inthehystericalrealm - Tumblr blog

inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

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this is tooth rottingly sweet and i need him biblically

*originally posted over on my old blog. If you happened to read/interact with this before, I'd greatly appreciate it if you left some love once again. I did re-edit/re-write some things.*

Everywhere:

steve harrington x fem! reader

Summary: Steve Harrington introduces you to his three phase, fool proof plan to feeling better. A mix tape, a secret menu item titled "phase two" and some fun in the back seat of his car (originally inspired by a post from @plainemmanem ) | masterlist | steve's music | NSFW 18+

WC Range: 5k-10k

Warnings: use of Y/N petnames, swearing, semi-public (no one around) making out, chest action, fingering (reader receiving), Steve cums in his pants

A/N: I spent way too much time actually making Steve's playlist. Bottom of post contains list of songs/link to playlist - enjoy! 💛

Your phone was ringing again and you pushed a pillow over your ears groaning, “Take a fucking hint!”

It had been ringing all day, for the past two days. Ever since Steve had dropped you off Friday night.

Waiting from him in the alley behind the movie theater, lipstick smeared, tear stained cheeks. You closed your eyes, pushing out the thought of how absolutely pathetic you must have looked to him.

You had wanted to call Robin, but she still didn’t have a car, so that left Steve and Eddie to come rescue you. It’s not like you weren’t friends with either of them, but you were best friends with Robin, Steve was kind of a package deal with her, and Eddie a package deal for him. Therefore making all of you sort of friends, never hanging out alone though. You were all slowly becoming closer, Robin and you making Steve and Eddie drive you places, pay for your popcorn at the movie theater, playful teasing, and light hearted jokes shared with each other was about all your relationship had amounted to with either boy so far.

But this…this was different. You were embarrassed to call either of them for help, both always giving you grief about the guys you went on dates with. So either one of them would have had an “I told you so,” ready on their lips. You figured between the two, Steve would at least have the decency to wait to say it until you were in the car.

So it was him you waited for, your knee bouncing up and down and biting your thumb as you thought about how he and Eddie had warned you. How even Robin would probably have an I told ya so ready for you. You hated how clueless you had been.

Steve pulled up, jumping out of the car and you held up your hand, “Don’t even say it. I know okay? Can you just take me home please?”

Steve closed his mouth, his eyebrows pushing together as he rounded the front of his BMW. He opened the passenger door for you, waiting for you to climb in. If only he knew how a simple gentlemanly gesture like that was about to make you sob uncontrollably.

His car was warm and comforting compared to the chilly air you had been standing in for an hour as you tucked yourself into the seat and he closed the door softly.

You shivered as he sat in the driver’s seat. He glanced over at you as you rubbed your hands together. He slowly leaned over, holding out his hand out to you, still not having said a word.

You looked at it and then up at him. He leaned closer and smirked, “Trust me.”

You let him take your hands, cupping both of his around them and blowing on your fingertips. The warmth of his breath tingled against them and you felt it settle across your entire body, the sweetness of the gesture making a pressure swell in your chest, the release of tears too close for comfort.

You would not cry in Steve Harrington’s car.

You cleared your throat, shaking your head as if to wipe away the thought. He slowly rubbed the tips of your fingertips, pushing the warmth of his into yours as he softly asked, “Have you been standing out here since you called me?”

You nodded, closing your eyes, willing the tears not to fall as you pulled your hands from his.

His hazel eyes danced between yours, filling with that awful look of pity. He must have seen something behind your eyes, a hurt and a wall pushing up that made him decide not to say anything more. Rotating his body back to looking out the windshield, he moved the car into drive. He turned the radio down, but not fully off, he had a thing about the silence nowadays as Robin had put it. You watched the street lights illuminate his face in flashes of a warm orange, slanting across his jaw as he drove across town.

After several minutes of almost silence, his fingers tapping aimlessly on the wheel, he glanced over at you with a frown, having decided he needed to ask, “What happened?”

You sighed and turned your head to look out your own window, picking at a loose thread on your skirt, “Well, you see, when I go to a movie, I actually like to watch it.”

Steve was silent, waiting for you to elaborate and you huffed out a long breath, “Jason had other plans.”

You watched his knuckles wrap tighter around the steering wheel and you kept going, letting out a dark chuckle, “And don’t get me wrong, I’m all for making out during a movie…but,” you sniffled, hating yourself for letting that stupid boy let your lashes wet with tears, “I’m so stupid. Thought he actually liked me, wanted more than…” you wiped at your tears with one finger as they started to fall, not even trying to hide it anymore, “He practically wanted to have sex right there in the seats, I said no, he called me a tease and walked out.”

Steve muttered, “Asshole.”

He was pulling into your apartment building and you shrugged, clearing your throat as the tears fell down your cheeks silently, “Yeah, well, you win some you lose some. Right?”

He parked and you started to get out and he grabbed your wrist, not possessively like Jason just had only an hour earlier. His grip was loose, tender, and sent tingles of electricity through your arm as he said, “He’s an asshole. Really. You…” he licked his lips and you watched him swallow, “You’re great. And he’s an asshole.”

You nodded, slipping out the door, not being able to bear the look of pity in his eyes as tears fell from your own, “Thanks for the ride Steve.”

You closed the door before he could see you cry any harder and hurried up your steps.

The phone finally stopped ringing and you sighed with relief, looking at your clock, thanking the lord that Robin had the morning shift on Mondays. She must have known you took the day off and would be at home though that she was even still trying to call. At least at work she wouldn’t be able to call you as frequently throughout the day.

Then the knocking started on your front door.

You groaned and yelled, “Nobody is home Buckley!”

A muffled yell from behind the door, “It’s Steve!”

You flopped back onto your back across your couch, “Nobody's home Harrington!”

“Come on, open up!”

You fiddled with the pillow you were hugging, “Sorry, closed for the day, try back tomorrow. Hours posted on the door.”

He mumbled something you couldn’t quite make out before it was silent again. You let out a sigh, figuring he gave up. But then you heard the clicking of your lock and you sat up as your front door swung open.

He smiled, pulling the key out of the door, “Hiya.”

Your mouth dropped open, “How did-”

He spun the spare key on his finger, “Robin.”

You rolled your eyes and made a note to talk to her about boundaries and how the spare key was for her. You returned to your position, laying on your back, “What do you want?”

“You, my lucky friend, are about to get the three phase foolproof plan to pull you out of this funk.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes to the ceiling, “Oh really, is that so?”

The shadow of his body over yours made you glance to the right. He had his hands on his hips and a frown on his face, “Come on. Up. Jason doesn’t deserve this kind of wallowing, it’s been three days. Up, up, get-”

He tugged at one of your hands and you made yourself dead weight, sinking into the couch. You smirked at the vein popping out in his neck and his set jaw as you jabbed, “You need to hit the gym more Harrington.”

He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth, grunting, then dropped your arm as he crossed his own and squinted his eyes at you.

Satisfied you had won, you closed your eyes with a smirk on your lips. His gesture of coming over to check on you was kind, but you were sure it was because Robin had told him to since she was working.

So, you offered a compromise, “Please, I’m fine, I’ll go swing by the store later or something and let Robin know I’m okay so you don’t have to-”

You were being flung through the air suddenly, his arms wrapped around your waist and tossing you over his shoulder. You clenched your thighs together and tried to catch your breath because holy hell was Steve Harrington strong and the way he tossed you like it was nothing was incredibly hot.

He also smelled really good.

You swatted at his back, “Put me down! What do you think you’re doing? Do you break in and man-handle all of your friends because I wouldn’t have signed up for this friendship if I would have-” He ignored your protests and started towards the front door and you hit him repeatedly on the shoulder, “Wait, wait, wait, wait!”

You peered around his side, his hand stopped halfway between his body and the door knob as he let out an exasperated sigh, “What?”

You smiled against the shirt on his lower back, “I don’t have shoes. Does the three phase fool proof plan require sensible footwear?”

He turned and grabbed your sneakers without letting you go or without saying a word. His arms wrapped around the back of your thighs and hand dangerously close to your butt, you stopped fighting him. Instead you turned your focus to trying not be turned on by how easily he carry you like this. He locked up your place with the stolen key, walked down the steps, and dropped you in the passenger seat of his car.

Able to see his face now as he bent down and shoved your shoes onto your lap, grinning at winning the fight, “Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.”

You didn’t want to give him any sort of satisfaction, determined to fluster, pester, and annoy him the whole time during whatever thing he’d concocted. You smirked, “Taking me for a ride huh, Harrington?”

He rolled his eyes and tapped the roof of the car twice before closing your door.

You watched as he tossed the car keys between his hands as he wandered around the front of the car, and you glanced into the back seat, a Seven Eleven grocery bag that you suspected contained snacks. As he slid into the driver’s seat he swatted your hand away, “No peeking.”

You grumbled under your breath about him being so bossy and started to pull your shoes onto your feet. He pulled a cassette tape out of his pocket and held it up in between the two of you.

When you finished with your shoes and glanced over at him, waiting for him to put the tape in or do or say something, you sat up, trying not to look amused by the scolding motherly look on his face. You’d seen it only a handful of times with all of the young hooligans he and Robin hung out with.

“Y/N,” he said seriously.

You mimicked his tone, lowering your voice to mock his own, “Steve.”

He tapped the tape against your nose lightly, holding back a smile, “I am about to share with you something so important, so insanely powerfully awesome, that if it falls into the wrong hands, I believe it would be monumentally destructive to the world as we know it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep a serious face as well, “Top secret mixtape, got it.”

He started to pull it out of the case, “I mean it. Even Robin hasn’t heard this.”

That surprised you, Steve and Robin shared everything, “Really? Why?”

He nodded and then shrugged, popping it into his stereo, “She hasn’t needed it. Normally phase 2 is all Robin needs, but I always have to start with phase 1,” he turned the volume dial slightly, “This is a foolproof mix to make you feel on top of the world, but you can’t get greedy with it, it’s only for the really bad times,” he looked over at you and smiled a smug smile, “Too much awesome could kill you.”

You rolled your eyes as the opening guitar of Hammer to Fall by Queen started playing, “What is it with you and this song!?”

He wrapped his arm around the back of your headrest as he backed out of the parking lot, the smell of his deodorant and cologne filling your senses. Christ, what was that? It was like if you could bottle the smell of rain and something woodsey and you hated how it made your brain feel a little fuzzy, wondering how you had never noticed it before.

He removed his arm, and turned the dial up once again, “Come on, the only way for the mix to work is to sing it”.

You shook your head and he pointed at you and shouted, “Yeah!” along with the song before drumming on the steering wheel, “Here we stand, or here we fall-”

His voice was loud and the windows were down. You dropped lower in your seat, embarrassed and covered the side of your face as people on the sidewalk hollered at the car.

He poked your side, “Sing, come on, or no phase two, and trust me, you want phase two.”

You sighed and as the music between the verses, you glanced over at him. Drumming furiously on the steering wheel, hair flopping in his eyes as he sang along to the guitar and drums. Just watching him sing along was already making you feel better and you decided maybe you’d play along with his nonsense.

You took a deep breath, coming in loudly with him as you sang, “Oh, every night, and every day, a little piece of you is falling away,” laughing as Steve raised his pitch and pretended to air guitar with one of his hands as he hit the higher notes that followed.

You laughed and sang throughout the rest of the song when “Take on Me” came on as you pulled into the very busy and crowded diner parking lot.

“Oh no, Steve, no, there’s so many people standing-”

He turned it up even more, making dramatic faces and drumming along on the console now that you were parked, “If you sing it with me, I’ll turn it down.”

You shook your head turning your face into the seat cushion, fairly certain your mom’s best friend had just made eye contact with you in the side mirror. You would never be able to face this town again after this.

You hissed, “Steve.”

He shook his head, turning it up even louder, and you reached to get out of the car and he locked the door, gripping your wrist in a strong but gentle hold not unsimilar to how he had held it on Friday night. This time it felt like a shock went through your entire body before settling in your stomach. His eyes were shimmering with laughter, and you got a little lost in the blues, greens, and browns swirling together to make a color that could only be described as Steve.

His face was inches from yours, the scent of his spearmint toothpaste filing your nose as he deepened his voice and dramatically sang the chorus, “Taaake onnn mee,” he punched the air, “Take on me!”

His happiness and unashamed dorkiness was contagious. You couldn’t help but let the rest of the world fall away, his stupid smile and the stupid song making you want to be a part of whatever got him to look at you like that over and over again.

He grinned wider as you joined in, throwing your head back with your eyes closed, gripping his hands, “Taake meee onnn, take on me!”

You couldn’t stop laughing as Steve held his fist out to you as a microphone and you screamed into it, “I’ll beee gooone-”

He whipped his fist back over to his own lips, scrunching his eyes closed and making his voice impossibly high as he shrieked, “In a day or twwoooo!”

“Harrington!”

You both stopped suddenly, laughing and covering your mouth as you saw Eddie crouched in Steve’s open driver’s window.

He was holding a bag out to him, “Please take your pancakes and never sing in public again,” he pointed to you, “Y/N, on the other hand, should come sing with Corroded Coffin.”

Steve held his hand over his chest, laughing breathlessly, “I’m hurt Munson.”

Eddie shook his head as you belted out again, “I’ll be gooonnneee!”

And Steve shrieked even higher, “In a daaaaaaay!”

Eddie covered his ears and walked away, leaving the two of you laughing so hard you were holding your side from it hurting.

Steve turned the music down, but only slightly, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling, and he held out the bag, “Phase two.”

You opened the bag to find little mini chocolate chip blueberry pancakes and a cup of syrup for you to dunk them in and you glanced up at him, “These aren’t on the menu.”

He stole one out, holding the cup of syrup between the two of you, “Sure aren’t.”

You closed your eyes as the warm blueberries and chocolate chips melted in your mouth. You moaned and let your head fall back against the headrest, already pulling another one out, “Oh my god Harrington, do I wanna know what you had to do to get these made for us?”

He grinned, dipping his own into the syrup, licking his finger free of the dripping sticky liquid and your thighs pushed together impulsively. Jesus, that should be illegal for him to do.

You watched his gaze flick down to the movement and you prayed to god that he couldn’t hear your heart beating harder. He cleared his throat and you dropped your gaze as he said, “Well, you know what you said Friday night? Something about you win some you lose some?”

You closed your eyes, thoughts of Friday instantly bringing the mood from just seconds before back to how you’d been feeling for the past two days, and you nodded.

You opened your eyes to see him staring at the pancake in his hand, “Well, Robs and I…it’s a lot more losing than winning lately,” he chuckled a little, “Like lose all, win none.”

He took a bite of the pancake stuffing it in his cheek, “Anyways, Robin got Doris to agree to make these for us after one particularly brutal morning after a disastrous party for both of us and well…now we just order the phase two and she’ll make them for us anytime, day or night. Robin waters her plants and I take her dog for a walk.”

You knew Robin had a tough time, but you had no idea Steve had such a bad time with dating. Steve? The guy sitting across from you who was attractive, who smelled amazing, who picked you up no questions asked late on a Friday night, who got sad girls to get up and laugh, who took them to get pancakes and sing off key and listened to them talk? This guy was losing all and winning none?

You shook your head, clearing your throat and keeping your glance down as you admitted, “Well, selfishly I’m a little glad you’ve been losing if it means I get to do this with you now. Bet if you had a win you wouldn’t be spending your Monday making me feel better.”

Both of you rested your temples against the headrests, eyes finding each other’s. He smiled a little and shook his head no and you rolled yours. It felt like you were both holding your breath, waiting for the other to make the next move, to say something. His eyes softened a little, the color turning a little darker. You wanted to lean over and kiss him, to show him he deserved to have a win but he grinned as the next song started playing, turning his eyes away to turn it up.

You blinked, feeling a little dizzy from the thought of wanting to kiss him as he started to reverse out of the parking spot, “Well, if you’re feeling better now, wait till phase three. Best one.”

Walking on Sunshine had started playing and Eddie and the rest of his Hellfire Club who were hanging out outside the diner, threw french fries at you both. Steve and you shared a look, his grin mischievous and you both countered back and forth with his fist as a fake microphone again.

You sang, “I’m walking on sunshine.”

He screamed, “Woooah!”

Then he pointed out the window at Dustin Henderson, and yelled, “And don’t it feel good!”

Dustin jumped up, singing, “Hey yeah!”

And Eddie and the group booed at you all, Eddie wrestling with Dustin, pulling him into a headlock and screamed, “He’s been corrupted!”

You both laughed as you drove away, singing along to the various songs, giving Steve shit for having “Don’t Go Breaking my Heart” on the playlist, but laughing along as you sang the duet. You had been munching on the remaining pancakes when he finally pulled up the ridge of the quarry.

He grabbed the Seven Eleven bag rom the back seat and started to get out of the car, turning the volume all the way up as he nodded for you to follow him.

Curious what this part of the plan entailed, you stretched as you got out of the car, arms rising above your head as you leaned your head back to soak up the sun washing over you. When you let your arms and head fall, you caught him staring at you, cheek pulled in like he was biting it. He cleared his throat and dumped the bag on the hood of the car as he climbed on. He gestured to it all grandly, taking in the chocolate, pringles, and yoohoo chocolate milk, “Didn’t know what you liked, so I just kind of guessed.”

You nodded, snagging the can of Pringles and popping the lid, “This is good,” you looked out at the quarry, a space that seemed to go on forever, the sounds of the water below you hitting the rocks in waves and the echo of the music making all of your problems disappear. It was peaceful and you nodded, “You were right. Best phase.”

He smiled, a genuinely proud and happy smile that his plan had worked, and then he jumped up, “Oh, this is actually phase three.”

The opening beats of “Juke Box Hero” started playing, and Steve was closing his eyes, pointing at you.

You laughed, “Steve. No.”

He nodded, singing along dramatically and then held up his finger and screamed, “He heard one guitar!” frantically playing air guitar suddenly.

He grabbed your hands and pulled you up, laughing, “You have to do the air guitar.”

You indulged him, because so far the entire day had cheered you up and he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Both of you air guitaring and singing, falling onto the hood of the car and laughing as the song ended.

He stole two of the pringles out of the can and placed them between his lips and turned to you right as you took a sip of the chocolate milk, choking and gasping as you started laughing again. You weren’t sure when the last time you had laughed so much was. Maybe you had never laughed as hard as you had with him that day.

His pringles between his lips like a beak and he moved them as he mumbled around them, “What,what’sofunny?”

You laid back on the hood, your hand holding your stomach and wiped at the tears that had formed.

He quickly ate his chips, brushing the crumbs from his lips as his eyes searched yours, “Are you crying? This is supposed to be-”

You shoved his shoulder, “I’m crying from laughing so hard dummy.”

“Oh.”

He laid back next to you and you turned your head so you could face him, your noses almost touching and he licked his lips, “So, it really worked right? No more wallowing about…who again?”

You smiled and rolled your eyes, “Definitely worked. Jason who?”

He smirked and nodded, his nose bumping yours as he did, “He’s such an idiot. You’re…”

He trailed off and closed his eyes. Your arms were pushed next to each other and you felt his pinky brush the back of your hand.

Were you into Steve? His pinky barely grazing your hand was sending a flood of warmth throughout your whole body. He was definitely an attractive person, you had eyes. But it wasn’t just that anymore. The way he had come to your rescue on Friday. How he had insisted on making you feel better all day today. He had been sweet and goofy and made you forget about anything but your own happiness all day. Your face hurt from smiling so much.

You took a deep breath, eyes dancing over his face noticing all of the freckles and moles across his nose, cheeks, and neck. How the wind ruffled his hair, how his lips moved slowly, mouthing along to the fading song playing. How his yellow shirt pulled at his shoulders, lifting on his torso just slightly to expose the tanned skin beneath it.

It took everything in you to peel your eyes away from that spot to look into his now open eyes, “Thank you for today Steve.”

He nodded again, his nose brushing yours slowly and making you shiver.

The song changed and he grinned, “Oh, this is the best one.”

The opening notes to Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac start and you laugh, “Of course you love Fleetwood Mac too.”

He nodded along to the beat, closing his eyes, “This song is so good, don’t lie to me Y/N, you love it and you know it.”

This time his voice was quiet, barely a breath. The warm air fanning across your lips, the scent of blueberries and syrup hitting you as he sang, “Can you hear me calling out your name? You know that I’m falling and I don’t know what to say.”

You joined in with him, his fingers slowly interlacing with yours, your heart hammering in your chest, so loud in your ears you could barely hear the song anymore, “I’ll speak a little louder, I’ll even shout.”

He opened his eyes, and pressed his forehead to yours, turning his head slightly so his nose brushed the side of yours. You trailed off as he sang, “You know I’m proud and I can’t get the words out.”

He spoke the next lyric instead of singing, “I want to be with you everywhere.”

You acted on impulse and pressed your lips to his gently, pulling away after leaving a soft and short kiss.

You both stared at each other, waiting, an electric charge in the air surrounding you.

Some sort of switch seemed to be flipped in the both of you, turning your bodies fully towards each other as he wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped your leg between the two of his, your lips crashing into one another furiously.

You were both pushing against the other, desperate and needy for one another. His lips pulling and sucking your bottom lip between his. His hand pressed to the small of your back as he pulled you closer. You had never been kissed so tenderly, so passionately. His lips moved over your own with precision and care, building a slow burn in your stomach.

You breathed into his lips, “Steve.”

He sighed into you, your hands moving up his chest to cradle his jaw as he pulled you on top of him. Your hips pressed against his and he moaned against your lips as you circled them, the large bulge in his denim jeans pushing right where you wanted. Easy to thoroughly feel through the thin material of your sweatpants.

His hand dipped under your shirt, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps as he made his way to just under your bra, the other tangling in your hair.

You cupped his jaw, pressing yourself on top of him harder, every spot where your bodies touched was a small firework erupting on your skin, your stomach doing flips like a whole circus of acrobats was in it.

You both broke away, a little breathless and his eyes danced between yours as he gasped out, "Should we..."

You nodded, knowing what he was going to say. You both spun in opposite directions, jumping off the hood of the car. Your foot kicked the chocolate milk and it poured on the ground, his the can of pringles.

You opened the back car doors on opposite sides, and you started pulling your sweats off as you climbed in and met in the middle, seeing him frantically kick his jeans down to his ankles.

You bumped your heads as Signed, Sealed, Delivered started playing and you laughed as you started kissing him frantically, “I love this song.”

He nodded against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. You straddled him, pushing yourself down on his clothed bulge again and moaning from the new pressure now that there was even less fabric between the two of you. His hands pushed at your shirt, raising it above your chest and over your head as you did the same to his.

You both paused, breathless and stared at the new views of each other, your relationship crossing a line you both knew you couldn’t come back from. The way Steve was looking at you made the already wet spot grow on your underwear. His hands reached out to your sides, gentle, his fingertips brushing over you as his gaze drifted across your body. You could tell from the look in his eyes he felt the same way, that you wanted to cross that line and you didn’t care to go back to the other side.

You took his distraction of staring at your lavender lace covered breasts to take him in as well. Your fingers moved through his chest hair and scraped the skin beneath them as you took in the sight of his cheeks. A rosy tint to them and his glistening lips, a little fuller and a little more red from all the kissing.

Steve was handsome and the sight of him like this made you want that damn song to be true. You wanted him everywhere. Needed to feel his lips everywhere all at once. Needed to feel him everywhere.

It's like he read your mind as he leaned into your neck, nose nuzzling against it before his lips started their assault.

He left a trail of wet kisses across your collarbone, to the little spot at the base of your neck. He nipped the skin gently and started sucking, leaving a bruise to match the color of the bra his fingers were slowly slipping off of you.

Gimme All Your Lovin started playing and you moaned as his palms brushed against both of your breasts, pushing and rolling them gently. He left the skin on your neck with a quiet pop and you whined as his lips kissed each of your hardened nipples. His tongue dipped out and swirled one as his fingers gently rolled and tugged the other.

He switched quickly, tugging on the glistening one and you moaned, letting your head fall back, your hips circling down onto his boxers in rhythm with the song.

His hands slid down your sides, fingers wrapping around to your back as he kissed up your chest and neck, breathing against your jaw, "Is it really cheesy if I say I want you everywhere right now?"

You laughed, thinking that he really could read your mind. But you nodded, needing to let him know that the teasing relationship you had wasn’t going anywhere. You caught his lips, and let out a breathless, "So cheesy."

His fingers dipped into the band of your underwear and pulled your hips to him sharply and he moaned as you circled them against him harder, "I don't care. It's true. I need you everywhere. I need your touch and your sounds and your-"

You kissed him again and he nodded, glad you got the direction he was going in. Kissing Steve Harrington was something you would never recover from. His lips slotted themselves between yours like the two of you had kissed hundreds of times before, pushing and pulling in time with the song as you swallowed the quiet sounds falling from his lips. His hand came up and held your jaw, pulling slightly as his tongue slipped out and licked along your bottom lip, pulling your mouth open. You gasped into his mouth as his other hand grabbed your ass, his fingers gripping your skin and tugging you even lower onto him.

His kissing earlier had been soft and sweet, and while this kissing was faster and harsher, both left you feeling greedy and desperate for more of him. You grinded down against him harder, pulling away to catch your breath, your bodies pressed impossibly close to each other still. Your lips and noses stayed in contact with each other, frantically brushing against each other as you breathed short gasps of air, before diving back in for more. You could feel yourself soaking him through your underwear.

His hands roamed down your body and his fingers slowly traced the outline of your underwear and then snapped the band.

You let out a whine against his lips and his hands cupped your ass tightly, aggressively, fingers digging into your skin so hard you hoped you had bruises tomorrow. He broke away from the kiss and whispered, "Fuck, I love the sounds that you make honey."

Honey. You were grinding onto Steve Harrington’s barely clothed lap, he was calling you honey, while…Bruce Springsteen was playing?

He yanked you from your thoughts as he did the same to your underwear, pulling them down with one finger on either side, somehow smoothly pulling them to your ankle and didn't give you time to react before he was pushing his fingers through your wet folds.

He moaned, "Is this all for me honey?"

You nodded, your eyes fluttering and your hips shamelessly moving against his fingers, trying to have them dip into you further.

He chuckled, "My girl is impatient, huh?"

My girl.

You sucked in a sharp breath as his finger pushed into your entrance, twisted and curled, finding a spot you could never reach yourself almost instantly.

The motion made your hips jolt against him, your hands gripped at his shoulders, his muscles tensing under your fingertips and you closed your eyes, "Steve, keep going, please, please, baby."

He moaned at your words and followed your command. He pushed a second finger into you, his thumb brushing soft circles against your swollen and throbbing clit as you whined.

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and tugged you down to him, changing his pace from earlier. His lips parting yours gently, opening you up slowly and licking into you as his tongue danced around yours, matching the pace with his fingers.

Your body was coiled and you whimpered into his lips, feeling the hot pressure in your stomach rise to its breaking point.

He wrapped his hand around your jaw, pulling you even closer and nodded against you, encouraging you, your walls fluttering around his fingers as he slid a third one in and slowly pulled them out, pushing them in and swirling, repeating it at a building pace.

Your noses brushing together, his lips soft and plush against your own, the coil in your stomach was pulling and tightening, as the song changed to You Make Loving Fun.

He sighed into your mouth, his fingers moving and out of you at a brutal pace, the wet sounds caused from him almost drowning out the song. His circles with his thumb on your swollen nerves became short presses, dipping down to bring more of your slick up to the throbbing button, "Cum for me honey, please. Wanna feel you fall apart all over my fingers. Wanna hear you. Wanna-"

You gripped his shoulders, his words and the sharp pushes to your clit pushed you over your edge, the coil snapping and the rising heat in your body was now white hot, rushing through every inch of your skin, making you see stars as you closed your eyes and felt your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers, sucking him in deeper. You felt his hips buck up into you a little, twitching beneath you.

His fingers slowly kept their circles and thrusts going, pulling you through your orgasm until he felt you squirm against them. He slowly pulled them out of you, you felt the sticky wetness against your thigh as you collapsed, your forehead falling onto one of his shoulders. You had never been kissed or fingered like that in your life, and Steve Harrington was the one to do it. He had made you cum like you never had during a Fleetwood Mac song in the back of his car.

You laughed a little at the thought as he ran his other hand through your hair, waiting for you to catch your breath. His hand slid down from your ear to your jaw and he turned your face up towards him, leaving small, chaste kisses across your sweaty forehead, the bridge of your nose, the apple of your cheek, and finally one sweet and slow one to your lips.

You sighed into him and started to move your hands down his chest towards his waistline and he stopped your wrists, shaking his head no, his lips brushing against yours.

"I'm good honey."

You pulled away slightly, "What? But you didn't..."

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes and nodded, "I did."

You looked down to see a wet spot on his boxers and smirked and he pulled you to his chest, a smile on his face, "Don't look so smug."

"Me? Smug? Never..."

He rolled his eyes, his fingers trailing up your arms that were wrapped around his neck, up to your shoulders and pushed your hair away from your sweaty neck. He leaned forward and kissed your jaw, "How about we both go get some new clothes and I take you on a proper date?"

You grinned, "Really?"

He nodded, his lips moving up and down your jaw and he let out a soft sigh, "Dinner, movie," he pulled away and smirked, “And after watching the movie, maybe making out only a little,” he gripped your ass tighter, "Dessert."

You laughed and pulled away from him, and now you could see the confident tone and actions were all a front for this sweet boy. His eyes were wide and fragile, hopeful and caring.

You slowly nodded, leaning in to kiss him, "You got yourself a date Harrington."

He grinned against your lips, "Good, cause I wanna be with you everywhere."

You laughed, shoving each other's shoulders and he helped you find your clothes that had been flung across the car.

He rewound his tape, playing Everywhere and held your hand on the console as you both screamed it out the open windows the whole way back into town.

Win Some, Lose Some:

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

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hi i’ll never forget about this and it might be a curse

Baby, I Can't Fight This Feeling

co-worker steve harrington x fem reader | enemies to lovers

A childhood (or maybe just downright childish) rivalry that began for reasons neither of you knew still rages between your co-worker, Steve Harrington, and yourself as adults.

You’ve watched the rise and fall and weird somewhat rise again of King Steve, and now, you find yourselves having to share friends, work space, and god dammit if he touches your red vines one more fucking time –

A cocky attitude leads to an immature bet between your best friend, Eddie Munson, and Steve.

One week to woo, to get her to swoon. One week to prove that Steve Harrington is back, and that his charm could work on anyone.

Even you.

key things to note - the warnings

Come Crashing Through Your Door

Can't Hold Out Forever

Getting Closer Than I Ever Thought

Cold, Dark Winter's Night

Forgotten What I Started Fighting For

I'm Following You, Girl

Afraid To Let It Show

Crawl Upon The Floor

Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore

Epilogue: You Take Me To The Places, That Alone I'd Never Find

📼 Return To Main Menu

#god it’s so good

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

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on duty for a 4.50am feed and thinking about how dad!steve would take his baby to all the autumn things. pumpkin patches and corn mazes and hayrides. the first halloween as a new family is a Thing™️ and careful consideration went into costumes. he’d carve pumpkins and put out candy and it doesn’t matter if his baby can’t walk yet, he’s dressing that kid up as something absolutely adorable and taking them round the streets with a little basket for their treats.

#dad!steve heals something within me

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

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i love the way this feels like it exists outside of time, it’s the feeling of being awake between 2am and 4am when it feels like the whole world is asleep and you can finally breathe easily in the emptiness

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [9.7K] late nights, poolside, getting high and wondering why the boy next door is always sporting a black eye. smut.

Summer at two am smelled like chlorine and smoke, like boys aftershave and the coconut sunscreen you hadn’t reapplied since that afternoon. It was pool lights underwater, the warm glow of a patio pit fire, the buzz of faraway cicadas. It felt rosy, hazy, like the sky wasn’t dark and the sun still lingered, even amongst the stars.

Summer at two am brought out the boy next door, cuts and bruises and all, a freshly rolled joint in his hand as he leaned over the garden fence and asked, “got a light?”

That’s how it started, this thing, this friendship, with Steve Harrington. You just didn’t expect it to lead to what it did.

The first night, June had barely started and Steve was just another boy you’d known from school, a pretty boy with a bruised up face and he appeared at your shared fence, hazy behind the steam that came off of the heated pool. He was lit up in shades of blue, from the water, the reflections, the marks around his eyes and cheek, hanging over the wooden slats, looking like he didn’t care anymore.

About anything. Anything at all.

He watched the way you brought your own roll up to your lips, the end burning amber, almost smoked down to the roach. You were sitting at your pool, bare legs in the water and the too big shirt you wore only held together by a few buttons. The big, expensive house behind you lying as empty as the Harrington’s and when Steve asked if he could borrow the lighter that sat on the patio tiles beside you, you’d nodded.

But you hadn’t expected him to jump the fence so effortlessly, trainers crunching gravel under their soles and he walked towards you like it was no big deal, like you were more than just two people who had nodded at each other in the hallway, who got off at the same bus stop every day before Steve got a car and drove by you instead.

Sometimes you’d see him in his own yard, lying out bare chested in the afternoon heat, a can of soda and a pair of headphones for company. And when his parents were home from whatever business trip they’d been on, you only saw the boy through his bedroom window, adjacent to yours, an accidental TV screen to what King Steve got up to when he was alone.

You knew by default that that meant he could see into your room too, with the buttercup yellow walls and pinned polaroids. You knew he’d caught a glance or two of you in a state of undress, underwear on show, sleep shirt too short and riding up past your thighs.

You’d burned before you remembered to close the curtains, telling yourself that you did care.

But he was the boy that was once popular, pretty face, kind eyes, never home and running around with a new crowd that didn’t seem to be accepting new memberships. You heard his car leave his driveway and not come back for a full day, sometimes not until the next. And from through the gap in your curtains, you always expected the boy to stumble into his house with a girl in tow, maybe a boy, maybe both. Attached at the lips like in the movies, hands groping, eyes closed, in the throes of something heated. But if Steve wasn’t alone, he was only ever with friends.

And then, at nights, by the pool with you.

You didn’t ask him where the bruises came from, you didn’t pry, and Steve liked that. It’s why he sat down next to you after he’d lit his own joint, cotton shorts pulled across his thighs as he let his legs drop into the warm water beside your own.

You watched him take a long drag, head tipped back so he could look at the stars as he held the smoke in his lungs and when he blew it all out, it sounded like the world’s heaviest sigh. Steve looked tired, he looked sore and the lavender colour bruises along his cheekbone looked mottled and dark.

His fingers brushed yours when he handed back the zippo, heavy and silver with a curling sticker on the front, a pastel coloured peach that you’d drawn eyes and a smile on.

“Thanks,” he’d said, taking a few more puffs before offering the joint to you, and you’d accept, ‘cause it was only polite, right?

You were already past the point of feeling lighter, floaty, airy. And Steve was quick to join you there, on a pool water coloured cloud above your yard, ankles dipped in the warmth, head resting in the sky.

Well, that’s what it felt like, lying on your backs side by side, the dampness of the grass pressed to your backs and it was strange, the way you could speak to Steve a little easier when you were both staring at the sky.

You whispered into the night with him, stayed up until the sun broke the blackness and started colouring the clouds tangerine and pink, a cotton candy sky appearing on the horizon and you missed the stars, the way Steve’s words seemed to get stolen by the moon, ‘cause there was nothing out there but you two.

But the sun came up and the high wore off, the joint smoked to a stub. The air only grew warmer as a new day began and you heard the tell tale sound of six am sprinklers, Mr and Mrs Sibbald’s garden hose coming to life.

You’d watched as Steve sat up and stretched, blinking in the red morning light and he’d looked over at you as if he wasn’t all that sure if you were real, if you were a dream, if you were supposed to have disappeared with the stars. You weren’t sure what you’d spent four hours talking about, if you were totally honest, the joint had been passed and finished an hour in, the rest of the night taken up by shared secrets that neither of you could remember, small laughs and bright smiles, the kind that made Steve’s eyes turn into honey.

He hopped back over the fence like it was nothing, as if he’d never even been there to begin with. The only evidence he left was wet footprints across the patio, leading from you to the edge of your yard and you thought that that was it, a one off, one night, a Thing never to be spoken about again.

But the week after, when Friday night was leaking into Saturday morning, a small pebble narrowly missed your knee and plopped into the pool instead. You tried to hide the smoking joint behind your back on instinct, heart rattling your ribcage at the thought of your parents returning home early.

You looked up from where you sat, legs back in the water, a book by your thigh and an ex-boyfriend's hoodie covering your bikini from the summer night breeze. It wasn’t your dad though, or your mom. No disappointed gazes, furrowed brows or downturned lips. No, none of that.

Steve stood by the fence instead, forearms leaning against the ledge, another rock held between finger and thumb. He dropped it when your gaze found his, no need for any other projectiles now he had your attention. There was an unlit joint tucked behind his ear and the bruises from last week were fading. But he had glasses on this time, thin, gold rimmed ones that made him look prettier than ever, a disarmingly kind of charming. His hair was messy, his t-shirt soft looking and threadbare and he didn’t saything to you this time, just raised his brows and smiled.

You tried to hide your own, the way it wanted to stretch across your lips too big and too bright, too excited. ‘Cause the night had settled in and the town was too quiet, like you and Steve Harrington were the only ones left awake. You nodded, kicked a leg through the water and you didn’t need to look to know that Steve saw.

The boy hopped the fence.

He was warm and solid as he sat down beside you, almost too close too soon but you didn’t find that minded all that much. He smelled nice, like aftershave and boy and a little line mint and the forest, sharp and clean. He was showing off too much skin again, old gym shorts hiked up his thighs as he sat with his legs in the water, the collar of his shirt thin and stretched out, like he wore it for comfort not style.

You didn’t let Steve bother lighting his own smoke, handing him your own joint instead of your zippo and you noted the flicker of surprise on his face. But he didn’t say protest, just took it carefully from your fingers and slipped it between his lips, murmuring a soft ‘thanks’ as he did.

It took one puff, one pass, two puffs, three, before anyone spoke again and you were surprised to find it was Steve who did it first. You were still a couple of drags away from finding the courage, that warm, slow feeling that would let you look the boy in the eye without burning up.

“Where’re your folks?” He asked quietly.

You peered up at him, wondering if he’d really noticed these things the way you noticed him. “Uh, country club? I think? Or a dinner at a friend's place, I can’t remember.”

“They’re not around a whole lot, huh?” Steve posed it like a question but you knew it wasn’t. ‘Cause he kept talking, didn’t wait for an answer that he already knew. “Neither are mine.”

You nodded, not trying to pretend that you didn’t know that either. ‘Cause there was only ever Steve’s car in the driveway and when Mr and Mrs Harrington did return, their son was always out, making a point of leaving early and coming home too late.

“Gets lonely right?” You whispered to the pool, that floaty, hazy feeling you wanted finally settling over your head. The pool glittered in response. “In those big houses, when it’s just you.”

Steve hummed, agreeing and you were brave enough then, high enough then, to look over at him. He was shades of blue, all indigo shadows and aquamarine highlights, reflections from the pool lights on his skin. And that’s all it took, that shared gaze, the shared joint, the feeling of knowing that someone felt the same way you did.

After that, you and the boy created some sort of routine. That wasn’t to say you saw every night, or every Saturday. In fact, some weeks you didn’t see him at all. Those days were lonely, stretched out on a neon pink pool float, your shirt wet as you lazed around the edges of the pool until the sun came up and your parents realised you weren’t in your bed.

You’d see Steve during the gaps in the day, maybe a glimpse of him through the gap in his curtains, shirtless and half asleep, lying on his bed with a new bruise on his side. Sometimes out the window when a van pulled up on the street, Eddie Munson waiting in the front for Steve to jump in and you’d stare as they drove off, wondering why they looked so worried.

It was the nights after these stretches of loneliness that were the best. When you left the backyard lights on for Steve to see, sitting out by the pool half dressed, the summer air suffocating, smoke and steam from your lips and the water filling the night sky.

A familiar dance.

Two o’clock, stars out, the buzz of the pool filter, the heat from the water and the leftover July sun. The smell of chlorine and weed, the sunscreen you’d rubbed into your skin earlier that day and this… this thing… with Steve?

It had been happening so often that now he didn’t ask, didn’t seek out permission to join you. You just waited for the slide of his back door, the soft sigh he gave out when he spotted you and god, it made your heart rattle.

You weren’t sure he even knew that he made that little noise. But sometimes, after the sun came up, and you went to bed alone, you would dream about it.

He’d jump the fence, as always, effortless and easy. A joint held out in offering, sometimes refused ‘cause you’d already lit one in anticipation of his company. He sat too close, he always did. Bare skin on bare skin, arms brushing, shoulders bumping, knees pressed up against the others as you both sunk your feet into the water.

You knew the colour of his eyes then, all the shades of brown and gold and caramel. You knew the way he laughed, how his lashes met in the corners when he really, really smiled at you. You knew that he was touchy, almost flirty, all soft words despite the way he was all sharp lines.

“M’gonna owe you a whole greenhouse by the time summer's up,” Steve commented mildly, but he took your offered joint all the same.

The water trickled, lapped around the edges of both of your legs and you grinned at the boy, shrugging ‘cause you really didn’t mind sharing. Not with Steve.

“You took forever to come out,” you complained without heat. “I got bored.”

Steve snorted, nudging his shoulder to yours. “No, you’re just impatient.”

You didn’t reply to that, didn’t really need to because the boy was right and it had only been one month but he could read you like a book already. And what an odd thing to realise, considering you didn’t let many people into your pages.

Instead, you let your gaze settle on his cheek, the edges of an old bruise still blooming blue, mottled green and yellow as it started to heal. It covered the slant of his cheek bone, narrowly missing his eye. More often than not, Steve Harrington was a watercolour of injuries, and after watching him lead the basketball team in high school, you had a feeling it wasn’t due to clumsiness.

“Does that still hurt?”

You never asked why, you never asked how or who or what. That was one of Steve’s favourite things about you. You knew his favourite colour, his favourite movie. You asked him about his job and his day and his friends and how he was feeling.

But on the nights he spent with you in your backyard, when he was cut and bruised and with an eye swollen shut, you never pried.

This was as close as you’d ever got to acknowledging it.

So Steve took a long drag as he thought what to say, because he knew he owed you that much. And you asked it so sweetly, in a small, soft voice that Steve didn’t hear from you all that much ‘cause you were brave and unapologetic and sometimes a little mean to him but he loved the way you teased.

He blew the smoke to the sky, counted the stars that he could see amongst the glow of the streetlights and then turned back to you. He passed the joint, smiled a little tiredly but then he shook his head.

“Nah,” he told you softly, his voice a little rough with emotion and god, he wasn’t supposed to feel the way he felt when he looked at you. That wasn’t the plan. “Nah, s’okay now.”

“Yeah?” You blinked at him, joint forgotten about as you gazed at him, wide eyed.

Christ, you were too sweet.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he smiled, blinding and pretty, and Steve tucked his chin to his chest to hide it.

And then: “It’s not… it’s not your dad, right?”

You were almost positive it wasn’t. Steve bloomed fresh bruises when his dad was out of town, out of state. But sometimes you heard the yelling when the older man was home and there was often the sound of a fist hitting a wall, a table, maybe something else.

Steve’s smile faltered, just for a second, and you watched him look back to you, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You thought he’d maybe be offended, shocked at the idea of you thinking such a thing. But he looked at you and he knew what you knew, what you’d heard, what you understood.

His foot touched yours underwater, feeling much warmer than it should’ve been, ‘cause the brush of his skin over yours felt so, so intimate.

Steve shook his head, held your stare so you’d see the truth there.

“It’s not, no,” he told you. “Promise.”

Maybe you were too high, maybe you were feeling brave in the dark, with nothing but the lights on the water. You reached up, slow and careful, giving the boy time to pull away if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

You brushed the tips of your fingers over the faded bruise, over the slant of Steve’s cheekbone and your breath hitched at the way he leaned into your touch. You traced the colours there, the freckle that was hidden amongst the blue and lavender.

Steve blinked, pretty eyes all heavy and sleepy, pupils blown wide from the weed, maybe from you.

The air stilled, maybe time stopped, but the whole town was quiet and it was like some kind of spell, a slow motion love potion, a pretty kind of magic shared between you and the boy next door. Your touch made his lashes flutter, the brown of his eyes turn softer, impossibly so. Did you lean in first? Did Steve? Were you imagining this?

And then--

The kitchen light snapped on, flooding the backyard in more light than you were used to, illuminating the pair of you by the poolside. You gasped, a sharp, shocked noise and you were turning, staring wide eyed as your parents appeared through the window, lit up by the refrigerator door.

Steve swore, eyes set on the early intrusion and when you turned back to him, your noses brushed and Jesus Christ, you were so close to him. The joint was still burning, the air still sticky sweet and Steve was sitting beside you as if he was still waiting for a kiss.

The patio door slid open, a slow roll, a warning noise and if it weren’t for the hydrangea’s, your late night secret would’ve been spotted almost immediately. You heard your father, voice only coloured with a little concern, call out your name into the dark.

“Honey? Are you out here?”

You stubbed the joint out on the patio tiles, frantic and Steve’s getaway route was blocked, his side of the fence closer to where your father now stood. So you cursed under your breath and stared at the boy, grimacing in what felt like an apologetic smile.

“Deep breath,” you managed to warn him and then, you were pushing yourself off of the ledge of the pool, tumbling into the warm water and taking Steve with you.

The water rushed and bubbled around you both, Steve’s fingers wrapped around your wrists in surprise, his hair floating up in a messy halo around his face. The chlorine fizzed around you both, clothes sticking to skin, wrapped around legs and waists and you pushed yourself up to break the surface, watching as your dad stopped a couple of feet away, arms held out in question.

“What?” the man asked you, brows raised. “What’re you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

You sucked in a breath, blinking away the water that clung to your lashes and you pushed your arms to the edge of the pool, leaning on the still sunwarmed tiles. Your joint was still smoking, burning red ash only a few inches to your right.

“Hey, dad,” you grinned, pushed your back from your forehead and tried to act casual. “What’s up?”

Under the water, Steve was clinging to your waist, his hands pushed to your wet shirt, slipping over the bare skin there, trying his best to hold himself under the surface. His forehead brushed against the swell of your stomach, hair tickling your hip bone, nose bumping against your navel as he tried to keep himself hidden.

You could feel him everywhere.

“Why on earth are you in the pool?” Your dad questioned, and despite it being a reasonable thing to ask, you scrunched your nose, acting offended, fingers curling around the ledge so you could slip further into the water.

Steve pressed closer, bubbles sneaking out from his lips, his hands wide and warm on your hips as he moved himself into the space between your body and the pool wall, holding himself there. His face was level with your stomach, nose nudging at the space under your breasts, t-shirt riding up with the flow of the water. You knew he could see your underwear, bright green, a wicked emerald colour and you squeaked when he plucked a lace edge, taunting, teasing.

“What? Can’t I indulge in a late night swim?” You frowned, acting hurt. “S’not like you and mom are here to keep me company.”

The man sighed and you could see how he backed off, edging back to the patio doors, back to safety where he didn’t need to deal with his twenty something daughter and her attitude problem.

“As long as that’s all you’re indulging in.”

It must have only been a minute, tops, but as soon as the patio door rolled shut and the pool faded back to a deep blue, Steve burst to the surface, gasping. You grinned and rolled your eyes, not that he could see, but it was all full of affection and you noted the way he still hadn’t let go of you, one hand still on your waist as he swept his wet hair out of his eyes. He looked awfully pretty, glittering with water under the moon and the pool lights, droplets clinging to his lashes, rolling over the curve of his lip, t-shirt stuck to him.

“Are you under the impression I have gills, or somethin’?” Steve coughed out, grinning at you despite his words. “They’re back early, no?”

“Very early,” you agreed, peering over the pool edge as you watched your parents through the glass doors, making their way up the stairs.

“Maybe your daddy could sense that his little girl was gettin’ up to no good,” Steve whispered, and god, he was still so close, lips almost at the shell of your ear as you both kicked your legs to stay afloat.

You shivered despite the heat from the water, lazy tendrils of vapour rolling off of your skin, rolling into the night air. You turned to face the boy, biting away a smile, bottom lip tucked between teeth and you tilted your head at him.

“Are you talking about the weed? Or you?”

Your palm grazed Steve’s stomach, felt bare skin and a trail of hair from where his shirt and rucked up, wet and stuck across his ribs. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, tightening under your brief touch but neither of you pulled back. Treading water made it easier to hold each other, hands grabbing and brushing up against the other, the water pushing and pulling you away, over and over until it settled around you and the night fell quiet again.

Maybe it was supposed to be a hint from inside the house, your mother or your fathers silent suggestion that you needed to get out of the damn pool and into your own bed, or maybe it was just very, very good timing. The pool lights went out, the water and the garden going dark, all navy and indigo, the shadows of the trees inky, the house bathed in complete darkness.

It was only the moon that was left to reflect off of the surface of the pool, a warm glow that made the boy look like he was carved from marble. All strong lines, his jaw, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the point of his brows.

Steve swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing and he shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips that could’ve been a smirk if he didn’t look so fucking pretty. But that confidence was there, that self assured air that had been growing and building since the first shared smoke, eyes that wandered and lingered, hands that were kept to yourselves.

It reminded you of the boy you watched in high school, the same flirt and boyish charm, just without the arrogance. Steve had grown into himself, had learned how to hold your gaze and really smile, like it was a present just for you. He knew that you liked it when he pressed his side into yours, shoulder to shoulder, noticed how you always held your breath at the first contact, how you liked to play pretend with him and act like it didn’t affect you.

So he’d grin and bite back when you snarked at him, rolled your eyes all fond and acted like nothing he did affected you. And Steve would play the same game until the joint was all but gone and the air smelled sweeter and you both forgot that your hands had been resting on the other’s knee for too, too long.

Like now, perhaps.

‘Cause Steve’s knee was nudging between your bare legs, his hands on your hips, wide and warm, fingers splayed over your waist, thumbs pushed to your tummy and he was practically holding you afloat in the water, chest to chest.

“Me, maybe,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to look at your lips, sighing a little at the way your tongue swept over your bottom one. “But I have a feeling you get up to all sorts of trouble on your own.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, bravery pushing through your nerves at all the flirtatious words, the way Steve was looking at you, all parted lips and through the dark line of his lashes. Your hands slipped over his shoulders, broad and strong, fingers curling over his wet shirt, holding on as he moved you easily around the water, pushing your back against the pool wall and caging you against him.

“Says the boy who sneaks over at night to get high with me,” you whispered back and god, the pool was heated, but you were overly warm, skin burning where Steve touched, cheeks flushing at the sight of him smiling for you. “If anything, you’re the bad influence here, Harrington.”

It was sinful, the way Steve grinned, boyish and all charm, big, brown eyes glittering in the low light. He leaned in, careful, still so hesitant despite the way you were both clinging to each other. His nose bumped against your own, head tilted so the line of it ran along yours. Your eyes fluttered, lashes casting shadow on your cheeks when they closed.

Steve’s breath stuttered and it caught in his chest, an audible gasp and sigh that made you push your chest into his more, hands wrapping around his neck as you waited waited waited--

“Can I--?” Steve whispered and his top lip was already brushing against your own.

“Is this just ‘cause we’re high?” You asked softly, the question breathed against the boy’s mouth. You briefly wondered what you’d do if he said ‘yes’, if you’d still lean in just so you could say you’d tasted him, just so you’d be able to think of the feel of him when you lay in bed at night, shirt pushed up around your ribs and your hand shoved into the front of your soaked underwear. “Do you really wanna do this?”

“Do I really wanna kiss you?” Steve asked, and he had his eyes closed too, the both of you up to your shoulders in the pool, hands wrapped around wet bodies and chlorine soaked clothes, foreheads touching as you both waited.

Your hand came to cup his face, too small to really catch most of it but your fingers splayed along the sharp edge of his jaw and your thumb found the corner of his mouth, pulling at the edge of his bottom lip in anticipation and Steve let out a low groan.

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely, “yeah I wanna kiss you. M’high, we both are. But I wanna kiss you when I’m sober too.”

“Yeah?” You asked, breathless, legs tightening around Steves, where he was using one knee to keep you up and level with him.

He nodded, water splashing quietly as he moved into you more, a hand dropping from your waist to catch your thigh, hand curling around the dough there to hitch it to his hip. He squeezed, an overly soft and affectionate gesture and it made your heartbeat clap against your ribs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out, nose pushing more to your cheek, lips touching yours as he spoke. “Fuck, yeah, sweetheart, I really do.”

So you kissed him, a soft, sweet push of your mouth to Steve’s catching the soft moan he gave you, giving him one back in return. He could’ve pulled you underwater for all you cared, you would’ve just kept kissing him, chlorine and the taste of Steve and smoke all you needed.

It was all slow motion, that same kind of love potion, a magic pull that made your toes curl, made you keen a little needily and open your mouth for the boy. He licked into you, soft and sure, like he knew how to kiss you, like he’d been doing it all along. Steve tilted his head just right, matched the angle you gave him and pushed a hand up your shirt, dragged his palm along your ribs and kept it PG, holding you there as he tried to display every piece of gentlemanly restraint he had and not rock himself into you.

It didn’t help that you were tugging at his hair a little, your hands wandering too, sinking your fingers into the damp curls at the nape of his neck and pulling when his tongue stroked over your own, a surefire way to tell him you liked everything he was doing.

You weren’t sure how far it would’ve gone, how much you would’ve let happen, but somewhere over the fence, a car alarm went off and the Wilkinson’s family dog started barking.

And that was it. A first kiss, stolen behind your parents back, wet and pushed up against the wall of the pool, all chlorine coated with a boy that tasted like summer and smoke.

That was it, for now.

—————

It wasn’t even a week later when you saw Steve again and he was already waiting by the pool when you came out. He turned at the sound of you opening the patio doors, pyjama shorts high on your thighs, a tiny tank top that didn’t do much against the still too warm night air.

He was bruised again, a stain around his cheekbone that was threatening to turn black and blue soon. You knew you weren’t supposed to ask questions, he’d told you before that it wasn’t what you thought, that he couldn’t really explain it.

But it made your heart hurt for him and before you could open your mouth to ask if he was okay, Steve kissed the words away, lips slanting over yours in greeting. It was a little urgent, a little desperate for just a kiss hello and when you both pulled back, you could see the stress knotted between his brows, the dark pull at the corners of his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping.

And neither of you had, no really. That’s why you were both outside at one in the morning.

“I don’t have any shit left,” he told you quietly. “I don’t wanna keep smoking your stash either. I just— I just wanted to see you.”

Steve said it like it wasn’t allowed, as if that wasn’t a part of the agreement, like it was breaking the rules of this… thing you both had going.

You nodded, let your fingers trail down his forearm until your hand found his. He let you tangle your fingers with his own, too close together under the patio light. You could see how tired he looked, how tension clawed at his body and you let out a sigh.

“I smoked the last of mine last night,” you murmured, “or else you know I would’ve shared.”

You brushed your thumb over the back of his hand, kept your eyes off of the bruise on his cheek and tried to smile. It was hard to, the boy didn’t look like himself, like this bruise was different, like this had been one hit too many and he finally felt a little defeated.

With the chaos of the town, the murders, the missing people, you’d watched Steve and his friends disappear each day, only coming home when sleep was needed.

You didn’t ask questions, didn’t want to, didn’t feel like you could. But the boy looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and it had finally splintered the bones in his back.

“You look like you need something to help you chill out, Harrington,” you whispered to him, “you’re all tense.”

You ran your other hand up his chest, a brave move considering you hadn’t seen or spoken to him since you both kissed in the pool, under your sleeping parents bedroom window. But he’d greeted you with a kiss, one that tasted a lot like need and want. Your hand cup the nape of his neck, squeezing gently before your fingers slid into his hair.

You tugged a little at the soft strands, lips parting when his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned onto you, pliable and soft, a small moan leaving his lips at your touch.

“Are you okay?”

Steve hummed, eyes barely opening to look at you fondly. The summer air was heavy, the tension between the two of you palpable. But he smiled, an easy grin taking over his pretty face and he nodded.

“Yeah, m’okay sweetheart.” He sighed, leaned into you more, head falling forward so your nails could scratch at his neck. “Just tired.”

“You should go to bed,” you told him, all mock admonishment ‘cause you knew as well as Steve did that sleep didn’t always come easily.

“You should come with me,” he quipped and his words fell from his mouth without much thought and god, he sounded serious about it, no teasing to be found.

You watched him watch you, hand still curled into his hair, one of his holding your side to keep you close and you watched him swallow, the air thicker than ever. Jesus, were you even breathing? Was Steve?

But you licked at your lip, a nervous habit, noticed how Steve followed the movement with heavy, dark eyes and you nodded, breath catching in your throat before blowing it out shakily.

“Yeah,” you told him, and then as if it were the most casual thing in the world: “alright.”

Steve blinked, “yeah?”

You smiled, ducked your head to try and hide it, letting your hands fall away from him in the hopes that he’d take the initiative and lead you back to his.

“Yeah,” you told him, “we’ve gotta make you relax one way or another, right?”

Steve gulped audibly, lips parting and moving over words he couldn’t quite find yet, staring at you silently. But his eyes were hooded and a darker colour than normal, all burnt sugar and heat.

He nodded, fumbling for the response. His hand found yours and he started to back up towards his house, eyes trained on yours, fingers curling around your own.

“Right,” he agreed, “of course, yeah.” He was breathing a little faster.

“And I can help,” you nodded, following him to his side of the fence, waiting until his back was against it to bring your face to his, noses brushing, eyes falling closed.

“S’real sweet of you,” he huffed out, voice strained because you were so close to kissing him but still so far away from his bed.

“I’m a really good friend,” you murmured and despite the insinuation behind it, Steve really smiled at your words, ‘cause god, a month or two had passed with nights like these and you were his friend.

“The best,” he agreed.

—————

Steve’s room was all shades of blue and violet, the streetlights glowing warm through his closed curtains, the navy plaid bedspread matching the wallpaper. There wasn’t much out of place, everything there that a typical boys room should have.

The mess of clothes on a desk chair, cassette tapes piled high by a stereo, some old basketball trophies on a shelf, a few pinned Polaroids of friends above his desktop and— and a baseball bat, topped with nails sitting against the wall in a corner.

You didn’t ask.

You perched yourself on the edge of the bed, peering up at the boy from underneath your lashes, watching as he moved to stand between your legs. You spread them for him, shivered when he brushed your hair back from your face, a sweet touch of his fingers curling around your ear.

“You look pretty tired too,” Steve whispered, hand cupping the back of your neck like you had done to him, fingers twisting slightly on your hair and he gave a gentle tug, making your head fall back for him, eyes wide as you looked up and met his gaze. “Little tense, huh?”

You nodded, lips tucked between your teeth because Jesus, god, fuck, the anticipation was electric.

“So tense,” you agreed and you reached out, hands grabbing at the front of Steve’s shirt, fingers pulling at the hem so he’d lean down for you. He did. “And nothing to smoke to fix it.”

It was an empty complaint, you knew that, the boy knew that. ‘Cause his lips were ghosting over yours and you could feel his smile, less than shy now he knew what you liked, how you wanted to be kissed, learning quickly after hearing you moan for him in the pool a few nights before.

So he was on you, pushing you back onto the bed, his knee coming up to slot between your thighs as he held himself above you, lips connecting easily, groaning when your mouth parted for him almost instantly.

The window was open and you could still hear the buzz of the cicadas in the woods out back, the drone of the pool heaters, the trickle of the water from that one broken jet in yours.

It wasn’t that much cooler in Steve’s room than it was outside, but maybe that was just the way you’d pressed yourself into each other, sleep clothes shifting easily out of the way for wandering hands, a slow soft drag of fingers across ribs, seeking out new places to touch.

And without the smoke, the week, you could really feel it all, a sudden burn and a live wire touch, no haze to numb the sensation of Steve dragging the rough flat of his palm over the soft of your stomach.

He tasted like spearmint this time, like leftover toothpaste and when his tongue brushed over yours, you groaned, back arching for him.

There it was again, that slow motion feeling, present even without the weed, like memories on a film camera, stuttering over grain and dust. Magic, a spell, a live potion, sticky sweet and tinting everything pink and rosy.

It was dizzying, to kiss Steve like this, to be kissed like this. Slow and lazy, open mouthed and tongues pressing, nose pushed to each other's cheeks, breath coming in huffs and short pants, noises swallowed by the other.

And when Steve pulled back, just a little, just an inch, his pupils were blown wide and god, you thought, maybe he didn’t need to smoke at all to feel like this - a different kind of high.

The boy blew out a stuttering breath as he looked down at you, eyes glittering in the low light, shifting so he lay in the cradle of your hips, groaning a little softly when you gasped out at the feel of him.

“This okay?” He whispered, smoothing the hair back from your forehead, leaning into you to press his lips against your cheek, trailing across your jawline.

His hand stayed safe at your hip, tucked under the cotton of your sleep shirt, thumb smoothing over the soft skin there and you nodded, chest burning at the way Steve was looking at you.

Like you were made of gold, like you were some sort of magic.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Steve,” you gasped out, bringing one knee up to cage him in, thigh pressed to his side and you tried not to get ahead of yourself, tried not to tilt your hips up into his.

Your hands got too desperate though, grabbed at his face to pull him back to your lips, kissing a little needier than before, the pace quickening, the solid weight of him pressing you into his pillows. Everything smelled like Steve, like cologne and mint and boy.

It went on like that, hands shaking as you slipped off shorts and shirts and sweatpants, thumbing over the edges of underwear, cotton and lace. It was easy to flip you both over, Steve letting you do what you wanted with him, lying back and pretending that he couldn’t take the control back off of you if he really wanted to.

Instead, he lay back in the pillows, hand gripping your sides, fingers pushing into the dough there, lips parted and eyes hooded as he stared up at you. He was panting, gaze flickering from your chest to the soft of your stomach, splayed thighs, the way your underwear was hitched high on your hips.

He couldn’t help but stutter out a moan when you rolled your hips over his, the wet spot on your underwear pressed into his, your cunt pressed over the length of his cock, separated only by his boxers and lace.

Steve’s face was a pretty riot, eyes wide, hair wild, lips parted and pouty, his cheeks all flushed. It was hard to stay away, too easy to dip back down, your bra scratching softly against his bare chest, lips finding his again in a kiss that made you both lightheaded.

You pulled away only to whisper to him, lips brushing against his, cupids bows touching, eyes closed.

“Can I make you feel good?” Your voice was impossibly soft and it made Steve’s chest ache. “Will you let me help you relax?”

The boy couldn’t remember a time he’d felt more pent up, heart racing, too warm. He was far from relaxed, too eager to watch you on top of him, all mismatched cotton and lace hiding the parts of you he wanted to see, if you deemed him lucky enough.

But he nodded anyway, greedy for your touch, for anything you might give him. The girl next door, too pretty and too sweet, all coconut sunscreen and chlorine scent skin.

“Christ,” he groaned, “yeah, yeah, please.”

He didn’t know what he was asking for, begging for. He just knew that if you were giving it, he wanted it. You moved slow, a whisper against him, lips trailing sweetly over his jaw, his chin, dipping lower and lower until you were kissing his Adam’s apple and mouthing across his chest, your hair tickling his stomach and he felt you grin against him when his muscles flexed, tensing at your touch.

Your hands smoothed over the front of his boxers, sucking in a breath when his cock twitched under the material, hot and hard and thick. You looked up to see Steve fighting with himself, struggling between throwing his head back into the pillows - jaw slack and eyes slammed shut - and keeping his gaze trained on everything you were doing.

You repeated his words back to him, eyes on his as you tucked your fingers into the band of his underwear. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve groaned out. “I think you’re gonna kill me, but yeah, it’s okay,” and he laughed a little here you did, a huff of warm air over his navel as you grinned up at him.

He shivered at every touch, swore out loud when you dragged the band of his underwear down and let his cock spring free, the weight of it slapping up against his stomach.

Another pretty noise when you wrapped your hand around him, thick and warm in your palm and you watched as Steve’s jaw clenched. You soothed him with a soft tsk, lips pressed to the tops of his thigh but the boy was a mess.

“Sensitive?” You whispered, your hand pumping him slowly, twisting your wrist when you got to his head, the tip of him already slick and sliding into your palm.

It took a while for Steve to reply, to contain the boyish whines he was trying not to let out, but he eventually sucked in a breath and pushed himself to his elbows to stare down his body at you, rosy cheeked and in awe.

“Just, fuck— just been a while, since…” he trailed off, gone for you, entranced by the way you were kissing so close to the base of him, lips teasing at his hipbone, trialing across his thighs.

“Since?” You squeezed him, hand dragging up and down his length, hiding your smile when his cock jumped for you.

“Fu-uck, since anyone…” Steve broke off with a groan, deep and dirty. “Since anyone touched me, done this, shit.”

You were sweet with it, moving to lie between his spread legs, free hand rubbing soft circles on his thigh and he was quivering, eyes glazed over as he watched you press a kiss to the side of his cock, keening high at the sight.

“I’ll go slow then, yeah?” You told him, starting a lazy pump up and down his shaft, “we can take it real easy.”

Steve nodded and looked like he was close to losing it already, unable to form a full sentence. He dragged a hand through your hair, keeping it back from your face so he could cup at your cheek, thumb pulling a little at your bottom lip, letting you suck on it as you kept moving your hand over him.

“Fucking Christ,” he moaned out, “you look so pretty— too pretty. Think ‘bout you all the damn time, it’s ridiculous.”

You preened at that piece of information, eyes locked onto his before you licked a slow stripe along his cock, getting him slick for you. The boy tensed up, a gutteral sound coming from his lips and it was too hot, too filthy. His hand stayed on your cheek, fingers splayed over your jaw whilst the other one sank into the sheets, gripping them tightly.

“Holy shit.”

“All the time?” You asked softly, “really?” Steve could only nod, brown eyes wide and doe like as he watched you, lips parted and still swollen from your kisses. He was a pretty, pretty picture. “Tell me.”

He whined, head lolling backwards as you slid your hand over him, up and down, up and down, up and down, soft pants coming from his chest as he tried to speak.

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled, “would sit out all night and smoke with you and shit, you always look so fucking pretty and you smell so good. Always waitin’ on me with hardly any clothes and oh god — yeah, just like that, fuck — I’d have to go home and jerk off in the shower, always so hard just from thinking ‘bout the things I wanted to do to you.”

It was indecent, the way Steve spoke, breathy and gasping, little moans interrupting every other word and he held your gaze the entire time, completely unabashed. It was hotter than it should’ve been and you could feel the way your eyes drooped, lip tucked between your teeth as you held in your own sounds.

“Yeah? Like what? I wanna know,” you coaxed him. You leaned in once more, finally wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, lazily licking and sucking at him.

His hips almost shot off the bed and you hummed in appreciation around him, watching with dark eyes as Steve threw his head back into the pillow, neck taught and pulse thrumming. His hands were both in your hair, doing his best to gently smooth it back instead of yanking on it the way his body was telling him to.

The boy was speechless. But it only made you pull off of him, the tip of his cock resting against your lips as you kissed at it sweetly, tongue peeking out to press against it. Steve looked like he was about to lose his shit.

“Tell me,” you urged softly, “tell me what you want to do to me, Harrington. Maybe I’ll let you.”

“Oh, fucking hell, baby.”

Baby. It was a dirty groan, all affection, a heady dose of sticky sweetness as he stared down at you like you were his own personal wet dream.

He gasped out as you took more of him into your mouth, inch by inch until you had to admit defeat — he was too big.

“I, uh, god, I think about you… on top of me, how insane you’d look riding me,” Steve hissed at the way you ran your tongue along the underside of him, pulling off with a wet ‘pop’. “Under me, on your hands and knees, against the tiles in m’shower — fucking everywhere, sweetheart.”

He was quick to catch you as you made your way back up his body, legs a little shaky with anticipation, cunt throbbing as you tried your best not to launch yourself at the boy. You settled yourself back on his lap, Steve’s warm hands clutching tight at your waist.

“You don’t want much, huh?” You teased quietly, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

It fell forward, down your arms and Steve reached to pull it off, sighing at the sight of you. He pushed his hands to your chest, cupping your tits as he ran a thumb over each nipple, smiling when it pebbled under his touch.

“Just you,” he answered honestly. “In any way you’ll let me.”

You whimpered at that, wondering if you should give up the control right then, pass it back to the boy and let him manhandle you about his bed, hands hot and greedy. But you looked down, saw the way he looked blissed out, his cock hard and throbbing for you between your legs, twitching against the soaked centre of your underwear.

“Just me?” You said instead, smiling prettily as you ran your hands across Steve’s chest, appreciating the muscles that tensed there, broad shoulders flexing as he did the same, hands wandering over your navel, fingers flicking against the band of your underwear. “Aren’t you the sweetest?” You cooed.

It might have been your voice, or maybe the words you said, but either wait, Steve gave in and let his hips thrust up, all semblance of control slipping through his fingers and he was reaching for you, fingers slipping underneath lace to find what he wanted. You both groaned out at his touch, the boy’s eyes rolling as he found you soaked and slick for him.

“You make me feel desperate,” Steve stuttered out, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard, dragging you with him to keep you sat on his lap. “D’you know that? D’you feel what you do to me?”

He rolled his hips into you for effect, as if you couldn’t already feel his hard cock pressed against your ass, flush with your cunt, twitching with need for you.

You could only moan, a stuttering sound that made your chest ache and you were reaching for him, suddenly wanting to feel his lips on yours more than anything. “Steve.”

“Ah, ah,” Steve stopped you, pushed a hand to your sternum, fingers splayed over your throat as he pushed you back into place, sitting pretty across his hips. “Stay there for me, hmm?” A sharp tap to your thigh, soothed by a warm palm. “Spread your legs wider, pretty, there’s a girl.”

It turned out, you didn’t really need to let Steve roll you underneath him to gain back control.

You did as you were told, splaying your legs apart as far as you could, knees digging into the mattress as you leaned back a little, hands finding purchase on the tops of Steve’s thighs for support.

It was easy for him like this, much too easy for him to make you fall apart. Fingers hooked into the lace of your underwear, dragging to the side a little dirty, leaving you exposed for him. The boy groaned, a pretty sigh and a soft coo when he slid one thick finger inside of you, barely letting you get used to the stretch before adding another.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he whispered to you, smiling when you feel forward, forehead touching his, panting against his mouth, eyes closed. “So soft, feel perfect.”

Steve held his hand there for you, two fingers curled inside your cunt and he moaned out encouragingly as you rocked over them, taking back a little bit of the control as you set the pace, fucking yourself over him. He was panting, pupils blown wide until his eyes were just black, cheeks all flushed pink for you.

He was mumbling, a steady stream of almost nonsense and praise, mouthing over your throat and jaw, lips kissing at your cheeks and chin as he spoke, telling you how good you were, how pretty, how much he’d thought about this.

And when his thumb pressed to your clit, you mewled, hands grabbing at his hair, the hook in your stomach pulling, a white hot burn, a slow motion explosion, a lick of heat over your navel.

“M’gonna come, Steve,” you told him, breathless, panting. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah? Yeah, aww shit, come for me, pretty thing,” Steve gasped out. “Wanna feel you, can you do that, yeah? Let me feel how tight you get for me, Jesus fucking Christ, babe.”

You did, lips parted against Steve’s as you cried out, a barely there kiss, nails leaving half moons on his shoulders, fingers seeking out messy hair that you could pull at.

And Steve barely had any time to marvel over the sight of you, the feel of you, ‘cause you were still whimpering as you lifted yourself off of him, only to wrap a hand around his cock and line him up with your entrance, the top of him pressed against where you were most wet.

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m on the pill,” you offered, eyes hooded and lips parted, messy in the prettiest way for him, underwear still stretched to the side. “I haven’t— there hasn’t been anyone in a while.”

Steve nodded helplessly, wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you down and onto him, inch by inch, a tight, warm fit as you still rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm, clenching around him immediately.

“Oh fuckfuckfuck,” you gasped at the stretch, the feeling of being so full, fingers knitting into his hair to pull him to you, kissing away his sounds, his pretty moans and sighs.

Steve’s hands stilled you, his breath coming out in short, warm bursts over your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he tried to gather himself.

“I need, uh, shit, you need to gimme a minute here, babe, I’m gonna lose it.” Steve’s eyes searched yourself, wide and filled with a stupid amount of fondness, a sweet, sticky kind of wonderment, like he thought you were made of magic. “You feel too good.”

“I want you to lose it,” you told him and god, you sounded wrecked, and it would’ve been embarrassing if Steve didn’t sound the same when he moaned at your words. “Wanna make you feel good too, can I? Steve, please?”

It didn’t take much to coax him backwards, body slumping onto the pillows, head resting against them as he looked up at you through messy hair. His hands soothed over your thighs, knuckles brushing over the soft of your tummy before he gripped your hips and readied himself.

He nodded, staring down the line of your body, groaning out something filthy when you lifted yourself from him, starting a slow, hot drag of your cunt on his cock, almost letting him slip out before dropping yourself back down.

You planted your hands on his chest, grinning as you let him grab at your ass, your thighs, your hips, kneading the skin there as he tried to stave off his own orgasm, nose scrunched cutely, lips pressed together to keep his noises in.

“There you go,” you murmured, catching his chin in one hand as he panted out, lips parting at your touch, biting down softly on your thumb as you pushed it to his mouth. “Look so pretty like this, Stevie. Wanna see you come for me.”

He fell apart for you like that, your thumb tugging on his bottom lip as his jaw fell slack, moaning out your name, hands bruising your hips as he spilled inside of you. Steve’s hips stuttered, legs shaking as you fell into him, his cock still buried inside of you, lips pressed together in a kiss that was just as good as the first one.

You lay like that for a while, chests pressed together, kissing lazy and soft in the blue light, the air smelling like summer and sex and Steve. He only moved to grab you a warm washcloth, soothing you when you whined as he swiped it between your legs. And when he crawled back into bed with you, sweats hung low on his hips, he gathered you easily, crushed you to his chest and buried his face in your hair.

Neither of you smelled like smoke, or even of chlorine or the summer night air, that sticky, heavy scent that only came with spending the night outside. And despite that, it was the first time in a while where Steve was asleep before the clock hit four.

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

Text

you can’t put taylor swift and steve harrington together and expect me to be normal about it sorry

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [18.7k] prompt: "Can I kiss you?" Childhood friends to lovers, growing up together, that damn garden gate, a slow burn like summer.

1979. Fever dream high in the quiet of the night.

When you were twelve years old, you moved to Hawkins, Indiana: population twelve thousand.

It had cedar lined streets, an old town hall, an outdoor pool behind a chain link fence, one supermarket and a boy next door called Steve Harrington.

You saw him from your bedroom window, his across from yours, the house your parents bought only a stone's throw away from his. He waved at you through the glass, smile wide, hair messy and wild. He had a scrape on his cheek from falling off his bike, a poster above his bed for a band you’d never heard of.

The next morning, he knocked on your front door and asked you if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You rode on the back of his bike, hands clutching his shoulders, eyes bright and wide and Steve shared a slushie with you, tongues raspberry blue, cheeks sticky and sun kissed.

He taught you how to play pac man, hands already so much bigger than yours when he slid them over your own, joystick between your fingers, laughter bubbling in your chest when you won.

Steve came back the next morning, and the next, the days bleeding into one long summer in a new town that was all wheat fields and quarries, dust roads and white picket fences.

Then a year later, a week after your thirteenth birthday, you came home from your grandparents in the new dress your parents bought you, a pretty, sunflower yellow thing that fell to your knees and fluttered when you spun.

You ran straight to the Harrington’s house, one hand knocking impatiently on the door, the other holding the box of sugar cookies you had insisted on saving and taking home to Steve.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, not really. But at some point over the course of twelve months, Steve Harrington had become your best friend. It happened the way summer did, a slow roll into warmth and blue skies, the familiarity of seeing him every day, the same way the sun slipped through the cracks in your bedroom window shutters.

He was bike rides, fresh banana muffins from the bakery on Main Street, water balloon fights when you were supposed to be in bed, running in the back yard as your parents shared wine and barbecue dinners. He got taller, his hair got wilder and you both got closer.

Steve opened the door, smile wide, eyes bright, just for you. He took a cookie and your hand, leading you to his bedroom as his parents yelled out their greetings from the kitchen and you tumbled into his room, chest bursting with how happy you were ‘cause the entire car ride home, you had been so excited to see Steve.

Steve had too many pillows on his too big bed, a guitar in the corner, a basketball shirt in a frame above his desk. There were books lining shelves, a stereo on his dresser and towers of cassette tapes. His room always smelled like fresh air and boy, something minty, the summer sneaking in from his always open window, the chlorine from the pool below.

He’d turned to you then, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, taking in your bare shins with their new bruises, one from falling in your skates, the other from tripping outside the library. Steve was yet to turn fourteen but he decided then that yellow was his favourite colour, buttercup bright, that deep rich shade that was painted on your dress.

“You look like a princess,” he said earnestly, voice soft with embarrassment ‘cause Kyle from school said it wasn’t cool to be best friends with a girl.

Steve had told him to shut up, brows knitted together, cheeks blushing and he’d spent that rest of recess so confused, ‘cause the boy thought you were the coolest person he knew.

You flushed at his words, nose scrunched and you picked at the hem of your dress, dipping into a clumsy curtsy, the way all the Disney princess did on the tapes your mom let you watch.

“Thanks,” you beamed, all teeth and sore cheeks ‘cause Steve always made you smile real hard.

You felt nervous then, wondering where you and your yellow sundress fit into Steve’s room, but the moment broke, that unfamiliar jitter in your stomach disappeared Steve tugged you down onto his navy blue carpet, NES console beeping as it came to life and he handed you the extra controller, smile bright.

The day turned to night too quickly, the way it always did when you were with Steve, and soon enough the Harrington’s phone was ringing and Steve’s mom was yelling up the stairs, telling you it was time to go home for dinner.

Steve walked you out like he always did, shoulders touching as you both hurried down the stairs, eyes tired from the TV screen, fingers sticky from sugar cookies. The sun was just starting to set, the world outside was hazy and peach coloured, lavender clouds low in the sky and everything smelled like cut grass and your mom’s lemon trees.

Steve walked you to where his lawn met yours, the streets tired and empty ‘cause the summer heat was still lingering, making the air heavy and sweet. You watched as the boy chewed his lip, uncharacteristically nervous, backs of hands brushing as you walked across the grass, damp blades brushing your bare ankles and you wondered why your best friend's cheeks were so pink.

“Paul Matthews kissed Gemma Kennedy under the bleachers,” he suddenly blurted out, and you frowned, lips twisting.

“He did?” You asked, unsure of why this news was being shared. You didn’t like Paul Matthews, he was annoying and never gave anyone else a shot of the swings at recess. “What’d he say?”

Steve shrugged, all boyish and innocent. “He said it was kinda gross.”

“Gross,” you repeated, features scrunched. “Why’d Gemma wanna kiss him anyways? Paul smells like gym socks.”

Steve snorted, a shoulder bumping into yours. You could smell your dad’s pasta from the open kitchen window, the pop of a bottle being opened, soft music from one of your mom’s favourite bands.

“Do I smell like gym socks?” The boy asked, suddenly self conscious and you poked at his ribs, head shaking.

“No,” you told him earnestly, voice all quiet and sweet ‘cause it was like you were both the only two in Hawkins at that moment. “You smell nice. Like cookies and bubblegum.”

He grinned, too pleased with your assessment and before you hopped over the flowerbed that split your home with Steve’s, he caught your hand, palm a little clammy.

He murmured your name, voice shy and it made your tummy tumble in a way that you still didn’t understand, not properly, not yet.

You turned, eyes wide ‘cause you were both reaching an age where boys and girls didn’t really hold hands playing in the street anymore, and if they did, it meant something else. It made kids whisper in the playground, pass notes in the classroom and suddenly watching the older students kiss each other at their lockers didn’t seem as icky.

“Have you kissed anyone?” Steve asked you, voice laced with curiosity.

You flushed, heart raging, pulse picking up ‘cause you hadn’t and suddenly it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world. But Steve still had his hand over yours and he squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and something about it felt so reassuring, like he’d keep every secret you gifted him.

“No.” A pause, a worry, a flutter of nerves. “Have you?”

Were you supposed to? Was a boy meant to like you now? Has Steve kissed a girl? Have you missed something monumental?

“No.”

Oh. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch an age.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh.

“You wanna kiss me?” You asked, lashes blinking slow, mouth parted. You could taste the sugar cookies you’d shared with Steve still melting on your tongue. “Me?”

Steve stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed rose and he licked at his lips, unsure of what to say ‘cause Jesus Christ he was thirteen years old and had no idea what he was doing. But he remembered something that Paul had said to him, legs kicking as they sat on the swings together, sun beating down on their backs.

“Wish I had kissed Kimmy Cheng instead,” the boy had said, somewhat thoughtful, brows scrunched. “I really like Kimmy, maybe that would’ve made it better.”

It had made Steve think then, chewing at his cheek ‘cause the only girl he really liked was you, his best friend. You didn’t make him nervous, and when the movies you watched with him got too scary, you held his hand, face behind a pillow and he didn’t hate that. Not at all.

“I mean, I guess?” Steve mumbled and god, he didn’t understand why his stomach was flipping over, that same feeling he got when he decided he was gonna climb that old oak tree over by Fifth, the one that was too high, that had thick branches that swallowed the world below your feet. “Would be easier if our first kiss was with each other. Might be less embarrassin’, y’know?”

That made sense, you thought, ‘cause you really didn’t want another boy telling everyone your kisses were gross and Steve wouldn’t make fun of you if you were bad at it, would he?

“Okay.” You said decisively, and you took a deep breath, wondering why your heart was beating so fast, the same way it did when Steve went too fast on his bike, your fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders, eyes tearing up at the whipping find, hair covering your face and his. “Now?”

“Now?” He repeated eyes wide and then he swore, quiet, ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to and his hand readjusted his grip on yours, palms clammy and fingers linking.

You hadn’t held hands like that before. It felt different, a little funny, closer.

But before you could comment on it, the boy was leading you between the two houses, the air warm and trapped between bricks and he opened his garden gate, feet clumsy as you both half ran down the skinny strip of yard at the side of his home.

It was overgrown there, the little hidden patch of long grass and wildflowers that grew underneath Steve’s bedroom window and it smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. You could hear the trickle of the pool, your mom’s music and the setting sun cut through the slats in the fences in stripes, lighting you both up with gold and bronze.

It smelled like summer, you decided, the perfect July day and when Steve spun to face you, you let out a noise of surprise. You were happy to notice that he seemed nervous too, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, hand tugging through his already wild hair.

But you were both hidden there, in the edges of the garden, stolen away from the rest of the town and out of sight of your parents. It felt like the biggest secret of all, one to lock away in the depths of your journal and this felt so much more than giving away the last cookie, more than backseat bike rides and a handmade friendship bracelet, more than sleepovers on Steve’s living room floor, heads touching when you fell asleep.

“What do we do?” you asked, nothing more than a soft whisper.

Steve shrugged, heart rattling against his ribcage and he licked his bottom lip and stumbled a little closer. The toes of his trainers touched your sandals and he was already a little taller than you but he blinked, gaze settling on you from underneath thick, dark lashes and you gulped.

“I don’t really know,” Steve murmured, hands flexing by his sides ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold yours, or place them on your sides, your shoulders.

He shoved them in his pockets instead, hiding the way they shook a little with nerves and he gasped when you moved closer still, knees bumping clumsy against his own and he could count the freckles on your nose, and he wondered if they matched the ones on his skin, a present from long summer days outside.

“Will I just-?” Steve’s voice cracked and he flushed but you didn’t mention it, you didn’t laugh, you never did. “Should I?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you, maybe all the sugar you’d consumed, maybe it was the heat of sun on your shoulders, maybe it was the way your tummy was rolling with nerves and worry but you grasped at Steve’s shoulders, pushing yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to the boy’s without any sort of announcement.

Another gasp, warm skin, nails digging into arms, two pairs of eyes wide, noses bumping.

It lasted a few seconds, maybe less. But your lips were tingling when you pulled away, cheeks a new kind of hot and Steve looked a little shellshocked. You both rocked on your heels into the grass, too tall lavender brushing against your shins and then the boy smiled, a burst of sunshine in the shadows, and he looked delighted.

You were sure your ears were burning, the tips feeling hot and when you looked at Steves, you found his were pink too. You beamed, a nervous giggle, a laugh that got caught in your chest and when you heard your mom’s voice call from the back door - so close to where you were both still standing - you jumped, two kids trying not to be caught doing something they shouldn't.

The garden gate squeaked when you ran back through it, the hinges calling after you and you smelled like a bouquet of flowers as you ran across both lawns, feet tripping over your front porch as you ran inside.

Something pretty bloomed in between the spaces of your bones that day, when Steve Harrington decided that you were both going to be each other's first kiss. It stayed there, for so much longer than you thought it would. You’d always remember it as brown sugar and vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle, feeling brave, honey coloured eyes and complete and utter innocence.

1981. Devils roll their dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.

You didn’t even want to go to the party, you didn’t even like Karen Vincent and you were damn sure she didn’t like you. You knew you were only invited because of Steve, a slip of pink paper passed to you after Karen and her friend Shauna slid between you and the boy at his locker, hands on his chest, on his arm.

You’d wrinkled your nose at it all, fingertips gripping the invite like a ticking time bomb but the girls had learnt the hard way that Steve wouldn’t show if you weren’t welcomed too.

It’s how you found yourself crammed into the Vincent’s basement with too many other fifteen year olds, the music making the walls vibrate, the punch bowl spiked with something that shouldn’t have been mixed with fruit juice and god, it was too warm.

It was just past ten o’clock and your parents wanted you home for eleven, which meant that, by default, that was Steve’s curfew too. You’d both been allowed to walk home on the condition that you stuck together and kept to the main roads, the summer months making the nights light enough that you could see both the sun and the moon in the sky, the clouds a hazy orange as they sunk into the horizon.

You’d spoke to a few kids you shared some classes with, avoided the snack table and its fizzing punch bowl, the concoction no longer the same colour it was when Karen’s mom poured it. And then there was a pop of a bottle cork, splashes of spilled liquid on the already sticky floors, some cheers and a circle was made.

Fuck.

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Yelled a boy you didn’t really know, some kid from the same basketball team as Steve, “let’s go losers!”

There was a symphony of wolf whistles and giggles as kids piled into the middle of the room, coffee tables and armchairs pushed out of the way in favour of a seat on the floor, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with their classmates, eyes wide and searching for their next possible date to the arcade.

“Harrington!” the same boy called out, “get in here!”

Steve appeared beside you, hand brushing gently on your elbow and you frowned without meaning to, wondering why it’d taken him so long to return from the bathroom. But then you saw Karen by his other side, lips glossy and smacking blue bubblegum, eyes sharp on you as she grinned.

“Are you playing Steve?” she asked, lashes blinking, voice coy.

You grimaced, already taking a step back from the ever growing circle. Someone was placing the now empty bottle in the middle and you eyed the closet door across the room like an old nemesis. Your stomach was twirling, and it wasn’t from all the pizza rolls but the smell of chocolate pretzels and red vines wasn’t helping.

But Steve’s hand curled around your arm, still gentle, but he could read you like a book. He tsked, his smile playful but eyes gentle, as if he could feel the nerves radiate off of you. Maybe he could, maybe he could hear the way your heart rattled inside your chest, louder than the music, deeper than the bass.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, crowding into you a little so he could find your ear with his mouth. He was so much taller than you now, the top of your head barely reaching his chin and you scowled, knowing what was coming. “Where you goin’ princess?”

“Home,” you told him stubbornly and you suddenly hated the way your denim skirt was sticking to your thighs, too constricting, too warm.

You heard him sigh, making a noise that only a best friend could, the sound of someone being done with your shit but loving you nonetheless. You moved backwards, hips bumping into the table that was piled high with empty red cups and the boy followed, a puppy at your feet, the same way it had been for three years now.

“Aw c’mon,” Steve groaned, “if you go home, I gotta leave too and you promised me you’d stay until curfew.”

You huffed, arms crossed protectively over your chest, ‘cause you hated the way people were starting to stare. They always did with you and Steve, especially when he touched you like, so casually, so gently.

“I can leave on my own, Steve, I’m a big girl.”

No you weren’t. You were fifteen and still scared of the dark after Steve made you watch Day Of The Dead when both of your parents were out late at the new Italian restaurant just outside of town.

But then, a poke to your arm, your cheek, the end of your nose. You swatted at him, hiding your smile between a press of your lips.

“You know my mom would kill me if I let you walk home alone,” he grumbled but it was soft, still gentle. “Fuck, your mom would kill me after.”

“You can’t be killed twice, stupid,” you said but it lacked heat, an excuse to say something other than agreeing to a game you didn’t wanna play.

He still knew you too well, scoffing at your evasion, hand curling warm around your wrist and pulling you back to the party, back to him, bodies bumping in a too close proximity that became more tense with every year that you got older.

It was becoming harder to ignore that your best friend was pretty. You were sure he’d wrinkle his nose at your choice of adjective but Steve grew up and missed the awkward stage, shoulders broad at the same time he grew a foot, wild hair becoming only a little tamer, more product in it and eyes still warm and brown, a new dimple in his cheek you loved to press your finger into.

You’d heard the other girls in your year call him hot, a total babe, whispered through giggles in the locker room. But your best friend still looked at you all soft, the same way he did before he gave you his first kiss and he took yours, pressed against the honeysuckle in his backyard. He teased gently, took your hand when the streets got too dark and you were both late for curfew, pressed a foot over yours under the dinner table when your mom started talking about test results and extra curriculars.

Steve was still your best friend. But he was really, really pretty.

“There he is! Harrington!” Another boy - Jake someone, from your English class - had forced his way through the crowd to clap a hand on each of your shoulders, pushing you both into the circle. “And you brought your princess, how ‘bout that, huh?”

You flushed, with both annoyance and embarrassment, ‘cause one day when you were all still twelve, Steve spotted you across the park, hands twisting around a basketball as he took in another new dress you wore and called you a princess again. It just so happened that his friends had heard it too.

His nickname for you never left, but neither did your classmate's memory of the incident.

And then Steve’s hand was ripped from your arm, bodies separating you both and he was manhandled to the one side of the circle, you to the other, shoulders squished between a boy and a girl you vaguely recognised from gym class, maybe biology too. It was warmer on the floor, heat and teenage hormones gathering sticky between too close bodies, the smell of cheap aftershave and someone’s mom’s perfume mixing with Kool-Aid and sprite.

“Okay so! You guys know the rules!” Karen was standing from her spot in the circle, suspiciously opposite to Steve, eyes wide and hands animated as she gestured to the closet door on the other side of the room. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is all yours for a whole seven minutes.”

The group giggled, excitement rippling through the circle, bodies shuffling, overflowing cups spilling.

You panicked, scanning the line of faces until you found Steve’s, his eyes already on yours, knowing and soft. He was mouthing something to you, silent underneath the music and chatter.

“It’s okay.”

But then Jake was shoving a hand to Steve’s shoulder, urging him into the middle of the circle with a raucous cheer that only teenage boys could make, the rest of the basketball team joining in and Steve bowed his head, lips twisting into an almost smile that he couldn’t really hide.

You watched as every girl perked up like a meerkat, backs straight, hair twisted around fingers, elbows digging into competitors that tried to make their space in the circle more known.

Your stomach rolled again and it only got worse when Steve spun the bottle and the glass flashed green in the centre, bodies bowing forward to see where it would land.

It sounded like you were underwater, excited voices and yells sounding far away, dulled with the thump of the music. The bottle had spun and spun and spun, landing on you with such precise finality that Karen audibly groaned.

You looked up, Steve’s eyes wide on yours, lips parted and cheeks pink. Before either of you could speak, before you could shake your head or grab your jacket from the sofa and run up the basement stairs, your hand was grabbed by Jake, lips stretched wide and voice booming.

“King Steve and the princess!” He cheered and his excitement was echoed by your classmates, hollers and whoops following you as the boy grabbed Steve with his other hand and the three of you were tripping over stretched legs and forgotten bottles, heading for that fucking closet door.

“Wait!” You said, voice sharp and god, you could hear the panic there.

You couldn’t kiss Steve. You didn’t want to kiss Steve. You shouldn’t kiss Steve.

But Jake ignored you and the music was turned up a little louder again as the rest of the party lounged on their spaces on the floor, heads turned and tilted to watch you both with interest, and your arms only found Steve’s chest when the door was yanked open and a few sets of strange hands shoved you both in.

The door closed, a gust of air, a click, the muffled sounds of the party locked away behind wood. It was dark, musty and your foot hit a shoe rack, your back against a bundle of winter coats that had been retired for the summer.

“M’sorry,” Steve whispered and you knew he was referring to making you stay. You could’ve been half way home by now, trainers scuffing the edges of the sidewalk, fresh air kissing your cheeks. “Didn’t think it would land on you.”

You grunted an unladylike response as your eyes adjusted to the low light, a sliver of warm white coming in from the cracks on the door hinges, letting you see the way the boy was looking at you guiltily.

“Whatever,” you grumbled ‘cause you really didn’t want to kiss your best friend but you hated the way Steve sounded disappointed at the idea.

You weren’t sure how long you could keep lying to yourself, but you were certain you had another few years in you.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, voice still soft, as if anyone outside of the closet could possibly hear the music and yelling. “S’not like we have to kiss.”

You snorted, chest sore in a way that felt like rejection and you hated how it stung. You looked at Steve, his eyes still on you as he shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, another raking through his hair in a way you knew all too well. He was nervous, agitated.

“Sorry I’m not Karen Vincent,” you snarked and god, you hated the way you sounded jealous, you hated the way the words burned your tongue but Steve didn’t pick up on it. There was nothing to pick up. “Promise this wasn’t some sort of elaborate cockblocking plan.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, a huff of air that hit your cheek ‘cause he was so close and he was all cheap beer, gummy worms and hair gel.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the boy mumbled but there was a teasing to his voice, a not so serious lilt.

You pressed your fist into his arm anyway, a hardly there punch that packed no heat and he poked his finger into your side in retaliation. You swatted at him, glaring ‘cause he knew you were ticklish and all the movement sent an empty shoe box hurtling down from a shelf above you both.

“I do not cockblock you,” you pouted, almost offended.

“Not on purpose.” Steve snorted, “Took me all of freshman year to get everyone to believe you weren’t my girlfriend.”

You scrunched your nose at the memory of it, boy’s catcalling you from afar, whispers when you and Steve walked to school together every morning, the unappreciative glares from the girls who wanted him instead.

“Whatever,” you mumbled again. “How long left?”

“It’s only been like, a minute, jeez, that bad being stuck with me princess?” Steve’s voice was teasing and his hand snuck out to grab at your waist again, touch familiar, but his fingers were tickling, poking gently at the spaces between your ribs and you wriggled against him, knees bumping off of skis and old bikes.

“Yes,” you lied and the boy knew, ‘cause you could see the way the light through the crack lit up the curve of his grin.

“Besides, we’ve kissed before,” Steve suddenly said, cautious and soft. His hand was still on you, cupping your elbow to hold you near and it slid down to grasp your wrist. He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Remember?”

You warmed at the memory, wondering why on earth Steve had to bring it up now when you had both never mentioned it since.

“Of course I do,” you huffed, hating the way you sounded bothered. “It wasn’t that long ago. And it hardly even counted.”

Steve scowled, his hurt puppy expression painted across his features. Big, brown eyes set you in place with a stare. “It did so count,” he grumbled, “you were my first kiss.”

“And you were mine,” you fired back, as if this was suddenly an argument that you had to win. Steve always let you win.

“Have you kissed anyone else?” His voice was full of curiosity, void of any embarrassment, not like the way you felt when he asked you such questions.

It made you flush, eyes wide and lips parting, as if you weren’t supposed to say, as if you weren’t supposed to let him know. Steve had told you about his kiss with Lucy Greeves, behind the bike shed, a few months back.

He’d told you it was wet and she tasted like the chocolate milk she’d had at lunch. You remembered how he’d thrown himself into your pile of teddies and pillows at the foot of your bed, expression thoughtful as he told you he didn’t really like chocolate milk all that much.

Then there was Samantha Duncan the year before, a game of truth or dare at the skatepark when the sun started to set and your curfews got a little later. You didn’t watch when Steve leaned into the middle of the circle, friends giggling as he pressed his lips quick to the other girls.

“Just Miles Campbell,” you muttered, gaze lowered and set on the floor because you could feel the mischief bristle off of the boy as you spoke.

“Miles Campbell?!” He crowed, voice boisterous and no longer quiet. “He’s a giant, what did you do, climb a step ladder- ow!”

You pushed at Steve’s shoulder, face aflame. “Shut up! If you have to know, Harrington, we were sitting down.” You sounded haughty, but you didn’t care, ‘cause the boy was still laughing.

Steve settled down, a dopey smile just on his lips and despite his teasing, his eyes were fond. Your sides bumped as he shifted, too close and not enough space in the small closet and you were so, so aware that your gaze was level with the bottom half of his face.

His lips looked really soft.

“Was he a good kisser?”

“Why d’you wanna know?”

He shrugged.

“Thinking about asking him out?” You smirked. “Don’t think you're his type, Stevie.”

“Shut up.”

There was a knock on the door, a sudden sharp sound that had you both jumping apart and you weren’t even sure when you had wandered that close.

“Five minutes left, lovebirds!” Jake, voice muffled by the door and the music, called out, sounding way too pleased.

Steve stared at the door, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and you knew he was thinking about something. He only hesitated a little before he knocked a foot into yours, catching your gaze and he spoke as if he wanted to get the words out fast, before he could stop himself.

“Was he, though?” Steve asked again, voice quieter this time, almost unsure. He looked nervous, “Miles?”

You stared at him, maybe for a beat too long ‘cause the tips of his ears were turning red and he coughed, a little awkward. You made the same strangled noise, shoulders shrugging.

“I mean, sure,” you whispered, “I guess? He was… it was fine.”

You weren’t overly sure if the darkness was playing tricks on you or not, but you could’ve sworn you saw the boy smile.

“He tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” you continued, face warm from embarrassment, ‘cause you suddenly felt like you were sharing too much, even with Steve. “It felt weird, like a dead fish. I didn’t really know what to do.”

“You’ve never made out with someone?” Steve asked and god, you were almost positive he was the only person who could’ve asked you that question without sounding like he was making fun of you. His voice was soft, all fond affection for you that he’d collected over the years and he moved closer, toes touching yours like he knew exactly how to handle you. “Kissed someone like that before?”

“That was the first time,” you squirmed under his gaze, feeling much younger than you were. Were you supposed to have that much experience in making out with someone at fifteen? Did Steve? “I don’t really know if I did it right.”

“Oh,” he breathed and he didn’t sound like he was judging you at all. There was another slow silence, warm and not at all uncomfortable because it was still Steve, and it wrapped around you both like a question. “I could show you. If you wanted.”

The music bled underneath the gap in the door, vibrated against your skin and the drums made your heart drop and stop, thundering to the beat quickly after. You were sure it was the music. You were positive it was the music.

But then Steve mistook your silence for hesitation, a silent ‘no’ and he was already opening his mouth to cover his tracks, to take back the statement, to tell you he was stupid, that he was only kidding.

“I didn’t mean-, we don’t have to… shit, I-”

Four minutes left.

“Okay.”

You could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, skin warm, cheeks hot, tongue sneaking out to peek between your lips and you wondered if he’d still be able to taste the lipgloss you put on before you left the house.

“What?”

“Show me.”

He took a step towards you and you watched as the boy tried to keep cool but his ever expressive face gave him away, brown eyes all wide, jaw a little slack and his hand found your waist, a sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt, a place he’d not really touched before.

“Is this alright?” His voice cracked, and he blushed but you didn’t laugh. You never laughed, but you did nod. “Just do what I do, ‘kay? Can I kiss you?”

Was it really that simple, you wondered? But you didn’t get a lot of time to think it over, because as soon as you nodded, Steve was crowding into you more, pressing you into the coats and you still had to press up on your toes to let his mouth meet yours.

It was so different from last time and it was almost the same.

Steve Harrington still tasted like sugar and vanilla, hidden under cheap beer and you gasped when his lips touched yours, the same way you did when you were thirteen. But your hands grasped at his neck, steadying yourself, and he clutched at your waist to help, as if you had both gotten a little older and suddenly knew where to touch.

His mouth was soft over yours, a little hesitant at first, but then coaxing. Your lips slid over his once, twice, three times and then you felt the soft lick of his tongue at the seam of your lips and you remembered the way he’d told you to copy him.

So you did.

Your tongue touched his and your breath hitched with how nice it felt and the kiss moved soft and slow. You grabbed Steve a little harder, body swaying into his in the dark ‘cause your stomach was swooping and your heart was hammering and it felt like you were on the front seat of a rollercoaster, hanging off the edge.

Maybe Steve felt the same way, despite having more experience, because he gripped you the same way, fingernails leaving little half moon marks on your hips.

It felt strange, it felt good, it felt warm and it made everything tingle, breath stuck in your throat and a sigh leaving your chest and you felt like you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t, because it was Steve.

But then voices outside were counting down from ten and they got louder and louder, hands hammering on the door and you both ripped apart before the door swung open, harsh strip lights and the smell of artificial strawberry and natty light swimming back into the closet with you.

The walk home wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering you and your best friend had had your tongues in each other's mouths. Maybe it’s ‘cause you were still too young, maybe it was because you didn’t realise it yet, but there wasn’t much about yours and Steve’s friendship that would ever be awkward.

So you followed the yellow lines on the edge of the road home, footsteps a little behind Steve’s and every now and then, the boy would look back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. It smelled like nighttime and summer and everything you associated with the boy, damp grass and leftover smoke from someone's barbecue, chlorine from the pools and you could hear sprinklers in backyards, hissing in the still warm air.

You were a little late, just over curfew and the television was making your living room glow, the flicker of light coming out from the window. So Steve took your hand and led you through the back garden gate, pool lights leading you both to your patio doors, the rest of the house dark and you could smell lavender and honeysuckle from Steve’s yard.

He helped you find the key to the door, the spare hidden in a plant pot filled with pebbles and moss, one lone rose sprouting from the dirt. Both of your hands fumbled together as your fingers touched, all sudden pink cheeks and lowered gazes and Steve whispered a ‘good night, princess,’ before sneaking back down the lane, hopping over the lower part of the fence and into his own yard.

By the time you had tiptoed upstairs, past your dad who was dozing in the living room arm chair, Steve was in his room, bedroom window across from yours and the lights were still on as he lounged on his bed, shirt off and a baseball clutched in his fist.

He was throwing it from his hand, watching it fall up and down in the air before catching it again, one arm thrown underneath his head and you couldn’t help but gaze at the muscles there, all new and never really seen before.

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, the heat from the day trapped in your bedroom and sticking to your skin but you didn’t want to open the window, you didn’t want to alert the boy to your staring. You and Steve had spent nights, weeks, months and years hanging out from the sills, talking over the trailing ivy and flowers and growing below.

But this felt like something you shouldn't have been doing, especially since you could still taste him on your lips, feel where his hands had burned against your sides, so you pulled your curtains and trapped all these brand new thoughts inside your room with you.

You took them to bed, slipped between the sheets with them and everything smelled like brown sugar and honey, gummy bears and Steve Harrington.

1984. Killing me slow, out the window, I’ll always be waiting for you to be waiting below.

“Princess, c’mon, every time.”

Steve’s voice was exasperated, laced with something softer and it made swinging your leg over your bedroom window sill a little easier.

You peered down at him, long grass brushing his shins ‘cause no one but you two used that little path that took you out of the back garden gate. He was gazing back up, setting sun brushing his face with gold and caramel, peachy pink clouds in the sky and Steve held his arms out, beckoning.

“You’ll catch me?” You murmured, still unsure, despite this being a well practised escape.

“Don’t I always?” the boy scoffed, almost offended, but the small edge below your window didn’t offer a lot of footing and you swore the drainpipe was becoming more loose than it used to be.

“Harrington, I swear,” the threat was empty and it fell idle on your lips when you pushed yourself over the edge, hands gripping at the window frame and feet finding their footing.

“Don’t second name me,” Steve grumbled and you sensed him moving closer, buttercups and daisy crushed under his sneakers as he kept his arms outstretched towards you. “You good?”

You mumbled some noise of confirmation, knees bent and ready to drop. You hated this part, and weirdly, it got harder as you got older, limbs stretched, body heavier, no longer small and quick to scramble up tree branches and out of windows.

“Steve?” You couldn’t really see behind you, the soft summer breeze picking at your hair and blocking your view of the ground below but you lowered yourself as much as you could, fingers too warm and slipping against the window frame.

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

So you let go, the short drop softened by the boy’s hand catching at your waist and pulling you against him, your back to his front and he held you there, ankles swishing in the damp grass.

Steve was all hard muscle and cologne, arms stronger than they had ever been, tanned from the summer and wrapped tight around you, hands pressed into the skin underneath your breasts. He let you go when you found your feet, white chucks soaked by the evening dew and you blew out a breath and set the boy with a stare.

“We have front doors, you know,” you watched him grin at you, wide and bright and so familiar. “Why do we have to do this?”

“S’more fun,” the boy answered and he landed a firm smack to your ass when you bent over, fingers tugging at your laces. “Nice shorts princess.”

“Fuck you,” you squeaked, cheeks warm and you reached out to do the same, plan connecting with the denim of his jeans and Steve laughed before groaning a little dirty and exaggerated. “You’re such a dick.”

He spun you both, feet leading you backwards towards the garden gate, clumsy between the flowers and he grinned, wolfishly.

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Steve,” you tried to sound huffy, as if you weren’t impressed by his jokes but you sounded flustered instead and you hated how the boy knew it.

But he never said anything, never commented on the flush across your chest or the way your tongue snuck out to wet at your lips, he never poked fun. He just always watched with knowing eyes and a soft smile you could never discern, and kept on teasing you.

“Y’know it’s better if my dad doesn’t see me leave,” he finally answered, fingers bullying the lock, almost rusted shut from years of only being used by both of you. “I get asked too many questions and I give answers he doesn’t like and suddenly I’m back in my room filling out fuckin’ college applications for the eighteenth day in a row.“

A pang of sympathy hit your chest and before you could tell your friend that you understood, you sympathised, he was placing a warm hand on the space between your shorts and your shirt, guiding you out the gate.

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” you grumbled good naturedly, “I could meet you out front like a normal person.”

“Fuck off, we both know you love jumping into my arms as much as I love catching you.”

You couldn’t remember when you started flirting with your best friend, or when he started flirting with you. You couldn’t pick a place or time when it began, or who did it first. But you were both eighteen and more appreciative of all the strong lines and muscles, the soft curves and different ways you looked at each other.

It would be a comment, a sly remark, a hand touching too close to areas yet to be discovered, a wink, a hug that went on for a beat too long.

Nothing had happened, not really, not since the closet at Karen Vincent’s party, but everyone at school called you Steve Harrington’s girl and the boys you hooked up with in the backs of cars always pulled away mid kiss to ask if you were definitely single.

It was all fun and teasing, familiar touches with a familiar boy, sprawled together in the same bed you’d shared with him since you were twelve years old. Except now there wasn’t as much space between you both, limbs longer, bodies taller, leftover alcohol soaking into your heads in the mornings that you woke up wrapped around each other.

You would pretend you didn’t feel how hard he was, morning wood pressed into the small of your back, the curve of your ass and Steve wouldn’t comment when your shirt had rucked itself up your ribs in the middle of the night, too much showing to be decent.

It was enough to keep you both on your toes, the close friendship teetering over the question of what if? Could we? Should we? Will we?

Steve didn’t hide the way he looked at you, affection always strong in his brown eyes, hands soft and face fond when he picked a wildflower off the garden wall, tucking it behind your ear but there was always a linger over your bare legs, the way the hem of your shorts cut high on your thighs, the way they pinched in at your waist and made your shirt ride up your ribs.

The roller rink was busy as expected, ten o’clock on a Saturday night and filled with teenagers looking for something and someone to do. The kids of the day had long left and the lights were dimmer, the whole hall darker with flashes of red and aquamarine, bubble gum pink and candied lilac that flashed across the floor and faces.

The disco ball twisted in the middle and it sent rainbows and reflections across the walls, painted Steve’s face in technicolour and you gave his cheek a little pat as you took off, wheels spinning you backwards, music thumping in your chest.

He smiled at you, knowing, brows raised as he took a seat on the tables that lined the roller rink, crowded by the friends you’d found from school, flasks pulled from pockets, clear liquid dumped into red and blue slurpees.

“Where you goin’ princess?”

You did a little spin, already warm from the sticky air, summer leaking in and slipping between the people skating and dancing, bodies too close. Your foot found the rink, hands leaning on the barrier wall as you sent Steve a wink, your cherry glossed lips widening in a smile that was borderline salacious.

“To find someone to play with.”

The boys surrounding Steve whooped and hollered, cat calls ringing out underneath the music and you could hear the comments directed to Steve, playful intones about how his girl was nothin’ but trouble, and wasn’t he gonna get a pretty thing like you locked down?

But Steve just shook his head at you, playful and exasperated, while he leant back on the bench, waving away his friends remarks with quiet whatever’s and it’s not like that.

He had nothing to say when you dropped yourself into his lap half an hour later, body warm from skating, face flushed and eyes a little too wide and bright.

He ignored the whistles from his friends, the knowing glances, the nudges to ribs. ‘Cause you were wrapping your hands around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and your lips were at his ear.

“There’s some creep followin’ me around,” you whispered, body tense and Steve’s hands, where they’d dropped to on instinct when you sat on him, tightened on the space above your knee.

“Who?” Steve asked immediately, voice low and it rumbled through you, you could feel it in his chest and his eyes were scanning the crowds, brows pinched together.

You didn’t look, didn’t turn away from where you’d pressed your nose to his temple, breathing in his cologne, his shampoo, something minty and like the forest. You caught Candance Peterson’s eye from over Steve’s head and you ignored the way she smirked at you.

“By the lockers,” you murmured and your breath hitched just a little when Steve wrapped one arm around you, holding you closer to the other hand sliding it’s way between your bare legs, fingers curled around your thigh possessively. “Red shirt, bad hair.”

Steve snickered ‘cause he found him, a guy with an overgrown mullet and beady eyes, hanging by the lockers and benches. He was staring at you, watching the way you draped yourself over your best friend and Steve raised a hand, wiggling his fingers to show that he’d seen him.

“He didn’t try anythin’, did he?”

You shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against Steve’s cheek ‘cause you refused to move any further away and you knew the boy didn’t mind. His hand was back on your leg, thumb stoking circles on the inside of your thigh and it took everything you had not to squirm in his lap.

“Nah, just asked too many questions, told me he was wondering why a ‘pretty little girl’ like me wasn’t with her boyfriend,” you scrunched your face as you spoke, lips twisted. “Told him that my boyfriend was right over here.”

It wasn’t the first time you or Steve had used each other to slip away from some unwanted attention. Steve was just tall enough, just broad enough to warrant a second glance, too drunk boys weighing up their options when you snuck under your best friend's arm, wondering if they could take him.

They usually gave up, watching with a sneer as your pressed your body into Steve’s, his hands taking advantage of your little role play game and he’d let his palm take a slow wander over the curve of your ass, a tight squeeze, a light tap and you’d dig your fingers into the spaces between his ribs for it, his laugh huffing guilty onto your neck.

You found that you could be just as intimidating, Steve seeking you out at parties when girls from out of town got a little too much, a little too eager and kept trying to touch the hair that he spent too much fucking time styling. The boy would sneak up behind you, arms around your waist as he pulled you back against him and used you as the cutest human shield he’d ever seen.

The sight of you in Steve’s arms usually stopped his admirers in their tracks, his lips pressed to the top of your head, smile hidden in your hair as you set them with a look that Steve said could make grown men cry. .

“Oh you did, did you?” Steve drawled, “did you tell him I was the prettiest one out of the bunch?”

You snorted, a sound that always made Steve grin and you loved the way his arms tightened around you. Your position on his knees gave you an inch or two of height on him, a little taller, just for a change. You pulled back enough so you could gaze down at him, lashes lowered and face overly thoughtful.

“I don’t know, Stevie,” you pondered, all faux heavy sighs, teasing and fluttering lashes. “Danny’s starting to look real cute since joining the team-”

“You shut your damn mouth,” Steve interrupted, voice huffy but he was still smiling despite himself. He took a second to watch the way a refraction of light from the disco ball travelled over your cheek, lighting up the new summer freckles there before it dipped into your Cupid’s bow. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “We both know you think I’m the hottest guy he- oh, shit. Your friend is coming over.”

“What?” You barked out and your voice sounded strangled. You turned to see that Steve was right, the guy in the red shirt was making his way through the gathering crowds, weaving through the busy tables towards you both, his gaze set on you and another question posed on his lips. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Steve was already shifting underneath you, arms hooking under the backs of your knees and you knew he was ready to deposit you on the chair next to him, eyes searching for a fight.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked instead.

“Shit, what?” The boy’s response was garbled, words tumbling over each other as he stopped his movements and looked at you wide eyed. “Princess-”

You sighed, impatient, a hand clutching at Steve’s chin, tilting his face up to you so you could catch his gaze, the question asked again with just your eyes. A silent exchange, a secret language only you two knew. You watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, eyes heavy, dropping to your mouth and you waited, a second, maybe two and then fuck, he nodded, barely perceptible.

You crushed your lips to his, swallowed the moan that Steve immediately gifted you, fingers pushing into his jaw and sighing at the way his hand on your back dropped to the waistband of your shorts, fingertips desperately seeking the warmth of your bare skin.

It was different to the kisses you had shared before, ‘cause fuck, now you both knew what you were doing and you had almost as much experience under your belt as Steve had. You knew boys liked it when you got a little bossy, hands on their jaw and thumb on their bottom lip, telling them to part their lips for you. You knew they liked it when you sighed all sweet and pretty, hips squirming in their hands, fingers pulling at their hair. They told you that you tasted like cherries, something sweet and tart and like dirty secrets.

Steve seemed to like it too, ‘cause his tongue was sweeping past your lips, kissing you dirtier than he should’ve for such a public setting and you could hear your friends rippling in excitement around you.

You pushed your thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he obeyed like you thought he would, parting his lips between yours and groaning into you. It was all teeth and tongue, hot hands on bare skin, hair between fingers, threading and pulling and you wondered how you could still taste vanilla, hidden in his lips underneath blue raspberry slush.

You liked the way he held you to him, a little too tight, a little more possessive than he’d ever been with you before. Because growing up with Steve Harrington was all protective hands, glares sent to boys who deemed not good enough, rides home from work and gentle hands taking that one drink too many from you at parties that went on too late.

This was different, this was personal, this was a touch that screamed mine mine mine and it kinda hated the way you knew you’d think about it later, back flat in your bed, sheets kicked to your ankles and your hand pushed down the front of your shorts.

Maybe Steve would do the same you thought, maybe he already had, you wondered. And images of Steve with his hand flat to the shower tiles flashed through your head, body wet, hair soaked, lips parted and his other palm fisting himself to the thought of you.

It was suddenly too much and you needed air more than you needed Steve. Your lips left his and the sounds of the rink came rushing back, like you’d pushed your head out from underwater. There was suddenly music, the score of wheels on wood, the siren of a pinball machine, ice clattering into cups from behind the bar.

Someone amongst the group let out one, long whistle and people tittered and god, it should’ve made you blush.

It should’ve.

It didn’t.

You simply stood from Steve’s lap, his hands still on your waist and guiding you to your feet until you could push your hair back from your warm cheeks, feeling only slightly scandalised when your friends all started but you kept your eyes on the boy.

You licked the taste of him from your lips, raspberry and sugar and something that you were now beginning to learn was just Steve. His cheeks were tinted pink, lips glossy from yours and his brown eyes were considerably darker, his finger trailing away from yours in a way that made you think he didn’t wanna let go.

But you cleared your throat the same time he did, only a little wobbly on the eight wheels that held you up and he grinned when you coughed out a laugh.

“That worked,” you told him, watching as the guy with the bad hair swung the door open, leaving without looking back.

“Huh,” Steve murmured, “how ‘bout that.”

—————

He didn’t say anything when the lights started turning back on, when the disco ball stopped spinning and people handed back their skates. Steve just found you on the benches, pressed shoulder to shoulder with your friends and he caught your eye from the door, another secret conversation that started with a quirk of a brow and ended with a tilt of a chin.

You said your goodbyes and followed the boy out the building, watching as Steve placed his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the empty parking lot, fingers twisting and playing together until you hit the main road and it was normal, it was familiar, it was Steve.

He decided he was staying with you that night, mumbling an excuse about not facing his dad in the morning, how your bed was comfier and your mom made the best waffles but you didn’t need any convincing.

So you snuck into your house, unnecessarily quiet ‘cause your dad was still up watching TV and your mom was in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book and they barely looked at the boy who was following you up to your bedroom, nothing more than a “night, kids,” called out into the hallway.

You lay side by side with the boy, half dressed and with too much bare skin on show, Steve’s shirt on the floor, your shorts almost indecent around your thighs.

It was the first time you thought that something else might happen, legs brushing against legs and hips bumping together as you tried to get comfortable, the burn of the others lips still on your own.

But nothing did and you were starting to wonder if anything ever would.

1985. And it’s new, the shape of your body.

It didn’t matter that it had been a Wednesday, it was the first day in weeks that you and Steve had managed to get the day off together and you were both planning on making the most of it.

It’s why the boy woke you up early, a rucksack already in his hand as he walked through your patio door, left open for that very reason, the rest of the house empty as your parents went to work.

You’d been surprised at how softly he’d woken you up, fingers prodding gently at the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your pillow, eyes hidden with sleep mussed hair and one leg bare and kicked out from beneath the sheets. He grinned when you grumbled and he took your sleep warmed spot when you finally dragged yourself out of bed and into a shower.

Steve barely looked away when you reappeared in just a towel, almost too short to be decent and when you turned to your dresser to pull out a swimsuit and clothes, his eyes dipped to the backs of your legs, thighs on show, tanned from the August sun, a small freckle there he’d never seen before.

“You said you were gonna set an alarm, princess,” Steve teased, head pushed back into your favourite pillow and if he realised it smelled like your shampoo and peach scented body wash, he didn’t say. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Jesus, give me peace, Harrington,” you grumbled, voice still thick with sleep and the summer air was slipping through your open window and it made you move slower than you wanted to. “Turn around.”

Steve did as he was told, face crushed into your sheets and a grin on his lips ‘cause he heard the soft thump of your towel hitting the floor, the shuffle of clothes sliding across your skin. He knew you were winding him up, taking that little game you both blamed to a new level, another limit, because there was no fucking way a girl that looked the way you did, didn’t know what she was doing.

Steve heard the snap of a bikini strap, the rasp of denim shorts over long legs and when you told him he could look once more, he turned around in time to see a flash of cherry red, a swimsuit that hid little, covered by the way you pulled a white shirt over your head.

You pushed a pair of Ray Bans onto your nose, a little too big and stolen from Steve a few summers before. You grinned, knowing, and held out a hand.

“C’mon pretty boy, let’s go.”

Steve took the car, drove it to the outskirts of town with the windows cracked, the summer air blowing in sticky and sweet. You had your feet on the dash, a new bracelet around your ankle, woven with blue and orange thread, a matching one around Steve’s wrist that he tried to protest at but his words were weak and his smile was bright.

He let you pick the song, cassettes spilling out of the glove compartment as you tried to find the perfect mix for a day like this. There wasn’t a cloud above Hawkins and when you drove past the Burick’s farm, the sunflowers were in full bloom, making the world that flashed past your window bright yellow and the strawberry paddocks made everything smell sweet.

The roads were quiet and the air still, and you couldn’t see another soul as Steve parked up on the roadside, a dirt corner off of the road leading out of town. You both walked into the wheat fields, long grass towering to your waists as you headed for the tree line. The crops brushed your bare legs, scratched softly against your skin and you could feel Steve behind you the whole time, eyes on you, anticipation growing, warming you like the sun.

When he ran, you did too, feet a little clumsy and neither of you could see where you were stepping but the peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer air on your face made it better. You chased after the boy, bag slamming on his back, eyes glancing back at you, looking like the twelve year old with the wild hair you once knew.

Steve didn’t stop running until he hit the patch of trees, legs slowing as the branches became thicker and you slammed into his back with a soft ‘oof,’ cheeks sore from grinning and neither of you thought much of it when the boy took your hand and led you through the thickets.

The trees cleared just before the cliff dropped off, the quarry vast and a pretty green-blue underneath you. The spot was secluded, familiar to you both and a well guarded secret that was kept over the years. You came every summer, secret visits that were just for you and Steve.

You’d been waiting for a day like this for what felt like months. The height of summer, blue skies, the distant buzz of cicadas and your best friend, all to yourself.

Something told you that Steve felt the same, ‘cause when you chanced a sideways look at him, he was already gazing back, soft smile on his face.c eyes all fond and it made the day seem even warmer.

It didn’t take long for you both to be stripped to your swimsuits, Steve’s eyes blatantly staring as you slipped the denim shorts down your hips and pulled them down your legs. He didn’t say anything when you stretched yourself out on the blanket beside him, pebbles and grass underneath, the sun beating down from above.

You liked the way he didn’t shy from you, not like the other boys, like he knew he was yours and you were his, like there wasn’t anyone else to worry about. So neither of you flinched when you pressed yourself to his side, warm bare skin on more warm bare skin, shoulder to shoulder and your feet just reaching where his shins were.

You tapped a toe to them, snuck a peek at the boy beside you, grinning when you saw him smile despite his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered from behind his sunglasses, waiting for the inevitable.

“Hey, Stevie?”

Something in his tummy clenched at the old nickname, usually said with mirth and drag of sarcasm, but your lips were at the shell of his ear and you sounded so soft.

“Princess.” His voice didn’t hitch at the end like a question, it stayed low, a little hoarse, like a warning.

‘Cause you were propped onto a elbow now, body leaning into him, your hardly concealed chest pressed into his bicep and he could feel the tickle of your hair on his arm, against his cheek and you were still so close that he could feel the way you smirked against his ear.

You pushed the button on your nose to his temple, a head butt that was more affectionate than anything else and you moved suddenly, leaning over him to grab the rucksack.

When Steve opened his eyes he saw red, that almost orange colour that reminded him of summers and pool days, the freckle below your collarbone that not many people got to see.

He couldn’t not look at your chest, pushed out towards his face as you stretched an arm, grasping for the strap of the bag, making a little grunting noise as you reached for it.

Red and tiny straps, sun warmed skin that was a little darker than last month, the summer making you glow. A stretch of stomach, taught as you leaned, close enough to his own that he could feel the warmth radiate from you. Long legs pushed up onto your knees, holding you over him like a treat, like a taunt.

But then you were pushing yourself backwards to sit, gleeful with the bag in your hands and you were already unzipping it , hand delving into its contents as you muttered to him.

“Perv.”

It was soft and fond, no heat, no accusation but it still made the boy flush ‘cause that meant you caught him looking but Christ, you were both nineteen and full of hormones - what else was new?

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” he coughed out, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His eyes stayed hooded behind his glasses, wishing the tint of them made him harder for you to read but you knew him better than yourself. Steve knew that too. “You’ll go up a cup size one day.”

His words hurt no more than your comment had, all light, no sharpness but you smacked at his shoulder all the same, making him grin wide at you. Steve wondered if you knew he thought of you as nothing short of perfect, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to tell you.

But you’d found what you’d been looking for, a little plastic bag filled with a few buds and some papers, a new grinder ‘cause Steve had lost the last one at a party. You wiggled it at him, Eddie’s special weed making the air grow a little more heady, a little more sweet.

“Wanna get high with me, Harrington?“

And god, wasn’t that a question?

Steve knew you, knew you inside out and back to front, better than anyone else did. He knew how you got after a few hits, a little needy, all touchy and full of affection. The boy had been to enough parties with you to know. You’d find him, a few hours in, coming out of seemingly nowhere, face flushed and eyes glassy.

It didn’t matter who he was talking to, who he was with, what he was doing, you’d me on him in seconds, a ball of heat that smelled like his favourite perfume and the inside of Eddie Munson’s trailer, arms around his neck and face pressed to his chest.

You’d drop yourself into his lap, press messy kisses to his cheeks and giggle all soft when he tried to question you on your whereabouts, if you felt okay, if you’d drank enough water.

By now, it wasn’t really a surprise to know the entire town still thought you were dating. But he stopped refuting it as much, almost preferring the way that boys kept their distance from you when he was around. He didn’t mind the way you curled into him, lips glossy and sticky and whispering into his ear.

He liked the way you hummed happy and whispered a ‘yes’ when you’d had enough - and Steve could always tell - and he told you it was time to go home. It didn’t matter who’s house he took you to, his or yours, both were home.

So god, wasn’t that a question?

“I’m driving princess,” Steve murmured instead of everything he wanted to say.

‘Will you hold onto me, if I do? Will you crawl into my lap and look at me in that way that you do? Will you put your hands in my hair and tell me I smell good? Will you touch me like I’m yours? Will you touch me like you’re mine?’

But he didn’t.

“Not until later, Steve, we’ve got all day,” you told him, all smiles and bright eyes.

And you were right ‘cause the morning was still early, the afternoon barely beginning and there were snacks in the bag, water for when it got too hot, a walkman and some mixtapes for when the day got too quiet.

Steve just smiled and you shook the baggie at him still, a pour on your lips that he could never really learn how to say no to.

“Roll for me anyway?” You asked because you hated it and you weren't very good, and maybe there was something about the way Steve’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, maybe it was the way you liked to watch the tip of his tongue slide slick along the edges of the papers.

Maybe.

So Steve because he couldn’t say fucking no to you and that’s how you found yourself back on the blanket, legs stretched out under the heat of the sun, smoke in the air and everything a little more hazy than it was before.

It could’ve been the weed that made you do it, maybe you could’ve even blamed it on the sun, messing with your head and your heart but Steve would never have believed your excuses, ‘cause when you suddenly sat up and swung a leg over his lap, he didn’t look surprised at all.

His hands fell to your thighs instinctively, more than ready to press his palms onto your bare thighs, the high cut of that damn bikini showing more skin than was necessary and Steve swallowed hard from where he lay under you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Princess.”

There it was again, that tone, the low way he said your name, rough like a warning, soft like he was asking for something.

It almost sounded like please, you realised.

You placed the joint between your lips instead of answering, the end of it burning amber and you inhaled softly, hating the way the smoke burned your lungs but loving the way it made you feel. But that could’ve been Steve’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as you tilted your head back, neck exposed, blowing smoke to the sky that was still cloudless.

When you gazed back down at your best friend, his jaw was slack, eyes glassy behind his Ray Bans and you smiled, way too shyly for the stunt you’d just pulled. You took the glasses off his face, wanting to see him, all of him and you held the joint between you, brows raised.

“Want a hit?”

The boy nodded.

He expected you to hold the roll up to his lips, let him take a drag from between your fingers as you sat happily on his lap.

Steve didn’t expect you to take another draw from it, smoke held between your lips, eyes hooded as you leaned down and into him. Your hands found purchase on the blanket on either side of his head but you were still chest to chest. You didn’t talk, couldn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. You just nudged your nose on Steve’s and he tilted his chin towards you, hands tight on your sides like he was holding on for dear life - and oh my god, he felt like he was - before he parted his lips for you and you let go.

Smoke blew gently from your lips to his, top lips just grazing, the movement accidental but neither of you apologised, neither complained. And when Steve held the hit there, in his chest, seconds ticked by like a countdown to something dangerous, to something explosive and on his wrecked sounding exhale, he pushed both of you up, a little frantic as your hips settled into the dip of his more.

“Can I kiss you?”

You asked it softly, like you were telling a secret, like you didn’t wanna admit it, like you were scared Steve was gonna say no, but the boy didn’t answer you at all, not with words anyway.

His mouth was on yours before you could finish talking and you both groaned at the contact. Blindly, you stubbed out the roach on the ground beside you, ashes rubbing into gravel and sand before your hands found purchase on Steve’s face.

It was a kiss you hadn’t shared before, a kiss that was messier than the others, a kiss that lacked the control the others had.

It was a kiss that usually led to something more, hands wandering in someone’s back seat, mouths on necks, voices whispering dirty things in the last row of the cinema.

It was something you hadn’t felt with your best friend before.

It was hot and dirty and fast, his hands on your neck, your jaw, fingers splayed into your hair and his thumb tugging greedy at the corner of your bottom lip, desperate for you to open for him, so he could lick into you.

It didn’t help that you were both lacking so much clothing, too much bare skin pressed against each other, chest to chest and your legs wrapped around his waist.

It was too easy to roll your hips, to whine into Steve’s mouth at the way he let out the dirtiest, prettiest noise for you. It made you want to do it again, it made you wanna thread your fingers into his hair and tug.

“Steve.”

He thinks that’s what broke him, the way you said his name like that, soft and whimpered, like you fucking wanted him, like you needed him. The boy was sure he’d never been that hard in his life, your ass pressed into his lap, his hands wandering over the slope of your lower back, sliding over your bikini pants, fingers toying with the tiny sides of them.

Steve thought about all the things he wished he was brave enough to say to you. ‘Are you mine? Do you know I’m yours? Do you know I always have been?’

But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the courage, couldn’t find the willpower

to drag his lips from yours, not unless it was to press his mouth to your neck instead, to suck and bite a little bruise there that said what he couldn’t with words.

Mine.

You don’t know how it ended, you barely remembered how it had started but as the night leaked in and made the quarry glitter, Steve was smoothing a hand over your hair, messy from his tugging, as you pulled your shorts back on.

He’d packed up the bag, shrugged his T-shirt back over his chest, lips as kiss bitten as yours, skin warm from the sun and you. It felt like there was so much to be said, it felt like nothing at all. A natural occurrence, an almost yearly event, something cosmic, something magic, like a meteor strike, like a new planet being discovered.

You got to kiss your best friend and Steve got to kiss his and it simply felt like you were both one step closer to where you were both going to end up. You were so sure it was with him, but maybe that was just the whispers of your moms, voices hardly quiet as they gushed by the Harrington’s pool summers ago, talking about how their kids were something special together, how sometimes soulmates did exist.

So it didn’t feel awkward when Steve swiped a stand of hair from your cheek, took your hand in his and pressed one more kiss to the top of it before letting go, stepping back for another summer, until one of you - or both of you - were finally ready to say what needed to be said.

It wasn’t going to happen that day, but it felt closer than ever.

And when he drove you both home, Steve didn’t tut at you for putting your feet on the dash, in fact, he smiled all soft the whole drive back into Hawkins, past the same wheat fields, the water tower, the sunflowers and fruit fields that made the night smell sweet.

It was dark when you both snuck in through the back garden gate, Steve’s patio light still on and there was smoke coming from the little fire pit by the pool, gentle chatter and laughter from where both of your parents sat with glasses of wine. Leftover dinner dishes and empty plates sat on the wooden table and neither couple were surprised to see you both.

You didn’t know that your parents watched the way Steve stood tall behind you, always in reach, an open hand just hovering by your side as if he was always ready to catch you. You didn’t know that his mom would smile at you, watching the way you watched her son, cheeks sore with a grin she’d never tire of seeing.

Even Steve’s dad would shake his head, fond, making everyone titter and the pair of you blush as he asked accusingly, “and what have you two been up to all day?”

You wondered if they could see the way you flushed in the dark, if they saw the swell to Steve’s bottom lip from the way you’d been greedy with it, if they noticed the pretty lilac bruise that should’ve hopefully been hidden by your shirt.

But it was okay. ‘Cause you felt Steve warm and solid at your back, his chest pressed against you and the leftover taste of him and smoke on your lips. The air smelled like honeysuckle and chlorine, fresh lavender and basil from a dinner you’d missed and the back garden gate was still swinging on its hinges.

1986. And I scream, “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Steve fucking hated Chris Maxwell. He’d disliked the guy in high school, always running his mouth and exaggerating his lacrosse wins, the girls he got with, the drugs he managed to score. He had the same car as Steve, the same BMW in a shitty puke green colour and he drove it like an idiot.

He hated him even more when you started dating him.

You’d dated guys before, shit, Steve had had his fair share of girls over the years too. Nothing ever serious, nothing that meant all that much ‘cause the girls he brought to parties and basement hang outs took one look at you and tried to make him choose.

Steve always chose you.

You’d dated less, Steve had always noticed, shying away from unfamiliar attention, choosing to kiss and run after the party was over, no numbers exchanged, no dates to be had. You’d always scrunched your nose at him and evaded the question when Steve asked, murmuring something about how it wasn’t worth the hassle.

It’s why Steve had been so surprised when you were dropped off one day by Maxwell, in his snot green car with his stupid smarmy smirk. Once became twice, twice became three times and before you both knew it, you were lounging at the bottom of Steve’s bed one day as he sat at his desk and you were shrugging.

“Uh, yeah, I guess? Maybe he is my boyfriend?”

Steve remembered coughing out a laugh, because, how could you not know?

But you were being picked up and dropped off by the boy on numerous occasions and Steve quickly grew tired of watching him try and eat your face in his front seat. But only two months had passed before things seemingly grew tired and sour, your face twisting in a veil of annoyance when you heard his car horn blast from the street.

He never got out of the car to knock on your door, Steve had noted, never walking you up the path at night to see you safely inside. Steve was sure the last straw came on the day he was already in your living room, hands clutching the casserole dish that his mom had sent him to borrow. You’d rolled up, the stupid vomit coloured car catching the curb as it squealed to a stop, music blasting from the inside and your dad mirrored Steve’s expression as the two men stood at the window.

Noses scrunched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like that little punk,” your dad had grumbled.

“Same,” Steve had answered and the two of them were oblivious to the way your mother grinned behind their backs.

But Steve had watched you storm out, car door slamming as Chris leaned over to the open window, yelling something about coming back and let’s talk about this honey!

You’d ignored him and Steve had walked home feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.

He still didn’t expect Chris to come sneaking into his back yard one evening, when the town was quietening down, when the fireflies came out and the sun made the sky streaky with pink and peach and lilac.

Steve had been propped against the wall of his house, just beside the back garden gate, hidden in that little lane that no one seemed to use. The space that smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the place that grew a little wild and reminded him of you. There was more ivy on the wall that year, growing more untamed than it ever had and it made Steve smile to see that it was crawling up the side of your house too, almost to your bedroom window.

A cigarette hung from his lips, a bad habit he hadn’t picked up since he was seventeen and easily persuaded but work was shit, his dad was nagging at him about reapplying for colleges and he hated that he’d hardly seen you in a week.

And the reason why was creeping through the gate, shoulders hunched and eyes alert. Chris had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve, a scowl on his face as he snarled at him accusingly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve rolled his eyes, cigarette still wet between his lips and it moved as he replied, his words an annoyed mumble.

“This is my fuckin’ garden, dickwad. You went through the wrong gate.”

It took the boy a moment to realise his mistake and instead of apologising, or admitting to it, he turned and continued to glare at Steve.

“S’your goddamn fault I’m sneaking around anyway, Harrington,” Chris hissed, his eyes already seeking out your bedroom window across from them.

It was ever so slightly cracked, curtains shut and blowing in the breeze but Steve knew you kept it open so you could smell the honeysuckle you loved so much, so that you could hear Steve if he opened his window across from you, to whisper into the night.

It had been a long time since you shared secrets and stories across the garden gates, but old habits die hard and Steve kept his open for the very same reason.

“My fault?” Steve snorted, an offended and somewhat dramatic hand pressed to his chest. He kicked off of the wall, cigarette throwing smoke into the air and he exhaled, smirking when some of it blew into Chris’ face. “And what the fuck did I do, Maxwell?”

“Everything’s always about you!” The other boy burst out, without much preamble, “whole fuckin’ relationship revolved around you, you’re all she talked about and then she tell has the nerve to tell me that she’s breaking up with me.”

Steve looked at Chris with raised brows, cigarette held lightly between a finger and his thumb, the top of it still burning in the dim light.

“Is that so?” Steve took a drag, tried to keep his heartbeat steady, tried not to smile. “Had nothin’ to do with the way you spoke to her like shit and was always demanding stuff, no?”

The boy levelled Steve with a stare, nostrils flared and hands shoved in his pockets. “Of course she tells you fucking everything.”

“Of course she tells me fucking everything,” Steve repeated, emphasis on every word as he glowered at your ex, brows furrowed and fist clenched by his side. “And what’s it to you if she does-”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The two boys looked up, one grinning, the other desperate at the sight of you, hanging out your open window.

Steve held up a hand in a way, features perfectly amicable as he beamed.

“What are you doing here, Chris? There’s a reason I’ve not taken your calls,” you sounded bored, tired and the boy had barely begun to answer before you’d already moved onto Steve.

“Honey, please, I’m begging you can we just ta-”

“Steve, are you smoking? Again? Really?” You tutted, elbow on the window frame as you looked down at him with a soft pout.

“My bad, princess,” but the boy was grinning, not looking very sorry at all ‘cause Chris was silently fuming beside him. “Stressful times, y’know?”

He took another long drag, blew the smoke out above the other boy's head and continued smiling that bright grin. Steve looked up at you again, head tilted as he gestured to your ex and squinted against the sun that was starting to set behind your roof.

“Want me to take out the trash for you?”

His words earned him a shove, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he barely stumbled against the other boy's hands. But before Steve could retaliate, you were calling down in a voice Steve knew you reserved for telling him off when he got too drunk, when he pushed your buttons a little too much.

“Hey! Chris! Jesus, quit it!” You were leaning out of the window more, sleep shirt hanging off of one shoulder and a pucker between your brows. “Just go, okay? We’ve already spoken about this, I’m not interested.”

“See, this is what I was fuckin’ talking about,” Chris hissed, low enough so only Steve could hear and Steve didn’t know how to reply.

Quiet wrapped around all three of you, the distant trickle of the pool, the muted buzz of Steve’s television from his living room and eventually, a strangled curse from your ex boyfriend's lips as he shouldered past Steve and swung the garden gate open, the wood hitting the brick.

Steve tried not to grin as he looked back up at you, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his brown eyes glittering. The sunset made you both rosy, a sunbeam stretching across the side of your house, lighting up the bricks and you.

“He seems touchy.”

“Shut up, Harrington,” you knew Steve heard the smile in your voice, the affection in the roll of your eyes. “You coming up?”

And then you disappeared, ducking back into your room and sliding the window closed with a click.

Steve didn’t realise your parents were out until he walked over the empty driveway, the sun lowering itself into the line of trees across the street, the sky turning lavender, the moon making an appearance. He didn’t knock, just walked in through your front door, shoes toed off by the porch before he jogged up the stairs.

Your door was already open and he found you lazing on your bed, sheets ruffled and the lights off, just the leftover sun trickling in through the open curtains and the crystals you hung at the windows sent rainbows scattering across your walls.

Some of them fell across your bare thighs where you lay, stomach down, legs in the air in a pair of shorts that were hardly seen from underneath the huge shirt that you wore. Another streak of colour landed on your face, fluttering as the crystal spun on their chains, dancing in the last of the light.

Steve wanted to kiss it, to see if the pretty shades on your cheek made you taste any sweeter than he already knew.

“You didn’t tell me you broke up,” Steve said and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, just genuine curiosity, soft and gentle.

He fell onto the bed beside you, made the mattress dip as he shelled into your pile of pillows at the opposite end from where you lay. He pushed a socked foot into your side, digging in at the spaces between your ribs and making you squirm. Steve caught a smile, spread on your lips just for him and you twisted to bat him away, not surprised when his hands found yours and tugged.

You let him pull you beside him, into the mess of sheets and too many cushions, lying so you were facing him, noses a breadth apart, eyes lowered as you spoke, suddenly nervous.

You shrugged, fingers playing with the edges of a pillow, “just sort of happened, wasn’t a big deal.”

A beat of silence, the boy wondering if that was the truth, if there was something more behind your words, if you were hiding something in the way you refused to meet his gaze. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart pounding against the mattress, if it was echoing loud through your pillow the way he was sure it was his.

It felt like something was building, like something was coming. Something big, something new, something wild. Like a tropical storm, a bolt of lightning across the town, a flash flood, a hurricane, something to announce that summer was over.

That time was up.

“You don’t seem too heartbroken ‘bout it,” Steve hedged, his gaze trained on your hands, the way your fingers picked and played with the cotton between you both. He wanted to take your hand in his, run a thumb across your palm and soothe you.

“Cant get my heart broken by a guy that never had it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stevie,” you chided gently, teasing, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Always thought he wasn’t good enough for you,” the boy responded, keeping what he really wanted to say hidden behind his tongue.

“You said that about all the guys I got with.”

A gentle nudge, your hand on his chest, a shuffle closer, breathing the same air, the rainbow on your cheekbone flitting to Steve’s lips as the sun moved down. He watched you chase it with your eyes, gaze soft, looking a little longingly, or maybe he was just hopeful.

“It’s true.”

A soft hum, a pleased noise, a smile that finally reached your eyes and a hand that fell to Steve’s arm, running down the length of it until your fingers found the cuff of his sweater and played with that instead.

It was the closet Steve had been to holding your hand for a while and it felt like the beginning of summer again, back to bike rides to the arcade, sticky fingers tips and slurpees that were almost too big to hold.

“Why’d you break up with him?”

You stopped, fingertips brushing over Steve’s wrist, a pause on his pulse point that told you that maybe he was as nervous as you felt. Your knees bumped his, rough denim on soft skin, the day leaking out of your room as the sun fell behind the treetops and suddenly everything was blue.

Navy tinted shadows, inky skin, indigo lines of barely there light that turned Steve’s skin lilac and you breathed in, held it, let the burn in your chest for a second or two before letting it back out.

Summer was leaking away, slipping behind the moon and the night, and you suddenly felt too tired to lie anymore, to pretend.

“He wasn’t all that happy that I was in love with someone else.”

God, you felt brave.

Bold.

Blue.

Steve didn’t look all that surprised, a flicker of soft realisation over his eyes, no shock, just a gentle breath of ‘it’s time?’

“I can’t say I blame the guy,” Steve murmured, chin ducking to meet yours, foreheads pressed together on the same pillow and his hand found yours, fingers twisted together. “Don’t think I’d be very pleased either.”

“I know,” you told him, gaze trained on the way his lips moved when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know when it happened.”

“No?”

You shook your head, feeling heavier than you had, like you were pulled into the boy and something magic was keeping you there. You could smell lavender and cedar and smoke and Steve.

“Might’ve been at this party, in someone’s basement. Might’ve been the time I was pushed into a closet and my best friend kissed me.”

“That sounds awful,” Steve mused and the beginnings of a grin were pulling at his lips, “a whole five years, huh?”

“Right? Isn’t that just the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He liked the way you said those words, like it was the opposite, your voice all sunshine and warmth and leftover summer. You were blue skies and honeysuckle, wildflowers and long drives, sleepovers on your bedroom carpet and sneaking out through the back gate.

“Y’know, I think I’ve got you beat,” said the boy, all faux seriousness as he brought his hand to your waist, palm wide and warm as he pushed at your shirt, bunching it up over your ribs until he could touch bare skin.

“You do?” You felt a little breathless at his touch, a feeling you’d craved since last summer at the quarry, a feeling you’d missed despite knowing you’d get it again soon, eventually. Now.

“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed, voice teasing, gaze staring at you from between dark lashes. “I once knocked on this girl’s front door, asked her if she wanted to go to the arcade with me and I didn’t even mind when she hogged all the slurpee. I was a goner.”

“I did not!” You laughed, the sound pressed to Steve’s neck ‘cause he was pulling you into him, beaming bright and more carefree than you’d seen him in a while. “Liar.”

“Fell in love with the first girl I ever kissed,” he whispered, cheek pressed against yours as he whispered into your hair, like a secret he was sure you already knew. “How sad is that?”

You shook your head, hands clutched the material of Steve’s shirt, fists to his chest as if he was going to leave.

“S’not sad at all,” you told him and god your voice was a hush, your lips against the shell of his ear and you felt the breath that he sucked in and held. “Long time to wait though, huh?”

Steve nodded, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he pulled back, seeking you out in the dark of your room, noses bumping.

“Feels worth it, don’t you think?”

And god, it did.

It happened the way summer did. Slow and inevitable, like the gradual pick up of warmth through the year, the way you expected the sun in the morning, blue skies through your window, ice cream for lunch.

It happened like it was supposed to, like it was meant to, like you’d waited all that time just to greet it with a warm shyness, a coy, “oh, I’ve been expecting you.”

It rolled in like a present, like a gift, like a reward. Like something that the world wanted you both to have, like the universe knew you were supposed to be together. So you shared first kisses between the wildflowers, let the seeds of something more bloom between your ribs, the spaces between your chests and your hearts. You let it simmer in the warm afternoons, burn a little stronger on cliff tops over quarry’s, picnic blankets rough under bare knees and hands in hair.

“It does,” you breathed, closer to the boy than you had been, noses pressed into cheeks and for the last time, your best friend asked you your favourite question, one that tasted like fresh lemonade and smoke, cherry slurpees and fresh flowers in the air.

“Hey princess?”

You hummed a response, eyes already closed, lashes brushing at the corners, a small smile playing on the curve of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

You were on Steve before he could finish asking, hands on his jaw, tugging him into you, the hand that he had on your waist tightening its grip as your lips met.

It felt different than last summer. Slower, deeper, lazier, like you both knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, like you both knew you didn’t have to wait until next year, or the year after.

Like you both knew that this time was it.

You moved in the dark of your room together, Steve pushing you back into the plush of your bed, moving over you to hold himself there, chest just brushing yours as one hand found purchase in your sheets, careful not to crush you.

He caught the leg that you brought up to his side on instinct, desperate to feel more of him, wanting to press into him. Steve’s finger curled under the space behind your knee, hooked there so he could hold your thigh against his hip, so he could move into the space you created for him, body rolling into yours.

He swallowed the gasp you gave him, kissed away the sigh and the blue of the room seemed a little brighter with his lips on yours. You whined against him until the boy caught on, moving back onto his knees only for you to follow, chest pressed against his and only breaking the kiss for him to lift his arms for you. His shirt hit the floor, yours following suit, all bare skin underneath with some new freckles to find, a trail of summer; water fights, sneaking out and greeting the morning together on the hood of Steve’s car.

Steve ducked down to meet you, to let you kiss him a little deeper, a little dirtier, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, groaning when you opened for him, hand spanning the width of your back, hips pressed together with intent.

“I’m fucking desperate for you, y’know that right?” Steve groaned, words sinking into your mouth with every push of his lips against yours and you swore you’d never heard anything prettier. “Always have been, totally gone on you, princess.”

“Steve,” you felt hot with the prick of emotion, tears brimming at your lashes ‘cause it was all too much and not enough, want and longing and need building up, years of looking, of touching and just tasting, searching kisses, useless excuses, never talking about it after.

And then his hands were back on your legs, palms hooked around the backs of your knees and you were falling together, bouncing off of the mattress, pillows falling to the floor and god, you were crashing into each other.

It was mixtapes on birthdays, fresh strawberries after swimming, a hand held in the dark after a scary movie, sitting in the yard after dark when the night was still warm and you don’t know how to tell your best friend that you thought they were perfect.

Your shorts slid off too easily, hips raised from the bed and Steve’s fingers curled into the waistband. He kicked off his jeans with the help of your feet, toes pushed into the denim as he shucked them to the floor.

Suddenly, there was more skin to touch, to taste, to look at, and Steve took note of every curve he hadn’t seen, every little mole and scar, tan lines in places he always tried not to stare at.

But he kissed them instead, lips trailing hot over your chest, kisses pressed to the dip of your clavicle, the patch of sunburn on your shoulder and you felt like you had caught the entire months of summer in your chest.

It all felt a little golden.

But night had crawled in and the shadows were darker, making every touch more intense, every kiss feeling like a confession. Your underwear joined his, piled at the foot of your bed with spilled sheets and pushed pillows and the world fell into silence for you both.

No buzz or insects, no sprinklers in the yard, no screech of brakes from the street, no yelling from a tv.

Everything was hushed as Steve spread his fingers over you, a choked gasp at the way he made you feel, a kiss to soothe. He kissed you through it, fingers feeling thick as he slid one and then two inside of you, curling up and searching, face pulled back from your own so he could watch you fall apart beneath him.

“So fuckin’ pretty, so pretty,” Steve told you and you felt it, you believed him, forehead pressed to his as you gasped out his name, hands wrapped around his biceps as he coaxed you over the edge. “Can you come for me princess? Please?”

You did as he asked, as if you had any say in the matter, crashing and tumbling and falling into him, body tight, eyes clenched shut and lips falling apart in the prettiest moan Steve had ever heard.

“Oh shit, babe, that’s it, ‘atta girl, princess.”

He pulled your hands from his length when you made an eager grasp for him, not cruel, just desperate. Steve shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, jaw slack and eyes heavy.

“Babe, if you touch me s’all gonna be over in a second,” he admitted hoarsely and his voice held no shame.

So you covered him in kisses, flipped your positions from where you lay on the bed and pushed the boy into the pillows instead. You caught his lips on yours, messier now that you’d had a taste of what was to come, mouth leaving gloss over his jaw, down his throat and you felt the vibrations over your tongue when Steve moaned.

You moved over him, slick and warm, hips pushing into his as you straddled him, making a mess of his boxers and short circuiting his brain as Steve gripped your thighs, touch almost cruel as he held on for dear life.

You pressed your palms to his chest, dropped yourself down a little so your lips could graze his own, a new kind of kiss, teasing, a whisper that was barely there.

It promised more to come, it kept him waiting and wanting, made Steve groan out at the realisation that he was entirely yours and god, maybe, just maybe, you were his too.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, and his voice was shot, “princess, please, s’not nice to tease a man like that.”

You grinned, filled with a confidence you only ever gained from being near Steve, bolstered by the way he looked at you - all heavy lidded and slack jade, chest and cheeks flushed underneath you.

“You’ve never complained before,” you murmured back, mouth parted over his, Cupid’s bows touching but never really pressing your lips to his.

It made you both think back to all the looks, the gazes, the stares filled with longing and wanting and yearning. That same question, asked with uncertainty, with a tumble of nerves, a burst of wonder, over the years until you knew what each other would taste like, until you knew how their lips felt between your own.

“Vixen,” Steve mumbled and it should’ve been said like an insult, like a curse but his voice was molten honey, sweet caramel and the start of a summer morning.

“Can I kiss you, Harrington?” The question wasn’t needed, and you were starting to think it never had been, but you loved the way his lips lifted into a soft smile under yours, noses brushing as he nodded, waiting patiently with his hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs.

Steve made a pretty noise at the back of his throat, a gasp and a moan, a wrecked, “please,” falling onto your lips.

You kissed him without any worries, without any thoughts of what does this mean for tomorrow? You kissed him like you were greeting summer, like he was the month of June and blue skies, like you could taste peaches and fresh lemonade on his lips, like he held all your secrets behind his teeth.

He did.

Your harsh pants and soft moans mixed as you moved together, the boy shuffling underneath you as he rid himself of his underwear, boxers kicked to the end of your bed where they’d eventually be lost.

He took himself in his hand, hard and long, his breath shaky as you slid down, gasping into his mouth as you got yourself seated, tightening around him for the first time.

Steve whispered your name, soft, sinful, like a prayer, like a praise.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he clasped your face in his hands, fingers splayed across the line of your jaw, over the apples of your cheeks. “M’sorry, it’s just- you’re too much, princess-”

You cut him off with a kiss - a silent ‘it’s okay’ - hips shifting, rolling over him as you moved, whimpering into his mouth. Steve swallowed your noises, gave you back his own and it wasn’t long before he was rolling you both over.

His hands found the insides of your thighs first, spreading them so he could fit between, length still inside of you, pressing into all the right places. Palms smoothed up your sides, over the ripples of your ribs, calluses catching soft skin and the feel of it all made you sigh, head tilted back.

Your hands found his, fingers intertwined as he pressed them back into the pillow below you, chest brushing up against your own as he moved, your legs curled around his waist and it was bliss, it was bright white behind your eyes, it was glitter in the dark, it was a electricity in your bones.

“Steve,” your voice was a whimper, an almost cry, your hands grappling at his shoulders for purchase as he pushed you into the mattress with thrust after thrust.

It all felt a little wild, gasping into open mouths, lips barely managing to find the other for a kiss, sliding messy over each other as hands pulled hair and fingers squeezed at arms, at thighs, at waists.

“I know,” the boy said, sounding just as wrecked as you did, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands under the small of your back, fingers splayed wide so he could lift your hips into his own. “I know, fuck, you close? Please tell me you’re close.”

You answered with a moan, a pitched keen, your fingers tugging the lengths of hair at the nape of the boys neck and he groaned, a deep dirty sound in response and then you were falling apart, a vice around him, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting down on the muscle in his shoulder.

Your name tumbled from his lips, a holy sound and Steve moved a little messier, his hips stuttering before he pulled out, both of you sighing at the loss, before he spilled onto your stomach with the help of your hand.

The air smelled like summer and sex and Steve.

Your pants filled the air, mixing with the boys and the trickle of the pool in the backyard. You lay together, breathless and skin slick, flyaway hairs sticking to your forehead, eyes a little glassy and lips rosy from greedy kisses.

Steve pressed another to you then, and you were almost dizzy with it. He didn’t ask, neither did you. You didn’t have to. Not anymore. So he kissed you a little harder, tempting pretty sounds from your chest that he chased with his mouth, body still pressed against yours in a way you were sure you’d never grow tired of.

No one spoke until you were both cleaned and half dressed, bodies lazy across your sheets, the night still too warm to wear anything more than your underwear, chests bare in the dark and pressed greedily to each other. A slow hand brushed across the small of your back as you lay on your stomach, head on the boy’s chest and your fingers carding through his hair.

Every now and then you’d press a kiss to wherever you could reach: his palm when it smoothed over your cheek, his sternum where you lay, the sharp line of his jaw when you found the energy to tilt your head up.

Steve responded in kind, his lips on your forehead, the top of your crown, the end of your nose.

The silence was filled with the wonder of each touch, both of you bursting at the seams as you pressed your mouths to each other without worrying, without asking.

But then Steve shifted against the pillows, moved until you were over him, chest to chest and your legs in the space between his. You propped your chin on his chest, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him and you hummed in delight when he smoothed hand over your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

Heavy words were said so simply, so easily, and you did. You knew. But it still sucked the breath from you, it still made you ache to hear it out loud.

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, because you did. You knew it from the way Steve looked at you, the way he liked to be near you, to sit a fraction too close. You knew it from the way he shared his slurpees, his car, his bed, his thoughts, his secrets. You felt it in his gaze, his touch, in the way he’d grown with you. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah, princess, I know.”

And it was as easy as that. Simple like summer, inevitable, like the way the month of June rolls in after May. It was expected, like the warmth and the heat, like the sun in the morning and the clear starry skies at night.

It was an eventuality, a slow burn, a want, a need, a necessity.

It was Steve and it was summer and they belonged in their entirety to you.

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

Text

the way i feel about this fic has become part of my lore i fear

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [22.4k] A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises.

When you were both eight years old, Steve Harrington handed you the last popsicle and told you he loved you.

It was the most innocent kind of talk, from the mouths of kids, fresh faced, summer freckles, ankles dipped in the pool and sunburn on your cheeks.

You weren’t truly sure you both knew what those words meant back then, the depth and meaning that they held. But you said them back, lemon and sugar on your tongue and he’d beamed at you, brighter than the Indiana sun and that was that.

And that night, when you were camped out on his bedroom floor, the first day of summer vacation and his bed sheets draped across your heads, he shared his secret stash of twizzlers with you, lips tinted red and pinkie fingers linked.

His eyes were solemn when he whispered to you, the dulled yells of his parents downstairs acting as his backing track. His mom was slurring a little, his dad laughing mirthlessly and something smashed. You had both flinched, moved closer together between the pillows and stuffed animals.

You remember his mouth brushing up against the shell of your ear, hushed promises falling from his lips, the kind that only an eight year old could make.

Steve Harrington promised you three things that night:

One, he’d always be your best friend.

Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary.

And three, he’d never break your heart.

He only kept two of those.

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

“I think Jessica is coming over,” Steve said as he handed you a can of soda, the cold condensation on it making your fingers slip over his.

You screwed your face up and rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses - Steve’s sunglasses - ‘cause it was a rare Saturday that you’d managed to get off work together, seventeen and desperate for time to do nothing with your best friend.

It wasn’t meant, but you let the sound of annoyance slip from your lips, stretching yourself out on one of the Harrington’s sunloungers. Steve looked at you from where he’d sat himself down by the pool edge, exasperated and somewhat fond. You picked at the edge of your bikini bottoms, peachy orange and still damp from the water.

You scrunched your nose, looking over at him from over the top of his old Ray Bans as he took a sip of his cola, eyes on you, waiting for you to talk. He knew you wanted to say something, could tell from your face, the way you twisted your lips and fidgeted with your swimsuit.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

If you didn’t know the boy well enough, you’d have thought his tone was condescending, maybe even a little mocking. But when you were both fifteen, he’d stood by your side at the counter of the ice cream parlour, watching your cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when the older guy behind the freezer had winked at you, handed you your cone and called you ‘sweetheart’.

Steve had called you the same ever since, never getting tired of the way you lit up at it, all soft and full of affection, lips twisted to hide your smile, nose turning pink.

“I thought it was just gonna be us hanging out today?” You asked, trying to keep your voice level, casual.

It was silly the way your chest was hurting, an anxious creep across your bones, making your skin too warm in a way that the sun wasn’t. It wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t like Jessica, you didn’t really know, honestly.

But you’d been in Steve’s life long enough to know that not many of his girlfriends had liked you. It made hang outs and movie nights awkward, a fresh set of eyes on you, watching the way you and Steve interacted, holding back from the way you’d normally touch him, keeping your head off his shoulder, throwing your legs over the arm of the chair instead of his lap.

You’d go to the kitchen, the bathroom, bringing back more snacks and a drink only to hear the boy being interrogated about how long had Steve known you, didn’t she have a boyfriend and god, why was she always here?

You’d stand with your back against the hallway wall, a packet of twizzlers crushed to your chest as you listened for Steve’s response. It was always the same, sure and strong and leaving no room for argument. It made you feel warm and a little safer, like you belonged in the Harrington house just as much as him, brought up in the large home with its pool and absent parents together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas in the dining room, mom and dads by your sides.

“She’s my best friend,” he’d always say, “where she goes, I go.”

Some girls put up with it for longer than others, dirty looks given to you out of the car window when Steve would insist on dropping you home too, a messy press of a kiss pushed to your cheek before he made sure you got in your front door okay.

There were girls that were done after bumping into you in the school hall, a sweater on your frame, the hem almost covering your shorts and god, they’d think, that looks awfully familiar. They’d sit in whatever class they had next, eyes on the chalkboard but their minds trying to decide if they’d seen that sweater on Steve’s bedroom floor before, thrown lazily over the back of his desk chair.

You’d find them arguing about it at his car after school, voices clipped and raised, drawing a little too much attention and you’d hear your name said like a curse. Steve would let them walk away, hands rubbing at his eyes and when he’d pull himself onto the trunk, he’d find your gaze across the parking lot and he’d smile, a little soft and a little sad.

But he’d look at you from the driver seat when he was taking you both home, eyes flickering with something else as they dare to roam across your shoulders, your chest. You’d catch him staring, brows raised and your knowing smile would make him blush but he’d tell you, everytime:

“Looks better on you anyway.”

Steve shrugged, looking a little guilty but swung a leg into the pool, letting the water swish around his shin.

“I know, but,” another shrug, his gaze on the blue tiles, “she’s my girlfriend.”

You sighed, pushing yourself off of the lounger and walking over to the edge of the pool, chlorine and cedar from the garden filling the warm air. You poked a toe to the boy’s side before sitting down next to him, both feet in the water and the garden slabs sun-warmed against the back of your thighs.

You nudged a shoulder into Steve’s, fighting a smile when he did it back, shuffling closer so your arms brushed together.

“We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages,” you told him, trying to sound annoyed but your words came out a little mournful, huffy even. “It’s been weeks.”

You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Between school and both of you working weekend jobs, it was hard to find time to see each other. And since the startling realisation of finding out there were kids with superpowers out in Hawkins, other worlds that held monsters and magic, you figured trips to the cinema were at the bottom of both of your lists.

“M’sorry,” Steve said anyway, and you hated the way he sounded, like he really meant it, like it made him sad too. “If the kids didn’t need rides to the arcade all the damn time, maybe we’d-”

You rolled your eyes, fond. “You know it’s not the kids I mind, Harrington.”

And that was true. You and Steve had taken your unofficial babysitter roles pretty seriously, and with six twelve year olds to wrangle together, it would’ve been a hard enough job without the threat of impending doom lurking behind every corner.

You’d grown up thinking monsters only lived under your bed, hiding behind your closet door, and they could be banished with a flashlight, a kiss from your mother, the promise of chocolate chip pancakes in the morning from your father.

But you’d grown up too fast, seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real and you hated the way you knew how to butterfly stitch someone's skin back together, how you’d seen too much of your best friend's blood.

He pressed his nose to your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin and he let his teeth graze you, a playful threat of a bite before he sighed, knowingly, understanding.

“Jess said she likes you,” Steve offered, hands on the grass as he leaned back, head tilted to the sun. He was watching you from under his lashes, the length of them casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Said you had chem together and you were crazy smart.”

You scoffed, laughed mirthless, because the only reason Jessica Preston knew you had class with her was ‘cause she used you to cheat off of you before you moved seats.

“I bet she did,” was the only answer you gave, because the garden gate was suddenly squeaking and Steve was standing up, splashing water over your thighs as he greeted the girl in question.

“Jess, hey!” Steve called out, reaching for her and pressing a kiss to her lips. His came away glossy and a little pink as Jessica reached into her bag, pulling out a tube and quickly reapplying. He gestured to you, smiling, “you two know each other, right?”

You grimaced, holding your hand up in some sort of wave before you pushed Steve’s glasses onto your head.

“Sure,” you said, not sounding sure at all. You stood up, brushing drops of water and small flecks of gravel from your skin. “Chemistry, Mrs Telford’s class.”

Jessica squinted at you, pretty features twisted in confusion and Steve wanted to jump head first into the pool from the awkward silence that had filled the yard.

“Right!” The girl finally gasped out, all false smiles and white teeth. “Totally! Of course.”

And then, you were dismissed.

“Steve, there’s a party tonight,” you heard the girl tell him, stomach twisting as you walked past them, grabbing your shorts from the lounger and dragging them up your legs. “Matt’s parents are gone and,” she tapped a finger on his chest, trailing it down his sternum. “So are mine.”

You wondered if you had too much sun, wondered if the heat was what was making your insides bubble, your chest feeling too tight. You found your way into the kitchen, the open patio door doing nothing to curb the same heat that had leaked in from outside.

You ran the tap, waiting for it to turn freezing before filling a glass and chugging it, back pressed against the counter so you didn’t have to look out the window.

You could still hear them though.

“You can pick me up, right? I’ll be ready at eight and then you can stay over at mine,” Jess was practically purring and it made you slam the now empty glass down into the sink a little harder than you meant to. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

“Uh, actually, we’re having a movie night later,” you froze, turning to look over your shoulder to see Steve gesture to you through the window. Jess followed his hand, lips downturned and eyes holding venom.

“You’re kidding right?” The girl asked, disbelief spilling from her lips. “I’m offering you a night in my bed and you’re turning me down for Back To The Future with her?”

It was actually The Goonies, you’d wanted to tell her, but Steve was licking his lips nervously, eyes flickering between you and Jess and you really wish you could say something to save him.

You stepped out the patio doors, arms crossed self consciously over your chest. “Steve, it’s okay, we-”

Steve shrugged and he didn’t look surprised when Jessica stepped out of his embrace, glossy lips twisted in shock and annoyance.

“We’ve had it planned for a while Jess,” he explained, “movies, pizza and-”

“Well come after,” Jess demanded, like it was simple. “Or better yet, just do your stupid movie night some other time.”

Steve looked confused, staring down at the girl as if he was wondering which part she wasn’t understanding. You grimaced, eyes wanting to fall shut ‘cause you knew what the boy was going to say and god, you wished you could hide from it.

But then he was explaining to her that you were staying over, crashing at his like you always did, like you had done for years.

Steve said it so plainly that you almost wanted to laugh. In fact, your lip twitched, the threat of a smile pulling at it and you turned, toeing at the grass as you waited for the impending blow out. The boy had an endearing habit of stating the truth with such a sincerely soft tone, almost oblivious to the carnage his honesty could sometimes cause.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stated, voice climbing a little higher in volume and pitch as she took in this new information. “I could’ve sworn you just told me you had another girl staying with you tonight.”

Steve scrunched his nose, mouth parting as he wondered what he was supposed to say to that. He floundered, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to gain some control on the matter.

“Jess, what? It’s not a big deal, it’s not like that.”

And he was right, it wasn’t. Not yet.

Nothing had ever happened with you and Steve, not when you were pressed together at night, side by side in his bed, moving closer as you slept, pillow creases on your cheeks, hands close to places you shouldn’t have been touching.

Nothing happened in the mornings either, when you were both soft with sleep, hair mussed and misbehaving, warm hands and toes pushing into the other's skin as you tried to find the comfort of that lazy feeling in each other.

You’d never noticed him stare at you when you got out of the shower, skin still damp, hair pushed back from your face and a too big shirt clinging to your thighs. He never realised you held your breath when he pulled his top off at night, body warm and solid beside you, fingers desperate to trace a map of constellations across his back, freckle to freckle.

Your realisation that your best friend wasn’t just attractive, but was pretty, was a slow burn. It came as you aged, an appreciation growing as you did, Steve too. You noticed the boys in your class as they grew taller, filling out, and you didn’t realise the same was happening to Steve until the summer you both turned fifteen.

You’d spent school vacation at his parents lake house, watched him laze shirtless on the small motorboat, new muscles flexing, drops of water casting tiny rainbows across the tanned skin it clung to. He’d grown his hair out, chocolate brown strands out of control and messy, boyish as it was pretty. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, new feelings, and when Steve continued to throw you over his shoulder, playing in the shallows of the lake, his wide hands spanning the curves of your thighs, your hips, you ignored the burn his touch left behind.

Jess huffed out a laugh and it sounded dangerous, a little like a threat. She found your gaze, held it until hers dropped to scan you up and down, doing her best to make you feel small.

“Whatever, Harrington,” she shoved past Steve, shoulder edging into his chest as she headed for the gate. “Ask your little friend to suck your dick instead.”

You burned at her words, eyes wide as you stared at a crack in the patio, refusing to watch as she stormed through the gate, the hinges protesting loudly as it was slammed shut, leaving you both in silence.

The trickle of the pool filter was the only sound for a minute, maybe two, then you heard Steve sigh, heavy and world weary. You looked at him, feeling a little guilty.

“Shouldn’t you go after her?” You asked.

Steve gave a half shrug, already moving to sit down on the lounger that you’d spent your morning on. You joined him, sitting on the end so you didn’t touch, like you weren’t supposed to after Jessica’s accusation.

“Nah,” he told you, “it’s fine, it’s… whatever.”

You snorted and the sound made the corners of his mouth lift a little, eyes flitting over to you, always interested in what you were going to say.

“That’s a new height of romance, Harrington,” you mused, foot dipping into a small puddle of pool water. You drew lines and shapes on the dry concrete with your toe, watching the sun dry them out almost instantly. “It’s whatever?”

“I dunno,” Steve sighed, reaching over to pluck his sunglasses back from the top of your head and pushing them over the bridge of his nose. He looked good with them on, you mused, too pretty, too nice. “Wasn’t like we had that much in common.“

“Then why date her in the first place?” You asked, face twisting with annoyance.

Steve had developed a habit in freshman year of dating girls who gave him nothing more than wandering hands in the back of his car, passive aggressive comments when he missed their calls and whiplash when they found out about you.

A smirk tugged at his lips, a handsome match with his Ray Bans and messy hair and he turned to you, eyebrows raised.

“You’re a pig,” you muttered, trying to sound disgusted but Steve was pushing his fingers into your sides, hands dragging over your ribs and you were laughing despite yourself, “get off me!”

You were ignored, unsurprisingly, and you wondered if Jessica had made it back to her car yet, if she’d driven away or if she had heard your shriek of delight when Steve suddenly stood and scooped you up.

One arm was wrapped around your waist, a wide, rough hand pressed against the skin just under your breast, his thumb grazing the of your bikini. The other curved itself on your thigh, your body held tight to his as he ran with you, hurtling you both to the edge of the pool and you pressed your face into his neck when he jumped, bracing yourself for the cool water.

Steve didn’t let you go until you both surfaced, his feet planted on the bottom of the pool as he pushed you both to the surface. Your hands were around his neck and you gasped, water dripping from your lashes and lips, hair a wet mess and he was laughing. That soft laugh that made any summer day feel warmer than it already was, a laugh that reminded you of fresh lemonade and bedroom sheet forts.

He let go of your legs before you waist, letting the lower half of your body slide out of his grasp and slide against his, so you were chest to chest, your abdomens pressed together and you almost lost your footing, chin slipping under the water, eyes gazing up at him despite the way the sun made it hurt.

Maybe it was the way you pressed a hand to his stomach to ground yourself, feeling the muscles tense under your touch, maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe he just forgot he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. But something happened and Steve cleared his throat, letting go of your waist and allowing himself to fall backwards and under the water.

He reappeared a few feet away, hair darker and slicked back, eyes a little wild as he looked at you, like you were suddenly dangerous.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.

You weren’t overly fond of Nancy Wheeler, not at first.

You couldn’t deny that the dislike you felt for the girl stemmed from jealousy and your own inability to get a handle on your feelings but, you had to admit, she was better than most of the girls Steve had dated before.

Pretty, smart, sharp and with a keen eye. She liked journalism, the quiet and even you. You shared the knowledge of The Upside Down, bonded over the fear you both felt for her brother and his friends and when you passed each other in the hallway, you nodded, civil and overly aware of all the things you’d both seen together.

You weren’t joined at the hip and you didn’t love how she slid her hand into Steve’s, or how he kissed her at her locker, telling you he’d catch up with you at lunch. You’d spent months telling yourself you weren’t jealous of Nancy, just that you missed your best friend and you resented the way the girl took up all his free time.

You missed the way he snuck in your bedroom window, a pointless task and waste of his energy, ‘cause your parents would hear him clambering up their drainpipe, eyes rolling, fond and affectionate, ‘cause it was Steve.

He’d always told you that he did it for the fun of it, to see you smile when his head appeared over the sill and so you’d help him clamber over the window frame. He’d spend the late hours with you, whispering about nothing and laughing about everything, shoulder to shoulder in your bed until you both fell asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets, his shoes in the middle of your floor and his arm slung over your waist.

You liked it when the sun woke you early, the curtain still opened from when you’d forgotten to close them after Steve’s sudden appearances, the light pink and peach as it leaked into your room. It painted stripes of light and shadow over your walls, over the boy’s broad shoulders and cheek, the other smushed into your mattress, hair a mess and lips parted sleepily.

You got to admire him like that, when his eyes were still closed and he was so unaware. Steve couldn’t catch you staring, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they looked, if he knew how pretty you thought he was, if he thought you were pretty too.

He still picked you up for school in the morning, his BMW sat at the end of your drive but his clothes were sleep creased, hair mussed from spending the night with Nancy instead, sneaking through her bedroom window and not yours. He still smacked a kiss to your cheek when you parted for class but it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t quite just yours anymore and you hated the way it hurt.

So yeah, you could appreciate that Nancy was a nice person and seemed to be good for Steve - at least, until she wasn’t - but you didn’t have to like her for it.

When she broke your best friend’s heart, you’d found him sitting on the hood of his car after school, lips downturned and expression sour, nothing but worry beating in your chest ‘cause you hadn’t seen him since the morning before and no one answered your calls to his house that night.

But then rumours started swirling around the halls, floating over tables in the cafeteria like wildfire and you couldn’t fucking find him. You saw Nancy in the library during your free period, her head bent close to Jonathan Byers as they whispered about something you couldn’t hear, their hands on the table, fingers too close to touching and Nancy had the right to look guilty when her gaze met your own.

So you’d marched straight over to Steve and he crumbled a little when he saw it was you, slipping off the hood and letting you usher him to the front seat. He didn’t really hesitate when you held out your hand to him, silently asking him to let you take care of him.

He placed the car keys in your palm, eyes tired, face sad and you were desperate to fix it. You hadn’t seen Steve like that before and you didn’t know what to do, his pain was yours, your heart beating hard against your chest until you felt like your bones were bruised.

There were talks of the girl cheating on him, wandering around late with Jonathan and you knew they shared the same worries and trauma that you all did when it came to knowing things the rest of the town didn’t, but you didn’t know what was happening between the pair.

So you drove him home, listened when Steve told you that he loved her, that he didn’t know how to fix it. But then it was and then it wasn’t, a game of on and off, yes and no, that you couldn’t really keep up with.

It all came to a head on Halloween, after months of leaving your window open for no one.

Steve climbed in, startling you, hands finding your bedroom floor before his feet did and when he stood, eyes meeting yours, you wanted to be mad at him.

It had been a week since you hung out, passing in the halls and waving when you could, exams stressing you out and his time taken up by Nancy and all the parties he seemed intent on going to. He’d given up trying to get you to go with him, sick of it all after the second time, a spare part, third wheel, an audience to his kisses with Nancy.

But he stood by your bed with the most forlorn expression on his face, features soft and watery and you simply pulled back the sheets, shuffling over to the side that had been made yours when you were both seven, so Steve could claim his.

The boy toed off his shoes, his jacket falling to the carpet as he shrugged it off and you felt like a kid again when he crawled across your mattress, shuffling underneath the covers and pushing himself against you.

Steve got as close to you as he could without asking for a hug, his pride already seemingly too hurt to put himself out there, even with you. But he didn’t hesitate when you turned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you, your nose pressed into his hair. He smelled like smoke and weed from the party, a little like Steve underneath it.

He returned your touch instantly, seeking it out with a desperation that almost shocked you, eager to accept it when it was offered. He tugged you in by the waist, arms wrapped around you and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

He wished he told you then, that you smelled like summer and afternoons by the pool, like cherry popsicles and promises and home. But he didn’t feel brave enough, not then, not yet.

“We broke up,” Steve finally mumbled, voice a little broken and muffled by your neck and hair. “She broke up w’me. Called us bullshit.”

You frowned, confused, pulling back a little in the hopes that Steve would look at you and explain but his grip on your waist only tightened and you patted at his hair, smoothed the almost curls at the nape of his neck and whispered his name.

“Steve, hey, babe, what?” You received a groan in answer but you persisted, shuffling out of his grasp and gripping his chin with your finger, pushing at him a little pleadingly until the boy looked up and met your gaze.

“What happened?”

Steve didn’t answer until you pulled the sheets over your heads, your own little bed fort that let the dim light of your bedside lamp filter through, soft and warm and hazy. You let go of his chin, your hand smoothing his hair back from his face and he pushed his cheek into your touch as he spoke.

“Nancy, it’s over,” he told you, a frown pulling at his brow, “she said the whole relationship was bullshit, that I was bullshit.”

You held your breath, letting him talk as you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone, feeling him relax into you despite the way he was letting his words tumble from his lips, mixing in with his emotions until he was stuttering over himself.

“She, she said we were just acting like we were in love?” Steve caught your stare, his eyes confused as he looked at you, as if he could find an answer in your gaze but you just gaped at him. “Said that I only thought I was in love with her ‘cause I was too busy tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t in love with someone else, or some shit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“What?” You whispered, voice full of surprise because what the fuck?

“Right?” He answered, indignant and wide eyed. “I don’t know what she was talkin’ about, she would answer me, just told me she wasn’t in love with me and god, fucking Byers took her home.”

“Jonathan?”

You screwed up your face, hardly even reacting when Steve groaned again, pushing himself back into you, his face comfortably pressed into your chest, just above the swell of your breast, his mouth warm through your shirt.

It should’ve startled you, the proximity, the intimacy, especially after missing him for so long. But it was still Steve, your best friend, the boy that promised to be there until the very end.

“Why’d Jonathan take her home?” You asked, your cheek pressed to the top of his head as you spoke, the sheets fluttering around you both as Steve shifted, arms wrapping around you more, pulling you until you were flush with his body.

He couldn’t have been touching more of you if he tried.

“She was drunk,” he mumbled into your chest, lips moving over your shirt, making the material shift across your skin and it lit you up, body electric and the air buzzing. “I told him to. She didn’t want me.”

You sighed, eyes closing at the pained sound in the boy’s voice and you let him hold you, your own hand taking into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked.

“Steve,” you murmured, soft and sympathetic.

He whispered your own name back to you, his tone the same and it made you smile. You could feel his own against your chest, lips lifting, breath coming out in a small huff.

“You could still talk to her tomorrow, y’know?” You said conversationally. You hated yourself for trying to fix it for him, for attempting to out the girl back between you both but fuck if you weren’t a good friend. “Maybe she just said all that shit ‘cause she had too much to drink.”

You twirled a length of the boy’s hair around your finger, making it curl. “Was it Jack Templeman’s punch? That dude makes rocket fuel in a bowl, she might have been absolutely wasted.”

Steve shook his head before he pulled back, falling into your pile of pillows and gazing at you.

“Nah, I don’t wanna chase her,” he said and despite the sadness in his voice, he sounded sure. “I don’t wanna be with someone who thinks I’m bullshit. I mean, I know I’m not perfect, but damn, bullshit?”

You shook your head, gaze hard and you wanted to shake him, to make him understand how wrong Nancy was.

“Steve, you're not bullshit.” He held your stare, lips parted. “You’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sorry I don’t know why Nancy said that, I wish I could-”

He stopped you before you could continue, a small smile lifting at his lips and he found your hands between the tangle of sheets, tugging you over to him and onto his chest. You lay your head there, protesting when Steve’s finger poked at your cheek, fond and soft.

“I know what you’re gonna say, sweetheart, and it’s fine.” He sighed, sleepy and weighted. “You don’t need to fix everything for me, not this time, anyway.“

You fell silent, thinking about the times Steve was referring to, wondering if this was finally the year he stopped needing you. The thought made your chest hurt, your eyes blur and you sniffed.

“My dad’ll be home from that conference soon,” he mumbled softly and you could tell without even looking at Steve that he had his eyes closed. “You can come fight my battles for me then, how’s that sound short stuff?”

It was silly, his words. The way they made you feel. Like you were needed again, important. Like he didn’t wanna face the things that scared him without you. It hurt that after all those years, he still felt like that about his own father but it calmed a part of you to know that he didn’t seem as cut up about Nancy Wheeler as he once was.

“Are you okay?” You asked, tentative, and you made a face ‘cause god, that seemed like a stupid fucking question. “Will you be okay?” You asked instead.

Steve hummed noncommittally and you craned your neck to look up at him, smiling when you were proven right at his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as you shifted over him, tucking yourself into his side.

“I mean yeah, sure,” he murmured, voice dropping lower and rougher as sleep pulled at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

He turned his face to yours at that, nose nudging at your forehead as he blindly sought out your features, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your temple.

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair and you stilled, swallowing the lump that had caught in your throat. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been around.“

You squeezed your eyes closed at his words, letting them burn until you were sure you weren’t going to cry.

You wanted to say it was okay, to soothe him, to make Steve feel better but the lie got caught on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him something that wasn’t true.

You shrugged instead, lips twisted to keep them from turning downwards, his words heavy on you because god, you’d missed him so much.

“I missed you,” Steve whispered and fuck, it lit you up inside. “Like, really missed you.”

He was soft and gentle with it, words brushing against your temple, breath warm, hands twisting in the sides of your shirt, barely grazing at your skin, head butting at yours playfully.

He was Steve, he was late nights, long days, summer rainstorms, driving lessons, flunking your test, Saturday afternoon drives, feet on the dash, music too loud, smile blinding.

He was a little bit yours again.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling a little lighter than you had before, eyes falling shut like Steve’s. “I missed you too, Harrington.”

Steve’s breath was becoming slower, chest falling heavy and lazy and you both curled into each other on instinct, sleep pulling both of you together, the same way it did when you were both ten and piled on the sofa, movie still playing.

“You still my best friend?” His voice was a soft mumble, and you heard the worry there, hidden behind a crack of humour.

“Yeah, I’m still your best friend.”

—————

You didn’t see Nancy until a week later, and when you did, you didn’t expect her to corner you at your locker, big eyes wide and asking if you could talk.

You met her after school, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot from where Steve would be waiting on you, perched on the hood of his car as usual.

Nancy saw you coming, her face a little nervous as she bid goodbye to Jonathan who’d been standing beside her and you watched as they squeezed each other's hand before he took off.

You raised your brows as you approached, tugging your headphones to sit around your neck and you wondered what Nancy Wheeler could possibly have to say to you.

The world wasn’t ending, the kids were all safe and she wasn’t your best friend's girl anymore.

She squinted at you, trying to work out your mood, your emotions but you remained a little stoned faced, wondering if Steve would be pissed if had to see you here. You knew they’d spoken since Halloween, a chat that Steve had said felt too formal and stilted, but the air was cleared enough that they could cross paths when dropping Dustin, Will and Lucas at Mike’s house, an awkward wave exchanged from the front door to the car.

“You wanna sit?” Nancy asked, gesturing to a bench that sat by the edge of the school line, shadowed by trees that provided a little coverage from the wind that was picking up now that winter was approaching. You kicked at the leaves on the ground and shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, holding it tighter to your body.

“Sure,” you muttered, following her across the grass, leftover rain sticking to your boots.

The sky was still blue, a crisp Fall day that turned your nose pink, numbed your fingers and had you wishing for a Hawkins summer, the smell of sunscreen and cut grass replaced with rain and the promise of snow.

You sat on opposite ends of the bench, bodies turned to face each other and with the safety of your school bags between you both. You picked a dead leaf off the sole of your shoe, waiting for the other girl to talk.

“Look, I don’t know what Steve’s explained to you,” Nancy said, voice cracking a little with what seemed like nerves. “You know, when we spoke the other week.”

You shrugged, “I mean, not much,” you answered, “but it’s really not my business to know.”

Nancy nodded at that, appreciative, “I guess but I just want us to be friends, you know? I wanted you to understand why I broke it off with Steve. He’s a great guy but-”

“I know he is,” you interrupted, brows pulled together in confusion ‘cause there was never any debate about that. You softened a little when Nancy smiled at you, lips pulled up and eyes a little knowing. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” she told you, voice lighter than it had been before. “Like I said, Steve’s great… I guess I just didn’t love him the way I should’ve. And maybe that would’ve been a little easier if I didn’t see the way he looked at someone else.”

You frowned, staring at the girl as she looked back at you, silently willing you to catch on.

“What?” You asked, “I thought this was about you and Jonathan? You can’t act as if you haven’t been glued to Byers hip since this happened.”

Nancy had the right to look guilty, picking at her nail before looking back up at you. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I didn’t mean for what happened with Johnathan to happen… it just did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

She brushed a curl from her face, bringing her bag down to her feet so there was less separating her from you. The wind rushed at you both, stinging your cheeks and whipping at your clothes before it settled back down and let Nancy speak.

“I’m not blaming this on Steve, I’m not, and I shouldn’t have said he was bullshit,” she rushed out, “maybe we were just meant for other people you know? And think that, maybe, Steve doesn’t know that he’s already found his person.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, “but whatever. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear the two of you arguing every other day.”

Nancy nodded, smiling at the way you were avoiding her gaze, your mind suddenly racing with what she’d said.

“For what it’s worth,” the girl murmured, foot nudging friendly against yours, “it would probably make it a lot easier on the poor guy if this girl could admit that she was in love with him too.”

“Alright, yeah,” you stood up suddenly, cheeks flushed and your head a little scattered. “I think you’ve got it twisted Wheeler, but, uh, good talk.”

The girl hid a laugh, pressing her lips together as she watched you gather your bag, eyes shining. Nancy nodded, looking up at you as you stood a little awkwardly. You raised a hand in a goodbye, a small smile lifting at your lips in what seemed like an amicable agreement.

You stopped before you got too far, the sun in your eyes as you squinted back at the girl who was still sitting on the bench.

“Hey, Nancy?” She looked at you, eyes surprised.

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?” You asked and she was taken aback at how genuine you sounded. She paused, eyes flicking over to where Jonathan’s car was parked, engine idling as he waited for her.

She nodded, resolute. “Yeah, I am,” she answered quietly and confidently.

You nodded too, surprised at how it warmed you to hear that. You never wished ill on the girl, you just didn’t like how she broke your best friend, leaving you to put him back together again, piece by piece.

“I’m glad Steve’s got you, you know,” she called back before you could start to walk away again and her words made your heart stumble. You swallowed, looking at her with parted lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”

And well, wasn’t that a statement to behold?

When you finally clambered into Steve’s car, bringing the chill and some stray leaves from the outside, Steve was frowning softly, concerned by your lateness.

He looked at your flushed cheeks, pink nose and glassy eyes from the sharp wind and cranked up the heat, pointing his vents to your side too.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice worried, “I was gonna call in the kids, start a search party.”

You laughed, a little strained after the conversation you had, rubbing your hands together for warmth and you shrugged, noncommittal.

“I was uh, just catching up with a friend.”

Can I go where you go?

When Steve got a job after graduation at Scoops Ahoy, it was supposed to mean free ice cream and catching a late showing at the cinema after his shifts.

It brought you Robin Buckley, Steve in a sailors hat, a new flavour of ice cream every month and fucking Russians.

You thought dimensions and demogorgons were about as much as you could handle but Dustin came back from camp with a new gadget he’d built, some kind of high tech radio that looked like it was held together with duct tape and paper clips but the thing actually worked.

It worked well enough to pick up secret codes from underground labs, translated by Robin and well, fuck. Suddenly you were trapped in an elevator that wasn’t actually supposed to be an elevator and Erica Sinclair was going to miss her Uncle Jack’s party.

You knew Steve wasn’t happy with you, you could tell by the way his jaw was set, the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and his lips twisted and his gaze dropped when you tried to catch his gaze.

It made the air in the elevator crackle and buzz, tension on top of tension as you moved around each other, looking for a way out, hardly touching, hardly speaking. Robin twisted her lips, sympathetic, when she caught your gaze, your face flushed with annoyance.

He’d told you not to come.

Not out of meanness, or because you had fallen out, simply because he didn’t want you in harm's way. You’d ended up yelling at each other, a hundred feet below the mall and trapped in a metal box because why did it matter when Robin and the kids were stuck there too?

Steve, of course, cared that he had another friend, a thirteen year old and a ten year old to keep safe and he had every intention of doing so. But he couldn’t help but feel sick, his stomach rolling, at the thought of you being put in a dangerous situation.

You’d told him that he was being stupid, that you weren’t leaving him. You thought you’d seen all the dangers Hawkins had to offer, you could handle yourself, you could help him.

His worst fears came true when you all got split up, Dustin and Erica hopefully somewhere above you all, on their way for help, for something, anything.

But then a man came, tall and dressed in uniform, badges adorning his chest, and he took one look at the way Steve stood in front of you when he entered and swung for the side of his head.

The boy fell backwards, dazed, groaning at the shock and pain of it all before pulling himself off of the floor, body slow and sluggish. He lifted his head in time to see the same man gripping you by the back of your neck, hair fisted painfully in his grasp as he pulled you out of the room. Robin was yelling, swearing as she tried to get a grip on you, her hand wrapped around your ankle from where she was on the floor but you were pulled from her easily, a swift kick sent to her stomach for the audacity of her trying.

Steve felt his heart leave his chest, plummeting to his stomach, his blood running cold and everything around him slowed down. His vision was fuzzy but he could see the panic on your face, lips parted in a gasp as you tried to get to grips with what was happening.

Russians. A lab. Under Starcourt Mall.

He couldn’t move fast enough and he wanted to yell out, he wanted to run. But it was like being trapped in a bad dream, body damp, sheets tangled around his limbs as he tried his best to scream, to move, but nothing fucking happened.

The door slammed shut before the ringing in his ears could stop and he could taste blood in his tongue, metallic and horribly warm. He made his fists bleed from pounding on the door, knuckles cracked and bruised, voice wrecked from yelling your name.

He only stopped when the man came back, pulled him from Robin's side and threw more hits to his face, his body. His skin was littered with angry bruises, almost black, skipping the shades of lavender and pink, turning inky within minutes.

Between each punch, Steve spat out blood and asked where you were, groaning as he spoke. He was ignored, time and time again, until he lost it completely, tried to lash out, fists swinging, legs thrashing and he wasn’t sure if he was crying, or it was just blood dripping down his face but he wanted to sob, desperate for you.

He was thrown to a chair, tied back to back with Robin as some guy in a white coat threatened him with surgical equipment that looked like it didn’t belong in a hospital and when his eyes fell shut with the weight of his injuries, he wondered if he’d ever see his best friend again.

You were finally gathered up in what could’ve been hours later, maybe one, maybe five. A guard tugged at your wrists, taped together and red raw from where you’d tried to pull them apart and suddenly you were pushed through the same door they’d taken you from, thrown at Steve’s feet and the yelling continued.

Who did you work for, who did you work for, who did you work for?

It didn’t end until people were dead and Starcourt Mall was on fire.

Alarms had gone off, Dustin rushing in with an electric cattle prod of all things, weidling it like battleaxe and telling you all you had to run. You weren’t sure who was supporting who as you all tumbled back to the surface, dripping blood and tears onto the mall floor as Steve gripped your hand with a fierceness you’d never experienced from him before.

But then there were guns, El broken but still fighting, the rest of your friends, concern and confusion written on their faces ‘cause when you had all been fighting Russian Soviets, they’d been fighting Billy, the evil inside of him turning him into something different from the boy you’d seen in the school halls.

You’d held Max when he fell, body bloodied and ripped open, eyes glassy like he’d known what was coming. You left the mall that night with a new fear of loud noises, of fireworks that cracked and snapped in the sky. You knew what burning flesh smelled like, you knew that there was more to be said about monsters, more danger in the world than just the creatures that lurked in the cracks of the earth.

You knew that evil could come in the shape of a man, a familiar face, behind a uniform, a doctor's white lab coat.

You were tired, beaten, a little bloodied and bruised and your throat was raw after you’d screamed for Steve, fists beating on the door as you went ignored. You heard him from behind the steel walls, his voice as wrecked and panicked as your own and you sobbed when you heard his yells turn to groans, sickening wet thumps of bone hitting bone, breaking up the sound of him calling out your name.

You sat beside him in the ambulance, hands still clutching each other tightly, fear of being torn apart again ripping through you both. The medic wanted to take him to hospital, to make sure his cheekbone wasn’t shattered, that you both weren’t suffering from shock or concussion but Steve refused, just wanting to go fucking home.

The sky was angry, red and crying, plumes of black and crimson smoke billowing from the broken building and you didn’t know what to do. People were dead and the whole world seemed to be burning.

But Steve took you by the hand, pulled you to his side as you made sure everyone was okay, as well as they could be considering the circumstances and the boy stood a little numb as he watched you drop to your knees and fold Max into a hug, tears streaking through the blood and dirt on your cheeks when you pressed a kiss to El’s forehead.

Everyone was a little broken, barely standing, barely breathing and it didn’t seem difficult to continue the lie to your parents, calling them from a pay phone to say that you were okay, you had seen the news but it was fine, you had been at Steve’s the whole time, you’d be home in the morning.

You let Jonathan bundle you both into the back of his car, one of his old jackets thrown around your shoulders as Nancy sat in the front, Steve beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He dropped you both at Steve’s front door, little to be said between the hour of you as shock and tiredness tugged at your bodies, your heads. Hands were pressed to shoulders, squeezing softly, telling each other everything you all needed to say but couldn’t - not then, not just yet.

Thank you, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re okay, I’m happy you’re safe.

The Harrington house was empty, as expected and the rooms felt darker and colder than they had before, empty and too big, your harsh breaths rattling too loudly and you could feel a panic building inside you, clawing at your chest.

It grew when you looked at Steve’s face, dried blood and dark bruises making him look like he was about to fall apart and when you squeezed your eyes closed, you could hear the way he yelled your name, raw and broken.

A sob bubbled from your throat, spilling from your lips and you’d barely taken a breath before Steve was in front of you, arms pulling you into him, a hand around your neck, foreheads pressed together. It was supposed to ground you - and it did, in a way - but the cries still came, stuttered and broken, the heavy kind of sobs that made your body heave with the exertion of it all.

Steve held you through it, both of you swaying unsteady on your feet in the middle of his hall, shoes streaking dirt across Mrs. Harrington’s white tiles. Neither of you could ask the other if they were okay, ‘cause the answer was obvious but when your tears finally stopped, your face wet and your head sore, the boy took you by the hand and led you up the stairs.

He walked past his bedroom door, the little slice of heaven you most wanted at that moment in time, the only place in the large house that truly felt like home to you both. It was a surprise when he nudged open the door to the main bathroom, rarely used due to all the ensuites that were accessed through bedrooms but the large corner tub there suddenly looked like a gift from above.

You felt like a spare part when Steve let go of you long enough to turn the taps, filling the bath with hot water and a mixture of his mother’s expensive soaps and bath milks, sweet smelling bubbles and steam filling the room.

You found a first aid kit underneath the sink, pushed to the back of the cupboard, unused and when you motioned to the boy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he did without arguing. He spread his legs for you without you needing to ask, standing between his knees with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you mumbled out apologies, dabbing the stinging liquid into his skin.

Steve simply held onto your legs, eyes closed and his hands wrapped around the back of your knees, his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there as he whispered back, telling you it was okay, it’s fine, I'm fine sweetheart.

The cuts on his face didn’t seem as angry, as severe, when you wiped away the blood that crusted around them but the dark bruises seemed mean and vicious against the pale cast of his skin, shock seeping out all the colour from his cheeks.

He let you press a kiss to his forehead, clutching at the sides of his head, fingers buried in his damp, messy hair and the push of your lips was fierce, conveying everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, because fuck, you didn’t know how to tell your best friend that you think you were falling in love with him. Because how else could the thought of losing someone hurt so fucking much?

Steve left you alone to bathe, skin stinging as you stripped down to your underwear, your body and bones lazy as you pulled at your jeans and shirt. You gave up when you got down to your underwear, cotton pants and lacy bralette mismatching in a clash of cherry print and forest green and they both stuck to your skin as you slid into the hot water.

You drew your knees to your chest, eyes closed and head pressed there as you let the heat nip at you, cuts and scrapes protesting but it was good to feel something when your head felt numb, your chest hollow. You weren’t sure how long you sat there for but you could've sworn someone was calling your name, a knock on the door echoing on the tiles and your mouth felt too fuzzy to answer.

Steve could only hear the slow, steady drip of the tap and panic rose in his chest when you didn’t answer him and he had thoughts of you unconscious and slipping beneath the bubbles.

So he knocked once more, heart racing before he turned the handle and pushed at the door a little, calling out your name.

He heard the water splash at the sides of the tub, movement at least. But then he heard you sniff, the noise turning to soft sobs and it gripped at his heart, crushed it a little and before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, bare feet on the tiles and staring down at you, tucked into the smallest ball you could amongst the bubbles.

Neither of you spoke as Steve pulled off the shirt and cotton sweats he’d changed into, his own eyes glassey as he left his boxers on, stepping into the water with you, sitting down in the space behind you.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he spread his legs and pulled you into them, your back to his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around your knees too, holding you to him. He let you cry like that, head bent over yours, the two of you curled into the water together, steam licking at your skin. You think you felt a tear drop from his eye, warm as it slid through your hair and onto your cheek and the feel of it made you search for his hand, scrambling desperately under the hot water and foam so you could link your fingers through his.

Your grip on each other was as tight as it was when he’d pulled you to your feet after Dustin saved you from pliers and scalpels, the same way it had been when a six year old Steve had helped you up from the playground, knees scraped and front tooth missing after falling from the monkey bars. It was the same touch you granted him when you were twelve and he had to go to the emergency room, his arm broken after falling off of his bike. You’d begged to ride in the ambulance with him and his mom, his ink stained fingers reaching for you, not Mrs. Harrington.

When you had no tears left to give and the water was turning lukewarm, Steve turned the tap again, let the hot water fill the room back up with steam and soothe your tired bodies. He grabbed a sponge, tapped at your knee until you turned to him, face to face and unbelievably vulnerable.

But you let him smooth the sponge over the bare skin that he could see, up your arms, wiping away the soot from the fire, the stubborn dried blood that didn’t want to leave. He squeezed warm water over your chest, looking at your eyes and definitely not your bra, the pretty, green lace turning darker against your skin.

He pressed a kiss to your hair when you let your head fall into him, too tired to sit up and when you couldn’t hear the far away whine of sirens in the distance anymore, he helped you stand, the water that was light pink with blood swirling down the drain. He wrapped you both in towels, murmuring the whole time that you were okay, he had you, it was gonna be fine.

You pulled your favourite shirt from underneath his pillow, tugging it on and falling into his bed, the smell of Steve and home surrounding you in the same way that the sheets did, soft and comforting. The boy clambered in beside you, body stiff and pain settling in his bones but you glued yourself to his side, hands intertwined and pressed between your chests and you couldn’t close your eyes until Steve leaned into you, breath warm and smelling of mint as he pressed his lips to your ear as he told you: “Remember when I promised you that I’d protect you from everything bad?”

You nodded, remembering that cherry flavoured popsicle and the way Steve’s pool looked so much bigger and deeper back then. “We were eight, Steve.”

He hummed in agreement, forehead rubbing fond against your own and you revelled in the fact that you both smelled like the same cotton and lemongrass body wash.

“We were,” he agreed, voice a soft whisper, cracking a little from the yelling that had ripped his throat apart. “But the promise still stands, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes to look at them and he looked a little fuzzy as you teared up. But Steve shook his head gently, hand tightening around your smaller one.

“No more tears, please babe,” he sniffed too, as if the entire night suddenly hit him, “I got you now, yeah? I’m never gonna let anythin’ happen to you, promise.”

You slept then, a little broken and fitful, but every time you shifted in your sleep, the boy followed, bodies traversing across the mattress and between the sheets. When you woke in the morning, you had your head on Steve’s chest, a leg thrown over his own, your thigh hitched high over his and his arms were a vice grip around you, his face pressed to the top of your head.

The sheets were on the floor, a pillow by the door as if it had been kicked and the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain, bright and warm and mocking. The world felt a little different after that night, and so did your friendship with Steve Harrington.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all.

Working at Family Video with both Robin and Steve meant that you got to spend a lot more time with your friends. It also meant that Robin was more privy to watching how you and Steve interacted with each other and it had the girl taking notes on your relationship with the boy like her new favourite science experiment.

“Look, I’m just saying, he’s not really dated since Starcourt and the boy lost it over you that night.”

You rolled your eyes, still putting away the videos that were stacked in your arms as Robin followed you up and down the aisles. The store was quiet, a Tuesday afternoon giving you little to do but you’d graduated after you fought a monster and survived the soviets, so applying for colleges wasn’t all that high on your to do list.

Your parents had taken that news better than Steve’s, both couples perplexed at their kids' choices to stay in Hawkins and work for the summer but at least your Dad had threatened bodily harm against you when you’d told him.

You eyed Steve who was on the other end of the store, leaning lazy against the counter as he ticked off the delivery list. He looked a little older, like you did, but the stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders made your lips part every time you chanced a look.

He was still Steve, but he was a little taller, a little stronger. He was still late night drives and sneaking through your window, mixtapes on your birthday and cherry popsicles in his backyard during the summer. Maybe he flirted a little more with you, comments suggestive and compliments coming easier but you tried not to think about it. When you did, late at night and alone in bed, it made your head spin, your lips part, your eyes close.

You sighed, turning to Robin to tell her with an exasperated whisper, “we’ve been best friends since pre-k, of course he was upset that I was dragged away by a fucking Russian Soviet, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes at you, stumbling over her own foot as she tried to keep up. Steve glanced up at you both at the noise, brows furrowed as you both froze, eyes a little wide and you waved, hands raised awkwardly in unison.

“What’re you both doing?” He called out, suspicion lacing his voice and you felt heat travel from your chest to your cheeks.

“Nothing,” Robin called out at the same time you told him you were fixing the horror section.

Your voices piled over each other and you wanted to groan, because Robin couldn’t lie to save herself and now you both looked like idiots. But Steve just smiled, fond, and turned back to his stack of papers.

“I'm telling you,” Robin continued, voice a little lower now, “Steve likes you, like, he likes you, likes you. Why can’t you see that?”

You stopped and turned at her last words, truly taken aback at how sincere she sounded, how confused she seemed.

‘Cause Steve was still Steve and you were still you and nothing in the world could really change that. Steve had promised you that he’d always be your best friend, and at nineteen, that still seemed like a pretty sweet deal.

You shrugged, pushing the last copy of Nightmare On Elm Street onto the shelf and you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed at her interrogation.

“It’s not like that,” you told her, whispering still, “it’s never been like that with Steve.”

She huffed, swiping a finger along the row of videos and blowing away the dust she’d collected. Robin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Would you want it to be like that? ‘Cause seriously, dude, I still can’t believe that, in like, sixteen years of friendship, you’ve never even kissed once.”

You shrugged again, holding back on telling the girl that sometimes you thought the same.

When you were fourteen, you thought that Steve was going to be your first kiss. Looking back, you weren’t sure why, you just did. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope, maybe it was just inevitable.

‘Cause you grew up beside the boy and never once did he feel like a brother, and that had to mean something, right? He held your hand when you watched scary movies, when you crossed the road on Main Street, when it was rush hour, just like your parents had told you to when you were seven. He never dropped your hand, he never kicked you from his side of the bed when the movies you watched together became too much.

You went through middle school and high school still the same, joined at the hip, still sharing secrets, still holding hands when things got too hard.

But then one summer, Hayley Collins had a birthday party and you’d been sick, too ill to attend but Steve had still stood underneath your bedroom window, features twisted with conflict as you told him it was fine, he could go without you. You remember telling him to have fun, and to bring you back some candy.

He did. He brought you back fistfuls of sweet stuff, bags of M&M’s and pop rocks but you didn’t expect him to bring his lips to your ear and tell you a secret you never expected.

Steve had had his first kiss. A game of spin the bottle in Hayley’s basement with her cousin who was from out of town. A girl a year older, a girl who had pretty blonde curls and a reason to wear a real bra.

You remembered the feeling when your heart sank and the pop rocks stopped fizzing on your tongue. You wondered why the sugar tasted bitter, why your eyes were suddenly pricking with hot tears and when the boy asked if you were okay, a grin slipping from his lips, you lied and told him that you still felt sick.

You turned to Robin, a fake smile pulling at your lips as you tried to act casual, as if her words weren’t kickstarting a feeling in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore for the last five years.

You furrowed your brow, turned to the cart that was still full of videos no thanks to your friend, and picked up another pile. You stacked them until they reached your chin, until they gave you a reason to walk to the other side of the stands and take a deep breath.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you lied, and it felt heavy on your tongue, tasting too sweet and sinful. Because of course you had. “It’s not something that’s crossed my mind.”

Robin saw right through you and you could tell by the way her brows rose and she hid her smile behind a press of her lips.

“Sure,” she said, voice too light. “Humour me then. What do you think would happen if you did let it cross your mind?”

You stared at her, mouth agape, because what the fuck was the girl getting at.

She grabbed some of the videos you were holding, The Exorcist close to slipping from its slot underneath your chin and she started stacking them beside you, completely out of alphabetical order, but that was a problem for another day.

��Just listen,” she said and you hated how she sounded excited. “What do you think would happen if you asked Steve to kiss you?”

She dropped a box, cursing when the corner of it hit her toe but she bounced back up, bright eyes still brimming with all the thoughts that were swirling round her head at once.

“Cause you know he would, right? Like the poor guy can’t say no to you, he’s never been able to.”

You made a sound of protest, heart hammering in your chest because Steve was still right there, fingers running though his hair, pen between his lips and so completely fucking oblivious.

But Robin suddenly stopped and spun to face you. She wrapped a hand around your wrist, soft and warm and you could tell she was choosing her words carefully before she said them, a sure fire way to tell that the girl was being serious.

“There’s a reason that none of his girlfriends have stuck around, babe,” Robin murmured, sincerity lacing every word. “It’s ‘cause he always picks you, every time.”

—————

It had been a week since Robin had cornered you at work, whispering to you about Steve and kissing and god, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You thought about it when he gave you a ride home after work, sun setting, the day turning pink and casting indigo shadows over his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

You thought about it when he pushed himself into you during Saturday morning shifts, his body lazy as he leant against you, his chest to your back and his head on your shoulder. It felt softer and intimate than when he’d done it before, your mind running wild with the idea that if you turned around and kissed him, right there in the middle of Family Video, he might kiss you back.

You thought about it when you were lying by his pool, his parents gone, the kids and Dustin’s new friend Eddie starting water fights on the lawn. You’d watch the way Steve watched you, jealous eyes and lips pouted when Eddie soaked you with a water balloon, skin damp, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. You watched how he softened and lit up again, your attention on him when you shook your wet hair over his bare chest and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed the movements you made when you bent to slide your shorts back up your legs.

So maybe it was for those reasons that you turned to him one Friday night, when it was just the two of you out in his backyard, and asked him why he’d never kissed you.

It could’ve been the joint you’d been sharing making you feel braver, or maybe the shadows that you were hiding in, the spaces that the pool lights didn’t quite reach.

Maybe it was the way Steve had been looking at you each time you took the joint from his lips and put it between your own. Hair a little messy, eyes hooded, jaw slack.

Maybe it was because of all of it. Maybe it was because you were nineteen and growing impatient. Maybe it was sixteen years of build up. Of wondering, wanting, waiting.

The air smelled the same way it did when you were eight, chlorine and cedar from the trees, that afternoon's sunscreen mixing with weed and smoke. Your tongue was stained red from the popsicle you’d had, Steve’s blue and there were new freckles on both of your faces, noses a little pink from lying out in the sun all day.

And when the afternoon faded into evening and the sky was lilac, Steve produced a joint with a grin, a wiggle of his brows and suddenly you were lying on the deck together, the pool filter trickling in the background and laughing soft as you blew smoke into the night.

There was a buzz of insects from the forest that stood behind the house, the faint hum of someone’s music that played from a couple of yards over and you felt the warmth radiate from the boy from where he lay beside you.

Your bare feet pointed to opposite ends of the pool, one of yours dipped into the water and your heads were touching, cheek to cheek. If you turned to look at him, you knew your lips could slip over his easily and the thought of it made your body fizz.

He had just plucked the joint from your mouth, thumb grazing clumsy over your top lip, fitting pretty into the dip of your Cupid’s bow when you tilted your head, cheek resting on the patio, the slabs still warm from the afternoon sun.

“Hey, Harrington,” you sounded quiet and lazy, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But god, your heart was in your throat, pulsing like a warning. “You ever thought ‘bout kissing me?”

If Steve was shocked, he didn’t show it, not really. His eyes widened slightly, joint hanging slack from his lips and he stubbed it out on the concrete before swallowing, hard.

He turned to you, noses almost brushing and you watched the way his gaze settled on your lips.

“Why d’you ask?” His voice was a hush, warm and rough.

You shrugged, boldness faltering because he hadn’t answered your question but holy shit, he was still looking at your mouth, the way your tongue snuck out to wet your bottom lip before you spoke.

“Just something Robin said,” you told him, nose scrunched.

Your words made his lips part, nodding in understanding because of course Robin was involved and the girl had been at him too, hounding him in the stockroom at work, calling him out on his obvious crush on your over old, dusty videos.

But all the boy could say was, “oh.”

And then there was silence, for a second, maybe two. It felt like minutes, like an hour, like the sky was suddenly crashing down on you, as if lavender clouds and the stars were going to bury you were you lay but then-

“I have,” Steve said, quietly sure. You looked over at him as he blew out a breath, “course I’ve thought about it. ‘Bout kissing you.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to keep silent, his admission washing over you like a tsunami sized wave, one that you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your head above.

You sat up suddenly, shocking Steve and he leaned up onto his elbows with wide eyes, watching as you turned to face him, legs crossed and knees knocking into his thighs.

“Why haven’t we?” You asked, bemusement colouring your tone and you couldn’t help but press your hand to his where it lay on the deck. Your fingers brushed over his, a new kind of touch. “Why haven’t we ever kissed?”

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, if it was rattling against your ribs as loud as it seemed to be. You held your breath as Steve sat up too, mirroring your pose and crossing his legs until you were knee to knee and looking like a couple of innocent kids again.

He shrugged, blowing out another breath and he tugged a hand through the front of his hair, making it stand on end. He looked a little wild, like you short circuited him, like you were half way to ruining him.

The boy’s voice cracked a little when he tried to answer and you wondered if this was okay, if you should’ve asked but then Steve was speaking, his thumb drawing absentminded circles over your bare knee.

“I’m not really sure,” he said and he spoke soft and quiet, like he was telling you a secret. “I suppose I just didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”

It was the answer you expected. Best friend first, the prospect of a girl to kiss in the background of his mind. You should’ve been happy, you should’ve felt loved, but the idea of never having Steve in the way you realised you wanted him was becoming more crushing by the day.

“Or maybe,” he suddenly continued, “I guess… I guess I didn’t realise I was allowed to.”

Your lips parted at that, a small bomb dropped in the middle of the Harrington’s backyard. You waited for the pool to empty, for the small wave to hit your back, for the sky to light up but nothing came and Steve was watching you, waiting.

“You’re allowed to,” you whispered and oh my god, you didn’t feel high enough for this, but you continued, tummy dropping and skin electric. “You’ve always been allowed to.”

You heard Steve’s breath hitch and it only felt natural when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot behind your ear and god, he was leaning in and so were you.

“I just don’t know if we should,” he was telling you but he was still moving into you and his hand never fell away from your face.

“It’s just a kiss,” you told him, voice shot, lips falling apart and you could smell his aftershave, the leftover chlorine that stuck to his skin and he was summer, he was cherry and smoke and god, he was forbidden, he was yours. “Friends can kiss, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It’s really just curiosity, right?”

His nose was bumping against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of the other's breath falling across your lips and you wondered if he’d taste like his popsicle, blue raspberry, sugar and fizz.

You nodded at his question, too gone to speak and the movement made your top lip brush against his. Sparks against your skin, electric, dangerous and it made you sigh.

“Steve?” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut like you were seven again and making a wish beside your birthday cake, candles making your skin glow.

He hummed, thumb still pushing against that spot on your neck, “yeah sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

And fuck, maybe Robin was right because the boy didn’t say no. In fact, Steve didn’t say anything, he just moved into you until your nose was pressed into his cheek and his lips were plush against yours and oh my god you were kissing your best friend.

He still tasted like raspberry, like you thought he would. Like summer and promises and pool days and a little smoke and Steve.

It was a slow push of his lips to your own, mouths slanting over each other’s, soft and languid like you both knew this was your only chance. You thought you heard him moan, a soft, low noise that made your chest hurt and when the kiss lingered, you brought your hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as you tugged him a little closer, greedy.

And when his tongue licked at the curve of your bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at your chin, asking you to open for him, you did, no questions asked. You sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over yours, a hand falling to fist in his t-shirt, soft cotton crumpled in your hand because you felt like you were going to float away.

Then Steve was pulling back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours and eyes still slammed shut as he gave you another secret, pressed to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your neck.

“I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss,” he said it like a confession, like something holy. “M’sorry you weren’t.”

And then he was back on you, lips melted between your own and you knew that the pretty noises that you pulled from him would play like a record in your dreams for months on end. Steve was grasping at your hip, the material of your dress bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up your thighs.

You were in his lap, wide hands on your sides, guiding you as you kissed him, lovesick, eyes closed, body buzzing and you fell across his knees, thighs shifting apart to cage him underneath you and oh my god.

Fuck.

You sat a little higher than him, knees planted on the deck and his head was tilted back to kiss you as you crowded him. One hand was on your jaw, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper now, a little dirty and when he pulled a small moan from you, his hand clasped at the back of your thigh, skin on skin.

You could feel him hard underneath you and it made your head feel fuzzy, your body pleading with you to drag yourself along the length of him, hips rolling, chest heaving.

When you pulled back, panting, the reflections of the pool were bouncing off your faces, ripples of light dancing across the boy's features, hitting his eyes and turning them caramel. You felt golden when he touched you, skin lit up, the air around you both crackling like a storm was coming.

Maybe it was still the weed, maybe it was a new found courage, maybe it was just teenage hormones and the thought of seeing each other naked for the first time since you were both four, but when Steve asked if he could take you inside, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It felt different in his bedroom when you both tumbled in, colliding with the dresser as you kissed each other like you meant it, like you’d never do it again. The room felt smaller, darker, softer, more intimate than it had ever been for you and suddenly you felt like a girl at the end of date.

Steve touched you like you were more than just his best friend and it made your stomach roll, your thighs rub together and you couldn’t quite get over the way his hand spanned the width of your cheek, fingertips grazing your hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at your bottom lip, eager for more of you.

It all got a little wild after that, loose change and bottles of aftershave cologne clattering off of the drawers, falling to the floor as Steve picked you up and slammed you on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. Hands roamed up your thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into you.

Your dress came off first, his shirt following, a mix of colours on the carpet and he pressed his lips to the skin he uncovered, mouth over lavender lace and delicate straps.

It felt desperate, you felt desperate. And when he sucked a bruise into the column of your throat, you keened, high and needy. It made the boy groan, mouth vibrating against your chest as he kissed over the lace triangles covering you, his gaze flicking up to watch you nod at him before he was pushing one aside, tongue smoothing over a nipple.

It made you grab at his hair, fingers delving deep, tugging in appreciation and you were prepared for the sound it pulled from him, low in the back of his throat and it made his eyes flutter shut.

“Sweetheart,” Steve huffed out, hands skimming up and down your sides as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.”

He sounded wild, unravelled and sharp around the edges. It made you feel full of power, pretty lips and lace and soft skin, and you pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants and before you could ask, you were being manhandled again, legs around his waist and his hands on your ass.

He sat you both on the bed like that, spread out pretty on top of him, knees pushed into the mattress as you pulled at his belt, holding yourself up as he shuffled out of his jeans. He sucked tiny bruises on your collar bones as your bra was peeled off, nothing but your underwear separating you both and you felt his hands drag down your back, a touch that was so affectionate and soft that it took your breath away.

Then night seemed slower after that, like time paused for you both, just for you to remember every touch. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis just for you two, just so you would both remember the way the other felt, ‘cause fuck, you had a feeling this wouldn’t happen again.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Steve gasped, lips barely leaving yours as pushed and pulled at your hips, helping you rock over him, body rolling across his lap. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

But you were ready to climb him, your hands grabbing at his hair to tug him back to you, kisses swallowing his words and telling the boy that you wanted exactly the opposite.

It was strange how natural it felt, to tug the length of him out of his boxers, the feel of him hot and hard in your hand. You shuffled in Steve’s lap as he palmed you over the lace of your underwear, breath uneven. It didn’t take long for him to tug them down your legs as he slid on a condom, your foot kicking purple lace to his bedroom floor and you suddenly felt like you were underwater; body moving lazy and slow as you lifted yourself onto your knees, Steve’s hands strong and reassuring as you took him in your hand and sunk down onto him.

Neither of you moved, bodies tangled and still as you fit perfectly in his lap, arms wrapped around each other as you panted heavy into parted lips. Steve whispered your name, like a prayer, soft and broken before he pushed his lips to yours, head tilted into you so he could catch your lips deep and slow.

He grunted in surprise when you tightened around him, body clenching on his at the touch of his tongue across your bottom lip and you whimpered, hips beginning to wiggle. This was more than you’d felt before, more than wandering hands in back seats, more than a quick and fast hook-up in a party bathroom, more than fingers under skirts in your bedroom when your parents were asleep across the hall.

“Can I move?” You ask, quiet, your hands grappling desperately at Steve’s shoulders palming over the muscles there. “I need to move, Steve, please.” If you were begging, you didn’t care, because you felt so full, so tight around him and you couldn’t help but admire the way the boy looked underneath you.

But Steve didn’t have you waiting long, any teasing long forgotten about ‘cause he felt like he was wound too tight and you felt like fucking heaven around him. You didn’t know your eyes were wet until his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, breath stuttering and you both gasped and swore when you lifted yourself up, just to rock yourself back down.

He moaned your name so prettily, lips glossy from your kisses and his eyes were hooded, gaze set on you, jaw slack, hands roaming across the expanse of your back as he held you to him.

You moved over him with purpose, Steve answering with low groans and he pulled soft whimpers from you, your hand catching his face so you could look at him, gazes heavy and hot, pinned to each other. Your thumb found the curve of his bottom lip, tugging a little and Steve moaned when the pad of it slid over the edge of his teeth. “Steve,” you gasped, hips moving messy and the boy grabbed at your ass, helping you ride him a little faster.

“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me, tell me what you want and I’ll give you it,” he pressed his lips to yours as he spoke, words slipping over your lips, your tongue and god, they tasted sweet. “I’ll give you anything.”

“More,” was all you could manage, breath hitching, eyes slamming shut ‘cause Steve’s hand dropped between you both, skin slick and he pressed his thumb over your clit; quick, hot circles that made stars flash behind your eyelids. “Close?” Steve asked, voice rough and you nodded, moving a little wilder over him, the boy reciprocated, hands holding your hips still so he could thrust up hard into you until you were biting down on the muscle on his shoulder, thighs tensing, eyes tearing up.

Steve whispered your name when he came, arms tight around you, head buried in the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he’d always remember the way you felt around him.

He kissed you one last time that night, bodies still naked and stretched out between his sheets and you didn’t say anything to each other as you caught your breaths, eyes wide on each other. There was a part of you that wished you could have the excuse of alcohol, too messy after some party to remember. You couldn’t blame the weed either, the half smoked joint still stubbed out in the backyard, hardly enough to do anything than let you both share a buzz.

In the morning, you pulled on your clothes, wrinkled on Steve’s bedroom floor, still smelling of smoke and the boy. You tiptoed around his room, searching for your underwear, your shoes, all while the boy lay on his bed, face down, hair mussed and the white sheets barely covering his waist.

You wish you had it in you to let yourself drop back down into bed with, to have the courage to press a kiss to the freckle on his right shoulder, smooth a soft hand down his spine. But the sun was coming in through the window and your lips were still swollen from your best friend’s kisses and everything was starting to taste like a mistake.

You didn’t know it, but Steve was awake as you left, eyes open and face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like your shampoo, heart beating wild in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t call out to stop you. And well, that was that.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue.

You didn’t talk about it.

A week passed and neither did Steve and before you knew it, you were a month down the line, the feel of your best friend's lips on your skin feeling like a fever dream and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the feel of him moving against you, inside you.

It hurt to look at him, for a while. It got worse before it got better, stilted conversations and awkward eye contact, the taste of regret in both of your tongues and all the things you wanted to say to each other were left unsaid.

But it was fine.

Steve asked you round for a movie one Friday, videos stacked on the coffee table in his living room, your favourite sweater of his lying out on the arm of the sofa along with red vines and the good kinda popcorn.

You didn’t push yourself into his side like you normally would and you didn’t know if that disappointed him or not, but when he dropped you off home later that night, the sky was a dark, rosy pink, the lingering smell of rain in the air and he smacked a messy kiss to your cheek before you climbed out of his car.

It was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Steve started dating again, one girl, two girls, three girls. Lucy on Saturday, Matthew David’s cousin Paula the next Friday, Cindy from last year's cheer squad the week after.

You didn’t ask about it and he didn’t tell you, just poking an affectionate finger to the apple of your cheek when he told you he’d see you the next day. You were his best friend, again, still, only.

It was fine until one Friday shift, when you disappeared into the back room a little earlier than the store closed. You came back out in a new dress, short and pretty, with blush on your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. Robin had wolf whistled, Steve had frowned.

“Where are you going?”

His tone of voice cut you in half, accusatory and a little shocked. Steve leaned over the counter, a finger picking delicately at a lock of hair that you’d spent too long trying to get to sit nicely.

“A date,” you told him, voice soft, gaze lowered as you tried to cram lip gloss tubes and perfume bottles into your bag.

“With who?” Was the instantaneous response, that same tone of voice.

You saw Robin’s gaze flitting between the pair of you, not privy to the events that took place a month prior, but not for a lack of trying. The girl was perfectly aware that something happened. She just didn’t know what and neither your or Steve had told her anything.

“Nate Owens,” you told him and god, why was it so hard to meet his eye? “You know, he was on the team with you.”

Steve pulled his brows together, bewildered at your answer. “Yeah, I know him, why the fuck are you going on a date with Owens?”

You heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath and she watched as you squinted at the boy, annoyance on your features. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed the last of the returns and made her way to the other side of the empty store, leaving you two alone.

“What?” You huffed out, exasperated already. Your stomach was tumbling and you hated the way you didn’t know why. Maybe it was first date jitters, maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, maybe it was because you knew you had absolutely no interest in dating anyone that wasn’t your bet fucking friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve grappled for something to say, stuttering over excuses until he tutted and grabbed the stapler, carelessly turning it over in his hands as he told you, “you’ve got nothing in common with him, like, at all.”

You scoffed, pulling at the hem of your dress and smoothing out imaginary creases, you were annoyed, something burning and twisting inside of you. “Sure Harrington, I forgot you choose all your dates based on compatibility and shared goals for the future.”

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve tried again, “he’s only after one thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am too,” you said loftily and you didn’t look for Steve’s reaction, you didn’t want to. You moved from behind the counter, leaving a cloud of perfume in your wake and headed for the door. “Robs, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

Before the girl could answer, Steve was tailing you, moving across the store with that stupid stapler still in his hand and he called out your name, making you stop and turn.

“He’s just gonna hurt you,” the boy explained and you hated how his voice had turned a little softer. “You can do so much better than him.”

“Yeah?” You turned fully, chin raised and shoulders set as you locked eyes with Steve. “Who should I date then, Steve? Who’s good enough?”

The air felt electric, fully charged as the boy stared back, lips parting, chest barely moving as if he was holding his breath. If Robin was still there, you didn’t know, your mind only registering the way the boy was still silent in front of you.

“That’s what I thought,” you eventually muttered, hot tears threatening to prick at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t wait sixteen years to start taking an interest in my love life Harrington, I’ve got by just fine without your advice.”

You’d opened the door by the time Steve replied, voice hot and clipped with anger and something else, a tone you’d never heard him use with you before. “Yeah, well, don’t come fucking crying to me when he turns out to be a dick.”

You laughed humorlessly, your back turned to him as you faced the night outside, the cool air nipping at the heat on your cheeks. You wanted to go home, to chance a look at Robin and silently ask her to clamber into bed with you, if she’d let you cry onto her shoulder as you ate pizza and watched reruns of Charlie’s Angels.

There was also a part of you that wanted to turn to Steve, glassy eyed and confused, to ask why it suddenly felt like you were fighting for the first time since middle school.

But you didn’t.

You walked out into the night and let the door slam shut behind you.

If you’d hung around, you would’ve heard Robin slam down the copy of Stand By Me that she was holding, eyes a little angry and disappointed as she looked at the boy and said: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

‘Yeah,’ Steve thought, ‘he knew he was.’

----------

You hated that Steve was right, you hated that Nate Owens was a pig, you hated that he did nothing but look at your chest over the dinner table, you hated that he tried to lean in for a kiss the minute you both got back into his car, you hated that he got pissy with you when you didn’t let him push his hand up your dress, you hated that he told you to put out or get out.

You hated that he left you on the side of the road, a little out of town, at a restaurant that you didn’t really know, dinner paid for with his daddy’s money.

You hated that when you finally found a payphone at the side of a dark gas station, you punched in Steve’s number. You hated that you started to cry when you heard his voice, you hated that he told you was coming to get you.

Steve found you easily despite your awful directions, and when he asked if you were okay, voice quiet and gentle, you choked out a little sob, feeling pathetic and Steve told you to stay put, that he would be there as fast as he could.

He definitely broke some laws to get to you, flashing through amber lights faster than he was supposed to and when he pulled into the station only twenty minutes later, his heart ached at the way you leaned against the brick wall, half in shadows with your arms wrapped around you, the slight wind picking at the hem of you dress, lifting it from you thighs.

Steve got out of the car before you could move, pushing yourself off of the wall and he hated that your eyes were glassy, that you seemed embarrassed. You let him tug one of his sweatshirts over your head, one he specifically grabbed for you before rushing out of his door, ‘cause he watched you leave work without a jacket and if he’d been in a better mood when you were going on your date - if you’d have been going on a date with him - he would’ve teased you about being cold later.

Steve opened the passenger door, waiting for you to fold yourself into the front of his car and when he got back in, the only light coming from the old neon sign that was flashing red, telling customers that the store was open.

He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white and he glanced at you, expression almost unreadable.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, and it was true. You’d thrown an elbow into the Nate’s chest when he tried to push you too far, too fast, the sharp point of your arm catching him just below his throat and he’d turned on you, telling you to get the fuck out. “The only thing hurt is my pride, but I guess that’s on me, huh?”

Steve sighed at that, turning fully in his seat so he could face you, his hand coming up to press into your cheek, his thumb running gently under your eye, catching the tears there before they fell.

“Sweetheart-” Steve started, but you were overwhelmingly emotional, everything from the night and Nate and Steve suddenly becoming too much and god, you just wanted to yell with it.

“What? Is this the part where you say I told you so?” You tried to sound biting, but the words hitched in your throat, fresh tears springing to your eyes. “Why’re you even here Steve?”

You knew why.

“Cause you asked me,” he answered, simply and that was all there was to it, wasn’t there? “And I’m not gonna tell you shit, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like that early, I dunno what was wrong with me.”

You wanted to press further, you wanted to ask him if he truly didn’t know the reason he acted like an asshole. You wanted to ask if he was jealous, if he wanted you the way you wanted him, if he missed you, if he thought about you when he went on all these dates, if he wanted to kiss you again, if he thought about it all the time, the same way that you did.

But Steve was still talking, fingers slipping from your face to pick at a stand of hair, playing with the end of it absentmindedly. The car felt too small, too warm and too dark, and you were sure that the last time you were both this close, you’d been in Steve's bed, wrapped around him as he made you come.

“He didn’t deserve even an hour of your time,” he told you, brows knitted together in a frown. “And you deserve better than Nate fucking Owens, you’re too good for him,” he repeated his statement from earlier and it made you chest ache, your tummy tumble over because god, you wanted to be brave.

“Who’s good enough then, Steve?” You breathed it out, voice almost a whisper because you were so close to losing it, to grabbing the boy by his face and telling him how you felt, how’d fallen in love with him fuck knows how many years ago and you’d only recently let yourself believe it.

He started, wide eyed, lips parted and waiting, the same reaction he’d had back at Family Video. But you didn’t walk away this time, you let out a huff of laughter, no humour in it as you sat back in the seat and started out of the windscreen. The gas station was deserted, the night creeping into a new day, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the light was still flickering.

It painted you both crimson, eyes brighter than they should’ve been, cheeks rosy. You pushed a foot to the dash, dress slipping up your thigh and gathering in the crease of your leg, showing off way too much skin but you didn’t care.

“I grew up with all the other guys in our grade knowing that I was Steve Harrington’s best friend,” you told him, voice hushed and cracking, “all of them too scared to touch me ‘cause your stupid ten year old ass always threatened to beat them up.”

He was still staring, lip twitching as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not because it was true. But then he watched a tear slip down your cheek and it caught the light, a flash of ruby before it got caught on your top lip and you licked it away.

“Then in high school, I was a challenge, ‘cause I was still Steve Harrington’s best fucking friend. Boy’s would either be terrified to talk to me or treat me like the best prize they could win. They thought I was off limits, some thought I was your girlfriend and god, Steve, fuck…”

You swallowed, hard, breath catching in your chest and the car was so silent, the boy watching, listening.

“I never thought that I wanted that, to be anything more than your friend. I didn’t,” you tried to sound convincing, but even to your own ears, your protests sounded weak. “But then you kissed me.”

You looked at him from under your lashes, hands twisted nervously in your lap, his sweater fisted between your fingers and you hated the way it smelled like him, like mint and cedar and smoke and suddenly, it was all too much.

“I know I asked you to,” you blurted out, eyes brimming with tears again, spilling over the line of your lashes and suddenly, you didn’t care about what you said anymore. “But fuck! Robin said that you never say no to me, that you’d do anything for me and god, I just wanted it once, I didn’t know it would go that far that night… I don’t regret it,” you rambled, words falling clumsily over the next and you chanced a look at him, his eyes full of shock but there was a softness behind it, familiar and fond. “I don’t regret it at all, I just-”

You sucked in a breath, let your head fall back onto the rest and let your eyes fall closed before you admitted another secret.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

You kept your eyes closed as you kept talking, the words, the confessions, falling so much easier now that you’d started. The dark made you feel a little bolder, the silence of the boy encouraging you to just keep spilling your heart out, no interruptions.

“I thought that maybe you would feel the same, that you’d say something first, ‘cause you’ve always been braver but then you started dating that girl, then the other one. And maybe I was just stupid, maybe I was wrong,” you sighed, gazing to the side to catch Steve’s eye, a warmth blooming over your entire body, embarrassment, adrenaline and the feeling that you were throwing yourself off a cliff surging over you. “But there was a part of me that thought you’d maybe figure out you loved me too.”

You didn’t know what you expected, really. There was such a large part of you that still believed you were only going to ever be friends, that if Steve wanted more, he would've told you by now. That part told you you were imagining things, that sleeping together was nothing more than an experiment, a product of being high and bored with your best friend. It told you to ignore the way you thought he looked at you, the way that sometimes, you were so sure his touch lingered for longer than it needed to.

But then there was a voice in the back of your head, a shit, it sounded a little like Robin’s and it told you that the boy before you would do anything for you, anything you asked. And wasn’t that why he was here now? It told you that friends didn’t look at each other like that, that friends didn’t have to untangle themselves from each other's arms each morning, that friends didn’t kiss like you had both done.

Steve whispered your name then, a hand reaching out to catch yours.

“You know I love you,” he whispered, voice a little shocked, a little awed. He sounded broken too, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. “I’ve always loved you, you’re my best friend.”

Your heart fell.

“I- I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve said and he was rambling, falling over his words as his eyes searched your face for something he wasn’t going to find. The softness you’d held in your features was gone. “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you-”

“Don’t call me that,” you choked out, your heart racing, your stomach twisting. You thought you might be sick. “Fuck, shit, take me home.”

You pulled your hand away from where the boy held it, your demand sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet of the car. You couldn’t look at him. The red light was still flashing, flickering and it suddenly felt like it was splitting your head in two, like it was pulsing to the same beat as your heart.

Steve said your name again, pleading, his hand on your arm, silently begging you to turn, to look at him.

“Can you let me explain? Please, god, I didn’t mean it like that, you have to understand-”

“Take me home, Steve, please.”

But he ignored you, tugging the keys out of the ignition and leaning forward, a hand tilting at your chin to try and a catch your gaze but your cheeks felt too hot and the burn at your eyes told you that you were going to start crying again and all you could think about was the list of boys who were too scared to make you theirs, too happy with a quick fuck in the back of their shitty cars and you never used to care because you were only ever happy with one boy.

You knew you should’ve let him talk, that you owed him his chance to speak but the burning sensation of embarrassment and rejection was creeping up your spine like poison and you hated it, you couldn’t stand it.

You panicked.

You pulled at the door handle, fingers clumsy as you pushed the door open, clambering out with Steve’s sweater still swamping your frame and you could hear the boy calling your name even after you slammed the door shut.

You made a start for the alleyway behind the gas station, somewhere the car couldn’t follow and by the time you made it a few streets over, you realised Steve wasn’t coming for you anyway.

You got halfway home before the rain started falling, a pathetic spit that misted into the air and soaked you through. It made your hair stick to your cheeks, Steve’s sweater damp and hanging heavy on your body and by the time you reached home, it didn’t smell like him anymore.

Good, you thought.

Because when you were eight years old, Steve Harrington was the first big to tell you he loved you and then he promised you three things:

One, he’d always be your best friend. Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. And three, he’d never break your heart.

It took almost twelve years, but shit, the boy finally broke one of them.

Take me out, and take me home.

It took Steve twelve years to break his promise to you, but only four days to fix it.

Which was impressive really, when he spent the first three days agonising over what to say to you. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, worse than the plague, quite frankly.

He expected you at work the next day, chest sore from holding his breath as he watched the door, eyes tired from staying up all night.

He’d stayed in that gas station parking lot for too long after you’d left, eyes wide as he watched you leave, disappearing behind the alleyway almost instantly.

Steve had slammed his hands on the dash, overwhelmed with everything you’d said, admitted to him, with glassy eyes and he fucking hated how he’d made your bottom lip tremble, your breath hitch and stutter as you tried not to cry.

He’d panicked.

And you’d left.

He’d driven home slowly, trying to catch sight of you on the sidewalks that led home, rolling down the streets that looked unfamiliar to see if you were there, trying to find shortcuts. When the rain had started, he’d cursed, no sight of you anywhere and by the time he’d pulled up outside your house, he was relieved to see your bedroom light on, a sign you’d made it home safely.

He wanted to knock on the door, to climb into your bedroom window and try to make you smile again, to stop you crying because he couldn’t fucking stand it when you cried, especially because of him.

But the window was shut, a rare sight and he knew it was a hint, a very obvious clue for him to stay the fuck away. He watched your light flicker off, the house bathed in darkness and he’d sat, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursing himself.

He should’ve told you, he shouldn’t have been so fucking scared.

You didn’t show up at work and when he asked Robin if she’d heard from you, the girl had told him that you were sick, had called in early and spoke to Keith.

“She’s put in a line for the entire week, actually, said it’s a bad bug,” Robin had told him knowingly. “Whatever you’ve done, Harrington, I suggest you fix it.”

Steve didn’t ask how Robin knew, didn’t press her for any more details, ‘cause he knew her too well, knew she wouldn’t tell him shit so he just slammed a video he was supposed to be rewinding on the desk, and sighed, heavy and tired.

“I know.”

You didn’t answer his calls. With your parents visiting family out of town, there was no one in the house but you and you made a point of refusing to pick up the phone at all.

Robin would visit, not bothering to knock as she slipped into your house, huffing and humming to herself as she climbed your stairs, barging into your room unannounced.

She set a careful gaze on you, a lump underneath the duvet, as she dumped your favourite snacks at the foot of your bed.

“You’re not sick, are you?” You hated how it didn’t even sound like a question, just an accusation. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

And you did, you told her everything from the joint, to your kiss, the entire night. You told her about Nate, about your confession, about the way Steve looked at you when you told him that you thought he loved you too.

Robin listened, curled up by your pillows beside you, your head on her shoulder and her cheek resting on yours, a bag of Reece’s Pieces between you both.

“I know that this probably isn’t what you wanna hear right now,” the girl began, patting your hand with her own, “you know, with you being all heart broken and what not.”

You huffed.

“But I don’t believe for a second that Steve doesn’t love you, that he isn’t in love with you.”

“Robin, please,” you groaned, shoving your face into her arm, because she was right, you didn’t wanna hear it. You’d spent too long trying to convince yourself that she was right, Steve was in love with you, only to blurt out your feelings for him and have him look at you, sheer panic on his face, in return.

She sighed, knowing it was useless trying to make you see her side of things, so she pushed her nose to your temple, blew a raspberry to the side of your head and stole another Reece’s Piece.

“Have you spoken to him?” She asked, voice unusually quiet.

You shook your head.

“Have you let him try?” The girl said knowingly.

You shook your head again.

Another huff, a somewhat affectionate butt of her head to yours and then she turned, shuffling against the pillows until you were face to face.

“He’s really broken up about this,” she told you and her words made you wanna cry again. “You need to let him explain.”

You sniffed, eyes watering and despite the ache that still lived in your chest, you nodded.

“‘Cause I don’t think you said things right, y’know?” Robin squinted at you, trying to make sense of what you’d told her Steve had said that night. “He’s a guy, shit, he’s Steve. Communication isn’t his strong point.”

“I don’t know what’s more clearer than ‘you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you’. Idiot or not, he made it pretty obvious that we’re never gonna be anything more.”

The movie that you had both hardly been watching was over, the screen fading to black and the credits rolling. A love song started to play, soppy and too cheery and you grunted, searching for the remote between the sheets before angrily pressing the off button. Silence fell over you and Robin snorted, flinging herself over your lap and looking up at you with a small smile.

She pressed a finger to the tip of your nose and you scowled.

“Ever think that maybe he’s just scared?”

Your frown deepened and you stared down at your friend, lips parted at the absurdity of her question.

“What?” You scoffed. “I’ve watched him take down a demogorgon with a baseball bat, Robin, the boy isn’t scared of much anymore-”

“He also got his heart broken by the first girl he told he loved,” Robin interrupted. “He dates girls that he isn’t really interested in, that are the complete opposite of you. His folks are never around, he’s made his own family out of his friends.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick, your chest tight.

“You're probably the most constant thing in his life, y’know,” she mused, voice unbearably soft. The girl brought a hand up to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture fond. “He’s always had you, maybe he’s just scared to fuck things up and lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You didn't want to. ‘Cause that stupid burn was scratching at your eyes again, at the back of your throat and you were so done with crying, you were so over pushing your face into your pillow to dry your face.

Robin sat up suddenly, stretching and bending down to pull on her shoes. She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth before smacking a kiss to your cheek and you were still silent, bundled up between pillows and blankets in bed.

“Talk to him, babe,” she told you, heading for the door without any other goodbye, “ I’m sure he’s got a lot to say.”

Fuck.

You picked and put down your phone six times before you decided to pull on your shoes and start walking. It didn’t take long to walk from yours to the Harrington’s, but you moved at a snail's pace, playing tightrope along the edge of the sidewalk before you stopped at the corner of Steve’s street, heart suddenly ready to burst from your chest. The sun started to set as you waited, hesitating. The sky turned from blue to lilac, tangerine and peach and the air became still.

You walked up his front path, hand raised, ready to knock.

It was a sparkler between your ribs kinda feeling, jump off a cliff kind of feeling, take a shot of tequila kind of feeling, risk fucking everything kind of feeling.

You’d walked away from the boy, his words stuck in his throat, your name dying on his lips and now you were ready to make it up to him. ‘Cause Steve was right, whatever either of you felt, you couldn’t lose him either.

The idea of rejection hurt, but not having Steve Harrington in your life hurt even more.

So you knocked.

Once, twice, three times, but no one answered. His car was in the drive, no parents to be seen and you took a deep breath before you plucked up the courage to open the door like you normally could.

Your footsteps echoed in the large hallway and the only sound you could hear came from the backyard, the tinny sound of music playing from outside. You found him there, spread out lazy by the edge of the pool, shirt off, one leg dipped into the water and his hair messy from swimming and the leftover heat from the day.

Shadows from the tree branches above fell over him, cutting through the gold light, streaks of pink and rose painting his skin pretty and you stood for just a second, watching through the open patio doors.

You tugged anxiously at the tagged hem of your shorts, the T-shirt you’d tucked into it suddenly feeling too constricting and you wanted to pull at the collar, you wanted to take off running again, because the sight of him hurt.

Before you could step out into the last patch of sun, Steve sat up, muscles flexing, pool water swirling and he froze, lips parted and staring at you.

It had only been four days since you’d last seen him, but it felt like far too much time had passed. You hadn’t gone that long without him in years, not since your parents told you that they were taking you to Utah to spend a summer with your grandparents. They’d cut the trip short by two weeks, aggravated and done with their fifteen year old daughter who didn’t shut up about how much she kissed her best friend.

Yearly trips to the lake house with the Harrington’s resumed the summer after that.

The boy whispered your name as if he’d scare you off and he sounded tired, sounded a little broken, just like Robin had said.

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, stepping out into the yard and into the streak of sun that stretched across the patio. It warmed you, skin lit up, a golden glow slanting over both of you and even from where you stood, Steve’s eyes looked like honey.

“Hey.”

He stood, a hand raking through his still damp hair, making it even messier than usual and he mimicked you, hand raised, wingers waggling shyly, as if you hadn’t known each other for seventeen years.

“I was just coming to see you,” Steve admitted and he sounded as nervous as you felt. “I tried calling you. A lot.”

You nodded, feeling guilty and it burned at your chest. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve nodded, bare foot scuffling against the slabs and you wanted to crawl back into your bed, already feeling defeated. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this with Steve.

“I was gonna come round, you know,” Steve started again, gesturing to you, he looked lost, a little helpless. “Before now I mean… I just- I didn’t wanna upset you and you didn’t answer the phone so I just,” he shrugged, looking at the pool instead of you. “I didn��t wanna upset you any more.”

Almost silence; the trickle of the pool filter, the buzz of insects, the sway of the wind in the tree branches.

And then, “I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice softer than before. “A lot.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding then, feet moving forward and you let yourself fall into one of the loungers, a space beside the pool that was so overly familiar.

You looked at the boy then, and god, he was the last cherry popsicle, he was sunshine, he was summer, he was full of promises and all your secrets, he was late nights and early mornings, first crushes and last kisses.

“I’ve missed you too,” you told him, voice hurting with sincerity.

It seemed to be all the boy needed to surge into action, because he relaxed at your admission, moving to the other lounger so he could sit across from you, bare knees almost bumping and he was leaning forward, invading your senses and he smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, mint and cedar and boy and summer and Steve.

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” you told him, eyes suddenly filling with tears because you were so embarrassed by it all. From your outburst to your storming away, leaving the boy sitting confused after he’d come to get you. “I just- I couldn’t sit there and handle the rejection, I never should have said anything, it was so stupid of me-”

You were stopped by his hand reaching out and covering your own, that familiar warmth of his fingers twisting between yours, a wide, rough palm, calloused on your own.

You looked at him, cheeks warm with your ramblings and he sighed, affection radiating from him as he gazed at you. He didn’t look confused this time, or panicked. Maybe a little bit scared but there was something else there and it shone a little brighter.

“Sweetheart, I never once tried to reject you,” Steve huffed out a soft laugh, “shit, I don’t think I could if my life depended on it.”

“What?” You froze, brows knitting together as you replayed the same conversation you both had in the car and you shook your head, confused. “You literally told me I was your best friend, Steve, that you couldn’t lose me.”

“And that’s true!” He burst out, “you just never let me finish!”

He sighed, using his free hand to scrub over his face and he took a deep breath before he faced you again.

“I panicked.” He said it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m so sorry babe but I fuckin’ panicked. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you, you can’t even fucking imagine how long. I just didn’t wanna mess it up, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk not having you.”

A sound of surprise left your lips at his words and you wanted to laugh at the irony of them, ‘cause yes, yes could imagine. But you kept quiet, letting the boy speak, making up for how you didn’t last time. You squeezed his hand instead, hoping it was reassuring enough.

You watched him lick his lips as he thought about his next words and your brows rose when he suddenly moved, kneeling in front of you and tapping at your knee, silently asking for you to spread your legs and let him in. You did, almost embarrassed by the lack of hesitation on your par but Steve moved into the space tour created for him, suddenly too close.

You exhaled a little slower, could count the new freckles on his nose, could see the small scar that cut through his brow, the one you gave him when you were seven and pillow fights got too boisterous.

He smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, a touch that brought comfort and he took another deep breath, readying himself for what he wanted to tell you.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” he said slowly, each word dropping like an atom bomb and you wondered if the earth was shaking. “Maybe longer, I was probably too stupid to work it out before then.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and Steve grinned at the sound.

“It took me a little while,” he admitted, gaze lowering as if he were suddenly shy, “I didn’t know the difference between loving you and being in love with you. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember.”

His fingers found the frayed hem of your shorts, twisting the strands between his fingers absentmindedly.

“I remember Nancy telling me that, uh,” he cleared his throat, words catching on his lips with nerves and hesitation, “she uh, told me that I didn’t love her like I thought I did. That I was in love with someone else.”

You inhaled sharply, remembering the girl telling you something similar that day on the bench. You’d been confused and a little irritated at her, defensive maybe, now that you looked back on it. You remembered the way she twisted her lips to hide a grin that she didn’t want to annoy you with, eyes all too knowing.

“I kinda realised then,” Steve nodded, eyes finding yours from under his lashes and god, you wondered when his face had moved so close to yours. “She was totally right, I just didn’t really wanna admit it.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice a little sad, ‘cause that had been years ago, and you felt overlooked, like so many missed opportunities had passed you both by and god, were the two of you really that stupid?

“I was stupid!” Steve burst out and you laughed, a little sad with watery eyes but shit, you were too. “So I kept dating random girls, anyone, really. Tried to take my mind off you, tried to forget about you in my bed.”

God, the memory made you burn.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, still leaning into you, eyes closed like he was at confession. “Asking you out on a date seemed so ridiculous when I already know you better than anyone else.”

Your nose grazed Steve’s, and you let out a small sigh because as much as you were hurt by it all, you understood. You and Steve had seen every movie there was to see, had taken trips out of town to every concert, spent too many evenings at burger joints and ice cream parlours. You probably wouldn’t have guessed you were on a date with the boy unless he was in a tux and there was a chandelier above you.

And that seemed like a big ask.

“I would’ve loved to go on a date with you,” you said anyway, cause the idea of Steve pulling up outside your door with flowers in his hand gave you butterflies, tugging at your heart in a way that made you warm.

“Yeah?” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you nodded.

He moved impossibly closer still, cheek to cheek so he could find your ear with his lips, hands moving to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside.

“I spent so long tryin’ to work up the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend,” his admission sounded like his biggest secret yet and you held your breath as he whispered it to you. “So long that years passed and we got older and suddenly the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t seem enough.”

It was strange, but you knew what Steve meant. The word seemed too arbitrary, too normal, to describe the relationship you had with each other, how you felt about the other.

“I know,” you told him, voice just as soft and quiet as his. “I’d still like to be yours though.”

His grin was contagious, warmer than the sun that was starting to set, brighter than the rays on the pool and you swore the world was spinning a little faster in excitement, as if the planets and the moon were just as happy as you were.

“Yeah?” He asked, low and rough, nose pressing to your cheek, lips just brushing yours.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed, waiting, wanting.

“Can we always be this close?” Steve asked, and you melted a little at the question, at that soft sincerity he always managed to give you.

“Yeah, god, please,” you answered and your voice sounded a little husky, a little pleading because you couldn’t imagine anything else. “Can you kiss me, now?”

The boy swore under his breath, the curse mixing with a huff of laughter and he smiled against you, mouth pressing happy to your cheek and you beamed at him, lashes tickling his skin, both of you warm against the other.

“Could never really figure out how to say no to you, y’know that?” He whispered, as if he was giving away a secret. Steve let his lips hover over yours, his hands wrapping around the small of your back, fingers playing with your belt loops, pulling you flush with him. Your hands smoothed over his bare chest and around his neck, skin hot with the sun, with being near you.

“Can I take you on a date?”

Something bloomed inside of you, wildflowers between your ribs, a new day of summer, a heatwave in your chest.

“If I say yes, will you kiss me?” you asked, a little bratty, a little teasing. You’d waited so long for both, you didn’t know what you wanted first.

But then Steve was pushing into you, lips pressing down onto your own, his hand along the underside of your jaw as he used his thumb to push a little under your chin, tilting you up to his mouth so he could lick into you, adoration pouring into you. You felt the way he loved you, like the way everyone else saw it. It still felt new, his lips on yours, new in an exciting way, new in a ‘god, I could get used to this’ way.

“Lemme take you on a date,” he said again, a smile on his lips, pressing it to yours and his voice was sunshine but rougher, even warmer and it made you smile that cheek hurting kinda smile.

You nodded.

“You still my best friend, Harrington?”

Steve pulled back to look at you, eyes shining. “That and more, sweetheart.” And when he said that, it felt enough. ‘More’.

“You still gonna protect me from everything bad and scary?” You nudged the tip of your nose to his, voice sweet.

“With everything I have in me,” he answered honestly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching your laughter. “Baseball bat and all.”

“Promise you won’t break my heart?” You asked, forehead to his, eyes full of every emotion you felt. Love, excitement, fear, hope, nervousness, adoration.

“Promise you won’t break mine?” Steve whispered back, a hand on your cheek, thumb grazing over your lip.

“I promise,” you told him, hands gripping right at his shoulders, running across the nape of his neck, diving into his hair.

“I promise,” he repeated, and shit, you believed him.

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

#dear writers who post oneshots that are 20k long #i fucking love you #this is the best length for one shot fics you can’t change my mind

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

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the way this was written made it possible for me to truly see EVERYTHING in my head. i read this weeks ago and i can still picture the locations and scenes in my mind like i’d seen them with my own eyes

Bad For Business

Steve Harrington x fem!reader An enemies to lovers AU. Join the team at the Upside Down Arcade, where the machines eat your quarters and the staff have some personal issues. Stay tuned for the Pick Your Own Adventure polls to progress in the story.

LEVEL ONE LEVEL TWO LEVEL THREE LEVEL FOUR LEVEL FIVE LEVEL SIX LEVEL SEVEN LEVEL EIGHT LEVEL NINE LEVEL TEN

G A M E O V E R

THE BONUS LEVEL 🕹️

THE HIDDEN LEVELS 👾

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

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no i don’t think u understand… i’m obsessed

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART ONE

Steve Harrington x fem!reader[33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

She drives me crazy and I can’t help myself.

By week four, you were in need of a break. And when a scheduled day off of yours finally aligned with Robins, you wasted no time in organising some time out of camp. A small trip to another nearby lake, one without yelling kids and sun bleached kayaks.

The sun was high, the air was warmer than ever and the promise of a day in the water sounded like magic. You wanted green lakes, blue skies and roads lined with trees. You wanted the mountains in front of you and the camp in the distance for a few hours, music that you got to pick, and a bikini that wasn’t uniform regulated.

You’d packed a cooler, cans of beer that Jonathan had snuck into camp for you both, sandwiches from Bob and you a pile of junk food that would go great with the joint Robin had been tasked from getting from Eddie.

You didn’t expect your friend to meet you at the staff parking lot with the boy in tow, grin sheepish and her baseball cap jammed backwards on her head.

“Hey, Munson,” you greeted easily, if not a little confused. You stood by your car, cooler at your feet, looking between the pair.

Something suspicious was going on and it tugged at your gut.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he smiled, eyeing up your car like it was being evaluated. “Yeah, I don’t think this gonna fit us all, y’know.”

You turned, wide eyed to Robin and she flushed before kicking at a stray rock.

“Come again?”

Eddie grinned, slapping a hand to your shoulder before gesturing to Robin. “Buckley invited us to join you both. She said music, swimming and food, and I was all, how could I say no to that?”

But you weren’t really listening to much else the boy said, the summer turning warmer around you because all you could focus on, all that seemed to matter was:

“Us?”

But then another bag was being dumped beside yours, the smell of cedar and mint and boy filling the air and you didn’t even bother looking before you were shaking your head at Robin.

“No.” You stated, deadpan. “No, no way.”

Steve grinned, leaning against your car like he hadn’t a care in the world and he tilted his head towards Robin and Eddie, rolling his eyes as he said, “see?”

It was unfair that he looked good, soft jeans that weren’t as tight as the ones he usually wore, the knees worn and ripped from time. But in the time that you spent observing him, eyes trailing up and down the tall length of him, you didn’t notice how Steve did the same to you.

Not that it mattered. ‘Cause you went back to glaring at Robin, palm thrown out to gesture at Steve and you didn��t really care that the back of your hand rapped against his chest.

“Ow,” he muttered.

You ignored him.

“Why is he here?“

You didn’t care that it sounded like you were whining, voice petulant if not a little panicked because the idea of spending an entire day at a lake with Steve Harrington filled you with a cacophony of emotions. Your stomach tumbled, twisted, dipped.

Instead of Robin answering, Eddie raised a hand like he was a kid in a classroom, smiled all soft and warm at you.

“‘Cause I am.“

You groaned. It was extremely difficult to be mad at Eddie Munson.

“I need out of this camp just as much as you do, princess,” Steve scoffed, “Henderson keeps going on about someone called Vecna and how he needs a bard.”

“Well, take your own car!” You grumbled, toeing at the backpack he’d dropped by your feet. It felt heavy, cold with the cans of beer that were shoved inside. “Find another lake, preferably far from ours and deep enough so that no one will be able to find your body.”

“Charming,” Steve snarked, but he was already peering into your car windows, a frown on his face. “Yeah, no, my car needs an oil change and the nearest mechanic doesn’t open ‘til Monday.”

He pulled at your back door, ignoring your squeak of protest and you burned when a cassette or two fell out, followed by one trainer and an empty Gatorade bottle.

“Jesus Christ, I’m not getting in this.”

You shoved at the boy, your shoulder nudging his until he relented and moved aside, letting you slam the door. You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyance already simmering in your chest, an all too familiar feeling.

“As if I’d let you,” you huffed, “besides, the seatbelts don’t work in the back.”

“Have I told you recently that your car is a piece of shit?”

You glared at Steve, overly aware that you were once again standing far too close to each other and that you most definitely had an audience. You didn’t really have an argument, you knew your old car was lacking in several areas. Speed, reliability, cleanliness, maybe.

“Not everyone’s daddy can buy them a shiny BMW, Harrington.”

“Don’t act cute,” Steve tutted, “I bought that car myself.”

You rolled your eyes before pushing away from him, shoulders nudging once more in a final act of defiance. The birds were singing, the morning was bright and you were already far too angry for what should have been considered healthy.

But then Eddie was clapping his hands together, still grinning wide beside Robin and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the old van that was parked at a weird angle beside the trees.

“Guess I’m driving, huh?”

The minute the bags were loaded in the back of Eddie’s van, Robin rushed to the passengers door, hopping into the seat with a grunt and grinning as she hung out the open window.

“Sorry, lover boy,” she called to Steve, eyes innocent except for the wicked flash of a smirk across her lips. “I get travel sick.”

“That’s a damn lie,” you glared at her, wondering how this morning had gone to shit so quickly.

The temperature was climbing as the early hours slipped away, the sky turning from pink to lilac, blue around the edges and the sun coming through the canopy trees was brighter and stronger than before. You could hear the kids in the mess hall, the smell of breakfast and the buzz of conversation.

Eddie stood between you and Steve, far too amused as the back doors of the van sat open, the shag rug carpet and mismatched cushions waiting. Steve looked at you and back into the truck, eyes wary, like he was weighing up his options.

“I could drive, man,” Steve offered, hands shoved into his pockets and trying to avoid your gaze.

You scoffed, unsure if you were relieved or offended that he didn’t want to spend the hours drive with you, trapped in the back together.

Eddie tried to smother the smile he couldn’t help but give him, fist pressed to his mouth and he levelled the other boy with a mirthful stare.

“Really? I thought you hated driving my van?”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

“I mean, you can if you want,” Eddie told him, his voice all caramel soft, he sounded like he was goading Steve when he turned to you, all sticky sweet smiles, “I don’t mind riding with Hawkins here, I’ll keep you right when the road gets bumpy.” He winked and offered his keys to Steve, silver dangling from a ringed finger.

The only sounds came from the forest.

Then, a sigh, rough and low, before Steve pushed past Eddie and his outstretched hand, the keys jingling as they went ignored.

“Doesn’t matter, your clutch is fucked,” Steve clambered into the back of the van, gaze steady on the floor as he threw himself down onto a beanbag, ignoring Robin’s snickering. “It’s annoying as shit.”

Eddie grinned.

The drive was silent for the most part, at least for the first twenty twenty minutes. The road out of camp took you through the forest, past the river that led to the lake and when the cabins were too far away to see, you finally relaxed.

Until Robin made a fuss of finding some music that wasn’t Black Sabbath or any other band she’d declared migraine inducing, and finally she held up a cassette with a small noise of triumph.

“Prince, Eddie? Didn’t peg you as the type,” she told him coyly whilst Steve snorted from the back beside you.

“Hey now, Prince is perfectly acceptable,” Eddie argued, the tips of his ears turning red under his curls. “I am a man of mixed taste.”

“Sure you are,” Robin placated as she slid the tape into the player.

The roads were becoming less smooth as you neared your destination, favouring smaller, forgotten lanes as you passed the bigger lakes, flashes of blue and green flying past the small window in the back.

The journey became more bumpy as you all turned off into a track that took you through a part of a forest, the van manoeuvring itself over overgrown roots that interrupted the trail, a too big rock making the truck shake. And as the opening guitar riff of Prince’s ‘Kiss’, started to play, you were sent into Steve’s side, the van bouncing with Eddie’s efforts to get you all to the water's edge.

You scrambled to right yourself, moving away from the boy as if you’d been stung and the sudden proximity was jarring. You’d managed to spend the majority of the journey on either end of the van, backs pressed to the metal sides and you’d only just moved into the middle so you could lean over the front bench to take a handful of M&M’s from Robin.

But the jostle of the drive meant that you landed on Steve’s lap, clumsy and in no way meant, but your back was suddenly pressed to his chest and out of instinct, his hands caught your waist before your head could jerk back and slam into his nose.

‘I just need your body, baby, from dusk 'til dawn…’

“Fuck,” you whispered, desperate to not draw attention to the position the two of you were in, but Robin was snickering and Eddie caught sight of you in the rear view mirror and he let out a low whistle.

“Christ, kids, at least wait until Robin and I are out.”

“Fuck off,” you and Steve both snarled, voices mixing as you shoved away from each other.

The rest of the drive went like that, no matter how much you and Steve tried to cling to opposites of the van. The road got rougher as the lake came into view, blue green water meeting bluer skies, the beginnings of mountains and forests lining its edges.

Your shoulders brushed with Steve’s, hips bumping, hands falling onto tops of hands, pinky fingers grazing as you both tried to stay upright and by the time the van parked up beside a sandy dip in the grass, you were both burning with the exertion of the journey and all the casual touching.

Steve burst out of the van before anyone else, the engine not even switched off and the back doors brought in fresh air, bright sun and the smell of pine.

The lake was on the smaller side, no jetty’s to tie a boat to, no long stretches of beach that became home to little kids and their buckets and spades. In fact, the four of you were the only ones there. The silence was dizzying, the views almost too pretty, and it was complete bliss before Eddie jumped out of the driver’s seat and grinned.

He threw his hands up, his head back, messy curls tumbling as he let out a loud whoop, a noise that bounced off of the cliffs before the forest on the other side of the water swallowed it whole.

You smiled properly for the first time that morning, Robin on your left, Steve on your right, as you all watched the city boy tear off his shirt, jeans abandoned on the way before leaping into the shallow water.

The day went like that.

Genuine happiness from four twenty somethings that were just trying to do enough to get by. You knew your co-workers loved Camp Upside Down as much as you did, it’s why you all returned summer after summer. But there was something different about being able to stretch out along sand, Robin’s head resting on your bare stomach ‘cause you’d pulled your shirt over your head the minute you’d lay down.

Your unbuttoned shorts showed off the edges of a cherry red bikini, something you weren’t allowed to wear during work. The boys splashed in the lake, the campfire burned and you’d even reluctantly shared your lunch with Steve - half of your sandwich for some of the potato salad he’d managed to scrounge from that day's lunch prep.

It was the burn of the sun and cool lake water, sand between your toes, stolen towels from camp, the smell of smoke and the taste of lukewarm beer. It was quiet, it was loud, it was the crackle of Eddie’s van stereo flooding out from its open doors, it was power naps with your cheek pressed to your bundled up shirt, watching Eddie throw himself from tree branches, laughing until your stomach hurt and it was not arguing with Steve Harrington.

Not really.

Not like before.

And when Eddie retired to the back of the van to close his eyes and get out of the sun for a bit, Robin swam back to shore and got herself comfortable in the sand, a sketch pad in one hand and a case of pencils at her still wet feet.

It left you and Steve together in the lake, deep enough that your feet couldn’t touch the bottom and you swam lazy circles around each other, floating on your backs, water lapping at your ears and your chin tilted up to the sun.

It was nice. It was easy.

Every now and then, the lake pulled you both closer, bobbing on what little current there was until your outstretched fingertips brushed the boys and you were both startled from whatever daze you’d fallen into.

Eventually, you couldn’t find it in you to care too much, not when it happened again and again and again. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the heat, maybe you were just too lazy. But it’s how you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with Steve, bare legs brushing, skin slick with lake water and leftover sunscreen.

You kept your eyes closed when you finally spoke, like it would make you braver, like you could keep your words a secret.

“Why do you hate me?”

There was a pause after you spoke, a dead space in the water between you both and you could feel that Steve had opened his eyes. The water moved, splashed at your cheek and you felt his head turn, his gaze on you.

“Who said I hate you?”

The tips of his fingers were still brushing yours.

You laughed and it sounded nervous, a soft noise of embarrassment, like a girl with a crush. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

“You argue with me about everything, you look like you wanna kill me every time I open my mouth near you and you’re constantly finding new ways to wind me up.” You told him casually, like it was nothing new, like it was normal. And it had been, for as long as you could remember. “I’d say that insinuates an annoyance, at least.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you, princess.” Steve smirked, “what if arguing with you was the best part of my day, huh?”

His reply made your eyes flutter open, heavy as if you’d been pulled from sleep, from a dream and the sudden reality of your situation made you dip further into the lake, your legs pulling you down and your feet kicked to keep you afloat.

Steve mirrored you, easily treading water as the surface swallowed half his face, his eyes impossibly golden as they stared back at you. You were a foot apart, maybe two, and you realised rather quickly that you missed the closeness of him.

“Don’t lie,” you scoffed but there was something about the way Steve was looking at you that made you feel doubtful. “What’s next, pulling my hair at recess?”

Steve laughed, a genuine burst of amusement from his lips that didn’t sound sarcastic for once. He let himself fall back, the water lapping at his shoulders and he grinned at you, the soles of his feet brushing up against your thighs, just for a second.

“I dunno,” he looked a little pink around the cheeks, his smile nothing short of scandalous. “Would that do it for you?”

Your mouth fell open.

This was a fight that you weren’t sure you could win, his teasing words no longer a taunt, the conversation no longer an argument. Steve looked at you with the same fire he always had though, a challenge in his eyes that you desperately wanted to rise to. It wasn’t really a fight, no, not anymore.

But you still wanted to win.

“Guess you’ll never know,” you shrugged, smug when Steve grinned wider.

—————

The drive back to camp was a world away from the journey in the morning. You climbed into the back of the van with Steve without argument, all four of you soft and lazy from a day under the sun, hours treading water, throwing your tired bodies from small rocks and cliffs.

The sun had warmed the truck, the air smelling like boy and coffee and a little weed, and you were slack as you fell into the cushions, not really caring that your foot was pressed against Steve’s thigh.

Robin turned the radio on, the tinny crackle of static making the music seem softer and Eddie hummed along as he drove, the trees outside creating dappled shadows across everyone’s sunburnt skin.

It was nice, it was peaceful.

Your hair was still damp, your skin smelling like sunscreen and the lake, lemonade and cheap beer on your tongue and you didn’t really care when the rough road out of the forest sent you bumping into Steve’s side again.

His hand caught your waist to steady you, a wide, warm palm on bare skin because you hadn’t bothered to button your shirt back up, the sides hanging open on your shoulders, the bright red of your bikini a reminder of the day spent in the water.

Your shared conversation in the lake hung in the air as Eddie drove you all home, the long haired boy and Robin oblivious to it. But it fizzed in the back of the van like a firework waiting to pop, the anticipation of wondering what colours would fill the air when it did. It felt like the slow climb to the top of a rollercoaster, it felt like the night before a storm, it felt like what if?

When you arrived back at camp, dinner was over and the kids were lingering, heads tilted to the sky that was uncharacteristically dark, navy clouds looming overheard with the threat of rain. You’d left the sun behind, hanging over a different lake, along with a different side of yours and Steve’s relationship.

You didn’t know what to say when the four of you clambered out of Eddie’s van, Robin and the other boy talking happily about music and Robin’s sketches, rucksacks over their shoulders as Steve awkwardly handed you the empty cooler.

You mumbled a thanks, suddenly shy and you stood at the back of the van, waiting to see if Steve would say something, if you would be brave enough to say anything.

But then the sky split, the clouds crashed and rain tore down on the camp.

You all scrambled under the canopy of the trees, yelling swears between laughter and the sound of the kids screeching was drowned out by the rumble of thunder, the on-shift counsellors telling everyone to return to their cabins.

No one really said goodbye, the rain making you all run to your bunks, the day ending without so much as another shared glance. So you tripped through the trees with your hair plastered to your forehead, laughing when Robin stumbled in mud and shrieked. By the time you both made it home, you were giggling on the porch, skin soaked, shirt and shorts sticking to you and Robin was wide eyed.

“Wait! I’m going to Vickie’s!” She almost shouted, barely heard over the roar of the rain, the rumble above.

You laughed, incredulous as you watched her run back out into the downpour.

“You’re what?!”

“Vickie’s cabin!” She called back, “no one’s gonna care where everyone is when we’re all stuck inside!”

And then she was gone, probably for the night, you assumed.

That’s why you were surprised when there was a knock on the door fifteen minutes later, the rain still falling, the day turning to night quicker than normal as the clouds stayed heavy, the forest dark.

Everywhere smelled like damp moss and pine, wet bark and the lingering smoke from the campfire that had long been ruined. You’d only managed to drag a brush through your hair, the strands tangled and partly dry, your shorts uncomfortable on your skin and your shirt hanging off one shoulder.

You answered the door, not sure who to expect, not sure why Robin would be knocking, why anyone would be out in this weather.

When you saw Steve standing there, you realised that the boy hadn’t even been an option. Surprise coloured you, mouth falling open at the sight of him on the porch, drenched, shirt sticking to him, almost translucent and his hair a wet riot.

He was holding a blanket, the soft knitted one you’d taken from your bed to use on the beach that day. It was half soaked from where he’d hidden in under his arm, running through the rain from his cabin to yours.

You stared, shocked.

“I think, uh, I think I shoved this in my bag by accident.”

He was yelling over the dim of rain, the world noisy around you both, the forest creating chaos, a whole other kind of fight. It was waiting, it was wondering if you were going to join in.

“It couldn’t wait?” You cried back, completely bemused by Steve’s decision to come over for nothing more than a stupid blanket.

But the boy was struggling to respond, shoulders shrugging, cheeks pink and looking a little wild. Thunder grumbled above, the trees swayed and a drop of rain slid down Steve’s cheek, rolling over the curve of his lip.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, voice too honest, “it probably could’ve, yeah.”

It happened like the storm, the slow roll of electricity over your skin, a building in the atmosphere, something in the air that told you that something big was coming.

And Steve was still standing there, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath, and neither could you when he was looking at you like that.

Rain soaked shirt, brown hair sticking to his forehead and falling into his eyes, all flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“Was that everything?” You asked, voice almost too quiet to be heard over the sound of thunder above, the sky goading you, telling you to say something else.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Steve said and it sounded like a lie, it sounded too sweet. “Maybe? I- I don’t know.”

You swallowed, chest bursting, heart pounding, ‘cause it felt like you were supposed to be waiting for something more, something spectacular, something that you were supposed to give into a long time ago. And then:

“Christ, fuck it-”

He was crashing into you, arms tugging you into him rather than wrapping around you and you let him, Jesus fucking Christ, you let him, a gasp that sounded like a moan falling from your lips as he kissed you.

Your hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, the other tugging into his damp hair and the sounds he made against your mouth were obscene. Nothing about this was gentle, nothing about Steve was soft. He was pushing you both backwards, into the cabin and out of the storm with his hands gripping hard on your waist, crescent moon marks left on your skin and it was sinful, it was too good, it wasn’t enough.

You pulled where he pushed, tugging him into you, the door slamming shut and the rain pounding in the wooden roof. The kiss was messy, heated, another fight you both wanted to win.

It tasted like the storm, like mint and the woods and Steve, and it said: fuck you, fuck me, I don’t hate you at all.

It was a kiss that was wildly different to the one you shared at the gym, the one with an audience, a kiss that was supposed to be nothing more than a dare. This kiss was all teeth and tongue, wandering hands that grabbed at exposed skin, pulled and shoved shirts out of the way so you could touch and touch and touch.

The lack of sun outside made the cabin a little darker, the small light by your bed casting nothing but a weak glow and moody shadows, perfect for hiding feelings in. You pulled Steve into the room, clumsy feet tripping over a shoe or two, the strap of a bag, the blanket that he dropped to the floor in favour of holding you.

No one spoke, not apart from letting out hushed curses, swears that sounded like prayers, unholy noises that came from the back of your throats, whines and begs that came from years of tension.

Robin's notebook hit the floor, pencils and pens rolling with it when you stumbled into the desk and Steve grabbed the backs of your thighs, hauling you onto it. He was licking into your mouth with a greed you’d never experienced before, a hand on your cheek, telling you to tilt your head this way and that so he could kiss you deeper, kiss you filthier.

It was fun to fight back a little, grabbing at the hair at the nape of his neck in return, fisting it in your hand and pulling until he groaned for you, lips faltering against your own and attacking your neck instead.

Your legs were around his waist and you weren’t sure how it happened. You knew you didn’t mind, you didn’t care, not anymore. Because Steve’s hand was curled around your knee, hiking your leg further up his hip so he could move into the space between your thighs.

The sounds you were letting out were a little pathetic, small sighs and whines, asking for more without saying the words and all you could do was pull the boy into you and open your mouth for him when he used his thumb to tug at your bottom lip.

He kissed you like he wanted to argue about it afterwards.

“Shit,” you gasped, eyes rolling back when he rocked into you, body pressed against yours, all wet clothes and rain damp skin. “Steve.”

The groan that ripped from his chest was absolute sin, lips leaving yours to press his face into your neck, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Say that again.”

You were confused until you realised that you weren’t sure of the last time you called the boy by his actual name. No Harrington, no wonder boy, no asshole, no douchebag.

At least, not right now.

It made your head swim, the hold he had on you, literal and figurative, because for the first time in your life, you did as the boy asked.

It was a whimper against his ear, mouth moving deliberately against the shell of it, all dirty and coy. Your lips brushed his earlobe, your hand cupped his jaw and you canted your hips into his, just the once.

“Steve.”

A dam burst and you couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous Steve Harrington looked when he lost all the composure he liked to pretend he had.

“Oh god, holy shit,” he was back on you, all lips and tongue and teeth and hands, “you sound so fuckin’ pretty, so good, fuck.”

You whined in response, a high, keening noise that you didn’t even recognise but you were on fire, burning in all the places that his lips touched. You weren’t gentle with each other, hands grabbing, tugging, getting as close as you possibly could and you needed more, now.

“Steve…”

He moaned again, whispered your name back to you like a prayer and god, he was right, it sounded so good coming from his lips like that.

“What d’you want?” Steve asked, low and rough, his lips on your neck, skating across your pulse. “What d’you need, huh? Tell me.”

You wanted everything, all of it at once. You wanted his lips, his tongue, his mouth, you wanted his hands, you wanted him naked, you wanted him under you, above you, against you. You wanted his noises, you wanted to make him moan, to make him swear, to make him throw his head back and call out your name.

You wanted him.

You wanted Steve fucking Harrington.

Instead you said, “-want more, need more.”

Another groan, a disbelieving sound, one that you shared with him, because Steve was running the flat of his palm across your throat, fingers curling briefly before they splayed out and ran the length of your body.

They trailed down your chest, down between the thin, red straps of your bikini, between the open sides of your shirt and they landed on the still wet band of your shorts, a finger tapping across the button.

“D’you want me to touch you?”

Jesus Christ, you couldn’t stand it. You squirmed on the desktop, legs tightening around the boy’s waist to gain some much needed friction but Steve moved his other hand to your thigh, holding you still.

“C’mon baby, use your words,” Steve murmured. “You’re usually so good at that.”

Baby.

It shouldn’t have made your heart stutter, it shouldn’t have made you wetter than you already were. But it did, fuck, it did.

You leaned back, hands on the table and chest heaving, your shirt sliding from your shoulders and your head hitting the wall. You stared at the boy through your lashes, lips parted and glossy from his kisses.

You looked wrecked and Steve fucking adored it.

“Touch me,” you wriggled again, hissed when he tightened his hand around the curve of your thigh, a delightful sting on your skin. “Steve.”

He huffed out a laugh then, mixed with a moan, and he smiled at you, sticky sweet. “Say please, princess.”

Absolutely not.

“In your dreams, Harrington,” you gasped out, a laugh lacing your breath.

‘Make me,’ is what you meant.

Steve tsked, grinning. “So stubborn,” he said.

‘Challenge accepted,’ is what he wanted to say.

And then you were kissing again, deep, slow passes over each other’s lips, teeth catching, tongues soothing and the boy swallowed every moan and gasp you gave him. His hand found your neck, cupping it to move you the way he wanted, head tilted so he could kiss you even harder.

Steve kissed like he argued, like it was his favourite hobby, like he wanted to have the last word, steal the breath from your lungs and leave you shaking.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tugged a little mean when you nipped his lip almost too hard and you surprised even yourself with the sound that left your mouth.

Steve pulled back from you, just a little, just so his nose brushed against yours and you could see the dark glitter of his eyes.

“Well, would y’look at that,” he murmured and his voice was tougher than you’d ever heard, sticky honey and a storm, “I guess you do like that.”

You were reminded of your conversation in the lake and you flushed, hating the smug expression on the boy’s face, hating that you liked it even more.

Steve was real fucking pretty when he was proving you wrong.

But you didn’t say anything, didn’t give him the satisfaction of an argument, you just just shoved him backwards, following the way he stumbled until you were pulling him back into you, pushed onto your toes so you could catch his jaw with your hands and press your lips back to his.

“You’re insufferable,” you told him between kisses, voice too breathy to carry any real heat.

“Yeah?” Steve shot back, grunting a little when you pulled at his shirt, his arms flying up so you could pull it off of him. He stood, shirtless, chest heaving and gazing at you like you were something to eat. “I could say the same about you, sweetheart.”

And then he was turning you, walking you backwards with his mouth on your neck until your body hit the wall and his fingers were back on the button of your shorts.

He sucked a bruise on your throat, all pretty and sharp, lilac on your skin and he nosed at it, humming thoughtfully.

“Say please,” he told you again, a finger dipping into the denim, scratching soft against the red edge of your bikini. “Be nice for me, princess, huh?”

It was dizzying, his words. His touch. His breath on the column of your throat, his hair brushing your jaw.

Another kiss, sweet and soft, jarring in the way he held you to the cabin wall, body hard and solid against your own. His thumbs pressed circles into your hips, soothing and a silent reminder that you could stop this whenever you wanted.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”

It was too sweet a deal to say no to. Especially when Steve was looking at you like that, like he wanted to give you the world, like he’d been waiting an age just to touch you like this.

So you let out a huff, more whimper than protest and your hands fell to his jeans, damp with rain and tight for other reasons. You cupped a palm over him, hard and thick inside the denim and you were close enough that your lips brushed over Steve’s when you spoke.

“Please,” you whispered.

He was popping the button on your shorts before the words left your mouth, groaning and canting his hips into your hand as if he couldn’t help himself, as if this was all suddenly too much.

You slipped your shirt from your shoulders, the wet smack of it hitting the floor as you both toed off your shoes, a different trainer hitting a different corner of the cabin, patience gone as Steve slid the flat of his palm down the curve of your tummy, fingers reaching into your bikini bottoms to find you slick and ready for him.

“Oh shit,” you both gasped out together, your hands flying to grip Steve’s shoulders, nails digging into the muscles there as his fingers dragged through your folds, thumb finding your clit, his middle digit easily sliding inside of you.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart,” Steve groaned, eyes falling shut as he leaned into you, forehead to yours and his free hand pulling at your knee, hitching your leg back to his hip so he could push his finger into you a little easier.

It was a slow drag, a white hot burn that had you clawing at him, already teetering. It was almost embarrassing, almost. It would have been if Steve wasn’t rutting against your hip, desperate as you were, looking so, so pretty and wrecked.

“D’you always get this worked up when we argue?”

You thought he was joking, and you were about to tell him off, the bite of your response on the tip of your tongue, but your body had other ideas. You clenched down on him, involuntarily, hips stuttering at his question and he swore into your mouth, delighted.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, another kiss, quick and dirty, “you fuckin’ do, don’t you?”

“Of course you’d run your mouth,” you snarked, but still, you tilted your head back for the boy, just so he could suck another kiss onto your throat. “Why am I not surprised?”

He grinned against you, all teeth and curled his finger into you, hitting a whole other spot. Another hot drag, slipping out of you before he pushed back in again, two fingers moving a little faster, his thumb running circles.

“Somethin’ tells me you like it,” Steve told you, smug.

And god you did, you really fucking did.

You didn’t satisfy the boy with an answer, you just whined, pressing your lips back to his as you chased the high you were desperate for. Steve seemed to catch on pretty quick, surprisingly in tune with the way your body was reacting to him and he curled his fingers in and out of you a little quicker, mouth hovering over yours, noses bumping, panting softly.

“I’m gonna come,” you told him, your hands buried in his hair. “Steve, fuck!”

His hand that was still gripping your thigh was the only thing holding you up, Steve’s body pinning you to the wall and was smiling, victorious as you tightened around him, your face pressed into the crook of his neck as you came, soft sounds falling from your lips.

“Aw fuck,” he hissed, “that’s it, there you go princess.”

The boy coaxed you through it, murmuring soft, sweet praises, telling you how pretty you sounded when you came, how good you felt around his fingers. It was too much and it wasn’t enough. And when you shrugged off the hazy warmth of your orgasm, you were quick to move into Steve, lips back on his as he slipped his hand from your shorts and grabbed at your waist.

You walked him backwards, in charge now, smiling against his mouth when he groaned into you.

The backs of Steve’s thighs hit your bed and you pressed one more kiss into him, a little mean when you nipped at his bottom lip and then shoved him. There was a satisfaction in watching him fall into your mattress, eyes shocked, lips parted and before he could say anything, you hooked your thumbs into your shorts, pushing the denim down your legs.

The cherry red bikini was the only thing you had left on, the straps of it slipping down your shoulders, the bottoms cut high on your hips. You waited to feel the rush of insecurity, the self conscious need to shy away and cover up.

But Steve was staring at you with a slack jaw and flushed cheeks, eyes roaming greedy over bare skin and all the places he could get his mouth on, and that nervous feeling? It never came.

“Pants off, Harrington,” you told him, voice a little too breathy to sound demanding.

He smirked, pushed onto his elbows so he could tilt his head up to meet your gaze. “Always knew you’d be bossy,” Steve murmured and you warmed at the notion of him thinking about this, about you, like that.

“I’m not bossy,” you argued, but then you were on him, straddling his lap in a way that made Steve lose his rebuttal, his argument slipping from his lips as his hands found your waist again.

You pushed him back into your pillows, hands flat on his chest and overwhelming need to make him fall apart like he’d done for you taking over.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, princess,” Steve grinned, tongue caught between his teeth as he gazed up at you through messy hair.

But his smirk slipped from his hips when you settled over him properly, nails pressed into his bare chest as you rocked your hips a little. Steve groaned, loud and unabashed and you think you kinda adored how loud he was about it.

His palms kneaded at your hips, a push and pull that told you ‘holy shit, stop’ and ‘fucking hell, do that again.’

Your fingers shook as you popped open the button of his jeans, hands tugging at the waistband, sneaking under his boxers to find him hot and hard for you. Steve sucked a breath through his teeth, looking a little wild underneath you and his hand shook like yours did when he grabbed at your wrist.

“This is gonna be over way too quick if you keep doin’ that.”

His voice was all rough honey, sweet to your ears, low enough to make your thighs clench around him.

“D’you have a condom?” you rushed out in a sigh, ‘cause you were desperate now, brows knitted together with impatience and Steve tapped at your hip, silently asking you to shift back.

You moved, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he fished his wallet out of his pocket, hands fumbling with the leather until he pulled a silver foil square out of the back.

“Is that-?”

Steve grinned, all teeth and cheekiness, eyes sparkling. “The one Murray threw at us? Yeah.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or shove at the boy for his smugness, so you did both. A huff of breath falling from your lips, a hand pushed to Steve’s chests in a poor attempt at a scolding and then he was pulling you down with a hand around the back of your neck.

“Were you hoping to get to use it?” You asked, eyes fluttering closed when Steve hooked his fingers under the straps of your bikini. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Harrington.”

But Steve just hummed, unphased by your teasing when he had his lips on your collarbone, pressing a line of kiss to your breast.

“Seemed symbolic, no?”

And then you were on your back, tucked under the boy with his elbow pressed to the pillow, his other hand trailing up and down your waist, taking in soft skin and new freckles and scars, mapping out the scar on your knee, the bruise you got from helping El do a cartwheel on your hip.

You looked up at him then, time slowing with his movements, all soft hands and softer eyes and oh my god, this was Steve fucking Harrington. You weren't ready to admit what this meant, not yet, you weren’t ready to realise what this was.

So you reached up between your bodies to tug at his jaw, fingers spread out to tap at his chin, thumb on the plush curve of his bottom lip.

“You gonna kiss me or what?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he huffed and he tried to look annoyed, he really did but Steve kissed you anyway, heat flooding you both, the rain battering louder on the roof as you pulled at his jeans, pushing them down his hips.

“I- god, shit,” Steve was mumbling, voice cracking at the feel of you under him, against him, body squirming for friction, for him.

You pushed at him, lips still moving against his, giving him all your soft noises, rolling you both until you were on top again, precariously close to the edge of the bunk, sheets rumpled.

“Of course you wanna be on top,” Steve snarked, but he couldn’t hide how his eyes were glassy, how needy his hands were as they tugged at your bikini and you laughed as you raised your arms for him, letting him pull the swimsuit off.

You’d never felt more powerful when you smiled down at him, saccharine sweet. “Don’t you like it?”

Steve was speechless. Just for a second or two, at least.

“Yeah, I really fuckin’ do,” and oh, his voice sounded too sweet, a little broken and wild, all husky just for you.

Everything snapped, the tension, the waiting, the storm outside. The foil packet crinkled as Steve ripped it open and the air fizzed when he rolled it onto himself, tip already leaking at the sight of you waiting for him.

Neither of you had the patience to allow you to move off of him in order to take your bikini bottoms off, neither of you wanted to stop touching for that long. There was a new found desperation when Steve sat up, back against the headboard as you crowded over him, gasping and sighing into the mess of his hair when he pulled your bikini to the side, swiping his fingers through you.

“So wet,” he whispered, lips pressed to your chest, teeth grazing skin, kisses pushed to every part of you he could reach. “You hear that, babe? How wet y’are for me?”

You were on fire and yes, yes you could. It was obscene in the best way, intense and a little dirty, and you watched in awe when the boy pulled his fingers away from you, sucked them into his mouth instead and soothed your responding whine with a pet to your hip.

“Shit, shit, shit- Steve.”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, voice far too soft and gentle, and Jesus, he was still trying to tease you. “Tell me what you want, yeah?”

But then the charade fell when you sat up and slipped over him, hard tip nudging against you before you blew out a breath, groaning as you took him all.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he was clawing at you, hands pushing at your hips to make sure you didn’t move just yet, eyes clenched shut as his forehead fell against yours. “Oh good girl, good fucking girl, princess.”

That did it for you, that little gush of praise and it had you clenching around him, making you both moan. You rocked your hips, once, twice, against Steve’s tight hold until eventually he helped you. Strong hands lifted you up and down over him, the slick, hot slide of the boy making you dizzy.

He whispered your name, moaned it, gasped it out on a hot breath that fell across your cheek and you pushed a palm to his jaw, held his chin in your hands to make him look at you and you felt the boy throb as you did it.

“My name sounds so pretty when you say it,” you murmured, repeating his previous words back to him and he groaned and laughed, hips canting up into yours with a snap.

The bed was moving against the wall, a dull thud, thud, thud that was hidden by rain and thunder, but Steve still grinned when you moaned louder than ever, his hand pushed to your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“So noisy, huh?” That taunting tone was back, the one that made you press yourself down onto him a little harder, deep enough to make him gasp and grab at your waist. “Oh, you’re too sweet, you know that? So pretty - you know just how to get me all wound up, don’t you?”

You moaned, soft and sweet, to pent up to argue back but you moved a little quicker, made Steve’s head fall back, neck taught and fingertips bruising on your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.

You pulled away from his hand, breath hitching as he twitched inside of you and you mouthed at his throat, lips pressing a scattering of messy kisses there and you trailed them to his ear.

You hummed, a happy noise that came from the back of your throat and you wound your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair.

“You close, hmm?” You gasped, chest pressed flush to the boy’s and you both rocked your hips, a dizzy mess of desperate movements. “Huh, Steve? Are you goin’ to come for me?”

The boy realised your game and he huffed out a laugh, groaning as he tucked his face into your neck, smelling rain and leftover sunscreen, letting you take your hands through his hair, tugging a little when you wanted him to slam his hips up into you.

His hand found its way between your bodies, slick with sweat and rain, thumb running perfect, little circles over your clit as he forced you into the same breathless high that you were pinning on him.

“Christ, yeah,” he grunted, voice shot, every word tumbling into the next, “come w’me? Not gonna last much longer, y’feel too good.”

His voice was a shot of whisky, caramel and sticky sweet when he spoke into your skin, a hand roaming up and down the expanse of your bare back, tongue laving over a nipple, sucking bruises into the dip between your breasts.

You can’t remember a time you had ever felt so needy, it was startling, it was electrifying.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you sounded wrecked, and Steve adored it. “Harder, fuck, harder, I’m close-”

Amazingly, Steve was so much more agreeable when he was buried to the hilt inside of you, hands pressing bruises to your hips as he slammed up into you, meeting your thrust for thrust as everything came to a high and you crashed into it together.

“Awh shit, that’s it, there you go sweetheart.”

The boy whispered your name when he came, hips stuttering, mouth pressed to yours as he held you still, your limbs twitching from the aftershocks of it all. Steve petted at your thighs, hands all soft and shaky, forehead pressed to yours as you both panted, trying to catch the breath the other had stolen.

The rain had stopped when you clambered off of his lap, Steve helping you move on your shaky legs as he tied off the condom and tossed it into the bin near your bed. The birds were chirping again when he lay down beside you, both of you half naked, clothes rumpled, hair misbehaving, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

The clouds were lifting, the room not as dark, a stripe of sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, gold cutting through the shadows. There was a drip, drip, drip of leftover rain on the porch, the soft gasps from both of you, sheets tangled at your feet.

Quiet passed over you both, skin still tingling, lips feeling bruised from each other's mouths, the taste of Steve Harrington and rain still on your tongue.

I can’t get any rest, people say I’m obsessed.

The last week of summer camp went by in a slow roll. Like the way a camcorder stuttered over its film, lazy and with a soft crackle, memories trapped between sunspots and dust.

Days passed without you being able to see much of Steve, Hopper finally making good on his promise as he kept you both apart, Steve sharing lifeguard duties with Billy and you co-ordinating crafts with Nancy.

The kids kept you all busy, the last few days bringing a new buzz of excitement as the thought of returning back home, to school, to reality, set in. You helped Will finish his painting, watched with pride when he presented it to Will, the other boy awed. Nancy settled arguments between Max and Lucas, raising her brows at you in amusement when you told her that they were fine, they were both just too stubborn. Steve finally taught El how to swim and when Robin caught Dustin and Suzie sharing a shy first kiss behind the old bike shed, she didn’t have it in her to tell them off.

In fact, you didn’t see Steve until three days after the storm, trailing out of Hop’s office after a surly looking Billy, both of them sporting bruised faces and cut lips, Steve’s hair messier than usual and Billy’s red lifeguard shirt was ripped at the collar.

He glared at you as he passed, blonde hair mussed and blue eyes cold, as if somehow, his black eye was your fault. But you didn’t worry yourself over Billy Hargrove’s sour mood, your feet quickly carrying you over to where Steve was.

Catching Steve’s elbow in your hand didn’t feel anywhere as near as unnatural as it did a week ago, your touch almost too casual on him. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, your hand on his bare arm, not really, not after that night.

But you hadn’t spoken about it since, you hadn’t touched, hadn’t pressed your lips back to his. So now, the feel of your palm curled around his elbow had you both burning. Steve stared at you, eyes flickering to where you held him and you swallowed hard, told yourself to be brave and you didn’t let go. He didn’t pull away either.

“Hey,” your voice was a soft murmur, the low buzz of the kids in the mess hall almost drowning you out. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You were frowning as you took in the bruise at his temple, shades of lavender and navy creeping towards his eyebrow, a cut on his lip that was red with dried blood, his hair falling over his eyes like he’d been thrown around.

Steve shrugged, eyes glancing back towards the door of Hopper’s cabin, scowling when he saw that Murray was at the window, watching you both with a mug of coffee to his lips, hiding his grin. Steve took your hand in his, gesturing to the old gym and you would’ve followed him even if his hand wasn’t pulling you along behind him.

Once you were both hidden from the rest of the camp, bodies pressed into the cool shadows that the side of the old building brought, Steve turned to you, a hand still tangled in yours, the other finding the dip in your waist, just because he could. His touch brought shivers to your skin, a feeling you still weren’t used to and you found that you didn’t hate, not at all.

If anything, it made you braver, urging you to take a step closer, your hand taking his chin in your grip as you tilted his head up to the sun, the bruise catching the light and you made a soft noise, a quiet hum. Steve let you push and pull at him, the start of a smile on his lips that you were sure he’d normally try and hide from you, but his fingertips were curling into your staff shirt, pushing it out of the way until his skin found yours and your breath hitched.

“Billy?” You asked, careful.

“No, I’m Steve,” he joked but it was weak, his smile too tired and you huffed, catching his gaze with a stare he knew too well.

It was no secret that Steve and Billy had never seen eye to eye, Steve took genuine offence to the way that Billy treated the kids, too harshly and with rough words, rolling his eyes if they ever got upset, laughing when he managed to scare them.

But it had never come to a head, fist staying clenched by sides and jaws clenched, but Steve tended to try and stay out of fights - for the kids sake if anything.

And you knew that, knew the boy better than you thought, years of living in the same small town, summers spent in the same warm forest making you pick up more than you realised about Steve Harrington.

“What happened?” You asked again, still quiet.

Your thumb ran over the cut on his lip, gentle and if Steve wasn’t in pain, you probably would’ve smirked when he shivered at your touch.

“Jus’ Hargrove talkin’ shit,” Steve grunted, voice rough as if he’d been yelling. Knowing Hopper and Murray, he probably had been. “It’s fine, m’fine, princess.”

The pet name carried so much more affection than it had before, warming you to the bone, skin tingling, cheeks flushed.

You frowned, lips pouted, unperturbed when you dropped your hand from Steve’s jaw and it landed on his shoulder instead, the two of you swaying slightly together, not all that used to touching just yet, but enjoying the closeness nonetheless.

“You don’t usually let him get to you,” you huffed, brows still knitted together and you were somewhat annoyed at yourself for not being there to break the boys apart. Steve had proved himself capable of listening to you now, and you were not above using it to your advantage, especially if it kept him out of the way of Billy’s fists.

Steve just looked at you, eyes all soft, brown sugar and honey, shrugging with a small smile, like he was keeping a secret.

“Stranger things have happened, haven’t they, sweetheart?”

You stared at him, lips parted, wondering if this was another taunt, a tease, the start of an argument, because neither of you had had a chance to talk about what had happened in your cabin that night. You’d both woken up tangled together, bodies lazy and tired, the moon in the sky outside and Robin thankfully still gone. You had wrapped yourself in the sheet that smelled like Steve as you watched him get dressed, cheeks warm and nerves fluttering at your chest.

Neither of you had spoken, but he smiled all soft and bent down to kiss you before he left, his lips yielding on yours, a small noise of something huffing from him as he let you cup his jaw, holding him to you a little longer. The fight seemed to have left both of you, too slow and sleepy to pretend anymore. Steve had traced the bruise he’d left on your neck, pushed your still messy hair from your forehead and kissed there too before he left, the cabin door closing softly behind him.

So you were waiting for a snarky comment, a dismissal, an argument, maybe. But Steve grinned and squeezed at your waist, fingers still brushing warm underneath your shirt and then the bell rang, signalling the end of dinner and you both startled, jumping apart, despite being hidden.

“Steve-” you stopped, laughing embarrassed when Steve said your name at the same time. “Uh, you first,” you told him, achingly shy all of a sudden.

“Do you- uh, you think you could meet me later? By the lake?” Steve asked, squinting at you like he too was suddenly feeling awkward.

You felt like a teenager standing at her locker between classes, the school hall empty and your heart in your throat. You grinned, tried to hide it by ducking your chin to your chest, an already scuffed trainer kicking at the twigs by your feet.

“Are you asking me on a date, Harrington?” Your voice was all soft teasing, warm like the summer and it made the boy smile, cheeks pink, eyes rolling with affection, not annoyance.

“No,” he scoffed and you heard the lie there, heard the warmth. “Shut up.”

You laughed, snorting softly in a way that made Steve grin even harder, both of you feeling uncharacteristically giddy in the presence of the other, and god, you couldn't help but think about how the boy had dragged you into his lap, half naked and desperate.

“I hate you, remember?” Steve whispered it, moving a little closer, a hand playing with a stray lock of hair, knuckles brushing against your cheek.

You hummed and nodded, brows furrowed and lips pursed as if you were indeed, remembering. You remembered how the boy tasted, how he felt, how wild he got for you when you tugged his hair and bit down on his pretty bottom lip.

So you pushed softly at his chest, all strong muscle and warm skin underneath his faded staff shirt and you looked up at Steve through your lashes.

“Yeah, I remember,” you murmured back.

And then the sounds of the kids spilling out of the mess hall finally got too loud, the evening hardly over and there were jobs still to do. You both heard Eddie announce that week's dungeons and dragon’s meeting, a crowd of the kids cheering, Nancy corralling others to the campfire, s’mores and storybook in hand. You had promised Max that you’d swap some mixtapes with her, the redhead and El both at your side during lunch, brandishing old Madonna and a double cassette of Kate Bush that Max said she was sick of listening to.

“Eleven o’clock?” Steve asked, hand brushing down your arm, any excuse to touch you before his palm curled warm around your elbow. “Where the old boathouse used to be?”

You nodded, relishing the last touch before he left, hand in his hair as he walked back out to the chaos of the camp, meeting Dustin on one of the walkways and ruffling the young boy’s curls. You waited until Steve had disappeared into the woods, following the trail that led to where Eddie was setting up his wizard game.

It didn’t take long for you to settle yourself onto a fallen log beside Robin, cheek leaning on her shoulder as Suzie settled herself by your feet, leaning on your legs as El tucked herself into the other side of you. The kids were all enraptured by Nancy, the small crowd lit by the glow of the fire as the girl told stories of three headed dragons and kids with superpowers, little girls and boys who were all strong enough to defeat monsters and nightmares.

And then when the fire was starting to burn out, the night darker, the kids sleepier, you swapped your old tapes with Max’s, sending the girl back to her cabin happier than before. The rest of the camp followed the trails into the shallow parts of the forest, the moon filtering through the branches as they tumbled into their bunks, all smelling like smoke and with marshmallow stickiness on their fingers.

Nancy waited until Robin had been pulled away by a disgruntled Mike, Will on their heels as they claimed they needed an impartial party in order to settle a game debate, Eddie too busy laughing to indulge the boys.

“So,” Nancy murmured, shoulder nudging yours, “you heard about Steve and Billy, huh?”

You panicked at the mention of the boy, a small surge of ‘oh god, she knows’, before you remembered the bruises, the fight that Steve never explained to you.

You blew out a breath and shrugged, suddenly feeling like it was too hard to play normal, like Nancy would look at you and know, like she’d notice the lavender bloom on your skin, hidden by your shirt collar.

“I mean,” you started, voice overly casual, “I knew they tried to beat the shit out of each other, but I dunno why.”

The girl looked at you through frizzy bangs, brows raised and hidden behind her fringe. Her mouth fell into a little ‘o’, surprise colouring her features before she smiled, knowing.

“You don’t?” You shrugged again, following Nancy’s lead as you both made your way around the now empty logs, gathering up chocolate smeared paper plates and forgotten sweaters. The fire simmered between you both, the burnt out logs still glowing and smoking, the faint sound of Hopper’s records playing from his open office window filling the air.

“Hargrove was being his usual self, a complete dick.”

You snorted at Nancy’s words before she continued, still smiling.

“But then he started talking about you,” the girl said, lips twisted, eyes gazing at you. “Kept asking Steve if he thought he should make a pass at you, some disgusting comment about how easy you’d give it up.”

You screwed up your face, unimpressed but unsurprised by Billy’s words and you were standing still, feet planted as you waited for the rest of the story.

“Guess he finally pushed Steve too far, ‘cause before any of us knew it, he flew for Billy, fist straight to his face.”

Your jaw dropped, lips parted, eyes wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Nancy huffed out a laugh, “took Eddie and Hop to break them up, Steve was really gunning for him. But I guess, I can’t really blame him, Billy was still running his mouth even after Steve rattled his jaw.”

“Huh.”

You were speechless.

“I know, right?” the girl smiled and she walked around to take the stack of plates you’d collected, looking at you with the air of suspicious interest that only Nancy Wheeler could manage. “Has, uh, anything happened between you two?”

You baulked, eyes ever wider and you wondered if Hopper’s music was loud enough to cover the thumping of your heartbeat. You laughed, forced, pulled your brows together and scrunched your nose. “What? Who?”

God, you’d never made it as an actress.

“You and Steve,” Nancy replied lightly, settling another inquisitive stare on you. She seemed to be searching your face for clues, for hints. “You’ve been getting along better lately, no arguments.” She grinned, sharp, “it’s been quiet.”

You barked out a laugh, nervous and shy, because she was right, of course she was right, Nancy was always right, she just didn’t need to know the reason why.

So you shrugged again, feeling warm, wondering if you needed to blame the leftover heat from the fire for your flushed appearance. “Yeah, uh, I guess Hopper finally decided to keep us apart.”

Your words sounded scripted, the lie sounded thick and it tasted weird on your tongue. Nancy smiled at you like she knew everything. But she nodded, soft and placating as she sighed and picked up another sweater, chocolate stained, and a hat that looked like Dustins.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I guess.”

----------

Robin was already asleep as you pushed your feet back into your shoes, your friend snoring softly from her bunk, hair covering her eyes, lips pressed into a pucker with her face squished to the mattress edge.

The rest of the camp was somewhat quiet, the hushed conversations coming from some of the open cabin windows, torch lights shining out of cracks in the curtains, whispered stories and secrets lingering in the still warm air. Hopper’s cabin was illuminated in the distance, music still playing softly, the backlit figures of the camp leader and Joyce sipping wine over the desk.

You passed Eddie as you walked towards the lake, sticking to the shadows off of the path, converse crushing pinecones and the boy was leaning over the edge of the railing of his porch, a sneaky joint hanging from his fingertips, the tip glowing a dirty red in the dark.

He caught your gaze, grinned wide and toothy as he raised a hand in a lazy wave and you felt too warm knowing that he was well aware of his own missing bunkmate. Did he know? Did Steve tell him? Did you mind?

“Late night rendezvous, Hawkins?” Eddie whispered, head tilted to look at you teasingly. You flipped him off and he chuckled, low and throaty. “Don’t argue too loud now, you don’t wanna wake the kids.”

And then he winked, stubbed his joint out onto the railing and padded back into his cabin, barefoot and ready for bed.

The camp was darker without the campfire lighting up the main square, the tall trees blocking out most of the moon, the stars white dots between indigo clouds. It got brighter as you neared the lake, skirting the edges of the beach before you waded through the longer grass, the messier part of the waters edge that no one was usually allowed into.

Wildflowers and weeds brushed your bare shins, your pyjama shorts not doing enough to keep you cool, even in the night. The summer lingered in the air, on your skin, leftover sun kissing at your cheeks, your shoulders. Or maybe it was the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side of the lake, who was waiting for you.

So you moved a little faster, crickets chirping in the longer grass, cicadas buzzing from the forest you’d left behind. The moonlight danced off the surface of the lake, the water silver, the air fresh and sharp. Everything was pine and cedar, damp moss and old smoke.

And then Steve was sitting in a clearing in the bush, bare feet dipped up to his ankles in the water, jeans rolled up as he sat on the remnants of an old dock, half of it destroyed by weather and time with the bare bones of the boathouse behind it.

Steve looked up as you approached, hiding his smile by looking back out at the water and he shuffled along the old boards a little, letting you sit down next to him. You pulled your shoes off like he had, tucked your socks inside so you wouldn’t lose them and you sighed when the cool water licked across your feet.

You wish you could say the silence was comfortable, and it was, in a way. The night wrapped around you both like a warm blanket, familiar in a way that only the camp was, smoke and mountain air, fresh water and cedar.

But there was something buzzing underneath it all, an electrical current that carried tension and questions. It fizzed, it crackled. It was stolen glances from under lashes, hands curled around the edge of the dock, close enough for pinky fingers to brush. It was the promise of another kiss, the flushed cheeks of remembering that you had kissed. It was the boom, boom, boom of a nervous heart, that sticky feeling of not being able to swallow properly.

Your shoulders brushed, hands grazed, breath hitched and chests burned. There was a smile on your lips that you were trying to hide, the kind that made your cheeks ache, biting your tongue to stop the sheer giddiness of it all.

“D’you still hate me?” Steve asked, and he sounded like you felt, that hidden smile in his voice, rosy around the edges, the sunshine boy in the middle of the forest.

You laughed, soft and on a huffed breath, chin tilted down so you could watch the way your toes trailed patterns in the water, the way the lake looked like ink underneath you both. You thought about his question, about how you would’ve answered it a week ago, how you wanted to answer it now.

You realised then, that despite what had occurred in that small space in time, the answer would have been the same.

“I’ve never hated you, Harrington,” you told him and his surname sounded so much nicer now, an endearment on your tongue instead of a curse. “Not really.”

Steve glanced at you from under his lashes, brown eyes looking black in the night, the shadows on his face blue and the bruises from Billy looking darker than before.

He smiled, lips curling a soft line, dimples appearing and he looked adorably shy. He nudged you, shoulder bumping your own.

“I don’t know if I believe that, princess.”

You knew he was joking, at least you were sure he was. But you guessed that such a statement required an explanation. So you inhaled the mountains, the forest, the lake and Steve in your lungs, before blowing it back out with all your pride.

“I was always jealous I guess,” you shrugged, eyes on your hand, fingers playing with an old knot in the wooden board you sat on. “You always seemed to get what you wanted. You were so popular, everyone liked you. Even the teachers.”

“Kinda immature, I know,” you flushed, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It just seemed like everything I wanted - everything I worked so hard for - was just handed to you.”

You snuck a glance at the boy, knowing that your words were unfair. Steve wasn’t stupid, he did well in school, well enough to get good grades and get away with being too cheeky every now and then.

“I know that sounds harsh and- and I’m sorry that I always spoke shit about your dad,” you cleared your throat nervously. “About your family, your uh, financial situation… that was never very nice of me.”

It wasn’t a secret that you didn’t live in a house that was as big as Steve’s, or that through middle school, your mom worked two jobs. But you were happy and it wasn’t Steve’s fault. You knew that. You’d always known that.

But the boy only nodded, a knot between his brows and he moved closer until his knee knocked against yours as if he was telling you it was okay.

“No, uh, you’re right,” Steve whispered. He was frowning, like he had only really come to this realisation then. “You’re right, about my dad.”

You didn’t want to be.

“He’s not really around, you know? Neither is my mom. There’s always business meetings, trips out of town, out of state.” He laughed, humourless. “Which is why we stay in that nice, big house, I know but-”

Steve swallowed, face twisted in sadness and frustration and you ached to reach out and smooth away the lines there, the furrow on his forehead, the downturn of his lips. Somewhere in the distance, something small splashed in the lake.

“-but they’re just never around. They never were.” He looked at you, smile sad, eyes sadder. “My dad’s just an ATM. He’s a cheque, a couple of numbers after a report card.”

“Steve…”

He didn’t want your sympathy you realised, he didn’t want pity. But he didn’t brush you off when you lay your hand on his leg, rough denim under your palm, just above his knee.

“My mom was the same, pizza money on the counter, a couple of hundred dollars for the weekend when I was fourteen and they had to go to Memphis -no, Minnesota - I can’t remember. But I was alone the whole week.”

“That’s horrible,” you told him. Your statement was simple, an understanding, a fact, and Steve liked that your voice didn’t soften for him, it didn’t change.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding and pulling the hand that was on his knee into his own. Your fingers tangled with his and your tummy flipped at the roughness of his palm.

“I hated when he pulled that shit, you know? The science fair?” Steve scrunched his nose in annoyance. “He didn’t even stay for the results, to watch me get a prize. He just paid and left.”

Your hand squeezed his a little tighter.

“Your parents were always there,” he murmured and his voice warmed. “I remember in fourth grade, when we changed classes and you were so nervous, your mom was there giving you a hug and your dad was taking photos even though you were crying.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you huffed, voice breathy because you were embarrassed by the memory, shocked that Steve remembered. “You noticed me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

He only hummed, still smiling, both of you leaning into the other more than before, letting the boy take your warm weight as you accepted his.

“I always noticed you,” he said and his sincerity was life altering. “You just drove me crazy.”

It didn’t sound like a bad thing, when he said it like that, when he was looking at you the way he was.

“Did you always hate me?”

Steve grinned, shaking his head as he looked out onto the water. “Never did, princess, I told you that already. I guess I was jealous of you too, huh?”

You were shocked, lips parted, heart heavy. But then you shook your head, thinking of something else to say to clear the weight in the air because you didn’t want to think of fourteen year old Steve in that big house all alone anymore.

“I work here to save for college,” you told him, like it was supposed to be a secret, like Steve hadn’t heard you talk to Dustin about it before. “My grades weren’t quite good enough to score me a scholarship so-” you trailed off, gesturing uselessly to your staff shirt you were still wearing.

“I failed my Chemistry exam,” Steve told you in return, voice unaffected. “Then I told my dad I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to college, that I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do.”

You turned to look at the boy, traced the lines of his face with careful eyes, the slope of his nose, his jaw, the curve of his cheek.

“He cut me off,” Steve said simply, “we don’t really talk anymore. So I’m tryin’ to save up for my own place.”

“In Hawkins?” You asked, because nothing else seemed to matter.

“Anywhere,” Steve answered. “Where d’you wanna go to college?”

“Anywhere,” you told him and it felt like a confession.

His smile was blinding.

—————

Steve kissed you behind your cabin, the forest your only audience. He pressed you into the wet wood of the wall, just like he had done the days before, rain on his skin and his lips on your neck.

But this felt like a first kiss, it felt like the first time. No one dared you to do it, no fight or challenge in either of your bodies and it made you melt against him all slow and soft, butterflies in your stomach, your heart in your throat.

It still felt new, it felt like a crush, like something to wake up and look forward to in the morning, like the first day of summer, the morning before camp began.

Steve kissed you lazy and deep, like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to swallow you whole like then night. He tasted like mint toothpaste and soda, the fizz of it making you buzz, cherry and sugar on your tongue. He brought his hand to your cheek, fingertips pressing gentle to your skin, his thumb soothing over the sting of his teeth on your bottom lip.

It made you push up onto your toes, chasing his mouth, your hands in his hair and making him bend down for you, sighing all happy like he didn’t care you were telling him what to do.

He kissed you like he wanted to keep you.

It was hard to pull away from each other, even when the rest of the camp was asleep and the night was drawing into early morning. You craved the touch of the boy you’d always kept at arm's length, amazed at the way you responded to him so easily, so desperately, like your bodies were both yelling at you, asking ‘why weren’t we doing this all along?’

You wanted to tell him your secrets, you wanted to share your summer. You wanted to ask what this meant, but you were too scared, maybe still too full of pride and the idea of going back to Hawkins and being rejected was too much to bear.

So you took the stolen kisses behind the cabin, hands touching bare skin under shirts, edging just shy of being scandalous, the sounds of your soft breath mixing with Steve’s and it was dizzying.

It was enough for now.

You went to bed with one more kiss still fizzing on your lips, a new mark pressed on your neck, hidden under hair and matching the one you had given the boy. Steve watched as you walked into your cabin, footsteps soft and the shy squeak of the door made you both cringe but Robin stayed asleep.

You waved goodnight, eyes tired but your heart still thumping, and when Steve raised his hand in response, a smile on his face that had the shadow of shyness, you wanted to squeal.

It was ridiculous, this giddiness, this new feeling for the boy you’d known for so long. It wasn’t all that different though, being pressed up against Steve Harrington as he kissed the breath from you. He still made you wanna bite back, kiss him harder than he’d kissed you, a sense of a challenge lingering around you both at all times.

It just felt more fun now.

—————

Hopper seemed almost disappointed that he hadn’t managed to collect more damage money from you and Steve. There had been a mason jar sitting on his desk from day two, a haphazard sticker on it with the words `therapy savings' written in sharpie. After the kayak incident, there had only been a few more dollars stuffed into it, some loose change for snarky comments made at meetings and one green M&M that Eddie had managed to throw into it from across the room.

But the camp was still standing after another year, the buses and cars of parents littering the spaces between the cabins as the kids dragged out too big duffel bags, yelled about lost games and forgotten socks.

Some kids lined up to hug you goodbye, El and Will sniffling softly into your t-shirt as your own tears fell into their hair, your arms wrapped tight around them. You’d see them next year, like you always did, when they were older and taller and less likely to throw themselves into your arms in greeting.

Dustin told you all about a radio he was building, something that would allow you to chat to him through the school year and he was handing you a scribbled note with all the best walkie talkie brands on it and numbers for different frequencies. He let you mess his curls one more time, his grin wide and his cheeks pink.

Lucas and Mike helped you load your bags in your car, despite their parents standing waiting with smiles on their faces. You pestered them both into a hug, both of them pressed to a shoulder as you told them to be good and stay out of trouble.

Your voice didn’t really crack until Max appeared, Walkman around her neck and another cassette in her hand. She tried to look casual about it when she handed it to you, a piece of tape stuck to the front with the words ‘love from Max’ written on it.

“Maxine,” you gasped, all faux shock and she rolled her eyes. “You made me my own tape?”

The girl shrugged, one hand pulling at the end of a braid as she scowled, trying to keep the pink from her cheeks.

“It’s no big deal,” she muttered to the ground, “your taste in music needed expanding.”

She said it huffily, but she meant ‘I’ll miss you.’

“Thanks kid,” you whispered, throat tight, eyes glassy and you nudged your shoulder into hers. She pressed her head to your arm in lieu of a hug, saving that one show of rare affection for Lucas instead.

Then she was gone, along with the rest of the kids, and the camp was finally quiet again.

Billy picked up his wages and left without saying goodbye to anyone, duffel bag dragging on the ground as he grabbed a greyhound out of Indiana, face still mottled with bruises from Steve’s fists.

Robin left with Eddie, the boy telling her that he’d drive her home instead of her having to share the same fate as Billy, shoved on a bus during the high heat of the day. She didn’t take much convincing when Eddie jumped into the driver seat and started blaring Prince from the radio, curls messy as he grinned at her.

“C’mon Buckley, you can’t say no to me.”

And she didn’t.

They boy hugged you tight before they left, Robin promising to write, promising to visit and Eddie lifted you off of your feet, crushing you to his chest as he whispered in your ear, “look after my boy, huh?”

They left in a plume of dust and dirt, the sound of ‘purple rain’ trailing behind them.

Nancy and Jonathan were next, the girl doing one last round through the cabins, arms full of forgotten drawings, a lone teddy, seventeen odd socks. Then she hugged you, eyes fond, leaving with her boyfriend for a week's holiday in his hometown before promising you that she’d catch up with you back in Hawkins before college started.

It left you and Steve alone in the staff parking lot, sun shining, blue skies, green forest and birds chirping.

He was leaning against his car, arms crossed like the way he was looking at you was no big deal, smile all soft and familiar now, like that’s the way he’d always looked at you.

Maybe it was. Maybe you’d never noticed.

You pressed your hip into your own car, eyes full of trouble as you gazed at him expectantly. Steve raised his brows, smirked like he wanted to argue with you, like he wanted to kiss you.

“Race you home?” He asked and god, his voice was honey, sweet and warm, capable of stopping you in your tracks.

You laughed, patting the hood of your old car affectionately before telling him, “nah, my car is slow as shit.”

Your callback to his own words at the beginning of camp made him bark out a bright laugh, genuine amusement in his eyes and he shook his head, lips twisted.

“Glad you can finally admit it, princess.”

You wondered if this was a goodbye, if this was it. You wondered if you were supposed to talk about what had happened, if this kiss you shared behind your cabin meant the same to Steve as it did to you. If you were supposed to go back to sharing the same town and calling each other names like you hadn’t been on top of him.

So you waited, a beat of silence, a roll of summer washing over you both. The breeze picked at both your hair, stray stands blowing across lips and mouths and you sighed, soft, wanting.

“Uh, there’s um,” Steve was scratching the back of his neck, eyes fond on you, smile all nervous. “There’s this diner in Lowell, they do a pretty good burger.”

You grinned, happiness beating out of you like the fucking sun.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve called back, grinning just like you. He looked pretty, softer than you once knew him, all wild curls and caramel eyes, new freckles on his nose, the bruise you gave him faded on his throat. “D’you wanna stop for lunch?”

You could’ve sworn the only sound in the forest was your heart.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Harrington?”

You waited for the scoff, the teasing, the taunt. You were so used to the quick, sharp bite of a reply, that when he shrugged all slow and lazy, head tilted to look at you from under his lashes, you were surprised.

“Yeah,” he told you again.

It was such a simple reply. One word, so sincere, heart stoppingly sure.

You ducked your head, hiding your grin, your flush, the way your eyes must’ve been glittering. It felt a little magic, a little manic, that feeling of something new.

It felt like a first kiss, a boy touching you during a thunderstorm, like the taste of rain, the smell of campfire smoke. It was all Steve fucking Harrington.

So you nodded, took a breath, took a chance, grinned and opened your car door.

“I’ll meet you there.”

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

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inthehystericalrealm · 1 month ago

Text

i genuinely think about this AT LEAST once a day

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART TWO Steve Harrington x fem!reader [33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

I can’t stop, the way I feel.

Camp Upside Down was about eighty miles outside of Hawkins, Indiana, just past Belmont and hidden amongst the trees of the YellowWood State Forest.

It held too many kids, a collection of old wooden cabins, a few impressively sized lakes, sports equipment that was made in the sixties and Steve fucking Harrington.

It’s not like you had always hated the boy, you just couldn’t really remember the last time you liked him.

The first of June brought blue skies, summer rolling in with thick white clouds, the kind that didn’t look real. The Indiana air was warm and hazy, growing hotter in the afternoon, long days, bright nights and the return of fireflies and open air pools.

Each year you left Hawkins behind, a kiss pressed to each cheek by your parents, your old car packed to the brim as you headed west for six weeks, to your home from home, buried between cedar trees, amongst giant redwoods and overgrown wildflowers.

You rolled out of town and took the sun with you, windows down, radio blasting music and static, that soft buzz that you loved so much. You sped past the water tower, the quarry and the wheat fields, the strawberry patches and the forest that no one liked to wander too far into.

You hated that Steve Harrington followed, his car newer, shiner, faster. You hated when he overtook you on the straight, before you had even had a chance to leave town. So you would hang your arm out the window, middle finger poised in a pretty salute just for him and he’d send you one back, like clockwork, like you’d practised it, like it happened every year.

If you could get close enough, your car bumper threatening his, you could just make out the scowl behind his raybans, the twist of his lips cursing you out in the reflection of his rear view mirror.

It went on like that for the whole drive, never stopping unless the boy did, refusing to fall behind, because bathroom breaks were for losers and you did not fucking lose to Steve Harrington.

It was flat out, foot down, wind whipping in on the highway; a game of cat and mouse, curses yelled over the radio, hair messy in your face, just pushing the speed limit until overhead signs and four lane roads turned into something else.

It’s like the sun got softer when you turned off the freeway, the light hazy between the trees and it made this part of the world seem like it was just for you.

Single track roads took you through the forest, past rivers and lakes, mountains in front of you, Hawkins behind you and the air was sharper, muddled with pine and moss, still wet tree trunks from the morning rain, wildflowers and something too sweet to name.

Smoke threaded through it all when you got closer to camp, the big wooden archway greeting you like an old friend, the cabins appearing through cracks in the forest, the doors open, staff carrying in pillows and sheets, prepping for the arrival of the kids in a few days time.

And when you pulled your car into the staff parking, a clearing between trees behind the big gymnasium, you turned off your engine, closed your eyes and listened to the little slice of peace you’d get in your six week stay.

No kids, no screaming, no arguing, no singing. Not yet.

Just bird calls and the buzz of insects, soft wind between branches and the slow crackle of the main campfire if you strained your ears hard enough.

“Your shitty car gets slower every year, princess.”

You swore, low under your breath, the soft “for fuck sake,” mixing with a sigh as you let your head fall onto the seat and you opened your eyes.

Steve was standing at your open window, hip leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed, expression smug. He grinned at you.

“Harrington,” you greeted, a drawl that lacked any sort of warmth, tinted with annoyance instead.

The boy tsked, sarcasm dripping from him as he leaned in, arms on the window ledge, peering into the car and peering at the pile of cassettes on your passenger seat.

“Blondie? Really?”

You swatted at him, brows knitted together already because you’d been at Camp Upside Down for quite literally three minutes and the boy was already doing his best to infuriate you.

“That’s not very nice,” he told you but he was still grinning. “You didn’t miss me?”

You pushed the car door open, knocking Steve out of the way in the process and you scowled as you popped the trunk, turning to him with a glare.

“Miss you? I saw you at the store two days ago.”

Steve watched you haul out your bags, snorting when you let them fall to the forest floor without much care.

“Yeah, but you called me a dickhead and hit me with your cart.”

“You yelled across the store and asked me where my cauldron was.”

You set the boy with a stare, a little dead behind the eyes, just like you’d perfected. Your lip twitched into an almost smile when you let another bag tumble out of the trunk, narrowingly missing the boy's foot when he flinched out of the way.

Steve shrugged, tongue pressed to his cheek to stop his grin as he stared at you right back.

“It was a valid question.”

You slammed the trunk, your gaze on the boy withering and you kicked at one of your bags. You hated this part.

“Are you gonna help me with these?” You really didn’t know why you were bothering to ask, because the boy was already backing away, hands shoved into the pockets of his Levi’s and he was still fucking grinning.

“Why would I do that?” He questioned. “Besides, I only came round to tell you Hopper wants everyone in the office. Now.”

You glared at Steve, seething, lips parting with a high pitched scoff as you threw an arm out and gestured to all your belongings, most of your life packed into four too big duffel bags.

“You fucking just watched me unload the car.”

Steve hummed happily, too far away for you to throw a pine cone at. He tutted, all faux concern and sad brown eyes.

“Damn, I did, didn’t I?” And then he was walking away, heading to the offices that were housed in the row of cabins by the lake. “Don’t be too late, princess, Hops already in a shitty mood.”

——————

Camp leader Jim Hopper, was indeed in a foul mood when you arrived twenty minutes later, out of breath and just as annoyed as he was.

The cabin was full, bodies squeezed between desks and the moth-eaten couch was piled with people. Faces new and old stared back at your sudden entrance, the scowl that was already on your face only deepening when Steve, who was leaning lazy against a wall, wiggled his fingers at you.

“Hawkins,” Hopper barked, “how nice of you to finally join us. You think after doing this for four years, you’d know that the first day meeting is always at eleven o’clock sharp.”

Hopper's habit of calling people by their hometown should’ve been insulting, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a teddy bear looking man, moustache twitching when he was either annoyed or amused, but he had soft eyes and an even softer patch for the camp kids.

When you first pointed out that there were three counsellors that came from Hawkins, he merely started calling you Hawkins number two, so you tended to not remind him after that.

“Sorry,” you huffed, not sounding all that sorry, and you glared at Steve as you squished yourself between Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley.

“Okay, shitheads, listen up,” Murray, Hopper’s right hand man, stood with a clipboard, thick rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “Roll call.”

“Muson, music. You’ve got three new kids that have signed up for private guitar lessons, you’ll get their info by tonight, make sure you check in with Joyce at reception.”

Eddie Munson, one of the older boys nodded, long, dark curls already frizzy with the warmth that the forest trapped beneath its canopy. Originally from Philadelphia, the boy was still dressed in his leather jacket, a denim vest that had ripped sleeves and a giant Dio patch sewn messily onto the back, ready for a metal concert rather than s’mores around the campfire.

“And for the love of god, wear the proper uniform this year.”

On cue, Hopper started throwing out the mandatory shirts, white and years old, the sleeve cuffs red, just like the printed ‘staff’ on the back, in bold, capital letters.

“Nancy, you’re moving up this year, senior counsellor,” Nancy Wheeler, another Hawkins native, nodded sharply, her hair clipped back and uniform already on. “We’re gonna need the first week's schedule done for the kids arriving at the weekend and christ, make sure these idiots turn up for their shifts.”

Robin snorted from beside you and Murray rounded on her, a finger pointing accusingly. “Buckley, any more missed shifts from you this year and you’ll be on clean up duty for every dinner shift. Bob wants you in the mess hall tomorrow for lunch prep.”

The girl scowled, mumbling under her breath about how it wasn’t her fault she never heard the morning tannoy. A pretty girl from Detroit, Robin was all ripped jeans and backwards caps, sarcastic comments and sleeping wherever she could make herself comfortable.

Hopper threw a shirt at her, grinning when it landed against her face with a soft thump.

“Jonathan.” The boy who was busy fiddling with the camera around his neck suddenly looked up, eyes wide as if he’d been caught half asleep. “The parents are more than happy to buy more of the photo packages this year and we need new prints for the newsletters so we want content, content, content. No slacking and distracting your girlfriend or you’ll be sleeping on the other side of the lake.”

Jonathan Byers, from Bloomington, just a few hours from Hawkins, mumbled an agreement before walking over to sit by Nancy and resting his head on top of hers.

“Hargrove,” Hopper barked from behind his desk, “you’re back on sports but we’re a lifeguard down this year so you’ll be splitting shifts with Harrington.”

Billy Hargrove, California bad boy, was sliding an unlit cigarette between his lips, getting the tip slick as he grunted his agreement. He caught his staff shirt as it flew through the air at him, winking at you when he tucked it into the waistband of his too tight jeans.

“And for fuck sake, Billy, no non staff members in the cabins after six,” Hopper groaned, “I’m not having screaming mothers at my door at one in the morning this year, corrupt the girls of Indiana on your own time, not mine.”

“You two,” Murray finally rounded on you and Steve, a sardonic grin pulling at his lips. “Lovebirds, you’re both on games and swimming.”

Steve and you both huffed out a protest at the term, features pulled into a scowl and you flipped off both Robin and Eddie when they chuckled.

“And Jesus Christ, if any more of your lovers' tiffs result in more broken equipment, it’s coming out of your wages.”

You scoffed, a sound of protest as Steve swore. “Bullshit, what broken equipment?”

The rest of the team snickered as Hopper levelled you with a stare from over the top of the computer screen. Murray snorted from behind his fist and even Steve had to try to hide his grin at your words.

“There’s three cracked kayaks, fourteen broken tennis racquets and a box of punctured basketballs sitting behind the gym as we speak, sweetheart, don’t even go there.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off of the couch, grabbing Robin’s hand and yanking her up with you when she batted at your arm.

Everyone else shuffled to their feet, leaving the few newbies in the corner, wide eyed and worried as they waited for their orientation.

Hopper glared at the seven of you as you lined up at the door, restless and waiting to escape to your cabins, to steal some food from the kitchens when Bob wasn’t looking.

“No drugs,” Hopper announced before Eddie could open the door. “No smoking, and for god sake Munson, don’t tell the kids that you can eat the mushrooms, not again.”

Eddie had the audacity to look bewildered, brown eyes big and doe like as you held in a snicker from behind him. He swatted at your leg and you thumped him back, grinning when the back of your hand caught the edge of his rolling tin in his front pocket.

The older man moved onto Billy, glaring when the boy only smirked, sliding a pair of gold rimmed aviators over his eyes.

“Nudity is for the showers and your own cabin, California, I don’t wanna see your ass comin’ out of the lake, I don’t care how early it is in the morning.”

Billy simply grinned wider, snickering when Nancy blushed, rolling his eyes when Robin dug her fingers into his ribs.

“And you two,” Hopper lifted a hand, gesturing between you and Steve once more, “if I gotta break up any more fights, or play couples therapist, you’ll be paying for my own before summer is over, you hear me?”

The pair of you sulked, eyes lowered to the floor and feet shuffling as you weighed up your options of arguing back, but the office room was lacking its usual cloud of cigar smoke and the coffee machine in the corner had a piece of paper with a big ‘out of order’ scrawled on front.

“Loud and clear, chief,” Steve smirked, eyeing you from where he stood, Eddie grinning between you both.

Murray opened the door to the forest and the sun, the wall of heat seeping in and fighting with the old aircon unit and Hopper’s last words to you all before you slipped out were:

“Play nice and don’t kill the kids.”

Billy caught Steve by the shirt as they left, the boy’s watching as the rest of you walked down the gravel path that led through the trees, splintering off from cabin to cabin.

The blonde boy turned, grinning sharklike, sunglasses still on. He nodded to your retreating frame, taking a second to watch the way your shorts rode up the backs of your thighs as you climbed the cabin stairs behind Robin.

“You tapped that yet, Harrington?”

Steve glowered, ripping away his arm from the other boy but his reaction only made Billy smirk wider, a lighter appearing from his pocket as he lit his cigarette.

“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve did his best to sound bored, like he didn’t care.

But it only made Billy laugh, blowing smoke to the blue skies and he followed Steve down the opposite trail, heading towards the same cabin that Eddie was currently dragging a small amp into.

Steve huffed when the blonde boy stomped up the stairs behind him, stepping over the forgotten bags that lay unpacked on the floor. “Maybe that’s Hawkins' problem, you know?” He asked, referring to you. Billy eyed Steve, leaning against his top bunk, the air in the wooden cabin so much cooler than outside. “Maybe she just needs a good seeing to.”

Eddie raised his brows, looking carefully between his bunkmate and Billy, wondering if there was about to be a new record for how quickly a fight broke out. The current sat at seventeen hours after arrival, but there had been a lot more vodka involved that time, and maybe a comment or two about that one time Billy got the clap from some girl in the next town over.

“Now now, boys,” Eddie intoned, “I’ve not nearly had enough sleep to deal with this shit.”

He went ignored.

Billy continued, teeth sharp and white and bared as he followed Steve around the bunks, leaning against the dresser before the boy had a chance to open it and his eyes flashed when he watched the muscle in the brunette’s jaw twitch.

“Think she’d let me?” Hargrove asked, “think she’d get a little wild for me?” “Don’t you have shit to do?” Steve snapped, refusing to look at Billy, ‘cause he could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, a horribly uncomfortable tightness clawing at his throat.

But Billy could see right through him, years of spending summers together, watching the way you and Steve argued, nose to nose and chests panting. He always made sure he had a front seat to the show and poking the angry bear only made the inevitable first argument so much more fun to witness.

Billy clicked his tongue, still grinning unbearably wide. “Maybe I can go visit Hawkins… I’m sure there’s something heavy that your girl needs help with.”

“She’s not my fucking girl.”

The blonde winked at Eddie as he passed, the longer haired boy doing nothing to hide his smile, knowing fine well what game Hargrove was playing. And shit, he was winning, ‘cause by the time Billy left and Steve spun back around, his fists were clenched and a heavy scowl pulled his brows together.

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He liked Eddie, and god, he knew he was right.

——————

“You know, every summer I expect you and Harrington to walk into camp, hand in hand, talkin’ all sweet to each other,” Robin wasn’t looking at you as she spoke, too busy stuffing already crumpled shirts into the shared dresser, but you knew she was grinning. “The sexual tension has to break sometime, you know?”

“Over my dead, fucking body.”

Your reply was one she’d heard before, year after year, summer after summer, because every June, the same thing happened. Fall outs, arguments, screaming matches in the mess hall, head to head battles on the dock, late night yelling over a campfire and a bottle of cheap bourbon.

“I still don’t get it,” the girl smirked, finally eyeing you from over the top bunk. The late morning light made the small cabin glow, the surface of the lake reflecting in through the open window and off of the panelled walls. “Steve isn’t that bad.”

“That’s because you didn’t have to go through high school with the King himself,” you deadpanned, already bored of the conversation. You’d had it before, several times over with almost all the camp staff, each one wondering why you and Steve fucking Harrington wanted to kill each other over a game of dodgeball, the last poptart at breakfast, picking teams on games night. “Harrington got everything I worked hard for, just ‘cause his daddy has some money.”

You threw your now empty duffle bag to the ground kicking at it until it slid underneath the bed. Your own pillow was in its rightful place on top, the peach coloured case clashing horribly with the army green duvet, but it smelled like home.

“I announced I was running for class president in sophomore year, and then that asshole decided he would to,” you levelled Robin with a stare, still petulant after so many years. “He threw a party at his stupid rich house and by Monday, everyone was talking about Steve Harrington’s pool and how they were voting for him.”

“Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to hold onto such a grudge-”

You cut the girl off, on a tangent now she’d brought the sore subject up. “Like, wasn’t it enough that he was the swim team captain? And then! When we got into that stupid fight in Junior year, we both ended up with a weeks detention but no, no. Mr Harrington swoops in with a little two grand donation to the school’s library upgrade and low and behold, little Stevie is suddenly off the hook.”

You kicked another bag, this one not as empty and you tried not to wince when your toe made contact with what you assumed was a collection of books.

“As long as his record is squeaky clean, right? S’not like his dad won’t just pay his way into fucking Yale, or Princeton, for him anyway,” you were grumbling now and when you looked up to see Billy Hargrove walking by with a too smug smile, you flipped him off, trying to make yourself feel better.

He just wiggled his fingers at you in a wave, winking when you grimaced.

“I think I need a drink,” you said, throwing yourself down onto the bed and concluding your Steve Harrington rant, more than likely only the first of the day.

The sheets smelled the same, like they always did. A little musty, like the back of a storage cupboard, almost hidden by the laundry detergent you knew Joyce made Hopper use. Fresh like pine needles, like the forest floor and mountain air. Kinda like another home.

Robin barked out a laugh before coming over and standing between the space between your knees, your legs splayed over the too narrow mattress. She offered you a hand, exaggerating a loud groan when you took it and she pulled you back up to sit. An affectionate pat fell on your head before she looked around the mess of your half unpacked cabin, sheets and folded towels on the dressers, drawers open and half full, a litter of shoes by the door and an unplugged radio on a chair.

“You know what?” She huffed out, “we both need a drink.”

——————

The keg party by the lake was a first night tradition, the older staff members long gone to their beds after a tiring first day in the forest heat, lugging around equipment and furniture.

The rest of you gathered at the dock, crowding the small part of the water front that had sand instead of rocks, the air still warm from the leftover sun despite the stars in the sky. It was inky black in the middle of the woods, the clouds navy, the lake a mirror and the fire gave off an impressive amber glow.

Everyone was painted in orange light, pink and red on their cheeks, smoke in their hair and a different kind of fire in their chests when Billy produced a few bottles of cheap whisky, a half bottle of bourbon and surprising everyone, Nancy had added a bottle of vodka to the pile. Cheap beer came in the form of lukewarm kegs and despite the effort it took, Jonathan pulled the short straw and drove out of camp, meeting the delivery boy on the main road to pick up a pile of hot pizza boxes.

It smelled like summer, smoke and god awful decisions.

The dirty beat of Need You Tonight by INXS started through the tannoys above you, the old, tinny speakers hidden in the trees.

Some people cheered, others moved to the sand to dance, a slow grind of bodies with their bare feet in the lake, water lapping at ankles as they moved. Steve was grinning from the dock, a rip in the one knee of his jeans, the skin underneath already tanned as if he belonged under the sun. The white t-shirt he wore was threadbare, years old with ‘camp upside down’ faded in green on the chest.

He was watching you, a feeling that used to make you unravel, like you knew he did it just to earn a rise from you. So you waved instead, sugary sweet and full of sarcasm, huffing when he beckoned you closer with a hand that was holding the last of the bourbon, and you told yourself it was the promise of alcohol that made your feet move.

You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at the boy in front of you, your red cup clutched to your chest and you couldn’t help but take another step forward, just a small one, until the toes of your shoes were touching his.

He looked down at the wooden boards, the water lapping underneath, barely seen between the cracks in the dark, but the boy was too focused on the way your converse bumped his nikes. It felt like a challenge, like everything with you did and when he looked back up, your chin was tilted high and your eyes were glittering.

You looked like trouble and he hated it.

“Is this another one of your shitty mixtapes, Harrington?” You let the words drip from your lips, whisky mixing with distaste and the late night air.

Everything was warm and sweet, bourbon and peaches, campfire smoke and leftover lake water on your skin. Steve looked at you, eyes shining, freckles on his nose like stars and he grinned.

“How’d you know, princess?” He took the cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear, slid it between his lips as he kept your gaze, always undefeated in the staring contests you both never meant to start.

“‘Cause it sounds like something a boy would make when he’s trying too hard to get a chick in his bed.”

He lit the cigarette, still grinning, the end of it caught between teeth and Steve Harrington looked so unbelievably ready to play one of your little games with you. The ash burned red in the dim light, the sounds of your friends and co-workers dull behind you both.

“Does that mean it’s working?”

“You fucking wish, wonder boy,” you scoffed and you made a grab for the bottle he was holding, twisting your lips to hold in the annoyance when Steve moved it out of reach, holding the amber liquid above your head.

“So mean already,,” Steve tutted and you hated the familiar warmth that wrapped around his words, like it was supposed to be a compliment. “Don’t you usually wait for day three before breaking out that one?”

“Give it,” you demanded, and from over Steve’s shoulder you could see Eddie and Jonathan watching, expectant smiles on their faces and interest in their eyes.

“Make me, princess,” Steve answered, voice just as short as yours but he sounded too amused, like he always did when he was trying to push your buttons. The boy was too tall, his hand and the bottle well above your head, leaking into the night sky above and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself by trying to jump for it.

So you drained what was left in your cup, the vodka was too cheap and it burned your tongue but the mix of cherry kool aid made up for it, staining your tongue red. You swiped at your lips, grinned and planted your hands on Steve’s chest much to his surprise.

But just as his mouth fell into a pretty ‘o’ shape, his brown eyes darkened to that dark honey shade you were used to, you pushed, hard. He hit the water with a splash and to the raucous sound of whoops and cheers, a wolf whistle when he emerged, white top soaked and clinging to the ridges and dips of his muscles, tangled at his waist.

He spluttered, waist deep in the lake as he stared back up at you, hair dripping into his eyes and oh, he was mad. You were fucking joyous, wrapped up in the way people were laughing and you didn’t break eye contact with the boy as you bent at the waist and picked up the bottle that’d dropped as he fell.

You pulled off the lid, grinned and brought it to your lips, draining the rest of the smoky drink, another burn that nipped at your throat, your chest, your skin. You felt too warm when you chased a stray drip of it with your thumb, sliding over your lip before sucking it back between your lips.

“Made you,” you told Steve.

The things you do, don’t seem real.

The kids arrived in a wave of colours and chaos, bags forgotten on buses, new cabins already turned inside out and Joyce had a queue as long as the lake outside of her office, her hands full of allergy medication, inhalers and requests to change bunks ‘cause ‘Kyle Jamison snores like a seventy year old with a lung condition.’

The camp itself was just as messy, it always had been. The old cabins littered the space, winding dirt tracks leading you into a cluster of trees, surrounding the old wooden huts, the porch light almost always flickering in the dark.

There was faded bunting hanging from branch to branch, the old gym that sat with its rusting tin roof near the back, the dock with its splintering planks by the lake. The grassy hub at the centre was worn down by constant running and makeshift picnics and the wildflowers that free in between it all were getting too tall, bursts of red, yellow and orange between green moss.

It was getting old, things were a little broken but the entire forest smelled like morning dew, that ‘it’s just rained’ kinda way and old campfire smoke. It was another home.

Camp Upside Down was officially in full swing.

You were pleased to see you had some of your returning favourites in your group that year: Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Suzie Bingham and Dustin Henderson.

You were just going through the last of the names on your list, kids gathered in front of you and awaiting their assigned cabins when Steve snatched the clipboard from your hand, huffing.

“Harrington!”

“What the hell is this?” Steve grumbled, looking at the sheet of paper and at your group. He singled out Dustin, and the boy flushed, all nervous grin and bright eyes underneath his curls. “Henderson, I thought you said you were requesting my group this year?”

The young boy shrugged, glancing at the trees instead of Steve.

“I, uh, I said I was happy with either of you,” Dustin grinned, front teeth coming in more than they were last year and you beamed back. “Besides, Hawkins sneaks us extra cookies before bed.”

You shot the boy a look.

“Hey! I told you not to tell anyone about that,” you admonished, eyes rolling. “And that’s not my name, Dustin, we spoke about this last year.”

But before Dustin could argue back, Steve was pulling you aside, his hands shockingly warm as they wrapped around your wrist. You stumbled into the tree line with him, shoes sinking into moss, senses surrounded by cedar and cicadas and Steve.

“What the fuck? Steve!” You hissed, pulling yourself from his grasp with a scowl.

Before either if you could say anything,Lucas Sinclair, a tall, dark haired kid tapped a passing new counsellor on the arm. They looked concerned when the boy pointed to you both, hidden in the trees.

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he told them, voice bored and lacking any real worry.

“You’re stealing my kids, princess!” Steve’s voice was just as annoyed as yours, his brow furrowed as he stabbed a finger at your sheet of names.

“Stealing?” You scoffed, whacking your clipboard against his own. The metal clip narrowly missed his fingers and he swore at you hotly. “Stealing? They’re children, Harrington, not collectibles.”

The kids in question were giggling where you’d left them, your group mixing with Steve’s as they stared in that unabashed way only preteens could. You flushed when you heard one of them - Nancy’s brother, Mike, you were sure - made wet, kissing noises. Immature and highly ironic, you noted, considering he was standing hand in hand with a girl called El.

You glared at them all and they quietened, but only just.

Spinning back round to deal with your other problem, you pointed a finger to Steve’s chest, hating the way he smirked at your sudden frustration.

“And what’s your point anyway, huh?” You huffed, “you have Maxine this year, I always have Max in my group!”

Steve looked entirely too smug as he bent a little at waist, crowding down into you so you were both toe to toe.

You hated it.

You hated his brown eyes, the way they caught the sun. You hated the smattering of freckles he got every summer, the moles on his neck, the ones you knew dotted the rest of his skin. You hated his hair, how it fell into his eyes when he got mad at you, how he was too focused on you to push it back.

“Maybe Max just likes me better.”

You gasped, entirely offended at his accusation and before you could hurl something sharp and quick back at him, the girl in question raised her hand from the middle of the crowd, face scrunched in uncertainty.

“Hi, uh, yeah” You both turned to look at the redhead. “Yeah, no, that’s absolutely not true.”

You rounded back on the boy, a shit eating grin on your face as you raised your brows, your expression victorious.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, almost nose to nose now and you could smell the spearmint gum he’d chewed, the clean smell of his cologne, whatever body wash he’d used that morning. “Good luck keeping mini Byers alive.”

“Hey!” Will piped up, louder than he’d been last summer and he was scowling at Steve. “I only have three inhalers now.”

Steve rolled his eyes, finally moving out of your space and rounding up his kids like some sort of rogue cowboy, sans horse. He waved the boy away, sounding somewhat placating when he congratulated him.

“That’s great, Will, honestly buddy,” Steve offered a fist bump, one that the smaller boy happily accepted. “Just don’t let Hawkins here let you forget them yeah?”

Steve turned back to you once more, still smug, still infuriating. “We wouldn’t want her to get in trouble now, would we?”

——————

“Camp has been in session for five minutes.”

Murray was standing in front of you, hands open in a gesture that screamed ‘for the love of god, explain yourselves.’ Hopper was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers running circles at his temples and he sighed heavily.

Neither you nor Steve spoke, eyes trained on the old, worn floorboards, converse shuffling, shoulders shrugging, lips twisted to hide your matching smirks.

“Does someone want to explain what happened this time? Because we can’t keep throwing kayaks in the trash like they’re broken cups, people! They're not cheap!”

“Well, you see, Steve has this real annoying habit of-”

“- just because the princess feels then need to win at everything-”

“I need to win at everything?! Me?! Are you fu-”

“Yes you! Always breathin’ down my back, waitin’ for me to fuck up so you can-”

“Enough!“ Hopper jumped up from his chair, hands slamming on his desk as he hunched over it, shoulders heaving, face too red. “Who. Broke. The Kayak?”

You and Steve sighed, shoulder slumped, heads tilted to the ceiling as if you could avoid the question, each other, the inevitable punishment that was coming your way. You sighed, Steve groaned and you both swore.

Because, honestly? You weren’t sure who’s fault it was. Maybe yours, probably Harrington's. More than likely both. ‘Cause the kids had stumbled out of the lake, giddy and a little sunburnt, leaving you to haul the kayaks onto the shore on your own.

Steve had only watched you for a few minutes, smirk on his face as you struggled with the faded red boats, huffing as you attempted to lift them onto the racks, feet clumsy and damp hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks.

In fact, he looked entirely too amused as he leaned against the dock and by the time he’d come over, offering a rare display of help, you stubbornly told him to ‘fuck off.’

He’d laughed at that, angering you more and you squeaked as he stretched out behind you, his chest still bare from helping his group in the water, and the solid warmth of it brushed against your back when his hands moved to help yours.

He jumped when you did, hands stuttering over your own, over the kayak and you had to push yourself up onto your toes when the boat slipped from the railing. You both caught it in time, Steve pressed into you, cedar and mint and boyish cologne as the curve of your ass settled into his hips. As soon as the kayak was in place, you spun, pushing at his shoulders.

“I can do it myself,” you mumbled, suddenly far too flustered to sound overly annoyed. “I don’t need your help.”

“Christ, princess, you sound like a five year old,” Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, looking like you felt. “Can’t admit when you need help, huh?”

“I don’t need help from you, wonder boy,” you tried to laugh, but it came out too pitchy, too forced.

The camp was quiet now the kids had gone back to their cabins, the lake settling after the afternoon swim, the smell of churros and pizza rolls coming from the mess hall. The air fizzed with summer heat and something else and you weren’t sure why, but your chest was heaving, the straps of your swimsuit suddenly feeling too tight.

“Stop calling me that,” Steve growled, eyes flashing and he moved into you again, the way he did when every argument started. “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“No shit,” you spat, meeting him in the middle, chin raised in a taunt, a dare, a challenge. “You think I’m here to make your life easier than it already is?” “You’re fucking infuriating,” Steve hissed, “you know fuck all about my life, princess, don’t act like you’re so hard done by.”

You pressed a hand to Steve’s stomach, ignoring the way the muscles there clenched under your touch and you pushed at him, something inside you crackling when he didn’t budge.

You hated his stupid smile, the way his lips twisted when he made you mad enough to scrunch your nose at him. You hated the way he looked down at you when you were this close, through his lashes, like you were something to be studied. Like he liked the way got into his personal space.

“Well damn, why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Harrington?”

Steve pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to try and hide his grin, and he shrugged, trying to look entirely unbothered at your pushing. He took another step towards you, chasing you slowly when you stumbled back, body pressed to the stacked kayaks behind you.

The old boats were warm from the sun, the cheap pvc hot on your skin, back bared down the low cut of your swimsuit, your shorts doing nothing to protect the backs of your thighs. You wondered if that’s why your chest felt flushed, if that’s why your face was heating up.

“Can’t do that,” he said, tutting before taking his time letting his eyes drop down your body, before trailing back up again. He caught your gaze, held it, bolder than ever. “I’ll get in too much trouble.”

And then, he fucking winked.

So really, it was Steve’s fault that you stumbled into the racks, the kayak that the boy had just helped you push into place rocking on the rails. Neither of you had the reflexes to do anything about it when it slipped backwards, landing on the hard ground, the dull thud ringing out across camp, the sound ending with a sharp crack, the pvc splitting across the bow of the boat.

So that’s how you both ended your night in the mess hall, waving after Bob as he finished serving up sloppy joes and went to find the gaggle of kids that demanded that he needed to fix their broken Walkmans and waterlogged Mattel electronic games.

Murray had stood in front of you both, grinning widely as he handed you mops and cleaning supplies, gleefully pointing out the mustard stains on the linoleum, the spattering of jello that had somehow painted one of the windows.

It was times like these that you were almost sure you preferred Hopper’s red face and grumbled lectures.

“I want this place spotless,” Murray told you both, waving a pair of yellow rubber gloves at Steve. The boy snatched them, face less than impressed when the man simply chuckled. “If you can flirt somewhere away from expensive camp property, you can work out some of this sexual tension by trying to get rid of that dried in chilli from last year.”

You would’ve gagged at the mention of the fossilised food if you hadn’t burned at the insinuation of flirting. And sexual tension. With Steve fucking Harrington.

But the boy beat you to it, as always, his eyes widening and he brandished the mop like a weapon as he pointed at you.

“We were not flirting,” he insisted, “we do not flirt.”

Murray chuckled, “alright Casanova, keep your hair on.”

You snorted and Steve scowled, shooting you a look that clearly was meant to tell you to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Murray, I’d like to think in all the years that we’ve known each other, you’d think I had better taste than to pine after Harrington,” you turned to the boy, smiling as sweet as the summer outside. “Wonder boy has enough of the fifteen year olds twirling their pigtails for him.”

“Stop calling me that.”

You ignored him, splashing his trainers with your mop instead and he kicked your bucket in return.

“Yeah, no, this?” Murray clicked his fingers at you both, pointing back and forth at you as if you were a science experiment. “This is ridiculous. Do something about it before you both implode. I’m not having you take the entire camp down just because you’re both too horny to come to terms with normal human emotions.”

Your jaw dropped, a small noise of indignation coming from you and Steve looked completely bewildered.

He grinned once more, smug as he shook his head, like he was the only enjoying whatever inside joke was going on. He turned to leave, not before reaching into his pocket and flicking something at Steve.

The boy caught it instinctively and he turned to the man with wide eyes. But Murray was already walking away, a stern hand raised in the air, finger pointed to the roof as if he was giving you both some sage words of wisdom as he called out:

“Keep it clean!”

You realised he wasn’t just referring to the mess hall when Steve held up the object, face aghast and cheeks positively on fire, the square, foil packet pinched between his fingers.

You were burning, mouth open in surprise and you panicked, batting Steve’s hand and making the condom fall into the sudsy water you had both already spilled onto the floor.

You definitely preferred Hopper’s way of punishment.

“Put that in the trash, right fucking now,” you demanded, staring at the offending object like it was a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow.

“Christ, settle down, princess priss,” Steve huffed, “it’s not gonna bite.”

But for once, he did what you asked, the highs of his cheeks still tinted pink as he snatched the silver packet from the floor, stuffing it deep into the trash bags you’d both been equipped with. He didn’t look at you.

You both worked in silence as the late afternoon turned into dusk, the sky outside the window a pretty lavender, the clouds over the lake turning the water tangerine and it was so quiet.

Most of the kids would be in their bunks by now, some excitedly making their way over to one of the older cabins where Eddie would organise a game of Dungeons and Dragons for them all. Nancy would be in Hop’s office, going through the next week's schedule and Jonathan would be hidden in his makeshift darkroom, a small shed that was once used for bikes.

You were almost certain Billy would be skulking the woods, looking for a ritual sacrifice or some lone kid to blow his shrill whistle at. Either option seemed likely.

Robin would probably already be back in your shared cabin, music on, one of Eddie’s free joints hanging from her lips and you wondered if Steve would normally spend his down time alone, or if he liked to wander the collection of bars the next town over had to offer. If he brought some girl back to his cabin, if he pressed her down onto his stupid bunk that probably smelled like sunscreen and his cologne.

Your stomach twisted ugly at the thought and you slammed the soaking mop down onto the floor harder than you needed to.

You were positively glowering at the streaks of leftover over pudding some kind had smeared across the floor, kicking the forgotten baseball cards and tiny action figures so they skittered under the stacked chairs.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” The boy called out.

He was sitting on one of the long lunch tables, legs swinging with a smirk on his face. He’d hardly cleaned, you’d come to realise, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had other reasons to be mad now.

You stared at him from across the empty hall, chest heaving with an annoyance that only Steve Harrington could pull from you. You let mop clatter roll the floor, uncaring as you rounded on him.

“You,” you spat, hands on your hips and hair messy from where the late night heat made it stick to your forehead.

“Me?” Steve asked, all faux shock and innocence with a hand pressed to his chest. He grinned, wolfish and sharp edges. “Didn’t realise I had an effect on your underwear, princess, wanna elaborate?”

There it was again, you realised. That flirting lilt that weaved its way through his usual taunts and teases, Steve’s normal bite not quite cutting as deep. Not this year, not this time.

It made you flustered, on edge, unable to formulate the kind of barbed reply you usually kept on the tip of your tongue, just for him, and oh my god, it infuriated you.

“You have absolutely no reason to be thinking about what’s under my shorts, Harrington,” you told him, eyes narrowed as you went about moving the stacks of chairs against the wall.

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to, Hawkins.”

The light was leaking from the day and what was left of the sun made the shadows on Steve’s face lilac and peach. You didn’t know you’d marched over to him until you were able to reach out and touch him.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, “don’t call me that as if you don’t come from the same shitty, backwater town as me.”

Steve leaned forward, his hands curling around the edge of the table as he raised his brows, ready for another argument. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like he’d trapped the sun in his chest, like summer lived inside of him.

“D’you prefer princess? The princess of Hawkins, is that it?” His voice was mocking, his eyes sarcastically soft.

“Fuck off, Harrington,” you snarled, and you couldn’t help but lean in too, Steve’s knees pressing into the front of your thighs, your fists clenched by your sides. “At least I’m getting away from that place without my daddy paying my way out.”

“Watch your mouth, sweetheart,” Steve spoke lowly, more serious than you’d heard him before. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ooh, did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?” You bit back.

The boy stared at you, gaze heavy and hot in a way that made you squirm. The air was buzzing, popping and crackling like there had been a fire lit between you and suddenly, you didn’t know how you were supposed to end this fight.

The tension was too thick to walk away from, sticky like honey, trapping you there.

“You’re fucking impossible,” he whispered, staring at you like you were a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit. “You’re a pain in my ass, you have been since fucking freshman year.”

You scoffed, pinched and nipped by his words because you were just as aggravated by his presence as he was yours. Maybe more. And probably for longer.

“Freshman year?” You said, surprise colouring your tone. “That’s real cute Harrington, but you’ve been getting on my last fucking nerve since seventh grade.”

“Seventh grade? What the fu-”

You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself. You’d been waiting for this moment for eight years.

“Mrs Duncan’s science fair!” You burst out, “I worked my ass off making those vegetable batteries!”

Steve was staring at you blankly, lips parted.

“I had my tables and all my charts, I even bought a metre to measure the voltage with just my pocket money!” You jabbed a finger to his chest, lips twisted into an almost pathetic pout but you felt twelve again and Steve Harrington still pushing your buttons.

“And you! You waltzed in half an hour late, with a stupid bottle of coke and some mentos, claiming that you’d been the one to discover fucking CO2.”

Steve, unable to hide his amused smile, just shrugged. “I was barely thirteen, Jesus Christ princess…”

“And then your dad came in behind you,” you sniffed. “He walked right up to Mrs Duncan and handed her a piece of paper. And I remember it had a few zeros on it,” you laughed without much humour.

The smile slipped from Steve’s face.

“It was so weird, y’know? How that happened and then you won? And then the next week the library had been restocked and suddenly there were new bunsen burners in the science lab.”

You were genuinely surprised when Steve shoved past you, his hands a shocking heat on the dip of your waist as he grabbed at you to tug you out of his way. You didn’t know when you’d moved to stand between his legs, close enough to see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the way there was a small freckle just below his left brow.

He was marching across the mess hall, mop and trash bag forgotten and you were so shocked that it took you a few seconds before you called out, weaker than you had previously been speaking.

“What’s wrong, wonder boy? Don’t like it when you’re called out?”

You weren’t sure if you felt smug or concerned when he spun on his heel, stalking back towards you and moving into you, close enough that the mess of his hair brushed your forehead. But you stood your ground, your legs bumping into the back of the table he’d just left, and you watched through interested eyes as Steve’s chest heaved.

He looked like he wanted to say something, to yell at you even. But you tilted your chin in one last act of defiance, the tip of your nose just, just brushing his and you swore on everything that was holy that you watched the fight leave him.

He was still breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile, took a few hits in a boxing ring, got into a fight with a pretty girl and walked back in for more. You hated it when you realised your chest was moving the same, breaths leaving you in short bursts but you didn’t dare let your stare drop from the boy’s.

You watched lips part, you watched his gaze drop to your mouth and suddenly the birds outside stopped chirping and you could’ve sworn that the world ceased spinning. It felt like the forest was waiting.

Like it was holding its breath.

But then the mop that Steve had left resting against the table he had crowded you against fell, clattering to the floor with a sharp echo. It startled you both, jumping apart as you shared one last breath together, eyes on the floor, cheeks burning.

You didn’t try to stop him when he left a second time, managing to disappear out of the door and into the summer night. You watched the trees and the shadows swallow him, fireflies and leftover smoke in the air and fucking hell, you hated that you watched him walk away until his cabin door could be heard slamming shut.

Tell me what you’ve got in mind.

By the end of the second week of camp, the staff was starting to show the stress of running after a bunch of kids twenty four hours a day. Some of the younger children in Robin's group had caught a bug, and between your friend, yourself and Joyce, you were all run ragged, hauling buckets across camp and dishing out cold compresses like sweets.

So when Saturday rolled in, warmer than the last, you were all ready to let off some steam, meeting behind the gymnasium when the sun went down, greeted by a small fire that Eddie got going in an old trash can. He brought some pre-rolled joints, some stolen bags of chips from Bob’s secret stash and the gym was far away enough from the rest of the camp that no one heard the noise of the boombox Jonathan brought with him.

You threw your own additions into the middle of the makeshift circle that the seven of you made, the newer counsellors still too scared to toe the line of what might get them fired. You stared at the pile of paraphernalia in the middle of the halved logs, makeshift sofas in the too long grass.

A baggie of weed, a grinder and Eddie’s tin of joints, Billy’s favourite whisky, another bottle of vodka - loaded with cherry jolly ranchers that made it pretty and pink. A few cassettes, some homemade mixtapes, the stolen chips, some red vines and sour patch kids, the packet already open and sugar coating the grass.

You hadn’t really spoken to Steve since the mess hall incident.

You’d rather immaturely begged Eddie to switch block sessions with you, allowing you to take your kids to the other side of camp, far from where Steve spent time with his group. You’d organised a massive arts and craft project with Nancy instead, avoiding her knowing looks and pointed questions, letting Dustin go crazy with googly eyes, glitter and neon felt tips instead.

It didn’t matter if you’d asked the kids to make their favourite animal, you’d accept Henderson’s four eyed, sparkly green lizard looking thing over Nancy’s inquisition any day of week. You felt a little bad though, when you all discovered as a group that Will was most definitely allergic to the new type of glue sticks that Hopper had bought.

But it meant that you’d only seen Steve during some meal times, a glance over breakfast, a small collision during one dinner, fries and a bottle of iced tea falling to the floor and everyone had stopped, stared, waited for the yells.

They hadn’t come.

You’d watched him argue with Max when she climbed a tree that he’d already warned her was too tall, you and your group stopping mid swim in the lake to bob around in the current, watching as the boy kicked a dead branch in frustration before scrambling up after her when Max inevitably got stuck.

You knew he was listening in when Dustin started asking why you worked at the camp, a question he asked you every year. You always told the boy it was because you loved seeing him and the rest of the rugrats he called friends. And it always worked when he was younger, ‘cause he’d smile and let you muss up his curls, overjoyed with such an answer and a piece of bubblegum from your pocket.

But he was older now and less believing and when you gave him the same adoring monologue, he simply raised his brows and asked again.

“College,” you had told him simply. “Or money really. I need the cash to be able to leave Hawkins and go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Dustin had asked you, sincere in only the way kids could be.

You were overly aware that Harrington was sitting behind you at the other table, back to back with you on the benches as he showed El how to tie her elastic just right, so that her slingshot would definitely beat Sinclairs. You didn’t have it in you to tell both of them that that kind of craft project definitely wasn’t allowed.

You leaned into Dustin instead and shrugged, smiling softly despite the way you saw Steve in your peripheral, turning just enough so he could hear you say:

“Anywhere.”

So it was a little jarring when he arrived at your little staff get together, camp shirt replaced with one of his own, a sunshine yellow tee that made his eyes look like honey and his skin more tanned. You hated that you noticed, that you knew he looked good.

He greeted everyone warmly, bar you, sending you a curt nod of his head over the burning fire that had Nancy rolling her eyes and Robin poking you in the ribs. Because there were no barbed wire words exchanged between either of you, no jabs, no bites, no smug smiles or sarcastic grins.

“What is going on with you two?”

You ignored her question, giving her a warning glare that she also chose to ignore, ‘cause she went and sat next to Eddie and Jonathan instead, whispering to them behind the plumes of smoke they’d created.

After a few drinks and several people telling Billy to shut up, the night turned darker, the sky navy and the air still stiflingly warm. The fire was more a source of light than heat at this point, or as Eddie liked to remind everyone, ‘it’s for the ambience,’ and everyone was doing their best to stay away from the flames, skin already tight and sore with fresh sunburn from that day.

It only took the vodka bottle being emptied before Billy announced a game of truth or dare, to which everyone groaned and asked what age he was. But he tutted, unperturbed and dropped the empty glass bottle into the middle of the messy circle your bodies had made.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ boring,” he intoned, “it’s either this or hitchhiking into Bloomington to find a chick that likes being on top-”

The girls groaned, faces pulled into disgust and Jonathan was shaking his head, a bemused look on his face.

“-and quite frankly that seems like too much effort tonight.”

Steve scoffed, taking the joint Eddie offered him, pushing it between his lips for a hit before he turned to Billy, one eyebrow raised.

“You mean finding a girl that doesn’t already know you’re a giant dickhead is gettin’ harder to find?”

Sometimes you wondered if Steve hated Billy more than he hated you.

“There’s always your princess,” Billy grinned, eyeing you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. “She’s gotta give into me sometime, right?”

“Keep dreaming, Hargrove,” you butted in, doing nothing to hide the disgust in your voice. You wanted to kick yourself when you realised you’d responded to being Steve’s princess, your name never even being mentioned. “I’d rather kiss Harrington.”

The wave of something washed over the group at your words, wide eyes and soft smirks, and you felt your stomach sink. Steve was staring at you, eyes lit up with something that looked akin to a challenge, a dare that you hadn’t yet been asked.

Fuck.

“Is that so?” Billy laughed, a harsh noise that let everyone know he wasn’t happy at your statement. But he grinned, sharp teeth and sharper blue eyes, steely on you. “You always pick dare, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“That’s not-”

“I dare you to give us all some entertainment and make out with Harrington,” Billy continued, talking over you without even blinking. “Maybe if both of your mouths are busy, we’ll get some fuckin’ peace and quiet around here.”

Nobody breathed.

But someone must’ve picked your mixtape out of the pile, ‘cause the opening beat to ‘I Think We’re Alone Now,’ by Tiffany, started to play. You stared at Billy, shocked at his suggestion, his demand. The game suddenly felt less fun and the only sounds were the echo of your strangled scoff and the crackle of the fire.

But then Nancy was pushing her foot into your ankle from where she sat on her boyfriend's lap, eyes glittering.

“On you go,” she told you, and you think she was trying to be encouraging.

“What?”

“What?” Nancy repeated, doe eyes innocent and wide, like she didn’t know what she was doing. “You picked dare!”

“I didn’t say shit!” You exclaimed, looking around at your friends for help. Robin and Eddie were cackling, faces pressed into each others shoulders, and being absolutely no fucking help to you. “Guys!”

“C’mon, Hawkins, you don’t like to lose now, do you?” Billy was grinning from where he lazed across some old crash mats, his voice a slow drawl as he chewed some gum obnoxiously. “Give Harrington a little lovin’.”

‘Children, behave… that’s what they say when we’re together.’

You turned to Steve, who was still leaning against the gym wall, his eyes finding yours even in the dim evening light. He looked unsure, nervous even, like he was ready to tell the rest of them to shut up, to pack it in. But then he watched the way you brought the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the rest of the sweet drink trickle past your lips and god, he looked at you like he was ready to fight.

Dark brown eyes, smirk on his lips, cocky tilt of his head like he was waiting for you.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he watched you stand there, thinking, weighing up your options.

“What’s my forfeit?” You asked cautiously.

You turned when Billy chuckled, blue eyes looking as navy as the sky. He let his head tip back, smoke slipping from his lips and into the trees before he grinned at you, far, far too happily.

“Me,” he told you.

So Steve sighed, overly dramatic before he spoke to the group, voice full of that easy confidence you hated so much.

“Don’t worry princess, you can give it your best shot and I promise I won’t feel a damn thing.”

Your friends cackled and hollered around you; always thoroughly amused by the show you and Steve put on. Robin shook her head from where she sat beside Eddie, a shit eating grinning pulling at her lips and she spilled some beer as she leaned forward and called out:

“What’s that they say? It’s a fine line between love and hate?”

More laughs, whispers and knowing nudges, dollar bills exchanging hands as the group placed their bets on what would happen next.

“I bet your dick says otherwise.”

You don’t know what made you mention Steve Harrington’s dick, but it made the boy’s jaw go slack and the rest of the circle lost it. More whistles, jeering and catcalls broke the quiet of the night, loud over the music, louder because of the vodka and you couldn’t help but set Steve with a smile and a shrug.

This felt like a game you wanted to win.

So you walked over to where he stood, leaning lazy against the gym wall, watching you move towards him like a predator stalking its prey. He was looking at you the same way he did when you ended up on opposite teams for a game of capture the flag, all red hot intensity, pride and confidence bubbling over.

You were surprised when Steve’s hands settled on the dip of your waist, holding you there as you pushed up on your toes to find his lips. Your hand grabbed at his shirt, fisted at the collar to pull him down to you and something in your stomach tumbled when he obeyed.

He didn’t make any more moves though, eyes almost closed as he looked at you through his lashes, watching, waiting, seeing if you fulfilled your dare.

It was awfully quiet now, your friends silent, the radio and the fire both crackling and you could hear how you and Steve’s harsh breaths fell over each other’s faces.

You’d never been this close before. And then it all happened a little too fast.

His fingers flexed at your sides, digging into the soft there and you weren’t sure if it was out of anticipation, impatience or annoyance. There is as something screaming inside of you to move away, to take the loss, that kissing Steve fucking Harrington wouldn’t be worth the five second glory of completing a dare behind the gym hall.

But then Steve was whispering and it fell across your lips, his breath sweet like raspberry sour patch kids and rosè wine.

“If you’re too scared, princess, I totally understa-“

One more push was all you needed. A poke, a pinch, from him, the one person who knew how to rile you up the best.

You kissed him with a surprising softness. Your mouths clashed rough at first, like you did it just to shut him up, to prove a point. And that was true. But your lips gave way to him with surprising ease, a push and pull that felt less like a fight than you thought it would.

It was easy to pretend it wasn’t a dare when Steve let out the prettiest sound, a half sigh, half groan that came from the back of his throat and when he tried to move into you, to take a little more control, your hand that was still curled into his shirt pushed him back into the wall he was leaning on.

He seemed to like that though, ‘cause you felt the curve of his lips on yours, smiling into the kiss and his grip on your waist got almost too tight, like he was planning on leaving marks on you.

Maybe he was.

But then it was a fight, like always, the most dizzying kind. His lips were hot and he tasted sweet, like summer and candy and too cheap alcohol. It felt nice to be kissed, it was all very nice until you remembered it was Harrington and you pushed into him a little harder, nipped at his lip and tugged on his hair. He gave it back just as good, nails scraping against your back, just catching bare skin as he lifted the shirt from your sides.

No one said a word when you parted. Not you, not Steve, not your friends. Not even Billy. You left Steve with a small gasp, a soft noise as you finally parted, so entirely unaware of how long you’d been caught up in his kiss. You felt bruised, on fire, like you’d just stumbled away from your most heated argument yet.

The only saving grace was that he looked as dizzy as you felt.

—————

When a team meeting was called early the next morning, you walked into Hopper's cabin last, only to find everyone in different stages of a hangover, but all equally happy to see you.

They were all grinning, wide, knowing smiles that set your own teeth on edge, your headache worsening when you caught sight of Steve slouched low on the sofa.

He had a pair of Ray Bans perched on his nose and he didn’t look at you when you walked in, eyes on the floor and wincing.

Why the fuck did you kiss Steve fucking Harrington?

“Good morning to you, darlin’,” Billy drawled from where he was leaning against Murray’s desk, smirking with tired eyes. “Sleep well? You didn’t come knockin’ on my cabin so I assume Harrington took real good care of you.”

Oh, you remembered. That’s why.

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

It was all you could muster when your mouth still tasted like bourbon and Steve, and Murray looked thoroughly interested when he took to the middle of the floor, clipboard in hand.

“I don’t know what went on last night,” he chuckled, “but I’m sure your hungover asses will be pleased to know that it’s hike day.”

Please for the love of god, no.

Everyone groaned, faces dropping in upset and Robin, who had already been sitting on the floor, her back to Nancy’s legs, slumped over, cheek pressed to the old carpet and she made a noise that was akin to a wail.

“Lucky for most of you, we already have sign ups,” Murray crowed gleefully. “Harrington, Hawkins número dos, have a great day.”

Your mouth fell open in protest - hypocritical, you knew, considering you went through the training for hiking safety last summer, but you weren’t on the schedule until next week.

You stared at Nancy who was flicking through the rota with confusion knitted into her features and when she caught your eye, she just shrugged.

“No, no, no,” you told Murray, a strange laugh bubbling in your throat that sounded like panic, “I’m not taking my kids out until next weekend, with Robin!”

Murray shrugged, not looking like he really cared and he crossed his arms, nodding his head towards Eddie.

“No, I know,” he told you in a voice he probably thought was soothing. “But Eddie Munster here-”

“Um, it’s Munson actually.”

“Whatever - your idiot colleague here decided that the road less travelled was the best way home last night.” Murray grinned and pointed down to where Eddie’s foot sat on a small stool, his ankle wrapped tightly in a haphazard bandage. “He’s sprained it.”

You gaped at the boy and Eddie had the right to look sorry, his teeth bared in an apologetic grimace and he mouthed “sorry” at you from beside Steve. His bunk mate hardly stirred.

“Can’t someone else go?” You asked, spinning back to Murray and you didn’t even care that you sounded desperate. “Like, literally anyone else?”

But Murray kept smiling, his clipboard clasped to his chest like a schoolgirl with a secret diary and he sighed dramatically at you before shaking his head.

“No.”

“But Hopper specifically said that we’re not allowed to group together anymore!” You tried, gesturing wildly to Steve who barely answered with a groan. “Not after summer eighty three when he almost drowned me.”

“Okay that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

You rounded on the boy, hands still flapping around yourself. “Oh, he speaks! Don’t you have anything to say about this?”

Steve peered at you from over the top of his sunglasses, brown eyes weary behind them. He groaned, frowned and pushed his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yeah, no, I’m too tired to argue right now, princess.”

Murray looked entirely too amused and he crooked his finger in air quotes when he snorted and said, “sure, tired, gotcha.” He turned back to you, still grinning obnoxiously. “Anyway, chief isn’t here today and I figured there isn’t any boating equipment for either of you to break out in the mountains.”

The group tittered.

“So hop to it,” he clapped his hands, board tucked under his arm and everyone leapt to their feet when the older man made a move to grab the whistle that hung around his neck. “The kids are finishing breakfast and I want both your groups at the meeting point for a safety debrief before nine.”

—————

You were busy smearing another layer of sunscreen on Will’s nose when Dustin appeared at your side.

The two groups had made it halfway up the trail, the sun lazy and warm, the way it could only be on an early morning hike. The sky was still hazy, a soft blue lavender that made the clouds in the sky seem dreamlike. The kids were still quiet with sleep, trailing happily behind each other, trading secrets and sips of water with their assigned hike buddies.

It was nice. Apart from Steve leading the way with a scowl on his face.

“Are you and Steve fighting?” Dustin asked, curls stuffed messily under a Camp Upside Down hat.

You finished patting at Will’s forehead as you turned to the other boy with a soft frown. But the two kids stared up at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of answer.

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Henderson,” you laughed softly, “but Harrington and I fight all the time. Argue, I mean. Hitting is bad.”

Will rolled his eyes as he fell back into step beside you, the three of you continuing up the path a little behind the rest of the group. But Dustin tugged at your shirt sleeve, clearly not finished with the conversation, nor satisfied with your answer.

“But that’s the point,” he proclaimed and you huffed as you pulled him out of the way of a fallen branch, his attention focused too much on you to notice it in his way. “You haven’t been mean to each other all morning.”

“Or called each other names,” Will pointed out from the other side of you.

“That’s because name calling isn’t nice,” you tried to protest, but your voice sounded weak even to your own ears.

“You call each other names all the time.”

For the love of god.

Suzie Bingham had appeared beside Dustin, coke bottle glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she set you with a knowing look. Dustin grinned at the girl's appearance, cheeks pink as their shoulders brushed together on the narrow path.

“That’s not the point,” you told her, grappling for an explanation. You glanced up ahead, over the crowd of children’s heads to see Steve bickering with Lucas and Mike, Max poking him in the back with a long stick as she trudged behind them. “We’re adults.”

All three kids stared at you, expressionless and less than impressed.

“Have you and Steve ever kissed?” Will suddenly asked, letting the words burst out from his chest like he knew he shouldn’t have asked.

You tripped over a branch, the same fallen sticks that scattered the trail that you’d pulled Dustin away from. You turned to look at the boy so fast that your neck protested, your eyes wide.

“Because Steve looks at you like he wants to kiss you all the time.”

And then you were on the ground, gravel stuck to your bare knees and dirt on your hands and shins, swearing at the forest floor because all you could think about was the press of Harrington’s lips on yours, the way he dug his fingers into your sides like he couldn’t let go.

Fuck.

“Shit!” You cried out, hot, frustrated tears brimming at your lash line and you winced when you tried to stand back up.

Suzie dropped to the trail beside you, eyes worried as she took note of the blood that slipped down your leg, a nasty gash on your knee that looked like it came from the jagged piece of bark that lay beside you.

“Someone get Steve,” she started to say, a small hand on your shoulder that brought a little comfort.

But Dustin was already cupping his hands over his mouth and positively hollering over the line of kids that were oblivious to what was going on behind them.

“STEVE!”

You groaned, “Dustin, no, I’m fine, honest.”

“You’re bleeding!” Will protested, looking rather sickly at the sight of the red line that was quickly seeking into the white of your sock.

“STEEEVE!”

“Kill me,” you whispered to the ground, “just kill me.”

You saw Steve’s trainers before anything else, the soft thud, thud, thud of his soles on the dirt as he pushed his way through to you. You managed to shove yourself back, your knees protesting before dropping to your ass, inspecting your bloodied leg, wincing.��

“Shit, are you okay?”

No comment about your clumsiness, or how you were dumb, or how your dirty, cut up knee looked gross. No, Steve’s voice was shockingly soft with concern as he dropped down on his haunches to inspect your injury.

“M’fine,” you muttered, cheeks warm because he was almost as close as he had been last night, smelling like leftover cologne and sunscreen, the strawberry smoothie you’d watched him grab at breakfast.

“Really?” He mused, his tone disbelieving. “‘Cause that looks pretty nasty, princess.”

His hand moved to cup the back of your sore knee, fingers tucked into the sensitive skin there as he went to inspect the scrape. You jolted at his touch, body electric underneath him and you watched the way Steve’s eyes widened at your reaction.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“What? No, yes, fuck,” you were panicking, you could hear it in your voice and from somewhere behind you, you heard the distinctive sound of Max Mayfield’s laugh. “Just, Christ, don’t touch me.”

“I’m trying to help, idiot,” Steve snarked but he backed off scowling. You watched how he flexed his hand after he let go of your leg, like his skin was burning the same way yours was, like he’d been scalded. “You need to go get that cleaned.”

You hated that the boy was right but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. Instead, you wrestled to your feet, grunting as you did so, wiggling your ankle to make sure you hadn’t suffered the same fate as Eddie. It seemed fine, nothing crunched at least, but the sting around your split skin screamed at you.

Another slide of red rushed from your cut and down your leg as you moved it and beside you, Will groaned, quickly moving into the crowd to find Mike, his head pushed into his friend's shoulder and his hands clutched at his own stomach.

A chorus of “eww’s” came from the kids and you weren’t fairing much better, your expression pitiful as you watched your white converse turn crimson. You held your leg out awkwardly, hardly balancing on your good one and every time you pushed your foot to the ground, you hissed.

It stung like a bitch.

But then Steve was clapping his hands, well into camp mother mode as he demanded the kids attention. To his credit, everyone looked at him, waiting for further instruction. Well, everyone except Max, who’d found a larger, longer stick and was holding it, javelin style.

“Okay, let’s go,” he announced, his eyes still on you, and you were still surprised to see worry knitted in the space between his brows. “Turn it around gremlins, everyone in front of us and take your time going back down, okay? Stick with your buddy.”

The kids obeyed, muttering between themselves about how much blood was on your leg and would Hopper let them go to the lake now instead? But they trailed back down the path, two by two, and you and Steve waited for the last pair to pass you before he turned, grimacing.

“Put your arm ‘round me.”

You baulked, staring at the boy as if he’d suddenly grown another head.

“What? No,” you hated that you sounded so nervous, and you wondered if he could tell.

“Christ, woman,” Steve rolled his eyes, offering a hand out to you, the warmth of it hovering close to the small of your back. “Can you swallow your fucking pride for a second and let me help you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed, but you wobbled on your one good leg and Steve didn’t try to hide his smile.

“Stubbornness, then,” he mused, eyes on you and his hand still hovering over your back as you started down the hill, an uneven step that had you swearing and muttering to yourself. “Spite, maybe?”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” you told him plainly, hardly any heat behind it for once due to all your attention focused on the pain you were in. Your poor sock was ruined.

Steve’s shoulder bumped yours, his body too close, acting like a buffer in case you fell again. You huffed every time you touched, bare arms brushing, hips grazing and his damn hand still an almost touch on your spine. You could feel the warmth radiate from him.

“Is that dare, princess?” He was smirking.

You stumbled, swearing profusely as you had no choice but to reach out and grab the boy. Steve was already halfway to you, his arm resting at your waist, his other hand catching yours as it grappled for purchase on something. His fingers curled around yours and you were surprised to realise, that aside from the night before, this was the most you had touched the boy in all the years you had known him.

It was dizzying. But maybe that was the blood loss. His palm was even warmer where it was pressed against your back, the dip where the band of your shorts sat, fitting into the curve rather nicely. Steve guided you down the trail, taking more of your weight when the ground became rockier, the gravel under your soles making you slip, your side falling into Steve’s.

“We’re not talking about that,” you told him, teeth clenched as your knee bent at a funny angle, a new kind of pain nipping at you.

“Oh, we’re not?” Steve asked, voice annoyingly light. You could feel his grin without having to look, like you knew the way the air changed when he smiled, everything warm and dizzying around you.

“Nope!” You declared, your tone leaving hardly any room for argument. Luckily for Steve, he always liked a challenge. “In fact,” you crowed, “it didn’t even happen.”

The boy snorted, a soft sound that you felt through your body, half of your back pressed into his chest as you both toed your way down the steepest part of the mountain. He held you to him, careful not to let you drop your weight onto your leg, one hand still curled large around your own, the other holding your waist now.

You swallowed, throat tight.

“It didn’t happen, huh?” Steve asked, voice low in your ear as you approached the back of the kids, Lucas and Suzie’s ears pricking up at the idea of eavesdropping. “That’s what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeated again, voice airy, nails digging into the back of Steve’s hand, a warning, another fight blooming in your chest.

Another snort, a tighter grip at your waist, as if he was trying to remind you of the way he held you last night, calloused fingertips pushing at the cotton of your t-shirt, barely touching the skin underneath.

You were so much warmer than when you were climbing up the mountain.

This waiting ‘rounds killing me.

The third week went by in a blur, your incident on the hike leaving you with a nasty cut on your knee that Joyce had to dig gravel and dirt out of, and a sudden overwhelming awareness of where Steve Harrington was at all times.

Your body lit up like a warning light every time he was near, a new agitation at the sight of his stupid hair and his stupid sunglasses and his stupid, stupid smirk.

He didn’t try to talk about the kiss again, he wasn’t that idiotic. But the energy between you both was a little different than before. It was still fiery, buzzing with tension and an electrical current that kept you on your toes, but it was different.

You weren’t sure if you liked it.

The week led up to the annual game of hide and seek, the entire camp split into two teams, the cabins turned into bases, the inside of the old gym a ghost town. No one was surprised when Murray declared you and Steve team leaders - one seeking, the other hiding - the camp cheering and whistling as you both took your new shirts, both with ‘captain’ printed on the back.

You’d barely led your team away from the middle of the camp before you heard Steve declare:

“Okay listen up, we need to win.”

You appraised your own squad with the same focused stare that Steve had, your gaze settling over Eddie and Nancy, the gaggle of kids that were all smearing face paint over their friends. War stripes on their cheeks, bandana’s wrapped around their foreheads and Dustin had even gone as far as to don a green ski mask.

You squinted at him, wondering if you should ask where he got such a thing but you decided against it, voice endearing as you said, “Dustin, sweetie, I don’t think you’re going to be able to see very well out of that.”

And before he could argue his case, Eddie pinched the top of it, whipping the fabric from his head, curls spilling out messily. The boy pouted, but he didn’t argue, instead standing still enough to let Lucas smear blue lines over his face.

“You gonna force me into the smallest corner you can find?” Eddie had turned to you whilst Nancy handed out some bottles of water, hushing the trash talk that was starting to get out of hand between Lucas and Suzie.

You grinned, looking at Eddie with an easy smile, shrugging, “maybe. You’re pretty flexible, right Munson?”

The boy snorted, shoulder nudging into yours, “like a fucking gymnast, sweetheart.”

You fell into a soft conversation with Eddie, a rare occurrence in the craziness of the camp, all gentle laughs and hands pushed to arms, cracked jokes and the promise of a joint after the game was over. And then Steve was there, almost too close, brows knitted together as he watched the way his bunkmate pressed teasing fingers into your ribs, making you squeak.

“Are we flirting or are we playing?” He snapped, shoulder brushing yours. But Steve wasn’t looking at you, his stare heavy and trained on Eddie. “Hey dude, didn’t Joyce tell you you’ve got to stick with Will?”

Eddie could read his friend like a book. He smirked, unable to help himself when Steve was making it so obvious, but he nodded, moving away from you to tussle at Will’s hair.

“Sure am, Harrington,” the longer-haired boy smiled good naturedly, “little Byers and I are gonna find the best spot, right kid?”

Will nodded enthusiastically, inhaler in hand and Mike at his side. But Steve was still scowling, eyes finally meeting yours before he turned suddenly, marching back to his team as if he couldn’t bear to be around you for any longer.

And that was fine with you. Totally fine.

From then, it was chaos, carnage across the camp with kids running riot, wrestling for the best hiding spot as Hopper and Murray watched from the office window, cups of coffee in hand.

It went the way it always did, with Mike and Will caught first, the latter giving away their hiding spot way too soon because his allergies made him sneeze, the other boy refusing to split from his friend.

Eddie trailed behind them, lazy and unbothered about being out of the game so early, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, waiting for Murray to stop watching.

The kids spread around the camp in clusters, hiding in beached kayaks, under the dock, squeezed between the crash mats in the gym. Max was caught out in the open - after being refused sanctuary in Hopper’s office - scowl on her face, El dragged behind her, grinning as you laughed.

“Hit the benches,” Steve had told them both, watching as they took their consolation s’mores from Joyce and sat with the rest of the captured kids around the fire.

Steve’s team took out the other kids one by one, screams and laughter heard across the forest, campers crawling out from underneath decking and out of trees, covered in mud and nettle stings, but so, so happy.

And then there were hardly any players left.

But Steve bypassed Dustin and Lucas, the two boys snickering underneath an overturned canoe, and he headed to the gym instead. The old building was empty, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum and the lights were off, the sun that was starting to set just barely shining in the high set windows.

It painted stripes of light and shadows on the floor and the air seemed golden. Steve kicked at the crash mats that were stacked and

pushed against a wall, his movements playful and throwing dust mites into the air. They caught the light, floating, glittering and Steve saw a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the ball cage and he grinned.

If you heard him walking over, you didn’t show it, stubbornly standing your ground until Steve rounded the corner, eyes bright on yours.

“You’re losing your edge, princess, that was far too easy.”

You were scowling at him and you pushed yourself away from the cage, the wheels squeaking as you rounded the other side, eyes on the boy. It was familiar, that feeling, that push and pull, a chase, a challenge, a dare.

“Don’t kid yourself Harrington, I’ve been waiting here for about an hour now.”

Steve followed, eyes trailing over your bare legs, the swell of your ass in your shorts, freckle on your thigh, the silver scar on your knee from the hike. You noticed, brows raised and you snorted when he shrugged, unapologetic in a way you hadn’t seen before.

He didn’t care if you caught him staring. Steve Harrington had always been the first to call you annoying, stubborn, a thorn in his side. But he’d never tried to deny that you were good to look at.

“That’s only ‘cause I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Steve shot back and you smiled at him, eyes narrowed, overly fake. “But it looks like I win, who would’ve thought?”

But you were still moving, stepping around the pile of mats, the cold material brushing against your shins and the light from the window made you glow, eyes too bright, smile sharp.

You stared at the boy from across the crash pads, voice sticky sweet when you asked, “don’t you have to tag the other opponent before they’re out?”

Steve stopped, level with you across the hall and he grinned. And fuck, he looked pretty like that, standing in a sunbeam, freckles on his nose, hands on hips and eyes burning on you.

You weren’t arguing, not quite, not yet. But it still felt fun.

Steve looked around, eyes conspiring, and he smirked. “There’s no one here to say I didn’t, princess.”

And then you were moving again, circling each other, smiling a different kind of playfulness and you tutted, pushing your hands into the back pockets of your shorts and you smirked when Steve followed the movement of it.

“Cheating? C’mon now, wonder boy, you’re above that. Daddy’s not here.”

Steve twisted his lips, ran a hand through his already messy hair and made it flop into his eyes and he pretended to think, just for a second or two, as if he didn’t already know what he was gonna throw back at you.

“Usually,” he told you, voice low, a little rougher than before. “But I think you owe me one, princess.”

You quirked a brow at him, standing still, one knee lifted and pressed to the mats to steady yourself.

“Is that so?”

There was a fizz in the air that hadn’t been there before.

“You got to win your little dare ‘cause of me,” he told you and god, something shifted. Maybe the sun dropped, maybe the shadows got darker, maybe the air got heavier. “I saved you from the clutches of Hargrove.”

You scoffed, turning and going back to walking around the mat, hiding the way your cheeks burned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, remember?”

But Steve just grinned, that wide, bright kinda smile that showed off the dimples you almost forgot he had. He looked boyish like this, handsome in a pretty way, soft and full of sun. Maybe it was because he was looking at you without the lines between his brows, the downturn of his lips.

“Oh but you do, don’t you, sweetheart?”

‘Sweetheart’ was starting to sound less like an insult, less like a jab, when Steve said it. His voice was softer, a teasing pitch to it, that sounded so much different than you’d heard and you decided that you didn’t hate it.

Not at all.

But the boy was talking about the kiss and he was looking at you like you both shared a secret, despite the very public location it happened in. He was acting as if he liked it, as if he wanted you to admit that you did too.

You stopped, converse digging into the wall the mats made, eyes wary on the boy because Steve kept walking. He found one side, then the other, only pausing when you were a foot away from him. He mirrored you, hands shoved into his own pockets as he watched you through messy hair.

“What d’you want me to say, Harrington? Huh?” you smiled, sardonic, lips twisted to the side and gaze careful. You didn’t want to give anything away. “You want me to tell you that I liked it, is that it?”

Steve smirked, enjoying your tone, the teasing, the push of the taunt, the bite to your voice. He knew it so well.

“You want me to tell you that you’re a good kisser? Does wonder boy need a little ego boost?”

“Oh princess, I don’t need anyone to tell me that.“

Steve’s voice was a drawl. Heavy, warm, sticking to you like the summer heat, all low, hot sun and sweetness.

You were too warm, a tumble low in your stomach, a flush across your chest.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Steve continued,voice far too casual, as if he wasn't making you think about the dirtiest things imaginable.

“You’re a pig.”

“You love it.”

“You fucking wish, Harrington.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, princess.”

You weren’t sure when you’d moved closer. Neither was Steve, really. But you were once again in your favourite position with the boy, toe to toe and your chin tilted up defiantly to stare at him. He looked too happy, excited even.

“I’m not playing your games,” you narrowed your eyes at him, hands on your hips in an arrogant display, trying your best to prove that you weren’t as affected by the boy as you actually were.

The toes of his shoes brushed yours and you could smell his cologne, the forest on him, campfire smoke and pine, leftover rain and something minty.

“No?” Steve asked and his eyes were tracing the features of your face, the length of your lashes, the dip of your Cupid’s bow, the curve of your lip. “Not even if I pick dare?“

You swallowed, hard.

You weren’t sure what this was. Not anymore. Because it didn’t feel like the arguments you usually had, the poking and pushing and pulling at each other until something snapped and the yelling started. In fact, you were sure this was the quietest you’d ever been around Steve Harrington.

Except for the thundering of your heart. It beat against your ribs, a drumming sound that you wondered if Steve would hear. It made your body vibrate, it made your chest feel fit to burst and you couldn’t help but part your lips under his stare, sucking in a breath that you suddenly so desperately needed.

Steve did the same, an instinctual response to watching you, his tongue wetting at his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and hooded. You didn’t remember taking another step towards him, but you don’t recall Steve moving either. It was all a slow lean, a curl into each other’s bodies, slower and softer than the first time.

Your hand was on his chest again, fingers splayed across his shirt rather than fisting it in your palm and god, you still really weren’t sure if it was to encourage him closer or shove him away.

But then his touch was at your waist and the sun finally dipped below the windows and the hall went dark. The shadows sparkled as you got used to the lack of light, Steve’s face a pretty palette of lilacs and navy, the rosy tint of his lips looking deeper and closer to you than ever.

The slide of your nose against his, stuttering and a little clumsy, unsure and nervous. Everything in your body was screaming at you. To push him away, to pull him towards you, to chew him out, to devour him.

Steve fucking Harrington made you want to yell, to fight, to roll your eyes and rant for an hour and a half. Steve fucking Harrington made you want to be slammed against a wall, pushed down onto a bed, lips on your neck and kisses that were all tongue and teeth.

His breath huffed against your cheek, slow and careful like he was still deciding what to do too. Steve was cherry cola and the heat of an argument, cedar and spice and bad decisions. Steve was a hot touch on your waist, a white hot burn through your shirt and a tight grip that was sending you to another level of frustration.

Then light flooded the gym, a bright burst of it coming from the main doors as the very last of the low setting sun leaked through as they slammed open.

The noise of them hitting the wall made you both jump, the angry squeak of the hinges bringing both back to the harsh reality of who you were about to kiss. You stumbled and Steve tripped, falling backwards onto the crash mats with a soft “fuck” as you turned to see Nancy and Robin standing in the doorway.

No one spoke, not for a few seconds and the quiet was painful.

But then Nancy cleared her throat, a smirk on her face that she covered with her hand and Robin grinned.

“Um, all the kids have been found,” she told you both, glee in her voice that she couldn’t cover and god, you were burning with a new kind of heat. “We’re doing story time.”

“And uh, one of you needs to take over,” Nancy explained, still smothering a laugh under what she thought was a serious expression. “Billy started talking about demogorgons and made Will cry, so…”

“Again?” Steve muttered from his seat on the mat. “I thought Eddie told him that it was all made up.”

You didn’t dare look down at him, your body still overly aware of his, his shoulder brushing against your thigh as he moved and when he clambered to his feet, you were spurned into motion, your legs carrying you quickly across the gym.

Your shoes squeaked on the floor and your heart was still racing, leaving you feeling like a hormonal teenager who was out of control and unable to handle some stupid boy being too close. Grabbing Robin’s hand, you mumbled some sort of thanks to Nancy and then made up a lie about feeling sick, and how you needed to go back to your cabin now.

Looking at your flushed skin and glassy eyes, no one could really argue with that. So you left Steve with the responsibility of the nightly campfire story and ignored Robin’s husky laughter as you pulled her through the trees and the dark until you got back to your shared bunk.

You flew into the cabin like a bat out of hell, doing everything in your power to get away from the boy as quickly as you could. Robin was close behind you, still cackling before she slammed the door, just as you dumped yourself onto your bed, groaning.

The other girl braced herself, back against the wood, facial expression scandalised as she stared at you wide eyed and through messy bangs.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looked like you and Harrington were about to rail each other on those fucking crash mats.”

You spluttered, the sound of protest getting caught in your throat as you tried to sit up, pushing yourself onto your elbows so you could glare at Robin, trying your best to look appalled.

“What?!” You choked out, and you knew you were beetroot, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the flush over your chest. “No we weren’t!”

“You know,” Robin mused, head tilted to the side as she looked at you, “your summer could be a lot more fun if you just admitted you don’t hate him as much as you claim to.”

Another noise came from your throat in response, strangled and panicked as you paced the cabin, old floorboards creaking under your feet.

“I do hate him,” you insisted, turning your back to the girl to fuss over a pile of clothes you’d left on your dresser after laundry day. You wondered if she’d be able to see the lie on your face, if she could hear it in your voice. “Harrington is a pain in my ass, he has been since-”

“Seventh grade, yeah, yeah,” Robin interrupted, her voice bored and impatient, and she waved a dismissive hand at you. “Science fair, vegetables, Steve and mentos and his dad, I know.”

You glared at her, clothes abandoned, clean shorts dropping to the floor, your arms now crossed. You hated that you were pouting.

“He didn’t look like he was causing you too much grief when you had him up against the gym wall the other week…”

“That was a dare!”

“And now - in the gym again actually - do you have some sort of kink?”

“Robin…” you were groaning, pleading.

“Is it a competitive thing? It gets you both going?”

“Nothing happened! We were- we were arguing!”

The other girl smirked, eyebrows raised and her back still pushed against the doorway. “Yeah, but babe, that’s foreplay for you.”

“I hate you,” you lied and there was no heat behind it, in fact, it only made your friend grin wider.

“As much as Steve?” She asked, voice sweet. “Should I light some candles? Pop a mint?”

“You’re a dick,” your voice was mulish but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“You’re in denial,” Robin shot back, still sounding far too happy about the discussion. “Don’t you think all that pent up frustration could be easily solved?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. The girl was moving towards you, eyebrows wiggling as she ran her hands over her chest in what you assumed was supposed to be a suggestive manner.

“Y’know, there’s other things your mouths could do instead of arguing.”

You pretended to gag, face scrunched up at the thought of it and you went back to sorting through your laundry. “You sound like Murray.”

“I knew he was a sensible man,” she told you and you scoffed because you’d watched Murray Bauman light a firework with the end of Billy’s cigarette last summer.

“But seriously, you’ve got to be attracted to him, right?”

“Murray?” You asked, all faux innocence, “he’s a bit old, no? Hopper, however-”

“You’re disgusting,” Robin snorted, grabbing at the pile of clothes you were hoarding, taking some of her own shirts to fold as she levelled you with a stare. “And you’re not fooling anyone. I’m very much gay - like, with a capital ‘G’ - and even I can say Steve is easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” you tutted, “his head will get bigger.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

You fell into an easy silence then, clothes folded and sorted on your beds and you were surprised when Robin - perpetually messy - even went as far as to make her bed from that morning.

It gave you too much time to think. About how the boy had been almost nice to you at some points this summer, helping you when you fell, teasing instead of scathing, always too close, always nearby. It made you notice him too much, made you far too aware of him.

Like how his skin tanned so easily, new freckles every other day, how blue and yellow looked good on him, how when he got too close you noticed he had some green in his eyes. You knew he liked a smoothie for breakfast, he turned softer and quieter when speaking to Will, he encouraged Max to run faster, jump higher, swim deeper, that it was okay to be a little scared sometimes.

You stopped, a choked breath of complete indignation leaving your lips and dropped the pyjamas you’d been folding and marched to the door.

“Uh, where are you going?”

“To tell fucking Harrington that I know his game,” you seethed, “and that it’s not fucking working.”

Robin looked startled. “What?!”

You flung the door open and cringed when it hit the wooden wall behind it but you barely paid it any mind. The woods were dark, the sky inky and it smelled like rain was coming.

“His game!” You urged, and god, you sounded a little manic, didn’t you? “He’s trying to get me to like him. And it’s not happening, he’s not winning!”

“Winning what?” Robin was almost yelling, confusion colouring her tone and she squinted at you.

“I don’t know!” You told her, mouth agape because Jesus Christ, you really didn’t know, but you’d be damned if you let the boy think he had some kind of one up on you.

“Babe, curfew is in like, ten minutes.”

One glance at the clock on the wall told you that Robin was right, but stubbornness won out over sensibility so you made a strangled sound and shrugged, closing the door behind you a little too loudly and you made your way over the carpet of pine needles, heading towards the other cabins.

—————

Eddie answered when you knocked, wearing an old, Metallica hoodie that was too big, his long curls pulled messily back into a bun and he grinned, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

“Now, I’m pretty certain you’re not here for me,” he told you, voice all light and full of a humour that you didn’t appreciate, “but there’s absolutely no fucking way you’re here for Harrington.”

You scowled.

“Is he in?”

Eddie cackled, pushing himself away from the door as he called out over his shoulder, looking thoroughly entertained.

“Hey, big boy, you’ve got a lady caller.”

This was starting to seem like an incredibly bad idea. Your irritation had waned slightly as you’d marched across the dark forest, the fresh air soothing your anger just a touch. But before you could change your mind, Steve appeared at the door, barefoot and shirtless, his hair messy and wearing nothing but a pair of low slung grey sweats.

For the love of fucking god.

He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, like he’d planned on taking a shower, but he seemed content to stay and talk to you, his body leaning lazy on the door frame like Eddie had.

“Princess,” Steve greeted, sounding bemused, “is this a booty call?”

From inside the cabin, Eddie snorted and you both made a point of ignoring him.

“Absolutely fucking not,” you told him, outraged at the idea of it. But you were warm again, tongue feeling clumsy and too thick in your mouth and you started to wondered when the fuck Steve Harrington made you feel nervous. “And that’s the reason I’m here, actually.”

Steve simply raised his brows, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you were stalling, trying to remember why you were actually standing outside with Steve at nine o’clock at night. His arms were entirely too distracting, the muscles there tensing and flexing as he moved. “I know what you're up to, Harrington.”

“You do?” Steve smirked, entirely entertained the way your gaze landed on his shoulders, his bare chest. “What am I up to, exactly?”

“This shit, that you keep pulling,” you told him, gesturing between the two of you. The space there crackled, it popped and buzzed with something unseen and electric, and you swore Steve felt it too. He had to, right? “This flirty, ‘lemme help you walk down the mountain’ crap.”

Steve was staring. And from inside, on his bed, Eddie was cackling again.

“Would you rather I’d left you to hobble down by yourself?” Steve asked, lips twisted to hide his amusement. Your eyes were flashing with annoyance, and you’d leant against the porch fence for support, back to the wood and hands curled around the ledge. “Let a mountain lion get you?”

“There aren’t any mountain lions in Indiana,” you replied scathingly.

“A bear then,” Steve shrugged, and Christ, he was grinning again, dimple and all. “Anyway, you think I’m flirting with you, princess?”

You stared, suddenly speechless.

“I’d have more luck getting Munson into bed with me than managing to have a pleasant conversation with you, sweetheart.”

But then Eddie was yelling from inside the cabin, a pillow hitting Steve’s back as he called out, “ready when you are, honey.”

Steve ignored him, eyes still on you. “If you think that I’m flirting with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He oozed too much confidence, sarcasm and charm.

It pissed you off.

“Well then stop it!” you growled, pushing yourself off of the porch fence and moving towards Steve. You stared up at him, stubborn, face tilted up to him, eyes defiant. You couldn’t help but push a finger into his bare chest. God, he was warm. “Stop doing-”

“Stop doing what? Huh?” Steve was smiling. Why was he smiling?

You stumbled over your breath, it hitched in your throat and honestly it only caused more anger to bubble in your chest. Was it anger? Annoyance? Frustration?

“Stop - stop, getting all close to me all the time, stop calling me princess and stop doing this thing where you’re clearly trying to distract me.”

Steve raised his brows, looking down at the small space between the two of you. He tilted his head, smirk dripping with amusement and you knew you could argue anymore. You’d moved to him, chests almost brushing, warmth radiating off of him to you, sharing the same air.

Fuck.

“Do I distract you?”

The facade dropped. The game, the challenge, the fight - whatever it was - it stopped. Genuine surprise coloured the boy's tone and he uncrossed his arms, leaving his chest open and more space between you both. He was so warm, you could feel it from his skin, like the sun lived in his chest and he swallowed the summer.

Steve looked shy, all of a sudden. Face flushed, eyes bright and wide and his lips dropped into a pretty ‘o’. Even in the dark, you could make out the pink of his cheeks, the tips of his ears and he was looking at you like an entirely different kind of challenge. A puzzle maybe, a new type of game.

“What?” you were panicking inside. That white hot flash of embarrassment ran up your spine, blooming over your chest until blood rushed loud in your ears. “What? No, I didn’t say that.”

“You definitely just said that.” There it was, that smile again.

“I didn’t,” you scoffed, eyes searching anywhere but his. You stared at the door behind him, groaning when Eddie waved from his bed, grin wider than Steve’s.

“You did,” Eddie added to the conversation, all soft smiles and messy curls. “I heard you.”

Suddenly you had had enough of boys.

“Oh for fuck sake.”

You stormed away from Steve with more swears mixing in with the night air, your frustration taken out on the stairs as you stomped back down them, trainers kicking up pine needles and fallen acorns as you made your way back to your own cabin, completely done with Steve fucking Harrington.

PART TWO

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Ko-Fi ♡

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