cycat-carisi

[cycat-carisi]

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[cycat-carisi]

Summer love

Summary: You and Billy were never just friends—but never quite more, either. Now that you’ve moved on, he’s unraveling. And there’s one thing you haven’t told him—yet.

Warnings: 18+, complicated relationship, swearing, embarrassment, SMUT. MDNI

Pairing: Asshole!Protective! Billy x Cheerleader!In love!reader.

WC: 4.1k

@keeryhours Order up!🛎️ Loaded Potato soup with a blooming onion, coconut pudding and a coffee. Enjoy!

“Oh, Billy!”

“Oh, yes” you moan, as you straddle Billy’s lap riding him.

Billy rubs one hand all over your body, while the other holds your hip.

His bed is creaking, headboard hitting the wall.

“Yeah, baby— ride me just like that.” He grunts.

You throw your head back in bliss, his curve is hitting everything just right.

He pulls you closer and starts pounding you from below.

Chasing his release that he’s been on the brink of for five minutes.

“Shit, shit.”

His thrusts get messy and fast.

“Fuck, doll— you’re so sexy.” He moans.

His hands grip your hips as he thrusts hard twice, releasing inside you.

He bites his lip staring at you as he reels from his great orgasm.

He lets go of you and relaxes his body, not even interested in making sure you came.

“What the fuck billy?—“

“I was close to finishing.” You admit.

He pushes you off of him as he leans over, pulling his cigarettes out of his pants pocket. Putting one in his mouth and lighting it.

“Well, you took too long. I can’t wait forever.” He replies.

You scoff, sitting there—regretting coming over.

He gets out of bed, stretching— heading to his bathroom.

“You can shut the door on your way out, I’ll lock it later.” He tells you, shutting the bathroom door.

“Asshole.” You mumble, getting off the bed. Annoyed that he once again just wanted sex.

You find your cheer top on the floor and put it on, but you can’t find one of your socks. You sigh and just leave it, grabbing your backpack and heading out of the front door.

You walk home, the sun is setting and it looks beautiful outside. Dogs barking in backyards, leaves rustling in the wind— complete peace.

You get home—your mom is making spaghetti, dad’s on the phone with the pharmacy, your twin brothers playing DND.

“How was school sweetie?” Your mom asks.

“Fine.” You sigh, throwing your keys in the fruit bowl and trekking up the stairs.

You get into your room, setting your backpack down and plopping on your bed.

You lean over grabbing your purple phone on your nightstand, dialing robin’s number.

“Hello.” Robin answers.

“Hey!—“

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Nothing, I just finished Mr. Blake’s AP history homework. What are you doing? You’re calling me later than you usually do.”

“I just got home from Billy’s.” You sigh.

“Ugh! You’re still sleeping with that asshole?”

“Unfortunately.” You reply.

“I still care about him Robs.”

“Yeah, but does he care about you? I mean didn’t he slut shame you not that long ago?”

The line is silent. You hate hearing Robin speak the truth.

“I don’t know what to do, ugh.” You whine.

“Umm.. don’t have sex with him?” Robin giggles.

You laugh.

Robin’s mom calls her name in the background.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Byeee.” You respond, hanging up the phone.

You shower and decide to go to bed early, completely ditching dinner— as you weren’t hungry anyway.

You wake up bright and early, putting on your cheer uniform again— it’s spirit week and cheerleaders wear them the whole week. You had to get billy to buy you another skirt for $100 a few weeks ago, because Billy got cum on it and it left a stain that wouldn’t come out.

You get to school and head to your locker, talking to Robin. You see Billy with his arm around Anna furness, your cheer captain. He glances over at you winking, making you feel like shit.

“What a pig.” Robin scoffs.

“Right, Must he fuck everyone on the cheer team?” You grumble, closing your locker and heading to class.

The day goes by pretty fast, before you know it the bell for lunch is ringing. You walk out to the parking lot and see Billy, smoking next to his car. He shouts your name, telling you come here.

“What do you want, Billy?” You question.

“To see my girl.” He grins, exhaling smoke.

“If I’m your girl, why was your hand basically on Anna Furness’s ass?”

He chuckles, brushing off what you say.

“Ahh, she’s just a friend.”

You roll your eyes.

“How about you ride home with me— stay the night, we can watch a movie and I’ll eat you out?” He propositions.

You feel all mushy inside hearing him want to make plans with you, no matter what your mind says— you struggle to let him go.

“If I can’t come, is Anna Furness going to end up in your bed?”

He laughs, putting out his cigarette and doesn’t answer the question.

You start walking away, realizing that Robin is right. He walks in front of you, stopping you.

“Don’t get mad, baby.” He sighs.

“How can I not? You know how I feel about you sleeping with other people.”

He leans in, kissing you— making you forget what you were just saying.

“I love you, there’s a difference. They don’t mean anything.” He claims.

“You say that, but won’t make me your girlfriend.”

He kisses you on the forehead, puts a toothpick in his mouth and starts walking away.

“Let me know if you’re coming.” He shouts as he walks through the parking long, leaving you standing there.

Your mind and heart are telling you two different things, leaving you fighting a constant battle.

After thinking it over more on your way home and as you laid in bed, you decided to stop dealing with Billy. You want more and you deserve better. You know exactly how you’ll get over him, you dial a familiar number.

After a few rings, they pickup.

“Hello?”

The windows of the black GNX fog up, rocking back and forth as your hand presses against the back window, “I Miss You” by Teddy Pendergrass playing in the background.

“Fuck, Gareth!” You moan.

Gareth slaps your ass, as he fucks you nice and slow from the back.

“Shit. I missed you, baby.” He grunts.

His necklaces, hitting eachother— making a clinking noise.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mmm, right there Gareth.” You whine.

“This tight pussy is all mine and you’re so fucking wet.” He mumbles as he pounds you, no longer being gentle.

“I’m gonna—“

“Gareth.” You barely spit out, struggling to focus on speaking.

“I know, baby. Cum on this cock.” He commands.

You grip the side of the seat as you orgasm, letting out a loud moan.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum—“

“Fuck, oh shit.” He mutters.

He fucks you as hard as he can, going deep inside you.

You’re moaning his name a way you never have before.

He keeps thrusting in you, filling you with his load.

“Gareth!” You shout, getting mad.

He realizes why.

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry babe, I forgot you told me to pull out.”

He stays in you a minute longer trying to catch his breath, before he falls back into the seat.

“That was so amazing.” He confesses.

You pay him no mind, you’re just ready to go home and shower.

You adjust your dress, sitting back down in the seat and looking for your panties.

“Were you just looking for sex?” He asks, pulling his pants up.

“Hmm?” You glance at him.

“Did you mean what you said on the phone?—“

“You know, I have a soft spot for you and I never got over you. I don’t want to be used for sex.”

“Yes, I meant it. I want to try again, I’m done with Billy.” You reply, knowing deep down that it’s a lie.

Gareth leans closer kissing you, holding your face.

“I want another chance with you, so badly babe.”

You smirk, kissing him again.

“Then, let’s try.”

Billy didn’t understand why you started avoiding him, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get under his skin. He didn’t want to seem desperate, because he has options—but this truly bothered him.

Over the next few weeks, rumors of you and Gareth being together started circulating the school— Billy just about lost his mind. He told himself that it couldn’t be true, but seeing you get into Gareth’s car after school confirmed it.

He went home and drank himself silly, smashed Gareth’s car windows, got into a fight downtown and was overall miserable.

He constantly stares at the picture of you two that he kept tucked away. He’d never forgive himself, if he doesn’t get another chance. You were the only thing on his mind after he found out that you moved on.

Things with Gareth are going great, he’s exactly what you were looking for— but you still miss and think about Billy. He takes you to school, picks you up, takes you on dates, buys you flowers, writes you notes and fucks your brains out. You don’t want to ruin things, because you finally have someone good—but you can’t help how you feel.

Gareth drops you off at school, because he forgot his bag at home and will be right back. As you walk across the empty parking lot, Billy approaches you— seemingly coming out of nowhere.

“The hell do you want Billy?” You ask, already annoyed.

“Why are you with him?—“

“Is it to piss me off? Because it’s working.” He complains

You laugh at his audacity.

“Not everything is about you. I wanted you, but you didn���t want me.”

“I did—“

“I do fucking want you!” His voice raises.

“I’m over it, Billy. You had your chance and a year to act right, but you didn’t. I can’t spend our last year of highschool waiting on you.” You reiterate.

“Babe, please.” He pleas.

“I’ll stop all of it right now and make you my girlfriend.” He says.

You stare at him, wanting so badly to accept the offer— but you know it would never work.

You sigh, walking away from him— trying to process that conversation.

Billy walks into the school, pissed. You head back over to where Gareth usually parks. People are staring, snickering, whispering—you try not to pay it any attention, but you’re confused by how weird they’re acting.

You sit on the rocks and your mind starts to race over the what-ifs, the maybe’s, but with Gareth it’s different— he just does the right thing and you don’t have to beg for it.

Gareth’s car pulls into his parking space in the student parking lot.

You jump in, trying to clear your head.

“Hey, baby. I’m about to go in.” Gareth says, reaching to turn the car off.

You put your hands over the keys, stopping him.

“Can we skip? I.. just. I don’t want to be here today.” You stammer.

“Are you okay?” He asks, rubbing his hand on your thigh.

“Yeah, I just need a day away.” You reply, taking a deep breath.

He leans in, kissing you and caressing your face.

“I love you, I really do.” He mumbles.

You smile, trying not to make things awkward—but you can’t say you love Gareth back, because you’re still in love with Billy.

Before you can say anything, the car door flings open and Gareth is yanked out of the car—thrown to the ground by Billy.

You rush out of the car, trying to stop Billy.

“Stay the fuck away from her, you piece of shit!” Billy shouts, punching Gareth repeatedly — making his nose and face bleed.

You push Billy off of Gareth, checking to see if he’s okay.

“What the fuck is your problem?!?” You snap.

He points at Gareth, seeing red.

“If I find out that this was you, I’ll kill you.” Billy threatens.

“He’s not a good guy. I might not be the best— but at least I don’t do this.”

He grabs you, handing you a Polaroid. Gareth’s eyes widen and panic sets in.

You look at the Polaroid and it’s you naked. Taken in Gareth’s bed, a picture that you have no knowledge of.

Your heart sinks, you run to grass—throwing up.

You start crying. Gareth is one on of the good guys at least he was supposed to be.

You walk back over, tears falling.

“What the fuck is this? I.. I don’t understand.”

He chokes up.

“Baby, I thought that you looked beautiful and I wanted to take a picture of you. It was only for me, no one else. I swear.”

“I didn’t tell you that you could take that!”

“Why would you do that to me?” You snap.

“Munson was passing it around the cafeteria. It was handed to us by the cheer table. I’m pretty sure all of the seniors have seen it.” Billy fumes, chiming in.

“It- it must’ve fallen out of my bag.” Gareth stutters.

You walk over to Gareth, holding the picture.

“You’re dead to me. If I find out that you have anything else like this, I will gut you like a fish in this parking lot.”

Billy kinda smirks behind you, seeing you rage and frighten Gareth.

Billy roughs Gareth up some more, leaving him on the ground.

Billy catches up with you as you walk out of the parking lot—stopping you and giving you a hug.

“I’m so sorry that he did that.. you don’t deserve that.”

Your anger turning back into sadness, you sob in his arms.

“I’m here for you, baby.” He assures you.

You pull back looking him into the eyes, annoyed by his statement.

“Billy, you’re here for you— not me.”

He steps back, letting go of you.

“I- I’m sorry that I haven’t been the best. I just got so caught up in—“

You interrupt, scoffing.

“Caught up in what?— your boys, pussy, or being an asshole?” You ask.

He stares at you, watching the tears fall— wetting your shirt.

“You’re just like the rest of them. You used me and instead of admitting it, you say you love me.” You add.

“I’m nothing like them.” He rolls his eyes.

“No, you’re worse— you sell a girl a dream that you know she wants and you dangle it just low enough that she can almost have it, but she’s always jumping for it.”

Billy hesitates to respond.

“Look, I love you— I do. I know that I’m messed up and not perfect, but seeing you with that loser has driven me mad. I want you with me, I want to be your boyfriend.”

Your heart is practically pulling itself apart. You wanted him to be your boyfriend for so long and he toyed with you.

“Did you want to be my boyfriend when you fucked Cindy Cheatham, Anna Furness, Liv Douglas or Zara smith and who ever else?” You ask.

Billy sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“I’ve been with so many girls and women, but when I got with you it was different. You take over my mind and my heart, even if I can’t admit it—“

“Every girl I fucked after you, I pictured you. I don’t even remember their faces or names.. just you.”

Despite the confession being fucked up, it was genuine.

You don’t acknowledge what he said, you’re too drained to.

“Can you drive me home?” You ask.

He nods.

“Yes, of course.”

The car ride to your house was quiet, you don’t have much to say and as dumb as it— you’re considering giving him another chance.

He pulls up in front of your house and you see that your parents are home, with company. You hesitate to get out of the car.

“You can always come to my house and I’ll let you lay down in my room, I’ll stay in the living room.” Billy offers.

“Thank you.” You reply.

Billy drives to his house, no one is home. You go inside— heading down the hall to his room with him following you. You get in the room, taking your shoes off and he stands in the doorway.

“I’ll be in the living room, holler if you need anything.”

He starts walking away.

“Wait!” Your voice raises.

Billy turns around, looking at you.

“Can you lay with me?” You ask.

Billy’s brow raises, shocked that you’re asking that after how today went.

“Uh, sure.” He responds.

He comes in, shutting the door behind him. You strip down out of the outfit you have on, Billy tosses you one of his shirts.

You crawl under the covers into his bed, laying your head on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

A few hours go by, the sun is setting and you’re still asleep.

Max gets home, opening Billy’s door to ask him something.

“Go away.” He whispers, making max mad— she slams the door.

It startles you, making you wake up. You see the time on his clock and sit up in the bed.

“You don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to. It’s just me and Max tonight.” He mentions.

You’re still wiping your eyes, a little groggy.

“I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.”

“I can take you, if you want?” He offers.

“Sure.” You reply.

You get out of the bed, walking into the hall to use the phone. You dial home, telling your parents that you’re staying over Robins.

You spend the rest of the night with Billy. He orders pepperoni pizza and puts on your favorite movie—Friday the 13th. You fall asleep on him 30 minutes into the movie.

You get up, shower, and get dressed— you’re wearing one of Billy’s shirts today. He’s already taken your backpack to the car and is waiting on you. You leave the house, getting in the car.

Billy stares at you, grinning.

“You look so beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, trying not give him the satisfaction of a smile.

He pulls into the parking lot, parking in a space.

“It shouldn’t take too long, it’s just a checkup.” You tell him as you get out of the car.

He nods, fingers tapping the steering wheel.

You get inside, get checked in and wait patiently in the lobby. You’re barely sitting there five minutes before you’re called back.

They weigh you in the Hallway and put you in room 14. The nurse comes in and asks you questions.

“How old are you?”

“18.”

“Sexually active? If so, how many partners?”

“Yes and 2.”

“Previous pregnancies?”

“No.”

“History of mental illness, substance abuse, or alcohol abuse?”

“No.”

“Date of Last period?”

“Two months ago, it’s always irregular. I have endometriosis.”

“Okay, in your labs we’ll include a pregnancy test just to be safe.” She replies.

She writes down the rest of your answers, listens to your heartbeat, checks your blood pressure and draws your blood.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

You nod.

You sit on the table, swinging your feet and staring at the ground as the time passes by.

You think about Billy—maybe he wouldn’t be so bad as a boyfriend, certainly miles better than Gareth after what he did. You wonder if you should’ve waited before taking Gareth back, and now you’re nervous to show your face at school.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the nurse knocking on the door and coming into the room.

“So, your labs look good. You’ll need some vitamin D & C medication. Your STD panel was clear—“

“It also looks like.. you’re about six and half weeks pregnant.”

You look up at her, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Preg- Pregnant? Are you sure that’s my results?” You stutter.

“Yes, ma’am.” She replies.

Writing down more notes and handing you some paperwork.

“Those are pregnancy pamphlets and information about what we offer, also a page confirming your pregnancy.”

You hold them, feeling ill and tears falling down your face.

“You can schedule your first appointment for the baby at the front desk.” The nurse says, walking you into the lobby.

Your head felt like it was going to explode. You’re pregnant by Billy, it has to be his— you and Gareth weren’t together that long.

You walk out to Billy’s car, wiping your face and getting in.

“How did it go?” He questions.

You stare out the window, holding back your tears.

“It was- it was fine. Can you take me home?”

He looks at you, he can tell your upset— but he doesn’t want to pry.

“Home? You’re not going to school?”

You don’t respond, lost in your thoughts.

He starts the car up, backing out of the parking space and driving home.

After a few minutes, he pulls into your driveway—you rush getting out of the car and drop your papers.

“Shit.” You mumble, as you squat— picking them up.

You grab them and shut Billy’s door without a word, heading into your house.

You go inside and get to your room, letting out the loudest scream you possibly can.

Pregnant by someone who you’re still not sure really wants you, during your senior year as a cheerleader.

Between this and the Gareth incident, you convince your mom to let you stay home for a few days— telling her you’re sick. Which you were, the morning sickness hit you like a truck.

You don’t go to school and Billy doesn’t hear from you. He realizes that you might need space, so he doesn’t want to push it.

He’s pulled into his driveway after school and sees one of your books in the backseat floor as he’s getting out, he moves his seat— grabbing it. There’s a piece of paper further under the seat, he reaches for it and pulls it out.

He reads it and his heart drops.

“Confirmed pregnancy, six weeks.

Due date: May 2nd.”

He feels like his eyes are deceiving him, you’re pregnant. He doesn’t even question whether it’s his or Gareth’s, because he knows it’s his. You not going to school, being silent after appointment, rushing out of the car and being absent for a few days all made sense now.

He jumps in his car, starting it up and tires squealing as he pulls out of the driveway. He speeds all the way to your house, parking in front of it and running to the door.

He bangs on the door and it scares you, just about everything does when you’re home alone.

You answer the door, figuring it’s someone else— probably a solicitor.

You see Billy standing there.

“Billy? What the—“

“When were you going to tell me?” He barges in, holding the paper.

“Tell you what?” You reply.

You see the paper in his hand and your blood runs cold. It must’ve fallen out of the stack while you were in his car.

“Uh—“

“Uh— I don’t” You stammer, scrambling to figure out what to say.

He stares at you, almost like he’s trying to see if he can see a bump.

You start getting emotional and can feel yourself on the verge of tears.

“I didn’t say anything, because I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“What is there to do?” He asks, not sure what you mean.

You give him a look.

“Surely you’re not talking about getting an abortion?” His voice raises.

Despite how hard you tried, the tears fall.

“Billy—“

“We’re not even together, never have been. I’m not sure if you truly meant what you said and I don’t want to trap you or ruin your future with a kid.”

He walks over to you, grabbing your face and wiping your tears.

“Baby, you don’t have to worry about me. I love you—but whether or not you believe me is up to you. I want to be with you; I have ever since we started seeing each other.”

“I was afraid things would fizzle out like they always do, so I acted like a dick. It’s no excuse, but I wanted to keep you around as long as I could—praying you wouldn’t get tired of me.” He confesses.

He wraps his arms around you, kissing you— picking you up, and holding you.

“I will do anything for you and the baby. I want to be a father and to raise our child together, I want all of this with you.”

You cry more hearing him say that. Your emotions are all over the place.

“I love you, Billy. Please, don’t leave me.”

He kisses you again.

“Babe, I won’t. I’m right here with you. Things might not be perfect right now, but we’ll get through this.”

He chuckles, still holding you and feeling like the luckiest man on earth.

You and Billy are having a baby, the ride along the way will be interesting— if nothing else.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

@meetmeatyourworst

[cycat-carisi]

Ok, but there are literal tears streaming down my face! Like, I have not cried reading a fic in a very long time, but this? This was so heartwrenchingly beautiful! It broke me and then put me back together at the end. The emotion was just so real!

in between

Paring: Steve Harrington x ghost!Reader

Summary: The summer of ‘85 spent working a shitty job at scoops ahoy felt like a stepping stone into a future with Steve, saving up for your own place together, but it goes up in smoke as starcourt burns to the ground. Now, he’s not sure how he’ll move on without you.

WC: 5k+

Includes: grief, death, mentions of blood/injuries (nothing too graphic), angst, hurt/comfort, language, suggestions of smut but nothing graphic, reader is GN w/o body descriptions, takes place post s3 (after starcourt).

A/N: started writing this all the way back in 2020, rediscovered it more recently and figured it was time to finally finish this one. cannot stress enough this is a grief fic, but it has a (somewhat) happy ending. title is from ghost - misterwives & divider from @/strangergraphics.

“I’m watching you fade, hoping you stay / I’m watching you fade, begging you please don’t go away / I can’t have you completely / I’ll have you in between”

“We need to talk.”

Steve paused at your words, looking up at you from where he sat on the edge of his bed, eyes wide. No set of words bring him the amount of dread those four do.

“Wh- what?”

You sighed, sitting on the bed next to him, looking down to the floor. You knew you couldn’t look at him, not while you had this conversation.

“I—“ You felt your throat tighten as tears threatened to spill already. “- Steve, this is so hard, for both of us. How much longer can we keep doing this?”

Steve stared at you before sliding to the floor, kneeling in front of you. He grabbed your hands in his— cold. They’ve been so cold, your touch so distance the last few months. He couldn’t say he never saw this coming, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

“Listen, just— just a little longer. We can keep trying just a little longer,” Steve begged. You watched tears build in his eyes, waiting to tumble over the dark circles that have plagued him for months. Ever since Starcourt burned to the ground, he hadn’t been the same.

You glanced down at your hands, clasped together, sighing as you heard Steve quietly sob, resting his forehead to your knees. He pulled his hands from yours, wrapping them around your legs softly, afraid to let go. Afraid you’ll really walk away if he loosens his embrace.

“Steve, I can’t stay anymore, you know this.” You softly said, running your hands through his hair gently. He shivered under your touch, a touch you felt guilty to even allow him to experience. “Me- me being here, I thought it was going to help you heal—“

“It is, it’s helping, I- I promise,” Steve cried quietly, hugging tighter. You felt your heart break a bit more at the way his voice wavered. “If I can’t have you completely, I’ll have you in between. I’ll take what I can get.”

You gently pushed his arms away from your legs before sliding off the bed, enveloping Steve in a gentle embrace. Immediately he rested his head against your shoulder and cried, his own arms wrapping up to hold you. You could feel the warmth radiating off his body, but you didn’t absorb it the way you once did. It was a foreign feeling, something once so deeply cherished, now a distant memory that life itself couldn’t resurrect.

“You can’t have me anymore, Steve. I’m not letting you waste anymore time on me.” The truth stung, sunk deep, as your own words splintered what was left of your heart. “You- you have so much ahead of you, so much of your life to live. I can’t hold you back anymore.”

Steve sniffled before crying some more, gripping you tightly. Maybe if he held you to him close enough, you could just become a part of him; your souls could just combine into one. You’d always be with him, and that could be enough to comfort him. That could be enough to help him heal from the summer’s battle.

“You’re not holding me back.” Steve mumbled, pulling back to look at you. His hands caressed your face, desperate for proof that you were still in front of him. “You could- you could come with me. Wherever I go, you come with me. We can make this work.”

You mirrored his gesture, gently reaching for his face, too. Shaking your head, your tears finally broke, and out of habit, Steve reached to wipe them away, but felt nothing under his fingers.

“Steve. You survived. You’re allowed to move on.” You said, watching Steve shake his head in denial. You held his face firmly, forcing him to look at you. “No, don’t you dare throw your second chance away for me.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths before blurting out, “What if I came with you instead?”

You pinched his face, causing him to yelp, opening his eyes.

“I’ll never fucking talk to you again. If you end up on this side with me sooner than you should, I’ll ignore you for eternity.” You sternly said, knowing how ridiculous it sounded, but it’s still seemed to get through to him. 

This entire situation was ridiculous.

“Alright, alright, geez...” Steve grumbled, looking away. “It’s just- what’s left for me here? Don't even have a shitty job anymore, my parents don't give a fuck what happens to me, and I- I—”

“Steve Harrington, you cannot give up on this life. Do you hear me? You don’t have that option. You don’t get to walk away-“

“You don’t get to tell me what to do—“

You shoved at his shoulders lightly, trying to calm your breathing, but the anger was boiling underneath.

“You don’t get to fucking end your life here, Steve! You don’t get to make that choice! I didn’t have the fucking choice to make it out of Starcourt alive, so you don’t have the chance to call it quits early!”

Steve fell silent, sinking into himself as your anger spilled over.

“You’re supposed to grow up, meet someone special, create your own, loving family, a real family! You’re supposed to raise your kids, guide them through this world with all the love you’ve got in your heart, watch them grow up, grow old, take care of you until you die peacefully in your sleep!”

“That was all supposed to be with you—“

“And I didn’t make it, Steve. I died.” You said, voice shaking. “I love you, and will love you until the end of time, but I am not letting you follow me into the light. It's not your time, not yet.”

Steve’s breaths grew shallow as he took your words in, trying to ground himself in the reality of what happened.

Steve watched as the Mind Flayer picked you up, waving you around in the air before tossing you across the food court like a rag doll. Your body hit the tile, a sickening, sharp cracking sound echoed out. The ending battle fell out of focus as Steve sprinted over to you, holding you in his arms, pulling you away behind a kiosk, using it as a shield.

“Honey, wake up, wake-“ Steve clutched onto you tightly, lightly patting your face. “- Wake up, c’mon.”

Your eyes barely fluttered open, grabbing Steve’s hand weakly.

“It- it hurts, Steve.” You whimpered, feeling blood pour from your head, matting your hair down to your scalp. He did his best to hide any panic at the feeling of your blood beginning to soak his hand.

“I got you, you’re—“ The blood seeped through that god awful Scoops uniform he was stuck in. Dizziness washed through him, but he pushed past it. “We’re going home, okay?”

Steve took the chance when he had it, grabbed you to hold upright, and ran for the doors. While you leaned on him for support, barely dragging your feet, his body screamed with pain from his own battle wounds; if it meant keeping you safe, he'd take more blows to the face and needles to his neck without question.

“Just- hey— just hang on. You’re gonna be okay.” Steve lied, both to you and himself, trying to hold himself together while he ran outside with you over his shoulder. In a sea of flashing lights from emergency vehicles, an EMT ran out with a stretcher, taking you quickly. Steve followed, never letting go of your hand. They began to take vitals, and your breathing began to slow down.

“Steve,” You rasped out, struggling to breathe. Steve watched as they tried to stop the bleeding from your head, but blood just continued to soak through any towels or gauze they used.

Steve couldn’t hold back his own tears, chest caving in as the weight of reality crushed his heart. He knew this was it. He knew this was goodbye.

“Don’t- don’t give up yet, they’ll get you to the hospital—“

Eyes heavy with the need to rest, for good, you smiled softly up at him. Droplets of blood snuck out from the corner of your mouth. Your hand loosened in his, but he gripped harder, hoping it’d keep you here.

“I’ll see you soon, Steve,” You managed to whisper, breaths growing more and more shallow by the second. Steve’s eyes grew wide with panic as he shook his head wildly, in denial you were fading before his eyes.

He grabbed onto your hands before pressing his ear to your chest, listening for any signs of life, eventually collapsing onto you, crying out, hoping if his cries were loud enough, death would pity him, and give you back to your body. If he pleaded enough, maybe death would let you return to him.

From the moment you took your last breath, Steve still couldn’t remember the rest of that night. He had no idea how he got home, if he even went home, or if someone else took him in. It’s all scribbled in with a black, inky marker, bleeding through the last page of your shared story.

If he was being honest, Steve felt himself die with you that night.

You pulled Steve closer to you, holding him as his soft cries grew into sobs, shaking his entire body. Leaving wouldn’t be easy, but you knew he’d never heal from this state of mourning if you didn’t.

As if he could sense your thoughts, Steve mumbled into your shoulder, “Can you stay tonight? Maybe a few more days? I’m not ready to say goodbye tonight.”

Staying would only delay his healing longer, but you couldn’t imagine what Steve would do if you walked away tonight. Truthfully, you didn’t see him surviving the night completely alone.

You gave a quick nod, squeezing him tighter as you cradled him, pressing kisses to his head and rubbing gentle circles on his back. Keeping quiet, you let him calm down on his own terms, but your thoughts wandered as you gave him space.

Would you be able to move on, too? Steve had his friends here to care for him when you finally moved on. Who would look out for you?

Steve turned his head, body melting into yours as his weeping had slowed to tearful hiccups, clinging onto you with all he had.

“Remember when you came back?” Steve's voice was raspy from crying. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You couldn’t help giggle at the memory. “Alright, the timing sucked, I get it!”

Steve pulled back, rubbing his swollen eyes before looking at you with a faint, fond smile. Even with bloodshot eyes, face drenched in tears and nose running, you still thought he was the cutest person you’ve ever met.

“You could’ve waited until I finished showering,” Steve teased, nudging your arm. You laughed again, catching his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together. You could always feel the warmth of his existence, but you wondered how the cold of your ghostly figure felt to him.

He never complained, and you never asked, and it was left like that.

“It’s not my fault! They don’t give you a manual on how to like- drive your soul around without a body.” You grumbled, crossing your arms. You had to joke about this, had to laugh it off. It was the only way you were coping with leaving the world earlier than you had wanted.

Steve laughed softly, rubbing tears away once more while you watched him carefully, afraid he’d break any moment. You shifted to your feet, tugging his hand as you got up. Steve mirrored you, gently holding your face before leaning down to kiss you softly.

The barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead were transparent, but strong. You could see everything so clearly here, but it always felt like something blocked you from truly feeling things you once felt while alive. The distant feeling of physical touch wasn’t the only weight you carried the longer you stayed. The love you had for your life, for Steve, it was still there, but it felt as you didn’t fully have access to it anymore. It wasn’t your life to live anymore, wasn’t your love to give.

You eventually crawled under the covers next to Steve once he was finished getting ready for bed, wrapping your arms up immediately around him. When you were alive, he was always your rock. He was always the first to pull you in for comforting hugs, reassuring you things would work out in the end.

Now, you’ve reached the end, without Steve, and you were the one reassuring him that it was okay. That it would be worth continuing to fight through the pain to live as long as life would let him. That you’d be reunited again someday, while holding him close as he gripped onto the ghost of you.

Running your fingers through his hair gently, you heard Steve sigh before speaking up. “You’ve really been here this whole time, right? This isn’t some- some kind of weird, fucked up coping mechanism, is it?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, Steve, and you’ll carry me in your heart everywhere you go.”

Steve nodded, burying his head into the crook of your neck, softly kissing your neck.

“Can- can you—“ Steve paused before rewording the question, “- Will you still send me signs?”

You smiled sadly as you held him, shifting down to face him, noses brushing together. “Yeah, of course, Steve. When I cross over, I’ll still be able to communicate with you... it’ll just be... subtle.”

Steve sighed again, trying to hold back any new tears from breaking. Still, his voice shook, “Why didn’t you cross over the night you died?”

You clamped your eyes shut, unable to look him in the eye while you thought of the night you passed.

“I couldn’t leave you like that, Steve. I had a choice, to wait before I made the decision to walk towards the light. You had me so worried.”

The lights were the first to fade, growing fuzzy at the edges, with static and grit blurring them out. Your hearing began to fade next, tuning out slowly like a radio out of range. The voices of first responders waved in and out through your head, their words warbling together into unintelligible sounds.

Breaking through the static, a sharp voice demanded you to stay awake, begged you to hold on a little longer.

Steve.

You felt your heart flutter, then sink, overwhelmed with everything you wanted to say, but knowing your energy was fading fast. You’d only have a moment to say what you needed, but nothing felt like it would sum it all up properly.

Your limbs were numb, the tingling feeling spreading to the rest of your body, settling it all in for a deep sleep. The crack in your skull wasn’t throbbing anymore, the ringing in your ears was settling down, smoothing out.

Between the flames scaling the walls and tearing through the roof of the mall, to the emergency vehicles’ lights, they all blended together, swirling in a vibrant, grainy trip before your eyes. You felt yourself panic as Steve held onto you, knowing this was it. You wouldn’t get to say what you wanted, you just had to say goodbye.

You managed to rasp out, “I’ll see you soon, Steve,” before you were pulled from your body, soul separated from the shell.

You were standing next to the stretcher, peeking over shoulders to see the light drain from your eyes, a lifeless hue settling into your skin. Steve dropped to his knees, hand still holding yours, before crying out. You thought you’d be heading towards a light by now, on your way to whatever afterlife was fit best for the life you lived on earth. Instead, you were feeling the pain with Steve, watching his heart shatter into tiny shards of suffering.

You wanted so badly to hold him, to kiss him, let him know you were still there, somehow. The barrier was formed as soon as you made it to the other side, though. You couldn’t see it, but you felt it. You knew any attempt at contact couldn’t help him now.

Steve sobbed. He cried and cried, wailing into the sticky, humid night, fire only adding to the uncomfortable heat. The first responders left him alone with your body, giving him space to grieve before zipping a body bag around you. He kissed your forehead, letting his tears fall onto your face. They mixed with the blood and grime on his skin before falling onto yours. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding your lifeless body to him as sobs racked through his body like choppy, rough waves.

“You can’t go yet,” Steve sobbed, ducking his head into your neck, ignoring the way your body fell limp in his arms. “We’re supposed to keep slinging stupid ice cream, save up for our own place. Y- you can’t leave!”

You stood on the opposite side of the stretcher, watching Steve grip onto your corpse, knuckles growing white, afraid to let go and see the truth.

“Please don’t go,” Steve mumbled through tears. You watched as he looked up from your body, still holding it as his eyes landed on the spot you— your soul— stood now. His body calmed for a moment, looking directly at you, eyes locked on yours. You knew he couldn’t really see you, that wasn’t possible, but you couldn’t move. You felt frozen under his stare.

“Steve,” Robin came up to Steve, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. Steve broke from his trance, looking over his shoulder to his friend. “We can’t… we have to go.”

“J- just a little longer, Robin. Please.” Steve sniffled, and Robin nodded softly before backing off, giving Steve space.

Steve caressed your face softly, as if you’d feel it. Your skin was now cold, another sign that no one was home, not anymore. Steve’s bottom lip trembled as agony began to roll through him again.

“We were supposed to survive this shit,” Steve whispered in between hiccups. “We were meant for so much more.”

As you watched Steve mourn the loss of you, a voice reassured into your ear, “Take your time to grieve, too. The light will be here when you’re ready.”

You spun around, unable to put a face to the soothing, yet somber voice that just spoke. Everyone else around you was alive, injured, but still alive.

Steve began shouting, and you turned back to watch him being pulled back from your body while a first responder tried calming him down. Robin ran back over, throwing an arm around him, trying to reassure that he’d get to visit you again soon, that they just had to take you away for a little while.

Steve snapped, pushing Robin off of him as he tried reaching for you again. The coroner began to zip the body bag up around you, leaving Steve an unstable wreck. He wanted to scream, wanted to yell at these bastards for shoving you away into a bag, like you were trash, waiting to be thrown out.

Robin attempted to hold Steve back again, just as he spat, “They can’t fucking breathe in there!”

Watching Steve suffer from the other side of the veil settled a permanent ache in your heart. Even in the afterlife, sorrow still hung heavy, anchoring you in place. He was in absolute denial, refusing to believe you were really gone.

That was the first sign of Steve declining to even accept the mourning process.

Eventually, with the help of some first responders, Robin was able to get Steve to calm down enough, convince him to come with the rest of the group to the Byers house, so he wouldn’t be alone for the night.

A distant stare settled into Steve’s eyes, making itself feel at home with the sorrow growing inside him. You watched as he retreated into himself, watched as his friends tried to help him clean up, make space for him to grieve, constantly reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that they were all there for him.

You watched it all unfold from a dark corner of the house, watching how nearly everyone struggled with sleep, mourning the loss of Hopper, and you. Steve was restless and inconsolable. Every time he began to fall asleep, he jolted himself awake, looking around wildly, like you’d be next to him. You watched his heart break over, and over, and over again.

Over time, you kept a close eye on Steve, watching him slip into depression, spending his time grieving or sleeping, or wishing he could take your place instead. Finally, after a week woven with grief, the disembodied voice came back to you.

“Show yourself to him, comfort him however you see fit.”

Wasting no time, you did your best to appear to him, but the timing was awful.

Steve managed to get himself into the shower, only able to stand under the water as it pelted down onto him. It was one of a few places he could cry without judgement, sob without someone trying to soothe him. The comfort helped, he appreciated his friends cared that much, but sometimes he just needed to let the sadness spill out, rather than overflow and drown him from the inside-out.

Among the lull of steady waterfall, he wept. He wailed. His fist pounded on the shower tile out of anger and sorrow. Anger that your life was cut far too short.

Anger for the light in your eyes, lost forever to some lifeless void. Anger, because the story you two just started together, ended before it barely began. Anger held an ironic death grip on his entire life now.

Sorrow, because he could still hear your contagious laughter, and how easily amused you were. Sorrow over never seeing your smile outside of photographs again; all he can picture is the final smile you gifted him before parting this world, blood dripping from the corners. Sorrow only wanted to drag him down into the endless depths of grief, and he was weak enough to consider allowing that.

“Not fair, not fair, not—“ he punched the wall, grunting, “-fair, not—“ he punched it again, crimson swirling into the water that spilled down and circled the drain. “— It’s not fucking fair!” He slammed both fists against the tile, cracking one and splitting his knuckles open even further.

“Shhh, Steve, s’okay.”

“It’s not okay, it’ll never be okay without—“ his breath hitched, feeling a weight wind around his waist. He registered your voice, assuming his mind was playing tricks on him. At first, he was comforted, tears slowing as he recognized the familiar pressure of your touch.

Then, the alarm bells blared.

“What the fu—“ he spun around, back plastered to the wall he just attacked. Eyes stretched wide in disbelief, you appeared before him. “This… no. No,” he forced laughter, feeling himself lose grip on reality. “No, you’re not— I’m imagining this.”

Steve refused to believe this, you, were here. You, the one person he adored most, the person he could clearly see a future with, who saw and loved him for the person he was growing into, not the past version that everyone else refused to release.

You, with your glowing smile and how it’d reach your eyes, crinkling at the edges every time without fail. The soft tone you’ve soothed him with through countless nightmares. The color of your eyes that became his favorite color ever.

“H- how— you’re not here—“

“I am.”

“No, you’re dead.” The words made him retch as they left his lips. “You’re not…”

You took his hands in yours, thumbs softly caressing his busted knuckles. With each swipe, the pain faded away, as did the damage itself. Your touch, your loving, gentle touch, it felt so distant, so cold.

“What are… how…” Steve snapped his head up to you, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and god, did he miss the color of your eyes. He missed you so, so fucking much.

“This whole thing sucks, but uh, hey, at least there’s one perk about being a ghost.” You hoped humor would diffuse the panic within him, but he pushed away, nearly falling out of the shower. One second, you’re in front of him, the next, you’re behind, catching him before his head cracks against the tile. “Okay, yeah, worst place to come visit you. That’s my bad.”

As you led him out the shower safely, he couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t bring himself to blink, afraid to lose you all over again.

“Hey, relax for me,” you calmly suggested, shutting the water off. “I’m here, Steve.”

“B- but you’re not, you’re… you… oh, god—“ he turned to the sink, only bile coming up as he vomited and coughed violently. “I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not.”

You rubbed his back soothingly as he shook against your touch, while sobs racked through him violently. 

"I- I haven't— m'not sleeping well lately." He muttered, cupping a handful of water from the sink's faucet, trying to wash down the rotten taste of misery. With an audible gulp, he tried reasoning with himself, "M- maybe you're— I don't think you're r- real. Grief does that, right? Makes you s- see shit?"

"Stevie…" No words could make him believe the truth, so you began to do what you knew best: caring for him.

On autopilot, you rummaged through the closet for his go-to towels, the ones he always swore left his hair frizz-free. When you handed them over to him, he hesitated with shock, eyes flitting between you and the towels. With a sigh, you set one aside as you used the other to gently dry his hair.

“I don’t know how long I can stay, but I- I couldn’t cross over.” You pushed the towel away from his eyes, with tears welling up in your own matched his. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, Steve.”

Steve reached out, holding your face in both hands, thumbs swiping away tears; everything about you felt so far away. You were a mirage he could touch, but it only felt like a hint of your being. There was nothing transparent or glowing about your presence, not in the way he's heard of in ghost stories. Your tears were ice cold, but he could feel them. None of this made sense.

“I missed you,” his voice trembled, searching your eyes for the truth.

“Missed you more.” You finally broke, face twisting in agony as you held him as tightly as possible. Steve grabbed you tightly, tremors in his body rippling into your ghostly figure.

That night, neither of you left the other’s arms, tangled up in one another and releasing every emotion necessary. He needed this. You needed this.

Even if you were dead, you still needed each other. You still needed one another's love.

It couldn't go on forever, though.

"Moving on feels so wrong without you," Steve whispered into the shadows of his room. Your cold embrace tightened around his shoulders. 

"Feels wrong to be without you." It felt like a gut punch to admit aloud. "But holding you back would be worse."

Even in the low light, his eyes found yours; in any dark situation, they always did.

Gripping your waist with one hand, he cradled your face with the other. Broken and desperate to keep you from floating off to the other side, for good, he rasped out, "Hold me back for one more night." 

More touch, more affection, it'd only make this farwell harder on you both. But departing without warning is cruel.

You leaned in to kiss him, and for the first time since you appeared, your lips didn't feel so cold.

You didn't feel so distant.

The warmth that radiated onto Steve drove him to kiss you back, and deeply. He took his time, savored every movement, your taste, the little gasps you'd make that he loved so much.

It's as if love brought you back, for just one more night. You'd be a fool if you didn't take such a gracious gift. 

For one more night, you'd play pretend. Kissing would turn into tentative touches, only to tumble into something more certain. Passion would fuel unspoken goodbyes with his skin hot against yours, while tearful whispers of praise and adoration would fill the blanks in between sounds of pleasure and bittersweet bliss.

You'd tangle yourselves up in one another, and Steve could hope and silently pray all he wanted for it to be enough to keep him tethered to you, but he knew the truth. 

He knew you'd be gone by morning.

When Steve sunk into you one last time, hips rolling at the slowest pace he could handle with a self control he's never owned around you, he knew he'd never feel you again. Not like this.

When you wrapped your legs around his hips, allowed your fingers to wind through his hair, tugging oh so slightly, just enough to make him shudder, your touch studied every inch of him you could feel. You memorized the map of your favorite person, laid out bare, one last time.

Maybe you could memorize every detail enough that long from now, you'll know your way home when he finds you on the other side.

Home, being in his embrace.

Home, exuding from the warmth of your heart.

Home, wherever you'd find each other again.

His hand slipped into yours, lacing your fingers together as you kissed, tears flowing together. You felt loved. You'd continue to love. You'd wait for him, patiently, painfully, and it'd be worth the time that'll pass by. You'd send him signs that you're watching over him, protecting him wherever that invisible barrier falters between your new world and his current one. While he was here, you'd support him in following his heart, wherever, and whoever, that would lead him to.

Steve Harrington deserved to be happy, deserved to live, really live, with or without you. But for one more night, you'd pretend it was just the same as it ever was, with more heart. You'd love Steve with everything in your spirit.

Sometimes loving someone means letting them go, and that night, as the two of you wept, intertwined in one another still until sleep crept up on you both, you knew you had to do just that.

Steve felt himself stir as the late summer sun poured through his window. The only thing that kept him from opening his eyes, was the reality of your presence— gone.

He could live again, he could love again, but he knew it'd never be quite what he had with you. Such a short burst of love, genuine love, but he was lucky to have that with you after years of feeling alone, even in the most crowded of rooms. Even in a relationship he once believed was real.

The loss of you will never ease, will never fade, but you showed him people do care. You just have to find the ones you click with most. The ones who see the most honest, sincere version of yourself.

Steve shuddered out a sigh, eyes fluttering open as he braced himself for the truth; the empty space in bed next to him still filled him with grief.

But he still got up. He still made effort to go on with his day, even if that meant only showering and eating something. Each day he took steps, baby steps, but progress nonetheless. Moving forward felt like betraying you, leaving you behind, but he could hear your voice in the back of his mind, urging him to keep on. To live.

And little by little, with signs from you along the way, Steve did just that.

The day Steve left earth behind, he wasn't alone. Surrounded by friends— his real family— miles, and miles away from Hawkins and somewhere safe. 

Caught in the fog of pain enveloping him, he was as comfortable as one could be with the end approaching, cozy in bed at home. The Upside Down and all its horrors were long behind him, age ready to close out his life. He was lucid until the very end, laughing weakly at lighthearted memories from his friends that remained.

The rattle in his final breaths foreshadowed the end, giving one last smile that crinkled at the edge of his eyes while they fluttered shut.

It didn't take long for Steve to find you again, watching the sunset from the other side. The afterlife looks a lot like whatever you'd hope it to be, and his afterlife appeared just as the comforting thoughts he had before falling asleep each night.

Daydreaming to lull himself into the security of slumber in the earliest days without you, he'd conjure up the life you two should've had. He'd imagine what your shared home would be like; it changed plenty of times, but you were always there.

Home to Steve was always you.

On the evening he passed, you watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the clouds and sky in stunning hues of pink, purple, and orange, from the comfort of your apartment's balcony. 

You've called this quaint unit in an old townhouse your home for quite some time now. Though you wanted Steve to live out his life, you always left things ready for him to return to you. From the untouched side of the bed, down to a toothbrush just for him and half of a closet to share, you put thought into things most find mundane on earth. 

On this side, though, you looked forward to the day signs of his presence were around again; his shoes at the door, a half finished cup of coffee on the counter, the scent of his body wash. Things most didn't think twice about as mortals, but details you yearned to be surrounded by again.

A pair of arms wrapped around you, startling you just as you did him many, many years ago. When you turn, you find him just as you left him, except happier. He didn't look so gaunt, he wasn't battered and bruised, he had been sleeping again, despite the chronic nightmares.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he murmured, cupping your cheek. Tears already built up, they broke the moment he realized your skin wasn't cold to him anymore. You didn't feel so far away. 

"Missed you more," your voice quivered along with your bottom lip. Arms thrown over his shoulders, you allow your forehead to rest onto his, relieved to be reunited.

Finally, you could pick right up where you left off.

Finally, you were both home.

[cycat-carisi]

The plot is plotting but the time is dwindling. ugh. I know where I want it to go. I know that there will have to be a scene (tm). Why do all my sequels have to be long? I think I'm better at single scene fics...but hey, it is what it is. Gotta get it out of the old noggin at some point!

Would anyone want a follow-up to "Forgive Me Father" (Priest!Steve)? Because I have ideas and I'll probably write it anyway lol

[cycat-carisi]

dad! steve who buys reader a push present before theyre even a thing. he loves her so much and he’s so grateful shes putting her body through all this for their family he just spoils her sm i love him

aweee, yes! i think he would totally do that dad!steve harrington x pregnant!fem!reader

before and after series

The only good thing to come out of Eric Shannon was the day he told Steve what a "Push Present" was.

Steve had never heard of such a thing until Eric, his coworker, asked him if he'd gotten you one yet.

"What the hell is a push present?" Steve asks.

"This new fad," Eric replies lazily around a mouthful of sandwich, "s'like a gift you get your wife for having your kid, basically."

Steve hums. Why hadn't Robin told him about this? Maybe she didn't know? Hell, why hadn't you said something? Surely, Steve thinks, that's something you'd want, right?

Eric continues, oblivious to Steve's miniature spiral thinking that he'd somehow let you down without even knowing it, "Lori bitched and complained until I finally got her one," the big oaf of a man chuckles, "just got her a necklace and called it a day. You could probably do that!" He exclaims, like it's some sort of goddamn epiphany.

"Yeah," Steve trails off, "maybe."

That was last week, and every day since, Steve's been searching for the perfect thing to get you.

The thing is: he's running out of time.

You're due to deliver literally any day now, and Steve is positively running out of time and he's going to be a father and he won't even have gotten you something as simple as a piece of jewelry to commemorate it and what if that's something you really wanted but were too polite to tell him but now you're going to end up resenting him for the rest of your lives and--

On the Tuesday before the baby is due (and ultimately born), Steve is frantically swiping through a Sears catalogue. That's when he sees it.

A 'portable foot bath', as it's listed in the ad.

Steve had been subtly interrogating you for the past few days, listening extra closely when you talk, especially about the things that are troubling you. Anything to spark an idea.

You're uncomfortable from head to toe these days, but what's truly been killing you are your feet and ankles. They've swollen twice their original size, made worse by the fact that you could only afford to stop working two weeks ago.

Steve drops everything and speeds to his nearest shopping outlet that has a Sears. He knows exactly which aisle to look in because his mom had one of these when he was a kid, back when they were a new, hot commodity only upper-class people had. They're not as expensive anymore, but he did have to use the money he'd gotten from returning bottles and cans at the recycling place to pay for it.

The gift is already placed delicately in a giftbag topped with tissue paper by the time he arrives back home. The two of you share a car, but he can tell you're home by the glow of the living room floor lamp that he knows he turned off before he left.

"Steve?" You call from somewhere deeper in the house when he pushes through the door.

"Yeah, it's me,"

"In the kitchen!"

He finds you bent over the sink, as close as you can get to it with your stomach in the way, doing leftover dishes.

"Hey, quit that," Steve bats your hands away from the sink and pulls you closer to him, "I can finish those later."

"It's okay," you assure him, "I don't mind."

"I mind," Steve chuckles, kissing you on the temple, "I have something to give you, anyway."

That's when you finally spot the fairly large giftbag on the dining table, "What? Why?"

"It's your push present!" Steve says excitedly, expecting some sort of giddy excitement and not:

"My what what?"

"Do you--" he pauses, confused, "it's like-- a gift?"

"I see that, baby, but-- what for?" You giggle.

"For!" Steve feels stupid now. Maybe Eric had set him up? "For having our baby, I think!"

Your cheeks warm at the idea, wondering where Steve even got it from. It wasn't that he didn't surprise you with things, but usually his delivery wasn't so...erratic? He seems anxious for you to see what it is, so carefully you remove the tissue paper from the bag and peer inside.

"Steve." You all but gasp. "You didn't."

His hands ring together where he watches you, "Do you- do you like it?"

Wrapping him up in an embrace around his neck so tight he makes a small oof sound, you whisper, "I love it. It's perfect, Stevie, thank you."

His shoulders seem to loosen at that, "I'm so glad you like it," a sigh of relief causing him to deflate a bit. "Maybe I can set it up for you now? And then I can finish the dishes?"

"You don't have to do that St--"

Too late. He's already fishing the box out of the bag to search for the instruction manual inside. How hard can it be?

Hard, apparently. Batteries were, in fact, not included and he couldn't figure out the jet feature for about twenty minutes. But after a quick trip to the corner store for some AA batteries and some tinkering on his part, Steve's finally got you sat in front of the television: feet soaking and Jeopardy playing while he starts dinner.

"This might be the best gift you've ever gotten me," you lament, mouth full of homemade mac and cheese.

"My lovely presence not enough for you?" Steve asks, faux-offended.

"Your presence can't soak my giant swollen feet like this."

[cycat-carisi]

Shameless self-reblog with a smiling Steve because why not!

My Heart In Your Dreams

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve Harrington used to be your best friend but things went south when the two of you started high school and the Steve you knew became someone very different. Now, after years apart, he's shown up to a business dinner hosted by your parents. Why has he come and will you and Steve be able to overcome the past?

Tags: canon adjacent (post S4/pre-S5), flashbacks (in italics), former best friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort/angst/fluff, mention of child neglect (Steve's dad is an a-hole), mention of class differences, mutual pining, no use of y/n, reader has a gap in her teeth, self-consciousness, some cursing.

Words: 10,825 (oops)

A/N: This one goes out to all my fellow gap-tooth girlies! The idea for this one came about when Djo first performed "Gap Tooth Smile" live. I appreciated this song so much because it was finally a piece of media that painted this unique feature in a positive light. It gives people like me me a new reason to be proud of our smiles. The fic began as a single scene born from the positivity of the song, and kept growing the more I filled in the gaps (pun intended)! It's been a long labour of love, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I did writing it 🩷

Fic below the cut or on AO3.

Summer 1988

“Oh.”

“It’s definitely…unique.”

“Has it always been that wide?”

“Ever thought about getting it closed in?”

Staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, like every other time, you can’t help but notice it too. The way that it always seems to be staring back at you.

There was a time when you stubbornly refused to even think about it in a negative way. It was a feature so uniquely you that a swell of pride would rise in your chest when you saw it. It was something that helped set you apart from all those snooty high school peers during a time when being different was your badge of honour.

That was then. Since, you’ve grown up and have gone on to college. And suddenly you are engulfed by a world where all your precious differences have mutated into your greatest insecurities.

In the mirror, you observe your styled hair and mascara-coated eyelashes, but as you part your lips to tint them in a soft pink hue, its presence seems to dominate over all the other effort you’ve put into your appearance.

“It” being the three-millimeter gap between your two front teeth. You force a smile, wondering for the umpteenth time whether it’s too large. Sure, it’s symmetrical and straight, but all those comments your brain has accumulated over the years get pushed to the forefront each time you catch a glimpse of it.

Those comments war with your confidence, flip-flopping you between pride and self-doubt. After all, you’ve been painfully single for your entire twenty-one years on this planet, and perhaps it has something to do with your smile. Maybe you open your mouth and guys high-tail it in the opposite direction the minute they get a view. After all, a gap-tooth smile surely doesn’t fit the college girl norm. No, all the girls you see are petite with perfect smiles, and attached to their arms are the most handsome guys on campus. The evidence is clear, and it’s hard not to let the insecurities wreak havoc when you definitely do not meet the conventional beauty standards on display around you.

Blinking once, twice, three times, you cram your eyes shut to perform a hard reset on your brain. There’s no time for wallowing in self-pity. The Harringtons, a family that prides themselves on wealth and appearance, will be arriving downstairs any minute for dinner.

The worn carpet on the stairs scratches on the pads of your toes and the aroma of fresh bread and roast beef floods your senses as you reach the bottom landing.

“Oh, there you are, sweetie! Can you come set the dinner rolls out on the table, please! They’ll be here any minute!” Your mom whirls past you, scurrying to perfect the place settings in the dining room. Your father is at the counter, furiously hiding away any loose dishes that cause too much clutter.

Earlier you had helped too, dusting and vacuuming, chopping vegetables and polishing the fancy utensils. The fact of the matter is that dinner with the Harringtons always stressed your little family out.

Right around the time you were born, your father took a job with Mr. Harrington’s business branch. It allowed your dad to work close by and provided a decent wage for his young family. The downside was that Mr. Harrington was his boss. And as Mr. Harrington climbed the corporate ladder, your father had stayed firmly in the same position for nearly his whole career. To make matters worse, included in this working relationship are the “business” dinners.

Except, these business dinners always had a similar outcome: either the Harringtons hosted, allowing them to flaunt their wealth, or your parents hosted, causing this.

“Done, mom,” you say, adjusting the two wicker baskets of fluffy white dinner rolls on the table. You try to peek around for any slight imperfections that may still need correcting. “Is there something else I can do?”

“The begonia!” she exclaims suddenly, looking absolutely horrified as she wipes down the counter, again.

The sad little potted flower sits on your living room windowsill. It doesn’t get as much love as it should with both of your parents working all the time, yet somehow, just like your family, it hangs on.

The reason a silly little houseplant has your mother so worked up is due to how years ago, at a dinner just like this, Mrs. Harrington spotted it looking like its usual wilted self and felt it necessary to comment. The dinner was delicious, the house was immaculate, yet the most minute flaw was the one thing that drew the woman’s attention. It made your mother feel like shit and that made your blood boil.

“On it!” you chime, but you are swiftly halted.

“Forget it!” she squeaks. “They’re here!”

As per routine, you scurry towards the door to greet your ‘esteemed’ guests.

Your mother smooths out her pleated skirt as she takes her place at the front of the assembly line. You are just behind her, and try to stand up straighter, adjusting the large, woven leather belt that sits snuggly around the waist of your floral dress. Behind you, your father attempts to hide the deep breath he takes to calm his nerves when your mother reaches for the door.

“Hiiii!” comes the unmistakable shrill voice of Mrs. Harrington. She files through your front door with a large, albeit fake, smile plastered across full scarlet lips. Your mother greets Mrs. Harrington in kind, quickly acknowledging her husband who towers behind her as well.

Your father and Mr. Harrington lock gazes and nod out cordial greetings to one another like they would in the office. Arms extend for firm handshakes as the Harrington patriarch enters your home.

You force smiles and pleasant hellos to each. Even though you would rather be up in your room hiding away, this dinner is important to your parents. You need to be there for them, just like they have always been there for you.

But as Mr. Harrington’s full build clears the doorframe, your breath hitches.

The couple is not alone.

Slumped shoulders and deflated, hazel eyes meet your gaze.

Steve.

Before you have time to react, your attention is pulled away by Mrs. Harrington. She leans in toward you for an air kiss to your cheek and a half-hearted hug. “It’s so good to see you, darling!” she exclaims into your ear, making you flinch. Pulling back, she continues. “It feels like ages since we saw you last.”

As you default to a smile in response, the woman’s brows knit and her perfectly painted lips flick downwards. Her gaze, laser focused on your mouth, makes you feel exposed.

And then, there it is.

“Oh,” she begins, running her hand down your arm, voice laden with disapproval. “Was Doctor Nelson unable to close in your gap?” Doctor Nelson; the orthodontist Mrs. Harrington had given your mom the number of before you went to college.

Mrs. Harrington can nitpick the cleanliness of your mother’s house. She can criticize the quality of the cooking. She can even insult the lack of attention given to that stupid begonia. But the one thing that your mother will not allow Mrs. Harrington to do is berate her daughter. 

“Her smile is gorgeous just the way it is, wouldn’t you say?” Your mother injects sharply.

The Harrington matriarch raises an eyebrow and answers curtly. “Of course.”

Head spinning, your attention is drawn back to Steve. He looks the part of high-class son with a navy blazer resting over top a crisp, white dress shirt. But said shirt is neatly tucked into a pair of dark jeans - a look that is still very much Steve. It makes him appear slick and cool, just like he did in high school. Yet, despite his attire, the Steve Harrington that stands in your doorway lacks the confidence you had been used to seeing from him back at Hawkins High.

His gaze finds yours once again, and you’re met with a partial smile and a quiet nod. It’s certainly a stark contrast to how things used to be.

As if suddenly remembering he had accompanied them, Mr. Harrington voices, with little sincerity, that he hopes it is all right to have brought along his son. Your mother shoots you a sympathetic glance before giving a dismissive not-a-bother wave to her house guests. She then whisks away to add another place setting to the dining table.

Fall 1981

Hawkins High. Its ivory halls with orange and green stripes are a foreign passageway towards your future.

Your head bobs up and down, double, triple checking the piece of paper in your hands that identifies the location of your new locker. Silently counting the numbers as you go, you dodge sophomores, juniors, and seniors who cheerfully reunite with one another after summer break. They pay no mind to the likes of new freshmen such as yourself.

Finally, you find the metal door set aside for you. It’s stiff from months of disuse and creaks when you manage to pry it open. You set your backpack down and begin unloading your repurposed binders and supplies, stacking them neatly into the metal cubical. As you work, a group of girls gathers nearby. Their excitement, much like the fruity aroma of their perfume, drifts towards you as they begin comparing flashy school supplies and fashion accessories.

You know all four of them, of course. They are part of the cohort coming up from Hawkins Middle School, too. Except, summer has treated them well. They’ve slimmed down and grown taller. Each girl sports the latest Stevie Nicks-inspired blowout as well as the newest tops and skirts that you had seen while passing by store windows in Indianapolis. Surrounded by their giggles, you pluck at the hem of your t-shirt, wondering if anyone will remember it from the previous school year.

As you arrange the last of your belongings, your ears are met with a familiar voice counting locker numbers out loud. Turning around quickly with a large, toothy smile at the ready, you find Steve pacing up the hallway. Relief floods you, reassured that you will be facing the first day of high school with your best friend.

Enthusiastically, you raise a hand to wave him over and his hazel eyes flit towards you. The moment, however, is fleeting as Steve’s gaze quickly shifts back to an approaching Tommy H. Your friend greets the other boy with an eyebrow raised skeptically while Tommy thrusts a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the group of girls nearby. You follow the stare of the two boys and realize immediately what now has them grinning ear to ear.

“Oh. My. God!” squeals one girl to the rest. “He’s looking this way!”

“Steve got so hot over the summer, it’s totally unreal,” replies one companion. She smacks her pink bubble gum to emphasize her point.

Another giggles while biting her lip. “I know right?!” She unsubtly flashes her large, mascara-painted lashes across the hallway towards the object of her affection. “He’s so tall, and he let his hair grow.”

All girls then coyly shift their bodies towards Steve and Tommy, twirling strands of their perfectly styled hair around hot-pink-tipped index fingers.

Tommy H is grinning like the devil. He’s lapping up the attention and gives Steve a teasing shove. And to your surprise, Steve’s smile widens, returning flirty glances towards the girls that make them erupt into a fit of even more giggles.

The world around you seemingly falls away. You are invisible, and it feels as though you’ve been slapped across the face. Worse yet, the sight of Steve soaking up the attention from those girls causes your gut to clench in an unfamiliar way. You watch helplessly as both Steve and Tommy beckon the four teens to their side, flirty smiles and playful banter sucking the oxygen from the hallway. You need to get out of here.

Turning, you slam your locker door shut just a little too hard and cram your eyes closed to disguise the tears that threaten to fall. Your first day of high school marked the last day of your friendship with Steve. For the rest of your time at Hawkins High, you gave him a wide berth. Though, never a day went by when you didn’t hope that King Steve, as he would soon become, might have a change of heart and come back to his best friend.

The six of you gather around the wooden dining table; its meager size sparing just enough room for the abundance of steaming food laid out across its top. A delicious mix of savory aromas fill your nostrils as you move towards your seat. Mr. Harrington and your father take their places at opposite ends, while mothers sit next to their children to complete the ensemble. You gather the skirt of your dress and smooth it behind your legs before finally sinking down onto the fruit-patterned cushion of your chair. Glancing upwards, your gut somersaults. The evening’s seating arrangements just so happen to have Steve placed directly across from you.

Pleasant ‘thank yous’ are passed around the table with casseroles of food as guests and hosts alike spoon out portions to complete their plates. “Scrumptious spread as always,” complements Mrs. Harrington while handing a ceramic gravy boat to her husband. “Thank you for having us.” You can never be sure by her sickly-sweet tone whether the praise is genuine or not.

“Our pleasure,” responds your mother, brows furrowing with worry. Her eyes dart around the tabletop for any sign of missing items. You place a calming hand on her lap, reassuring her that her dinner is perfect.

A brass light fixture, with its surrounding glass panes, hangs overhead and casts the space in a warm glow. The cozy atmosphere matches the sounds of clinking utensils and muffled chewing that befall the small room. Pleasant conversation about the weather and current events soon follows while food is enjoyed. But as your head turns to track from one speaker to the next, your body is rigid with nerves. You refuse to meet Steve’s gaze even though you can feel those hazel eyes wander across your face in careful contemplation.

Finally, while tipping your glass of soda to your lips, you sneak a glance across the table. What you find are the freckle-smattered features of the boy you grew up with, except now his youth has waned, leaving behind a grown man with weary eyes and a faded smile.

The tendons in Steve’s hand shift as he uses his fork to glide a slice of beef around his plate and coat it in golden-brown gravy. Then, as Steve lifts the utensil towards his mouth, his darkened eyes catch onto yours through the stray locks dangling across his forehead. You quickly avert your gaze.

What is he playing at? Why did he even come here tonight?

In fact, Steve had stopped coming to business dinners a long time ago – right around that fateful first day of high school. Initially, you had thought you had done something to push him away, but your mother was quick to reassure you that Steve’s decisions were no fault of yours. That sometimes people just change.

Perhaps that was true then and is once again true now. Had Steve finally let go of who he was in high school? Had he come here to –

The sound of your name makes you jump. You quickly shift your attention back to the conversation.

“So,” continues Mr. Harrington through a mouthful of buttered dinner roll. “I hear that you’ll be going into your last year of college this fall. Time certainly does fly. What a wonderful accomplishment!”

The compliment from the usually stony Harrington patriarch puts your defences on high alert.

“Yes, sir,” you answer as politely and cautiously as you can. “I had an internship for my first two summers but decided to spend a summer at home after all that’s happened in Hawkins the last while.”

From the corner of your eye, you notice Steve’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.

“Very good,” the businessman agrees before shifting focus to his son. “She got into Tech, Steven. Isn’t that something.” His words drip with ridicule, purposely crafted to drive a proverbial knife into his son and twist the blade. And from the way that the colour drains from Steve’s cheeks, you can assume that they’ve achieved their purpose.

Suddenly you feel queasy; there’s a pull inside your chest that you haven’t felt in ages. No matter how terrible Steve had made you feel in the past, he still doesn’t deserve to be treated this way by his own father.

“Steve works at WSQK now,” his mother attempts to smooth over. “He’s learning about all the fancy gadgets they use there in broadcasting.”

Steve parts his lips to contribute, only to be shot down.

“Always had an aversion to real work, this boy.” Mr. Harrington’s voice grows deeper, more empowered. “Too scared to get into college and too stubborn to accept a job from his old man.”

Steve’s knuckles blanch from the grip he has on his fork. The tendon in his neck pulls taut, and it seems to be taking all his willpower to keep his breathing level.

“Such a waste, really.” His father concludes, casting a demeaning gaze down upon his son.

And just as you think Steve might combust, your own father jumps in. “I’ve seen you hard at work around town, Steve,” he offers to the young man. “You were especially helpful at the volunteer center when the community needed it most.”

“Yes, that’s right!” your mother chimes in. “We had brought over food that day and Steve was generously helping in the kitchen. Speaking of food, who’s ready for dessert?”

Summer 1977

It feels as though you are being pulled. Tugged harder and harder by an invisible force away from the blissful comfort of nothingness and towards something you can’t quite put a finger on. It tugs and tugs until your senses begin to regain consciousness.

Ringing.

You suddenly recognize the sound of the landline announcing itself from its place on the foyer wall between the kitchen and the staircase.

A coarse groan leaves your throat as you begrudgingly slip out of bed - the perks of your room being closest to the stairs. You rub your eyes, trying to force them to adjust to the lack of light in the early morning hours. A hand on the wooden banister guides you down the carpeted steps, footing growing more sure the farther you progress. The phone, meanwhile, continues to ring incessantly.

“Hello?” you manage after picking up, vocal cords still groggy from sleep.

A pitifully quiet voice speaks your name from the other end of the receiver.

“Steve?” you question, your 10-year-old, sleep-addled brain working hard to decipher why he would be calling at this hour.

It’s after his next words jolt you awake that you remember that his parents had left him alone for a weekend business retreat.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “but I thought I heard someone trying to get into the house and…”

Steve Harrington is the bravest person you know; hearing the fear that laces his voice drops your stomach to your toes.

“I’m gonna go get mom and dad,” you blurt out. You speak his name and clutch the receiver in both palms. “Stay on the line. I’ll be rightback!” You don’t set the phone down until you hear him manage a small “okay”.

Your parents spring into action without question. After getting Steve to reluctantly hang up, your three-person family is piled into your clunky station wagon and speeding the short distance across town towards the Harrington residence.

The house towers in its little corner of suburbia, magnificent even in the darkness. It takes calm knocks and calling through the large wooden door before Steve will open up. As he does, brightness from every possible light fixture pours out into the night while Steve stands sheepishly in the doorway.

Immediately you jump in, knocking him off balance with the force of your tight hug. Steve’s cheeks flush from embarrassment, but your mother instills further assurance. “I’m glad you called, Steve. You did the right thing,” she soothes, before adding that your father has set off to inspect the outside of the home. Concern for the boy growing, she then asks him about his parents.

“I don’t know the hotel they’re at,” he admits with a shrug. “They didn’t leave the number.”

“It’s okay, hon,” comforts your mother. “Go grab a few things. You can stay with us until they get back.”

You watch as Steve’s features flood with relief, though his eyebrows raise as if asking “really?”. Your mother nods with an affirming smile and ushers the two of you to go upstairs and pack.

You return a few minutes later with Steve’s brand-new Nike sports duffel filled with sleepwear, everyday clothes and toiletries. Your father gives the all-clear, but Steve still looks guilty for having dragged your family out of bed for seemingly nothing. “It’s better to be safe, son,” your father reiterates as he gives the boy a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.

Once back at your house, extra linen and a spare pillow are gathered to create a makeshift bed on the floor of your room. Unlike the Harringtons’, your cozy little two-storey only boasts enough space for two modest bedrooms. Though it lacks grandeur or expensive furnishings, tonight your house is perfect for the boy who simply needs a home.

The adrenaline from earlier has subsided and sleep once again threatens to overtake you. You lie belly-up underneath your pink fleece blanket; its satin edges tickle the underside of your chin. Darkness coats your bedroom, causing your eyelids to droop. Yet, the shaky breaths sounding from the floor adjacent to you nudge you to speak up.

“Steve?” you whisper warily. “You okay?”

The boy releases an unconvincing hum. The silence that follows conveys his unease.

Finally, another whisper drifts up from the floor below. “I’m…scared.” The last word sticks to his tongue, almost refusing to be spoken.

You have never heard Steve admit that he was afraid of anything. He always trudges bravely into the unknown, sometimes even on your behalf. But hearing his voice tremble in the night just doesn’t sit right with you. Your young brain doesn’t fully comprehend it, but there is this pull inside your chest that desperately wants to be the one who is brave now – brave for your best friend, Steve.

An idea materializes in your thoughts, and quietly you ask, “Do you wanna lie up here?”

You half expect him to say no – Steve never usually likes to accept gestures that lessen his air of confidence – and that’s why you are so surprised when you hear a faint “yeah”.

Without hesitation, you lean over to turn on your bedside lamp. Its white-coloured shade, yellowing from age, casts an amber glow that spreads from its ceramic base, out towards the edges of your small room. You scoot over to the opposite side of your bed as Steve rises from the floor, gripping his borrowed pillow and blanket. He cautiously sets the items down and smooths out your bedsheet for him to lie on top of. Finally, the mattress dips as he stiffly settles himself down. The fragrance of clean laundry and minty toothpaste join him.

“You good?” you question gently as Steve pulls his sheet up to his chin. All you receive is a wordless nod.

In the pale lamplight you can still see the fear etched across Steve’s freckled profile. It burns your insides to witness his lack of a smile. “Steve,” you speak more seriously this time. “You’re safe here. It’s gonna be okay.”

The boy turns his cheek towards you, brown locks haloed by the light emanating from behind his head. His eyes, blackened by shadows, send a silent message of thanks.

“Good night,” he speaks softly, releasing a pent-up breath before turning over to shut off the lamp.

“‘Night, Steve,” you hum in return.

As Steve lies with his back to you, still not yet asleep, a protective feeling emerges from inside your chest. You watch the silhouette of his shoulders rise and fall. It’s unsteady at first, but as time passes, Steve’s breathing eventually evens out. It’s not until you hear his faint snores that you, too, allow yourself to drift off into dream land.

“Hey sweetie,” speaks the gentle voice of your mom entering the kitchen. “How are you holding up so far?”

Turning away from the metal sink where you’ve begun to wash the supper dishes, you give your mother a solemn nod.

She smiles softly back at you. “I know it can’t be easy having Steve here tonight, but he’s been relatively quiet. Ultimately, it is your choice, and I will support you no matter what, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think he’s the same boy he was back then. Perhaps it may finally be time to talk things through.”

Your mother has always been your number one fan. Her advice has only ever steered you in the right direction. Plus, she was the one who dried your tears over what Steve had done. Her suggestion terrifies you, but deep down, there’s a wiggle in your gut that tells you that she’s right.

Giving her a resounding nod, you see hope flicker in her eyes. A reassuring smile is cradled on your lips as she leans in towards you. Her delicate hand rubs warm circles into your back while a loving kiss is placed on your cheek.

Just then, a familiar figure appears in the open archway to the kitchen. His hands are shoved into denim pockets as he takes a cautious step forward.

Your mother follows your line of sight, realizing what has suddenly turned your body rigid. She quickly grabs a plate of cookies, her skirt swaying as she darts away to pair the sweet treats with the tea already served in the living room.

Panic floods your veins, yet your feet feel glued to the floor. After seven years, you have no choice but to ultimately face Steve Harrington head on. God only knows how this encounter will unfold.

Avoiding the inevitable for at least a few seconds longer, you spin back around to the sink and plunge your hands into the steaming dishwater. Fluffy white suds splash back up and cling to the front of your dress.

A distinct voice sounds behind you. “Want some help?”

No.

Yes.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Steve then appears in your periphery like a dream. He effortlessly shrugs off his navy blazer and rolls the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt to the elbows. Collecting a dry towel from the front of the stove, he reaches into the sink for a clean plate and begins to wipe the moisture from its surface. The two of you fall into a silent synchrony: wash, rinse, dry. Wash, rinse, dry.

The oak cabinets with their curved trim flank the sink and the window above it. Steve remembers exactly where each piece of dinnerware belongs – he’s spent enough time in your house to have it engrained in his memory. Except, this time, he leaves them all in a neat stack on the counter, feeling more like an outsider than someone who once used to fit seamlessly into your home.

The last plate is in your grasp. The trickle of the tap pings against the basin of the secondary sink to your right. You place the dish beneath the flow and watch absentmindedly as water rinses the remaining suds away. Your true focus, however, is on the familiar presence beside you. You can feel warmth emanating from where he stands close by; the heady scent of his aftershave saturates your senses.

As your wrist twists to rinse off the opposite side of the plate, Steve’s hand reaches forward just a moment too soon. Your fingers brush against one another and neither person retreats. Your eyes travel from his hand, up the sun-kissed skin speckled with moles of his bare forearm.

Two pairs of eyes then meet. Green and amber flecks gleam back at you under the kitchen light; a war of uncertainty and hope waging on within them.

“Can we talk?” he asks, words released as barely a whisper.

Your chest tightens. Another silent moment passes where you are lost in your thoughts. Steve Harrington is here, standing beside you in your kitchen, seeking some sort of resolution to the happenings of the past.

“Okay,” you answer at last, giving an earnest nod. Steve’s lips form the barest of smiles.

Releasing the water from the sink, you dab your wet hands on a towel and begin to move towards the foyer. You glance back at Steve, whose dark eyebrows raise knowingly, before gathering his blazer and following you up the staircase.

Summer 1979

Eager eyes scan the adults headed into the living room, watch them take a seat; sip from their glasses. Peering around the corner, poised in front of the staircase, you decide that the coast is clear. “C’mon, Steve!” you grasp his hand and yank him towards the first step.

Always vigilant, your mother calls out. “Make sure to keep this music down this time, sweetheart!”

“Yes, mooooom.” A sing-song voice trails up the stairs, echoing your reply as you and Steve giggle to yourselves mischievously.

It’s a beeline for your bedroom – a safe haven from all the business talk and second nature by now for you and Steve. You both have tried staying downstairs with the adults, but all you end up hearing is your fathers discussing quarterly reports and your mothers trying to engage in pleasant conversation. For a pair of kids, it was just too boring! So lately, it didn’t matter if you were at your house or his, the narrative always ended up the same: music.

Putting out a hand, your fingertips brush along the textured wallpaper as you round the corner into your bedroom. Releasing Steve’s hand, you bolt straight for the shelf where you keep your records.

“Don’t look!” you chide, purposefully keeping your shoulders square and back to the boy who moves to plant himself cross-legged beside your bed.

“I’m not!” he whines in defence.

“Close your eyes!” Steve huffs without conviction at your demand but does exactly what you ask. His eyes move beneath soft lids as your shadow approaches.

You take the album you’ve slipped out from the stack and hold it in front of you; your nose and eyes are the only parts of your face now visible. “Okay! Open!”

Steve’s hazel eyes flash wide at the sight of a crisp, new album cover and your hopeful gaze staring back at him. His smile widens. The two of you had been excitedly talking about this album coming out for months.

“You got Candy-O!” he exclaims, and you allow The Cars’ newest album to slip lower to reveal your exaggerated grin.

“I did! Saved up enough allowance to buy it last week. Wanna play it? I haven’t opened it yet so that we could listen together!”

Steve’s features soften. You always took him into consideration, no matter what. “Actually,” Steve’s soft smile morphs into a smirk. “I wanna show you something too.” He raises a hand and waves for you to come over.

You scramble to Steve’s side and plunk yourself down onto the floor, back bouncing off the side of your mattress as you do. Anticipation bubbles through you, making you feel as though you’re going to pop.

Tonight, Steve is grateful that his mother always makes him wear a blazer to these dinners, even if it’s two sizes too big. The article gives him the perfect opportunity to spring a surprise on you – one that he knows will make you squeal and throw your arms around him for a hug.

Steve’s grin is now immeasurable. “So, I got Candy-O, too, but I’ll do you one better,” he begins. “Have no fear of being yelled at when we blast it because…” He reaches inside his blazer, fishing for the pocket before pulling out a Sony Walkman.

“NO. WAY!” You squeal, arms instinctually squeezing his shoulders into a side-hug. You stare at the device in awe. “How did you –” a tentative hand reaches out, but you’re still afraid to touch it. It couldn’t have been cheap.

Steve unceremoniously hands it over for you to inspect. “My dad pulled some strings and got me one.” Your fingers run delicately over the buttons and metallic logo that adorns the front case. Steve then leans over into your space, breath tickling your cheek. He touches a button, and the cassette door pops open. You read the tape that’s already inside and look up to meet Steve’s gaze. The space between your front teeth lights up your features. “Haven’t listened yet either,” he winks. “So, what’re we waiting for?!”

Steve clicks the Walkman closed before producing two sets of headphones which he plugs into twin audio jacks. He then hands you a pair, the two of you settling them atop your ears in unison. Steve delivers you an excited smile with a waggle of his eyebrows and presses the play button.

The funky synth of “Let’s Go” erupts into your ears. Your jaw drops in amazement. To your right, Steve bites his lip and begins to bop his head in time with the beat. He turns to glance at you, and you start mirroring his actions; the song’s peppy rhythm makes you buzz with excitement.

All that can be heard from the living room below is the patter of two pairs of feet that soon get up to dance along to the music.

The wooden banister guides your palm as you ascend the steps. It’s a route that should come second-nature to you, yet in this moment, it feels like a journey into the unknown. Your nerves mount with each step you climb; the soft thud of the extra set of footsteps behind you worsens the unease that grips your gut. You need to compose yourself.

At the top of the landing, you quickly turn to your guest. “I’ve got to use the washroom for a moment.” Steve’s lips part to respond, but you are already darting down the hallway before he gets the chance.

He knows where your room is. He’ll be alright for a few minutes on his own.

Steve continues onwards and locates the entrance to your bedroom - right where it used to be. The door sits half-open, and Steve uses his fingertips to gently push inside. Its hinges whine as they give way.

The small space is like a time-capsule. A shelf lines one wall with your vinyl records stacked neatly by the record player. The old ceramic lamp with its yellowed shade still sits atop the nightstand. Your bed is neatly made up with a floral comforter that Steve doesn’t recognize, but peaking out from beneath it is the same old pink blanket with satin edges. Next to your vanity, a corkboard hangs against the wall; a series of pushpins secure several polaroids to its porous surface. The collection mostly includes close-ups of elegant plants and flowers, but hanging near the edge is a photograph that stands out from the rest. A sunset. Pink and lavender swirls of colour are splashed above the silhouette of what looks to be a park. The scene stirs a memory deep inside of Steve and tugs at the strings inside his heart.

Summer 1981

“Hey, wanna get out of here?”

The proposition catches you off-guard, causing you to reopen your eyes to the evening light streaming in through the window. It casts patterns across the spacious room, bathing the blue and white grid-line wallpaper in a golden glow. Plush carpet cushions your head as you lay spread out across it, much like your companion beside you. In the background, the low pulse of a pop album drones on from a record player.

Your eyebrow lifts in question. Steve must sense your reservation because he quickly adds, “We could ride bikes – I still have that spare you can use – and we could just do whatever.”

You sit up then, brows sewing together and mind trying to decipher what is making Steve so antsy to escape. The teen mirrors your actions, propping two hands behind him as he scans your features for an answer.

“No one will even know we’re gone,” he attempts to reassure you. “We can sneak out…like ninjas.”

Your resolve cracks. A goofy smile curls the edges of Steve’s lips, and a laugh erupts through your nose. Shaking your head at his antics, you finally deliver your verdict. “As much as we used to practice being ninjas like fiveyearsago, I’m still not going to lie to my parents.”

Steve’s smile falters ever so slightly.

“Besides,” you turn up a corner of your mouth into a sly grin, “you catch more flies with honey.” A wink caps it all off, which lets Steve know you’re on board with ditching the confines of his bedroom in exchange for some fun.

The two of you scramble to your feet and laugh out into the hallway. The staircase is grand in comparison to yours, and you indulge in squishing your toes into its spongy beige carpeting as you compete to reach the landing first.

On the main floor, you lead the way into the expansive dining room where you find the Harringtons and your parents sat sipping expensive wine from equally expensive crystal goblets. Your mother grips her glass firmly as if it could jump out of her hand at any moment and shatter.

Coming into view with Steve behind you, your parents’ heads are the first to turn away from the conversation. You put on your most innocent smile and announce the reason for your appearance during business talk. “We’re just gonna go ride bikes for a bit, ‘kay?”

Your mother returns your smile, “Sure honey, just make sure that you’re home before ten.”

Nodding a silent thank you, you also turn towards your father where he, too, offers a reassuring grin.

“Thanks!” you chime before turning to skip past Steve and into the main foyer. You stick your tongue out at him for good measure as you pass by.

Being out of earshot, however, you don’t end up hearing how Mr. Harrington sternly calls to his son. “Have her back on time, Steven. And no fooling around.” Your early exit from the house also means that you don’t comprehend the resulting flush of embarrassment that still overtakes Steve’s once-joyful features when he meets you outside. But before you can quiz him on it, he dashes into the storage shed to retrieve a pair of bicycles.

At first, the two of you don’t have a plan. The wooded area around Steve’s home gives way to a growing number of houses as you travel along; the steady clack of bike chains at work and the rush of wind past your faces are the only sounds for several long minutes.

That’s what’s nice about having Steve as your best friend; you can be doing nothing at all – not even talking – and it feels so comfortable. Just knowing he’s there surrounds you in a sense of ease.

The summer’s heat is still in full swing despite how the sun has begun to lower towards the horizon. The stickiness of sweat clings under your arms and to the backs of your knees where they bend to help push the bike pedals along. Finally, you break the silence. “Should we get ice cream?”

Steve’s brown locks flutter in the breeze as he glances over at you. “Sounds perfect!”

Pedalling with purpose, the two of you find the local ice cream stand and each order two-scoop cones to go. It’s Steve’s idea to bring the sweet treats along for the ride until you find a better spot to enjoy them. You mumble your annoyance but ultimately love that the evening is turning into a bit of a silly adventure.

The rest of the ride is a wobbly one. One hand is on a handlebar while the other grips onto your cone for dear life. “This is impossible, Steve!” you giggle, front tire weaving as you crane your neck to lick up a trickle of melting cream.

“Aww, suck it up, buttercup!” he teases, edging his bicycle closer to yours on the roadway. Steve uses the proximity to lean over and bop the mushy tip of his cone on your nose.

“Hey!” you squeak, trying – to no avail – to clean up the cold, sweet substance with your tongue.

Steve starts laughing so hard that he nearly loses his balance. His tummy somersaults. His eyes grow wide, and he unleashes a little “whoaa!” before clumsily correcting his course.

Now it’s your turn to wear a Cheshire grin. “Neener neener!”

Steve sticks his tongue out at you before taking a long, spiteful lick of his ice cream.

The ride continues for a short distance until you find yourselves at the local park. Lush green grass spreads out over its expanse. An empty playground sits tucked into one corner. Tall trees, thick with emerald leaves, line the park’s perimeter, yet a small break in the treeline provides an unobstructed view into the distance. You hold Steve’s cone as he props up your bikes, making sure to sneak a lick when his back is turned.

An old, wooden park bench becomes your resting spot, its splintering edges a welcome respite while you enjoy your cold treat.

“How can you eat that stuff?” recoils Steve after having accepted the taste you offered him.

“Bubble gum is the best!” you state matter-of-factly. “Ice cream meets bubble gum chunks. Perfection!”

“Eugh,” he exaggerates again. “I tell ya, classic butterscotch is where it’s at.”

“Agree to disagree.” You nudge Steve’s shoulder with your own. He returns a grunt that holds no heat.

Comfortable chatter continues between you - talk about music and movies, middle school blunders and local town gossip - until you both crunch down the last of your dessert.

The summer sun now dips below the horizon, casting the sky above Hawkins in streaks of pink and lavender. A silence descends as the two of you sit in awe of the beautiful sight.

As you take in your surroundings, thoughts begin to swirl in your mind. “I can’t believe we’ll be starting high school in a few weeks.”

Steve exhales deeply beside you. “Don’t remind me.”

“I wish we could stay fourteen forever.” Without thinking, you gently lay your head against Steve’s shoulder. His warmth seeps into your cooling skin. “I love hanging out with you,” you add with a wistful smile. “You just get me and all my weird.”

You don’t know it, but the weight of your head tipped against him is the only thing keeping Steve from floating away. You’re the only person in his life who truly seems to want to spend time with him. And, as the lavender sky darkens to an indigo hue, Steve carefully sets his head on top of yours, too. It’s a simple gesture, but he hopes it’s enough to show you that he feels the same way about you.

The tenderness of his action sets off a million butterflies in your stomach and suddenly, as you sit on the worn park bench watching the setting sun, the only person you can imagine ever being here with is Steve.

The intimate moment, however, barely has time to linger before Steve abruptly straightens up. Your cheek slides off his cotton t-shirt and a rumble reverberates from within his chest as he awkwardly clears his throat.

“It’s getting dark,” he speaks stiffly before switching his tone to one of friendly banter. He turns to give you a signature smirk. “Gotta make sure to get you home. Don’t wanna be late for that ten-p.m. curfew.”

It’s impossible to not return a full smile. “Oh, shut up, Harrington. You love my folks, too.”

As the two of you pedal back home under the glow of streetlamps, you can’t help but wonder if there was more to what happened on the bench. And more importantly, whether Steve had felt it too.

“Get it together, girl!” you exclaim internally into the bathroom mirror. A low clap from dual pats to your cheeks sounds off in the cramped bathroom as you try unsuccessfully to calm the flock of birds taking flight in your stomach.

Your mind flashes back to that moment in the kitchen. Why had your heart skipped a beat at a simple, innocent touch? Your cheeks had flushed, too, while observing his features. Steve’s appearance has certainly matured, yet he is still unmistakably good-looking – perhaps even more so than you last remember. His chestnut hair had lightened at the tips; his jaw had become sharper at its base. His hazel eyes are now bordered by hooded lids and dark lashes. The frame of Steve’s body had even grown more defined than it was in high school. Objectively, Steve Harrington had developed into a handsome young man.

But as you continue to peer at yourself in the mirror, that old adversary inside your head grows louder. Not much is different about you. Sure, you had let your hair grow a little longer and had styled it for the evening. And sure, your lashes have a coat of mascara spread across them. But those are superficial additions. Everything else about your appearance remains relatively unchanged. Your curves are still larger than the beauty queens of high school and college. Your clothes are still relatively inexpensive compared to the chic attire adorned by the Harringtons downstairs. And your smile…

Tentatively you part your lips, and the shadow of your gap immediately emerges into view.

Was Doctor Nelson unable to close in your space? Mrs. Harrington’s words bounce around in your brain like they are part of a game of pinball.

The grip you have on the edges of the porcelain sink tightens, eyes cramming shut. No wonder it had never crossed Steve’s mind that you could be together. You were nothing like the effortlessly beautiful girls he always had on his arm in high school.

October 1984

A shrill screech sounds off from down the hallway, causing your textbooks to clatter to the floor with a resonating thud. Alarmed, you turn quickly towards the sound, but your heart sinks when you take in the source of the commotion.

Nancy Wheeler is clutched around her middle and being twirled in the air by a joyful Steve Harrington. Her reaction has him laughing in a way that he only used to with you. Perfectly styled chestnut locks bounce in front of his forehead as he peers at his girlfriend through a pair of large sunglasses. Nancy thwacks Steve’s arm while his fingers move to grip the small of her back. He leans in to cradle her face. And then his lips are on hers –

You rapidly turn away, bending to pick up your fallen books. Straightening, your thoughts betray you for the thousandth time.

Nancy Wheeler. When Steve first began pursuing her, you thought she would just be another notch in his belt. All the flirting and kissing…surely, he only wanted in her pants. But then months turned into a year, and Steve seemed to genuinely be in love.

And you suppose that is the thing that eats you up the most.

You like Nancy. Even though she’s a year younger than you, she is hardworking and takes her education seriously – a trait that you both share. Plus, Nancy is just plain nice – totally unlike the stuck-up girls Steve had dated in the past. No matter how hard you try, it’s difficult to find any valid reason to dislike her.

Except…Nancy is also naturally beautiful, and you hate how jealousy has creeped into your bones because of it.

She has a petite frame and girl-next-door charm with a perfect smile to match. It appears when Steve whispers all those little I love yous and gazes at her with an affection you’ll never know. The feeling squeezes at your heart and forms a lump in your throat, allowing self-doubt to gnaw its way into your thoughts: “Maybe if you were just a little prettier or a little more charismatic, that could be you instead.”

Hearing the pair continue to flirt across the hall sends your tongue brushing up against your front teeth inside your mouth. The muscle pokes its way between the gap. “No,” you tell yourself as you turn back to see Steve walking off with Nancy tucked lovingly under his arm. “Your brain and your smile make you, you! No one can take that away. And someday, someone will be happy with you just as you are.”

Silent footsteps carry you down the hallway towards your room. Peeking in through the wooden doorway, you find Steve with his back turned. Golden light from beyond the window outlines his figure. Broad shoulders are stooped; locks of dark hair fall forward as his head peers down at something held delicately in his hand.

A subtle shift in your weight sets the floorboards creaking, and the sudden noise causes Steve to flinch. He turns quickly on his heels to find you glancing down at his fingertips.

His cheeks flush, appearing like a deer in headlights. Yet, as Steve quickly moves to refasten the polaroid to its place on the board, he regains his nerve and delivers a comment in the fondest of tones. “It doesn’t quite look the same as the night we were there.”

Your heart begins to hammer against your ribs.

He remembers.

But how do you answer him? How do you admit that no matter how hard you tried to throw that little piece of plastic away, you simply couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not when it bared such a striking resemblance to a night that had been so simple and so perfect.

Buying time, you shift towards the record shelf that resides to your right. Pensively, you trace a finger across the stacked spines. Music had been such an important part of your friendship, saving the two of you from many the business dinner, just like the one being hosted today.

Chancing a look over your shoulder, you find that Steve has not moved; his attention is fully focused on you. Those kind eyes wait patiently for you to be ready to speak. As you study his features, your mind suddenly whisks you back to tonight’s dinner table. You recollect how Steve's tanned cheeks had paled at his father’s words. How the curve of his throat had swallowed coarsely and the tendon within had tightened under so much strain.

You know exactly what needs to be said.

June 1985

This is it. Tonight is the end of an era.

With a raised chin, Steve smooths down the satin lapels of his black suit and straightens his matching tie. He takes a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him is the image of an 18-year-old man with perfectly styled hair and expensive attire, yet underneath is a lost boy who grew up too fast.

Steve exhales unsteadily as he checks his watch. Time to go.

But as he makes his way towards the staircase of his home, the harsh sound of an argument rises from the space from below. Steve pauses, heart sinking as he listens in.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet, dear?” exclaims his mother with frustration. “We have to be there in ten minutes!”

A sharp, unfeeling tone answers back. “You know very well why not!”

The tension downstairs grows palpable. “This is your only son’s graduation! It’s a significant accomplishment for him!”

“Significant?!” Mr. Harrington’s already deep voice booms louder. “He barely squeezed by! He slacked off, his grades went to shit, and he got rejected from Tech. What kind of accomplishment is that!”

Steve’s gut churns.

“He’s a teenager!” the woman argues back.

“Well, maybe if you’d kept on top of his behaviour, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” Steve doesn’t need to see the scene unfold to know that his father’s face is flushed, with wide eyes and that vein in his temple threatening to burst.

The feminine voice of his mother scoffs and retaliates, “I can’t very well stay home all the time, now, can I? Not when I need to follow you around and make sure you’re not off screwing your secretary!”

That's it. There’s a storm of emotion brewing inside Steve, and he doesn’t know how it will erupt if he sticks around any longer. He descends the stairs two at a time and slams the front door on his way out. If neither of his parents showed up tonight, so be it!

He plunks himself into the driver’s seat of his burgundy BMW and roughly twists the keys in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life and Steve wastes no time throwing the car into gear. For a moment, his vision is blurred as he poises with an arm behind the passenger’s seat to reverse the vehicle. He quickly blinks the watery obstruction away before speeding off to his high school for one final time.

Once back in the gymnasium of Hawkins High, a standard gown and cap are thrust at Steve to wear and he is ushered to his assigned seat. Triumphant music swells, signalling the beginning of the ceremony causing a pit to settle heavily inside Steve’s stomach.

His knee bounces restlessly beneath the long, silky fabric of his gown as person after person is called to the stage. Steve knows that his mother is sitting a few rows behind with palms poised elegantly on her thighs. An expensive suit and blazer with prominent shoulder pads adorn her figure. Round earrings dwarf her earlobes, and an effortless smile is pasted across painted lips. But Steve also knows that there is a reserved seat beside her that remains unfilled. He doesn’t need to hear it to know that excuses for her husband are being whispered to anyone who will listen.

The sound of your name being called propels Steve back into the present. He watches in awe as you elegantly ascend the stage towards the awaiting principal. The distinct sound of your mom and dad’s cheers from the crowd draws your attention out into the audience. You feign embarrassment, but it’s the gorgeous, full smile that breaks out across your face that shows how truly special this moment is for you.

The principal announces your college plans as you shake his hand and collect your diploma. The accomplishment earns applause from the crowd. And in that moment, with the spotlight framing your features, Steve’s heart swells. He recognizes how hard you’ve worked to earn this moment, and he feels something tug at him from within his chest.

He acted like a giant asshole towards you, choosing popularity and flirty girls over his best friend. Yet, despite how he treated you, you never let it stop you from being the best version of yourself. Not once did you bend to social norms and now look at how bright you shine.

You were the one person who cared about him unconditionally. Together you’d jam out to music and ride bikes until dusk. You were the person who saved him from the monotony of business dinners…and you were the person who calmed him when he felt afraid. That tug inside his chest grows stronger. Steve selfishly wishes he still had you; still had the person he’s loved all along.

After several more students pass, it’s finally Steve’s turn to be called up. He stands, straightening his gown before taking a deep breath. When he climbs the steps and looks out into the audience, he doesn’t search for his mother. Instead, he searches for you. But when he finds you sitting there with diploma in hand, he sees you looking on with indifference. And it’s then that Steve is forced to accept that having you back in his life is just not meant to be.

Gathering your courage, you shift until your body is fully aligned with Steve. Your words are spoken with utmost honesty. “I’m sorry that you had to deal with that, your father – at dinner.”

A corner of Steve’s mouth turns down subtly. “Thanks,” he replies, shaking his head, “but it’s all par for the course.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before folding his arms protectively against his chest. His gaze shifts meekly away from yours.

“Still,” you press, wringing your fingers together and taking a step forward. Regardless of what has happened in the past, that pull inside you needs Steve to understand that you would never take sides with his father. “Careers and degrees don’t define who we are.”

You catch Steve’s lip pinching briefly in the form of a smile. His eyes glance back up at you.

A heavy silence descends, and you watch the way that Steve regards you. There is no scrutiny, only something that can only be described as affection.

“How do you do it?” The sound of his voice breaks through the quiet and makes you aware of how little distance there actually is between you.

“Do what?” you manage.

Steve stands up a little straighter, smiles a little broader. “How do you always manage to lift me up? Make me feel better about myself?”

The muscles in your eyebrows arch, lips parting in soundless shock. That rapid heartbeat in your chest now thrums loudly in your ears.

“I never realized how much you gave me until it was completely gone,” he adds.

A thickness forms in your throat. Your brain is a jumble of words that plop onto your tongue, but you have no idea how to express them.

Your silence and lack of objection provide Steve with the opportunity to continue. He rakes a hand through his thick hair nervously. “I guess you’re wondering why I showed up tonight…after all this time.” He then speaks your name, soft, tender. Sincere. “I’m sorry.”

The dam breaks and a strangled breath chokes out from your lungs. The two simple words that you’ve waited seven long years to hear have been spoken at last.

The room around you blurs. Your head feels like it’s spinning.

“Look,” Steve gestures with one hand, shifting to rest his hips against your windowsill. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I just had to -”

You honestly don’t know what comes over you. A heat swirls up from inside, spreading like wildfire from your toes to your cheeks. With it, erupts several years of pent-up emotion, emotion that you thought you had locked safely away.

“Dammit, Steve!” you exclaim in a tone so raw that even you don’t recognize it. “You ripped my heart out when you chose Tommy H. on that first day of high school!”

Steve recoils at your intensity, yet winces from your truths. He hasn’t come here to justify his actions from the past. “I know,” he admits, hurt evident in his creased brow. “I have no excuse for treating you the way I did. I got so caught up with my ego and then in all the crazy shit that happened in town that by the time I came to my senses, you wouldn’t even look at me. I should have sought you out, but the more time that passed, the weirder it felt to even try.”

Anger subsides into heartache. “I would have listened,” you murmur. Tears prickle at your lash line. Steve’s face visibly falls. “I only kept my distance so I wouldn’t get hurt. I still cared for you, Steve. You were my best friend, and a part of me always hoped that you would remember that.”

Years of regret are etched across Steve’s face. “I’ve missed you more than you could ever know,” he confesses. This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him since that night when you were kids.

The familiar pull inside your chest returns, but this time it urges you to let yourself be vulnerable too. “I’ve missed you too. So much.”

Steve allows himself to smile. Hopeful. “Do you think we can start over? I know I’ve fucked up, but would you be willing to give me another shot?”

There’s no apprehension within you, no sense of unease. You nod affirmatively and return him a smile.

Steve’s demeanour brightens, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he moves to the side of your bed. He kneels and lowers himself to sit on the floor. His squared shoulders rest against the side of your mattress, much taller than when you were kids. You observe him curiously as Steve slides his denim-clad knees upwards and rests his forearms atop them. Toes wiggle against the carpet in black dress socks. Peering up at you with a cheeky grin, Steve motions for you to join.

Your eyes narrow fondly at the familiarity, crossing the short distance to gingerly set your body down next to his.

Steve turns his gaze on you, swirls of green and brown circle his irises. Then, he reaches into his blazer, fishing for the pocket. A second later, his hand produces a cherished sight: the Walkman.

Reaching in again, he retrieves two sets of headphones. Joy shines through the rosy tint of your cheeks.

“Care for a listen?” he grins back, eyes crinkling at the corners. With a wink he adds, “For old time’s sake.”

Steve extends a hand, allowing the metallic band of a headset to dangle on his outstretched index finger. Reaching, you accept and settle the orange foam pads overtop your ears. Steve mirrors your actions and double checks the connections.

“Ready?” he motions with raised eyebrows.

Your enthusiastic nod is his green light.

You ready yourself to take in the music by turning your focus to your lap. The play button clicks and the next thing you know, the funky synth of “Let’s Go” fills your ears.

A warmth bubbles through you, and you release a wet laugh. Turning back to face Steve, you find him already admiring your reaction. Playfully, you knock your knee against his, offering him a broad smile that places your gap on full display.

And just as the chorus rolls into the second verse, Steve reaches to remove his headphones. You follow his lead, concerned that something might be wrong. Strands of chestnut hair stick up comically on Steve’s head; a stark juxtaposition to the serious expression that now stares back at you.

The quaint room has grown shadows as the evening sun begins to fade. Your pulse quickens with the intensity of the moment.

“I’m glad you didn’t get it closed in,” Steve finally remarks, words calm. Deliberate.

“Huh?” you utter, your brows marrying as you try to decipher his meaning.

“What my mom said earlier. Your gap.”

Your tongue brushes over top of the feature inside your mouth.

“Your smile,” Steve’s chest expands as he takes an unsteady breath. “It’s…”

Unique?

Cool?

Nice?

“Beautiful.”

Oh.

As you absorb his words, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close the two of you are; how the small distance buzzes with a magnetic charge. You admire the gentle slope of his nose and the birthmarks that dot his complexion. The scent of his aftershave and something distinctly Steve surrounds you. Once again, that pull inside your chest resurfaces, encircling your heart and tugging with all its might in the direction of Steve. Your Steve.

Soft words break you out of your trance. “You know, I think it has always been something more than friendship.”

Butterflies explode inside your stomach. Your insecurities melt away.

“That evening in the park,” continues Steve, eyes searching your face. “I felt something that I didn’t know I could; like you were my home, and I wanted to stay there forever.”

It hadn’t just been you.

Steve then places a hand tentatively on yours. Your skin tingles with the heat of his touch. “Did you feel it too?” he implores, trepidatiously, as if he were a fourteen-year-old boy again.

You nod and, with a whisper, say, “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

“Neither did I.”

And then the two of you are moving. Leaning together, you wrap your arms around his neck and hug Steve tightly. Steve responds in kind, large palms splaying across your back and pulling you flush against him as if you fit together like two lost pieces of the same puzzle.

Unspoken words of love transpire between you as you hold each other close.

And in that moment, you both understand that home is the person who accepts you just the way you are.

Thank you for reading! If you've made it this far, I'd love to hear your thoughts! 🩷 And please consider reblogging your favorite fics 😊

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[cycat-carisi]

Would anyone want a follow-up to "Forgive Me Father" (Priest!Steve)? Because I have ideas and I'll probably write it anyway lol

[cycat-carisi]

♡ 🐶 ♡

Four Times Foley Tried to Set You up on a Date, and the One Time It Worked

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Foley is your loyal, normally well-behaved, canine companion. Except, when he encounters a handsome stranger on the street, he turns into an overexcited ball of fur...and you suppose you can't really blame him.

Tags/warnings: 4+1 trope thingy; fluff (hopefully of the tooth-rotting variety ♡); cursing (like, two itty bitty words); basically Steve being a ray of sunshine but add a dog in the mix

Words: 3562

A/N: Inspired by all the Joe content out there involving doggos and how genuinely happy they seem to make him. I suspect Steve would be much the same.

Fic below the cut or on AO3

Attempt No. 1

“Foley! No!” Before your reflexes have time to react, the leash slips through your palm and is skidding behind a blur of golden-brown fur. You watch in horror, stomach in your throat, as your beloved dog beelines for a man up ahead on the sidewalk.

Two wide paws rear upwards, and a wet, pink tongue lolls out as the canine practically barrels into the stranger. You rush over as quickly as your legs will carry you, trying to snatch the collar of your four-legged companion. Foley, however, is too quick, managing to dodge your attempts. But as you look upwards in exasperation, you notice that the man hasn’t recoiled. He hasn’t started yelling at your dog–or you, for that matter. Instead, he’s laughing.

Dumbfounded, you watch as he praises the pooch with honeyed words like “hey buddy!” and “what a good boy!” all the while rubbing the sides of Foley’s head. The smile plastered across the man’s face is one of pure joy, and Foley is absolutely gobbling up the attention. Your dog dances on his hind legs and desperately tries to plant slobbery kisses on this random person.

Snapping yourself back into action, you finally grab hold of the leather collar and pry Foley off the man. “I’m so sorry, sir!” you exclaim, looking up into what you now notice is a pair of shining hazel eyes. “He never does this!” It’s the honest truth; whether the man will choose to believe you is another story.

But he simply laughs, all rosy cheeks and crinkled eyes. “Not to worry!” he assures. Foley continues to resist you as the stranger adds, “He’s a lovely dog!” A playful ruffle of your golden retriever’s ears has the canine’s tail smacking into your legs like a metronome. “Bye, buddy!” the man says as he squeezes past you and Foley on the sidewalk. Your dog yips happily, standing at attention until the guy is out of sight.

Baffled by this odd occurrence, you make the journey back to your apartment. Foley sticks tight to your side, quietly eyeing each passer-by as you go along.

Attempt No. 2

The whining absolutely breaks your heart. It’s such a long, drawn-out, and pitiful sound. The whole walk to the clinic sounded exactly like that too, and you wouldn’t be surprised if people on the street were ready to jump to the nearest payphone and dial the ASPCA. Foley not only sounded like he was being abused, but he deserves an Oscar for having looked the part as well. He managed to tuck his tail impossibly tight between his legs and hang his head meekly with the biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes you have ever seen. And once you were inside the vet’s office, the scene wasn’t much different, either. Going to the vet, even for routine checkups, is the worst experience of your Foley’s little life.

He clings tight to your side, back end tucked as far under your chair in the waiting room as he will fit. If the glass-pane door beside you was open, you’re sure he’d be begging you to leave. In an effort to comfort him, your hand reaches down to soothingly stroke between Foley’s ears. He presses up into you, appreciating the love.

The minutes are ticking by when, all of a sudden, a loud bark sounds off next to you. A golden-brown flash springs upwards before it crouches down, butt in the air and head pointed towards the door. Foley yips again, tail beating back and forth, happy as can be. You jump to your feet to calm him down while annoyed glances from other patients are being shot your way.

Then he bounces again, releasing another shrill bark before rearing up on his back legs, paws against the door handle. And that’s when you notice him. The same guy from the other day, just out and about minding his own business.

The man’s attention turns towards the muffled barking and silhouette of an excited dog vying for his attention behind the glass. Recognition hits when he sees you trying to pry Foley down. It makes him stop in his tracks and smile. He’s actually beaming at the sight of your dog making you look like a gigantic fool in public…again.

The man bends at the knee in order to get a better look. He rakes a hand through his dark brown hair and waves at your pup like he’s a little kid. Foley’s tongue darts out, smearing against the glass door out of pure joy.

And then the stranger turns his focus on you. His eyes soften as he gives you a shy wave. You manage a little wave of your own before reality reminds you that Foley is still causing an absolute ruckus. And as if suddenly remembering something himself, the man checks his watch before giving Foley a final wave and striding away. Though, you don’t miss out on the fond glance that is cast over his shoulder as he continues down the street.

Once the man is out of sight, Foley returns to cowering beneath your chair until the vet eventually calls his name.

Attempt No. 3

Foley sits obediently at your side, big brown eyes laser-focused on the transaction taking place above him. Strings of drool seep from the corners of his mouth. He begins to pant, pink tongue rising and falling, yet he still remains unmoving at your side.

A man in a white apron hands you a small vanilla ice cream cone from the cart he operates on the park pathway. You thank him and turn to Foley, ready to give your pup his favourite (albeit rare) summer treat. But, just as you’re about to bend down, Foley’s ear suddenly twitches in the opposite direction. His black nose wiggles, and then his head swivels rapidly towards the perceived sound. Immediately, the canine is overcome with anticipation, practically vibrating in place. Luckily, you have half a mind to tighten your grip on his leash, because it soon becomes evident what–or rather who–Foley’s senses have picked up on.

Deep in concentration with chestnut locks sticking to the sides of his face from perspiration, the same guy that Foley has gotten all worked up over twice before is jogging directly towards you. Adorned in grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt, his laboured breathing is steadily focused through pursed lips.

By now, Foley is barking up a storm, the ice cream guy has wheeled his cart away, and you’re left frivolously trying to maintain a hold on the leash. “Heel!” you command to no avail. Exasperation over your abnormally disobedient companion is written all over your flushed cheeks.

Barking causes the man’s concentration to break, and as he recognizes Foley, the giant grin that you’re now used to seeing spreads across his features. He slows his jog to a halt in front of the pair of you. That brilliant smile that’s all teeth shines upon you before turning to the fur ball in front of him. “Hey, boy!” he coos, showering Foley in pats and rubs. The pooch devours the attention, unlike the ice cream that's long since forgotten.

“Again, I’m sorry!” Your apology comes as Foley headbutts the man again and again, wiping his slobber all over the poor sucker’s pants. “Foley!” you groan in defeat.

“Nah, it’s cool.” The man bends and allows your dog to deliver him wet kisses. “It’s actually a nice ego boost.” He glances back up to you with a wink that makes your tummy somersault. Straightening and maintaining those hazel eyes on you, he offers you a hand that’s not kneading Foley’s ears. “Steve,” he smiles.

A silent “oh” parts your lips as you awkwardly juggle the ice cream cone into the same hand holding the dog leash. Steve chuckles on your behalf as he attempts to steady Foley at his feet.

Finally, you accept his greeting and respond with your own name. Steve’s palm feels so natural in yours; his fingers curl around yours firmly, yet with gentle care. It almost feels–

Suddenly, Steve begins vibrating back and forth, which makes his hand slip unceremoniously from yours. Your silly pup is now drumming a steady rhythm with his tail against Steve’s legs. The two of you can’t help but share a lighthearted laugh.

“I’d love to stay and chat,” he says as the laughter fades, raising a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “But I have to finish my run and head home.”

As nonchalantly as possible, you respond with an “of course” before reaching over to nab Foley by the collar and pull him off of your new acquaintance. The man delivers the two of you a friendly wave before resuming his pace.

As he jogs off into the distance, you try not to think about the way Steve’s eyes smile with the rest of his face or how a trickle of sweat had run down the expanse of his freckled neck. And Foley makes double sure of it by sitting in front of you with pleading eyes fixated on his ice cream cone like nothing had happened at all.

Attempt No. 4

Had Steve been consuming your thoughts more and more frequently since your last meeting? Kinda…well, okay…Yes.

He was obviously handsome. Gorgeous eyes. Dark hair. Strong jawline. And it really didn’t matter what he wore either, be it the business-casual outfit he sported while passing by the vet’s office or the old jogging clothes lined with sweat. But the thing that your mind kept coming back to was that stupid smile that emerged around Foley. It popped up in your head more times than you care to admit. You don’t know what it is about this guy, but you simply can’t shake him from your brain.

And what the heck was up with Foley? You even tried asking your pup why Steve gets him so excited. But the only answer you were met with was an adorably curious head tilt that turned into him flopping onto his back, four paws in the air, begging for a belly rub. Foley’s reaction to Steve, and the fact that it had happened three times in three separate locations, was so bizarre. Surely it was impossible to bump into the same guy multiple times in such a big city like that…

It's evening, and you and Foley are out for a stroll. The sun is past its peak, and the air has cooled, making it perfect for a walk. The sidewalks still bustle with people going to and fro. Foley keeps perfect stride with you. He sticks close when you pass sketchy characters and doesn’t react to the grabby hands of little kids. He’s acting like his usual self–the poster child for obedient pups-and you couldn’t be prouder!

Rounding the corner, Foley’s nose hits the pavement. The black button on the front of his snout works furiously, the sniffing sounds growing louder.

“What’s wrong, boy?” you ask your companion. But then he’s tugging, paws wanting to move faster and farther than his leash will allow.

You strain trying to keep up as Foley yanks you closer to a bus stop. A happy bark and a glance upwards make you realize what has set Foley off.

Oh. My. Again?

And then there’s Steve. Dressed in a casual polo and jeans, he sits on a bench at the bus stop. The first bark has him peering over his shoulder; that signature smile, which lights up his handsome face, appears not a moment later. Steve’s posture straightens as Foley bounds up to his side, only to reach forward and deliver loving pets to your enthusiastic pup.

“And so we meet again!” He grins at you, still showering Foley with affection.

“Indeed!” you reply, matching his banter before swapping to a more apologetic tone. “But I swear I don’t know why he acts this way around you! He doesn’t even get like this around my relatives!”

Smooth, gentle laughter fills the space between you. “Like I said before,” Steve’s eyes catch yours. “I honestly don’t mind at all. He’s not being bad; he’s just very sweet.”

The compliment warms your cheeks, tinting them pink. “You’re too kind, but we keep interrupting your day.”

Steve scoffs with no heat. “It’s nice to see some familiar faces.” He then offers you a smile that melts you where you stand.

The moment lingers; gazes are locked. Your heart ticks up in your chest. “So, uh…” he runs a large hand through perfectly styled hair. “I’m just waiting to catch a bus downtown to do some errands. It won’t be here for a while, so if you want–if you don’t have anywhere to be–you’re welcome to stay and chat for a bit.”

Your eyes widen. Did he just ask you to stay? Stay, as in, he’d like to talk to you?

You honestly don’t know how he does it. Steve’s got this effortless confidence to him that’s laced with a hint of shyness, almost as if he doesn’t know how smooth he actually is. Couple that with your brain’s recent hyper-fixation, and it’s impossible to say no.

Taking a seat next to him on the bench, Steve shifts so that his torso is aligned with yours. Foley takes up residence between Steve’s legs, pressing himself in close and laying his head on the man’s lap. Steve doesn’t complain one bit; rather, he threads Foley’s silky ears through his fingers as the two of you begin to talk.

The conversation is effortless. You learn that Steve is from a small town in Indiana and moved to a big city to experience something new. You speak about careers and aspirations, and your stomach flutters when you learn that Steve’s vision for the future isn’t that different from your own. In fact, Steve makes you feel completely at ease. There’s no need to hide little facets of yourself, not when he seems to be accepting of every little part of you.

You and Steve are completely engrossed in conversation when Foley suddenly gives off a whine. Big dark eyes peer up at Steve, sad doggy eyebrows twitching as he seeks undivided attention. Steve, ever the pushover for that adorable face, gives Foley a reassuring pat on the head.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he begins, returning to stroking your dog’s ears. “How did you come up with the name ‘Foley’?”

Affectionately, you grin down at the canine before turning your gaze back on Steve. “I wanted this calm, sweet, loyal dog. Someone I could rely on and who could make me feel a little safer while living alone. And don’t get me wrong, he’s like that ninety-nine percent of the time…” Your voice goes deadpan. “Except for when he’s around you.”

Steve blows a laugh through his nose, clearly caught off guard.

“Anyway,” you continue, nerves consuming you, “when he was a pup, I thought a police officer’s name would be the right choice. So, I chose the one from Beverly Hills Cop.” Your eyes are in your lap, where your fingers toy absentmindedly with the end of Foley’s leash.

Steve’s brows pinch together. “Have you ever watched the movie?” His question draws your eyes back to his. Though non-judgemental, Steve does appear skeptical.

You stammer. “Uhh…no. I just really like the song.” After saying it out loud, you realize how dumb you must seem. But Steve’s face confirms none of that. Instead, he’s beaming again.

“Axel F is the charismatic, cheeky one… and sometimes he’s a bit of an asshole.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. You peer down at Foley, who has resorted to head-butting Steve’s hand for more of the spotlight. “I guess that explains a lot,” you tease. “If I wanted a calm pup, I shoulda named you after the sheriff from The Andy Griffith Show, huh, boy?”

Foley snorts his disapproval and Steve knocks his shoulder playfully against yours with a dazzling smirk.

Suddenly, however, something catches Steve’s eye, and he stretches to look out above your head. Squinting, he attempts to focus on something in the distance. He casts a quick glance at you, lips turning downwards into a frown. “I think my bus is on its way.” His tone deflates of all its previous joy. Your heart sinks with it.

Steve’s hazel eyes lock onto yours, words racing against the clock. “Look,” he begins. “I really enjoyed talking with you and…” A pause. A bite of his lip. An unsteady intake of breath. You hang on every little movement. “Well, maybe we could meet up again sometime? We could finally get you watching Beverly Hills Cop?” A hopeful gleam appears in his eye, and you notice the way his lips curve to cradle the gentlest of smiles; the pair of freckles on his cheek shift along with them.

An involuntary smile of your own makes its way across your features. Your heart beats out a rapid lub-dub against your chest. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle at the corners, delight and what just might be relief washing over him. “Great!” he chimes just as the bus arrives at the stop. He stands. Foley mirrors his actions. “Here’s my number.” Steve recites the digits as he makes his way towards the open door of the bus. “Gimme a call!” He then gives Foley a final pat on the head before ascending the steps onto the city bus.

Just as the bus doors are about to close, Steve turns back to give you a wave. But it’s the beaming smile that he flashes at the same time that will linger in your mind long after you and Foley get back home.

The One Time it Worked

Holy shit! Steve, the random guy your dog has been obsessed with for the last several weeks, asked you out!

Throwing caution to the wind, you didn’t end up waiting long before giving Steve a call–unwritten dating rules be damned! And Steve had been just as eager when he picked up at the other end of the line. The two of you made plans for a movie night in the park; Foley, of course, was invited too.

And Steve, as it turned out, is an absolute gentleman. He had requested Beverly Hills Cop be shown that night and had assembled a picnic for you to share: homemade treats and sandwiches for the humans and Pupperoni for the canine.

The two of you spent the evening nestled close on a blanket, eating and laughing along with the film. Foley lay between you, softly chuffing at each mention of his name on screen.

Once the movie had concluded and the picnic had been packed up, Steve escorts both you and Foley home. He stands in front you on the stoop of your building, bathed in the soft yellow light from the porch lamp overhead. Wisps of chestnut hair appear golden as they flutter in the gentle breeze.

“So, this is me,” you state nervously. Staring up into his eyes, you observe how flecks of green marry with swirls of amber. “I had a really great night,” you add, voice softening, sincere. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes form crescent moons as they peer back at you. “I had a great time too.” His words are spoken so low that they’re almost a whisper. “I’d really love to see you again.”

Your teeth capture your bottom lip, trying to suppress the giddy grin that threatens to form. “I’d like that.”

Steve’s pupils darken, eyes wandering to your lips before slowly easing their way back up to yours. The two of you draw near, orbits closing in. Steve’s hand caresses along your cheek; fingers slip behind your hair. His nose brushes yours, eyelashes flickering as he searches for any sign of apprehension. You press your body closer to his, giving him his answer.

Tender lips then meet yours. A warmth radiates through your chest and peppers its way down your spine. You melt together like two halves of the same whole.

You could stay wrapped in Steve’s embrace forever, yet the kiss is brought to an abrupt halt by the whines and needy whimpers of the golden retriever at your feet. The absurdity has Steve smiling against your lips, forehead resting on yours. “Never a dull moment with this one around, huh?” he chuckles before reluctantly drawing back.

Reaching down, you lace your fingers with his. “Nope. That’s for sure!”

The night ends with Foley being showered with affection and the promise of many more evenings like this to come.

One Year Later

Nighttime had settled over the city, and in a tiny apartment, two people lay cuddled in a cozy bed. The man, with dark brown hair and shining hazel eyes, peers down affectionately at the person he loves, resting their head on his chest.

An arm holds your sleepy form close, warm and safe and already drifting off towards a pleasant sleep. At the foot of the bed lies a golden retriever; his soft muzzle nestled lazily on two front paws. He, too, begins to doze as the day draws to an end.

The man glances down at the canine at his feet. “Thank you, Foley,” he whispers before placing a tender kiss to the top of your head and switching off the light.

Hopefully you enjoyed reading this one! Feedback is loved! ♡ Main Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

[cycat-carisi]

there’s something so special to me about the idea of being the person who breaks steve harrington’s dry spell.

and he’s so whiny and pathetic about it, cramped up with you on your twin bed, because heaven knew college dorms didn’t have space for a queen — his hips pushing up in little aborted thrusts almost uncontrollably as your spit-and-pre slick hand works him up and down. he’s soaking, blurting out sticky beads with every squeeze of your hand at his sensitive tip.

“fuuuuuck,” he’s moaning, dry throat clicking as the words stumble out, gravelly and desperate, “feels so good, need more— babygirl, please.”

it’s so easy to slide down the length of him, your hot insides taking him inch by inch like it’s nothing, like he’s not so thick that you can feel him pulsing in you, like one clench will set him off with no stopping. you throw your head back, moaning quietly as you begin bouncing up and down, rocking on him with a feverish desperation.

it’s like steve can’t control himself, head thrown back and that gorgeous, mole-flecked neck bared as he bites back on choked up moans, his massive hands gripping onto the fat of your waist to keep you moving. he’s using you as leverage to thrust his hips up into yours, the wet clicking sounds of soaked bodies filling the space left between agonised moans.

he’s all-consuming, the bitten off cries that spill from steve’s plush lips as he finally opens his eyes to look at you, watches you in awe with those fucking eyes that made you melt for him in the first place, “oh fuck,” he groans, watches where your bodies meet like he’s hungry for it, “lemme cum inside, please, baby i can’t stop it.”

it’s violent, the way your orgasm is ripped from you at those very words, the way he looks at you in some sort of ecstasy as you shudder and cry out, deep heat blooming in your core and making your body shake.

“yeah, yeah, so hot, god baby—“ steve rocks your hips back and forth with a grip so hard that you know his fingers will leave bruises, grinding up into you so filthy and deep that you feel the way his length jerks as he spills inside of you, gasping like he can’t catch a breath — forcing you down so you can’t wiggle away from the overstimulation.

[cycat-carisi]

My friend said this about AO3 and it’s honestly so true

[cycat-carisi]

NO LOVE LOST

Pt.1 .. Pt.2

What happens when Steve finally meets his match... and what happens when she wants absolutely nothing to do with men?

Oh my god I posted this without thanking my queens wtf @andvys and @ghost-proofbaby , @keeryhours thank you for always helping me through any questions and giving me just the inspiration to go for it always !!

18+ minors DNI

WC: 2.9k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem Reader ( nn- Angel)

TW: mentions of divorce, mentions of food, platonic Stobin, male masturbation.

Rolling over to see the sunrise instead of the slope of curves always made Steve feel like he was in a never-ending rut. It was the same old boring routine, the same cycle day in and day out. Today felt different. Instead of loneliness, when he rolled over, he felt a little twinge of hope. 

Hope that got him out of bed before noon and fed his brain with little what-ifs of what could happen tonight. Why? Well, today was Valentine's Day. now he knew what everyone thought what a fucking sap that this was his favorite holiday but fucking sue him. Simply put he was just a guy who loved love and wanted to give what he had and wanted someone to return the fucking favor, but no one ever got the memo. 

Every year he looked forward to the corny paper valentines that would hit the shelves in Melvald’s, the carnations people could buy for their sweetheart in high school, and now that he had become an adult he adored the way he and Robin had made it a tradition to go out. She would wear those cringy cupid wings and make him wear a headband with an arrow that looked like it had gone in one ear and out the other, but he loved it Loved going along with the bit if it made her smile. 

Tonight he was going to get drunk and take someone home, he had a plan. Buy them a drink, flirt his way into the sheets, and maybe in the morning he could look over and not feel so alone. He would pull out all his best moves, maybe even pull a few of Robin's tried and true that she swore by, anything to not go home by himself. 

Hours had passed and he had started to get a little worried since he had heard nothing from Robin about their plans so he decided to text her. 

As his phone rang Steve was tempted to let it go to voicemail but knowing Robin, he couldn’t do it, she would be beyond pissed. 

“This better be good robs.” he was quiet trying to hear her over the music in the background of wherever she was. 

“It’s not ideal but we can’t go out tonight Stevie. I’m so sorry.”  He tried to be mad he did but the wave of sadness overwhelmed him. “ I know you probably hate me right now.” 

“I don’t hate you, never could.” he cut her off quickly. He could hear the giant sigh of relief she let out. 

“look my cousin, she just got divorced and I told her she could stay with me until she got back on her feet and I promised her a night of movies and good pasta. So would you maybe be into doing that instead?” He thought about it, he didn't need Robin to go out but where was the fun in that? 

“ What movies ?” she laughed and told him to just bring his ass or he was going to be on wine duty. He laughed with her because when was he not on wine duty, he always brought extra bottles knowing if Robin said she had two she only had about half of one.

So he made his way to the store to pick up two extra bottles of the nicest wine he could find and threw a few bars of chocolate into the mix while he was at the register. 

“This all for you ? “ the cashier looked at all he had placed on the little conveyor belt and he nodded his head with a small smile. 

“ Indeed it is.” 

“ Lucky partner, I wish mine would do something like this instead I’ll probably go home to a husband that forgot.” Steve sadly gives his grievances and hands over the amount he owes, thanking the cashier for helping him. 

He felt a small glimmer of happiness that he wasn’t the only one having a shitty holiday, but he was also gutted by the fact that they at least were going to get to go home and curl up next to someone who cared enough to marry them. 

The drive wasn’t a long one but god did it feel like it. Robins' small apartment building had a few stories to it and she just so happened to live on the top floor. As he walked up the stairs and towards her door all he could hear was some low rock music floating through. Knocking Robin instantly swung the door open almost as if their platonic telepathy had notified her of his presence but that was shattered as he was shown the screen of her phone.

 “Why did you sit outside in your car for five minutes? You scared Stevie ?” He furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, 'cause you're just so scary Robs.” She gave him a small tug and pulled him into her apartment and the music he had noticed was coming from the kitchen, her small radio blasting out their parent's favorites, the classics as the station called them. 

“It smells amazing” He heard coming from the now open bathroom door, steam rolling out behind you and he found that you were only in a towel. Surprise on both of your faces as you didn’t expect Steve to be here by the time you got out of the shower and for him, well he didn’t expect you to be so drop-dead gorgeous.  Robin nudges Steve in the stomach with her elbow to get him to shut his mouth since it had slightly dropped open at the sight before him. 

“Steve this is my cousin we just call her Angel.” Steve looked at Robin with an upturned smile thinking about how cute her name was, how true it sounded. 

“It’s not my name but I had a cat named Lucifer growing up and you know Fallen Angel and all that blah blah blah.” She walks away and into Robin's guest room, steve assumes to get dressed, and turning to Robin he pushes her back for the sharp jab she had given to his ribcage. 

“You didn’t tell me she was a walking fucking dream, Buckley.” He hissed out low, scared he would be overheard. 

“Not like you have a chance, Steve, she is one my cousin, and two” she also drops down to a whisper. “ Recently divorced.” 

“So? If anything I’d say my chances are pretty fucking up there.” She just rolls her eyes and tells him she is going to take a quick shower of her own before the movie marathon she has planned out and asks him to finish up making dinner. 

He doesn’t mind, he thinks cooking is calming and honestly it turns his brain off from everything. Sometimes he would make a batch of cookies just to find peace before bed. It was soothing, the process of doing the same thing over and over again and getting the same delicious outcome.

The scent of coconut and rose, a weird mix of the two that worked well hit him, turning to find you standing at the other end of Robin's island. 

“I brought some wine for the movies. Would you like a glass?” He took a bottle out of the fridge and grabbed three glasses out of the cabinet. Pouring one for you and one for himself. He hated warm wine and so did Robin so he just put the bottle back in the fridge until she was ready for one.

“You know your way around robins huh?” You questioned, a subtle shift in your tone and Steve thinking nothing of it answered. 

“Yeah, it's like my second home honestly.” He turned back to stir the pasta Robin had set to simmer and watched as you sipped on your glass slowly.  

“Sorry that I ruined your and Robins's plans she said you guys go out every year.” Steve felt the way his shoulders tensed and shrugged.

 “It's nothing just a little tradition.” You sigh walking over to where Steve is standing next to the stove and taking a spoon to the sauce. Tasting it you look Steve in the eye and tell him the pasta needs some pepper. He takes a different spoon tastes it and agrees that it does need something but not pepper it needs something light. So instead he grabs a lemon and grates a bit of it creating the zest he wants to flourish. 

You roll your eyes walk over to where you had begun this interaction and pick your glass back up. Steve is standing wondering what exactly he could have done to upset you in the mere minutes you were alone with him and he comes up blank.

 “Do we .. is there a problem Angel?” You put a hand on your hip and smile. 

“Nope, no problem I just think it's kinda strange you are all alone on Valentine's Day.”  And he doesn't mean to, he tries to hold it back but something in your tone sounded like every single past partner's accusation of something being fundamentally wrong with him. 

“I could say the same about you but looks like we are both alone.” 

“Who's alone?” Robin pops herself back into the kitchen and grabs some plates from a cupboard behind Steve. 

“We are, all three of us so painfully single.” You say staring at Steve before taking a plate from Robin that she had filled. She laughs but deep inside it hits Steve like a car to a brick wall. Painfully single, god was he that transparent? Did he just give off that vibe? 

“I never said I was single.” You hum taking your plate to the couch and leave him and Robin in the kitchen. She is biting her lip with a sorry look in her eyes. 

“I told her we usually spend Valentine's Day looking for someone to spend breakfast with, hate me all you want. “ 

“Could never “She hands him a plate and sets it down to fill up her glass. Walking over to her living room to find that you had taken his space on the couch, the one he always sat in. The one he could hear best from, see the subtitles from the distance, but you were snuggled in. You had a blanket over your lap and your plate had rested against your chest while you ate and all in his fucking spot.  So he took the other cushion a bit off from where the screen could be read clearly but he could just ask Robin to turn it up a bit more. He could do this … right? Get through one Valentine's Day that Cupid decided not to grace him on. He could turn this thing around. 

He couldn't. Working on the second bottle close to being finished with sixteen candles and a craving for cake himself Steve could confidently say he could not turn this night around. He had tried to get comfortable in his position and he just couldn’t he felt like your eyes were on him throughout the entire movie which led to him sipping his glass a bit more and now he was past the point of tipsy he was drunk, but at least he wasn't the only one. 

Every time he had gotten up to pour himself some more you and Robin would hold your glasses out for a refill and he would more than happily do that, he did, until wine turned into small sips of whatever cheap vodka Robin had in the back of her freezer. When the movie ended he carried Robin to her room since she had passed out in her large chair sometime around the wedding scenes.

Deciding that he would do the best friend thing and tackle the dishes he began running the water and waiting for it to turn warm which always took forever in Robin’s apartment, he swore the heater was starting to go bad but she kept telling him that if it wasn't giving her a cold shower she didn't care. He lathered the dishes setting them on the rack when he was done rinsing them and you had appeared next to him, now dressed in a robe over the comfortable p.js you had been wearing. 

Thinking you would just say something but instead just stood there watching him. 

“Can I assist you with something?” He could hear the small huff of air that left you like you didn’t expect him to acknowledge your existence. 

“Why are you washing our dishes.” He didn’t understand but answered. 

“Well you are a guest and Robin hates a dirty sink and I honestly don’t mind doing it-”

“Well stop, you aren’t getting anything out of doing them so just stop. “ Now he was on a whole different planet because what in the fuck were you talking about. 

“Excuse me? Who said I needed to get anything just to do the dishes? I don't know who made you feel the need to use everything as a transaction but that is not how things go around here. You see it needs to be done, you do it. No, do this and you shall receive . Fuck you ever just done anything to be a nice person?” He could feel the heat in his cheeks with the alcohol flowing through him, his eyes staring at the room like it was on an axis, and his tone starting to rise in the audacity of wanting something out of Robin. An accusation, another from someone who this time didn’t even know him. 

“I’m so-” 

“Save it. I just want to go to bed I suggest you do the same.” 

“ Do not think for one second you are doing this for nothing.” it stops him on his way to his little makeshift bed on the couch. “ You men are all the same, even if it's not for something transactional you still end up on the side of gain Steven.” He was stuck still, not knowing how to even respond. Who had hurt you into thinking all men were the same? Maybe they were in a club with all of his exes, the ones who made him feel the same way. That all women were set on their relationship with him never going farther unless he was to act like he did in high school, unless he took on the persona of his father. He would never so here he was on Valentine's Day alone, drunk and sleeping on his best friend's couch with a person who hated all men not even a hundred feet away. Lovely. 

He didn’t know what time it was when he laid down the numbers on the box beneath Robin's television had been too blurry then, but as the hours went on the numbers seemed to brighten and they now read three a.m. tossing and turning, tired or not being able to find a comfortable position and you, your voice was running through his head over and over, telling him he was only a nice guy for profit. Who the fuck were you to judge him? You didn’t know anything about him and then it sent him on a tangent of well, he didn’t know you either. He could only see what was on the surface, and although the surface was breathtaking he felt the twinge of wanting to know you deep, know the center of what made you, and change your perspective on men, or at least on him. 

The longer he thought about you the harder it was to stray away from the thoughts of your face and the way your body looked in that towel. The water dripped from your hair before you had put it up, letting the droplets fall in between-.

Alright, he had to stop, he couldn't think of you that way, or could he? He listened out to see if he heard anything but all he heard was the ice dumping from the fridge and soft snores coming from down the hall. Was he really about to do this? 

His dick answered for him, half hard at the thought of just having you drop the towel was all he needed. He let his hand wander under the thin blanket that he had covering himself. Gripping his cock through his boxers and felt the weight of it and squeezed letting it fill out before he slipped his hand beneath the waistband. He started stroking himself wishing it was your mouth on him and you had dropped to your knees in front of him, inviting him in with the warmth. Letting the pre he had slide down his shaft with some help but it just wasn’t enough. He brought his hand up to his mouth and spit in it imagining that it was you who had provided and he let his fist wrap around the length again. The slick wet sounds worked him up and he took and pushed his boxers out of the way with his other hand. Letting his hips buck into the pull of his dick, hissing out at the feeling of his release approaching fast. 

“Need a hand?” 

[cycat-carisi]

I would love prompt #1 with Steve Harrington! Pretty please 🫶🏻

Wrong Address

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, language, miscommunication, instant connection

1. Three dozen roses have just been delivered to your door on accident, in attempts to find the sender and correct the mistake, you discover you might have just found your match.

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

While running late for work, the last thing you expect to do is nearly trip over three dozen roses sat outside your apartment door. Shock is what hits you first considering you couldn’t think of a single person who would be sending these to you. Especially today. Being late is no longer on your mind as you bend to grab the note sat perfectly in the center of the most gorgeous bouquet you have ever seen.

Robin,

I’ll always be your Valentine if you need one xoxo

Steve Harrington

Professor - University of Chicago

Realizing the flowers aren’t for you, sadness washes through you. Sighing you accept being late is just what’s going to happen today. Collecting all the flowers you walk to the phone on your wall and dial your work number. Lisa your boss is understanding when you say you won’t be in for a few hours and to take the day if you need. So with damaged pride and defeat, you hail a cab with enough roses to make you look crazy, and find yourself on the way to University of Chicago.

It takes twelve wrong turns and three employees to finally point you in the direction of Steve Harrington’s office. You prepare yourself for a balding middle aged man when you knock on the door but instead a young boy with dough eyes and fluffy hair surprises you. Confusion covers his face first as you give him a sheepish smile, a little bewildered because he was cute and you were holding three dozen roses outside his workspace.

“Sadly I’m not Robin, but I do appreciate the gesture” you say with a shrug that lifts the three bouquets in your arm. Realization finally paints his face as his looks at you.

“Shit, she is always yelling at me about not writing down her apartment number. I should have listened” he says, sultry voice wrapping around your heart and squeezing.

“It’ll be our secret, I promise I won’t tell” you say, lifting the flowers his way which he immediately moves to grab. The electric shock that vibrates through you due to his touch is surprising.

“A trustworthy stranger, my favorite kind” he says with a grin, red petals now tickling the bottom of his chin.

“I couldn’t just leave them, it’s Valentines Day after all. She’s a lucky girl” you offer and the boy is instantly shaking his head at your sentence.

“Oh, it’s not like that. She’s my best friend and she just got her ass dumped. I was just doing my part” he says quickly and the blush that covers your face surprises you both.

“I don’t know if that makes me like you more or intimidates me” you finally say, a rush of confidence spiking your heart rate.

“Maybe you’d like to decide over a cup of coffee?” he suggests and the smile that covers your face answers the question for you.

“I’d like that” you say and he nods, turning to dump the roses on top of his desk and quickly step out into the hallway with you as he shuts and locks his door.

“Thank you by the way. Not many people would’ve taken the time to find the correct owner” Steve says after a beat, wringing his hands together as you exit the building and step out onto campus.

“You’re welcome, kinda helped you signed it with your job title as well” you say with a chuckle and the realization that you know his name and he doesn’t know yours comes quickly.

“Shit I’m sorry, I should properly introduce myself. I’m Steve and you are?” his big eyes glance over into your own and you can’t stop the blush that covers your cheeks as you repeat your name back to him.

“What do you teach?” you ask after a moment and Steve smiles, his hand reaching up and running through his messy locks.

“Sports History” he says with a soft chuckle like he can’t even believe it himself. “Not really the most noble profession but it pays the bills I suppose” he says, a bit embarrassed. After all the chaos in Hawkins he found himself at community college doing a degree that didn’t bore him and somehow he ended up here.

“I wouldn’t say that. I mean you’re a professor. You’re teaching people no matter the subject” you offer and the soft smile that covers his face shows his appreciation towards you.

“I hope you don’t mind campus coffee” he finally says, nodding towards a small building that you’re happy to go in.

“Coffee is coffee” you agree as he holds open the door. After giving him your order you find a small table for you both, being careful not to glance up at him too much.

“What made you get into teaching?” you ask when he returns, warm cup of coffee now placed in your hand.

“The kids. Back home I was friends with this group of kids and as much as I pretended I didn’t, I adored them. When I planned to move away there was something comforting about the idea of spending time with people their age” he says and somehow this perfect stranger becomes even more perfect.

“Where is home?” you find yourself asking and he smiles, reminiscing on a place he hadn’t been in a very long time.

“Small town Hawkins, Indiana. Me and Robin moved out here a few years back and I landed the job at the University” he explains, taking a sip of his own coffee and glancing up at you.

“That’s sweet, you two have been friends that long?” the suggestion in your voice isn’t masked well, it’s just surprising to hear of opposite gender friends and not assume there are some sort of feelings there.

“Since I was eighteen. We never go anywhere without each other, especially when we moved here. She only recently moved out to live with her girlfriend, the one who thought it’d be cool to dump her right before Valentine’s day” and suddenly it all makes sense. The kind gesture, three dozen roses, saying he would always be her Valentine, how there was no shared feelings between the two.

“That sucks. You’re a good friend for trying to cheer her up” you say, now smiling at the idea of there being a man out there caring enough to send three dozen roses to his friend who had her heart broken.

“Yeah, which I guess now that my office hours for the day are over I better hand deliver the flowers” he says, laughing to himself for writing down the wrong address. Then again it would’ve never led you to him.

“I probably should be heading home anyway” you mutter, a bit disappointed that he was already thinking of leaving you behind. You must’ve not left the same impression that he did on you.

“I can drive you, if you like. After all you live in her building” and the offer has you perking up like an excited puppy dog.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind?” you grin and he smiles right back, taking another sip of his coffee.

“I don’t mind at all” so you find yourself in his old maroon BMW, still in pristine condition, with the flowers collected from his office now on your lap. You laugh when he tells you it’s his same car from high school and the more you find out about him the more charming he becomes.

“What floor?” you ask him in the elevator, giggling at his rose filled arms.

“4th” he mutters out, shifting and then sneezing from the flowers in his face.

“Well Romeo, try not to send them to the 3rd next time” you say, referring to your own floor and he chuckles as the doors close and lift you up. When the doors open on you floor you go to step forward before noticing he is following you.

“Oh, sorry. This is my stop, one more floor for you” you say and a sad look crosses his face quickly.

“Oh, I guess I just figured you’d deliver them with me” he says with a soft chuckle and you look at the sweet boy who had managed to crawl his way into your heart within the last hour.

“This feels like something you should do alone but hey, I’m not going anywhere all day and it’s Valentine’s after all. So if Robin is willing to share, you know where to find me” you say with a grin, stepping towards him and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Does seven work?” he asks with red cheeks as you step into the hall and you flash him a quick smile.

“It’s a date” and the elevator doors shut close, lifting him away and leaving you with a dopey grin.

Who would have thought three dozen roses not meant for you would still turn out to be the best Valentines gift you ever got.

[cycat-carisi]

Lost Love

Summary: You and Steve reconnect after years apart, not knowing where you stand after so much love was had and lost.

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, friends to lovers to exes to…?

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five: finale

[cycat-carisi]

Lost Love

Summary: After moving to the same city, you and Steve quickly fall back into an easy friendship, but will it stay that way?

Can be read as a stand alone friends to lovers piece or as the final part of the Lost Love series. Either way, get ready for some serious situationship feels. 13k words (buckle up)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, a lil smutty, a lil angsty, a lil fluffy

a/n: I had way too much fun writing this. Clearly this is one of my favorite tropes because I totally pull from some of my fave movies. I've had a great time writing this and an even greater time interacting with all of you!!! thank you all for reading my work. There will be more to come :)

June 1992 All the windows in Steve and Robin's apartment are wide open. Two metal fans worked overtime to flow in whatever cool breeze Chicago could offer this summer. You and Steve are glued to the television, watching the NBA Championship game - Chicago Bulls versus the Portland Trail Blazers.

You and Steve are very serious about the Bulls. It was something you bonded over in the early days of your friendship. Your dad was from Chicago, so you grew up a Bulls fan while Steve wanted to be a contrarian, and the Indiana Pacers sucked in the 80s, so he vowed his allegiance to the Bulls, and baby, being their fan was so sweet right now.

The jersey you gave Steve for his 19th birthday clung to his body, sticking to him due to the humidity in the air. You sat literally on the edge of the couch cushion, palms sweaty and pressing to your knees as the fourth quarter slowly came to a close with Bulls up. Steve stands beside you, hands on his hips and an empty beer bottle in the back pocket of his short shorts, tan thighs on display.

"They're going to three-peat," you say, eyes still glued to the screen.

Steve shushes you, "Don't jinx it."

You point to the screen as the time slips below a minute, "it's happening!"

With less than twenty seconds to go, the Bulls are only up by two points. You and Steve hold your breath as Michael Jordan steps up to the free-throw line. He sinks the first shot in. You bring a hand up to your mouth, the tension too much to handle. Steve puts his hands up to his head, stressed.

"He's doing it," you say, "it's happening-"

"Shhhh!" Steve waves you off, but you don't care. You're way too excited.

Jordan makes the second free throw and you jump up from your seat. Steve puts a nervous hand on your shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

The Blazers take the ball down the court and they miss! The Bulls have the ball, they run out the clock, and they have it! They win the final game!

You and Steve jump up in excitement, cheering and hollering. He pulls you into a hug and you both jump around, holding onto each other tightly. You don't even notice as the front door opens and Robin walks in.

She slips off her shoes and looks over at the two of you freaking out over the win. Robin shakes her head, "you two are such freaks."

Steve breaks away from you and points at Robin, "We won!!!!!!"

You grab two beers, crack them open, and hand one to Steve who takes it happily. You toss one to Robin and she barely catches it. Steve crashes his bottle against yours and you both sip in celebration of this big win.

Safe to say that you're first week in Chicago is going great.

July 1992 The hot air is thick, making Steve’s dirty t-shirt stick to his body even more than it was during the pickup game. He says his goodbyes to the neighborhood guys as he exits the court, basketball tucked under his arm.

The sun sets as Steve makes his usual walk home. A small breeze blows past him, causing just the slightest bit of relief from the summer humidity.

He smiles, thinking about how great the summer has been so far. He's teaching summer classes in the morning to middle school kids and has the rest of the day to fill his time with whatever he wants. He mostly sees you or Robin, and Amanda.

Amanda, Amanda, Amanda. Things with her are going well, steady. She’s been back and forth between the city and her hometown now that she has the summer off. She hasn’t invited Steve home yet to meet her parents. She says it’s a big step in her family. Steve thought they were at that point, but she’s not as serious about him as he thinks. It should ring alarm bells in his head but he’s not completely bothered by it.

The relationship was still good, easy, nice. That’s what he should want, right? Easy like his parents. Not hard and sporadic like it was with you.

Steve enters his apartment building and jogs up the steps to his unit, feeling the air getter hotter as he rises. The phone starts to ring as he opens the front door. He rushes over to the kitchen and picks it up to hear your frantic voice on the other line.

"If you don't hear from me in three hours, it means I've gone missing and have most likely been murdered," you say. Steve quickly realizes you're being neurotic and not frantic at all.

He chuckles, "Okay, I don't even know where to start with this one."

"I'm going on a blind date," you explain. Steve pauses, unsure of what to think. Then he pauses some more, unsure of why he's pausing in the first place. You can date, that's normal, and he shouldn't feel some type of way about it. Does he feel some type of way? He clearly feels something toward the idea of you dating because he did pause and-

"Steve? You there?"

"Yeah, sorry," he crosses his arms, "what's his name? Just in case you do go missing."

You groan, "Brandon, that's all I know. We're meeting at Carmichael's, so come looking for me there."

Steve wants to laugh, imagining what you're doing on the other line right now. He pictures you all ready for your date, waiting by the door on your phone, nose scrunched up because you're nervous. He knows you're being serious because of all the crime books you read.

You were nervous for your first date in Chicago and truthfully, you just wanted to talk to Steve. He would make you feel better.

"Don't worry," he says smiling, "he won't be a total weirdo and murder you. He'll love you. Who wouldn't?"

You smile, nodding your head. You grab your bag from the hook, "thanks, really. Okay, I gotta go. I'll call you in like 3 or 4 hours."

"Woah, woah, woah," Steve jokes, "this Brendon guy is going to have you out past midnight? On the first date?"

You laugh, "First of all, it's Brandon and secondly, fuck off. Ok, byeeeeeeeeeeeee."

"Have fun, byyeeee-" he sings into the phone until it clicks. Steve sets down the phone, smiling a little too wide.

August 1992 "He said I was high maintenance, can you believe that?" You ask from the passenger seat. A bag of grapes sits on your lap. You pop one in your mouth, angrily chewing. Steve sits quietly in the driver's seat, biting his tongue and trying not to smirk. You notice, hitting him on the shoulder. He winces, "Ow!"

"Say I'm not high maintenance!"

"But you're a little high maintenance!"

Your jaw drops, dramatically showing your offense to his statement.

"There are two types of women," Steve explains, "low maintenance girls, and then there's you, high maintenance."

You look out the window at the flat Indiana fields. You two were driving home for the weekend before the kids went back to school.

"Like when it comes to food," he continues, "You don't like tomatoes or onions on your burger and want extra pickles. But, you want the tomatoes on the side, not the onions, because you like the option of tomatoes. You want whipped cream for your shake but on the side. You refuse to buy meat from any other place besides a local deli and even then you get it cut a specific way, you should really become a butcher at this point."

You shrug, "I like things a certain way."

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, "see. High maintenance. It's not a bad thing. I'm the same way about my hair."

He pops a grape into his mouth and you laugh, "Believe me, Farrah Fawcett, I know how particular you are about your hair."

September 1992 Lake Michigan is beautiful this time of year, you think as you and Steve walk along the lakefront. The great expanse of water on one side, the gorgeous city view on the other.

Steve tells you about his holiday plans or lack thereof. His girlfriend, who you swear you really like, is going home for Thanksgiving and didn't invite him. He wasn't so happy with that.

"It's not like she skipped over the conversation entirely," Steve huffs, "she outright told me I wasn't invited."

"Like in a rude way or just plain and simple," you ask, eyes trained on the horizon ahead of you.

"She said it was too soon. That, in her family, inviting a boyfriend to Thanksgiving doesn't happen without a ring on her finger."

You're careful with your words, not sure what to say. So you settle on, "That's intense."

Steve waves his hands in front of him as he speaks, "and I am so not ready for that. I mean, you don't think that was her way of telling me she wants me to propose?"

You want to jump into the frigid water at just the thought of Steve proposing to sweet, beautiful, smart Amanda. But you keep your cool, not letting him see that you feel physically nauseous at the idea of it. So you think about how a friend would answer because you two have become such good friends the last few months. But a question does gnaw at you, and it's honestly a question you'd ask any of your actual friends.

"Are you guys there yet? Like have you thought about getting engaged?"

And to your shameful pleasure, Steve doesn't even miss a beat when he says, "I haven't even thought about it."

You hide your smile, "then don't worry about it. She's just setting a boundary. Amanda doesn't seem like the type to play games like that."

He nods, slowly feeling better about the whole thing because of you.

"Guess I'll be spending Thanksgiving in Hawkins then," he says.

You nudge his side with yours, "there's always room for you at my place. I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to see you."

"You guys still make cornbread?"

"Oh, you know it."

Steve pumps his arm up in victory, "I'm so fucking there."

October 1992 The electronics store was lined with the newest television models, speakers, and VHS players. You gaze up at the wall of television sets, lost on which one you could possibly choose. The options were endless and all you wanted to do was watch your movies and All My Children.

Steve comes back with the store manager and points toward the TV they thought best. The manager picks up the box and moves it over to the checkout counter.

You turn to Steve, "Wait, I didn't even pick."

"Relax," he smiled his usual Harrington smile, "I got the very best for ya."

You narrow your eyes at him and he puts his hands up in surrender.

"Within your budget," he explains.

"Thank you," you mouth, brushing past him and toward the register to pay.

Steve settles in beside you as you write out a check. He picks up a tabloid magazine and holds it up to show you. "Okay, who'd you rather," Steve points to the front page of the magazine, "Keanu or Kevin Costner?"

You tilt your head, thinking long and hard about this. "Hmmm," you say,

"Keanu."

"No way you don't pick Costner. You made me watch Robin Hood like four times this summer," he exclaims.

The manager thanks you and pushes the TV toward you guys. Steve slides it off the counter not missing a beat.

"But I just rewatched Point Break, so I'm all about Keanu right now," you smirk, holding the door open for Steve. He repositions the heavy TV on his hip as you walk down the busy street.

He laughs, "I think you're missing the point of that movie."

"What? Like I'm not supposed to gawk over the hot men doing crazy stuff?"

"It's an action movie about sick stunts and cool dudes."

"A woman directed it, Steve. It's literally made for women to look at beautiful men."

"Even then, I'm more of a Swayze guy."

"I respect that. Okay, Demi Moore or Julia Roberts?"

"Easy. Demi Moore."

"That's just your nostalgia talking."

"I'm not saying Julia Roberts isn't gorgeous. But, yeah you're right, Demi is the forever crush."

"I feel like she'd go for you if you met in a bar or something."

"And have Bruce Willis beat my ass for looking at his wife? No, thank you. I've seen Die Hard and that guy's a beast."

"Ooooh, I change my answer to him."

Steve stops in his tracks, "Bruce Willis?! You're hot for Bruce Willis?!"

People glare at you two as they pass by on the sidewalk. You throw apologies their way while tugging Steve to keep moving.

"He looks great fighting all those bad guys!"

"But he's bald!"

"Not everyone can have beautiful luscious hair like you, Stevie."

"Well, no shit. But, really I don't get it. He looks so old too."

"Older guys know what they're doing."

"Okay, what the hell does that mean?"

"I just think Bruce Willis knows how to handle a woman, that's all."

"What? Like in bed?"

"Yes, in bed, Steve. Clearly, Demi Moore knows something we don't."

Steve follows as you climb the stairs up your apartment building. "You're saying you can look at a man and know if he's good at sex?" he asks.

"Well, I mean, not all the time. People can surprise you, but yes, you can get a vibe from a guy. You can tell if he's going to make you orgasm or not. Usually, it's a no."

That leaves Steve dumbstruck for a bit. He contemplates your sentiment as you let him into your apartment.

He sets the TV down and begins unwrapping it.

He huffs, "So how many guys have made you cum?"

You look up at him, pausing midway as you unzip your boot, "Steve."

"I'm asking as a concerned friend," he explains.

You slip off the boots and walk over to sit on the couch, "I don't know, like three maybe four."

"Maybe four? How can a guy maybe make that happen?" He's dead serious, like this is all science and totally not blurring the lines of friendship.

"Fine, a solid three guys have made me orgasm," you pause, looking up at him through your dark eyelashes. You shouldn't say the next part, but you do anyway, "including you."

Steve shouldn't like your response as much as he does, but the pride practically beams out of him. His ego physically grew as soon as you said that he's one of the few people to know you like that, to make you achieve something so intimate.

He smirks, turning back to the TV and moving some wires into place. You roll your eyes at him, "don't be gross."

"I'm not being gross," he turns, frowning, "actually I'm quite sad that these other men you've slept with haven't delivered in a way that you so deserve."

You shrug, "it's common for girls. I mean, most guys won't even go down on a girl."

"That's just crazy," Steve shakes his head, "that's half the fun."

You take a sip of your water as he continues talking about this totally inappropriate subject in the most clinical way.

"There are other ways to make your girl cum, like during the actual act of it. Guys are so dumb," he says.

"That's a total myth," you shake your head, "a female orgasm during penetration? Yeah right."

He turns to you in shock, "What? Are you serious?"

Heat creeps up your neck as a hint of embarrassment settles in. You nod shyly, "well it's never happened to me, so..."

Steve stands up, walking towards your seat on the couch. "No one's ever, you know," he lifts up two fingers, moving them together in small circles, "done the dirty DJ?"

He learned that one after you two were sleeping together because you have no clue what the fuck a dirty DJ is.

Steve sits beside you and grabs your glass, pouring out the water into his cup. He lifts the glass between you two, giving you a worried look as you stare back at him in utter confusion. "I'll show you," he says.

"So let's say you're with a guy and he's taking you from behind," he says casually. You laugh in disbelief, "romantic."

"This isn't romance, this is sex," he says in total seriousness, "and you're like back to chest, probably kneeling because that's easiest."

He moves the glass, sticking two fingers inside it, "That's his dick inside you if the description wasn't clear enough."

"Thank you for this visual," you deadpan, eyes locked on his movements.

Steve settles his two fingers on the glass now, toward the rim. He slowly moves them in circles, "now, there's a misconception to be gentle with the clitoris. But, you actually need to be rough with it." He picks his pace up, moving his fingers back in forth at an aggressive pace. Your breath hitches in your throat.

"Get a little rude with it. Really, get after it," he says, his movements coming to an end. He still holds the glass up, so you mimic his moves, circling the glass with your fingers like he did.

"Like that?"

"Yeah, like that," Steve smiles, "you're a natural."

"Hmmm," you keep circling your fingers, thinking about how on your next hook up you'll have to instruct the guy to do just this.

Steve watches as you move your fingers. "Perfect," he says, his mind slowing down as the moment settles over him.

You rhythmically move your fingers against the glass he's holding. A silence settles over the both of you as the tension builds up. You let your mind wander to Steve and his fingers, pumping into the glass. He starts to think of you and his fingers on you-

He sets the glass down abruptly, "I'm gonna go home."

You stand up, "Me too!"

Steve stands up, grabbing his coat, "No, no. You live here."

You sit back down and grab a pillow, "yes I do. Bye!"

He quickly leaves your apartment. You look over at the mostly set-up television and groan, sinking back into the couch.

November 1992 Steve sits beside Amanda on her couch. He stares ahead at the moving box tucked under the dining room table. How long has that been there for?

Amanda continues with her speech, "I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner, Steve."

He looks over at her. His tone comes out harsher than he intends, "Exactly how long have you been wanting to break up with me?"

"Steve," she says again, putting a hand on his knee. He stares back at her, urging her to answer his question.

"I swear I only found out about the position a couple of weeks ago, but," she sighs, "I guess I've been feeling distant from you for a little bit now."

"And you're just bringing this all up now?"

Amanda nods. Steve rubs his hands over his face, taking a moment to grasp the situation he's in.

"I don't understand," he says, "things were going fine."

"We've been dating for nearly a year and you haven't even told me you loved me yet," she says, hurt evident on her face.

"But we're not there yet, are we?" Steve asks, genuinely unsure.

She nods, "I was there. I've been there for a while now. Thought you would catch up."

Steve frowns, hating himself for being so oblivious to her feelings. How could he not know that she loved him? Is he that shallow to not even notice?

"Amanda, I'm so sorry," he starts but she cuts him off.

"It's okay, I honestly don't know if I would call it love, you know? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want just a nice relationship. I want someone who knows I'm the one from the moment they meet me. I want a love that's not easy, but all-consuming, something that drives you crazy," she admits.

Amanda looks up at Steve, "does that even make sense?"

He nods, completely understanding the type of love she's talking about. He only knows that love because he's had it. He has it - with you.

Later that night After leaving Amanda, Steve slowly meanders back to his place, taking the time to digest what just happened. His stomach aches with the pain only felt after getting broken up with like that. Told that you're not the one. Did he even think that she was the one? What does that even mean?

Steve has always had the same vision for his future - to be a family man, have a wife and a few kids. He knew the attributes he wanted in the future mother of his children. Someone maternal, kind, patient, caring. It was all very logical, a future that any nice girl could slip into. Amanda was a great contender, but she didn't want to just slip into Steve's fantasy. She wants an all-consuming once-in-a-lifetime sort of love, and frankly, Steve doesn't blame her. He just never thought that kind of love was for him. Well, not after he lost you.

He shakes his head, crossing the street. He squints, realizing the street he was on, that without even thinking, his subconscious had led him to you.

Steve presses the buzzer to your apartment over and over again. He looks up at your window and the light is on, but you're not responding to him. He knocks on the front door again, to catch your attention, but instead, your downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Shirley, opens her window.

"What the hell are you making all this noise for?" she yells at Steve. He jumps back, "sorry. You know my friend, she lives above you."

"Clearly she doesn't want to see you if she's not letting you up, kid," Mrs. Shirley says.

Steve shakes his head, jogging down the stairs and reaching into the street to grab some rocks. Mrs. Shirley watches on.

He throws the rocks at your window until it's opening. Your head pops out and eyes land on him, "Steve?"

"I've been ringing you for the past ten minutes!"

"The buzzer's broken!" you explain.

"Will you let this damn boy in?" Mrs. Shirley interjects, grumpily.

You peer down at her and smile, "Sorry Mrs. Shirley!" You drop your keys down to Steve, "Come on up!"

Steve rushes up the stairs, waving at your nosey neighbor as he lets himself into your building.

You immediately notice how disheveled Steve looks as he enters your apartment. His hair is a mess, dark circles are evident under his eyes, and even his outfit isn't put together as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve is not only upset from the breakup. But, he's mostly riddled with confusion. Does he act on his constant attraction to you? That ten-year-long inexplicable pull toward you? Those feelings that never seem to leave him?

He fiddles with your keys for a moment then looks up at you, "Amanda broke up with me."

You eye him, your mind procuring a logical reaction of sadness for your friend while your heart thumps hard against your chest, pumping with the familiar feeling of - what if?

You decide to lean into your logical feelings and say, "Oh Steve. I'm sorry." You expect him to walk toward you and sulk into your arms, but he doesn't. Instead, he remains a healthy distance away from you.

"What happened?" you ask.

Steve looks away, feeling his breath catch in his throat, "She, uh, says I'm not the one. That she's looking for someone who makes her crazy and that she can't live without."

Then you see his chest rise up and down, eyes growing watery as his next words come out shakily, "I guess she can live without me, huh?"

You frown, reaching out to close the gap between you two. You grab his hand and pull Steve in, wrapping your arms around him. He lets himself fall into you, resting his chin on the side of your head, tears falling down his cheeks onto your hair.

He's not sure why he's crying. He didn't think it would affect him this much, but seeing you immediately broke him down, allowed him to let himself feel all the emotions.

You and Steve stayed like that for a while, holding each other in your entryway, something major solidifying in your relationship. For the first time, neither of you wanted anything more from this emotional exchange.

In the past, whenever something bad happened and you needed each other, that's when the intimacy would start, two scared people finding comfort in each other's beds. But this, comforting Steve now, didn't lead to anything more. You two hadn't even thought about it. Instead, you were there for him like a good friend would be.

December 1992 Christmas in Florida was a first for you, the sun warm enough in the daytime for you to dip in the pool with all your nieces and nephews. After a long day, you found yourself sunken into your sister's couch watching old romance movies.

It was just past eleven when your family turned in for the night, but you stayed up to watch Brief Encounter, a 1945 film about two strangers falling in love over time - despite their current circumstances. Whether it was subconscious or not, you called Steve, urging him to tune into that channel and watch it with you.

So you sat on the couch, a throw pillow wrapped up around you and phone held lazily to your ear as Steve joined you from his bed in Chicago, duvet tucked up to his chin as he watched the small television set at the foot of his bed.

"This is sad, like totally sad," Steve sighed into the phone.

"I think it's romantic," you refute.

"They're practically cheating on their spouses."

"Talking isn't cheating."

"These two want to do more than just talk."

"Fine, they may be emotionally cheating, but that doesn't mean they can't be together!"

"Here's what's going to happen," he states, "they'll break up their marriages thinking that their love is stronger, then they'll finally hook up and realize it's terrible and they're actually not meant to be together and-"

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, "you're jaded because of the breakup."

"Love isn't real and I'll die alone," Steve breathes out dramatically.

You smirk, "that's not true. You'll have me bothering you for an eternity."

"A man could be so lucky," he smiles softly as the movie goes on. The two of you cozily watch on either side of the country.

New Year's Eve 1993 The top floor of the Sears Tower is packed with partygoers dancing, drinking, and ready to ring in the new year. You and Steve stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in your very best holiday attire, gazing out at the incredibly lit-up skyline.

Steve looks over at you as you lift your champagne flute to point at Lake Michigan. Your hair is up high in a slick ponytail, and diamond-crusted earrings dangle down your neck, leading his eyes down to your exposed collarbones. He steals a glance at your figure in this dress, the black satin hugging you in all the right ways.

"It's so fucking dark!" you exclaim at Steve, "like a huge mass of nothingness!"

He can't help but laugh at your usual crudeness breaking his trance. He shouldn't be looking at you like this anyway, Steve thinks, not with you two being such good friends.

Friends don't let themselves linger on bare shoulders and long legs.

Steve looks back out the window with you, "it's pretty scary if you think about it. Miles and miles of water, we can't even see the other side."

You shake your head, flabbergasted by the vastness of Lake Michigan.

Steve steals another glance at you, noticing the shimmer on your cheeks. He smiles and says gently, "You look beautiful."

You look up at Steve, letting his compliment sink in. His eyes bore into yours, really looking at you. Looking at you like no one else has before. You feel a pull towards him, that same magnetic pull you’ve felt your entire life basically, but it drags you in with more force during moments like these. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel the pull toward Steve strengthen in the last few months. Before you can respond, Robin's voice hits your ears.

"This party is faaaaaaaaancy," she says with her mouth full of hors d'oeuvres.

You take a small step back, not realizing how close you and Steve had drifted together. Robin turns to you, holding up a full plate of snacks, "is your date like the prince of Chicago or something?"

You laugh, "No, well, not exactly."

Connor, the new guy you've been seeing comes from an aristocratic family that helped develop the city back in the day. They were part owners of the building you were standing in.

"Either way, thank him for me. This party is mint," Robin excitedly approves, downing her drink.

Steve successfully keeps his eye roll to himself. Sure, he knew you were dating someone, but did it have to be another rich prick with the ability to sweep you off on his private jet whenever he wanted to?

"It's almost midnight!" you exclaim, scanning the room, "I better go find Connor. I'll see you guys later!"

And you were off, floating through the crowd to find your billionaire boyfriend. Steve finally let that eye roll out. Robin noticed, shaking her head at his self-inflicted misery. He turns to her, "Please, I don't want to hear it tonight."

She shrugs, hiding her smile, "I didn't say anything."

Unlike other times, Robin drops the subject of Steve's feelings for you, knowing he's miserable enough tonight having to watch you with another guy.

And that's exactly how Steve spends his final hours of 1992. He stands off to the side as the crowd around him counts down to midnight. His eyes find you in the middle of the dance floor, a big smile on your lips as you count down too, wrapped up in Conor's arms. Cheers and confetti erupt around the room, but Steve can only watch you.

February 1993 You float around the large department store, sifting through business attire while Steve happily follows behind you like a puppy. You hold up a grey pencil skirt, "what about this one?"

Steve narrows his eyes, "is that a trick question?"

You shake your head, urging him to answer.

"It's the same one you picked out like five minutes ago," he says.

"This one has a slit. See," you point at the cut in the fabric. Steve feigns understanding, "Ah, yes! A slit! How could I miss that."

You groan, adding it to the selections already hanging from your arm. Steve grabs the clothes from you and holds them so you don't have to. You continue onto the next rack.

"When did we get to the point in our lives where we have more work clothes than fun clothes?" you huff out.

Steve chuckles, "Welcome to your mid-twenties, babe."

You suck in your bottom lip, trying to hide your small reaction to the new nickname. Steve's picked it up, recently calling you babe every so often. Babe, you've got something there, or see you soon babe. It was dizzying sometimes, but you loved it.

"I need more going-out clothes," you state, sifting through a rack of gorgeous dresses.

"Right, for your hot dates with Casanova Connor," Steve says, a definite bitterness in his tone, "I'm sure he'd buy you a whole new wardrobe if you'd ask."

"Actually," you give Steve a look, resting a hand on the rack. Steve stands beside you, head tilted. You sigh, "We broke up."

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but can't seem to find the words. You notice his temporary brain malfunction and try hard for it not to make you happy. But it does - just a little bit.

Finally, Steve finds his footing and asks, "What? When did this happen?" There's genuine concern behind his question. Although the happiness does some to be creeping in.

You shrug, "the other night."

"And you didn't call me? I could have gone over with snacks or-"

"It's okay. Really. I ended things with him," you pick up a dress and scan it over, "so I wasn't that torn up about it."

Now happiness has fully set in Steve and he does his best to hide it. "Oh," he says, a smug smile on his face, "well, good for you then."

"Thank you," you raise your eyebrows at him, wanting nothing more than to change this conversation. So you pick up another dress and ask for Steve's opinion, the two of you continuing to roam the store like two best friends.

But Steve couldn't be more excited to wade into a new territory with you. One where you're both single and closer than ever.

March 1993 The Spring recital at Steve's school is in full swing. He wanted you to hang out backstage to watch the show while he corralled the children, making sure everything ran smoothly.

You watch as Steve kneels in front of a little boy with glasses and a cello bigger than him, giving him a much-needed pep talk. Steve was great at this, you think, letting your mind wander to how good of a father he'd be.

Your eyes linger on Steve's arms fitted into his dress shirt, the sleeves cuffed up around his biceps. His reading glasses sit atop his perfectly fluffed hair. The dress pants tight around his cute little butt in this position.

Steve stands up, making his way toward you. He lets out a breath, "That kid is a ball of anxiety but honestly the best one in the show. The bastard's a little Mozart."

You reach out, your palm landing softly on his bicep, "you're doing great. The kids, the show, everything is amazing, Steve."

He smiles reveling in the compliment before another little voice calls out for him, "Mr. Harrington!!!" Steve gives you a look before dashing into the dressing room.

You smile to yourself, not noticing Tabitha, a nosy fifth grader, appear by your side. She looks up at you, "are you Mr. Harrington's girlfriend?"

You startle a bit, looking down to find Tabitha staring up at you. "Oh hi," you smile, "but no, I'm his friend."

"That's what they all say," the young girl says, rolling her eyes.

Your jaw drops a bit, "excuse me?"

She sighs like an older fed-up woman would, "My dad had a friend like you. Now I have to call her step-mommy."

And with that, Tabitha walks onto stage to start her piano piece, leaving you completely dumbfounded by the audacity of this little girl.

April 1993 For whatever hellish reason, a heatwave had hit Chicago in the middle of Spring. Luckily, the hottest day was a Saturday, meaning you and Steve were posted up on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan.

Steve wasn't being slick. You could feel his eyes on you a lot more these days, between stolen glances at your lips and a hot gaze from across the room. But today, you could sense him peeking over at you in your little red bikini all morning.

To be fair, you were leaving quite little to the imagination in an attempt to get as good of a tan as possible. Also, a part of you knew that wearing this tiny bikini would send Steve reeling. That, of course, was an even better reason to wear it.

You look up at Steve, catching his eye. He doesn't miss your cheeky smirk as you flip onto your stomach, landing just inches away from him. You scoot closer to let your legs lightly brush up against his, your hips bumping, all while you pretend to read from your book. Like your actions weren’t deliberately trying to evoke something out of Steve.

He couldn’t help but suck in a breath, your skin on his feeling hot and soft. Steve braced himself on his elbows, trying to look anywhere than your perfect ass, perky and on full view in that damn swimsuit.

“Steveeee,” you hummed, still not looking at him.

“Mhmm?”

“Can I have some of your soda?”

He nodded, reaching over to grab the corner store to-go cup. Steve held it toward you. But before he could set it down for you to take, you lifted your head and leaned in toward the cup, your pink lips enclosing around the straw. You looked up at him through dark eyelashes as you took a long sip, sucking on the plastic straw.

Steve held the eye contact, letting time and everything else melt away around you two. You could feel his breath on your face with how close he was.

With a small pop, you pulled your lips away from the straw and smiled at Steve, “Cherry cola.”

“Your favorite,” he says, not missing a beat.

The sun hits your skin perfectly, he thinks, the brightness softening your features. Without thinking, Steve reaches out and trails his knuckle down your arm. You don’t stop him. His touch feels like it has in the past - hot, addicting, it makes you hungry. But this time, and maybe it’s your own delusions, it doesn’t feel fleeting like it used to.

May 1993 Being the youngest of five came with its pros and cons. Getting to dress up in a pretty bridesmaid dress was definitely a pro. But now that your sister was tying the knot, you were the only unmarried one left, which meant a lot of speculation was hurled your way at said sister's wedding.

You knew it could be a bad idea to bring Steve as your date. But the thought of spending a whole weekend alone with your nosy family was downright agonizing, and, truthfully, you wanted him to be your date. Four days away in a quaint little Vermont town with good food, drinks, and your family. How could you not ask him to come with you?

Steve of course jumped at the idea, already making plans to find a tuxedo rental. Your friendship had shifted into that uncharted territory - both of you were single and completely enamored with each other. Constantly hanging out or on the phone, meeting each other after work or on campus to grab a drink, a coffee, lunch, dinner, to go see a movie, to sit on his couch and watch Seinfeld, to chat on your rooftop late into the night, to catch a ballgame, to meet your friends for dancing - the list goes on. You two were basically dating without any of the physical benefits.

And this wedding, well, it did something to both of you. Seeing Steve with your family, looking so good in that tux, basking in all his attention the entire weekend. Your heart practically leaped out of your chest whenever you'd look out into the church crowd and catch him already looking at you. He couldn't take his eyes off you the entire ceremony, letting his daydreams wander to the idea of you and him standing up there, exchanging vows.

He was the perfect date, to no surprise at all, and tonight was no different. The reception was in full swing. The wedding band plays another 80s hit while Steve spins back into his arms. You two have been dancing like fools the whole party, drunk off of champagne and the romance of the weekend.

The band begins to play a slow song and you immediately recognize the melody. Steve pulls you in close, one hand tucked into yours and the other easily clasped against your lower back.

"Of course, they're playing The Cure," he laughs lightly.

You think back to high school and all the times you snuck off to meet Steve in his car. The Cure's album playing as you two got cozy in the backseat.

You scoot in closer, your head falling against his shoulder, his chin grazing your forehead as you sway back and forth. Steve breathes you in, letting himself reveal his thoughts out loud.

"I couldn't listen to them for years," he admits. You stay quiet, a slight sadness creeps up.

He continues, "But then, a couple of years ago, a song from their old album came on the radio. You know, the one we loved, and I couldn't help but dance to it. Like it wasn't the sad thing anymore."

You nod, understanding him completely. For years your past relationship with Steve was clouded by the heartbreaking ending when it never should have been. You two shared a love so sweet, so rare - that's what should be remembered.

You look up at him and smirk, "Better to have love and lost, or however that saying goes."

Steve shakes his head, laughing with you. You settle back into him, head resting against his shoulder again. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as the song comes to a close.

Back at the hotel, which was rented out entirely for the wedding, most of the guests your age were excitedly running toward the pool, jumping in with their black-tie attire and champagne bottles.

Steve grabs your hand as you leap into the pool, only to come up for air and have his hand still in yours. The rest of the night consisted of drinking games, swimming races, and diving competitions - the general after-hours wedding debauchery. You were just happy to have Steve by your side the entire time.

As the night drew later and couples slowly peeled off, the pool calmed and the air grew quiet. You look around, realizing the pool is suddenly empty. Just you and Steve in your beautiful clothes floating in the water.

You kick your legs to keep you afloat, bringing a hand up to push your damp hair out of your eyes. Steve dips his head back into the water to wet his hair. He shakes it as he comes back up, running a hand through his wet locks. Your eyes linger on his movements a little longer than intended. He catches you, flashing a small smile - almost a smirk, but it's softer than that.

"I can't believe my sister's married," you bring up out of the blue, trying to shift the focus.

Steve subconsciously inches closer to you, pushing his hands in the water. He tilts his head, "how do you feel being the only single one left?"

Your head lowers. The water just comes to your chin as you speak, "I don't mind. I guess I want to be sure when I get married. Not like Vanessa." You mention your oldest sister now - she's already on her second marriage before 35.

Steve nods, again floating closer to you, "when did she get married? The first time."

"She was 21," you breathe out, blowing bubbles into the water, "married her high school sweetheart."

"Ah," Steve remembers now. He remembers how you threw your sister's failed marriage at him during one of your break-up fights. She was another reason why you insisted you two were doomed. High school relationships never work, you told him - look at my sister.

"At least she's happy now, ya know, with her new husband," Steve said, trying to reason with you.

You just shrug, "True, but she still had to go through that all so young. That's why I'm waiting. To really make sure."

"My parents met in their thirties," Steve starts, "and it's not like they're any more in love than they would have been if they met in high school."

You gaze at Steve as he speaks, taking in the vulnerability in his tone. He continues, "I don't even think they like each other. They just like the life they've built together. It's safe, comfortable, nice."

Steve pauses, looking at you, "A nice and easy life isn't always what's meant to be. So, maybe your sister had to go through some shit to find who she's actually meant to be with. And now she's happy."

You hold his gaze, really looking at him. His brown eyes peer into yours like they're searching for something. You look away, suddenly noticing how still and quiet the space is around you. The last of the partygoers have left, leaving just you and Steve in the pool. The cool water suddenly feels chilly.

Steve notices your shiver and brushes your arm, "let's get you warmed up."

You follow him out of the pool, happily taking his outstretched hand as you step onto the deck. He grabs a thick towel, placing it around you, rubbing it along your arms to create some warmth. You smile, pulling the towel around yourself. Steve grabs another towel and shakes his hair out like a wet dog, sending water droplets your way.

You shriek, "Steeeeeveeee!" You gently shove him away.

He nuzzles his wet head of hair into your towel-covered shoulder, pulling more giggles out of you. Steve pulls back and rubs the towel against his hair again, this time straightening up. You take in his damp state, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin, practically sheer. You of course notice the chest hair peaking out of the shirt.

Steve bumps your elbow with his, "C'mon. I need to get out of these clothes."

You nod - you couldn't agree more.

In your shared hotel room, you wait in the bathroom. Your robe tugged snuggly against your body. Steve was watching some reruns on TV, you could hear his tired laugh from the other side of the door.

Whether it was on purpose or not - you had left your pajamas in the main room and had to go out to retrieve them while wearing just your robe. Now, this would have been a normal interaction if you and Steve were ever only just friends. But for some reason, you were nervous to pass him with basically no clothes on. You weren't sure you could trust yourself.

So you opened the bathroom door, tugging the belt around your robe a little tighter. You spotted Steve sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the TV. His eyes drifted to you as he heard the door open. You smile, eyeing your suitcase on the other side of the room.

Steve shamelessly looked you up and down, gaze drifting up your bare legs, noting how short that robe was on you. He didn't take his eyes off you as you passed him to get to your suitcase, his mind racing. He took a deep breath, now was not the time to think.

Maybe it was the several drinks in his system or maybe it was being at a wedding with you. Whatever it was, Steve couldn't resist but reach out to you as you walked past him again. His fingers grazed your soft thighs, sinking into you.

You flushed, thankful for the dim light in the room, frozen as Steve latched onto your leg. You turn to stand in front of him, his face looking up at you with such a wild look in his eyes. Nerves flood your system, the good kind.

He carefully brushes his knuckles against your thigh before bringing a hand around it, tugging you toward him. Steve keeps his hand on the back of your leg as he says your name, the sweet sound filling your ears. You practically have him on his knees, he thought. You could do anything, say anything, and he was yours. You wondered if he knew that he had the same effect on you.

Steve lifts his other hand to tug on the hem of your robe, confirming your suspicions. You look down at him, taking in his too-small Hawkins gym shirt and boxers. God, he smells good too. Truthfully, nothing else went through your mind at this moment. Just the sight of him and the desire to feel him on you was all that drove your decision-making.

You lift your hands to the linen belt around your waist, tugging the knot undone, working painfully slow with your fingers. Steve hung onto every movement, his breath halting as you carefully let the belt hang to the side, letting your robe hang open just a bit. You grab Steve's hand, his eyes never leaving yours, as you guide his touch toward your stomach, urging him to push open the robe himself.

Steve slowly pushes the fabric away, opening up the robe to reveal your bare body. You wanted him so badly to pull you on top of him then, but he didn't. Instead, Steve wanted to take this moment in. Slowly, painfully.

The rough pads of his fingers graze over your soft skin. Were you always this soft?

He inches up your belly to your chest, lightly tracing over the curve of your breasts. His other hand leaves your thigh and gently reaches at your hip, taking in the new curve there too. He hates himself for missing these changes. Your body suddenly different than he remembered. But you were still so damn soft.

Your whole body was on fire as Steve drank you all in. His eyes gazing over all of you, bare and ready for him. No one's ever done this to you, not even Steve back in the day. Tonight, he wanted to take his time.

His fingers trail down your hip to touch your inner thigh. You suck in a breath as he leans forward, pressing a kiss just centimeters below your belly button. Steve's fingers dance along your leg, getting higher and higher. You grasp his shoulders, bracing yourself.

"So soft," he says between kisses, "you were always so fucking soft."

Oh fuck, you're a goner.

You step towards him, gripping his face in between your hands. You try to lower yourself onto his lap but he grips your thigh, keeping you in place before him.

He laughs softly, "What's the rush?"

"Steve," you breathe out, giving him a look.

"I've waited nearly a decade for this. Let me take my time," he says confidently. You can't help but give in, releasing your grip from his hair and letting him have his way with you.

Because Steve was right - it had been a long time since either of you had felt this way. Sex was sex, but this, whatever this was with Steve was always different. No matter how much you lied to yourselves, no one ever measured up. Not in life and definitely not in bed.

June 1993 "Fuck, oh my god," you breathe out against Steve's sheets, your cheek pressed into the mattress as he kneels behind you.

Steve's hands grip your hips firmly as he fucks you from behind, your ass slapping against him, skin crashing against skin. He groans, driving deeper into you.

This is what the last three weeks have been like for you and Steve. Dirty, filthy, adult sex that you logistically couldn't have in high school. Or, rather, didn't know how to have yet. Suddenly, you're both grateful for the time apart because now you're adults who actually know what they're doing. Not that King Steve wasn't great in bed, but this Steve - this was a 20-something man who has honed in his naturally intuitive craft of pleasing a woman. And you were loving every second of it.

Steve grabs your throat, pulling you up flush against him. The June air was hotter than usual in his bedroom. Your skin sticky against his as you press your back into his chest. He brings his fingers in between your legs, finding your clit. Definitely not afraid to be rough with his movements.

You let your head rest back on his shoulder, your body bubbling with pleasure, ready to pop at any second. Steve's pace grows faster, sloppier, as you whimper in his ear. Your breaths are soft, your lips perfect and plump, whimpering his name.

"Yes, fuck," you say, your voice loud, "Steve!"

Both of your movements are rough and sloppy as you finish, Steve not far behind you. He bites into your neck as his body shudders against yours, spilling inside you. You let yourself go limp against him, eyes closed and tired from the events of this Saturday morning in bed.

Steve grips your neck again, softer this time. Steadying himself to kiss along the column of your throat to your shoulder. You hum at his sweet touch, the feeling of his lips on your body never getting old.

You look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's nearly three in the afternoon. You laugh softly, "maybe we should get up."

"Give me a minute," he kisses the nape of your neck, "I'll be ready for another round."

You shake your head, "that would be like the fourth time today!" You pull apart from him, flipping over to sit on the mattress. Steve winces at the loss of contact. He sits back, grabbing absentmindedly at your ankle. He smirks, "I'm down to go all night too. If you are."

"Easy, Harrington. I need to eat."

"Fuel up. Good idea!"

You smile, laying back and pulling the sheets over you as Steve stands up, fumbling around the room for his clothes. He looks back at you and points, "Don't move, baby."

Steve quickly leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He makes his way into the kitchen to find Robin sitting at the table with her headphones on. She looks up, glaring at Steve. His eyes widen, "have you been here the whole time?"

She slips off her large headphones and Steve can hear the music blasting loudly from them. "I walked in on, Stevie baby please!" Robin mimics you, overdramatizing your sultry voice. Steve cringes as she continues, "But I put music on when you started going off."

She drops her voice an octave to copy Steve now, "fuck, you're so good. This is so-"

"Nope!" Steve waves his hands, "Let's stop this, please!"

Robin bangs her head against the wall behind her, groaning, "While I'm happy you two have reconnected, please for the love of god fuck somewhere else. She lives alone!"

"I thought you were gone all morning!"

"It's literally three in the afternoon!"

You listen to Robin and Steve bicker, smiling to yourself from your comfy spot in Steve's bed.

July 1993 Light jazz plays from a record player in the perfectly decorated living room of your professor, Dr. Cano's, house. Over your first year of law school, she's taken quite an interest in you, and tonight you were her only current student to get an invite to one of her dinner parties - famous for solidifying her mentorship.

The nerves alone could have killed you, but luckily, she told you to bring a date. So, you brought Steve, your...best friend that you've been fucking incessantly for the past two months and have been in love with for maybe forever. You two were comfortable, confident in each other, letting yourselves actually date. You weren't afraid of where this could go with Steve, you were letting your feelings for him take the wheel and it felt great. Nothing was in the way of your love for once.

You watch from the other side of the room as Steve charmed two city big wigs. The older men laughed with Steve, clinking their scotch glasses against his.

Dr. Cano nudges your side with her elbow, "Thank you for coming tonight. Everyone loves you."

You raise your wine glass to meet hers and slip out a polite 'thank you' before taking a sip. You smile, "I was a bit nervous at first, but everyone is so welcoming, they made it easy."

"I try to surround myself with people who, don't get me wrong, are still very pretentious," she laughs, "but actually want to make a difference, and the only way to do that is to bring in new blood. Like you."

You nod, understanding her investment in you. It feels good, knowing that your life is moving in all the right directions.

Dr. Cano points her glass at Steve, "And your boy is such a hit. Talking to Daniel about the Cubs and then immediately diving into public school reform was really the cherry on top for me."

"He doesn't even realize he's talking to the next senator of Illinois," you laugh.

She shakes her head, "No, but that's what makes him so great. He's down to earth but smart. Honestly could have a good career in local politics."

"Don't put ideas into his brain, Professor. You'll have him dreaming of being the president," you smile wide, peering over at Steve. He looks up, meeting your eyes. He gives you a small wave before the other men reel him back into the conversation again.

You can't help but admire him tonight. Steve looks great wearing his dress pants and dark green sweater. His hair was styled back neatly, his face freshly shaved. He insisted on wearing his reading glasses to 'look smarter' but you told him he would probably be the smartest person in the room, teaching a new generation of lawyers and politicians.

Steve and you walk beside each other on the mostly empty sidewalk, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders. You tuck in close to his side, the light material of your long black dress lets in a cool breeze.

He presses a soft kiss to your head as you wait for the cars to pass before crossing the street. “Mmm you smell good,” Steve mumbles into your hair.

He breaks away for a moment, grabbing your hand to lead you across the street. Your heels click against the pavement as you scurry onto the sidewalk again, Steve’s hand strong in yours.

It’s all so normal. Like this is how it always should have been between you two. Sometimes you let yourself fall into that trap, into a pool of regret and guilt. If you had only pushed your fears aside and asked Steve to move to New York with you. But you can’t blame your 18-year-old self, and things happen for a reason.

And sometimes when you remember how much time you wasted not being with Steve, you hold him a little closer, kiss him a little harder, love him a little more.

August 1993 Something’s in the air. Maybe it’s the full moon or the humidity that had Steve feeling off all day. You two were going to his coworker’s birthday party on some chic rooftop downtown.

Adding to his already anxious state, you were late to meet him outside the hotel. He shouldn’t have been mad but he was. Unreasonably so.

“Hey,” you huff, jogging up to him, “sorry, my train was late.”

You lean up, giving him a quick peck. It’s a quick kiss - a hello, casual, like a couple would do.

Steve looks down at your empty hands, “where’s the gift?”

You pause before letting out a breathy groan, picturing the gift box you insisted on wrapping for Steve sitting atop your kitchen table.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but Steve was already feeling like shit after a particularly rough day of teaching summer school. He also recounts the shitty interaction he had with the barista this morning.

Instead of regulating his emotions, he decided to be a total grump and take it out on you.

Steve rolls his eyes and you let out a soft laugh at him, thinking he’s feigning dramatics. But he’s not, and your laugh just pissed him off more.

“You seriously forgot it?” he asks as you walk into the elevator, and you notice his irritated tone.

You shrug, “it’s fine. You can give it to her when school starts.”

“That’s in like two weeks,” he rebuttals.

“I’m sure she’ll need a new Dutch oven then too,” you say, the sarcasm hitting Steve’s ear sharply.

“You’re not even sorry?”

You scoff, “for what? Forgetting the gift? Really?”

“Yes forgetting the gift. It’s a birthday party and we’re showing up empty-handed and late,” he says quickly, “that’s so fucking rude.”

“Geez, Steve, what’s your deal?”

“I just didn’t think you were so inconsiderate,” he huffs as the elevator door opens. Music hits your ears as you step out onto the rooftop bar.

“Fine, I’m sorry for forgetting the gift and for being late,” you grumble, following Steve toward his group of friends. You tug his arm, holding him back just before you reach the group.

His eyes meet yours as you say, “Are you okay?”

Instead of shrugging it off and letting you in, explaining he’s had a shit day, Steve brushes you off with his casual sarcasm, “never been better.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, but he’s walking up to his friends before you can speak. You push your anger to the side and greet the group, falling into easy step with them all.

You and Steve have practically avoided each other the whole night, the tension between you two at an all-time high, and for what? Because you forgot a birthday gift?

You look at your watch, realizing it’s almost midnight, and reach for Steve. You both had an early morning tomorrow and agreed to leave early. You grab onto his arm, leaning close in a low voice, “We should go. It’s late.”

He turns away from the conversation he’s having and barely looks over at you as he speaks, “Yeah, I’ll meet you down there in a sec.”

You hesitate, never in your life have you felt so dismissed. What the fuck has gotten into him?

So you purse your lips and give him a tight nod, turning to leave without saying goodbye to anyone. Steve of course notices your attitude, letting you walk away.

A whole fifteen minutes goes by before Steve finally meets you on the street. Your arms were crossed at your stomach as you rocked back and forth on your heels. You notice his mop of hair exit the revolving door and you try so hard not to snap at him then and there. Instead, you look away, chin high and jaw clenched.

He can practically see the steam fuming from you. He feels bad for his attitude. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at you, he just was.

“I’ve been waiting a while,” you murmur, not looking at him.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready to go yet,” Steve says, that insufferable arrogance popping out.

You whip your head at him, glaring now, “What the fuck is up with you tonight?”

He stares back at you, asking himself that question. Maybe it’s self-sabotage or maybe it’s what he truly thinks, but Steve can’t help but fixate on all the little things you’ve done “wrong” in your relationship. You were forgetful sometimes, crass and blunt, too ambitious, and narrow-minded at times. But what really got to Steve wasn’t these tiny things, and a part of him knew that, it was that familiar feeling of fear that crept up on him all of a sudden. Things were going too well for you two, and he was afraid to settle in.

You blink back at him, unable to read his tense expression. Your eyes soften, “if this is about the gift, I’m sorry. Okay, really-"

“It’s not about the stupid gift,” he finally says.

“Then what’s it about?”

Steve shrugs, avoiding your gaze, “Nothing. It’s fine.” He starts to turn to walk down the sidewalk but you step after him, swatting his arm with your purse. He winces.

“Stop and talk to me,” you state firmly.

Steve looks at you hesitatingly, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been thinking about us. What we are.”

“We’re dating, Steve. It’s not that crazy.”

“But it’s not weird to you? That we’re now this normal couple?”

“No,” you cross your arms, “it feels pretty organic to me.”

He puts his hands on his hips, “even after everything we’ve been through?”

You look away dismissively, “is that what this is about? You’re still hung up on the past?”

“How could I not be?” Steve’s voice a higher pitch now, “You broke my fucking heart.”

“We were nineteen Steve!” You yell, exasperated, “We are different people now, and what we’ve had in the last year should show you that.”

“But how can you be so sure we’ve changed? That we won’t fuck it up again?”

You shake your head, “I’m not sure. But that’s okay. That’s what being in a relationship is. You have to rely on how you feel and I-“

You pause, a small smile creeps onto your face as you say, “And I love you. I know that I love you, so I don’t worry about anything else.”

Steve gazes down at you, pain evident on his face. The crease in his forehead deepens as he shakes his head, “I’m scared.”

Your eyes soften at his vulnerability finally peeking through. You want to reach out to him but you don’t. Instead, he continues, “I’m scared to get hurt again. I’m scared you’ll leave me and I’ll lose you. I can’t do that again. You’re my best friend.”

You suck in a breath, letting his words sink in. Hurt colors your face as you speak, “I can’t just be your friend, Steve.”

He stares back at you, the silence lingers as dread floods through your body, unsure of what the boy in front of you is thinking.

“I don’t know, I just can’t do this,” Steve finally says, the words hitting you like a dagger.

You step forward, “Don’t do this.” You grab his hands, “you’re scared, I get that. But we can do this together.”

He pulls away, avoiding your eyes. You feel a cold rush through you as you’ve lost total control of the situation.

“What can I do? Please just tell me,” you plead, not caring that you’re begging at this point. Something you swore you’d never do for a man. But this isn’t just any guy, this is Steve. Your Steve.

“Stop, please-“

“You love me right?”

“Of course I love you!” Steve shouts, his chest tightening.

“Isn’t that enough?”

Silence settles over you again, and this time you understand. There’s nothing you can say to change Steve’s mind. Maybe he made this decision way before you reconnected. Maybe he knew from the first time he kissed you that you were never the girl he would end up with.

You look away, eyes watering. A car alarm goes off a few streets over, chatter from down the block, an ambulance blares, the sounds of the city come back into your senses.

You look back up at Steve, his lips pouty and eyes red. “this isn’t me leaving,” you say, your voice small, defeated, “this is you pushing me away.”

Steve looks down at the ground unable to watch you walk away. So you turn, walking down the sidewalk with your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. You almost think he’s going to run after you, calling out your name, and admit how stupid he is and that he didn’t mean any of it. But Steve doesn’t move, he just lets you walk away again, the same way he did all those years before.

September 1993 Things were tough, to say the least, and Robin was caught right in the middle of it. For the past two weeks, she’s watched both of her friends quickly descend onto their own paths of madness.

You poured yourself into your second year of law school, arguably the hardest one of them all. You hardly ever left campus, holed up in the library until late into the night, unable to sleep.

Meanwhile, Steve was doing just as bad. He barely ate, his hair was unkempt, he was irritable, and not the same cool teacher the students remember him to be. He was drinking more too, a lot more. It helped him forget you because that’s what he thought was best. Like forgetting you would save him from any further pain.

It got particularly bad when one night, a Tuesday mind you, he got so drunk he picked a fight with some random guy. Luckily Robin was there, and sober, to stop it. The guy was some rich asshole from out of town - preppy, loud, and obnoxious. Then his buddies called out his name - Peter.

Now it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend Peter in the bar that night. But, Steve, being drunk and never having met the guy, thought that this douchebag was in fact your Peter. So he sauntered up to the guy and punched him square in the nose, which earned Steve a fist to the jaw, knocking him back into the bar so fast he didn’t know what hit him. Robin and the bartender jumped in before the guy and his friends could beat the shit out of Steve. Yet, he still woke up the next day with several bruises and a nasty hangover.

Robin held an intervention as soon as he came back from school the next afternoon.

“This has gone too far, dude,” she says seriously, sitting at the kitchen table across from him.

Steve leans back in his chair, a pack of frozen peas held to his purpling jaw. Robin leans forward, her hands folded together on the table.

"You need to talk to her," she says.

"I can't," he mutters.

"And why the fuck not?"

"Because this is the right thing. This way no one gets hurt."

Robin looks at him like he's the biggest dumbass in the world, and right now he may very well be. "How do you feel right now, huh? Are you not in both emotional distress, but also literally in physical pain over her?" she asks.

Steve looks over at Robin, knowing she's right. He's created this giant excuse, an unexplainable reason to break things off with you. But no matter how much he tries to justify his actions, he knows he's wrong. He knows he's just scared and that's not enough of a reason to push you away.

"If she and I really do this. If we become an actual committed couple, how do I know she won't just leave again?"

"You don't," Robin says, "none of us ever know if the person we love won't just magically get up one day and decide we're not the one."

Steve definitely doesn't want to hear this.

She continues, "But also a million other things could happen too. Like a piano falling from the sky and BOOM - she's dead."

"Robin-"

"Look," she says, "I may not know the future. But I do know that she loves you, Steve. She's been head over heels for you since we were kids. And yeah, you two grew apart, whatever. But I saw the way she looked at you that Christmas at the Wheelers. That poor girl was ready to sit back and wait for you to be single again. And didn't she?"

Robin leans back, eyes narrowing at Steve, "Don't keep her waiting any longer or you might just lose her for good."

Steve weighs Robin's advice and then your words come to mind, begging him to stay with you - telling him you loved him. This was what he wanted all those years ago and he was too blinded by fear to see it. Even when you were right in front of him.

He lowers the frozen peas onto the table and sighs, "I'm such an idiot. A goddamn fucking moron."

Robin smirks and Steve continues, "She hates me now."

"No she doesn't."

"But she thinks I do."

"Hmm. Can't have that."

Steve stands up quickly, knocking the chair back into the wall. Robin winces at the crash.

"I need to talk to her," he says, "like now."

Steve crosses the room to grab his shoes, slipping them on as he organizes his plan, "it's Wednesday. She has study group on Wednesday nights."

He locks eyes with Robin and smiles, "I'm really doing this."

She gives him a reassuring nod. Steve takes a deep breath, rips open the front door, and rushes into the hallway.

"Good luuuuck!" Robin yells out after him as he dashes down the stairs and onto the street.

Steve looks at his watch and groans, the trains run further apart on weekday nights. The next one won't be for another 45 minutes. A taxi pulls onto the street. Steve tries to hail it down, but it drives by. He throws his hands up, annoyed. He weighs his only option to get to your campus. Good thing he wore his sneakers.

The library should be mostly empty at a time like this, but some students linger at the tables, peering into their books and swapping notecards with friends.

You had stepped away from your study group a few minutes ago to grab a law deposition needed for the next class. You roamed the law stacks, your mind elsewhere. The last two weeks have been long, monotonous, and heavy. Your mind is in a constant battle between your pride and reaching out to Steve. Ultimately, pride won every time.

He rejected you outright. Sure, his reasoning was completely flawed, but he still let you walk away again. Maybe you two would never get it right. Timing, feelings, the past - maybe it was all too much to get over. Yet you were so hopeful this time. You really felt like this was it. If Steve would have asked you to be his forever, you would have said yes.

But he didn’t and now you were walking like a heartbroken zombie in the Northwestern library.

Steve runs down the street, weaving past people and cars. A taxi cab honks at him for dashing out in front of it. His hand slams on the hood as he runs by.

He runs onto campus, long legs stretching across the grassy quad to the library. He knows exactly where to go, remembering the nights he helped you study or the time he felt you up in between the bookshelves, hands sneaking under your skirt.

Steve skids around a corner, catching sight of you descending the library steps. You say your goodbyes to your classmates, your cute schoolbag hangs on your back. Steve's heart skips a beat as you turn toward his direction. He breaks into another run to you.

Then he's in front of you, standing a few feet away. His breath ragged and his forehead shiny.

"Hi," Steve says, panting.

"Hi," you let out, confused and slightly entertained by the way Steve braces his hands on his knees, hanging his head to catch his breath. You try not to smile, "did you run here?"

"Mhmm," he mumbles painfully, nodding his head and taking a deep breath.

"That's like 15 blocks," you say in disbelief.

He rises now, standing up straight, back to being taller than you. Steve nods, "it is."

You shake your head, feeling hurt more than anything, "why are you here Steve?"

"I fucked up," he says, plain and true, "I thought being friends would be easier, that neither of us would get hurt. But you were right. We can't just be friends. We never were."

You take a measured breath, trying to calm your rising heartbeat.

Steve continues, "I've been in love with you my entire life. I tried to push you out of my mind, believe me, I spent years trying. When things didn't work out with other girls, I blamed it on the usual things. But I always knew the real reason it never worked out. They weren't you."

Steve can't look away from you as he speaks, "I made the second biggest mistake of my life letting you walk away from me two weeks ago. My biggest was when we were teenagers and I let you walk away the first time. I don't plan on letting you do that ever again.”

He steps closer to you, "I plan on loving you forever. If you'll let me."

You stare back at him, mouth suddenly dry and pulse racing. You shake your head, tears filling your eyes, "of course you would do this."

His face falters as you take a step toward him. "Of course, you would run across the city to say something so, so - perfect."

Steve's eyes widen, hope flooding back into him. His breathing calms with every step you take towards him.

You're overwhelmed with emotion. Eyes watery, cheeks red. You want to be mad at him for breaking your heart and making you hate him oh so much the last two weeks. But, you can't. Not when he's standing in front of you pouring his heart out like he is. His lips pink and pouty, big brown eyes staring expectedly into yours.

Steve catches your eyes as they flicker down to his lips and back up to meet his gaze. A small smile creeps onto his face.

"You make it so hard not to love you," you say.

He steps forward, slowly ending the distance between you. Your pulse quickens.

You nod, "but I do love you, Steve. I really, really do."

He grabs your hip with one hand, the other gently cups the back of your head, pulling your body into his. Steve lowers down, your noses touch and his lips hover lightly above yours. He closes his eyes, pausing for just a moment, before closing the gap and pressing down to kiss you - hard and with purpose, like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

But you both know this won't be your last kiss. It's far from it. You'll have thousands of more kisses in your lifetime with Steve, and this one. This one feels like it's just the beginning.

--------------

a/n: I love the friends to lovers to exes to friends again to lovers trope so much. it's so messy and emotional, I hope that translated through with this!

tags: @httpazxnth@wwylmlive@xaimary@dogstarbytes@micheledawn1975@ortega29@djodirt@ahead-fullofdreams @andvys

[cycat-carisi]

Lost Love - blurb

Summary: You and Steve love each other but have too much life ahead of you to make it work

a/n: had the initial break up on my mind, so here’s this little angsty piece. Can be read as a stand alone or a little insert for the Lost Love series

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, short break up angst :(

Summer 1986

The summer air still warms the night, even as the days draw nearer to fall. A night like tonight shouldn’t be this beautiful, you think, looking up at the clear sky. The stars bright and all knowing, ready for the rest of your life to begin.

You and Steve sit on the curb in front of your house. Knees knocking against another just to remind yourselves that you’re there. That you’re really having this conversation. That you’re doing this.

“They have good schools in Chicago,” he says, a last ditch effort to change your mind without blatantly asking you to do that.

“Steve,” you whine, “I made my decision months ago.”

“I know,” was all he could muster, because he did know this was coming. He knew you got into your dream school and would move to New York. Steve was preparing himself for this moment - not enough, clearly, too wrapped up on the perfect summer he had with you. Borrowed time.

But now, hours before you and your parents would set out on a road trip to the east coast, you wish Steve would ask you to stay.

You had made up your mind months ago, when you finally committed to Columbia. You told Steve you were leaving and he was excited for you, really. This was your dream and it wasn’t like you two were really together. Just two young people in love. With the rest of their lives ahead of them. And oh, you were so ready for the next chapter to begin. You wanted to leave Hawkins and all the pain that came with it.

But you weren’t ready to leave him.

“Maybe we can keep this up, you know, I’ll be home for Christmas break,” you said, spitballing at this point.

Steve shook his head, “you’re spending it at your sister’s this year. You told me that.”

“Oh, right,” you hug your knees to your chest, “then I’ll come home for Spring break. That’s only-“

Then Steve’s saying your name, grasping your hands into his. He’s gentle as he holds you, looking into your eyes. You notice how red his eyes look as they begin to tear up.

Steve’s not sure what to say next. He wishes you’d ask him to come with you. He’d move across the world if you’d ask. But you don’t and you wouldn’t, he thinks. This is your dream life you’re about to embark on and you’ve made it clear that you want nothing to do with Hawkins anymore. Not after everything.

So he says what he thinks you want to hear, “You’ll go and I’ll stay.”

You look away from him, the tears forming in your eyes. You suck in your bottom lip as Steve squeezes your hands.

“I’ll always be here,” he continues with a shaky voice, “you know that.”

You suck in a cry, squeezing his hands as you pull him into a deep hug, your actions communicating more than you two ever could.

You’re not sure why you two didn’t make it work that day. Either of you could have said what you were really thinking, what you really wanted. But it would have been too soon. You and Steve have been good for each other, and maybe it’s because you’re too young or because you’ve already been through too much. But it’s not your time and maybe it never will be.

———————

Read the next part here.

a/n: I’m almost done with the final part for Lost Love, so stay tuned for that :)

tags: @httpazxnth @wwylmlive @xaimary @dogstarbytes @micheledawn1975 @ortega29 @djodirt @ahead-fullofdreams

[cycat-carisi]

Lost Love - Part Three

a/n: sorry this took a minute! I’ve been deep in Joel Miller fanfic after the recent episode of tlou (biiiiiig Pedro fan). Anyways, please enjoy this next bit of writing :)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, more angst

Summary: tis the damn season for you and Steve as you try to avoid the past while figuring out the future

———————

December 1991 - Hawkins

The Wheeler house looks straight out of a holiday catalog with its large tree lighting up the front room. Christmas music plays throughout the decorated house and a fire warms up the young guests.

Mike decided to have the gang back together at their parent's place this year. Most of the kids were home for the holidays and desperately needed to see each other after being at school all semester. After running into Dustin outside of your homes, he insisted you come. Nancy ended up calling you that night to extend the invite, explaining that she didn't even know about the party until she arrived that morning.

So there you were, dressed in your festive velvet red dress, sipping mulled wine with Nancy. She tells you about her job at a local newspaper and how she's making more connections at the Boston Globe, her dream company. You fill her in on getting into law school and your decision to move to Chicago. She's excited for you and easily dances around the subject of Steve.

It had been a couple of months since your break up with Peter and when he revealed to you that he and Steve had spoken. You did pick up the phone that night with the full intention of calling Steve. But you never did go through with it. You weren't thinking straight, your emotions were too high, and frankly, you were too scared to face him. So you set the phone down and swore to call him the next day, and the next, and the next. But you never called Steve. Instead, you let the situation sit there and simmer. No questions answered. Just like your relationship had always been with him.

As if the universe was reading your mind, the front door swings open, letting the cold December air in for just a moment. Your back was to the door, so you didn't see who came in. But you quickly started to gather who it was when Dustin cheered and rushed over to greet the guest. You straightened up a bit, building up the confidence to turn around and face the very person who's been tormenting your thoughts for the last couple of months.

His laugh hits your ears as he greets the kids with hugs. Your heart weakens a bit, loving that they all still care about him so much. You turn, wanting to catch the sweet moment.

As you turn around, Steve looks up, catching sight of your familiar hair and pretty red dress. You see each other from across the room, the lights around you softening as you hold his gaze. You feel a familiar tug towards him - something unseen, intangible but still there. He must feel it too because he's quick to give you a small smile. Steve wasn't sure what he'd do if he saw you tonight, but instinct took over with that smile. So you smile back. Two small, knowing smiles in a home filled with too many memories.

Then a young woman appears in the doorway behind Steve. She smiles wide at the kids and slips comfortably under Steve's arm. He breaks his gaze from you and puts all his attention on her.

Steve introduces her to Mike and Dustin, and she's all smiles as she meets everyone. You look away - at your shoes, the Christmas tree. Anything but Steve and this girl.

Luckily, Nancy clutches your arm, spinning you back around to face her. She leans in to whisper, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea he'd be here."

You pull back, shrugging, “it’s all good. Really.” Lie, lie, lie.

Your body practically ached at the sight of Steve and his - what? Girlfriend?

You wanted to peek back at them. See Steve's rosy cheeks and big smile as he paraded her around to meet everyone. Oh god, you thought, you're going to have to meet her too.

Nancy smiled tightly, her voice quick and low, "don't freak. They're coming over here." She waved as you felt two people approach you.

Nancy knew your history with Steve, even the most recent encounter. Somewhat ironically, she was the first to clock that something was going on between you two. After Jonathan moved to California, she and you became closer. Sometimes eating lunch together at school or working on college applications together. She noticed when he’d pick you up after classes got out almost every day or when he’d be at your soccer games, cheering you on alongside your family. She especially noticed when you had like three hickeys on the back of your neck the morning after you told her you were catching a movie with Steve.

Nancy noticed how he changed too, both as a person and his behavior towards her. He was lighter with her, not mopey or awkward. The tension completely dissipated.

Naturally, you and Nancy grew closer when you two were the only ones who moved away from Hawkins. She was there for you during the fallout with Steve, which was why she was shocked that you wanted to say hello to him and his girlfriend, Amanda, who Nancy just met about thirty minutes ago.

Steve's pulse quickened as you turned around to greet them. Your expression was collected, cool, and unreadable. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, he quickly scans the room for your boyfriend but comes up short. Nancy speaks up before he can think too hard about it.

She gives him a quick hug before introducing herself to Amanda who only says her name, waiting for Steve to fill in the rest. The three girls, including yourself, stare back at him. He cracks a smile, recovering from his brief falter, and then says the words you were dreading.

"My girlfriend," he's almost bashful, you think, as he wraps an arm around her.

Girlfriend. A word now seared into your brain, likely to cause inexplicable heart pain every time you hear it now. Girlfriend.

Nothing could have ever prepared you for this moment. You never imagined meeting one of Steve’s girlfriends. It’s not like you didn’t expect him to never date anyone after you, but you never imagined that this situation would be occurring. That was one of the pros of going no contact for so many years - no girlfriends.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you say, shaking Amanda’s hand with an obligatory smile on your face. You tell her your name and she gives you a knowing smile, "Steve’s told me so much about you guys. It’s great to finally put a face to the name.”

You blink, trying to keep your smile from faltering. God, what has this man said to her about you?

You deliver the perfect cliche, “oh, all good things I hope," and shoot Steve a look, lofting your eyebrows just slightly. He doesn’t miss a beat, sending you the slightest of head nods.

Old habits never die, you think as you quickly fall back into the knowing looks with Steve. The subtle communication only you two could understand of each other.

Amanda laughs, “of course! He was just saying that you’re a lawyer. That’s so impressive.”

You turn back to her, shaking your head, “well, not yet. I just go into law school.”

You can feel Steve’s eyes on you and wonder if he’s thinking about your decision to move to Chicago.

“Are you staying in the city? Or looking elsewhere?” Amanda asks, genuine and annoyingly nice.

Nancy perks up, "she actually just committed to Northwestern."

Steve shifts his gaze to you. But you avoid his eyes, not wanting to see his expression. "Chicago!" Amanda exclaims, "that's so exciting. We'll have to show you around."

He knew that this was a real possibility. Hell, you were the one who told him you wanted to move. But hearing the confirmation was a whole different thing. This was real. You were about to be back in his life whether he liked it or not.

“That would be great,” you say, keeping your attention on her, “what about you? What do you do?”

And then she tells you about teaching and how they met. They’ve been seeing each other for a little over two months. Interesting you think, doing the mental math in your head. You ask about her childhood, family, where she grew up. Steve chimes in here and there, but you can feel the tension radiating off his body as he stands in between you and Amanda.

The night goes on and more of your friends arrive, quickly swapping stories about high school and your collective near-death experiences. You do enjoy yourself, wrapped up in the warm nostalgia of it all. But every time your eyes shift back to Steve and Amanda, an unreasonable bitterness nips at the back of your mind.

You had no right to be jealous, sure, but you could be a little bothered by the whole thing. It doesn't help that she's charming and friendly. Boo.

You’re in the kitchen now, stress-eating the finger foods off a platter on the counter, alone in your thoughts. Tonight would not be a good time to bring up the past with Steve, would it? But when would be a good time? When you're finally living in the same city again? No, it should be sooner. But what would he say?

“That cheese is great-“

You jump, startled by the sudden voice in the kitchen. You turn around and find Steve frowning, worried about your reaction.

He steps forward, “shit sorry. Thought you heard me walk in.”

“I guess I was a little distracted,” you say without really thinking.

Steve notices a hint of bitterness in your tone. You look up, finally meeting his eyes. Both of you pause, lingering in the moment, unsure of what to say next.

For the first time all evening, you two are finally alone together. Everyone else is in the living room playing games, including Amanda who is partnered up with Robin in a very competitive game of charades.

Steve steps to where you’re standing. You suck in a breath as the distance between you two grows smaller. He stands beside you and picks through the cheese platter, completely ignoring the tension in the room.

You want to roll your eyes at him, annoyed at how cavalier he could be during situations like this. So you decide to poke the bear a bit and not ignore the obvious.

“Your girlfriend’s cool,” you say, turning to face the counter like him, your shoulders brushing.

Steve pops a piece of cheese in his mouth letting the silence linger. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, so he let you lead the way.

You weren’t going to lie to him. You did think Amanda was great and you were not about to be the type of girl to hate her for being with your…whatever Steve was to you.

“So you two met at school?” you ask, genuinely curious and purposefully dancing around the real question you wanted to ask - when did they meet?

Steve smiles, “she’s the first-grade teacher." Of course, she is.

He pauses, not sure if he should say anything but this would be a perfect time to segue into that night. And for whatever reason, Steve couldn’t help himself around you.

“Actually,” he looks at you now, “she was at the bar when I ran into you in September.”

Your whole body tenses. So we’re doing this now, huh?

You catch the cheeky glimmer in his eyes, remembering just how much of a dick Steve could be sometimes.

“You should have introduced us,” you reach for a piece of cheese, “maybe the night would have turned out differently.”

“Yeah maybe if you told me about your boyfriend we wouldn’t have been out all night,” Steve lets out quickly, his emotions getting the best of him.

Now you’re speechless. You never did figure out what you would say to Steve about that phone call. You naively thought you’d never see him again so you wouldn’t have to discuss it.

You drop the cheese and turn your body to face him. He stares down at you, the hint of cheekiness replaced with anger now. He hates that you’re the only one who can rile him up like this.

“I should have told you about Peter that night,” you concede, “I’m sorry.”

Steve falters, not expecting an apology. Before he can think of something to say, you continue, “I guess I was caught up in the moment. I don’t know.”

He looks away, pushing off the counter, “seeing you again was already a shock. But then to find out you had a boyfriend really fucked with me.”

Your stomach aches as Steve admits this all to you. As you finally talk about that night. He doesn’t want to do this now, not with all your friends and Amanda in the other room. But, as usual around you, he can’t control his emotions. The words just flow out of him.

“And finding out about him that way was pretty shitty too,” Steve shook his head, “I mean, hell, do you two live together?”

“We broke up,” you blurt out. The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

Steve shifts back, his hands brace the counter as you face him. He looks over your features as if trying to read your mind and you do the same.

You being single, Steve in a relationship - does it even matter? What would you do if you were both single? Steve practically answered that in Chicago when he didn’t know about your boyfriend and you asked him up to your room. And yet he still turned you down and you still had no idea what you wanted from him. So single, taken, it didn’t make a difference.

Before either of you can respond, Robin rushes into the kitchen. She notices the moment between you two but doesn’t think twice to acknowledge it. She loves Steve and wants what’s best for him, and what’s best is Amanda, his girlfriend who’s currently waiting for him in the other room.

Robin yanks Steve’s arm, “I’m tapping out and Amanda’s looking for a new partner.”

Steve holds your gaze for just a moment before shifting his attitude ever so slightly. He smiles at Robin then nods at you, before turning into the living room.

You turn back to the counter, pick up the discarded piece of cheese, and pop it into your mouth. A tense gaze hits you. You turn slightly to catch Robin eyeing you narrowly.

“What’s up, Buckley?” You say casually. Your relationship with Robin has always been this way. Close at times but a one-sided skepticism was always apparent. Then of course when everything ended between you and Steve, you hardly ever spoke to Robin.

She steps closer, “are you really moving to Chicago?” She clocks your surprised reaction.

“Nancy mentioned it,” she clarifies.

You nod, “not until summer.”

Robin sighs, “I’m not going to pretend like I know what the fuck is up with you and Steve, but I do know that he’s happy. Like really doing well and doesn’t need any bullshit in his life - happy.”

“I know,” you say honestly, “I don’t plan on screwing anything up for him.”

Robin wants to tell you that actually, you don’t know. You have no idea what kind of hold you have over Steve. She wants to tell you how messed up he was after seeing you and how you totally derailed his life and can definitely do it again. That’s what she’s worried about. But instead, she saves face.

“Good,” Robin crosses her arms.

You think about what it will look like to live near Steve again and you don’t know why you continue the conversation and say, “we probably won’t see each other much anyway.”

Robin practically scoffs as you say this. She shakes her head, “this is you and Steve we’re talking about. At the very least, he’ll want to be your friend.”

You don’t know what else to say so you nod, thinking about everything. You hoped you could be friends with Steve, but you never were ever just friends with him. There had always been that hint of what if? That possibility of something more.

Laughter and shouts break your thoughts. Dustin’s calling your name to join on the next round. So you push it all aside and follow Robin back into the room with all your friends, and you decide to enjoy being home for the holidays.

———————

A few days later

As the town gears up for the New Year, you help your dad clean up the garage. Your family loves to do a big cleanout before the new year. Help clear out the old and bring in the new.

The manual labor was a much-needed distraction from your mind swirling with thoughts about your future and Steve, and his really cool totally awesome girlfriend. Spending time with your family was also a reminder of other forms of love in your life. You were excited to be closer to them again.

You and your dad stand hunched over the engine of his 1964 silver Mustang. You were helping him fix up something under the hood when the sound of footsteps hit the pavement.

Your dad was the first to see who it was. He steps away from the car, “Steve! Been a long time, bud.”

You brace yourself on the side of the car, pushing off of it to face them.

Your dad and Steve break away from their friendly hug. What the hell is going on?

Steve nods, “I know, I’m sorry! With Dustin moving away for school, there’s not much left for me in Hawkins these days.”

“Did you hear our girl’s moving to Chicago?” Your dad says proudly.

Steve flashes you a smile, taking in your dirty jeans and worn-in sweatshirt. You smile back, raising your eyebrows a bit at him entertaining your dad.

“Yeah, it’ll be great to be in the same city again,” Steve says as you approach the two of them.

You nod, “don’t worry. I won’t bother you too much, Steve.”

He gazes at you, trying to search for another meaning in your sentence. Bother me all you want, Steve wants to say.

The garage door opens. Your mom has the phone in her hand, the cord extended all the way. She spots Steve and smiles, “oh, hi honey! How are you?”

Steve waves, greeting your mom. She calls over your dad, “your sister’s on the line.”

He bids Steve goodbye and rushes into the house after your mom.

You chuckle, wiping your greasy hands on the rag poking out of your jeans. You look up at Steve, “they always ask about you.”

“Oh yeah?” he beams.

You nod, “it’s sweet.”

You turn to the car, walking towards it. Steve watches as your hair sits high in a ponytail, swishing back and forth as you walk. He always liked when you put your hair up.

He follows you to your spot under the hood. Steve eyes the car, “how long have you been working on this?”

“Pretty much all day,” you say, “you know how my dad can get with his cars.”

He smiles, remembering when your dad got you your first car - a used Chevy truck that was cool in theory but broke down on you every other month. You resorted to catching a ride with Steve instead.

Steve helps as you slam the hood shut. You turn to him, “so, what’s up?”

He had almost forgotten why he was there in the first place. Steve puts his hands on his hips.

“When do you move?” He asks.

You nod, “in June. Thought I’d get a head start on apartment hunting near campus.”

Steve looks around, finally coming to peace with your response. He eyes the sun as it begins to set. The birds chirp around you. He nods over to the street, “let’s take a walk.”

You eye him, but ultimately agree, following him down your driveway and into your quiet neighborhood.

Walking these streets with Steve brought back some serious nostalgia. You used to do this all the time. His house only a few blocks away from yours. He’d walk you back to your house at night when it was too dark and you had school the next morning. Or on Saturday mornings, you’d walk to his place and eat breakfast because his parents were already out for the day.

Now the two of you walked side by side, leisurely taking in the old pine trees and suburban homes. Steve straightened his back, clapping his hands together as if prepping himself for what he was about to say.

“I think we should air everything out. You know, before we live in the same place again,” he states.

You shove your hands in your back pockets, what did you have in mind?”

He tilts his head, “well, I’m with Amanda now and everything’s going pretty good.”

You nod as he continues, “and I didn’t tell her about us. You know, our past.

“Oh,” you hesitate. That was a little surprising, but given how nice she was to you, it tracks.

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Steve says slowly, “I mean, I didn’t really think we’d be in each other’s lives again.”

You look over at Steve, “it’s up to you. But I’m sure it won’t come up in conversation.”

He chuckles, “right. Well, how often do you want to see each other?”

You blink, all the time, preferably. If he’d have you.

“You could show me around? Then we’ll go from there?” You say sheepishly. He and Robin are the only people you really know there, and you don’t think Robin would be the most excited to hang out with you.

Steve smiles, “yeah, yes of course!” He runs a hand through his hair, “sorry. I’m not really sure how to handle all this with you.”

You decide to lighten the mood and bump his shoulder, “neither do I. But, I do know I want to be back in your life.”

He takes in your words and smiles, “me too. Someone you know again.”

You look down, hearing Steve say your words from that night back to you. It feels different this time. Like you’ve got the “what if?” out of the way and can maybe begin to move onto a new part of your relationship - just friendship.

You continue, “and if you’re worried about Amanda, I won’t mess anything up. I promise.”

“Don’t be weird,” Steve eyes you, playfulness in his voice.

You shake your head, “I swear. I’ll be on my best behavior. No weirdness here.”

He knocks his shoulder back against yours. You stumble a bit, taken off guard. Steve reaches out, grabbing your arm to steady you.

You laugh, “easy, Harrington. I get the message loud and clear. No need for intimidation tactics.”

“Funny, really hilarious,” he says, sarcasm dripping off his tone.

You proceed, feeling good, “honestly Amanda is really cool. Like way cooler than you.”

“Oh yeah? Hang out with her then,” he laughs.

“Maybe I will,” you smirk, “what’s her number?”

Steve reaches out and lightly tugs the end of your ponytail out of instinct. You groan, shoving his hands away from you. He puts his hands up in surrender, scurrying up the street a bit.

You laugh, jogging up the street to catch up to him. This shouldn’t be too hard, you think. You’ll be busy with school and he’s got his whole life to focus on. Maybe being friends with Steve Harrington will be easier than you think!

—————

a/n: ahhhhhhhhhhh just friends! What could go wrong! I’m not sure how long this little series will go. But if you’re still interested, I’m already working on the next part :)

tags: @httpazxnth @wwylmlive @xaimary @dogstarbytes @micheledawn1975 @ortega29 @djodirt @ahead-fullofdreams

[cycat-carisi]

Part two of Lost Love

Summary: the repercussions of your night in Chicago finally sink in for both you and Steve + a little flashback to a happier time

a/n: this one was a bit all over the place, but I wanted to give a taste of their relationship back in the day. Hope you like it :)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, slightly spicy, angstyyyyyyyy for sure

Fall 1985 - Hawkins Steve's car sat by the quiet lake as the full moon hung high in the night sky. Steam clouded the car's windows, the Cure's new album played, lightly covering the noises coming from you and Steve in the backseat.

You sat on his lap, your tights catching on his rough denim jeans. He clawed at your short skirt, hiking it high up your thighs as you pushed down into him. Steve pressed wet kisses into the column of your neck, making your throat hot and red.

You giggled, actually fucking giggled as he did this. Steve of course had something to say about that.

"I've never heard you make that noise," he chuckled into your neck, "who knew you were such a school girl."

"Fuck off," you groaned, pulling back to catch his chin in your hands. He stared up at you, eyes dark and features soft.

You lean back down to kiss him, catching his bottom lip with a tug. Steve moans, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

You moved a hand into his hair, running your fingers through the thick strands. The smell of his shampoo always one of your favorites.

The two of you stayed in the back seat for a while that night, getting to know each other's bodies more and more. You found that your nights with Steve ended like this more often these days. Starting off innocently, chatting about school or the movie you just watched while drinking shakes in the front seat. Then he was driving to the lake or back to his place when his parents weren't home, and you weren't doing much talking anymore.

Steve showed you a whole new part of yourself. One that no other boy took the time to find before. He knew you were less experienced than him, you had told him about how your last boyfriend tried way too hard to have sex with you, it was annoying so you broke up with him. So, he pushed it away from his mind and took whatever you would give him. Honestly, he enjoyed hearing you tell him, "oh, i've never felt this way before" or "no boy has ever done that to me." He loved knowing he was the first and only boy to make you feel this good.

And tonight was no different.

As Steve grabbed at you, underneath your shirt, you pushed further down into him, grinding onto his lap, loving the friction. His thumb grazed over your nipple, pressing it between his fingers as he bit down onto your neck. You let your head hang back, letting out a breathy sigh. Music to Steve's ears.

Heat puddled deep in your gut. A feeling stronger than ever before and you knew what you wanted. Him, there and now.

So you sat up straighter, firmer on his lap and smiled down at him. Steve tilted his head, eyeing your playful smirk.

"I want to do it," you state, "tonight."

"Like sex?" Steve asks, smiling.

You roll your eyes playfully, "yes, like sex."

He looks at you and pauses, eyes softening. You catch something different in his look and can't decipher it, the anticipation in your belly clouding your mind.

But it should have been obvious why Steve was looking at you like that. With soft eyes filled with adoration and lust and mostly something else. Mostly love. Steve had been in love with you for a little while now, and truthfully he couldn't pin point the exact moment. Sometime at the end of summer, he thinks, or maybe it started earlier, when you were the only person he wanted to see at his graduation.

"Not like this," Steve breathed out, the smile still etched onto his face.

But you frowned, suddenly feeling rejected, "what? why not?"

Now he feels his cheeks burn up a bit. Steve gripped your hips, sighing, "your can't lose your virginity in the back of some guy's car."

"Some guy?" you laugh.

He rolls his eyes, "you know what I mean. Just, let me make it special."

"You're such a sap," you joke.

Steve looks back at you. His tone serious, "I'm not kidding. Let me show you what you deserve."

You eye him, taking in his sentiment. The words linger in your mind.

"What about tomorrow night? I'll plan something good," he promises, "trust me."

And he did plan something good. So good you haven't forgotten about it. So sweet that it lingers in your mind nearly five years later.

Present Day - Chicago It had been a whole week since Steve ran into you at the bar, and he couldn't get the night, or you, out of his head.

He thought about you in the morning when he poured his coffee with just a dash of cream, the way you taught him to like it. He thought about you on the train as he looked into the city and imagined you moving there. You were there when he was trying to grade papers or during his university classes or chatting with his coworkers.

Unfortunately, Steve couldn't even get you out of his mind while on a fourth date with Amanda, a cute teacher's aide he worked with.

Steve enjoyed seeing Amanda. She's pretty, kind, loves kids, and easy to talk to. Everything was heading in the right direction until now. Until you.

Instead of flirting or the usual date chat, Steve stares at his drink as Amanda silently eats her plate of pasta. They had made plans at an Italian restaurant because, before tonight, it was a string of more casual dates - coffee, a walk in the park, the movies. But he had hoped tonight their connection could grow deeper, something a little more fancy and then maybe something a little more intimate. Amanda was thinking the same thing and was quite excited about this date, until now. Until seeing Steve completely dejected from reality and staring off into his half-drunk glass of wine.

She eyed him, "is everything okay?"

Steve looked up, remembering where he was and nodded quickly. He sat up a bit, "yeah, yeah. How's your food?"

"Great. I'm glad I got the red sauce," Amanda responded politely.

Steve smiled, wanting to say something else. Something witty or sweet. Something, anything to get them back on track, back to the way they were before he saw you. But he couldn't, instead he just smiled and took a sip from his wine, his mind immediately thinking about you and "want to come up?"

Why would you say that? What possessed you to ask him that?

The rest of the night consisted of awkward silences and polite exchanges. Amanda did most of the talking, but she could sense something was wrong with Steve. So, after dinner, she left him at the restaurant, telling him to call her when he was feeling better. When he's sorted out whatever's been on his mind.

And that really sent Steve reeling, because not only had you been permeating all of his thoughts this week. But you've successfully derailed a potential relationship for him. You are hundreds of miles away and still manage to fuck up his life.

He had to deal with this and take charge of the situation. Naturally, the best option was to call you and get some closure.

So that's exactly what he did.

He stood in his apartment, nervously staring at the scribbled number on the piece of paper Robin gave him. She had given him your number when you moved, just in case he ever wanted to reach out. Now's as good a time as ever.

Then there he was, phone to his ear as the chimes monotonously rang through the speaker, eventually signaling your voicemail tone.

Steve groaned. Guess we're going to leave a message.

With a click, Steve breathed out, "Hi, it's Steve. I think we should talk about what happened the other night. A lot of shitty things were said, but I don't think it should end this way. We should end this way. Uh, yeah, just give me a call and-"

Another click - the phone picked up on the other line.

Steve pauses, thinking you've answered. He calls your name into the receiver, but it's not your voice he hears. It's deeper - a man's voice.

"Hey man, she's not home right now-" the voice says.

Steve scrunches his nose and throws out, "who the hell is this?"

A pause, then, "Peter. Her boyfriend."

A heat rushes through Steve's body, freezing him from head to toe. Boyfriend?

"Look," Peter continues on the other line, "I'm not sure what you think is going on between you two, but it's best you don't call here again."

Steve's shaking his head, still trying to process what the fuck is happening.

"Let me talk to her," Steve says tightly.

"Don't waste your time,” Peter finishes, “she doesn’t want to speak to you, understand?”

Before Steve can respond, the phone clicks and the line is dead.

Boyfriend?

About 700 miles away in your Greenwich studio apartment, Peter sets your phone down and leans on the counter, unsure of what possessed him to do such an invasive thing.

But, he's heard of Steve before. Last year when you were drunk and only seeing each other for about a month, you talked about your first heartbreaks. Peter told you about a college girlfriend who broke his heart while you shyly brought up Steve.

Steve, a boy who had been your best friend in the final years of high school. The boy who understood you deeply. The boy you lost your virginity to. The one you thought you had to let go in pursuit of a better future.

Peter hadn't forgotten Steve's name or what he meant to you, even after you told him that you two don't speak anymore and it was 'no big deal.'

But something in Peter knew to remember him, and he was right.

You came home an hour or so later, after getting drinks with the girls, and were so excited to see Peter on the couch waiting for you.

You didn't tell him about what happened with Steve in Chicago. Almost like that moment and that boy existed in a completely different universe, one where you are a different person too. It was easy for you to justify your decision to keep the interaction from your boyfriend. You hadn't actually slept with Steve and there was no reason to drum up some past drama.

Similarly, Peter decided not to tell you about Steve's message. He was fairly confident Steve wouldn't call you back, and if he did - well then he'd deal with it. But for now, Peter wanted to keep you his and away from the likes of Steve Harrington.

----------------------------------

Back in Chicago, Steve stared at the phone in disbelief. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend.

Why would you? How could you? Boyfriend?!

While his brain short-circuited, the front door opens and Robin steps into their shared apartment. She starts rambling on about her late night with this one girl that wasn't ending well, until she finally looks up and catches sight of a very distraught Steve.

"You good, dude?" Robin asks, hanging up her coat.

Steve looks up, shaking his head, "I called her."

Robin pauses, immediately knowing he's talking about you.

Steve continues, "but she didn't answer. Peter did."

"Peter?"

"Her boyfriend," he says pointedly.

Robin's eyes widen, the shock evident on her face. The morning after you saw Steve, he gave Robin the entire rundown. So, she knew how monumentally more fucked up this situation just got.

Steve nods, "he basically told me to fuck off."

Robin shakes her head, remembering back to the last time she spoke to you. It was a few months ago and she was careful not to question your dating life, partly because she knew you may not be truthful and partly because she didn't want to know - for the sake of not having to tell Steve.

"This doesn't make sense," Robin says. She sits at the counter with him, and speaks quickly now, "maybe it's not that serious. Maybe they're new."

"He answered the phone. Fuck, maybe they live together," Steve groans, rubbing his face.

A flush of heat rushes through Steve’s body as he processes the information. Boyfriend? You had a boyfriend? One that you failed to mention at any point of the night? Sure, he didn’t tell you about Amanda, but they weren’t exclusive and he definitely wasn’t someone’s boyfriend. The thought that you could be in a relationship didn’t even cross his mind.

He wasn’t sure what to do with this information or how it made him feel. Steve sort of felt like you were his again for the night. The flirty touches, the dancing, asking him to come up.

“She invited me up to her room, Robin,” he stated, like saying out loud made it real.

Robin looked at him sadly. Steve frowned, “why would she do that? If she has a boyfriend why would she…”

He trailed off, genuinely trying to understand your stream of thought.

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Robin says.

Steve doesn’t respond, instead reeling over why you would act the way you did with him while having a boyfriend. He lets his mind wander to a selfish place, that you still loved him or at least wanted him more than your actual boyfriend.

Then he thinks about this person you've become. The one who would cheat on their partner. The type of person to use him as a pawn in all this.

A bitter taste crept up his throat, a bodily reluctance to thinking you could be so cruel. As his mind wandered deeper, he realized something that didn't make him mad or confused, but feel sad. He realized that he couldn't understand you anymore. That the days of knowing every facet of your mind were gone, and truthfully may have been gone for a while now.

Steve used to know everything about you. The way your eyebrows furrowed together when you didn't like someone. When your body literally buzzed after too much tequila. He knew your favorite places to eat and how you took your coffee. Steve knew what your morals were and your priorities. He knew the sound of your breath slowing as you fell asleep or when it picked up as he pressed into you, lips hot on your neck. He knew you prided yourself on loyalty and were ambitious to a fault.

Now Steve had no idea why you would threaten your relationship with a one-night stand.

Peter's warning went through Steve's mind again and he knew he should just let it rest. It wasn't his problem. You weren't his problem anymore.

But, when has Steve Harrington ever let something just slide by?

Steve picks up the phone again and begins to redial. Robin quickly pulls the phone away from him, "what are you doing?"

"Calling her back," Steve says matter-of-factly, "we have to get to the bottom of this."

"Nope, can't let you do that," Robin says, fully yanking the phone out of Steve's grasp. He reaches for it, but she holds still.

He gives Robin a pointed look, "that douchebag isn't going to tell her I called. Which is another fucked up layer to this whole mess."

"And what are you going to say to her?"

"I'm gonna ask why she didn't tell me about the boyfriend," Steve states firmly.

Robin nods, "oh yeah? While she's in the same room as him? That'll put her in a great situation."

"Fine. Then I'll say we should talk when he's not around," he pauses, really thinking this through, "or maybe-"

“Steve, come on,” Robin pulls the phone away again. She continues sternly, “why are you pressing this?”

He eyes her. She sighs, “you don’t talk to the girl in years and all of a sudden she’s derailed your whole life.”

“She hasn’t derailed anything,” he retorts, trying to convince himself more than Robin.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

Steve eyes her, “yeah. It went great.”

“Oh really? Then why are you here and not at Amanda’s place? Thought you were gonna seal the deal,” she points out.

He stays silent, knowing Robin was right. He very much let you get inside his head.

“I’m just angry,” Steve admits, “that she could do something like this.”

Robin shakes her head, “life’s complicated. She’s clearly going through some shit, so let her be. That’s all you can do.”

He nods, knowing that again, Robin was right on the nose. You weren’t actively in Steve’s life anymore, so who was he to judge your actions when he knew nothing about your relationship.

RING, RING, RING.

Then the phone's ringing in Robin's hands. She shoves it towards Steve, his eyes wide. "Answer it!" she screams.

He pushes it back toward her, "no!"

"It could be her or worse," Robin whispers, "Peter!"

Steve frantically picks up the phone, but it's not your voice on the other line. It's Amanda, saying she wants to talk about their night - why it was off.

Steve’s first instinct is to tell her that it’s not a good time and that he’ll call her back. But a selfish thought nags at the back of his mind. You aren’t his problem anymore.

She won’t derail my life.

So he tells Amanda he’s coming over to explain everything. Then he’s turning to Robin, telling her that she’s right and that he needs to forget about you once and for all.

Steve shrugs on a jacket and is out the door, slowly descending to the lobby and onto the street, walking to Amanda’s apartment. The whole time he thinks about you, the years he had with you, Peter, and that damn night.

Then he's face to face with Amanda, who's telling him she likes him and that she thought he felt the same, but tonight was so weird.

The wind rustles around them, and Steve looks up past Amanda's sweet face at the trees. He takes a moment to think about it all. Why he's so obsessed with knowing your reasoning? Is it pride? Does he still have feelings for you? Why does he even care? You two haven't spoken in years before this.

You have a boyfriend and a life in New York. Seeing each other was purely coincidence, Steve thinks, and you only wanted to relive the past. Hook up with an old fling, he assured himself. Nothing more.

So, Steve decides to leave it in the past. Maybe this was the closure he needed. To see you for one more night and realize that leaving you in the past was for the best. He could start to move on now.

Steve looks back down at Amanda and sees a way to move on. He closes his eyes and kisses her, stepping into the future and away from you.

-------------------------------------

Two Weeks Later - Manhattan

It's been three weeks since you saw Steve in Chicago and finally, the pain in your gut has subsided just a bit. The headache still runs strong though.

You've replayed your argument over and over again in your mind. Meanwhile, your subconscious has been throwing you dreams of him almost every other night. You're used to Steve popping up in your dreams from time to time in the last few years. Your more eclectic friend says its unresolved tension between the two of you. Understatement of the century.

You were also incredibly rattled with guilt, feeling awful for almost cheating on Peter and for hurting Steve in the process.

But fuck Steve for acting so righteous that night. Like he wasn't dancing with you at the club until four in the morning or holding your hand on the street. Yes, you were angry, mostly at the fact that he could still make you feel this way. All riled up over Steve Harrington.

There were bigger issues to deal with here. Like the fact that you were thinking about Steve more than you were Peter.

After three weeks of contemplation and consideration, you thought it best to break things off with him. You assured yourself you weren't ending a perfectly good relationship because of Steve. Rather, it was because you shouldn't be in a relationship so easily threatened. It wasn't fair to you or Peter.

Deep down you knew this was always the way your relationship was going to end. You'd move away to law school and he'd stay in New York and marry an Upper West Side elite his mother set him up with. Not you, some girl from small-town Indiana.

So, you ended it with Peter. Keeping a level head and a calm tone, you broke it off while he stared back at you, a hint of understanding on his face. Like he had almost been expecting it.

"He called back, didn't he?" Peter asked.

You looked back at him, genuinely confused, "what?"

He sighed, "Steve." You shake your head, the splitting headache coming back instantly. Peter continues smugly, "you don't have to lie to me anymore. It's all out there now."

"Peter, I really don't know what you're talking about," you get out.

"Really? Because when he and I spoke on the phone a few weeks ago, he had a lot to say about when you saw him in Chicago," he explains bitterly.

Steve called? They spoke?

Peter starts to get up, but you grab his arm and look up at him, "nothing happened with him. I swear."

But you didn't know if you were saying it for Peter's sake or your own. Like you couldn't admit to yourself what you almost did that night. What you wanted to do.

He gently shrugs off your hand and frowns, "It's fine. Like you said, we never really had a future together."

Then Peter leaves your apartment, and while you should be wallowing over your breakup, all you can think about is Steve and how he called you.

So you stumble off your couch and into the kitchen, reaching inside your junk drawer for your phone book. You flip through the pages to find Robin’s number. The one you knew she shared with Steve. The number only she called you from because you both knew not to risk Steve picking up instead. But this time that was exactly what you wanted.

***************

Like all good situationships, you're never single at the same time...speaking from painfully annoying life experience.

Part Three coming soon! Let me know if you want to be tagged :)