Steve Harrington Fic Rec - Tumblr Posts

So cute 😔🥺💕

Head Over Heels

pairing: Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

summary: As Y/N watches Steve with her baby, she realizes she may be head over heels for him, and she can't help wondering if he feels the same way.

word count: 5017

warnings: so much fluff i got a toothache writing this

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Y/N woke up slowly, feeling the sun shine down on her. She doesn't remember the last time she was able to sleep in this late; it was probably the early days of her pregnancy. 

Why was she still sleeping?

She shoots up in bed and looks to her right, but there's no crib. In fact there's none of her things here. Because this isn't her room. It all comes flooding back, and she remembers handing James off to Steve and falling asleep. So where is James?

In her haste to get up, she trips over something - someone - Eddie. He groans as she falls to the ground, letting out an 'oof' as the wind gets knocked out of her. He tuns and goes straight back to sleep - did he even wake up? - and she scrambles to get up and open the door, going through the short hallway to see Steve on the couch. She's about to shake him to wake him up, ask him where the fuck her child is, when she sees how he's laying. 

He's sprawled on the couch, one arm above his head. His mouth is open, and he is lightly snoring. One leg is off the couch and the other is laying off the end. And on his chest is James, one hand clutching Steve's shirt and the other stuffed in his mouth. Steve has one hand on James' back, and both boys look like they could stay asleep for 12 years. 

Y/N sees a camera on the counter and she grabs it, not willing to let this moment go. She lifts it and takes a picture, smiling as it pops out of the top. She watches as it develops, longing bursting through her even though the exact moment is still playing out in front of her. 

James stirs on Steve's chest, but before she can grab him Steve's eyes shoot open and his other hand goes to James. She quickly sets the camera to the side and pockets the photo, watching as Steve blinks slowly and smacks his lips together as he wakes up. James puts his hands on Steve's chest to sit up, looking at his mom and letting out a cry. 

"Oh," Y/N laughs, going to pick her baby up as Steve stretches, neck popping. "Thank you for taking him. I haven't had that much sleep in awhile." She watches as Steve smiles at her tiredly. James lets out another cry and Y/N sighs.

"I had to break into your trailer in the middle of the night to grab a bottle and diapers." He tells her. 

"Shoot, I didn't even think about that. I usually don't sleep for that long, I thought I would wake up before he needed anything." She feels embarrassed that Steve went into her messy living space and had to change her baby. She'd had a couple close friends babysit for an hour or two, but she'd never have someone take care of her baby like that. 

It felt nice. 

"Don't worry about it. We had a fun time. He only cried once, and it was at your place." Steve leans over and grabs Clover, the small tan bear that James could hardly bear to be separated from that justice fallen from his grasp while he slept. 

"Thats why I didn't wake up." She looks at James, who is babbling as if he's gonna tell her all about his and Steve's night. "I'm sure you had fun with Stevie." Y/N tells him, blinking when he screams. 

"I take that as a yes." Steve hopes the blush rushing to his cheeks isn't that obvious. 

"Thank you so much, Steve. You're a life saver." She reaches in for a hug, letting James squeal in between them. 

"Anytime."

~

"Hey, where does Steve live?" Y/N had called Eddie, which was strange because she lived a literal 3 second walk to his trailer. 

"Uh," Eddie blinks, not sure what to answer. "Is there a reason you want to stalk my friend?" 

"I'm not stalking!" She laughs, but Eddie is still confused. "I made him a cake." She says it quietly, and his eyes widen. 

"Y/N," He starts, trying to think of what to say. "Why did you bake Steve Harrington a cake?" How is Steve Harrington pulling Eddie's hot neighbor? 

"He took care of James all night last week. I need to do something nice to thank him." She says it as if its so obvious, and Eddie just nods. 

"Uh, I can give you his street. You know what his car looks like, and he doesn't have work today so he's probably there with the kids or something." At his words Y/N's heart races a little bit, because Steve is just so good at taking care of children and she finds it so, so hot. 

"Okay, that's fine." Y/N tells him. She almost drops the phone when he answers.

Steve lives on the rich side of town. He lives on the opposite side of her.

"You there?" Eddie asks when she goes silent. 

"Yeah, sorry. When is he coming to yours, Ed?" She asks. She doesn't want to know just how rich Steve is.

She's weird about money. She works at the diner, where James plays in the playpen that she spent way to much money on and the owners graciously let her keep James there. She barely makes enough to live at the trailer park and pay for James' things. What was she thinking, making Steve a cake? 

"Tonight." Eddie smirks. He'd like to give himself the credit for getting Y/N and Steve together. He knew they would be perfect together, because Y/N's hot and nice and has a child, which is basically Steve's type, and Steve is nice and great with kids, which is basically all Y/N's ever wanted.

So yeah, he's gonna take the credit for this one. 

"You should come over." Eddie smirks. "And before you say anything you can bring James." He knows her main excuse is James, and that for some reason she's backing away from him. 

"He's just going to be loud and probably ruin everyone's time." She tells Eddie, and sighs when James yells. 

"Well Steve clearly doesn't care." Eddie knows he's pushing it. 

"I'll think about it." She whispers before hanging up. 

People should just call him the matchmaker.

~

"Where the hell is Steve?" Eddie asks after Robin shows up and Steve isn't immediately following. Robin furrows her brows as Nancy walks through the door, holding a bag of snacks and booze. Jonathan follows, a small bag of weed in hand.

"He called and told me he was already here." Robin says, confused because when she looks into the small trailer Steve is nowhere to be found. 

"He hasn't showed up." Eddie turns to let Robin in, who goes to check the bathroom and Eddie's room as if he was lying. 

"What the hell," Robin mutters. Eddie looks around, concerned. He hadn't heard from Steve, and he didn't know why he told Robin that he would be here when he hadn't even talked to Eddie about that. He was starting to worry when he looked out the window and spotted Y/N's trailer, and right behind it a beamer stuck out. 

"I know where he is." Eddie announced, smirk on his face as he turned to the rest of the group. They all stared at him expectantly as he paused for dramatic effect. "Isn't it obvious? He's at Y/N's." 

~

Y/N was covered in everything from flour from the cake to spit-up from James when she opened the door and saw Steve, standing there in his probably expensive clothing and even more expensive cologne. 

It was all she could think about. She knew it was wrong, and she tried to think about how Steve had taken care of James all night, how he had even thought to grab Clover. She thought of the polaroid on her end table next to her couch. 

"Steve," She sounded breathy and Steve was already head over heels for her. 

"Hey," Oh God, he forget how to flirt. The most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen and he was going to blow it. "I was on my way to Eddie's and I thought I'd stop by." He told her with a small smile. 

"So you're not exhausted from the other night?" She turned to open the door wider. He looked tired, and she knew that he was probably still trying to catch up after sleeping on the couch and waking up in the middle of the night for James. 

"I just don't sleep well." He said as he walked into the trailer. "I came by to see if you needed any help before tonight. Eddie told me you were coming." Of course he did. 

"I actually really need to take a shower? James is sleeping, so it shouldn't be too bad. Thank you so much." She practically rushes to the bathroom, so excited to be able to take a long shower. Well, not long, but long,  but much longer than the two minute showers she'd had to take while James played on the bathroom floor. 

Once she felt like a new woman, she walked out to see Steve sitting on the couch, staring at the picture she had taken at Eddie's. 

"This is adorable." Steve told her, smirking. She felt herself flush at the fact that Steve found the picture. 

"I thought so too." She said, sitting on the couch next to him. She yawned, which caused Steve to yawn in turn. They smiled at each other. 

"Maybe we could watch some TV before going to Eddie's." Steve suggested, knowing that all he wanted was sleep. This would do though. At least they would be resting. 

"Good idea." She reached for the remote. "We just have to be quiet, because I might kill you if James wakes up." She's only half joking, so Steve smiles. 

"Fine by me." He says, shrugging. 

Five minutes later, they're both passed out on each other. 

And that's how Eddie and Robin find them when they walk in after their knocks go unanswered. Steve looks uncomfortable, his back against the couch and his legs still in sitting position, but his mouth is open and he's snoring. He's got an arm around Y/N and the other under his head. Y/N is laying practically on top of him, legs curled up with a peaceful smile resting on her face. 

"You've gotta be joking." Robin says softly, blinking at them. Of course they were taking a nap. 

"Are we surprised?" Eddie asks, and the two simply shake their heads and leave Y/N and Steve to their nap.

~

"Why didn't you tell me his birthday was tomorrow?" Steve looks hurt as he follows Y/N across the lawn to Eddie's, holding James so Y/N can hold the bottles of margaritas and the diaper bag. James squeals as if he agrees, which makes Y/N roll her eyes.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" She had only told Steve because he saw the presents hiding in the shower, small boxes nicely wrapped. When he asked, Y/N nonchalantly told him that James' party was tomorrow because that's when his birthday was and Steve was welcome to come, she was making a cake-

"You should have told me sooner!" He argues as they walk up the steps.

"I thought Eddie would've told you." She shrugs, kicking the door so someone will open it.

"Well, don't you look like the perfect family." Robin is already intoxicated as she leans against the door, smirking at Steve.

"Did you know James' birthday is tomorrow?" Steve asks as he follows Y/N into the house. Robin snorted.

"Yes, Eddie told us last week." Nancy raises her eyebrows, because they all remember why Steve hadn't heard about it - the two had fallen asleep in Y/N's trailer instead of going to Eddie's. They had woken up sore, Steve moving Y/N to the bed before driving home, smiling like an idiot the whole time.

"Well no one told me!" Steve slaps his free hand against his thigh, causing James to slap his hand against Steve's chest.

"Oh my God, it is not that big of a deal!" Y/N has already poured herself a marg and put the diaper bag down in the corner. "If you have to work it's fine! It's his first birthday, he is not going to remember it." She takes a large gulp of her margarita - more like multiple gulps - and Steve puts a hand to the middle of his eyebrows.

He looks like such a dad.

"How am I supposed to get him presents?" Steve asks finally. Everyone stares for a second until Eddie louts out a loud laugh. It startles James, who lets out a cry and reaches for his mom. She frowns and lets out a small sigh, taking her baby and shushing him as he cries against her chest. 

"Steve, he's one!" Eddie yells, making James let out another cry. 

"Maybe don't yell." Y/N takes another big drink of her margarita while bouncing her baby. 

"What does he want? What do you need?" Steve ignores everyone and looks straight at Y/N, who lets out a sigh. 

"You can bring a fruit salad." She tells him with an eye roll, putting James down on the ground as he starts to wiggle. 

"I need to bring something else." Steve kneels down and grabs Clover out of the diaper bag, making a face at James as he gave the baby the stuffie. 

"You don't. I'm telling you right now that you can just bring yourself and that is fine." Steve shakes his head at Y/N's words, grabbing the beer that Eddie handed him.

"You think I'm gonna come to a party and not bring a gift?" Steve stands and crosses an arm while taking a sip of the beer. 

"Oh my God." Y/N's margarita must be done because she refills it. "Steve, if you don't come here tomorrow I will go to your house and force you to come here. And James is not going to give a shit if you have a present, as long as you're here." 

"Shit!" When James screams it, everyone turns to him. Y/N takes a deep breath. 

"This is your fault."  She looks at Steve, who is covering his mouth to hid his smile. 

"How is it my fault!" He asks, eyes wide.  

"Stop asking stupid questions." She is drinking her margarita like it's water while everyone else is still on their first drink.

"Maybe you should smoke some?" Jonathan suggests, earning the dirtiest look from Y/N. 

"Around the baby?" Nancy smacks Jonathan's arm and rolls her eyes, taking a drink out of her red solo. 

"Oh my God," Eddie rolls his eyes and downs his whole beer. 

"Can I bring alcohol to James' party?" Robin asks. Steve scoffs. 

"Robin, Jesus," He rolls his eyes and leans against the counter, next to Y/N. She leans against him, and his hand goes to her waist. Robin and Eddie shared a look, but neither of them were drunk enough to comment. 

"It's a valid question!" Robin defends. 

"Yes, it is alcohol friendly." Y/N tells them with a smile. She leans further into Steve as she takes another drink. James gets tired of playing with Clover and tries to make a break for it to Eddie's room, Steve shifts his weight to put a foot out, stopping James from going any further. He sits back and looks up at Steve, wide eyes looking betrayed. 

"What do you want for your birthday, hm?" Steve leans down and picks James up again, who screams and puts his hand in his mouth, chewing. "Maybe some teething toys." He pulls James' hand out of his mouth and lifts his eyebrows as James scrunches his face and lets out a cry, legs kicking. Steve struggles to keep his beer from toppling where it's pressed against the baby.

"That was so mean." Y/N frowns dramatically, grabbing a piece of ice from Eddie's fridge. She placed it on James' gums, and the baby immediately began sucking on it. 

"I cannot right now," Robin took Eddie's beer and chugged it, leaving Eddie to stare frozen.

"I need another margarita." Y/N turns and lets Steve hold the ice for James as she pours another large cup. 

"Oh, it's gonna be a fun night." Eddie grabs another beer and pops it on the counter. James grabs the ice from Steve in a swift move and lets out a scream as he throws it on the floor. Steve just stares before switching his beer to his free hand and downing it. He accepts fresh one from Jonathan, who had gotten up to refill his own drink, as James cries. 

"I think he's just tired." Y/N sighs, putting her drink down and grabbing James from Eddie's arms. "We shouldn't have brought him here." The way she says we makes Steve go a little dumb for a second. All he can thinking about is the fact that she thinks of him and her and James together - like a family. He would never say it out loud, because he's sure she doesn't mean it like that, but he's already run with the idea. All he's wanted since he realized his parents were never getting any better was to have a family of his own, his people that he could take care of. 

"Just put him to bed in my room." Eddie flicks his hand toward the back of the trailer, and Y/N blinks. 

"Your sheets would give my child twenty-seven different diseases." Y/N talks over James' cries, which are just empty cries from his tiredness. Jonathan starts coughing when a spurt of beer goes up his nose from laughing. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

"I just washed them!" Even James became quiet at that. No one believed these lies. "Okay, I know how it sounds, but I promise I did! Go check!" Y/N shares a look with Steve, and they both walk to the back room to see what they're dealing with. 

"I was not expecting this." Y/N says when she finds Eddie's bed unmade but clean. 

"He's probably having someone over soon." Steve chuckles as she lays James down. She sighs as she begins moving the pillows to create a barrier so James doesn't roll off the bed. 

"I didn't bring a bottle." She whispers, soothing the space between her baby's eyes. James goes from being wide awake to being slightly sleepy, but it doesn't work as quickly as Steve has seen his bottle work. 

"I packed one before I left. I think Eddie has some milk." Steve gets up and leaves quickly, and Y/N isn't sure if it's the alcohol or Steve that makes her heart warm. 

"Do you wanna know a secret, James?" She whispers, leaning in close. James kicks his legs and babbles some gibberish, smiling at his mother. "I think I like Steve Harrington." She smiles as he giggles. 

"Eef!" He repeats, and it doesn't sound anything like Steve but she laughs anyway. 

"What're we laughing at?" Steve comes back in with a bottle, and as Y/N sits up James gets excited, kicking his legs and waving his arms, excited for the bottle Steve was holding. Steve shakes it a little bit as he sits on the bed, handing the bottle to James. The baby drinks it quickly, his eyes closing. Y/N and Steve stay quiet as they wait for James to fall asleep. 

"You can go out there. I'll wait for him to fall asleep." Y/N whispers as she cards her fingers through James' short hair. 

"We're in this together." Steve puts a hand on her knee, and she melts into the touch. She looks up at him, and in that moment she wants to push Steve on the bed and kiss him senseless. Before she can do anything, James lets out a hiccup and they both look at him. He's asleep, the bottle laying discarded on the side. 

"Thank you." She says when they both exit the room, carefully shutting the door. She thanks God they don't have the money to buy one of those fancy ass noise machines, so James will likely fall asleep fine with the party going on. He's fallen asleep to worse in the trailer park.

"Anytime. I meant it." He tells her, and she knows her cheeks are heating. They were already warm from the alcohol, but this is worse. She needs another drink. 

"At least now we can hang out without a kid interrupting everything." She grabs his hand in a bold moment, and she watches his face blush as he squeezes it and smirks at her. 

"For the record," Steve says as he picks up her red solo cup to give to her, his beer in his other hand. "I'm okay with your kid interrupting us." There's music playing as he takes her free hand to pull her into him, ignoring the laughs and jokes from the others who are sprawled in the small living room. 

"You don't mind it?" She asks as she lets him place her hand on his chest, his own going to her waist, just a little bit lower than modest. 

"Not one bit." He shrugs as he says the next part. "But I am glad to have you all to myself at last." She leans closer and tucks her head into his chest, because otherwise he would see the stupid look on her face. 

Oh yeah, she's head over heels for him. 

~

When Steve shows up, Y/N's heart races, and not just because of the tight ass jeans Steve is wearing. He's carrying about five presents, ranging from huge to a small gift bag, and a bowl of fruit salad. 

"Steve Harrington," She starts, James on one hip and a probably alcoholic drink in a pineapple cup in the other. Her trailer is decorated in beach themes, a table with drinks and food and different color pineapple cups on the table. James has a small pineapple cup that's blue, matching his white shirt and blue overalls, the outfit being topped off by a blue hat with blue sunglasses. 

He looks adorable. 

The only thing better than James' outfit its Y/N's. She's matching him, blue sunglasses and all, her own blue hat a baseball cap with a Hawaiian flower on it. Her pineapple cup matches the colors of a normal pineapple, the only one to have done so. 

"Robin and Nancy got me all the decorations." Y/N smiles, distracting Steve from the sunglasses and hat Robin puts on him. Nancy throws a lei over his shoulders before he even knows what's going on. 

"Why didn't we just throw this at my pool?" Steve asks, setting his gifts down on the apparent gift table and puts the fruit salad on the food table. 

"Seef!" James calls. Y/N lets out a laugh as he reaches his short arms over to Steve. 

"That's better than 'eef.'" She tells Steve, his face all smiles as he takes James. Steve tickles the infants stomach, who giggles and squeals. 

"I didn't know you had a pool." Y/N goes to make Steve a drink, picking the large blue pineapple. This is not technically a lie, as she didn't know for sure. She had a pretty good idea, however. 

"You never asked." He smirked as he took the drink from Y/N's hand. He took a sip and almost coughed. "A bit strong, don't ya think?" 

"Well, you're three drinks behind!" Eddie yells from his trailer, carrying two six packs of beers and a present. "And the kids are coming soon." 

"What kids?" Steve asks, taking a larger gulp. 

"I invited your kids." The way she says it makes Steve's heart light, his kids. 

"I made Jon take them so I could start on the drinks." Nancy raises her pink pineapple, and Robin clinks her purple one against it. 

"We told them the start time was half an hour later so we can make a dent in the alcohol!" By Robin's laugh, it seems they have made a dent in the alcohol pretty well. Steve drinks more of his drink. 

"Steve could you come help me get the pack-n-play from inside? That way James can sit in it and we can play some games." She smiles as Steve hands James off to Robin, who is making grabby hands with the one not clutching the drink. The two walk up the steps and into the trailer, their sunglasses pushed to their forehead.

"What're you doin'?" Steve asks as Y/N rifles around her kitchen drawers. 

"What you think I invited you in just for that stupid old thing? I tug that shit with me to work and back everyday." She smiles as she pulls out the cigarette and a lighter. Steve smirks. 

"They're gonna realize even if we only smoke one each." He says, but he's moving toward her. 

"That's why we're sharing one." She smiles as she pops it in her mouth and lights it, taking a drag before handing it to Steve. He takes a hit, thinking shortly about shotgunning with her, however Y/N turns toward the open window and sticks her head out, blowing the smoke. Steve smiles as he presses up against her to let the smoke out. They take a few more hits, almost reaching the end of the cigarette before someone catches them. 

"You idiots." Eddie pokes his head around the trailer, and Steve has to lean uncomfortably to turn around. 

"Go back and babysit for five more minutes!" Y/N giggles, and Steve turns toward her and smiles. 

"I hate you guys." Eddie leaves, which means he doesn't see the moment Y/N's eyes venture to Steve's lips, the moment they both lean in slightly, foreheads bumping. 

"Steve!" Of course Dustin interrupts, and Steve hits his shoulder against the windowsill as Y/N accidentally hits her forehead against him. 

"Fuck," She mutters as her sunglasses fall to her nose.

"That little shit." Steve slides back into the trailer as Y/N follows, him going to grab the pack-n-play and her putting the cigarette out while pushing her sunglasses back up. 

Oh God, she almost kissed Steve Harrington.

She takes a deep breath, fanning at her face with Steve's back turned, before she grabs both of their drinks and follows him out. 

"He is so tiny." Y/N sees El smiling at James, who is blinking at her with wide eyes. He's never been around this many people, and Y/N knows that soon he's gonna scream. She makes herself and Steve another drink - spiked punch, her favorite - and hands it to him before grabbing James from Max's arms. She nods her head hard to make the sunglasses fall and deposits James into his pack-n-play, smiling as Steve comes out of the trailer with Clover and a couple other toys. 

"Hey, what're you drinking?" Dustin asks Steve as he looks over the drinks on the table. 

"If I catch you with even a drop of this, your ass is grass." Steve grabs a coke from the ice chest and shoes it at the kid. "That goes for all of you little," Steve trails off as he hears James squeal, remembering last night when James repeated the one word he shouldn't. 

"You're no fun." Max frowns as she grabs a coke. 

"We're not kids anymore." Mike crosses his arms like a child, crossing his point. 

"You're always gonna be kids." Jonathan smirks, finishing off his beer. 

"Henderson, you're going to be a kid until you're married and have kids, alright." Steve cuts him off, rolling his eyes but still catching Y/N's quick flinch. "Poor choice of wording, I'm sorry." Steve tries, taking a long swig of his drink from the straw. 

"It's alright, I get it." She smiled. She did get it. Times may have changed slightly, however they hadn't changed enough for her to be accepted by everyone. 

"I didn't mean it like that." Steve tries again, but Y/N just shakes her head. 

"It's fine." She knows he didn't mean it. She knows it's just the way Steve views the life cycle. 

God, she was a fool. Steve probably wanted to start fresh, wanted to have his own kids after being married. 

"It's not," Steve moves closer to make it a more private conversation. Everyone begins to start talking in groups, and Eddie begins trying to set up a way to play music outside and not blast it from his trailer. "I swear I didn't mean it like that." He feels like shit for chosing his words so poorly. Before Y/N can respond, James is screaming and she's rushing to him. It seems he's just hungry, so she decides it's time for presents so they can get right on to cake. 

"Can you grab a chair from around back?" She asks Steve, who nods and grabs one. He sets it down next to the presents, and everyone gathers around. 

"Thank you guys for coming." Y/N smiles at her friends, heart beating with love. "I'm so lucky that I live next to someone with such great friends." She jokes, looking at Eddie. He raises his bottle to her as everyone laughs and insists they're all friends. 

James isn't helpful with opening the presents, trying to chew the wrapping paper at every chance he gets. Steve is luckily quick enough to get it out of his mouth, but this makes James angry. Everyone got the cutest gifts, like the clothes Nancy and Jonathan brought to the baby guitar Eddie proudly gave. The kids got cute figurines and bath toys, and she'd opened a couple of Steve's gifts - teething toys. She almost cried when she opened them, asking Steve to put them in the freezer right away. When he got out, she was opening the largest present - a cute little kitchen that she can put in her living room so James can pretend to cook. Y/N was glad the sunglasses hid her teary eyes. 

"You didn't have to do this." She tells Steve as everyone begins helping with the cleanup. 

"Of course I did." He turns to James and smiles, tickling his stomach. "Anything for my family."

Oh yeah. She's head over heels alright.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-1877 @roxaya @sadbitchfangirl @gloryekaterinaa @oblivion-void @alexshaff2002 @m-rae23 @mcueveryday @mads-weasley @alicetweven @damon-loves-pie @gaysludge @l0v3e1i 

Absolutely excelentttttttt

Like a Random Tuesday in December

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 12,457 warnings: little bit of smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; the smut is very brief so plsplspls so expect a lot summary: Reader had always had a crush on Steve, but he is not interested. Yet, when he starts to get closer to her, he realizes he made a mistake because it might be too late. a/n: hiiiii. long time no see for a stevie fic... i apologize university is... you know. i started working on this since NOVEMBER of 22' i hope you can enjoy it, because i enjoyed writing it!

Y/n was five years old when she had her first kiss. She was part of the Dribbling Tots basketball team that her father had forced her to be part of. He had grown up as a sports guy, having met her mother at college while he played linebacker. 

Although his first child was a girl, that didn’t stop him from doing whatever he could to make sure she would be the first woman in the NFL. Sadly, she was too young to join the PeeWee football team, so he had to settle for the next best thing. 

But at five years old, Y/n didn’t understand the reason she was forced to play this game, and her fine motor skills were still below average, dribbling the really bouncy ball was hard. As an only child she wasn’t used to sharing her belongings either, so when a small chubby boy stole the ball from her, she crossed her arms across her chest and began to wail as loud as she could. Her father was one of the coaches and he tried to calm her down, but she wouldn’t budge. 

The small chubby boy had come back to her, ball in his hand and held it out for her. The coach for the other team started to yell at him, “Steve, that’s not how we play basketball, son!” But the boy ignored him. 

She sniffled, looking at the orange ball in his tiny hands. “That wasn’t nice.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He let the ball drop out of his hands and walked up to her, his innocent brown eyes nearly made her tears dry. His arms wrapped around her and she could hear the echoed “aws” from mothers watching. He broke apart from her but not without leaning in and placing a small kiss on her lips like she had seen her father do to her mother anytime she was upset. 

One would think maybe that was when Y/n first had her crush on Steve Harrington. And maybe if she really thought about it, that’s when it began. Except, that stomach drop feeling and heart racing never occurred until the seventh grade on a random Tuesday in December. He had shown up to class late, rummaged through his backpack and sighed before looking behind him. She didn’t notice at first because she was etching her pencil into the desk. 

“Hey.” He tapped his finger on the wooden desk. 

She looked up at him, surprised, Steve Harrington hadn’t really talked to her since grade school. “Uh… hey?” 

He gave her a charming smile, running his fingers through his hair which had recently been cut. “Do you have an extra pencil I could borrow?” 

She had given him one of her favorite pencils, only a tiny scratch had been on it. Okay, it wasn’t her favorite, but when he had returned it at the end of class it became her most prized possession the rest of the school year. Well, until she lost it. But her crush never subdued throughout school. 

Even watching the goofy big tooth boy grow taller, stronger, and more attractive she couldn’t help but feel her cheeks heat up whenever he was near. Her friends would tease her at lunch when she would stop mid-sentence because Steve had just stood up and caught a chicken nugget in the air or she would giggle at a joke she listened to. 

But one thing was she never told him. Not once. Y/n saw the type of girls Steve Harrington went out with and she definitely was not the small and petite Nancy Wheeler. It seemed like her feelings towards Steve would be nothing more than a school girl crush. In fact, she had rarely thought about the dark haired boy since prom. Because although he looked sad, he looked pretty. And she swore he was about to ask her to dance until some redhead jumped in front of him. That was until he decided to start working at Family Video. 

Keith mentioned there would be two new employees and all the training was on her, per usual. Y/n was Keith’s underpaid assistant but she never argued because he would eventually leave and she’d be crowned the new manager. But she didn’t expect on a Saturday morning that she would walk in to see Steve Harrington and a short haired girl named Robin Buckley waiting outside for their first ever shift. 

She tried her best not to fumble her keys while unlocking the door or run into the cart of returned movies that the closers conveniently forgot to put away. She tried at least. The cart hit her hip so hard it fell down. She immediately cursed under her breath, bending down to pick up the spilled tapes on the ground. 

Both new employees jumped to help her as she sputtered apologies and they didn’t have to help. Her breath hitched. Steve’s shoulder brushed against hers as he reached for a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and suddenly she was back in Mrs. Robinson’s pre-cal class, warm cheeks, and that flip in her stomach that told her maybe her school girl crush hadn’t gone away. Lucky for her, she was the one who had been given the weekly task to make the schedule. She had ensured to never have a shift with him– at least alone. 

She thought it wasn’t obvious she was actively avoiding him until one day he had come in with lunch for Robin. Except, Robin had already gone down the street to Dairy Queen with a friend. Steve’s face dropped when Y/n had broke the news to him. One would think him and Robin were together but it took three hours for her to come to the conclusion that they were nothing more than platonic. 

Steve set the bag on the counter. He ran a hand through his hair, a strand fell down to his forehead, and she pathetically had to turn around to make sure she wasn’t drooling. “Do you want to eat lunch together?” 

She froze. “W-what?” 

Steve had already started to unpack the brown bag, shoving a fry in his mouth. “I don’t know what you like on your burger. Robin is weird and hates everything except cheese and pickles.” It was difficult to understand him with his mouth full of more salty fries and the fact she was still stunned. Steve must have noticed how she didn’t budge, staring at him with wide eyes because he looked up, tilting his head. “You're not hungry? Wait, don’t tell me. Are you one of those vegetarians? If you are, that's totally okay… you can eat my fries! Fries are a vegetable, right?” 

She put her hand up. “No… I’m… thank you.” That was all she could manage to say before she grabbed the wrapped burger on the counter to take a bite. 

“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” Steve wiped a dot of mustard from the corner of his mouth. “You never did in school.” 

She giggled. “You never talked to me in school.”

“I didn’t?” 

She tapped her chin and looked up as she pretended to go through her memories. “I recall one conversation when you asked to borrow a pencil.” 

Steve made a sound and motioned his hands at her. “See!” His laugh was infectious, silky, and warm. 

She had rolled her eyes, cheeks heated and stomach fluttered. “It’s okay. I never expected Steve Harrington to talk to someone like me.” 

It wasn’t dramatic but his face dropped and eyes averted elsewhere. He took another bite of his burger, slow and deep in thought. She wanted to apologize. It was a harmless joke. Yet, she could tell his old self was a sore subject. “Sorry I was an idiot back then. So, don’t say that about yourself. You’re pretty cool.” 

She looked down at her burger, avoiding the toothy grin plastered on his face. “You think I’m cool?” 

Steve shoved the last bite of his burger in his mouth, shrugging. “Yeah of course you’re cool. You’re the one who convinced Keith to let us put a coffee machine in the break room.”

Her face fell briefly. “Yeah… um thank you again for the burger but I need to get back to work before the rush.” She was lying, and he knew that. There was never a rush until the evening. 

He coughed awkwardly, grabbing his trash off the counter so he could place it in the bin. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you later?”

She only gave him a small smile, sighing in relief when the door chimed as Robin walked in, eyes wide at the sight of Steve. “I didn’t know you were working today?” 

“I brought you lunch,” he answered with a bored tone, walking towards her. 

“Oh… I was on a…” She looked over at the girl rewinding tapes, pretending not to listen to their conversation. “I was hanging out with April.” 

Steve’s eyes widened. “April from the corner store? With the…?” He grabbed imaginary boobs. 

Robin rolled her eyes, hitting him in the chest. “Gross, Steve. Are there any fries left? I’m still starving.” She grabbed the empty sack out of his hand, frowning. “I thought you said you brought me lunch?” 

Steve made a sound, glancing at the girl behind the counter. “I had lunch with Y/n instead.” 

Robin’s face contorted into something Steve knew all too well– mischief and curiosity. Robin loved to jump to conclusions. 

“Stop,” he whispered so only she could hear. He started to mess with some tapes on a shelf so it looked less suspicious. 

Robin threw her hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

He narrowed his eyes looking back at the girl who was oblivious to the conversation and then back at his best friend. “She’s not my type.”

“I wasn’t your type either.” She jabbed back.

He blew a sigh out of his nose, opening his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He looked back at the girl.

Robin leaned closer, also bringing her voice to a whisper. “She definitely has a crush on you.” She snorted when Steve fumbled with a tape in his hand before placing it back. However, Robin took it and put it in a different spot– the correct spot. 

“She does not. She doesn’t even talk to me!” He had said the last part a little too loud, but fortunately for him she had slipped into the storage room. Her ears were out of range of their conversation. 

Robin thumped him on the forehead. “You dingus. She doesn’t talk to you because she has a crush on you, duh.” 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. “Even if she does have a crush on me. I’m not interested.” 

Robin shook her head in disbelief, handing him the empty sack back. “Right. Because she’s not your type.” She didn’t allow him to answer, ending the conversation by telling him she’d see him later. 

And of course, it took Robin exactly twenty-seven minutes to interrogate Y/n about Steve. Business was slower than usual, and her boredom turned into twenty questions. Robin had learned more about her co-worker in fifteen minutes than the few months she had been working there.

Her favorite food, color, and astrology chart. And now she was down to her last few questions. She needed to use them wisely. “So… what do you think about Steve?” Robin tried to be nonchalant. 

Y/n didn’t react, but she noticed the way her shoulders tensed up. “Not sure what you mean by that.” 

Robin shrugged, twirling a strand of hair around her finger mindlessly. “Oh… he just mentioned something to me. It’s probably nothing.” With her plan, she walked off, pushing the cart of returned tapes around, taking her sweet time to find their right places. 

“Oh.” Was all Y/n had said before a customer walked in. But as soon as they walked out, Y/n joined Robin by the Horror section. “I’m curious. What did he say?”

Robin motioned her hand in a circle. “You know, this and that. How he thinks you hate him because you ignore him all the time.” It was a stretched lie. But it was her bait, and by the expression on the girl’s face, she was hooked. 

“I… don’t hate Steve. Does he really think that?” Her face was full of concern. She even looked so worried her face was green as if she wanted to throw up. 

Robin had to hold in the laughter. “It’s okay. I know it’s because you have a crush on him.” 

She pushed the cart away, leaving Y/n behind. Her mouth had fallen open from shock. “W-what? No I don’t!” 

“Okay,” Robin hummed. 

“Even if I did like him. That’s not why I ignore him. It's a coincidence,” she continued. 

“Don’t you make the schedules?” Robin’s brow rose, putting the last tape away. She leaned on the cart. 

Y/n huffed, crossing her arms. “I do not have a crush on him.”

“You already said that.” 

“And I’m repeating it because I feel like you don’t believe me.” 

“Because I don’t believe you.” 

The two stared at one another, neither wanted to break first. Y/n had always gotten along with Robin, but she never considered her a close enough friend to be asked such personal questions. She never went around trying to dive deeper into Robin’s romantic affairs.

Not that she ever saw her flirt with anyone that came in or talk about the very few cute boys that rolled in and out of Family Video. 

It was Y/n who finally broke, the sound of the door chime turning her attention to an older woman hobbling in. The rest of the shift the two girls didn’t speak. But Y/n occasionally caught Robin looking over at her, a smirk plastered on her face. It was like Robin had figured everything out about her.

***

The inevitable occurred. It was Thursday, but not just any Thursday. It was Halloween. And Robin Buckley had caught the flu. Not only did Keith force her to cancel all of her late night plans, but Y/n had to work with Steve Harrington– alone.

She dreaded the shift as soon as she pulled up to her designated parking spot. Steve’s sleek BMW parked right next to it. Normally when she parked next to him, she always caught him doing his hair or checking to make sure his teeth were still white.

But today, there was no sign of him waiting in the car before their shift. Before she could question it, the door to Family Video opened, two girls came out giggling. Steve was the one holding the door. She couldn’t help it but to roll her eyes. 

When he saw her get out of the car, he tilted his head, smiled softly, and waved at her. It was more than odd to see him show up before her. Keith already had a file full of tardiness warnings. “Nice costume.” Steve kept the door held open for her as she walked up to the store.

She instinctively touched the cat ears on her head. Steve followed close behind her back into the store. There were only a few customers browsing the store when she walked in. “Yeah, well thanks to Robin my plans on staying home doing nothing turned into scrambling to find something quick.”

Steve reached out and poked the orange and black ears, sniggering. “It wasn’t a requirement to wear a costume.”

She swatted his hand away and put a hand on her hip. “I know that. But it makes the shift more fun.” 

“You could’ve made it more fun for me and dressed as one of the Pussycats.” He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her cheeks heated up. Y/n walked to the counter and picked up the folder for the closing shift check-list, scanning what needed to be done. 

She glanced at the brunette who had followed her. He leaned against the counter, watching her. “If you should know, I was Josie last year for Halloween. This is my work appropriate costume.” She looked him up and down. “It’s a shame you didn’t want to dress up. You would have made a good Alan.”

His brows furrowed. “Who’s Alan?” 

“The Pussycat’s roadie and Josie’s boyfriend.” Her eyes widened at what she had just said. She turned to face him, shaking her head violently. “I- I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Steve licked his lips and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something important. “I’m going to go check on our customers.” 

She wanted to kick herself watching Steve give an awkward tightlipped smile, and walk away to the other side of the store. Instead, she had to put on a fake smile as she checked out customers. This was the exact reason she avoided being alone with him. Her awkward nature was always illuminated in her conversations. 

And it seemed like the night only dragged excruciatingly slow. Occasionally groups of teenagers would come in like a herd, Steve scolding them not to run around. And then there were periods of times that it was just the two of them. The only sound came from the ticking of the clock and the film that was playing on the TV above the counter. 

Then three familiar boys stormed into the store. There was a short curly-haired one, looking around as if he was on a mission. “Steve!” He had shouted towards her co-worker who was fixing a display. 

Steve turned around with a huge smile. “Henderson!” 

She couldn’t help but watch in bewilderment as the two greeted one another. “Where’s Robin?” The tall scrawny dark-haired boy of the group asked, coming up to the counter to get a piece of candy from a bowl that Keith had put out. 

“Sick,” Steve answered him. He looked over at Y/n, who stood awkwardly as the three boys all made a sound of disappointment. 

“Does this mean we can’t-” The curly haired boy’s words were cut off because Steve thumped him in the head, giving him a warning look. “What was that for?” He rubbed the spot, confused.

The other two boys kept quiet, as if they knew why Steve had tried to shut the boy up. “Let’s just go Dustin.” The dark skinned boy said. He motioned his eyes towards Y/n.

“Oh.” Dustin nodded, looking over at her. He gave her a toothy grin, his braces gleaming from the fluorescent lights. “Right… uh… well I guess we’ll see you later, Steve.” 

The three boys all gave a disappointed sigh, their shoulders slouched as they made their way towards the door. 

“Wait,” Y/n called out. The three boys stopped, turning around quickly. “You boys didn’t come in here to rent an R-rated movie… did you?” She raised a brow. 

They all looked at one another.

“Or did you? Because my co-worker here lets you?” She tilted her head, trying to hold back the laughter from interrogating them. They gave a panicked look towards Steve, who was pretending not to listen. She looked over at him, narrowing her eyes. “But Steve wouldn’t do that. Because he knows that’s a fireable offense, right?” 

Steve stuttered, trying to come up with the words. “Uh… yeah… right.” 

“And as one of the leader’s, it’s my duty to write you up if I see you let fourteen year-olds rent an R-rated movie.” Steve looked down at the ground, avoiding her glare from being caught red-handed. Y/n let out a sigh. “I’m going to the backroom to get something. Since I can’t see the store or anything that happens while I’m in there, will you make sure any customers are taken care of while I’m gone?” 

Steve looked up at her. He was unsure what to say. So, he just nodded. 

Y/n eyed the three boys, giving them a small smile before walking to the back. She could hear them quietly celebrate as she entered the backroom. Of course, there was nothing for her to get or do in there. She was waiting until she heard the boys say bye, and ring of the bell, letting her know they were gone. 

When she came back out, Steve’s back was leaned on the counter, arms crossed, watching the front door. The sunset streamed in, casting a glow on his tanned skin. She felt her cheeks heat up when she noticed the muscles in his arms poke out, his shirt sleeve hugging them. He noticed she had walked back into the room, standing straight, and brushing out his vest. 

“Your friends left?” She pretended to look for them even though she knew the answer, walking towards the cash register. Her back now faced him. 

Steve looked amused. “I wouldn’t really call them my friends.” 

“They come in a lot to see you. That curly-haired boy seems to be fascinated with you.” She smirked at the thought that The King of high school who was popular was now only friends with a bunch of outcasts. 

“Oh, yeah. I guess Dustin is like the little brother I never had.” He walked up next to her. 

She shuddered when his arm brushed against hers. “That’s adorable,” Y/n cooed. She looked up at him with a big smile.

Steve blushed, but smiled back nevertheless. In doing so, it filled the air around the two of them with something that Y/n couldn’t describe. But it was suffocating, pricking her skin into tiny goosebumps along her arms. 

He raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in his teeth. He was the first to break eye contact. “Listen, I um… wanted to talk to you about something Robin had said.” 

Her face fell, unsure what he was going to say. “Oh?” 

“Well, it’s kind of funny she would say such a thing. But a few weeks ago she mentioned something about you… having a crush on me.” He had thrown in some laughs as if it would ease the awkwardness. 

Suddenly, it felt like Y/n had forgotten what words were. She was frozen, blinking rapidly, trying to tell her brain how to open her mouth. It would be easy for her to lie. To tell him, no, that’s absolutely ridiculous. Nevertheless, she looked up at him, a pathetic look in her eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but choosing to give a weak smile instead. 

Realization hit him. Robin's intuition was correct. He couldn’t help but look at his feet, blushing. “Oh.”

The reply was all she needed to hear to know his thoughts on the matter. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know you’re not interested. It’s just silly feelings that don’t mean anything, you know?” Her smile was small and sad. “I’d like to be your friend, though. I’ve just always been shy because you’re Steve Harrington and I wasn’t sure how to talk to you.” 

Steve hated to admit her response was overwhelming and confusing. It was sure, he had never thought of her more than just a coworker. He gave a quick nod. “Right. Friends is… good. I’d like to be your friend as well.” 

There was a beat. 

“Great.” Y/n threw her hands up. “Then friends we are!” She patted him on the shoulder. And although her chest was tight, and a lump in her throat threatened to come up, she still smiled. 

The bell ringing forced their attention towards the front door as another group of teenagers stormed in. The conversation was dropped for the rest of the night. And it probably would never come up again.

They were just friends.

***

Robin typed on the Family Video computer, occasionally leaning back, looking at the office door when she heard raised voices. Steve set some tapes on the counter next to her. She jumped, briefly looking at her friend before turning to look at the closed door again. “What do you think they’re talking about in there?” 

Steve tilted his head, shrugging. “‘Dunno. Y/n and Keith have been butting heads for the past two weeks.” 

“Yeah, but Mr. Morris never comes in. It must be something serious if the owner wanted to talk to them,” she whispered. 

Before Steve could reply, the office door opened wide. “This is bullshit!” Y/n stormed out. She turned back around, pointing her finger towards whoever was in the room. “When this store goes downhill, don’t call me for help.” She pulled her work vest off and threw it on the ground. “I’m tired of doing all of Keith’s work and have no credit around here.” 

There was no reply from inside the office, making her scoff in disbelief. “Fuck this place. And fuck you, Keith. Should I tell Mr. Morris now that you’ve been sneaking tapes from the adult section?” She turned back around and stomped past Robin and Steve, stopping for a moment to look at them, but it seemed like there was nothing else to say. She walked out of the store, leaving the pair dumbfounded. 

Steve gave Robin a look. “I’ll be right back.” Before she could argue, Steve was running out of the store. He sighed in relief when he saw Y/n’s car still parked. He ran across the street, calling out her name, waving his hand in the air, barely missing a car coming his way. Whoever was driving was not happy because they held down their car horn as they passed by, flipping him off. 

He didn’t bother with apologies. Instead, he walked up to her car, panting. 

“Did your mother ever teach you how to look both ways, Harrington?” Although she was smirking, Steven took note of her puffy red-stained eyes. Dried tears clung to her soft cheeks. She must have noticed he was looking at her because she took the back of her hand to wipe her face. 

“Are you okay?” He placed the palm of his hand on the top of her car, leaning on it slightly, trying to catch his breath. He needed to get back in shape. 

Y/n, already frustrated, rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Steve. I just want to go home.” 

“Are you sure? It looked pretty rough back there.” He pressed. 

Her jaw ticked. “Steve, I appreciate your concern. But I really don’t want to talk about it. Especially with you.”  

Taken aback, Steve allowed his hand to slip down. He looked off to think for a moment. “I’m sorry. I just thought now that we’re friends… you might want someone to talk to.” 

She bit her lip and pinched her nose. “No, I’m sorry. I’m pissed off and I took it out on you.” Her voice was soft, slightly cracking. Yet, she gave him an assuring smile. “Thank you for checking up on me.”

He smiled back. “Robin and I are having a movie night tomorrow. You should come. I have a heated pool.” He could sense she was unsure with the proposal. “And there will be booze. If you’re into that sort of thing of course.” 

She sniggered, “Okay.” 

That next night, Y/n showed up to Steve Harrington’s house just as she promised. She knocked on the large double doors. It took a moment before it opened. Her brows knitted together when the curly haired boy from Halloween answered the door. His name was Dustin, if she remembered correctly. “You’re not pizza.”

She dramatically patted herself. “Oh god. You’re right. I’m not. And you’re not Steve.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” He left the door open just enough to let her in. “Steve! Your girlfriend is here.” 

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, we’re not-”

“Y/n! You came.” Steve interrupted her, walking into the foyer. 

She looked away quickly. He was only in a pair of swim trunks, a towel hung around the back of his neck. She had hoped he wasn’t serious about swimming. Even with a heated pool it was 53° outside. “Yeah, I had nothing better to do.” 

Steve laughed, then looked over at Dustin who was still standing there, watching the two of them, clearly amused. “Henderson, what are you doing?” 

“Waiting on the damn pizza you said you ordered an hour ago. I’m starving,” the younger boy complained. 

“Stop whining and go upstairs and tell Robin Y/n’s here.” He motioned Dustin to go up the staircase that was right next to them. And like a mother, when Dustin opened his mouth to argue, Steve held a finger up. “Go, now.” 

His shoulders dropped in defeat, doing as he was told. 

Y/n giggled. “He seems like a handful.” 

“No kidding.” Steve watched Dustin disappear at the top to go find Robin. “Just between you and me, I completely forgot to order the pizza.”

“I heard that!” Dustin yelled. 

Steve ignored him, but rather put his hand on Y/n’s back so he could lead her through the house. “This is the living room.” 

“I know.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that in a stalker way. I meant it as I’ve been to your parties in high school way.” 

He chuckled, removing his hand from her back. “Sorry about that. I don’t remember much about high school. Mostly because part of me was so self-absorbed.” 

There was a beat. 

“Would you like a beer?” 

“Uh… sure.” She followed him into the large kitchen. She had never seen it so empty, tracing her finger over the marble countertop. “I never thought you were self-absorbed.” 

Steve paused for a moment to process what she had just said, looking over at her as she jumped on top of the counter. She seemed fascinated with his kitchen. He wasn’t sure why, though. It was just a kitchen. “I’m okay with admitting to being selfish and arrogant back then.”

Y/n took a cold can of beer out of his hand. She smirked, opening the can, letting it hiss. “I never said I never thought you were arrogant.” She took a sip. 

Steve couldn’t help but titter. She had got him there he had to admit. 

“Steve, Dustin said you forgot to order the pizza.” Robin’s voice infiltrated the kitchen as she barged through the door, clutching her stomach dramatically. “I’ve been studying non-stop and I think I’m about to die from lack of food.” 

Y/n’s giggle made Robin look her up and down, examining from head to toe. She then turned back to Steve, a painful expression on her face. “Please order the pizza. My life is on your hands, Harrington.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, taking the towel around his neck and swatting her with it. “You order it. I’m showing my guest around.” 

“You never showed me around,” Robin mumbled. He tried to hit Robin again, but she caught the towel and pulled it away, frowning. “You do know me and Dustin will abuse this power of pizza ordering privileges.” 

Steve looked like he was second-guessing his choice. Yet, he just sighed. “Yeah. Do as you wish. We’ll meet you guys outside in a bit.” He motioned for Y/n to follow him. 

She slid off the counter, giving Robin a small smile. “See you in a bit.”

And before she turned to follow Steve out of the room, Robin’s mouth twisted into a sly smirk. She then crossed her arms and gave a suggestive wink at the girl. Y/n felt her face heat up and quickly put her head down, scurrying out of the room to catch up with Steve. 

Later that night, Steve had walked Y/n to her car. When he walked back inside his house, he joined Robin and Dustin back in the living room. The two sat on the couch, arms crossed, and had knowing looks plastered on their faces, like mom’s who knew too much.

Steve ignored them and instead started to clean up the area. He had changed into a shirt and sweats, but his hair was still damp and clung to his forehead. Him and Dustin had been the only ones who swam. Robin and Y/n sat at the edge, their feet dipped into the pool, talking about who knows what. 

Although Robin and Steve had a lot in common and were inseparable since the summer, he couldn’t help but feel happy she had another friend who was a girl. Truthfully, he struggled fully understanding her. 

“Are you sure you two aren’t dating?” Dustin had been the one to break the ice, asking the question that Robin was wondering as well. 

She sat silent, but by her expression, Steve could tell she had a lot to say on the matter. The Harrington boy sighed loudly, not looking over at them. “I’m sure.” 

Robin let out a scoff, everything she had been holding in spilling out. “Are you kidding me? I’ve had to endure you two blatantly flirting or eye… canoodling for three weeks straight. But get this, he told me he turned her down when she told him she liked him.”

Dustin jumped off the couch, walking up to Steve.“Wait… dude, she likes you? And you rejected her? I thought it was weird when you and Robin haven’t gotten together yet, but this is even weirder.”

Steve glanced over at Robin, sharing a knowing look at one another. “Uh… yeah,” he coughed awkwardly. “She’s just not my type, you know.” Steve shook his head. This was unbelievable. Why was he talking about his love life with a kid? “Go get your stuff. Your mom should be home by now. I can’t believe I let her convince me to look after you tonight.” 

Dustin mumbled profanities, walking off to go collect his things. Robin on the other hand had stood up, not wanting to drop the subject. “You’re a dingus, Harrington.”

“I’m done talking about it, Buckley. We’re just friends.” He took the handful of trash and walked into the kitchen to throw it away.

Robin followed. “Give me one good reason she isn’t your type. Then I’ll drop it.” Steve turned around, hands on hips, annoyed. Robin held out her pinkie. “I promise.” 

He looked to the side and his jaw ticked. “I dunno, she just isn’t. There isn’t anything else to say.”

“You’re not helping your case-” He cut her off by groaning loudly, putting his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ. I don’t like her because she doesn’t really like me. I can tell you’re confused. I meant that she doesn’t really like me because she likes this version of me she knew from high school.”

She still looked confused. “Okay?” 

“Robin, you’ve seen my many failed dates. It has all been girls that I went to school with who had a crush on Steve “The King” Harrington. Once they learned that I was just some guy who had no actual plan for the future…” He couldn’t seem to finish the last part. He leaned back on the counter, arms crossed. 

Robin started to laugh, receiving a dirty look from him. “But you always know that’s why those girls like you because of you were. Why is Y/n different? Is it because you like her too?” 

Steve didn’t answer at first. He scratched his neck, standing up straight again. “She’s just a friend.” 

Defeated in the argument, Robin sighed. “Right. Do you know why she quit yesterday?” 

“What does this have to with-”

“She quit because Keith reported her for renting R-rated movies out to kids.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, unsure what to say. 

But he didn’t have to say anything, because Robin continued, “She didn’t have to do that. She could have told the truth and saved her ass but she didn’t. Now sure, she might have a crush on you because of Steve “The King” Harrington. But something tells me she might be okay with Steve “The Lame and Dingus” Harrington.” 

Steve couldn’t sleep the rest of the night once Robin and Dustin arrived safely back at their homes. He hated when Robin had the last word in their squabbles. And it seemed like this time it took the words right out from under him. 

He was unsure how to feel. Grateful? Guilty? Indebted? None of those made up for what Y/n had done for him. And she didn’t even tell him. It was an unconditional favor that he wasn’t aware of until now. 

***

Y/n hated to admit it, but she missed Family Video. Her days at the store were always different, even with the odd small-town regulars that came in. She hated that she even missed the smell of Keith’s tuna sandwich he always brought for lunch. 

Now, she was stuck behind a desk taking calls for an attorney who rarely had clients. At first, she was ecstatic her first day had been sorting paperwork, but if she had known it would only take her a couple of hours, she would’ve dragged it out rather than trying to be a kiss-ass over achiever. 

Unlike Family Video, her day was always the same. It was Hawkins, she expected to see odd cases come in and out, but most of the time it was the town drunks who violated their probation by drinking under the influence.

However, one good thing happened was at exactly 11:30 AM, Steve Harrinton would walk in with lunch. The first few days he had came, Y/n had already packed a sandwich for herself and it had gone to waste. She soon learned there wasn’t a need to pack her lunch at all by the second week. 

Steve had managed to become the new lead, meaning he had full control of scheduling. Y/n was happy for him. He seemed to enjoy having more control and privileges. And she imagined he took advantage of his position whenever he was on a shift with Robin. 

So, by now it had come to no surprise when he waltzed into the office, two bags in his hands, plopping in the chair on the other side. He always set his feet on top of the desk, which Y/n always pushed off. Even if she was occupied with a word search or book, it was an instinct. 

“Working hard or hardly working?” He smiled, teeth and all, knowing she would cringe. 

She let out raspberry, reaching over the desk and hand held out to take the bag. “What fine cuisine did you bring for me today? Wendy’s?” 

Steve laughed, handing over the bag. “My mom’s meatloaf.”

She gave him a look. Nothing had to be said to know that it was strange coming from him having a home cooked meal from his mom. Especially since a few weeks ago he had mentioned his dad had received a promotion, meaning more time traveling. Steve had expressed many times that Mrs. Harrington didn’t trust his dad on his own. 

She watched as he took out the contents of his bag. She had put the blinds up earlier because the sun was out even though it was December. Sunlight bled through, highlighting his dark hair that it almost looked like honey was oozing down his head like streaks. 

However, the moment was ruined when he shoved a bologna sandwich in his mouth, crumbs falling everywhere. 

“You always eat like it’s your last meal.” She noticed a drop of mustard on his chin. Sighing, she opened a drawer full of miscellaneous items, taking out a napkin. She leaned over the desk and wiped the mustard off his chin carefully. There was a beat where the two locked eyes, but she pulled away quickly, handing him the napkin. 

“I eat like a working man who only has a 30-minute lunch break,” he complained. 

She giggled. “I’ve told you my boss is looking for an intern. You’d get an hour.”

“Pfft. I am not cut out for the world of law. Although, my dad would probably be more than happy.” Steve ate the last bite of his food, rubbing his hands against one another to get the crumbs off. 

She only smiled in response, finally taking a bite of the meatloaf, her eyes wide as it hit her tongue. “This is delicious!” 

A laugh bellowed out of him. “Woah, slow down there.” 

Y/n didn’t listen. In about five bites the meatloaf was all gone from the tupperware container. A loud burp escaped from her lips, she shockingly covered her mouth from embarrassment. But she quickly eased up when she saw the corner of his eyes crinkle. 

She had noticed something different recently whenever she was around Steve. His touches always seemed to linger, or the sound of his laughter somehow stained the air around her. She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but even after he left the room she could still hear the rich sound waiting around, ringing throughout her ears. As if it wanted to taunt her. And not to mention his apparent need to always see her. 

She had told herself weeks ago she was over him. He would never like her. They both verbally agreed that he only saw her as a friend and that was all they would be. 

Steve coughed, attempting to break the silence. His expression made it seem like he had been trying to find the right words to say something. “So, did you see that Girls Just Want to Have Fun is showing at the drive-in on Saturday?” 

She almost jumped in her seat. “Wait? Really? That’s my favorite movie!” 

Steve smiled. He knew it was her favorite. Once he looked at her account and saw she had rented it a month straight once the store started to carry it. “Oh! I had no clue. Well, um…” He scratched his neck. “If you’re not busy do you want to go with me?”

“Yeah! I mean I’m not busy. I’d love to!” She grabbed her bag on the ground and dug around until she found her pocket calendar. “What time?”

Steve took a moment to relish her excitement, taking note how it made her eyes brighter. “Uh… seven.”

She nodded, scribbling down the plan on the calendar for Saturday. “That’s a perfect excuse to return Robin a book I borrowed from her.”

His face fell. “Robin?”

She didn’t seem to notice the shift. “This is so exciting!” 

“Do you think I meant… Y/n I was kind of hoping… what I meant was that I wanted it to be just-” 

Steve’s words were cut off as the front door opened. Y/n’s demeanor changed. Steve watched her closely as she sat up straighter, wiped her blazer of any crumbs, and looked at herself in the reflection of the computer in front of her. 

He turned in his seat to see who had walked in that made her react in such a way. 

It was a tall, clean, short haired man. “Hello, Y/n.” He was soft-spoken but somehow carried an assertive energy. Steve had to do a double take to realize it was Mike Lewinski. He was an old basketball teammate from school. And apparently over the summer he had had a makeover.

“Mike?” Steve stood up, allowing the third party to recognize his presence. 

“Harrington? Wow, man. I thought it was only rumors that you stuck around.” He looked at the Family Video vest, before holding out his hand. “What brings you to my dad’s office?”

Steve was hesitant, but took it nonetheless, both their grips tight as if challenging one another silently. “Oh… I was just having lunch with Y/n.” 

Mike looked over the girl who had also stood up in the meantime, smiling bashfully at him. “Y/n, I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone.” 

She shook her head. “We’re not together!” 

Steve turned around quickly from her eagerness to turn down the accusation. He faced Mike again. “Yeah, we have lunch sometimes whenever I’m not busy.” 

“Ah.” Mike smiled. Almost like he was relieved. “Is my father in his office?” 

Y/n stuttered. “Oh… yeah! You’re good. He doesn’t have any meetings today.” 

He smiled and nodded. “Good to see you, Harrington. We should go out to the Hideaway sometime.”

“Yeah.” 

Mike walked past him and towards his father’s office, stopping when he reached next to Y/n. She smiled nervously as he looked at her closely. “Did you cut your hair?” 

Instinctively, she touched it, smiling. “Yes, I did.” She didn’t. 

“I like it. It suits you.” Mike gave another curt nod, before walking into his father’s office. 

Y/n giggled to herself, sitting back down in her chair. 

Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t believe the monstrosity he had just witnessed. His jaw ticked the longer he thought about Meathead Mike and Y/n, in the words of Robin, eye canoodling. “You haven’t done anything with your hair.” 

Y/n looked up, brows furrowed. “Huh?” 

“He asked if you cut your hair and you said yes. You haven’t cut it. You just have it in a different style.” He pointed. 

She scoffed. “So what? I was only being nice.”

“You were flirting,” he argued. 

Y/n had had enough. She looked at the door behind her before jumping to her feet. She stormed around the desk, grabbing his wrist, and pulled him outside. “What the hell is with you?”

Steve pulled his arm away so he could cross them against his chest. And almost like a child, he looked away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” She had to walk away for a moment to take a deep breath privately before returning. “You’ve been so strange lately. And now you’re upset because you think I was flirting with someone.” 

“I’m not upset.”

“Right… fine. I’m not going to argue with you about it. I’m just having a hard time understanding you, Steve. I mean you go from not talking to me at all to coming to my work every day with lunch. Why?” In that moment, she hoped that secretly all this time had been his way of telling her he liked her. 

It was promising because he had taken a step closer to her. His eyes drooped, vulnerable and harboring a secret he had been holding in. 

When he saw her flirt with Mike, he realized that he had taken too long to decipher his feelings and thoughts about her. She had moved on and followed through with their mutual promise to be friends. He swallowed the thickness stuck in his throat, dropping his arms to his sides. “You’re right. I have been acting strange.” 

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat.

“I have been feeling something for weeks and I wasn’t sure how to express it,” he continued. 

The corners of her mouth lifted, stepping closer to him, grabbing his hand. “Steve, it’s okay. You can tell me.” 

He looked down, ashamed. “I’ve felt guilty about you quitting because of me.” His voice was soft but almost ear-deafening at the same time. 

She closed her eyes to process what he had said. “You… you’ve been bringing me lunch every  day because you felt guilty about me quitting?” 

Steve nodded. “You took the fall for me and then I ended up with your job. I feel like an asshole.”

Y/n bit her lip, letting go of his hand. However, she smiled reassuringly. “I’m going to kill Robin for telling you.” 

“Please don’t. Her ghost will come back and kill me.” 

They shared a laugh. 

Steve looked through the window at the closed office door. “Mike’s a good guy.” 

“Yeah. I know.” She smiled sadly, looking at her watch. “Your break is over.” 

Steve took a deep breath. “Right. You know, about Saturday. I completely forgot that I have to pull a double so I don’t think I’ll be able to go.” He put his hand on top of his head, pretending as if it had just come to him. 

She tried not to look upset. “It’s okay. I forgot I have to babysit.” It was a lie. And maybe deep down he knew it, but he didn’t show any reaction. 

Instead, he left her with a half-hearted smile and dirty tupperware that he forgot to take with him. She had taken it home and washed it so it would be returned cleaned. But the rest of the week, Steve didn’t show up at his regular time. Anytime she called the store and asked for him, someone always gave the excuse that he was busy. By Friday, Y/n had packed her own lunch for the first time in weeks. 

***

Robin Buckley had never been a flashy person. She hated the attention on her. And she only said things to strangers if she absolutely had to. 

So when her, Steve and Y/n were at the diner and she brought up wanting to have an eighteenth birthday party, Steve was taken aback. Y/n on the other hand, squealed. “Oh my god! That will be so much fun. Don’t you agree, Steve?” They had only recently started to be okay again. But there were still moments when the energy between them was tense. 

He didn’t look at her. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Y/n hit his shoulder. “This is Robin’s only eighteenth birthday. Of course she’d want to have a huge party.”

“I never said anything about it being huge,” Robin interjected.

Y/n waved her hand as if she was waving off what her friend had just said. “Leave the planning to me. Steve can we have it at your-”

“Whatever.” He glanced at his watch, getting out of the booth. “I have to go pick up Dustin and his geek squad.” He finally looked at Y/n as he laid some cash to cover his bill on the table. “Robin can tell me more at work tomorrow.” 

Once he left, she let out a huff. “He has some nerve.” 

Robin waited a moment before replying. “He’s been pissy lately because Dustin has been hanging out with Eddie Munson more than him.”

“He’s so moody,” she complained. 

Robin only hummed. 

The party was more than what Robin had imagined. People she had never spoken to filled the empty spaces of the Harrington household. They had no clue who she was, but it didn’t matter because there was free alcohol and they were all too drunk to ask. 

Robin stood next to Y/n, shyly saying thanks to all the people who wished her a happy birthday. She took a sip from her cup, cringing at the taste. Y/n chuckled, leaning over to Robin, grabbing her arm for support. “No one’s forcing you to drink that.” 

Robin, as if proving a point, chugged the rest, wiping her mouth. “It’s my birthday. Once I get drunk enough, it will taste like water.” 

They shared a fit of drunken giggles. Y/n looked across the room to see Steve leaned against the wall, a red-solo cup in his hand, talking to a blonde. She felt her stomach twist and the only remedy was the rum punch in her hand. “I need to get laid.”

“W-what about that one guy…” Robin snapped her fingers trying to recall the name. “Meathead!” 

“Meathead?” She thought for a moment. “You mean Mike?” Mike Lewinski had asked her out for coffee a few weeks ago. Nothing had gone wrong, in fact he was nice, but their conversations fell flat and uninteresting. Both of them had agreed there would be no future dates.

“Ah, right. His name was Mike. I was thinking about what Steve had called him the other day.” She frowned when she looked inside her empty cup. Unsure where it all had gone. “I need more to drink.” 

The two girls walked through the crowd to get to the kitchen. “Why were you and Steve talking about me and Mike?” 

Robin’s shoulders tensed, glancing back to look at her. “Oh… uh… we weren’t.” 

Y/n could read through the blatant lie. She finished her drink rather than calling out Robin. She chose to drink a beer next, taking one out of the ice chest at the end of the island. She asked if Robin wanted one, but the girl didn’t reply. 

She looked up to see her staring across the room. Following her gaze, Y/n’s eyes landed on a tall thin girl. Her hair was fiery red and curly. Freckles scattered on her face as if a painter had flicked their brush. She noticed Robin was looking at her. She smiled sweetly and gave her a tiny wave before returning to her conversation. 

Robin had raised her hand, blushing profusely. The dots seemed to connect for Y/n. “You know, you should go talk to her.” 

Robin snapped around, eyes huge, like she had been caught red-handed. “I- wasn’t…” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Her name’s Vickie. She’s in band with me.” 

“She’s cute. I honestly didn’t expect that from you.” 

“Well, most people don’t expect me to be a lesbian.” 

Y/n giggled. “No, I meant I didn’t expect you to be into red-heads.” 

She wasn’t sure how many drinks she had had in her system by the time she needed to use the bathroom. The air had turned stale from the sweaty bodies that polluted the house. It didn’t help that people came back inside after smoking cigarettes or weed, the stench still clinging onto their clothes. 

The only bathroom that was open to guests was downstairs. The line wasn’t long, but it seemed to drag the longer she waited and the more she needed to use it. She leaned her body against the wall next to her, letting the chilled surface cool her hot cheeks. 

She stood straight when Steve stumbled through the hallway. At first he didn’t notice her until she slurred his name. He stopped, and chuckled at her state. “Why are you by yourself?” 

Y/n reached out and drunkenly grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. He didn’t fight it. In fact, he took his other hand and put it on top, his thumb rubbing hers. She went to her tip toes so she put her mouth close to his ear. “Robin is flirting with girls.” 

Steve’s expression seemed panicked. “How’d you…?” 

“Stevie, I’m a genius. I was bound to find out someday.” She giggled as if she had said the funniest thing in the world. “I let her flirt so I could wait in like to piss. I have to piss so bad.” 

Steve looked at the line in front of her, sighing. “Come on.” He wrapped his arm around her. Maybe to support her. Or maybe just an excuse to touch her. He led her away from the bathroom and towards the staircase. 

As they ascended, many people gave them strange looks. And some were jealous, thinking that Steve Harrington had found the girl he would spend the night with. 

Y/n had known Steve as a close friend for months, and even had come over more than she could count on two hands, but she had never been inside his room. It was neat and smelled like mahogany and his cologne. 

He let go of her, pointing towards another door. “Uh… there’s my bathroom.” 

She smiled, thanking him before going inside. It was fairly large. A long counter with products scattered on the top. He had one of those walk in showers with glass doors. 

She looked behind her just to be sure before sneaking over, picking up a nearly empty bottle of shampoo, opening and taking a sniff. Yep, it smelled exactly like him. Sweet but also like the outdoors during winter. 

When she finished and walked back outside, Steve was laying on his bed, legs dangled over the side, eyes closed. She let out a breath that resembled a laugh. She walked over to him, sitting on the side and looked down. 

A stray hair had fallen to his forehead. She couldn’t help but reach out and use her pointer finger to brush it back. She jumped when his eyes snapped open. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He groaned, sitting up. He looked bad. Not because he had drunk a lot but also because he looked as if he hadn’t slept well lately. 

“We should get back to the party,” Y/n suggested. 

“No.” He had said it quickly, like a snap. It wasn’t meant to be harsh, but he realized how rash he sounded. “Sorry. I had meant I wanted to stay here for a bit. But you can go.” 

She bit her lip. Surely he didn’t think she was going to leave him by himself. Instead of words, she grabbed his hand. Silently saying she would stay. 

A few minutes passed by of the two of them sitting in the dark room, listening to voices from outside. The moon casted a milky light through his window, making shadows dance on the wall in front of them. Y/n nudged Steve, laughing. “Am I super drunk, or does that shadow on the wall look like a dick?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, trying to see what she was looking at. His shoulder brushed against hers as he joined in her laughter. “Yeah. It really does.” 

“It compliments the room well,” she joked. 

He pushed his body into her side softly. “I’ll think about it next time we redecorate the house. I think my mom will be ecstatic.” 

There was a beat where they laughed harder, looking at one another. She had taken her hand away from him to cover her mouth. He had taken his hands and covered his face. Y/n took note how they were large enough to hide all of his features. 

The laughter subdued gradually, both of them putting their hands back into their laps as they calmed down. Y/n sighed to fill in the silence. “I’m going to go find Robin. She’s probably looking for me. Do you want to come with me?” 

“I think I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes. You know, so no one gets the wrong idea.” He smirked. 

She scoffed. “I think they already had the wrong idea when you brought me up here.” She smiled. “Thank you, by the way. I probably would’ve pissed my pants if it weren’t for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

She pushed him slightly. “Asshole.” The pair locked eyes, making her stomach flip. “Seriously, thank you.” She slowly leaned in, hesitant, placing a tender kiss on his cheek. 

She pulled away to get up, but Steve’s hand flew to her wrist, forcing her to stay. She was shocked, a small gasp escaped her. Even though they were already looking at one another, he seemed to be searching for something in her eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his thumb swiped her cheek. “You had an eyelash,” he mumbled. 

“Oh.” The back of her neck started to feel warm. “Was that all?” 

“You’re so pretty.” 

And it was like all the energy at the top of the rollercoaster that seemed to build over the months had finally reached the top, falling. Their lips connected. And it was more than Y/n had expected as they moved like static rubbing together, electrifying from her lips to her toes. 

When she moaned, Steve took the opportunity to kiss her open-mouthed, drinking in the sound that followed. His hand gripped her hip, pulling her closer. It had to be all a dream. She needed to tangle her fingers in his hair unless he would slip away.

This wasn’t the first time she had touched his hair. Sometimes she would ruffle it when he was irritating her, or when they hung out he would lay his head on lap as she brushed her fingers through. But this time was different. It felt dirty. 

He was the first to break away, his chest heaving, lips swollen, and eyes darkened. He shuddered when she went straight for his jaw, leaving a trail of kisses to his ear, slightly grazing her teeth on the lobe. 

“Babe, I’m going to cum if you do that again.” He moved his head so he could place another kiss on her lips, then on her neck.

“Say that again,” she whispered. 

“What?” He kissed and sucked on a spot that made her gasp his name. “Do you want me to call you babe? Was that it?”

“Yes, please.” She dug her nails into his shoulders, clenching her eyes when his hand slipped under her shirt.

“You have no idea how worked up you have me, babe.” 

She placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the bulge through the denim of his jeans. She gave him a smug expression. “I think I have an idea.” She swung her leg over his so she could straddle him. Thankful for the skirt she had chosen to wear when it rode up her thigh slightly. She bucked her hips so that she could feel him twitch through the thin fabric of her underwear. 

The kisses became sloppier and more heated as they continued to roam their hands all over one another. 

Both their shirts ended up on the floor eventually. Followed by Y/n’s bra. His belt had been unbuckled to relieve him of the pressure. 

With his mouth, he peppered kisses on her breasts, putting one in his mouth as he kneaded the other with his free hand. When he broke away, a string of saliva formed from her nipple to his lips. 

He looked up at her, and he looked destroyed. 

It had been everything she had dreamed. So why did she feel tears brim her eyes? She gave him a fierce kiss again, but it somehow felt… wrong. “I…” Her bottom lip quivered.

“Yes?” He tried to kiss her neck again, but she stopped him. 

“I forgot about the cake!” She jumped off his lap, grabbing her bra and shirt, turning away from him to put them back on. 

“Cake?” He seemed confused, pinching his nose. 

“Yeah. Robin’s birthday cake. I completely forgot.” She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Silly me.” 

“Oh. Uh… yeah.” Steve’s disappointment was clear. 

“Good thing I remembered. Or else we would’ve made a huge mistake.” She laughed awkwardly. 

Steve stood up as well to put his shirt back on. “Mistake?”

Y/n turned back around once she was decent again. “Oh come on. We’re both very drunk. You know this wouldn’t have happened any other way.” 

Steve let out a huff, running his hands through his already messy hair. His jaw ticked, refraining from saying anything else. No longer aroused, he buckled his belt and stormed past her out of his room. 

It was three in the morning when Steve kicked out the last guest. Y/n and Robin were the only ones left, cleaning up all the trash around the house. Steve walked into the living room where they were giggling. And almost immediately, the energy shifted. They fell silent as he stood there, hands on his hips. 

“I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I made sure the guest room is ready.” He didn’t allow a response before he turned on his heels and left the room. 

Robin waited until she heard his door shut from upstairs before opening her mouth. “Jeez. What’s his deal?” 

“Who knows?” Y/n shoved a handful of trash into a bag, a bit too aggressively. 

Robin eyed her for a moment, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, you two hooked up, didn’t you?” 

She almost dropped what she was holding. Nevertheless, she tried to pretend not to react. “Not sure what you mean by that.” 

“Oh come on. You both disappeared for an unnatural amount of time and both came back looking like a hot mess. Also your shirt has been on backwards.” Robin smirked. She was smug and had been waiting for the perfect chance to finally say her deductions out loud. 

Y/n looked down, and sure enough her shirt had been backwards the whole time. Robin probably had noticed right away. Cheeky. “We didn’t hook up. We only…” She couldn’t find the right words. 

“Canoodled?” Robin wiggled her brows. 

Y/n threw an empty cup at her, and although she was embarrassed, she felt a laugh come up. “You’re sick, you know that?” 

The brunette shrugged. “You’re sick for hooking up with our friend on my birthday.”

“Your birthday isn’t until Monday.” 

Robin pointed at her. “That’s a technicality.” 

She rolled her eyes, looking up at the ceiling, trying to imagine what Steve was doing. “I think I hurt his feelings.” 

Robin sighed, making Y/n wonder about their conversation earlier in the night when her and Steve had talked about Y/n and Mike. Had Robin been in-between the whole time? “He’ll get over it.” 

She frowned and shook her head. “No, this time it was different. I said it was a mistake.” 

Her friend looked up to the sky, mouthing the words “Just kill me now.” She let a beat go by. “You two are ridiculous. It’s like cat and mouse with feelings. First you think he doesn’t like you, then he doesn’t think you like him, and then you do whatever the hell you did tonight and you still think he doesn’t like you. Everyone in a two-mile radius can tell you like one another. Hell, people in Illinois can tell. Should we tattoo it on both your foreheads? ‘I have a big fat crush on Dingus one’ and ‘I have a big fat crush on Dingus two’?” 

“Thanks, Robin. You know how to cheer a girl up.” Y/n’s mouth drooled with sarcasm. 

“I’d die for the two of you, but I can only take so much.” She clutched her heart dramatically. 

Y/n didn’t answer, ashamed, a sheepish expression painted on her face. And it all felt obvious what she needed to do and say. She could go upstairs right now and make everything okay between her and Steve. But, she was too stubborn and instead planned on forgetting what had happened that night. 

***

Trying to forget what had happened only lasted a week before she waltzed into Family Video on her break the next Friday. Steve was behind the counter helping the same blonde from Robin’s birthday party. She had giggled at something Steve had said, reaching out and straightening his vest. 

He looked over at the door, his face fell at the sight of his new customer. He turned his attention back to the blonde, and Y/n could hear him say, “Have a good day.” The girl looked disappointed when she had turned around, leaving the store. It was only the two of them. But why did it feel like there was so much noise going on? 

Steve watched her stand there for a few seconds until he decided to act busy. LIke she was another customer. 

She sighed and came up to the counter. “H-hi.” 

Steve turned his back to her. “Hello, welcome to Family Video. How can I assist you?” 

“Steve.” She was exasperated and wanted to get straight to the point. 

He turned around, pretending to be shocked. “Oh! Y/n, didn’t realize it was you.” He looked at his watch. “Robin doesn’t work today. There’s a basketball game.” 

“I know. I came to see you.” She lifted a paper sack in her hand, placing it on the counter. He had moved his head slightly, allowing her to catch the fading bruise on his neck. Her cheeks burned when she realized what it was. “I- I brought you lunch.” 

Suddenly, she felt like she was back in that classroom when he had asked for a pencil. The months of getting comfortable around him had vanished, and all words were stuck on her tongue, unable to escape. “I already ate lunch.” 

He was lying and she knew he was. He turned back around, ignoring her again. She felt the anger rise, she violently grabbed the sack, throwing it loudly in the trash can by the door. Just as she was about to leave, her hand on the handle, she took a deep breath. “I know I hurt your feelings, but that gives you no right to be mean to me.” She turned around. 

He was no longer messing with anything but he still faced the opposite way. She chose to continue, “I came here to make things okay. To tell you I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what you said or sorry for kissing me?” 

She groaned in frustration, putting her palms on her temples, rubbing them. She didn’t want to lose her cool, but he was making it painfully hard. “Of course I’m not sorry for kissing you-”

He snapped around. “But you still think it was a mistake, right?” 

She opened her mouth but quickly closed it, clenching her jaw. A tear betrayed her, rolling down her cheek. “Do you know why I first started to like you?” 

He folded his arms across his chest, motioning for her to continue. 

“I liked you because the first thing I learned was that you cared about others before yourself. It might sound silly, because it is, but when I was five years old, you kissed me after making me cry. This entire time I had just thought I liked you in school because you were Steve Harrington. You were cute and I couldn’t help but feel butterflies when you asked me for a pencil in seventh grade because there was a sparkle that shone in your stupid brown eyes. But I also thought that’s all it was, a school crush that I wouldn’t even remember in twenty years.

“But then you had to get a job here and make me realize how that guy in school wasn’t as selfish as everyone made him out to be. I saw it every time you made sure to be at the counter when Mrs. Higgins came in because you know she doesn’t like me. I saw it every time Dustin came around and you made sure he wasn’t in trouble. I saw it every time you came to my work and brought me lunch when I never asked you to.” She wiped the flood pouring down her face, trying to keep it together. 

Steve’s face had fallen but he continued to stand there frozen. 

She let out a sob, her lip quivered, looking at the ground so he couldn’t see her puffy eyes. “No, I don’t think kissing you was a mistake. I was only afraid because although the more I got close to you, and the more I liked you, the more I considered you a friend. And it felt like we were just hooking up. So it felt wrong.” She looked up at him, sniffling. “I’m sorry.” She gave him a half-hearted smile and left the store.

She began her walk back to the office, which wasn’t that far from the store. She had only gotten a few feet away when she heard the bell hastily ring, and hurried footsteps pounded against the pavement behind her. “Wait! Y/n!” 

She wiped more tears on her sleeve, pushing back the lump in her throat when she turned around. His hair was disheveled and eyes red. “You didn’t give me a chance to talk.” His voice was softer than earlier. More careful, trying not to upset her. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I made you cry again.”

“I-it’s okay,” she mumbled.

“No, it’s not. I let my pride get in the way.” He licked his lips. “You were wrong.”

“What?” She was unsure what he meant. 

Hesitant, he took her hand in his, looking at it and then back up at her. “What happened wasn’t a hook-up to me. I had been trying to ask you out for weeks but I thought you might have moved on. And when we were in my room at the party I couldn’t help but notice the moon made you glow. You looked beautiful, and I couldn’t help but finally kiss you.” He let out an awkward chuckle. “I definitely got carried away.” 

She smiled shyly. “You tried to ask me out?” She gasped, eyes wide, and covered her face. “Oh my god. That’s why you asked to go to the drive-in. You wanted it to be a date.” 

He laughed at her reaction, nodding. “Don’t worry. I was a little rusty. You make me nervous.” 

She smirked, poking him in the chest. “What? I make Steve Harrington nervous?” 

He rolled his eyes, but grinned cheekily nonetheless. “Can you blame me? I did just admit how pretty I think you are.”

There was a beat as they locked eyes. He reached out and put his hand on the side of her face, stepping closer, parting his lips as his face neared hers. 

However, she stopped him. She raised her brows and let a smug smile appear. “You’re going to kiss me even though you haven’t asked me on a date yet?” 

Flabbergasted, Steve laughed in disbelief. “Seriously?”

She took a step back and crossed her arms. Mimicking what he did to her earlier. 

He sighed and stood up straight. He then cleared his throat dramatically. “Y/n, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a nice dinner tomorrow night?” 

She gave him a toothy smile, giggling. “I’d be very delighted.”

“Pick you up at seven?” He asked. 

She nodded. “Perfect.”

“Okay, then I guess I’ll see you then.” Steve took her hand, placing a soft kiss. He gave her a sweet goodbye before he turned around to go back to the store which probably had been left unoccupied for too long. 

She looked at her watch, seeing that she still had fifteen minutes left of her break. Smiling to herself, she chased after Steve, tapping him on the shoulder before he reached the door. He turned around, brows furrowed, probably wondering if she had forgotten something. 

She grabbed him by the vest, pulling him towards her, their lips crashed against one another. He was shocked at first. However, he melted when her lips started to push and pull against his. His hand wrapped around to the small of her back, the other on the back of her neck, pulling her closer. 

And they both felt like they were floating in the air. To her, it was like that random Tuesday in December, where her stomach fluttered and her heart pounded against her chest. It felt surreal. It was more than she had imagined.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

This fic is written and read like a poem. The metaphors and words used to describe love and longing, I was mesmerized. I love Eddie being protective but also (somewhat) welcoming of Steve’s interest in Punchy. The whole movie marathon scene was 🤩. I can’t stop thinking about this fic. Absolutely loved it, thank you for writing it 🫶🫶🫶

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

Pleaseeeee so cute🫶🫶

Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ☺️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛

i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!

summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world. 

Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read. 

You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.

The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.

“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.

A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”

“…That’s so fucked up.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”

Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.

“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape. 

Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write. 

She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”

“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you. 

A pretty boy follows.

His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair. 

His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.

He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.

“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”

The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”

You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose. 

You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.

The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.

“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.

You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”

The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”

“The one with the gross men.”

He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”

You smile wordlessly in response.

“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”

“I’m not hovering!”

“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”

“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.

“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”

“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”

“I’m asking a question!”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book. 

They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”

Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist. 

Ten minutes until eight o’clock. 

You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.

“Shit…”

“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.

You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.

“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”

You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”

“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him. 

You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything. 

“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”

“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of. 

Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel? 

You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.

The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.

“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer. 

“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.

You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you. 

Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”

“Sorry, you just— you left this.”

When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.

Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”

“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”

You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.

“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.

“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”

“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”

“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”

You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”

“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”

“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.

She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.

“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”

“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”

“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes. 

If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are. 

Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it. 

“Well, thank you, Steve. That’s… That’s really nice.”

He shrugs again. “’S no big deal. Really.”

“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”

Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.

“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”

“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”

Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number. 

Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly. 

You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.

Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.

He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face. 

You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are. 

When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.

The handholding…

a little less conversation, a little more action, please

[rings bell frantically] CALLING ALL PPL WHO HAD BAD SEX EXPERIENCES!!! if that’s you, this is for u :D ! this has been in the drafts 4 months and i’m excited to set it free! enjoy! 8k words, fem!reader, oral (f receiving) MDNI THIS ENTIRE BLOG IS 18+

You think you might be the only person your age in the whole of Hawkins who doesn’t seem to get the hype.

Couples have been caught all over in the act. At the drive-in cinema, in the back of the cinema, hell, even beneath the bleachers at school — tongues down each other's throats and pants around their ankles, so caught up in each other that they don’t care about consequences. That it’s that good, that it’s worth the risk. 

Sex. 

You just don’t get it.

Once upon a time, one boyfriend ago, before you’d ever experienced it, there had been an inkling of eagerness within you. Curiosity twined in with piqued interest, you wondered eagerly about when you’d find someone who’d show you all about why sex got its reputation. 

And then you had it— with Samuel Cosgrove in his twin bed when his parents were out of town, 3 weeks into dating him. Your expectations crumbled. 

You decided quickly that everyone must be lying if that was what you were supposed to be looking forward to. It wasn’t… sexy. You didn’t feel sexy having it either.

It only left you feeling somewhat awkward and a bit foolish, with Samuel trying to ruck your shirt up even though you had asked to keep it on. Embarrassment crept in easily at how you seemed to be half a step behind him the whole time, not quite warmed up, not quite sure if this was the mood, not quite ready to take all your clothes off. 

The springs on his bed were loud and squeaked with every shift of weight. The whole thing sort of hurt more than anything.

You chalked it up to the first time, dredging together your hopes even as they rapidly deflated inside you, cemented by Samuel’s sloppy kiss that missed your mouth and landed wetly on the corner of your lips when he finished. 

His sweat stuck to your skin and you didn’t feel sexy, or good, or relieved or anything else the dozen Cosmo magazines under your bed promised you would. 

Next time, you said to yourself. You had even confided in your close friend, admitting to the underwhelming experience, and asked quite plainly when it ‘got good’. 

“The first time always sucks!” She’d assured you, her voice a hushed whisper over the diner table.“Trust me, the first, like, three times totally suck.” 

You didn’t mean to but, subconsciously, three became the number to reach— get through the first three terrible times, and… all would be peachy in paradise. 

And so when the next time was… underwhelming, you weren’t exactly surprised. Worse, was how it wasn’t anything Samuel did but what he said that stuck with you long after he’d drifted off on your sheets. Lying in the cradle of your hips, Samuel had traced his hand up your legs and then frowned, yanking his hand back. You had startled, propping up quickly to ask him what it was. 

“You’re spiky,” he said, chuckling in a mean way. You could feel your chest ache pathetically at his words and you instinctively tried to curl your legs in, wanting to hide them away. So what if they were? It was the middle of winter and he’d surprised you, showing up at your window to sneak in. 

When the fourth time happened and disappointment weighed heavy on you again, you deduced the truth. Sex was some big scam- some stupid joke that everyone was in on and just pretending to enjoy. 

It was easier to blame sex if only so you didn’t blame yourself. But… it niggles in the back of your brain, a line-up of indisputable facts that all point to the same thing. That, maybe sex isn’t the problem — but you are. 

And, look, it’s not really a problem when you’re not dating or seeing anyone.

… Enter Steve Harrington.

Admittedly, Steve was not someone you thought you would ever date. Or maybe it was the other way around, that you thought that Steve would ever date you.

His reputation as a bit of a player was as far from something you were interested in, especially considering your feelings towards sex, but… he had sort of proven you wrong every chance possible.

One month of dates and it’s been no more than holding hands and kisses on cheeks. You’ve kissed him properly, of course, once or twice, but lest you give him the wrong idea, they hadn’t been much more than a quick kiss. Steve still seemed to glow afterward, no matter what. 

It made you feel good. Safe. Warmed you to know he was happy with whatever affection you felt ready to bestow, and never pushed for more. 

You could tell he wanted it. It was hidden in the flex of his fingers and even the not-so-subtle adjusting of his pants when he’d invited you over for a dip in his pool. You’d shown up in your bathing suit— and it was the most amount of skin Steve had ever seen from you and it did not go underappreciated. He had been touchy, hands skirting up your sides, but still respectful. 

And strangely enough, you find yourself… wanting it too. 

Wanting for his touch, thinking about letting your own hands wander across his skin to find what makes him sigh, makes him groan in pleasure, what might make him whine. It surprises you, the ferocity of your eagerness, how it presses your thighs together tightly and licks pure arousal up your spine — even when Steve’s not even trying. 

(He was, you just didn’t know it. Steve knows exactly when girls seem to be looking at his arms and he’s unashamed to say he will flex his muscles and pretend he hasn’t. Robin has caught him doing this several times.) 

And today has been nothing short of wonderful. 

A balmy Saturday which you found yourself swept up in Steve’s company over at his house, laziness fuelled by the golden sun rays of the day. 

You weren’t even doing anything in particular, just enjoying being near each other. You had stretched out on a pool lounger with a book in your hand for the most part and it was with giddy delight that Steve seemed more than chuffed to just lay beside you, sizzling in the sun and then occasionally cooling off in the pool. 

Which is a spectacle all in itself. 

The sight of his chest gives you one or two steamy ideas, especially as it drips with water when he pushes up on the edge of the pool. His biceps bulge deliciously as you peer over the edge of your book, not as subtlety as you might think. You honestly don’t even mind if he catches you staring, not when this is your view. 

Your eyes trace the sparkling drops of water as they roll down his chest tantalizingly slow, through the chest hair between his pecs, down, down, trailing down his happy trail— fuck, okay, he totally caught you staring. 

Your eyes dart back up to his face to find Steve’s already looking at you, his eyes holding a playful mirth to them. His smile looks just a little bit cheeky. Bastard. 

Water splatters on the tiles where he walks as he pads over to collect his towel bunched on the end of the lounger beside your own.

“Good book?” He asks sweetly.

He says it as he scrubs the towel over his face, drying it off and then starting on his hair— he gives it a quick rub over rapidly so that when he pulls the towel away, his hair is sticking up in every direction. He holds the towel to his chest and gives his head a quick shake, like a dog, shaking out the extra water.

When he looks up at you again, beginning to towel dry his bare chest, you realise you haven’t even attempted to answer his question. 

“Book.” You echo. Steve chuckles a little bit and it kickstarts your embarrassment, finally remembering to say something else. You hold the book up to gesture with it, “Yes! It’s good, it’s…” 

Steve’s resumed drying himself and you find your words leaving you as the towel drags down his tummy, leading your eyes with it. Your mouth feels suspiciously dry. Want. You want him.

“It’s…?” 

He’s teasing you again. You startle, wondering if he’s purposefully trying to put on a sensual towel-drying show for you. You’re surprised to find you’re actually glad that he is. 

It feels like another subtle way to affirm all his affections for you without all of the touchiness you’ve yet to reach with him — come and get me, it’s like he’s saying, if you want. 

You snap your book shut. “It’s too hot to be reading, I think.” 

Steve frowns in his worry and steps forward, closer to you. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead lightly. “You feelin’ too warm? Y’gotta careful being out here too long if you aren’t gonna swim.” 

He sounds on the concerned side but there’s a touch of cheek in his voice too, like he knows why you haven’t turned the page for the last 5 minutes. It stokes the firey feeling that’s beginning to burn in your gut. A smile curls at your lips and you huff a little laugh, leaning back and batting his hand away from your forehead. 

“Yes, mom.” You jest, hand falling back onto the lounger. You lean back onto it to get a better view of him. “I’m not too hot.” 

Steve grins. “Oh, I would say the opposite. You are, in fact,” He leans in closer, one hand coming up to push some hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, fingertips on the edge of your jaw. “Very hot.” 

You couldn’t stop your reaction if you tried— which you do try, some sputtering cough with a duck of your head as you feel your body flush hotly at his words. His forwardness is something you’re still getting used to.

Just as you’re about to stumble through a poorly constructed sentence, Steve saves you— reaching over to grab his rumpled t-shirt and pulling it over his head. A small, disappointed, part of you wilts. You catch yourself from being so obvious, scooping up your bookmark and stuffing it in a random page. 

Steve offers his hand out for you to take. “C’mon, we both need some water I think.” 

You ponder if there’s a second meaning to his words as you trail along beside him, letting him lead you back through the sliding glass doors that open to the kitchen with your intertwined hands. Steve gives your hand a quick squeeze before he drops it to open the fridge, peering inside. You lean back against the counter, arms folding loosely over your front and allow yourself to look at him. 

Your boyfriend. It sounds even a bit strange in your head and you know if you tried to say it aloud, it would get caught on the way out, tripping over your teeth. Calling him your boyfriend cements all those expectations you worry so much about… even though, not-so-secretly, you revel in the fact thats he’s your boyfriend. 

“Thinking hard over there, I can see,” Steve comments teasingly and you blink, realising he’s already looking at you. He must have asked you a question and you missed it. 

“What?” 

Steve laughs a bit, pink lips pulled into a slight smirk. He shakes the bottle in his hands a little bit, bringing your attention to it. “Did you want to try some of this? I think it’s sparkling and…” 

He trails off, pulling the bottle closer to his face to scan over the front of it. You can’t help but think the furrow in his brows as he reads is adorable. He hums, obviously not finding what he’s after, and flips the bottle over. 

“…raspberry flavour?” He finishes, looking up at you, brows raised. He gives a little shrug. “That sound nice?” 

You think about it for a moment and then shake your head. Steve laughs in agreement and places ii back in the fridge, some mumble about his mom leaving it here the last time she visited home. He turns back to the fridge still rummaging. “Okay, anything in particular you want?” 

You are thirsty but… your stomach swoops as you realise it’s for something else altogether. If you want it though, you’ll have to ask. 

“Maybe, a kiss?” 

Steve freezes for an instant, then he whips around like he’s not entirely sure he’s heard correctly. The fridge door clatters loudly and he quickly grabs it, stopping the rattling bottles and looking mighty flushed when he shoots you a grin. 

“A kiss?” He checks. He lets go of the fridge doors to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, too aware of his own unsubtle eagerness. “I heard that right, didn’t I?” 

A nervous chuckle scrapes out your throat but you nod. You uncross your arms but can’t settle them, crossing them again nervously as Steve comes closer. His brown eyes scan your face intently, searching to make sure he’s getting every signal right. 

When you smile assuredly, Steve sighs in relief and his shoulders drop an inch. He smiles too, his hand reaching up to hold your faces cupping your cheek. His strokes across your cheekbone as he talks. “Oh, thank god. I was beginning to think, maybe, you just weren’t into kissing me.” 

Then he leans in— and you hold your breath without meaning to. 

The thing is, Steve is a good kisser. A very very good kisser and even your strange gaspy noise as you try to remember to breathe is not enough to ruin the kiss. His plush lips capture yours and have you feeling as hot as the day, a heat blooming in your chest and spreading like wildfire. Your fingers flex at your sides. 

You push up on your toes without even thinking, to steal more of his touch, and when Steve breaks the kiss, you’re embarrassed to find yourself chasing his lips. You clear your throat and avert your eyes, sinking back down— embarrassed at showing how much you’d melted under a single kiss. 

You just don’t realise how it looks to Steve. 

“You do… right?” 

Your head pops up, eyes widening as you try to comprehend his question. 

“Like… kissing you?” You ask meekly, more embarrassed that he’s asking for confirmation. Embarrassed that you’d somehow been overly eager and also convinced him of the opposite in one kiss. God, maybe there is something wrong with you. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, pulling back a little further from you— like he needs physical space in case you say something absurd like ‘no.’ 

Your hands react faster than your mind, reaching to grab his shoulders to stop him from putting space between you. 

“Yes!” You say loudly. You try to rein in your embarrassment for his sake, swallowing your nerves which feel thick and swollen in your throat. “Yes, I like kissing you. It’s just, I’m… I’m worried.” 

How do you say this? How can you explain that you’ve been so afraid of your kisses going a few steps further because then- then when things get heated and Steve’s expecting things, you have to explain that — that what? 

That you’re not really sure if you even like sex, or maybe that it just doesn’t seem to work for you or — or that there’s probably just something wrong with you that means you can’t figure out how the hell to relax and enjoy sex- and that it’s not his fault but probably totally yours but— 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve cuts into your spiralling thoughts, having seen the dilemma spilled across your face. “Stop thinking what you’re thinking and just, like, take a breather.” 

He places his hand on his chest and mimes a deep inhale. You copy him without thinking, chest rising and falling in sync with his, unable to look at him for a moment. When you find the courage to dredge your eyes up to his face, his eyes are soft and his brows have knitted together in concern. 

“Good.” He praises, hand falling off his chest to rub gently at your arm. “Okay, now instead of doing all that worrying up there just… tell me what’s worrying you. Please?” 

Part of you want to huff and hide, to make him really pry so you know that he means it. It’s dramatic, you know — especially because he’s being so good at communicating. He’s asked outright. You try to put the words in the correct order. 

“Just… we haven’t— I haven’t kissed you a lot because I’m worried about what it might lead to.” You say quietly, eyes back to avoiding his gaze. You stare at his chest, the tuft of chest hair peeking out, and do your best to swallow the knot in your throat. 

“And I— I don’t want to disappoint you,” you admit, frustrated at how a familiar sting burns at the back of your eyes. “But I- just, in the times I’ve gone that far and— and slept with someone, I didn’t… I just didn’t like it. I didn’t enjoy it.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, proclamation out in the open, and try to take a deep breath— just like Steve had instructed mere moments ago. Courage gathered, you open your eyes and peer up at him again. 

“Oh,” Steve breathes. You can nearly see the cogs turning in his head, his eyebrows twitching as he takes in what you’ve said and what it means for the two of you. “Oh, well that’s okay. I mean, if you didn’t want to I would never—“ 

“—That’s not the thing.” You interrupt. “I want to. I do. I just…” Your voice trails off, taking on a  trembling whisper as you say the thing you’ve yet to say aloud yet, for fear of speaking it into existence. You can’t quite look at him, eyes focused on the kitchen tiles instead. 

“I think it’s me. I think— I’m worried there’s something wrong with me.” 

Your words hang in the air for a moment and Steve feels his worry shift into something deeper, something closer to devastation, as he realises how deeply you believe what you’ve said. 

You genuinely think there is— even thinking it makes him want to scoff aloud. He forces himself to focus on consoling you here and now, instead of riling himself up with thoughts of whatever— whoever lead you to your immense self-doubt. 

“Well, there’s not,” Steve says plainly. Like there’s no room for discussion— his hand drifting down your arm to gather your hands in his own. They get swallowed, his hands huge when compared to your own. 

“There’s nothing wrong— you- you could never disappoint me in that way.” 

Your eyes lift from the ground to his face, desperate to see if you can see the truth in his words. He can tell- fuck, he can already read you so well. 

“Honest,” He insists, giving your hands a quick squeeze. “I promise you, okay? I- if I was disappointed over something like that it would be- that would be such a dick move.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first.” You mutter bitterly. 

The words slip out without entirely meaning to; you aren’t trying to start a pity party but how are you supposed to explain why you think the way you do? How can you explain why you’re so worried about taking it further? Deep down, you know he deserves to know. 

Steve’s eyes widen for a moment, your words sinking in and cutting as they go. He doesn’t want to think about you sleeping with other people, for all the jealous reasons, but mainly because everything he’s learned today is that nobody has taken proper care of you. 

It twists his heart thinking of some fucking idiot not taking his time with you, not getting you comfortable— so that you get to this point, embarrassed, avoiding his eyes, and so entirely convinced that you’re the problem. 

“Look,” Steve says softly. His hands squeeze yours again and he tries to think of how best to say this. “If we never sleep together, I don’t care.” 

That catches your attention, your head jerking up to look at him — what? That has never even been an option with dating someone. Not in your mind, at least. You find yourself reeling, fumbling for words but Steve just keeps talking. 

“If you don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,” Steve shrugs, like that’s all there is to it.

“There’s nothing wrong if it’s not really your thing.” Another squeeze to your hands. You look up at him, aware you must look a picture of bewildered — there were a thousand ways you imagined this conversation going and this was not one of them. 

A smile pulls on his lips as he chuckles a bit, eyes falling to your conjoined hands. “Hell, for all we know I’d add to your disappointing experiences.” 

You laugh quietly but it’s saturated in fondness. He’s taking jabs at himself to make you feel better. 

“Hardly likely, considering the rumours I’ve heard about you,” You murmur lowly. You find it in yourself to squeeze his hands back, peering back up at him. Steve’s brows rise and he grins. 

“Oh? And just what rumours are we talking about?” He teases. 

“Shut up,” You say, no heat behind it in the slightest. Your chest is starting to feel lighter and lighter as the reality of his words sink in. “You know what they say about you.” 

Steve grins wider. “That I slept with Mrs. Click just to pass her class?” 

“What?” You wrinkle your nose at the horrid picture of your old English teacher with your boyfriend. “No! Did people really say that about you?” 

Steve’s grin fades, edging towards jaded. He gives a soft sigh, tilting his head back an inch. “People say everything and it all means nothing unless it’s coming from the right person.” 

He wriggles a hand free from your unaware tightening holding to brush his knuckles against your cheek tenderly. A piece of hair flops over his forehead, curling back upwards, and the buzz of cicadas fills the empty noise around you.

“So, I don’t know if some asshole told you or you just think that you’re wrong, but…” Steve inhales, his eyes darting between yours. 

The brown in them is intense, holding you fixed beneath his heavy gaze. “If— just you said you want to so, we can try and- and we can go slow and I’ll stop the moment you want to, okay? For whatever reason.” 

You feel a strange bubble of hope churn in your gut. It feels too good to be true. 

“…You’re sure?” 

“M’sure,” Steve nods. “Even for something as small as you don’t like the way my dick looks or—“ 

A laugh startles out of you and you shake your head. “I meant more about stopping but good to know anyways.” You pause a moment. “…Should I be worried?” 

You’re teasing. Steve delights in it, his own voice slipping that little bit lower— his knuckles on your cheek swiping across, down your jaw, til he lingers near your neck. 

“Why don’t you find out?” 

The hunger in your tummy returns with a new heat, rivalling the day. You suddenly feel nervous again, a roll of nerves turning over, but this time it feels far closer to anticipation. The kiss you’ve been yearning to give him, hot and messy, burns up inside you and when you rise on your toes, Steve meets you in the middle. 

Your lower back presses against the counter as Steve leans into you, his mouth slotted against yours. One kiss snowballs into another, and another, the fervency growing as you let yourself give into your desire. Your hands on his shoulders shift, trailing down to feel up the chest you’ve been gawking at all day.

Steve lets out a quiet grunt as your nails dig in and his other hand finds your waist, tugging you to press against his body — his other hand slides into your hair, clutching the strands loosely. You sigh into his mouth, nerves still alight beneath your skin but the way they buzz makes you feel good. Steve makes you feel good. 

Right as his hand scrapes along your lower back, heading lower, you’re both startled by the loud beep! that sounds in the kitchen. At the same time you peer around him, Steve turns and gives a sheepish chuckle, seeing the fridge door still ajar from when he’d been fishing around inside. 

He steps away from you, pushing the doors closed gently. Turning back, your chest swells with pride seeing the effect you’re already having on him; red lips, shiny with spit and a faint ruby colour in the apples of his cheeks. Steve smiles, boyish and charming. 

“Do you wanna keep—“ 

“—yes.”

You’re not going to squander this chance, not going to waste the days' chemistry when there’s still that tiny worry niggling in the back of your brain that today is all a fluke. That Steve’s words might just be an offer, something else that wouldn’t be a first for you. 

Steve grins. He holds out his hand and you intertwine yours with him, letting him lead you. Your stomach swoops as he takes you out the kitchen and heads for the stairs, checking back on you with a quick glimpse. You do your best to show him your excitement instead of your nerves. You’re not sure you succeed. 

Squeezing his hand does the trick for a final reassurance. Steve resumes leading you up the stairs, taking a familiar turn towards his bedroom, beginning to talk softly as he does. 

“Remember, anytime, anything you don’t like, just say the word.” 

You both pause, standing in his room and you swallow the doubts that try to claw back up your throat. Giving a sly glance at him, you smile coyly and wiggle your hand out from his. Trailing backwards to his bed, you pretend to think about it, til your thighs hit the edge of the bed. 

“Hmm… well,” You begin, a touch of sultriness dipping into your voice. “I don’t like… that you’re still wearing your shirt.” 

Before you, Steve huffs a silent laugh, that handsome smile gracing his lips as he ducks his head. He doesn’t disappoint though, his arms reaching up behind his head to shuck his shirt off in one fluid motion.

He chucks it aside thoughtlessly and where it lands doesn’t even matter — your eyes are fixed on his chest. His bare chest that you’ve been given permission to properly ogle at. You swear you feel your mouth salivate a bit. 

“Should've known this would go first, considering the way you were drooling outside,” Steve remarks cockily, folding his arms loosely. It makes his biceps bulge and you swallow again, this time nothing to do with nerves. 

“I wasn’t drooling,” You defend weakly, beginning to fidget with the hem of your own shirt. “I was admiring, okay? There’s a difference.” 

Steve saunters over slowly as you talk, steps slow and measured. He’s smirking by the time he’s before you, so close you can feel the heat of him. “Uh huh. Totally, sweetheart, I believe you. Need help with this?” 

His hand has reached out, fingers pinching the same hem you’re fiddling with. You nod slowly, “Yes, please.” 

Steve’s smirk fades into something sweeter and he grabs the hem with two hands, beginning to ruck it up gently, his eyes locked on yours — you raise your arms when it starts to get caught, holding your gaze to his until the fabric intersects. Your arms drop and you push away the urge to wrap them around your middle. 

Steve drops your shirt much more gently than his own but his eyes are still entirely on you. There’s a shine of awe in them now, flicking up at down the newly exposed skin. 

The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shy away but you chose bravery instead, reaching out to grab his side. Steve jumps, barely an inch, and before you even get a chance to question, he’s smiling. “Y’got cold hands, honey.” 

He draws them up to his mouth, laying soft kisses across your knuckles. Heat flushes through you and you melt beneath it, lowering yourself back on the bed. Steve follows eagerly, still kissing at your hands. He kneels between your legs and when he finally drops your hands from his, it’s to reach out and cup your jaw. 

“Keep breathing,” He murmurs quietly, eyes dancing in amusement. You hadn’t even realise you had been holding your breath. You realise it in one big exhale and this time, when you reach for him, you actually succeed in tugging him closer. You tumble backward into his sheets and Steve comes with you, his forearms planted on either side of you and his body pressed up against yours. 

“I don’t like…” You say, continuing the bit from earlier, your voice quiet and still tinged with a poorly hidden nervousness. “That you keep waiting to kiss me.” 

Steve’s brows hike up an inch but his smile hides his surprise easily, his entire face glowing a bit brighter. He looks fucking gorgeous bathed in the buttery sunlight, even though it’s just beginning to fade towards darkness behind the curtains. 

You stare unabashedly up at him, marvelling at his features that are etched in with adoration for you. You follow down the strong line of his nose, along the soft arches in his eyebrows, the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that he has from smiling. 

You study the swell of his cupids bow perched above his pink lips and each of the moles dotted all over your favourite face— and think to yourself it’s not fucking fair that he looks like this. Like he’s been carved from marble and cast in gold. 

Thank God he’s yours. 

He doesn’t disappoint you — his lips finding yours and kissing you deeply, his chest brushing your own. Your entire body seems to sigh at the touch, tingling with anticipation — you’ve been overdue for all these kisses for far too long and it seems once you’ve gotten started, it feels impossible to stop.

You kiss needily, your hands moving off his midriff to drift up to his jawline. You cradle it gently, your lips a little less gentle- you try to remember how to do this, how to nip at his lips teasingly, how to soothe them with your tongue. 

Slowly, Steve’s body weight lowers onto you as he focuses more and more on figuring out what you seem to like. Time melts like candle wax and you feel as goopy as it too, all warm and pliable, softened by his kisses. Heat begins to simmer in your gut. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing when Steve pulls away, his mouth cherry red and his face flushed. 

His fingers slip beneath the strap of your bra, toying with it but nothing more. He checks over your face as he asks, “Wanna take this off?” 

You nod, breathlessly. Up til now, it’s been easy to turn off your brain and let all your thoughts revolve around getting kissed absolutely stupid by Steve. 

But as his hands work deftly beneath you, unclipping the strap of your bra and beginning to tug it down, you feel the first worry creep in — this is usually when your panties follow, then his boxers, and then the expectations. Even with all your enjoyment, you know that if he tries now, you won’t be ready. 

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, mingling with your insecurity and you squirm a bit, trying to think of how to tell Steve without disappointing him. 

You’re so sick of disappointing people for something you can’t seem to help. 

Steve notices your squirming. His head shoots up to meet your gaze, a furrow back in his brow. “Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on?” 

“I…” Words die on your tongue easily, a war happening inside your throat as you debate what to say. You like him— you really like him and don’t want this to end and… he told you he wants you to tell the truth. 

“I don’t… I’m not—“ Your whisper climbs in volume alongside your frustration. “Steve, this isn’t working.” 

The wrinkle between his brow deepens and it’s not a comforting sight. Steve shifts a bit, his hand moving from the straps of your bra up to your face. He pushes back a few stray locks of hair, eyes sincere. 

“Not working?” He murmurs, “Baby, we’ve only just started.” 

You blink up at him once, twice. Your mouth opens and then closes again. 

You know that but you also know how this goes. Well, you think you know— so why do you suddenly feel so foolish? 

“Oh.” You say shyly. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and try to ignore feeling like you’ve just ruined the mood. 

Steve takes it all in his stride, nothing but a twitch in his furrows brows as he takes in your embarrassed expression. He leans down, and kisses your neck, then your collarbone. His lips trail down, down, slow and sensual. Your bra scraps down your arms, tossed aside absentmindedly.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers into your skin. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” You echo, a bit breathier as Steve's kisses scrape down your breast. Your nipples peak to attention.

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking— his hands paw greedily at your back which arches eagerly into his kisses. Steve drags his mouth off, beginning to mouth softly down your breast til his plush lips kiss at your sternum. 

“M’sorry that nobody has ever taken care of you before.”

You squirm beneath him at his words, a warm flush washing through your body as desire spins up inside you. Steve continues as if he hasn’t turned your whole view inside-out— his hand shifting up to thumb at your nipple as he takes your nipple back between his lips. 

“Steve…” you sigh out. 

He’s kneading your body in just the right way, the sensitivity of your chest fuelling the pool of heat growing deep in your stomach. You feel your thighs clench together, hips shifting up instinctively. You haven’t been touched like this before and fuck, it’s a lot. 

“I know, honey.” He says lowly, voice muffled against your skin. He suckles at your nipple and just nips at it, a flash of teeth, enough to make you arch further. Your eyes slip shut and you push your chest further out. 

To your disappointment, Steve pulls back instead. Your eyes open, neck craning to look at him, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths.

“Y’tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, alright?” 

Somehow, the heat in your gut flares that much hotter — knowing that there’s love behind every motion. You scramble for threads of courage and hold them tightly. Then you bend your legs until you can slide them around his waist, ankles crossing and tugging him closer. His cock, straining in his pants, presses flush against your core, and at the same time you inhale, Steve stutters out a groan. 

“I’ll tell you.” You say, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to hold back your grin. It melts away as Steve shifts against you purposefully, one of his hands dropping to hold your hip. The hard length of him grinds against your cunt, catching the angle of your clit in a way that makes you mewl beneath him. 

Steve kisses your breast again but your hands are already reaching for him— fingers cupping his jaw to tug him up. Your lips capture his and this time, when he rolls his hips into yours, the soft noise you make is swallowed in his kiss. It’s fervent, your kisses gaining speed and mess. You tighten your ankles and experiment with your grind and are rewarded with a jagged moan from Steve. 

Faintly, you consider how it makes a little more sense now. That all those desperate motions of making out, rutting against each other, hot open-mouth kisses— fuck, if it was always like this, you get it. You feel like you’re on fire. 

A breeze flutters the curtains across the room, the only indication of time outside your little bubble. It’s far too easy to get lost in the motions— building up your lust until you’re sure the cotton between your legs is soaked through. It feels silly but god, even though you knew this was one of the things making all those past times so terrible, you had just assumed that’s how it would always be. 

The stickiness feels vulgar, your cunt pulsating with heat like you’ve never felt before. It just makes it all feel better though— the warm, hard heat of Steve’s cock, fitting snug between your folds. 

A pause in the makeout to catch your breath. You’re huffing wildly and Steve takes the moment of his undistracted attention to focus on the shorts you’re wearing. He doesn’t ask verbally this time but as he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband, his eyes flash up to yours in question. 

You wiggle your hips and Steve takes his cue, the fabric scraping against your skin as it slides down, down, down. To your surprise, Steve goes with them. He gets halfway down the bed, his head aligned with your belly, hands kneading at the flesh of your boobs before he halts. 

“I wanna try something,” He says, looking up at you. He dots a quick kiss onto your skin as he does, not breaking eye contact. “And I think you’re gonna really love it.” 

He drags out the word really, his voice low enough that it rumbles, nearly a purr. 

“It involves a little bit of this.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss into your navel. He kisses nice and slow, the plushness of his lips scraping across the stretch of skin. 

You shiver a little, feeling how your thighs part instinctively and Steve smiles wickedly, seeing the motion. 

“A little—“ He travels further down, his hands sliding to hold the outside of your thighs. He grips the skin and urges it to spread wider— then takes a greedy fat lick along your inner thigh. “—of this.” 

You squirm. It’s unnerving in the best way, having someone so dedicated to making you feel good— but Steve’s face betrays no hint of insincerity. In fact, if you had to guess, you’d say he even looks excited. 

His large tan hands cover your hips, slender fingers curved atop your thighs to keep them pried open. You’re expecting the next question to be getting the final scrap of clothing off you— a mixture of nerves and excitement at the vulnerability that comes with taking them off. 

He doesn’t though. Drawing a line with the tip of his nose, he nuzzles down from the inside of your knee to your thigh, the warmth of his breath fanning across sensitive skin. He kisses your cunt, once, soft. You twitch, a sweet noise pushing past your lips. 

Steve does it again. This time, his lips part and you feel his tongue press through the soaked cotton of your panties — he kisses again, harder, moving over your clit with his tongue. This time you moan and feel your hips tip up to chase his mouth, surprising yourself. 

Fuck, when have you ever been this wet before? The cotton between your legs is sticky and it only gets messier with Steve’s every lick. The duvet crinkles beneath you as you sigh and sink into it, the low throb of pleasure curling up in your gut. 

“Steve,” you sigh his name like it’s a prayer. 

He hums against your core, his fingers gliding beneath the elastic of your panties but not pulling them down just yet. His hot mouth drops lower, his nose pressing into you at the perfect angle. Your breathy exhale is lilted with moans. 

“See?” He murmurs, so low you nearly don’t hear him. 

“S’Nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Y’just needed…“ His fingers grip your panties and begin to pull and you aid him quickly with a lift of your hips. “…someone to take a little more care with you.” 

Any fear of vulnerability is whirled far away; you need his mouth back on you, like, yesterday. Especially when Steve groans. Like the sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his cock ache. Your tummy heats further at the thought. 

His hands re-situate, soothing up to your tummy before sliding back down to grasp the tops of your thighs again. He pulls them open wider. 

Pure fire streaks through your nerves, a sweltering pleasurable burn twisting in your gut as Steve’s tongue licks through your folds in one bold stroke. Your hips try to twitch forward but his hands are already there, holding them down. 

There’s one more pause, one soft curse of adoration, as his nose nuzzles along the soft skin of your inner thigh. You feel unbearably warm in his sheets, heat pulsating and dancing beneath your skin. 

“Steve,” you whisper his name again, urging him gently. “Please.” 

“I got you,” He murmurs in response.  “You don’t gotta say please with me,” He hums lowly, then kisses right on your clit, languid and warm, his tongue swirling around it deftly. You cry out softly. 

He drags his mouth off you and if you looked down, you’d see the soft sheen of your slick on his rosy lips. “I wanna give you everything you want.” 

You gasp as he finally puts his mouth on you properly, pleasure dribbling through your core as he suckles on your clit. He’s killer with his tongue, twisting it and flattening it against your bud in a way that has you squirming. The sheets scrunch in your frenzied grip. 

For the first time, you understand why pornos even sound like that— taking a moment to realise the whiney gaspy noise you’re hearing is coming from you. 

“Oh god,” You whine prettily. “That’s— uh— fuck, that’s really good.” 

Between your thighs, you hear and feel the moan Steve gives back. Your thighs are twitching, torn between trying to keep them apart or warm your boyfriend's ears. Your hips are moving, subtle grinds up into Steve’s face and he takes it all appreciatively. He sucks and slurps, tongue dragging down your folds to toy at your clenching hole— making you squeal. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back for a moment. His voice is doused in arousal. “You’re so wet.” 

Heat plumes low in your tummy as he dives back in, a groan echoing from his throat. The coil in your gut tightens, winding tighter and tighter. Your chest heaves as your voice melts away until everything you say is a whimpery little “yes, yes, yes,” and Steve’s name. 

His huge hands are still pressing your thighs apart but one shifts suddenly, barely noticeable in your mounting euphoria, until it’s tapping at your hand fisted in the sheets. 

You lift your head, confused, and peer down at him. 

It’s a mistake. His hand is resting on the bed in front of your own, propped up and fingers spread. It's clear he wants to hold your hand. Chest heaving and still lightly moaning, your eyes dart from his hand to his face — and that’s the mistake. 

He’s fucking beautiful. Hair mussed, rosy-cheeked, and dark-eyed, Steve can only hold eye contact for a moment before his eyelids slip shut as he moans against your cunt. Fire blooms under your skin, coil turned tighter and together. He wants to hold your hand. Your fingers just manage to tangle with Steve’s, holding tight, as you tip over the edge with a cry. 

It’s intense — jagged waves of pleasure that ride through every nerve in your body and have you nearly overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. Incoherent babbling whines pour from your mouth. Your thighs lock up, beating Steve’s strong hold now that he’s down to just one hand, and close around his head. He moans in response, his tongue never letting up, licking and sucking at your cunt fervently. 

And he holds your hand the whole way through. 

You feel thoroughly flattened by the time your orgasm tapers off, your legs relaxing and flopping tiredly against the bed. Vaguely, you’re aware you should apologise for likely cutting off his oxygen flow for a good couple of seconds there but you’re too out of breath yourself to do so. 

Your chest rises and falls and a sweet contentment settles into your skin. You feel happy, loved. Without meaning to, an awed laugh titters out of you. 

Then another, and another. You can’t seem to stop laughing, a gleeful silly joy as you release his hand to bury your face in your own. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. Then, slightly louder. “Holy shit, Steve.” 

You hear him laugh and the sheets crinkle — and then he’s in your field of vision, hovering over you with an adoring grin on his face. His lips are still so pink and there’s a shine on his chin. He wipes it away absentmindedly, focused on you. 

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He says, genuine and not at all cocky. He settles down, one arm on either side of your chest. One of his hands sweeps over your face sweetly. 

You nod, tucking your bottom lip behind your teeth to constrain your grin. 

“Uh huh,” you say, voice all gooey. “I didn’t—“ 

You pause. “I thought— and then you— and Oh my Goddd.” You cover your face with your hands again, groaning exaggeratedly as you try to roll over and melt away into his bed sheets. 

“See? I told you it wasn’t you,” Steve says, peppering little kisses where he can reach. He kisses your shoulder, along the side of your face. He coaxes you out gently, pressing your shoulder to roll you onto your back. You face him properly.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” He reminds you. You’ve never been so happy to be wrong. You nod, hair scrunching against the pillow behind you. 

“Okay,” You say, with a small smile, finally believing it. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” 

Steve’s stare is glowing with fondness and the next moment, he’s lurching forward to press his mouth to yours. You kiss back greedily and lazily all at once.

He pulls back and you hate how the thought comes to you, unbidden; the smallest wrinkle creasing between your brows. 

“But,” You begin, voice small. “That wasn’t sex though.” 

Steve’s head tilts an inch, like an adorably confused puppy. “What do you mean? That was sex.” 

“What? That was— that was like second base.”

Steve huffs a laugh, though not directed at you. His gaze shifts above your head as he chooses his words. “Uhh, sure, if we were still in high school. But even then, that’s still sex. We just had some sex.” 

Stating it so plainly, you can’t help how it makes you giggle a bit. Steve rolls his eyes, even though you can tell he’s entirely endeared. 

“We just had sex,” You repeat his words, eyes bright and grin growing. “And I really enjoyed it.” 

Steve laughs loudly and steals a quick kiss from you. Holding up his hand, he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Just had sex high-five?” He jokes. 

You slap your hand against his anyways, twisting your fingers to hold onto his hand as you let them fall to the bed. Steve beams, cuddling in closer, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your own. 

Turns out, you might be starting to get the whole big deal around sex after all. 

boyfriend

steve harrington x gn!reader - fake dating - fluff & sexual tension - 2.3k words

best friend steve harrington plays your boyfriend for the evening

Steve was an exceptionally good friend. Who else would’ve agreed to your favor without any protest? Sure, he mulled it over for a bit when you broached the topic with him. Nodded as he pivoted away to continue checking customers out at the desk. Idly stacked the videos and typed away on the computer. 

“Will you be my boyfriend for the night?”

“Yeah, okay.” He leaned back against the counter and shrugged. “I’ll play your little boy toy.”

“Friend. Boyfriend, okay? It’s just for the evening.” You gave him a tight smile. “It’s just every time I go out with these friends, it’s always brought up how I’m still single and I just need a breather.”

“You could always tell them to shut it.” 

“I’ll pick you up at seven, Steve.”

“Nuh-uh.” Steve pointed a finger at you, a stern look on his face. “If I’m playing boyfriend, I’m playing a good boyfriend. Okay? I’m picking you up. Seven o’clock, sharp. Got it?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out as you conceded without argument, backing out of the video store with your hands up. 

“Fine, fine, Harrington. I’ll see you at seven sharp.” Steve was there exactly at seven, banging on the top of his car when you were already walking outside to greet him. He looked personally offended you’d stopped him from knocking on your door–as if your friends were there to see this portion. You couldn’t stop laughing as you climbed into his passenger seat, smacking his arm when he started on a tangent about how he was going to play every part of being your fake boyfriend and he was going to play it with fervor. Even down to the little things like getting you at your door. 

“Oh yeah, then where are my flowers?” 

“Flowers suck to hold when they’re given before the date, dingus. Alright, you give them on a date when you’re not going somewhere immediately after, especially when you have to go sit through a dinner.”

“Did you just call me a dingus?” 

“You–Hey, listen. That’s not the point.” Steve sighed and shifted to sit straighter in his seat, but he lost all his steam when he glanced over and saw you grinning in amusement at him. “I hate you.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you did.” You leaned over as much as you could and dropped your head against his arm. “Thank you again, by the way.”

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged you off, but the soft smile he always seemed to have was there. “Should we set any ground rules or anything?”

“Ground rules?”

You checked your reflection in his mirror and cocked a brow. The restaurant wasn’t far from your neighborhood, but Steve was taking his sweet time driving there. You had no complaints, though, not as his radio let out a low hum of catchy music. You bobbed your head and tapped your foot to the beat. 

“Yeah, I mean like–okay. They’re going to think I’m your boyfriend, so they’ll probably expect me to do some like…boyfriend things. But I don’t want to cross any boundaries. So.” He threw his hand in your direction. “Ground rules.” 

“Oh.” You sat back. You hadn’t even thought about that. But you didn’t exactly have the luxury to come up with some sort of list to run off to Steve. “I don’t know. I trust you. Do whatever you think will sell it. I’ll just follow your lead.”

Steve’s brow rose, dark eyes flickering over to you for a moment before pulling into the parking lot. He pursed his lips and nodded, wiping his hands on his lap as you watched his hair bounce. 

“Steve, I’m supposed to be the nervous one, not you.” You slid out of your seat, throwing your door open. Steve followed. “It’ll be fine. We don’t have to act any differently than normal.”

“Nah, it’s not…” Steve shook his head and held the restaurant door open for you. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s do this.”

His hand sliding into yours was the first moment your heart skipped a beat. It was a fairly harmless act as the two of you approached your friends. They were already engrossed in conversation at a big corner booth. 

Thankfully, your friends ran in a separate group from Steve Harrington. Yeah, they knew the name–anyone who’d gone to Hawkins High School did–but now he was known less as the heartthrob jock and more as one of your closest friends. And since all you’d said when you’d agreed to get together that you’d be bringing your partner along, when they all turned and saw Steve Harrington holding your hand, it wasn’t the heartthrob version. It was the best friend finally turned boyfriend. 

There were still a good amount of surprised expressions on their faces as you said your hellos. You reintroduced Steve before you took your seats, your cheeks burning hot as they continued to look between you and Steve. Particularly where his hand was intertwined with yours. Where it stayed like that after you slid into the booth and he leaned over to pointedly share a menu with you, his hand resting over yours holding the menu. 

“Now who’s nervous,” he murmured when the menu shook in your hold.

“Shut up, Harrington,” you snapped back and gripped the menu tighter. 

“Mhm.” He got close, and you felt his hair tickle your cheek. “Dingus.” 

It was a little difficult to fall into conversation, especially as Steve seemed to inch closer to you as the night went on. He even insisted on sharing sips of your drinks and bites of your meals. It was halfway through one sip of his soda that his arm dropped around your shoulders and he ran his fingers along your arm. You nearly choked on the drink, and Steve laughed as he leaned over. 

“You good there, babe?” His voice was a whisper in your ear, and it made an unexpected warmth tingle down your neck. 

“Fine,” you squeaked out in between coughs. “Sorry.”

Besides the unexpected tingling that came with Steve’s little touches as he played his part, the night was going well. It’d been the first night in a while where you actually enjoyed hanging out with the group. Not that you didn’t before–but you gravitated towards Steve and Robin for a reason. There was something infinitely more enjoyable about huddling up on the couch to watch a movie than being dragged out to get black-out drunk and dancing with strangers as they tried to get you laid. 

“Is this why you always turned down our blind dates?” Marcy, a girl you’d known since you were a kid, leaned forward and wiggled her eyebrows. “Been crushing on Harrington this whole time? Oh, don’t tell me you’ve been pining after him since he and Nancy got together.” 

“No,” you scoffed, cheeks getting hot again. “I didn’t even know Steve until senior year.” 

“Yeah, but you admired. I remember that. From afar.” 

Steve turned and looked at you. That was the one thing you’d never mentioned to him when you’d started being friends. Interdimensional beings kind of took priority and outweighed a little crush you had back in school. And it was awfully hard to not be embarrassed by it given that he was pretending to be your boyfriend. He would’ve already been privy to that if you were actually dating. 

The hand you had on your thigh tightened until your fingers dug painfully into you, and Steve threw a glance down. 

His next move was slow and calculated. 

“Had I not been so preoccupied back then, I’m sure it wouldn’t have taken as long for me to notice (Y/N),” he murmured as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over your neck and you tried not to suck in a sharp breath or have it hitch. But the feeling of his hair tickling your skin and the warmth of his mouth as he pressed a soft kiss just beneath your ear? It was too much. The hand on your leg moved to his, and you squeezed. “But it’s safe to say they’ve already forgiven me for my lack of awareness.”

Steve’s hand fell atop yours, and you swallowed hard as he pulled back. His arm stayed around your shoulders and he reached up, nudging your chin for you to look at him. At his perfectly charming face that held none of the nerves he’d had an hour ago in the car. His mouth curved into a heart-stopping smile as his eyes glanced down at your lips. Those pearly white teeth dug into his bottom lip, and he pitched forward, nudging your nose with his. 

His mouth brushed against yours with the most fleeting, teasing, ghost of a kiss. 

“Yeah,” you huffed out when he moved back. “I have.” 

You tried your damnedest, but there was no stopping your fingers from coming up and brushing your mouth. Steve shook a bit with stifled laughter as he turned back to face Marcy, but he contained most of it. Didn’t stop you from fixing your gaze on a random balled-up napkin on the table, fingers still touching your lips. 

The tingling on your mouth turned into fluttering as it traveled down towards your stomach. 

Turned into something far more complicated as it continued lower. 

“So, we’re going to be seeing a lot more of you then, Harrington?” 

You weren’t sure who said it; you weren’t really paying attention anymore. 

“I work weird hours right now, but just say the word. I’ll drop everything for (Y/N).” He hugged you closer and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Thanks for letting me tag along tonight. I enjoyed meeting you guys.”

You almost smacked Steve when the waiter came back, and you realized he’d covered your meal. But you didn’t. You didn’t do much of anything as you said your goodbyes and Steve laced his fingers with yours again. You trailed behind him a few steps as you went to his car, and he glanced over your shoulder as the rest of your group followed and parted. A few were parked a few cars down, and they walked towards it. 

You thought you were in the clear once you got back to Steve’s car, but as soon as he saw your friends, he stopped. He moved his hand from your door handle and it went to your hip, shoving you back and pushing a little oof from you. Your mind stalled as the cold metal drove through your clothes and Steve’s hand–so warm and soft–went to your cheek. 

It wasn’t the chaste kiss from the restaurant. He moaned as his mouth touched yours and you immediately forgot where you were, what you were doing, the fact that it was a show you were putting on. That forgetfulness had you kissing him back, and his tongue swiped against yours. His hips pushed forward, a knee slotting between yours, and his teeth nipped at your bottom lip. His chest rumbled as your fingers hooked through his belt loops and tugged him closer and the ounce of control that seemed to remain in the kiss was close to breaking. 

It lasted long enough for your friends to pull out of their spot and honk as they passed by. 

“Wanted to sell it,” he murmured when they were gone. His hands fell from you and he took a step back. 

His pupils were blown, cheeks pink, chest heaving, and lips puffy.. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, legs like jello as Steve reached forward and opened the car door. You fell into the seat as gracefully as one could after that. 

Steve was running his hand over his mouth as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. It was all soft music during the ride back. Soft music, a hint of static, and the faintest uneven breathing as you both recovered from the sudden kiss. 

Neither of you said a word until you were home.

“So, uh,” you started as Steve put the car into park outside your house. “Thanks for, uh, pretending. You know. Thanks.”

“Mhm.” He nodded, eyes on the steering wheel. “‘Course.”

“Steve.”

“Hm?” He looked up, his expression unreadable. 

“Uh, never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow at Robin’s for movie night.” 

You shoved the door open and climbed out. You were five steps from your door when you heard the car door jerk open and when you glanced behind you, Steve was standing. He looked out over your neighborhood before he tapped the top of the car a few times and met your gaze. 

“Robin’s closing tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You turned your house keys over in your fingers. “Another time then.”

“My parents are out of town for the weekend.” Even from far away, you could see his fingers fidgeting on the roof of the car. “If you wanted to...relocate it.”

It was definitely a dangerous territory but you couldn’t stop your heart from swelling and stuttering as Steve’s cheeks turned bright red. It traveled down his neck and he ran a hand through his hair, glancing elsewhere to try and hide it. 

“Yeah, I’m fine with that.”

“Great. Be at my place at eight.” He started to sit down and stopped, popping back up to give you one final look over. “It’s a date.”

Your teeth dug into your lip as you grinned, spinning your keys on your finger and backing up towards your front door. 

“It’s a date. See you tomorrow, Harrington.”

“Yeah.” He matched your grin and climbed back into his car. Loud enough for you to hear through the closed windows, he added, “see you tomorrow.”

You leaned your back against your front door as you watched him drive off. 

Maybe you should’ve given your friends a bit more credit–after all their failed setups, they’d inadvertently managed a successful one. 

Ha. And it was with Steve goddamn Harrington. 

never would have known | steve harrington x henderson!reader

REQUESTS USED:

Can I please have a Henderson reader x Steve Harrington where she has been friends with Steve since season 2 and he realizes he's in love with her, confesses his feelings and they get kind of intense/smutty? If you could do that, that would be awesome!!

i has this idea what if Dustin older sister was a rock and roll edgy kind of gal also a baddie. The point is Steve has seen her around in high school because she was a big deal when it comes to fighting and after high school he gets the crushies for her I hope you like that request !❤️

warnings: a little angsty I guess?, kinda steamy at the end

word count: 2.2K

a/n: this took forever so i’m sorry for the first requester mentioned since you requested a while ago, but it’s here! enjoy!

When Steve was falling in love with Dustin’s sister, it took him a while to realize it. It wasn’t an instantaneous, love at first sight type of thing that some people get. But more of something that happened so slowly at first, then it was something that happened to hit him with full force towards the end.

She had been pining after him for so long and was so close to giving up. He had only seen her as one of the kids or as another “nerd” that was associated with the party, she thought she was nothing more than a good, younger friend to him. Her hope had diminished when he got a job at Scoops Ahoy! because of his constant flirtation with any girl that would come in, which was egged on by Robin immensely. Every once in a while, she’d want to give up on him loving her. But then, he’d come in with a sweet comment or caring touch that would make her break again. To her, it seemed like a vicious cycle that would never stop.

To him, it seemed like she didn’t want him, so he kept his distance. Y/N was someone who would speak her mind typically, she wouldn’t let her feelings go unsaid for the most part. In school, he always saw her sticking up for herself or being the bold one to call other girls out. It was intimidating to Steve, but he knew that she would always speak her mind. It was different with him, though. She was scared of the feelings she felt for him, so her bold personality seemed to diminish into something smaller, sometime more timid when with him.

It was a rainy Friday afternoon in June when Steve finally came to his senses. He had picked up Dustin and Y/N from their house and they were on their way towards Indianapolis. Dustin had claimed that there was a comic store downtown and it was the only one in the state that carried a limited edition comic book he had been saving up for. Steve was hesitant at first, but was guilted into it by a very convincing and dramatic Dustin.

Y/N was in the passenger seat with her feet on the dashboard, watching raindrops as they rolled down the window. She seemed to be in her own little world when Steve looked over at her, humming along to the music from the radio.

“Can we stop and get food before we get there?” she asked abruptly.

“No.” Steve replied, glancing over at her to see her shocked expression. “It’s already an hour and a half drive one way, I don’t want this to take longer than it has to.”

“Oh c’mon! It’s just gonna take a second, we can go through a drive-thru or something!” she retorted, looking to Dustin for backup but only getting a shrug in return.

“You should’ve eaten or something before!” he suggested, rolling his eyes at her response. “I don’t want this to be a long ass trip for no reason, Henderson.”

With that, she fell silent. She hated when he called her that, it made her feel like she was nothing more than one of the kids to him. To her, it seemed like he was trying to rub the fact that he didn’t feel the same about her in her face. Dustin and Steve could sense her change in mood as she shifted towards the window, it was obvious there was something more than not getting food on her mind in that moment.

Steve was tempted to make another snide remark about it, but the upset look on her face was already making him feel bad enough. He made eye contact with Dustin through the rear-view mirror, seeing the perplexed and somewhat sympathetic look on his face through the reflection. It was weird for Dustin to see his typically outgoing sister clam up so much, but he knew what was happening; he just wanted to wait for Steve to catch on by himself.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Steve decided to cave. Once they were close to the shop, he pulled into a McDonald’s and went towards the drive-thru. The look on Y/N’s face didn’t falter, though, as they pulled through. Steve didn’t bother to ask her what she wanted, he knew exactly what she wanted from the many times the three of them had been through a McDonald’s drive-thru together. Dustin chimed in at one point to add another sandwich to his order, but Y/N stayed silent still.

She slowly ate the ice cream he handed her after mumbling a small ‘thank you’ to him, trying to seem as disinterested as he seemed to be. In reality, he was desperately trying to stay calm even though he wanted to tell her how he really felt.

Dustin rushed into the comic store once Steve stopped, promising he’d be out in ten minutes even though Steve and Y/N knew better than that. The two of them were left alone, only the sound of the radio and the crinkling fast food bag filling the silence. Steve looked over at her momentarily, seeing that she still wore the same sad expression on her face.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Steve asked shyly, trying to fill the desperate silence.

“Nothing exciting, probably staying home with D.” she remarked, a small, bittersweet smile playing on her lip for half a second. “What are your plans?”

“My plans?” he asked, the thought of him going on a date the next day with another girl had slipped his mind before he asked his own question. “Oh, nothing exciting.”

“That’s a lie.” she said bluntly, rolling her eyes at his apparent nervousness. “What are you actually doing this weekend?”

“I—I’m going on a date tonight.” he said, staring at the steering wheel as he spoke. “With Veronica Mitchell.”

“Oh.” she said, trying to hide her hurt behind a tone of carelessness. “She’s fun. I’m sure you’ll have a great night, Harrington.”

Steve felt the words she said begin to sound malicious towards the end of her sentence, her true feeling of annoyance apparent in her voice. He gave her a remorseful smile as she turned her focus back to the fry container in her lap, picking at the ones that were left. Dustin came back soon after, rambling about the new comic book as soon as he got into the car again. His excitement filled the previously silent car on the ride home, but both Y/N and Steve were distracted with thoughts of each other.

That night was no different than any other for Y/N. She was doing exactly what she had told Steve. Sure, it felt a little lame to be sitting on her little brother’s bedroom floor writing down songs for a mixtape for herself, but it was always enjoyable.

“How about Rock You Like a Hurricane? You like that one, don’t you?” Dustin suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah, but I put that on the last one I made! I can’t keep doing the—“ she started, but was cut off by the phone ringing in the living room.

Dustin ran to the phone before she could even get up from the floor, as if he was waiting for a phone call. She got up from her spot on the floor and walked towards the living room, hearing her brother talk excitedly. There was no doubt that he was talking to one of the boys from the party and that they were probably inviting him to do something nerdy. She just hoped she didn’t have to be the one to take him. He hung up quickly after getting on the line, a grin on his face as he walked away and back towards his bedroom.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” she asked, an amused smirk on her face.

“Mike’s! Important shit happening over there, I gotta go now. I’ll ride my bike.” he said, throwing a few things around his room as he packed a backpack.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just be here all alone then.” she joked, making Dustin roll his eyes at her guilt trip.

“Whatever, have fun! On the bright side, you can listen to your rock shit as loud as your little heart desires, since Mom’s out for the night.” Dustin remarked, making her roll her eyes at his response this time as he quickly made his way to the door.

It was a matter of seconds before Y/N was alone in the house, letting out an annoyed sigh at the thought. She was afraid to be alone that night, mainly because she was afraid to be alone with her thoughts and feelings about Steve. So, she did just as Dustin had said, putting her music on as loud as she wanted to drone her thoughts out.

She only heard the knock on the door when the mixtape was between songs, making her stop in her tracks. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so it put her a little on edge. But, she went toward the door anyways because the knocking was incessant. Who she saw in the peephole was not who she expected to see, but it was the person who made her heart flutter the moment she saw. She opened the door hesitantly, hoping he wasn’t there for Dustin.

“Y/N, hey!” he said immediately, running his fingers through his hair nervously. “I—uh—“

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date, Harrington?” she replied bluntly, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Yeah—Yeah, about that.” he chuckled, rolling his eyes at himself. “I decided not to go.”

“And why’s that?” she implored as she crossed her arms, not letting him into the house just yet.

“Because it felt so wrong, I—I don’t like Veronica Mitchell. I don’t really know why I even asked her out—I’m stupid for doing it and—“

“What’s the point of this? Did you come here to tell me that your standards are too high or do you have something else you needed?”

“Well, I mean. I guess I’m not here to say that specifically. But yeah, my standards are too high.” he responded, earning no response from her as she stood there with a confused look on her face. “Fuck it. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve been oblivious to the fact that I’ve liked you this whole time and that I’ve just been distracting myself from my feelings up until now.”

“Shut up, Steve.” she scoffed, waiting for him to crack a smile and tell her it was some twisted joke. “You can’t be serious.”

“But I am! I really realized that I liked you when we were in the car talking about my date today, I realized that I was so oblivious to myself up until now. If I wouldn’t have seen you so get so—so holed up about me talking about the date with Veronica, I would’ve never known how I really felt.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she replied, feeling impatient as he rambled on.

“I’m talking about you! I like you! I’ve been too afraid to tell you this whole time.” he exclaimed, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I don’t believe you.” she said bluntly, rolling her eyes.

“Oh you don’t?” he laughed.

“No! I don’t know how wouldn’t have noticed how I’ve been pining after you for so damn long if you’ve also liked me.” she replied matter-of-factly. “There’s no fucking way! I—I clam up around you, I’m a different person! I’m normally the most confident person when it comes to how I feel and I’m not afraid to fight for what’s right, but with you—with you, it feels different. I become the shyest girl ever when I’m around you.”

“You really don’t believe me?”

“No, Steve. I think this is some sick joke you decided to play on me.”

“Really?” he asked with more sincerity in his voice than before, the look on his face showing his remorse for the way he’d treated her before.

“Yes.” she said, feeling like the conversation was going nowhere. “So unless you’re here to do something about it, I’m gonna go back—“

Before she could finish her thought, Steve’s hand grazed her cheek. There was no aggression or lust in his touch, it was pure and gentle. She felt her breath hitch as she cut herself off, looking up into his eyes. She couldn’t help but get lost in them as she noticed a glint of adoration in them. Without thinking her actions through, she grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. She shut the door behind him and leaned against it, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him into a gentle kiss.

It was a short and sweet kiss, but the ones that followed were not so short. Their bodies flooded with desire as their lips collided, both realizing what they had been missing because of their stubbornness. The heat of the moment built up quickly, as neither of them wanted to move away from the kiss.

“Steve—Steve.” she said quickly after pulling away for a moment.

“What? Did I do something?” Steve asked, eyes going wide as he moved his hands from where they sat on her waist.

“No, no you didn’t do anything wrong.” she laughed, cupping his cheek as he sighed in relief. “Do you want to continue this in my room?”

“I—uh—yeah! I mean, if you want to.” he replied, smiling down at her nervously.

“Just come on.” she giggled, leading him towards her room for what she knew would be a long night.

“there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again” the best description of being shy omggg

hi bug! can I please request the dialogue prompt “Hold up, she said what?” with steve and shy!reader? maybe she is robin’s friend and robin tells steve something reader said (maybe that she thinks steve is cute or nice or something of the sort), and it leads to a cute conversation between the two?

ty for requesting angel!! — steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love (shy!fem!reader, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, 2.3k)

blurbcember ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve interjects suddenly, a metal scoop in his hand and a wild look in his eye. “She said what?”

Robin fumbles with the metal tub of Peppermint-Chip ice cream she’s refilling. It clangs when she drops it into place with haphazard care. The shop goes unusually silent without her rambling to fill the dead air. Holly, Jolly Christmas crackles quietly from the broken speakers overhead.

The girl blinks at him with a wide ocean gaze. Her rogue-tinted mouth falls softly agape. She knows she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t remember what.

“...Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

Her doe eyes flit to the left for a moment. It takes her a second or more to recall the words she’d only just said. She does this thing sometimes where she rambles on and on about nothing, and Steve was the first person in the whole world to let her. So it’s way too easy for her to tell him a billion things at once and forget about all of them a second later.

“That the music store just got new cassettes in?” Robin answers, her gritty voice a few octaves higher than usual.

Steve nods slow and with a crooked grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He rests his elbow on the glass case above the ice cream and eggs her on. “After that?”

“…That you and the pretty new girl that works there have the same taste in music?”

“Before that.”

“That she said she wanted to show you the new tapes,” she says, wincing with the realization that she had, in fact, said the wrong thing. A secret she swore not to tell has just spilled from her lips without her even knowing it.

“And?” Steve lilts with a wider, rosier smile.

“Because she likes you…” Robin confesses (or rather, re-confesses) with her teeth gritted.

Even though Steve had heard her perfectly the first time, hearing it the second makes his heart skip a beat. The pulsing organ lurches into his throat. He almost forgets how to breathe.

“She likes me?” he repeats, mostly whispering, with an incredulous gape of shock. His bushy brows raise until his forehead wrinkles. His eyes go wide until the honey of them starts to glimmer.

Despite her best friend’s lovesick disposition, Robin’s freckled face hardens. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she rumbles like a storm cloud, knocking her shoulder against his when she walks by him.

“Why?” Steve retorts like a child, following behind her just the same. 

He nearly bumps into her when she stops short at the deep freezer. She returns the cloth mits she carried the ice cream in with after spending her whole break organizing the case by color. Steve could never even be bothered to put the damn things back where they belonged in the first place.

“Because I swore to her I wouldn’t,” Robin agonizes, then whips around to face him again. Her features are twisted like a hurt puppy as she pleads. “Don’t tell her I said anything either, okay? She’ll hate me.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. Not because he thought it might make you hate her, though. He’s not entirely sure you’re capable of that. 

He’s only known you for a few months — ever since the leaves started changing color and people traded their ice cream cones for cool music at the new record store. He spent half that time admiring you across the landing, but you’ve never been anything but gentle with him. You were soft, with a soul of sunshine. 

He didn’t know it was possible to be made of sunlight until he met you.

“Well, did you tell her I liked her back?” he presses, hoping Robin might’ve done some of the hard work for him.

Her face screws up like she’s tasted something sour. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Steve shoots her a deadpanned look.

Robin caves. 

“It’s not like I meant to tell you she liked you just now, okay? It just came out!” she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Maybe next time I stick my foot in my mouth around the new girl, I’ll tell her that you’re obsessed with her, and the two of you can finally start dating instead of making sex eyes at each other all the time.”

He wouldn’t put that past her. Robin the Mastermind, Robin the Blabbermouth, Robin the Matchmaker. But his fluttering heart is pumping with too much adrenaline now. He feels like he could move mountains with the knowledge of your affections — knowing that all his own big, fuzzy, suffocating feelings have been reciprocated all this time.

If he doesn’t talk to you now, he’s scared he’ll never work up this kind of courage again.

“No. Screw that,” he concludes with a shake of his head. He’s in King Steve mode now — feeling half as suave as he used to back when the whole town was falling at his feet — chest puffed and ego reeling. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Robin watches, dumbfounded, as he dumps a scoop of their best-selling ice cream into a paper bowl. Another tub she’ll have to refill. Steve ducks under the counter door and heads for the exit. “Wait— what am I supposed to do?” the girl shouts across the empty store.

Now out in the bustling Starcourt mall and taking short strides towards the music store, Steve spins on his heel to face her. He shrugs and readjusts the sailor’s cap on his head. “Wait for me to get back.”

—————

You’ve been banished to the back of the store.

Not exactly. But that’s what it feels like.

You got a bit too overwhelmed working the front counter, and since Eddie’s crazy soft on you, he let you put up all the Christmas decorations he’d been putting off instead. It’s a win-win situation, really. 

You’re stringing up sparkling tinsel over the rows of records when a deep blue sailor’s uniform catches your eye. Looking over your shoulder, you find Steve in all his glorysauntering towards you. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s basically winter now in Indiana. He’s beaming at you like sunshine anyway.

Beneath the amber glow of the dimly lit store, he looks borderline angelic. Almost unfairly ethereal.

“What’s that?” you wonder with a smile you don’t even know is there, nodding to the Scoops Ahoy brandedcup in his hand. 

You can almost smell the syrup-cinnamon concoction of the ice cream he holds in his palm. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the sugary sweetness is radiating from his pores after working in a confectionary shop during the holidays.

He looks at you even sweeter.

“New flavor,” he answers vaguely, smirking as he leans against the metal shelves. He stumbles slightly when it rocks beneath his weight. “Oops. Sorry. It’s, uh— It’s pancake chunks with maple syrup swirl. I call it Wake and Bake.” 

A giggle tumbles from your lips when he hands it to you. “Eddie’s gonna love that,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s actually called Breakfast in Bed, but— I don’t know— I thought my idea was better.”

“Way better,” you concur with a nod and a pretty smile.

Steve watches with attentive honey eyes as you spoon a bite into your mouth. He feels a bit like it’ll be his fault if you hate it. His irrational need to impress you always makes him feel hopelessly inadequate. 

“Woah,” you hum without your mouth still a little full. The cream melts softly on your tongue, tasting of a sweet and early morning. “This is really good.”

His brows raise, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he wonders. Your words wash over him like a compliment for a reason he can’t name. It feels good to make you feel good.

“Mhmm. I might have to come by after work and buy the rest of it, actually,” you joke with a curt shrug. It’s a feeble confession — your way of telling him that you want to see him more because you could never say the real thing out loud.

Your heart sinks when Steve shakes his head. Then swells when he smiles.

“No way,” he scoffs, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I’m not gonna let you pay for it— that’s crazy.”

“You can’t keep giving me free ice cream, Steve—”

“What my manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he lilts lowly and with a cool shrug that makes you melt. He goes very distinctly soft when he looks at you, all scruffy-faced and sweet-eyed. 

It’s suffocatingly beautiful. You crack under the pressure of it. 

“Well, uh— Thanks for the— ice cream,” you stammer and motion the bowl back to him. Thanks for stopping by and keeping me company, but you’re too pretty and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it, you don’t say.

“You don’t want the rest?” he asks with pinched brows.

“I just… should probably get back to work, you know?”

“Eddie doesn’t let you take breaks?”

“No, he does,” you answer quickly, shifting your weight on your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to meet his gaze. “Just not with…”

Steve’s brows raise when you trail off. “Not with me?” he finishes with a laugh.

“Well, not with the… pretty-boy-ice-cream-slinger in the sailor’s uniform,” you correct, then quickly follow. “His words. Not mine.”

In all honesty, Steve couldn’t care less about what Eddie Munson has to say about him. If Hawkins’s local freak is the only thing standing between him and the pretty girl at the music store, he’s down to break a couple of dumb rules.

He takes a small step towards you. His pink smirk widens. You swear your heart stops when he looks at you with it. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” he teases with a twinkle in his squinted eye.

Suddenly, there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again. You’re flustered and drowning and totally unsure of yourself. “I didn’t say that,” you mutter, gaze flittering and smile wavering.

Steve goes to rest his elbow on the shelf again, then remembers its unsteadiness and decides against it. His arm rests awkwardly in the air for half a moment before he crosses both of them over his chest. 

“Well, I mean, you didn’t not say it, so…”

You squint up at him, busying your clammy hands with the melting ice cream in your palm. You know what he’s fishing for. Your pride urges you to stay silent even though your heart sings the sweetest songs for him. 

“You know you’re pretty, Steve,” you murmur matter of factly.

“But do you think I’m pretty?”

Your thundering heart lurches into your throat when Steve takes another small step closer. He smells like wintertime — like Christmas and nostalgia and boy. You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, so you nod, slow and sheepish.

“Good,” he hums with a beam he couldn’t hide if he tried. “‘Cause I think you’re pretty, too.”

Your chest gets all sparkly at his admission — the affirmation that all your girlish feelings are being reciprocated by a boy you never dreamed you could have. You don’t feel hardly deserving of the fondness dripping from his features, but you pray he never stops looking at you with it.

You grow warm with the irrational hope that he might kiss you. You think he might actually kiss you until your boss’s voice pierces the golden bubble of puppy love the both of you are basking in.

“How’s the decorating going?” Eddie announces himself, appearing suddenly between the two aisles.

Robin idles at his side. She’s in the feminine version of Steve’s sailor outfit — with silver chains around her neck and bandaids on her knees. Effortlessly endearing and totally unaware of it all.

You push Steve away from you without thinking, all but shoving the softening ice cream into his chest. Some of it smears white against the scarlet tie around his chest. “Sorry!” you exclaim in your moment of fleeting panic, then turn to Eddie with the same apologetic wince. “Sorry…” you repeat quieter.

“Robin?” Steve gapes at the sight of his best friend — apparently the second thing standing in his way, right beside the freak. “What the hell are you doing here— did you tattle on me? What are you, four?”

“I got lonely,” the brunette answers plainly. “And I knew you were around here somewhere, so I asked Eddie where you were—” She waves a pale hand your way, fingers painted with chipping maroon polish.  “—And now I’m here.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t believe you’re trying to taint my one good employee, Steven.”

“I’m not tainting anybody, Munson,” he bites back like a bickering brother, then screws up his face and turns to Robin. “Wait. If you’re here, who’s manning the counter?”

Her freckled face falls like a child caught in a fib. Her deep blue eyes widen when she blinks at him. In a mousier voice, she confesses, “Dustin came by… And I told him he could eat all the ice cream he wanted as long as he made sure no one stole anything.”

The four of you fall silent. The soft rock of Christmas Wrapping plays weakly from the radio at the front of the store. Eddie breaks first. ‘Cause he can’t ever be serious about anything. 

The boyish sound of his laughter sends a giggle sputtering from your lips. The pretty noise makes Steve smile despite his baffled disbelief.

He turns to you with a dumbfounded grin. “You’re still stopping by after work, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly, nodding as your smiling face grows hot.

Eddie scoffs when Steve walks by him. “If you still have a job by then.”

Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional moment™, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

A/N: hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE H. MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.

"There's no way you can do it."

Right.

That's why.

The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.

This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.

"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.

Not that you could blame her.

You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.

It was what you had always known.

What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.

Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.

All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.

It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.

The comparisons were endless.

"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."

"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."

"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."

"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."

It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each other—impressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.

But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.

The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.

It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.

It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievements—and that included yours and Steve's.

Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.

And it only got worse during high school.

Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circles—even going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins High—down to academics and extracurriculars.

Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.

When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.

It was a constant back and forth.

There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.

And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.

This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.

In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.

You had no idea what she was even implying.

Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.

The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's van—along with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the back—while the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.

Not that you could blame them, either.

And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.

Yet despite the metal head being a fast—albeit slightly reckless—driver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.

Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his van—whatever the hell that meant.

You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.

The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.

It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.

Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.

Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.

It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.

How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?

He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him again—definitely not by accident this time—if you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.

You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.

Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolest—adults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.

Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.

His comment didn't help your nerves.

Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.

But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.

So once again, it was only you and him.

As it always had been.

He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.

It only made you want to do it more.

His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.

But you trained just as much if not more than he had.

The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.

But who wouldn’t get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.

Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.

You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.

"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.

"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"

"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.

"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.

But you weren't chickening out.

Never.

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."

You ignored him.

Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.

You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.

"Listen, you don't have to do—"

"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, one…

You jumped.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

He shouldn't have pressured you like that.

The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.

And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.

But Steve could see how scared you were.

He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.

But, obviously, you didn't listen.

You simply jumped.

You and your stupidly competitive ass.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.

"You two are complete idiots."

"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.

There was no sign of you.

"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."

"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."

"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.

It was nearing a minute.

"Maybe you didn't see her?"

"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.

But he was panicking.

A minute and thirty seconds.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.

Two minutes.

You could never hold your breath any longer than that.

Steve knew because he always won that competition.

And that was in a calm pool.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"

"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and see—"

Steve didn't listen.

He jumped right after you.

The biting cold was awakening.

Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.

He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.

Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.

He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.

Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.

He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.

You were so cold.

"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.

Nothing.

"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"

Still no response.

"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.

His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.

And you weren't breathing.

Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.

"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.

He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.

Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.

"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.

Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.

It was the longest thirty counts in his life.

Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.

But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.

"Steve—"

"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"

He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.

"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."

Thirty chest compressions.

"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."

Five, six, seven—

"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—

"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—

"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thir—

Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.

He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.

"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.

"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.

It was the equivalent to his nickname for you—sweetheart.

Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.

Neither of you simply addressed it.

"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.

"C-Cold," you stammered.

"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.

You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.

"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.

"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.

You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"

You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didn’t care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldn’t give a shit.

As long as you were breathing.

"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I-I'll try," you whispered.

"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."

"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.

"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."

"Right there! They're right over there!"

Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"So are you finally going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.

The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.

Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.

"That you've been in love with her this whole time."

Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.

"I'm not in love with her, Robs."

"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."

"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.

"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."

"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.

Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too late—and it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.

"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expense—she always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.

"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshit—that they were bullshit.

"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?

"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love with…"

Steve blinked.

Well fuck.

"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."

"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."

Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.

He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."

"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.

He shrugged. "I guess we are."

"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."

It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.

"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

The silence that followed only made the tension worse.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Steve immediately felt bad.

"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's just—"

He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.

"Will you come here?"

Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.

"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.

Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.

"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.

"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.

"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."

"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."

"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.

"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."

"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"

"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."

"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.

"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.

It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.

Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.

It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.

The counselors quickly found out that the little menace—whoever she was—decided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.

Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.

"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."

Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."

"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."

"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"

"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.

He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.

"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."

You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."

Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.

The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.

Now, everything was the complete opposite.

A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.

But still, it felt like that first gasp of air—a finally.

"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.

"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."

"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.

"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."

"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."

"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.

You whined.

Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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🤩

kissing best friend!steve🫠🫠

pining, obsessed steve? you got it<3

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

"Do you ever think about the time we first met?"

Steve peers over his drink, his eyes skeptical and focused in on you from across the table, anxiously awaiting your answer.

"You’re my best friend," you shrug, eyes staring down into your mug at the remnants of your milkshake. “Of course I remember the time we first met.”

That wasn’t necessarily his question, but he’ll take what he can get.

He swallows harsh. “How’d it go?” 

You eye him suspiciously, quickly noting the nervous thrum of his fingers on the table between you.

He’s been quiet all night. And Steve’s never quiet when he’s with you. Not during your weekly Friday dinners at the diner. 

Steve’s always been a talker, ranting and rambling about work and his parents and the possibility of school. You were the only person he ever really opened up to about these things; the only person he ever felt comfortable enough to tell.

So, he knew you would notice something was off right away. He kept turning the conversation to you, listening with a far off stare. He didn’t chat up the waitress like he usually did, or bicker with you about the radio on the drive over.

But he can’t help it. His brain was going a million miles a minute and his palms were starting to sweat and he’s really never felt so nervous in his entire life.

Tonight is the night. Tonight’s the night Steve comes clean about his feelings for you – all those sickly, sweet feelings he’s been wanting to tell you ever since he met you.

Like how much he adores your laugh and your smile and the smell of your perfume. And the way you always keep extra tissues in your pocket when you know he has a cold. And how you always save him the seat next to you for movie night. And how you always ask him if he’s eaten that day and had a glass of water. And how Friday is his favorite day of the week because he gets to see you. And how he wishes he could see you every day. And how he’s never felt so lovesick before in his life. And how he really, really has to tell you he needs you because he doesn’t think he can keep it from you for much longer. And how he can’t stand being near you and not being able to kiss you when you smile at him like that. And how he hopes to god you feel the same way because he doesn’t think he can take losing you.

But he can’t say all that. He physically cannot say all that.

Secretly, he’s been silently hoping you would just figure out his feelings by yourself  already, so he wouldn’t have to muster up the courage to tell you himself. 

It’s genuinely concerning you haven’t noticed already; he shows you his infatuation nearly every time you two are together. He’ll kneel down to tie your shoe for you when it comes undone. And he constantly calls you “just to hear your voice.” And he’ll rub your arms in the freezer section of the grocery store so you don’t get cold because you refuse to just take his jacket. And he still wears that silly friendship bracelet you made him in the tenth grade because he’s too afraid to lose it if he takes it off. And he always, without a doubt, gives you half of his food at the diner, even if he hasn’t eaten all day. 

The poor boy’s practically obsessed with you, but you never seem to notice – always off in your own little world, leaving Steve to trail behind you like a lovesick, little puppy.

But he doing the whole puppy dog act tonight. He wasn’t doing anything tonight. He was a wet blanket dripping all over the booth tonight. And he was acting nervous. 

And you still couldn’t figure out why. 

So, by the time you both finished dinner and your waitress brought the check, you were just a touch annoyed.

“‘How’d it go?’” you repeated, truthfully understanding the question, but just wanting to give Steve a hard time. 

“Sure, you know. The first time we met… how’d it go?” he asks again, unsure how to make himself any clearer.

Under the table, his foot had started to mimic the nervous tapping of his fingers. Your eyes snapped to his hand, then the bottom lip between his teeth (nervous habit), then down to your purse next to you in the booth.

“Well,” your brows furrow at the check near the end of the table as you blindly start feeling around your purse for some bills, “I seem to recall it was at the mall? You were in that adorable getup with the hat and the socks… and Robin was there–” You turn your full attention down to your purse, looking at it, offended. 

Steve’s eyes narrow on you from across the booth.

“Ah!” You finally pull a crumbled up twenty from the bottomless pit that is your purse. 

He really needs to remind you to clean that thing out again. 

“Where was I?” you ask innocently over at him, “Oh, right. Robin… Robin, Robin. Oh! She told me you were gonna hit on me and that I should shoot you down no matter what.” You finish with a triumphant smile, the memory drifting back into your mind. 

He’s always liked when you smile like that. Like he’s the butt of the joke.

“Right right,” he nods, eyes dropping back to the empty glass in front of him.

You seem to be waiting for him to just come out with it, to just say whatever it is that’s been eating him all night.

But he can’t. Something about the moment feels off.

He’s afraid to peek up and catch your icy glare drilling into him, until he hears you let out another huff as you start shimmying out of the diner booth without him.

“Wh–?” You were already halfway towards the door. His hand swipes up the twenty-dollar bill you left as he digs into his back pocket for his own wallet. He tugs out a twenty of his own and  replaces it on the table. He tosses out a five as well – should be enough for a tip – before he spots the forgotten purse on your seat and swipes that up, too, sticking your money back in the rightful pocket of your bag before jogging after you.

He's caught up to you just as you've reached the diner door, and you quickly drop it in his face, opting instead to head towards his car in a dramatic huff. 

Eyes rolling, Steve swings the glass door back open, his foot making it about half-way through the exit before the hostess calls out to him.

"You finally gonna bite the bullet and tell her tonight, Stevie boy?" she chides him.

"Har, har, Janet. Very funny," he grumbles, tucking your purse under his arm to preserve some of his dignity.

"See you next week, Harrington," she chuckles, looking back down at the desk in front of her.

God. Is he that obvious?

Shaking the fear from his mind, he bursts back out into the warm, summer air, trailing a step or two after you.

"I didn’t hit on you, by the way," he insists, unlocking the car and jogging over to open the passenger side for you.

You slide in, your belly laugh cut off as he closes the door on you. 

Once again, he's found himself to be the butt of the joke. He still doesn't mind all that much.

A smile starts to creep onto his lips upon hearing your laughter, but the grin quickly fades as he remembers the severity of his situation. Steeling his nerves, Steve strides around the hood to the driver's seat.

You're just gonna… go in there and just...Tell her. Just say what you feel, Harrington, c'mon. Best case scenario, she feels the same. Worst case scenario, she laughs in your face.

He grips the door handle, but can't seem to muster up the courage to get in just yet. He catches sight of you through the window, riffling through his glovebox, no doubt looking for the mixtape he made for you all those months ago. You spot the one with his writing on the side – crisp, clean – like he took far too much care in writing it. It's just your name on the side, nothing fancy, but he wanted to make it clear this tape was for you in particular. No one else.

Christ, you're becoming a problem.

He grits his teeth and hops inside as you load up the tape, still chuckling to yourself from earlier. Steve bites back another smile.

"Why's that funny? I didn't hit on you when you came in, I was perfectly civil–"

"Steve, you asked me what color lipstick I was wearing and if I had any plans that night," you shoot him a smirk as you reach for your seatbelt.

A blush warms his cheeks at the memory; he thought you would have forgotten.

He clears his throat and starts the ignition, turning in his seat and throwing his arm around your headrest to reverse, actively avoiding your gaze.

"I– uh, don't remember that."

"You're such a terrible liar, Steve," you smile through the words, whistfully, like he has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

A chuckle bubbles up in his chest and he can't help but peek over at your smile. Now fussing with the buttons of the stereo, you listen for the song you want to hear.

You look pretty just sitting in his passenger seat, the sun gently setting through the whisps of your hair. 

His eyes snap back to his rear window.

The car jolts to life as it swings out of the parking lot. Steve knows the way to your house by heart, but he always insists on taking the longer route back on Fridays.

"I'm actually an amazing liar, thank you very much," he mutters casually, adjusting his rearview mirror and merging onto the road.

"No, Steve, you're not," you finally find the right song and turn up the volume a touch - loud enough to hear the lyrics, but soft enough for you two to hold a conversation. 

Steve likes this song. He likes all the songs on this tape because they remind him of you – Friday night drives back to your place, close proximity in his car, those butterflies in his stomach when your gaze turns on him.

"Y/N, I am so good at poker, your brain couldn’t even handle it–"

"Being good at poker doesn't necessarily mean you're good at lying, Steve. Just means you're good at reading people."

"Well that, too," he gives you a cocky look before snapping back to the road. "I'm a man of many talents."

"Pshhh," you smack his arm, as if he's said something particularly funny.

"Ow– Wha–? What is so fucking funny?" He shoots you a look across the car, half shocked, half annoyed.

"Nothing," you're giggling through your words once again, "Nothing, Steve."

"What, you don't think I have any talents?" He's accusatory now, leaning towards you for dramatic effect, his eyes still trained on the road.

"No! No, I didn't say that." A wave of seriousness washes over you, but it's quickly replaced with a sincere lightness, a gentle smile as you look at him. "I think you're plenty talented, Steve."

He scoffs, "Don't take that tone with me."

"What tone?" your voice bounces around the car, "I'm not taking any tone."

"That teasing tone, that 'Oh, yeah. Sure, Steve, whatever you say' tone."

You giggle at his poor impression of you, and he can't help the dopey smile that spreads across his face. He can never stay annoyed with you for too long.

You’ve turned your attention back to his glovebox now. He can tell you're reorganizing the tapes stowed there in a very particular order. He strains his eyes a bit to catch the titles. They’re ordered from left to right – his favorites to his least favorites. They’re definitely easier for him to reach from the driver's seat now.

His chest aches at your actions, how you subconsciously think of him, and a warm smile envelops his face. He thinks about how he'd rearrange every tape you've ever owned if it meant making your life a fraction easier.

Your hands freeze and you spin to face him. A silly smile slips onto your own lips and Steve’s breath hitches. 

"What’re you smiling about?" you question coyly.

His grip on the wheel tightens and his eyes snap back to the road. He needs to contain himself.

"You always patronize me." He's grasping at straws, but he knows it'll distract you from the nervous hand running through his hair and the nibbling of his bottom lip.

“Patronize y–? Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I wasn't patronizing you just now. I was being sincere." You go back to sifting through his glovebox, muttering to yourself, "Surprised you can even use that word in a sentence…”

His eyes drift back down to your deft, pretty fingers, that bright, pristine nail polish, and he has to steel himself once again. There could be dents on the wheel by the time he pulls in your driveway.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he reaches up to anxiously adjust his rearview mirror. He knows he looks nervous as hell; he just hopes you're too wrapped up in your own little world to notice.

You don't seem to, now picking at your pretty manicure and tapping your foot to the music gliding through the speakers.

Steve passes your street sign and he can't stop the impending dread that washes over him at the idea of you no longer sitting in his car. He always hates the drive back to his place after he drops you off - your warmth still mingling in the air, but he can't quite get a hold of it. He likes that your perfume lingers when you leave, and the smell of your shampoo, but he just hates how it fades so quickly, until he gets to smell it again next Friday.

Pulling into your driveway, his stomach drops. It really is now or never.

He switches off the ignition, leaving you two in the warm darkness of the summer night, surrounded by that hazy light right after sunset. Only bits and pieces of your silhouette are visible from the dashboard light, but you’re still as stunning as always.

A heated look passes between you two before you're gathering up your things to leave, mindful to take your tape out of the stereo, replacing it with his favorite one for his ride home.

Your hand reaches for the handle as you start your goodbye. 

"Kay, well, I'll see you next week, okay–" 

But he stops you with a hand around your wrist. A silent plead for you to stay.

His heart is in his throat. Your pulse is so strong beneath his fingers. He swears he hears your breath catch.

“Y/N," his voice was low, unsure, like he was still thinking of what exactly to say.

"Yeah?" you give him a worried expression, tuned into his serious tone.

"I…" 

But the words were caught in his throat, lips unable to form the words. 

"I… I forgot." He deflates just a fraction and rubs your wrist once with his thumb before dropping it.

"Geez, Steve. Don't scare me like that. Thought you were gonna say you hate me or something like that." You chuckle as you swing the passenger door open.

Hate you? Hate you?

He’s not even thinking when he pushes open the driver’s side door and jogs after you to your porch. 

You stop fumbling with your front door keys and turn to confront him.

“Forgot something, Harrington–?”

But he cuts off your teasing with his lips pressed to yours. 

His hands run up to your neck, his thumbs nestled under your jaw and the pads of his fingers stroking at the soft spot below your ear. Your lips are so soft, so smooth, he can’t stop the little sigh from leaving his throat. Finally, he feels you relax into him, coming up to wrap your hands around his wrists gently, melting into his touch.

Eyes squeezing shut, he’s trying to memorize the feel of you, the smell of your shampoo and the feeling of his nose brushing your soft cheek, and the way your lips move against his, trying to drag the kiss out for as long as possible. 

Unfortunately, he still needs that stupid thing called oxygen and he’s forced to pull back. His hands stay at your neck, the thumbs rubbing across your jawline, as his blown pupils sweep over your face.

“I’m really, really into you, by the way,” his words come out so breathless as he looks between your swollen lips and your wide eyes.

A shaky breath escapes through your lips. “Good thing I’m into you, too, pretty boy.”

He can’t even get worked up about the nickname before he’s leaning in again, this kiss much slower, much more meaningful. His heart starts to ache from the feel of your fingers rubbing along his knuckles, and he can’t stop from smiling against your lips. Eventually, he has to stop from how sickeningly sweet his chest feels, pulling back to rub the tip of his nose up the bridge of yours with his eyes squeezed shut, his cheeks and his lungs slowly starting to ache in the best way.

He hears a content hum come from the back of your throat, and he can’t help but mimic the same sticky, sentimental sound himself.  

His eyes pop back open to get a good look at you. Your cheeks are flushed and your pupils are blown; you can’t seem to contain your own smile. 

“Uh… sorry, if that was a little… unexpected,” he chuckles at your smarmy grin, his hands leaving your face as he takes a bashful step back and off your porch. “I’ll, uh… see you next Friday!”

Spinning confidently on his heel, hands tucking into his pockets, he makes his way back down your walkway and to his car, leaving you there a bit speechless. He smiles to himself at your stunned silence as he reaches for the door handle. Pausing for a moment, he spins back round, riding his adrenaline high. 

“I’ll call you!” he calls out to you before swinging the door open and hopping in.

You’re just left there, standing on your porch, watching him drive off, one honk of the horn and then he’s down your street. 

A hand comes up to graze over your kiss swollen lips. The spot where Steve Harrington just kissed you. The spot where Steve Harrington’s lips were on yours. 

Little did Steve know, you’ve been waiting for him to do that for months now…

💝

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛.ೃ࿔

𝑡𝑜 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑚

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

It's humid. So impossibly humid. Your lungs can barely find air.

You're waiting patiently in your car as the rain batters down on your poor windshield. It's almost impossible to hear the tune that plays over the radio; the lyrics are lost in the drowning sound of raindrops, but the bass is still slightly detectable.

The parking lot of the Family Video was empty and boring except for the bright neon sign at the front of the building. It was date night, a rare occasion reserved for the summer, but the night was looking bleak. You weren't really in the mood for a full dinner date in your soggy state, clothes absolutely soaked through from your twenty second bolt to the car.

You truthfully didn't mind the rain; you didn't even really mind the humidity either. It was like a warm, wet hug. The thick air mixed with cool drizzle reminded you of late, rainy nights on family trips to the beach.

This summer had been particularly unpredictable for weather, but you much preferred the cool rain over the scorching sun.

The second the raindrops meet the sweltering concrete, they begin to evaporate, leaving a comforting mist swirling around your car.

The next thing you know, the driver's side door swings open, letting in a cacophony of pittering and pattering from outside. You slide over hastily to the passenger seat so he can take your spot.

You can't help but smile when you see him.

Steve is completely soaked, more so than you, and his uniform is a little crumpled and tattered in places. Upon closer inspection in the dark, you faintly catch the glint of little droplets falling from the locks hanging at the front of his face, dripping all over the steering wheel.

His face has a slight sheen from the rain, and he just looks so pretty it's almost impossible to look away. He moves so pleasingly, a little clumsy, but still pleasing. He's breathtaking like this; comfortable, natural Steve. You've always loved to watch him when he thought no one was looking.

The first thing he does before even starting up the car is lean over to grab your face with a wet hand, giving you a quick, chaste kiss. He misses your lips slightly, planting one right at the corner of your mouth instead. It's sweet habit he’s adopted. You can feel your cheeks heating up slightly at his brazenness before he turns his attention back to the ignition and turning on the air, probably in hopes of drying out his clothes.

You're taken aback. Not from the kiss, Steve always insists on kissing you as much as possible in private. You're taken aback by someone so painfully beautiful wanting to kiss you.

You always thought you were just average. Boringly average. Not particularly pretty or witty. Not too interesting or too boring. Just, average. You hated your simplicity.

So it kind of shocks you every time you remember you're with him. With Steve. It’s like a little surprise present each time you look over at him. A small gift you were given.

After fumbling with the vents for a few minutes, he peaks back over at you, doing a slight double take at your baffled expression.

"What's with the face?" he gives you a puzzled stare, still adjusting the vents towards his dripping clothes. "Not happy to see me?"

You don't seem to actually hear him; you're still too focused on the small raindrop rolling down the front strand of hair, following its trajectory down to the seat below. It was stupid. So stupid how his hair could still look good in the rain and humidity. He would be happy to hear that.

"Yoohoo?" he gives a light whistle, rapping a knuckle gently against your forehead. "Anybody home?"

"Huh?" you ask, finally popping out of your train of thought to meet his gaze.

Steve's heart always skips a beat when you look at him like this. Eyes wide and full of astonishment. Astonishment at what, he never knew. Your hair was still slightly damp from the rain, with a little bit of frizz shooting out at strange places from the unwavering humidity. Your lips were still wet, as well as your clothes, but you looked beautiful. Like, really fucking beautiful. You always looked stunning dressed up for a night out or for heading off to work, but something about your casual state late at night always made his chest ache. You had this undeniable natural beauty, especially at night, that he never could seem to get over.

That's why he always loved when you picked him up after a late shift at work. You're really only apart for a few hours, but the anticipation of seeing you at night would be almost painful.

You always arrive just on time - never too early, never too late. You'd pull up with the music faint, your window rolled down to greet him, typically with one of his over-sized t-shirts on. He'd tried buying you one of your own, but you insisted on his. He would always stop a few inches from your car, arms crossed over his chest, signature smirk on his lips, before he'd lean down to rest his forearms on the window frame. He usually gives some stupid line. "’Sup, hot stuff?" or "New in town?" are some of his favorites. You always have a quip at the ready. ("In your dreams, pretty boy" usually does the trick) He leans in slowly for a light kiss, staring at your lips the entire time. He barely even pulls away, your lips still brushing, and he'll whisper against you "miss me?" with you replying "a little," your face heating up. Another kiss, a little needier this time, before you pull away completely. Steve always chases after your lips as you slide into the passenger seat to let him drive.

You two never kissed too often in public, but on these late nights when the parking lot was empty, Steve just couldn't stop himself. Something about seeing you in his clothes, waiting for him.

But this night was different. Tonight it was still raining, pouring now, and you hadn't opened the windows for him. You didn't have the the windows rolled down or a quip at the ready. You looked... dazed actually. Like you didn't exactly know what was going on.

Tonight you were bundled up to protect from the rain. You layered a few of his shirts: a long-sleeve stripped shirt beneath a preppy collared tee, all covered by his grey jacket, collar upturned. You stuck with a pair of shorts and flip flops, which also were soaked through, and you looked... confused.

“Yeah, sorry. What’d I miss?“ you ask, still frozen in place.

“You're lookin' at me like I'm crazy.” He stops and reaches his thumb up between your eyebrows, rubbing at the crease that has formed there. "Relax. You're gettin’ wrinkles," he mumbles as you drop your confused look. "What's up?" he asks quietly, still rubbing circles into your forehead, concern now taking over his face.

"Nothing," you utter back, nudging his hand away to turn forward in your seat, avoiding his gaze. You start to fiddle with the edges of your jacket, hopelessly ignoring Steve's burning stare.

"Oh... ‘Nothing,’" he mimics you, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You roll your eyes, still finding your jacket awfully interesting.

"Well, perfect. Cause you seem 100% fine. Tooootally a-ok. Not a care in the world," he teases, slowly leaning down to try and catch your gaze.

You peak up at him then, giving in knowing that if you don't spill eventually, he'll just keep bringing it up all night.

“It’s just that-“ You turn to face him, but the words start to die on your lips upon seeing him. He’s turned fully towards you, his right leg bent onto the seat, one arm resting on the steering wheel and the other holding the back of your headrest. His hair was slowly starting to dry now; it looks kind of wild, shooting up in all directions, but it still makes your heart skip a beat or two. His brow is furrowed up, waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong. You look down to your hands, trying to remember what you were going to say.

“It’s just-“ You fiddle with your fingers, a nervous habit. One Steve knew well.

He abruptly reached his hand out to hold yours, making your eyes snap back up to his.

“Hey,” his face was much softer now, no traces of teasing. He could be so sincere when he wanted. “Hey... What’s wrong? Can you tell me?”

You hated this. You hated not being able to voice the thoughts that were racing through your head. Your nerves very rarely got to you, but when they did, it was nearly impossible to speak your mind. Steve's always been extra patient with that.

Though not amazing with his own feelings, he was still one of the best listeners you've ever met. So patient and supportive. And caring. So caring. It made you mad sometimes, when he was like this. You don’t even know why. Maybe you never thought you deserved treatment this gentle. It always made you feel even more guilty. A burden.

You sigh, letting your nerves give way to annoyance.

“It’s just that you’re always so… nice. To me. You’re always so nice.” You pull your hand out from his, opting to cross your arms exasperatedly instead.

Steve’s confusion only grew.

“I’m… too nice to you? You're not making any sense.”

“I don’t know, you’re patient and you’re kind and you help me through things… It’s annoying.” You knew you sounded crazy, but you couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, Steve usually took the brunt of your frustration. Not that he minds too much.

“So- So, what?” he shifts now, looking out the windshield, almost as if he was searching for some answers. “I should be mean to you? Be an asshole? Is that what you want-“

“No no, god, Steve, no. Obviously I don’t want that-“

“Alright so what then, I- I- I can’t help you through things, I can’t be sweet with you?” he was flustered now, waving his hands about endearingly and stuttering over his words, talking a mile a minute. He was adorable. And it only made you angrier.

“Ugh, no, Steve-“

“Because I'm always gonna be nice to you, I'm sorry, I can't help it! But I don't want to be this big sap and freak you out-“

“Steve-“

“And I obviously want to be nice to you, you’re my girlfriend-“

“Steven-“

“But now you’re pissed and I feel bad for pushing it, I just wanted to make sure you were ok-“

“Harrington-“

"I mean, if you don’t want me to be nice to you, well- Well, I don’t think I can actually do that-“

“Steve! God, you're too good for me!"

He instantly quiets at your outburst, breathing heavily from his ranting. The look he gives you nearly breaks you.

“What?” His voice is so soft, you can barely hear him. Somehow, he was able to look even more confused, and a little hurt.

“It’s just that you’re always helping me through things and taking time to get to know me and, I don’t know, sticking around? Like, I'm complicated and you’re always trying to figure me out. You want to take care of me. It's weird.” You give him a look but he doesn’t really seem to be following. A sigh leaves your lips and you look down to your hands to steel yourself before meeting his gaze once again. “You're amazing. The greatest guy I know. You’re- You’re funny and handsome and sweet and- And you’re like the perfect guy. The perfect boyfriend. And it’s intimidating.” You're eyes darted everywhere - your hands, the center console - anywhere to avoid Steve’s desperate gaze as you reveal all the insecurities you’ve been fighting ever since the start of your relationship. “It’s like… I’ll never be enough. I’ve never… No one’s ever wanted me before and it’s weird because the first guy I get is… well perfect. And it does make sense to me. Like, you could have anyone in Hawkins. There are at least ten girls I can list right now that are better than me in a twenty mile radius. You have chicks fawning all over you. I mean you’re ‘the King’ and I'm just, I don’t know, average? And it feels like I'm with you on accident. Like some fluke thing that plopped into my lap that I don't deserve. Any day now you're gonna wake up or run into someone better on the street and leave me. And I wouldn’t even blame you cause it’s like, why be with me when you could have someone infinitely better. God, but that’s the thing, you would be so goddamn sweet about it too - letting me down easy, wanting to stay friends - all that. Or worse, you wouldn't leave me at all out of pity. Because you're that guy. The gentleman that actually cares about the girl's feelings.

“And when you comfort me or console me, you have this stupid habit of always knowing what to say. It makes me feel even more inferior. And the worst part is that’s it’s not even your fault. It's me. It’s my abysmal self-worth that fucking ruins everything.”

You finally risk a look at him now. His face was set, listening to you intently. It seemed like he was waiting for you to finish fully.

You start again.

“I try so hard. So hard to be enough. And you just do it effortlessly and I'm stuck trying to keep up….” You look down to your hands finally in defeat. “I know it's childish and selfish and shallow and insecure, but it’s what I feel. I hate that I feel this way. I hate it. I love being with you, more than anything, but…. But it hurts me. It hurts sometimes to be with you. Every time I'm with you, I'm confused. You picked me and it makes no sense. I can’t figure it out.”

The car was silent for a little while. All you could hear were Steve’s feather light breathes and the rain tapping against the car.

Slight tears began to form in your eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. More of frustration. Frustration for feeling like this, for making Steve put up with you, for putting him through this. Frustration from having to say it out loud.

With the silence still deafening, you thought now was as good a time as any to leave. Your hand started to reach for the door handle. Might as well make this as painless as possible.

“I'm just gonna walk home-“ you started pushing the door open and preparing yourself for the rain, just as Steve reached across the seat, pulling the door closed himself. His hand gripped on to yours at the handle and you could feel his breath at the nape of your neck. It sounded uneven, laced with sadness or anger, but you didn’t want to turn around and find out which.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Just… Stay here. With me.”

He, too, sounded defeated. You took a shaky breath and let go of the door, dropping your hands back into your lap. You were quickly starting to regret your confession.

Steve said your name quietly, hoping to catch your attention. When you refused, you could feel his hand pull your chin towards him. You reached up quickly to wipe your tears in an effort to spare whatever dignity you had left.

“Hon…” he was looking at you with the saddest eyes. “Tell me you haven’t been feeling like this the whole time…”

You looked down as much as you could in his grasp, shame and embarrassment washing over you.

“God,” he let out a humorless laugh and put both hands on the steering wheel, staring out the front window. “It’s funny… Cause I’ve been feeling the same way about you.”

You were not expecting that. Thinking you must have misheard him, you shoot him an incredulous expression. He was still looking out the window, obviously speechless himself.

“I couldn't believe it, honestly. When you agreed to a date with me.” He couldn’t face you; he instead opted for running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. “I could barely work up the courage to ask you. Shit, Robin had to push me to do it. But I never thought you’d actually say yes... But then you did.” He looked to you timidly. A slight chuckle slipped from him as he rubbed a hand over his face in humorous disbelief. “Christ, I was so nervous for that first date. Robs teased me for days afterwards for how long it took me to get ready… Didn’t matter though.” He took on the most enamored expression, as if he was reliving the memory. “You showed up. The most beautiful I’d ever seen you.”

Your face heated up again, looking down at your hands bashfully.

“I was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans,” you say, trying to justify yourself.

“Exactly! Exactly…” he looked at you wistfully, surprised you still didn’t get it, but not annoyed in the slightest. “You didn’t have to try. You’re just… you. You didn’t have to spend hours in the mirror getting ready… because you were already perfect.”

You laughed at his earnestness, still wiping some stray tears from your eyes.

“No, no, I’m serious,” he looked at you with an urgent expression, reaching his hands out to you, accentuating his point. “It’s like you said. You do it effortlessly and I'm just trying to keep up…”

He looked as if the gears were turning in his head, scrambling to put together the words.

“You’re perfect... You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re beautiful and easygoing and creative and- fuck, I just love being around you. I like who I am when I'm with you... But like you said, it’s intimidating. You’d never judge me of course, I know that, it’s just that… I want to be a better person, for you.”

He laughs again, still dumbstruck.

“Out of all the guys- All the guys in Hawkins- You chose me first. Hell, I don’t care if you’ve been with a hundred people, or- Or none, I just can’t believe you chose to spend even a fraction of your time with me.” He looks at you again with a dopey smile. “I mean seriously. Babe, I haven’t been ‘the King’ of Hawkins in a long time. I work at FV and I hang out with a bunch of dorks who play D&D. My name is Steve for fuck’s sake. What’s more average than that?”

A laugh ripples through you as you finally realize that it didn’t matter what anybody thought. You both may be average… but to each other, you were everything.

Gently, oh so gently, Steve scooted closer to you. Slowly, a warm hand finds purchase on side of your neck. You sniffle at his softness and give him a reassuring smile to combat the concern still evident on his face. He raised a brow at you, giving your neck a slight squeeze, a wordless “you ok?”

“I’m good,” you say with a soft smile, eyes still slightly red from crying, but you were feeling much better.

Steve's heart melts at that, a mixture of pride and love welling up inside him.

“You’re good,” he confirms warmly, pulling you in closer and planting a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. "But you gotta tell me.” He pulled away and looked at you then, really looked at you. “I know it’s hard. God, I can barely do it, but you gotta tell me next time when somethin’s up. You gotta let me help you. I wanna help you. These insecurities you’re feeling, everyone's had 'em at one point or another. You aren’t alone, I promise you that."

He was giving you his fatherly tone he took with the kids, but his eyes looked so sweet. You nod and he gives a small one in return before pulling you back in tightly, his chin resting atop your head. You could hear a sigh of relief leave him, and you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same. Slowly, your breathing started to sync with his, and you swore you could fall asleep right then and there.

You both just took a moment. A moment to hold each other, to relish in the comfort of one another. It was like a small weight had been lifted off the both of you.

“‘Kay,” Steve said, throat tight as he released you from his grasp. You could have sworn you saw him swipe away a stray tear in the dark, but it was so quick you could have imagined it. “Let’s get you home.”

Loveeeee

that guy ⊹ steve harrington

summary: After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him… | 2.6k words

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The moment Steve steps through the glass doors of the diner, you wonder, for about the millionth time that month alone, what is it that you've done so wrong to deserve this kind of punishment.

It's Friday night, and on Friday nights, Steve Harrington goes on dates. It's just like clockwork, really: he meets a pretty girl, thinks she's the one, takes her out on a date, realizes quickly enough that she isn't quite what he was looking for, then comes here after having dropped her back home to sulk with you, in the diner that your family runs, still clad in the outfit he'd chosen especially for his failed date.

To be honest, he never looks sad, per se — more like disappointed. Frustrated, maybe.

You watch as he weaves around tables occupied by laughing friends, past booths filled with couples sharing desserts, then slides into a seat in front of you at the bar. Steve sits down with an exhausted sigh, ruffling up his hair before shooting you a tired smile.

"Hi."

You don't look up from where you're polishing the counter. "Bad date again?"

"Not even close. She talked about horses non-stop."

A quiet laugh slips past your lips despite yourself, and finally, you tear your gaze off the dark wooden surface of the counter to look up at him; he's got this pleased little smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the way they always do whenever he succeeds at making you laugh, even if just a little.

How are you supposed to keep acting like nothing's wrong when he looks at you like that?

You clear your throat awkwardly and make yourself busy stacking clean glasses next to the coffee machine.

"So...not the one, I take it?"

Steve leans forward against the counter and props his head up with his hand, sighing deeply.

"I'm starting to think she won't ever show up," he says quietly, running his other hand through his hair. You chance another glance at him and note how genuinely worried he looks. It breaks your heart almost as much as it annoys you. "What is it that's wrong with me, huh? I just don't get it."

"Nothing is wrong with you."

"You don't need to be nice to me. We've been friends since forever, remember?"

The word 'friends' makes you wince a little bit inside, but you hide the reaction behind a neutral frown. "Do you think there's something wrong with me? Because I haven't found the one yet either, you know."

Steve's expression softens as he looks at you, and once again you feel that horrible twinge in your stomach that you wish would just stop already.

"It's different. I mean—you're not actively trying to find someone." He reaches out to pull one of the half-melted mints out from the glass bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth with a shrug. "I go out looking for her and she just doesn't come. If she even exists, that is."

"She does."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I wouldn't hold my breath. God, why am I such an idiot, y'know?" Steve slumps over the counter with a groan, burying his face into his crossed arms. "My love life is a trainwreck."

"At least you have one."

He glances up at you curiously and lifts an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Do you want some pie?"

You're not about to tell him what you've only admitted to yourself mere months ago — that you're actually hopelessly, madly, stupidly in love with him, and that you have been ever since the two of you were just dumb kids racing around your parents' diner.

What makes it even worse is that you had no idea your feelings went that deep until Steve started going on these dates of his again. Before then, everything was normal — you met up every weekend and binged on candy, watched bad movies on your couch, drove around town together blasting The Clash on his BMW's speakers...it was good.

Until it wasn't.

"Wait, c'mon, you can't just leave me hanging like that," Steve presses. He shifts a little on his stool to better face you, then gestures at you with his hands. "You've clearly got something you wanna say, so, like—hit me. Lay it on me."

"Nothing. I'm just saying...at least you're trying, you know," you say carefully, measuring each word before speaking them. "And at least you're the one doing the rejecting. Could be worse."

Steve's eyebrows rise high up on his forehead and he looks at you incredulously. "Whoa, wait—are you trying to tell me you've been rejected?"

You busy yourself by filling two tall glasses with soda, then slide one to his side of the counter and keep the other for yourself. "Uh...kind of, yeah. But it's fine."

"But who the hell would even do that?" he blurts out. There's anger in his voice all of a sudden, a defensive fire in his eyes that makes you feel as if someone has punched you in the gut. "To you? You're like, the nicest person on the planet, and super pretty to boot. That's just—that's crazy!"

Your heart gives a violent little jump in your chest. He thinks you're pretty. Steve Harrington thinks you're pretty.

Pretty as a friend, you correct yourself immediately, and sigh as you sip your drink. Of course, it's nothing more than that — just meaningless words spoken in a moment of unthinking kindness.

"Seriously, who?" he presses on. "Give me a name. I'll fight him."

"You mean like you fought Jonathan Byers?" you smile behind your glass, looking at him from over its rim.

Steve looks embarrassed at the memory and drops his gaze for a second or two before meeting your eyes again with a playful little smile of his own. "Different situation, okay, but that's not the point. So? Who's the guy?"

"You...don't know him," you hedge.

"It's Hawkins. I know the stray cats here by name."

"Fine, well, even if you did know him, it doesn't matter. He didn't reject me, exactly...not really."

Steve frowns a little. "Okay, you're gonna have to start making sense now. This is hurting my head."

The funny thing is, he actually looks confused, as if he can't possibly fathom the idea of someone rejecting you. It's sweet, really — way too sweet for your liking, especially when you know fully well he doesn't see you in the way you'd want him to.

You lower your gaze to avoid his and instead focus on drawing random shapes on the counter with your index finger, where tiny droplets of condensation from your glass have pooled up on the dark wood. "I mean, I never really told him how I felt. Not directly. It just…never happened."

"Oh. Well, then how do you even know if he feels the same way?" he asks you, looking rather doubtful.

You steal another glance at him and almost regret it instantly. His eyes are trained on your face, patient and attentive like you're the only thing worth watching in the world. It makes you feel horribly small and selfish and guilty, because after all, what right do you have to want him when he so clearly wants someone else?

You feel like you could cry. You might, if you don't distract yourself with something fast enough.

"I just know. Do you want some pie? I'll go get you some pie."

Without waiting for a response, you rush off to the kitchen even though there's plenty of pies sitting on the display counter at the bar, and you make a beeline straight for the back exit.

The alley behind the diner is blissfully empty as usual, just a lonely dumpster and a handful of sad-looking shrubs and weeds peeking out from under the concrete.

No, you aren't going to cry.

This is stupid.

You press your back against the rough brick wall of the diner and breathe in deep the warm night air, then exhale slowly as you count to ten in your head.

When the door opens behind you and the diner's familiar chatter and clatter of cutlery spill into the alley, you wince, mentally cursing yourself for being so goddamn weak. You should have known better.

You don't have to look up to know that it's him.

"Are you hiding from me?" Steve's voice comes, quiet and curious and maybe just a little bit hurt, even.

"I got...suddenly nauseous," you explain weakly, still refusing to look up and meet his eyes.

There's a long stretch of silence, and you feel Steve move closer to you until he's leaning against the wall by your side. You finally look up and find him smiling, this gentle, amused little thing that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.

"You look just fine to me."

You stare up at the sky, head against the wall. "I thought I was gonna throw up."

He's still watching you, you can tell; you're keenly aware of his eyes on you, so much so that your skin prickles at the attention. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," you admit with a sigh, and turn your head to finally look at him. He's got this little half-smile on his lips, the very same one you fell for years ago, and you curse yourself silently for never learning how to let him go. Really let him go.

"Hey. Listen. You don't have to tell me, okay?" Steve says gently, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face and tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on the edge of your jaw for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to wonder whether he knows what he's doing to you.

You don't dare to move. You're afraid of breaking whatever spell has seemingly come over him.

"I should've never asked. That was selfish."

"Forget it," you say.

He's standing close now, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to be able to look up at him properly. There's a strange kind of tension in his eyes, something dark and unsure and tentative, and his gaze darts down to your lips just the slightest bit.

You're fairly sure you're just seeing what you want to see, your foolish heart playing tricks on you. But you panic nonetheless, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if he moves any closer, he'll realize the truth — that you're a liar and a coward, that you've been harboring these feelings of yours for him for years.

"I should—I should go. Back inside," you mutter, pointing vaguely at the door with your thumb. "In there."

"Sure, yeah. Okay. In there," he echoes, not making a single move to leave. "Not out here."

"Yup. Exactly. In there."

"So you said."

"Yep."

The wall of the diner is digging into your spine uncomfortably, and your mouth is dry, and your knees feel weak, and your stomach is doing somersaults, and the longer he stares at you with those eyes of his the more you feel like you're burning from the inside out and—

He's not moving. All he does is look at you, really look at you, as if it's the first time he's really looked, as if he's seeing something that wasn't there before.

"Okay, so—"

You try to push past him towards the door, but Steve grabs your arm, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets go as soon as you look up at him, lifting his hand in front of him in an apologetic gesture.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he says. He swallows hard and rubs his palm on the front of his jeans, a nervous little habit you think he's always had. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the carefully gelled strands, and it's probably the first time you've ever seen him look so flustered.

He laughs nervously and gestures at the ground with his hands as he speaks. "Look, this is just—this is just crazy, okay, but I think I, uh, maybe sort of realized something."

You blink at him, not quite certain you're hearing him correctly.

"Realized what?" you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.

Steve clears his throat and nods at you, seemingly pleased that you've finally spoken. "Yeah, well, this is stupid, but you know how you're always telling me to listen to my gut?"

"You're not making a whole lot of sense right now, Steve."

"Just bear with me for a sec, okay? This is like, totally new to me." He holds his palms up, and you notice his hands are shaking a little. "I just need a minute, alright?"

He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, then shoots you an apologetic look.

"Sorry, this is just...really weird," he confesses. "Weirdly real."

"You're freaking me out," you tell him, but Steve only smiles at you.

"Maybe I should just show you. Because, I mean, what if I'm wrong? That'd be terrible, obviously."

"Steve."

"Yeah, I know, but hear me out, okay?" he says quickly, and takes another step closer. You stand your ground this time, if only because you don't trust yourself to actually move without your legs giving out. "So, look. Here's the thing. You're, like—you're one of the most important people in my life. You've been there for me when nobody else was, and I...you mean a lot to me."

"Steve—"

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."

He takes another step forward until he's crowding you against the wall, hand coming to rest next to your head on the brick. He's close, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne and shampoo and laundry detergent, and if you were to lean in even the slightest bit, your faces would bump.

Steve is a little out of breath, his lips parted ever so slightly. And he's still looking at you with that strange, searching expression of his.

"Is this okay?" he whispers.

"I don't—what?"

Your voice catches in your throat. There's no room for doubt in his eyes now, not even the tiniest, slightest sliver of uncertainty left.

"This," Steve murmurs.

He tilts his head to the side a little and leans in until you're sure your noses are touching, and you feel your eyes slip closed in anticipation.

"Is this okay?" he repeats in a whisper. "Please tell me I'm not crazy."

"I think I am."

His lips brush yours. It feels like an accident, doesn't last long enough to be anything but a dream. You can still taste the faint, sweet trace of sugar and mint on your tongue when he pulls away, though.

"Just to be clear," Steve whispers, his fingers brushing lightly over the skin of your neck, tracing invisible lines that make you shiver, "am I the guy from earlier? The one you like?"

You don't have it in you to deny it anymore.

"Yes. It's you."

A wide grin breaks out across his face, and suddenly he's everywhere; he cups your face in his hands, pressing eager, fervent kisses along the line of your jaw, trailing hot and open-mouthed down the side of your neck.

You giggle helplessly, grabbing Steve by his collar to pull him away from you and up to your eye level. He's breathing just as heavily as you are, his hair messy and his eyes bright.

"How do you do this to me, huh?" he pants, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You just—you just completely knock me out."

A pleasant little thrill rushes up your spine at that.

"Oh yeah?"

"Completely."

You kiss him this time.

Sooooo sweet 🥹

Always There - Steve Harrington

Summary

w/c 3.9k

a/n based off of this song that drops me to my knees every time I listen to it. Lyrics are out of order, ignore it ♡

Request

You’ve been waiting for your lover, what you’ll discover, is she’s always there.

Long were the nights you once thought about Steve.

Seven and knee scrapes, you’d been there with a GI Joe bandage. Twelve and arguing parents, you’d been there with your palms, warm over his ears.

It was natural with him, always had been.

Fourteen and his first girlfriend, you’d been there with open arms during their break up. Though, he didn’t seem to mind she’d left him for Jack Thompson, a stumpy boy a year older than them. Like he anticipated it, like he knew it was coming. It’d always bewildered you that he wasn’t upset his first girlfriend was stolen from him, but he had you he’d said, and that was enough for him.

16 and Nancy wheeler, you’d stub the toe of your shoe into the ground when she came along, and pretend she didn’t get to you the way she did.

Steve with her was a lump in your throat, but what were you to do? He loved her, he told you, It was different than the other girls. You couldn’t inadvertently scare her off with your silence, or push her away with darting glares in the halls. She loved him too. Or, so he’d thought.

Steve didn’t know why it felt like he was forcing himself to love Nancy. It stressed him, weighing down on his tight chest when he’d thought about the way she proclaimed them bullshit. Like he was just some fling, some distraction.

Not her distraction. His.

“Bullshit.” Nancy had slurred. “We’re bullshit.”

And Steve wondered why it was you he wanted to reach for in the moment. He knew you’d be there to wipe the cold water of Nancy’s indifference from his face.

His body ached as you held him that night under silly confetti sheets he’d bought you. The same sheets you’d brought to your new apartment. Pent up stress leaving his body in guttural sobs, It embarrassed him, pushed him further into your own aching chest. You didn’t mind, preening from the attention he’s been lackluster with.

You toe at his hip now, under the roof of an apartment you two call your own. Thinking about it makes you a nostalgic Steve calls you silly for, so you sit quiet as he grabs your socked foot, thumb pressing into the soft middle. “Foot message?”

20 and grown up, you feel like he’s been taking care of you more lately.

He drops your foot. “You wish.”

You smile, all the cheek he loves, but he doesn’t look away from the blindingly bright TV. Your shoulders drop, wishing you’d catch him looking at you the way you looked at him.

Twenty felt nice on him. Twenty warmed his skin and broadened his shoulders. It was shown in the way his arms filled the sleeves of his crew necks, the way he carried himself with a new lightness.

You’d always known he’d look good grown up, and twenty was grown up when you were sixteen. Taxes and rent, grocery shopping and working a job, you’d always known it’d be Steve you’d do those arduous adult tasks with. You just hoped it’d be as his girlfriend, not his roommate.

It ached the 14 year old inside of you. Roommate wasn’t the best adjective for what you were, but it worked. He was your best friend, your diary, your Steve. Not your roommate. He hated it, correcting everyone in a 20 mile radius when they called you that.

Movie night with your roommate?

best friend

It’s only fair when you decide to push his buttons a little. The lack of attention eats you, and you know he doesn’t like to talk about his dates to you. “How was Carrie?”

“Hm?”

“Carrie?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out heavily. “She was fine.”

You nod slowly, though it still isn’t received, like the smile you had plastered on just for him 2 minutes ago.

He seems tired, though usually he’s able to muster a knock it off.

“There’ll be a second date?” You don’t know why you seek out this answer.

“Um,” his head lolls against the couch, turning to look at you. “No,” his head shakes, “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Your eyes squint. “Why not?”

His laugh is exasperated. “I don’t know, sweet thing.” Heat crawls up your neck, embarrassed at his unexpected attention. “Why are we playing 20 questions?”

“Sorry.” You murmur, drawing your knees up. Defensive, but he doesn’t mind.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs back, smile lilting his voice playfully. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes pop up to his. He’s grateful to make contact with them. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Cause we’re playing interrogate Steve.”

“I said sorry.” There’s a loose thread of the couch in between your fingers. You tie it anxiously.

“You didn’t need to.” He teases.

“I know.” You tease back, lighthearted. Just loud enough to hear, just quiet enough that you don’t have to use your voice, you’re scared he’ll hear the choke in your throat.

The couch below you crinkles as Steve turns back to his tv, and you’re embarrassed. So embarrassed.

He doesn’t know this, of course, but it still gnaws that he could see through your interrogation. As he’d put it.

“Y/N.” His voice is quiet.

The TV still plays, background noise though you pretend to pay attention.

“Hm?” You feign attention, or a lack thereof.

His hand drops from the couch cushion to your knee, squeezing concernedly. “Are you okay?”

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he knows more than you’d think.

“Yes, Steve,” There’s a weak laugh that makes him frown. “Are we playing interrogate Y/N now?”

“No,” he drags out, gently. “you just seem.. sad?”

You nod. “Thank you.”

“No,” he says again, a little more stressed. “I just mean- shit, I can tell you want to cry.” his chest hurts. “Did I do something?”

Your head shakes, words failing you.

He’s upset now. Not at you, of course, but at himself for being the reason you weren’t able to talk.

“M’sorry.” His head shakes, dismissing his earlier question. “Please don’t be upset with me, just.. tell me when you’re ready.”

You nod, knowing that he‘s still watching, though he’s turned back to Full House.

Something about him noticing your upset doesn’t sit right with you. He’s known you since you were 5, of course he can tell when you want to cry. Of course he notices the freckle next to your eye and the birthmark on your hip. Don’t all friends?

Your stomach stumbles and you get up, tripping to get to your small bedroom before Steve sees the tears. You and him had a small budget apartment shopping, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.

You’re grateful when Steve seemingly doesn’t follow, though he stands behind the door petrified. He’s the reason you’re hiding away, he’s the reason he can hear racketing sobs, and he doesn’t know what he did.

He thinks for a moment, that you must know what he’s been thinking lately.

—

Stay while in your slumber, tumble under, and never wake.

Family video is cold without you.

Steve doesn’t think there was ever a Family Video shift he didn’t work with you, and your vanishment has completely left him an absence of a boy.

Not that you quit or anything drastic like that.

Called in sick, is what Robin had said, and when Steve didn’t believe her, he’d had no choice but to tell the nosy girl what had happened the night before.

She’d sympathized with him like a good friend should, but that didn’t mean she agreed with him. She sometimes wish he had more interesting drama. He’d make a better coworker best friend.

“I mean, how do you think she feels, Steve?”

They sit on the floor of Family video behind the counter. Besides the establishment being empty of you, it was also devoid of customers, like your light drew them in. And they weren’t going to stand a ten hour shift if they hadn’t needed to.

His attention catches, looking up from the boxes Robin hands him to snap shut and throw in a crate. “What?”

She, unlike Steve, doesn’t look up, focused on the repetitious task of opening movie boxes, and stamping their return. “She’s your best friend of, what, 15 years?”

He doesn’t understand where she’s getting at, eyebrows scrunched in pure confusion. So what? “What does that have to do with this?”

Robin heaves a sigh, letting the stamp clunk down onto the hardwood loudly. If she notices Steve cringe, she makes no attempt to apologize. “I’m sure it gets tiring watching you go on date after date.”

“I do not go on ‘date after date.’” His pointed glare fails to cut through Robin.

“How many boyfriends has she had, Steve?”

On a normal day these questions would be tolerated. Today, they are not. “I don’t see what you’re getting at, Robin.”

She sighs again, more exasperated than before. His heart trips meanly at his friend being frustrated with him. “It hurts her feelings, Steve.” His head turns, Robin marches on. “I mean, she’s the only constant girl in your life, besides me, and you haven’t made a move!”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” His head shakes. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

“Did you want to lose me when you told me you loved me in the Starcourt toilets?”

Won't you tell her that you love her? And you'll hug her, most every day.

“I did not tell you I loved you.” His eyes roll. “Besides, I tell her I love her.”

Robin nods encouragingly. “That’s great, but is it the same way you told me you loved me?”

Steve loves Robin. It’s a deep twisting love that Steve is not ashamed to admit to anyone who asks, but even he knows that’s not the same love he holds for you. It’s different. Your his person. He feels a little sick.

“I think you should see sense, Steve.” Robin shrugs.

His hand runs over his eyes. “Thanks, Robs.”

“You’re welcome.” She chirps. “I just miss her here is all.”

Steve let’s his first smile of the day slip. “Is all.” He mimics

She laughs louder than him. “Shut up and finish your pile, you’re slowing me down.”

—

Walk a while in her summer, she is the drummer, of your beating heart.

Summer days are so much better when your best friend isn’t acting weird.

Weird is harsh.

The sun beating down heavily, your warm foggy head lays in Robins lap. Her fingers work through your hair, untangling tiny knots your brush didn’t glide through this morning. It’s nice. You breathe through your nose softly.

“Getting sleepy?” Robin murmurs, quiet in contrast to the shrieks of happy teenagers fifty feet away.

“No,” you huff, adjusting comfortably on her thigh, “just bored.”

“Hear that.” She nods, though only Steve can see. They’d wanted an outside day, wanted to skate and run and work themselves in the heat of the sun. Who was Steve to say no to that?

The blanket a languid tangle of teenage young adult limbs, he stares at the notable gap between your thigh and his. It’s raging and wide as the Mississippi River. He can’t stand it.

“What’s for dinner?” Robin asks into the air, but you know it’s not directed towards you.

“I don’t know,” Steve yanks a blade of grass from the ground. It’s soft between his fingers as his thumb glides against the smooth surface. He chucks it at Robin. “Ask the children’s mothers.”

She sniffs out as it hits her nose, he grimaces as she gently pulls it from where it’s landed in your hair. “Come on, you’re not gonna feed them?”

“What kind of dad are you, Steve?” You murmur into Robin’s thigh, tickling her softly.

He watches you, eyes still closed, reach out and flick his knee. It’s the first time you’ve directly touched him this entire evening. It sets off something awful in his chest.

“I mean- shit you know we gotta pay the electric,” His head shakes. “Can’t exactly afford Happy Meals for six.”

You sigh, ignoring Robin’s displeased mumble as you sit up. “I already paid electric, Steve.”

He doesn’t understand, tugging the brim of his cap down confusedly. Love will keep us together, it reads. Robin teased him for it, but he knew it was your favorite. “But we usually split that?”

“Just wanted to get ahead of things,” you shrug, not quite making eye contact. “figured you’d have some extra money for things like this.”

He hates the sincerity in your voice, eyeing your fingers as they tug the hem of his shorts absentmindedly. “You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You shrug again, dropping your head back into Robin’s warm lap. “Wanted to.”

His head thumps with heat, or longing. He can’t tell them apart, covering his cool eyes from the heat of the sun with his hat. If it helps, he’ll know which the problem was.

Lucas is the first one to come running hungry. His nimble fingers punch a yellow straw into his capri sun, sucking greedily. Robin swats his hand when it overflows onto sticky fingers, mumbling something about the blanket. He doesn’t mind, tossing it into the grass.

“I’m hungry.”

“Hi, hungry.” You smile, though you don’t look up from your resting spot. Robin snorts at the unfunny joke, Steve cringes.

“Is she okay?”

“Just warm.” You nod, peeking at him. His visor covers the run from his eyes protectively, your eyes glint in a tease you won’t let slip. “We’re getting food soon.”

“Food?” Max drops to the blanket, kicking Lucas in the ribs softly, teasingly.

“We’re getting Happy Meals.” You affirm, reaching up to pull her thick red hair from her sweaty neck. Mike displeases.

“We’re not kids anymore.”

“You love the apple slices.” Wills elbow knocks Mikes.

“I could go for a Happy Meal.” Dustin disagrees with Mike. Max hums something of an agreement.

“Dollar menu.” Steve corrects, fighting off the petulant whines of 16 year olds in his ears. He’ll be buying you something pretty.

—

Don't you try to push or shove her, Find another, Or she'll walk away

The days following slow Steve down. Mentally and physically.

He doesn’t want to get up for work, doesn’t want to be ignored by you, to get a small smile for something that usually gets him your shining laugh.

You paid the electric in full so he could pocket some cash. He’d called the company that night to double check.

Not that he didn’t trust the veracious words from your mouth, it just startled him. You didn’t have to do that. You shouldn’t have done that. You’re a team, teams talk about these things.

He can’t help but feel that he’s the reason you haven’t talked to him.

You go grocery shopping and he could be sick. You buy for the both of you. Your fruit, his protein powder. Your snacks, your snacks x2 so Steve can share without feeling guilty. It’s a low punch to the gut.

It kills him that you do these things. These little things that splay your love embarrassingly on a table. You remember he doesn’t like Dawn dish soap and get Meyers instead. What is love if not attention? He doesn’t deserve it.

So he makes it up to you.

He does the dishes while your away, cleans the kitchen and stocks your coffee pods when they run low. Tiny acts he hopes won’t go unnoticed by you.

Though, this new act is not so tiny.

Creasing in the palm of his hand, the rough material of a tote bag handle squeezes. It’s warm, and slightly wet, from the warmth of his nervous hand. Is this too much? He’d got the prettiest bunch there, wrapping it in brown crinkle paper, cause no girl wants flowers in plastic Nancy had told him once.

He’s grateful to the teenage memory of her. A mental note to thank her.

Standing in front of your closed wood door, he can hear the loud music of the vinyl Robin had gotten you for Christmas last year. A thoughtful present, really, though you had to buy a record player to use it. You’d made Steve promise to never tell her, accepting the gift in a warm hug. She’d seemed really pleased.

“She's a woman in a dream, one that makes you fall in love”

He knocks, low enough to play it off if you don’t hear. But you do, of course you do.

There’s a soft shuffle. A click and a sputter of a record player dying down, a bed being situation on, and then a “Yes?”

He breathes out, turning the knob. It’s cold, and the gold paint chips off every so often, but it’s in your apartment that you and Steve pay for with your grown up jobs. If you could call family video that.

He can’t make himself walk in, leaving against the doorframe anxiously with his arms over his chest. It was supposed to be natural with you, you were his person. So why’d this feel so awful.

“I got you something.” He chokes out.

“You did?” Your eyes peak down at the brown paper crinkling out the tote bag. The sight of Steve Harrington with a tote bag. Where is your Polaroid?

Padding into your room cautiously, he pulls the flowers out gently. They’re rough around the edges, you can’t deny. Cleaned and snipped, you can see the spots he hadn’t meant to knick, and the way the paper dents in places it shouldn’t. “Still your favorite?” He hands them to you, still so gently.

“Yes,” you whisper, shocked beyond repair. “And the brown paper.”

“Eh,” he scratches his neck sheepishly. “Nance once told me girls didn’t like plastic wrapped flowers. I hope it’s not too fancy schmancy”

“I love any flowers.” Your honest voice mumbles. He almost doesn’t hear you as you look up to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” He nods. He opens his mouth to say something, closing it silently. Your amused smile rings around his head.

“Yes?”

His fingers twitch. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You choke a swallow. “What are you talking about?”

“The dates.”

“The dates?” The space between your eyebrows crease like the paper in your hands. “Those never made me uncomfortable.”

“I just-“ He breathes out, dejected. “Never?”

Your brain sputters. “Did you want them to?”

“No?” He panics. “No, no!” His head shakes furiously. “Just, Robin said-“

He’s cut off by your loud laugh. “That was your first mistake.”

His head cocks.

“Taking advice from her.” You give with a shrug. He coughs, startled.

“Yeah,” he nods, serious, definite. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I mean, I love her, but this is the girl that had a crush on a Nashville wannabe for three years.”

He huffs a laugh that’s not all there. “Still don’t see what she saw in her.” His head shakes.

You squint, his dejected limpness detected quickly by your roaming eyes. “A voice only a mother could love.” You beg a laugh from him.

His shoulder shakes and his eyes flick to the posters covering the off white of your walls.

“Ok,” he breathes, patting his hip. “well I’ll get out of your hair.” He nods to himself. “Just wanted to give those to you.”

“Thank you, Stevie.”

The nickname pinches him and it hurts. He nods to you this time. “Anytime, bug.”

Ouch.

Crestfallen as a kicked puppy, he heads for the door. The sight stomps your heart.

Your weak voice stops him. “They never made me uncomfortable, but maybe a little jealous?”

He turns. “What?”

“I mean-“ your head tilts to the side, slowly shrugging. “It wasn’t fun hearing about Cass,”

“Carrie.”

“Carrie, and the other girls.” You pause. “Even if you never gave me the details.”

You tread a line of no return. Steve kicks you forward.

“But jealous?” He whispers.

You shrug, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Your esophagus closes, no longer letting you swallow without a fight. That hurt. “Yeah,” you repeat. “Oh.”

The silence is deafening. Wow, you think.

You bring your fingers up to scrub tired eyes. They burn from your lack of sleep and the tears that threaten to front. “Maybe let’s just forget this?” Your shoulders deflate and he hates the crack in the end of the sentence.

“What?”

“Your ‘oh’ said a lot,” you breathe out self consciously. “So let’s just drop it before we can’t take back our words.”

Before we can’t take back our words.

“But I want that.” Steve frowns. “I want to not take it back.” He’s scared of tightness in his chest.

You pause. “Oh.”

He smiles. “Yeah,” he copies you. “Oh.”

It’s quiet after that. The whirring fan above you clicking with each turn. What do you say to that? This boy, the object of your affection for god knows how long, reciprocates your love.

“Wow.”

He laughs, his eyes squinting. “Right?”

“What wouldn’t you be able to take back?” You push lightly, daring a look at him. His hair mussed, his shirt wrinkled, you know he’s lost as much sleep over this as you.

“That-“ he starts slowly “That I’ve been into you since I was 14.”

You sit in quiet apprehension. The corners of his mouth ache from the smile he can’t wipe away.

“That I date to find a girl who compares to you,” His head tilts. “and they don’t.”

“We’re so stupid.”

“Just a little.” He grabs your arms gently and pulls you up to stand under him. The way he looks down at you kills the butterflies in your stomach and replaces them with something stronger. He tucks hair behind your ear, admiring. “You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever met, even when I don’t deserve it.”

You paw at his chest. “Stop.” You murmur.

He shakes his head. “You tolerate me to an extent I don’t understand, but I’m grateful.”

“I don’t tolerate you, idiot.” Your lips bend down. “I like you.”

He agrees quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment with his insecurity. “You know, before I talked to Robin I thought you were upset because you could read my mind?”

Your head shakes, amusedly disbelieved. “I take back what i said earlier, going to Robin for advice was amazing.”

“Shut up,” he pushes you back without letting go. “I thought you were hearing how much I wanted to kiss you.”

Your nose scrunches. “That’s so silly.”

“So silly.” He agrees, swaying you forward and backwards. “Is it silly that I want to kiss you now?”

“No,” you whisper. “I already knew that,” your face is stony faux seriousness. “I read your mind.”

He snorts, bending down to press his lips to your own. It’s soft and slow. His lips are smooth and if you didn’t know him like you do, you wouldn’t know he’s been using aquaphor since he was 18.

He pulls back gently and kisses you again quicker. “You’re so soft.” His fingers itch to slide from your waist and pull you in by your belt loops.

“Your chapstick.” You murmur, dazed.

“That shit is $9,” You know his annoyance isn’t real. “I need you to write me a check for what you owe me.”

“Can I pay you back in kisses?”

He pauses. “One kiss is .50 cents.” His eyes close, dramatizing his seriousness. “I need 18 kisses on the lips now.”

On the lips. You laugh at his wording. “I think we can make that work.”

She is what our love is made of.

“M’here, honey. I love you.” Don’t you know I’m insane?!!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

18+

Warnings: Language, soft smut, vaginal sex, and NSFW.

~*~

Clinging to Steve as he’s giving you his laziest, but deepest thrusts. Every ridge, every inch, it glides back and forth in your soaked walls, catching all the right places, keeping your body gone in outer limits. There’s no real rush, no hurried need. It’s a prolonged urge to take, to feel, to greedily indulge. Languid hands, your breasts smashed against his sternum, torso stimulated by the jungle that lines his stomach, right down to where you’re joined.

His tongue sloppily entangles with yours - pineapple wine still staining his breath, kissing you as if it’s his last night on earth. He smells like summer, like faded cologne and hair gel, the perspiration of making love to his best-friend turned lover - like Steve Harrington. You cling to his back, his full weight settling, moving in various paces, massive palms collecting purchase on your wrists, your thighs, everywhere he can seek. His overgrown tresses tickle your cheek, his nose nudging yours until they slip off of one another. That chain around his neck, you taste the metallic tang when you find yourself burying your mouth against his jugular to map out each mole and freckle available to you.

Steve gets verbal amongst jagged, winded, whining breaths.

“M’ here, honey. I love you.”

You run a hand up his neck’s nape, carding your fingers through his hair. He whimpers appreciatively. “That’s right, baby. You know what I like, don’t you?”

More vocalized speech will occur, but right now you’re both content to ride this leisurely pace, which eventually builds to an overnight crest, blue hour approaches, and it aches so fucking bad that Steve has to grip your hands and lace fingers for support, only able to get a series of movements before he spills inside of you, taking you with him.

Soooo 💓💓💓💓

steve harrington and sweeping you off your feet.

he’d just got off his closing shift at family video, the kind of tired that’s bone-deep and has him aching everywhere, in a sour mood and grumbling.

he hasn’t seen you all day. he’s only been wanting to see you all day; your pretty face and lilting voice and radiant smile that rivals the very warmth of the sun. all he wants to do is kiss, kiss, kiss you stupid.

he’s about to get what he wants.

“hi, stevie!” you’re perched like the perfect little bird by his car, hair fluttering in the breeze that drifts around you like it’s made to. you’re so pretty, he almost doesn’t make it to you and melts on the spot.

“angel,” steve breathes as he all but shoves himself into your space, strong arms winding around your waist and squeezing tight, tightly, face finding home in the crook of your neck. you smell great, he thinks, you’re practically beauty incarnate. his dream girl.

“angel, angel, angel,” you bury your fingers into his hair and scratch at his scalp, reveling in the quiet groan he lets out when he relaxes into your embrace. “i missed you so, so much.”

“i missed you too, sweet boy,” you mumble against his temple, sealing it against his skin with a gentle kiss. “missed your pretty face all day.”

suddenly, your feet are leaving the ground and you’re swung around, gasping as your hands slip from steve’s hair and tighten around his shoulders in a death grip. you can hear his elated chuckling, almost giggling, as he spins you round and round and round. “steve! let me down! i’m getting dizzy!”

he puts you down and hugs you close, so close you arch a little into him. you stick your fingers back in his hair when he kisses you stupid; not rough or mean, but firm and oozing with sticky adoration. it makes you dizzy for real.