Dec 11, 2025
projection final boss
@_castlebyler on TikTok ^^
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Lithuania
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
projection final boss
@_castlebyler on TikTok ^^
But daddy I love him!
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!reader Word Count: 4.7k
Description: There’s two clear rules in your house. No boys while dad isn’t home and ALWAYS keep the door open three inches. Tonight Hopper’s out late and you decide to break both, until he’s banging at your door as Eddie trips over his own clothes trying to get out alive.
Tags/Warnings: smut, fem!hopper reader (adopted), secret established relationship, both adults, eddie being absolutely whipped, hot make out, having to be quiet, piv sex, hickeys, getting caught doing it, eddie running for his life with the help of El, talks about consent, weed and suggestive comments.
Note: I recently watched ST3 and seeing Hopper get so riled up with Mike made me think he’d absolutely lose it if his daughter dated someone like Eddie!! Enjoy this fun sexy piece, and happy Joseph day to those who celebrate 🫶🏼
masterlist | archive
Dad’s not home yet.
Still, you’re trying to be quiet. God knows you really are, for the sake of your half sister in the bedroom next door…but the boy on top of you makes it a very hard task.
“Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms
I’m finding it hard to believe…we’re in heaven…”
The melody coming from your stereo muffles the sounds coming from your lips, every time Eddie leans in to kiss you again and again and again. His legs press the mattress between your parted thighs, tattooed arms caging you in as he hovers over you. Your clothes are still on, but with the way his knee keeps brushing against your shorts in that particular spot, it’s not gonna be for long.
“Isn't too hard to see…we're in Heaven…”
With Eddie all over you, you’re indeed in heaven.
You giggle against his mouth when he bumps his nose into yours for like the hundredth time. You’re not sure how long it’s been since he climbed up your window, only that your lips are swollen already. He kisses you again anyway. Then your cheek, then the other cheek, then your jaw and then lower.
His lips trail down your neck in wet, lazy kisses. His hand slides beneath your shirt to pinch your waist playfully, cold rings making you gasp.
“Eddie...” you whisper, melting under his weight.
He smiles without looking up. God, you can feel his teeth dragging slowly over your skin, before he finds the perfect spot and starts sucking like the little devil he is.
Your fingers run through his curls, torn between scolding him and letting him mark you all over. Thankfully, your survival instinct kicks in, and you tug his head slightly back.
“No hickeys this time, Munson,” you warn, but your breath gives away how much you were enjoying it.
How much you actually want it. Damn it.
Eddie notices, of course he does, his lips release your sensitive skin only to look at you, grinning. “Mmm…I don’t know. Can’t promise anything, sweetheart.”
“Eddie–“
“Shhh, pretty girl,” he hushes you, diving into your collarbone again. “I’m trying to savor this moment before your dad throws me in federal prison…”
You giggle against his hair. “He will if he sees your teeth on my neck, Eds.”
“It’s that so?” He teases, more focused on choosing his next spot to attack.
The way his lips wrap around your skin feels so good you forget how to keep protesting. Your fingers twist in his curls, your back arching up into him and the way his mouth claims you.
You just pray your father stays away wherever he is for longer. The only reason why you’re doing it here instead of Eddie’s trailer like usual, is because Wayne had the night off today and wanted to have one of his buddies over for beers.
To be fair you didn’t plan to hide your relationship from Hopper at the start. But he’s always been a little psycho when it comes to “boys” around you. Now, with an even younger daughter it’s worse. He hates Mike for even breathing close to El. Not to mention he also has access to one too many guns, and with the way the town already sees Eddie, it’s just…better this way. Better to stifle your uneven breathing as your boyfriend takes you to heaven right in your bed.
“Just–just keep it where my dad can’t see them, baby,” you pant, breathing becoming a hard task at this point.
He lifts his head with a dramatic gasp, that shit eating grin forming on his face again with a mischievous glint in those huge brown eyes.
“I knew you were a freak just like me,” he says proudly, shaking his head. “Freaks in love, what a beautiful thing,” he sighs dreamily, making you snort so hard you have to cover your mouth.
“Oh my God Eddie, shut up!” You slap his shoulder weakly, making him snort back, drowning the sound in the crook of your neck.
“Mmm yeah, I can put my mouth to better use…”
The next sound that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. But it’s not your fault when Eddie knows exactly what to do to drag sweet moans out of you.
“You’re gonna…you’re gonna get me killed–fuck,” you moan again when Eddie sucks harder to leave his desired mark on your shoulder. His head shoots up with a devious smile at your barely contained sounds.
“Would you keep it quiet, sweetheart? you don’t wanna alert the little witch…” he chuckles, shifting his weight above you a little too fast, the movement making the headboard tap against the wall.
You both freeze.
“Fuck,” Eddie curses with wide eyes. “You think she heard that?”
You lift on your elbows and tilt your head to listen for any shuffle outside the door, but all you can hear is the soft music still playing in your room. You shrug when you look back at Eddie.
“I don't think so.”
Eddie exhales, before amusement takes over again. “Do you think she even knows what it means?”
“She hangs out with Max all the time, Eddie. Yes, I think she’d know what it means,” you deadpan.
The statement makes him blink at you in surprise a few times, but it’s not long before both of you burst into “quiet” laughter. You place a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his head shaking against your palm from how he tries to hold it in.
“Stop–stop it!” you whisper-shout, barely keeping your own laughter in. “She’s gonna know you’re here!”
“Too late.”
The little deadpan voice coming from the other side of the door makes you both go still. Your heads whip toward the locked door.
“I know he’s in there. And I know what you’re doing,” she continues.
You close your eyes with a grimace, sighing in frustration. “El, you do not know what we’re doing.”
The girl doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes I do. Max told me when you sound like that it’s because you’re having s–”
“Don’t finish that sentence!” You scramble, attempting to sit up and almost bumping Eddie in the process, since he’s too busy caught between amusement and fear to even move.
“I’m telling him,” she says.
“NO!” You and Eddie yell in unison, both scrambling to get off of each other, knocking over your little bedside lamp in the process.
“Shit!”
“She’s bluffing, right? Please tell me she’s bluffing? We weren’t even doing anything…yet” Eddie whispers, pacing next to your bed.
“I don’t know!” you hiss, fixing your shirt and your hair before racing to the door. “She’s weird now, she has an attitude and all. For all I know she could do exactly as she says.”
“Great. Perfect. This is exactly how I thought my night was gonna end. Not inside you–oh no. Blackmailed by a fourteen year old and then shot by your father. Tell Wayne I love him–”
“Shut up!!” You snort, gesturing with a finger to your lips. “El, please,” you beg, cracking the door open just enough to see her unimpressed little face. “Please don’t tell dad.”
She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. She moves her head past you to see Eddie standing by your window, waving awkwardly at her. She remembers seeing you and him sucking each other's faces off a few days ago before you shut the door on her face.
“El?” You ask, moving your body to block her gaze on Eddie.
She seems to think about it for a moment, but you weren’t born yesterday, you know the look on her face and you know exactly why she’s there.
“Okay. But cover for me and Mike next time.”
There it is. You stare at her in silence, then you whip around to Eddie, curls wild, pupils blown and holding in his laughter. “Is this kid fucking serious?”
Eddie just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Like sister like…half-sister?” He chuckles. “Being a freak runs in the family, I see.”
You flip him off before you turn back to her.
“Fine. Deal. I better not get grounded or I swear you’re going down with me,” you say. El just nods and turns to walk away. “And put some music on! You don’t wanna hear….anything.”
“The happy screaming?” She asks, right before scrambling to her room with a giggle when your eyes go wide.
Her door shuts, and seconds later Madonna starts blasting from her stereo at full volume.
“Jesus Christ, this girl,” you mutter, shaking your head before shutting your door.
Click.
You turn back to Eddie–and you both lose it. He throws himself dramatically on the bed, laughing into your pillows. You’re laughing too as you crawl on top of him, placing your hands on his chest with a grin.
“Now, where were we?” You tease, leaning down to kiss him again.
But he flips you over, making you giggle against his neck, and the music is just loud enough to cover the squeaking of the bed, the shushing and the soft little gasps when clothes begin to fall off.
You don’t hear the car pulling in the driveway. You don’t hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps following.
All you hear is Eddie, breathing hard on your ear, muttering curses and things like “You’re so fucking tight, baby–shit,” with every sweet drag of his cock across your slick walls. Your fingers dip into his bare shoulders, and your head tilts back against the pillow with barely contained moans as he hits every spot he has to hit.
“Ed…Eddie…” you choke out, completely drunk on the way his balls slap your ass every time he bottoms out. “R-right there…please”
“Right there sweetheart?” He coos with a chuckle, dragging out only to slam back again in a hard thrust, hitting that spot again. “How does that feel, huh?”
You gasp, back arching, eyes rolling back. “S–so big…so good Eds…shit…”
“Shh, shh, you’re okay angel–fuck you’re perfect,” he whispers, leaning back to hook his arm under your legs to lift your ass, then placing a pillow right under your pelvis. He snaps his hips harder, deeper, trying to make you cum because he knows damn well he won’t last much longer with the way your pussy clenches around him.
The change of angle makes a loud moan escape your lips, making Eddie bring his ringed hand over your mouth with a grin.
God, how he loves the way you come undone under him.
If it was up to him, he’d let you be as loud as you want. Lord knows when he fucks you hard in his trailer the whole park knows when you come. On the other hand, nothing compares to drilling you into your own mattress. Seeing the way you shake trying to muffle your moans while he makes love to you in secret.
The sheer thrill of it.
And as if it wasn’t enough, with one hand still covering your mouth, Eddie brings the other to play with your swollen clit. The overwhelming feeling is enough to make you cry out under his palm, feeling that pressure on your belly building quicker and quicker. He’s too focused on the way your juices start to drip down your cute bedsheets under him, that he doesn’t hear anything happening outside that room either.
Jim Hopper enters his household with slumped shoulders and dragged footsteps after a tiring day. But he doesn’t have much time to feel miserable about how shitty work was, when he realizes none of his girls are on sight.
Which always means trouble.
His eyes land on El’s door first. Loud music blasts behind it, the same way it does when Mike is sucking her face off and doing god knows what with his hands. He stomps over there with no hesitation, slamming the door open.
“How many times have I told you–”
He stops dead in his tracks when he finds El alone, laying on the floor as she flips through a comic, music still at full volume coming from her stereo.
“I–hey kid,” he says softer, clearing his throat when he realizes there’s no male threat in that room. “Why’s the music so loud?”
“New mixtape. She said I could play it as loud as I wanted.”
“She?”
“Sister,” she smiles.
That weird little smile makes him narrow his eyes, “What did your sister do?” He asks, because he wasn’t born yesterday either. He already raised a teenager.
“N-nothing!” She says, maybe a little too quickly.
That’s when he hears a bump on the wall coming from your room.
“I swear to god–” he rolls his eyes with an exhausted sigh, already walking to your door, ignoring the way El trails behind him with wide eyes.
“Wait–” she scrambles trying to stall him, but he’s already pressing his ear to your door.
And Jesus Christ, he did not need to hear any of that. His daughter’s panting and some dude’s groans muffled by music. His hand flies to the doorknob, rattling it violently.
“Young lady, you better open this goddamn door right now!!”
The booming voice makes you both stop.
“Shit!” you yelp, somehow pushing Eddie off, grabbing whatever you can find from the floor to get dressed.
“Who’s in there???” Hopper keeps rattling the doorknob with one hand, the other banging the door loudly. “El, open this door!”
“No!”
Eddie’s panicking. He’s hopping around, shoving his dick–condom and all–into his jeans, looking around for his shirt and trying to put on his shoes at the same time.
“He’s gonna kill me,” he hisses. All that confidence he had fucking you into next week now reduced to sheer human fear. “He’s actually gonna murder me. I’m gonna die too young.”
You ignore his dramatic monologue.
“Did you park far?” you whisper, tripping over your bra as you try to hide it under the bed. “Eddie, he can't see your van–”
“Yes yes I did–but I’m not worried about that! I’m worried about getting shot in the dick!”
BANG BANG BANG.
“Open right now or I swear to god I’ll break it down!!”
“Coming!” You yell back.
“Not yet,” Eddie snorts, he fucking snorts like he’s not about to be executed by the town’s sheriff.
You turn to him, mouth open in disbelief. He realizes his mistake when you stomp toward him and dig a finger into his bare chest.
“Do you appreciate your life?” You ask, he just nods frantically. “Then you need to get out of here, dumbass, now!!”
You shove him toward the windowsill, he clumsily puts one leg over the frame, when you spot his shirt on the floor. You quickly pick it up and hand it to him.
“What if I want you to keep it? As a token of our love.”
If your dad doesn’t kill him right now you’re the one who’s going to do it.
“Eddie–GET OUT NOW!”
“Okay, okay, fleeing the scene–”
But just as he’s about to swing his other leg over the frame, the door slams over with a harsh thud as Hopper almost breaks it off its hinges.
“MUNSON?”
He freezes. You freeze. Eddie freezes.
Hopper’s eyes go from Eddie mid escape, still clutching his shirt over his tattooed chest, to the pillow you’ve put between the bed frame and the wall, to your messy hair and the very fresh hickey stamped on your shoulder.
“…Hi, dad,” you say breathlessly, smiling awkwardly.
“Heyyyy, Mr. Hopper–I mean Sir uh…Iwasjustleaving!”
Eddie tries to jump outside the window, but it only takes your fuming dad a few strides to storm across the room and grab him by the ear before he can.
“Ow ow ow–” Eddie yelps loudly, feet tripping over each other as he gets dragged out of your room.
“Dad!!” you shout, trailing after them. “Stop it! you’re gonna rip it off–“
“That’s not the only thing I’m ripping off!” He snaps, turning to El. “And you, turn off that music right now!”
El, for once does as she’s told, the only sounds left in the house are everyone’s heavy breathing and Eddie’s little whines. She watches from her doorway with wide eyes, horrified as her dad hauls your shirtless boyfriend into the living room and finally releases him with a shove. Eddie stumbles back, holding his ear with one hand, the other still clutching his shirt for dear life.
Hopper turns to you, “Eddie Munson? Seriously?”
You try to look apologetic. It comes out more like a nervous laugh because you’re embarrassed as hell and don’t know how else to react.
“Oh, so you think this is funny?”
“Dad, I–”
“No, don't ‘Dad’ me!” he starts pacing, dragging his hand down his face because it physically pains him to be alive in this moment. “I decided to take in two girls. Two. I’ve set clear rules in this house. And now one’s blowing out her eardrums to cover for the other while she sneaks in boys to hookup with while I’m gone.”
Heat travels to your face. But it’s not from embarrassment anymore. It’s anger. Anger that simmers quietly.
“I just wanna say,” Eddie chimes in nervously, holding his hands up as if he’s surrendering to an arrest, “this wasn’t just a hookup thing, Sir. I care about her. A lot actually, I only mean well.”
Hopper laughs bitterly, crossing his arms and nodding condescendingly like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard.
“Well? You only mean well, right–and what exactly is ‘well’ about sneaking into my house, locking yourself in my daughter’s room, and doing that??” he closes the distance between you, gesturing at the hickey.
“Okay, fair, but–”
“Were you even using protection?”
“Dad!!” you groan, moving in front of Eddie. “We’re being safe! And I’m not sneaking in boys plural. It’s just Eddie. My–my boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah? Boyfriend? Well you’re grounded.”
You gasp. “What? That’s so unfair!”
“You’re grounded until you introduce him like a proper lady, not while he’s still trying to shimmy into his jeans behind a locked door!”
You glare at him with your arms crossed. Your hair’s still a mess, the hickey is still very much hickeying, and he looks like he’s not backing down no matter if you start stomping your feet on the ground like a child.
He brushes past you and turns his attention to Eddie, grabbing him by the collar until his untied sneakers lift off the ground.
“S–Sir?” Eddie yelps.
“You mark her again like that and you’re dead. Understood?”
Eddie nods frantically. “Understood, S–sir–absolutely!! Message received!! I love life. Biiig fan of living, actually. I’ll, uh–show myself out?” Eddie blurts out, hands flailing around him in an attempt to stabilize himself in the vulnerable position, but Hopper doesn’t put him back down.
“I’m not done with you yet, Munson.”
You groan again, covering your face with your hands. “God–I hate you.”
Before he can say you’re grounded for life, something falls in the kitchen. The noise makes him spin around, giving you just enough time to snap your head up and lock eyes with Eddie.
You mouth RUN.
And oh boy, he bolts. He slips himself from your dad’s embrace and sprints like hell out the front door, wild curls bouncing in the wind, laughing like a madman who just escaped the guillotine.
“TILL OUR PATHS CROSS AGAIN, MY LOVE!!” he yells at the top of his lungs, skipping the steps of the front porch.
Hopper whirls around. “Son of a bitch–COME BACK HERE!”
He storms after him, but the couch has already been moved a few inches so he trips, nearly eating the floor. It’s not a surprise when you both turn around and see the blood coming out of El’s nose.
“Damn it, El!”
You smile, running to the open door, just in time to see Eddie leap over the perimeter set for Eleven’s safety, almost losing a shoe, and keep running for his life.
You can’t help it. You stifle a laugh with the palm of your hand.
Behind you, Hopper’s face is red, looking at both of you in disbelief. He walks over to you, slamming the front door shut.
“You’re both grounded forever.” Before you can whine, he’s already spitting more words. “When I said you two needed to be more like sisters, I didn’t mean this!”
“Yeah, and what exactly did you mean?” You spit back.
“I don’t know, bonding, talking–painting your nails and going to the mall! Not conspiring to deceive me while your boyfriend sucks your neck like a lunatic!”
“Oh my god, Dad! Would you stop bringing it up?” You roll your eyes in annoyance. “El go to your room,” you say.
She doesn’t need to hear more of this.
He huffs, muttering to himself as Eleven locks herself in her room. “Now this–this is what I get. This is what I get for trying to raise women. Lying little degenerates, the both of you. Should’ve left you where I found you…”
This time you huff, walking past him to go back to your room. “Maybe then we could have boyfriends in peace,” you sneer, before slamming your door shut.
He curses, and bangs on your door one more time, “You’re still grounded! And you better take a shower, I can smell the weed from here!”
You sigh. Sat on the edge of your bed wrapped in only a towel over damp skin, still thinking about the way you were wrapped in Eddie just an hour ago.
Your eyes land on his forgotten jacket, crumpled on the corner of your room. You smile, walking over to it to pick it up and bring it close to you to take in the scent.
Leather, the cologne you gave him for his birthday and…weed? Who knows. It smells like him. Your safe place. You bury your face in it like a total sap, but the click of your door’s lock coming off startles you.
“Jesus, El!” you yelp, spinning around with the jacket clutched to your chest. “Just because you can open doors with your mind doesn’t mean you should!”
She stands there, with a cute little expression that makes you forget about being mad at her.
You sigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap, come here.”
You sit down on the edge of your bed again and pat the spot beside you. She sits next to you quietly, tucking her legs under herself.
“Listen uh–I’m sorry you had to hear all that. Me and Dad. And I’m sorry you got grounded for helping me…I’m sure he’ll forget about it in a few days.”
She shrugs, knowing that won't exactly stop her from seeing Mike either way.
“He…doesn’t like boys.”
You both snort at the same time.
“That’s true. I think he’s convinced we should just join a convent,” you chuckle.
El tilts her head in confusion, ready to ask what a convent is but something else catches her attention. Her eyes land on the mark on your shoulder.
“Did Eddie do that to hurt you?”
The question knocks the air out of your chest.
“What? No! No, no, no–God, no,” you blurt out, fiddling nervously with the jacket on your lap. “That was…um, that was consensual.”
“Consensual?”
“Yeah…it means both people want something to happen. Like, really want it. It has to come from both sides. Always.”
She processes the information quietly, and you know a million more questions are rattling inside her head. You take a deep breath. She eventually needs to learn about this anyway.
“Look, if you ever don’t like something, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, or weird, or confused, you say no. And when you say no, that’s it. It stops. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter what they want. I need you to understand that.”
She nods, still a bit hesitant.
“I’m sure Max has already told you way more than I ever could.” You laugh, shaking your head. That gets the ghost of a smile out of her as she keeps listening. “But just…remember this, okay? Whatever you do, whenever you do it, make sure it comes from love. From feeling safe. From being comfortable with each other. Not because someone told you to, or because you’re scared, or confused. Only when it feels right.”
She nods, still taking it all in. Then, in barely a whisper, she asks, “Does…Eddie make you feel safe?”
You smile. It’s inevitable. Just the mention of his name makes your heart flutter with that overwhelming feeling of knowing you’ve made him home.
“Yeah, yeah he does,” you breathe.
She smiles back, leaning her head on your arm.
You wait until it’s late, with El back in her room and Hopper too busy snoring loudly behind the curtain of his room, before you tiptoe to the living room. You glance around to confirm you’re alone, before reaching for the phone on the wall and dialing Eddie’s trailer number like you’ve done millions of times before.
You stretch the cord until you’re in your room again, shutting the door slowly before sinking down against it with the receiver pressed to your ear. It rings a few times, when you finally hear his voice on the other side of the line.
“Munson Residence, who am I speaking with?” He says in an over exaggerated posh tone, knowing damn well you’re the only one who calls at this hour.
“Hi, Ed,” you chuckle.
He gasps dramatically. “Sweetheart? Love of my life? You survived??”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Barely. I got a lot of shit for…today,” you sigh, twisting the cord between your fingers.
“M’sorry baby, didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you say quickly. “Apparently I’m grounded for life. He’s just–he got really pissed. Like ‘boarding up my windows’ pissed. I’m afraid he might actually do it this time...”
Eddie whistles low. “Wow. Love that for us.”
“Yup. And…I also had to give El the talk–or something like the talk.”
“No–” He gasps, “you gave the talk? To El?? Oh my god. Did she ask about the hickey?”
“She thought you were hurting me,” you snort, shaking your head even if he can’t see you.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughs into the phone, loudly. “Did you tell her it’s because I’m hopelessly in love with you?”
“Eddie…” you have to cover your mouth to stifle your own laughter, as your cheeks go hot from his words. “That’s not exactly what I told her.”
“So what was it? The bees and the birds? Safe sex? Consent? Oooh you gotta tell her about that, sweetheart. I know she’s young and all but there’s a lot of jerks out there and she should–”
“I told her you make me feel safe, Eds,” you cut him off, the line going quiet as he processes the words. A small, nervous laugh escapes your lips before you continue. “I told her consent is all about really wanting something to happen. And it should come from love, from…feeling safe. Like it does with you.”
The next sound you hear on the line can only be described as a thump. No words, just a soft thump on…drywall?
“…Eddie?”
“Sorry sweetheart–had to bang my head on the wall to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” he says, and God you can feel his stupid smile through the phone. “Your dad didn’t get me today but you sure almost killed me with that.”
You blink a few times before giggling into the phone. “You’re such a goddamn dork, oh my god!”
“Yeah, well. You still love me though, right?”
“Unfortunately,” you tease.
He laughs. “Good. Then we’ll just be fine.”
“Yeah, assuming we do get to see each other again,” you sigh.
“Ohh, talking about that,” his voice gets lower, he’s probably got a hand around the transmitter as he whispers into the phone. “Wayne’s taking a double shift tomorrow. He’ll be gone the whole day.”
“…Okay?” You say slowly, but you’re already pressing your legs together from anticipation.
“Trailer will be all ours, sweetheart,” he drawls. “All day and aaall night. And I can get you home before your daddy even wakes up...”
You bite your lip. “Eddie Munson, are you telling me you want me to sneak off my house to spend the night at yours?”
He hums nonchalantly. “Uhum. Even got your favorite ice cream in the fridge and some whipped cream. If you get lucky I’ll let you lick the whipped cream off my d–”
“Jesus Eddie!” You cover your mouth to stifle another fit of laughter.
God, you never got bored with this man.
“You’re insatiable. Did you know that?” You pretend to scold, but your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“Oh I know, angel. But so are you. A freak just like me, remember? That’s why tomorrow you’re gonna climb out that window like a good girl and let me fuck you on my bed. You know you can be as loooud as you want here.”
You curse internally. But fuck yes you are letting him do just that. And hell yeah, you will be as loud as you want.
“You better have enough whipped cream, Eddie.”
Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼
My chemical byler
We should’ve gotten this look for their season 3 versions, the aesthetic would’ve fit so much better especially if they'd gone the creepy horror summer camp vibes… sigh, if only….
INJECT ITTTTT
(@avalsorymm on tt)
tit for tat | steve harrington
pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: after a messy breakup, you and steve are constantly at each other's throats. the party is tired of it. themes & warnings: steve being a douche, reader being petty, screaming matches LOL, emotional angst, jealousy ugh protective STEVEEEE we love, eventual resolution since the new season has been approaching ive been on a steve kick so bad guys
steve had never been so bored.
right now, he was sitting in the parking lot of the mall, his shitty AC blowing insufficiently cold air onto his body while robin sat in the passenger seat, flipping through static-ridden radio stations. after the past year of his life, he'd have thought he'd at least be doing something entertaining with his free time.
but no. he was babysitting. again.
well, not technically. the kids were all inside the arcade, old enough now to not need a constant supervisor. but he was the ride. always the ride. and right now, he was waiting on you. you were inside with the kids, having a particularly strong bond with max and will, playing games with them on your off time. plus, you supplied the quarters.
you'd dumped him three months ago in a blaze of shouted heartbreak and slammed doors. now, thanks to the tangled web of friendships in hawkins and the love you had for the kids, he was constantly, unavoidably forced to be around you.
"can you at least try to be civil today?" robin asked, finally settling on a crackly pop station. "my ears are still ringing from the last time you two went at it in the scoops ahoy break room."
"i'm always civil," steve snapped, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "she's the one who starts it."
"she asked you to pass the salt and you told her she was 'seasoned enough with bitterness.'"
"it was a joke!"
"it was a declaration of war, steve."
the arcade doors slid open and you walked out, a vision in your summer dress, a small, victorious smile on your face. still as infuriatingly gorgeous as you'd always been. dustin was trailing behind you, chattering excitedly, no doubt about some high score you’d just helped him achieve. the sight sent a familiar, unwelcome pang through steve’s chest. you looked happy. you looked free.
you spotted the car and your smile tightened into a polite, distant line. the war mask was on. you slid into the backseat, the air in the BMW instantly turning frigid despite the struggling AC.
“took you long enough,” steve muttered, putting the car in reverse.
“some of us were actually having fun, steve,” you said sweetly, buckling your seatbelt. “it’s a novel concept, i know.”
the kids clambered in on either side of you, max having to sit in your lap due to the cramped back seat. you shifted to allow her some space as she looked down at you with pleading blue eyes. they screamed 'not again.'
the silent plea in max's eyes was a gut punch. she, more than any of them, knew what real fighting sounded like, and the last thing she needed was to be trapped in a metal box with another one. you gave her a small, reassuring squeeze, a silent promise to try.
the promise lasted all of five minutes.
the drive was a tense, silent standoff. steve would adjust the rearview mirror, and you’d be staring out the window, pointedly ignoring him. you’d lean forward to ask dustin a question, and steve would crank the radio just a little too loud.
it came to a head at the stoplight by the town square.
“so,” dustin said, his voice unnaturally high, “mike’s having a D&D session tomorrow. you guys in?”
“wouldn’t miss it,” you said at the exact same time steve said, “i’m busy.”
you locked eyes in the mirror. a challenge.
“doing what?” you asked, your voice dripping with fake curiosity. “scooping ice cream and realizing you peaked in high school?”
steve’s knuckles turned white on the wheel. “no. i have a date.”
the words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. robin visibly flinched. dustin sank lower in his seat, lucas pretended to not notice his surroundings, and will frowned. max went rigid in your lap.
you, however, just smiled, a sharp, brittle thing. “oh? anyone we know?”
“tammy thompson,” steve said, the name feeling like ash in his mouth. it was a lie. a stupid, petty lie.
you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “tammy thompson? the one who cries when she sings? wow, steve. raising the bar, i see.”
“at least she can carry a tune,” he shot back, the words out before he could stop them. he was referring to your tone-deaf rendition of “total eclipse of the heart” you’d sung together, drunk and happy, in this very car a lifetime ago.
the light turned green. the car didn't move.
the air was so thick with hostility you could taste it.
“you’re an asshole,” you whispered, the hurt finally breaking through the icy facade.
“takes one to know one,” he retorted, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hated this. He hated every second of it.
a horn blared behind them. steve slammed his foot on the gas, lurching the car forward.
in your lap, max let out a tiny, involuntary gasp at the sudden movement, her hands flying to grip your shoulders. the sound was small, but it cut through the anger like a knife.
you looked down at her wide, anxious eyes, then up at the back of steve’s head. this wasn't just about you and him anymore.
the rest of the drive was a silence so profound it was deafening. when he finally pulled up to your house, you were out of the car before it had fully stopped, the door slamming shut behind you. you didn't look back.
steve watched you go, a hollow ache spreading through his chest. in the rearview mirror, he saw max staring out the window, her expression closed off and weary.
“tammy thompson?” robin finally said, her voice flat. “really?”
steve just rested his forehead against the steering wheel, defeated. “i know.”
dustin piped up, his voice matter-of-fact.
"all you two do is fight. and never about the actual issue."
the car was silent for a beat, the truth of dustin's words hanging in the air, sharper and more accurate than any insult you or steve had thrown. steve lifted his head from the wheel, his eyes meeting dustin's in the rearview mirror.
"what's that supposed to mean?"
dustin shrugged, but his expression was uncharacteristically serious. "it means you're not fighting about tammy thompson, or who can carry a tune. you're fighting about how you broke up. you're fighting about who was right and who was wrong. but you're just.. poking each other with sticks instead of actually talking about it."
will nodded slowly, looking down at his clasped hands. lucas mumbled, "he's not wrong."
max, still sitting stiffly, added, "it's getting really old."
steve felt a hot flush of shame creep up his neck. he looked at robin for backup, but she just raised her eyebrows in confirmation of the kids' statements.
he was being schooled by a bunch of teenagers. and the worst part was, they were right.
the "actual issue" was a tangled mess of miscommunication, stress, bruised egos, and one stupid, heated argument that had spiraled into a nuclear winter between the two of you. he missed you. he was pretty sure, underneath all the venom and ice you had on the surface, you missed him too. but all you did was lob grenades at each other, and the kids were stuck in the crossfire.
he sighed, the fight draining out of him completely, leaving only exhaustion and the same hollow ache he'd felt for three whole months.
"okay," he said, his voice quiet. "point taken."
he pulled away from your house, the silence in the car now contemplative rather than hostile.
robin glanced at him. “what are you gonna do about it, hair?”
steve kept his eyes on the road.
"i don't know."
you wiped your tears, sticky and black with mascara, and checked your reflection in the mirror of your vanity. groaning, you smudged it off the corners of your eyes. behind you, max, who had skated to your house shortly after steve dropped her off, frowned. sniffling, you tried to muster a half-assed smile in her direction.
"don't worry about me, mayfield. i'm tough."
max didn't buy it for a second. she crossed her arms, leaning against your headboard. "you're not tough. you're sad. and he's an idiot."
a wet laugh escaped you. "he is an idiot." you grabbed a tissue and wiped the remaining smudges from your face, your reflection looking raw and tired. "a massive one."
"but you still like him," max stated, not a question. she knew these things.
you sighed, dropping the tissue into the trash. "it doesn't matter. it's too messy. we're just.. we can't be in the same room without trying to murder each other with our eyes."
"because you're both too stubborn to say sorry," she said, her voice blunt. "its easier to be mad than to be hurt."
her words, wise beyond her years, hit a little too close to home. you sat down next to her, the mattress dipping.
"it's not that simple, max."
"isn't it?" she asked, picking at a loose thread on your comforter. "you guys used to be so happy. and cool. you made him less of a douche. now he's just.. a douche again. and you're.. not you. you're sad."
you looked at her, at the genuine concern in her blue eyes, and felt a fresh wave of tears. the kids weren't just bystanders, they were casualties. they'd lost the easy dynamic, the fun group outings, the two people who used to be a unit now acting like rival generals in a nasty war.
"i don't know how to fix this."
max shrugged.
"just stop breaking it more."
the words were so simple. but they meant so much. the reality of it made your chest ache, forcing you to confront the truth. you were the problem too, not just steve. your desire to fight with him was just to keep a connection.
maybe the solution was to let the connection go? the thought made you genuinely sick, but maybe it was the best choice for you and the kids. and steve.
it wouldn't be easy. but then again.. nothing about this was.
parties weren't really steve's scene anymore. especially since he'd graduated high school and didn't even want to see half of the people he used to be inseparable from. but here he was, one of the only nights that he wasn't being the babysitter, holding a half full cup of warm beer and talking to tommy.
tommy was home from college, so naturally, it meant he was throwing the biggest party of the year. the guy talked his ear off, prattling on about college, the women, the sports. but all steve could think about, usually, predictably, was you.
it had been a month. you'd been avoiding him.
not like before, when you only saw him around the kids. this time, you even avoided the kids for the most part, too.
it was a clean break. a quiet, devastating ceasefire. there were no more arguments in the video store, no more sniping in the car. the kids had stopped trying to get you both in the same room, their hopeful attempts dying out one by one in the face of your polite, distant refusals.
it was what he’d thought he wanted, wasn’t it? peace. quiet.
it was hell.
he hadn't even noticed tommy was still talking until the subject changed.
"--so honestly, they could've won if they just-- yo. isn't that your girl?" tommy said, jaw dropped straight to the floor.
steve raised an eyebrow, looking in the direction of tommy's pointed finger. the bass of the music vibrated the beer in his stomach, making him physically ill at the sight before him.
there you were. he could tell you were drunk from where he was standing, thirty feet away. your eyes were hazy, lips stretched out in a lazy grin. you were dancing on the fucking table, slowly inching your shirt up, slowly, slowly, slowly, until the hem was just below your ribs. the crowd around you was whooping and cheering, a sea of faces he mostly despised, all looking at you. at the skin you were revealing.
"oh jesus christ." steve hissed, the plastic cup in his hand cracking, soaking his sleeve with warm beer. he didn't even notice. he was already on the move.
he was across the room in seconds, shoving people out of his way without a word of apology. the music was a distant thrum, the only sound he could focus on was the pounding of his own blood in his ears.
he reached the table just as you laughed, a loose, carefree sound that felt like a personal insult, and went to pull the shirt higher.
his hands closed around your waist. not gently.
you yelped as he hauled you off the table, your feet stumbling as they hit the floor. the crowd groaned in disappointment.
"hey, man, what's your problem?" some guy slurred.
steve ignored him, his grip firm on your arms as he steadied you. your hazy eyes struggled to focus on his face.
"steve?" you mumbled, your grin fading into confusion. "what're you... i was dancing."
"you were making a spectacle of yourself," he snarled, his voice low and vicious, meant for your ears only. the horrified feeling was a live wire under his skin. "what the hell is wrong with you?"
your confusion sharpened into defiance. "i'm having fun. something you wouldn't know anything about anymore." you tried to pull away, but he held fast. "let go of me."
"not a chance," he bit out, his eyes scanning the leering faces around you. "you're drunk and you're coming with me. now."
"i'm not going anywhere with you!" you shouted, your voice rising above the music. the fight was back, bright and ugly in your gaze. "you don't get to tell me what to do! you lost that right!"
the words hit their mark, but he was too far gone to care. he started pulling you toward the door, your heels digging into the carpet.
"steve, stop it! get off me!"
he didn't stop. he couldn't. all he could see was you on that table, all he could feel was the need to get you away, to get you safe, to make you stop. the quiet ceasefire was over. this was all-out war.
he finally managed to manhandle you out the front door and into the cool night air. you wrenched your arm free, stumbling back a few steps on the lawn.
"what is your problem?" you shrieked, your chest heaving.
"you are my problem!" he roared back, gesturing wildly toward the house. "dancing on a table? for them? letting them all... look at you like that?"
you laughed bitterly, drunkenly stumbling into the opposite direction. getting as far away as possible.
"now you decide you give a shit. well guess what? it's too late!" you shouted.
steve didn't have time for this. you were drunk, he was irritated, and it was very possible that you wouldn't even remember this conversation in the morning. he needed to get some water into you and get you home.
dragging you back toward the house, he sat you down and filled a glass of water from tommy's sink, stalking back outside.
"you're going to drink this," steve said, his voice tight as he thrust the glass of water toward you. you were slumped on the curb, head in your hands. "now."
you looked up, your eyes glazed with tears and alcohol. "go to hell."
he crouched in front of you, shoving the glass into your hand. "drink. it. or i'll pour it down your throat myself."
a fresh wave of anger surged through you. you took the glass, but instead of drinking, you threw the contents directly into his face.
the cold water was a shock, dripping from his hair and nose onto his shirt. he froze for a second, water plastering his bangs to his forehead, before he slowly wiped his face with his sleeve. the look in his eyes was dangerously calm.
"feel better?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"no," you spat, the fight draining out of you as quickly as it came, leaving you shivering and miserable.
"get in the car," he commanded, standing up and turning away from you, his shoulders rigid.
you did what he asked. you slid into the passenger side of his car, crossing your arms and leaning your head back, the spinning dizziness making you nothing short of sick. the ride was silent for about five minutes before, inevitably, your slurring voice could be heard again. angry. resentful. drunk.
"i hate you, steve. y'know that?" you slurred out, your lips and tongue not quite matching your vocal chords. you were so drunk that you were barely awake. but the words still had the effect they were meant to.
the words, slurred and heavy with alcohol, hit him with the force of a physical blow. his grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were bone-white. he didn't look at you. he couldn't.
"i know," he said, his voice flat and empty. it was the only defense he had left.
"you don't," you insisted, your head lolling against the window. "you don't know. you broke… you broke everything. and now you… you just get to drive me home. like you're… like you're some kinda hero." a bitter, wet laugh escaped you. "you're not a hero. you're just… a boy. a stupid, mean boy."
each word was a shard of glass. he focused on the yellow lines of the road, counting them as they passed, a desperate attempt to anchor himself.
"and i hate that i… that i miss you," you whispered, the anger dissolving into a heartbreaking confession you'd never make sober. "it's so stupid. i'm so stupid."
steve felt his own eyes burn. he blinked rapidly, staring straight ahead, trying to make the tears disappear. he'd never let them drop in front of you. he knew they'd come back later.
"just go to sleep, Y/N," he managed to rasp out. "we're almost there."
you didn't say anything else. a few moments later, a soft snore told him you'd finally passed out.
the rest of the drive was a special kind of torture, trapped in a metal box with the ghost of everything he'd ruined. when he pulled into your driveway, the silence was absolute.
he carried you inside, your body limp and heavy in his arms. he laid you in your bed, taking off your shoes and pulling the comforter over you just as he had time and time before, but this time, he didn't get to join you. he didn't get to hold you. in the dim light from the hallway, he could see the tear tracks dried on your cheeks.
he stood there for a long time, just watching you sleep, the echo of your words -- i hate you... i miss you -- playing on a loop in his mind.
he stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. the anger was gone, leaving behind a vast, empty ache. you were right. he wasn't a hero. he was just a boy who had been too stupid to hold onto the one good thing in his life.
then, he drove home in a daze, the silence in his car now a heavy, accusing presence. in his driveway, he punched the steering wheel until his knuckles were raw. the sharp pain was a relief, a physical distraction from the emotional maelstorm inside him. he sat there in the dark, the only sound his ragged breathing and the faint, metallic ring fading from the steering wheel.
he didn't even make it to his bed. he sank onto the couch in his dark living room, head in his hands.
and then, finally, alone in the dark where no one could see, the tears came. silent, shuddering sobs that wracked his entire body. they weren't just about tonight. they were for every stupid comment, every missed chance, every moment of the last three months he'd spent pushing you away when all he'd ever wanted was to pull you closer.
he cried for the "stupid, mean boy" he'd been, and for the man he was too scared to become without you.
for now, all he could do was sit in the dark and feel the weight of it all. the silence wasn't peaceful anymore. it was just heavy. he wasn't sure he'd ever truly wanted it in the first place.
the vile taste of tequila and regret created a film on the inside of your mouth. a pounding headache rocked your temples, making you want to rip your head from your shoulders and throw it in an ice bath.
sunlight stabbed through your eyelids like a hot knife. you groaned, burying your face deeper into your pillow, but the movement sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. fragments of the night came back to you in a nauseating kaleidoscope. the bass of the music. the feeling of the table under your shoes. the whooping crowd. then… steve.
steve’s furious face. steve’s hands on your waist, hauling you down. the cold water hitting his face. the silent, tense car ride. your own voice, slurred and venomous.
i hate you, steve.
i hate that i miss you.
a fresh wave of humiliation, hot and sharp, washed over you, worse than the hangover. you’d said that. you’d actually said that out loud. to him.
you dragged yourself out of bed, your body protesting every movement, and stumbled toward the kitchen for water and aspirin. as you passed the living room, you froze.
there, on the coffee table, was an empty glass of water. next to it sat two aspirin, and a note, written on a ripped piece of notebook paper in a familiar, slanted handwriting.
Drank the water. Take these. There’s Gatorade in the fridge. - S
no “love,” no “xoxo.” just his initial. it was so simple, so practical, and it somehow made everything a thousand times worse. he’d been in your house after you’d passed out. he’d seen you at your most vulnerable, your most pathetic, and his response wasn’t anger or a lecture. it was… caretaking. the one thing he’d always been good at, even when he was being a world-class jerk.
it was a peace offering you didn’t deserve and didn’t know how to accept. you picked up the aspirin, dry-swallowing them with a wince, the gesture feeling like a surrender you weren't ready to make. the war was over, but the aftermath was a minefield, and you were standing right in the middle of it, hungover and heartbroken.
as you were dissociating, your phone rang, worsening your headache. muttering a curse, you stumbled to the wall it was on, answering it begrudgingly.
"hello?"
will's voice crackled through on the other end, soft and hesitant as it always was. at least it wasn't someone annoying.
"hi, y/n. it's will," he said. "i was just wondering.. well, max told me to call and ask.. if you're still planning on coming to dustin's birthday party today? we really want you to come. we haven't seen you in forever."
the question felt like a physical blow. dustin’s birthday. you’d completely forgotten. of course steve would be there. he was the official party chauffeur, the defacto older brother. the thought of facing him, sober and raw, after last night made your stomach churn.
“i, uh…” you stammered, your mind racing for an excuse. a work emergency. sudden illness. a spontaneous trip to antarctica.
“please?” will’s voice was small, and you could picture his earnest, worried face. “it hasn’t been the same without you. everyone keeps arguing about the campaign rules and steve just… mopes. it’s not fun.”
steve just mopes.
the image was so pathetic, so unlike the loud, boisterous king steve of old, that it pierced through your own self-pity. the kids were suffering. they were caught in the crossfire of a war they didn't start, missing the easy dynamic that used to exist.
you looked back at the note on the coffee table. s. a simple initial that held so much weight. he’d taken care of you, even after you’d thrown water in his face and called him names. he was trying, in his own, messed-up way.
taking a deep, shaky breath, you made a decision. it wasn't a surrender. it was a ceasefire for a higher cause.
“yeah, will,” you said, your voice softer. “i’ll be there. what time?”
“four o’clock!” will said, his relief palpable even through the phone line. “at mike's. thanks, y/n!”
you hung up the phone, your heart hammering. you were going to have to see steve. sober. in broad daylight. and you were going to have to find a way to be in the same room without vomiting.
mike's basement was decorated with streamers. a banner read "happy birthday, dustin!" courtesy of joyce byers, who had a particular eye for these things. after the parents let the kids know that they couldn't go on random, spontaneous trips through the woods or accidentally on purpose set the basement aflame, they were cut loose. it wasn't too long after that that steve showed up.
the air was thick with the smell of pizza and the sound of bickering over the D&D board. steve ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to keep the peace between lucas and mike.
"look, who cares what color the wizard's robe is? is it significant to the story line?" he sighed tiredly.
lucas glared at him, crossing his arms.
“it establishes his alignment!” lucas shot back, his voice cracking with teenage indignation.
“it’s a robe, sinclair! it’s not that deep!”
max bounced her leg restlessly from her spot on the couch next to el, staring at the basement stairs. she missed you. steve knew it. she hadn't seen you in a while since the argument about tammy thompson, when you'd obviously decided that being around steve was too much.
"when's y/n gonna be here? did you tell her it was at 4?" max questioned will.
will, who was carefully arranging dustin's new dice by color, looked up nervously. "yeah, i told her. she said she was coming."
the unspoken i hope hung in the air. steve, who had been pretending to be deeply invested in the pizza box design, felt his stomach clench. he hadn't known you were invited. he hadn't allowed himself to even consider the possibility. the fragile, silent truce from the last party felt like it had happened a lifetime ago.
the creak of the basement door opening cut through the bickering.
all heads, including steve's, swiveled toward the stairs.
you appeared, looking hesitant, holding a clumsily wrapped present. your eyes immediately found Max, and a genuine, relieved smile broke across your face. "hey, mayfield."
max practically launched herself off the couch, skirting the D&D board to wrap you in a quick, tight hug. "you're here."
"wouldn't miss it," you said, your voice soft. you handed dustin the present. "happy birthday, dude."
as dustin tore into the gift (a ridiculously advanced model rocket), your gaze inevitably drifted across the room, colliding with steve's. it was like two magnets, repelling and attracting at once. the air grew thick. the kids, sensing the shift, went unnaturally quiet.
steve gave you the same small, cautious nod he had before. an acknowledgment. a white flag held aloft. you returned it with a tight, almost imperceptible dip of your chin. a reluctant acceptance of the ceasefire.
then, you deliberately turned your back to him, focusing all your attention on max and el.
steve felt the dismissal like a physical blow. he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to the pizza, the cardboard box suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. the party continued, the noise level slowly rising again, but a new, unspoken rule had been established. you and steve existed in the same space, a careful, orbiting distance between you. for the kids, it was enough. for steve, it was a special kind of agony.
and for el and max, it was annoying.
they sat on the couch, doing their teenage girl thing, analyzing with their eyes and whispering to each other. the occasional giggle, the occasional annoyed groan, and the formation of a plan bubbled from their lips.
you, of course, were oblivious due to the nature of the party. you listened to the boys rant and rave about D&D like you had for hours, curled into a recliner next to will, who sometimes glanced at you dozing off and smiled in amusement.
steve was too busy staring at you to notice either. it was pitiful, if you asked max.
with one final exchanged, deciding glance between blue and brown eyes, max and el clambered up from the couch and walked up to the chair you and will shared. they tried to look innocent (max mostly struggled) as el spoke.
"help." she simply said, gesturing to the upstairs.
you raised an eyebrow, sitting up.
"with what?"
"closet. need supplies."
groaning, suspecting no foul play, you sat up and followed the girls.
you followed max and el up the basement stairs, the noise of the party fading behind you. they led you to the closet they spoke of. when the door opened, your eyebrows furrowed. it was karen wheeler's cleaning supplies, full of pine sol, mops, and buckets.
"what do you--"
without another word, you were shoved in. the door shut behind you and clicked, the sound of a lock.
"what the fuck? jane hopper! maxine mayfield!" you seethed, pounding on the door.
you heard a giggle before you heard, "we will go get more help. don't worry."
they sprinted downstairs, now quickly approaching where steve sat, completely dissociating and sprawled across the couch they'd just been sitting on. he'd come over to claim their spot.
"help. y/n is stuck in the closet!" el said excitedly, grabbing steve's hand and attempting to yank him up.
steve matched your look of confusion, sitting up slightly.
"stuck? what are you talking about?"
"stuck," max confirmed, her face a mask of exaggerated urgency. "the door locked behind her. she can't get out."
a flicker of genuine concern crossed steve's face before it was replaced by deep suspicion. he looked from max's poorly concealed smirk to el's wide, "innocent" eyes. this had "ambush" written all over it.
but the thought of you, trapped and probably furious, was enough to get him moving. he sighed, heaving himself off the couch. "fine. show me."
they led him back upstairs, practically vibrating with suppressed glee. he could already hear you on the other side of the door.
"--so help me god, when i get out of here, i am telling joyce you've been using your powers to cheat at monopoly!" you were yelling, your voice muffled by the wood.
steve almost smiled. almost.
"stand back," he said, his voice firm. "i'm gonna try the door."
he heard a huff from the other side, but the pounding stopped. he grabbed the doorknob. it opened without an issue. there you were, face red, surrounded by cleaning materials. he smirked, turning back around to look at the girls.
"really? that was-- jesus christ!" he exclaimed.
el shoved him into the same closet, slamming the door behind him before he could get his hands on it. the lock clicked again. steve groaned, trying the knob, but it was damn near cemented. el using her powers.
"talk." el simply said from the outside, crossing her arms.
"without yelling." max added. "for twenty minutes."
crossing their arms, the girls turned and walked away.
"goddammit," he muttered, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of the door.
on the other side, you stood frozen, your own anger momentarily eclipsed by sheer disbelief. you were locked in a broom closet. with steve harrington. by two fourteen-year-old girls.
the space was suddenly, unbearably small. the sharp scent of pine-sol filled your lungs, mixed with the scent of steve's aftershave and the mint gum in his mouth. you could feel the heat radiating from his body just inches away.
"this is ridiculous," you whispered into the cramped darkness.
"you think?" steve's voice was a low, frustrated rumble right next to your ear. he shifted, his shoulder brushing against yours, and you both flinched away, pressing yourselves against opposite walls. it was a futile effort; the closet was barely big enough for the two of you and karen wheeler's cleaning arsenal.
silence descended, thick and heavy. you could hear his breathing, a little too fast, and the frantic thumping of your own heart. twenty minutes. it felt like a lifetime.
you knew that if you didn't address what had happened the other night, you'd look weak. and you'd also explode. neither were good options, and if you and steve kept ignoring what was happening between each other, things would only get broken worse.
"thank you." you whispered, crossing your arms.
the two words, soft and unexpected, seemed to suck all the air out of the cramped closet.
steve went completely still. "for what?" he asked, his voice cautious, confused.
"for the other night," you clarified, your voice barely audible. you stared straight ahead at a bottle of bleach, unable to look at him. "for... getting me home. for the water and the aspirin. i was... i was a mess. and you didn't have to do that."
there was a long pause. you could almost hear him processing, the gears turning in his head.
"i did have to," he said finally, his voice low and earnest. "Y/N, i will always have to. even if you hate me. even if you never want to see me again. if you're in trouble, i'm... i'm there. that's never going to change."
the raw, unvarnished truth in his words was a battering ram against the walls you'd built. it wasn't a grand romantic declaration. it was something deeper, more fundamental. a promise of loyalty that transcended their broken relationship.
a sob caught in your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stifle it. the sound was small, but he heard it.
"hey," he said softly, his tone shifting from defensive to concerned. "don't... don't cry. please."
"i'm not crying," you lied, your voice trembling.
you felt him shift beside you, his arm hesitantly brushing against yours again, but this time, neither of you pulled away. he tried to turn your body towards his.
"look at me," he whispered.
you shook your head, still facing the bleach bottle as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"please, baby."
the pet name simultaneously shot sparks down your spine and poured cold water over your head. slowly, reluctantly, you turned your head. your eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and you could see his face, all sharp angles and shadows, his expression open and unbearably sad.
"i'm sorry," he said again, his gaze holding yours. "for all of it. for being a stupid, mean boy. for not being the man you needed me to be."
the tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. you didn't wipe them away.
"i miss you," you whispered, the admission feeling like both a failure and a liberation. "and I hate it."
a shuddering breath escaped him. he lifted his hand, his fingers hovering near your cheek before he gently wiped a tear away with his thumb. the touch was so familiar, so achingly gentle, it made you want to scream and lean into it all at once.
"i know," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "i miss you too. and i hate that you hate it."
you stood there, trapped in a closet, crying while steve harrington wiped your tears, and for the first time in months, it didn't feel like a battle. It just felt sad, and real, and like maybe, just maybe, a beginning.
you could feel him getting closer, his smell, the heat of his body, until you were breathing it all in. his nose brushed yours gently. two days ago, you would've never dreamed he'd be this close to you ever again. it felt like you were floating, an out of body experience.
his lips were a breath away from yours. you could feel the warmth of them, the ghost of a touch you’d ached for and resented in equal measure. your eyes fluttered shut, the world narrowing to the space between your mouths. jt would be so easy to close it. to fall back into the familiar warmth, to let the anger and the hurt dissolve into this. but you couldn't move.
steve could. this was all he'd ever wanted for months.
"i promise you," he whispered, his scent fanning over your face. "i swear on everything i love. i will never hurt you again."
the words were a balm and a brand all at once. a promise you desperately wanted to believe, seared into the air by the heat of his proximity. your resolve, already cracking, began to crumble.
that was all the invitation he needed.
he closed the infinitesimal distance, his lips meeting yours.
it wasn't like the frantic, desperate kisses from before the breakup. it wasn't like the angry, bruising clash you'd shared in the middle of your worst fights. this was slow. reverent. a silent apology and a desperate question all in one.
a sob escaped you, muffled against his mouth, but you didn't pull away. your hands, which had been braced against his chest, unclenched. your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world.
he kissed you like he was memorizing you, like he was trying to pour every unsaid "i'm sorry" and "i miss you" and "i love you" directly from his soul into yours. one of his hands cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until not even a whisper could fit between you.
the world outside -- the party, the kids, the months of pain -- ceased to exist. there was only the dark, the scent of pine-sol and his cologne, and the devastatingly gentle pressure of his lips on yours.
when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads resting together again in the dark.
the lock clicked.
the door swung open. max and el stood there, their eyes wide.
max’s mouth dropped open. "whoa."
el just smiled, a small, knowing smile.
steve didn't jump back. he kept his forehead against yours for a second longer, his eyes still closed, as if savoring the moment before the real world intruded. then he slowly straightened up, his hand sliding from your back to find yours, lacing your fingers together.
he looked at the girls, a new, quiet confidence in his gaze. "we're good," he said, his voice low but firm.
it wasn't entirely true. the hurt wasn't gone. the trust wasn't magically rebuilt. but the war was over. the peace talks had ended with a treaty sealed with a kiss.
you looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him, and gave his fingers a slight squeeze. it was an answer.
we're getting there.
oh will my sweet boy
ℋℴ𝓅𝓅ℯ𝓇'𝓈 𝒪𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒫𝓇ℴ𝒷𝓁ℯ𝓂
Summary: Hopper has been so fed up with Mike and Eleven's relationship in fact he's been so caught up in separating the two that he doesn't even know you and the King of Hawkins might have a little something going on too.
Warnings: slight swearing, some smut, teasing, caught in the act
You were sitting on the couch opening a soda can, watching whatever your biological dad Jim Hopper was. You were the eldest daughter in the family, after Sarah's death you'd never thought you'd recover but as time went on you healed. Then one day your dad brought home a little lost girl and you both took her under you wing.
Now she's in her room "studying" with her boyfriend Mike Wheeler. You couldn't tell if your dad was actually that clueless or if he was gaslighting himself, believing they were actually studying instead of sucking off each other's faces like little amateurs. El's door was 3 inches open. That was the rule if anyone's in your room it always has to stay open at least 3 inches, especially if boys are involved. Hopper leans back on the chair, extending his view down the hallway into El's room. He probably saw Mike and El shoving each other's tongue's down thieir throats and decided to go yell at them.
Once he comes back he sits down again muttering something about teenagers. "Everything good?" you ask "Wheeler's a dick." He mutters while I chuckle. "Can you maybe not date until you move out or somethign or at least until you're 30, cause I can't deal with someone who could be worse than Wheeler!" He sighs. "Relax Dad, I don't plan on dating mainly cause none of the guys at school aren't even good enough to date any of the girls." You say. The truth was you weren't planning on dating...because you already have a boyfriend.
If you're Dad even got the slightest hint that you were dating Steve "The Hair" Harrington, let alone speaking to him he would freak. Of course, El and Mike and the rest of the party knew we were dating but they definitely wouldn't tell or hint anything that could get us caught by Hopper EVER. But Steve thinks otherwise since he's the definition of the saying. "What's life without a little risk". After finishing the can of soda, you decide it's time to go to bed since you have school tommorow. "Well anyways I'm gonna go to sleep, night dad." You sigh walking down the hallway. "Night" He calls out.
As you reach El's room Mike leaves deciding it's time to call it a night. Thank God. You say goodnight to El winking at her, teasing her non-verbally about her and Mike. You reach your room laying in bed, turning off the light but leaving one lamp on beside your bed. As you're so close to falling asleep, 3 knock on your window woke you up. You get out of bed and look out to see who's there. Steve Harrington and his windows. You open the window as he climbs down. "What the hell are you-" He cuts you off with a deep kiss.
You immediately melt into, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck. His hands wrap around you're waist and he softly pushes you to the bed, your lips still in sync with each other. You pull away catching your breath but pulling him in for one more again. You take off his shirt, revealing his abs and your hand flies up to them making him groan in your mouth. You take that opportunity to push your tongue in his mouth. He takes off your pajamas slowly as if asking for permission. And as if to say yes you kiss him longer. He pulls them down in one swift motion and his fingers digs into the waistband of your panties.
"Jesus you're soaking wet baby." He breathes out heavily. "This shit all for me?" You nod whimpering. "I need words baby." "Yea Steve all for you. "Attagirl". he presses a soft kiss to your clit making you jolt and dig your hips up but he pushes them down. He licks a stripe collecting all the arousal, while you try so hard not to moan out. "Need you Steve" I know baby I know I got you I got you". He says softly.
Then considering your luck the door opens revealing Hopper. "Hey, I just wanted to let you know-OH MY FUCKING GOD." Steve pulls the blankets up in an instant as your dad covers his eyes Steve puts on his shirt as fast as he could while you pulls your clothes up under the blankets. "Harrington, you are in so much trouble right now young man." Hopper warns. Steve's sweating right about now. "Sir, I can explain-". "Oh, don't bullshit me, the next time you even think about screwing my daughter, I will kill you, I'm the chief of police I could cover it up without a trace Harrington." He mutters. "Y-yes sir" Steve stutters and you couldn't help but hold back a laugh.
This is definitely not how you planned on introducing your boyfriend to your dad. "Get out." He sighs. Steve just nods and looks backs at you, conteplating weather he should do something but your dad gives him a look. "I didn't say next week get out now!" He growls. "Yep..going now." Steve open the window and puts one leg outside the window. "Not from there Harrington we have a front door for a reason." Steve sighs and nods face red with the embarrassment and horniness he received all in just a couple of minutes. The front door shuts and your dad look back you. "You and I are going to have a loooong chat tomorrow morning. "
ℒ𝒪𝒱ℰ 𝒴𝒪𝒰
NOTE: I'm making a part 2 of this, comment if you want to be added to the taglist.