffering withdrawals. You weren't at work on Tuesday, so two cherry slushies went to waste. With confusion in his tone, he'd called the Byers landline to figure out where you were. He'd gotten ahold of Joyce at first, who's voice crackled through the phone with worry.

"She's come down with something. It's bad, Steve, but she just won't go to the hospital."

Steve released a sigh, but it was a knowing one, not one of shock.

"If you could stop by, that would be great! You're probably the only one she'll listen to," your mother had said eagerly. Steve wanted to tell her she was wrong, that you would, in fact, not listen. But he felt awful about how concerned your household was for you. And he missed you.

Steve was at your house in under ten minutes. He didn't even knock; he just pushed the front door open with the casual authority of someone who belonged there, a bag from the drugstore in one hand. He found you on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, looking tragically small and pale. Your hair was a wild, sweat-damp nest, and your eyes were glassy with fever.

“Harrington,” you croaked, your voice a ruined thing. “No slushies. Contagion zone.”

“Shut up,” he said softly, but there was no bite in it. He dropped the bag on the coffee table and knelt beside the couch. His cool hand came up to press against your forehead, his brows furrowing. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, trying to shove his hand away, but you had the strength of a wet noodle.

“You’re an idiot,” he corrected, his voice tender. He pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, some pills, and a box of tissues. “Joyce said you won’t go to the hospital.”

“Hate hospitals,” you rasped, a shiver wracking your frame.

Steve didn’t argue. He just got to work. He made you sip the Gatorade. He timed your fever meds. He piled more blankets on you when you shook, and peeled them back when you got clammy. He sat on the floor next to the couch, reading aloud from a trashy magazine he found, his voice a low, steady rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into your fever-addled bones.

At some point, you must have dozed off. You woke to the feeling of a cool, damp cloth being dabbed gently on your neck, your temples. Steve’s face was close, his expression focused, utterly absorbed in the simple task of tending to you. In the quiet, dim living room, with the world shut out, it felt profoundly intimate.

Your hazy, sick-brain bypassed all your usual defenses. Your hand, weak and trembling, came up from under the blankets. Your fingers brushed against his wrist, where his sleeve was rolled up.

“Steve,” you whispered.

He froze, the cloth stilling on your skin. “Yeah?”

“Stay. 'M so cold.”

It wasn't a request born of romantic feeling. It was the raw, desperate plea of a sick person who didn't want to be alone in the dark with a fever. But in the charged silence of the room, it felt like so much more.

To his shock, you shifted and lifted the blankets. He actually was tempted to check to see if it was still you and not an alien in your skin. The last time he had been that close to you, you jumped away like he'd bite you. But this was different. You were sick, vulnerable, and you were asking. Not for a kiss, but for warmth. For presence. It was a trust fall of the highest order.

Hesitantly, as if moving through a dream, Steve set the cloth aside. He didn't climb under the blankets fully. That felt like too much, a breach of the fragile trust you were offering. Instead, he carefully sat on the edge of the couch, his back against the cushions, and lifted his legs to rest on the coffee table. Then, he gently pulled the edge of the quilt over his legs, creating a shared tent of warmth.

You immediately shifted, not away, but toward. Your fever-hot body curled into his side, your head finding a resting place against his shoulder with a tired sigh. He froze again, every muscle taut, afraid a single wrong move would shatter the moment.

Then, slowly, he let himself relax. He brought his arm up, not daring to wrap it around you, but letting it rest along the back of the couch, a loose barrier. Your hair tickled his chin. He could feel the dry heat of your skin through his t-shirt, the faint, ragged rhythm of your breathing.

This was it. Closer than he’d ever been, in a way that was terrifyingly intimate and completely chaste. He was a furnace for your chills, a solid wall for your weakness. He stayed perfectly still, listening to your breathing even out again into sleep, committing every second to memory -- the weight of you against him, the scent of sweat and sickness and your shampoo, the absolute, quiet trust of it.

He didn't sleep. He didn't move. He just stayed, as asked, a sentinel in the dark, guarding the fragile, feverish girl who had, for one night, let down her final guard. It was a gift he’d never dared to hope for. And as dawn light began to filter through the curtains, painting the room in soft grays, Steve Harrington knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he was utterly, completely ruined for anyone else. You had broken into his ribs with a kick, and now you were breaking his heart with a blanket and a whisper. And he would let you do it every single time.

But when you awoke, Steve wasn't there. You were alone with the realization that you'd almost ruined things yet again. But your fever had receded slightly, your nose was a bit more breathable. Yet your guts felt like they'd been slammed with an anvil. You were an idiot, succumbing to desires that you had no business wanting.

Clearly Steve thought the same, you'd assumed. But you were wrong. He'd simply left so that you couldn't realize this wasn't actually what you wanted and push him away again, making his chest ache.

Once again, after your full recovery, you pretended this never happened.

The third time you'd yanked yourselves away from each other was when Steve had a date. Steve had a date. He'd come into the garage this Tuesday with two slushies and the crushing news that when he'd literally cuddled you to sleep in your house, it meant nothing. He hadn't exactly said that, but he basically had when he told you he had a date with Tammy Thompson on game night, so he wouldn't be there.

You tried not to let it sour you up. You didn't deserve to. You'd done enough pushing him away that you'd look like a huge, asshole hypocrite if you got upset. But you couldn't help it. As much as you fought it, you felt the resentment and jealousy pour into your veins like a wave from the ocean.

You worked under a Civic, silently listening to Steve talk about his stupid fucking date, squeezing the ratchet in your hand with painful force.

"--and then we're gonna go get ice cream. Too cheesy?" He questioned.

The ratchet slipped, banging loudly against the frame of the car. You swore, more from the jolt of fury than the pain.

“Y/N? You okay under there?” Steve’s voice was tinged with concern.

“Fine,” you gritted out, your voice tight. “Just… tight bolt.”

Silence. Then you heard the scrape of his stool as he moved closer. “You sure? You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m working,” you snapped, the words sharper than intended.

He didn’t respond for a moment. You could feel his gaze on you, even from under the car. “Right. Sorry.” His voice had lost its earlier, nervous excitement. It was flat. Careful.

You couldn’t stand it. The fake cheer, the careful distance, the fact that he was going to be smiling at Tammy Thompson while you were sitting at home on game night, pretending you didn’t care. The jealousy was a live wire, burning through your carefully constructed indifference.

Taking a deep breath, you restored the careful wall you had up, hiding your anger and jealousy. Now, there was only indifference. You slid out from under the car, your face blank, not wanting to reveal yourself.

"Not too cheesy. It'll be fine." You said coolly, wiping your hands with a rag.

The coolness in your voice, the blankness of your face -- it was a weapon you’d used on him before, but this time, it landed differently. It didn't push him away. It made him stop.

He studied you, his own casual posture stiffening. The forced smile he’d been wearing faltered and died. He saw right through the indifference. He’d become an expert in your tells, and the rigid set of your shoulders, the too-careful wiping of your hands, screamed anything but 'fine'.

“Will you be there?” he asked, his voice quiet, dropping the pretense of the date entirely. “At game night? If I… if I don’t go?”

The question hung in the oily air, a direct challenge to your wall. He wasn’t asking about D&D. He was asking if you wanted him there. If you’d choose his presence over your own pride.

You kept your eyes on the rag, twisting it in your hands. “It’s game night. Everyone’s there.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You finally looked at him. The carefully constructed indifference was cracking, revealing the hurt and jealousy simmering beneath. “Why does it matter, Steve? You have a date. With Tammy. Go have your stupid ice cream and get out of my garage.”

Steve frowned at your harsh behavior.

"Why are you acting like that?"

You turned towards him, your eyes now blazing.

"Like what?" You snapped venomously, daring him to continue. But he'd never been scared of you. Not even when he should've been.

"Like you did when you hated me." He responded, his voice low.

The words were a bucket of ice water. They stopped your venomous tirade cold. Like you did when you hated me.

You stared at him, the anger draining from your face, leaving behind a cold, sick horror. That’s exactly what you were doing. You were rebuilding the fortress, brick by furious brick, because it was easier than admitting the terrifying truth: you didn’t hate him at all. You were in love with him, and the thought of him with someone else felt like a physical wound. But it didn't matter. You weren't someone who ever got what they wanted. You were a Byers, and a Byers never got the happy ending.

"I don't-- Just go, Steve." You said, deflated.

You were tired of fighting your feelings in the face of disappointment. If things were ever going to work between you and Steve, he wouldn't have arranged a date with a woman who was nowhere similar to you.

"Y/n--"

"Go." You bit out, your anger beginning to reignite.

Without another word, Steve grabbed his keys and left the garage. You ignored how hurt his face looked. You ignored how his eyes seemed to shimmer, as if holding tears back. You ignored everything and slid back under the Civic, working with gritted teeth.

Things had officially met their climax. And at their climax, you thought, they'd met their end. Your inability to contain your jealousy had ruined one of the only good things you had.

Grunting, you slid out from under the car, throwing your wrench at the wall with frustration. It made a loud sound, a clang assaulting your ears.

A tear dripped from your eye as you packed up to leave.

The fourth and final time, the time that your walls finally collapsed, was in the aftermath.

Game night was cancelled for Steve's date, as if that could make it any worse. You sat in your living room with a gallon of ice cream, a murderous expression on your face, eating it aggressively and watching some dumb soap opera on the crackly TV. Jonathan sat in the recliner across from you, Will curled up beside you, and your mom sat in the kitchen doing a crossword puzzle. They all knew what the problem was. It was easy to tell.

The silence in the living room was broken only by the melodramatic whispers from the TV and the angry scrape of your spoon against the cardboard ice cream tub. You were demolishing a gallon of "Midnight Marshmallow Madness," a neon blue atrocity you’d chosen specifically for its aggressive, synthetic cheerfulness.

Jonathan glanced over the top of his photography magazine, his expression a mix of sympathy and exasperation. “You know, eating your feelings is technically a form of emotional processing. But I think you’re trying to hurt your ice cream.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled around a mouthful of blue goo.

Will, nestled under your arm, patted your leg. “He’s just worried you’re gonna get a stomachache, sissy.”

“I’m fine,” you said, the words dripping with a bitterness that contradicted them entirely. His sweet, innocent brotherly nickname that he usually weaponized to get you to be nice failed miserably.

From the kitchen, the sound of a pencil tapping impatiently on the Formica table cut through the soap opera’s swelling music. “Honey,” Joyce called, her voice carrying that particular motherly tone that was both gentle and unyielding. “You’ve been ‘fine’ for two hours and two-thirds of that tub. The ice cream didn’t do anything to you.”

“It’s keeping me company,” you shot back, digging your spoon in with renewed vigor.

Jonathan set his magazine down. “Look. We get it. Steve’s an idiot. We all know he fucked up," he asserted.

"Language, Jonathan!" Your mother scolded from the kitchen.

"But sitting here poisoning yourself with artificial dye isn’t gonna change that.” He finished.

“I’m not trying to change anything!” you snapped, finally looking at him. “I’m just… sitting here. Watching TV. Is that a crime now?”

“It is when you’re using the spoon like a weapon,” Will observed quietly, wisely ducking his head as you glared at him.

Joyce appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed. She looked tired, but her eyes were sharp. “You’re hurting, sweetie. And that’s okay. What’s not okay is letting that hurt turn you back into the girl who assaults people in alleys and gets arrested.”

The words hit their mark. You deflated, the fight going out of you. You stared down at the half-melted blue sludge in the tub. “I just… I finally let the wall down. And he just… walked right through it and out the other side to get ice cream with Tammy Thompson.” The name tasted like ash. You looked down at the ice cream in your lap like it was an accomplice in Steve's crime, then slammed another spoon full.

“Did he?” Jonathan asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“He said he had a date!”

“So what if he does?” Joyce murmured, exchanging a knowing look with Jonathan. “Steve does stupid things when he’s scared.”

“Scared of what?” you grumbled, but the question lacked its earlier heat.

Before anyone could answer, a familiar, tentative knock sounded at the front door.

Four pairs of Byers eyes snapped to the sound.

You froze, spoon hovering midway to your mouth.

Joyce raised an eyebrow at you. “Well? Are you going to answer it, or are you going to make him stand out there all night? I don’t think the ice cream’s going to help you with this one, baby.”

The gallon tub suddenly felt like a lead weight in your hands. The walls you’d spent the evening feverishly reconstructing felt paper-thin. The climax had passed, leaving you in the wreckage. And Steve Harrington was knocking on the door, ready or not.

You scrambled up, slamming the ice cream down on the coffee table, and went to answer the door.

Steve Harrington stood outside the front door. He looked like hell. His hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes were red-rimmed. In his hands, he held not a cherry slushie, but a sad, slightly melted single-serving cup of vanilla ice cream from the Gas-N-Sip. The cheap kind.

You stared at him, then at the pathetic little cup, then back at his face. The anger, the hurt, the blue-dye-induced nausea -- it all coalesced into a single, stunned thought: He looks worse than I feel.

“You’re supposed to be on a date,” you said, your voice hollow.

“I was,” he said, the words rough. “For about twenty minutes. At the diner. Then she started talking about her vocal exercises for regionals, and all I could think about was how you’d make that face -- the one where you try not to laugh but your nose scrunches up anyway.” He took a shaky breath. “And then I just… left. I told her I had an emergency. I think she cried. I’m probably an asshole.”

You stepped outside into the summer air, closing the door behind you. Your socked feet could feel every pebble beneath you on the doorstep.

He held up the little cup of ice cream. “I got this. For you. It’s not cherry, and it’s not a slushy, but… you like ice cream. I thought maybe… Peace offering?” He questioned, his confidence faltering under your gaze.

From the living room, there was a sudden, exaggerated scrape of chairs and the sound of the TV clicking off. “Well!” Joyce’s voice carried, bright and false. “Will, Jonathan, help me with the dishes! In the kitchen. Right now.”

You didn’t turn around. You heard the hurried shuffle of your family retreating, granting you privacy. The front porch light buzzed softly, painting Steve in a sickly yellow glow.

“Why?” you asked, the word barely a whisper.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said, stepping closer, forcing you to either step back or let him in. You held your ground. “Because I got scared. Because you let me hold you when you were sick, and it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and then you looked at me like a stranger the next day, so I knew it was the right choice to leave before you woke up. And I thought… I thought if I tried to move on, if I proved I could, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much that you didn’t want me.”

You frowned. “I never said I didn’t want you, Steve.”

His eyes widened, a flicker of desperate hope in the storm. “Then what do you want, Y/N? Because I’m going crazy here. The quarry, the couch… every time I get close, you run. And I get it. I do. I’m Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. I was a dick. I have a history. But that’s not who I am with you. You have to know that.”

Tears pricked your eyes, blurring his anxious face. “I know that,” you choked out. “It’s not you I’m scared of, Steve. It’s me. It’s this.” You gestured weakly between the two of you. “Byers don’t get… this. We get monsters and moving vans and broken taillights. We don’t get… cherry slushies and stupid, perfect boys who hold us when we’re sick. It doesn’t work out. It can’t. Something always goes wrong.”

He dropped the Gas-N-Sip ice cream on the small table by the door. It landed with a soft thud. Both of his hands hurriedly came up, cradling your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that were now falling in earnest. The closest you'd ever let him get to you. His touch was warm, calloused from basketball and stupid, chivalrous fights, and so unbearably gentle.

“Then let it go wrong,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Let the world end. Let the Upside Down break through again. I don’t care. I want you. I have since I looked up and realized you whooped my ass. Please. Just… let me in. All the way in.”

It was the rawest thing anyone had ever said to you. It wasn’t a smooth line. It wasn’t a promise of forever. It was a plea to face the inevitable disaster together. It was so perfectly, terribly Steve. The last of your walls, built from years of protecting a family that had seen too much, crumbled into dust. They didn’t fall with a dramatic crash, but with a quiet, final sigh.

You leaned into his hands, closing your eyes for a second, letting the feel of him anchor you. When you opened them, you saw only him -- his hurting, beautiful face, his ridiculous hair, his heart right there in his eyes, offered to you without conditions.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His breath hitched. “Okay?”

You nodded, a fresh tear tracing a path his thumb had already cleared. “Okay. But you’re explaining to the kids. Including my brothers.”

A laugh burst out of him, a ragged, relieved sound that was half-sob. “Deal.”

He didn’t kiss you then. Not yet. Instead, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it almost hurt. You buried your face in the familiar soft cotton of his t-shirt, breathing in the scent of him -- laundry detergent, cheap cologne, and Steve. Your arms wound around his waist, holding on just as tight.

You stood there on the porch, tangled together in the buzzing yellow light, for a long time. From the kitchen window, three pairs of Byers eyes discreetly looked away, smiles on their faces.

Finally, he leaned back, just enough to look at you. His eyes were clear now, shining. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “So… you're my girl now, right? So you can't punch me anymore?”

You smiled, a real one, for the first time all day. It felt like the sun coming out. “Shut up, Harrington.”

And then, because the waiting was over, and the walls were down, and you were finally, finally done being scared, you kissed him.

It wasn’t a quarry kiss, born of impulse and water. It was a porch kiss, born of melted ice cream and tear-stained admissions and a long, hard road. It was soft, and a little salty, and so right it made your bones ache. His hands slid into your hair, and yours fisted in the back of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he was grinning that lopsided, heart-stopping grin.

“Maybe only once a month then,” he corrected, his voice a low hum against your lips. "But make it gentle."

You laughed, the sound light and free, echoing in the quiet Hawkins night. “Yeah,” you agreed, stealing one more quick kiss. “Alright.”

When Will got together with his friends the next day, he couldn't shut up about it.

“And then they kissed,” Will finished, triumphantly, as if delivering the final, winning piece of evidence. “And Mom made us all stay in the kitchen and pretend to wash already-clean dishes for like, twenty minutes after. But I saw through the crack in the door. They just held each other for forever.”

Max, who had been quietly listening while sharpening the edge of a skateboard with a file, finally spoke up, a small, rare smile on her lips. “Took them long enough. The sexual tension was giving me a migraine.”

“Ew, Max!” Mike groaned, while the others laughed.

Will just beamed, hugging a throw pillow to his chest. He felt a proprietary sort of joy about the whole thing. He’d seen it first. He’d known before anyone, maybe even before Steve and his sister themselves. He’d watched the story unfold from the couch, a front-row seat to the best kind of monster-less adventure.

“So,” Dustin said, leaning forward, his scientific curiosity piqued. “What’s the protocol now? Does this mean Steve officially becomes, like, a Byers? Does he get a Christmas stocking at your house?”

Will grinned. “Mom’s already talking about adding more leaves to the table for Thanksgiving.”

The basement erupted into a fresh wave of discussion -- debates on couple nicknames (vehemently vetoed by Will), predictions on how long it would take for Steve to try and fix something at the Byers house only to make it worse (Lucas gave it a week), and whether this meant they could guilt-trip Steve into more free rentals at Family Video (Dustin’s primary concern).

But Will tuned most of it out, still lost in the perfect memory of the night before: his fierce, stubborn sister, finally choosing something soft. And Steve Harrington, the former king of Hawkins High, looking at her like she’d hung the moon, holding a cup of crappy ice cream like it was a holy offering.

He had the best sister ever. He really did. And she was finally happy.

[slurpinondatfanta]

જ⁀➴ shut up

steve harrington x popular!fem!reader

𑣲 content: secret relationship, needy!steve, reader is bitchy, secret meet up, angsty, touchy!steve, janitors closet make out, nervous!steve, lowercase intended, fluff, jealous!steve, tension, tina aka madelyn cline mention.

𑣲 summary: steve harrington being a known player at hawkins high starts a secret, casual relationship with the school’s it girl

𑣲 authors note: soooo i may or may not do a part 2 just cuz i got kinda lazy and didn’t know how to finish so perhaps they go to steve’s place and the party and things happen lmk if there’s interest there!!

you weren’t sure why it had to be steve harrington you hooked up with that night. surprisingly, you weren’t even that tipsy; you had what, like two shots? the hair you would usually find stupid was now stupidly perfect, and those wide, pathetic, puppy dog eyes never failed to piss you off.

after you had hooked up for the first time at that random party, he had tried to play it cool, flirting with you expecting a flirty response from your side as well, but oh was he wrong. you and tina laughed right in his face and tommy and carol teased him about the interaction for weeks.

you and steve have been secretly hooking up for about two months now. you saw it as nothing but casual make outs and sometimes, those make outs led to casual sex. but steve, steve was completely hooked on you.

he was clearly upset when you told him that what you guys were doing was nothing serious. and of course, he tried to hide it, but steve harrington is a guy who can’t fake anything.

you and steve were familiar with each other before this all started, so he knew you were kinda known to be a bitch. you’ve made fun of steve since the day you met each other. it was just playful banter and teasing and he'd play along, but his words were never as harsh as yours.

yes, you’d be lying if you said that there weren't some feelings on your side. steve was obviously attractive and his style wasn't terrible, but he was still a player. he was literally called “king steve.” he was a total cliche, and you couldn’t help but feel mortified at the thought of people finding out you’ve been sleeping around with the famous steve harrington.

the halls were full of voices when the guy had just come up behind you while you and tina were talking about her being grounded yet again for the party she threw last weekend.

"well hello, ladies.” you turned around, confused at the random greeting.

oh god.

there he stood with his hair, of course looking as perfect as ever and his two friends, tommy and carol stood right by his side.

"hey steve," tina responded with a smile as she leaned against the lockers next to you. even though tina was your best friend, she was one of the many people who didn’t know that you and "king steve" hook up from time to time.

you sighed as you looked to tina, then to steve who had his stupid, pretty boy smile plastered on his face. "what do you want?" you raised your brows, waiting for a response. tommy and carol stood to the side of him; as usual, carol was chewing gum and tommy wore that cheesy grin.

"just wanted to see if you guys are gonna go to that party tonight? heard it's gonna be crazy."

you looked up at him, clearly unimpressed. "i don't know, tina's grounded so unless she sneaks out, i probably won't go," you said plainly.

"right, right, right." he turned to tommy, hoping he would save him right now, but he and carol just giggled at his nervous state.

"i could sneak out." tina shrugged and steve's gaze quickly went back to the both of you, clearly happy about the words that just came out her mouth.

"great! so you'll come then?" he directed the question to you, his eyes full of desperation.

those stupid puppy dog eyes. douche.

"i guess so," you replied. steve smiled and nodded his head before turning to tommy, whose arm was now wrapped around carol. "see you guys tonight," tommy said, keeping that grin on his face as the three of them walked off.

"what a nag." you rolled your eyes, which caused tina to let out a laugh.

"what's his deal?" she said and you turned to look at her, leaning against the lockers as well.

"what do you mean?"

she shrugs. "i d'know, he’s just been acting odd i guess."

“he’s always odd,” you reply.

tina bursts out in laughter and you shove her playfully.

you and tina were sitting with a couple of other girls in the cafeteria. steve’s eyes were on you—they always were. you only sat together once in a while mostly because your groups overlapped but you usually preferred your own friends.

steve watched as one of the guys who was on the basketball team with him approach you with a smug grin.

you looked away from the girl across from you, to the boy standing above you to the right. steve couldn’t hear what he was saying from here but it was clear he was flirting. you had that calm expression on your face that looked as if you had all the power in the conversation, which knowing you, you probably did.

steve was completely blocking tommy out, though tommy was sitting right across from him. tommy was talking about some teacher, but right now he couldn’t care less; he couldn’t help but study your face, watching your reaction to every single thing this guy was saying to you.

you could feel steve’s eyes on you. you always could. you were used to being watched, but his eyes? they were always the most obvious.

after lunch ended you went straight to class, talking to tina on the way over. fifth period went by quickly before you felt someone yank you into a room as you were walking the crowded halls.

your attempt to scream was stopped as a hand covered your mouth. you hit the hand before you recognized the voice that finally spoke up. “hey, hey, it’s me! calm down!” you rolled your eyes. “jesus, steve, i almost pissed my pants! and you probably ruined my lip gloss!” he laughs at your reaction.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles while his hands are moving towards you. he leans in to place a kiss against your soft lips, as he pulls away his eyes stay closed, taking in the whole thing.

“why couldn’t we meet under the bleachers or something? it’s so dark in here.” you said.

he shrugs. “i missed you, i guess. i didn’t have time to leave a note in your locker,” he explained while his hands started to play with the hem of your skirt. you weren’t sure how you should respond to that, so you just kept quiet.

“you’re right though. it’s so dark in here i can barely see your pretty face.” your face scrunched at his words. “shut up, steve” you rolled your eyes.

he searched for a light, moving his hand above the both of you for a pull switch. he pulled and the room was now cheaply lit.

he smiled softly as he moved your hair behind your ear. you looked down at your shoes as he did so, trying your best to not make any eye contact. you knew what he looked like. the puppy dog eyes weren’t something you could handle right now.

“you wanna hang out after school? we could go to mine, it’ll be fun. my parents are on some business trip…” you kept your gaze on your shoes until you responded.

“didn’t you just harass me about that party tonight?” you glared at him as he shrugged. “well, i figured it would be cooler, y’know? or we could go after we hang at the party for a while.”

you looked up at his brown eyes and could see the nervousness coursing through him. “what’s with you?” you asked a bit too harshly. his brows quickly furrowed and he looked at you defensively. “what do you mean?”

you sighed, looking away before speaking again. “you’re being weird. you were also being weirder than usual when you came up to me and tina.”

“well i didn’t think it was weird. we talk sometimes, right?” you didn’t know how to respond for a second. “i mean– i don’t know i guess but it was just awkward. tina could tell something was up,” you struggled to get the words out.

“i just wanted to see you i didn’t know it was a weird thing.” steve’s eyes were now avoiding yours as he tried to explain himself. “it’s not. i just–” you didn’t know what to say.

what was up with you?

“well do you just wanna go to the party then?” he asked, his tone soft but his face was still defensive. you rolled your eyes, “i guess. i don’t care.”

“do you wanna go to the party because of wilkins?” he asked out of no where. you looked up at him, your brows were now furrowed as well. “who?” you spat.

“he talked to you today. i figured he asked you about it he’s going tonight.” you let out a sharp laugh. “are you talking about chris? he was bothering me about it so what?” he shrugged, “so are you going for him?”

you shook your head and your jaw stays open in shock. “i’m not into chris wilkins, steve!”

he sighed, his eyes still avoiding yours. “why does that matter anyway? we’re not together?” you rose your brows but he didn’t reply, just stood there like an idiot.

you looked away from the sad sight in front of you. you didn’t mean to be so harsh, it just happened and you know you should apologize, but it felt weird to.

“listen, i didn’t–” you began but steve spoke up before you could finish, “it’s fine, you’re right, we’re not together i know that.” he looked different now, not like he usually did. his eyes were sad and they almost made you want to cry. he usually had that confident, charming expression. now it was gone and this new look had been because of you.

you weren’t sure what to say but you knew that you needed to escape the silence. you moved towards him even though you were already quite close with how tight the closet is. you touched his arm softly, then slowly moved up to his neck. his shoulders lost of confidence, were now slightly slumped.

he finally looks at you, his soft eyes looking at you waiting for what you have to say. “we can go to your place if you want?” steve didn’t respond, his eyes looked over you before he glanced to the floor. you follow his face to try to get an idea of what’s going on in his mind.

“do you not want to anymore?” you asked quietly as you were gently stroking his neck. he shook his head, “no, i want to.” you felt relief wash over you. he couldn’t be so upset and still want you to come over right?

you tried to read his expressions one more time before you leaned in to give him a soft kiss. he kissed back immediately, his lips pressing against yours with desperation.

“i missed you,” you mumbled into the kiss. you usually only said things like that in the heat of moments like this. steve barely groaned at your words you uttered. his hands clumsily roam your body, sliding down your back and gripping your ass through the short jean skirt you were wearing.

steve wasn’t angry, just hurt. he felt stupid that he always had this small thought you would be even a bit open to being something more than just dumb hookups. there were so many moments where he thought he loved you, which was weird because it was just two months ago where you almost couldn’t stand each other. when you would tease him like it was a part of your daily routine. when he looked at you as nothing but a friend of a friend. when he looked at you as just another girl at hawkins high.

he supposed he didn’t totally mind that you guys were casual. he just wanted to see you. hear your voice, talk to you, touch you.

[lazysoulwriter]

packed with love

content: marriage, coach!steve, sweetness overload

he spots you before you even reach the fence.

it’s instinctive now — the way his head lifts, eyes scanning automatically, like his body just knows when you’re close. the practice is still going, kids running bases, yelling too loud, dust in the air. steve has his cap pulled low, whistle hanging around his neck, sleeves rolled up.

then he sees the tote bag.

his mouth curves into that soft, private smile he only ever saves for you.

“alright, five-minute water break,” he calls, already walking toward you.

you lean against the fence, all cozy and pretty, holding up the bag like a prize. “you forgot lunch. again.”

he exhales a laugh, hands immediately finding your waist through the chain links. “i didn’t forget,” he says. “i just… knew you’d save me.”

you roll your eyes but lean in anyway, forehead resting against his. he smells like sunscreen and grass and that familiar steve warmth that makes your chest feel full.

“you’re impossible,” you murmur.

“yeah,” he agrees easily, kissing the corner of your mouth. “but i married you, so i’m clearly doing something right.”

you hand him the bag and he opens it like it’s sacred. his shoulders drop the second he takes the first bite.

“jesus,” he sighs. “this is so much better than cafeteria food.”

you watch him chew, watch the way he stands closer than necessary, one hand always touching you — your hip, your wrist, your back. married steve is like this: casual affection, constant closeness, like he never wants space from you.

one of the kids yells, “coach! is that your wife?”

steve doesn’t even look back. “yep.”

you smile. “very proudly married, apparently.”

he grins, leans in, presses a kiss to your temple. “always.”

when he finally finds the note, he reads it quietly, lips moving just a little. something in his expression softens even more — like he’s storing the moment away.

“hey,” he says softly, catching your hand. “thanks for taking care of me.”

you shrug, playful. “that’s kind of the deal.”

he squeezes your fingers. “best deal i ever made.”

the whistle blows again, reluctantly. he steals one last kiss — quick, sweet, familiar — before stepping back onto the field.

and you watch him go, heart full, knowing he’ll be home later, tired and smiling, ready to be loved all over again.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[virgin-ty]

misc. st p!links

pussy hungry steve

riding Jonathan in his car

mike breeding his gf

steve goes in anyway

kisses w/ needy bf mike

riding dustins thigh

billy folding you in half

eddie fucking you on the couch

spitroasted by wheelclair

henrys suit stays on

girls night with nancy

robin couldn't resist you in your new outfit

totally innocent sleepover with max

[wildpalmtrees]

i keep your picture up on the wall ⋮ mike wheeler drabble

content: fluff, first kiss, no established relationship, so cutesyyyyy, based on a request via @finjascherry, (not proofread!)

your fifth date with mike wheeler was supposed to be nothing special. a day at starcourt with peppermint treats and scarves.

your hands interlaced like woven yarn, his fingers fit perfectly in yours like they were meant to be there. in the other hand mike held the bag of small candles and trinkets you had picked up along the day with you having a soda in yours. aside from a few hugs, this is all you've guys have done. keeping it comfortable, keeping it safe.

the mall was busy with parents window-shopping and unsupervised kids running ahead to the playground. you and mike padded along the cheap tiles, with him talking about a new comic book he had just read. that was until you saw a photo booth with a flashy sign that said 'now in color, you ought'a try!' now that looked too fun to pass up.

eyes wide like a doe, you shake the hand that held yours with animation and point to it. "oh my god we should go take pictures!" and without an answer, you drag a hesitant mike to the confined box that was decorated with fun stickers and retro curtains.

if you've ever seen mike wheeler in a photograph, boy you'd laugh. he's the awkward adolescent that stands tall and arms straight, giving a strained smile with dark curls on his face that he doesn't bother to fix. he doesn't like his photo being taken, he doesn't like looking at himself through grainy images, but how could he resist you?

after much struggle of trying to figure the machine out, you slid in the money and the countdown starts. five, four... "okay, quick, what do we do? make it count!" you jump up and down from your seat, tapping your hand in your lap. "uuuuhh..."

the first flash clicks.

"oh shoot! uhm—" the countdown beeps again. make it count. make it count.

and without thinking you grab mike's face and plant your lips on his, nails digging into his cheeks. he sits there for a second, not knowing how to respond. his cheeks turn to a shade of pretty plum, forehead wrinkled from surprise.

mike pictured his first kiss with you differently—way differently. the image he painted in his head was one where you guys were walking in a park around sunset and right when the honey orange gleams of light hit your face perfectly, he would kiss you. this was not that. instead he's sitting there like a rock with googgly eyes.

the second flash clicks.

this time, neither of you are prepared for the next picture. you pull back, a smile miles wide on your face like a pure angel. mike stared at you in utter shock from the collision of your lips. but he smiles back, full rows of teeth embarrassingly showcased.

all the two of you could do was giggle and avoid eye-contact, ears becoming red and the small booth became even smaller.

the third flash clicks.

for the last one, mike puts his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close to him, displaying his usual awkward smile as you give a beaming one to the camera. you reach to the hand that was over you and hold it. "say cheese,"

"cheeeeeese!" the final flash is engraved into your vision, but you're engraved into mike's.

a few days later he comes over to your house for a casual hangout afterschool. mike's nervous, he always is. but he's extra nervous because the kiss is still echoing his thoughts like a romance film on repeat.

your sweet scent lingers from the stairs as he treads up, almost like a fresh cherry pie hanging by a window sill. the first door he sees is ornamented with dangling strings of pink hearts and stars. a muffled yell calls for him, "mike? i'm in here!"

he twists the gold knob cautiously as if he isn't supposed to be here, and when he steps through it feels like he's entered a whole new universe. your room was decorated with pink and cream striped wallpaper that fit perfectly in the feminine setting. posters hung from them, those of the beatles, david bowie, and billy joel. the windows fogged with condensation as the setting hawkins sun illuminated your dim room.

you sat at your desk, scribbling on the last of your homework before turning your chair to mike's direction. "hey, you." a grin shapes your glossed lips as you nudge your head for him to sit on your bed.

he sits down on your sheets rigidly like he doesn't want to crush the delicateness of the satin. it's uncomfortable at first, but when the vanilla candle streams into his nostrils, mike feels himself calm down—just a little. his eyes trace every intricate detail of your bedroom, observing the hardly-used guitar that was displayed in a corner, the record player that softly hummed a jazz song, and the peacoats that hung on your door.

his sights landed on the bulletin board that crowned above your desk. there were polaroids of you and your friends, of your pets, and of him. the picture you two took a few days prior pinned with a red-heart drawn by his face. "i can't believe you put that up." your eyes follow to where mike was looking and your smile stretches. "yeah, why wouldn't i?"

"i look like an idiot," mike cringes at the reaction when you kissed him. face flustered and cheeks shining the brightest of reds. "like seriously—a deer in headlights!" his body turns warm despite the cool temperature in your house and forces his eyes off of the photo strip. you rise from your chair and plop down beside him on the bed. "a cute idiot."

his eyes roll back slightly and he grabs your hand. there's only a split second before he reenacts the kiss days prior, but this time under his own terms. no cameras, no blinding lights, just a boy kissing a girl.

much better.

[discodjo]

Temporary Fix | Steve Harrington

Chapter One - Secrets

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: fwb mention, no feelings, heated make out, tension, mild language, playful arguments.

word count: 4.9k

series masterlist

summary: you and steve were friends first, and that was the part that mattered. everything else, the late nights, the quiet routine, the way he kept showing up, didn’t mean anything. it was easy. something the two of you fell into without really thinking about it. something that didn’t need to be explained. because as long as it stayed like this, nothing had to change. right?

an: hey!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this story. thank you for taking the time out of your day for this :) if you have any ideas on where you’d like to see the story go, i’m all for them! this chapter is a little all over the place, but it’s what i envisioned.

reblogs are appreciated <3

🎧

everybody talks — neon trees

i know you — faye webster

space song — beach house

apocalypse — cigarettes after sex

sex, drugs, etc. — beach weather

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

The thing about secrets is that they’re a lot easier to keep when no one thinks to look for them.

Which, luckily for you, no one in your friend group ever did.

Mostly because everyone was too busy arguing.

“Okay, I’m telling you right now,” Eddie Munson said from the armchair, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten bag of chips. “That movie was objectively terrible.”

Across the room, Robin Buckley scoffed. “You have terrible taste.”

“I have great taste,” Eddie said, pointing a chip at her like it was evidence.

“You picked the movie where the killer is literally just a guy in a rubber mask.”

“It’s a classic!”

“It’s barely a movie.”

From the couch beside you, Steve Harrington leaned forward slightly. “Pretty sure the budget was like… twelve dollars.”

You snorted, tossing a pretzel at him. “Don’t act like you didn’t scream when the guy popped out of the closet.”

Steve caught the pretzel easily. “I didn’t scream.”

“You flinched.”

“Woah look at that reaction, so tactical.”

“Sure it was.”

He tossed the pretzel back at you, hitting your shoulder.

Across the room, Eddie groaned loudly. “Will you two stop?”

“You started it,” you said, pointing at him.

“I started a movie night,” Eddie shot back. “Not whatever this is.”

You stuck your tongue out at him from across the room.

“Oh wow,” Eddie said flatly. “Very mature.”

You grabbed another pretzel from the bowl and tossed it at him. It bounced off his chest.

Eddie looked down at it.

Then back at you.

“…you’re banned.”

“You can’t ban people from movie night,” Robin said from the couch.

“Watch me.”

Steve leaned back against the couch beside you.

“You started that.”

“Oh please,” you shot back. “He deserved it.”

“For what?”

“For complaining.”

Steve scoffed. “You threw food at him.”

“And?”

Across the room, Eddie threw his hands up. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

Robin pointed between the two of you. “You guys argue like you’ve been married for ten years.”

You felt Steve go still next to you for half a second.

Then he scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for another pretzel. “Relax, Buckley. Harrington’s not my type.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up immediately. “Oh really?” she said, leaning forward. “Okay, now I’m curious.”

Across the room, Eddie pointed at you dramatically.“Yeah, what is your type?”

You pretended to think about it for a second. “Hm… someone quiet,” you said.

Robin snorted. “Already the opposite of Steve.”

“And maybe someone a little mysterious.”

Eddie nodded seriously. “Still not Steve.”

“And humble,” you added.

That made Robin laugh. “Definitely not Steve.”

You popped the pretzel into your mouth with a small shrug. “See? Totally different.”

Across the room, Nancy Wheeler smiled faintly while Johnathan Byers glanced up from his camera, looking mildly confused about how the conversation had turned to him. No one noticed the way Steve had gone quiet beside you.

Except you, obviously.

You reached for another pretzel from the bowl on the coffee table, but before your fingers could grab one, Steve’s hand slid in first, brushing lightly against yours. The contact wasn’t accidental, and he didn’t pull away right away. Then he grabbed a pretzel and leaned back against the couch like nothing had happened. No one else in the room noticed, but when you glanced over at him, Steve was already looking at you. Only for a second before he looked away again.

Eddie suddenly clapped his hands together like he’d just solved something important. A collective groan moved through the room immediately—everyone knew that tone meant he had come up with a new rule. Robin didn’t even bother looking up from where she sat, already shaking her head before he could explain whatever idea had formed in his brain. He announced it anyway, declaring that anyone who complained about the movie should be responsible for picking the next one. The suggestion immediately sparked another argument.

Jonathan made a quiet observation from the side about how everyone seemed to spend more time arguing about movies than actually watching them, which only made things worse. Within seconds the room dissolved into overlapping complaints about Eddie’s movie choices, Robin’s criticism of literally everything, and Eddie loudly insisting his picks were “cult classics.”

That was roughly the moment Eddie grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed it across the room.

Robin shrieked, the entire living room went into complete chaos of popcorn flying everywhere. Someone ducking behind the armchair, Eddie nearly knocking over a lamp as he was trying to defend himself.

You leaned back against the couch cushions, laughing as the argument completely collapsed into a full popcorn fight. Moments like this were exactly why these people meant so much to you. Somewhere along the way—without any real plan or reason—you had all just sort of found each other. At a time when you probably needed it most.

And for a moment, sitting there in the middle of all the noise and flying popcorn, it felt exactly the way it was supposed to. Across the room, Nancy checked the time on her watch. “We should probably go,” she said, nudging Jonathan lightly.

Jonathan nodded, slinging his camera strap over his shoulder. “Yeah, I promised my mom I wouldn’t stay out too late.”

“Since when do you keep promises?” Eddie asked.

“And since when do you listen to your mom?” You added.

Jonathan shrugged. “Since my mom started enforcing them.”

Chairs scraped the floor as everyone started standing up, stretching, gathering jackets.

Robin grabbed her bag. “Steve, we open tomorrow at nine. Don’t forget.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered.

“I’m serious. If you’re late again I’m telling Keith it was your fault.”

“You tell Keith everything is my fault.”

“Because it usually is.”

The group slowly filtered toward the door, saying quick goodbyes and arguing about what movie to watch next time. You lingered near the couch, finishing the last pretzel from the bowl. By the time you looked up again, most of the room had emptied out.

Eddie was digging through a cabinet.

Robin was halfway out the door.

Nancy and Jonathan had already left.

Steve was standing a few feet away, grabbing his keys from the table when he noticed you were still there.

“You heading out?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Steve twirled the keys around his finger for a second before tilting his head toward the door. “I can give you a ride.”

You grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair.

“Sure.”

Steve’s car sat under the dim streetlight, the metal reflecting faint orange from the lamp above. He unlocked the doors with a quick click, walking around to the driver’s side while you slid into the passenger seat. The inside of the car smelled faintly like leather and whatever cologne Steve had started wearing recently - you obviously noticed he’d changed it.

Steve started the engine, the radio crackling softly to life as he pulled out onto the road.

“You were brutal back there,” he said after a minute.

You glanced over at him. “About what?”

“My personality apparently.”

You shrugged. “They asked.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Quiet, mysterious, humble,” he repeated. “That’s your type?”

“Something like that.”

“Wow.”

You smirked a little, looking out the window. “Don’t sound so offended.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Sure.”

Steve glanced over at you for half a second before looking back at the road. Streetlights slid past the windows in slow intervals as Steve drove. The glow from each one cut across his face for a second before disappearing again, shadows settling back in across the car.

One hand rested loosely at the top of the steering wheel, fingers tapping lightly in time with the quiet music coming from the radio. His other arm was draped casually along the door, sleeve pushed up just enough to show the faint line of his watch. Steve always looked strangely relaxed when he drove.

You leaned your elbow against the door, watching the dark houses pass outside. “You’re being quiet,” you said.

Steve glanced over briefly. “So are you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

You shrugged. “I’m mysterious.” you joked.

That earned a short laugh from him. “Right. That was on your list, wasn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “What’s on your list?”

Steve glanced over at you for a second before looking back at the road, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’m sure it’s something incredibly profound.”

“Yeah, actually,” he said. “It is.”

You leaned back in your seat. “Go on then.”

Steve tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “Well,” he said casually, “first requirement is someone who doesn’t throw pretzels at people.”

You snorted. “Guess I’m out already.”

“Immediately,” Steve said.

You just huffed a quiet breath, leaning back against the seat. For a second the car filled with the soft hum of the engine and the quiet music from the radio.

You glanced over at him again. “Seriously though, what’s on your list?”

Steve took a second before answering, eyes still on the road.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Just… a nice girl, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged slightly. “Someone who’s easy to be around.”

The streetlight passed over his face again, casting brief shadows across his expression. “Someone who actually likes the same stuff I do,” he continued. “Doesn’t think everything I say is stupid.”

You watched him quietly as he spoke.

“A girl who’s… I don’t know,” he said, searching for the word. “Sweet, I guess.”

He glanced over at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Normal.”

Outside, the neighborhood grew quieter as Steve turned down your street, the tires rolling slowly over the uneven pavement while the headlights swept across the familiar row of houses. When your house came into view, he eased the car toward the curb and parked, leaving the engine running as the quiet settled back over the street. You glanced toward the porch light, then back at him. For a moment he didn’t move, just leaning back slightly in his seat with his fingers still resting loosely against the steering wheel.

Then he finally looked over. “You gonna invite me in,” he asked casually, “or am I just your personal chauffeur tonight?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You willingly offer me a ride home and suddenly you’re fishing for an invitation?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, looking back out through the windshield. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

You studied him for a second, then glanced back toward the house. The porch light had switched on automatically, casting a soft glow over the steps and the small patch of lawn. “C’mon,” you said, reaching for the car door handle.

Steve shut off the engine and stepped out a second after you did, the car door closing with a soft thud behind him.

You walked up the short walkway toward your front porch, gravel crunching softly under your shoes as Steve followed a step behind. When you reached the steps, you turned slightly and pulled your keys from your pocket.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, glancing up at him.

“Anytime.”

You turned back toward the door and slid your key into the lock, but before you could twist it, Steve spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“You really meant that?”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “Meant what?”

Steve shrugged slightly, like it wasn’t important.“Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him for a second. “…Okay.”

You turned back toward the door and slid your key into the lock. You were just about to turn the key in the lock when Steve spoke, looking toward the driveway. “Your parents aren’t home again?”

Your hand paused on the knob for half a second. Then you cleared your throat lightly. “Uh… yeah.”You twisted the lock and pushed the door open before the conversation could go any further. You stepped inside first, the door creaking softly as it swung open. After a second you turned back and pushed it wider, stepping aside to give him room.“C’mon,” you said, gesturing inside. “After you.”

Steve didn’t argue. He stepped past you into the house, glancing around out of habit even though he’d been there plenty of times before, the door closing quietly behind him.

You kicked your shoes off near the door, tossing your keys onto the small table by the wall. “Make yourself at home,” you said casually, walking farther into the living room.

Steve snorted quietly behind you. “Don’t mind if I do.”

You glanced back in time to see him shrug his jacket off and toss it over the back of the couch like he belonged there. You dropped onto the couch first, leaning back against the cushions. Steve lingered for a second before sitting down beside you.

The TV across the room flickered faintly when you reached for the remote, filling the quiet house with low background noise.

Steve’s knee bumped yours after a moment, you glanced sideways at him and saw he was already looking at you. He had a way of doing that sometimes. Not often enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that you’d caught it more than once.

At first, it had thrown you off. You’d catch him looking at you like that and wonder if there was something you were missing—some unspoken meaning everyone else seemed to understand except you. So you asked him about it. More than once. Each time, Steve would just shrug it off and say it was nothing—that whatever this was between the two of you was just helping each other out, like he’d said from the beginning.

Which, honestly, it was.

This was nothing.

When the two of you first started hooking up, it had been a little strange. Not awkward exactly—just unfamiliar. Like both of you were still figuring out where the lines were supposed to be now that things had shifted from just friends to… whatever this was. Late nights turning into making out, making out turning into sex, the kind of thing that happened easily enough but still took a little getting used to at first. Steve had almost stopped the whole thing early on—not because something was wrong, but because he’d been very clear about one rule.

No feelings.

He’d said it like it mattered—like it was the most important part of the whole arrangement. That had been the rule from the start. You never told him you were catching them, not that you were. But the rule stayed in place anyway.

Over time, things settled into something easier, less uncertain. What had started as something a little messy slowly turned into something predictable. Behind all the late nights, tangled sheets, and conversations that drifted into arguments before either of you even knew what you were arguing about, there was something else that had always been there first.

It was a real friendship. The kind where you knew the other person would show up if you needed them to. The kind where you could argue for twenty minutes straight and still end up laughing about it five minutes later. The kind where neither of you had to pretend to be anything other than exactly who you were.

You and Steve had always had each other’s backs—long before any of this started, and long after it became routine. That part had never changed. No one else knew about it this “arrangement” you both had going on. But that had never really mattered. Steve Harrington was your friend first, before anything else, and that had always been the part that counted. Maybe that was why it worked—because neither of you had ever asked it to be more than what it was.

“Nancy was really quiet today.”

Steve glanced over. “At Eddie’s?”

You nodded, eyes still on the TV even though you weren’t really watching it. “Yeah.”

Steve leaned back into the couch, his expression shifting just a little. “She’s probably just… thinking about stuff.”

You turned slightly toward him. “About Jonathan?”

Steve shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that didn’t actually mean much. “I don’t know.”

You watched him for a second. “You noticed it too though.”

Steve huffed quietly through his nose. “Hard not to.”

“She does that sometimes.”

You tilted your head slightly.“What?”

“Gets quiet when something’s on her mind.”

You studied him for a second longer before looking back toward the TV. “Sounds like you’ve been paying attention.”

Steve glanced away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d been caught doing something he didn’t mean to. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “I know her.”

“Still care about her?” you asked after a moment.

Steve didn’t answer right away. He leaned back into the couch cushions, eyes drifting toward the TV even though he clearly wasn’t watching it. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

You nodded slightly, like that answer made sense.

Nancy Wheeler had a way of sticking with people. She had been Steve’s first love. The kind of love that changes you a little. Their history wasn’t the kind that didn’t just disappear because time had passed or because they’d both tried to move on. Nancy had always been different from the girls Steve used to go out with—smarter, sharper, the kind of person who saw right through him when he was trying to act like someone he wasn’t. And even now, long after they’d broken up, there were still moments where you could tell that whatever had been there between them hadn’t completely faded.

Steve shifted beside you, running a hand through his hair before glancing over. “You’re not gonna say anything smart about that?”

You shrugged lightly. “Why would I?”

Steve studied your face for a second. “I don’t know. You usually do.”

“Not everything needs commentary.” That earned a quiet laugh from him.

“Since when?”

You leaned your head back against the couch.“Since right now.”

Steve leaned forward and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, flipping through a couple of channels before settling on something random.“You ever actually watch anything when this thing’s on?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” you said.

“Liar.”

You huffed softly but didn’t argue.

Steve leaned back into the couch again, one arm stretching along the backrest behind you like he always did.

Then Steve nudged your knee lightly with his.“You’re thinking again,” he said.

You glanced at him. “So are you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Steve didn’t answer right away.

You held his gaze for a second before rolling your eyes lightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

You shook your head. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve’s mouth twitched a little. “Your house is too quiet,” he said.

“You’re the one who came inside.”

“Fair.”

You shifted slightly on the couch, turning toward him without really thinking about it. Steve moved closer at the same time, the couch cushion dipping under the shift in weight. Steve’s hand slid from the back of the couch to the side of your neck, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw like it had done a hundred times before. You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in. The kiss wasn’t hesitant—it never was.

Steve leaned into it immediately, like he’d been expecting it the whole time. One of his hands slid to your waist, steady and confident, pulling you a little closer against him. The couch cushions dipped under you both.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened. Steve let out a quiet breath against your mouth, the corner of his hand moving up along your side before settling at your back.

For a second he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Still gonna pretend you don’t like me?,” he murmured.

You barely had time to roll your eyes before he leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time.

Your hand slid into his hair as he leaned further into you. Your knee slid against his as he leaned over you a little more, the couch creaking softly under the shift. His thumb brushed absentmindedly along your side through your shirt while the kiss slowed for a second, just long enough for both of you to breathe. “You start this every time,” he murmured quietly against your mouth.

You smirked faintly, “You’re the one who drags it on.”

Steve huffed a soft laugh under his breath before kissing you again, one hand coming up briefly to steady himself against the back of the couch beside your head.The TV still flickered silently across the room, casting soft light over the living room walls while the rest of the house stayed quiet around you.

Eventually he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his hair already more messed up than when he walked in.“You’re impossible,” he said.

Then he leaned in again, like the conversation had already ended. Steve shifting closer as his hand slid from your waist to your side. His fingers traced lightly along your ribs through your shirt before settling again at your hip, pulling you a little further into him.

You shifted with him without thinking, your hand still tangled in his hair while the couch dipped under the movement. Steve’s other hand came up briefly to your jaw, tilting your face toward his before he kissed you again.

Outside, the neighborhood had gone completely still. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had the passing thought that Steve Harrington really should go home, but neither of you moved to make that happen.

Because whatever this was had become routine—Steve Harrington showing up at your house, the two of you pretending it didn’t mean anything, kissing like it was the most normal thing in the world. Him climbing through your window on a weekly basis. The late nights in his car, the windows turned foggy. And maybe that was the strangest part.

Because Steve Harrington was just your friend.

And friends did this all the time.

Right?