summary: when borrowing steve’s car ends in an accident that leaves it completely wrecked, you’re left shaken and terrified of how he’ll react. except when he finds you, it’s painfully clear he couldn’t give a fuck about the damage.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: car accident, totaled car, panicked sobbing, slight bleeding minor injuries, blood on face/hair, guilt, hurt/comfort, comfort, reassurance, overthinking.
“He’s going to kill me.”
The words spill out of you before you can stop them, thin and shaking, ripped straight from your chest.
You barely recognize your own voice. You’re staring ahead, eyes unfocused, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Not the spiderwebbed windshield. Not the hood crumpled inward, steam ghosting up into the air.
All you can see is Steve’s face when he finds out. When he sees the car. His precious car.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman says gently. “Try not to worry about that right now.”
You shake your head, breath hitching. “No, you don’t understand. He’s—fuck—he’s going to lose it.”
Because not even twenty minutes ago, you’d been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steve’s car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.
The road had been clear, that’s until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid it—sending the car headfirst into the tree instead.
If it weren’t for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you don’t know what you would’ve done.
Steve’s car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.
The woman —who’s name you learned to be Mrs. Dunne—sighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to call for help, all right? My daughter’s a nurse. She’ll look at you.”
She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.
You’re still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.
“I need a number,” she says gently, already leaning across the seat. “Who owns the car?”
Steve’s name sticks in your throat, except you can’t even pull the words out. You point instead. “Glove compartment.”
She finds it quickly — a worn little address book, containing numbers and details— and flips until she nods. “Got him.”
“Hey,” a voice says nearby. “I’m Vickie.”
You look up to find a girl. She can’t be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
“Can I take a look at you?”
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. “I mean—I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m that injured.”
Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. “Okay,” she says gently. “Still gonna check you.”
She guides you toward the back seat of the car—which is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like she’s afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.
“I swear I wasn’t speeding,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “The road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didn’t even think, I just—”
“Hey,” Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. “Pause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?”
You try. The breath stutters anyway.
“That’s okay,” she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. “We’ll take it slow.”
She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. “You’ve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.” Her voice stays calm. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“I feel sick,” you admit. “But I think that’s just because of… everything.”
“That makes sense.” She presses gauze gently to your forehead.
You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “Glass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.”
“It is worse,” you choke. “Steve’s going to see this and he’s going to lose it. Oh, God—the car—”
She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Steve’s your boyfriend?”
You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s his car. His brand new BMW—which he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally paid an insane amount of money for it and shows it off every chance he gets.”
A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. “I’m dead. I’m actually so dead.”
Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. “I don’t know your boyfriend, hon,” she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, “but cars can be fixed. People can’t. I really don’t think he’s going to care about the car when he sees you like this.”
“He will,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “He’s gonna take one look at it and just—God. I shouldn’t have borrowed it. I shouldn’t have touched it at all. I should’ve just walked, I—fuck.”
“Well, my mom already called him,” Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. “And she called your friends too. He’s already on his way.”
Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. “No. Oh my God.” You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. “You should go, both of you. You’ve done more than enough, and I really don’t want you here when he—when he sees it.”
The image won’t leave you alone: Steve’s face hardening, his furious rage leading him to probably— rightfully so— break up with you. Your stomach twists at the thought, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.
Vickie shakes her head before you’ve even finished. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
From across the road, her mom’s voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. “None of that, honey!”
Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. “We are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.” She softens just a touch as she looks at you. “We’ll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. That’s that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dunne.” you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.
Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way he’d said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to you—
A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.
You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before it’s even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.
You’ve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.
Terrified.
His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then he’s moving fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.
Vickie and her mom both straighten. “Well,” Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. “That’ll be him.”
They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register.
Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Fuck—are you okay?”
The Dunnes’ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steve’s frantic words.
He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.
“Hey. Hey—look at me, okay? Baby, c’mon.”
You can’t.
Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.
“I’m sorry,” you manage, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop and—and I know how much you love it and I shouldn’t have taken it and—”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through, “Hey. Stop.”
Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.
“I know it was stupid,” you ramble, tears blurring everything. “I know it’s your car and it’s new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accident—”
“—look at me,” he says, low and steady.
Steve’s hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.
Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.
“Breathe, baby,” he says immediately, softer now. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Come on.”
You suck in a shaky breath.
“Good. Out. Yeah, that’s it. Again.”
You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.
“That’s it, good job,,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.
“Now,” he says, voice firmer, sharper, like he’s trying to anchor you to reality. “Are you hurt?”
You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. “No—but your car, it’s—”
Steve’s jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.
“Did I ask about the goddamn car?” His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.
You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he leans closer, pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to pin you in place—but it’s not dominance, it’s urgency.
“I asked if you’re hurt,” he says again, softer but no less intense. “not the car.”
You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyes—it isn’t anger. It’s terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you.
His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyes—a world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.
You shake your head slowly, trembling. “No,” you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. “M’not.”
He exhales hard through his nose, “Does your head hurt? Your temple?” he says gently now.
You sniff, shaking your head again. “No. It stings, but—there was an old woman and her daughter. They saw the accident. The daughter’s a nurse. She helped me.”
Steve nods. “I know. She called me.”
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You hear me? Don’t scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.”
In truth, the moment he’d gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadn’t thought about the car. Not even for a second. He’d pictured you bleeding, broken, or worse; not breathing.
He’d borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.
You blink up at him, voice small. “So… you’re not mad about your car?”
His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. “Mad?” he echoes. “No. God, no.”
He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. “I don’t give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheart—hell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.”
You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “I don’t think you’re that rich, Steve.”
He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Oh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.”
You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. “Are you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!”
“I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,” he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. “You looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.” His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. “Besides. You’re my baby. Not that damn thing.”
Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.
“Now, come on,” he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. “Let’s get you checked out at the hospital.”
You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. “But Vickie already wrapped me up—”
“I know,” he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. “I just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.”
You nod, letting him guide you toward the truck, his arm never leaving your back, like if he does you might disappear.
steve harrington masterlist
a/n: likes, comments, and reblogs are all highly appreciated <33
౨ৎ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: before Hawkins High crowned him “King Steve,” Steve Harrington was your best friend. the boy you biked home with after school, the boy who knew all your secrets, the boy who swore he’d never change. then freshman year happened. his new friends didn’t like that he hung around someone so “pathetic”, and Steve didn’t defend you when they cornered you. one stupid moment of betrayal was all it took to end years of friendship. You hardened yourself, dropped the girl he once knew, and built a life where Steve Harrington no longer existed. but when Will Byers goes missing and your little brother Dustin starts acting suspicious, Hawkins becomes anything but normal. you start noticing strange lights, weird noises in the woods, and a mysterious girl hiding in the Wheeler's basement, and suddenly, Steve is everywhere again. you don’t want anything to do with him, but the world is falling apart, Dustin is in danger, and Steve keeps proving he isn’t the same coward who let you down years ago. as monsters crawl out of the dark and secrets unravel, old wounds reopen and so does the possibility that maybe Steve Harrington was never meant to stay out of your life.
౨ৎ 𝐓𝐖: bullying, verbal harassment, language, violence, past betrayal, alcohol, parties, drugs, toxic relationships, abuse, manipulation, aggression, trauma, jealousy, possessive behavior, angst, canon character death, smut scenes (18+/skippable), normal stranger things stuff, (lmk if I missed anything!)
in which you're desperately in love with steve harrington, and you don't realize that steve harrington is desperately in love with you too
PAIRING: steve harrington x fem!reader, steve harrington x mayfield!reader
WARNINGS: young love, miscommunication, angst, yearning steve, confused steve, obliviousness, grief, mentions of alcoholism, amazing confession, kissing
WORD COUNT: 3.4k
🎶 : santa doesn't know you like i do - sabrina carpenter
AN: 🩵💗♥️ - happy holidays!! also posting this most of the way through the first episode of part two(geeking out) - i'm now rereading and realizing that Max was in fact in her coma during 1986, so i apoligize for the inaccuracy😞
you can feel it in the silence - prequel
If you went back in time, Marty McFly style, and told yourself that you’d be standing under mistletoe opposite Steve Harrington, you’d have laughed in your own face. It was preposterous, so far out of the wheelhouse of possibilities that it was laughable. Hence the laughing.
Yet here you stood, eyes watering as you stared up at the boy you loved. “I can’t do this.”
“Sweetheart-” His voice wavered.
You whispered. “Just- just leave me alone.”
“Mayfield-” He sounded desperate, his voice calling after you as you weaved through the party’s attendees. “Just wait-”
Sunday, December 21st, 1986
“C’mon, Max!” You yelled from the front door. It wasn’t that hard for her to hear you, given your current living situation. Ever since your asshole stepfather had skipped town and sold the house, you, your sister, and your mother (who was on the verge of becoming an alcoholic) were confined to this trailer house.
It could be worse, you reminded yourself whenever your anger dared to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help but yearn for the days when you had your own room. “The car is gonna run out of gas at this poin-”
“I’m coming.” She groaned, pushing past you. “God.”
“Bye, mom.” You waved at the woman, who was currently passed out on her La-Z-Boy. “I love you.”
“Mhhhm.” She hummed, rolling over.
You sighed, pulling the door shut and locking it before jumping into your XJ. “Are you excited at least?”
“To go Christmas shopping on Main Street?” Max shrugged. “I guess so.”
“We can go somewhere else-”
“No, it’s fine.” She turned away from you, mumbling under her breath. “It’s not like we can afford much else anyway.”
The stores were shockingly empty, save for the other poor souls who were last-minute shopping. If you were being honest, you’d already gotten everyone’s presents weeks ago, but it was fun to go out again. That, and Max had told you she hadn’t bought anything for her friends yet. “How about this, Maxie?”
“That’s fine.” She took a step closer, and you smiled. At least she was showing an interest. “How much?”
“Money is not an issue, I told you.” You held it away from her grasp. “I have some savings-”
“I don’t want you spending your college money-”
“Max.” You hissed. “Let me do this for you.”
“I-” She frowned, realizing there was no way she was getting her way. You were stubborn, even more so than she was. “Fine.”
“Good.” You huffed, carefully placing the item in your cart. “Now what else-”
“Mayfield? Is that you?”
Your body tensed, mentally cursing the hold that Steve Harrington had on you. Slowly turning around, you couldn't help but grin at the sight. Steve looked perfect, as usual. With his cream cable-knit sweater, Levi's, brown topcoat, and perfectly quaffed hair, he was like one of those love interests from the sappy sitcoms you and your mom love to watch. “Steve!” You hugged him quickly. “How are you?”
“Good, good.” He looked over your shoulder, waving at your sister. “Hey, Max.”
“Steven.” She sounded unenthused, but waved back anyway. “Stalker much?”
“Max?” You laughed nervously. “She didn’t mean that-”
“She’s not wrong.” His cheeks looked pink. Probably from the cold, you reasoned with yourself. “I saw you from Radio Shack-” You raised a brow. “I know, I know. I was trying to find this specific part that Henderson has been complaining about.”
“Well…” You grinned. “I’m glad you caught us.”
He nodded, swaying every so often. “Are you-”
“You should-”
You both laughed, stopping before your interaction became an even bigger train wreck. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” His voice was breathy, goosebumps racing down your spine. “After you?”
“I was just going to ask if you wanted to come along with us?” You spoke so quickly, you didn’t even know if he could understand. “Totally fine if not-”
“I’d love to.”
Once you and Steve had parted ways with a very awkward hug slash high five (you honestly couldn’t describe what had happened), you’d gotten back in your freezing car. Max wouldn’t stop smirking at you- you’d tried to ignore it, the little snickers every so often, but it began to irritate the shit out of you. “Alright, Maxine. Spit it out.”
“Nothing.” She laughed. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Yeah?” You scoffed. “Just say it. I know you want to.”
“Fine.” She sat up in her seat, looking at you mischievously. “You and Steve seem to have some unaddressed tensio-”
“Max!” You squawked. “I- He’s just a friend.”
“Does he know that?” Her eyebrow quirked up. “Do you?”
“I’m ignoring that.” You murmured, putting the car in park and turning it off. “Please don’t say anything to mom.”
“Why would I?” She stuck her tongue out, walking back inside. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Monday, December 22nd, 1986
The diner door jingled as you walked through, the winter snow billowing in behind you. You pulled your coat closer to your body, waving at the woman behind the counter. “Hi, Miss Flo.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” You sat at the bar, rubbing your hands together. “What’ll it be? The usual?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Coming right up.”
When you’d been in high school, you and Max would come here and eat dinner, too annoyed with Billy to go home, and too pissed off at your stepdad to listen to his bitching. You always sat in the corner booth, sharing a strawberry milkshake and unpacking everything about each other’s days, while simultaneously doing homework.
You’d even come here once with Billy, when your stepdad had forced the three of you to hang out. It'd been nice, for about thirty seconds.
“Actually, Flo-” You called out, scrambling to your feet. “I’m gonna get going-”
“Are you sure-”
Your feet moved before you could even act, racing out of the diner before she could even finish her sentence. You drove and drove and drove until you hit the Family Video parking lot.
You slammed the door shut, the familiar scent of old carpet and horribly covered up body odor, oddly comforting. In a disgusting, nostalgic sort of way.
You walked the aisles, trying to distract yourself from that horrible feeling (holiday-induced nostalgia) when a familiar voice filled the otherwise silent store. “It’s weird that we’re back here, isn’t it?”
“Steve, please.” You laughed at how exasperated Robin sounded. “Kieth already didn’t like you, so who really cares?”
“Good point.”
“Anyways-” Robin trailed off. “You were saying-”
“Yeah, yeah.” He huffed. “You’re so pushy.”
“Get to the point, Harrington.”
You ducked, listening in on their conversation. This was a whole new layer of weird, of odd freak behavior. If Max were here, she would never let you live this down. “It’s just- it’s hard.”
“Elaborate.”
“She’s so hard to read, y’know?”
“Trust me, I do.”
“You think she’s in love, and then the next moment, she’s avoiding-” Oh shit. Your eyes began to water. Eavesdropping never did anyone any good, and this was no exception. “Poor Byers. What is going on in her head, I’ll never kno-”
You could barely see in front of yourself as you raced out of the store, head ducked down. Why did you do this to yourself? Why, time and time again, did you fall for men who could not be less interested in you? Your tires squealed as you raced out of the parking lot, tears streaming down your cheeks as you came to the realization that Steve Harrington was not at all in love with you, and never had been.
Tuesday, December 23rd, 1986
You hadn’t moved for almost twelve hours, staring at the ceiling and contemplating life. You’d run out of tears about two hours in, your sobs muffled under the stuffed teddy that coincidentally, Steve had won for you at the county fair last fall.
Stupid polar bear.
“What’s wrong?” Max’s voice ripped you from your thoughts. “You seem- mopey.”
“Thank you, Maxine.” You huffed, turning to face her. “I’m mourning.”
“Aren’t we all.” She raised a brow, and you winced at your unfortunate choice of words.
“I can’t go to the Christmas party anymore.”
“Why not?” She sat down beside you, playing with your hair. Your eyes watered all over again. Max rarely played with your hair anymore, a habit she picked up when she was a little girl. “Did something happen?”
“Steve Harrington happened.”
“Elaborate.”
“I overheard him- in the Family Video.” Your voice broke. “Talking to Robin about how he was still in love with Nancy.” A sob left your lips. “And I can’t face the humiliation of seeing him and crumbling like a fool under his attention, just for him to go in the other room and make googly eyes at Wheeler.”
Max frowned, shaking her head. “He’s an idiot.”
“No.” You shook your head. “I’m the idiot.”
“Don’t say that.” Her voice was so gentle, so caring. “You liked a boy, and it didn’t work out. That doesn’t make you an idiot.” She lay down beside you, whispering. “That makes you human.”
You grinned, tearily laughing. “Thank you.”
“Are you going to leave our room now?” She smiled. “Mom is concerned. She said she heard wailing.”
You gasped. “Wailing?”
Max nodded, laughing lightly. “Said she thought we were being haunted.”
“Now you’re making things up.” You glared, shoving her off the bed. “Taunting me in my time of need.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling you with her. “So dramatic.”
Also Tuesday, December 23th, 1986
“Mayfield is ignoring me.”
Robin shook her head, hoping that she’d misheard him. They’d been watching Fast Times for the fiftieth time when Steve ruined their trace-like state. “What?”
“I’ve called her four times.”
“Well, no shit, she’s ignoring you, Harrington.” Robin laughed, pausing the tape. “She probably called the cops, you creep.”
“Shut up.” He glared. “I’m serious. I called her yesterday to confirm that she and Max were coming to the party, and I immediately got hung up on. Not one ring.”
“Could be a coincidence.”
“That’s what I told myself.” He nodded, eyes becoming more and more manic, like how his eyes looked when he was describing the plot of Back to the Future. “So then I called again.”
“Let me guess?” Robin leaned forward in her chair. “Hung up on.”
“So at this point, I’m confused. So I call again, and this time it rings.”
“Okay?”
“And it keeps ringing. So then, in a moment of desperation, I call one more time. This time, her mother picks up and says, Stop calling this number.”
“Creeper.”
“She’s upset. I can feel it.”
“Oh, because you two have a mental connection that transcends modern technology.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Good god, Harrington.” Robin laughed. “For your sake, and mine, I’m gonna fix this. Detective Buckley is on the case.”
“Oh no.” Steve groaned, letting his face fall into his hands. “I’m screwed.”
Wednesday, December 24th, 1986
“Your boy called again.” Your mother called out from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry?” You tilted your head. “Which one of us are you talking to?”
“Said his name was Steve-”
Max giggled. “This has got to be good.”
“Did you hang up?” Your voice grew in pitch. “Please tell me you hung up.”
“I told him to stop calling this number.” She walked back over, handing you and Max your pancakes. “Although I do have to say he sounded distraught. And apologetic.”
“Mom-” You groaned. “Drop it, please.”
“He sounded apologetic.” Max teased. “There’s a start.”
“Maxine, I will-” The phone rang, your eyes shooting toward the wall in fear. “I swear to god-”
“I’ll get it.” Max sighed. “This is pathetic, though.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You smiled. “I owe you one.”
“Hello?” Max leaned against the wall, her hand toying with the phone's cord. “Hi, Robin.”
A small twist of disappointment hit you in the stomach. You almost wished it was Steve, so that you could watch Max tease the living shit out of him and gain some sort of self-respect out of it. (Also, because it felt nice to have arguably the most attractive man in Hawkins worry over you.)
“Mhm. Mhm.” Your sister looked over at you quickly, smirking, before focusing back on the phone. “I see.”
“What’s going on?” You hissed, but she waved you away.
“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Robin.” She hung up the phone, waltzing back over to her seat like nothing had happened.
“Hello?” You crossed your arms. “Care to share with the class?”
“She was just telling us Merry Christmas.”
“Okay.” You scoffed. “If you say so.”
Of course, you knew she was lying, and you knew that she would never tell you. She and Robin had devised a plan, and you honestly wished it could all happen right now rather than live in suspense.
That would not be the case.
Thursday, December 25th, 1986
“I know you aren’t going-” You groaned, shoving your face into your pillow. “But can you at least drive me?”
“Can’t Mrs.Sinclair pick you up?”
“Lucas is already there.”
“Let me guess, so is Dustin and Mike and-” Max nodded, and you jumped out of your seat. “Let’s go.”
“Yes!” Max looked way too excited at the prospect of you simply driving her. “Let’s go!”
“Well wait just a second-”
“I already started your car-” Max yelled over her shoulder. “Just put your coat on!”
“Fine, fine.” You waved bye to your mom, mumbling under your breath. “God, you’re pushy.”
You parked at the end of Steve’s driveway, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Just the thought of seeing him turned your cheeks pink and your mind to mush. “I’ll see you in three hours.”
“Okay.” Max smiled, kissing your cheek quickly. “Have fun at home. With Mom. By yourself.”
“I get it, I get it.” You glared, pushing her away. “Get out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Her tone was sickeningly sweet, like she was trying to cover up a secret. “You don’t need to stay long-”
“If I go in, will you stop making fun of me for staying at home with Mom?” She nodded, and you smiled. “Alright, then.” You turned off the car and zipped up your coat, walking toward your death. The house was bustling with noise; you could hear them from outside.
Dustin’s voice carried over everyone’s as he explained his latest campaign. Lucas’s laughter, still high-pitched, rang out soon after his friend spoke. Max scoffed, ringing the doorbell.
“One second!” A voice came from just the other side of the door, undoing the locks. “One second- Hi.” Robin grinned. “The Mayfields have arrived.”
“I’m not staying long.” You lamented. “Just here to say a quick hello.”
Robin laughed. “Have any big plans?”
“Yeah.” Max nodded. “She has a romantic evening planned with our TV.”
“Shut up.” You shoved your sister inside. “She’s kidding.”
“Sure.” The older girl's voice dragged out. “Do you want a drink?”
“I’m good, thanks though.” You rubbed your arms, teeth chattering. “I’m gonna take a look around.”
“Make yourself at home,” Robin called after you. “You know where everything is.”
The house was alive, but then again, it always was when the party was here. The kids made everything happier, with their loud personalities and lively debates, often ending in roughhousing that you and Steve would scold them for.
Steve.
God, what were you doing here? Being in his house, constantly reminded of him at every turn. It was a recipe for disaster. Here you were, in enemy territory.
Where was the host, anyway? A solid eight minutes in, and you’d yet to see him. No doubt, flirting with Nancy, Steve had better things to do than talk to you.
“Mayfield?” Someone kill you now. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I-” You gulped, turning around. “Hi, Steve.”
“You didn’t answer my calls.”
“You called?” You tilted your head. Perhaps playing dumb would get you out of this mess. “Funny.”
“Yeah.” His eyebrows were furrowed. “Are you mad at me?”
“What?” Your voice was much louder than you’d meant it to be. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just- I swear I saw you on Monday.”
“Monday?” You were so screwed.
“In Family Video?” He took a step closer. “You weren’t there?”
“Nope.” Your lips popped. “Nope, I was home all day.”
“Funny.” He scoffed. “You can tell me what I did. I’ll fix it, I swear.”
“You didn’t do anything, Steve.” You sounded so weak, so unlike your normal self. It was pathetic. “I’m just not feeling well.”
“Oh?” He reached out, feeling your forehead with the back of his palm. “You feel fine-”
“It’s a stomach bug.”
“Mayfield-”
“I should go.” You stepped around him. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”
“Just wait a second-” He whipped around, racing after you. “I’ve done something, I know I have, and if you could just-”
“Steve-” You yelled. “Please, drop it!”
“Am I interrupting something?” Robin’s timid voice cut through the tension.
“No.” You shook your head.
“Yes.” Steve’s eyes widened. “What do you mean no?”
“This is probably a horrible time-”
“It is.” Steve hissed.
“But you two are aware that you’re standing underneath mistletoe, right?”
You looked up, heart dropping at the sight. “God dammit.”
“You don’t have to-” Robin whispered. “I was just-”
“Robin!” Steve’s voice was stern, cold. “Can we have a moment? Alone?”
“Sure.” She nodded quickly. “Yeah, take all the time you need.”
Steve waited until Robin’s prying ears were far from reach. “I need to tell you something.”
“You really don’t need to do that.” Your voice broke. “I already know.”
“You do?” He tilted his head. “Then why are you- why are you avoiding me?”
“Why would I not?” You yelled back at him. “I don’t want to watch as you and Nancy fawn over each other. I can’t!”
“Nancy?” His hands fell to his hips. “What the hell does Nancy have to do with this?”
“She has everything to do with this.” You sobbed, eyes watering as you stared up at the boy you loved. “But I can’t do this.”
“Sweetheart-” His voice wavered.
You whispered, stumbling backwards. “Just- just leave me alone.”
“Mayfield-” He sounded desperate, his voice calling after you as you weaved through the party’s attendees. “Just wait-” You pushed through, past Max, past Dustin, past the whole party. Whipping the door open, you ran towards your car. “Why can’t you just stop?”
“Why can’t you?” You cried. “I don’t want to face this, I’d rather just never address this again.”
“Well, I do.” He jutted his hip out. “You have absolutely no idea.”
“No idea of what?”
“How-” He huffed, waving his arms around. “How badly I want you!”
“Me?” You shook your head. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” He walked closer. “I like you!”
“But I-”
“I like when you're sarcastic, I like your attitude, I like the way you jut your hip out before you scold the kids, I like the way you lick your lips when you're focused, I like everything.”
“But you said that Nancy- I mean-” You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Shit.”
“You should really stop eavesdropping, Mayfield.” He looked way too smug, and you couldn't even find it within you to care.
“You said-”
“I said that she was hard to read.” He nodded.
“You said Poor Jonathan.”
“I did, yeah.” Another step closer. “I was talking about Nancy-”
“I knew it!”
“I was talking about the fact that Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment shopping.” Steve laughed. “They’re-”
“Apartment shopping.” You nodded, closing the distance between the two of you. “I heard you. So you weren’t talking about how you were still in love with Nancy?”
“Nope.”
“This is ridiculous.” You laugh turned breathy as Steve’s hand wrapped around your waist. “Truly ridiculous.”
“It is.” He leaned down, your lips inches apart. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“Okay-” He dove down, your eyes rolling back as you fell into his touch. God, his kiss was addicting, you only wanted more. Your arms found their way around his neck, pulling him closer. “Steve-”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“You’re-” You gasped as he kissed down your neck.
“Keep going.” You could hear his smirk.
“I-I think I love you.”
“I know I love you.” He murmured, finding his way back to your lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Do you think they can see us?” Steve whispered.
“I don’t know-” You looked over, laughing. Each and every one of your friends were sticking their faces against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of you two. “They’re never gonna let us forget this, are they?”
“No, they will not.”
The window cracked open, and Dustin's voice yelled out. "The mistletoe's in here, guys!"
"Stuff it, Henderson!" Steve yelled back. "I'm trying to kiss my girl-"
"Your girl?" You laughed.
"Yeah." He nodded. "If you want-" You jumped up, kissing him sweetly. Steve would later retell the story dramatically to your children, saying that your kiss was 'sweeter than any hot chocolate'.
꒰ 🚲 ꒱ synopsis 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 after years of secretly loving mike you finally move on and date someone new, only to discover that mike has a problem with him, and suddenly everything you thought was over isn’t.
IT SHOULD’VE BEEN EASY, YOU THINK SOMETIMES. LOVING HIM.
but it wasn’t. it never has been. because mike wheeler is… dense. painfully, spectacularly, cosmically dense. the kind of boy who could watch you bleed and ask if you tripped. who could stare at you too long, too soft, too much, and then claim he “didn’t notice.” he’s a riddle, and he makes you work for every moment of clarity like it’s something you should feel lucky to receive.
you’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. long before monsters, long before the word “upside down” meant something other than the way he lay on the couch when he was bored. before trauma rearranged both of you into people you barely recognized. back when he was just mike—awkward, loud, too earnest, too stubborn. a boy who talked with his whole body, who defended you with scraped knees and shouted arguments in parking lots, who didn’t know how to say the things he felt so he built entire fortresses out of silence instead.
and god, you tried. you tried to read him the way he reads maps in d&d, looking for patterns, for anything that could mean he cared the way you did. but mike never opens the right doors. or maybe he opens them too late. maybe he doesn’t even realize the doors are there. he’s so used to hiding, to shouldering everything alone, that letting anyone in feels like handing over a weapon.
loving someone like that—someone who keeps himself locked away—it hurts. it hurts because wanting him feels like trying to warm your hands over a fire that won’t stay lit.
you did try to let him go. you swear you did. loving mike wheeler isn’t this soft, fluttery thing people write poems about. its something you have to learn to tuck under your ribs so it doesn’t spill out every time he looks at you with those dark, startled eyes like he wasn’t expecting you to still be there. you learned early that emotions make him skittish. not just yours—everyone’s. if you get too close, too honest, too anything, he recoils. not physically, but in words. sharp ones, sarcastic ones, the kind he regrets immediately but never admits to.
you’ve seen it happen to others, so you never risked it with yourself.
so slowly, you started stepping back. not in some dramatic teenage heartbreak way, but in the soft, invisible ways that actually matter. you sat with different people at lunch, laughing at jokes that weren’t as funny as you pretended. you stopped answering him when he’d radio you. you skipped movie nights twice in a row. you let days pass without seeking him out first.
you told yourself it was self-care, not avoidance. that maybe if you built a life without him woven through every hour of it, the ache would dull. maybe the world would shift its axis just enough that he wouldn’t be the center anymore.
the problem was… hawkins is small. memories are smaller.
how do you let go of someone whose shadow sits in every corner of your childhood? he’s everywhere. in the sunburns from summers at the quarry. in the grass stains on your jeans from bike races he always cheated in. in the smell of wet pavement after storms, because those were the nights he’d sneak out and show up at your window, whispering, “c’mon, you’re not gonna let a little rain stop us.”
he’s in the basement where you learned what loyalty felt like, lights dim, dice clattering, his voice animated and alive in ways you never heard in classrooms or crowded hallways. he’s in the scream you made the first time you saw a demogorgon, and the way his hand grabbed yours so tight it left impressions. he’s in the silence afterward, when none of you slept for days, and he sat on the floor beside your bed, staring at the wall like if he looked away, the world might break again.
mike wheeler has always been a constant. even when he’s cold, even when he’s distant, even when he’s drowning in his own head and dragging everyone with him, you never doubted his heart.
you just doubted that he’d ever let you see all of it.
he has no idea. he has no idea that your voice softens when you say his name. he has no idea that you memorized every version of his smile. he has no idea that half the jokes you make are just attempts to hear him laugh. he has no idea that you still look for him in every crowd, even when you’re trying not to. you’re too scared to hand him the truth. mike doesn’t do confessions. he doesn’t do vulnerable. he doesn’t do cornered, and loving him—wanting him—would corner him more than anything else ever could.
so you learned to swallow the things that mattered. you let him go in all the ways that count.
you didn’t expect it to work.
no one tells you that letting go sometimes means someone else finds the space you cleared. his name’s ryan, one of those effortlessly likeable golden-boy types. varsity soccer, obnoxiously good hair. he laughs easily, listens well, and calls you “dude” when he’s excited. he isn’t complicated. he isn’t haunted. he likes you openly, without fear or hesitation. you liked that. you needed that.
you didn’t expect anything to happen, honestly. but he noticed you. he asked you out. he held your hand in the hallway. he tells you good morning and actually means it. he has no idea that you’ve spent years orbiting someone who never once looked directly at the sun he was pulling toward him. maybe that’s why you said yes. ryan didn’t make your heart ache, he made it rest.
which is how you ended up here, on the old carpet of mike wheeler’s basement, legs crossed, the smell of dust and old soda cans filling the room as you tell the party about your boyfriend. mike sits across from you, half-sunk into the couch, elbows on knees. he hasn’t looked at you since you started talking about him.
dustin’s sitting criss-cross beside you, leaning forward like you’re announcing a secret mission. lucas and max are sharing a beanbag chair. max looks intrigued, lucas looks two seconds from teasing you. “okay,” dustin says. “start over. his name is ryan and… what? he just asked you out? like, randomly? popular ryan?”
you shrug, trying to sound casual. “not randomly. we talked. he’s in my english class. he asked if I wanted to get ice cream after school, and then one date turned into… more dates.”
lucas raises his eyebrows. “popular popular ryan? as in captain-of-the-soccer-team, girls-write-his-name-in-the-bathroom-stall ryan?”
max snorts. “yeah, that one.”
“he’s actually really nice,” you say, and it’s true. your voice comes out softer than you expect. “he’s funny. and he’s good at listening. he remembers stuff I say.”
that last part lands weirdly in the room.
dustin beams. “dude, that’s awesome! I mean—wow. you actually have a boyfriend. and he’s, like, normal.”
max kicks dustin’s ankle. “don’t jinx it.”
lucas nudges you with his foot. “so… you like him? like him like him?”
you feel your cheeks heat a little. “yeah. I do. he makes me feel… I don’t know. good.”
you shouldn’t be looking at him, but even after all these years, your eyes always find mikes even when you don’t mean to. dustin, oblivious, keeps going. “so when do we meet him? we have to meet him! we need to make sure he’s not some jerk pretending to be cool.”
“he’s not a jerk,” you say quickly. “he’s… he treats me really well.”
lucas nods approvingly. “good.”
max smirks. “and is he cute?”
you roll your eyes. “max—”
“what?” she laughs. “I don’t date, I just judge.”
they all laugh except mike. classic mike wheeler, feelings like locked doors. his knee bounces once—sharply—then stops, like he remembered someone might notice. he’s holding a pencil, the eraser dented from where he’s been chewing on it without realizing. he looks small, almost.
you’ve known him too long not to notice when he’s shutting down, even if he thinks he’s hiding it well. mike wheeler has never been good at quiet. not real quiet. not the kind born from feeling something he doesn’t want to say. then, finally, after too long, after the others have moved on to teasing each other, he cuts in. “so…” mike clears his throat. “ryan.”
he says the name like it tastes bad.
you blink. “yeah?”
mike doesn’t look up and instead pretends to inspect a fraying edge on the couch cushion. “he’s, what, the… uh… the popular guy, right?”
lucas eyes him. “you know who ryan is, mike.”
“yeah, obviously,” mike snaps back quickly. “i’m just—clarifying.”
max’s eyebrows rise. she knows that tone. you all do. you nod carefully. “he’s on the soccer team. people like him.”
“right.” mike flicks the pencil between his fingers. “of course they do.”
there’s something biting in the way he says it. something sour. it’s weirdly déjà vu, because mike has always been like this. since you were kids. since the fourth grade incident where you told him you had a crush on someone and he spent the rest of recess kicking gravel and making fun of the guy’s haircut.
mike wheeler doesn’t know how to be happy for people. he never has.
you feel it. max feels it. lucas definitely feels it, because he gives mike that slow head-turn that always precedes a verbal slap. dustin stalls mid–orange slice chewing. you swallow. “he’s nice.”
mike snorts under his breath. it’s small, but it’s sharp enough to cut. “yeah. sure. nice.” he taps the pencil against his knee, too fast. “just—kind of weird, though.”
max narrows her eyes. “what is?”
mike shrugs, pretending nonchalance so aggressively it’s almost theatrical. “i mean… someone like him. dating someone like—” he stops, pivots, tries to disguise the slip with a shrug that’s too casual. “whatever. it’s just surprising.”
the room freezes. your stomach drops fast, like missing a step on a staircase. lucas raises his hands. “woah. dude. not cool.”
dustin’s mouth is already open. “yeah, what the hell does that mean?!”
mike’s eyebrows knit instantly, defensively. “what?! i didn’t—I’m not—god, you all jump on everything i say.”
max leans forward. “probably because you say stuff like that.”
mike scowls at the floor like it did something to him. “i just meant—look, ryan’s, you know…” he gestures vaguely, aimlessly, like the air might fill in the blanks for him. “he’s popular. he’s… the type girls are into. it’s just—unexpected. okay?”
your chest tightens, not anger, but that old familiar sting. the one he’s been accidentally carving into you since you were twelve. “unexpected how?”
mike freezes. he wasn’t expecting you to ask. he wasn’t expecting to be held accountable. he shoves his hair back, frustrated. “i don’t know! i’m just saying it’s weird. it’s weird that he—he could date anyone he wants, and he picks—” he cuts himself off again, voice faltering. “—you.”
max mutters under her breath, “jesus christ.”
lucas covers his face with both hands.
dustin gapes. “mike. why would you even say that?”
“i’m not trying to be mean!” he shoots back. “i’m being honest! sorry if honesty is suddenly illegal.”
but it’s the way he won’t look at you that gives him away. he keeps looking anywhere else, the floor, the table, the dice, the wall, because he can’t look at your face and say the things he means. he never has been able to. you breathe in slowly, trying not to let your voice shake. “it kind of sounds like you’re saying i’m not good enough for him.”
mike’s head jerks up like the words hit him physically. “that’s not—no, that’s not what i meant,” he insists, but the defensiveness in his voice makes it hard to believe. “i’m just saying—he’s… you know. he’s that guy. the guy everyone knows. the guy who—who—”
“who what?” max presses.
mike’s jaw flexes. he looks trapped. “who… belongs with someone who fits that world, okay?” he mutters at last. “someone who… matches him.”
mike wheeler doesn’t realize how cruel he sounds when he’s scared. he never has. you feel heat crawl up your neck, because this is him. this is mike. you’ve spent years reading him like an impossible book, flipping through pages where he says one thing but means another, hoping eventually the story will get easier to understand. it never has.
mike crosses his arms now, defensive, closed-off, like he’s physically holding himself together. “i just—” he stops, searching for a tone that won’t betray him. “i mean… it’s cool. it’s fine. you’re dating him. that’s… good.” he says it so unconvincingly it almost hurts to listen to.
mike can’t hide what he feels. not really. his mouth tries, but his body betrays him every time, the tight shoulders, the clipped tone, the way he won’t look at you for more than a half-second. he’s dense. he’s stubborn. he’s impossible. he’s also transparent in the worst ways.
this exact moment is the reminder of why loving him hurt. he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. and if you point it out, he’ll only push harder, like he’s cornered, like feelings are traps that snap shut on him. you exhale slowly. “okay,” you say softly, mostly for yourself. “okay.”
something inside you folds, because this is it. this is who mike wheeler has always been. for the first time, you let yourself actually feel it instead of excusing it. he’s never going to change. not the way you kept hoping he would. not the way little-kid you imagined he might if you just loved him long enough.
mike can be a dick. he always has been. you’ve spent years smoothing it over in your head—no, he didn’t mean it like that, no, he’s just stressed, no, that’s just mike—but god, hearing it now, in this basement, in this moment when you’re trying to share something good? it lands differently.
so you shift, force your shoulders to relax, force your breath to steady. you don’t look at him again. you don’t chase the apology he isn’t going to give. you don’t try to decode the tiny flashes of panic in his voice. you just move on.
max is the first to break the silence. “so,” she says, deliberately bright, “when do we get to meet him?”
dustin jumps in immediately, nodding so hard his curls bounce. “yeah! yeah—i mean, we should obviously vet him.”
lucas elbows him. “not vet. just… meet. like normal human beings.”
“i can ask him,” you say, trying to sound casual. “maybe tomorrow? lunch?”
dustin beams. “yes. perfect. bring him to our table. we’ll be normal.”
max rolls her eyes. “we’ll be as normal as we can be.”
you laugh under your breath because of course. this is why you love them. this is why you stayed. you don’t want to look at him, you really don’t. but your eyes flick over anyway—to check, to gauge, to survive. and he’s staring at you. dead-on. not even pretending to look away this time, like he was waiting for your eyes. like he needed you to look at him.
when you do—just for a second—his whole face shifts. relief, like he’d been holding his breath. you break eye contact instantly, because no. you’re not doing that again. you’re not opening the door he keeps slamming shut in your face. max asks you another question and you turn toward her, answering, letting her voice pull you back into the circle that feels safe.
mike stays quiet, but you can feel it, his stare following you like he’s trying to will you into turning back to him. he’s a dick. and he cares. and those two things have always existed in him side by side, ruining you without him even realizing it.
and you’re done paying the price for it.
the cafeteria hums around you, winter sun spilling in through those tall windows like it’s trying to make the school look less miserable than it is. you spot the table before ryan does, mike hunched over his notebook, tapping a pen in this uneven rhythm that’s basically a heartbeat made of irritation. lucas and dustin are in a quiet but intense argument, max is peeling the label off her drink with the bored precision of someone who’s seen this dynamic a thousand times.
ryan walks beside you with that loose, easy stride he always has, hoodie sleeves shoved up, hair a little messy from morning practice. he’s warm in this effortless way, people look at him without him ever asking for the attention. he leans toward you, nudging your shoulder lightly. “ready?” he teases, but it’s gentle. he’s actually checking in.
you nod, even though your stomach flips. “yeah. they’re right there.”
“cool. let’s go.”
when you reach the table, lucas notices first, eyebrows shooting up. “oh—hey. ryan, right?”
ryan grins back, easy as breathing. “yeah. hey, man.”
dustin straightens next, suddenly animated. “dude, i’ve seen you play. you’re, like… fast. like actually fast.”
ryan laughs. “that’s the idea. but thanks.”
max’s eyes narrow with interest. “huh. so you’re the boyfriend.”
“guilty.”
everyone starts warming up instantly—of course they are. ryan has that friendly, open posture that makes people feel like they already know him. he drops his backpack, sits beside you like he’s been doing it for months, and immediately vibes with the group. it’s mike who doesn’t move.
he doesn’t look up right away, he just flicks his eyes up for a second, scans ryan’s face, then back down to his notebook. he’s not glaring, but there’s this stillness to him, like every thought he has is being corralled behind his teeth. ryan doesn’t seem fazed. “you’re mike, right? you’re the one who runs their campaigns?”
mike finally speaks, voice flat. “sometimes.”
ryan smiles like he didn’t hear the edge. “i used to play with my cousin. i’m not, like, good-good, but i know the basics.”
dustin lights up again. “wait, seriously? what class?”
“rogue.” ryan says.
“of course.” mike mutters under his breath.
lucas shoots him a look. “dude.”
mike just shrugs, eyes on his notebook again, pretending he didn’t say anything. you feel the air shift, just slightly, but enough. enough to know that mike’s mood isn’t going to magically improve just because ryan is being… well, genuinely nice.
ryan leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “i heard you guys are doing some kind of winter campaign? sounds sick.”
dustin nods vigorously. “yeah, we’re—”
mike cuts in. “so. what’s someone like you doing dating them?”
everything freezes for a second. max’s head snaps toward him so fast her ponytail swings. “mike, you can’t just say stuff like that.”
mike holds up his hands a little, like he’s pretending he’s innocent even though his tone drips. “i’m just asking. he’s… you know.” he gestures at ryan. “mr. popular. mr. soccer. mr. everyone-likes-him. just curious.”
ryan’s smile falters, not because he’s offended, but because he looks like he’s trying to figure out whether mike is joking or actually serious. you know mike. you’ve known him your whole life. this is him being serious.
you open your mouth to say something, but ryan speaks first. “i’m dating them because i like them,” he says simply. “is that… weird?”
mike’s eyebrows lift just a fraction, but he doesn’t look up. “no. just surprising.”
lucas groans. “dude.”
mike shrugs again, small, annoyed, defensive. “i’m being honest.”
max kicks him under the table. “be less honest.”
mike clicks his pen, refusing to look anyone in the eye. “whatever. it’s fine.” but it isn’t fine. not with the way his knee is bouncing, or the way he keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye and then snapping his gaze away like it hurts to look. you’ve seen mike jealous of your friends before, but never like this. never with this intensity that feels like it’s scraping at the bottom of something deeper—fear, maybe. or that same old thing he’s never been able to hide: mike hates feeling replaced.
that awful belief that things change too fast, that people slip away without warning, that someone else can just step in and take his place before he even realizes it’s happening. he hates that feeling. he always has. lunch rolls on despite him.
ryan is… honestly perfect in that easy, unforced way that mike has always resented in other people. he answers dustin’s questions without talking down to him, laughs at lucas’s jokes, asks max about her music taste and actually listens. when he admits he skates on weekends, max pretends she isn’t impressed, but you see the tiny spark in her eyes anyway. “you skate?” she asks, leaning forward despite herself.
“yeah!”
“okay, that’s actually kind of cool.”
“only kind of?” ryan laughs.
“don’t push it.” she says, but she’s smiling.
even lucas nods, like, alright. i can see the appeal. dustin’s already halfway sold on adopting him into the friend group. “you could totally play a rogue,” dustin says, excited. “you’d fit right in.”
“i’d be down,” ryan grins. “if you guys want.”
mike’s jaw tightens. he hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. he just sits there, staring at his tray, then at ryan, then at you, then back down again, like he can’t decide whether to sulk or explode. the more everyone warms to ryan, the more mike curls inward, like watching someone else be so effortlessly liked is physically painful.
finally, five minutes before the bell, ryan glances at the clock and stands. “i should go,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “i told some of the guys i’d meet them before class.” he turns to you, softening. “i’ll see you later?”
you nod, and he gives you this warm smile that makes your chest feel weirdly light. “bye guys!” ryan says, cheerful as always.
“see you!” dustin replies.
“later, man.” lucas waves.
max even gives a nod. “yeah. uh. cool meeting you.”
ryan leaves. the second he’s out of sight, literally the second, mike finally lifts his eyes. they’re tight, sharp, searching for an outlet. “okay,” he says, voice low but pointed. “i don’t like him.”
everyone groans at once. dustin actually drops his fork. “what are you talking about? he’s awesome!”
lucas frowns. “yeah. he was, like… cool. what’s your problem?”
“i’m serious. didn’t anyone else get a weird vibe? like—he’s too nice. too… polished.”
“polished?” lucas repeats. “he said ‘ass’ like three times.”
“yeah!” dustin jumps in. “he’s real! he’s not fake-nice, he’s just… a cool dude! honestly, we should invite him to play with us sometime.”
mike slams his pen down. “okay, can we not act like he’s joining the party? he’s not even—he’s not—no.”
“bro,” dustin says, eyebrows raised, “why does it matter so much?”
mike has no answer. he doesn’t want ryan at the table. he doesn’t want ryan getting closer. he doesn’t want ryan winning everyone over. he doesn’t want ryan replacing him. and he definitely doesn’t want ryan taking your attention like he already has. but mike wheeler would rather bite off his own tongue than admit any of that out loud. so all he does is sit there, arms crossed tight enough to hurt, glaring at the doors ryan walked through like he wants to will him out of existence. “i’m just saying,” he mutters, voice stiff and miserable, “i don’t like him.”
every part of him feels like it’s vibrating with something ugly and hot and directionless. because he doesn’t know why he feels this way, why the sight of you and ryan walking in together made his stomach clench, why ryan’s laugh grated against something raw in him, why every tiny brush of your shoulder against ryan’s made him want to leave the room and break something.
all he knows is that it’s wrong. it feels wrong. you two feel wrong.
why him? what’s so great about him? he’s not even that funny. he’s not even that interesting. he’s just some guy. some stupid guy who smiles too much and skates and knows d&d and is apparently good at everything.
ryan is the kind of boy who wins people without trying. mike has never been that boy. mike has never been anything that easy.
watching you fall into that ease—watching you laugh at ryan’s jokes, watching ryan lean in to whisper something that makes you blush—makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. it makes his hands clench under the table. it makes his throat close. he hates it. he hates him. he hates himself for not understanding why.
what is he even jealous of? you’re his friend. his best friend since forever. that’s it. that’s all. that’s supposed to be all. when you defend ryan—when you say, “mike, come on, i promise he’s actually really nice”—it hits something sharp in him.
he snaps without even meaning to. “yeah, well, nice is easy.”
no one knows what that means. not even him.
time jumps because life doesn’t wait for mike wheeler to figure himself out. weeks pass. then more weeks. you and ryan keep dating. mike does not warm up to him. not even a little. if anything, it gets worse. mike gets snappier. sharper. more impatient. he stops pretending to be polite. he stops pretending he’s “fine.”
when ryan shows up, mike leaves the room. when ryan talks, mike rolls his eyes. when ryan laughs, mike’s fists clench so tight his knuckles go white. he keeps saying things like:
“i’m telling you, he’s weird.”
“i don’t trust him.”
“he’s acting. nobody is that nice.”
“if you guys weren’t blinded by his stupid dimples you’d see it.”
and he has this whole plan in his head, this delusional mike wheeler blueprint where he sits you down, tells you all the reasons ryan is wrong for you, and you listen. you nod. you say, “yeah, you’re right, mike,” and you break up with ryan and everything snaps back to the way it’s supposed to be.
just you and him.
like it always was.
that’s how mike sees it. that’s how it should go.
except it doesn’t.
you stay with ryan. you stay for an entire month, and mike unravels. he gets more irritable by the day. more sarcastic. more blunt. more impossible to be around. he snaps at dustin over nothing, gets into stupid arguments with lucas, ignores max’s jabs and just stews silently instead. his grades slip. he can’t sleep. he spends too long staring at the ceiling, heart racing for reasons he refuses to name.
you barely know ryan. he’s just some guy. he’s just some stupid guy you met a week ago. he’s not even part of your real world, not the world you built with him. in mike’s head, one month is nothing compared to the years he’s had with you. the sleepovers, the walkie-talkies, the bike rides, the monster-hunting, the stupid inside jokes he still remembers. the versions of you he’s seen that ryan never will.
and he cannot wrap his brain around the fact that things didn’t snap back. that he didn’t get you back. ryan is .. popular. he has friends everywhere. he can sit at any table in the cafeteria and someone will shout his name.
mike doesn’t have that. he has you. he had you.
so the fact that ryan—this boy who already has everything—gets you too? it makes something poisonous coil tight inside him.
you and mike barely hang out anymore, not really. not alone. not the way you used to. not the way where you sprawled across the floor of his basement with snacks and bad movies and mike made sarcastic comments at everything because he knew they made you laugh. now mike barely looks at you unless it’s to glare across ryan’s shoulder.
he blames it on you. he blames it on the fact that you started dating ryan—as if that alone ruined everything. as if he hasn’t been the one acting like a storm cloud stuck in human form for weeks.
but that’s the thing about mike wheeler: when something hurts, he refuses to look at the wound. he refuses to admit it’s bleeding. he’ll blame the weapon, the room, the weather—anything but the feeling.
so when he asks you to come over, just you, you think about it for a long while. because it’s been a while. too long. avoiding mike forever isn’t an option. he’s your friend. your history. your whole adolescence wrapped in one stubborn, impossible, exhausting person.
so you agree. you go.
now it’s the two of you in his basement. he doesn’t look at you right away. it’s awkward. he never used to be awkward with you.
mike sits on the far end of the couch like you’re radioactive, close enough to pretend this is normal. he twists the cord of the basement lamp around his fingers, untwists it, twists it again. he used to sprawl everywhere, limbs everywhere, taking up space because he knew you’d fill the rest. now he sits like he’s trying not to touch his own shadow. you drop onto the other cushion. “so,” you say, because someone has to. “how’s… life?”
“oh, you know,” he mutters. “same old.”
you raise a brow. “that sounds fake.”
he huffs, barely a laugh but close enough that the tension flickers. “yeah, well. i’m trying.”
“trying what?”
“to be normal,” he says, shrugging too hard. “it’s exhausting.”
you snort, and for a second it feels like the two of you used to, easy, familiar, teasing. you toss a pillow at him. he dodges, barely, and it hits the d&d shelf with a dull thump. “you still can’t catch.” you say.
“i didn’t want to catch it.”
“sure you didn’t.”
he slants you a look that’s almost a smile. “you’re annoying.”
“you missed me.” you counter without thinking.
“whatever.”
for a second it’s fine—awkward but fine. you talk about school, about how dustin accidentally set off the fire alarm in chem, about how lucas is pretending he doesn’t care basketball tryouts are getting closer. mike’s shoulders loosen; he actually laughs, runs a hand through his hair the way he does when he finally stops overthinking. you think, stupidly, maybe this can work. maybe you can fix this.
then he does what mike always does. he pushes. he leans back, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to read every expression. “so,” he says, casual in that way he only is when he’s about to be mean. “how’s… everything? you know. with you.”
“with me?” you echo. “i mean, fine. i guess.”
“yeah?” he says lightly. “i wouldn’t know.”
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
mike shrugs, picking at the peeling sticker on the coffee table. “just that i wouldn’t know. probably because you’ve been too busy hanging out with your new—” he makes a little face, like the word tastes foul— “boyfriend.”
the way he says it. petty. like he’s daring you to deny it. you swallow. “okay. you know what? i’m not doing this with you.”
“doing what?”
“this,” you say, standing so fast the couch groans. “the passive-aggressive comments. the attitude. the—whatever this is.” you gesture vaguely at him, at the tension, at the room that feels suddenly too small. “i came here to hang out with you, mike. not to get judged.”
“i wasn’t judging—”
“yeah, you were. and i’m not dealing with it today.”
you’re already halfway to the basement stairs. mike just stares, stunned, mouth parted like you slapped him. you don’t give him time to catch up. you climb the stairs two at a time and push open the door. karen wheeler is at the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes. she looks up with that bright mom-smile, ready to say hi—until she sees your face. the smile crumples instantly. “sweetheart? everything okay?”
you force a tight smile. “yeah, mrs. wheeler. just heading out.”
you slip past her before she can ask anything else, shoes thudding lightly across the kitchen tile. ted doesn’t even look up when you pass, just turns a page of his newspaper with all the enthusiasm of a tranquilized sloth. the air outside is cold in a way that wakes every nerve. you breathe it in. you need that. clarity. space. anything that isn’t mike wheeler and his catastrophic ability to ruin the simplest moment.
why does he have to be like this?
you walk across the lawn, hands stuffed into your pockets, heart drumming a tired, frustrated rhythm. mike is maddening. painfully, historically maddening. he can’t go five minutes without pushing a button—your button—like he’s testing the limits of how much you’ll take. he does it every time. he always has. and the worst part? half the time he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
you know him. you’ve always known him, and that makes it so much worse, because every time he acts like this, like he’s trying to drive you away, some part of you aches like you’re losing something you never figured out how to keep. why couldn’t he just be normal today? why couldn’t he just let it be the way it used to? why does he have to spit fire the second he feels even a millimeter out of place?
you reach your bike and grip the handlebars, knuckles whitening. if you leave now, maybe you’ll cool off. maybe tomorrow will be less impossible. maybe—
the door slams behind you. the sound slices clean through your thoughts. “hold on!”
you turn, startled, breath caught in your throat. mike is barreling out of the house like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks. he stumbles down the porch steps, nearly tripping over his own shoelace, hair wild, chest heaving like he sprinted a mile. his face—god, you’ve never seen him look like that. frantic. unguarded. almost scared. “don’t go yet.” he says. “just—can you… just wait a second?”
you don’t answer. you’re too stunned by him. by the way he looks at you like everything inside him is spiraling.
he swallows hard. “why do you like him so much?”
the words fall out of him, unfiltered, fast, messy, the way mike gets when something breaks inside him. “i mean—he’s just—he’s just some guy,” mike continues, throwing his hands up. “he’s not even in the party. he doesn’t even know you. like, actually know you.”
you stare at him, stunned into silence, but mike keeps going, pacing one quick desperate line in the driveway. “he bought you the wrong soda at lunch,” mike says, pointing sharply like it’s definitive evidence in a murder case. “he brought grape. grape. who the hell likes grape?”
“mike—”
“and he doesn’t know your jokes,” mike says louder. “he laughs at the wrong ones. and he thinks you like those stupid pop quizzes in english—what?! nobody likes those! you get stressed over those! i know you do! you’ve only known him, like—a month. a month. and suddenly you’re always with him and he’s at your locker and he’s at your table and he’s—” mike gestures helplessly, like the word everywhere is too big for his mouth. “and i don’t get it. i don’t understand why things can’t just—go back to how they were. with us.”
you open your mouth before you can even think. “we aren’t even—” you start, but the sentence chokes on your tongue. you stop. hard. mike’s eyes flick up, confused. you shake your head, breath slicing out. “forget it.”
but the heat is already rising in your chest, curling under your ribs. all month you’ve been swallowing it down, smoothing it out, pretending it didn’t burn. and now it just—erupts. “what has been up with you?” you snap, louder than you mean to. “seriously, mike, you’ve been such a—such a dick lately. like, constantly. do you even hear yourself?”
his eyes widen, hurt flashing fast before he smothers it under anger. “i’ve been a dick?” mike shoots back, voice sharp enough to cut. “i’ve been a dick? seriously? you disappear for a month with your—your boyfriend—” he spits the word like it tastes sour, “—and i’m the problem?”
“you are the problem!” you fire back, stepping closer because you can’t help it. “you’re rude every time he’s around! you glare, you sulk, you make everyone uncomfortable! i can’t even eat lunch without you acting like someone stole your bike!”
“maybe because they did!” mike snaps, flinging his hands out. “he’s trying to take you away from—”
“he’s not taking me!” you yell, fully incredulous. “i’m a person, mike, not a chess piece you get to guard!”
“oh my god, that’s not what i meant—”
“no? because it sure sounds like it!”
“he sucks, okay?! he just—he sucks! he acts like he knows you and he doesn’t and he—”
“he doesn’t what?” you snap. “he doesn’t treat me like I’m doing something wrong every time I breathe?” you push on, voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “have you ever thought—just once—about how you’ve been acting? you keep blaming ryan for everything, but have you ever considered that maybe the reason i haven’t been around is because of you?”
his mouth opens, then closes. he looks like he’s been slapped. “because of me?” mike repeats. “that’s what you think?”
“you make it impossible to be around you. you’re angry all the time. irritated, mean, snapping at everyone. every time i try to talk to you, you push me away or pick a fight or—” you throw your hands up. “god, mike, how am i supposed to want to hang out with you when you’re like this?”
“i’m like this because he—”
“it’s not about ryan!” you cut in, louder than you intended. “it’s about you. it’s always been about you!”
“he is the problem,” mike insists. “he’s—he’s wrong for you, okay? he’s—he’s trying to take you from the party, from me—”
“he’s not!” you shout back. “why do you care so much?!”
he freezes in the middle of the driveway, breath snagging, eyes wide and almost… terrified, like he knows exactly why. like he’s known for a long time. you can see it hit him: the realization he’s been dodging, the answer he’s been choking on for weeks, the thing he’s terrified to say and even more terrified you’ll somehow already know. he forces himself to move anyway, forces himself to swallow whatever cracked open in him. he shakes his head fast, stubborn, angry in the way only someone who’s scared can be. “it is his fault,” mike snaps, stepping forward again, the space between you shrinking to nothing. “i’m not wrong about this. i’m not. you shouldn’t trust him. he—he doesn’t even notice the right things about you, he—he just—”
“mike—”
“he’s the worst,” he barrels over you, desperate, relentless. “he’s the worst, he’s—he’s not good enough for you.”
“mike—”
“i’m trying to help you,” he insists, voice cracking with how hard he’s pushing it. “i’m trying to make you see he’s bad for you, okay? he’s wrong.”
“mike.”
he shuts up instantly. the two of you are close enough now that you can feel the heat of his breath, the tremble in his shoulders, the panic trembling behind every inch of him. he looks furious and terrified and breakable all at once. you take a breath. a real one. “it doesn’t even matter,” you say. “we’re not together anymore.”
the world drops out of his face. “…what?”
“we broke up,” you repeat, more tired than angry now. “a few days ago.”
he stands there, absolutely still, like you’ve short-circuited him. like his brain is trying to reboot and failing. his mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. “you’re not—?”
“no, mike,” you say, exasperated. “we’re not.”
something bright flickers in his eyes, it almost looks like joy. the second he realizes he’s showing it, he slams it down, forcing his expression back into something flat and neutral that fools absolutely no one. “oh,” he manages. “well. uh. good. i mean—not good. not good-good. i just—i didn’t—”
“yeah,” you cut in, arms folding. “you didn’t know.”
“of course i didn’t know,” he snaps weakly. “you didn’t tell me—”
“you didn’t notice,” you shoot back. “if you’d paid attention to anyone besides yourself, you would’ve realized he hasn’t even been around the last couple of days. i wasn’t with him. i haven’t been with him. you didn’t notice, because you never do, mike. you only see what you want to see. you only hear what you want to hear. if it’s not about you—if it’s not something that affects you—you don’t pay attention.”
you’re too wound up to stop. “i don’t even know why you care so much,” you say, breath uneven. “why does it even matter to you who i date or don’t date? why do you get to be mad about this? why do you get to act like i’ve—”
“because i like you!”
the words explode out of him, like they’ve been pressing against his teeth for days, weeks, maybe years. you stop breathing. mike’s chest rises and falls like he just sprinted across the neighborhood. his eyes are huge, terrified, already regretting everything and unable to shove any of it back inside. “i—” he hesitates. “god, i didn’t—i didn’t mean to say it like that, I just— I don’t know, okay? i don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, i don’t know why i’m acting like this, i just—” he swallows hard. “i thought i hated him. like, really, really hated him. but then you said you weren’t with him anymore and it felt like—” he grimaces, shoulders curling inward. “like something in me just let go, i guess. i don’t know.” he shakes his head violently, like he’s trying to knock the words loose. “i didn’t get it at first,” he rushes out. “i didn’t know why seeing you with him made me feel so—angry. or sick. or… whatever. i thought maybe it was just because he was popular or because he didn’t fit with us or because he kept taking you away but then—” he stops himself, hands flexing uselessly. “but then i realized it wasn’t him. it was you. it was me. it was— i don’t know.”
you’re staring at him. you can’t not stare.
“i think—” he tries again. “i think i like you. or maybe i’ve liked you for a while, and now everything’s a mess because i screwed everything up and i can’t stop screwing things up and i—” he trails off, hopeless.
your heartbeat is in your throat. you’ve loved mike wheeler for as long as you can remember—through childhood, through monsters, through eleven different kinds of heartbreak he never even knew he gave you. now, the moment you finally tried to move on—finally tried to build something that wasn’t just you waiting for mike to look at you the way you looked at him—now he says it.
“i don’t know what i’m doing, but i don’t want you with him. i don’t want things to go back to how they were either because—because that wasn’t enough anymore. for me.” he forces himself to meet your eyes. “i really think i like you,” he says again, smaller. “a lot.”
your ribs are too small for everything suddenly pressing against them. “how do you even know that? you can’t just—say things like that. you can’t drop that on me. don’t—don’t mess with me.”
his face twists. “i’m not,” he shoots back, too fast, too earnest. “i’m not messing with you, i don’t know what else you want me to say. i’m just—i’m trying, okay? i’m trying to be honest.”
“honest?” you repeat, disbelieving. “since when?”
he swallows, like that one stung. “since max yelled at me.”
“what?”
“she’s the one who helped me figure it out. told me i was acting weird. told me i got… annoying whenever you were with him.“
your stomach twists, hope and fear tangling so violently it almost hurts. because you’ve dreamed of this. of him standing here, admitting something real. yet loving mike wheeler has always been a gamble with terrible odds, and you just crawled out of something that left you bruised and confused and tired. you don’t know if you can afford to trust him with something this big. not when you’ve lost him before without ever having had him. “i don’t believe you,” you say, because it’s safer than the truth: i want to believe you so bad that it terrifies me.
“i can prove it.”
you laugh—sharp, disbelieving. “yeah? how, mike? how are you going to prove it? because words aren’t—”
you don’t even finish. he moves before you can think, before you can breathe, hands coming up like he’s afraid you’ll shove him away but he still steps into your space, close enough for his breath to tremble against your cheek. and then he kisses you.
it’s not smooth or practiced or anything he had time to think through. it’s desperate, uneven, like he’s been holding his breath for years and this is the first inhale that doesn’t burn. his mouth meets yours with this startled, aching hunger, but it softens almost instantly, like he realizes mid-kiss that you’re real, that this is real, that he’s actually doing this.
your brain doesn’t catch up. it’s white noise—shock slamming through you so hard you forget every reason you had to stay angry. his lips are warm, and he’s making these tiny, barely-there sounds like he’s afraid to push, afraid to lose you, but too pulled in to stop.
your hands stay frozen at your sides for a full second—two—while your heart stutters violently in your chest. then the instinct you’ve spent years burying finally claws its way out. you kiss him back.
it’s small at first, cautious, but the second you respond he shudders, like your mouth on his is something he didn’t let himself hope for. his fingers finally touch you, sliding to the sides of your face, gentle in that frantic, unsteady way of someone who’s been imagining this and still can’t believe you’re not pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, dizzying, this thing you’ve dreamt of since you were a kid but never thought you’d have.
you pull back first, lips tingling, everything inside you way too loud. “you’re such an asshole.” you whisper, because it’s the only thing that makes sense when nothing else does.
“i know.”
you shake your head, overwhelmed, but his hands are still hovering near your face like he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you again. then his expression breaks, soft, pleading, all the bravado gone. “come back inside.” he steps closer again, just searching your face with that startled honesty he only ever shows when he’s seconds from falling apart. “we don’t have to talk about anything. we can just—hang out. or sit. or… i don’t know.”
you’re caught between everything you’ve ever known and everything that’s happening right now. mike’s eyes are earnest, completely unguarded for the first time in what feels like forever. he looks like the whole world has narrowed to him, to the way his hands hover near your face, hesitant, like he’s daring himself to let go of his own fear long enough to just… be real.
you don’t move. you can’t, really. your stomach twists and uncoils in a way that’s half panic, half relief, half something you can’t name. he’s finally said it. he’s finally admitted it, and you want to believe him but you don’t quite know how. your heart stutters in your chest with hope, fear, longing, because that’s what mike does. he’s always been like this: impossible to pin down, impossible to read, impossible not to feel.
“unless,” he says suddenly, “you’d rather be with ryan.” the name slips out before he can stop it, and the way he says it makes it obvious. jealousy. pure, stupid, human jealousy, and somehow it makes something flutter in your chest in a way that isn’t irritation or anger—it’s… kind of cute.
mike, dense, stubborn, impossible mike wheeler, is jealous of someone he doesn’t even like but can’t stop himself from obsessing over. instead of being annoyed—like you probably should be—it strikes you as painfully human. it’s a side of him he can’t hide, a glimpse behind the walls he builds so meticulously around himself.
you try to find words, but the sentence won’t form. there’s too much, all at once. you think of every moment you’ve loved him, all the moments you’ve fantasized about him finally saying something real, and here it is, tumbling out in the middle of a driveway. he swallows, jittery and exposed, watching you like he’s afraid your reaction will break him. you can see the restraint in him, the way he’s holding back, trying to appear calm and collected, and failing. you think about how much you’ve wanted this since you were kids, how much you’ve longed for him to feel something you’ve always felt, and it hits you in a tidal wave that maybe, just maybe, this is real.
you take a shaky breath, realizing that you has always wanted this—always wanted him like this. the flutter in your chest spreads, a dangerous, thrilling kind of hope that makes you want to both laugh and cry at once. “okay,” you say softly, letting your voice carry more calm than you feel. “okay. we’ll figure this out. we’ll… start somewhere. just… don’t mess with me, mike.”
he blinks, the faintest relief flickering across his face before he tries to mask it with a shrug. “i won’t. promise.” he says, though the words are almost too small to carry the weight of everything. he steps back just enough to give you space, but not enough to break the tension, not enough to let go.
you nod, a smile threatening at the corners of your lips despite the lump in your throat, the whirl of emotions. “okay,” you whisper, because you’re tired of avoiding him, tired of holding back, tired of the endless guessing game. “okay.”
you almost laugh, a tiny, strangled sound, because it’s mike. mike wheeler. always stubborn, always dense, always impossible, and yet somehow, here he is, looking like a boy who’s realizing his own heart too late but still willing to risk it. you shake your head, grinning despite yourself, and think, god, he really is the world’s biggest asshole. but the kind of asshole you’ve loved for forever.
he clears his throat, a little embarrassed, hands shoved into his pockets, and mutters, “so… uh, you gonna… come back inside or just stare at the street all night?”
“fine, i’ll go inside. but you owe me popcorn.”
“deal.” he says, finally cracking a grin that’s just a little too victorious, like he’s survived something fierce and now gets to savor the small victory. as you walk back toward the house, the sky deepening to twilight above you, you feel light, dizzy, and like maybe, just maybe, the hardest part is over.
a/n: genuinely not happy with how this one turned out but that’s okay 🥳 been on my stranger things shit .
steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort
words: 212k
summary: When you find out your college roommate/friend robin buckley's boyfriend, steve harrington— who you thought beat all stereotypical frat boy odds— is cheating on her, you find it hard to understand why she still wants to be with him. But there is more than meets the eye. You aren't sure if you want to be roped into it.
Teaser
Rules/Playlist
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
epilogue
BONUS SCENES
chapter one (steves pov) coming soon
scenes from chapter twelve (steve's pov)
Steve was not a hero, but you were and why did the hero always have to die alone?
This is pure angst. Language, character death(s), sacralises, tissues? Gif credits: go to @levanterhaze
Steve Harrington was never meant to be the hero, but he did fall in love with one.
While Mike, Dustin and Lucas were busy finding El in the woods you'd been busy building a life. You had a fake name, a fake life- a regular one.
See, when Steve met you he met you by the pretence. You'd turned up in school a year before everything that begun, settling into high school life quick, like you were trying to hide. No new girl got through without Steve's attention and he was annoyingly enamoured by you.
You weren't trying to be known by him, or anyone. You kept your head down, did your work and didn't make a sound.
Then Will Byers went missing, then the gate opened and closed and opened again and the both of you were taken into a world of monsters. Except it was always your world and kidding yourself any different was a game.
Steve always remembered when he and Dustin found you in the woods, in the small garden shed you'd made a home, sobbing because you were a monster, like them, like everything they fought against.
002.
But Steve never saw you as that, just like Mike never saw El as 011. You were a person with a name you'd made for yourself and you... you were Steve's person.
────────────────────────────
" We don't need a magic bean!"
Nobody had been listening to each other, let alone Steve as they all tried to come up with some great plan to kill Vecna. But he yelled out and got everyone's attention.
Steve bristled under the eyes watching him, looking for help. He met your gaze and found your small smile.
You nodded. You always knew Steve knew a little bit more than he let on and maybe than he knew. There was no time like the end of the world for him to figure it out.
Steve met your gaze and took a deep but shaky breath in. " We... we don't need a magic bean. We got a bean stalk right here."
No, you did not doubt your boyfriend but you wished he'd get to the point.
Steve gathered everyone around the table, grabbing a torch and a slinky.
Robin followed next to you. " Does your boyfriend think now is a good time to play with his toys?"
You shrugged. " He might yet surprise you."
" Dingus usually does," she smiled, nudging you with her elbow.
Steve placed the torch up and began: " Okay, this flashlight is the Squawk radio tower and this slinky is the bridge," he said, putting it over the torch. " We'll never reach the Abyss from the tower, right? But Max said Vecna is drawing our worlds together. So, we let him and we wait and we wait as he draws it closer and closer. When it's close enough and the tower is poking through one of the rifts and boom, my girlfriend makes her move-"
He said it so proud, throwing out an arm in your direction.
Some thought this wasn't the time for him to be bragging and flirting but few smiled.
Steve gave you one of his grins before turning to your sister. " And El, of course. I'm talking meditation things, entering Vecna's mind, ambushing him. In your face dickhead and then, stopping the spell, halting the worlds from moving and- boom! We've got a beanstalk, it's perfect."
Dustin shared an astounded impressed look with you.
That was your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who never had to be in the fight but stayed because he loved you and had made a promise that one day it'd all be over and you'd live happily ever after.
" All we gotta do is climb up it into the Abyss."
Erica nodded. " I like it."
" It's not totally insane," said Mike.
" Thank you."
" But there's a big problem, a big one."
" We can't reach into Vecna's mind when he's too far away," said El.
Steve sighed, thinking his plan had failed.
You knew it hadn't. " Maybe not," you said to El, taking Steve's side and taking the slinky. You needed to do something with your hands. You'd been avoiding El for reasons you still couldn't face. " If the Upside down is under his realm or whatever it's still frozen in time which means all of Brenner's things will be there including-"
" The bath," said El.
" If you can make it into his mind, I can walk you through it, guide you," said Max. " I know his sick mind in and out."
You looked at Max, who was as much a little sister to you as El. " You've already been through so much."
" I can do it," she insisted.
Steve's hand squeezed your shoulder, a small curve to his lips to comfort you.
" I should be there too," added Kali. 008.
You had not met her with El, you only knew her as if today. The one who wanted to kill Dr Kay for the experiments she'd done and kill Henry. The one who wanted it all to end, one way or another.
You looked to Hopper as Kali spoke. His head shaking just enough for you to tell he knew what she was doing and he didn't like it.
There was a needle at the edge of your mind, a pull for attention.
El.
You glanced at her only a little. She stared blankly at you.
You straightened up, grabbing the hand Steve had on your shoulder and held it. You banished El from your mind. She only winced enough for you to see.
" Dig it," said Steve, breaking you out of your trance. " Kill the dick, rescue kids, we're all heroes. If Lucas is right we don't have a lot of time, so we have to move fast."
" One final thing," said Dustin, walking over to the two of you with a timer in hand. " The cherry on top. On the way out we drop a bomb near the exotic matter. Set a timer, escape the Upside down. The bridge collapses and with it: the Abyss, the Demos, the Mind Flayer, all of it, gone. Game. Set. Match."
You smiled at Dustin. You hated to see the bruises, the cuts on his face but knew you were slowly getting him back. That grief was slowly becoming something for him that he could wear and not be itchy in. You ruffled his hair under his hat. " Game set match."
" Let's do it," said Nancy, nodding. She was already gearing up for the fight of their lives. " Kill Henry, save the kids get the hell out before it blows up!"
Lucas yelled an agreement, his sister following as everyone hoped. There was a chance, a high chance you did it and all got to go home.
" Did I just come up with the plan to save the world?" asked Steve as the gang started to pile up to ready themselves.
You glanced at him. " Was about time." You rose up, pecking him on the cheek.
Everyone got to business, everyone but-
Steve's arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you into him. You'd have gasped if Steve didn't slot his lips over yours, kissing you deep and pouring everything he'd ever promised you in the kiss. His arms were tight around you as you bent at the knees, arching into him as he dipped you.
He pulled the both of you up. You squealed.
Steve pulled back, gazing at you. " I love you."
You looked down at his lips, up to his eyes. Your fingers brushed his cheek bone as you brushed back his hair. You wanted to remember it all.
Steve kissed you quick before moving past. " I've got a good feeling about this!"
Your stomach was twisted into knots, un-determined if they were the good sort that came with hope.
" Hey kid, you ready?" you heard Steve ask.
" Yeah, Steve. I am." El.
You turned in time to see Steve place a comforting hand on her head. You knew he wanted to ruffle her hair as he often did with Dustin or Max but it was brushed back and gelled in place.
He left you and El alone.
El stood there like she didn't want to be where she was. " Can we talk?"
It was the talk you never wanted. The sort you'd hoped wouldn't have to be said out loud because looking at you sister, you already knew what she was going to say.
────────────────────────────
So the battle was won and all bad things must come to an end.
The Abyss had been made of sand, fire, mountains and rocks that jutted out more like talons and claws.
It had been you who took the axe to Vecna's head as he lay impaled on one of his own spikes. He had turned to you, recognising you as the closest thing he had to an ally when under Brenner. He'd spat our blood as he pleaded.
" Please... no."
You took the axe to him and in two harsh fell swoops killed him.
Still everything weighed heavy. Your talk with El, Kali's death. And Steve-
Jesus Christ, you'd almost lost him. You'd been with him when the radio tower met the crashing down sky and he pulled you to safety, tumbling down himself. You'd never been so terrified in your life, never felt your pulse race as fast as it did then.
You'd dove for him without care if you went over with him. You'd caught him in time and the both of you had collapsed holding each other. Still it wasn't enough.
Steve drove the truck with the kids in the back and the party.
As much as you wished you could sit next to him, hold him too tight you thought you might throw up if you did. Why he had to run under the belly of the beats and pop those eggs, you'll never know.
You settle for winding down the window and lie your head out. " Never thought there'd be a day I like breathing this stuff in."
" Hey, what're you doing? You're gonna get cold," he said, reaching for your hand and holding it.
" I'd rather die of frostbite then have to not have the window open," you said. " Steve, I love you but you're killing my nostrils. You stink."
He cringed, daring to look at you. " That bad, huh?"
You looked at him and slowly nodded. You squeezed his hand.
With great apprehension, Steve bowed his head and took a whiff of his jacket.
" Holy shit," he didn't even let go of your hand, driving with no hands on the wheel as he quickly cranked down his own window. " God baby, how can you even be sitting this close to me?" he gagged, fingers gripping the wheel tight.
You smiled at him. Because no matter what state, beaten up by bullies or Russians or demobats, you'd always be with him. You'd never have it any other way.
There was a sudden blare of horn and a flash of light as a military truck over took you. There was only a glimpse of Hopper and Murray's grinning faces before they cut you off.
" Assholes," you both uttered.
If Steve didn't have one hand in yours and the other on the wheel you were sure he'd have flipped them off.
But he wasn't letting go of your hand until he was.
" Hey, I know that was difficult back there but you did it," he brushed his hand through your hair, however sweaty and covered in sand it may have been.
You relaxed into his touch.
He glanced at you. " Hard parts over and now we get the rest of our lives."
Steve went back to watching the road but you watched him.
" Tell me about the rest of our lives," you said like asking for a story to send you to sleep.
Steve didn't take his eyes of the road but he licked his lips and there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. " Okay... okay, well you know about the six kids we'll be having."
Any other time you'd have kicked up a fuss about six, instead you nodded and waited for more.
" And every summer we'll go up somewhere, Yellowstone maybe. You know like a real family like we never had. But before that... I mean, I've been thinking. We get jobs, maybe sell my parents place and get somewhere smaller and save up to get that house you like Forest Hill. We'll paint the kitchen yellow cause you've always wanted a yellow kitchen. I figure Dustin won't let us off that easy, he'll be on uncle duty, heck he's probably got Godfather t-shirts ready."
You couldn't help but laugh, only turning away when a stray tear rolled your cheek.
Steve looked back, trying to get a look at you. " What? What is it?" he chuckled.
You wiped at your face quickly. " Just. sounds nice."
" It will be."
Steve was looking at you when Hopper and Murray swerved.
" Steve!"
He only knew something terrible was about to happen because of the panic in your voice.
Spikes in the road were waiting to welcome you home, piercing your tires and throwing you off. The kids in the back screamed and yelled as Steve swerved, breaking hard and trying to make as safe a stop as possible.
You'd hardly gotten to a stop when your door was thrown open.
" Out! Out! Get out now!"
You did so, hands up.
" Don't touch her!" Steve yelled, trying to get to you over the seats, but he was being pulled out the other end. " Don't you hurt her!"
With a jerk of your neck the soldiers were sent crashing into the truck. In the middle of the chaos, dozens upon dozens of soldiers pulling at you all nobody noticed you run as you tried to interfere with everyone's minds so you'd go un-noticed.
Only one saw you.
El called your name but was thrown up against the truck, next to Mike. Their hands were reaching desperately for each other but never quite touched.
El knew what you were going to do. She couldn't be there with you.
────────────────────────────
Steve lost sight of you as he was being carted away by soldiers, guns nudging into his back harshly. " Alright! Alright!" he'd comply, heck, he'd been in this situation before. All he cared about was getting a look at you. He couldn't see you in the chaos.
The military, they'd use you and El just like they had Kali. Your life of freedom was supposed to start today, not whatever this was.
" Steve!" he'd wanted it to be you calling his name but it was Robin who was pushed next to him. Their hands were made up on there, guns at their backs.
" Robin! Robin! Where is she? Can you see her?"
" No!" she sounded as panicked as he felt. She looked around but nothing other than the kids being pushed and shoved, torn apart. Holly was taken from Nancy, Joyce was trying to hold onto Will and Jonathon at once.
Dr Kay marched past them. " Sargent! Sargent, where is she? Where's zero-zero-"
There was a sickening crunch that nobody could miss as Dr Kay's neck snapped and she crumbled to the floor.
The soldiers didn't know what to do, the kids all looked around in the shouting and screaming.
Steve tried to look for El. " El?"
There she was, next to Mike. But she wasn't looking at the dead body of the Doctor that was hunting her. Neither was Mike, or Lucas.
Steve's brows furrowed, lights blinding him slightly. It was Dustin who gave it away as he looked past Steve and toward the gate to the Upside down.
" Oh no," the kid had mumbled but it reached into Steve's ears as he turned.
Oh no.
Oh god no.
You stood in the gate. No soldier in sight, no friend there either. There was only you and what any minute could be death.
Steve pushed against the soliders with all his might.
" Steve!" Robin yelled.
The solider made a grab at him.
" Get off me! Get off!" he yelled, cried, pulled or pushed he didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't stand still.
" Steve! Steve, don't-"
" I said let me go-"
Steve pitched forward but didn't land in the gravel, he landed in water, in some place dark and far away.
" Steve."
Was he dead? Had the soldier's shot him? Were the both of you dead?
He glanced up and found you walking toward him in the darkness, in the water. You were the only thing of light.
Steve got up and ran to you. " Hey, woah, baby, baby," the stress and shouting of his voice wasn't there. He coaxed you gently. He wasn't even sure he was speaking but he felt your body soften when he caressed your arms. " What are you doing? What are you doing?"
You shook your head, tears falling.
" Hey, hey, hey, why are you crying?"
" It's the only way," you chocked.
It took Steve a moment to realise the two of you couldn't just hide out in here. That this wasn't a safe space but a final goodbye in the hole of a void.
" No," he said, disappointed. " No."
" Listen to me-"
" No, I won't-"
" Listen to me!"
" Put me back! I have to be there- I have to save you!"
You grabbed his cheeks, caressing them. " You have saved me, so many times, more than you know. Let me- let me save you."
" Save me? You're killing me baby, you're killing me," he cried, gripping your arms hard enough to bruise. Good, If he hurt you you'd make him apologise to you a thousand ways. For that you had to stay.
" I know, I know it'll hurt at first-"
" Hurt? You're killing me-"
" But I need you to understand-"
" No, no I don't," he cried. " Why are you- why are you doing this?"
You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling. " Because it's the only way. If I live there will always be a key to the gate, there will always be Henry's blood in me and there will always be a chance this happens again. To some other poor kids. To some other town with innocent lives that I can't put at risk."
" Well I can't lose you," said Steve, spitting out the words as the salt of his tears stung his cracked lips. He was losing breath. The very air that he breathed was you. " I won't lose you."
" I'll always be with you, for as long as you want me to be," you sobbed.
" Now," he said. " I want you now, here, with me, always baby, why can't you see that."
In desperation Steve grabbed your cheeks and forced your heads together, like by some divine intervention you would know his thoughts and feel his feelings and feel his very soul being ripped out of him.
" I need you," he grit out, chocking on a sob. " I need you, why can't you see that?"
" You've never needed me, Steve-"
" Yes I have- I have, I do! I am nothing without you, nothing!"
" I need you to-"
" No... no don't say it-"
" Tell the kids I'm sorry," you cried.
Steve pulled you into him, gripping you and hiding his face in your shoulder to cry. " No." How could he face them knowing he let you go? How could he even look in the mirror.
" Tell Dustin I'm sorry he had to lose another friend-"
" What about El?" asked Steve, weeping now.
" When-when this place blows I'll use the last of what I have... wipe out the soldiers. She'll have to run but we talked about this."
Steve looked back, looking at you. He couldn't quite believe his last look upon you would be blurred by tears. " We talked about it."
" Tell Hopper I'm sorry-"
" Why are you doing this to me, baby?" asked Steve, searching around you for a way to stop it all.
" Tell Robin I'm sorry-"
Steve cried. " We were gonna have kids-"
" Tell- Tell Lucas he better marry Max-"
Steve hung his head. " You were gonna be the mother of my kids-"
" You'll find someone else, Steve, you can have everything you ever wanted."
" We were- our kitchen was gonna be yellow."
You took his face again, trying to wipe away his own tears when your hands were wet with yours. " I will always love you."
Steve didn't have any time to argue. Your hands came down to his chest and he thought maybe you'd kiss him and he'd wake up from the dream- the nightmare this clearly was.
You pushed and then he heard screaming.
" Steve! Steve!"
" No, please, don't do this!" Dustin?
The soldiers picked Steve up off the ground and he was in the camp, watching you in the gate of the Upside down.
He couldn't understand, he would never understand.
Your nose was bleeding, your arm out-stretched as you kept El in her place as she screamed and writhed against whatever force stopped her reaching you.
You. You sacrificing yourself again and doing it all alone.
Because you always did things alone.
You always assumed you'd be alone, like-
Like Steve.
He wouldn't find another. You were his lover, his one and only. Steve didn't have a family he had you.
You had him.
" Steve, come back!"
What was he doing? Letting you play the hero, letting you kill all of the dreams you'd made together?
Steve was in love with you. He loved you.
And he'd made a promise when he found you crying in that hut.
You'll never be alone again.
No soldier could keep him down. No words could stop him and make him live a life without you.
" Steve! Stop!"
" Oh god, no, no!"
Steve pushed the soldiers and punched another in the face and then he ran to you.
You were so focused on keeping El back, letting the soldiers hold the rest of them that you didn't notice Steve running at you until it was too late. " What are you doing?" you yelled, blood dripping down to your lips.
Steve wasn't going to let you go down alone.
You die. He dies.
The children cried, the others yelled.
Steve grabbed you and kissed you, the iron of your blood, the salt of his tears and the roar of the wind as the vinyl ended.
You'll never be alone again.
The upside down closed in a ball of fire, taking you and Steve with it.
um... hope you enjoyed? GIF https://levanterhaze.tumblr.com/
warnings: angst, cuss words, jealousy, steve is rude, not proofread (yet!) and maybe more. idk SET IN SEASON 5 SO SPOILERS
Summary: You’re in love with Steve and Robin says he feels the same way back. So why does Steve keep on choosing Nancy Wheeler over you? Why is he trying so hard to impress her?
Authors Note: HIIII!! Thank you so much for all the love and support!! Would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter <3 TAGLIST WILL REFRESH EACH CHAPTER BECAUSE SO MANY PEOPLE WANT TO BE ON IT SO CLAIM YOUR SPOT EACH CHAPTER!!
“Dustin— sit in the front!” You whisper-shout, looking behind you to make sure Steve wasn’t nearby. He was still inside the Squawk.
“Why can’t you?” Dustin asks, stopping in front of the car. “You’re literally right there.”
“I’m not sitting next to Steve.” You say, crossing your arms.
Dustin squints at you. “Is it because of last night?”
You don’t answer. You don’t have to.
He groans softly. “Okay, first of all— I don’t want to sit up there either.”
You blink. “Why? You guys are best friends! Just sit next to him.”
“No. Things have been… weird.” He says, like it’s obvious. You stare at him, urging him to continue.
Dustin shifts on his feet, looking down. “It’s just… things have been different since Eddie… y’know.”
Before you can respond, Dustin’s eyes light up. “Oh, hey look.” He nods his head towards the entrance. “Crisis adverted.”
You follow his gaze.
Steve is walking out of the Squawk, keys in hand. Nancy is beside him. Not behind him. Not ahead of him. Walking with him. Close enough that their shoulders are brushing.
She’s talking, hands moving as she explains something. Steve listens, head tilted to her, that familiar soft face he only ever seems to give her.
Your heart aches. “Lucky us.”
Nancy reaches the passenger side first, as if she was already planning to sit there. Steve immediately unlocks the car, jogging around the car to open the door for her once again.
It’s stupid. You didn’t even want to sit there. You argued about it. Avoided it. Asked Dustin to take it.
So why does it feel like you lost something anyways?
Dustin heads happily and gratefully towards the backseat.
You linger for half a second longer, watching Steve walk around the hood of his car. He doesn’t look at you. Not even once.
You slide into the backseat, closing the door softly behind you.
As the car pulls away, Nancy laughs at something he said. He laughs too, a huge smile on his face.
You stare out the window, jaw clenched while jealousy pooled in your stomach.
You’re crouched on a chair near the ceiling, arms burning as you hold the rig in place. A small, thin, blue rope is tied to a jagged plank studded with nails. Perfect to slow down a Demogorgan.
The plan was simple: Drug the Turnbow family, trick the Demogorgan into thinking Derek is in bed, Demorgorgan will chase Lucas around, fall into all the traps, then we shoot a tracker in it and find Holly.
Simple, right?
“Careful.” Steve murmurs, steadying the chair with one hand. His other hand goes up to you, it doesn’t touch you but it’s inches away so if you do fall his hand is right there. “If that swings early, it’ll take someones head off.”
“Comforting.” You mutter, tightening the knot anyway.
Dustin peers up from below. “How long do you think this will slow it down?”
“Long enough to get Lucas down the stairs.” Mike says from inside the bedroom where he was setting up Derek’s fake body.
You tug the rope once. The plank swings, heavy and full of intent, stopping inches away from Steve’s shoulder. He flinches. “What the hell!”
“Sorry.” You sheepishly smile. “Was hoping it would take off your head.”
“Very funny.”
You grin despite yourself, easing the rope back into place. You carefully step down from the chair, stepping back to admire your work. You pretend to dust your hands off.
Mike sticks his head out of the room, “Dummy’s all set.”
Steve nods his head, already moving down the stairs. “Our work here is done. Be careful, step over the rope.”
Now onto phase two of the plan: Wait in the car until the Demogorgan comes.
You follow Steve and Dustin outside, the cold and night air hitting you.
Steve’s car sits at the curb on the other side of the street. Dustin customized his car so we could track and follow the Demogorgan faster, the huge satellite now sitting on top of it.
Dustin stops short beside it and looks between you and the passenger seat. “We are not doing this again.”
You sigh. “I’m not sitting up there.”
“Yeah, well.” He shoots back, “Neither am I!”
Steve is already unlocking the door on the driver’s side, clearly pretending he cannot hear the two of you.
Dustin holds up paper and rock with his hands, signifying rock, paper, scissors.
You hold your hands up as well, agreeing to the game.
Rock.
Paper.
Scissors.
Shoot!
You lose.
Dustin fist bumps the air, grinning.
“What! No! Best of three!” You whine, face turning red.
“Sorry, Y/N. We got a Demo to catch.” He says, very quickly slipping into the backseat. You groan, swinging the passenger’s seat open.
You hesitate before closing the door all the way, fingers resting on the handle like you might change your mind.
You don’t.
The door shuts with a soft click, sealing you into the front seat.
You stare right ahead, lips in a thin line, trying to ignore the stupid little spark of excitement flickering in your chest because you’re next to him. Doesn’t mean you forgot what he said though.
Steve clears his throat. “You guys gonna rock, paper, scissors over who has the binoculars too or…?”
You open the glovebox a little too hard, the latch opening with a sharp click. You grab the binoculars, tossing them to Dustin.
“Careful,” Steve says automatically.
“Relax. Your precious equipment is fine.” You say, looking out the window on your right.
Steve exhales slowly through his nose. “Is this about last night?”
“No. I don’t care.”
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you don’t care, when you very clearly do.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Seriously, Steve. I don’t care.”
“Y/N, can we just talk about it? I’m sorry. I don’t want things to be off between us.”
You scoff quietly, still staring out the window.
Steve turns a little in his seat, elbow resting against the center console. “Okay. Then what do you want?”
The question catches you off guard. You hesitate. “I want you to stop acting surprised when things are off. You can just stay stuff and then act like everything is fine.”
You swallow, fingers tightening in your lap. “I want you to stop saying things you don’t mean.” You continue, voice quieter now. “And I want you to stop pretending like it doesn’t affect people when you do.”
Steve doesn’t answer right away.
So you keep going. Because once you start, it’s hard to stop. Word vomit.
“I’m not asking for—“ You huff a breath, shaking your head. “I’m not asking for a million dollars. I just hate how you make me feel stupid. It hurts Steve, it really does…”
You trail off.
Because Steve isn’t looking at you anymore.
His eyes are fixed to his left, through the window. Through the living room of the Turnbow house across the street. Nancy moves past the window, talking to Mike, her silhouette familiar even from here. Steve’s staring as if he just spotted a diamond in the ocean.
Your stomach sinks.
You follow his gaze for half a second, looking away just as quickly. Heat crawls up to your neck and you feel your eyes getting watery. Every word you said feels embarrassing, even worse because Dustin witnessed it all.
“Nevermind.” You mutter, wiping your eyes.
Steve blinks, his head snapping to yours. “What?”
“Nothing.” You wave it off, refusing to look at him. You could feel your eyes getting more watery by the second.
You feel a light touch on your shoulder. Dustin.
His hand is warm and steady, enough to remind you that someone sees you, someone knows you’re hurting.
You swallow hard, the tears you’ve been trying so hard to hold back finally escape, running freely down your cheeks.
The streetlights down the block flickers.
It hums low, like it’s struggling to stay alive.
You straighten up, wiping your eyes. Your heart pounds as it gets closer. Dustin’s hand tightens on your shoulder, noticing it too.
“Moving South down Arlington, T-minus 30 seconds.”
Steve repeats that into the walkie-talkie, “Status check. Taggers?”
Nancy responds. “In position and set. Launcher?”
“Set.” Lucas says. “Catcher?”
“Set. Trackers?” Mike asks.
Steve looks at Dustin. “Set. Let’s do this thing already. Seatbelts on you two.”
You rush to put your seatbelt on, stopping when the flickering lights travel through the rest of the street and into the house. Let’s hope everything goes right.
“It’s inside. Minimize chatter.” Dustin says, looking through the binoculars. Steve tells everybody that it’s inside and to stay quiet.
You bounce your leg anxiously, watching as the house flickered like crazy.
And then—
Movement.
Something tall and slimly crosses Derek’s window.
Your blood turns cold.
From the car, you can barely hear anything but you could hear the faint sound of the traps. The plank falling, Demogorgan shrieking, falling through the house, and then the bullet.
Tracker is in.
A few moments go by until Mike’s voice comes through on the talkie. “It flipped! IT FLIPPED!!”
You immediately turns the dial, “Got it.”
Steve turns in his seat. “How close?”
You don’t respond, watching in confusion as the numbers went higher and higher.
“Y/N, how close?!” Steve shouts, smacking your seat. You flinch, shooting the dude a dirty look.
The car responds for you though, the dashboard flickering like crazy.
Your heart jumps into your throat. Steve and Dustin are freaking out when suddenly— BANG.
Nancy bangs her palms against your window with a sharp and loud thunk, making everyone shriek.
Before any of you could recover, her and Jonathan rush into the backseat, practically shoving Dustin out of the way. “Where is it? Where is it?”
“Hold on!” You shriek, overwhelmed. You quickly twist the wheel above you, finding it. “Northwest!”
You snatch the talkie from Steve. “Demo is tagged and released! Tracker is in pursuit.” You stop, watching as Steve struggled to turn the car on. “Hurry up!!”
The engine finally roars to life, and with a screech of the tires, Steve slams on the gas, sending the car flying down the road.
So I'll wait for you, love. And I'll burn. ⭐︎ S.H.
Warnings: mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem receiving), jealousy, possessive!steve, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending, word count: 9.6k+, I got a little lazy at the end there so if you see anything weird... no you didn't.
Pairing: ex!Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: You run into your ex-boyfriend at a bonfire party at Lover's Lake and his jealousy gets the best of him when he sees another guy getting a little too close to you.
A/N: I loved writing this request, exes to lovers and jealous Steve is always my favorite hehe, @hellfire--cult thank you for helping with some of the dialogue and the silly ending scene hehe
⭐︎ the library
♡
It’s loud and crowded, the alcohol tastes cheap and only does little to mend the bitter taste on Steve’s tongue. His clothes smell like smoke from the burning wood of the bonfire and it’s starting to irritate him. Some drunk guy bumps into him, causing the drink in his hand to spill over, the guy mumbles out some halfhearted apology before he keeps going. If Steve’s eyes weren’t set on you, he would have probably cursed at him.
He didn’t want to come here. He wanted to stay home, wallow in self pity and listen to some stupid song that reminds him of you and what the both of you had before he decided to let you go. It was his fault anyway, he couldn’t communicate, couldn’t answer your questions, couldn’t be honest and that cost him you. Maybe if he said those words that he was so afraid to utter again after his failed relationships, maybe then he wouldn’t have lost you, maybe then he wouldn’t have to watch you smile at another guy.
It’s been a week since you stormed out of his house in tears. A week since you said ‘it’s over.’ A week of suffering for him. A week of sleepless nights and tears staining his pillow, the same pillow that still smells like you. He cried and cried over you, debated on just picking up the phone and calling you, telling you how sorry he is, telling you how much he loves you. Robin told him to, ‘The solution to your suffering is simple, Dingus. Just pick up the damn phone and call her, get your girl back.’ It was simple. It would have been simple if he wasn’t so goddamn scared.
He feels regret more than ever now as he stands there watching you be flirted with. How could you? Weren’t you crying for him just a week ago?
Steve’s heart is aching in pain, wondering if it was so simple, so easy to just move on after your breakup. He can’t even imagine talking to another girl, let alone touch someone else the way you let this random man touch your hair. A smile is on your face and your eyes twinkle, shining just the way they did for him.
Steve’s hand tightens around the plastic cup as anger fills him, replacing the hurt as possessiveness and jealousy starts sinking in. The plastic starts to crack, the beer now spilling over and dripping down into the grass.
‘You know what you have to do, stop with this self pity, Steve. It’s honestly irritating to look at you right now. She asked about you like every day since your break up-not-break up, whatever you wanna call it!’ Robin’s words echo in his head.
You are his.
It’s not over.
His heart pounds in his chest and his skin burns, eyes darkening the longer he looks at you. He is supposed to be the one touching your hair, fixing it for you. He is supposed to make you smile like this, not whoever this asshole is in front of you.
Steve clenches his jaw. His eyes roam your body, taking in the dress, the one you know is his favorite. Even through the anger that is cursing through him at this moment, his heart flutters at the sight of you. He hears your sweet laughter, even over the loud music and the many voices.
He’s gonna get you back.
And he wastes no second when you walk away from the guy, looking down at your cup that must be empty. Steve’s eyes follow you and then his feet start carrying him over to the snack table where you stopped. Your back is turned to him, but he can see the way you are pouring more punch into your cup.
Possessiveness still curses through his veins and it only seems to intensify the closer he gets to you. He brings his beer up to his lips, downing the rest of it before he throws it to the side. His knees nearly buckle when he gets a whiff of your perfume – the scent that he breathes in every night when he lays down, reaching for your pillow.
You don’t notice him, not right away at least, not even when he stops right behind you.
“I see you have moved on already, was it that easy?”
You freeze.
Every emotion that you could think of runs through your veins. Coldly. Shivers run down your spine. An aching feeling settles in your chest. Your stomach drops at his words.
Moved on? You have cried yourself to sleep every night because of him, staring at the phone on your nightstand, hoping he would call.
You stare down at your drink, wanting nothing more than to down it. All the voices around you fade away, all the people disappear. You haven’t even turned around yet, but it’s already just you and him here and nobody else.
You expect to see sadness in his eyes when you turn around, instead you are met with angry eyes, ones that only make you shrink, not in fear but a feeling you don’t want to succumb to.
You almost hesitate when you see the dark circles under his eyes, the tiredness you know comes from days and days of not sleeping. His hair is messy, completely unstyled. A light stubble covers his skin. Steve Harrington looks like a mess. A mess your heart is aching for.
“Are you serious?” The words tumble from your lips in disbelief.
Steve glares down at you, a sight so strange for him. Usually he looks at you with such softness, like you are the most delicate thing in the world, like he loves you. He never looked at you like this before, not even that night. Steve’s voice is always soft and careful, his touches gentler than the softest wind in the spring. This side you had never seen before, not even when Billy Hargrove wouldn’t stop bothering you at Vickie’s Birthday party, trying to flirt with you, knowing damn well whose girl you were. Steve was jealous, got a little rougher in bed later that night but that’s all. He surely didn’t look at you the way he is glaring at you now.
“Been watching you all night, is that your new boyfriend or just a toy?” He gestures to the guy you had been talking to. Your eyes don’t even follow his hand, they stay on his face.
You draw back like you had been slapped. You can’t help but feel hurt. You begged, begged for him to talk to you, to tell you what was bothering him, pleading with your eyes for him to say ‘I love you’ but he didn’t, he couldn’t and now he is standing in front of you like the roles are reversed.
You might have been the one who said ‘it’s over’ but he was the one who threw it away in the first place.
Anger rushes through you the longer you look into those hazel eyes that you love so much, that you will always love, that you will always be unable to stop loving because through it all he is still Steve, your Steve.
You both know how this will end. Deep down you know. This pull between you both got stronger in those few days you were away from each other, ironically enough. You knew it was only a matter of time until you’d come crawling back to him, even without him having to say the words you crave to hear so badly.
And Steve, despite thinking for a split second that you are better off without him, he knew, he knows that he can’t let you get away, he can’t let you go, he just can’t.
But right now, you are both too irritated to see, to feel anything but the hot, blinding anger.
You know it’s a mistake to step closer to him, knowing that if you feel his breath on you, smell his cologne that your knees will weaken but you still do it. Your converse bump against his nike’s, you tilt your chin up to look into his eyes.
“And if he is?” You know you shouldn’t do this. You know you shouldn’t anger him like this but you can’t help it, not when he accuses you of something you can’t even think of doing after walking away from him. The rational part of your brain is screaming at you. Why wouldn’t he think that? Why wouldn’t he think that you could move on so easily, so quickly? His last girlfriend did. Not even a proper breakup before she slept with someone else. Not even a week after the actual breakup before she held someone else’s hand.
It’s long forgotten and they are friends by now but the scar was still left behind. A reminder. An insecurity to be taken into the future.
Steve’s eyes darken. Something hot flares inside his chest, something he has never felt before. Everything inside of him is screaming at him to take. He won’t let you go. He won’t let you be taken from him. Not you.
The look in your eyes is daring, burning with something too, yet also pleading. There is only a hint of that softness but it’s there, just like it was that night he let you walk through the door.
You stare at him, for the longest time. Waiting and waiting. And then, a huff falls from your lips and your shoulders slump. You try to walk away again. This time he doesn’t let you. He grabs your arm softly and he pulls you against him. He leans down, close enough to make your breathing stutter.
“Tell me he isn’t,” he whispers into your ear, “tell me you still think about me.”
How could you ever stop?
He is so close to you, you feel his minty breath on your lips. His strong hand around your arm, holding you firmly yet rubbing circles into your skin, like he is trying to soothe any pain he might be causing.
There is something dangerous in his voice and these eyes that seem to darken more and more the longer you don’t say anything to him. His hold on you tightens and suddenly you feel something burning deep in your lower stomach. Desire. Lust. Excitement. His jealousy is burning bright red.
“Steve–”
He pulls you closer, almost flush against his chest now. His frown is deeper than before, eyes full of anger, “tell me.”
Is it wrong to feel heat pooling in your belly? To feel your heart fluttering over this? Is it wrong to want to push him even more, to see what he will do?
“What if I say no?” You lie, it’s clear that you do and yet his glare nearly makes you crumble right before him, making your heart stutter and your breathing hitch.
Steve clenches his jaw. A huff falls from his lips and he looks away from you, turning his head to the side as he closes his eyes.
You bite the inside of your cheeks nervously, eyeing him slowly, his jawline, his thick neck, the vein that nearly pops from the anger he is feeling. He licks his lips and nods to himself before he looks back down at you.
You are testing him. He can see it. Now he can see it so clearly, there’s a twinkle in your eyes, a mix of curiosity and excitement. You want this. You want him to act on his feelings.
“Alright,” he murmurs and lets go of your arm. “So… Guess I better leave you alone then, huh?” He asks, testing you now too.
Satisfaction rushes through him when your eyes widen, as though in panic. You don’t want him to leave. He shakes his head, chuckling.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Steve mumbles under his breath before he reaches down, taking your hand into his after slamming your cup on the table. He starts dragging you away from the table, from the party, away from everyone. And you follow without hesitating, trying to keep up with his long strides.
“Where are we going?” You ask, staring at the back of his head as he drags you through the sea of people.
Steve doesn’t answer your question, he holds you tighter and continues walking. Your stomach flips when you look down at your joined hands. It’s only been a week but you missed holding his hand. You missed it on your body, on your skin. You missed him.
The music starts fading away the farther you get away from the party and closer to the edge of the forest, where everyone left their cars. It’s dark but thanks to the full moon, you can still see enough to catch sight of his maroon car – away from all the others and closer to the trees, like he planned this. Excitement starts burning in you because the thick tension that is lingering between you two gives away what is about to happen.
A squeal nearly falls from your lips when he suddenly yanks you forward, turns you around and presses you against the side of his car, slamming his palm on the roof and caging you in. His eyes seem even darker now and you can practically feel his anger. It intimidates you and makes you feel giddy at the same time.
“Who is he?” He asks through gritted teeth.
“That’s none of your business, Steve.”
Your answer only fuels his anger and it’s so very visible in his features. His nostrils flare, his eyes burn with jealousy. He clenches his jaw as hard as he is clenching his fist on the roof of his BMW.
“No? You were mine a week ago, I think that is my business.” He says it in a way that nearly causes your knees to buckle. Your breathing stutters and you gulp. He notices it. He also notices the way your shoulders fall deeper, like you are trying to make yourself look small, like you are intimidated. He almost feels guilty for liking it. Almost.
“A week ago.” You nod, frowning up at him. “But not anymore.”
It stings. It really fucking stings. His heart stutters in his chest, aching deeply and in a way he’s not sure it has before. The thought of you not being his makes him want to crawl into a hole and wait for death to take him.
“Is that why you broke up with me? Because you didn’t want to be with me anymore? Because I wasn’t enough? Because you wanted someone else?” His words are spoken in anger, filled with rage but also with something else, something you should have missed. Sadness, fear and heartbreak.
“That isn’t fair, Steve.” You whisper, hating the way your eyes water at his question. You never once gave him a reason to think so lowly of you. You never gave him a reason to doubt you or your love for him.
Steve nods, he brings his hand up to his hair and runs his fingers through it, tugging at the mess. And then, his hand falls to your side, grasping your hip. Your skin burns under it.
Your breathing gets heavier and heavier. His scent, his touch, he is intoxicating. You are starting to succumb, breaking slowly.
“You’re right, it isn’t. It isn’t fair that you just ran off when things got hard.”
You blink rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears that are threatening to spill from your angry eyes.
“God.” You sigh in disbelief, bringing your hands up to your face, you wipe your tears in anger, not caring about your now smudged mascara. “You can’t do this to me!”
A humorless laugh falls from Steve’s lips. He looks up at the sky for a moment before he looks back down at you, meeting your eyes that are full of irritation now.
“You were the one who broke up with me, and you are laughing with another guy on his arm a week later! How the fuck did you think I was going to react?”
The line between your eyebrows grows deeper as anger flashes in your features.
“What the fuck are you saying, Steve? That I’m a whore or something?”
“Never said that.” He shrugs, shaking his head.
“You implied it.” You frown at him, taking a step forward.
He can feel your anger now too and it only makes the tension between you both so much stronger, burning fiercely.
“No, I did not.”
“Then what the fuck did it mean then?” You challenge him, looking into his eyes intensely and he almost knocks the breath out of you when he cradles your face, desperately so. His lips now only inches away from you as he leans closer.
“That you are mine. Only fucking mine.”
Your breath hitches in your throat and your heart… god, your heart nearly stops. He says it like he loves you. He looks at you like he loves you. He looks like he is ready to fight to get you back and you want him to, you really really want him to.
“Am I? You have a weird way of showing it. You let me go like I was never yours in the first place.” You whisper, unable to hide the shakiness in your voice.
“Oh?” Steve cocks his head to the side as his eyes flicker down to your lips. He traces your cheekbone with his thumb, holding your face gently. “Want me to show it? Fine. I’ll show you.”
His lips are suddenly on yours, catching you off guard as he pulls you into a bruising kiss, one that knocks the breath out of you completely. You stand there unmoving for a second. Heart nearly beating out of your chest as his lips move roughly against yours. He tilts your head up further, deepening the kiss as he presses you back against the car.
A whimper escapes your throat when he pushes himself against you and sighs into your mouth in contentment, like he has been dying for this moment. The moment you throw your arms around his neck and reciprocate the kiss, it goes from rough to desperate real quick. He cups the back of your neck and swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for entrance and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth for him.
Steve moans and the sound sends shivers down your spine. God, how you have missed him. His fingers dance along your neck before they get lost in your hair, pulling moans from you as well now.
Your hands find their way to his jacket, grasping at the leather, you hold on tightly as you tug at it, like you need him closer, like he isn’t close enough already, like his tongue isn’t moving against your own.
Steve can feel it, how easily you melt into him, into the kiss, into his arms. The moan that slips from you makes his insides burn with need. He moves his hand down your back, fingers dancing along your spine, making you breathe shakily. He can’t help but smirk when you whimper the moment his large hand grabs your ass.
“Steve!” You whimper against his lips, breaking the kiss to catch your breath.
His heart feels full again. Alive. A kiss from you is enough to bring him back to life.
“Say it again.” He pecks your lips, squeezing your ass once more. “Say my name.”
Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes again, gazing up at him like he is the prettiest thing on this planet. It makes him feel weak.
“Steve.” You whisper in such need, it only fuels this feeling inside of him. This strong urge to take you. To get you back. To make you his again. In every way. He doesn’t think before he unlocks his car and opens the door, pushing you onto the leathered backseats. He takes a look around, making sure that you two are actually secluded enough and that no one is around, once he is satisfied, he crawls in after you. He wastes no time to reconnect his lips with yours, kissing you just as desperately as before, if not even more.
Your hands get lost in his hair, gripping at it tightly as you spread your legs for him, inviting him to put his full weight on you. And he moves in between your legs so happily, pressing himself against your center with a teasing grind of his hips, making you whimper once again – he will be hearing these sweet sounds all night, he will make sure of that.
The car fills with sounds of desperate breathing, lips smacking and moans from two lovers who thought that this was lost.
Your short sundress rides up as he rolls his hips again, tearing yet another moan from you but also from his own throat. To feel you beneath him again makes him feel like he is going crazy. His hands roam your body, not knowing where to settle first after a week away from you. His jeans are straining around his groin already, growing uncomfortable after each second that passes of feeling your body beneath him. He needs you so very badly.
And he knows you need him too. He can feel it in the way you kiss him, like you are starving just like he is, like you were dying slowly without his touch, without him.
“I’m gonna remind you.” He kisses that promise into your lips before his mouth starts peppering kisses down to your jaw. “Gonna remind you that I’m the only one that can make you feel like this.”
A shudder falls from your lips as your eyes close and your back arches. You lean into his touch as his hand slips down your stomach and between you both. His fingers play with the hem of your dress before they disappear underneath it to cup your clothed pussy, soaked for him already.
“Please.” You breathe as your hand clings to his hair, fingers grasping the strands tightly.
Steve sucks on your neck, marking you up for everyone to see. You are still his girl. You are still Steve Harrington’s girl. Everyone will know.
“Please what, baby?” Steve murmurs into your neck, not pulling away just yet as he sucks another mark on the spot under your ear, making you whimper loudly. He can’t help but grin. Only he knows all the spots that drag these sweet sounds out of you.
“Touch me, please.” You whisper and beg as you play with his hair. “Need you so badly. Always just need you, Stevie.”
His heart flutters and his pants tighten even more at your words. Satisfaction rushes through him like it never did before.
“That’s right. You’re still my girl, aren’t you? Always will be.” He whispers into the crook of your neck, continuing with his kisses. He teases you over your panties, only for a moment but enough to make you whine and squirm beneath him, bucking into his hand in despair, like you will die without his touch. He presses his fingers against your clit, teasing you over the thin material before he pushes the lace aside and swipes his fingers through your slick.
You nod, hair falling around you on the leather. Lips parting as your eyebrows scrunch together when he starts teasing your clit, moaning at how wet you are for him.
Your right hand slips from his hair and down to his chest, slipping under his jacket and grabbing at his shoulder. A loud whimper falls from your mouth when he sinks his middle finger inside of you.
“Steve… Oh!” You almost feel pathetic for getting so dumb and desperate for him so quickly. Almost. You can’t find it in yourself to care right now, not when he starts fucking you with his long fingers, stretching you open for him. The squelching noises filling the car, making your cheeks burn.
“Just like that,” Steve murmurs as he moves his head back up. Pressing his free hand against the seat next to your head. For a moment, he looks down at you, admiring your pretty face and the way the moonlight shines down on you. Sweet moans fall from your lips, getting louder when he pulls his finger out, teasing you by bringing it back up to your clit. He loves watching the way the crease between your brows gets deeper and the way your chest moves faster. He loves the way your face contorts in pleasure and the way his name falls from your lips. He pushes his finger back inside, adding his ring finger this time. “You are so beautiful, Honey.” He whispers before he leans down and kisses you again. He doesn’t even acknowledge his own needs right now, not caring about the twitching in his pants, the burning in his stomach. Your pleasure comes first. Always.
Your nails dig into his shoulder as you hold on tighter. Your other hand is grasping at his hair still. You mewl into his mouth, causing butterflies to erupt in his stomach.
You can’t help but grind into his hand, the pleasure taking over your body as he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that one spot he never struggled to reach. His fingers start moving faster, in and out, faster and deeper, thumb brushing your clit in a teasing manner, making you whine into his mouth. You feel him smirking against your lips. Cocky Bastard.
Your stomach tenses, the burn feeling so delicious as he moves his fingers in such a disrespectful way. You can only imagine how hard he will fuck you into these seats the moment he is done with the foreplay – and you know it’s still a hot minute till then because if there is one thing that Steve Harrington loves, then it’s to play with you. He could spend hours and hours with his head between your thighs, licking and eating you out like a man starved. Your walls clench around his fingers at just the thought of what the night still holds.
You kiss him back sloppily, too overwhelmed by the pleasure of just his hand. Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. He continues kissing you, even as your lips move slower. He keeps pecking your lips as he fucks you on his fingers.
“Steve… Fuck… Feels so good.” You babble as you clench around his digits again. His lips smack against your lips. He can’t get enough. “I’m so…” You can’t even finish the sentence as another loud whimper falls from your lips when he presses his thumb against your clit, moving it slowly.
“I know, baby, I know.” Steve coos, looking down at you with such intense but soft eyes. “You wanna cum for me already, don’t you? I can feel you clenching around my fingers… You’re so goddamn tight, gonna have to stretch you open with my cock.” He chuckles when your walls tighten at his words. His fingers are covered in your slick, dripping. It makes his dick twitch in excitement.
You shudder underneath him, eyes shooting open as you stare at him with such need that it makes him want to laugh again. The high pitched moan that follows causes him to grin.
“Oh, you want it so bad, huh? Didn’t want that fucker out there after all, did you?”
You shake your head almost instantly, mumbling ‘no’.
“Then why’d you let him touch you like that, baby?” Steve asks, clenching his jaw once again at the memory of that asshole touching your hair. “You are mine. No one else gets to touch you like that except for me.”
There is something in that tone in his voice and the anger in his eyes that makes you feel small yet satisfied, even more so than before. You clench around him tightly. Walls flutter around his fingers.
Steve kisses your lips roughly, “say it. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” You sniffle as your belly starts burning. “I’m yours, Steve.” You bat your eyelashes at him, gazing up at him with your glassy eyes that nearly drive him over the edge.
“That’s right. I’m glad you still know your place.” Steve whispers as he rubs your clit faster, curling his fingers deeper. “You still need a reminder though.”
You bite your bottom lip but Steve quickly grabs your chin, placing his thumb on your lip before he frees it from your teeth, replacing them with his thumb. He swipes it back and forth before he pushes it inside your mouth.
Without a moment of hesitation, you swirl your tongue around his thumb, watching in satisfaction how his eyes darken at your little action and you keep on watching when you start sucking on it, fueling his lust, fueling the intensity of his touch. He slams his fingers in and out of you, watching your face intensely as you succumb to the pleasure and fall apart seconds later, gushing around his fingers and screaming out his name as his thumb grasps your chin tightly.
“That’s it, just like that.” He murmurs, kissing your cheek as he slows down the thrusts of his fingers. “Still my good girl, aren’t you?”
“Mmmh.”
“Yeah, you are.” Steve nods, pecking your lips sweetly before he starts to kiss down your body.
“Steve…” You breathe as you hold onto his hair even tighter than before, looking down at him, watching the way he settles between your thighs. A whine falls from your lips when he pulls his fingers out of you.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He coos at you, looking up into your eyes as he brings his slick covered fingers to his lips, tasting you on them. His eyes close as he moans. You clench around nothing at the sight of him. He looks so good like this, with his cheeks pink and his hair a mess on his head, lips puffy from all the kissing, jealousy still burning all over his face. You get lost in it, in watching him, breathing heavily as he removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, like he just ate the sweetest dessert. He tears off his jacket and throws it on the passenger seat before he leans down, looking into your eyes intensely as he hooks his finger around your panties and slips them off you with ease, stuffing them into his backpocket. Your eyes widen at his action and he hits you with one of his cocky winks. He throws your legs over his shoulders and leans down, only breaking eye contact to look at your pussy. A groan falls from his lips, “so fucking pretty and wet for me.” He murmurs before he licks a broad stripe from your hole to your clit, making you jolt in pleasure.
“Steve!” You almost feel pathetic for the way you moan his name, unable to say anything else but that.
“God,” he mouths at your pussy, repeating the same motion again and again, “I missed you.” He moans before he swirls his tongue around your clit, teasing you relentlessly as his fingers slip inside of you again.
“That feels so good, baby!” You whine and arch your back when he sucks on your clit, his moans vibrating against you, sending jolts of pleasure through you.
Steve whimpers at the petname, chest fluttering strongly as he looks up at you to find you staring at him still, eyes fighting to stay open. You don’t want to stop looking at him. You give his hair a firm tug when he teases you further, circling his tongue around your clit as he fingers you deeply.
“Oh my god…” You gasp at the overwhelming sensation. You arch your back even more but you are suddenly pressed down when he brings his free hand to your stomach, pushing you back against his seat and keeping you in place, keeping you from squirming, like he was scared that you’d move away. The touch of his hand only makes the pleasure so much stronger.
“Take what I give to you, baby.” He murmurs against you before he replaces his fingers with his tongue and he buries his face deeper into you, nudging his nose against your clit as he starts eating you out like he had been starving for weeks. Moaning and growling at every tug on his hair. He keeps his hand pressed against your stomach. His foot accidentally kicks against the door behind him when he tries to get more comfortable in the cramped up space. The windows are all fogged by now, you throw your hand back, not knowing what to grasp as the pleasure takes over your body in an overstimulating sensation.
Steve doesn’t stop, if anything he goes faster and faster, tongue moving deep inside of you as his sticky fingers dig into your soft thigh, holding on so tightly that it will probably leave a bruise, one that you will wear proudly just like his marks on your neck.
Steve whimpers loudly against you when he adjusts on the seats, brushing his clothed dick against the leather. He fears he won’t last long when he gets to finally feel your warmth wrapped around him again.
Your hand falls to the one on your stomach and he wastes no time to intertwine his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand and keeping it pressed against your belly. The coil grows bigger and bigger. Your thighs are shaking, your whole body is, but Steve is far from done.
Even as tears start rolling down your cheeks and your moans get louder, hips grinding upwards desperately as you're chasing your high. He could stay here forever, between your thighs with your juices dripping down his chin and your moans echoing so prettily in his ears. He would die a happy man right here.
“You’re so close, pretty baby.” Steve murmurs as he licks at your pussy, causing you to squirm even more when he brings his tongue up to your clit. “I can feel it. You wanna cum on my tongue, don’t you?”
You nod your head desperately, caging his head in between your thighs.
“When’s the last time you came? Did you touch yourself while you were away from me?”
“No.” You shake your head, whimpering in a high pitched voice when he sucks on your clit. “Couldn’t without you.”
Your answer seems to satisfy him as a hum falls from his mouth.
“Then we’re on the same page. Good.” He grumbles before he sinks his tongue back inside of you, fucking you with it as though he’s been desperate to.
Your stomach flutters and clenches at the same time. It doesn’t take long after this for him to throw you over the edge. Everything in you aching from the sensation yet starving for more. That’s how it’s always been, he would spend hours worshipping you, making you cum on his tongue, his fingers, around his cock, over and over again. Make you scream and writhe from the overstimulation and yet you can never get enough. Not even when it gets too much. You are just as addicted to him as he is to you.
Waves crash over your body when he makes you fall apart beneath him and you come on his tongue, pulling at his hair so harshly that he growls against you. You scream his name. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and if it wasn’t for his hand keeping you pressed, your back would arch in pleasure.
“Steve… baby!” You cry out as he keeps making out with your pussy even after you come, making you squirm beneath him.
“That’s it.” He hums against you, looking up at you in satisfaction. How beautiful you look as you fall apart for him. How your chest shines with sweat and your cheeks glisten from the tears that escaped your pretty eyes. The marks on your neck are so bright. Pride swells in his chest. He gives your hand another squeeze when you hold on tighter. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He whispers, giving your clit a few kitten licks to tease you some more. He can’t help but chuckle darkly when you whine and try to push him away.
“T-Too much…” You whisper, still pushing at his head.
He pulls away but not without giving your clit a sweet kiss, making you wince from the overstimulation. He leans into your inner thighs, pecking you there before he slowly brings your shaking legs down from his shoulders. He sits back for a moment, admiring the sight before him as he wipes his wet jaw.
When you notice his staring, your cheeks start burning and you grow flustered. His eyes rake over your body, taking you in slowly. You try to close your legs when his eyes settle back on your center, puffy and clenching around nothing.
“Nuh uh.” Steve warns you, prying your legs open again as he lets go of your hand. “Don’t hide from me.”
“Steve…”
“Yeah?” Steve whispers.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, licking your lips as you eye him up and down. He is towering over you, even in this tight little space. His broad shoulders, his large veiny hands; your weakness. All of it makes you ache for him even more.
You reach for him, hooking your finger around his belt, you trace it with the tip of your finger, gazing up into his eyes, not hiding the despair in your own eyes.
“Tell me what you want.” He encourages you as he reaches for your face, cradling your cheek. “Tell me what you need, Honey.”
“You.”
“How do you need me?” Steve breathes, moaning when you start palming him. He can’t help but buck into your touch. “Tell me.”
“Inside of me.” You whisper as you tug him closer and back between your legs. Slipping your hand under his shirt, your fingers trace his happy trail. For a moment, everything slows down between you. He caresses your cheekbone, wiping your tears as he looks at you lovingly. “Show me that I’m still yours.”
Your words snap him back and he removes his hand from your face, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and tears it off. Your fingers fumble with his belt as his hands slip down to your shoulders, eagerly undoing the bows that keep the straps on your dress together. Your hands settle on his hairy chest, eyes filled with amazement as though it’s the first time you are seeing him, like he’s the prettiest thing you have laid eyes on. It makes him nervous, causing his heart to race inside his chest.
“You’re so beautiful,” Steve whispers as he drags your dress down your body, revealing your bare chest. Goosebumps arise on your skin and your nipples harden as the air nips at your almost naked body. Your breath gets caught in your throat, chest tightens as his eyes roam you, like he is exploring every inch of you all over again. You always feel nervous under the weight of his eyes. “And you’re all mine.”
His large hand settles on your right breast, thumb circling your nipple.
“Missed these too.” He whispers as he leans down and kisses your chest before he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking on it. His free hand works on his jeans, popping the button before he drags the zipper down. He pushes the denim off, along with his boxers, just enough to free himself.
You are about to start begging again for him to stop teasing you when a gasp tears from your lips as he slaps his dick against your pussy.
Steve pulls back, releasing your nipple with a pop. He grabs your hand and entwines his fingers with yours, placing it against the seat next to your head. He leans his forehead against yours, breathing into your mouth as he whispers “you ready, baby?”
“Mhmm.” You nod your head quickly, spreading your legs wider despite how sensitive you are from coming twice already. You look down and his hazel eyes follow. You watch how he uses your slick to stroke himself. His tip red and leaking already. His girth and length never fail to make your mouth water, that thick vein that you love to tease with your tongue. A whimper sounds through the car when he pushes his cock between your folds, teasing your clit with his tip, making you both moan, making you both cling to each other’s hands. “S-Steve… I need you, stop teasing!”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He chuckles, kissing your lips sweetly. “Sound so pretty when you get this desperate for my cock.”
He hisses when his tip nudges against your weeping hole, he guides himself inside of you with a moan, “goddamn… stretched you open with my fingers and it still wasn’t enough.”
You bite your bottom lip so harshly, you draw blood. Your eyes shut tightly as he pushes in deeper, splitting you open.
Your name rolls off his tongue so beautifully, it makes both your heart and your pussy clench, causing him to groan. You cling to his hand and wrap your other arm around him, digging your nails into his bare back.
“Fuck baby…” He breathes, still looking at your face, watching how it contorts in pleasure once again. “Open your eyes for me, let me see you.” He whispers as he frees your bottom lip from the rough bite of your teeth. He kisses you, smacking his lips against yours.
The moment your eyes flutter open again, you squeal against his lips when he thrusts, burying himself deep inside of you with a loud moan.
“Steve!” You scream. Stars blur your vision, the delicious stretch inside of you feeling painful yet good at the same time. You feel everything and all at once. You feel every inch of him pulsing inside of you, that one thick vein. You feel the way his hand now digs into your hip roughly, fingers reaching for your leg as he brings it up to his waist.
“That’s right, keep saying my name like that.” Normally he would give you a moment to adjust but he’s not a patient man tonight, and you’re not a patient girl. You look at him with big eyes, pleading and begging, wanting to be taken, wanting to be fucked. And he lacks self control right now because you just feel so good. His perfect girl. “Gonna make sure the whole party hears you.” He growls through gritted teeth before he pulls out and slams back inside of you, tearing a high pitched sound from your pretty lips. “Make sure that asshole knows whose girl you are.”
His words drive you insane. His possessiveness fueling your lust and your desire even more, even as he is balls deep inside of you already. You look up at him, not wanting to break eye contact as he thrusts into you over and over again, deeply and roughly at first.
“Did you really think I’d just let you go like that? That it would be over? No. I’m never letting you go again. Never.” He promises with each stroke. The sound of your juices squelching with each thrust making him feel pride.
“Please.” You whimper, squeezing your fingers around his, moving your hips now too despite feeling overwhelmed.
“Please what?”
“Please don’t let me go.” You plead.
Through the haze of pleasure, he can see the despair in your eyes, the need to feel him closer, the need for him to promise to never let the past few days happen again. In response, he only buries himself deeper inside of you, crushing you with his weight as he murmurs into your mouth “never again, I promise, baby.” He pulls you into a bruising kiss again as he starts fucking you into the leather seats, just like he had promised. He fucks you roughly. He snaps his hips into yours over and over again, swallowing each of your moans in happiness. You meet every thrust, moving your hips back against his as your tongues swirl together.
You only break the kiss to take deep breaths in between before reconnecting your lips. With each thrust, you feel your belly burning even more and with that you feel something other than pleasure and need, other than the fullness inside of you – a contrast to what you felt the past couple of days. You felt empty without him. Your heart hollow. And now he is everywhere again, claiming you like he never let you go and god, you don’t want him to let you go again, so you cling to him, like you never did before. You wrap your legs around him so tightly, letting go of his hand just so you can wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer against you, not wanting even the tiniest space between you. You need to feel him, every inch of him.
And Steve frowns when you break the kiss and bury your face in his neck instead but when he hears that soft sniffle and registers just how tightly you hold onto him, how you cling to him like a leech does it dawn on him. Suddenly he feels so stupid, like the biggest idiot in the entire world. There he was scared to say ‘I love you’. Scared to say it to you out of fear that it would make you run from him when it would have done the opposite. His heart feels ready to burst when he realizes it, you hold him like you are scared to lose him again, you hold him like you love him more than anything, like he is that one thing you are so scared of letting go, that one thing you don’t wanna live without.
He wants to see your face so badly, to look at you but he knows you need this right now, to breathe in his scent, to bury your face in his neck like you had always done when he held you after a bad day. He cradles the back of your head, stroking your hair gently, “I got you, my sweet girl, never letting you go again, I promise.”
You whimper at his words, squeezing your legs around his waist tighter, hand now curling into his hair.
He kisses your shoulder, keeping his lips there as he slips his hand between you both, moving it down your stomach as he slows his thrusts, opting for deeper and rougher strokes, stealing your breath away with it. It’s hungry and it’s brutal as he keeps slamming into you. The repeated motion causes your head to fall back into the seat again.
“There she is,” Steve hums, his lip curling into a smile when his eyes lock with your glassy ones. “Feeling good, baby?” He murmurs, pecking your lips. His long fingers slipping between your legs, finding your clit again.
You answer with a whimper, loud enough for anyone outside to hear.
Steve leans his forehead against yours again, nudging his nose against your own. His skin prickles and the fire in his abdomen spreads further and further. His cock twitches inside of you and he knows he won’t last much longer and you won’t either. He feels it and he can see it in your eyes, the gone look in them becoming more and more apparent.
“God… you look so beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses away your stray tear. His fingers rubbing circles on your puffy clit. You squirm at the motion, whining in overstimulation. “Shh… It’s okay, baby. I got you. I know you got one more in you. Gonna cum with me, right Honey?”
“Yes… Yes, Steve.”
“Atta girl.” He nods, hazel eyes flashing with joy. “Let go for me, baby. Cum with me.”
You brace yourself for the roughness of his thrusts and god it feels good when he starts pounding you, slamming in and out of your squelching pussy, not caring about the mess beneath you. He smashes his lips against yours, kissing you roughly, grinning against you when you whine and squeak at each thrust. His fingers move against your clit fastly, overwhelming your body with the heat that burns in you. His own moans adding to your pleasure. You always feel such pride knowing how good he feels because of you.
He holds your shaking body tightly as he buries himself balls deep, spilling into you with a loud growl as your walls flutter around him, gripping him tightly – milking every last drop of his seed as you come undone with him.
Your sweaty body trembles beneath him but he holds you so tightly, it makes you feel warm, safe.
His thrusts slow after a moment but you two don’t stop kissing, not even when he collapses on top of you, him still pulsing inside of you, continuing to send shockwaves through you. You shudder against him when he removes his fingers from your clit and brings his hand back to your waist, giving it a tight squeeze.
Your lips move slower against each other, moans turning into sighs. Your heart calms, your body relaxes but you never loosen your hold on him and neither does he.
Only when you pull away from the kiss do you register the exhaustion in your body. Your eyes flutter open, your lips curling into a lazy smile when you see hazel eyes looking down at you with nothing but adoration. His fingers curl into your hair, tucking them away from your face. His thumb wipes away your tears and then he leans down to kiss your cheek softly.
You both wince when he pulls out of you, “I know baby, I’m sorry.” He murmurs softly as he reaches for his shirt to clean up the mess between your thighs. Something burns in his chest when he watches the way his cum leaks out of you, he loves coming inside of you, loves knowing what he could do to you, what the outcome could be, what it will be someday. He coos at you when you wince again. He’s gonna make sure to clean you up properly when you get home together. He tucks himself back into his pants, not bothering to button them up or fasten his belt. He leans over you again, pressing his palm next to your head.
“You still with me?” Steve whispers.
You nod, humming.
He smiles softly, pulling back to look at your face again. His heart swells in his chest and aches at the same time. He practically felt your fear just moments ago, when you clung to him, scared to let go of him, scared to walk away from him again, scared that he will let you go again.
Never again.
He doesn’t have to brace himself like he thought he would. He doesn’t have to fear the outcome of it, knowing nothing bad will happen.
“I love you,” Steve whispers, cradling your cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I do. I really do. I’m just scared…”
The risk would have been worth it, even before all this. He can see it now. When your eyes widen, flashing with hope, with relief, with love. He knows he should’ve taken the risk.
“I love you too.” You whisper without a moment of hesitation.
And just like your eyes, his widen too, big and glassy. Filled with hope as his heart kicks up again. A shaky breath falls from his lips, stuttering in his throat, “y-you do?” He asks, shakily. He didn’t expect to hear these words, to hear you say them back, let alone right away.
You nod and grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him down, a smile grazing your lips, “I love you, Steve Harrington.”
If his heart could burst from happiness, it would.
“Fuck…” He whispers, closing his eyes for a moment before he opens them again. “I’m such an idiot. God…” Steve murmurs as he lets his head fall into the crock of your neck, burying his face there. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“I’m sorry too. We should’ve communicated better.”
He nods in agreement, “yeah, we should’ve, we will from now on… right?” He asks, eyes filling with nervousness again when he moves back up and looks into your eyes again.
Suddenly he looks so vulnerable, so different from what he looked like moments ago as his face softens. You could crumble right then and there. He looks so scared, so nervous to hear you say no even though you just told him that you love him.
“We will.”
He slumps against you in relief, pulling you back into a kiss. He envelopes you into his arms and pulls you up into a seating position, smiling against you when it dawns on him that he can do this whenever he wants to again. His heart feels so full again, getting to hold you again, getting to kiss you, getting to taste you.
“Stevie…” You breathe, pulling away with a scrunch of your nose.
The smell of sex lingering in the car, heavily. The windows are so foggy, your handprints evidence of what the both of you have done here.
“Yeah?”
“I’m suffocating.”
A chuckle falls from his lips, he nods, “yeah, me too.”
“Let’s go home.”
Home.
Steve fastens his belt while you fix your dress, blushing when he sneaks glances at you. Your cheeks grow even hotter when he puts on the shirt he cleaned you up with. The stain is evident. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.
He gives your lips another peck before he reaches for the keys he dropped on the ground earlier. He opens the door and steps out. He breathes in the fresh air, giving you a wink before he closes the door. He places his hands on his hips, looking up into the starry sky, a grin appearing on his face. He wants nothing more than to fist pump the air but he doesn’t appear like a loser to you.
Just as he’s about to get into the car, ready to drive you both to his house, he flinches at the voice booming through the air, loud and cheering.
“Go Harrington!”
With furrowed eyebrows he turns around to find none other than Eddie Munson leaning against his van, a joint between his lips.
Steve clenches his jaw, glaring at the metalhead who must have seen more than he should have. Well, maybe not from that distance but it was obvious what the two of you were doing in his car.
Steve shakes his head, groaning loudly, “Fucking Eddie Munson.”
Eddie is stoned out of his mind, Steve can tell even from a distance so he pays him no mind, normally he would have started a fight for this.
“What was that?” Your sweet voice pulls him out of his thoughts when he gets into the driver's seat. He glances over his shoulder, “nothing babe, just keep getting dressed.” He mumbles as he starts the car.
You finish tying the straps on your dress, giving him a curious look before you get out of the car as well, not trusting yourself to crawl over to the passenger seat with your aching legs. You step out, taking a deep breath, welcoming the cold night air on your skin.
"Hi, Sweets!"
A blush appears on your face when you see Eddie smoking against his van in the distance. You wonder if he saw what you and Steve were up to. He waves at you, bobbing his head to the rock music coming from his car. You didn’t know that he was selling tonight.
“Hi Eddie.” You give him a polite smile and a wave.
He opens his mouth again, ready to yell something when your boyfriend sticks his head out of the window.
“I’m running you over if you say anything right now!” Steve yells, not wanting Eddie to make some dirty comment to you or worse about you.
The metalhead doesn’t seem fazed, he only laughs and holds his hands up in surrender, winking at you as he takes a drag of his joint.
Your eyes widen, confusion rushes through you as you get into the car, sinking into the passenger seat. You tilt your head at him.
“Why are you so mean?” You mumble, wondering if it’s his jealousy again, which reminds you…
“...I just wanna go home.”
“Alright then.” You chuckle.
He shuts the window again, and reaches over to grab your hand. He gives it a soft squeeze and gives you a gentle smile, like he didn’t just yell at Eddie.
“Steve.”
“Yeah, baby?” He raises his eyebrows at you.
“The guy from before.” You start, feeling bad for wanting to giggle when you see the anger flashing his eyes again.
“Yeah… What about him?” He asks with a clenched jaw, fingers tightening around yours.
“He was there with his boyfriend.”
Steve furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head softly as he purses his lips. He tilts his head like some confused puppy. You can see the lost look in his eyes as they scan your face before it dawns on him. His lips parting, eyes widening.
“Oh… Oh!” His cheeks glow red from embarrassment and that makes you giggle now. “B-But… he was touching your hair!”
“He was.” You nod, holding back another laugh. “He works at Patty’s. We were talking about my upcoming appointment next week.”
Patty’s. The hair salon you visit every three months to freshen up your highlights. You told him about the guy working there, the one who always does your hair. He felt so jealous back then already, until you told him that he is gay and living with his boyfriend and their two puppies.
“Oh my god.” Steve groans in embarrassment as he leans back against his seat, closing his eyes.
Giggles tumble from your lips again, amusement flashing in your features.
“Oh, you think that’s real funny, huh?” Steve frowns at you, though his own lips are curling up as well.
