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galexystern · 11 months

Text

every road leads back to you

pairing; steve harrington/ace!reader

rating; t

warnings; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, second-chance romance

word count; 8.2k

masterlist

It’s all your fault because you aren’t looking where you’re going. Or maybe it’s your coworker Melanie’s fault, for raving about and lending you her copy of the book you can’t tear your eyes from even as you’re walking. Or maybe it’s Brian’s fault, for recommending the book to Melanie. Or maybe it’s the librarian’s fault, for picking it out for Brian.

Regardless, you aren’t looking and so you crash directly into someone.

As your face smushes against a chest, your book tumbles to the ground and you let out an unnecessary yelp. You immediately step back, leaning down for your novel as the other person does too, and you knock heads.

“Ow,” they say, and you freeze. A hand you recognize is holding the book out to you, paired with a familiar voice. You take it hesitantly and slowly straighten back up and look at who you desperately hope it isn’t.

But it is. It’s Steve Harrington.

Realization dawns in his eyes as he stares at you. He says your name in surprise and follows it up with a “Hi.”

You blink at him. Much too late, you reply, “Sorry for running into you,” with red cheeks and hot skin.

A nervous, awkward smile adorns his mouth. “It’s no trouble. I wasn’t looking either.”

You can’t take your eyes off him. He’s still so fucking pretty. You’d really hoped that after he broke your heart, you wouldn’t find him handsome anymore, but no such luck. His hair is gorgeous, his eyes are bright, his lips are perfectly kissable. He’s still toned and fit, tan from the summer sun.

“Hi, I’m Robin.” You finally look away from the specimen that is Steve to see there’s a girl with him. There’s no reason for your heart to twinge, but it does all the same.

You introduce yourself and shake her outstretched hand. Steve’s still looking at you, seemingly oblivious to the conversation until Robin—girlfriend?—elbows him hard. He jerks and glances back at her with a sheepish face and pink cheeks before clearing his throat.

“How are you?” He asks, almost earnestly.

“I’m fine,” you reply, unsure. You’ve heard through the grapevine that Steve has changed somehow, possibly for the better, giving up his King ways and treating people with something like kindness and respect. It all sounds nice but you’ll believe it when you see it. Maybe you’re seeing it now.

“Good,” he says forcefully, like it’s what he wanted to hear. “Congrats on graduating. Heard you were at the top of your class, that’s great.” How is he getting this information about you? Robin eyes him but he pointedly ignores her. “Where’d you go again?”

If he knows your class rank, why doesn’t he know the school? “Butler University,” you supply, confused. Steve smiles and you get it—he did know. He just wanted to make you say it. You think he might be making fun of you, but then he glances at Robin and raises his eyebrows, and you blush when you realize he’s trying to impress Robin with your achievements.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You clear your throat and change the subject. “What are you up to?” You want to say you’re asking to be polite but it’d be a lie. You wanna know.

“Not much. Robin and I work at Family Video, though she’s leaving me soon for another job.”

He smiles when she rolls her eyes. “We still live together, Dingus. We’ll see each other all the time.” Live together? That’s pretty serious.

“It’s not the same,” Steve responds with a fake-sad teasing tone. Robin looks at you like she’s done with his shit and you have to hold back a giggle. Steve grins at you with a distracting twinkle in his eye when he notices.

“Besides,” Robin adds haughtily, “you are also leaving FV soon.”

Now Steve’s bashful, as you turn to look at him expectantly, and it’s oddly endearing. “Yeah, to spend money, not make it. I’m going to school,” he clarifies for you.

“Business school!” Robin jumps in loudly.

“At the community college,” he rushes to finish. “Nothing fancy.” You bite your cheek at how he’s downplaying something impressive.

“I am allowed to be proud of my best friend,” Robin scolds him and your mind races. If they’re dating, why would she use those words? Sure, couples can be best friends, but is that really the descriptor they would use?

You shake away the thoughts and agree. “It’s something to be proud of, Steve.”

“See?” Robin grins at you. “I like you already. Do you wanna come with us? We’re getting lunch.”

A look of panic flashes over Steve’s face before it disappears, disheartening you. Though you don’t really want to go either. And you can’t. “I have my shift at the library soon. That’s where I’m heading now.”

Robin nods, looking glum. Interestingly, Steve also looks disappointed. “We can let you get going then,” he says. “Sorry again about running into you.”

“Partly my fault too,” you reply, and the three of you do the awkward dance of switching places on the sidewalk. When you’re finally in the right spot, you give them a wave. “See you around.”

“Bye!” Robin calls out.

Steve smiles shyly. “Later.”

And with that, you go on your ways.

;

“What was that?” Robin demands. She and Steve are sitting in their regular booth, regular drinks in front of them and regular meals ordered. She’s staring at him with an expectant expression.

“Uh, our waitress?”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He sighs. He does know. “We used to date.”

He says it quietly, with feigned lightness, but it doesn’t work. Robin’s eyebrows go even higher. “Date? When?”

“During King Steve.” His mouth twists at the memory. “It was for a couple of months. Didn’t end great. Kinda my fault.”

“Kinda?”

“Okay, all my fault.”

“What happened?”

Steve looks down at the table and plays with his straw wrapper. “I sorta dumped her when she wouldn’t sleep with me.” He winces when he hears Robin’s gasp. “I know. I wasn’t very nice about it either.”

“Steven Edward Harrington!”

“That’s not my middle name,” he mutters.

She goes on with a glare. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Look—“ He ducks when her straw comes flying at him. “Look! I regret it, okay? I feel bad about it. I have since I did it.”

“Did you apologize?” Her eyes are blazing holes into his forehead; he’s still looking down. He shakes his head. "Why the fuck not?"

“I don’t know, so much time has passed. Thought it might be more awkward.”

“You know what’s more awkward? Not apologizing and still having feelings for her.”

Steve jerks his head up. “What?” He sputters. “No, I don’t.”

“I’m not blind, Harrington. I saw that entire interaction.” She pretends to be all moony-eyed. “Oh, where did you go to school again? So I can brag that you graduated at the top of your class?” She drops the act and looks at him.

“I didn’t sound like that.” But he’s unsure. He did know where you went to school and didn’t need to ask. He did want Robin to be impressed. And you're just as gorgeous as you were when he had that hopeless-but-turns-out-not-really crush on you. He can still remember the surprise he’d felt when he learned you liked him too, it had floored him. He couldn’t believe his luck. He still couldn’t believe it after you'd become official.

But thoughts of your relationship bring back memories of how it ended, and he’d blocked those from his mind for a reason. He closes the box and pushes it away again, and continues, “Doesn’t matter. It’s ancient history.”

“If you say so.” She says it like she agrees, but there’s something in her tone that makes him think she knows something he doesn’t.

“What?” He asks.

She eyes him with fake innocence. “Nothing. It’s history. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Robin,” he growls. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She steals the straw from his drink and places it in her glass, swirling the liquid like she’s mixing a potion. “I just don’t think it’s done.”

“Why?”

“Oh, just the way she was looking at you. Like you hung the moon or something. And agreed with me that you should be proud of school. And her blush when you bragged about her. And her shy smiles when you grinned at her.”

He blinks at her. “That’s impossible. I broke her heart.” Badly, he doesn’t add.

She shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants.” She picks up her cup and sips delicately, watching him as he processes. Or tries to process; his brain feels like it’s melting. The box has exploded open and he can't contain everything that's now flooding back. Robin sighs as she sets the drink back down. “I think you should give it another try. Maybe it’ll work out. And if not, at least you’ll have apologized. Because you will apologize.”

She’s expectant again, and he nods meekly. Of course he’s going to apologize. He’s just not sure what he’s gonna say.

;

You’re thinking about ramming your head against the desk—you’ve been that bored for hours—when someone taps on the surface. You look up from your impossible crossword and straighten when you see Steve standing before you. He has a nervous smile and seems to be fidgeting. When he notices you’ve noticed, he places his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you reply, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Um, if that’s okay.”

You stare at him. You can feel the anxious energy rolling off of him and the longer you stay silent the more pleading his eyes become. Eventually, you nod. “Gimme a minute.”

Steve nods and waits as you disappear into the office and tell them you’re going on break. Since it’s dead, they don’t mind and so you meet Steve on his side of the desk.

“Outside?” He asks, thumb pointing to the doors.

“Sure.”

He leads the way, holding open each door for you and picking out a shady bench. You sit next to him hesitantly, unable to look him in the eye. What is he doing here?

Steve takes a deep breath and then says, “I’m here to apologize.”

Oh. “Why?”

“For how our relationship ended.”

You finally look up at him. “What?”

He has soft eyes. “That was really horrible of me, and I’m sorry. I’ve regretted it ever since, and I’m a coward for not apologizing sooner. It wasn’t right. None of it was. Well, except for everything before what I did. But it kinda ruins it all, doesn’t it?”

You’re not sure what to say. What he did was horrible. You can still remember all the mean things he’d said, when he’d dumped you and left you crying on your front porch. He hadn’t talked to you after that, and you'd both graduated like nothing had happened. It’d broken your heart. It was devastating. And yet…

“The stuff before that isn’t ruined,” you reply softly. Steve perks up. “It was a really good part. I, um, I liked that part.”

“Me too,” he breathes, like he can’t believe what you’re saying. You almost can’t believe it yourself. But the feeling of euphoria you’d felt after learning Steve Harrington had a crush on you too, when you realized it wasn’t a fantasy but something attainable, eclipses the heartbreak a bit. And your dates are still some of the best you’ve ever had; ones you’ve been on since just don’t hold up to them. And the sensation in your body, mind, and soul when you’d kissed him…ineffable.

So, no. Not ruined. “It did, um, hurt.” You avert your eyes and watch the leaves sway in the summer breeze for a minute. Steve seems content to wait and see if you have more to say. “But I understood,” you eventually add.

“What?” He sounds so confused that you have to look at him again. His brows are furrowed.

“Come on.” You laugh awkwardly. “A girlfriend who wouldn’t put out in high school? That’s a nightmare. I see why you dumped me.”

Steve blinks, and then his hands are grabbing yours and holding on tight. He says your name like he’s pained. “No. That is not a reason to break up with someone and it’s not why I broke up with you. It didn’t even matter to me that much. I ended things because my stupid friends kept making fun of me that we hadn’t had sex yet. I let them influence me into pressuring you and then dumping you when you wouldn't be pressured. That’s what I’m apologizing for. For not having enough of a spine to stand up to those idiots and fight for the only relationship that’s ever been worth anything to me.” He goes red when he realizes what he’s said. “I thought I needed to impress them, but I was wrong. And I lost you in the process.”

You gape at him. Before you can say anything, he’s continuing, “Also for what I said and how I did it. That wasn’t right either. I let them get into my head and speak for me. I didn’t even mean any of that stuff. That doesn’t make it right, I know, but I want you to know that. That I never meant what I said.”

He’s looking at you with those hazel eyes shining in the sun and a ashamed but hopeful expression, and holding your hands in his like he used to when you’d watch a movie together or have dinner, and you want to hug him so tight you might squeeze him to death.

So you do.

He’s caught unaware by it, by you leaping forward and hugging him hard, but he regains composure quite quickly and hugs you back. He exhales in relief and you giggle. It feels amazing to be back in his arms, and it ends much too soon. You both lean back and look at each other, smiling.

“Do you wanna get dinner sometime? Catch up?” Steve asks.

Your heart catches, but… “What about Robin?”

“Robin?” He looks confused but then it seems to dawn on him. “Oh! No, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just my best friend. Has been for five years.”

You’re a little surprised but take it in stride. “Oh, okay. Dinner sounds good.”

He nods excitedly. “Maybe Friday night, 6pm? We can go to the diner. It’s our favorite.”

You smile at his eagerness. “Is 7 okay? I work until 6:30.”

“Of course! I can come pick you up here and walk you to the diner.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he reassures, and you blush a little.

“If you insist,” you say reluctantly, and he grins in triumph.

At that moment, the door opens and your coworker sticks her head out. She motions for you to come back and then disappears. You sigh and stand, Steve following suit. “I gotta go.”

“No worries. I’ll see you Friday?”

You nod. “Friday.”

Steve smiles brightly and then starts walking away. You go to the door and open it, pausing to watch him leave. Your heart skips a beat when you see the happy skip in his step.

;

A knock on the door has you lifting your head from the last of your closing tasks. You see Steve, hair gleaming in the sun and sunglasses coolly covering his eyes. But they don’t hide the smile on his face, or the excited wave he sends through the glass. You smile back, motioning for him to give you one minute, and he nods. You rush through the rest of your agenda before rushing to grab your stuff and rushing out the door.

“Hi,” he says happily when you appear.

“Hi,” you reply softly, hiding your shy anxiety by focusing on locking the door. Once that’s done, you look back at him.

He's gorgeous. “Ready?”

At your nod, he sweeps out an arm for you to go first, and so you start the journey to the diner. He falls into step with you, strolling easily, like it’s effortless.

“How are you?” He follows up, as you pass the florist.

“Good. Tired, but who isn’t?” You attempt to joke. Before he can respond, you continue, “How are you?”

“I’ll be honest, I’m a little nervous.”

“What?” You can’t help your shocked laugh. “You’re nervous?”

He grins and nods. “Terrified.”

That knowledge relaxes you a bit, and some tension floods away. His arm brushes yours as you pass the pharmacy. You have to hide the shiver it sends down your spine.

“Here we are.” He slows to a stop and pulls open the diner door for you. You walk in with a grateful nod, noticing that it’s pretty empty, despite it being prime dinner time on a Friday night. Steve notices you looking around. “Football game. First of the year. That’s where everyone is.”

You look back at him but then the hostess comes up and takes you to a booth. You slide onto the red vinyl bench as he does the same opposite you. The butterflies start to swarm when you realize you’re alone with Steve Harrington on purpose for the first time in five years.

“Why aren’t you there?” You blurt out, immediately regretting it.

But Steve doesn’t look bothered. “At the game?” He shrugs. “Football’s never been my thing really. I’d rather be here with you.” The butterflies threaten to make their way up your throat when he smiles widely.

You look down at your menu with a blush. “So,” you say a little too loudly, “what’s good here?”

“The classics. Burger, fries, milkshake. Vanilla only though.”

You make a face. “Absolutely not. Chocolate or bust.”

Steve holds a hand to his chest like he’s clutching a string of pearls. “You heathen. Don’t you dare disrespect vanilla in my house.”

“I’ll do what I like,” you shoot back. He laughs.

“Just as sassy, I see,” he teases. “At least you’re not like Robin. She only goes for a strawberry milkshake.” You stick out your tongue in disgust and he nods. “Exactly! It’s horrifying.”

Your mouth twists to hold back a huge grin. He can tell and lets his own blossom. The waitress comes over and takes your order—vanilla milkshake for him and chocolate for you—before whisking the menus away. Steve sets his hands on the surface, fingers intertwined.

“So,” he says, “how was work?”

“Slow, oh my god. No one comes to the library on Fridays, I swear.”

“‘Cause they’re all at Family Video,” he replies.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. It was nonstop today. Everyone wanted movies for the weekend and wanted to get it done before the game. I even had to break up a fight between two old ladies over the last copy of Dirty Dancing.”

You burst out laughing. “No way.”

“Seriously! They wouldn’t cut it out so we didn’t rent it to either of them. It was snatched up by Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Shut up. Mrs. Fletcher, our old math teacher?”

He nods. “Emphasis on the old. But good for her.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“She always does. She insists on squeezing my cheek and lamenting how poorly I did in her class.”

You giggle. “You never did get a good grade.”

“It’s not my fault math isn’t my strong suit. She should’ve been an English teacher if she wanted to see me succeed.”

“Right, you were always freakishly good in English.”

“I recall my knack for English saving your butt when midterms rolled around.”

“Only because my science knowledge saved yours.”

“Yes, that was a good balancing act, huh?”

You two look at each other, remembering happier times when you’d tutor each other before descending into a makeout session. As you stare at Steve, memories of his lips sucking on your neck while you tugged on his hair surfacing, you blush and change the subject. "What kind of business are you gonna go into?"

He adopts a thoughtful expression. "I don't know. Been thinking about it a lot lately, but I can't seem to pick something."

"Well," you spread your hands on the table, "what do you like?"

"What?"

"In life. What are your favorite things in life?"

"My friends," he replies automatically, and you smile. "Basketball."

"Maybe sports business?"

He makes a face. "I only really like basketball. Nothing else is interesting."

"I could argue with you about that as baseball's advocate but I won't. For now." Steve grins at that. "What else?"

"Kids. I want a whole pack of them."

You melt. There's a niggling thought invading your mind about the origin of children, but you push it away and offer, "Maybe school administration? Like a principal or superintendent."

Something lights up in his eyes. "That could be good. I'm not sure I'm cut out to be a teacher."

"You'd make a great teacher."

He blushes but says, "Thanks. But I meant more in terms of picking a grade or subject. I like the lot of them."

"You like all ages of kids?" Your eyebrows are at your hairline. "Even angsty, angry eighth graders? Even rude, can't be bothered high schoolers?"

"Yup." He pops the p while nodding. "Adults seem to forget that they were that age once too. I just think about how I wish I'd been treated and do that."

"You'll really put the 'pal' in principal," you joke, laughing when he rolls his eyes at the corny nature of it. "Seriously, Steve, that sounds perfect for you."

"You think?" When you nod, he grins and you smile reflexively. His smiles were always infectious. "Okay. I'll look into it more."

The waitress reappears and places your milkshakes on the table. "Burgers and fries are on their way, kids," she says. "Couple minutes."

"No problem," Steve says brightly, with a kind smile just for her, making her blush. She walks away, and both of you excitedly unwrap your straws and dip them into the frothy goodness. You each take a sip, your eyes widening in pleasure as he groans at the delicious taste. After a few more sips, you lean back.

"Wow, that is so good," you say in surprise. You've never really trusted diner food tastiness.

"Told you," he replies, around a mouthful of ice cream, and you laugh. He pushes the glass back towards the middle of the table and gazes at you. "Almost perfect."

"Almost?"

"Perfect would've been us splitting one." Your face heats at the picture of the two of you leaning forward to sip at the same time, so close that you'd be centimeters away from each other. The idea of his honey eyes being right there, staring into yours, with lips pursed around his straw like puckering up for a kiss, has your mind spinning. You'd never been able to resist getting lost in those hazel beauties.

"Would've been nice," you squeak out, immediately wincing internally at the uncoolness of it all. But Steve just smiles and nods. At the same time, your waitress comes back with your food, placing all the plates on the table and a stack of napkins so high it's kind of ridiculous. You sigh in relief, both of you arranging your meals how you like—you remove the tomato and Steve steals it to add to his burger, he takes out all but a little of his onion—and digging in. You two eat in comfortable silence until your food is about half-gone.

"So, pretty girl, how was school?" He asks before taking another handful of fries.

You blush at the nickname, but thank god, a safe topic. "It was good. Spent a lot of time in the library."

His face doesn't change, but you can tell he finds that disappointing. "Oh, okay. That sounds fun."

You giggle. "You were always a bad liar, Steve."

He turns sheepish. "Sorry. Books are not my idea of a good time, but I know how much you love to read. And I guess you don't get to be top of your class without spending a good amount of time studying."

"True. But I wasn't a complete recluse. I joined a sorority."

"A sorority?" He's surprised. "Like Greek life sorority? Frat parties and everything?"

"Kinda. It was a sorority but not a slutty one or anything." You sigh. "That's not what I meant. I mean our members were not limited to blonde, skinny white girls; it was more diverse. We had our slutty members too. Nothing wrong with that."

"Were you one of them?" It's a tease but there's a tense undercurrent to the question. You shake your head and relief flashes over his face briefly. It's sweet that he was worried about it, it makes your heart beat just a little faster, but you have an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You'd had your fun in school, did your time getting wasted and high and doing dangerous things with your friends and flirting with plenty of people, but you'd never actually wanted to have sex with anyone, even those you found aesthetically attractive. You'd done it anyway of course, to be an insider, because it's what you're supposed to want and do. But it'd never felt good and you'd never really desired to do it. It'd freaked you out then and it freaks you out now. So you refuse to think about it.

"What have you been doing since graduation?" You ask.

"Well, I worked at the mall before it exploded."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that."

"Yeah, it was wild. I worked at the ice cream shop. Scoops Ahoy."

"Ahoy?" He nods. You cock your head as your mind races ahead of you. "Was it nautical-themed?" He nods again, this time with a disgusted face. "Wait, did you have to wear a uniform?"

He looks a little anxious now. "Yes," he answers nervously.

"OMG," you exclaim, reading all the signs in his body language, "did you have to dress up...as a sailor?" His features scrunch in distaste. When he reluctantly nods for the third time, you gasp gleefully. "That's amazing. I wish I could've seen it."

"Unfortunately, the uniform did not go up in the fiery blaze." He sniffs haughtily. "A true shame."

"So you still have it?"

His eyes widen when he realizes what he's admitted. You stare each other down and he blinks first. "Yes," he sighs, rolling his eyes fondly when you clap your hands in joy.

"I have to see it. I have to see you in it." He shakes his head firmly and you pout. You put a pleading edge to your next words, "What can I do to make that happen?"

He eyes you in interest. He pretends to think about it, but his answer comes a little too quickly for it to have been thought up in the moment. "Go out with me again."

You bite your lip slightly and shrug, suddenly so nervous that a reply is caught in your throat.

He plays with the straw in his milkshake, practically finished. "Did I mention that the shorts are absurdly short? And it comes with a little hat?"

You fight back a smile but he knows he's won. His grin is blinding when you respond, "Okay."

"Great." Your stomach flips at the happiness in his voice, like he's won something precious. "What should we do?"

You ponder the question. "How about we go someplace with alcohol?"

"I can make that happen," he replies, his wink making you look away with pink cheeks. You watch as he takes out his wallet, throws a couple bills on the table, and then stands. He holds out a hand and you take it, sliding out of the booth. He doesn't drop it as he walks you to the door and through it. He glances at you. "Wanna get some ice cream?"

"We just had milkshakes," you point out, giggling.

"Can never have too much ice cream."

"Shouldn't you be sick of it by now? That's what happens when you work at a restaurant; you get sick of what you serve."

He makes a conceding noise and you smile. "You got me. I just wanted to spend more time with you."

"I can make that happen," you tease. "Let's get some ice cream."

He looks at you with a fond gaze as he gently tugs you down the street. "You just wanted to hear me say it, huh?" You smile enigmatically, and he chuckles, squeezing your hand tighter. "Never change, honey."

"Wasn't planning on it." You bite your cheek to make sure this is really happening.

"Good."

It is.

;

The next few months are a whirlwind of Steve, Robin, their friends, work, Steve, Steve, Steve. You two see each other a lot, both feeling like everything is right with the world when you're together. He keeps his promise and takes you to a bar for the second date, staying mostly sober while you get drunk, so he can make sure you get home safe. He finds intoxicated you adorable, speaking your mind and letting loose on the dance floor. He's surprised he has so much fun dancing without a sexual end to the night.

You go to the movies a couple times. You choose Ghost but have a bad time, uncomfortable with all of the sexual overtones while being there with Steve, who doesn't seem to notice your poorly hidden tension since his eyes are glued to the screen (though he refuses to admit he liked it that much). So you let him pick next and he goes with the hottest new release Goodfellas, which you liked for its comedy but not its violence, for which you'd held Steve's hand (something he'd been very pleased about). You both end up picking Home Alone as your next choices, loving it and finding it absolutely hilarious, just like everyone else in the theater.

Steve takes you along to some Hawkins basketball games, since his friend Lucas is on the Varsity team and plays a lot. You watch amusedly as Steve gets really into it, yelling at the refs, cheering loudly, telling you the things he would've done had he been the coach instead. But Lucas plays great, putting up the winning shot just as a buzzer rings during one game, and Steve goes crazy with the rest of the crowd, shocking you by hugging you tight in his excitement. He's apologetic about it after, but you reassure him it's very okay; you'd never turn down a hug from him.

Steve even drives you into Indianapolis now and then, escorting you to museums and tagging along to concerts. His friend Eddie joins sometimes, when you're seeing a band he likes—you two have surprisingly similar music tastes, something that delights him since no one seems to appreciate his “artistic genius” in Hawkins. Steve brings you to the Hideout at Eddie's urging and your pleading; despite not really liking Corroded Coffin, he can't say no to your puppy dog eyes. You end up loving them and predicting they're gonna make it big, something Steve doubts but enjoys seeing you have fun.

Throughout it all, there's a thread of tension thrumming in your body. Steve had kissed your cheek at the end of your first couple of dates, and then upgraded to a chaste kiss on the lips, and while his lips were soft and warm and felt nice on your skin, you didn't feel anything beyond a growing romantic attachment for him. You don't want to rip his clothes off, you don't want him to rip off yours. You have no desire to do anything naked with him, with maybe the exception of skinny-dipping, and only because you haven't done it before and it's on your bucket list. But you can feel yourself falling for him anyways, which is a dangerous game. He hasn't pressured you into having sex, and you keep reminding yourself of what he said in his apology about not minding not having sex, but that was five years ago and you were high schoolers, basically kids. Now you're full-fledged adults and a sex life is an important part of an adult relationship and he would be well within his rights to break up with you if you refuse to have sex with him.

You dread the day that happens, knowing it'll come, but you can't help yourself from still seeing him, going on cute little dates where he makes you blush and laugh and smirk. They're better than the ones in high school, and mostly only because you two can do whatever you want now and can drink on top of it. There's nothing stopping you from spending all your time together, and so you do.

You even entrust him with the secret of applying for grad schools, wanting to get a master's in library science so you can become an actual librarian. He thinks it's perfect for you, encourages you to apply anywhere and everywhere, promising to come visit when you eventually get accepted somewhere. There's a lump in your throat whenever he says the distance doesn't matter, he'll come to you no matter where you are, and a constant voice in your head telling you that it's not fair to him, not fair to keep hidden your lack of sexual attraction while he thinks about a future with you. But you're so scared of telling him and being rejected again—and you really think Steve is the one—that you keep your lips sealed.

And then the day comes.

It's a normal, ordinary night. You're up late reading—another book recommended by Melanie—when the phone rings. Annoyed at being interrupted at a good spot, you pick up the phone and grit out an irritated "Hello?"

"Angel!"

Your bad mood instantly vanishes when you realize who it is. "Hi, Stevie. What are you doing?"

"Alcohol!"

You giggle at his unnecessary loudness. He must be pretty drunk, which makes sense; you knew he and Robin were going out tonight. He'd invited you but you weren't feeling up to it. "Sounds like you're having fun."

"Yeah! But I miss you!"

A smile blossoms across your face. "Miss you too."

"Wish I was with you!"

You snort softly at the exclamation point he puts after every sentence. "Me too. How's your night been?"

"Good! Robin got a girl's number!"

"Good for her. Vickie might be upset though," naming Robin's girlfriend.

"Probably!" You laugh. "Baby!"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna kiss you!"

"Me too, pretty boy."

"Wanna kiss you all over! You're so sexy, you know that!" You freeze. "You turn me on so much!"

You think your heart may have stopped completely. "That's nice," you hear yourself reply faintly, a buzzing in your ears blocking all sound. "Stevie, can I talk to Robin?"

"Yeah!" You hear rustling and then Robin says, "Sorry about that. He escaped when a girl was flirting with me. Even though I told her multiple times I had a girlfriend she gave me her number anyway." You can picture the eye roll she must be performing.

"It's fine," you reply, voice still quiet. "Make sure Steve gets home safe, yeah?"

"Of course, you'll get him back safe and sound."

I won't get him back at all, you think. "Thanks. I'm gonna go, okay? Feeling tired."

"Okay. Have a good night, babe." There's more rustling and then she adds, "Wait, Steve wants to say bye."

"Goodnight, honey!" He yells into the phone. "Sweet dreams!"

"Thanks, Stevie," you whisper. You hear the line click as the call ends, and you slowly hang up your phone in a daze. You stare at the wall for a while, mind blank, and then turn off the lights and slip into bed. You lie awake for a long time, hoping you can come up with a different plan of action than the one you currently have, but you can't. Your time has run out. It's time for the extraction.

;

Steve knocks on your door for the third time that week. You hadn't answered the first two times he'd come around, but he needs to check again. He can't let you disappear on him, can't give up this time, not when it's going so well. Or had been, at least. It's been a couple weeks since you stopped answering his calls, wouldn't call him back, hid from him at work when he visited you, wouldn't open your door, and he's desperate. He's at the end of his rope. He needs to talk to you.

He knocks again and calls your name. It sounds pathetic enough, but he puts every ounce of pleading into his voice to croak out, "Please."

The door opens to reveal a sliver of you. You look awful—Steve thinks you're pretty all the time and always will, but there are layers of sadness, exhaustion, frustration on your face that look like they weigh you down so much you'd sink in shallow water. His heart clenches at the sight and he wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms and take away your burdens.

"Please go away, Steve," you say quietly, half-heartedly. "I don't want to see you."

"I don't believe that. You want to see me, you just won't let yourself." You look away and he knows he's got it right. "Why? Sweetheart, talk to me." Your lower lip wobbles and he reflexively takes a step forward, stomach falling when you step back. "Please, baby. I'll do anything. Just tell me what's wrong. Tell me what I did and I'll fix it."

Tears spring to your eyes and start dripping down your cheeks. You hesitantly open the door wider and he seizes the space, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You didn't do anything wrong," you say, and he almost cracks apart at the heartbreak in your words.

"Come on, honey," he says gently, and slowly leads you into the living room, sitting you on the couch and placing himself beside you. "What's happened then? I thought things were good."

"They were. It's just...I'm not right for you."

"What? Yes, you are."

"We aren't a good match."

"I don't understand. We make each other happy, isn't that enough?"

"I can't give you everything you need." You're staring at him like you're hoping he'll know what you mean, but he doesn't. He's at a loss.

"Like what?" He asks desperately. "Tell me."

"Steve," you say in anguish. You take a shuddering breath. "I don't wanna have sex with you."

He blinks at you. "You're not attracted to me?"

You shake your head. "But it's not you. Or just you. Something's wrong with me. I'm not...I'm not attracted to anyone." A fresh wave of tears spill down your face. "I don't wanna have sex with anyone."

Sobs emerge at the end of your sentence, and Steve leans forward to wrap his arms around you and pull you to him. You press your face to his chest, soaking the fabric but he doesn't care. He buries his face in your hair, placing kisses at the crown of your head, only happy that he's with you again. "Nothing's wrong with you," he says softly, hands tightening when you cry harder. "I promise, pretty girl. Nothing's wrong with you."

"Then why don't I wanna have sex with anyone?" You mumble against him, with another surge of sobs.

"Some people just don't wanna have sex," he replies. "It's called asexuality. Robin taught me. She gave me a crash course in all things LGBTQ+ after she came out to me."

You lean back to look up at him and hiccup a small laugh, which Steve considers a win. "She would."

"I'm surprised you didn't learn about it in college."

"I didn't tell anyone," you admit. "I thought I was, I don't know, defective. And Greek life isn't a great place for that, I guess. Like, I had sex anyway." You shake your head. "I didn't like it."

"I'm sorry, baby," he says empathetically. "I hope no one forced you."

"Just myself." You smile humorlessly.

"You don't have to," he reassures. "Not with me."

"But what about you? I know you're not...asexual." You try out the new word.

"I'm not, you're right. But we'll figure it out. Promise."

You duck your head. "It's not fair to you."

"That's my decision," he says gently but firmly.

"I'm not worth it."

He tuts, placing his fingers under your chin and lifting your head until you're facing him again. "Look at me, pretty girl." It takes a few seconds, but you eventually meet his gaze. "You are definitely, absolutely worth it."

"Steve," you say, like you don't believe him, because you don’t. "Come on."

"I mean it. You are one hundred percent worth it." He puts every last drop of meaning into it.

"I'm worth not having sex again?" You doubt it.

"Look, are you open to having sex with me?"

Anxiety invades your features. "I don't know," you answer quietly.

"Okay. That's not a no. We can look into it. And if it becomes a no, we'll deal with it. We can talk about other options. But I'm not losing you again. You're it for me."

You gaze at him with hope in your eyes, at last. It's beautiful, just like you. "Are you sure?"

Instead of answering, he leans down to kiss you. You're surprised by it, but you lean in anyways, unable to turn down a kiss from him. He hums happily against your lips, and you break away with a giggle. He rests his forehead against yours. "I'm so sure, baby," he whispers.

You study him, looking deep in his eyes, and then whisper back, "Okay."

He relaxes completely, smiling widely. Your smile back is small, but it's there and he's still yours so it doesn't matter. Then you lean your head on his shoulder and groan. "I can't believe I never knew about asexuality. You'd think all those books would teach me something, but I guess not."

"It's okay, sweetheart," Steve chuckles. "I only know because of Robin. She actually asked me if you were ace but I didn't know. So she suspects, at least."

"As long as y'all didn't bet on me," you warn.

"No bets," he promises. "That's for TV shows."

You laugh a little, the sound music to his ears. You lean back and look at him shyly. "You're it for me too."

He beams.

;

“Come on!” You sing-song. “You promised.”

“I never actually promised,” comes Steve’s muffled voice from behind the closed bathroom door.

You tsk. “Then I will just have to tell everyone Steven Michael Harrington doesn’t keep his word and reneges on his deals.”

“That’s not my middle name,” he groans, making you smile. It grows wider when he adds, “Alright, alright. I’m coming out.”

You watch in rapture as the door slowly opens to reveal Steve, in a dark blue sailor’s outfit, shorts as absurdly short as he’d said, a little white hat sitting atop his styled hair. You gasp as soon as you see him, unable to decide what to look at first, hiding a giggle at the grimace on his face.

“I told you it ruins my hair,” he mutters.

You give him a fake sad expression. “Oh, baby. Did it ruin your chances with tons of girls? They couldn’t swoon since they couldn’t see your luscious hair?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, shutting his mouth when you playfully raise an eyebrow. “I mean, no! I’m grateful it made me look horrible and childish in front of a lot of girls I was trying to flirt with. Because I wouldn’t have been able to be with you. It was…a gift from the universe.”

His face breaks into a relieved grin at his ingenuity in the moment, and you finally laugh. “Whatever you say, baby.”

He sticks his tongue out at you and you do the same back to him.

It’s been a couple weeks since your big talk. Steve has been just as caring and thoughtful as before, and you’re starting to think he was telling the truth (you don’t think he was lying per se, but now you can feel yourself start to believe it). You’ve started seeing a therapist—it’s very early and no decisions have been made, but she’s very understanding about asexuality and actually helping you work through it. Steve has even offered to go to couple’s counseling if you need it, to discuss what you should do going forward.

It’s very sweet of him, and makes you fall even deeper in love with him, but you don’t think it’s necessary. You haven’t thought it all the way through yet, but you think you’ll try sex with him. You may not be attracted to him, and you may not get any physical pleasure out of it, but the idea of being so intimate and close with him, and making him feel good, feels like the right choice. You haven’t talked to him about it and you hope he’ll be happy about it. You don’t see why he wouldn’t be.

He also doesn’t pressure you into anything and never initiates more than cuddling and kissing—he’s quite clingy when he’s in a relationship. In fact, it’s been you who’s doing the initiating, starting a make-out session or kissing somewhere other than his lips. The rush you get from his reactions are more than enough to make up for the lack of physical desire you have. The desire to make him feel good is just as nice.

“So,” he says, bringing you back to the present. He does a little twirl. “What do you think?”

“You look really sexy, baby.” At his look, you add, “Seriously! I know when things are sexy even if I don’t find them sexy. And you’re sexy in that. The amount of leg shown? The low cut of the shirt? The little ascot things that someone can use to pull you forward? Not to mention the prospect of calling you 'sailor' in bed.”

“If someone called me 'sailor' in bed I think I’d actually die of embarrassment,” Steve states, and you snort.

“How is that any different than ‘cowboy’?” You ask. “Or for that matter, how is it worse than ‘daddy’?”

“I don’t know, it just is.” He groans and makes his way over to the bed, where you’re sitting, and flops next to you. He takes off his cap and goes to throw it away from him, but you grab it and place it on your head.

You pose. “How do I look?”

He smiles. “Gorgeous, angel. Sorry—sailor.”

“Is ‘sailor’ gender-neutral?” You wonder aloud.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs, still gazing at you with heart eyes. He still can’t quite believe you’re here with him again, for good this time if he can make it happen, and how amazing it feels. You two just fit together.

You look down at him and blush at his blatant adoration. He huffs a little laugh when you glance away. He loves that he can still fluster you so easily. He wants to do it forever.

“Hey,” he says softly, and waits until you meet his eyes again. “I love you.”

He can see you melting inside, and it makes him go all gooey too. “I love you,” you reply, barely above a whisper, like if you say it louder it’ll break the illusion.

But there isn’t an illusion. And Steve is prepared to make sure you know that for the rest of your lives.

Your mouth twitches. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a sailor tell me they love me,” you continue innocently. Steve narrows his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘ahoy’ instead of ‘hey’.”

He pounces and you let out peals of giggles as his hands descend to tickle you mercilessly. “I could make you walk the plank for that kind of sass, baby,” he teases, fingers digging into your sides as you flail and try to escape him, laughing all the while.

“I’ll bring you down with me,” you shriek. You finally get a foot in between your bodies and shove him away, making him go toppling off the bed. You gasp as he lands with a thud. “Steve!”

He’s laughing as he lays on the floor, watching you peek over the edge of the bed. “Man overboard,” he wheezes out, and you collapse on the bed in exasperated relief.

When his laughter dies down, he looks up at you, peering down at him from the safety of the mattress. “Would you like a hand, sailor?” You ask jokingly.

“Yes, please pull me from these depths, they’re infested with sharks,” he replies dramatically, making you chuckle as you reach a hand down for him to grab. He does so, and you haul him back into the bed with you. He lays down and pulls you close, and you rest your head on his chest. Closing his eyes, he revels in the feeling of you against him, and vows to never let you go again.

#i don't know y'all #pls don't rip this (me) apart #steve harrington x reader #mine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

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