strangersyet

[strangersyet]

And I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar - S.H

Steve meets a pretty girl in the woods just when he needs to

A/n: love at first sight, nervous flirting, pinning

Warnings: none 

Word count: 1.8k

Winter, 

She had seen him before. Maybe in town more recently, maybe back when she was in school longer ago, but she had seen him. Steve Harrington. He looked different now, his hair was longer and he seemed taller, and she kept finding him in the woods. 

Walking the same path every day, never looking like he was dressed warm enough for a Hawkins winter. He was always alone, silently wondering, only stopping when his shoe got caught on something or when his scarf was stuck on a tree. 

He looked softer then she remembered, not that she remembered much. He fitted much better than she would imagine him too. He never saw her; she was always going another way, walking home or following the tree to the iced over lake. 

She wouldn't dare say anything to him. She didn’t want to bother him, they just passed in silence. She would miss him today, time had gotten away from her and it was later then she usually headed out the door with Dasher at her feet. 

It wasn’t like he was waiting for her, he didn’t even know she was there but she still had this funny feeling about not crossing paths. 

But for the moment the woods were empty. It was just Steve and that awful mixture of rain and snow falling around him. He had started wandering through the forest on the first of January and he was determined to keep it up, the frozen air made him feel lighter and the little animal prints in the snow made him feel insignificant in a good way. 

In the way that made everything the town thought about him no longer of any importance because who could care about reputations when there were herds of deer living deep in the woods, running through the snow covered trees, when there were rabbits sleeping in bushes trying to keep warm. 

The woods made him very small, it was a way he had wanted to feel for a while but he just guessed he hadn’t known it before. 

Steve’s hands were tucked away in the pockets of his coat. He had lost his gloves a few days ago, they must’ve slipped out of his pocket at one time or another.He couldn’t admit that his coat was keeping him very warm though, his hands were still freezing. 

That horrible winter weather was settling in with Christmas gone, it no longer felt cosy anymore. His house felt bigger without the tree, his kitchen didn’t smell of sugar cookies and more and everything was just gloomy. He hated that word but it was the only one he had right now. 

He was suppressed when he saw there were still some marks of the festive season left behind. Warm string lights were shining through the trees, glimmering just enough to be seen. He had gone out later than usual today, meaning that everyday he had walked this path he had missed them. 

Someone, whoever lived there, had left their Christmas lights hanging up on their home straight through to January and whoever that person was would never know it had made Steve smile.  

He would’ve been so inclined to keep his up but he would’ve gotten too many looks off his neighbours and then he would’ve felt like he was doing something wrong so it was better to just take them down when everyone else did. 

He wasn’t sure why but he followed the lights with the most innocent of intentions, he just wanted to see the house they belonged to.  There were a few stray cabins in this part of the woods but no real homes, no porches or mailboxes. 

At least he thought there wasn’t until he saw the wooden fence, complete with a frosted over mailbox outside, right in front of a little white house. It wasn't that small but the trees made it look like it could fit in his pocket. 

When the door opened he suddenly felt like he was imposing, like this perfect thing he had found, this home, with soft lights and glowing lamps behind fogged windows wasn’t for him. He would ruin it somehow, taint it if he got too close. 

It was a horrible thought to have, that he could hurt some little snow covered house in the middle of nowhere but with the way he had been feeling about himself he couldn't help but believe it to be true. He ruined most good things, why not this too?

He was going to step away, to go back to his normal path, to walk home and spend the rest of his evening and most of his night imagining how peaceful it might feel to live here, alone in the woods, hidden away from everything. 

But with the open door came a cat. Its little white paws were hesitant in the snow however it was only for a moment before it rushed out, leaving its footprints behind it. For a second he almost recognized them like he had seen them before somewhere. 

It was brown all over with the smallest hints of fluffy white fur on its nose and its paws, it looked like it was waiting for someone, it didn’t dash off up the trees, it sat patiently by the wooden fence and waited.

So Steve waited too. He couldn’t just leave some poor cat out in the cold without making sure it wasn’t going to run off, and he also wasn’t sure if his feet would let him walk away. He seemed stuck there, waiting for something. 

That was when he saw her. Bundled up in a soft white coat, a matching scarf around her neck and gloves on her hands, everything one would need to keep warm in the beginning of the year, everything Steve had either forgotten or seemed to have lost. 

And she was pretty, pretty like sparkling fresh snow, like glitter on the floor after new years eve, like a red ribbon on the perfect gift. He was lost in it, in how he felt as if he already knew her, as if they had met before. But he would’ve remembered someone who looked like an angel. 

The cat curled around her feet, covering her in its fur. That was the only thing he didn’t like about cats, if they liked you, they loved you, if they didn’t, they scratched your ankles. This cat loved this girl, that was evident from the way she leaned down to scratch its head and Steve could practically hear it purring. 

He imagined he would purr if a girl like that touched him, then he felt terrible for thinking like that. He had to turn back, continue his walk and wonder why his mothers cat had hated him so much as a child and not wonder if her skin would be warm or cold if he dared to kiss it. 

But he wrongly stepped on a mess of fallen branches, a collection of twigs most likely formed by some little woodland animal, and then he heard the softest Oh he had ever been lucky enough to hear. 

She had seen him, or heard him rather. Her gaze fell to his shoes, to the damp ends of his jeans. The poor boy looked freezing and once again, not wrapped up for winter weather. The puddles of melted snow and fallen rain must’ve caught him out and now, from where she stood at least his skin looked like it felt ice cold.

She didn’t mean to have pitiful eyes but she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t not look at him with  sorrow because why had no one told him to get a thicker coat or to wear a scarf. “Are you-” Her voice got lost in the wind for a moment, her sudden quietness had nothing to do with how nervous she was. “Are you alright?”

Was he? He was freezing and his aces were all tangled now and the parts of the tree that were not sticking into his ankles were properly mocking home right now. Strangely he didn't mind it all, normally he would but someone, no, a nice girl he couldn't recall the name of but now definitely knew. Was asking him if he was alright. 

“Yeah. I’m- I’m okay.” He didn’t even sound convincing to himself. Her head tilted to the side, she saw right through him. “I swear.” Steve looked her right in the eye, making sure she knew he was okay because for some reason this girl was worried about a stranger. 

He wasn't sure when he had got so much closer to her, but he wasn't standing on and braces anymore, and she was no longer behind the fence. Had he seriously taken several steps and not noticed just because she had starry eyes. This couldn't be good. 

Her cat, he guessed it was hers since it fitter her too well not to be, had ventured off a little and was playing in the snow, he didn’t know who to pay his attention to more, the girl standing before him or the cat trying to catch nothing.

“Just took a wrong turn.” That was a lie, there was no wrong turn but admitting he had followed some lights and ended up here by following some kind of invisible string felt foolish even for him. 

“Happens to the best of us.” Oh. She was kind, she had a heart made of crystal glass he could just tell.  She tucked her hands safely away in the pockets of her coat, she would be fine out in the cold. 

He wasn’t sure why but her wellbeing suddenly felt very important to him. His own pockets were not helping him keep warm, the rain hands soaked his coat and the chill had frozen it, it felt like there was a thin layer of frost on his hands. Hers would be warm, they would fit in his too. 

“Which way are you going?” She looked taken back that he even asked, and if he really studied the look on her face she actually looked flustered. Flustered by him, he hadn’t done anything flustering but he guessed she hadn't either and his face was still burning red. 

She glanced to her left, to the direction of the lake that was always frozen over this time of year. It also happened to be the way where she got to see him. Just for a moment, he was much nicer than she had thought he would be, much dreamier up close. 

“Be careful it's rather icy that way.” He softly smiled at her. It was the kind of smile that would make someone fall in love with him. 

“I will.”

[strangersyet]

There's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear - S.H

Steve’s completely and utterly in love with his best friend

A/n: friends to lovers, valentines theme, florist!reader, love confession 

Warnings: kissing, 

Word count: 3.8k

February, 

She always smiled when she saw him. She always said she missed him, and if there were no customers she ran to hug him. It didn't matter if he had seen her the evening before or that same morning, she always seemed to miss him no matter how long it had been. He understood that more than she knew, he felt it with her constantly. 

The windows were a little misted up that evening. Fogged up in the corners like it was always meant to be like that. It got colder the second the sun set but no matter the time of year, no matter if it was snowing or raining, after Steve’s day ended he walked right down to the florists to see her. 

It was pretty inside, he imagined it was supposed to be like that but sometimes, almost all the time, he liked to give her credit for it all. For the perfectly placed flowers, all somehow fading into one another, soft blues into bright pinks. 

And that oh so pretty smile when she saw him, standing outside with his hands in his pockets, a boyish grin on his lips no matter how tired he was, his fluffy hair and his unfixed collar. 

It was busier today, so she gave him a little nod to come inside, sticking her nose up like a cat rubbing against his leg. He wasn’t sure how it was possible but everything she did was cute. 

He wouldn't get to hear the bell above the door ring right before she crashed into him today, running out into the cold just to greet him like she normally would, he crossed his fingers for tomorrow. 

“Sorry.” She mouthed as he walked in, her eyes so soft that his heart could’ve broken right there all over the lavender. It was like every time they were apart he forgot how one look from her made his knees weaken. 

Steve wandered around for a little while, keeping his hands at his sides, careful not to break anything, just waiting for things to slow down. Really, he could have just gone home, he could’ve got in his car and headed straight back, none of his friends would’ve waited around like this. 

But he was content with waiting and he liked the little walk to his car where they talked and he liked how her perfume stuck to the seats long after he dropped her off. 

He also liked watching her. Watching how she smiled at every single person who walked through the door, even though he knew she was shy, she forced herself to be kind and that accidentally made Steve a little jealous at times. How she lit up when someone asked her a question or how she softened over when someone came in and told her they needed flowers for a girlfriend or a boyfriend. 

When it died down and they were left alone, Steve went and leaned on the counter, just like she did when she visited family video, they always seemed to be leaning towards each other. 

The corners of his mouth were already flicking up without permission, he guessed he had missed her more that day. She had pretty specks of gold and silver by her eyes, it always made him do a double take. He pressed his nails into his palm to stop from brushing the fallen glitter from her cheek. 

Steve hated her makeup, he hated how it made him want to touch her, how he wanted to fix her shiny lip gloss and accidentally linger a little too long on her lips. Honestly he just hated that he wasn’t her boyfriend and he wasn’t allowed to do those things, that she wasn’t his girl and he couldn’t just-

“I have to stay late today Stevie.”

His eyes darted back to hers, away from her lips, hearing her pretty little nickname for him made the blood rush to his head, and it somehow made it feel a lot hotter than it was. No one else called him that, he didn’t care for it until she started saying it and how could he ever correct her. 

“No.” He pouted, eyes dropping into a puppy-like stare, hoping he could play on her heart a little and make her come with him. It was selfish and childish but knowing he was the one that got her home every night, that he was the one telling her about plans with their friends, made him feel more important to her. 

Her eyes softened with sadness, which at least told him she didn’t want to stay either, that she wanted to go with him too. 

“I’m so sorry I was going to call and let you know, and now you’ve walked all this way- and It’s freezing.” She glanced outside the window, as if there was some horrible snow storm coming down and it was all her fault. “Steve, I feel awful.” She put her head in her hands, even when apologising, for something she didn’t need to, she was adorable. 

He placed his hands around her wrists, pulling them away, trying not to smile too hard. He could feel her pulse under his fingers and the patterned thumping almost made him drop to the floor. He swallowed down hard, letting her go, trying not to think about dragging kisses along the inside of her wrists. 

“Can I help?” Steve’s voice cracked slightly, he just hoped she didn’t catch it. He didn’t mind all the pollen making his eyes itch if it meant he could steal a little time with her, and maybe if it got late enough and they were tired he could tell her. 

He wouldn’t but he liked to think about doing a lot. 

Her eyes lit up and he swore he could have kissed her, just for the sake of kissing her, nothing more. “You want to?” She asked, nervously-excited like he hadn’t already implied it. Like he wouldn’t drop everything for her in a heartbeat. 

Including sitting on the floor crossed legged surrounded by ribbons and paper hearts. Valentines day was just two weeks away, and the one girl he wanted to take out was sitting across from him, tying pink ribbon and looking unbelievably gorgeous while simply just existing. 

She never noticed when he was staring, it sounded foolish but when he was busy looking at her like she held the stars, she was helplessly too caught up in his puppy dog eyes and his soft smile to see it. 

When Steve drove her home after her shifts, he always opened the car door for her, he always played the cd’s she liked even if he didn’t like them so much. And she still didn’t know. The whole town knew he was head over heels but she was far too busy daydreaming about him to notice. 

He always looked extra pretty when he drove her home, the passing street lights and the warm orange from the car light made him look golden. She doubted there was any kind of light that could make him look bad. He always just looked right. Everything fitted him and it made her head spin.

Right down to the way his car smelled faintly like cigarettes and Obsession cologne.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve leaned back against a table leg, clearly uncomfortable but clearly not wanting to say so. 

He wasn’t going to tell her that sitting on the floor like this was making his legs ache like he had just been running around town three times over. She would’ve told him to stop helping her and to go home and he really didn’t want that.

Steve had been watching her for a while and slowly she had started to lose focus and almost seem to drift off somewhere. He knew because he found himself doing it so often around her. There were many mislabelled tapes lying around at family video just because he was thinking about what perfume she was wearing the evening before and why it made his head spin.

His voice made her flinch slightly, not in a bad way, simply because she was so busy thinking about him that she forgot he was sitting in front of her. She felt the blood rushing to her head, like Steve could somehow know he had caught her out. 

“Nothing.” She didn’t mean to stutter but when he had moved he had started leaning his shoe against her knee, it was harmless and he probably didn’t even notice. However innocent it was, it didn't stop her heart from thumping. “Why?” She hated the way her voice cracked. 

He nodded his head towards her crossed legs. “You're cutting it wrong.” He smiled softly, not for one second wanting to make her feel bad. 

“Oh.” 

There was a mess of ribbons and paper in her lap, Steve was right, she really hadn’t been paying enough attention. She really was starting to wonder if he knew. Was it obvious when she was thinking about him? 

The following week the entire town seemed to be covered in pink and red with flowers in every store window. It made Steve smile as he walked, it was like seeing a little reminder of her everywhere. Because like always, he had missed her all day like he hadn’t seen the night before.

It was strange, he should've hated everything about Valentines, he was lovelorn for a girl who was one of his closest friends. But it was hard to be miserable while being in love with her, no matter if she didn't feel it back. 

Sometimes it hurt, sometimes his whole body ached, but then she'd smile at him or talk and it would be worth it. He got to the florists, he hadn't remembered how, he guess he got too caught up in thinking about her, but he was here now.

The little bell above the door rang as she came out to greet him. She had no idea how hot the back of his neck had gotten from just seeing her, And when she threw her arms around him, he worried she might feel the thumping of his heart through his coat. 

“Oh, Stevie, I missed you.” He smiled, holding her a little tighter, his hands spread across her back. “The ride home was so much quicker last night.” She pulled back, pouting a little, he was so very glad she agreed with him. Even if it took the same time as always. 

“I know but at least we can hang out tonight.” He took the keys from her fingers, he always locked up for her this time of year. Steve hated her getting cold hands because she was fussing with the door lock. 

He wasn’t just driving her home tonight, they were heading to some bar Robin had been obsessing over. Steve didn’t care for crowded or even empty bars much anymore but he doubted he could’ve gotten out of it, plus the second Robin said that the girl standing beside him, waiting for him to lock up was going, he knew he would be too. 

She smiled at that. “Sounds like a plan.” She started to walk off, she knew where his car was, and she knew Steve would follow. 

Everyone was talking over the music playing, huddled up in some corner even though it was Hakwins and the bar was half empty. He didn’t mind that everyone was practically sitting on top of each other because Steve was sitting next to her.

Her thighs were pressing into his, their knees accidently touching every time the other moved even just slightly. And every time she laughed or spoke, he was the first to hear it. He could feel the heat coming off her, it only made the perfume sitting on her neck stronger, but being this close made Steve more quiet then normal. 

How was he supposed to talk or even join in in any conversion happening before him when she was right there. Lips smudged with something shiny that could easily become sticky, eyes batting away like she had no idea what she was doing to him.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her in front of all their friends. He wanted to kiss her hidden away in the bathroom just for them to know. He wanted to kiss her everywhere. 

“Right Steve?”

He turned hearing his name and hurt his neck from the sudden snap of attention. He really hadn’t been listening and suddenly everyone was looking at him, and some of them, mostly Robin and Eddie, seemed to be laughing about something. 

The girl beside him looked bashfully at the floor, what had he missed?

“Yeah.” Steve wanted nothing more than to be left back out of the conversation. They seemed to take his voice breaking response, which was slightly embarrassing, and carry on talking amongst themselves. “What was that about?” He whispered to the girl next to him. 

“They were just joking about-” She stopped herself, she was nervous, he could always tell. “About, about you staring at me.” She continued staring at the floor like she didn’t find the joke funny at all. He didn’t either.

She hadn’t thought he was staring. She presumed everyone was making a joke that she just didn’t understand. Why would he be looking at her and why would that be so funny to them? But then the red hint in Steve’s cheeks gave him away. 

Maybe he had been staring. She looked at him and it felt different, she felt different. She was flustered now, more than she ever had been when any other boy had looked at her. And there was something darker in his eyes, something wanting that made her lips suddenly feel so unused.  

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the night, better yet, Steve didn’t talk much. He just whispered to her when he had missed something or when he was asking her if she wanted a drink. It made her wonder why he had even gone.

They left together because they always did, someone else could't given her a ride home but Steve always did so why would they. It wasn’t even a question anymore, he was just always willing and ready to get her home safe. 

He grabbed her hand to lead her out after saying goodbye, it wasn’t busy enough for him to have to do it but she didn’t let go. He held her hand gently but there was no chance of her slipping from his hold. She didn’t think her hand would’ve let her let his go anyway, so instead she squeezed his hand back and followed him outside. 

Steve let her go the second the cold air hit, maybe his hands were just cold but it still made her heart sink. It would’ve been nice to hold his hand for a little longer, it would've been nice to stay longer too, not for the drinks or necessarily the comply, but because it was nice sitting so close to Steve. 

She could’ve rested her head on his shoulder and stayed there all night if he wanted. 

He stopped, right in the middle of the road, by where his car was parked. She almost walked right into him, too preoccupied thinking about how much bigger his hand was to hers. He was breathing deeply and quickly, it must’ve been the cold. 

But she wasn’t so sure because when she looked up at him, he had this look in his eyes, something she could’ve mistaken for being afraid but she couldn’t tell. He almost looked sad in a way, kind of like his heart was hanging vulnerably off his sleeve. She didn’t know what he could’ve been so twisted over, nothing had happened. 

Unless-

Steve stepped forward, the ends of his sneakers brushing hers. It made her lightheaded, she could practically taste the peppermint on his tongue, mixing with the Pepsi he had drunk. It was completely head spinning and he was getting too close. They had never been this close before, had they?

She felt the air getting thinner as her eyes fell on his lips.

She stumbled back slightly, her back hitting against his passenger door. She never moved away from him on purpose, she always leaned towards him but having him so close was making her nervous. Steve only followed her. 

He was warm, she could feel the heat coming off him, or maybe he was just making her hot, she couldn’t tell anymore.

He went to say something, parting his lips but letting no sound out. He just kept breathing in like he had forgotten to breathe out. He placed his hand on the roof of his car, trying to steady himself but for her, that only shut everything else out. All she could think or feel was Steve. Steve, Steve, and she-

“Can I kiss you, please?” He sounded desperate, they way he said it was so sweet, so Steve. He wasn’t just asking to kiss her he was begging, his eyes were soft and sad and he wanted to kiss her. No one had ever said please when asking to do anything to her before. 

She nodded, quickly. She didn’t think she could have spoken without stuttering or making a fool of herself. He pressed a hand to her waist, his thumb digging into her soft skin, making her feel jealous of every girl who had been in this position before. 

He tilted his head down, lips just ghosting over hers for a moment, his nose nudging against her own. As he wet his lips in anticipation he accidentally touched her bottom lip and that was enough to break the softness of the moment they were having. 

Suddenly he was kissing her. Pressed up against his car in the middle of the street. He really did taste like Pepsi and peppermint, she hadn't imagined that. The taste of him glossed over her lips and she barely noticed Steve’s hand leaving her side just to wrap around her wrist and put her hand on his neck. 

The car door was cold against her back but she didn;t mind because Steve’s hands were warm, his neck was hot and his lips were burning. “God, I love you.” She heard him mutter between kisses and her heart stopped. 

It was all she had ever wanted to hear him say and yet she was completely unprepared for how the words from his lips would stitch onto her heart with the sharpest needle. He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, this time breathing out too.  

His eyes were closed and he looked prettier than ever with her lip gloss smudge across his face and his cheeks flushed red. She found she quite liked having her hands around his neck, she tagged her fingers in his hair, not missing the slight groan he made at the feeling.

He looked down at her, that little hint of fear back in his eyes. She wanted to kiss that feeling away, like he had done for her. She decided on admitting what she had known for a long time instead. “I love you too Steve.” 

He instantly smiled, a boyish, lovesick, Steve Harrington kind of smile. He held her face delicately, tilted her jaw up, rubbing his thumb over the corner of her lip. “Hey,” He quickly kissed where his touch had traced, making her smile. “What are you doing on Valentine's day?”

She shook her head and he laughed softly at her. He couldn’t be doing what she thought he was, she had just told him she loved him, he had told her he loved her, he couldn't be asking if-

“Wanna go out with me?”

Oh sweet Steve. 

He turned up at her door on February fourteenth, a collection of pink and orange Lilies in his hand, tied together with a white ribbon, he hadn’t got them from her so he must’ve gone out of town. The little sentiment made her heart leap. 

He had sweater hair, like he had been rushing to get ready and pulled his red jumper over his head and forgotten how the static made his hair so fluffy. He looked soft and sweet, and that was before she even noticed the red vines in his other hand. 

Steve’s eyes flickered over her little dress, over the wool cardigan keeping her warm, it was a soft pink that made the white of her dress look even more pure. She looked like how he imagined this holiday would look if they were a person. 

“You look, you’re-, always so-” She felt her face burn, he was stuttering because of her. He stepped through the doorway, feeling like he might just fall to the floor at any moment. “You’re just so pretty.” 

His eyes never left her as he said it, he was shaking his head like he almost didn’t believe it. He handed her the flowers, smiling at the way she held them close and breathed them in. She was already saddened that one day they were going to wilt and die, she'd have to keep the ribbon somewhere for safe keeping. 

“You’re pretty too Stevie.” She didn’t mean much by saying it, she was so busy looking at her flowers that the thought just slipped past her lips in a soft mutter. She shut her door and went to place them on the kitchen table, he just followed her like she guessed he would.

The blush in Steve’s cheeks came out, spreading a little to his neck. The freckles that dotted across his skin were always such a distraction for her, the way his neck strained was too, and now she could add how it looked flushed to her list of distractions. She wondered what it might be like to kiss his neck. 

His hand slipped over the backs on one of the chairs as he stepped closer to her, she stayed still this time, anxious for him to be nearer. 

“Stop you’re going to make tonight torture.” He breathed out desperately, making her head hurt, not knowing that her simple words had made his entire soul ache for her. 

He held his hand to her cheek, smoothing her skin with his thumb, catching her eyes in the sparkling chandelier hanging above them. The light touching across his face made him look kissable, not that he didn’t before, but it was somehow worse now.

She swallowed down nervously, last time he had kissed her it had been perfect, but this moment felt a little different, they knew what it was like now, and Steve hadn’t kissed her again since, he said he wanted to take her out properly first, which had been torture, 

“You’re the one doing that.” She whispered to him, hands getting lost in his hair as he smirked down at her. She pulled slightly, letting him know she wanted nothing more for him to kiss her again. Their plans for the night slowly slipping away, because once Steve kissed her he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

[strangersyet]

Lipstick on your face - S.H

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Steve is over at his girls house for the first time

A/n: boyfriend!steve, fluff

Warnings: kissing

Word count: 1.1k

“I’m nervous.” She couldn't help but smile as Steve hid his face away in her neck, lips brushing her skin, his nose a little cold. She already knew he was nervous, she could tell by the way he had sat in the car for so long, or how long it actually took him to get into the car in the first place.

She ran her fingers through his hair, pushing him back a little, trying to get him to listen. “My family don't hate you Stevie.” 

He raised his brows at her. But she wasn’t lying, they didn't hate him, they just weren't very keen on him and she often avoided bringing him up at the dinner table but they couldn't sleep at his house forever, she wanted him to stay in her room every once and a while. In her pretty pink sheets. She wanted to see his toothbrush in her bathroom. 

“You’ll be fine.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the mark of lipstick she left behind. It wasn't nearly a long enough kiss but Steve didn't need to be caught with his tongue down her throat in the middle of the hallway. “We’ll say a quick hello then we can go up to my room.”

She flinched slightly and looked down the hall when she heard something clamouring in the kitchen, her own nerves taking over a little. It didn't matter to her what they thought of Steve but it did matter to her how they treated him and everyone in town was so stuck on king Steve, she hoped they could forget about that.

“Oh yeah?” She felt a hand between her shoulder blades, familiar fingertips brushing her bare skin, making her stomach twist. “Your room huh?” He grinned, running his hand up to her neck, squeezing it just a little less than he wanted too. 

She felt the heat rising to her cheeks, no matter how long they had been going out for he could make her so flustered with just a few words or even a look. He didn't seem so nervous anymore. 

“Yeah, my room.” She smiled at the floor and she could hear Steve’s soft laugh as he let his hand fall, she instantly missed his touch but there wasn't time to pout until he put his hand back because they weren’t alone anymore. 

After a little more than a hello, she was practically dragging Steve up to her room, hands around his arm as a thousand questions were directed his way. He looked a little pale and there were only so many times he could just laugh and lean against the kitchen door frame. He actually slipped once. 

Steve pulled himself from her hold right outside her bedroom door, something he never thought he would ever be doing but if he did not lean against something, he was going to faint or throw up. He chose the pink wall across from her room. 

“I told you.” He sighed, defeated, a little saddened. He just adored her so much, loved her completely and he wanted her family to see that, not to see some kid as they kept affectionately calling him that wasn't good enough.

She bit her bottom lip. “They're just being protective.” Steve tilted his head to the side and pulled a face she knew all too well. She stepped towards him, across the hall, hands behind her back and eyes as doe like as they could get. “I swear.” 

She stopped right in front of him, innocent hands suddenly not behind her back but instead fussing with the loops in his jeans. He could make her forget anything, it was obvious from the way he started to smile.

His girlfriend's family didn't like him and yet he was smiling like a lovesick fool. It was so hard to care about anything else when he had her. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He spoke just above a whisper, in that soft tone that made her chest ache. 

“Someone might have mentioned it a few times before.” She took his hand, ignoring his blatant, head spinning flirting and pulling him across the hall. “Come on.”

And just as Steve expected her bedroom was exactly as he imagined, all soft pinks and pretty flower wallpaper, posters of her favourite movies, favourite singers, heart shaped pillows on the bed and magazines on the floor.  

He only looked around for a second before he was grabbing her hips, pulling her into him, making her jump just a little. She had never had a boy in her room before, no one ever as dreamy as her Stevie. She hoped her diaries were still stuffed in the back of her closet so he couldn’t see how many times her high school self had written out his initials besides her own. 

“Hi.” She smiled softly, remembering that Steve had been nervous earlier so it was okay that she was now. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, like she had before but this one was much longer, then another to her forehead. “Do you wanna-” Another under her jaw. “What do-”

He laughed, that Steve Harrington laugh that could have girls tripping over nothing. “Trying to say something pretty girl?” He held her face, not missing the warmth of her skin against his palms. She looked so pretty like this, looking up at him, trying to get her words out but failing. He loved how in love with him she looked.

“I was but you keep-” She broke her sentence to tilt her head to the side, giving him a knowing look, he was teasing her. “You keep kissing me.” She finished, leaning into his touch a little more, almost wanting to press a thousand kisses to his hand, his wrist, his arm…

“Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“No.” She whined, quickly pressing her lips to his, feeling him smirk against her. She didn’t realise how badly she wanted to actually kiss him, it felt like hours since they had been alone but in reality it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.  

Steve’s hands came around her waist, keeping her pressed to him, right where she belonged. He muttered something about liking her room, she muttered something that sounded like thank you but neither of them cared to stop kissing. 

They had all night to talk and for him to mock her for her diaries and the posters on the wall, right now he just needed to kiss his girl until she couldn’t think straight. 

[strangersyet]

It's cool in the shade of your shadow - S.H

Steve Harrington x female!reader  

Steve meets a girl late in the spring and falls for her early in the summer

A/n: strangers to lovers, pinning, flirty-soft!steve

Warnings: kissing

Word count: 6.3k

May 1989, 

And I'm thinking 'bout your innocence

And there he was, Steve Harrington, unknown to her yet, leaning against his broken down car in the middle of the road. She almost dropped the bag she was carefully holding with her fingers. It had been wrapped around her wrists for a while but it started to hurt. The boy was probably the prettiest she had ever seen, hence the sudden dizziness. 

He sighed heavily, resting his hand on the hood, it must’ve been hot because his wrists flinched up for a second. She continued her walk, just on the other side of the dirt road, trainers crunching the stones and broken down dried mud with every step. 

It suddenly felt a lot warmer than it was, but that might’ve been his fault. His shirt was loose but his jeans were not and his hair looked stickly wet with sweat. She supposed standing around in the sun fussing with a car wouldn’t be a cooling experience. 

He ran the back of his hand over his forehead and it stopped her. She felt awful for him. The sudden stop in her steps seemed to alert him that someone was there and he turned around, eyes fixing on her in seconds and some kind of relieved mutter leaving his lips. 

“Is there someone, anyone, nearby that could help with-” He pointed to the car, he seemed to be lost for words, like he didn’t even know what was wrong. He laughed under his breath and she was sure she felt it on her skin, warming her up even more. 

“Yes.” She was hesitant to answer him, not because she was afraid of the young man she had just met but because she wasn’t. She felt strangely safe. “But it’s quite a walk.” She looked over her shoulder, she didn’t mind walking, but unlike him, she was in those kinds of shoes, in denim shorts that were comfortable. The only thing uncomfortable was how heavy her bag was. 

He smiled, nodding his head and she wondered what he was thinking. “I don’t mind.” He reached through the rolled down window and grabbed his keys, he didn’t seem bothered to roll them back up, she didn’t even think he locked the doors. 

“Steve Harrington.” He hesitated to reach out his hand to her but she took it anyway, it made him laugh again. It must’ve been a nervous thing. Her throat ran dry when she noticed how big his hand was compared to hers, how his watch sat on his wrist and how freckles ran up his arms. He had very nice hands. 

She let go first, introducing herself, adoring the way he smiled after she said her name a little too much. She was getting caught up in someone she didn’t know and it felt head spinning. 

They walked quietly for a moment, her eyes fawning over the trees and patches of grass surrounding them, like she hadn’t seen them a thousand times before. Steve, as she now knew him, was clearly walking at a slower pace, seemingly in no rush, keeping in with her much smaller steps.                                

She glanced over at him, he looked uncomfortable and she guessed she felt it too. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a fresh peach, a small printed price label still on the skin. She handed it to him, a peace offering or a conversation starter she hoped. It also might help him cool down. She was tempted to have one herself, or maybe a pear instead. 

He smiled, taking it from her with no hesitation. “Oh-” She was too late. He had already taken a bite right over the little sticky piece of paper. “The price-”

Steve screwed up his face, his nose scrunching as he felt it on his tongue. He spat his bite out on the road, away from her of course. But that didn’t stop her covering her mouth as she tried to muffle her laughter. 

Standing in the middle of the road, with a complete stranger she felt her ribs ache from trying so hard not laugh, she didn’t want to be cruel but the face he made just made her smile for some unknown reason and the way he stood there, staring at her with a shocked smile on his own face, made her think he didn’t mind. 

“You could’ve warned me?” He raised his brows, shaking his head at her but not being able to even pretend to be annoyed. She continued walking and he followed, his hands at his side with the peach still between his fingers. 

“I tried too.” She said softly, with no more laughter in her voice but an evident smile. She looked down at the road, completely missing the way his eyes followed her. Looking back ahead, she assured him, “There’s no more, you can eat it now.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. Everything he did was making her more and more giddy, even the way he was walking closer to her now, how his shadow covered hers and how his shoulders were inches away from brushing against her own. 

“Thanks.” Steve’s voice was different now, he said it in a tone that felt almost tempting but she couldn’t be sure. He reached over and took her bag, wrapping it around his hand as he took another, labelless bite from the fruit. 

When the sun's on my face and it's burning my eyes

He saw her again. Coming out of the florists, a soft little dress moving with the breeze, a smile on her lips that gave him a headache. He hadn’t expected to see her in his town, everything he knew about her, no matter how little that was, was connected to her town, not his. It made her feel all the more real. Like he hadn’t just imagined her. 

The past week he had this sudden craving for fruit, to hear someone laugh at him in the least cruel of ways and to brush his hand against someone else's as he took a bag from them. The last one felt a little too obvious but Steve couldn’t stop thinking about her, that was for sure.

He crossed the street, without looking, without caring really. He didn’t want to miss her. “Hey.” Something about his voice felt and sounded different to him. It had been a long time since he felt like that. 

She looked slightly taken back by seeing him, but the shock quickly disappeared from her face as she smiled at him. She adjusted the bag straps on her left shoulder, there were white and pink flowers sticking out the top. Steve could suddenly taste peaches on his tongue and he had a strange sense of déjà vu.  

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to call you?” He didn’t even think before saying it, his head was disconnected to his heart and he really didn’t mind. He had been trying to call her, he had wanted to find her and that didn’t feel embarrassing. 

She tilted her head to the side, confused, adorable. “You don’t have my number.” 

He felt an overwhelming need to kiss her. He had felt it the second he saw her but he blamed it on the heat, he was standing in the shade now, he had nothing to fall back on. He had to admit that he met a perfect stranger and wanted to kiss them instantly. 

He looked her up and down, not even really meaning to but just giving in anyway. She looked so summer-like, like her skin would taste like sparkling elderflower and her hair would smell like bee pollen. 

“Oh, I know.” 

Steve smirked at the way her eyes fell to the ground and he had to remind himself why he had been sitting on the floor with the phone book for far too many hours then he would care to admit. “I wanted to thank you, for saving me.” He leaned his head down until he caught her eyes, he wanted her to know he was being sincere, not just flirting with her. 

She laughed, that same way she had before, this time slightly softer. He supposed saving me was a little dramatic but who knows how long he would’ve been standing there staring at his car and getting hotter by the minute. It was good to be dramatic, it obviously made her smile. 

“Why are you in town?” They started to walk together, no real direction, he guessed he was just following her again. He took smaller steps, waiting to be in step with her, naturally falling into her pace, it felt like he had done that when they first met too but he was only now realising. 

“I needed some flowers and I thought of you.” Her fingers fussed with the hem of her dress, it sat halfway down her thighs, but shifted with every step. It looked slightly wrinkled, like it had just been washed. 

He felt his heart thump, not skip, not stop, it just made itself known, like he had forgotten it was there before. She had thought of him. Much like he had thought of her and Steve couldn’t help but smile. “Oh yeah?”

She quietly drew in a sharp breath as she realised what she said, shaking her head with furrowed brows as she tried to think of something else to say. “I mean, I remembered you said something about there being good flowers here, so I-” 

He should’ve jumped in, said that it was okay, that he was glad she remembered whatever he had said about the florists in Hawkins because it led her to be walking here with him. But he was enjoying this a little too much. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to try and hide it, but it was useless. 

“You’re laughing at me.” She lightly hit his arm. He couldn’t recall a time when a girl had done that to him and he had liked it so much. He doubted he had ever even noticed before now. 

“I’m not, I’m not.” But he was. He shrugged, admitting the truth. “I just think you're cute when you’re nervous.” Did he really say that? Oh well. It was true, seeing her flustered and smiling like this made him feel lighter, and she was pretty nervous, very pretty. 

“Do you have any?” Now he was the one with the confused stare. “At your house?” She was changing the subject, but he didn’t mind. When he met her again he could sneak into the conversation how endearing he found her, for now they could talk about flowers if that's what she wanted.

Steve smiled, shaking his head softly. “No.” Finding a calm in how she was so clearly listening to him. He was not used to that. 

He was long moved out of his parents house now but he had yet to do anything to the garden of his new home, it was slightly overgrown and he just left it that way, it still hadn’t occurred to him that he could do whatever he wanted, it took him two weeks to realise he could move the sofa and no one would mind. 

“You should.” She sounded certain, the shiver on her arms disappearing as they finally stepped back into the sun. She smiled fondly up at him like she had known him for years. Like this was something they did everyday, talking and walking, smiling and laughing with each other. 

He decided then that he would. 

“Okay.” He started to walk backwards, making her stop and stare at him. Smirking as he secretly hoped not to crash into anyone, he glanced over his shoulder just to be sure in perfect timing as he came across a dip in the pavement. 

She watched him for a moment, a little lost on what to say, that was obvious to him from the way her lips kept parting then falling into a smile. “Where are you going?” She ran after him to keep up with him. Choosing to walk in the normal direction like a smart girl would. 

“To get some flowers.”

I let you believe I've been alonе all spring

There was dirt smudged along his jaw and she just chose not to tell him. Steve looked too pretty, hair pushed back, tan turning golden, and mud on his face. He rested his head back on the grass sighing as dramatically as he could, making her softly laugh at him. 

They hadn’t been at this long. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since she had knocked on his door. Since she nervously talked to him in his hallway, it faded quickly, that feeling, and now she felt comfortable again, like she didn’t recognise who that anxious girl walking up to his house was. 

She was sitting crossed legged on a green pillow with lace white edges, the kind you would find in your grandparents garden, not a twenty something year old boys. She liked it, she liked that he had delicate things, it made her feel more at home. She was reading a book from the bottom of her bag, half reading it, mostly just watching Steve over the pages as he planted flowers and sighed about the heat. 

The sun hit his face and he held his hand over his eyes, sighing loudly for the second time. She didn’t try to hide her smile. If someone had told her a month ago that she would be in some boys garden while he laid in the grass she would’ve never believed them.

“Do you want to stop?” She asked, head angling to the side to better look at him. She was learning quickly that Steve Harrington was much more boyish than she would’ve guessed. 

Sitting up, he leaned back on his hands, making her jealous of the slightly dead grass. He was closer to her then he had been before, she only noticed when she looked away from his hands just how close he was. 

She could’ve easily moved away, she could’ve not come to his house in the first place but she was finding it hard to do the things that made sense around him. He made her forget that two weeks ago she didn't even know him.

He nodded like a puppy-dog, even pouting a little, like it hadn’t been his idea to do this today, on one of the hotter days of May, nearing summer's start. He was the one who had called her and told her how clueless and in desperate need of help he was. It was an excuse to see her, even she knew that. But he had picked today.

She wrapped a daisy stem around her finger as she looked back at the flowers he had placed in the ground, mostly shades of soft blues and deep oranges. 

“It looks pretty. Maybe-”

She was going to say that he needed some pink carnations, or even some white, the blue and orange looked a little odd together now but he cut her off. Standing up and taking her hand, insinuating that she should do the same as he gently started to pull her up. 

He might’ve figured out what she was going to say, knowing it would prolong them being outside, she liked that he somehow knew that, she liked that he cut her words off strangely. She let him bring her to her feet. 

“Let's go have something to drink. Hm.” Steve spoke softly like there was an embedded smile under his voice. He made her feel lightheaded, tipsy even. His hand covering hers, the way he didn’t let go until they were in the kitchen. It was all head spinning.

It was much cooler inside, she could only imagine how good it would feel to walk along the hardwood floor first thing in the morning. She leaned against the counter top as Steve reached up for some glasses, his shirt lifted and she looked away, no matter how badly she didn’t want to. 

He turned around with two glasses in hands, about to say something to her but he then decided against it. Setting them down on the counter he looked like he was thinking. His eyes avoided hers and he kept taking in short breaths like he was going to speak.

“Steve?” She softly said his name. He looked back at her, more present in the moment than trying to piece together a sentence in his mind. She knew how flustered he made her, how he made her forget what she was trying to say so she wasn't going to stand there and laugh at him for losing his words. 

“I just-” He tapped his open hand over the glass closest to him, sighing as he stepped one step closer to her. Her eyes fell to his lips, they couldn’t not, he’d be a good kisser, she just knew it. “I wanted to-” Steve’s hand left the glass and found the hem of her top, the cotton fitting right between his finger tips. Was he going to kiss her? 

The phone rang and they both flinched back like they had been doing something they weren’t supposed to. Although she wasn’t sure if she felt that way, being that close to him, feeling his touch brush her skin felt anything but wrong.

Steve smiled at her, the kind of smile that felt like an apology, then he took the call. 

She ran her finger tip around the edge of one of the short crystal glasses, they looked refreshing even without anything in them. She also just felt the need to keep her hands busy, whether that meant fussing with the loop in her shorts or tapping her nails softly against the glass.

He came back through to the kitchen. “I completely forgot-” She hadn’t been paying much attention to the door, his voice, as sweet as it was, made her flinch again. “I have a date, in like two hours.” He said it so nonchalantly, like he hadn’t been so endearingly charming every time they met, like he hadn’t asked her over and made her stomach flip with every look he gave her.

She guessed it didn't mean anything, and she hated how much she let that hurt.

“She was just calling to check I was still-” He continued on but she was already thinking of ways to leave, mentally hitting herself for leaving her bag outside. But then Steve laughed. She stared at him, taken back and a little shocked. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, it was far too casual for that.

Then he started speaking, really, really fast.

“I told her I couldn’t go out with her anymore-I mean we only went out the other night but-the whole time there was this gnawing feeling-” 

She wasn’t sure why she was still standing here listening, but it had something to do with the way he glanced at her. “-in my chest the whole time. I think it was you.” He was far too calm and collected while her head spun. Steve paced around the kitchen for a bottle of wine, then some orange juice, both now sitting beside the empty glasses. 

It took her an understandable minute to take in everything he had said. It was you. Her? What could she have done to ruin his date. She wanted to ask but she wasn’t really sure where to start or how to start for that matter. That was a lot to process in four minutes.

“What would you like to drink?” Steve smiled at her, brightly, warmer than the afternoon sun if that was possible, and she didn’t know why but she smiled back. Even as lost as she felt, she couldn’t help smiling with him.

“Orange juice.”

June, 

I see it all, I see it blue

It was a lunch date. He made sure to use the word date this time. Last time, at his place, then the phone he thought about unhooking stopped Steve from kissing her, he had presumed she knew it was a date. 

With all his flirting and careful touches, and unfortunately his lack of words, he couldn’t help but presume. But her mind always seemed so busy so it was like she, to no fault of her own, missed all his hints. 

The drive over was nerve sparking in the best possible way, his breath ran short when he used the road he broke down on, his leg wouldn't stop moving at all the stop signs and he kept checking his hair in the wing mirror. This girl had him sweating. 

Steve pulled up outside her house. It was like he had imagined, prettily painted with flowers in the windows and even brighter ones leaving up the pathway. Hers looked much better than his, but he had forgotten to water his flowers once or twice and he also thought if she checked and lightly touched him every day, that he would look better too. 

He knocked on the door, ready with some premeditated line about how cute she looked, how perfect. It wouldn’t be a lie because he knew whatever she was wearing would be perfect, when she opened the door she would be just as beautiful as she always was. The sun started to burn the back of his neck and he took it as a sign to knock again. 

A little harder this time in case she was upstairs or sleeping in. He doubted it was the second one but seeing her with soft pillow lines on her cheeks and slightly puffy eyes sounded like a dream. So, he kind of hoped it was the second one.

The door pushed open, making a little clicking sound. She left her door unlocked. This town was much quieter than the already quiet and boring Hawkins, but it still worried him. Steve walked right in, the scent of lavender soap and fresh sheets hitting him in seconds. And something else, something small and fluffy.

He felt it brush against his leg before he heard its soft meow. If he was wearing jeans he would have been covered in cat hair, long white cat hair. It made sense that she had a cat that looked like this, all gentle and cloud-like. A little too nice to strangers.

“Hey buddy.” He leaned down to run his hand over its head, tickling just behind its ear for a second. Steve was a dog person but he could be weakened from time to time. 

“Oh, Steve.” She’s standing at the top of the stairs, hand on the stained wood banister, in a light blue summer dress that still has wrinkles pressed into it. It’s starting to feel like she doesn’t have an iron. She comes down the stairs, a little fast, each step at a time. 

He watches, a new fear that she might trip developing even though he knows realistically she won’t. She properly always comes down them that fast, that lightly on her feet but Steve does sigh when she reaches the bottom, glad she’s back on flat ground.

“Hyacinth. Steve. Steve. Hyacinth.” She introduced them, her hand motioning between himself and the cat, like they could have a conversation if they wanted to. The second she’s there Hyacinth loses all interest in him and rushes to her owner, curling around her legs and flopping over on her side right by her feet. 

“Sorry. I was running a little late. I couldn’t find-” She shook her head, deciding against saying exactly what it was that she had lost. “It doesn’t matter.” He hated the way she said it. Every single thought she had mattered to him, he wanted to hear everything she had to say. His chest tightened in that oh so familiar way.

“Are you ready to go?” She asked him, grabbing the bag hanging off the end of the banister. She quickly gave Hyacinth one last pet and the cat practically cried, like she knew she was leaving the house, like she had learnt that bags and shoes meant no more pets. 

Steve doubted he would ever be able to go out again if something looked at him like that when he was heading out the door. He would just accept that he wouldn’t have a social life anymore. 

“Yeah.” He reached for the door that was still left slightly open after he had come through it. “What couldn’t you find?” Her face lip up as he asked, and it made him want to ask her a thousand more questions. 

“One of my shoes.” She stepped out the door and he smiled painfully at the puzzled way she said it, like she still wasn’t sure how she had misplaced it in the first place. It made him wonder if she was the kind of girl that lost things and looked adorably confused while looking for them. 

“I’m glad you found it.” She gave him a look, the kind that told him she could tell he was trying not to laugh at her. But she didn’t get it, everything she did made him smile like a fool. She was just going to have to get used to it and get better at hiding how badly she wanted to roll her eyes at him. 

Steve smiled at the fluffy white ball sitting on the last step. He could imagine she would be in the exact same spot until he dropped her off. He closed the door behind them. ”You know this was unlocked right?”

The restaurant asked if they wanted to eat outside, he looked at her for a decision but she seemed to be looking at him for one, so he picked outside. 

He wouldn’t have minded being tucked away inside, hiding out from the heat, in some corner with her knees touching his and the ability to get as close as they possibly wanted. But sitting across from her outside in the sun, with the light dancing off her glass and hitting her skin was much better than any table inside.

Steve had already told her three times how pretty she looked today (everyday) each time getting the same flustered reaction and soft voice telling him to stop. He wanted to say it again but she got there first. 

“You look so handsome today.” It was slightly quieter than her normal voice so maybe she hadn’t meant to say it but he didn’t care. Her eyes were on the bee sitting on the edge of her glass, it didn’t stay long but he was thankful for its appearance because it distracted her long enough to say that.

“Thank you.” He didn’t think he had ever sounded so bashful receiving a compliment before. He didn't think he had ever blushed before either. She obviously noticed it now that the bee was gone, and she parted her pretty, light red like raspberries, lips to say something.

“Don’t.” He shook his head. If she asked if he was blushing it would only make it worse. 

She smiled down at the table and his eyes didn’t leave her even for a second, even as his shoes taped hers accidentally and then rested comfortably against her ankles, he watched her. It was something so small, so noticeable but Steve adored the way she seemed to relax when they were touching. He felt his own body untense. 

He watched the way she looked over the menu, squinting a little, the way she brought her glass to her lips, the way her fingers tapped against the table. The last one was slightly annoying but he let it go because it was her. 

He could’ve sat there for hours without saying a word, just listening to her talk, but she liked it when he talked back too. She liked when he answered her questions or told her something about himself she didn’t know yet. She liked laughing at his jokes and telling him off when he showered her with compliments. He liked that too. 

After taking the long way around town, which she definitely noticed but didn’t seem to say anything about, Steve pulled up right outside her house. He didn’t know if she wanted him to walk her to the door, he didn’t know if she wanted him to kiss her or not. 

She was sitting in the passenger seat, he liked driving with her there, he liked the way she leaned on the rolled down window and how it left funny lines pressed into her soft arms, he liked that she was still sitting there, stalling. 

He turned in his seat, his body now mostly facing her, trying to find any indication of what she wanted him to do next. Her dress shifted up her thighs as she moved slightly and it reminded him of the shorts she was wearing when they first met. He held a secret desire that she would wear them again some time. 

She had him wrapped around a pair of denim shorts like he was a teenager again.

She made no attempt to reach for the door, she just looked at him, her pretty eyes set on his lips, her mind clearly not thinking about getting out of his car. 

Steve smirked, realising right in that moment that he was falling for her. He held her face with his hand, feeling how warm she was. His smallest finger wrapped just under her jaw, tickling her neck, his thumb smoothing back and forth over her cheekbone. 

He went to ask if it was okay if he kissed her, but just as he opened his mouth a soft “yes.”, left her lips.  

He laughed under his breath. Not taking more than a second until he pressed his lips to hers. There would be other times, at least he hoped they would be since his chances of living depended on it,  for mapping out every feature on her face, for kissing her cheek first, for being soft and slow, now was not that time. 

He just wanted to kiss her. It was as simple as that.

Her hands stayed painfully still in her lap, and as much as he wished for them to be in his hair or loosely around his neck, he never ever wanted to rush her. 

He turned his head, only letting up for a second to try a different angle, kissing her from the left was even better then kissing her from the right. But he was sure if he went back he would never be able to make a decision. 

If you asked me to, I'd come crawling back

It was harrowing. The way Steve kissed her. 

The way his hands always stayed holding her face still or slipping around her neck. It didn’t matter that his eyes always fell right in between her collar bones, lower to her chest, to her soft stomach, her thighs when she was sat in his car, even her ankles and wrists. He looked at every part of her like he wanted to kiss and touch her right there, but he never did.

It had been two weeks of seeing each other as much as they possibly could, making up excuses just to see each other on the Tuesday even if they had just had a date on the Monday. She liked it, she liked how much he wanted to see her, she wasn’t worried he was going to get bored of her, not when he called most nights just to talk about nothing. 

It had been twelve days of him driving over to her, kissing her in his car, at her doorstep, in the middle of the street. Once at his work, very quickly over the counter, it made her feel lightheaded because he said he wasn’t allowed to then did it anyway. 

Today was no different. He had driven to her and picked her up right when he said he would. He said he wanted to take her to a small lake in her town that he had seen on his way over once, it was a much more private lake than lovers lake apparently. He also said something about swimming. 

Yet, there still hadn’t been any swimming and they had been there for over ten minutes. Her feet hadn’t even touched the water, she still had her sneakers laced up and her socks on and Steve had his towel thrown over his shoulder. 

The car door was hot against her back, it burned a little at first but then when he started kissing her cheek, her jaw, her lips, she quickly forgot about it. The car could have rolled away and she dubbed she would notice with the way he kissed her. 

She pouted. “We haven’t even made it away from your car.” He ignored her and kept kissing her instead. The lake was just behind them, a few steps away but his shirt felt soft under her touch, and even though she couldn’t feel it, she knew his skin felt soft underneath too. 

Her hands stayed just above his hips as he kept her neck angled just right so he could perfectly kiss her and the lake just slipped her mind all over again. 

His nose dragged against her cheek as he moved his head, a delirious feeling that wouldn’t even register if it was any other boy. She took the few seconds his lips weren’t on hers to try and speak. “Steve?”

“Hmm.” He hummed in response, making her chest tighten. 

“Can you-” She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, pulling his hands away and placing them on her waist nervously. She breathed in sharply as he grazed her skin with the palms of his hands, running them up to her ribs and then back down again, fingers almost but not quite slipping into her shorts. 

“If you wanted me to touch you more you could’ve just asked. I’d do anything you wanted.” He spoke so sweetly. His eyes soft and warm, not one hint of teasing in his voice. All she had to do was ask, if she had known how simple it would’ve been she wouldn't have been so nervous.  

She reached up to kiss him again, feeling an overwhelming need to thank him for being so sweet, this time letting her hands get lost in his hair. He muttered something against her lips. “Oh god.” He liked it when she touched his hair. 

After dragging themselves away from Steve’s car, she quite literally had to use all her strength to pull him by his hand as he grinned and complained simultaneously. It seemed telling him that she wanted him to touch her more made everything so else so much harder to focus on. 

She thought just kissing was torture, lovely heart-skipping torture, but having his hands everywhere was much, much worse. All he had done was hold her waist, graze her hips, she wasn’t sure she would survive anything more.

Steve walked backwards, she started to get less concerned when he did that but no less confused. He sighed longingly, looking just past where he had parked the car to the road. She smiled, following his stare and her chest began to ache in the most dizzying way.

“You know I met a pretty girl right over there.” She couldn’t help rolling her eyes with affection, no one was nearly as sweet as this boy. 

“You did?” She played along. Stopping just as he did, standing right in front of him. He didn’t wait a second before his hands wrapped around her, pulling her in. 

“Uh huh.” Something about the way he said it made her stomach flip, it was so meant to charm her, it was so Steve Harrington. He kissed her for the thousandth time that day, much more innocently than before, back at the car. Just the thought of something that happened over an hour ago, made the blood rush to her head 

“She's sweet, kind, perfect, smart, funny-” She softly laughed as he kissed every inch of her face. His lips tickled and left cooling slightly wet marks behind.  “Lovely, beautiful and makes it impossible for me to sleep at night.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” She pushed his hair back, she started to think she liked playing with it more than he liked her touching it. She pouted, feigning sympathy for the situation he was in and acting like the idea of him losing sleep over her didn’t make her skin spark.  

“It’s okay.” He leaned into her touch, like a dog being petted. “It’s my own fault.” He softly held her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm like it was the most casual thing in the world to him. “I asked her over, lied about wanting some flowers. Oh, and then all I could smell for days was her shampoo, her perfume. Then, like the idiot I am-”

It was a new feeling but she didn’t like hearing him calling himself that. “You’re not an idiot.” She said defensively like someone else had called him that. The corner of his mouth flicked up but he otherwise ignored her. 

“-I went over to hers, and I kept going. So my lack of sleep is not completely on her shoulders.” His hands squeezed right between her neck and her shoulders and he imagined he would give really good massages. He had just the right amount or pressure. “It’s you, I’m talking about you.” 

She smiled going on the tips of her shoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know Steve.”

[strangersyet]

Fit like a daydream - S.H

Crushing on Steve while living with him is a different kind of torture

Steve Harrington x female!reader

A/n: modern!steve, friends to lovers

Warnings: kissing, strong language 

Word count: 2.9k

July, 

She heard Steve’s soft laughing, that’s what had woken her up. That’s what made her look out her bedroom window, seconds after her feet touched the floor, letting the sun hit her eyes to find the two boys in the front garden. They had just come back from their run, hair sweaty and cheeks flushed red. Hands on their hips as they caught their breaths. 

Steve looked up for some reason or another and caught sight of her, resting her head in her hands as she looked out the open window. He smiled. She felt it hitting her harder than the sun just had. He had that kind of a smile, the kind that made her all dizzy and lightheaded. He knew that too. 

A boy couldn’t be that pretty without hearing it said to him a thousand times. 

“Are you going to trust me enough to catch you or are you going to use the stairs?” He shouted up to her. She was sure their neighbours hated them. 

Jonathan looked around for who Steve was talking to until she saw her in the window. He waved, she waved back. 

“Who says I’m coming down.” She did. Her alarm would be going off any second and there was a short white dress and white socks sitting neatly ready for her on the chair in the corner of her bedroom. A pair of trainers sat to the side. 

She liked her routine, it made her day calm. Steve said it was too much, he made fun of her just a little but never too much, either because he was too nice or because technically he had a routine too.

He ran every morning at the same time through the same streets and then he showered when he got back, clean clothes waiting for him on top of his dresser in his room.  

He raised his brows at her. Smirking, grinning, whatever you would call that look on his face. He shook his head, laughing to himself, hair falling in the most romantic way.

He headed inside the house, no doubt in her mind to take a shower. 

She laced up her trainers with her door open, listening out for the water to stop running. She liked to, if she could, avoid him coming back across the hall to his bedroom, dripping wet in a white towel. 

Having a crush was one thing but having a crush on someone she lived with, someone who she called one of her closest friends was like letting a sparkler burn too close to her hand and then dropping it on dead grass. It was pretty at first but then it hurt and caused even more problems. And it was all her own fault. 

The water turned off. 

Jonathan was heading up the stairs, and quickly diverted into her room instead of going into his own, she imagined having the door shut would’ve stopped him either way. Jonathan was really quiet when she first met him, knocked even after she said come in, but after a while she couldn’t even remember him being quiet. 

She was sitting on her chair, which gave him the entire bed to jump on. If Steve Harrington was a tall pretty golden retriever that did tricks for attention, Jonathan Byers was a sweet border collie that slept in your bed.   

“So we communicate out of windows now, huh?” She smiled. “Mrs Henderson next door is gonna love that.” Jonathan was so nice to her, he practically flirted with Mrs Henderson all the time, he leaned over the fence and talked to her when she was in the garden, even when she said she had a place to be, he always caught her, but to be fair Steve did that too. And Steve was definitely flirting. 

“Can you leave that poor woman alone? Please?” She felt like Mrs Henderson liked them well enough but they could be annoying and no amount of being cute could stop the fact that Jonathan played his music too loud and Steve broke one of her windows with a tennis ball. Jonathan nodded along but she didn’t think he was listening to her anymore, it was that kind of nodding. 

She finished tying her shoes on just as he left. With his hand on the doorframe, he stepped back in for a second to whisper something to her while smiling way too much. “I think he’s back in his room now.” 

She felt heat rushing to her cheeks. She didn’t know that he knew that she waited every morning. She didn’t know Jonathan knew anything concerning how she felt about Steve. She hoped she wasn’t that obvious but now she was questioning everything. 

She wanted to follow after him, pretend for a few minutes that she wasn’t a bad liar and stare up at the ceiling as she told him she had no idea what he was talking about. But she also wanted to go downstairs without running into Steve. She chose the second option, it was the only way to avoid two embarrassing moments. 

She left her bedroom but she didn’t even make it to the bannister before Steve stepped out in front of her. He was still damp, water falling down his shoulders, down his neck. His hair was still wet even after he had so clearly tried drying it roughly with a towel. It fell over his eyes, and hers fell to his wet lips.

Some kind of sound left her body, some sort of gasp or squeak. Whatever noise she had made, it made Steve smile. He looked her up and down like she was the one in just a towel, getting water on the carpet. His eyes faltered at the thin straps of her dress.

He said once, a little drunk, that he liked how slip-able her dresses were. She said she didn’t think that was a word. It still made her head spin. 

“You okay?” He spoke so softly, head tilted to the side just a little, eyes warm, lashes wet. There was never any hope of her getting over him. “You didn’t let me catch you?” He pouted.

She mirrored him, tilting her head to the side. She knew if he was being serious that he would’ve caught her. She didn’t think he would ever let her fall.

“Maybe tomorrow.” She offered, calling back to him as she headed downstairs, hoping he couldn’t see what she was thinking. How her mind was racing and she was struggling to think of anything but him, him, him. 

She still couldn’t believe sometimes that she had moved in here with him. It was like she never wanted to get anything done, ever. It was also like she had seen him, standing outside the house, waiting for her to check it out with him and couldn’t say no to that face.

He was so excited about it when the idea first came up, he said he couldn’t wait to live together, to spend nights cuddling up on the sofa watching movies, stealing each other's soap. She just couldn’t have said no to him, even if it did make her feelings harder to push away.  

She had breakfast in the kitchen, at the table and chairs that Steve’s mother had given them as a housewarming gift. She sat with her feet up on the chair, a bowl of cereal and fruit mixed together balancing on her knees. There was no milk left. 

It didn’t take very long for Steve to join her. To come down smiling, his shirt collar damp again, this time with water instead of sweat. He looked so fresh and clean, like he would smell like laundry straight from the dryer. He sat in the chair next to her, stealing a handful of strawberries and honey loops. 

He was sitting directly in the sun and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how perfectly the light hit him and made him seem golden, it wasn’t fair that it made his hair look lighter, it just wasn’t fair that he got prettier by the second. 

“Thanks for breakfast.” Steve stood, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and taking another handful. She wanted to screw her nose up at him and tell him to get his own and stop stealing hers but he had kissed her cheek. What else was she supposed to do but smile and shake her head at him. “I’m so lucky you’re so sweet.” He said under his breath as he was walking out, and for a moment, the way he stopped plus the look on his face, made it seem like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. 

That was all she thought about for the rest of the day. She knew she had gotten very little work done, mostly just staring at her laptop screen, not doing anything except hearing him call her sweet over and over in her head.

Steve always stole her breakfast, he always told her to jump out the window so he could catch her or to do something stupid so he could save her. But he had never called her sweet before, or himself lucky.

Sometimes, Steve came home late. Sometimes she sat at the table and glanced at the door just waiting for him to come in and tell her every little detail about his day and ask her a million questions. Today was one of those days, she had already changed into some shorts and slippers, basically ready to eat and go to bed. He didn’t even come all the way through the door when he got back, he just peered his head through instead.

“I’ve gotta pick up Jon, come with me?” He pouted again, he had to stop doing that.

She liked it in Steve’s car, especially in the summer evenings when it was just getting dark and everything was covered in a sunset haze and she had a perfect view of him in the seat beside her. S

he liked the music he played when he drove, she liked watching his hands on the steering wheel or how he glanced over at her in the passenger seat at every stop to smile. She liked it so much that she didn’t even mind the way her legs stuck to his seats in the heat. 

He pulled up outside the Wheeler’s house a few streets away from theirs. He turned the car off because they both knew Jonathan would be longer then he said he would. He always took forever saying goodbye to Nancy, like he was never going to see her again but if she didn’t know she would see Steve every morning she would hate saying goodbye too. 

She liked Hawkins on summer evenings, it was always so quiet and everything smelled like freshly cut grass and chlorine from the backyard pools.

She met Steve two summers ago, on an evening like this. Him and Robin were coming out of the store she was heading into and they weren't looking where they were going and they crashed right into her. She dropped a few things but Steve picked them up and apologised over and over until the word sorry sounded strange. Then he made her let him take her for something to eat.

She knew that was most likely why she liked this specific time so much. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

She looked away from the Wheeler’s house, she was trying to look through the windows and at least see Jonathan nearby the door or something. She felt like Steve could instantly see the worry on her face from his question because he laughed and said, “It’s nothing bad.”

She nodded, twisting her body a little so she could really face him. He had this serious look on his face, even though he had laughed it off, it was still there. The leather seats dragged against her skin, pinching her thighs. 

Steve placed his hand on his leg, smoothing his palms down to his knees then back up again before looking at her. She had never seen him avoid eye contact before but it wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been, he played it off well. He played everything well. He swallowed down hard, eyes finally settling on hers. 

“Why did Jonathan tell you I was back in my room after my shower this morning.” Steve’s brows pressed together and he looked unfairly cute when he was confused but that wasn’t important right now. She felt the blood rushing to her head, she felt every sting of heat on the back of her neck. She should’ve checked that she hadn’t been stung by something. “I only heard because I had just opened the bathroom door but I’ve been thinking about it all day and I can’t work it out. Are you avoiding me? Have I done-”

Oh no. He thought he had done something wrong. She wanted to promise him that as far as she was concerned, Steve Harrington had never done anything wrong in his life ever and he never would.

He especially would never do anything wrong to be her, and she would never avoid him. She didn’t know what she would do if she couldn’t see and talk to him everyday, no matter how difficult that made things, she loved her friend too much not to see him all the time. 

“No.” She said, eyes softening. His hands stopped moving. She felt awful. “You haven’t done anything.” She smiled warmly at him, hoping he would believe her. He did. His shoulders relaxed and his lips curled up into a relieved smile. There was something about the boy you liked caring what you thought of him that did something to a girl.

“So I’ve had a headache all day for nothing?” She loved how dramatic he was, she loved how he was grinning, she loved how he was trying to make her laugh. He ran his fingers through his hair like she so desperately wanted to. “I’m such a fucking idiot-wait, why are you nodding?” 

She didn’t even realise she was nodding along, agreeing with him. Steve was not a fucking idiot and she couldn’t help but laugh when she realised what she had done.

He was laughing too, shaking his head with his mouth open like she had greatly offended him. He poked her side. Fingers touching bare skin, she was sure he was trying to tickle her. 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry.” Her laughter died down as his hand let up. “I didn’t mean to nod.” He looked at her with narrowed eyes, checking to see if she was lying. He decided she wasn’t and sighed to himself. 

The air felt fuzzy now. He still didn’t get an answer to his question and it was only a matter of seconds before he realised that. She didn’t have another answer other than I like you and seeing you half naked makes it worse, she wasn’t going to say that, she couldn’t.

She watched it click in his eyes, she didn’t answer me, she chewed on the inside of her cheek. He opened his mouth and breathed in to say something but then he just breathed out heavily without saying a word.

She hated how his eyes were on her, how focused he was, how she could see that he was thinking about something and whatever it was, was unknown to her. 

Before she could register his hand on her face, Steve Harrington was kissing her. 

It really didn’t matter that she didn’t know what he was thinking anymore because she herself couldn’t even think straight. The hand pressed to her cheek was holding her face so intently, his thumb was right below her eye, smoothing back and forth over her skin and that would’ve been enough. But his lips were moving against hers, kissing, pressing, wanting. 

She didn’t know what else to do but kiss him back. She had imagined countless scenarios about kissing him but never once did she think far ahead enough to be actually doing it, it was a lot better than her mind had convinced her. She knew Steve would be a good kisser, but she hadn’t know how good. 

“You like me.” He said, pulling back, hand slipping to her neck, thumb still brushing but now under her jaw. He was cruel to keep doing that while he was talking to her at the same time. “Don’t you. That’s why you didn’t want to come out of your room till I was in mine.”

She didn’t know what to say. He smiled as her brows pressed together and she tried to think of something. “Yes.” That was all she could manage right now.  Then she started to ramble. “Oh god Steve, I’m so sorry, I-” She wasn’t sure what she was even sorry for, having feelings or for him figuring out those feelings were there and they were for him. Only him. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Steve kept his hand on her neck, so she couldn’t look away. He laughed softly under his breath at how desperate she was to avoid this conversation. He thought it was sweet. “You know I like you, right? I avoid you coming out of the shower too, I think my heart would stop if I had to see you all wet every single night.”

He cared about his heart faulting but not hers clearly, because he wouldn’t even let her take that in before he was grinning and kissing again, not stopping until she was smiling against his lips.

[strangersyet]

𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐮 {¬ºཀ°}¬ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

reluctant allies to lovers. fics are sometimes non-sequential. requests for the zombie au are open for any time in their relationship

all in one place newest to oldest all in one place written order

on the road

you rescue steve at the end of the world you try to convince steve to turn back you and steve try to navigate without a compass steve saves you from a zombie you and steve hide from a storm steve cuddles you to keep you warm outdoors you try to cheer steve up steve goes out to find your meds you and steve trade secrets steve clings to you after an injury steve trains you in hand to hand combat steve looks after you when you’re depressed steve gets you a present when you’re sad steve gets food poisoning steve realises he’s got big feelings for you you get your period you’re attacked by a lone survivor steve kisses you for the first time you and steve get stuck in a taco truck you and steve meet an okapi you and steve find a lake to bathe in you and steve run from scavengers you get hypothermia steve panics when food is in short supply you spend a day in bed hiding from the snow steve comforts you when you’re exhausted

at The College Community

steve finds robin and you join The College you and steve get your own room you comfort steve after he almost dies on a run steve thinks about the future and having kids you and steve make up after an argument you celebrate steve’s birthday you and steve after a first time you and steve think about before the college you get taken, steve won’t rest til he finds you you realise you can trust steve’s friends steve comforts you after a nightmare you comfort steve after a nightmare steve comforts you after a worse nightmare steve confesses how scared he is of losing you you start to feel like you’re not good enough for steve steve fights to keep you safe when the north fence falls steve knows how he wants to spend a quiet morning

after The College falls

you make your way back to steve steve tends your wounds you take care of steve after he sprains his knee you and steve get back to basics you and steve get into a fight steve almost gets bitten you, steve and robin go on a quest for soap steve takes care of you when you catch a cold you go for a walk and give steve palpitations you meet a curly haired stranger steve is jealous of you and eddie you and steve settle into your new jobs you and steve reunite after morning duties you reunite after a few days apart you bring steve some gifts steve continues to be jealous of eddie steve draws you all the time steve discovers he’s far-sighted steve comforts you through panic you have a dream too good to be true steve brings up getting married a friend comes to mega camp

saving Robin

a last day of normalcy

[strangersyet]

Cardigan Series Masterlist

i do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, translated, or reposted onto another site.

 this series is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection

MAIN PARTS:

Cardigan - Y/n and Steve had a love like no other until he went and fucked it up.

Leaving Like a Father - Y/n’s resentment towards her father reaches an all-time high just before the battle against the Mind Flayer.

Change the Ending - Despite agreeing to remain friends, Steve and Y/n both felt a lingering suspicion that they'd find their way back to each other.

Now I'm Bleeding - Y/n's grief and regret grows tenfold as she finds herself haunted by her deepest insecurities and darkest thoughts.

Hide & Seek - It's time to take down Vecna once and for all and, much to Steve's protests, Y/n puts herself on the frontline.

Come Back to Me - A long anticipated reunion, but nothing was going to plan.

All We Needed - coming soon

BONUS PARTS / SIDE STORIES:

The Smell of Smoke - Y/n spends her first Christmas without Hopper in California with El and the Byers.

They Assume You Know Nothing - Y/n brings her boyfriend, Steve, home to meet her dad for the first time.

Stepping on the Last Train - Tensions in the Hopper household come to a peak when El runs away under Y/n's supervision.

Kiss it Better - While Y/n was used to going unnoticed, she was all Steve could think about.

[strangersyet]

•*⁀➷ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. ❞✭・

supernovafics!

✭•*⁀➷ a modern fake dating steve harrington series ·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

in which a friendship is surprisingly born in an elevator, and a crush that feels hopeless is developed very soon after that. for what feels like forever, you debate whether or not you should be honest with eddie and see if he maybe feels the same way as you. but, you upsettingly miss your chance to say anything when he gets into a relationship with someone that’s not you. ultimately, you decide to push everything you feel to the side so that you don’t potentially ruin everything between you and him; because at the end of the day, he’s still your best friend. now, two years later, things have changed— there’s a break up, reignited feelings, and pining that feels worse and even more helpless this time around. a blind date leads to you fake dating some guy you barely even know with the hopes of finally getting eddie to see you as more than just a friend. at first, you’re hesitant and you honestly think that steve’s suggestion sounds a little insane. but, then you decide that perhaps it could actually, somehow, maybe work? you and steve haven’t even known each other for a full twenty hours before you two are shaking hands and agreeing to fake date for a month, and hoping that you both get what you want out of this abruptly thrown together arrangement.

warnings: modern au, college au, fake dating trope, Big Big slow burn, bestfriend!eddie, slight fuckboy!steve vibes, unrequited feelings, pining, angst, specific warnings will be tagged per chapter

author's note: ah i'm very very excited for this series! i had this idea since like december and have been up and down and back and forth with outlining and writing it for the past few months (its been a bit of a roller coaster to say the least lmao). but here it finally is woooo !! i'm gonna actually do a taglist for this one so let me know if you wanna be added<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

prologue — can't go back

chapter one — from the start

chapter two — how to fall in love

chapter three — easier said

chapter four — playing pretend

chapter five — somehow, it works

chapter six — keep it simple

chapter seven — in the dark

chapter eight — what this could mean

chapter nine — if there’s a next time

(as of right now, the entire series will be twenty chapters and an epilogue!)

[strangersyet]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader - a slow burn series of blurbs and one shots | modern au! updated every Wednesday @ 4pm ct

🎶All I really want is you, what would you do? Laying in the rain with you, middle of June🎶

summary: In between summer days, when the sun barely touches the sky, when no one else is awake, you start to fall in love.

this series takes place over the course of one summer and is told in the form of blurbs and one shots of your run in’s with your handsome neighbor.

warnings: 18+ for my blog and smut in later parts of the story. age gap: reader is 30 and steve is 42, drinking, smoking (steve smokes cigars), mentions of death (peep the widower), steve is not a dad in this one. sorry to my jenny crew.

SERIES PLAYLIST

Welcome to the neighborhood

Fancy meeting you here

Mr. fix it

Good morning & good night

Whiskey & cigars

I don’t know you, but I want to

Bad idea

Red, white, & boom

Ask me what I’m thinking about

Baby, I’m yours

Heaven knows you better (Epilogue) - 8/30

[strangersyet]

just for me - george weasley x reader smut

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: george weasley x fem!reader

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.7k

𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩: “i was wondering if you could maybe write anything abt virgin killer!george weasley?? like im sorry hes the finest mf around ik he gets MAD hoes so when he finally acknowledges this preppy, nice and innocent mc he jus knows he has to ruin her"

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: george weasley is a player and somehow had never come across you before, probably the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. it doesn't take him long to think that he needs you in his bed as soon as possible.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: some swearing, mentions of sex/casual hookups, george acting like a player, if i'm missing anything else lmk LOL

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: this is a three-part one shot series! i will attach links to the second and third part as soon as they are up. i hope you guys enjoy, and please leave me more requests! this one was so fun to write about. also, i start using "you" and stuff later in the one shot more so out of pure laziness. i got tired of having george refer to you as "the girl" or "y/n" if you catch my drift. anyway, carry on <3

He knew just about everyone at school, and just about everyone at school knew him. How could they not? George Weasley was known for…many things, to say the least.

Such “things” can be depicted differently among the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is possible one might have known George Weasley from his striking position as the Gryffindor quidditch beater. However, it is even more possible that one had known the boy purely for his pranks on various other students or even professors. His silly inventions to grow a student’s tongue four times its size was also quite eye-catching in the hallways of the school.

If there was a student in the school who didn’t know George Weasley for these reasons, which was quite rare, it dwindled down to knowing George for one reason and one reason only; he was a devil in bed. 

To put it quite plainly, George is a complete legend at his school for a variety of reasons. Whether it was his courageous moves during a rough game of quidditch, finding ways to bother Snape during class, or plowing through a sea of girls in the matter of weeks, George Weasley was popular. 

He knew this, too. He reveled in the popularity and it boosted his ego to a level that no one could touch (no, not even Hagrid). This might be the reason he goes through a different girl every weekend. 

He was a cocky son of a bitch who loved to have meaningless sex. If one were to describe George Weasley as a player to his face, he wouldn’t deny it. He just couldn’t contain himself, especially now that he was in his last year at Hogwarts. He was nearly making it a game now to try and have hooked up with just about every girl in the Gryffindor house (that is of age of course, he isn’t a monster). 

So in all of his years at the school, through the countless classes and nearly thousands of hours spent developing a new product that seems like it came straight from Zonko’s joke shop, how in the hell did he not see her before? A girl with a gorgeous face and an even more gorgeous body was blessing George’s eyes upon his arrival to class. If he was being completely honest with himself, he was convinced the girl was some sort of angel bestowed before him. If not an angel, the consideration that she had been a Veela also crossed his mind. 

This stranger he had never seen before was beautiful. From her gorgeous locks that were pulled back in a low ponytail, which only showed off her perfect complexion, to the way her skirt hugged her thighs in a way that showed off her body. It didn’t take long for George’s mind to wander elsewhere. 

These thoughts didn’t last very long. It was more so due to the fact this girl had covered herself up with her class robe again, but also due to the class starting. Potions, of course, and having to see Professor Snape immediately brought George back to earth. While the class had begun sitting in their seats and pulling out their books, Professor Snape immediately pointed a finger towards the mysterious girl that had captivated George since his arrival. 

Snape announces, “Miss L/N, will you please sit next to Mr. Weasley? I’ve had enough of his dungbombs being thrown across my classroom and I think he might need a more studious role model if he ever plans to graduate.”

The class erupted in laughter, which was immediately silenced by a single glare of Snape’s dark eyes. George knew that deep down he should be absolutely embarrassed that his own professor exposed him for his bad grades in front of the class. However, he couldn’t even fathom those sorts of feelings right now. He was smiling ear-to-ear at the realization that you got to sit next to him. Could his day get any better? 

Snape approaches the table before the girl could even seat herself. He leans forward so that George can only hear him, and mutters in his typical monotone voice, “You will follow everything Miss L/N tells you to do. You will not be tempted to try any sort of pranks this school year because I can guarantee that you will be expelled as a result. Miss L/N will be sitting next to you to make sure you do not act up.”  

“Of course, Professor Snape. I bet you anything I’ll end up being your favorite student by the end of the year!” George exclaims, earning a few chuckles from other pupils sitting near his desk. Everyone knew damn well this was not going to happen.

Professor Snape, on the other hand, had chosen not to amuse George and swished his cloak in the direction of his podium where he began the lesson. The boy simply couldn’t listen to anything that his teacher had to say. He kept glancing at you the moment you had sat next to him. 

She was a bit timid and shy, but nice nonetheless. While Snape was talking, the girl snuck in a whisper to better introduce herself. “My name is Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you.”

George smiles hard and says, “Nice to meet you, I’m George Weasley.”

It didn’t take George any time at all to realize why Snape decided to stick the two together for the period. Y/N was studious beyond belief. She listened intently to every word that Snape would say and write it down in her notebooks. She would frequently raise her hand to answer questions or even ask one herself. They were never stupid questions either, always one that meant to deepen the topic at hand and further her knowledge of different types of herbs used in the potion they planned to brew today. George could have sworn he saw the girl re-read her notes at least two or three times before the period was completely over. Apparently mistakes were not allowed as he noticed you would erase certain sentences to rewrite the definition of a word or the purpose of certain fungi meant to thicken potions. 

Professor Snape clearly admired this girl as his star student. He would frequently be sure to announce this to the entire class too, usually muttering something along the lines of, “Thank you, Miss L/N, for your explanation of how to properly cut goldenseal in a way that will not damage its healing properties.”

If this girl had been such a hit for Snape, and more likely for other teachers in varying classes, how the hell did George not notice her before? Where had she been hiding all these years? The thought crossed his mind that it was possible he had been such a fool all these years, making a joke of every class period he had been to, that he simply just never noticed her before. Which was just ridiculous to him to even comprehend. 

After that first class with the mysterious girl to his side, George immediately pulls Fred around the corridor of the hallway as the remaining students mingled towards the Great Hall for a tasty lunch to fill their growling stomachs. Fred himself looked bothered that his own brother was preventing him from being able to eat, but quickly noticed a look of confusion across George’s face. Fred questions him, “What’s got your wand in a twist? Something wrong?”

“Do you know her? Like, has she always gone here to Hogwarts?” Georges rushes out the questions while pointing back at the figure of a girl walking down the hallway with a large bundle of books in hand. The boy was a little too eager to get the answers out of his brother.

Fred immediately laughs at George’s questions, which regrettably leaves George feeling a bit stupid. He knew just from that stupid chuckle that little Miss L/N had probably been attending this school for quite some time. Fred relished in the feeling of being able to bear the bad news to his brother. He answered with a slight chuckle, “Well of course she has always gone here! You mean to say you’ve never noticed her before? Really, George, I think those potions are getting to your bloody head!”

George quickly exclaimed, “I can’t believe this. I have no idea how I have absolutely never seen her in my life before.”

Fred chuckles and looks back at the girl walking down the hallway, stealing a quick glance towards her bottom. He’s smirking merely a few seconds later and elbows George in the stomach, nodding his head towards the girl and whispering, “Well, has that ever stopped you before from having fun? How about you get cozy with this girl, see how close you can get, if you catch my drift.” 

George matches the same smirk with a small laugh. It’s true that this sort of occurrence had never stopped George before. If he saw a girl he deemed attractive, he was quick on his feet to get her attention and lure her to his bed. It worked every time, too, so why wouldn’t it work this time around? His mind starts to wander to the idea of being able to kiss her neck, pressing his lips against her skin and inhaling her sweet perfume. George’s throat tightens just at the thought and he gulps loudly, Fred laughing in the process. 

Unbeknownst to George, this mysterious girl would infiltrate his mind for the remainder of the week. She would slip into his head at the strangest of times and not leave for what felt like ages to him. Not that it was a bad thing, George loved thinking about her even if she were a complete stranger. 

No other girl had managed to consume his thoughts the same way she did. It was a new feeling, definitely weird, but at the same time he was welcoming it with open arms. George goes to bed every night the following week with dirty thoughts in his mind, completely engulfed with the thoughts of how he would love to create a mess out of Y/N and her pretty face. He just can’t stop thinking about her already. 

»——•——«

A few days later…

»——•——«

You hold tightly onto your potions spellbook and rolls of parchment to your chest, walking to class with a slight bounce in your step. You were in such a great mood thanks to the amazing start to your morning. First, you had woken up early enough to cram in some light reading in your latest magizoology book about magical beasts and where to find them. Next, your mother and father had sent you a parcel this morning full of new hair clips and hair bands you were absolutely in love with. The variety of colors was just breath-taking! Finally, you were able to eat your favorite breakfast meal without spilling any crumbs or jelly on your robes, all while enjoying a nice cup of coffee before taking on the day.

That being said, it was easy to tell you were in a good mood as you waltzed down the hallways of Hogwarts with a smile on your face. You were holding onto this feeling for as long as it was going to last. Once you are in this kind of headspace, it would be hard to shake you from it. You were gravely positive that was why you were such a great student in all your classes. You are able to maintain such a positive mindset throughout the day, there was no doubt that this reflected on your amazing grades. 

However, it was very easy for you to study throughout the multiple classes you’ve taken at Hogwarts. The variety of lessons left you impressed with just how vast the wizarding world truly was and eager to learn more. There was truly so much that the school had to offer! Each and every day, you were beyond thankful for that one letter that completely changed your life. 

Your acceptance life altered everything about the rest of your life, but for the better. Such a drastic change opened up your life towards a world of magic and possibility. You were trying new things, adapting to the use of a wand, meeting new people, and of course, learning more and more about how to become probably one of the smartest wizards to graduate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To say the least, there was a lot of hope for your future after graduation. 

And there was no way the hopeless case you sat next to in your potions class was going to ruin it for you. Even if he is constantly confused as to what is going on, you knew that you could somehow twist today’s potions lesson into fun. 

You knew damn well why Professor Snape had decided to seat the two of you together. George Weasley knew next to nothing in potions and it was a miracle he had even made it this far throughout all his years at Hogwarts. Snape simply had high hopes that you could somehow educate the boy enough to get him on the right track for graduation. You secretly wondered if Snape did it as a means to make sure George graduates and doesn’t have to stay back another year. Either way, he was partially your responsibility now despite not even being a teacher.

While at first you were dreading having to sit next to George, you were actually coming to enjoy it. Not that George had ever really been considered a nuisance to you, you had just…heard a lot about him, was all. He was such hot gossip here and there among the seventh year girls. It usually always came down to the way he would frequently annoy the girls with his stupid joke products or foul sense of humor. However, there was the occasional whisper about how he would practically break someone’s back from his powerful sex drive. Having to hear these rumors and gossip left you wondering just how good both twins were in bed, because girls were sure to talk about Fred as well. These thoughts never really lasted long, though. You only ever saw the Weasley twins as peers and nothing more. You could have sworn in all your years at Hogwarts, you had probably only spoken to Fred a few times. George, however, you’d just never had time to properly introduce yourself. That was until this last week. 

It was hard to admit this to yourself, but upon your introduction to George Weasley you’d come to realize just how much cuter he was up close. You had only ever seen him far away in the Great Hall before and that was from only from quick glances here and there. Being up close and personal to George in class was vastly different and not what you had expected at all. 

Since that first period days ago, you couldn’t help but daydream of the boy and his stupid jokes now and then. This was quite the strange occurrence given you never daydream about boys during your lessons. School had always come first for you, therefore you didn’t have time for dating. Not that was ever really an issue because not many boys had noticed you in the first place, but that was absolutely fine with you. For some time now, you were pretty content with just having girlfriends to hang out with and looked forward to finding a future husband outside of school. Because at the end of the day, how likely was it you were going to find him at your school? 

It was strange to daydream of George every now and then throughout your periods. You weren’t familiar with this feeling and tried to shrug it off as nothing. This wouldn’t last long, right? 

You were convinced your brain was already feeling a bit sluggish even if it was the start of the term. Unsurprisingly, during their first potions class this term, Professor Snape had announced a test for the following week. It was going to be a huge exam to go over everything the class had learned from the previous year. Snape claims that it is meant to refresh the students minds and give them a fresh start for the term, but you suspected he was doing it just to pencil in bad grades for everyone right at the beginning of the school year. Not that you had anything to worry about. You had remembered literally everything from last year, so this would be a breeze. 

Maybe not so much for George, however. The mere thought of the boy pulled you from your thoughts and reminded you to make sure you looked where you were walking in the hallway. The last thing you wanted to do was run into a fellow peer and make a fool of yourself because you were too caught up in your thoughts about a boy. That would just ruin your day!

You greeted friends that would walk past you in the hallway, smiling and waving to the same girls you had planned to study with later tonight after your classes. You maneuver your way through the crowds of people to be sure you don’t drop your book and parchment. As you carefully walk through the hallway, drawing nearer and nearer to the cold classroom where Professor Snape held his potions class, you noticed a head of fiery red hair walking down the hallway in the opposite direction. 

It didn’t take long for you to recognize this as George Weasley. You catch a glimpse of his face, and you’re thankful that he hadn’t seemed to notice you quite yet because you would be a blushing mess if he caught you staring. To avoid your cheeks dusting a bright red, you keep your gaze on the floor as you get closer to the classroom door. However, you would come to find out just how poor of an idea this would be. 

Lost in your own thoughts, you hadn’t realized how quickly George himself had gotten to the door of the classroom and how close your proximity truly was. You feel a sudden weight hit your body and your grip loosens in an instant, knocking the breath out of you. Not only had you lost your breath, you lost your book and parchment as well, watching both fall to the floor at your feet. 

You look up and see George just as shocked as you were, searching your face and immediately recognizing it as the girl whom he sat next to. It took a few seconds to realize, but you soon notice that the two of you had tried to walk into the classroom at the exact same moment and ended up running into each other. If he were embarrassed by the situation, he didn’t show it. He chuckles and asks, “You alright, love?”

So much for not wanting George to see me blush, you think to yourself. The nickname makes your heart skip a beat and you’re left with red cheeks. You bend over to reach towards your fallen items and say, “Um, yeah I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

“No, don't apologize, it was totally my fault. I’m sorry about not looking where I was going!” George smiles, which only makes you blush harder because that had been exactly what you were doing just a few seconds prior. “Let me pick these up for you.” 

George does exactly as he says and beats you to picking up the fallen school supplies. As he hands you the book and parchment, you tell him, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Well I hope you don’t run into anyone else today…unless it’s me, of course.” George teases, sending you a very toothy grin and a wink. He steps away to enter the classroom as the rest of the students had begun filing inside as well. 

Your heart was beating a bit too fast for your liking. What the hell was going on with you? Why was such a simple act leaving you completely flustered? There were a billion questions running through your head and having to think them over before a class with Professor Snape was not how you anticipated today to go. Not that it was a bad thing. After such an interaction with George Weasley, you were pretty content that your day was still going great. 

»——•——«

The next day…

»——•——«

George had to see you again. He didn’t know how or when, he just knew he needed to see you.

If only it wasn’t so complicated to try and talk to you during class. If the boy could keep a conversation going during this time of day, he would have already asked you out (also known as inviting you to his bed). George found himself very compelled to whisper random jokes and other quirky lines here and there during the class period in order to build up to a more proper conversation. However, his advantages were always cut short when Professor Snape would hear him whispering from across the classroom. He would snap at the boy repeatedly to be quiet, and George finally listened when he felt a chalk eraser hit his forehead. 

While George was a little embarrassed at first, his heart started to swell when you reached across the desk to wipe some chalk off his face. No girl had left him so flustered before. All it made him want to do was give you a kiss on the cheek while his hand crept towards your inner thigh. Alas, George kept his hands to himself. He didn’t want to spook you since finding out about your history with boys. Or, lack thereof.

One day in the common room, George got a bit nosey and requested that Fred tell him more about the mysterious girl that sat next to him in potions class. It amazed George that his twin brother seemed to know quite a bit about you while he had known nothing this entire time. Fred explained, “Well, from what I hear, she hasn’t ever had a boy in her life. Keeps her nose in her books and homework. Kind of like Hermoine! Those two are peas in a pod, if you ask me.”

In sum, you never had a boyfriend during all your years at Hogwarts. Which was perfectly fine with George, because all he heard from this conversation with his brother was that you were just a little innocent girl. George nearly drooled at the idea of being able to deflower you in his bed, claiming your sweet pussy as his own as he rammed his cock deeper and deeper into your tight hole. 

It’s all he could think about now. Every time he would see you in class, the thought instantly crossed his mind. He was desperately needing alone time with you and pronto. Strangely enough, it seemed that potions was the one and only class he had with you. Which made the process of trying to get you alone much more difficult, but he would manage. George realized that the easiest way to grab your attention out of class would more than likely be in the Great Hall during meals. 

Now that he could put a name to your face, he started to see in the Great Hall. You stood out like a sore thumb to the boy, but that’s what he liked. He enjoyed the fact he could recognize you in an instant. George would spot you sitting with other people in your house and would give you a quick smile as he walked between the rows of tables. He always found himself smirking in a near instant from the sight of you blushing so deeply. It made him just want to ruin you right there on the floor of the Great Hall in front of every single student, but he contained his excitement. He knew that he needed a good enough plan to truly get you into his bed. 

The day after potions, George had walked into the Great Hall to receive a fulfilling lunch and an even more fulfilling quest of being able to speak with you. Walking down the row towards the group of girls he knew you’d be sitting with, he spotted you in just a few seconds. Thankfully, there was an empty seat to your left and he was sure to sit in it before anyone else chose to. 

You turned your head to the left, noticing George and smiled right away at the sight of him. The way your lips curled so gently into a big smile left George’s heart beating rapidly. It was either that or the way you had styled your hair this morning. You had pulled it back with a few hair clips in a pretty pastel yellow. It complimented the color of your hair and framed your face perfectly. 

He couldn’t deny the fact you looked absolutely adorable right now. It almost made him feel guilty for wanting to wreck your innocence. Key word: almost.

“Hi, Y/N. How you doing?” George asks casually, leaning into the seat as if his heart weren’t about to beat out of his chest.

“Pretty good, how about yourself?” You ask him, still cracking that gorgeous smile of yours.

George notices how your entire body has shifted from the direction of the girls at the table and has fully rotated towards himself. He knew that he had your full attention and that was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t want you looking at anyone else but him. Continuing with his plan, George starts to strike up a small conversation. “I’m doing good, just a little stressed about this stupid potions exam next week. Can you believe Snape is giving us such a big grade right at the beginning of term? It’s bloody annoying!”

You laugh at his annoyance and nod your head, seemingly in agreement. You respond in a soft voice, “Well, what did you expect? I think I would have been more shocked if he hadn’t given us an exam at all.”

“How do you do it, Y/N?” George asks, a little glimmer in his eyes. His stomach was doing a leap in hopes that his plan was going to work properly.

You tilt your head to the side in confusion. “What do you mean, George?”

The boy sways his hands in the air to emphasize his explanation, telling you, “You’re just so bloody brilliant. I mean, compared to all the other students, you’re way up here and I’m way down here. I’m scared of this exam next week and I just wondered how you would study for it so that I could get some tips and tricks.”

It was as if a lightbulb turned on above your head. Your smile gets even bigger as you suggest, “Would you like to study together? I don’t mind testing you on a few terms and other stuff just to jog your memory.”

“Really? You don't mind tutoring me a bit? Because I sure would appreciate it.” George asks sweetly, trying to hold off a smirk.

“No! Um, I mean,” You try to cover up the fact you’d answered so quickly but shrugging casually, “no, not at all. I’d love to help.”

George can’t hold back his smirk now. Hearing how fast you’d responded just guaranteed him that his plan had worked like a charm. He wanted you to think it was your idea all along to get to study with him. He just couldn’t wait to start. He asks you, “Great, how about tomorrow in the library around noon?”

Nodding your head, you answer, “That works perfectly for me. I’ll see you then, George.”

“Thank you, love.” He says in a soft tone, watching your cheeks grow red in a matter of seconds. He pushes himself up from the table and starts to walk away to finally sit next to Fred and the rest of his friends. He absolutely loves watching you blush so easily. 

As George was leaving the Great Hall later that afternoon with his friends and brother, he couldn’t focus on a single word they were saying. 

All he could think about was how hard you’d blush from the way he plans to pull your skirt and panties down your thighs. 

[strangersyet]

Moss - S.H

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Camping with Steve 

A/n: friends to lovers, soft, pinning

Warnings: kissing, strong language, anxious!reader 

Word count: 6.3k

Summer, 1986,

Backup plan

The first night camping, Robin hadn’t mentioned that it might rain, or that Steve Harrington would be there. He made her nervous in a way she wasn’t used to, he made her throat grow tight and her words disappear, hiding behind the trees somewhere. 

It was obvious to herself that she had a crush on him, that she had for a while now, and maybe Robin knew that too, maybe that’s why she forgot to mention that he would be there. In a blue coat that didn't fit him, that was a few sizes too large, maybe his dads, and shorts that let his thighs get wet. 

It wasn't dark yet, but the fire was already going, she guessed night would be settling in soon, maybe in the woods it just took longer. She sat as far away from Steve as she could, choosing to sit next to Eddie instead, at least next to him she could breathe properly. 

Steve waved to the two girls when he saw them but since then, since an hour had passed of trying to come up with scary stories like they were kids again, he hadn't looked at her once. She had found a fascination in the ground, in the moss and the little sticks that she could shift about with her boots. 

Steve was staring, it was obvious, he couldn't not look at her when she was here, even if she was staring at the ground like it was more interesting than anything else around her. He hated that she sat so far away, if the fire got any higher, his clear sight of her would be ruined and he would rather be sat in the cold and the dark than not see her. 

She looked up, and Steve honestly felt his heart thump in his chest, she looked at him, just for a moment, she actually looked at him. It gave him enough courage to speak to her, to take her arm and pull her aside, just before everyone went to bed. 

Steve had his hand over the damp sleeve of her cardigan, he couldn’t help worrying that she might be cold, he also had never touched her, it was making the trees around them start to spin and as he removed his very delicate hold of her, he couldn't even look her in the eye. “Have I done something, if I have just tell me and I’ll make it right, I swear. I can’t have you hate me.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his own imagination that had decided she hated him, but she was just so much closer to everyone else, it made Steve jealous, it kept him up at night because why didn't she like him? 

She parted her lips slightly, going to speak but stuttering over her own tongue, she looked softly at him, a little sad and it shouldn't have made his heart break the way it did, shattering onto the moss covered dirt below them. 

“I don’t hate you Steve.” His name sounded angelic off her lips. Leaving Steve a little hazy as her words carved into his head. The girl he had been annoyingly thinking about for months, nearing a year, didn't hate him. 

“Oh.” He hated that he couldn’t think of anything better then, oh. But he could hardly tell her how this horrible feeling in his chest was now gone, that now he didn’t have to glare at anyone she talked to because he felt left out anymore. “So I was just being stupid-”

“You’re not stupid.” She didn’t even let him finish his thought, cutting him off with a voice so sickly sweet he could taste honey in his mouth. Steve was nervous, he hadn't been nervous talking to a pretty girl in years, he leant against the tree, hoping it would keep him up. Normally people just nodded their heads and agreed when he said he was stupid.  

“Thanks.” He smiled, trying to act like he didn’t care, when he really, really did. Steve stopped leaning on the tree because it was starting to hurt his side and he didn’t want to scuff his sneakers on the first day, not after everyone had made fun of him for wearing white shoes camping. 

“Hey, Steve?” He hummed in response, brushing the dirt off his shoulder. He looked back at their campsite, just over her shoulder, right where she was looking with a rather sudden panicked look on her face. “You don’t hate me either, do you?”

She looked up at him and he suddenly wanted to kiss her. It was a thought he'd had before, completely innocent and uncontrollable, boys always thought about kissing their friends' friends. But this felt more permanent, like if he could just taste her once he would never want to kiss anyone else again. Her lips were teasingly soft and they had this slight red tint to them and- he lightly shook his head, focusing himself. 

Everyone had picked tents, except the little one on the left. The one that could fit two people, it would just be very cosy for them, the one that was already turning a darker shade of green due to the rain, which Steve could feel now was getting heavier. 

“No and It’s a good thing I don’t.” He smirked at her and she laughed. If she didn't mind sharing a tent, he didn't either. Even if the idea was making his heart beat a lot faster in his chest. “Thanks Robin.” He muttered under his breath, hoping the sound of the rain covered his voice. It probably wasn't just her, Nancy most likely had something to do with it but Jonathan and Eddie didn't have the same fascination with Steve’s love life, though he doubted they would stop them.  

Robin had been telling him since last summer that she had this friend, this sweet, kind, pretty friend who she adored, who she was certain Steve would adore too. And he might've, she just didn't seem to like him much, and he had this gnawing feeling that it had something to do with his king Steve reputation. 

She sat on one side of the tent, her knees pressed to her chest and her hands over her ears. “It's loud.” She whispered and shouted at the same time, maybe Robin was right, she was rather adorable. 

She had these knitted socks that poked out of her boots before she took them off to get inside their tent, Steve had never taken notice of a girls (or anyones) socks before but he had a newfound interest in them. His mind wondering what they would feel like, only to fall down the rabbit hole of what it would be like to touch her legs, her knees, her thighs.

He swallowed down hard. She was also very right, it was loud. The rain wasn't slowing down and it was hitting the tent and making it sound far worse than it was. They were dry but he had this horrible feeling that this little tent could only stay up for so long. 

He lent over his sleeping bag, taking her wrists into his hold and pulling her hands away. “I know.” He said, at a normal volume, hoping his voice didn’t break after her had so callously touched her again. It was tormenting, seeing how perfectly her wrists fit in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He didn't think before he said it, all of a sudden he could just hear his voice and she was screwing her face up like she had no idea what he was talking about. 

“For the rain? That’s not your fault.” She tilted her head to the side, even confused Steve found himself wanting to kiss her again. He pinched his thigh through his shorts, surely a little self control was warranted because it had never been this bad with her before. 

“For thinking you hated me. I worried it was the whole king Steve thing.” He took his jacket off, not because he was hot, well a little, but mostly because he just felt he needed to keep moving as he talked. He folded it neatly on his side of the tent, and then realised he had nothing to do with his hands anymore.

She had this look on her face and Steve worried for a moment that it was pity. He would really hate for her to pity him. She toyed with her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment and he was sure she would cut through her skin and start bleeding if she didn’t stop.

Then she said, “No it wasnt that, I was just nervous.” She looked down, chin resting on her knees, this beautiful bittersweetness hazing around her. He had never thought about that, that he could make anyone nervous. 

So much so that she had completely avoided him. 

“Around me?” He screwed his face up, eyebrows pinching together as he pointed to himself, just to be sure she didn't mean anyone else, just to be sure that he hadn't done anything accidentally to make her feel this way with him.

She shrugged, “A little.” It felt more than a little, just the way she was avoiding looking at him, and holding her legs so tightly to her chest, it felt like a lot.

Steve felt this immense responsibility to make her feel better. He wanted her to feel comfortable around him because he liked her, he knew he liked her, just from watching her little interactions with his friends he knew they could be closer. 

He shifted a little closer, arms around his knees just like hers were. “I swear by the end of this trip, you won't be. I’m basically a golden retriever but stupider.” He softened his voice as much as he could, smiling warmly, he never cared so much for someone to like him.

“Stop saying that.” She loosened her hold on her legs, not minding that he was sitting closer now. Steve saw her heart, though what she said, how she said it and quickly decided he definitely liked her.

“Okay.”

Bloomed into blue

Steve’s hair was a mess in the morning, she couldn’t help but smile, even barely awake herself, she smiled at him, sitting up in his sleeping bag with a hot drink in his hand, one for her just at his feet. 

He passed it over, the smallest marks from his pillow still indented on his cheek. It made her feel shy, even if she had promised last night she wouldn’t be anymore. He couldn't read her mind, she could still feel nervous around him if he didn’t know.

“Is anyone up yet?” She sipped on the tea, hot ginger and lemon, slightly sweetened. She wished she could ask if it was a guess or if he just happened to remember it was her favourite.

“No.” His voice was different in the mornings too, a little scratchy and  broken, he sleepily smiled to himself behind his mug. 

It was still damp outside from the rain last night but now it was a lot clearer. She could hear all the birds and the breeze rusting the trees, and sadly she felt she missed the rain. Everything was cosier in the rain, more comforting, she was glad for the tea, that was comforting too. 

But Steve, without meaning to had her heart thumping just after sunrise and the worst part was he hadn’t done anything but think of her when he boiled the water.

She replayed their conversation from yesterday a lot, how kind he had been to her, how worried he had looked, all over her. And while simply trying to ease her he had made her more nervous around him because now she knew how sweet he was, now this hopeless crush was twisting in her stomach and getting bigger. 

He looked pretty that morning, he really did. 

And Steve was very loyal to his word, he didn’t leave her side all day and he kept whispering to her to ask if she was still nervous, she shook her head even though she was. But Steve had made this habit of leaning down and whispering right into her ear which was not helping matters, matters of her heart more specifically. He was really trying so she had to as well. 

“Steve?” She tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, dropping the rope he was tying to the tree. Robin and Eddie wanted to make some kind of swing and they had left Steve to figure it out for them, which wasn't really working. “I'm going for a walk, did you want to come?” She would’ve gone alone, just for a small wonder around the woods but Steve had been trying to be nice to her all day and she just wanted to show him that she wanted to be friends too.

“Yes.” He untagged his foot from the rope he dropped and almost fell, suddenly desperate to reach her side. He was next to her in seconds, very, very close to her. In fact she could pinpoint what aftershave he used just from him standing there.

“Hey.” Eddie shouted, pointing to the tree Steve had just abandoned. He had been messing with his lighter for a while, not doing much but he didn't seem happy when she took Steve away.

Steve waved him off muttering, “I’ll do it later.” It was like he was talking to a little kid, she always adored his friendships, how he was with Robin, how he was with everyone. He put so much in, he cared a lot and she really didn't expect that from someone who used to be known as king Steve, it made her crush on him carve itself deeper in her bones. 

It started to rain again, just like she had hoped, only a little and the misty kind that made poor Steve’s hair all frizzy. She kept getting lost in how damp it would feel if she ran her fingers through it, how his curls would be a little knotted. 

He had his hands in the pockets of his shorts, he didn’t have his coat on today and his blue t-shirt was getting darker by the minute. She stepped a little closer to him as they walked mostly in silence. “I’m sorry, you’re getting all wet.” She didn’t bring anything either and she doubted the cardigan she left inside their tent would be very appealing to him anyway.

“I would’ve gotten wet back there too.” He pointed it out and now she felt a little stupid, of course he would’ve. She stared down at her shoes, at the marks her boots left in the ground. “Hey,” He said lightly. ”You can't apologise for the weather when I was the one who jumped to come with you like a fool.” He smiled, so very softly that she didn’t understand how anyone could ever say a bad word against him.

“I would’ve been the fool if you said no.” She pointed out, knowing just how anxious she had been to ask. He nudged his elbow into her side, like old friends did, brushing her off.   

It was nice walking with Steve even if they didn’t talk about much, it still felt just, nice. She slipped on the muddy ground a few times and he very kidney steadied her with his hand and when he fell she did the same. They were muddy and wet when they came back. 

And when they sat around the fire, she sat beside him, her knees pressed against his, the rain falling between their shoulders. Steve was warmer then she was, his body gave off more heat then the fire in front of her but that could’ve been her imagination. 

“Warm enough?” He leaned in to make sure she heard him over their friends' laughter, if she had been honest she hadn’t been paying that much attention to them. She nodded, his lips got too close to her ears and she felt his voice in her chest. She couldn’t be expected to speak after that.

“Nervous?” He watched her throat as she swallowed down harshly, trying to find the strength to say something to him. 

“No.” She lied and the smile on her lips gave herself away, but she suspected he would’ve known anyway. 

Restless moon 

Steve found himself waking up early again, the kind of early where his sleeping bag sounded louder than it was, when it was so quiet every little sound was amplified, when everything was still deep blue. There was something about camping, about sleeping beside her that was keeping him awake, keeping his consciousness up, trying to figure out why he cared if she was comfortable so much. He was a good person but this was like he was falling again.

Bitterly he was a little disheartened to see Jonathan sitting by the unlit fire, he had come to like his early morning alone, fighting with himself over why he felt so concerned with the girl still sleeping. 

The rustle of his fathers coat felt louder than usual as he sat beside him, this gnawing feeling telling him to tell Jonathan about these feelings he was having, he would be the best one to tell, Steve knew that.

“You like her, don’t you.” It wasn’t really a question, not the way Jonathan said it, he glanced at her tent and Steve couldn't help but do the same. Jonathan made it sound a lot easier than it felt, like liking someone was a simple thing. “You seem like you like her.” He didn’t sound as tired as Steve did, but he supposed Jonathan wasn't losing sleep the way he was. 

“I think I might. She’s sweet.” Steve smiled to himself, staring into the trees, knowing how stupid he must’ve looked but recalling a similar conversation before Jonathan and Nancy got together. 

“She’s liked you for a while.” Jonathan words stuck to his mind, if they were truthful it seemed that would really matter to him. Whether or whether not she liked him mattered. “I guess you just didn't notice.” He shrugged and Steve almost felt hurt. 

Hurt that he hadn’t noticed, even though he wasn’t sure what hadn't he noticed, because had she been obvious or was he just too stupid? He was hurt by himself for not seeing anything. 

“I presumed she fucking hated me.” He laughed and Jonathan couldn’t help but join him, everyone who knew Steve, really knew him, knew how he thought everyone still hated him, no matter how much they told him otherwise. “I didn't realise how much I cared that she didn't.” He wasn’t sure if he was telling Jonathan or simply admitting it to himself. 

Like a folktale, talking about her woke her up and she was stepping out of their tent. Steve felt bad, even though it wasn’t his fault she had woken up, not really. He looked at her, trying to see if he could stop from falling for her but then she sat across from the two boys and smiled, hugging herself with her arms and it sunk in, there was no way out of this. 

Steve took off his fathers jacket, stepping over the dead fire and draping it around her shoulders. Quietly she thanked him and he chose to sit beside her instead of back beside Jonathan, who he couldn’t even look at right now. 

“It’s not been a very warm summer.” Steve felt the cold on the back of his neck now, the campsite was damp from the storm they had last night and it had left the sticky air cool instead. But it was better she was warm then him. 

“I think it’s better like this.” She held his coat close, practically hiding in it. The rain fitted her, the cold fall-like air made sense around her. “Is that bad?” She looked at him, she wanted his opinion, she was waiting to hear what he said. Had she always looked at him like that or was Jonathan's voice just speaking to him. 

“No. It’s very you.” 

Jonathan cleared his throat, only she looked in his direction, Steve couldn’t quite look away just yet. She didn’t look at Jonathan the same way and it made his head feel fuzzy. It was an awful way to describe it but it was the best he could come up with. 

He left them to their own devices, which meant Steve had her alone for a little while until everyone else woke up. He wasn’t really sure what he planned to say now he was sure he liked her like that. He was still struggling with the idea of such a kind girl liking him like that. 

“Are you okay Steve?” He must’ve got lost in his own head because she looked a little concerned for him. A weak smile on her lips, her hands still holding onto his coat, keeping it wrapped around her. 

“You like me?” He hated himself, he hated himself for not thinking and just asking, it was what always got him into trouble he never thought enough but he also just wanted to know. If Jonathan was wrong he could just let it go, unrequited feelings sounded very novel anyway, it could be nice pinning for her alone. 

Her lips parted but she didn't speak, she might have wanted to, it looked like she wanted to but she just couldn't for some reason unknown to him. She pinched her brows together and looked heartbreakingly sad. 

Steve felt a sting of guilt, he hadn't meant to make her sad. 

Then she nodded, turning away from him, finding an interest in the trees, just like Steve had earlier. Maybe she couldn't look at him right now, some people found it hard to express their feelings or maybe she was embarrassed, maybe she was just nervous after promising not to be. 

“I’m sorry.” She muttered so quietly it was like when a deer passed, you weren't completely sure you had seen it and Steve wasn't completely sure if he had heard her. “I’m really sorry. I didn't mean to.” The way she turned to him, the way she looked at him made his chest tighten and pull in her direction, because she did look so terribly sorry. 

She was cute, pretty, perfect, even when she was apologising for liking him. 

Steve couldn't take another apology from her lips, as sweet as her words were, he just wanted to swallow them whole, to stop her rambling and taste her. He placed his hand right under her jaw, tilting her head back to him before she would look away and in a very rushed moment he kissed her, without really thinking, he kissed her. 

Sweet tooth

Kissing Steve Harrington had hurt, it had left a sharp pain on her thigh from how hard she was pinching herself. He tasted like stripped green toothpaste and cherry chapstick, it made her lips tingle like she had just brushed her teeth. 

There were probably a thousand questions she wanted to ask him but it was like he had kissed away her ability to speak, all the big smart words she knew were gone, it was like he had licked them from her memory and all she was left with was his name stuck on a loop in her mind. 

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t speak, because after however many minutes had passed everyone else decided to get up. The little clearing they had set up camp at suddenly felt rather small, crowded even.

“We’ll talk later.” Steve quickly whispered before acting like not a thing had happened, his ability to act unaffected made her feel like she had dreamt the whole thing. That was better than the other thought she was currently pushing away, that he wanted to talk later because he regretted it. That was a horrible nightmare.

She tried very hard not to think about it, to go about her day like her lips weren’t still burning, like every second she didn't have the need to trace her fingertip along her bottom lip, just to see if she could feel him again. 

Nancy had tracked a course right down to the lake, it was a little slippery from all the rain they had and there was a lot more uneven ground then anyone had thought about but other than the boys falling over every five seconds, it was a rather nice walk. 

It gave her time to concentrate on the tight grip Robin had on her arm to stop from falling. Nancy was up ahead in the distance, a little blurry spot with a map and a torchlight, even if it was still daylight hours. 

“Are you okay, like really okay?” Robin gave her a hand down a particularly jagged pathway. She was careful not to fall and drag the other girl down with her, which is where she was sure the boys were going wrong a few steps behind them. 

“Yep.” She hoped she just sounded focused on her footing and not like she was lying through her teeth. How could she be okay after what happened. She glanced back at Steve as quickly as she could because once she turned her head she found him already watching her and it made her feel so dizzy she was sure she could see two of each tree. 

She wasn't sure if it was okay to say anything, even to Robin who knew everything Steve did, what if he didn’t want anyone to know, it was a horrible feeling but it stuck to her sides and wasn’t going anywhere. 

She spent the entire walk just wondering if it was better to just forget it, but as easy as it seemed, to she doubted she would ever really be able to forget kissing Steve, it was something that would remain permanent in her head, house later she could still feel his lips against hers if she thought about it hard enough. 

The sun had set by the time they got to the lake, after a panic over a not broken but considered broken for a moment ankle and a loss of a touch that Nancy was very upset over, they had to back because there was this mean looking grey cloud heading right over them. Everyone groaned like they were school kids, like they had come all this way for nothing but she had rather enjoyed it. 

If she ignored the hopeless pinning and overthinking about a certain tall brunette, she had been in nature with her closest friends and she had gotten to see the lake, she just didn't get to go in it but when everyone was complaining her voice was too small to change anyone's mind so she just kept quiet. 

She decided to walk at the back, if she fell it would be her own fault and she was alright with that because the little piece of quiet and the freshness of the starting to fall rain would make up for getting covered in mud and possibly injuring herself. But then Steve decided to walk slower, he took smaller steps until he was trailing at the back with her.

He had his hands in his pockets and his head down, the rain dripping down the back of his neck and dampened his shirt. She wondered if he had a chill running right down his spine and whether he minded or not.

Something was wrong, something was off about him. He wasn't smiling or grinning or doing anything really, if she had to use one word to describe him, she might just have called him sad. And she couldn’t remember a time she had seen Steve sad.  

“Are you upset about not being able to swim?” Her question, or maybe her voice made him flinch, like he was so content in the silence, that he hadn’t expected anyone to speak. The others were just ahead, but  in the woods their voices seemed muffled, separate to them. 

“No.” He finally smiled, though it didn't seem very real to her. It was weakened at its edges like he was forcing himself to smile at her, and it had nothing on his real smile. He kicked at the ground, some grey rock jumped across the ground and left a stain on his sneakers. “Though,” He glanced up ahead, lowering his voice like he didn't want anyone else listening. “I wouldn’t have minded swimming in the dark and the rain and I don’t think you would’ve either.”

Then he really did smile, it was true and as real as it could be, it was directed at the dirt and the grass beneath them but it was something. He was right too, she wouldn't have minded swimming in the rain, she wouldn't have minded swimming in the dark either and she was going to wonder how Steve knew that later. 

“Maybe we could sneak back.” She whispered just like he did, trying to see their friends through the light fog, not sure if she really would go back if it was just her and Steve. But he laughed at that, not cruelly, he just laughed and kept on staring at the ground, which was more than okay because then she could stare at him uncaught. 

“I would but if you got sick I’d get the blame.” He glanced up, just a faint light brightened the gloomy clouds for just a second. He didn’t seem to care about the lightning, or the expected thunder coming their way in just a moment, she did. She stepped a little closer, someone being closer to Steve made her feel safer. 

“So what are you upset about?” She wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask a second time, she just wanted to stop thinking about the storm coming, but then her words got smaller as she spoke because she worried he had brushed her off for a reason. She was going to apologise but he spoke first. 

“How did you know I was upset?” He looked at her, his eyes still soft and warm even in the darkening light and hues of grey, he still glowed in warmth and sunlight. 

He waited for her answer but in truth she didn’t really have one, there were a thousand little things that just were off about him but she could hardly explain that, especially with the way he was looking at her now, like she was something important or, if she allowed herself to dream, special. 

“I’m not sure.” 

Steve would have to accept that because three words was all she could handle right now. He sighed, and she wondered if maybe he had wanted her to say something else. But then he sighed again like he was frustrated with something, and he just stopped and for some reason without knowing why or how she stopped too, like she was tied to him with some invisible string and couldn't take another step until he did. 

“I’m upset because not only was this stupid hike pointless, it kept me from you the entire day and all I wanted to do was talk to you, about what happened.” He pressed his fingers through his hair but it was damp already and it ended up messing it up more, like when a dog gets wet and then shakes the water off. She tried not to smile, this was too serious. His voice told her that. 

“I won’t say anything.” She spoke to the ground, she couldn’t bear to look at him when he said that was for the best. It didn’t even matter, she wouldn’t be mad because he had kissed her, and she felt she couldn’t be angry for kissing someone she liked so much, someone she could barely talk around, who she defended without a second thought when he wasn't around.

“That's not-” The break in his voice made her look at him, it forced her neck to pull up even if she hadn’t planned to. “I wasn’t going to say that.” He looked hurt, like she had hurt him, something she didn’t think she had the power to do. There was no pity or regret staring back at her, just a broken heartedness that made her lungs ache.

Both their names were called out, cutting through the trees and finding them. 

She could stand here for another second, so she took her out. “We should catch up or we’ll get lost.”

Sticky little words

It was the final night camping, hours after she had walked away from him, and Steve could feel the storm getting worse and he could feel his heart beating much louder than before, like the rest of him was suddenly hollow. He promised himself if the tent was lit up by the lightning one more time he would talk to her. 

He wasn't even sure if she was awake, he only was because once again him mind was stuck on her, on her words. On how she had stood there, a little bit of mud on her neck that he had forgotten to tell her about, and thought wholeheartedly that he wanted to forget he kissed her. 

The tent was cast with a dimmed yellow light again, the storm was passing them now, moving further away. Steve sat up and hated how loudly his sleeping bag crinkled, he couldn’t understand how the trees were hitting one another outside and yet the loudest thing was his damn sleeping bag. 

He placed a delicate hand on her shoulder because he didn't want to frighten her if she was sleeping and because he worried if he really pressed his hand to her he would forget why he was shaking her in the first place. A touch was a scary thing, it hadn't been scary before but now Steve knew he was falling for her, it haunted him.

If her blanket hadn't been so tucked around her he would have touched her bare skin and then he was sure he would've died right there. 

She shifted, she had been sleeping, he could tell from the way she rubbed her eyes and sat up so slowly. He could’ve stared at her forever in this sleepy state, her eyes soft and tired and her lips slightly pouted. 

“I know it's late but I need to talk to you.” He could hear his own smile through his voice at the way she instantly tried to give him her attention, about the way she started to stiffen again, her nerves setting in. 

“What is it?” Her voice was still laced in sleep but he could hear the anxiousness too. He hated that, he hated that she was nervous to hear what he had to say. And for the first time he felt nervous too and he just couldn't find the right words, because how was he supposed to explain that he had feelings for her, that he had always had some kind of feelings for her, that he cared what she thought of him so much it kept him up at night. What words would help him tell her he wanted to kiss her a thousand times over. 

“Steve?” She was smiling at him, and he felt like a fool. For a moment he had become the nervous one tripping over his own tongue, he was the one with parted lips, trying to speak and she was the one smiling like some kind of angel.  

Steve really didn't know what to say, so he kissed her again, he pressed his lips to hers a lot more desperately than the first time like it would speak for him. Like his tongue licking at the corner of her mouth would say everything he couldn't. He clenched his jaw fighting back the need to groan against her lips, she tasted like sweetened tea and vanilla chapstick, he wanted to kiss her until the taste was gone. 

He felt her hand on his shoulder, he felt her kiss him back, her lips moved against his and her tongue just brushing his own and it was heaven. She was an angel he knew that now because how else could she kiss like that. 

Steve pulled back, letting her catch her breath and trying to find his own but his eyes never left her lips, her wet lips coaxed in him, and her hand just gripped his shoulder a little tighter. 

“Are there words for that?” She looked lost, confused, still caught up in their kiss. “You’re much smarter than me, you must know a way for me to say that. You’re prettier too, have I ever told you that?” He went from tongue tied to never being able to shut up, the sound of his voice just rambled on as he said everything he thought. 

She smiled so softly it made his cheeks ache, and shaking her head she said, “No.”

He couldn't help but lean back in, he muttered a soft No?, against her lips. She shook her head, inadvertently brushing her lips against his in a way that almost felt painful. Under his breath he murmured, “You're too fucking pretty.”

He felt the heat rise to her cheeks, his hand that was suddenly pressing to her neck felt the warmth in her, the sudden rush of blood under her skin, he had never had that much of an effect on anyone before and it did something to him. 

He planned on admiring her for a little longer but then this sweet shy girl was pressing her lips to his and taking away his ability to think straight. His hands went to her hips, this felt like a dream he had before, gripping slightly as he pulled her into his lap, she softly muttered his name for the first time that night but not the last as Steve made sure she knew just how much he was falling for her even if neither of them could find the right words to say it.  

[strangersyet]

butter yellow masterlist

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: dr. joseph quinn is set to speak at an important conference, and, of course, he invites you, his assistant, to come with him. after months of pining and flirting, what can go wrong when the hotel only books you one bed? 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: joseph quinn (professor!au) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: rpf (real person fiction), drinking, praise kink, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, time jump, smut (MINORS DNI): kissing, heavy petting, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, usage of morning-after pills 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: big thanks to @lunatictardis for her help with this fic! you're the best mea! also this was TOTALLY inspired by his professor vibes on day 3 of fanexpo nola hehe

part one

part two

part three

[strangersyet]

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

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 ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ 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 don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s 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 you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s 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 he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s 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. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re 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. 

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something. 

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.

“Fuck,” 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 doesn’t notice you. 

You duck around people’s 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. 

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t 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 hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder. 

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway. 

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you. 

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. 

“Sorry,” 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. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does. 

I hope you don’t 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. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s 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.

‘Cause 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 you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will. 

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. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s 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 girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t 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.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re 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 girls’ 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. He’s 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 you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive. 

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. 

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying. 

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 hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will. 

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve 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 aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t 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. 

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t 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 shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t 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.

We’re 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 he’ll 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 hadn’t 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 he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re 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. 

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 doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t 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 he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve 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 you’re 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 didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s 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. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.” 

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience. 

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?” 

“Yeah.” 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 you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?” 

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re 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, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

Oh. That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve 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 he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing. 

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s 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 you’re 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. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re 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 he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ 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. 

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile. 

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

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 Tyler’s 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 can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?” 

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

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 ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night. 

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.” 

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” 

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” 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. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.” 

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens. 

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face. 

Steve Harrington is touching your face. 

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t 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. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him. 

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s 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 Steve’s 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. 

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer. 

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. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

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, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s 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 they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” 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. 

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll 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 Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s 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. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it. 

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation. 

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you. 

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s 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 he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.” 

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.” 

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 sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” 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?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

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. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” 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, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.” 

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?” 

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.” 

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

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, you’re 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 sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.” 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

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. 

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself. 

You like it a lot. 

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, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

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 you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d 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. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

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. 

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.” 

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.” 

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?” 

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. 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.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?” 

“If only,” 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 won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, 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. 

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s 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 Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s 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 you’ll have to hunt them up on your own. 

You’re 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.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

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. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?” 

“I wish.” 

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s 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 hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return. 

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s 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 you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t 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 he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted. 

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

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. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?” 

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?” 

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away. 

“I hope you do.” 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. 

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, “Do you have a doubloon?!” 

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?” 

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.” 

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him. 

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.” 

“FUCK!” Steve’s 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 shouldn’t 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. 

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count. 

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh. 

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.” 

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” 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. 

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d 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. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.” 

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” 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. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s 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 don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals. 

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly. 

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking. 

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers. 

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” 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. 

You’re 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.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s 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. “I 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 break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.” 

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- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack. 

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. 

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

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 myself…

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 you’ve 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. 

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s 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. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant. 

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” 

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer. 

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.” 

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.” 

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re 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. 

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt. 

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s 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.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t 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-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm. 

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” 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- it’s been long enough, and you’re 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.

He’s 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 he’s 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.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” 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. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.” 

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s 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? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?” 

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.” 

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps. 

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” 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, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date. 

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, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away. 

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

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.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me. 

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 doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel. 

That’s 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 he’s saying. 

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t 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 he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite. 

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones. 

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s 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. 

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things. 

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.” 

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve. 

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” 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. 

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” 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, “Have a lovely night.”

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. 

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. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t 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 don’t 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. 

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check. 

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day. 

Once you’re 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. 

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind. 

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms. 

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. “Steve?” 

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d 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. 

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now. 

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s 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. 

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 couldn’t 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. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco. 

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t 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. 

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. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s 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- he’s already got you. You already chose him. 

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.” 

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?” 

“I’m seriously considering it,” 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. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open. 

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, he’d have everyone see that you’re 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.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you. 

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.” 

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. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t 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 more…

The drive to Steve’s 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, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

“The price.” 

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice. 

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.” 

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re 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. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.” 

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?” 

“Right here,” 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. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” 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. 

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” 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. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out. 

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.  

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, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?” 

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, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s 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. 

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s 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. 

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t 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. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

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. “That’s it, baby,” 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. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

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. 

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

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, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.” 

Steve purrs. “I know.” 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. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” 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. “Jesus Christ-” 

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm, felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re 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. 

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

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. 

He’s 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 couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 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 he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders. 

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 you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” 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. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” 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. “Don’t believe me?” 

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… 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 can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s 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. 

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat. 

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

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. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t 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 it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. 

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started. 

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers. 

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

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.  

Steve’s 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 he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning. 

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t 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. 

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind. 

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s 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.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline. 

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him. 

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?” 

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you 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?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-” 

“I know it,” 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. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?” 

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?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?” 

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” 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. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” 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? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re 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. 

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re 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 doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning. 

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 doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s 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.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

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 he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose. 

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. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?” 

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s 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, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s 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, you’ve already done that one. 

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t 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 don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork. 

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink with a nonchalant hum. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

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. 

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

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.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

[strangersyet]

redamancy | steve harrington

Summary: redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings/tags: friends to lovers, 5+1 fic format, no use of y/n, FLUFF, PINING PINING, injured s4 steve, hospital setting, general vecna angst (eddie's alive bc i will never kill eddie in my fics), bed sharing, happy ending, and kissing. if that wasn't clear. :)

A/N: fun fact: this is the first time i've written a 5+1 fic! technically it's 4+1 but whatevs. if you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog and support your local steve harrington tumblrina.

divider by firefly-graphics

i. the promise 

"Would you ever get married?" 

You open your eyes. The setting sun nearly blinds you through the windshield. Immediately, you stick out a hand to block it. 

You're still reclined all the way back in the passenger seat, because Steve's fancy schmancy BMW can do that. He frequently lectures you about doing it while he's driving. Have I taught you nothing? Road safety! 

"I mean, I guess so," you say. "If someone ever wants to put a ring on me."

You sit up and pull down the sun visor. Steve turns. His hair lightens in the summer, shades of reddish blond peeking through. He insists his hair has never been anything but brown, fiercely pledging his allegiance to brunettes. You coo at his highlights all the same. 

"I want to," he says after a minute. "I wanna get married." 

You're parked down the block from your house. You should've gotten out ten minutes ago, but there's never any rush when you're with Steve.

"The line to wed you will be out the door, champ," you say around a grin. 

"Hm. I dunno." He stretches in his seat. "Maybe if I was the same guy I was a few years ago." 

You wrinkle your nose. "I doubt that."

"But what can I really offer?" he continues. "I'm just some guy who can't get into college."

"That doesn't mean no one will marry you. Some people who go to college are dumber than dirt. They get married. College has nothing to do with it. You can go, if you really want to. One rejection doesn't say anything about you, Steve." 

"I guess."

You pull the lever on the side. The seat shoots up with a brrrap! It clicks as you straighten. 

"Where did all this come from, anyway?" you ask. 

Steve shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

He smiles. "I like to live on the edge."

"Contemplating marriage like the world's biggest sap. Definitely edgy."

Steve hums. His hands are in his lap. He picks at a cuticle, a habit he’s recently developed. You wonder why he’s so anxious. 

"Two people from our graduating class got married last week."

Your eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Lisa Schell and Gary Brewer." 

"Wait, didn't she cheat on him?"

"Yeah, but he slept with her sister, so I guess they called it even."

You shake your head. "That's insane. They're literally babies, Steve. That's like Dustin getting married."

Steve scowls. "He's not allowed to get married before me." 

"Not even to his possibly fictional Suzie?" 

"Not even to her."

You stare at the freckles on Steve's face and how his frizz kind of looks like a halo in the light. You imagine the feel of his hair in your hands, the warmth of his scalp.

"I'd marry you," you say. 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. 

"What?"

"Like, if you were in a pinch."

He looks at you sideways. You flatten, then scrunch your hands over your knees. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. 

"I'm talking about spending the rest of my life with someone, you know. Not borrowing fifty bucks."

"Fifty bucks is a lot of money for some of us, Harrington."

"That’s probably how much Lisa's wedding dress cost."

"I hope she kept the receipt."

Silence descends. A soft breeze blows through your cracked window. You want to search Steve's glove box for gum, but you've just told him you'd marry him, so you can't do anything except think about the fact that those words came out of your mouth. 

"Are you…" Steve begins, then pauses. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you're worried, for some incomprehensible reason, that no one will marry you."

"I scoop ice cream for a living."

You level him with a look. 

"Steve. We're kids. Cut yourself some slack."

His eyes turn hollow. They've been doing that lately. You wish you knew why. 

"I don't really feel like a kid these days," he says. 

Something about the way Steve sounds makes you want to climb over the console and curl into him, cradle his head to your neck. Which is crazy. You guys don't do that. Steve isn't yours to do that with. 

"Let's make a pact," you say softly. 

He meets your eye. "A pact?"

"Mmhm. Let's say if both of us aren't married by… thirty, then we'll get married."

"Well, I don't want a pity marriage." 

You roll your eyes. "It's not a pity marriage, Steve."

"Thirty is so late! You really think I won't be married by then?" he asks. 

"No, I don't think that. I already said folks will be lined up to marry you," you say. 

"I can't wait till I'm thirty." 

"Or you'll turn into an old maid?" 

"Meh meh meh," he mocks without any heat. 

You purse your lips so you don't smile. "Fine. We'll split the difference. Twenty-four?"

Steve considers that. Really considers it. It suddenly occurs to you what you're promising and who you're promising it to. You wonder if you'll both forget about it. Or brush it off. Oh, what did we know? We were kids!

Except Steve doesn't feel like a kid. And maybe you don't either, as much as you wish you do. 

"Do you mean it?" he asks. 

"Of course I do."

"No, seriously." He's serious. "I mean it, so if you don't…"

"Steve, I said I mean it. I do."

"You'll marry me?"

"I will."

"Swear on it."

You hold out your right pinkie out, waiting. Steve hooks his finger over yours. Impulsively, you kiss your linked pinkies. To show that you really, truly mean it.

You try to picture it. What walking down the aisle to meet Steve at the altar would feel like. You wonder if he'd keep his hair long, like it is now. You like it long. Would he keep it long for you?

"Will you buy me a ring?" you ask. "If we get married, I mean."

"Of course I'd buy you a ring," Steve says. "I'd get you anything you wanted."

"Okay." Your heart hammers in your chest. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Want me to pull up to the door?"

"No, it's fine. Walking is good for digestion. Those milkshakes were no joke."

Steve smiles. He has such a lovely smile. His Cupid's bow is shaped exactly like a heart. 

"Same time tomorrow? It's movie night." 

Right. Your movie night. A semi-regular occasion that includes you, Steve, Robin, and the kids, sometimes. You've watched at least a dozen movies this summer together. Only this time, you're watching a movie after promising to marry Steve. 

"Sounds good," you say. "Will you pick me up?"

"Always."

Another promise. You hadn't realized how many Steve makes to you. 

"'Kay. See you."

You get out. Steve waves as he pulls away from the curb. 

Your ring finger feels bare. You rub it, hoping the feeling will go away. 

ii. the wound 

The plastic chair has turned your legs numb. Your butt is about to follow. 

Can butts go numb? You're not sure. You'll find out soon, though. 

You rub your eyes. God, you need sleep. 

Across the room, you catch Joyce Byers' gaze. She smiles at you, though it's brittle. You try to smile back, feeling distinctly like you might break if you stretch your mouth too far. 

She looks away, and your not-smile falls. 

"They'll let us in soon," she says, like she knows. She does know. Better than you, certainly. 

The hospital smells cold. It smells like a place people go to die. 

Your heartbeat ratchets. You shouldn't think like that. 

"You don't understand," comes Dustin's voice. He's at the receptionist's desk, flanked by Mike and Lucas. Dustin's face is red and blotchy, near tears. 

"I need to see him. You won't let me see Eddie, so—" 

The receptionist rears back, like she can't believe three children are daring to speak to her. 

"Neither patient is cleared for visitors," she says icily. "Now, for the last time: have a seat."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joyce begin to stand, ready to herd the kids away. You beat her to it. Out of everyone in this room, you're probably the only person who has the strength to stand. 

"Guys, c'mon. It won't be long." 

They don't look at you. You don't take it personally. An hour earlier, you'd cornered Dustin and forced him to tell you what happened. What's been happening. 

So he did. And now you're here. 

You don't blame them for glaring at the prickly receptionist. But you know that won't do anything. It won't heal Steve quicker. And it won't make anybody feel better. 

"Hey, Dustin." You lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you like you're not Steve. You wish it was you in surgery instead. 

"Come sit," you say. 

"I need to see him," he tells you. 

"I know." Your throat tightens, threatening to trap your words altogether. You rush to get the rest out. "I do too. But this isn't going to make that happen faster. Come sit with me. Okay?"

"He'll be fine," Mike says quietly. "They don't wanna get sued by his asshole dad."

You nod, because yeah, good point. Quite possibly the first time Richard Harrington has brought anybody comfort. He's in Cancun, last you'd heard. You hope he chokes on a margarita. 

Dustin follows you. Mike and Lucas sit next to Joyce. The five of you wait. 

At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake up, it's to the contentious receptionist peering over you all. 

"Mr. Harrington is awake," she says primly. "You may see him now, young man."

Dustin flies out of the chair, Lucas and Mike at his heels. 

A part of you wants to go home, and you feel terrible for it. You feel terrible that Steve almost died, but you're the frightened one. You don't know if you can bear to see him tied to tubes and a heart monitor.

"Go on."

Joyce tracks you sleepily. Her hair is more knotted than before you fell asleep. She nods to the hallway. 

"Go see him."

You can’t voice every thought, every fear. I don’t know if I can see him like this.

“It’s good he won’t wake up alone,” she says.

“He’s got a family.” You wave your hand weakly. 

Joyce watches you for a moment. Then she gets up.

"Yes, he does." 

She holds out her hand. 

You don’t know Joyce Byers very well. This is probably the longest conversation you’ve had with her. You realize, then, that you're wrong—you’re not the one who’s strong enough to stand.

“Let’s go see him,” she says. "All of his loved ones should be there." 

God, are you really that obvious? 

You take her hand, and the two of you go down the hall.

Steve is nearly unrecognizable in the hospital bed. The kids are speaking to him, unusually quiet. They look up when you enter. 

Steve’s eyes lock with yours. 

“Hey,” is all you say.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with disuse and getting choked by what Dustin had described as demon bats. 

“Boys, come on,” Joyce calls. “Let’s make a cafeteria stop.”

You see Dustin about to protest, but Lucas tugs his arm like he knows, and goddamn, you really are that obvious, aren’t you? 

You wait for the door to close behind you. Then you walk to Steve’s side. 

The gnarled ring of flesh around his neck makes you queasy. The rest of him isn’t much better, red and purple smeared across any skin that’s not covered by the chalky hospital gown.

You sit in the chair. It’s the same plastic kind as the ones in the waiting room, but this one doesn’t feel so hard.

“Robin called me,” you say.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be.” Your voice cracks. “Can’t believe you went dimension-surfing without me.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Your breath is punched out of you. 

“No,” you say softly. “My God, Steve. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand creeps to the edge of the bed. His fingers are scraped.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together. He slow-blinks. He’ll probably fall asleep in the next half hour. 

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers. “Mad, I mean. I’d be mad too.”

You know he wouldn’t be, though. You know Steve would forgive you in a heartbeat.

“I’m not mad,” you say, equally as quiet. “I just… I was scared." 

He nods. "I'm sorry for scaring you." 

You bow your head and close your eyes. When Robin had called, you'd run to the bathroom and coughed up stomach acid.

They say he’ll make it, she'd told you, and you'd realized with violent clarity that you love him. 

But Steve doesn't need that right now. So you bury it.

You lean in and bring Steve's knuckles to your lips, taking care not to jostle him.

His eyes widen. Part of you hopes he won’t remember this conversation.

"Don't do that again," you say. “Not without me.”

"Okay,” he whispers. “I won't." 

You wait until he falls asleep, hand in his. 

iii. the brand

“There’s no way I’m getting in your death van, Munson!” Robin whines.

“Death van is an exaggeration, Buckley. If anything, it’s a life van. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Definitely not because of that heap of metal,” Steve murmurs to you. You snicker.

It’s nearly dark, but a summer dark, where it doesn’t actually turn to night until well after nine PM. The top two buttons of Steve’s dress shirt are undone, and you can’t stop staring. It’s embarrassing, really. You’d nearly missed Eddie’s walk across the stage because of that damned triangle of tanned skin and dark chest hair.

“Why can’t we take the station wagon?” Robin asks. 

“I think Nancy already left,” you say. “Sorry, Rob.” 

“And I’ve put my car jacking days behind me,” Eddie announces, flinging his arms out. “So my van it shall be!”

Robin whips her head around to glare at Steve. 

“This is your fault,” she accuses scathingly.

“Me?!”

“You just had to go and get a flat tire yesterday.”

“Yeah, Steve,” you add cheekily. “Why couldn’t you have foreseen the dreaded timeline where Eddie drives?”

“Et tu?” Eddie asks. “I’m hurt. I’m a great driver, y’know. Better than Steve, some have told me.”

“Dustin only told you that ‘cause you were high on morphine and about to burst into tears,” Robin says.

As they bicker, Steve draws closer, so your arms brush. You close the distance, crowding him.

“Y’okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you say, startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“Are you okay?”

He turns to you. He looks like he’s searching for something. You don’t know what.

“Yeah,” Steve says after a minute. “I am. Better than, actually.”

“‘Cause I’m here, right?” you ask with a gooey grin.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re here.”

He sounds honest, so you turn away, because you can’t handle that and his chest hair. 

"I should get to choose where we go," Robin says as you arrive at Eddie's van. "Since it may be our last trip and all."

"Funny you were in Band and not president of the drama club, Buckley," Eddie says dryly. 

"Pot, kettle."

"How 'bout Rita's?" you suggest. "Unlimited refills and no one will hassle Eddie."

"Aw, you care about little ol' me?" Eddie asks. 

"If you get us there in one piece, yes."

Eddie huffs. "No wonder you and the Hair are like this." He crosses his fingers. 

"Damn right," Steve says. "We even finish each other's—"

"Terribly cliche sayings!" you say. 

Robin looks at you for a moment, unusually smirky. Then she looks at Steve. 

"You match. Blue dress, blue tie."

"That's so if she gets lost, they know who to return her to," Steve says. 

You scoff. "More like the other way around." 

He pouts. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," you sing, skipping ahead to Eddie's van. 

"I'm sorry, are you excited to ride in the Hell Van?" Robin asks. 

You shrug. "We could use some excitement around here, couldn't we?"

"No!" all three say.

"I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes," Robin mutters. 

Eddie pulls the door open. Your smile quickly drops. 

"Uh, Eddie? Where the fuck are the seats?"

"Right, so, usually I only have Gareth and Jeff ride with me. Gareth always calls shotgun—"

"Shotgun!" Robin hollers, and races to the front seat. 

You stare at the single backseat chair. There's no way it's big enough for you and Steve. 

"Holy shit," Steve says, taking stock of the "backseat."

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah… listen, if I'd known we'd be taking her, I would've put the other seat in, swear! Usually we take it out for the equipment." 

"Well, what are we supposed to do? Lay down and pray? This is how people get head injuries, Eddie," you say, arms folded. 

"Maybe we can call a cab," Steve suggests. 

"At this hour?" You shake your head. "No way. This isn't Indianapolis."

"Oh my God." Robin groans. "The solution is so obvious. Sit on Steve's lap. Boom. Now come on, I'm starving."

You tense. Steve is tactile, sure, and you've become acclimated to that over the years. 

But this? This is way, way beyond that. 

"Uh…" Steve glances at you. "Do you… I mean, if you don't mind?"

You glance at Eddie, who's got the tiniest smirk. You glower and he clears his throat, hiding his mouth behind a lock of hair. 

"I don't mind," you say, more confident than you feel. "It's a short drive."

Eddie nods. "Definitely. I'll step on it."

"Please don't step on it," Robin calls. "We're already chancing fate by letting you drive in the first place."

Eddie huffs, walking to the driver's side. "Y'know, Buckley, you are just…"

You look at Steve. He smiles at you, sweet as always. 

"This isn't gonna aggravate any injuries, right?" you ask. "Me… sitting on you?"

You wince at the wording. 

"No, should be fine. My PT gave me the all clear a month ago."

You nod tightly. "Right. Okay. You go first."

Steve climbs in, planting his feet on the floor. You go next, stooping in front of him. You catch each other's gaze for a moment. Then you laugh, suddenly trying to look anywhere but at Steve. 

"Right, so I'll just…"

You slide onto Steve's lap, trying to hold some of your weight so you won't crush him. He splays an easy hand over your belly and leans over to pull the van door shut. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

"You can sit back, y'know," he says, breath tickling your ear. "’M not made of glass."

"Didn't want your legs to go numb," you joke weakly. 

Steve makes an unhappy noise and tugs you back so you're fully seated on him. You angle yourself so you can look at him. Steve looks up at you, lightly tracing a pattern on your hip. Like you do this all the time. 

"Hi," you say, too jittery to crack another joke. 

Steve smiles gently. "Hey."

His tone is fond. You feel sick. 

"Everybody good?" Eddie asks. 

He adjusts the rear view mirror and you watch his eyebrows shoot up in the reflection. 

"You two look cozy."

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," you mumble. "Just drive, already." 

Eddie giggles like a gremlin in reply and turns the ignition.

It’s not bad, at first. Eddie takes it easy driving through Hawkins. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to attract attention. The other part is that Hopper promised Eddie a night in jail if he caught him running the stop signs again. 

You personally think it’s a bluff. Robin does not; she’s enthusiastically annoying about road safety, and points out every single sign and red light. This causes Eddie to start slamming the breaks in retaliation. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelp when Eddie hits the breaks particularly hard. “Eddie!”

Steve is quick to tug you backwards, considering you’re not belted. You scramble to grab his shoulders and twist to look at him.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

He smiles, then leans away, glaring at the front.

“Really, Munson?”

“She started it!” Eddie insists. “Blame your BFF!”

“Can you drive like someone who doesn’t have a death wish?” Robin shoots back.

Steve’s hands are now on the small of your back and on your hip, respectively. Your legs hang over the side of the carseat, butt nestled quite firmly on his thighs. 

God, you’re never living this down. 

“Y’okay?” 

Steve’s breath in your ear makes you squirm. You turn to look at him.

“Fine,” you murmur. “I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie breaks again, harder than before. You slip. 

Steve reacts instantly, his hand grabbing the meat of your thigh. Your dress rides up, so it’s skin on skin. 

The momentum is worse, however, because you jerk back. Right into Steve’s face.

Your nose mashes into his, which isn’t great. But then, your lips smush against his cheek. When you pull back, there’s a smeared lipstick print.

Maybe you’re the one with a death wish.

Robin is screeching incoherently but you can't focus on anything but the smudge of pink on Steve's cheek. Your chest feels tight. 

He looks like he's yours.

"Yeah, we're fine, " Steve says, voice close enough to startle you back into the conversation. 

He looks up at you. Your hand lands on the lipstick, like if you cover it, it'll go away. Steve tilts his head, mouth open in a question. 

"Sorry," you rush out before he can speak. "I got some of my, uh, lipstick on you." 

He relaxes. 

"Oh. Thought I was bleeding or something," he says with a slight laugh. "'S okay, I can wipe it off when we get there."

"Uh-huh." 

You drop your hand. You can't stop staring. Stop staring.

The print isn't exactly in the shape of your lips, but it's close. You can see the divots and where your lips parted. If someone were to see you two, they'd assume a lot of things you're not. 

Steve's collar is wrinkled from the van ride from Hell. His neck is flushed. You wonder how your lipstick would look there. 

Eddie presses the brake, softer this time. Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your thigh anyway. More marks. 

"Alright, relax, gang," Eddie says. "We're almost there."

You touch Steve's cheek again and hope he'll forget to wash you off of his face. 

iv. the secret

It's raining. You're in Steve's bed. 

Thunder shakes the sky. You curl further into your—Steve’s—pillow. It smells like his soap and detergent. 

You used to like the rain. Not so much these days. Rain makes you think of blood on asphalt and being alone at twenty-four. Rain silences you. 

"Do you think he'll come back?" 

You've never dared to ask anyone. Not even Joyce. She'd know. She wouldn't tell you the truth, though. 

Nancy Wheeler probably could. She'd face you with that steel brow of hers and give it to you straight. 

Yes. The monster's back. You're not getting married. 

You slip your hand into Steve’s. He squeezes your fingers. Outside, the rain roars. 

"I don't know," Steve says into the darkness. 

You can't see him like this. It makes you mildly claustrophobic. Maybe you should turn on the hall light. 

"Hopper said he was dead. So did that other guy—uh, Murray. And like, Eddie's okay. And Max. El would tell us if she sensed something. It's not like he could come back without making a sound. I mean, from what she told me, she basically, like, unraveled him from the inside out. Which is pretty gross, but also a good way to keep someone dead."

He's rambling. He's rambling to distract you. 

God, what the fuck are you going to do when you're twenty-four and unmarried and Steve's forgotten all about you? 

"I don't want anyone to die," you whisper. 

Steve squeezes your hand harder. 

"No one's gonna die."

You shift closer. You can barely make out Steve's silhouette. The ends of his hair tickle your knuckles. 

"Hey," he says, and you try to find his eyes, but you can't. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, even though something did happen, something that almost took him away from you, and you don't know if you can handle that again. 

"You can stay here as long as you want," he says. 

"I can go back to my room."

Steve threads his fingers with yours. You can't see his eyes but it's okay.

"Don't," he says. 

"Okay."

You scoot forward, closing another few inches between you two. Now, you feel Steve's breath on your face. He smells like minty toothpaste. He is alive. 

The rain batters against the windows. You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now, and no one would know except for you and him. 

His breath has begun to even out. You lean in blindly. Your lips land on his hair. 

It's hardly a kiss. It’ll be your secret anyway.

+ and, finally, the first.

"Dustin wanted chocolate milk," you say, not looking up from the tub of yogurt you're searching the date for. 

"Yeah," Steve says, parking the cart to the side. "Kid's addicted."

He opens the giant fridge door and a burst of cold air nips at your arm. You shy away. 

"Six dollars? Jesus, does it come from gold cows?"

You snort, finally putting the yogurt in the cart. You stay at Steve’s house more often than not these days, so there’s no point in getting a separate cart.

"What?" Steve asks, looking at you. 

"You're funny, that's what."

"I am?"

"You sound like somebody's grandpa."

"I do not!"

"Do too," you say sweetly. 

"Do not."

"Do too infinity."

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, whatever. I'm a grandpa 'cause I don't wanna spend a leg and an arm on chocolate milk for the little shit? So be it."

"Steve," you begin, eyebrows drawing together. "It's his birthday. Have a heart, old man." 

"Oh, good grief," he mumbles, but he takes the carton and puts it into the cart. 

You smile. Steve shakes his head. 

"This is why I don't go shopping with you. You're an enabler."

"I am," you say happily, walking alongside him as he pushes the cart. 

"And you don't push the cart."

You tut. "Pretty girls don't push shopping carts, Steven." 

"Oh, they just find some poor sap to push it for them, huh?" 

"I'm so glad you're on board," you say, skipping ahead to the chip aisle. 

You look through the shelves and land on two types of Doritos. Cool Ranch and Original. It’s a tough decision.

“Steve, what do you think?” You hold up the bags. “Which do they like better?”

“Ranch. According to Mike, liking the original flavors of snacks is lame.”

You snicker and take three bags of the Cool Ranch. Steve pushes the cart to you. 

“I feel like we’re shopping for our kid,” you say. “We’re the awesome house everybody wants to visit because we have the best snacks and the biggest pool.”

You look up when Steve doesn’t reply. He stares at you, expression unreadable. Your smile dims.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Steve, seriously. What is it?”

He shakes his head again. 

“Nothing, really. Just zoned out for a second.”

He continues to push the cart down the aisle. You watch him for a moment, then follow. The two of you quickly check off the remaining items on Steve’s list (yes, his actual, physical grocery list), and then you check out.

The cashier smiles at you both in line. She’s an older woman, with the typical poofy blowout nearly every woman over fifty gets at Brenda’s Salon in downtown Hawkins. You busily put the items on the conveyor belt while Steve takes out his wallet and makes conversation with the cashier. It’s a good routine you two have established. 

When the cashier’s done, you squeeze past the cart and grab half of the bags. Steve takes the receipt and the rest of the bags.

“You two are very sweet together,” the cashier says, her round cheeks blush-red like apples. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve replies, and heads to the exit.

You’re frozen for a moment, startled until Steve calls your name. You heft the bags in your arms and hurry after him. 

Steve stops and takes two of your bags before crossing the parking lot. 

“Steve,” you say, and huff. “I can carry them.”

“Pretty girls don’t push carts or carry bags. It’s the rule, remember?”

You watch, unimpressed, as Steve then proceeds to try and get his car keys with an armful of grocery bags. When he almost drops a bag for the third time, you sigh and take pity. 

“Which pocket?” you ask, snaking your arm around.

“Back left,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, feeling disgustingly fond. You shove your hand down Steve’s back jean pocket. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Take me out to dinner at least,” he says.

“Pretty boys don’t get taken to dinner until the pretty girl has been asked out properly,” you shoot back. 

Steve smiles, but the joke doesn’t land like it usually does. You step away as soon as you get the keys, clearing your throat. 

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson about carrying all the bags, Popeye.”

You open the trunk for him, then go to open the passenger side door.

“If I don’t carry all the bags, how else am I meant to show off to the ladies?”

You pull the handle on the driver’s side for Steve and he gets in, beaming cheekily at you.

“The only person who’s watching you make a fool of yourself is me, big guy,” you say. “So, mission failed.”

You open the glove compartment and start fishing through for gum. You find a Juicy Fruit packet but it’s empty. 

“Damn, that’s what we forgot,” you say, defeatedly crumpling the cardboard. “Gum.”

You start to turn to Steve. “Do you think we—”

You’ve wondered, probably more than you should, about how Steve Harrington kisses. 

Now you know: tenderly. 

He cups both sides of your face, and you have to brace yourself on the center console for balance. Your other hand tangles in his hair. It’s as soft as you imagined, free of product, and you scrunch the baby hairs at the base of his scalp. Steve makes a quiet noise. 

You kiss until you need air. Even then, Steve doesn’t let you go far. You part with only an inch or two between you. 

“There’s gum in the middle compartment,” is the first thing he says.

“Huh?”

“In here.” He pats the compartment between the seats. “Hubba Bubba. I got it last week.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s face with both hands. His hands slip to your arms and he squeezes, smiling gently.

“What?” he asks.

“Fuck, I’m glad I know you,” you say. 

Steve kisses you again. Two. Steve Harrington has officially kissed you two times. 

You hope you’ll lose track at some point.

[strangersyet]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you start to second guess your relationship when eddie doesn't waylay you with his usual abundance of kisses after work. meanwhile, eddie tries to work out what's upsetting you, how to fix it, and most urgently, how to ask you a super important question. fem!reader, 5k

cw: eddie skipping meals at work, suggestive flirting

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

Eddie's borrowed headphones slip down your head as you dance. Nothing dramatic, a shoulder wiggle as you do the dishes. You can't hear the racket you're making, plates crashing into one another on the drying rack, the hot water pounding the basin, the clip of your sock-clad foot against wooden slats as you tap it. 

Your hands burn at the high temperature. Your fingertips are pruned, palms chapped as you finish washing Eddie's mountain of dishes. His whole apartment was in similar disarray before you arrived, laundry to the eyes and one of his haphazard book towers collapsed in the bedroom. The dishes had been scraped and rinsed but not washed, the laundry designated to one corner of the bathroom; Eddie's not unclean, necessarily, but unfocused. 

You had time. You don't mind coming over to help him out. 

Though if he knew you were here doing this he'd blow a gasket. I don't want you wasting your time doing shit I should've done a week ago, he'd say. 

It isn't time that matters to you. You'd take a couple of days out if it helped him, if it meant he could enjoy the place he lives to the fullest extent. Plus, you spend time here too. And you get to borrow his Walkman the whole time. Eddie has the best tapes. 

You hum along to the finishing line of the song and set the last clean cup upside down on the draining board. Satisfied at a job well done, you wipe the sink basin clean, drain suds from the sponge, and turn off the water. Cool air floats in through the open window, kissing your lightly perspiring skin hello. 

You dry your hands on a cloth and push Eddie's headphones carefully down to your neck, more than careful with his things. He works hard for everything he has, days and nights and any shift they want him to take. Most of it goes into his savings account. His spare change gets dropped into a washed out pasta sauce jar on the sill for a forthcoming rainy day. Ridiculous amounts of it get spent on you, and if you asked Eddie he'd say it was perfectly reasonable, sweetheart. 

You're not asking him. You don't think new clothes and sweet treats nearly every time you see him counts as reasonable, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't appreciate it. 

Hence your unsanctioned use of his spare key. You buy him treats too, but money can't buy the satisfaction of a clean home. (Well, it could. Hiring a day maid might've been quicker and cleaner in the end, but would a day maid have put their heart and soul into dusting his figurines with a makeup brush for fifteen minutes?)

You turn around with Eddie on your mind, feeling grateful and tired at once. Your thoughts stutter at the warm body standing casually in the doorway, his shoulder pressed to the jam, a rucksack and a carabiner of keys hanging from his curled fingers. 

"Hey," Eddie says. 

You flinch like he's coming at you, startled by his sudden appearance. 

His laugh is apologetic, at least. "Woah! I thought you heard me, where's your head?" 

You slap a hand to your racing heart and huff out a breath that fans up your face. Eddie straightens from his cool guy slouch, dropping his keys on the counter and sliding his bag beside them. 

"It's around here somewhere," you say through a smile, trying and failing to glare at him as he puts his hands on your waist. "You scared me bad." 

"It was accidental." 

He pulls your hips to his and leans back. A close pressure without being particularly sexual. It's obvious that he's looking you over, like you might've miraculously run into harm in the sixteen hours you've been apart. 

"I didn't think you'd be back yet, sorry," you say breathlessly, still recuperating from your scare. 

"I'm the sorry one." 

He brings a hand to your face. If there's one thing you can count on with your boyfriend, it's that he's going to find an excuse to touch your face at least once a day, whether it be with the back of a ring-heavy finger trailing down your cheek lightly, or a flat, hot palm, calluses scratching ever so slightly as he squeezes it into whatever shape he feels like. Never cruel, but melding. 

He's in a mood. 

Not salacious. Teasing at most, he pulls a rough line down from the corner of your eye to your lips. 

"Why are you doing my dishes?" he asks. 

His hands smell like citrus scrub and white vinegar. They must've had him cleaning in the kitchen at work again. 

"So you wouldn't have to. I know you don't mean to let them pile up." 

"I'll find my laundry in the dryer, I'm guessing." 

"Nope. Folded in your dresser, more like."

He pulls your chest to his, the heat of his breath kissing your nose. It smells like the spearmint gum he chews obsessively during his morning shifts. Eddie has a theory that eating in the mornings is breaking a seal —you'll be much hungrier for the rest of the day than you would've been otherwise. Better to wait for lunch. 

You hate his theory (three meals a day plus as many snacks as he needs would be perfect,  if he could find the time) and his gum for what it represents. It reminds you that he likely hasn't eaten today, and you're quick to start brainstorming ideas for dinner from the ingredients you'd seen while cleaning. He has ground beef, enough eggs to make pasta, and a tupperware of frozen soup from last Wednesday. The world's your oyster. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. You don't have time to answer. "I wish you didn't do all the laundry, babe. Those stairs are a fucking killer." 

He leans that last inch. A kiss is coming any second now, your pulse capering between your ears. A hundred kisses shared between you and you wait for the next with the same calibre of excitement as you did for the first. 

"I owe you a deep tissue massage, right?" he murmurs. 

You beam at him, pushing the heel of your palm against his chest to widen the distance between you into something a little less heart-pounding. "You haven't eaten today, have you?" 

"I'm pretty hungry," he says, his voice smooth as angora silk. 

He looks, again, like he might kiss you. His eyes dip to your lips, a molten brown shining in the kitchen light. You wait, and you wait, but he doesn't close the gap. 

You push your smile to one side, your eyelashes twined in the corners from the force of it. Your smile isn't entirely genuine. It's cool if he doesn't wanna kiss you… sort of. He can do whatever he likes, of course, you'd never force him to kiss you just to keep you happy or for any other reason, but you're a little down at the idea that he doesn't want to. You love how they feel. You're used to them as both hello and goodbye. 

Eddie might not want to kiss you, but he isn't putting on a show, his amorous smirking a reality you battle with (read: give in to, enjoy, daydream about) on the regular. Perhaps he isn't eager to ravish you after a full day bussing tables. That's more than okay. 

However he might be feeling, you aren't going to let him go hungry a minute longer. "Dinner?" you ask. 

"I was thinking sloppy Joes," he says, his hand running down your arm. He turns for the fridge. You follow. "Brioche buns?" 

You step in front of him, the fridge door a cacophony of glass rattling as you tug it open. "I'm making them." 

Eddie wraps his arms around you, moving you bodily to the side. It's too quick for you to dig your heels in. 

"You used to be a gentleman," you complain. 

"No, I didn't." He taps your ankle with the rubber toe of his converse. 

You make dinner together, to each other's chagrin. Eddie steals spatulas and frying pan handles from your grip. You bump his hip away from the stove grill to toast buns. When you sit down together on the couch, it's at war, elbows digging into soft spots and cups placed out of reach on the coffee table. 

"Dick," you say. 

Eddie takes a bite, says, "You're the dick, dick," and starts shovelling fries onto your plate. "Giving me more fries is ridiculous. We should eat the same portions, we're the same age." 

"But one of us had breakfast and lunch, and one of us didn't," you say, using your fork to give his gifted fries straight back. 

And here's where you get the first inkling that something's making him not want to kiss you, emphasis on you. 

Eddie loves kissing you when he feels loved. For obvious starters, whenever you tell him you love him he makes sure to kiss your lips. When you make him laugh, when you wash his hair in the shower, when you draw stars into his palms, all those things garner a fond peck to the temple. He kisses the space just under your ear so often you're sure there's a contusion in the shape of his mouth there, permanent and purpling, his go-to whenever he's laying on top of you or hugging you from behind. 

You can count on a mildly greasy kiss no matter the meal. Eddie loves eating dinner together. He waits for you to get home, sometimes for hours, to share a plate with you. You've never not indulged him with a kiss. Tonight, he doesn't ask. 

It would be here. Name-calling dripping in affection, you elbow glancing off of his as you cut into your sloppy Joe, and the TV failing to cover the sound of a quick kiss before he digs in. You're gutted at the lack and surprised to have noticed it, but you don't go so far as to mourn the loss: Eddie's likely too hungry to think about kissing, that's all. Right?

Despite attempts to convince you otherwise, he's hungry. He finishes his plate in what feels like five big bites, hair tucked behind his ears, an innocent but far off look about him as he wipes his fingers in a piece of kitchen towel and leans back into the couch cushions with a small groan. 

"We should stop eating on the couch," he says. 

"You told me you wanted to sit here." You're confused. 

"It's like, testing fate. I'm a mess. I'll ruin it and have to get a new one I can't afford." 

You chew on a fry. "I mean," —you put your hand over your mouth, pleased when he turns to you with a ready-made smile, like the act of just looking at you is one he enjoys— "even if you drop something on it, we can Didi Seven it. Or get one of those fancy water vacuum things." 

"It's my couch," he says. "You wouldn't have to clean it." 

"You're my boyfriend," you respond, "so I wouldn't mind." 

"I'm your boyfriend," he says, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side. 

His lips close, his eyes tracking up and along the lines of your features with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. You'd like to say that it's love, but you're starting to think it's something else. 

"Don't say it like that. You sound too unsure," you say.

Amusement dances across his face. "Are you finished?" he asks, opening his hand for your tray. 

"No," you say, faux-stroppy. You take another fry. 

Eddie grabs his tray. He skirts around your legs and stops at your side. In his more dopey moods, he'd take your face into his hand again and hold your head still as he kisses your crown. 

He squeezes your shoulder. "I'm not unsure about anything," he says warmly. "I'll get you a drink, yeah? Ice?" 

A chuck under the chin with his forefinger and he's gone, leaving you sitting there wondering what's wrong with him. Home an hour now and not one single kiss? Is this the end of the honeymoon phase? How do people survive this shit, you think. It's agonising.

Your chewing turns morose. 

You and Eddie go through phases, waxing and waning, as most people do. There's always love there, but sometimes there's so much of it you don't know what to do with yourself besides lavish in it. Only yesterday morning he'd been in your bed, shirtless (as you often wish he'd be), dark ink like bruises in the low light where it climbed the lengths of his arms and his bare chest. You were lax under his touch, his nose and lips pressing to your skin as he kissed you from rib to soft tummy. Slow, kissing you as though he had nowhere else to be but there. As though his next shift wasn't thirty minutes around the corner. 

You were mortified when he blew a raspberry. Now you're thinking you might peel out of your shirt and ask him to do it again if it means he'll kiss you in any definition. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks as he returns, his hand sliding along from your shoulder to the other while he steps over your legs. 

"What are you thinking about?" you ask. 

"Feeling very repetitive today, are we?" he teases, no consideration for your dinner tray as he collapses into the seat beside you. 

You're expecting his cheek on your shoulder, his hair tickling your upper arm. It doesn't come. Worried he's discouraged by your tray, you place it on the coffee table and sit back. You really want him to kiss you. 

Kissing someone isn't something you thought you'd want to do before you met Eddie. To be kissed, sure. To give a chaste peck, absolutely. But to have someone put their weight on you, to press at the seam of your lips with their own and to wade in like a steady wave, one breath at a time, until you're unsure where the boundary of your mouth begins and his ends, that was all new. Eddie kisses like he loves, loud and brash, rough and eager. Gentle when he needs to be but arduous. 

He makes you feel wanted in a thousand ways and the first is his greedy penchant for stealing a kiss or three at every opportunity. It's weird that he hasn't kissed you yet. He's acting weird. 

"You're being super weird," you say. You feel like a pressure cooker with steam pouring from the release valve. 

Eddie smirks at you. "That so? Any explanation attached to that, or are we name-calling? I have some names for you, if we are." 

"Oh, I have to know." 

"Figured you would." He throws his leg over your thigh. The firm muscle of it tenses as he wiggles his foot. 

"What were you gonna call me?" you prompt impatiently.   

"Sweetheart. Angel." He turns his cheek into the back of the couch, bringing his pinky to your face and drawing a line from the smoothest skin under your eye outward. "Pretty. Very pretty." 

"Says you," you murmur. If he thinks you're so pretty, why won't he kiss you? "I can't work out your angle today." 

"Am I acting differently?" he asks, seemingly unperturbed. 

No. He just hasn't kissed you. There might have been a moment when he first came home where you thought he was hesitating to kiss you, but since then he's acted exactly as he usually does (minus kissing, therefore making it unusual). 

You sigh, half serious and half wanton sadness. "No." His nose twitches. You startle. "What?" 

"Nothing." 

"What, do I have bad breath?" you ask, bringing a hurried palm to your mouth to try and test it. 

Eddie pulls your hand down, admonishing through a laugh, "You obviously don't. You know I'd tell you, babe." 

"Oh." 

"I got gum though, if you want it." 

You bat his chest. "I bet you do… I don't know what it is, then. I give up." 

"What's what?" he asks. He takes a curl of his hair around a painted fingernail. It coils on his finger, where he pinches the end, bringing it up to your chin and drawing a smile under your lips with the tip. 

"I… do I have something in my teeth? A zit? What's the issue?" you ask, lost. 

"There's no issue!" He laughs, and he curves his hand gently around your neck. "Why do you think there's an issue?" he asks. A thread of his voice wavers. Impossible to notice if you didn't know everything about him, down to the stray hair. 

"No, because," —your voice shrinks— "you're being off with me." You won't cry, but it's impossible to stop the doubt that seeps into your voice. "You're not…" 

Eddie strokes your neck with his thumb, growing serious. "I'm not what?" 

"You haven't kissed me." You avoid his eyes. "Not since you saw me." 

"I'm sorry," he says, immediately dipping forward. 

You pull back. "Wait–" 

Eddie waits. "What?" he asks. 

"I don't want you to kiss me just 'cus I asked you to." 

Eddie pushes his hand upward, his index finger shaped to your jawline. He rubs a quarter circle from your chin to your jaw tentatively with his thumb, an awful sorry look in his eyes that he gets whenever you're upset. "Well, I always want to kiss you," he confesses. His eyebrows furrow. "You know that, right?" 

"But you haven't, today." 

Is that pathetic? you panic. Noticing, caring, it feels so, so silly all of a sudden, you can't believe you spilled it that easily. You may as well have written clingy loser across your forehead in glaring pen. 

Eddie sees it. He doesn't cringe at you like you fear he will. 

"Ah," he says, almost humming, his lips barely parted, "that's just not okay, is it? My girl waiting on a kiss." 

He leans in. You shy away, wanting his kiss but wanting the run up more. Eddie follows your lead, keeping space between you, rubbing a diligent and affectionate circle into your cheek. His touch is soft enough to tickle. 

"I'm not trying to act desperate, I just figured– I thought there was a reason you hadn't," you say. 

Eddie asks you in his softest, most genial tones if he can kiss you. 

You don't say yes so much as you lift your chin and close your eyes. Your relief is sharp as he closes the fizzing space between you, as he guides your face to his and holds it there like a treasured pearl cupped in two palms. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that kills any doubts of his affection stone cold dead. Your lips part a millimetre if that, and Eddie slots into the gap, his hands growing less and less careful by the second, the pressure of his touch amping up. He moves back only long enough to turn his head, your noses bumping, another breathy sound slipping past his lips. You smother it gracelessly with a rougher reciprocation. 

It's not your longest kiss, but it works. It's the reassurement you needed. Eddie pulls away to suck in a harsh breath, the feeling foreign against your tingling lips. His face dips, his eyes out of view. His hands move in twin down the slope of your neck, languish, feel along the thin layer of your t-shirt as though he's looking for some secret answer. 

"I'm not trying to act weird around you, I'm just nervous," he says.

You feel your back aching, stiff as a rod. "Nervous?" you ask quietly. 

Eddie rests his forehead on your chin. He whispers a cuss, and then he sits up very tall and looks you in the eye. 

It takes him five seconds to tell you what it is that's making him anxious. In that time, you come up with a handful of things. I lost my job. I don't want to be with you anymore. There's someone else. There's no one else, but you did something that pissed me off/made me uncomfortable/disgusted me. I'm sick. None of your guesses are good, and none prepare you for what he asks next. 

"Would you wanna move in with me?" 

His hand meanders along your thigh. An awkward smile catches his lip like a fish hook, tugging it up on one side. 

"I… what?" 

"I think it's a good idea. I was trying to ask you yesterday, and now today it didn't feel right. I don't want you thinking I'm asking because you did my laundry." His hand warms your thigh, a pervasive heat. Your face is similarly hot. "We could split rent, and you could keep saving. You wouldn't have to deal with your shitty neighbours. You'd be closer to your job, and– and to me. It's a good idea," he repeats. "There's a ton of reasons it would be good for you, but I'm asking 'cus I missed you so bad last night I couldn't sleep. I wanna be with you whenever we can be." 

"You'd really want me to?" you ask. 

"You'd never have to wait for a kiss again," he says hopefully. "I know it's a big move. I get it if you're not ready." 

"I'm ready," you say. You don't know it's true until you've said it aloud. 

Delight sparks and catches like sun-dried tinder. Elation lights his eyes. "Holy shit, yeah? You want to?" 

"Yeah," you say, nodding emphatically, trying not to yell. "Yes, I want to. I'd love to! That would be–" 

"A dream," he finishes, snatching your waist into his grasp, basically yanking you into his arms.

"Amazing," you say, your arms forced over his shoulders. 

You wrap your arms around the back of his head, curls that smell of almond oil and a generous dollop of hair mousse crushed to your face. Your eyes slip closed. You suck in an inconspicuous breath, though your self-indulgent action is interrupted by a groan, Eddie squeezing you hard enough to make the bones in your back click three at a time. 

"I can't believe you, sweetheart. I don't kiss you for an hour and you think there's something wrong?" He laughs.

"I'm spoiled," you say sheepishly. To draw his attention, you add, "I can't believe you, afraid to ask me that! Why would I say no? I love you." 

"I love you, too," he says, pulling the small of your back tighter still so he can dig his nose into the side of your head. 

He kisses you all over the side of your face until you're painted in little warm patches from overexposure. A loved up mess, and dizzy with relief.

Relief and excitement. "How soon do you want me in here?" you ask, sitting back. 

"How soon do you want another kiss?" he asks. 

"Will we be stealing each other's questions all day?" you ask. 

"For the rest of time, if I get my way." 

"That's so corny," you whisper, ecstatic. 

Eddie pushes you down onto the couch cushions. You know before he so much as pulls up a knee that he's going to climb on top of you. You make room for him, your heart feeling like it could breach through your ribs one bone at a time. 

"What are you doing?" you whisper with a smile. 

"Making up for lost kisses."

—

Two Weeks Later

Eddie wakes to a kiss. 

Your arm thrown over his waist, your hand feeling greedily at the trim curve atop his hip, you've well and truly wrapped yourself around him. Like an octopus. He imagines the popping sound of your suckers if he tried to detach you (not that he'd want to). 

You're dotting shy, soft kisses down the column of his throat. "I love you," you say softly between them, a melody that turns him to jelly. "I love you. Love you, love you, love you." 

Your kisses are a compromise —after the general holy fucking shit-ism of your conversation a fortnight ago, Eddie put his foot down. He was out of his mind knowing his apartment was about to become yours, but he was also incredibly unhappy about the faces you'd made before he asked. He remembers your voice, your apprehension as you mumbled, "No, because, you're being off with me."  

Eddie had been totally off trying to figure out how to ask what was potentially the second most important question he could ever ask you; he was distracted enough by it that he totally forgot about kissing you senseless. And your worrying asked a totally new question he hadn't thought of before. Why does Eddie always kiss you first? And why had the lack of a kiss been seen as a bar, and not an invitation? 

Hence Project Kiss Me, Stupid. Or Project Kiss Me Stupid if he's feeling particularly in love (because you aren't stupid at all, but you may have made an unintelligent assumption (Eddie not kissing you for a few hours did not mean even slightly that he isn't gross in love). 

The project was more like a proposal. Eddie decided you should be making the first move more often, so you weren't ever left feeling like something was wrong between you for lack of a kiss again. "If you ever think I'm mad at you, plant one on me. I promise I won't be mad much longer," he told you.

You're passing with flying colours, as far as he's concerned. Eddie thinks your moving in was gift enough, but fuck, all these kisses? He's been a walking vestibule of love, and lust, and sickening fondness for two weeks now. Project Kiss Me Stupid is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's a genius.

"Good morning," you say into his neck, a hint of teeth scratching him with the greeting. Eddie cups the back of your head with a weak, tired groan as your lips close over his pulse.

"Morning," he says. His voice is thick with the grit of sleep. 

"This is okay?" you ask, pausing in your kiss. 

Eddie tips his head back heavily into plush pillows, your pillows, fresh with new bedding to match the nightstands you'd decided on together. "Please," he says. His arm slides behind your back to belt you in. "I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore if you take any longer." 

"Very funny," you murmur. 

He knows he's forgiven for teasing when your face dives back into the crook of his neck. His eyes shutter closed, blissed, thinking, God, I could get used to this, when you nip him. 

"You didn't like my joke, I take it?" 

"It was funny," you say, giving him a scratching kiss.

"That's counter-intuitive," he warns. "I like it rough." 

You fall away from him to cover your face with both hands. He knows he's rubbing off on you at the sight, your head shaking a theatrical side to side that fails to hide real embarrassment beneath it. You look especially tortured. 

Eddie knows exactly how to fix it. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!

[strangersyet]

Very small excerpt from the best friends to lovers Steve x fem reader in the works🫶🏼🫶🏼 What do we think??

Steve x fem!Reader // Best friends to lovers

You decide to take your chances against the indiana summer heat, dashing down the street in the direction of the only place close by you know.

Steves.

God you wish you knew more people. You wish you had literally anywhere else to go.

You HATED that Steve was about to see you like this; hair a dripping mess from the scuffle, bruise swiftly forming around your wrist, barefoot and in a bikini, heartbeat like a hummingbird’s wings.

You could scarcely feel the heat on your feet anymore, the pure adrenaline taking over as you barrelled up the pathway to Steve’s door.

His maroon BMW was parked in the driveway, so you knew he had to be home.

You didnt even think to compose yourself as you pounded on the door, calling for Steve in a terse voice, your throat already feeling raw from the heavy breathing in the sweltering heat.

Steve answered shortly after, slowly cracking the door open at first, but then quickly swinging it wide open as he heard your voice and saw your shaking, barely clothed form outside.

“Sweets?? What the hell are you doing here- where are your clothes? Where are your SHOES?”

You stood there, mouth closed and unable to will yourself to think of an answer.

Steve ushered you inside, asking you what happened and why you were here.

You explain with a shaking voice.

Steve tried to remain as patient and impassive as he can, but as soon as you get to the comment about your body he scoffed, incredulous. “He said WHAT to you? That douchebag, i cant believe he had the audacity to-”

You cut him off, shaking your head and stumbling over your words.

“But it gets worse, Stevie.”

[strangersyet]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head. 

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today." 

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you." 

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow." 

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping." 

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos. 

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you. 

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful." 

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower. 

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks. 

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously. 

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me." 

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh. 

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently. 

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep. 

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly. 

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne." 

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General. 

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants. 

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?" 

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg. 

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened. 

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly." 

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek. 

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?" 

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up." 

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise. 

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers? 

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan. 

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.  

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say. 

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again. 

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying. 

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say. 

"He sounds like you." 

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle. 

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists. 

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of. 

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry." 

"You think so?" you ask. 

"I think the solution is the same, too." 

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry." 

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean. 

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question). 

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in. 

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms? 

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more. 

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably. 

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm. 

You hesitate. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?" 

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts. 

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately. 

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever." 

"What do you think?" you ask softly. 

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious. 

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days." 

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?" 

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?" 

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast." 

"I can wait." 

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?" 

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me." 

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork. 

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it. 

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough. 

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird." 

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it." 

"It's a mess?" you ask. 

"It's perfect." 

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully. 

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing. 

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips. 

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly. 

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me." 

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more. 

"He's… I'm just not…" 

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth." 

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble. 

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–" 

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face. 

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind." 

"But he is perfect," you say. 

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–" 

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion." 

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek. 

"My dork," you murmur. 

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey." 

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility." 

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss. 

"I love you," you say. 

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too." 

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!