You Just Need A Little Love
Steve Harrington x Byers!Fem!Reader
omg my friend that lives in nyc bought tickets for my bday 🥹 ^^^ screaming, crying, throwing up!!
Summary: You think Steve’s using you to get back at your brother for dating Nancy, and he refuses to let you believe that.
WC: 5.2k
Warnings & What To Expect: established relationship between Steve and reader, insecure reader, slightly self destructive reader, excessive use of the pet name ‘pretty girl’ bc it’s my fave, Steve being a yearner, Jonathan being a good brother, allusions to spice, heartbreak w/ a happy ending 💙
Masterlist If Interested!
Author’s Note: tysm to everyone who has shown love on my works - it means the world. Requests are open! No promises on a quick turn around though as I narrate quite a bit, and my job keeps me busy - but feel free to send anything and I can certainly try my best 🫡
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God, were you lucky to be called Steve Harrington’s girl - which is funny, because there was once a time when you thought you wouldn’t ever want to breathe the same air as him.
Not when he had purposely broken the camera you had bought as a birthday gift for your brother, or later on insulted your family in the alleyway by the Hawk after wrongfully slut shaming Nancy.
You still remember the sting of pain you felt after the slap you’d given him for calling your family a disgrace before all hell broke loose between him and Jonathan.
That’s why when he approached you in the parking lot of Hawkins Middle the night of the Snowball Dance to ask you to be his tutor, you nearly choked on air.
You’d been leaning back on your mom’s Ford Pinto, waiting for the dance to be over. Your mom had a late shift at work, and you promised her you’d be there to look out for Will.
You were watching the doors for him like a hawk when Steve pulled his Beamer into the spot next to you. You knew he was there to pick up Dustin, as you’d seen him drop the kid off. While his actions were sweet with the boy, you didn’t really trust him fully yet.
Steve had apologized, admitted his wrongs, proved himself to be a different man, but you held yourself a bit more carefully around him, not quite knowing if it was a facade or not.
When he got out of his car, sidled up next to you and said, “Byers, you're super smart, right? Ever think about tutoring?” - you were fairly certain you were hallucinating, because while you still measured him in sharp glances for his past mistakes, he was looking at you as if he’d forgotten them.
“You might need to pinch me to make sure I’m awake if you’re about to ask me to tutor you Harrington,” you quipped back, and he had chuckled under his breath at the statement.
“Come on, I could really use the help,” he replied truthfully.
“Why are you asking me of all people?” you asked wearily, unsure of his intentions.
“You know Mrs. Click brags about you being the best student she’s ever had. Plus, it doesn't hurt that you’re easy on the eyes,” he throws a captivating smile your way, ever the flirt. You couldn’t help the small smile that was pulling at your lips at the flattery.
Still, Steve saw the remaining uncertainty that you were feeling, “I’ll pay you.”
That piqued your interest because you could use the money. Despite your high grades, your family couldn’t afford the college you wanted to go to. You were planning to attend Hawkins Community and save up simultaneously for Indiana University in a couple of years, thus leading to your agreement to tutor Steve.
The day he graced your lips with his for the first time was constantly on a loop in your mind; a vivid memory.
He had been getting frustrated at the math problems he was trying to solve. With his head thrown back in aggravation, he had groaned about why God cursed him by being born stupid.
You didn’t like that comment. You had lifted your hand from the book you’d been reading and cupped the back of his neck. You tugged, coaxing his head back up. That surprised him, not expecting your touch, which you kept there even once he was looking at you.
“You’re not stupid, Steve Harrington,” you told him fiercely, holding eye contact, thumb brushing at his exposed skin - tracing the beauty marks lining his neck.
He swallowed hard, mesmerized by the fondness in your eyes for him, “If I asked to kiss you, would you let me?”
You had let him, obviously, and from there your relationship had bloomed in the most tender way.
You refused to accept his money any longer, but Steve paid you in new ways; makeout sessions in his car, swoon worthy dates, an endless stream of compliments thrown your way, and your personal favorite; the longing stares he’d give you - expression filled with an adoration for you that you had never felt before.
It wasn’t easy being a Byers in a town full of stereotypical families, but Steve made you feel seen. Made it feel like loving you was easy, despite feeling your whole life that something was wrong with you.
It helped that Steve was a yearner; you learned quickly that he was simply a guy looking for someone who would give him the affection he was craving - desperately wanting to be someone’s number one choice.
But you were starting to think him a liar after what transpired earlier today.
You had been studying with Steve at the Hawkins Library.
It was a routine the two of you had down to a tee. After he got off his shift at Family Video, and you finished your last class of the day at Hawkins Community College, you’d meet with him for an hour - help him practice for the SAT that he was earnestly trying to pass since he had barely scraped by it the first time around in high school. He planned to retake the exam in the hopes of raising his score high enough to join you at school come next semester.
Your legs were propped up on his lap as he worked on taking notes from a test prep book. He had one hand gripped around his pencil to write - the other gently stroking the calf of your leg. He was lost in his work, while you were completely lost in him.
You were practically drooling over how beautiful he looked with that focused expression on his face, eyebrows drawn in slightly as he concentrated.
Steve really was a beautiful man; with the sleeves of his henley pushed up just enough to see the wiry muscles and corded veins running up his forearms, hair styled back with a single strand caressing his forehead.
You were starving for his attention, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. You decide you need to take a break from watching him, otherwise you’d surely end up curled up next to him despite the public setting.
“I’m going to go try to find that book you need for the writing portion of the exam,” you tell him, popping up out of your seat.
Steve looks at you, gazing lovingly from his spot. He immediately drops his pencil and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you towards him.
He presses your body against his front and pouts his lips at you; a cue that he wants you to kiss him. You teasingly roll your eyes before granting his wish. You cup his jaw and press your lips adoringly to his, soft and quick. When you pull away from him, Steve lets out a noise of displeasure and leans forward to capture your lips again.
“Steve, we’re in the library,” you chide as he moves to press kisses along your jawline. He hums discontentedly at the reminder and presses one last kiss to your cheek for good measure before pulling back with a wide grin.
“I can’t help it, pretty girl, you’re just so kissable,” he smirks.
You can’t help but blush, still falling for his charm despite being together for quite some time now.
Steve can’t resist you, taking advantage of your closeness, he mischievously slides his hands down the slope of your lower back, dangerously close to trailing his hands to the curve of your ass.
You lean forward to kiss him again, lips slotting easily. You sigh in pleasure, breath escaping your nose deeply when his tongue delves into your mouth.
“Baby, you’re killing me,” he exhales, “Can’t wait to get you home.”
His words make you remember you’re standing in the middle of the library, and his mouth tries to catch yours again when you pull away. You laugh sweetly at his look of disappointment, before swiping at his chin with your thumb and forefinger - telling him you’ll be right back.
You wander the shelves to find the book he needs. You squat down, reading the labels and can’t help but overhear a conversation on the other side of the shelf.
“Ugh, gag me. Did you see that - Steve and the Byers girl?” you hear someone spit out.
You freeze, realizing whoever it is, is talking about you.
“How did a loser like her even pull Steve?” another girl asks, voice laced with disgust.
“Ladies, please. She didn’t. Steve’s clearly just using her to get back at that freak brother of hers for being with Nancy,” a third voice snarkingly replies.
You recognize that one; Carol Perkins.
Your heart rate picks up in speed, and your throat constricts thickly at the horrible words she’s just said. Surely Carol is lying - Steve would never use you like that; but you knew they’d once been close enough that she’d know Steve’s behavior like the back of her hand.
“Once Steve gets what he wants out of her, he’ll be gone,” Carol continues and you hear a chorus of laughter follow.
It echoes in your brain, planting a seed of doubt firmly along your nerves and cells. When you’re sure they’re gone, you briskly grab the book - feeling like you're in a trance as you check out and find your way back to the table you left Steve at. You stare blankly ahead, not paying him any mind this time, thoughts too consumed with what you’d just heard.
Shamefully, the words weren’t hard to believe because you had originally thought maybe Steve asked you out just to upset your brother.
Steve notices the shift the second you’re back, “Hey, you okay?”
Worry is swirling behind those doe eyes of his, and you tell him you’re okay, pretending nothing's wrong.
“You sure, baby?” His voice is soft, like he’s a predator approaching its prey, not wanting to scare you off. He ducks his head, trying to get you to look at him.
You refuse to meet his eyes, knowing you’ll break if you do. You nod, trying to assure him nonverbally. Steve’s learned not to push, but he knows something is wrong by the way you have your fist closed up, nails digging into the flesh there.
He gently pries your fingers out, and you wince when you see the deep crevices left behind. Steve notices them too, and he brings your palm to his lips, kissing the sore skin.
If you weren’t devastated at believing that he’s pretending with you, that action would have had you melting into him - would have had you kissing the hollow of his throat to reward him for being sweet to you.
Steve’s keen to get your mind off whatever has taken over it, not realizing he’s about to make the situation worse.
“I meant to show you earlier,” he shoves some of the materials on the table away, finding a paper labeled with a passing grade from a practice test he had taken. He holds it up for you to see, and his excitement brings a real smile to your face.
“That’s amazing, Steve. I’m proud of you,” you whisper, giving his hand a small squeeze.
“Nancy will be impressed, don't you think?” He asks hopefully, and you swear you feel your heart breaking at the mention of her name.
“Nancy?” you ask unsteadily.
“Yeah, the last time she helped me study for one of these things I failed miserably. Now look at me,” he grins, and it’s the final nail in the coffin that makes you sure Carol’s words ring true.
The sinking feeling in your gut is growing with each passing second, and you know it’s time to leave. Steve’s face falls when you rip your hand out of his and start to rapidly pack your bag.
“What’s the rush, pretty girl?” he asks, concern etched in his tone.
God, you really wish he wouldn’t call you that. It made you feel naive, like everytime he’s called you it before has been a lie, meaningless. It felt like every kind word he’d murmur by the shell of your ear was now just a cruel tease.
You withdraw from him, putting a distance between the two of you that you don’t want, but you could no longer ignore the fact that you’ve been stupid enough to believe that Steve Harrington truly wanted someone like you.
“I can’t do this,” you blurt out, the words making you feel like you were tearing yourself in two. Your hands are trembling, pressed deeply to your sides as if you were trying to hold yourself together at even saying such a thing.
Steve physically rears back at the bite of your abrupt words. His breath catches in shock, color draining from his face.
“Can’t study, or can’t be with me?” he chokes out, disbelief stamped into every line of his face because from your body language he knows which one it is.
You cast him a mournful look, not able to get the words out.
“You seriously feel that way?” Steve’s breathless, rattled, hand running through his hair trying to feel something real because surely this isn’t happening to him again, not with you.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble weakly, and Steve feels like he’s been struck down with a blow so deep that he can barely comprehend what’s happening.
Like a coward, you leave him there alone to sit in the misery you just caused.
“What’s wrong?” Jonathan demands when you slam the front door behind you, clocking your attitude right away.
“Nothing. I’m fine, Jonathan,” you huff out bitterly, ripping your shoes off and tossing your backpack down on the floor.
The book that you had checked out at the library for Steve fell out of your bag, the zipper not having been fully closed. You must’ve stuffed it inside there with the rest of your things in your haste to get away from him.
You kick the book instinctively, your misguided hurt being taken out on the thing. It skids across the hardwood floors and you stare dejectedly as it comes to a sad stop by Will.
“You don’t seem fine,” Will chimes in from his spot on the living room floor. He’s sitting cross legged, using the coffee table to sketch while the TV plays mutely on in the background.
“I’m fine,” you repeat, this time a little less harsh; not wanting to snap at your baby brother when you know he only means well.
Jonathan raises his eyebrows at you, folds his arms and waits for you to be honest with him.
You sigh loudly, about to give in when movement from the kitchen alerts you. It’s Nancy, looking at you with a worried expression, and you realize you can’t deal with this right now; not with her here. You give her a wobbly smile before turning back towards Jonathan.
“Headache. It’s killer. Thanks for the concern, but I’m going to go lay down for a bit,” you push past him to head towards your room.
You close and lock your door, before throwing yourself down on the bed. You stare at the ceiling fan moving in lazy circles, recalling the events from merely moments ago, and fresh tears start to well in your eyes at the memory.
You roll over on your side, and swallow harshly at seeing the stuffed teddy bear that rests on your bed, tucked in between your pillows.
Steve had given it to you, cheesily calling it Mr. Bear, and telling you to hold it in moments when you couldn’t hold him. You pick it up and throw it across the room, letting out a frustrated cry. Every breath you took felt raw, aching from the heaving sobs that have been ripped from the back of your throat.
It was an unsettling hurt that you felt, tangled up with disappointment because it had proved what you’d known all along; that you were just a pawn in a game of fury to get back at your brother.
Jonathan had stationed himself outside of your door, trying to get you to let him in. Nancy had left when she heard the first sounds of heartbreak coming from your room, telling Jonathan that he should talk with you in private. Will was pacing worriedly down the hall, hating to hear you in such distress. Thankfully Joyce wasn’t home yet; there would have been no hiding in your room from her if she were here.
Jonathan sighs in defeat, the back of his head hits your door, and his eyes dart to Will.
“You want to try?” He asks, knowing you’ve always had a soft spot for WIll and might open the door for him.
“Yeah,” Will nods before knocking delicately.
At his pleading, you finally make yourself get up and unlock the door, opening it just a crack, giving them permission to come in.
You snuggle back under your covers, eyes bloodshot and despair embedded into your features.
Will props himself on the edge of your bed, and Jonathan stands by the entryway, apprehensive. They’re silent, giving you the space to share if you want to.
“I sort of broke up with Steve,” you force out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue.
Jonathan’s eyes widened, stunned at what you’ve just admitted, “What?”
“I mean, I didn’t actually say that, but he knows that’s what I meant,” you trail off.
“You’re kidding,” Jonathan splutters, not understanding why you would break up with Steve.
You sit yourself up and motion to the hopeless state you're in, "Obviously I’m not kidding Jonathan.”
“But, Steve makes you happy,” Will says with a puzzled expression.
Your face crumples at that, bursting into a new wave of tears. The ache that’s been in your ribs since you left the library nearly knocks the wind out of you.
“He was using me. To make you upset, or to get back at you for stealing Nance,” you whimper out.
Jonathan tilts his head in bewilderment, “I didn’t steal Nancy from him.”
You glare at him, “Maybe not physically, but emotionally you did - don’t deny it.”
Will takes that as his sign to leave, not wanting to get involved in the spat that’s slowly building between you two.
“It’s not my fault he was a shitty boyfriend,” Jonathan says defensively.
“He’s not a shitty boyfriend - he just wants to be loved,” you retort, the heels of your hands rubbing at your eyes.
“If he’s not a shitty boyfriend then why have you been moping around your room for hours?” He throws his hands up in the air.
“If Nancy had loved him back, I wouldn’t be moping right now,” you say angrily, but not really meaning it.
“If Nancy loved him then I wouldn’t be with her right now. You can’t force someone to love you,” he replies.
“Whatever. I love Steve, but he loves Nancy, and she loves you, and you love her, and no one loves me,” you mumble bitterly, wallowing in self pity.
Jonathan closes his eyes briefly, starting to lose patience with you, before taking the spot that Will was in.
“I’m sorry, but you know that’s not true. Have you seen the way Steve looks at you? If I really thought he didn’t love you I would have told you - you know how against the idea I was of the two of you being together. Besides, how do you even know that Steve was using you?” Jonathan questions.
“I heard Carol talking about it today and I-,” you start, but are cut off by your brother jumping off the bed, giving you an incredulous look.
“Are you telling me you chose to believe bullshit gossip? You know better than that,” he chastises you.
“She used to be one of Steve’s friends,” you shrug.
“Did you even ask Steve about it?” he looks at you in suspicion.
“Well, no, but-,” you try to answer and he interrupts you again.
“Oh my god,” he groans, “What were you thinking?”
You scowl at him, “I was thinking that Steve and I have never made any sense together, and I finally had an explanation for why he was with me in the first place.”
Jonathan shakes his head, “This town’s been unfair to you. They’ve been unfair to all of us, and Lonnie was a shit excuse of a father to show you love,” he says sadly before continuing, “I can’t believe I’m defending the guy, but Steve’s not dad. He’s not going to leave you, and he’s changed. We all can see that.”
It’s like a cold bucket of water has been thrown at you, clearing your head. Shit, you had jumped to conclusions; easily accepting words that weren’t Steve’s own because of your deep rooted insecurities this town has bullied you into believing. And you unfairly projected that onto him, without any sort of explanation.
The trill of the phone ringing cuts through the air, and Jonathan gives you a look of empathy before leaving to answer it. You knew if anyone could understand that it was him, who also felt inadequate in his own relationship sometimes - not feeling like he could measure up to someone like Nancy.
You smack a hand to your forehead, groaning at your impulsivity; how it might’ve just caused you to lose the best thing that you’ve ever had.
You swing your legs to the edge of the bed, ready to go fix the mess you’ve created when suddenly, something smacks hard against your window frame.
It jolts you from your stupor, breath snagging, heart hammering in your chest at the sudden noise. Surprise crackles through you at the sight of Steve, before you're flooded with a dizzying rush of warmth that he’s the one standing there.
It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up outside your window to sneak in, but it was certainly the first time he’d shown up with red rimmed eyes, face full of sorrow.
He’s in the middle of sliding the glass panel up, which he plans to scold you for later for forgetting to lock it again, when Jonathan walks back into your room, having finished up the phone call.
Steve freezes, half his body through the window, legs still hanging out and laughs awkwardly at Jonathan’s dumbfounded expression at seeing him.
“Hey, man,” Steve lifts a hand half heartedly in greeting, unsure about the reaction that’s about to come from your brother.
You look at Jonathan, giving him a pleading look to not make a big deal out of it. He tips his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose before he decides to relent.
“I’m pretending that I don’t see Steve trying to crawl through your window. You owe me,” he points to you, before shaking his head and roughly shutting your door. Your attention turns back to Steve, who’s finally pulled himself all the way
“You scared me,” you whisper, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t mean to. I just, I had to see you,” he replies softly.
Steve takes you in, and swears his heart cleaves clean down the middle at the sight of your disheveled appearance.
“Baby,” he breathes out, rounding the bed to where your legs dangle still, dropping to his knees in front of you.
Steve wasn’t sure how tonight was going to play out when he’d decided on a whim to demand answers from you; but he folded - boy did he fold quickly.
“Pretty girl, I don’t know what I did,” his voice falters, splintering slightly.
His hands slide to your bare thighs, and you’re instantly aware that you’re clad in one of his old shirts left behind and a tiny pair of shorts.
You flush deeply at the contact, and his fingers curl around the backs of your knees, drawing you closer to him.
“Please, I’m sorry - don’t shut me out. Just tell me what I did, I’ll fix it. I’d do anything for you,” his voice carries a weight of fragility, as if he’s already bracing for you to reject his apology.
“Steve-,” you try, but your brain immediately shuts down at the feel of his lips skimming over the plush of one of your legs.
You whimper at the unexpected touch, hands flying out, fingers threading through his hair, effectively tousling it.
“Please,” he repeats, mumbling the word over and over again in between the press of his lips to your skin.
You inhale sharply at his begging, the drag of his mouth making you boneless, and you’re about ready to fall flat on your back and give in to his advances.
“Tell me, tell me what’s wrong. I’d rather you be brutally honest with me than lose you without knowing why,” he pleads, hands slipping from your knees to your waist and hiking your shirt up; exposing the flesh of your hips.
Steve makes quick work of pressing his mouth to your hipbone, lips traveling higher to your belly button, then your ribcage, and he damn nearly has his head underneath the shirt as he continues to litter your skin with velvety kisses.
“I’m not stopping until you tell me, pretty girl,” he rasps out, and the jarring feeling of the trace of his tongue lavishing at you has you seeing stars.
Your grip on his hair tightens, causing a grunt of pleasure to leave his lips. You pull, trying to indicate that he needs to stop if you’re to get a word in edgewise.
Steve understands the hint, and finally pulls away to give you some reprieve - lips flushed a deep pink, a wild look flooding his eyes.
He sits back on his knees, and waits patiently now; hands moving to grasp at the hem of your shorts, large palms resting against your thighs.
“I, um, I heard something today,” you divulge, twiddling with your fingers.
Steve nods, silently encouraging you to continue. You hesitate, unsure of how to approach the topic. At your pause, he leans back in to gently nip at your thigh, warning you to keep going.
You mumble quietly, “That you’re with me because you want to get back at Jonathan.”
“Get back at him for what?” he questions, genuinely confused.
“Nancy,” you mumble out, not even needing to speak in a full sentence because Steve knows right away what you’re insinuating.
“Who the fuck said that?” Steve grits out, breathing harshly, an anger that you rarely see in him rising.
“Carol Perkins,” you tell him.
Steve scoffs at the answer, “Baby, since when do you believe shit talkers like her?”
“Since it justifies why you want to be with me,” you utter weakly. Steve’s hands grab at your face, splaying out to hold you carefully.
“The only justification is that I love you,” he says firmly, “I’m in love with you. No one else. Just you.”
Your lips part, “You mean it?”
Steve stammers out a feeble laugh, “You want proof?”
You don’t answer, and Steve grips onto your hand, urging it to rest against where his heart lies in the cavity behind his sternum. You feel it fluttering frantically, and his eyes close briefly at your touch.
“If I was lying, I wouldn't be here on my knees for you. Just being with you makes my heart feel like it’s going to bust out of my chest,” he implores, which you believe because you can feel the strong beat of it under your fingertips.
“I’m not messing with you. And honestly, thinking that I’m just trying to get revenge on Jonathan is severely overestimating the feelings I had for Nancy. Yeah, I loved her, but I’m in love with you. I would never take that for granted,” he exhales deeply, wishing that you’ll believe him.
“Oh,” you croak out, the emphasis in his tone starts to ebb away the pain, leaving behind a dull throb of endearment for him.
“Oh? That’s the reaction I get after professing my undying love for you?” he replies, a wry smile toying playfully on his lips.
You shakily laugh, overwhelmed by his confession, “I love you.”
Steve pushes himself off the floor and joins you on the bed. His arms wrap around you, turning to pull you against him while he lays down on his side, partially on his back. He’s pressing your body to his, allowing you to fully settle your weight against him. You burrow yourself in his chest, leg hitched up to slip over his own.
“My pretty girl just needs a little love, doesn’t she?” he questions, starting to pepper kisses into the crook of your collarbone.
A ripple of giggles are pulled from you at the feel of his lips grazing your neck, letting your own hands travel the span of his back and up to his broad shoulders.
The two of you rest there, basking in each other’s presence; and as the room grows darker from the setting sun, Steve happily proves his devotion to you with his hands and lips.
It’s much later when Steve finally pulls away to ask in mock offense, “Why is Mr. Bear all the way over there?”
The next time you see Carol at the library, you and Steve have your backs against a bookshelf, stationed on the floor in front of it. All the tables had been taken up by students gearing up for midterms.
“Hey, Carol,” Steve calls out to her as she passes by, “next time you want to pass judgement on someone’s relationship, you could take a long look at your own.”
Carol freezes, mouth dropping open at the dig Steve just threw her way.
“Steve,” you scold lightly, not wanting to cause a scene.
He simply lifts his index finger up to you, “Just a moment, baby.”
“Sorry, I just-,” Carol falters, palpably caught off guard.
“You should be sorry. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with her,” he gestures to you, “and you’re clearly still miserable with Tommy H.”
You watch her pale at Steve’s cutting words, and you almost feel bad for her.
“I am getting what I want by the way, not that you’d understand that with Hagan, right? The guy never was a sharpshooter was he?” Steve carries on, unwilling to let her get off the hook easily.
“Steve,” you hiss, embarrassment creeping over you at his vulgar words.
Carol’s fuming by now, and doesn’t respond when she sharply turns, stomping away from the two of you. You give Steve a pointed look.
“Oh don’t be like that, baby. Had to defend my pretty girl,” he grins, and leans in to capture your lips with his.
Steve loves his girl, and isn't afraid to show it; even if that means trying to slip his tongue into your mouth in the middle of Hawkins Library.
As he does so, you can’t help but think - yeah, you were lucky to be his.
