Steve x black cat! reader pls. I feel this paring is always necessary đ
Thanks for requesting!
Steve Harrington x black cat!reader ⥠625 words
You glower at your boyfriend through the dark lens of your sunglasses. âDonât come near me with that.âÂ
Steve smiles cajolingly, approaching with the sunscreen nonetheless. âCâmon, babe, you didnât come out here just to sit under this umbrella all day.âÂ
âYou know I did.â You dart your stare pointedly to where the pale rocks are growing little puddles of lake water underneath his feet. âIf you come over here and drip on my bookââÂ
âPut the book away,â he coaxes. And heâs convincing, all shiny skin and even shinier smile and his pretty hair stuck damply to his forehead and the back of his neck. One tiny strand curls inward over the curve of his cheekbone, and you want terribly to slick it back in with the others but any affectionate gesture right now would feel too close to giving in. âLemme put some sunscreen on you so you can come swim with the rest of us.âÂ
âIâm fine here.âÂ
âItâs really nice out there.â Steve sits down next to you like a mirror image, his hands by your feet and his feet next to your butt. âThe lakeâs not too cold or anything, you might like it.âÂ
You suck your teeth. âIâm just trying to enjoy my book, Steve.âÂ
He angles his head. âWhat, you donât want to spend time with me?âÂ
You angle your head right back, deadpan. âDonât.âÂ
âYou know, Max really loves you,â he says, squirting a dollop of sunscreen into his hand and starting to smooth it up your calf. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. âShe thinks youâre the coolest. Beats me why, but itâd probably make her week if you went out there.â Youâre quiet, and he goes on, encouraged. He works the sunscreen over your knee, hands chaste and purposeful as they run the length of your thigh. âPlus, you know, you can read your book anytime, but these warm days are only gonna last so long before itâs freezing and snowy outside again.âÂ
âI like when itâs freezing and snowy,â you say, setting your book down on top of your bag before one of you gets sunscreen on it.
âI know, but you wonât be getting the gun show when Iâm all hidden under ten layers, yâknow?âÂ
Steve raises his eyebrows at you, and you look away from him, biting down on your smile. You feel more than see your boyfriendâs answering grin, spreading like a blight over his pretty face. He starts on your other leg.Â
âAnd if you come hang out, Iâve got an ice cream sandwich in the cooler with your name on it.â He brushes his thumb over the side of your knee sweetly. âBeen saving it for you.âÂ
You soften. A bit. âYou could bring it to me here,â you point out.Â
Steve shakes his head, frowning as if he really doesnât know whoâs making these rules and wishes he could change them for you. âCanât, sorry. Frozen treats are only for those of us out there braving the sun.âÂ
You cross your arms. âYou make it sound so pleasant.âÂ
He takes one of your arms in his hands, disentangling your defensive stance to continue slathering you in sunscreen. âItâs really not bad,â he says. âBetween the ice cream and the cool water, you can pretend itâs winter if you want.âÂ
âSteve!â You both look out towards the lake, and Robin is waving him over. âStop flirting with your girlfriend and come back here. We need more people to play chicken!âÂ
Steve gives you a pleading look.Â
âIâm not getting wet,â you tell him firmly.Â
He grins and takes your hand, lotion-slicked palm sliding against your own as he pulls you up. âYou wonât on my team, donât worry.â
783 notes
·
View notes
I SWEAR ITS COMING - i got knocked down w covid over my winter break so it may take longer than anticipated! thanks for your patience đđ«¶đ»
iâm cooking up a theo nott fic - stay tuned
15 notes
·
View notes
itâs at 5.7k and weâre about halfway thru!
iâm cooking up a theo nott fic - stay tuned
15 notes
·
View notes
iâm cooking up a theo nott fic - stay tuned
15 notes
·
View notes
i can see you
â«ïž i can see you - taylor swift â«ïž
pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.
aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it
words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)
cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift
a/n: hi and welcome to âšrose's mental breakdownâš yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon
ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
You brush past me in the hallway, and you donât think I can see you, do you? Iâve been watchinâ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel itâŠ
Hawkins High, September 1984
Heâs so pretty sometimes that itâs disgusting.
Thatâs really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that youâre not staring.
You stare a lot.
Itâs not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you donât understand. Yeah, itâs nice⊠but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like heâs directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesnât win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, itâs not too far of a stretch.
You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steveâs arms wrap around Nancyâs petite frame and he dips her, like theyâre in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself.Â
That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!
Itâs always been like this. Youâve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that heâs dating Nancy, whoâs a year younger than him, doesnât escape your jealous mind. Youâve been in classes with him for four years, youâve admired him quietly, youâve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.
You donât think he knows you exist. Four years- and now youâre both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesnât notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop⊠pining. Or something.Â
You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.
God, you wish you could kiss him.
Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.
âFuck,â you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesnât notice you.Â
You duck around peopleâs legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.
Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again.Â
âDo you mind?â you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you donât matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you donât want to be perceived right now.
You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasnât been cleaned all year- to get to your binder.Â
And you come face to face with a pair of white Nikeâs. Ones that you know way too well, because youâve stared at them every time theyâve passed you in the hallway.Â
Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you.Â
He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it.Â
âSorry,â Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. âLooks like youâre gonna be late to class.â
You scoff. âLook whoâs talking.â
Steveâs eyes find yours again, and heâs finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. Youâve never been close enough to notice before.
He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- youâve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. âIâm always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.â
âI hope so.â He cocks his head at you. He doesnât know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you donât think he does.Â
I hope you donât stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.
You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. âThanks, Steve.â
You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you donât come off like youâre lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.
Steve hasnât moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like heâs deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.
âCause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see youâŠ
Hawkins High, April 1985
Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will.Â
Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. Youâd counted yourself lucky- you didnât think anyone was going to ask you, and people arenât allowed to go to prom stag.
It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You donât know why it hurts so much. Maybe itâs because you wanted to believe that you were someoneâs first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.
You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girlsâ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boysâ gym class is in session now, and youâre cutting into your lunch time, but you really donât want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.
Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.
Youâll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, youâre gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.
Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girlsâ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.
Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. Heâs not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.
You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and youâre basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You canât wait for that time to arrive.Â
A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.
Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again.Â
They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girlsâ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boysâ weight room.
What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasnât seen you, and you can just pass him up. Itâs fine, he hasnât seen you crying.Â
Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.
You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasnât spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldnât hold out hope that he will.Â
You definitely donât want him to notice you when youâve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you arenât 18 and capable of deciding when you are and arenât allowed to eat).
You keep your eyes down. If you donât look at him, he doesnât exist.
Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him.Â
Heâs wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that donât leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldnât be attractive. He shouldnât be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.
Weâre perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.
He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that heâll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.
Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadnât been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though heâs catching his breath.
Youâve got to be fucking kidding me.
He does it so casually, and with the way heâs sweating and his face is flushed, youâre sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you.Â
It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesnât seem like heâs been interested in anyone since. He hasnât dated anyone, hasnât flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.
You know too well what that feels like, right now.
Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If heâs still carrying a torch for Nancy, youâre sure that he doesnât want anything to do with you. Youâve nearly convinced yourself of it.
But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking youâre just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.
You didnât even think he knew your name.
You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? âUh⊠hi, Steve. You good?â
Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like heâs out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. âYeah, great. You?â
Heâs scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since heâs already seen you, and thereâs no way to pretend you werenât crying thirty seconds ago. âIâm fine. Just being dramatic, donât worry about me.âÂ
âWhen people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,â Steve muses. He looks coy, like heâs speaking from experience.Â
You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. âLogan Sawyer called off our date for prom.â
âOh.â Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. âI mean⊠that really sucks. Iâm sorry. But⊠Logan Sawyer?âÂ
âYeah.â You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When youâre done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.
âThe guyâs a fucking douche.â
âTell me about it.â
âNo, I mean it, I think itâs a good thing youâre not going to prom with him. Heâs really shitty to girls.â You look up at Steve, whoâs watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression youâve ever seen him wear. âI mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably⊠I dunnoâŠâ
âBilly Hargrove?âÂ
Steve laughs. Actually laughs. Youâve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like thereâs way more to the joke heâs laughing at than you even know about. âYeah. Yeah, heâs gotta be the worst.â
You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. âWell, Iâm not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.â
Steve frowns, and he looks like heâs going to say something else, but youâre already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.
You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, âWait. You, uh-â
You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didnât listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair.Â
Oh. Thatâs a nervous tick. You know it, because youâve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.
Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like heâs really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. âWill you go to prom with me?â
Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. âYouâll find someone to take you to prom. Iâm sure of it.â He nods a little, like heâs reassuring himself that he said the right thing.Â
You canât help the smile that springs onto your face. Itâs incredulous, of course, but he canât know that. Keep trying, baby. Youâll get there, eventually.
âThanks, Steve.â Itâs the second time you thank him in the course of the year.
But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?
Prom Night, May 1985
The dress youâre wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. Youâd just grabbed it off the rack at Macyâs, and beyond that you didnât want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, youâre here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.
Except, well.
Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like heâs two seconds from falling asleep. Youâve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a âfriend,â because youâre tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didnât want to even be here.
The speakers are playing âTotal Eclipse of the Heart,â and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth.Â
You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you donât recognize but who seems to know your date, because heâs just patting Gavinâs back. âIs he okay?â
âOh, no, heâs dying.â The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile.Â
You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. âWell, if he wakes up, tell him Iâm getting some air.â
Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.
Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.
You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tylerâs voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.
As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.
You canât believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. âWhat are you doing, skulking around?âÂ
âIâm not sulking.â
You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. âNo, skulk- like, sneaking around?âÂ
âWell, I didnât mean to sneak-â he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. âIâm just getting some air.â
âFunny,â you murmur. âI was just about to do the same thing.â
He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to âperfection,â or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you arenât as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night.Â
But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. Heâs smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.
âSo, uhâŠâ Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, âYou found someone to take you?â
You press your lips into a tight line. You donât really want to think about your date right now, but- âGavin Connelly.â
âWho?â
You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. âYeah. God, I wish I didnât know him right now.â
âWhy, whatâd he do?â Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.
âOh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.â You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. âWho did you bring?â
âKelly Palmer.âÂ
You know Kelly. She doesnât say much, but sheâs gotten a scholarship to a big art school. âDo you like her?â
âYeah, sheâs nice,â he says mildly. Unconvincingly.
You can understand the subtext. Sheâs not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.
âGuess Iâm oh-for-two,â Steve adds after a pause. âLast yearâs prom, Nance and I didnât have such a good time, either.â
You nod. It seems like thereâs more he wants to say, but he doesnât. âIâm sorry,â you offer. You donât know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancyâs relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. âProm sucks. High school sucks. These canât be the best years of our lives, trust me.â
âYeah, I hope not.âÂ
âI just canât wait to get out of here, you know,â you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. âIâm planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just⊠you know, itâs just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?â
âDunno. I didnât get accepted to any schools, so Iâll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.â Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, âI think I made too many mistakes.âÂ
You frown, chewing on your lip. âWhat do you mean?â
He gives you a heavy look, like heâs gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens.Â
âYouâve got an eyelash.â He gestures to his own eye, like itâll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.
âOh.â You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. âDid I get it?â
âNo, uh- here, I can-â Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face.Â
Steve Harrington is touching your face.Â
His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you werenât hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.
Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. Youâre inches from Steveâs face, your eyes falling to his lips.
You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.
Steveâs gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, âYouâre so beautiful.â
Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesnât say that you look beautiful. He doesnât say it conditionally, like itâs just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when youâre crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when youâre crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.
âSteveâŠâ you whisper, inching closer to him.Â
âSTEVE??!â
You jump away from him like heâs burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.
She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.
You feel Steveâs hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile.Â
âYou brought her here for a good time,â you say with your bravest smile. âJust donât pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?â
Donât be a douche. Donât be like Logan Sawyer.Â
Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.
You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. âGo get âem, tiger.âÂ
He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, Thatâs the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.
Wherever there is, itâs not with you.
Steve loops his arms around Kellyâs waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until theyâve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.
And we kept everything professional, but somethingâs changed, itâs something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so itâs best if we move fast and keep quietâŠ
Starcourt Mall, June 1985
âCome on, itâs ridiculously hot outside,â your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. âI canât believe they only have one ice cream place here.â
âIâm sure they have slushies at the-â
âIce. Cream.â You know better than to argue with her.
Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana.Â
Or⊠is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesnât matter. Youâll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.
You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shellyâs fresh perm.
Even Shelly pauses. âIs that who I think it is?â
Itâs something about the stupid little sailorâs cap and shorts, and that heâs so, so pretty in it, you think. Itâs also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. Youâre enamored with him. Thereâs no other way to describe it.Â
You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. Youâd done good, you didnât search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. Youâd even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation.Â
But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you.Â
Honestly, you donât know what youâre waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that todayâs the day that youâll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.
You stop resisting Shellyâs attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four yearsâ worth of pining wonât make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.
Heâs even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize heâs supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. âAhoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? Iâll be your captain, Steve Harrington.â
âUh-huh.â You stare at each other for a long moment. âHow much do they pay you to recite that script?â
âAbsolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.â Youâre almost sure that he doesnât. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. âToo much?â
âIâd dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.âÂ
âNoted.â He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. âI thought you were going to Chicago?â
âI leave the day after tomorrow,â you shrug. âStill time for me to burn the place down, you know.â
âWell, Iâm glad you stopped by,â Steve chuckles. âI could show you where the gas line is, then weâd all be in trouble.â
âOookay.â Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. âWell, Iâll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you donât mind.â
Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. âComing right up. And for you?â
You freeze, glancing up at the menu. Itâs written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. âUm. Iâm still deciding.â
âAll right, then. Just let me know, when youâre ready.âÂ
Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailorâs uniform.
The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeardâs Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You donât have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steveâs finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.
âAre you ready?â
âMhmâŠâ It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.
What did you say? What did he say?
âI⊠um.â Youâre sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still canât fucking read. Shellyâs already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.
âItâs kind of hard to understand, isnât it?â Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. âI hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.â
âYeah,â you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeardâs Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. âThe fuck is a doubloon?â
Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. âYou want more? We get them wholesale.â
âIâm good,â you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. âI think⊠I donât⊠I donât understand a thing on that menu.â
âWhatâs your favorite flavor of ice cream?â He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.
You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, âLETâS GO!â
âDonât tell anyone,â you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. âStrawberry.âÂ
âA classic,â he grins. âFan of sprinkles?âÂ
âI can dig a few sprinkles.â
âPerfect. I think we have something up your alley.â He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. âSex on the Beach.âÂ
âWhat?â You donât remember seeing anything about that on the menu.
He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. âItâs strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. Youâll see.â
You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, youâre thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailorâs shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.
You finally reply, âI guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.âÂ
âOh, havenât you heard?â Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. âIâm the king of cream.â
You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror.Â
He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. âDonât ruin it.â
âI think itâs pretty much ruined already.â He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. âI was doing so good, too.â
âWho says you arenât still?â You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. Youâre not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but itâs almost as if heâs⊠goofy. Heâs less concerned with appearances, heâs more laid back and willing to make fun of himself.Â
You like it a lot.Â
You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, âHere you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.â
âWhat? No, I couldnât-â
âI mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,â Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, âA million times over.â
âIâm not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,â you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. Itâs gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. âHang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.â
Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. âAfter you come back from Chicago, right?â
You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.
When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that youâd gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didnât even know him.
You winked at Steve Harrington. You said youâd kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.
You look down at Shelly. Sheâd graduated a year before you, so she wasnât there to witness every blunderous interaction youâd had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.
Now, she looks up at you coyly. âSo. Steve Harrington, huh?â
âShut up,â you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. âAs if you know everything.â
âAre you gonna try to make something out of thatâŠâ she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, âbefore school starts?âÂ
âI donât think itâs a good idea,â you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. âAnyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? Itâs just wishful thinking, probably.â You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.
âHm. Probably. How is that?â Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. âLooks pretty.â
âItâs the best thing Iâve ever tasted.â Youâre being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. âThey should give him a raise.â
Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. âCâmon. Weâve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.â
Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours.Â
The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robinâs head appears in the window to the kitchen. âThe cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?â
âI said, âthe king of cream,ââ he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. âKill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.â
âYou think youâre valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?â Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. âWe donât make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.â
âI made it up.âÂ
Robin coos, âAww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.âÂ
Steve whirls around. âLove? Who said anything about love?âÂ
âI did.â Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.
âUh, Robin,â Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. âI think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.â
âDingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.â She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. âI think you found the only girl alive whoâll find all this-â she waves her hand at him, âendearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?âÂ
âIf only,â Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.
He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.
You wonât believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait âtil you see half the things that havenât happened yetâŠ
Family Video, March 1986
The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You donât know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. Itâs not like itâs the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local schoolâs, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.
Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night.Â
This Family Videoâs selection isnât necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but itâs good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.
The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morriconeâs score plays dramatically into the empty store. Thereâs no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like youâll have to hunt them up on your own.Â
Youâre wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.
âExcuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-â
You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.
You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. âHey, um⊠long time, no see?â
âIâd say.â You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. âWe always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?â
âStarcourt burned down,â Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. âRight around the Fourth of July, last summer.â
âSo, right after I last saw you?â
Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. âYeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?âÂ
âI wish.âÂ
You pause, taking the time to size him up. Itâs amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hairâs a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return.Â
Youâre a little bit desperate to see whatâs going on in his head, if itâs anything like whatâs happening in yours.
You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But youâd pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who donât string you along, who donât wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that heâd found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that heâd moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldnât matter anymore.
Youâd stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadnât even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes youâd had with finally getting the ending you wanted.Â
You have to be honest. âYou look good, Steve. You always do.â
Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. âBetter without the sailor costume, right?â
âAww, I liked the sailor costume.â You step closer so you can whisper, âI thought it was sexy.â
Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. âWatch it. Youâre gonna give me an ego.â
âWe donât want that, do we?â You unfold the list of movies youâre here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. âGot any of these movies?âÂ
Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. âI know we have Camelot, but Iâm not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?âÂ
âIâll be here.â
âAll right- donât get up to any trouble, though. Iâve got my eye on you.â He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away.Â
âI hope you do.â You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly.Â
Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, âDo you have a doubloon?!âÂ
Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. âA what? Why are you yelling?â
âA doubloon, a f-fucking-â Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, âa chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?â
âWhy do you want a chocolate coin?â Robin squints at him. âStop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.â
Steve hisses through his teeth, and heâs got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesnât like. âOkay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only âYou Ruleâ tally?âÂ
âNo.â
âGreat. Well, sheâs here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins sheâd kiss me.â Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. âPlease, Rob, I canât let her get away again. Iâve done it, like, a thousand times already.âÂ
âOkay, Romeo,â Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. âSo youâre saying this babe, who I very much donât remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate sheâd kiss you?â
âYes.â
âAnd you donât think she was maybe joking?âÂ
Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadnât. Heâd overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him.Â
âYou know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?â Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like itâs obvious.
Steve frowns. As if he hasnât already tried that. âDo you have any chocolate coins or not?â
Robin sighs exasperatedly. âI donât think Iâve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. Youâre out of luck.âÂ
âFUCK!â Steveâs hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.
Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.
Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldnât have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy.Â
If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count.Â
He coughs into the dead air, and says, âLooks like weâre all out of The Breakfast Club.â Thereâs a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that youâve left already, for the last time.
Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.
Oh.Â
âEverything okay?â you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. âI heard some yelling back there.âÂ
âOh, yeah. Just, uh⊠shelving issues.â Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, âSorry, I couldnât find the movie for you.â
âI heard. Iâm not worried about it.â You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. âIt was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.â
âAlways.â Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section.Â
You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steveâs head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that youâd ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.
You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. âShould I askâŠ?â
âItâs the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.âÂ
Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. âI- I was gonna ask for an I.D.â
âYou know weâre the same age,â you deadpan.
âY-yeah. I, uh- I know⊠I know that.â He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.
You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. âBreathe, Steve.â
A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like heâs not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You donât know how much heâs fixating on your curves and how theyâd feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. Heâs practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and youâre here buying porn, like itâs the easiest thing in the world.
Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. âOkay, well. You know that this is a sale item, itâs not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasnât been opened.â
âI know.â
âOkay.â Heâs still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals.Â
âAre you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?â you ask mildly.Â
âNah, usually I donât care,â he replies without thinking.Â
âGood to know that you care about my taste in pornography,â you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. âIâm flattered.â
He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. Heâs right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. Itâs⊠humbling.
Heâs sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.
âIt was good to see you again, Steve.â And just like that, youâre sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers.Â
Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. âDo you- uh-â He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst.Â
Youâre back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.
âI mean⊠if you have the time, while youâre in town⊠do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?â
âOh, Steve.â You sigh, and itâs the most heartbreaking noise heâs ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. âI wish⊠you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My breakâs almost up.â You offer him a reassuring smile. âIâm just glad that you didnât completely miss me, at least.â
âRight, of course.â Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. Heâs like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. âI⊠Iâm glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.âÂ
Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- heâs asking you out, and he looks so sad that youâre saying no.
You could. But wouldnât it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?
âYeah. Maybe next time,â you tell him. You donât want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope thereâs a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe youâll find him at the Radio Shack.Â
Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop.Â
Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.
âWell. That was⊠really painful to listen to.â Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, âOn the bright side, I donât think the chocolate coin would have mattered.â
Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.
And again.
And again.
And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myselfâŠ
Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991
You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant youâve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices.Â
You had been hesitant to accept Theoâs invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicagoâs premiere Michelin Star restaurant.Â
As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, youâre greeted by a smiling hostess. âWhatâs the name for the reservation?â
âUm⊠Theo Bowman. I believe heâs already here?â
âYes, maâam. Right this way.âÂ
Theo stands as youâre shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just canât seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, youâre able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.
Logan Sawyer.Â
âYou look nice,â Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You donât often let friends set you up on dates, so youâre a little bit out of your element as it is.
As you go to sit down, you admit, âI was so glad when you picked this place, Iâve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.âÂ
âItâs not the nicest place Iâve been,â Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.
Your smile falters, for a second. âOh, no?â The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.
âNah, Iâve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. Thatâs fine dining.â Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. âThis is⊠okay.â
âI see.â You lift your menu, hoping that heâll do the same.
âYeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,â Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. âThereâs a lot more to do. Have you ever been?â
You hope this is just his nerves talking. âNo.âÂ
Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. Itâs an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochĂ©es. Coquilles Saint-Jacques GratineĂ©s. Filet au poivre vert. Youâre scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York.Â
You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the serverâs waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt.Â
âGood evening sir, maâam,â the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. âWelcome to Sur La Table. Iâm Steven, Iâll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?â
You peer up into the darkness to try to see Stevenâs face. Heâs standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.
Oh my fucking god.
Itâs got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harringtonâs face hasnât changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-
âNo, I think weâre ready to order,â Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm.Â
Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?
âWell, I was going to ask-â you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.
âItâs okay, I speak French,â he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.
You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- itâs been long enough, and youâre sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.
Heâs playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that heâs not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?
Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.
âWeâll start with the Bordeaux,â Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. âFor an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, Iâll have the canard montmorency, and sheâll have the mignons de veau.âÂ
You watch Steveâs hand pause as heâs writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? âThe veal?â
âNo,â you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. âActually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?âÂ
Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. âWe use Courvoisier.â
âGreat. Iâll have that, please.âÂ
Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, âWonderful. Iâll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, Iâll just need to see the ladyâs I.D.â
âAre you serious?â Theo snaps.Â
âItâs all right,â you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. âHeâs just doing his job. Right, Steven?â
Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. âYou can never be too careful.â You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, itâs gone now. âInteresting. Weâre the same age.â
You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you canât help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while youâre on a date.Â
You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, âIâll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.â
âThank you, Steven,â you offer just as he starts to walk away.Â
Steve shoots you a sideways glance. âAlways.â
Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.
âSo,â you begin, âwhat do you do?â
âMarketing manager,â Theo says, with a click of his tongue. âFor Bowman Wine & Spirits.â
âOh,â you nod. âNo relation, I suppose?â
âMy father owns the company.â
âRight.â God, help me.Â
Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesnât even know that you donât order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel.Â
Thatâs all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing heâs saying.Â
Steve sighs. Heâs never been much of a schemer, but heâll just make sure that you wonât leave with this guy if you donât want to.
His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.
As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request heâs written.
I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, âMeet me tonight.â Then we kissed and you know I wonât ever tellâŠ
Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite.Â
Youâre about to jump the waiterâs bones.Â
Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasnât paused for breath since. Youâve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. Itâs the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time.Â
Youâre gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but thatâs tomorrowâs problem.Â
Right now, youâre focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things.Â
âSo we got up into the Rockies,â heâs telling you, gesturing with his hands like itâll make you more engaged. âWe ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.â
âThatâs, um⊠that sounds like fun.â
âNo, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldnât move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.âÂ
You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, âWow. A near death experience must have been really scary, Iâm sorry.â
Theo frowns. âNo- I mean⊠It wasnât⊠it wasnât near death-â
âYou just said-â
âIt was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasnât scared. A little snow isnât gonna kill me,â he laughs incredulously. âIt was just-â
Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theoâs head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. âHow did you find everything this evening?â
âIt was fine.â
âThe food was wonderful,â you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other handâŠ
âYeeeah, could we get the check, please?â Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve.Â
You watch Steveâs brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. âCertainly. But first-â from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. âWe like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.â
Everything in you aches. âOh, thatâs nice. Thank you so much.â You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box.Â
âIâll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,â Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, âHave a lovely night.â
You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him.Â
When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. âWell, that was underwhelming.â
You donât want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.
You donât have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box.Â
Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms.Â
âArenât you gonna eat yours?â Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check.Â
Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. âI think Iâm gonna save it for later.â You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. âDo you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?â
âNo, go ahead. Iâve got it.â Honestly, itâs the kindest thing heâs done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day.Â
Once youâre out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes.Â
Thereâs a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought youâd be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichĂ©ed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the menâs and womenâs bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind.Â
The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, youâd left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if youâd gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms.Â
The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. âSteve?âÂ
You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where heâd been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you.Â
He sees you. And itâs all youâve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. Thereâs been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, itâs just never been the right time. Until now.Â
Finally, youâre running towards him, and Steveâs arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours.Â
You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldnât make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.
But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steveâs fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like heâs afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesnât absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steveâs tongue against yours tastes like tobacco.Â
It happens so fast that you canât even think- and you donât really want to. Youâre tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why itâs not a good time, why itâs a bad idea, why it wonât work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building.Â
You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. Thereâs a ferocity in Steveâs kiss that you donât know what to do with, like heâs trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- heâs already got you. You already chose him.Â
Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. âBeen wanting to do that since high school,â he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.
âY-you fffucking-?â you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. âI had such a huge crush on you, Steve.â
âI know. I- I should have- I shouldâŠâ Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. âFuck.âÂ
He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. âGonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?âÂ
âIâm seriously considering it,â he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. Youâre lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open.Â
Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, heâd have everyone see that youâre his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.
âWhere did you get the fucking doubloon?â you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve canât help the lovesick look he gives you.Â
He brushes his nose against yours. âI sent my manager on a treasure hunt.â You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he canât help but chuckle along with you. âI wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.â
âI know,â you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. âI heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.âÂ
Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. âTake me home, Steve.â
You donât have to ask him twice.
What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even moreâŠ
The drive to Steveâs apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, itâs as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.
âDid you notice the way he said coquilles,â Steve murmurs to you at a red light. âI thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.â
You grunt. Couldâve tried a little harder. âHe didnât even like them. He said he didnât like shellfish,â you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steveâs. âWhy the fuck would you order scallops, then?â
âThe price.â
âThe price.âÂ
Itâs sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that heâs going to culinary school now, and heâs been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.
âCulinary school? Really?â you say, with a note of awe in your voice.Â
âTurns out Iâm really fucking good at cooking,â Steve chuckles. âWhoâd have thought? Maybe someday Iâll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.â
âI can see it,â you tell him softly. âI can see you being the worldâs best chef. Three stars and everything.â
He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. âYou have too much faith in me.âÂ
âThose are fighting words, Harrington.â You wag your finger at him. âThrowing down the gauntlet?â
âYou just want me to cook you something,â Steve tuts.
âAbsolutely, I do.â You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. âAm I that transparent?â
Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. âAlways have been, honey.â His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.
The first thing you see of Steveâs apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you donât get that far before youâre sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.
Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steveâs lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but itâs still not enough. Heâs not able to feel all of you at once, and itâs driving him insane with every passing moment.
Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. âLay down.âÂ
âWhat?â you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. âHere?âÂ
âRight here,â Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. âBeen waiting too long for this- canât wait anymore.â
âI- wwhuh-?â you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you.Â
He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, âOof.â Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. Heâs adorable.
You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. âCanât even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?â
âWell, I would have fucked you in the alley,â Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, âBe thankful I even got you home.âÂ
Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. âCareful, baby. Youâre starting to sound desperate.â
Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. âCall me that again,â he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you donât see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.
You hold his gaze. âBaby?â His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. âYou like when I call you that?â
âI like when you call me anything,â Steve admits. âBut as long as you call me that, it means Iâm yours.â
Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesnât matter if itâs just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.
âYouâre mine, arenât you?â he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. Heâs flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out.Â
Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where theyâre bunching your skirt up around your hips. âYes, Steve.â Always have been. Â
He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.
Steve tuts, âCâmon, baby, youâve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?âÂ
Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.
Steve sighs, âThere she is. Yâgonna let me taste you, sweetheart?â He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He canât keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, âBeen wanting to forever, you wonât even believe-â
âPlease, Steve,â you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. âPlease, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-â
âSh-sh-sh-shh.â His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, âIâve got you, baby. Mânot going anywhere, Iâm staying right here âtil you cum.â
Youâre instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steveâs fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor.Â
Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that wonât come out, because youâve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you canât seem to get them to start again, because Steveâs tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin thatâs way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open.Â
Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because heâs been waiting for five years to tell you to, âBreathe, sweetheart.â
âFffffuck,â you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didnât even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steveâs lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. âSteveâŠâ
He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. âThatâs it, baby,â Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. âFeels good, doesnât it? Feels so right.â
Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you.Â
âPoor thingâs just so sensitive, huh?â Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steveâs voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, âRelax for me, honey. Youâve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.â
His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, âJ-just want⊠I- ha-ah! Just want you.âÂ
Steve purrs. âI know.â The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. âGod, Iâm so fuckinâ lucky.â
âY-you-?â you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. âYouâre lucky? You have n-no⊠fffucking idea-â You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. âJesus Christ-âÂ
âThere you go,â Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesnât stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. âThatâs a good girl. Mmm, felt so nice to let go, didnât it?â
You donât know if he really wants you to answer that- youâre still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit.Â
You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. âSteve-?!â
He moans in response. âJust needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckinâ sweet, I canât get enough.â Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. âStill wanna see the bedroom?â
You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom.Â
Heâs struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldnât see with the naked eye.Â
âYouâre so beautiful.â Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that heâs not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders.Â
You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that youâd worn them to a date with some asshole who couldnât treat you right, even for one hour of the guyâs miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.
âHey.â You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. âWhereâd you go just now, sailor?â
Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. âJust thinking...â he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. âJust thinking I could have missed you again if I wasnât careful.â
âMmm,â you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. âI donât think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steveâs pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. âWeâve run into each other too many fuckinâ times, baby. Karmaâs on our side.â
He laughs. âKarma.â He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.
You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. âDonât believe me?âÂ
Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. âIâll believe anything you say when youâre taking my pants off, honey. Iâm easy that way.â
Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you canât keep your hands off of him now that theyâve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. âWhat happened here?â
He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. âSome⊠animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they arenât very pretty.â
Steveâs brushing over it like itâs nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. âActually, I think itâs kind of hot.â You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, âPlus, I think you look really tasty, too.â
Steve quirks an eyebrow. âYâgonna bite me about it?â
âProbably.â You wink. âMost likely.â
Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when theyâre all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. Youâd heard the rumors. Youâd seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didnât have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.
Still. Itâs⊠a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.
He groans, and kisses you until you canât speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. Thereâs a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours.Â
âReady?â Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.Â
âDunno,â you tell him teasingly, but thereâs an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. âI think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.â
âIâll go slow,â he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. âIâll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?â
âYeah,â you agree as you reach to line him up properly. âIâm all yours.â
Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. âOh my god.â
âBaby,â you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. Heâs so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. Itâs certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you canât help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though itâs the hardest thing in the world for him to do.Â
Because it is. You canât see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didnât know it would be like this- that heâd be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started.Â
Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesnât know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.Â
You take a shuddering breath. âPlease- please move, Steve, I canât take it.â
Oh, you canât take it? âYou know what,â Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, âI think you like me.â
You snort, and kiss him lightly. âWhat gave you that impression?â
âYâso fucking cute.â Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. âCould be all those times you stared at me in class-â He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. âCould be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-â Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, âCould be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.â
He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air. Â
Steveâs lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what heâs just done- heâs marked you, right where you wonât be able to hide it in the morning.Â
You want him to do it all over your body.
Your jaw goes slack and youâre losing all integrity. Heâs even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that youâd find yourself here, under him, couldnât have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips.Â
Steveâs cock finds your g-spot like itâs nothing, like heâs known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before youâre whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind.Â
Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just canât refuse the urge to mark him the way that heâs left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.
âBiter.â You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline.Â
âYouâre so good, Stevie-â you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. âOh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.â
Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe heâd do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him.Â
But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. âYeah?â His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, âWhatâdâya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?âÂ
His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everythingâs wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.
âLike this?â you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and itâs just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesnât falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. âMm- I- I, hhuh-â
âCâmon, babygirl,â he breathes against your damp skin, âyou can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?â
You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. âYes, yes. God, Steve, I- youâre gonna make me cum, shit-âÂ
âI know it,â Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. âLove seeinâ you all drunk on my cock- shit, youâre so gorgeous like this.â He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. âYâlook so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doinâ this for the rest of our lives, huh? Howâs that sound?âÂ
How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?
âSâthat a challenge?â you whimper shakily at him. âThrowing down the gauntlet?âÂ
âI donât think I could let you go, now,â Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. âIâm never gonna let you go, baby.â
You wrap your legs around his waist. âI donât want you to.â
âI hope so,â he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.
Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.
What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see youâŠ
You almost think itâs a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But youâre surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows.Â
You flop over and stare at the ceiling. Youâre alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesnât feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.Â
You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesnât take you long to determine which one you want it to be.
Thereâs commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.
You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.
âHey, there she is!â he announces happily. âJust in time for breakfast.â
Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice heâs already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose.Â
Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.
You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. âIs it a Sex on the Beach?â
He laughs gleefully. âNah, if only. How was that, by the way?âÂ
âThe ice cream, or the porn?â
He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. âBoth.â
Heâs wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you're spiralling. Suddenly, youâre picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJâs every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, youâve already done that one.Â
But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, itâs right there. You just donât know if itâs the one that he wants. You donât really know how deep this runs for him.
Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.
âUm.â You swallow. What was the question? âThe ice cream was great. Still the best sundae Iâve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didnât get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.â
âBrat.â He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. âI hope you like it- but if you donât, you better not say anything. I donât think I could handle the pain of your rejection.â He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. âYouâre staring.â
âI-â you blink at him. You donât fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just donât get that far.
âYouâve been staring since we were fourteen,â he chuckles, sliding you a fork.Â
That startles you. âWell,â you click your tongue. âI didnât realize you were looking so closely.â
âOh,â Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink with a nonchalant hum. âJust since freshman year. When you read Julietâs monologue in English class. Remember?â
You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.
Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself.Â
âAre you telling me,â you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, âyouâve liked me just as long as Iâve liked you?â
âTold you Iâd get there, eventually.â
Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.
Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he's trying to be coy.
âEat your breakfast, baby. Weâve got a lot to talk about.â
4K notes
·
View notes
i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.
Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.
Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 8.8k
Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.
A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!
divider by firefly-graphics
August 1981
"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."
You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.Â
"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."
He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.Â
"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."
"I'll help you with your work," you say.Â
Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.Â
"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."
Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.Â
"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."
"You think?"Â
You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.Â
"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.Â
The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.Â
"Why wouldn't we?"
"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."
You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.Â
"You are not dumb, Steve."
One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.
He had made you swear not to tell anyone.Â
"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."
His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.Â
"Tommy says I am."
"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."
You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.Â
âPromise?â he asks.
âYes, Steve. I promise.â
ââKay.â Steve smiles a little. âThanks.âÂ
You nod and lay back on the floaty.Â
âWanna get ice cream after this?â he asks.Â
âJust us?âÂ
âJust us.â
Now. (January, 1987)
You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.Â
Whoops. Right. You're still at work.Â
You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.Â
Youâve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.Â
And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isnât it?Â
Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.Â
âDude!â you hear a familiar voice exclaim. âStop hogging the game!â
Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy whoâs glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where â85.
âHey, Y/N!â he greets brightly. âThis guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.â
âIâm this close to beating my score!â the kid insists.
âCome on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."
The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.
âWhoâs gonna make me? You?âÂ
You lean against the side of the game, considering.
âHow old are you?â
âSixteen,â he says.
You snort.Â
âSixteen? And youâre still on Tempest?â
He glances at you.Â
âSo?â
âEverybody your age is playing Rampage, thatâs all.âÂ
You wink at Dustin. He beams.
âAnd, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,â you add.Â
The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.Â
âSeriously?â he asks.
âSeriously. People always flock to the new games.â
Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesnât need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.Â
You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.Â
âYouâre awesome, Y/N!"Â
You grin. âI try. Where are the others?â
Dustin sours.
âThey ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?âÂ
âNo way!"
He shakes his head.
âI know, right? My friend told me that thatâs what happens in high school. People change, yâknow? And heâd know, I guess. Heâs old like you.â
You scoff. âYou make me sound like some kind of ancient. Iâm not that old, Henderson.â
âItâs okay, Y/N.â He pats your arm. âIn many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasnât been the case. But I think youâre wise.â
âGee, thanks.â
Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.Â
âWell, contrary to what this other friend says, Iâm sure itâll pass,â you say. âYou guys will hang out again."Â
You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.Â
Dustin shrugs, starting the game.
âI guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said theyâll be there.â
âWhoa, seriously? That one just came out, howâd you get a copy?â
âMy friend,â he says. âThe one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.â
âHuh. I thought Family Video was closed."
You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.Â
"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."
"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."
âYeah,â Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. âMy friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."
"Would I now?"
"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."Â
"Wow. Impressive."
"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.â
âYou would?â
The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.
âYeah, totally,â he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. âWhich one do you want?â
âPretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."
âSure. Iâll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.â
âCool. Thanks, Dustin.â
Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.
âGotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.â
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."
"'Kay!"
Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.Â
"Who do I ask for?"Â
"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"
"Unfortunately.â Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. âHe works there?"
"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."
Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.Â
The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.
"Can I help who's next?"
You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!
"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.Â
"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"Â
You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.Â
She nods in realization.Â
"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."
You wince.Â
"Sorry. If it's going to get you in troubleâŠ"
Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.Â
"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"
"Pretty in Pink," you say.Â
"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"
"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."
She grins.
"Me too. She's pretty."
"Super pretty," you agree.Â
The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.Â
"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."
You take her hand. "Y/N.â
"Did you go to Hawkins High?"
"I did. Graduated last year."
"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"
You nod.Â
"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."
"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, Iâm gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"
"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."
You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.Â
"How come?" she asks.Â
"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I⊠I just want a new start."
Robin smiles sympathetically.Â
"They're jerks," she says.Â
You huff. "Yeah."
You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.Â
Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.Â
"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."
"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.Â
She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.Â
You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.Â
The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.Â
"Have you been waiting long?"
You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.Â
Steveâs hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.Â
He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.Â
"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."
You blink.
"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.Â
"No," you manage.Â
"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"Â
He doesn't remember you.Â
You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.
And he doesn't remember you.Â
"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.
You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.Â
"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."
"I have to go," you say.Â
You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.Â
Her brows rise.Â
"Oh. Is everythingâ"
"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."
"That's okay, we can justâ"
You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.Â
Only there do you stop to catch your breath.Â
And then you cry.Â
February 1982
"What do you think about Marie?"Â
You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.Â
"Marie Iverson?" you ask.
"Yeah."Â
Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.Â
"I don't know. I don't know her that well."
"She's cute."Â
"I guess so," you say.Â
It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls orâ
"I was thinking of asking her out."
The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.Â
"Shit, here. Take mine."Â
Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.Â
"Y/N?"Â
"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."
"Sure. So what do you think?"Â
"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."
"I would, it's justâŠ" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."
Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.Â
"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.Â
"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."
"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."
Steve deflates.Â
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."
You sigh and rub your temple.Â
"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."
"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never⊠you're, like, the only girl I really know."
Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"Â
"Writing?"
"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."
"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."
He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.Â
"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."
Steve laughs, nose scrunched.Â
"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, 's justâof course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."
"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."Â
"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"
"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."
Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."
Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.
You shuffle your papers into a stack.Â
"Can we study now?" you ask.
"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."
"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."
He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.
"Lemme take you out," he says.Â
You nearly swallow your tongue.Â
"Whâwhat?"
"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."
"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."
Steve beams. "I'll drive you."
Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this yearânot that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.Â
You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.Â
Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.Â
"Just us?" you check.Â
You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.Â
"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"Â
You check your watch and close your book.Â
"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."Â
Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)Â
"Please," he says. "For helping me."
Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."
Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.Â
"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."
You perk up at that. "Really?"
"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"Â
"Okay, Steve." You ache. Youâve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."
And maybe⊠maybe your best friend is still in there after all.
Now
You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.Â
"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."
You might have overshot the perks, though.Â
Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.Â
"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."
She shoots you a mean look.Â
"I'm complaining to the manager."
You paste on a smile.Â
"You do that. Have a nice day."
She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.Â
Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.Â
"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.
Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.Â
You lean your elbows on the countertop.Â
"What'll it be, gang?"
"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."
You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.Â
"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.
"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."
Dustin accepts this with no argument.Â
"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."
You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.Â
He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.Â
"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.Â
"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"Â
Lucas nods.Â
"Yup. They're both parents."
You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.Â
"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."
"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."
"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"
Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.Â
"What?"
"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.Â
"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."
"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. IâI mean, that's what I heard, at least."
"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.Â
Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.Â
"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."
"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.Â
"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.Â
"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."
"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."Â
Dustin nods eagerly.
You blink. "He protects you guys?"
Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.Â
"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."
"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."
"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."
"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."
You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.Â
"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."
"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."
"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"Â
Dustin huffs. âYeah. They donât date. He wonât say why."
"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. âItâs obviously because heâs in love with somebody else.â
âNot Nancy!â Lucas protests.
âThere are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.â
You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.Â
When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.Â
"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"
"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."
"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"
"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."
"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.
"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."Â
"And why can't your babysitter take you?"
You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.Â
"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."
Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.Â
"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."
"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after weâre in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."
âThis would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,â Mike grumbles.
You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailorâs hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.
âUm,â you begin. âYou know I donât have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?â
âItâs cool. Weâll get there,â Max says.
âSo?â Dustin bounces on his toes. âSooo?â
You sigh. Itâd been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though youâd chickened out and ran. And itâs not like you have anything better to do.
âOkay,â you say. âIâll get you guys in.â
Dustin pumps his fist. âThanks, Y/N! Youâre my favorite old person.â
You roll your eyes. âFunny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.â
âByeeee!â
They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.
March 1983
âOkay, but if you had to choose.â
âPass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Colemanâs bald-ass head, Steve.â
Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. âSo youâre saying youâve got the hots for Benny the janitor.â
âNo!â you insist through giggles. âI donât. God, youâre gross. Canât believe Iâm being treated like this on your birthday.â
âExactly! My birthday.â
He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.
âSteve!â you yell. âCareful.â
âI am, I am,â he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. âJusâ wanna see you better.â
âI keep telling you you need glasses.â
âI do not,â he whines. âMy visionâs ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?â
He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.Â
âShit,â he says.
You belly laugh in delight.
âWait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.â
âOh, as if. Iâm not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.â
"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."
You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.Â
The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before youâre crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.Â
âSteve!â You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. âGet off!â
"âM sleepy,â he mumbles.
âWell, don't sleep on me, weirdo.â
ââS cold.â
âYou run, like, a hundred degrees, donât lie.â
He lifts his head. âSo youâre saying Iâm hot?â
âIâm saying all that booze cooked your brain,â you reply sweetly.
âIâve been wounded,â he moans and plops onto your shoulder.
âUgh.â You resign to your fate and lean back. Steveâs not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and heâs situated himself so he isnât crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.Â
âSteeeeve,â you whine. âYouâre gonna squish me into a pancake.â
âCanât believe no one else came.â
You still. Steveâs face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.
âI didnâtâdidnât want a party,â he continues. âI always throw parties. I thought Iâd do somethinâ different. Anâ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. âCept you.â
You rest your hand on the back of his hair. Itâs wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. Youâve never loved it more.
âDid you tell them your birthday is today?â you ask gently, even though you know he did.
âYeah,â he says. âTold all of âem. Guess they werenât listening.â
âI listen.â
Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.
âGod, I miss you,â he says.
You feel the wall youâve built this year crumble, just a little.Â
âIâm right here, Steve.â
âI know butâbeen a jerk lately. I know I have. Youâre my best friend, okay? Nothingâll change that. IâI love you so much.â
Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.
âAnd Iâll be better. Weâll hang out more. Notânot here, drunk. But for real. Weâll go to the movies. Yâwanna see a movie?â
âYeah,â you whisper. âI wanna see a movie.â
ââKay, what movie? Anything you want. Weâll get popcorn and Raisinets.â
âYou hate Raisinets,â you choke through a watery laugh.
âIâd eat Raisinets anytime with you.â
You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.
âLetâs watch the new James Bond.â
âHmm, okay. But youâll have to say the name eventually.â
Your nose crinkles. âI am not calling it by its name.â
His laugh is warm in your neck.Â
You donât tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.
Now
âWait.â Max stops. âShouldnât we have, like, a game plan?â
âGame plan?â El asks quietly.
âYeah. Some of us arenât so great at playing it cool.â
She stares at Lucas.
âI play it cool!â he squawks. âI am so cool!â
âRight.â
âJust let Y/N do the talking,â Will says. âSheâs technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.â
You shrug. âMakes sense to me.â
Dustin beams. âThis is gonna be great!â
âOr a total disaster,â Max says.
You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.
âSix tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,â you say. âAnd uh, one for Dirty Dancing.â
The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.
âDonât you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?â she asks. âItâs rated R.â
Shit. âRight, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend whoâs late.â
âUh-huh.âÂ
The attendant, whose bored expression youâve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.Â
âI think weâre in the clear,â Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.Â
You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so theyâre pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.Â
âOkay, last stretch,â Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. âWe just have to get past the ticket guy.â
Said ticket guy is a kid who canât be much older than you. You think you mightâve gone to school together, but youâve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.
âHey,â you say, trying to act cool. Maybe youâre the one Max shouldâve been worried about, instead of Lucas. âUh, here are our tickets.â
He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.
âPrince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,â he says.
âIâm an adult, so Iâm with them,â you explain. âIâm, like, their guardian?â
âYeah, uhââ He hands you your tickets. âNo can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.â
âCome on,â you cajole. âTheyâre high schoolers. Itâs not like theyâre gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.â
He shrugs. âRules are rules.â
âSheâs an adult!â Dustin argues.
âLook, if youâre gonna hold up the line, Iâm gonna have toââ
âYo, Gillespie! That you?â
Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.
âHarrington, man, whatâs up!âÂ
Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.
âShit, I havenât seen you in a year! Whereâve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?â
Steve flinches. Itâs a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But itâs there all the same.
âGillespie, câmon. Donât bring the party down with that,â Steve says, all sweet charm.Â
âSorry, sorry. Daisy,â he greets the girl attached to Steveâs arm.
âGil,â she replies with a giggle. âYou smell like popcorn butter.â
Americaâs future taxpayers. Terrifying.Â
âAre you gonna let us in or not?â Max interrupts, arms folded.Â
You feel a burst of pride.
Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.
âGillespie, listen. I know her.â He points to you. You bristle. âI can personally vouch that sheâs just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, yâknow? Get away from the parents.â
âItâs a sick film,â Gil agrees. âYou seen it?â
No, of course Steve hadnât seen it. He hates horror.Â
âPlanning on it,â Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. âLook, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?â
Max rolls her eyes. Youâre inclined to do the same.
Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. âHell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.â
Steve smiles thinly. âSure was. So whaddya say? For old timesâ sake?â
Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.
âWhy not. Managerâs not here anyway.â
He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.
âTheater six. On your left. Enjoy.â
The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.Â
âAppreciate it, man,â Steve says, all smiles. âTake care, alright?â
âHey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!â
Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.
âIâll catch up, okay?â he tells her. âFind us some good seats?â
She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.Â
âHey,â he says. âSorry about that. Gilâs an asshole.â
âI know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.â
Steve shrinks. âYour poems were great.â
Youâre suddenly exhausted.
âWhat do you want, Steve?â
âI just⊠I wanted to see you. Say hi.â
âOkay.â You cross your arms. âHi.â
âYou forgot your movie,â he says. âThe other day.â
âI didnât want it that much.â
âDustin said you looked everywhere for it.â
âWell, in the end, it didnât really matter,â you say. âNot enough to stay.â
âY/Nââ
âI think your dateâs waiting for you,â you interrupt. âBetter get back to her. Wouldnât want to taint your reputation.â
Steve makes a noise like heâs been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.Â
âWait.â He catches your wrist. Steveâs grip is light, like youâre something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. âY/N, I want to apologize. Iâm sorry.â
âFor what?â you ask. âFor forgetting me? I didnât expect you to remember, Steve.â
âI didnât forget you,â he insists. âI could never forget you. I wasnâtâplease, can I just explain?â
âI donât need your explanations,â you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. âI know what happened. We were both there. You left.â
Steveâs eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. Youâd thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.
So you run. Again.Â
You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.Â
You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if youâre not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?
So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.
Now it is two in the afternoon. Youâd heard it was supposed to snow today.
Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.
"Slushie?"
She looks at you like sheâd forgotten you were there. "What?"
You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"
"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actuallyâ"
Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.Â
You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless itâs to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.Â
"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.
Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"
"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"Â
Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.Â
"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.Â
"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tomâ"
"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."
Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.Â
"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."
"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."
You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.Â
"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."
"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those arenât the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."
Robin smiles a sad smile.Â
"I know," she says. "Weâre not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."
The thought turns your stomach. More? More you werenât there to protect him from?
"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."
"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because youâre important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."
"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.Â
"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."
You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.
"If you two areâ"
"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."Â
"Yeah, Iâve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."
Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."
You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.Â
"This town is so shit," you say.Â
"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."
"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."
Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."
"I can sometimes be an asshole."
"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"Â
You laugh. "We'll get jackets."
"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.Â
You look at the tape in your hand.Â
"Does Steve like John Hughes?"Â
"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."
He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.Â
"I did want to watch this one," you say.Â
"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.Â
You suppose not.
December 1984
You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.
Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.Â
Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.Â
Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. Youâre so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You mightâve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.
You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.Â
A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybodyâs moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.Â
You can't care less. Once upon a time you mightâve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.
Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.Â
"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."
There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.Â
It bothers me, youâd replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.
Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.Â
Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.Â
Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.Â
No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.
You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.Â
But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.Â
You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.Â
Now (And Forever)
The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You donât know what Family Videoâs return policy is, but you hope youâre not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.
Itâs Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.
The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steveâs house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtonsâ sign-off. Steveâs hand would cramp and youâd take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.Â
Hi, the letter begins. I hope youâre good. Robin told me youâre going to Hawkins State.
Thatâs fucking amazing. Iâm so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.
Iâm sorry for the other night. Iâm sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. Iâm kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesnât really excuse anything. I think Iâve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.
You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him heâs dumb? You want names.
I didnât forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and⊠well. I donât blame you for running.
Anyway. Iâm talking too much about myself, when thereâs nothing to say. Iâm really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didnât do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasnât really living at all. I think it was you.Â
Iâm not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that youâre the best fucking thing thatâs ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.Â
But I miss you. I always have.
Shit happened these last few years that Iâll tell you about one day, if you want. Iâd rather not, though, because youâve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said itâs an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.
I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and youâll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.Â
Fuck, I miss you. Itâs always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. Iâm sorry I didnât write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we canât say. You were right. You always are. Canât believe I forgot that.Â
Itâs okay if you donât want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I canât believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that Iâm golden and. Well, I donât know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.
Iâve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think Iâm doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, youâre going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure youâll be far away when you do it.Â
I didnât want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. Youâve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.
You should watch Dirty Dancing. Youâll like it. I did. Iâll see it again if you want. Iâll watch anything with you.
Did you know thereâs another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.
Sincer
Lo
Your friend,
Steve
You donât bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steveâs letter in hand.Â
You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he canât say them or because you wonât listen.
It isnât too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steveâs house looks frozen in time: his parentsâ car isnât in the driveway. You wonder if theyâve ever come back since youâve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.
Thereâs a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You canât sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You donât think strangers can sneak through pool gates.
You knock on the door three times. And wait.
Steveâs car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.
The door swings open.Â
Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.Â
âI got your letter,â you say.
âOh.â He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like heâs just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.Â
âI donât want to be friends,â you continue before he can speak. âI donâtâI canât do that again.â
Steveâs mouth draws into the saddest frown youâve ever seen.
âOkay,â he says softly. âThank you for telling me.â
âNo.â You shake your head. âNo, thatâs notâI donât mean it like that.â
His brows knit. âWhat?â
âIâŠâ You pull out the letter and wave it. âDid you mean it? Do you love me?â
âYes,â Steve whispers. Itâs like a shout in the quiet street. âI meant it.â
âLike a friend?â
âIf thatâs what you want.â
âWill you love me like a friend forever?â you ask.Â
âAlways.âÂ
You squeeze your eyes shut.
âI love you as something more,â you blurt, watery. âI have for a long time.â
You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothingâ
âThen Iâll love you as something more back,â Steve says. âIâll love you any way you want me to.â
And he holds you the way youâd held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. Youâve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.
âI missed you,â you confess.
Steve nods against your shoulder.
âYeah,â he says, and it sounds a little wet. âI missed you too.â
âYou were wrong,â you say into his neck.
âHmm?â
You pull back to look at Steve.
âIncredible things do happen in Hawkins.â
âOh, yeah?â Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. âLike what?â
âWe found each other again.â
6K notes
·
View notes
Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington
ă PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader
ă TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff
ă SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.
ă WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional momentâą, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.
ă WORD COUNT:Â 5.3k+
A/N:Â hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.
đ BLOG NAVIGATION
â© STEVE H. MASTERLIST â© MAIN MASTERLIST â©
â± âââââ.â
â *ïœĄïœ„ïŸ.â
. *ïœĄïœ„ïŸâ«*.
This was stupid.
Absolutely idiotic.
You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.
"There's no way you can do it."
Right.
That's why.
The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.
This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.
"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.
Not that you could blame her.
You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.
It was what you had always known.
What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.
Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.
All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.
It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.
The comparisons were endless.
"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."
"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."
"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."
"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."
It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each otherâimpressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.
But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.
The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.
It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.
It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievementsâand that included yours and Steve's.
Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.
And it only got worse during high school.
Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circlesâeven going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins Highâdown to academics and extracurriculars.
Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.
When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.
It was a constant back and forth.
There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.
And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.
This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.
In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.
You had no idea what she was even implying.
Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.
The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's vanâalong with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the backâwhile the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.
Not that you could blame them, either.
And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.
Yet despite the metal head being a fastâalbeit slightly recklessâdriver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.
Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his vanâwhatever the hell that meant.
You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.
The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.
It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.
Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.
Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.
It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.
How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?
He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him againâdefinitely not by accident this timeâif you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.
You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.
Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolestâadults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.
Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.
His comment didn't help your nerves.
Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.
But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.
So once again, it was only you and him.
As it always had been.
He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.
It only made you want to do it more.
His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.
But you trained just as much if not more than he had.
The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.
But who wouldnât get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.
Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.
You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.
"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.
"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"
"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.
"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.
But you weren't chickening out.
Never.
"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."
You ignored him.
Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.
You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.
"Listen, you don't have to doâ"
"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.
With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, oneâŠ
You jumped.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-
This was stupid.
Absolutely idiotic.
He shouldn't have pressured you like that.
The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.
And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.
But Steve could see how scared you were.
He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.
But, obviously, you didn't listen.
You simply jumped.
You and your stupidly competitive ass.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.
"You two are complete idiots."
"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.
There was no sign of you.
"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"
"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."
"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."
"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.
It was nearing a minute.
"Maybe you didn't see her?"
"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.
But he was panicking.
A minute and thirty seconds.
"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.
Two minutes.
You could never hold your breath any longer than that.
Steve knew because he always won that competition.
And that was in a calm pool.
"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"
"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and seeâ"
Steve didn't listen.
He jumped right after you.
The biting cold was awakening.
Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.
He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.
Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.
He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.
Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.
He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.
You were so cold.
"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.
Nothing.
"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"
Still no response.
"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.
His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.
And you weren't breathing.
Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.
"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.
He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.
"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.
Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.
"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.
Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.
It was the longest thirty counts in his life.
Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.
Still nothing.
"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.
Two rescue breaths.
Thirty chest compressions.
Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.
But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.
"Steveâ"
"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"
He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.
"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."
Thirty chest compressions.
"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."
Five, six, sevenâ
"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."
Twelve, thirteen, fourteenâ
"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-twoâ
"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirâ
Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.
He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.
"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.
"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.
It was the equivalent to his nickname for youâsweetheart.
Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.
Neither of you simply addressed it.
"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."
You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.
"C-Cold," you stammered.
"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.
You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.
"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.
"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.
You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.
"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"
You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didnât care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldnât give a shit.
As long as you were breathing.
"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"
"I-I'll try," you whispered.
"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."
"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.
"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."
"Right there! They're right over there!"
Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-
"So are you finally going to tell her?"
"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.
The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.
Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.
"That you've been in love with her this whole time."
Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.
"I'm not in love with her, Robs."
"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."
"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.
"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."
"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.
Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too lateâand it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.
"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expenseâshe always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.
"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshitâthat they were bullshit.
"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.
"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?
"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love withâŠ"
Steve blinked.
Well fuck.
"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."
"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."
Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.
He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"
"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.
"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.
He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."
"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.
He shrugged. "I guess we are."
"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."
It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.
"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.
The silence that followed only made the tension worse.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
Steve immediately felt bad.
"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's justâ"
He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.
"Will you come here?"
Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.
"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.
Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.
"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.
"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.
"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."
"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.
Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"
Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."
"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.
"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."
"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"
"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."
"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.
"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.
It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.
Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.
It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.
The counselors quickly found out that the little menaceâwhoever she wasâdecided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.
Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.
"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."
Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."
"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."
"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"
"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.
He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.
"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.
"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."
You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."
Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.
The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.
Now, everything was the complete opposite.
A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.
But still, it felt like that first gasp of airâa finally.
"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.
"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."
"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.
"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."
"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."
"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.
You whined.
Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.
â«*ïŸïœ„ïŸïœĄ.â
.*ïœĄïœ„ïŸâ *.
⏠thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated! ++ consider supporting me on ko-fi if you can <3
â NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibraryââââ and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!
© t-lostinworlds, 2023 â I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.
708 notes
·
View notes
âslytherin boys in a ballet auâ is such a yummy idea to me
2 notes
·
View notes
the letter
theodore nott x f! reader
summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased.
notes: jealous! theodore nott >>>
word count: 1.4k
You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall.Â
Youâre immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. âBlood hell, mate,â Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theoâs leg lightly.Â
You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, âCan someone pass the eggs and bacon?â
As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theoâs eyes zero in on your legs. âHow are you not cold?â
You frown. âI am,â you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, âbut Pansyâs demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.â
Pansy sighs, âIâve ordered you new ones, calm down.âÂ
Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You donât think youâll ever get over how beautiful he is â all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. Heâs been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer youâve known him, the more youâve fallen for him.Â
Itâs a tale as old as the world itself: youâre hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.
âMailâs here,â you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky thatâs about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients.Â
âMaybe your new tights are here,â Enzo says.Â
Pansy adds, âI hope so. Then youâll stop complaining about it.â
You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parentsâ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap.Â
âWhoâs that from?â asks Pansy.Â
You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: âFor the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.â
You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, âWhatâs it say?â
Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. ââMeet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.ââ he reads.
âWhat?â Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line.Â
âYou doing okay there, Nott?â Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesnât say anything, the letterâs paper crinkling under his grip.Â
Pansy asks, âAre you going to go?â
You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that heâs gazing at you with an intensity youâve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. âI think so,â you say. âIâm interested to see who it is.â
âBe sure to bring your wand,â Draco says. âJust in case.â
âObviously,â you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up.Â
You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theoâs silent for the whole conversation.Â
You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up â itâs not a secret that Slytherin isnât the most popular House among your classmates â but you know you can handle yourself. Youâre more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didnât say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.
You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower.Â
You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. âCacophony,â you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.
The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. Youâre about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. âSorry, Theo,â you say. âDidnât see you there. Where are you going at this hour?â
âI was going to find you,â he replies.Â
âOh,â you say. âWell, here I am. Sorry, Iâve got to drop this stuff off and thenââ
âHead to the Astronomy Tower,â he finishes for you, âto meet your âsecret admirer.ââÂ
You donât like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. Youâre about to respond when he says, âDonât go.â
âWhat?â
âDonât go,â he repeats.
âWhy not?â
He pauses before saying, âWhat if itâs someone just having a laugh?â
You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. âIs it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?â
Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he canât believe that youâre saying something so outrageous, âNo, itâs not.â
âThen why shouldnât I go?â
âBecause I donât want you to!â
âFor Salazarâs sake, Theo, you canât tell me what to do!â
âI know that!â
âThen are you trying to tell me not to go?â
âBecause I bloody like you!â
Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly canât meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. âHow long?â you ask softly, holding your breath.
âSince first year.â
You blink. âReally?â
He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, âMattheoâs right; youâre so oblivious.â Thereâs another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, âHow do you feel?â
You canât stop the smile that spreads across your face. âI like you too, Theo. Iâve liked you since first year as well.â
He echoes your âReally?â and it makes you giggle, âI guess weâre both oblivious.â
He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, âCan I kiss you?â
Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, âIâd be disappointed if you didnât.â
Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak.Â
Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.
4K notes
·
View notes
harry potter
theodore nott
the letter | one-shot, f! reader
you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased.
2 notes
·
View notes
â Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Gentle Spirit
21K notes
·
View notes
quality time - s.h.
summary: steve has some quality time with his newborn
wc:Â 1.1k
warnings: descriptions of steve's scars, dad!steve & mom!reader
a/n: so i'm pretty sure this was originally a request from an anon literally forever ago, but i cannot for the life of me find the ask, i'm so so sorry! it's been a while since i've posted, so just a lil something for y'all. hope you enjoy! <3
Masterlist
âYou wanna hold him again, love?â you ask your husband in a murmur, barely able to pull your gaze up from your newborn. Heâs tiny and perfect, and you just canât get enough of him, even after a couple of hours.Â
Steveâs perched next to you on the bed, one strong arm around your body. His thumb traces short, gentle lines over the hill of your shoulder, nose pressing against your temple as he gazes down at your son, âMhm, yeah, ifââ
âYou better not be saying âif itâs okay with meâ, heâs your son, too, Steve. Here, you take him,â you elbow him gently, knowing exactly what heâs thinking. Itâs adorable, but totally not necessary.Â
His cheeks flame red as he carefully takes the bundle of blankets from you, sheepish as he mumbles, âThatâs not what I was gonna sayââ
âSave it, baby, I know you better than that.â
He huffs but doesnât say anything, immediately drawn to his baby boy in his arms instead. He looks like a mini version of you, your nose and eyes that he loves so much; it makes his heart grow ten times bigger. He does have a full head of hair thatâs definitely the Harrington gene, though. And maybe he has Steveâs lips, too.Â
Steve pulls his arms up, pressing a kiss to his head gently before he moves towards the chair in the corner of the room that heâs claimed as his. Just as heâs about to settle into the chair, a nurse enters the room to check on everyone. She smiles at the sight of your baby boy in Steveâs arms and says, âYou know, thereâs a lot of benefits of doing skin-to-skin with your newborn. Especially for dad and baby. Helps to regulate baby, and is great for bonding with your baby. Wanna give it a try?â
You expect Steve to say no. Not that he doesnât care or doesnât want to, but you can count the number of times youâve seen him with his shirt off in public on one hand. After his time in the upside down, heâs marred with scars. Deep ones that eat into his sides and pucker his skin, that are rough and not pleasant to look at. The first time heâd gotten up the courage to take off his shirt at the pool, scars still fresh and pink, heâd gotten incredulous looks and nasty stares. Heâd quickly learned that it was better to keep his clothes on to keep the questions to a minimum. He wasnât ashamed, it was just easier that way. The only times Steve took his shirt off in public was if it was around people who knew what had happened, and even then, sometimes he didnât want to. The scars were a reminder of all the shit theyâd been through, and sometimes it was easier to pretend they didnât exist.Â
So, to say youâre surprised when Steve immediately agrees is an understatement. You watch in shock â and admiration â as Steve hands your son back to you for a moment so he can pull his shirt over his head. In fact, youâre not sure youâve ever seen him remove his shirt so quickly, even after all your years together. The bite-shaped scars, though not as prominent as they once were, are on full display, still slightly pink and raised against his tan skin. If the nurse notices, she doesnât say anything; she only smiles, suppressing a laugh as Steve trades you his shirt for your son.Â
He takes him carefully, as if your son is made of glass and could break at any moment. He handles him so delicately it makes your heart burst, and you cradle Steveâs shirt to your own chest. Steve finally sits down, placing his little boy in his lap so he can unwrap the blankets and get him out of his tiny onesie. Itâs so small that it nearly makes you cry, even more so as you watch your husband lift your son back up and lay him against his chest once the onesie has been set aside.Â
He pauses for a moment, not quite comfortable in the chair yet, eyes flicking to the nurse in the corner of the room as he asks, âItâs notâ heâs not gonna be too cold, right?â
âNot at all! Skin to skin is actually great for regulating a babyâs body temperature. Heâll be just fine.â
Steve considers what sheâs saying and then nods, finally leaning back into his chair, holding your boy to his chest, âYeah. Okay, yeah, thatâs good.â For someone who had been almost as terrified about being a dad as he was excited, heâs taking to it quickly, just like you knew he would. You knew his insecurities had more to do with his parents than his own ability to be a parent, and so far, heâs already proving himself wrong.Â
The newborn scrunch is in full effect, your sonâs tiny limbs tucked mostly underneath his body against Steveâs chest. He looks content, and you honestly canât blame him â Steveâs chest is also one of your favorite places to be. Your husband looks just as content; one hand covering the entirety of your sonâs back, fingers behind his head for support, the other hand on his small, diaper-covered bum to keep him in place. Steveâs eyes flutter closed after a few moments, settling back into the chair comfortably.
Thereâs a Polaroid camera sitting on the bedside table next to you, and you reach for it so you can take a picture. You want to remember this. Not only for the sweet moment, but also for Steveâs clear and immediate love for his little boy. The noise of the camera is a lot louder than you anticipated, and Steve cracks one eye open, sending you the best fake glare he can muster with just one eye. Itâs ridiculous and it makes you laugh behind your hand, not wanting to wake your sleeping baby. You murmur a half-hearted apology as the picture prints, not really meaning it.Â
Steve snorts his own laugh, his chest moving enough for your little boy to grunt quietly in protest, shifting his position against Steve. Quick to soothe, Steve pats at his tiny back gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, âI know, I know, Iâm sorry, sweetheart. Mamaâs interrupting our quality time, huh? She had nine whole months with you, and she just has to interrupt us.âÂ
âSteve,â you giggle, shaking your head as you hold up the now developed picture, âI was trying to capture the moment!â
âShhh, weâre bonding!â
2K notes
·
View notes
about me
name nove
prns she/her
ethnicity east asian
age twenty
signs scorpio sun : cancer moon : sag. rising
mbti esfp-t
writes for ppcu, marvel, harry potter, outerbanks, six of crows/crooked kingdom, steve harrington [stranger things], dc comics
currently reading demon copperfield by barbara kingsolver
currently listening get him back! by olivia rodrigo
currently watching one piece la [rewatch]
0 notes
marvel
moon knight system
dates deferred | one-shot, f! reader
three times your dates with steven, marc, and jake are ruined and one time it goes sort of smoothly.
4 notes
·
View notes
MASTERLIST
harry potter
marvel
ppcu
3 notes
·
View notes
NAVIGATION
NOVE : s/her â twenty
masterlist | writing tag
fic recs
RECENT : the letter [theodore nott]
4 notes
·
View notes