#Stranger THings Fluff

[wonderlandwalker]

Developments

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve keeps finding Polaroids of you in… compromising positions. Each one burns hotter than the last, until his ‘just friends’ act is ashes 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pining, explicit language and insinuations, pure smut too, Steve is a disaster really, hurt, comfort and whole nine yards of my ramblings, au where mario kart existed in the 80's

𝐚/𝐧: had an anxiety attack while abroad in Germany. Slept for 14 hours. Debated deleting my blog. Wrote this instead

The first time it happens, Steve is three beers deep at The Hideout, loose-limbed and laughing at something Robin just said—something crude, probably, given the way Eddie’s wheezing into his whisky, shoulders shaking. Steve’s still grinning when he reaches into his jacket pocket for his lighter, fingers searching for the familiar shape.

Instead, they brush against something stiff.

What the hell?

He pulls it out under the dim, beer-stained lights of the bar, and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It’s you.

Not just you—your bare skin glowing in the grainy tint of a Polaroid, the flash catching every curve, every shadow. One knee is drawn up, giving way to the perfect view, and your arm is thrown across your face like you couldn’t bear to be seen. But your mouth—Christ, your mouth is open in silent ecstasy, lips swollen and parted, and your fingers—

Jesus Christ.

Your fingers are buried in your cunt, working deep like you’re trying to feed an insatiable ache, the wet shine unmistakable even in the cheap film. His throat goes dry. His pulse kicks so hard he can feel it in his fucking teeth. Eddie says something then, some smartass remark that has Robin snorting into her drink, but Steve doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t care. All he can think about is how you’re sitting right across from him, legs crossed, sipping your drink and quipping back like it’s the most normal evening in the world. He slaps the photo face down against his thigh, grip so tight the edges crumple.

How the hell did this get in here?

He doesn’t remember you giving it to him. Doesn’t remember touching it, period. But now that he’s seen it, he can’t unsee it—the curve of your hip, the desperate arch of your back, the way your brows were scrunched together like you were right on the edge—

Stop.

He shoves it back into his pocket, but it’s too late. The image is seared into his skull—it’s just a stupid Polaroid, but now it’s all he can think about. His pulse thrums under his skin, restless and too warm. He shouldn’t be this affected. He shouldn’t. But his traitorous mind keeps circling back to it— how easy it would be to move closer, to let his hands settle where they’ve been itching to go, to see if your breath would catch the way he imagines it would. All he can think about is how badly he wants to tiptoe that thin line between friendship and sex, but it’s a dangerous game. One he’s played before and lost spectacularly. He knows the rules—knows how quickly almost turns into too much, how just friends becomes we shouldn’t have done that in the space of a single reckless moment.

But god, the temptation is killing him.

The way your knee brushes against his under the table like it’s an accident, but he knows it’s not. The way you lick salt off the rim of your margarita, eyes locked on his, like you’re waiting for him to break first. The way you shift just slightly, just enough for him to catch the ghost of a smirk—like you know exactly what he’s picturing.

It’s a slippery slope he’s sworn off.

Or at least, he tried to. But then you catch his eye, lips quirking like you can read every filthy thought racing through his head, and—Fuck. He’s too far gone already.

The following four days, Steve lives in a special kind of hell. The photo should’ve been forgettable. Just some stray Polaroid lost in the chaos of his life—another piece of clutter tossed onto the pile of things he doesn’t have the energy to deal with.

But it’s not. It’s you, branded into his brain with the precision of a lit match pressed to skin. No amount of pretending—no amount of jerking off in the shower with his forehead braced against the tile, teeth gritted around your name—dulls the ache. If anything, it makes it worse. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are.

The worst part?  Nothing’s changed. You still sling your legs over his lap like it’s nothing, like you hadn’t ruined him with a single fucking square of film. No sly glances, no secretive smirks. Just normal, like you haven’t been haunting his dreams with your fingers between—

God. He’s losing his goddamn mind.

The next one hits him like a slap to the face. He’s rummaging through the disaster zone of his coffee table—shoving aside empty beer cans, a half-eaten bag of chips, a crumpled pack of cigarettes—when his fingers brush against something that isn’t his keys. Cold dread slithers down his spine even before he pulls it free.

Another fucking picture.

It steals the air from his lungs.

You.

On your back, sheets a mess beneath you, your hair fanned out like some kind of halo. The angle is intimate, almost reverent—the curve of your bare hip, the dip of your waist, the way your fingers dig into your own thighs, holding yourself open.

Wet.

Exposed.

Your head is tipped back, lips parted around a moan he can almost hear, eyes half-lidded, lost in it. The flush on your chest, the way your body arches—like you’re caught in the thick of pleasure, like you’re drowning in it. Steve’s not sure if he’s surprised or jealous or just furious that he wasn’t the one to pull that expression from you.

He knew you were beautiful—that wasn't news. Everyone with working eyes and half a brain could see that. But this? The way golden light caressed the sweat-slick curve of your throat, the way your pleasure wasn't performative but private, intimate, real—

Christ.

It wasn't just erotic. It was sacred.

The Polaroid nearly slips from his trembling fingers before he catches it, the glossy surface warping slightly under his desperate grip. He forces himself to relax, to breathe, but the damage is done—the image already tattooed behind his eyelids.

Are you leaving these on purpose?

The question claws its way up his throat like a living thing.

It can't be.

But God help him, he needs it to be

His thumb traces the edge of the photograph as he drinks in the details: Your lips—swollen, glistening, the faint indentation of teeth where you'd bitten down to silence yourself. Your eyes—black as spilt ink, heavy-lidded yet startlingly aware, staring through the lens like you were seeing him, like you wanted him to witness this unravelling. A voice whispers through the static of his thoughts: You're missing something, and the realisation hits like a sucker punch—he's been here before, trapped in this limbo between wanting and having, between friends and something else. He remembers the exact moment he first knew you held his heart: The air in family video had been thick with the scent of stale popcorn and the hum of the ancient AC unit fighting a losing battle against the summer heat. You'd laughed at something he had said—and the sound had punched through him like a bullet. Your tongue darted out to catch a drop of Cherry Coke from your lower lip, and suddenly his hands were sweating, his collar too tight, his entire body electric with the need to move, to touch, to— "Steve?" You'd caught him staring, your head tilting in that way that made his ribs ache. "You okay?"

Now. Say it now.

But his tongue had turned to lead. Three words lodged in his throat: I want you. Then the bell chimed, Robin bursting in with arms full of candy, grinning as she spoke, “Okay, who wants to bet Eddie eats all the Red Vines before the movie even starts?” and the moment shattered like dropped glass.

Now, staring at this damning photograph, the same fear coils in his gut—what if he's wrong? What if these Polaroids aren’t for him?

What if they’re just—

Lost.

Left behind.

Not meant for his insatiable eyes.

The thought sends acid flooding through his veins. Because the alternative—that you planted these for him to find, that you wanted him to see you like this—that wasn't just hope. It was arson. And he was already burning; the way you look at him sometimes, like you’re waiting for him to figure it out; the way your fingers linger when you pass him a drink; the way you smile when he stumbles over his words, like you like that he’s flustered.

And now—

The Polaroids. Left where only he would find them.

Taunting him.

Testing him.

Tempting him.

The third Polaroid nearly fucking kills him. By the time your group crowds into the diner booth, Steve's almost convinced himself he imagined it all. Almost. But then, after about an hour of comfortable familiarity, his fingers brushing the edge of his milkshake glass, the coaster shifts –

There.

Tucked beneath it, glossy and damning. He chokes so hard Eddie has to thump him on the back. "Jesus, Harrington, are you allergic to strawberries now?" Eddie's voice is all amusement, but Steve barely hears it over the blood roaring in his ears. He doesn't answer. He's too busy slipping the picture under the table, pulse hammering in his throat as he glances at you across the booth. You're stirring your drink absently, the neon diner lights catching in your hair. And then he risks a look at the Polaroid.

Fuck.

This one's... worse. Or better. He doesn't fucking know anymore. It's a close-up. Your face, tilted up toward the camera, tears streaking through smudged mascara, pupils blown wide. And Christ— there's cum dripping off your chin, your lips parted like you're showing off. The flash had caught every detail: the wet shine on your bottom lip, the way your eyelashes stick together, the way you look up with a glint in your eyes like you were looking at him, like you wanted him to see – His jeans grow uncomfortably tight. He shifts in the booth, pressing his thighs together as heat floods his face. It turns his brain to static.

Obscene. Perfect.

No.

Across the table, you tilt your head, voice dripping with sweet concern. "Steve? You okay?"

That's what really drives the stake in. The way you sound normal, like you're not the same person in the photo — wrecked and wanting. Like you haven't been systematically dismantling his self-control. He forces a smile, fingers twitching against the sticky diner table. "Peachy." His voice comes out strangled. Robin kicks him under the table, her eyes sharp with knowing.

He spends the rest of the evening in quiet agony, debating whether to bring it up, tearing himself apart for an answer that won't come. Every time you laugh at something Eddie says, your throat bobbing, he remembers how it looked in the photo – stretched taut as you tilted your head back. Every time you lick ice cream off your spoon, he thinks about your lips, shiny and parted. His mind drifts back to the first time he met you — Robin's bright smile as she introduced you, her "You two will get along so well!" ringing in his ears like a prophecy. Then, the first flicker of something more – that slow, dawning realisation as you sat there, a giggling mess from the joint he'd rolled, clumsily teaching him pat-a-cake like it was the most crucial lesson in the world. Your fingers had brushed against his palms, warm and sure, and something in his chest had clenched tight. Every moment since has been hidden torment. Every glance across the Family Video counter when you'd come to visit Robin, your eyes lingering just a second too long. Every laugh you'd smothered behind your hand when he'd fumbled his words. Every time he'd caught himself staring at the curve of your neck, wondering how you'd sound if he pressed his mouth there. Every time he caught himself wondering if you felt that same invisible pull.

And now?

Now he's stuck with this.

What the hell is he even supposed to say? "Hey, so, funny story—I found a Polaroid of you fucking yourself the other day. Any reason that might be lying around?"

Yeah. That’d go over real fucking well.

But who else would be leaving these? He knows it has to be you. Because no one else looks at him like that. No one else smirks like that when he stumbles over his words. And God help him—he loves it. But he's Steve Harrington, and Steve Harrington doesn't ruin good things. Doesn't risk friendships for fleeting moments of pleasure, no matter how badly his hands itch to touch. So he tucks the Polaroid into his pocket, lets Eddie tease him about spacing out, lets Robin shoot him looks that promise future interrogation, and pretends his heart isn't pounding loud enough for the whole diner to hear. And when you brush your foot against his under the table, he doesn't pull away; he wonders.—

How much longer can he keep pretending before he snaps and does something stupid? Like pin you against the nearest flat surface and find out if you taste as good as you look in those photos. The thought sends another wave of heat through him. He takes a too-big gulp of his milkshake to hide the way his breath hitches. You smile at him over the rim of your glass, all innocence and sharp edges, and Steve realises with dawning horror that he’s already in too deep to climb back out.

The fourth photo is the last straw. He finds it in his glove compartment that same night, the edge jutting out like a taunt as he sits there, engine off, the silence of the parking lot pressing in around him. For a second, he just stares.

Jesus.

A mirror shot—the kind that feels private.

Except now it’s in his hands.

And fuck, it’s— You’re on your knees, but you’re not facing the glass. No. Your face is tilted up, lips stretched obscenely around your own fingers, glistening with spit, your tongue pressing against the pads like you’re imagining them as something else—someone else. Your lashes flutter, heavy with the kind of pleasure that borders on pain, like the strain is its own sweet torment. And shit, your ass—arched high, round and perfect, the curve of it taunting him, the dimples at the base of your spine begging for his thumbs to press into them. The way your hips tilt just slightly, like you’re already waiting, already needing the sharp bite of a handprint blooming across your skin. He can almost hear the sound it would make—the sharp crack of his palm meeting your flesh and the punched-out whimper you’d choke on right after. Your other hand claws at your own tits, fingers digging in, squeezing hard enough to make your breath hitch. The fabric of your shirt is rucked up, your bra shoved aside, and the sight of your nipple pebbled tight under your own touch—

Christ.

His hands shake. The photo nearly slips from his grip, and he has to white-knuckle the steering wheel just to steady himself. His throat is too tight. His jeans are too fucking tight; he shifts, grinding his hips down against the seat just to relieve the pressure, but it’s worse—so much worse—because now he can feel the rough drag of fabric, the heat of his own desperation, and God, he’s dripping, already slick with the image of you burnt into his skull. This isn’t—

This isn’t fair. He’s imagined it a hundred times. Fantasised about the way your mouth would look wrapped around him, the sounds you’d make when he finally got his hands on you. But never like this. Never with the cruel twist of being nothing more than a spectator to his own undoing.

Fuck.

His head thuds back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut like he can erase the image burnt into the backs of his eyelids. But it doesn’t help. The photo is branded into his soul.

He should stop looking.

He should.

But he can’t.

Because this isn’t just some fantasy anymore. This is proof. Proof that you think about this. Proof that you want this. Proof that you might—

Might—

Want him.

And that’s what terrifies him. Because if he’s wrong— If he misreads this—He’ll ruin everything.

But God, the way your back curves in the photo. The way your lips glisten. The way your fingers dig into your own skin like you’re aching for someone else’s touch. His fingers twitch against his thigh. He could—

He could find you.

Right now. Pull you into the backseat. Make that look in the photo a reality. But what if he’s just—

Projecting. Hopeful. Pathetic. His jaw clenches. He can’t risk it. He won’t. The photo goes back into the glove compartment. His keys twist in the ignition. The engine roars to life. But he doesn’t drive away. Not yet. Because one thought won’t leave him alone—

What if she wants you to come find her?

So he plans to ask you about the Polaroids—if he can ever figure out how the hell to bring it up without sounding like a complete creep.

His apartment is spotless, scrubbed down in a frenzy of nervous energy. Just a regular movie night, he tells himself. You’d had dozens. Nothing to panic about. And for a while, it is normal. You steal his fries, mock his shitty taste in films, and press your ice-cold hands against his thigh just to hear him yelp. It’s easy. It’s you.

But then—

Halfway through, as he gathers empty food containers, something flutters to the floor. Upside down. He knows what it is before he even turns it over. His heart stops. You’re still on the couch, laughing at something on screen—but he can’t help himself. He picks it up. And—

Fuck.

It’s you—sinking down onto a toy like you need it, like you’d die without it. Your eyes are closed, lips parted in relief. One hand braces against the bed, the other at your throat, fingers pressing in like you’re chasing more, like you want to feel it everywhere. The angle is obscene, the slick shine of your arousal glistening where you’re spread open for the camera. Steve swears he can feel it—the phantom roll of your hips, the way you’d clench around him if it was his cock instead— "Something wrong?"

Your voice is too soft, too normal, and it guts him. The photo sticks to his sweat-damp palm as his brain short-circuits between this you—wanting, wrecked, fucking yourself like it’s your only salvation—and the you standing in front of him now, all wide-eyed concern and bitten-pink lips. Ask her. The thought burns through him. Just fucking ask her. But what comes out is, "Nah, just—uh—dropped a napkin." God fucking damnit. You tilt your head, and for one heart-stopping second, he thinks you know. That you’ll smirk, step closer, and whisper, "Like what you see, Harrington?" But you don’t. You just hum, "You’ve been weird all night."

Weird. Yeah. That’s one word for it.

He shoves the Polaroid into his back pocket like it’s evidence of a crime. His crime. Because, Christ, he shouldn’t have looked. Shouldn’t be hard right now, straining against his sweatpants as you blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him. He forces himself to step around you, putting the couch between you like it’ll save him. "Just tired," he mumbles, grabbing his half-finished beer. The bottle is slick with condensation, and he clings to that—the cold—instead of the sliver of skin exposed when you stretch, the curve of your waist he knows by heart. Intimately. He’s catalogued every dip and slope of you—the way your hip fits perfectly under his palm when he guides you through a crowded room, the way your waist nips in just enough for his fingers to span it. He’s thought about it. Too much.

You don’t push. Just flop back onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. "Well, hurry up. This movie’s shit, but I want to see how it ends." Steve exhales through his nose. Right. The movie. Except all he can focus on is the weight of the photo in his pocket. The way you’d looked—fuck—like you were made to take cock, like you’d beg for it, like you’d whimper his name if he just—

That’s the problem, isn’t it? He knows you. Knows the way your nose scrunches when you laugh. Knows how you cling to your coffee mug in the morning, both hands wrapped around it like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Knows the way you’d held his hand that one time he got too high and swore the ceiling was breathing, your thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were anchoring him. But this?

This is a version of you he isn't allowed to have, isn’t allowed to need.

One he is desperate for.

The movie drones on, some cheap horror flick with terrible effects, but Steve’s pulse hasn’t slowed since he found the damn photo. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up, fingers idly tracing the rim of your soda can. Innocent. Bored.

Too innocent.

Because he’s seen the way your gaze lingers on him when you think he’s not looking. The way you bite your lip when he rolls his sleeves up. The way you lean in just a little too close when you laugh. Steve exhales, rough, dragging a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He should say something. Should’ve done something. But the truth is, he’s fucking scared. Terrified of being wrong. Terrified of ruining this—whatever this is—with his stupid, greedy hands. Because what if the Polaroids aren’t for him? What if the way you look at him, all slow smiles and heavy-lidded glances, is just him, reading into things? What if he reaches for you, and you pull away?  Every time you shift, his gaze flicks to your thighs. Every time you laugh, he imagines the way your breath would hitch if he dragged his teeth over your pulse. Every time you look at him, he wonders—

Is this a game to you?

Are you waiting for me to break?

Because he’s close. So fucking close.

When you leave, you linger in the doorway—just a second too long. Your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, the fabric slipping between them like a secret. It’s innocent. It’s not. The way your knuckles brush against his hip, featherlight, makes his breath catch.

You’re tempting fate.

You’re torturing him.

"Night, Steve," you murmur, lips quirking in that way that drives him insane—like you know exactly what you’re doing to him. And for a wild, reckless moment, he considers it: Pinning you against the door. Trapping you with his body. Letting his mouth finally, finally ask the question that’s been clawing at his ribs for weeks—

Are you doing this on purpose?

But then you’re gone. The door clicks shut. And all he’s left with is the ghost of your perfume—something sweet and sharp, clinging to his clothes like a promise—and the Polaroid in his pocket, burning a hole straight through to his skin.

The get-together on Friday is a grand fucking disaster from minute one. Steve's apartment swims in a haze of cigarette smoke and the stale tang of spilt beer, the kind of party atmosphere that usually feels like second nature but tonight just makes his skin itch. The laughter rings too loud in his ears—Eddie's wheezing cackle from the couch, Robin's snort-giggle as she loses at poker again. Normally, he'd be right there with them, tossing out stupid jokes and soaking up the chaos. But tonight, every word sticks in his throat like gum, and every forced smile makes his jaw ache. And you.

Fucking hell, you.

You're everywhere. Perched on the arm of Eddie's chair, your knee brushing his. Leaning over Robin's shoulder to peek at her cards, your hair falling in a curtain that smells like vanilla when it grazes Steve's arm. Laughing at some stupid story Nancy's telling, your head thrown back, the column of your throat working as you swallow your drink. Every glimpse is a fresh punch to the gut. He's two beers deep and still wound tighter than a spring when it happens. You turn just as he steps forward, and his drink sloshes over the rim, drenching the front of your shirt in cold amber liquid. "Shit—fuck, I'm sorry—" Steve stammers, already grabbing for napkins he knows won’t help.

You look down at the mess, then back up at him with an expression he can't quite read. "Real smooth, Harrington," you deadpan, but there's no real heat in it. Just that same unreadable something that's been in your eyes all night. The fabric clings to your skin as you peel it away, and Steve's mouth goes dry. He forces his gaze up to your face, but it's too late—he's already seen the way the wet cotton moulds to the curve of your breast, the shadow of your nipple through the thin material. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" you ask, and your voice is so normal, so casual, like you didn’t just notice him staring. Like you're not standing there half-drenched because of him.

Steve swallows hard. "Yeah, no, I mean—go ahead." He gestures vaguely down the hall, his face burning. "Towels are under the sink if you... you know." You nod, sliding past him so close the heat of your body sears through his shirt, your arm brushing his in a way that sends sparks skittering down his spine. The party's dying embers surround you—empty cups littering sticky tables as the four of you remain in the hollowed-out quiet of the now-empty apartment, and when you disappear into the bathroom, Steve exhales like he's been holding his breath for hours.

Robin materialises at his elbow like the world's smuggest ghost. Her grin vibrates with barely contained glee, fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave crescent moons in his skin. "Dude," she stage-whispers, her breath scalding his ear, "you're a walking fucking disaster." Steve doesn't deny it. He's been digging his own grave for weeks – every aborted reach across the Beemer's console, every confession drowned in stale beer, every time he's nearly had you pinned against the Family Video horror section only to choke at the last second. "Christ, Buckley," he hisses through gritted teeth, "not now—" The bathroom door creaks open. You. Polaroid pinched between your fingers like an executioner's blade, edges worn soft from how often he's traced them. Steve's stomach plummets through the scuffed floor.

Oh, fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck—

The drawer. He'd forgotten about the goddamn bathroom drawer he left the Polaroids in.

Your approach is lethal. Purposeful. The sharp staccato of your boots on hardwood echoes like a firing squad cocking their rifles. The air between you curdles – thick with tension and something darker, something that makes Steve's pulse stutter in his throat. When you speak, your voice drops to that register—the one that turns his bones to liquid, something that makes the fine hairs on the back of Steve's neck stand at attention.

"Where did you get these?" Not a question. A goddamn death sentence.

Robin's nails bite deeper. "Holy shit," she breathes, eyes darting between you like she's watching the best tennis match of her life. "This is better than my parents' divorce." Steve's heartbeat riots against his ribs as you stop just beyond reach—close enough that your perfume coils around him. The Polaroid dangles from your fingers, the image facing him like an indictment: your lips swollen, lashes fluttering against tear-stained cheeks, fingers twisted in sheets that should be his. The lights hum overhead as you tilt your head, catching the sharp challenge in your gaze. "Where did you get these?" you repeat, each word dripping with deliberate intent. Steve's throat seals shut. Every lie he'd prepared withers under your burning stare, under Robin's vibrating presence at his side, and under the way his body betrays him with every inch you close between you.

"I—" His voice cracks like dry kindling. "My jacket. And—fuck."

You step closer. The brush of your knee against his sends electric currents through the denim. "And?"

"My glove compartment." The admission tears from him like flesh from a wound.

Robin makes a sound between a wheeze and a dying air horn. Your smirk could strip paint from walls. "Interesting."  Another step forward, and now your chest nearly grazes his with each breath. He can't tell if you're moving in for a kiss or a kill shot.

"And what were you planning to do with them, Steve?" His mouth floods. A dozen filthy images flash through his mind—his teeth marking your thigh, your back arching against the employee break room wall, that broken moan you'd make when—

You lean in. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear as you whisper, hot and deliberate: Steve's vision tunnels to pinpricks. "You—you've been—" Your grin cuts deep. "Leaving them for you?  Yeah." The world tilts on its axis. Steve stares at you, caught between outrage and a hunger so deep it terrifies him. "You've been messing with me this whole time—"

A careless shrug as you step closer—so close your thighs slot between his, your skirt riding up just enough to make his hands twitch with the need to touch. "Maybe I wanted to see if you'd crack."

"Why?" It's barely more than a breath. Your expression turns sweet, soft. "Because I like how you look at me when you think I'm not watching." A heartbeat of silence stretches between you, thick and charged.

"Did you like them?"

The question hangs suspended, heavier than the humid air between your bodies. Steve's control shatters. “I hated those photos,” he grits out, voice shredded.  “Not because—fuck, not because I didn’t want you. But because every time I looked at them—”  His jaw clenches so tight it aches. “All I could think was it should’ve been me making you look like that.”

Your lips part, just slightly, and you step closer. Just one more step. But it’s enough to make his pulse riot. “Prove it,” you murmur, your lips brushing his with provocation.

His hands find your waist.

Your breath hitches.

The space between you collapses. And when he kisses you, it’s not sweet. It’s desperate. It’s what I’ve wanted forever. It’s why the hell did we wait so long? You gasp against his mouth, fingers twisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, every desperate inch of his body imprinting itself on yours like he’s trying to melt into your skin. Then his mouth crashes down—hot, demanding, lips moving with a possessive hunger that rewrites your pulse into something wild. You whimper into the kiss, fingers scrambling at his shoulders as Steve licks into your mouth like a man starved. There's nothing gentle about it – he kisses like he's determined to rewrite your DNA with teeth and tongue and the relentless press of his hips until every cell in your body sings his name. It's everything he's fantasised about and so much more – the heat of you pressed flush against him, the crescent moons your nails carve into his shoulders, and the broken little whimper you make when he nips at your bottom lip. When he finally tears away, you're both panting, foreheads pressed together, his ragged breaths scalding your swollen mouth.

"Took you long enough," you murmur, voice wrecked. Steve huffs a laugh, thumb swiping across your kiss-slick lips with a reverence that belittles the hunger in his eyes. "Yeah, well. You could've just told me."

You grin, all teeth. "Where's the fun in—" "Hell no," Eddie's voice cuts in, strangled. "I am not witnessing Harrington's sexual awakening live and in colour—" Robin's already dragging him backwards by his collar. "We're leaving! Enjoy your— Jesus Christ, Steve, just— use protection—!"

The door slams. Steve's on you before the latch clicks – no hesitation, no space between. He pins you against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, his body a furnace against yours. One hand fists in your hair while the other slides up your thigh with deliberate roughness, calloused fingers branding your skin through the fabric. "Should've done this years ago," he growls against your throat, thumb circling your nipple with just enough pressure to make you arch into him. "Why the hell didn't we?"

His forehead drops to yours. The warmth of his breath ghosts across your lips as he confesses, "Because you're Robin's best friend. Because Eddie would've never shut up about it." His hips grind forward, the hard line of his erection leaving no room for doubt. "Mostly because I was fucking terrified of losing you."

"You?"

"Thought you'd get bored of me," you admit, the wall biting into your shoulder blades as he presses closer. "Worried I'd just be... another conquest." Steve goes utterly still. When he meets your eyes, the raw intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flip. "You were never just anything." His whisper is rough, like the words were clawed from his chest. "I've been in love with you since you beat me at Mario Kart drunk off your ass in '86." A surprised laugh punches out of you. "That was like our fifth hangout."

"Yeah." His grin is all boyish charm, obscenely at odds with the filthy drag of his fingers on your inner thigh. "Fucking devastating." Then his mouth is at your ear, teeth scraping that sensitive spot that makes your knees weak. "Gonna spend the rest of the night proving it to you," he promises, voice dark with want. Something feral flashes in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he hauls you up — arm hooked under your thighs — and carries you toward the bedroom, your laughter dissolving into a moan as his mouth finds yours again. The last coherent thought you have before he drops you onto the mattress is that you should've let him find those Polaroids much, much sooner.

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

[asoftsighh]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ rockstar!eddie munson x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

eddie reassures you that you’re the only one for him

1.5k words - cw: mention of groupies and cheating (neither in detail)

You don’t usually travel with them. 

It’s not like you don’t want to, but being an adult is hard. You have bills to pay and a job to go to; you don’t have the time or funds to travel coast to coast with Eddie and the boys. Tonight is different. The tour has brought Corroded Coffin close to home, and Eddie had asked you to come with a wide smile and a kiss. It would’ve been hard to say no even if you wanted to. 

So here you are, tucked backstage while the boys finish their set, adrenaline pumping through the venue. You can hear the last song wrapping up Eddie’s guitar loud over the crowd. You’re wondering whether that's because he is loud or if your ears are just attuned to him when a girl comes up to your side.

She’s already looking at you when you turn. She's pretty. Tall and blonde. Looks like she could be a model if she wanted to, but she’s more likely one of the college students that stick with the band, hoping for one of the boys to notice her. 

“You with the band?” Her voice competes with the loud music as she perches on the arm of the chair beside yours.

You nod and smile politely. “Yeah. I’m Eddie’s girlfriend.”

She looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your clothes. Shifting uncomfortably, you watch the door, waiting for Eddie’s entrance to come and save you. 

“You go on tour with them?”

Your eyes are still on the door as you listen to the outro to their last song. Tonight’s crowd is loud and rowdy; you had seen as much when you peeked out to look. Shaking your head, you say, “No, I have a job.”

The girl lets out a low whistle, raising her brows in surprise. “That’s brave.”

Your own brows go up in confusion, turning your head to look back at her. “What do you mean?” 

She sips a beer that she must’ve grabbed from the cases stacked behind her. “It’s no offense, I just don’t see that many girlfriends letting their men go off on tour without them,” she says, twirling a long piece of her light hair. Her eyes roam around casually, as if what she’s saying isn’t causing beads of sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Y’know, the whole rockstars and groupies stuff. Can’t have one without the other.”

You’re saved from responding when cheers leak through the now open door, the band members coming in one by one. They all buzz with that post-performance energy, bounding across the room. Eddie is full of the same, eyes searching for something. You, if you had to guess. 

When his eyes do find you, he lights up like a damn match. You’re already standing when he makes his way over to you, wrapping his sweaty arms around you, pulling you against his lean body. 

“Did you hear the crowd?” He asks, astonished, against the warm skin of your neck. You feel and hear his smile rather than see it. His hands squeeze your hips, palms warm enough to seep through your shirt. 

His excitement is enough to rid your mind of the girl from before temporarily. Your fingers curl into the damp fabric of his shirt. 

“You were amazing,” you say, and you mean it. The crowd must agree with you, their energy still ringing through the walls and along your bones. 

Eddie comes out of your neck to look at you, eyes sparking with adrenaline and affection blended together. “I had to play my best, my girl is here.” He pushes your hair back as he says this, following it with a quick kiss to your lips. You hum, but the feeling starts to fade, the love swelling in your chest turning into dread when you think of her words. 

Rockstars and groupies. Can’t have one without the other.

You trust Eddie, you really do, but now the thought is there, lingering like the smoke from a blown-out candle. 

He hasn’t seemed to notice, though, too busy with saying goodnight to the boys. They peel off in different directions, some for a drink and others for their dressing rooms. Eddie comes back to your side, fingers loosely holding onto the back loop of your jean shorts. 

He kisses the side of your head. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

You allow him to guide you to his dressing room. As you walk, he talks animatedly, most likely retelling something that happened on stage. You struggle to pay attention though, replaying every phone call and visit between you and Eddie the last few months. No way, you tell yourself. This is Eddie. 

He tells you everything. He calls you every night. He sends you postcards from truck stops and brings you little trinkets from cities you’ve never even heard of. He writes songs about you. He cries over you. He carries a photo of you in his wallet like you’re some kind of lucky charm.

Inside his dressing room is quieter. Dim lighting hums overhead, casting a soft glow over the limited furniture and clothes spread sporadically throughout. You sink into the couch, ignoring the spring you feel beneath your thigh. 

“You okay?” He asks, grabbing a towel from its hanger to pat himself dry of sweat. 

You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Forgetting about the towel, he comes over to kneel in front of you, loose strands of his hair tickling your bare thighs. Reluctantly meeting his eyes, you read his face immediately. The look of concern mixed with I can read right through your lies, sweetheart. 

His hand finds your knee, giving it a squeeze. “You sure? You’re quiet.”

You hesitate, opening and then closing your mouth. You could tell him. Let it out, let it ruin nothing or everything. Would it be better to know, to rip the band-aid off and get it over with? 

“There was this girl…” you start slowly, watching as worried creases start to appear on his face: between his brows, at the corners of his lips as they tug downwards into a frown. “She just started talking to me about how rockstars and girlfriends don’t really mix well. Because of… well, groupies.”

Eddie’s expression turns cold and hard. “Who?” He asks, his voice low. “What girl?”

You shake your head quickly, letting out a small sigh as you cover his hand with yours. “It doesn’t matter. Really. It just stuck in my head.”

He doesn’t look mollified. He’s still staring at you, brows drawn, like he’s trying to read between every word you’re saying. Eventually, he exhales, shoulders relaxing. 

“Baby,” he murmurs, both hands now sliding up your thighs. “You know I’m yours, right?”

You don’t say anything yet, assuming that he isn’t done. You’re right.

He rises from the floor to sit beside you on the couch, facing you completely. “I know that I’ve been on tour for a couple months, and being away from you sucks ass, but it has always been just you.” He huffs out a breath, searching for the words. “And I’m not stupid. I know where I belong.”

You look down, eyes burning as you blink quickly. He leans over to kiss your brow softly. 

“I don’t care if hundreds of girls throw themselves at me after every show,” he continues. “Because none of them know me like you do. They don’t know how I like my coffee, or that I cry during that one Pink Floyd song you love. But you do, sweetheart. It’s only you.”

You inhale a shaky breath, raising your head to look at him. Reaching out to stroke his cheek, you say, “I know. I trust you Eddie. I really do. She just… got in my head.”

He holds onto your wrist so he can kiss the center of your palm. “I get it, baby,” he says softly. And it hits you now, how you get a version of Eddie that the rest of the world doesn’t. They get the loud guitarist, while you get the boy who paints your nails and kisses your tears away. 

You don’t say anything for a second. Just let your hands rest on his cheek as he kisses it again. 

“I missed you,” You whisper. 

He exhales like he’s been meaning to say the same thing. “Missed you so much that I was going crazy. Told Gareth I was gonna tattoo your name on my ass if I didn’t see you soon.”

A laugh sneaks out of your throat, watery but real. “Please don’t.”

His grin is boyish, all dimples and relief, nose brushing against yours. “Fine. I’ll just write more songs about you, then.”

You shake your head, smile pulling wider as you ask, “Don’t you have enough?”

His face looks like you’ve hit him and then said some outlandish statement. Before he can go on a rant about how you are forever his muse and that you inspire him everyday, you kiss him. To shut him up, yes, but also because he is yours. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry.

Synopsis - The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. steve's got an ego, but for good reason.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 2k

Author's Note - hi lovelies!! my first steve fic!! listen, I actually really didn't enjoy stranger things, but... I love this man. he's charming and he's a softie and he's such a good character to write. hope you enjoy this - it's got me all warm and fuzzy. please feel free to send me a christmas request if you fancy, I'm in the mood to write some seasonal fics. much love, always!! <3

as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! please, if you enjoyed, consider reblogging this so it gets further reach. comments and feedback are always appreciated!! thanks, angels. <3

Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Masterlist. Inbox. The Moodboard. Series Masterlist.

Three rocks ping off the panes of your bedroom window in quick succession.

You're applying your moisturiser in the mirror, winding down and almost ready for bed. Your reflection is illuminated by a faint glow from the fairy lights you've draped over the headboard for the festive season, warm and comforting. A soft, jazzy melody is drifting from the radio softly, a welcome noise to break up the silence.

Another rock hits your window.

You fly out of your seat and towards the source of the trouble, worried that he's going to throw one too hard one of these days.

"Steve," you hiss as you yank it open. "Cut it out. Just come through the door."

"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles, eyes rife with mischief.

You roll your eyes but step back anyway, making room for him to climb the tree and dive through the window into your room.

"Hi, sugar."

"Hi, Steven."

He grins at you, bright and awake despite the late hour.

"Don't you have better plans on a Friday night, King Steve?"

"And miss out on seeing you in your little pink pyjamas? Absolutely not."

You shove at his chest, smacking him upside the head for good measure. He feigns pain and wraps his arms around your middle, picking you up off the ground and spinning you in circles. You shriek, and the sound makes him laugh.

"Okay, okay! I'm dizzy! Put me down!"

He obliges by throwing you unceremoniously onto your bed, smirking when you almost bounce off it.

"So," he begins, sitting down across from you. "How was it? Do you feel like a whole new woman?"

You scoff.

"What? That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad. We didn't even do it."

He quirks a brow in curiosity, tilting his head to look at you.

"I thought tonight was the big night?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be. But he was kissing me, and it just didn't feel... right? He started grabbing at me and I realised that you can only lose your virginity once - and that definitely wasn't how I wanted to lose mine."

You shrug, trying to play indifference, but Steve can see the hurt in your eyes.

"You always deserved so much better than him."

"Thanks, Steve."

"Come on, Cherry. The guy is an asshole who happens to be attractive. His face is the only thing he's got going for him."

The mention of your childhood nickname has memories of fruit flavoured popsicles on summer days flooding back. Laughter by the pool, pushing Steve in and screeching when he dragged you with him, staying out in the sun until you were both exhausted. Cherry. You've always been Steve's Cherry, for as long as you can remember. You still wear the lip balm he bought you last year, fitting for your moniker.

"You didn't like him from the start. Actually, you've never liked any guy that has ever liked me."

"Because they're not good enough for you."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And you're the boss of me and my love life now?"

"I'm the person that knows you better than anyone in the entire world. I think I have a pretty good view on things."

You huff, but accept your defeat in knowing that he's right. No one knows you like him. Steve always does this. He pisses you off, but makes you love him a tiny bit more each time.

He grabs your foot from the bed, pressing his thumbs into your sole. You relax instantly, tired of half arguing with him.

"I give up."

"With what?"

"Dating. Fuck it."

He chuckles, rubbing soothing patterns into your ankle gently.

"You've barely even started."

"Ooo, sorry Mr Womaniser."

"Stop it," he chides, pinching your calf. "Maybe The One for you just isn't in Hawkins. This place has always been too small for us anyway."

"Yeah, maybe. It'll all change when we go to college, hopefully."

"Exactly. It'll be a whole different ball game. There'll be tonnes of hot guys begging for your attention."

"And you'll be fighting them off."

"Yes I will."

You laugh, poking him in the chest with your foot teasingly.

"And maybe the college guys will actually know what they're doing in bed."

"Hey, some of us do know!"

"Yeah yeah, Steve's good in bed. I've heard it all before."

"Don't be jealous, Cherry baby."

"Jealous isn't quite the word I'd use."

"No?"

He drops your foot and scoots closer, settling in between your parted legs.

"You're not even a little bit curious what all the rumours are about?"

"Steve," you laugh. "I think they're probably just exactly that. Rumours."

He inches in towards you, so his forehead is almost touching yours. Running his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, he takes a deep breath in.

"You should let me show you just how much I know. We're not all clueless, Cherry. I'm confident I could make you feel good."

You exhale with a shudder.

"I'm not letting you take my virginity, Steve."

"I don't want to. There's a thousand ways I can make your legs shake without fucking you, baby."

You stare into his big doe eyes, admiring the way a single strand of hair has fallen across his forehead. You look for a shred of doubt, or amusement, but all you see is love. Admiration. Trust. Sincerity.

"Okay," you breathe, before your mind has truly processed what you're saying. "Show me what you got, Harrington."

He grins, slow and saccharine, like the cat who got the cream.

"Steve?" you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't going to fuck things up between us, is it?"

He smiles, big and bright.

"Never. Nothing is ever going to fuck things up between us. It's you and me forever, Cherry Pie."

You chuckle at the nickname, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

"Well, then what are you waiting for?"

He shakes his head and grabs your ankle, pulling you across the bed and into his body. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"If at any point this gets weird, or you don't like it... Just say the words, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, inhaling the scent of mint from his tongue. "Promise."

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't usually ask," you tease.

It's no secret that you and Steve have kissed a few times. Once after prom, once at a party here and there, once when you were cuddled in bed comforting him after a break up. But it's never led to anything more. Which is probably why this feels a little different.

"I know, but this is a little more... intense, than usual."

You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his consideration for you, and nod your head gently.

"Kiss me. Please."

Steve wastes no time, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint and soda, with a hint of the cherry lipbalm he steals from your nightstand. You instinctively shuffle closer to him, straddling his lap as his arms bracket themselves around you. It's like he can't decide where to put his hands - they're roaming up your back, squeezing your ass, kneading your thighs. He's antsy and impatient, eager to feel you.

"Lie back," he whispers against your mouth, tipping you onto the bed.

Your head hits your pillows and you crane your neck to watch him as he crawls down your body, eyes never leaving yours.

"Steve-"

"Stop thinking so hard, Cherry. I can practically hear your thoughts."

You huff but can't keep the smile off your face, willing your mind to stop racing.

"Let me quiet things down, hmm?"

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up and up until he reaches your hip. He licks across your hipbone before nipping it with his teeth, smirking when you gasp.

Grasping the waistband of your pyjama shorts, he asks for permission with his eyes, no words needed. You nod and lift your hips, letting him slide them down your body.

You've never been so exposed, which is causing a sudden realisation that the two of you are crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. As if he can read your mind, Steve presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, tender and full of love.

"Babe, if you want to stop..."

"I don't, I promise. I'm just nervous. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he murmurs, resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. "Never apologise. You're doing so good, Cherry. I love you."

You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't I love you. You've both said it to each other a million times, but something about saying it in this exact moment makes it feel... weighted. You'll talk about it later. You'll make sure of it.

"I love you too. So much."

You're whispering, scared to ruin the peace you've created. Steve kisses your skin again gently, gazing at you like you've hung the stars just for him.

"Let me make you feel good, okay?"

When you nod, Steve nudges your core with his nose, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you anchored in place.

"So pretty," he's mumbling. "Prettiest fuckin' girl I've ever seen."

He starts slow, easing you in carefully. Kitten licks and gentle nips, testing the waters. When you tangle a hand into his hair and tug, Steve gets the message.

"You want more, pretty baby?"

"Yes," you confirm, more breathless than intended. "Please."

He dives back in, this time with more intention. His nose keeps nudging your clit, the friction licking up your spine deliciously. It's like he can't get enough, eating you out like a man starved.

He groans into your heat, the vibrations making you whine. When he curls his tongue just right, you keen, the sounds leaving your mouth foreign to the both of you.

"Fuck, you sound so beautiful. You're perfect. God, you're perfect."

"Stevie," you pant. "So close."

"I got you. Atta girl, I got you. That's my girl, give it to me."

Maybe it's the my girl, or maybe it's the way he's slipped two fingers into you, but the coil snaps. Your back arches off the bed as white heat engulfs your body, vision going black for a moment. You can hear him talking you through it, loving and encouraging. Eventually, your grip on his hair loosens as you go lax, collapsing back against the comforter.

Steve grins at you as he licks his fingers clean, crawling up your body to kiss you. You groan when you taste yourself, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Resting his head on your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, humming gently when he relaxes.

"You okay?"

"Never better," you laugh. "You're good with your mouth, Harrington. I'll give you that."

"Told you the rumours were true."

You shake your head and reach over, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a sip. You offer it to Steve without a second thought, rolling your eyes when he downs the rest.

He plucks your cherry lipbalm from the drawer and applies it to himself, before leaning up to carefully do the same to you. He pecks your lips sweetly before returning it to its rightful place.

"You replace it, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"The chapstick. I've had it for a whole year, and I've never even come close to reaching the end."

He blushes as he looks at you, suddenly bashful.

"It's special," he murmurs. "It's our thing, you know? And it smells good. I like knowing that I'm the only one who knows you taste like cherries."

You want to poke fun at him, say something to make him laugh. But you can't. He's rendered you speechless, for the second time in one night.

"I like knowing the reason you taste like spearmint is because I've been slipping pieces of gum into the pockets of your jeans for ten years."

"I knew it," he laughs, leaning up to kiss you firmly. "I can't tell you the last time I bought gum."

"You're welcome."

Steve shucks off his jeans and his shirt, climbing into your bed with just his boxers on. You slip your underwear up your legs before getting under the comforter with him, tangling your limbs with his.

The tunes from the radio still hum gently as the fairy lights flicker.

The room is unchanged.

The people in it are not.

read Part Two here. Part Three here. Part Four here.

@lillian-gallows @bookish-embroidery-witch @sweetdazequeen @fruityforcocoapuffs @steviespookie @livsters @diffrent-spokes @violet2022 @mrsjoequinn @valerievortex @chrrymunson

[on-my-contrarian-sh1t]

false god: part one || s.h. x fem!reader

A/N: this was written a year ago and i just found it so yea! not proofread either TWS: cursing

the hot sun felt like it was searing into your skin, the stifling air felt like a weighted blanket on a warm night. your old, red, tattered sunglasses weren’t helping much either. you had a loose t-shirt on and jean shorts. your shirt was old, stained, and ripped in some places so you wore a thin tank top underneath. your book, which was now hot, rested on your leg as you sat in a criss-cross position on your lawn chair. you were sitting by your backyard fence, facing the vast extent of trees that were scattered next to your house. the soft rustling of leaves brought you out of your book and back to reality.

you set your feet on the ground, gently sliding them into your worn down sandals before leaning forward to peer at who was making their way back to your hiding place.

to your obvious surprise, steve harrington walking over, muttering something under his breath and shaking his head. his hand was shielding his eyes from the sun despite the black ray-bans adorning his face. he was in a loose t-shirt and long jeans. despite the heat, he didn’t look sweaty.

as soon as the brunette looked up, a startled look washed over his face, stopping dead in his tracks, and his hand falling down to his side.

“oh,” was all he said. “sorry. didn’t mean to interrupt what you were doing.”

you gave him a thin, tight-lipped smile. it was genuine and friendly but laced with confusion and wariness. “you’re fine. can i help you?”

“actually yes,” replied steve. you could see the exact moment where his heart dropped. “i mean, as long as you’re not busy.”

you shook your head. you slid your homemade bookmark into your book, stood up, and set the book on your chair. you leaned back, stretching your tight back. “no, of course not. i was just reading. what’s up?”

“d’you know who dustin henderson is?” asked steve hesitantly. something was in his voice that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. a tone, or feeling of some sort. the closest thing you could describe it as would be embarrassment.

“yeah, ’course i do,” you answered, nodding. “short, curly hair, wildly smart?”

steve nodded. “i’m kind of his babysitter. he told me to meet me behind this house at the end of his street. i was wondering if you possibly saw him.”

“no, sorry,” you responded, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun. you chewed at your bottom lip, debating your next move. you had heard steve harrington changed – for the better – but you still didn’t quite trust him. he seemed nice enough but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all a trap to make a fool of you. you had seen your friends getting picked on firsthand by king steve. it had been a year or two since you and steve graduated high school and ever since he left, you had heard nothin’-but-nice things about him. however, he seemed genuine and you wanted to help him. it didn’t help that he had a massive growth spurt since high school – a good one at that – but you pushed that silly thought out of your mind. “i can help you,” you offered before you could stop yourself. “look for dustin. i could help you look for him. he’s my neighbor, i’ve seen him go back there a million times. i even helped him sneak through after my dad yelled at him for crossing over our lawn to do illegal shenanigans – they were just testing a science project.”

steve nodded and gave you a smile. it was small, fleeting, and probably meant nothing but you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering. you attempted to reciprocate the gesture but steve was already making his way through the shrubbery beside your house.

the trees and bushes were thick. you got scratched by several branches and you heard scurrying – which you prayed was nothing more than a stray – and the mosquitos were everywhere.

“if you don’t mind me asking,” you began, wiping the sweat from your forehead. the sun was more bearable simply because of the trees blocking out some of the light. “why’d dustin ask you to meet him in the middle of the forest?”

“i dunno,” mumbled steve honestly. “he’s really into dungeons and dino– what’s the name of the game?”

“dungeons and dragons?” you offered patiently, biting back a laugh.

“that’s the one,” said steve, pointing at you whilst nodding. he ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. “he always does shit to harass me. i swear he thinks of me as a servant and not a young adult. i’m pretty sure he’s using me to drive him places.”

“not bad. he’s got his priorities in order,” you returned, shrugging before laughing softly.

steve laughed too before giving you a quiet, “yep.”

the silence that followed after your small exchange was peaceful and not at all awkward like you had expected.

after a few minutes of aimlessly walking, steve worked up the courage to ask about the book you were reading.

“what was that book you were reading?” steve asked, looking over at you. for a split second, the boy thought you went a little pink. it could’ve been the unbearable heat or maybe, just maybe, you really blushed. whatever it was, it went as quickly as it came.

you smiled. this is too good to be true, you thought to yourself. steve harrington asking about me and my life? insane. “it was little women,” you replied. “have you read it?”

“i can’t say i’ve had the pleasure,” said steve, looking thoughtful. you couldn’t help but notice how the ends of his hair were damp from sweat and how his – now retired due to fogging up – sunglasses were perched on the top of his head. “’s it good?”

“it’s one of the best books you’ll ever read, i can guarantee you,” you answered confidently. it was the first time during your little excursion with steve that you actually felt yourself. you felt at home. it felt normal to be trekking through the woods with the steve harrington.

“oh is it?” quipped steve, grinning at your confidence.

“’course, i don’t lie about books, how low of a person do you think i am?” you demanded jokingly. you pushed your hair out of your face as well as the strands that were glued to your forehead by the sweat. “what books do you read?”

“you want me to be honest?”

“’course i do.”

“i’m not much of a reader,” admitted steve, looking embarrassed and sheepish. “i mean, i know how to read – of course i do–” why are you getting so flustered? demanded steve in his head. scolding himself, he regained his composure. “i read occasionally but it’s not a hobby of mine.”

you smiled through a lip bite, taking note of how flustered steve looked. “alright, that’s fine.” it could’ve been the sweltering heat that made you so confident, or the fact that you were holding a normal, respectable conversation with steve but you continued. “if i leant you my copy of little women would you read it? be honest, it’s fine if you say no.”

“y/n, do you realize how sweet that is?” asked steve, still in shock that you said that. it was clear that your books were your prized possessions and steve was clearly not a “book guy” so he found it terribly kind that you were lending a stranger one of your prized possessions.

you were taken aback by the sudden rawness of the conversation. “i– um– it’s not that serious, really,” you mumbled, looking down and shrugging awkwardly.

“i dunno, it was really nice though,” chided steve, his tone gentle but certainly not patronizing.

“thanks.”

the two of you hiked around for a while afterwards until steve had the brilliant idea to just go skull rock and hope someone was there. when you and steve reached skull rock, you saw a small group of boys talking animatedly.

you beamed at steve and he grinned back. steve was beginning to feel warm on the back of his neck but it wasn’t because of his excess of hair, or the heat.

“henderson!” called steve, waving his arms as the two of you stepped under the shrubbery surrounding the stone sculpture. you could see dustin sighing.

“steve,” called back dustin, exasperated. “what the hell took you so long?” mike nodded in agreement, mirroring the exasperated look. will just shrugged and shook his head and lucas did the same.

“well maybe it’s ’cause you four shitheads – that’s excluding will and lucas – gave me wrong information!” snapped steve, placing his hands on his hips maternally. lucas smirked and nudged will who was smiling.

you finally made your way through the bush. “hi guys,” you announced, smiling and giving a small wave. “alright, i’ll leave you boys to it. bye steve, bye guys!” you made your way to leave.

“hey, wait!” exclaimed steve, spinning around. “you helped me find them, you can stay.”

“steve, you found them,” you contradicted, shaking your head. “i was just there for... emotional support.”

“oh, you’re saying i’m emotionally unstable?” asked steve, a small, swift smile playing across his lips which you reciprocated. if you were to look at the boys, you would’ve seen them all wiggling their eyebrows and each other and biting back laughter.

“maybe i am,” you quipped, shrugging. steve placed a hand on his chest in faux offense.

“y’know, i thought we were really bonding–”

“zip it, harrington, i’ll stay,” you interrupted and walking closer to steve and the kids. “hey dustin.” you nodded acknowledgements to the other boys. you saw them all the time with your neighbor but you never actually met them.

“so, are you two...?” asked lucas slowly.

“oh no!” both of you exclaimed in unison, going slightly pink. “no, it’s nothing like that,” you continued. you paused. “he’s not even my type.”

steve nodded vigorously in agreement, despite his heart dropping. “yeah, like you’re not even close to what my type is, no offense.”

your heart fell a little. “yeah, right back at you.”

dustin’s lips were in a thin line, nodding his head and rocking back and forth on his heels with what appeared to be mockery and sarcasm. “yep, sure. that’s what you said about robin, right? and didn’t you tell me that you felt the same way about nancy at first?” dustin looked at you a mischievous smirk on his face. “y’know, you never struck me as a liar, y/n, but if you are fibbing, just know that steve is probably already in love with–”

“dustin, keep talking, will you?” butt in steve, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, his cheeks were a soft shade of pink.

steve nodded, listening closely as dustin animatedly explained a new dungeons and dragons concept. you had no idea what he was talking about and by the looks of steve’s face, you could tell he had no idea either.

after a little while, dustin and the gang were finally finished. “alright, should we walk back together?”

“sure,” you and steve said in agreement.

“henderson?” asked steve suddenly. “why’d you drag us into the woods to talk about dungeons and dragons?”

“correct that sentence, steve!” exclaimed dustin, beaming. “i dragged you into the woods to talk about dungeons and dragons. you were the one who dragged your girlfriend into the woods.”

“hey!” exclaimed steve, face-palming. “for the last time, y/n y/l/n is not my girlfriend! and if i had known you were in the middle of the fuckin’ woods, i wouldn’t have brought her.”

will shrugged and gave steve a kind smile. “i dunno, i think it’s romantic.” steve stared at the boy disbelievingly.

“keep saying that and only two people will be making it out of the woods and that will be me and y/n,” riposted steve. “assholes.”

“babysitter, huh?” you questioned, a smirk on your face. steve’s anger melted away and he smiled.

“yeah, well i’m really just their chauffeur, y’know?” steve answered. you laughed.

“’s nice,” you said, looking at steve, your face serious. “it’s nice how you care for them. despite you calling them derogatory names, you’re a great babysitter. i can see how much you care for them.”

“really?”

“really. you drove through an unfamiliar neighborhood, talked to a stranger, and trekked aimlessly through the woods all for them to explain one dungeons and dragons concept,” you said, ticking off each thing steve did on one of your fingers.

before steve could reply, mike yelled back to you and steve, “guys, we’re out.”

you stood on your tiptoes to get a look at the clearing that was behind underbrush only to see your house standing there. as you got closer you could see your once forgotten items scattered about near where you were sitting.

“alright guys,” you said as soon as the group emerged from the trees. “here’s my house. it was nice seeing everyone.” you nodded at dustin and his friends. “good luck with your game, ’kay? don’t cause too much trouble. don’t drive steve into insanity. g’bye!” the boys smiled and waved at you as they all walked away. you quickly noticed that steve had hung back.

“hi,” you said. “you gonna drive them home?”

“nah,” said steve, shaking his head. “lucas was saying something about a sleepover at dustin’s.”

“oh okay.” the two of you stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. the sun had went down a little bit, dipping behind your house and casting an orangey glow on everything. “can i get you something to drink? or to eat?”

“no,” said steve quickly, shaking his head. “thank you. i don’t wanna be a bother.”

you shook your head quickly. “no, no, you wouldn’t be a bother. not at all. my dad’s on a business trip for the week and my mom... well you’ve heard.”

“you sure?” asked steve hesitantly.

“of course, i can’t journey through the woods with someone and not invite them to dinner,” you joked, your eyes twinkling.

that got a smile from steve. “alright but i’m helping you cook.”

“fine,” you grumbled. you picked up your book as steve scooped up your lawn chair with ease. “no!” you exclaimed, shaking your head at steve. “stop it, you’re the guest. i got it.”'

“it’s not a problem really,” said steve hastily, following you into your garage. “plus, my grandmother would kill me and then herself out of shame if i didn’t.”

you laughed. “as would mine. i guess we have more in common than we thought.” steve let out a chuckle before folding up the chair against the wall.

“thanks,” you said as he stood with a flourish.

“anytime,” he replied immediately, shrugging as if it was nothing. you opened the door in your small garage that led to your house.

“welcome to casa de y/l/n,” you exclaimed. “’s really just me most of the time but legally, my father owns this house so i feel obligated to say y/l/n and not y/n.”

steve snorted. “another thing i can relate to. my parents are never home.”

“wow, maybe it’s a hawkins thing,” you suggested. you led steve into your home, giving him a tour starting in the living room and ending back in the front of the house.

“’s very nice,” complimented steve.

“thanks,” you said, walking into the kitchen, steve at your heels. “so, i have some food in the fridge and you can pick what we make, is that okay?”

“perfect.”

“what music do you like?” you asked suddenly as steve was exploring your refridgerator.

“i dunno. i like popular stuff – i’m not a metal guy,” he replied, looking thoughtfully at you.

you laughed as you exited the kitchen. “lemme guess, you have a metal loving friend?”

“well, not really my friend. dustin’s friend. he’s pretty cool though,” steve replied as you began to card through your vinyls in the living room.

“alright, is blondie okay?” you inquired, holding up a blondie vinyl so steve could see.

“i love blondie.”

“that’s a true mark of a good person,” you said, pointing at him.

he grinned at you.

once you set the vinyl up on your victrola, you walked into the kitchen to see steve cutting tomatoes.

“whatcha makin’?” you asked, stepping behind him.

“salad.”

“oh nice. i’ll make sandwiches, how’s that sound?” you offered.

“sounds good,” replied steve, tossing the sliced tomatoes onto a bed of lettuce.

the two of you cooked together quietly and softly humming blondie under your breaths.

finally, the two of you were finished and seated, music still playing and the food on the table.

“the salad looks great,” you said, smiling at steve as you dug your spoon into the bowl. he went a little pink.

“you think?” he asked, screwing up his lips to one side.

you nodded earnestly.

he scratched the back of his neck and laughed. “’s the only thing i know how to cook.”

you plopped a hearty portion of the salad down on your plate before the realization washed over you. you paused. “steve?”

he was already digging into your sandwiches.

“aren’t you home alone most of the time?” you asked slowly. steve nodded.

“it’s really not that bad,” said steve hastily, catching on. “my parents always provide me with food before they leave–”

you could tell it was a lie just based on his movements. you shook your head. “tomorrow, i’m coming over with food.”

“y/n, you don’t–” you held your hand up and steve stopped talking immediately.

“i refuse. i’m coming over tomorrow and i will be there with food,” you interrupted sternly, your eyebrows screwing up as you stared him down.

“y/n–”

you put your hand on his. despite the severity of the situation, steve couldn’t help his heart from fluttering. yours did too.

“steve. you cooked for me, okay? let me help you,” you said firmly, staring him in the eyes. “please?”

steve gave you a small smile and nodded before pulling his hand from underneath of yours and putting it on top. “thank you. is there anything i could do for you? you can’t just expect me to let you bring food to my house and not do anything.”

you wondered if steve could notice your heart pounding against your ribcage. he had to have noticed, it felt incredibly noticeable.

you grinned at him. “i’ll let you know.” steve grinned back as “i’m gonna love you too” played softly in the background. steve and you just noticed that your hands were still touching at the same time. steve quickly pulled away, looking down.

the two of you continued to eat in a peaceful silence.

•••

it was late when the two of you finished your dinner – probably 7 o’clockish – because the two of you kept stopping your meal to tell a joke or a story.

“alright,” said steve after he – to your reluctance – helped you clean up. “i think that i’ll head home now. i don’t want to be a bother.”

“no!” you exclaimed quickly. too quickly. “you’re not a bother. you’re always welcome here.”

steve smiled at you. “sorry, my salad wasn’t as good as it usually is. kinda wasted all your vegetables too.”

you shook your head. “no, you’re salad was great actually. the vegetables usually go to waste anyways. i’m more of a fruit girl and my dad is practically carnivorous. i swear he only eats so much steak just to prove he can afford it.”

steve smacked his lips together and smiled. “i think it’s a hawkins thing.”

you nodded, fighting the urge to say “or just us.” “well, i won’t keep you.” steve slid his hands into his baggy pockets before walking out the door, you at his heels.

“wait!” you exclaimed suddenly as steve was making his way into his car. steve stared at you dumbly.

“what?”

“stay right there, i’ll be right back!” you exclaimed, already dashing back to your front door.

steve sat there, unmoving, until you returned with something in your hands.

“almost forgot,” you said, handing steve the object with a massive smile on your face. steve took the object and stared at the text, trying to read it in the diminishing glow of the setting sun. little women. you remembered.

steve smiled up at you, his eyes bright. “you remembered.”

you rubbed the back of your neck, your cheeks growing warm. “i mean, it was only earlier today.” you inhaled as steve asked, “i’ll see you tomorrow?”

you nodded and just as steve went to pull out of your driveway, you ran up to his window. he immediately hit the breaks.

“um, steve?”

“yes, ma’am?”

it bothered you how your heart pumped a little louder and harder when steve said certain things to you. you’d only really talked to him once. you shouldn’t be feeling the things you were feeling that soon. but you were and you couldn’t stop it.

“i had a nice time today,” you said, smiling. “with you,” you added. “even if it was chasing wild teenagers through the woods. i had a really nice time today. probably the nicest time i’ve had all summer–” your breath hitched before mumbling, “’m going to shut up now.”

steve a small smile stretched across steve’s face. “i had a really nice time with you today too.”

and just like that, steve’s stupidly fancy car pulled out of your stupidly lame driveway and steve’s stupidly handsome face smiled at you as he drove away.

god, you were hopeless.

[raven-dor]

you and i pt.4

in which steve harrington and his best friend decide to stop delaying the inevitable…

PAIRING: steve harrington x reader

WARNINGS: given last name (Wilkins), banter, mentions of death, typical stranger things violence, yearning, KISSING, idiots in love

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

🎶 : you and i - one direction

AN: ♥️💗 - they're so cute, i sure hope nothing happens in the future that breaks them up!!

You couldn’t move, frozen where you stood as you stared at the Mind Flayer. Max held your hand tightly, cold to the touch. 

This was it, you told yourself, this was when you died. It was only a matter of time; after all, there was no way you could survive yet another upside-down encounter without a casualty. 

Your heart dropped, thinking about all the things you hadn’t done. All the things you hadn’t said. You coughed, yelling over your shoulder. “Guys!” 

Jonathan yelled, his voice urgent. “Nancy!”

“Alright, alright, I-” She looked up, jaw dropping. “Shit!” 

You pulled Max back, trying to put some distance between you and the Mind Flayer. Mike grabbed El’s hand, racing after you. The lovely thing about this predicament is that after spending virtually all summer in the Scoops Ahoy break room, you knew this place like the back of your hand.

You tried to attack the Mind Flayer, but any and all efforts were useless. You yanked the kids behind the counter of a random fast food chain, holding your breath. 

"Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Do you-" The radio sat on the other side of the counter, your lower lip wobbling at the thought of dying. The Mind Flayer would gravitate toward the sound, its growl growing closer and closer.

You’d been right, unfortunately. Grabbing the walkie off the ground, it roared, flinging it across the mall. Dustin's voice fell out of the remaining parts, garbled from the damage. "Are you en route to Bald Eagle's nest?"

No one dared to reply, too scared to move. "Someone, please just answer. Confirm your safety! Please-"

Another voice came through, tears falling down your cheek. "Wilkins. It's me."  You slapped a hand over your mouth as you sobbed, wishing he were beside you. Wishing you’d told him the truth, the thing you’d been denying for years. "Please let us know you're safe. Please." His voice broke, and she almost started to cry. "I-I lo-"

A crack echoed through the mall, the Mind Flayer destroying what had been left of the radio. In that moment, you’d been convinced that the last voice you would ever hear was Steve’s. 

That was fine with you.

He’d been hesitant to leave you at the mall. He’d finally gotten his hands on you after the whole Russian kidnapping incident, and then he had to leave. He almost asked you to come with them. 

He should have. 

Since he’d left you there, there had been no communication, complete radio silence. He could see the mall’s lights from here, growing uneasy at the way they flickered on and off. Grabbing the walkie, he shoved it into Dustin’s hands, nervously tapping his foot. “Talk to them, will you?” 

“Okay, relax.” The middle schooler cleared his throat, speaking into the radio. "Griswold Family, This is Scoops Troop, do you copy?"

A roar rang through the mic, and Dustin’s heart stopped, eyes welling with tears. His cousin was in there, his friends were in there. Erica and Robin had stopped, staring at the radio like the Mind Flayer would burst through at any moment. 

Dustin yelled through the radio again, hoping you’d answer. "Are you en route to Bald Eagle's nest?" No response. "Someone, please just answer. Confirm your safety! Please-"

Steve ripped the radio out of his hands, frowning when he realized his own were shaking. "Wilkins, it's me." He took a deep breath, scared shitless at the possibility that the love of his life was dead, feeling like a coward that he’d never told you. “Please let us know you're safe. Please.” His voice broke. “I-I lo-" Another roar rang through, followed by a crack. He’d had enough. He couldn’t stand idly by when you were possibly fighting for your life, or even worse, lying cold on the mall floor. A chill ran down his spine as he ran down the hill.

“Where are you going?”

“To get them the hell out of there! Stay here, contact the others!”

Robin raced after him, wincing as her knees popped. “Shit, wait up!” 

You led them out the back, glad that all the time you’d spent in the Scoops Ahoy break room hadn’t been for nothing. Running out of the glass doors, Lucas and Will jumped into the car, while you, Jonathan, and Nancy ran towards the open hood. Billy revved his engine, Nancy nervously urging her boyfriend on.

"Let's go. Jonathan, start the car."

"What-"

"Get it started!"

You grabbed your gun, cocking it before pointing it toward the nusance that was Billy Hargrove. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Nancy grinned, letting off her first shot. 

Billy pressed on the gas, and you aimed for his wheels while Nancy aimed for the window. Nothing stopped him, the bullets like bugs on a window shield. Nancy's gun clicked, her shells empty. He was so close you could see the cuts on his cheek. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally apologized to Max before aiming for his face. Nothing. He was still speeding towards them. You braced yourself for impact, hoping that somehow you could shield the kids from the brunt of the damage. 

But it never came. Another car rammed Billy's, flinging him across the parking lot. It instantly lit on fire, not that you cared or ever noticed. You weren’t paying attention, eyes glued on the Toddfather, and the two people sitting inside it. 

Steve kicked his door open, slamming it behind him.

“Are you alright?” 

You nodded quickly, grinning, as your stomach turned. You felt sick with adrenaline, breathless as he stared at you like you were the only thing in the world. You had this feeling, maybe it was nausea, maybe it was excitement, either way, you knew he was about to do something neither of you could take back. 

He raced toward you, colliding into you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You let out a sigh of relief, wrapping your arms around his neck. His fingers felt hot against your skin, pulling your face out of his neck to look at him, to look at his face and connect his freckles like dots in a line. 

He leaned his forehead against yours, breath heavy. His eyes held yours in a trance, and you knew you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. You’d almost laughed. You could never say no to Steve. “Steve, I-” 

His hands landed on both sides of your face, pulling your lips to his. Your eyes widened, melting into his touch. You ran your fingers through the hair that lay at the nape of his neck, smiling when he pulled you closer. “Steve-” You pulled away just enough that you could breathe, but still close enough that your lips were touched. 

"I love you."

You grinned, pulling him back toward your lips. He sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed you back. “I love you, too, Harrington.”

“Are you done?” Robin’s voice called out. You laughed, hiding your face in Steve’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you instinctively, flipping off his friend. 

“Get in!” Nancy yelled out the passenger window. “We need to go!” 

Robin jumped out of the passenger seat of the Toddfather and into the back of Nancy's station wagon, you and Steve piling in after her. She wiggled her eyebrows at you, laughing to herself. "Could you have chosen a worse time to confess your feelings? You couldn't have chosen any other moment in your entire lives?"

You glared, shoving her, nodding in satisfaction when Robin fell backwards. “If I remember correctly, you wanted this to happen, Robin.” 

She sat up, smiling softly at her friends. “Yeah, I guess I did.” 

"Dusty-bun, you copy?"

"I copy Suzie-poo. It sounds much better now, thanks."

“Oh my god.” You gasped, turning up the volume on the radio. “She's real.”

"Okay, listen, do you know Planck’s constant?"

"Do you know the Earth orbits the Sun?"

You laughed, shaking your head at her comment. This girl sounded perfect for Dustin.

"Okay, so I know it starts with two sixes, and then a... what is it?"

Suzie-poo sounded agitated. "Okay, let me just be clear on this. I haven't heard from you in a week, and now you want a mathematical equation that you should know so you can... save the world?"

"Suzie-poo, I promise I will make it up to you as soon as possible."

"You can make it up to me now."

Steve’s face looked absolutely disgusted, and as a result, pretended to gag at the walkie. You laughed, smacking his arm playfully. 

"What?"

"I want to hear it."

“What the hell?” It was your turn to gag, and you found yourself wishing you could go back in time and make sure you never heard that. 

Steve smacked your arm, wiggling his eyebrows, satisfied with his revenge. “Shh.”

"Not right now."

"Yes, now, Dusty-bun."

"Suzie-poo, this is urgent."

"Yes, yes, you're saving the world, I heard you the first time, but Ged is also saving Earthsea, and he's about to confront the shadow, so this is Suzie signing off."

"Wait, wait, wait. Okay."

You muttered under your breath, staring at the radio with wide eyes. “What weird shit did Dustin get himself into?”

Steve looked embarrassed for him, but was absolutely planning on relentlessly teasing him about this after. "Oh, Henderson."

"Turn around, look at what you see, in her face, the mirror of your dreams-"

Robin laughed. “Is this the Never-Ending Story?”

“I believe so, Robin.”

"Make believe I'm everywhere, given in the light, written on the pages is the answer to our never-ending story, ahahah, ahahah, ahahah. Reach the stars, fly a fantasy, dream a dream, and what you see will be, rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold behind the clouds-"

“I can't listen to this anymore.” Steve reached for the radio, and you laughed, holding it out of his reach. “Uh-uh. I want to hear this. It's not every day your cousin sings the Never-Ending Story, Harrington."

"-and thereupon a rainbow is, the answer to our never-ending story, ahahah, ahahah, ahahah, story! ahahah, ahahah, ahahah." Suzie sighed, seemingly satisfied with her boyfriend’s participation. "Planck's constant is 6.62607004."

"You just saved the world."

"Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun."

"And I miss you mor,e Suzie-poo."

"I miss you more, multiplied by all the stars in our galaxy."

"No, I miss you more-"

The disgusting groveling got cut off, and you knew only one person possessed the power to interrupt them before everyone was tramautized from their disgusting display of affection. "Thank god for Erica."

The Mind Flayer still, looking back toward the mall before changing it’s course. “Shit.” You whispered. “Mike, El, and Max are still there.”

Steve groaned. “And so is Hargrove.” He yelled up at Jonathan. “It's turning around.”

“What?”

“It's turning around.”

“Maybe we wore it out.” Lucas suggested. 

Jonathan shook his head. “I don't think so. Hold on.” He gripped the steering wheel tightly, whipping the car around. All it’s passengers yelped, falling out of their seats. Steve flew backward, and you followed, falling on top of him. 

Robin’s head hit against the wall, and she winced, rubbing her head. “Ow.” 

Your cheeks felt hot, Steve’s hand wrapping around your waist. "Hey, Stevie."

His voice was quiet, gentle as you stared up at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars. “I like this view.”

You gasped, shoving his chest for leverage so you could sit up. “You’re a terrible flirt!” He shrugged, obviously not embarrassed by his actions. “There are children present.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “It’s always the damn kids.”

You groaned as Steve pulled into the Family Video lot, putting the car in park. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn't Keith work here?”

Robin nodded, tilting her head. “Yeah, why?”

“Robin.” You turned around, staring at your best friend. “Think for a moment.”

Her face scrunched, like she really was thinking about it, before the familiar look of realization appeared. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, lowering yourself into your seat. “Oh shit.” 

Steve looked over, squinting, hating that he wasn’t apart of this little secret. “What does ‘oh shit’ mean?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, kissing his cheek sweetly. “Trust me, it’s nothing to worry about.” 

He nodded, kissing your lips quickly. “Alright. If you say so.” 

Robin grabbed the folder in the middle seat, peeking at Steve’s resume. “You put your mom down as a reference?"

“Steven.” You laughed. “I told you not to do that.” 

“I know you did.” You glared. “But she's super well respected.”

He grabbed the door, holding it open for you and Robin. “You're such a dingus.”

You nodded in agreement. “Honestly.”

Steve walked in behind them, staring between you and Keith as he tried to decipher what ‘oh shit’ was in reference to. Robin leaned on the counter, trying to butter up the stubborn manager. 

“Just so you know, we weren't fired. The mall burned down and killed a bunch of people.”

“Thanks, I didn't know.” Keith looked at you, taking a deep breath as he tried to act as nonchalant as possible. “Are you applying too?”

“Nope.” You popped your lips, pointing to your shirt that spelled out New York University in large purple letters. “College.”

“Oh. Cool.” He pointed at Robin, snapping. “Three favorite movies, go.”

“Uh, The Apartment, Hidden Fortress, Children of Paradise.”

He snapped at Steve, wiggling his eyebrows. “You, go.”

“Uhh…” He looked at you for guidance, eyes wide. You gave him an encouraging nod. What could you do, tell him his favorite movies? “Favorite movies?”

“Did I stutter?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Relax, Keith.”

“Animal House, for sure. Uh…” He looked at you again, and this time, you mouthed two words. Star Wars. 

“Eyes on me, Harrington.” Keith barked out. 

You practically cackled, before quickly trying to pass it off as a cough.

“Yeah, uh... Star Wars.”

Keith seemed alright with his answers so far. “Which Star Wars?”

Steve scoffed. “The one with the teddy bears, duh.” He then proceeded to do the most nerdy thing you’d ever seen him do: he squealed like an Ewok.

You clutched your stomach, no longer trying to hide your amusement. You could not believe you were deeply, irrevocably, in love with this idiot.

“No?” Keith looked less than pleased. “Oh!” Steve jumped, grinning. “The one that just came out! The one where the mom wants to... You know. The one with the DeLorean and Alex P. Keaton. The time…” He trailed off, forgetting the title of the movie he’d watched not even a month ago. “Yeah, those are my top three, classics.”

Sure, you thought. If classics were movies that had came out in the last ten years. You grabbed his hand, rubbing the back as you tried to sooth his nerves. 

Keith pointed at Robin, smiling. "You start Monday." He then pointed to Steve. “And you start never."

You and Robin huffed, whispering to each other before nodding.

“Steve.” You murmured.

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Give us a minute, will you?” 

“Yeah.” Robin nodded. “Go look at the movies.”

“Why?” He looked between the two of you suspiciously. 

You gave him a pointed look. “Steve.”

"Fine, fine." He kissed the back of your hand before trudging away. You waited until he was in the animated section to speak to Keith. 

“Alright, you have to understand Keith, I know his taste is a bit pedestrian, but the dingus has other qualities."

"He's a douchebag of the highest order, Robin." You smacked your head against the counter.

"He was a bit of a prick to us in high school, I'll admit, but he remains a total chick magnet."

Keith glared at you as if you had wronged him. "I thought he was dating Wilkins now."

Robin laughed, feeling the momentum slip away from her argument. "Yeah..."

He shook his head, smirking at Robin. "Nope. He's not working here."

You knew what you had to do. Pushing Robin gently out of the way, you smiled as sweetly as you could before placing your hand on Keith’s arm. “Keith, I understand Steve was an asshole to you. Truly, I do. But can you do this one thing..." You conjured your best puppy eyes, tracing shapes on his forearm. “For me? Please?”

Keith gawked at you for a moment before collecting himself, pulling back and straightening his shirt. “Tell him he starts Monday.”

You grinned, winking at the flustered manager. “Thanks, Keithie.”

Robin hooked her arm through yours, walking toward the dingus you both loved so much. “Keithie?” 

You laughed. “I had to seal the deal.” 

“I can’t believe you just did that.” She whispered as you approached Steve. 

“Well, I did. Now let's never talk about that again.”

Steve turned around, frowning. “He didn't change his mind, did he?”

Robin grinned. “He did actually. You start Monday.”

“Really?” He grabbed you, spinning you around like you weren’t in the middle of a very public Family Video. “I did it!”

“I know!” You smiled, gasping as he collided his lips into yours. “Alright, big guy. Why don’t we go home?” 

“Ew.” Robin groaned as you walked back out to the car. “You couldn’t have waited to say that until after you dropped me off?” 

You were dreading this. Getting into NYU was a huge honor, no doubt about it. You’d cried when you found out, excited to walk the same halls your father had so many years ago. 

But now, the idea of leaving home, the idea of leaving Steve, Dustin, Robin, and the rest of your little crew was not in the slightest appealing. You were dreading it so much that you’d even brought up the idea of withdrawing to Steve. 

He’d quickly reminded you that you needed to leave Hawkins, that you were destined for bigger things. You admired him as he parked the car, grabbing your luggage out of the trunk.

You couldn't stop staring at him, as if you stopped, he would vanish. Your friendship had spanned decades, but your relationship had just begun. You felt disgustingly in love, finding yourself taking in his appearance, committing it to memory. You loved him so much that if you stared long enough, you began to cry.

It was dramatic, you were fully aware.

You turned around, wiggling your eyebrows at your little cousin. “Anyone tease you about Suzie-poo yet today?” 

“Shut up. I’ve heard enough about it from Lucas and Max. They kept singing at me.”

“Well, we had to go through the horrifying ordeal that was your rendition, so I think you can deal with it.”

You cackled. “Well said, Robin."

Steve popped back in through your window. “Let's go, babe. Time to get on the plane.”

You glared, raising an eyebrow. “Excited to get rid of me?"

Opening the door, he shook his head. “Of course not, baby-”

“I'm kidding, Steven.” You kissed his cheek, smiling. “Thank you.” 

Dustin groaned, whining as he watched his cousin and best friend flirt. “Just to let you two know, I still am completely disgusted by,” he waved his arms at you. “-This.”

Steve smirked. “Well, we were disgusted by you and Suzie-poo, so deal with it.”

"Yeah, Dusty-bun, deal with it." You stuck your tongue out at your cousin, and Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head affectionately, his arm hooked around your shoulders. “What are you five?”

Robin mirrored Steve, slinging her arm around Dustin’s shoulders. “Think about it this way, you won't have to deal with that until Winter Break. You’ve got time.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t.” 

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[keeryhours]

there is no other love (it’s only yours) - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female! reader

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Summary:

You and your best friend are constantly mistaken for a couple - sometimes you have a little fun with it.

Or, 5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.

Warnings:

Kissing, underage drinking, just fluff

Word Count: 8k

A/N:

Wow this is finally getting posted! This has been in my docs half written since JANUARY. I’m excited to finally share it with you, and anon who requested this, I hope you’re still around to see it! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for my banner ❤️

The first time you were mistaken for Steve’s girlfriend, you were in high school. It was a Friday night and the atmosphere in Hawkins was electric. The basketball team was about to play the championship game, and the whole school was crowded into the gym.

You dressed in a shirt you made with Steve’s number, 11, painted onto it, Harrington across the back. You used face paint to draw little 11s onto your cheeks. When you walked into the gym, Steve spotted you immediately, running up to you and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Look at you, all school spirit-ed up!”

“Just for you,” you laughed. “Harrington’s #1 fan.”

Steve looked genuinely touched. He pulled you into another hug, holding you until his coach called for him.

“Harrington! We need you over here!”

Steve pulled back, hands on your shoulders as he smiled at you. “See you after the game. I better hear you in the crowd.” Then he turned and jogged back to where the rest of his team waited for him.

You were still smiling as you climbed the steps, finding a spot with a great view of the whole court. Carol and Tina gave you a strange look as you passed, but you ignored them.

The game started, and the crowd came alive. Your eyes were glued to Steve the whole time, watching as he expertly blocked the other team’s shots and made basket after basket. He was running the court, and you had never felt more proud.

The other team was not having a good time. One of their players in particular started getting rough with Steve, elbowing him and knocking him to the ground. You gasped, standing to get a better look, but he was fine. Jason offered him a hand and helped him up, and the ref called a foul.

Steve was awarded a free throw. He stood behind the free throw line, bouncing the ball a couple of times as he lined up his shot. He tossed the ball and it effortlessly flew through the air, swishing through the basket. He took his second free throw, once again sinking the ball in the basket. His teammates clapped him on the back as they got back to the game. Steve looked into the stands, spotting you immediately and giving you a smile and small wave that you happily returned.

The game was close. The clock ticked down the remainder of the fourth quarter, and the other team was just barely in the lead, 71 to 70. Steve got control of the ball, spinning around to face the net. The timer went on - 2 seconds, 1 second - and Steve took the shot. All of Hawkins held their breath as the ball flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion - and swished through the basket.

The crowd went wild. You stood, jumping up and down as you screamed your head off. The team surrounded Steve, lifting him high in the air as they chanted - “Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!”

You ran down the steps as fast as you could. Steve turned to you like you were the only person in the room, holding his arms out for you to run into. He scooped you up, twirling you around as you laid your head on his sweaty shoulder.

“That was incredible!” You exclaimed once he sat you down. “You were amazing out there!”

“Thank you,” he said, the huge grin plastered to his face. He was riding the high of the win, of being the star player of the Hawkins varsity basketball team. It was a well deserved pride.

Your moment was interrupted by Carol and Tina approaching. They gave you a look, eyes moving between you and Steve.

“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Carol asked, her tone bitchy as usual.

You opened your mouth to say no, you were just friends, but Steve beat you to it.

“Yeah, we are,” he said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now. She’s the best, isn’t she?”

You looked up at him in confusion, but decided to go along with it. “Oh, yeah,” you added. “Steve is just amazing. He’s the best boyfriend ever.”

Steve went on. “We’ve been best friends forever, you know, but I finally confessed my feelings and asked her out. I was terrified. But she said she felt the same, and the rest is history, as they say.” He chuckled. “Best thing I’ve ever done. She’s my dream girl.”

Carol and Tina both looked between you, their expressions judgmental as they chewed their bubblegum. “Well, good for you guys, I guess,” Carol said, before the two of them walked off.

When they were out of earshot, you turned to Steve, brows furrowed. “We’ve been dating for a couple months?” You questioned him, a laugh in your voice.

Steve shrugged, grinning. “Why not? It’s none of their business anyway.”

“You came up with a whole backstory.” You shook your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

Everyone at school thought you were dating after that, and neither of you ever corrected anyone. When prom season rolled around, Steve asked you to go - just as friends. You went shopping with Robin and found the perfect dress - dark purple, sleeveless and with a poofy skirt. It fell to just below your knees. It made you feel beautiful, you had been looking forward to prom your whole life, never having an excuse to dress up like this.

Your older sister, Lori, came over, excited to help you get ready. You sat on the bench of your vanity, talking and laughing with her as she curled your hair, then did your makeup. She did your eyeshadow first, a smokey eye that went well with your dress. She painted your lips with a nude color. 

Steve picked you up that evening, knocking on your door and using his Harrington charm on your mom, who already loved him. She always told you that you and Steve should get married, and jokingly called him her son in law when he wasn’t around.

When you walked down the stairs and saw him, your heart skipped a beat. In reality you were just friends, of course, but he looked so handsome it nearly took your breath away. He was dressed in a black tux, a dark purple tie on to match your dress. He might have looked even better than you did, you thought.

“You look beautiful,” Steve said. He held a purple corsage in his hand, still in its clear box.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” You reached for the hall table and grabbed the matching purple boutonniere sitting on top.

Your mom took about a million photos as you pinned the boutonniere to Steve’s jacket and he slid the corsage onto your wrist. Then you were made to pose for another million photos. You didn’t entirely mind, and Steve sure didn’t - he was absolutely eating up the attention - but you were ready to get going when she was finally satisfied.

Steve held out his arm and you looped yours through his. Your parents and Lori watched you from the front door as you walked - and saw a limo sitting out front.

“Steve!” You gasped. “This is too much.”

“It’s not every day we go to prom,” he smiled. “I wanted to make it special.”

Steve held your hand as you climbed into the back of the limo, him right behind you. When the limo began moving, he reached into the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne, holding it up on display and raising his eyebrows. “Want a drink?”

“Uh, yes,” you said, like it was obvious - which it was. Steve grinned as he grabbed two champagne flutes and filled them with the bubbly liquid.

You laughed together as you drank on the way to school, and by the time you got there you were both pretty tipsy. It was going to be a fun night.

Steve helped you climb out from the limo, escorting you inside. You stopped to take a photo together where Jonathan was running the booth. As you walked into the auditorium, Time After Time was just beginning to play.

Steve held out his hand - “Dance with me?”

You didn’t have to be asked twice. You took his hand and he led you to the dance floor, his hands sliding to your waist as your arms went around his neck and he held you close. You slow danced with your best friend, worried he could feel your heart beating against his own chest. The way he looked at you sent butterflies flying in your stomach. You almost thought he might kiss you.

But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?

After high school, you and Steve both got jobs at Scoops Ahoy. The uniforms were stupid and the job was mundane, but at least you got to work with your best friend. And Steve was pretty cute in the sailor outfit.

“I didn’t even know there were this many ice cream flavors in existence,” Steve said on your first day, looking down at the freezer in wonder. “It’s like…ice cream wonderland.”

You snorted. “Do you want some ice cream, Stevie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah, I do. You’re telling me you’re not excited by free ice cream?”

“I guess it’s one perk of this shitty job.” You grabbed two of the sample spoons. “What flavor?”

Steve examined the freezer again. “Rocky Road.”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough for me,” you said, opening the glass door and scooping one of each flavor. You handed the spoon to Steve, who ate it right away.

Steve watched you as you ate the ice cream off the spoon, making you blush. You licked the delicious treat off the spoon, him watching you intently the whole time. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, shaking his head as he turned back to the cash register, acting like he was doing something very important as his shorts suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, the skin of his neck heating in a blush.

The two of you goofed around until the mall opened, then it was a steady stream of customers ready to cool down from the summer heat. It kept you busy, but some of the customers liked to talk.

“You’re such a beautiful girl,” one older lady commented one day as you scooped her mint chocolate chip. “Is that handsome young man your boyfriend?”

You started to laugh, “Oh, he’s-“

But Steve interrupted, putting his arm around you. Your heartbeat sped up, beating hard in your chest, although you didn’t know why. “Yeah, we’ve been dating for years. High school sweethearts. It was our dream to open this ice cream shop together. Now it’s finally come true, hasn’t it sweetheart?”

You looked at him. “That’s right babe. I’m just happy to be on this adventure, setting sail on the ocean of flavor, with you.”

Steve kissed you on the temple before he beamed back at the woman, who seemed to believe you as she took her ice cream, smiling at you both. “How cute. That’s wonderful. You remind me of me and my husband at your age.”

When she left, you and Steve busted out laughing. “Nice job, sweetheart,” he laughed.

“You’ve got to stop telling people we’re together,” you shook your head with a smile.

“Why? It’s fun.” Steve lifted his sailor hat to run a hand through his immaculate hair. You couldn’t help but notice his new sneakers he got to match his uniform. He would do something like that.

Steve was in the back when a group of familiar kids walked in. Before they could even ask, you turned. “Stevie, your kids are here!”

Steve came around the corner, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?”

“It’s Day of the Dead,” Dustin reasoned. “We can’t get in and we aren’t missing it.”

You wandered to the back, leaving Steve to deal with the group of kids using him to sneak into an R rated movie. You decided it was the perfect time to take your break, sitting at the table and grabbing your book from your bag, flipping to where you left off.

Out front, Dustin gave Steve a smirk. “So, that’s her?”

Steve’s head twisted around in a panic to make sure you were out of earshot. When he turned back to the kids, his expression was irritated. “Dude.”

“She’s pretty,” Mike commented. “I see why you’re so obsessed.”

“I am not-“ Steve looked around again before leaning closer onto the counter. “I am not obsessed.”

“Yeah, okay, man,” Lucas said, telling Steve he didn’t believe him for a second.

“You never shut up about her,” Max contributed. “We’re not dumb. It’s obvious you’re in loooove.”

Steve blushed furiously, looking down to hide the redness of his cheeks. “I am not…you know what, don’t you have a movie to catch?”

He quickly led them through the back, not giving a single one of them the opportunity to speak to you. He didn’t trust them one bit. He opened the door to the back hall and the kids all filed out, making kissy noises at him as they left.

Because Steve definitely wasn’t in love with you. You were just his best friend. Nothing more. He swears.

Your sister Lori had a baby girl 6 months after you graduated high school. She named her Annie, and she was really a perfect baby. Always so calm and well behaved, and she loved spending time with you and Steve.

You were basically volunteered for babysitting duty whenever it was needed, but you didn’t mind. You always loved kids, and you loved your sister and your niece. It was fun to play house for the day, go out in public and pretend you were a mom. It was especially fun when Steve tagged along, because, well, he made everything more fun.

When Annie was 1 year old, your sister left you in charge while she and her husband went to Indianapolis for the day. You and Steve decided to have a fun day and take her out to the children’s museum. She had just gotten walking down and always wanted to be independent now.

It took Steve an annoyingly long time to find a parking spot and it was making Annie fussy, so when he finally did, you were all relieved.

“Way too fuckin’ busy for a Tuesday,” Steve grumbled as he killed the car engine and started unbuckling his seat belt. You grabbed Annie from the back and got her buckled in her stroller, which Steve pushed to the front door. He bought three tickets from the counter and you all headed inside, Annie looking at the surrounding ocean exhibit with wide eyed wonder.

Steve was amazing with kids. It always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside to see him interact with them, and the way he played with your niece was no exception. He sat her on his shoulders as he walked through the museum, giving her the best view of anything she could want to see.

When you reached the mini grocery store setup, Steve sat the wiggling toddler down and she grabbed his hand, leading him through the fake store. She added all kinds of pretend food to her mini shopping cart, and when she was done, Steve manned the cash register and scanned her purchases.

“Having a cookout this weekend?” Steve asked as he scanned a pretend pack of hot dogs. “Beautiful weather for it.” When she was done, she walked off with her cart. Steve stopped her - “Ma’am! Your change!”

In the playground area, Annie found some toddlers her age and began playing with the blocks with them. You and Steve took a much needed break as you sat together on a bench with Annie in full view.

“Long day,” Steve sighed, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up the slightest bit, revealing a tiny bit of skin. Your eyes went right to it.

“Yeah,” you agreed when you wiped the drool off your chin. “You having fun though?”

“‘Course,” Steve smiled at you. “I love hanging out with my girls.”

His girls. The sentence made you feel giddy, like you weren’t just babysitting your niece and maybe had an actual family with Steve. A wedding ring, an adorable brown haired hazel eyed child. You let yourself entertain the thought.

The couple sat on the bench next to you turned your way, the woman giving you a friendly smile. “Is she yours?” She asked, pointing to Annie.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered. Steve leaned around you to look at the couple. “Her name is Annie.”

“She’s adorable,” the woman said. “That’s mine, Oliver.” She pointed to the little boy handing Annie a block. “Sorry if it’s rude to ask, but how old are you two?”

“We’re nineteen,” Steve answered for you. “Just graduated from Hawkins High a year ago.”

“That’s where we met,” the woman said, smiling at her husband before turning back to you. “You’re so young. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well,” you began, looking at Steve. “It’s definitely hard, but we always knew we wanted kids. Especially Steve.” You leaned on his shoulder, smiling at the couple like you were head over heels in love. “So we got an early start.”

“I’m 30 and I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes,” she laughed. “You two are doing great. You have a beautiful family.”

The comment made your heart soar, as if you hadn’t just completely lied to this woman and it wasn’t all pretend. You squeezed Steve’s hand, and he returned it.

When Annie started fussing and rubbing her eyes, you knew it was time to get her home for a nap. You just hoped the day’s excursion had worn her out enough to lay down without a fuss and take a good one. You put her back in her stroller, and Steve pushed it as you left the building.

“So I have to stop making up stories about us being together?” Steve whispered, teasing you for your earlier words.

You blushed. “It was just the perfect opportunity. She totally assumed we were together and Annie was ours.”

“She did,” Steve agreed. “But you surprised me, I didn’t think you’d go for it. I mean, I would have if you didn’t, but still.”

You burst into laughter. “I knew you were thinking it!”

Steve laughed, too. He shook his head, brown locks brushing against the collar of his shirt. “Of course I was thinking it.”

Annie was passed out by the time you got her back into her car seat. Steve was such a natural with her, it made your heart flutter in your chest. You thought about what it might be like if you were together, if Steve was really your boyfriend - or husband - and you had a child together. You knew he would be the best dad in the world. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind.

He played the radio quietly as you drove back home. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to wake Annie. She probably wouldn’t nap once you got home, so you wanted her to get as much rest as possible. But every now and then Steve would turn to you, giving you a soft smile that made your stomach do flips.

When he dropped you off, he helped you carry the sleeping baby inside. Your sister held her hand over her chest as she watched Steve with Annie, shooting you a knowing look behind his back that had you blushing.

“Thank you for taking her,” she told you both. She kept shooting you glances that were far too obvious for your comfort.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Steve said, usual charming smile on his face. “We had a good time.”

“Yeah?” Lori asked, smiling between you two like an idiot. You gave her a look that said please stop.

“Yes,” you answered for the both of you. You pushed Steve through the house and to your bedroom as he laughed.

“I like your sister,” Steve said, laughing. “I don’t know why you’re always trying to get away from her.”

“She’s embarrassing,” you muttered.

“She’s nice,” Steve said.

Yeah, when she isn’t trying to embarrass you in front of your friend. You shook your head. “You don’t get it. You don’t have any siblings.”

Steve kind of deflated at that, and you instantly felt bad. You knew Steve’s family was a touchy subject. His parents were pretty emotionally neglectful, never around, hardly cared what Steve did as long as he showed up to school and didn’t get himself killed. But he was lonely, and always had been. He’d wished for a sibling for as long as he could remember.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “You can have her, if you want.”

That got a smile out of Steve. He nudged your forehead with his own. “Nah. I’d rather just spend time with you.”

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Eddie asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as he cornered you, Steve, and Robin at Family Video.

“It is Tuesday,” you said, closing up a VHS box and giving Eddie a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ed.”

Eddie was beaming as he turned to Steve and Robin expectantly. Steve had been leaning against the counter on one arm, watching you and Robin. With Eddie’s waiting gaze on him, Steve looked between you and him. “Well, I don’t go anywhere without her, so. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“We’ll all be there,” Robin said. “Calm down.”

Eddie was practically bouncing off the walls. This was a big show for Corroded Coffin - not the typical Tuesday night crowd with five drunks. The rumor was someone from a label was supposed to be there. Eddie had been demanding you all come for moral support - and to make the crowd look at least a little bit better.

That night, you dug through your closet looking for something metal concert-appropriate. You didn’t have much to choose from. You ultimately decided on a black top that tied in the front and a tiny little matching skirt. Some tall lace up boots and tights pulled the look together.

When you walked outside to Steve’s car, you could see his eyes widen through the window. You had to pull your skirt down as you got in to keep from flashing him.

“Jesus,” Steve practically choked out. “You look-“

“Ridiculous?” you filled in for him. “Yeah, I know.”

“That…is not what I was going to say.” Steve shook his head, blowing out a long breath of air as he backed out of the driveway.

You picked up Robin next, who slid into the backseat behind you. Both Steve and Robin were dressed in their normal wardrobe - you felt kind of like a total fucking idiot. This wasn’t you.

You didn’t notice the way Steve kept looking at you, letting his gaze linger way longer than he knew he should’ve. Robin noticed.

At the Hideout, Steve put a hand on your lower back and led you into the crowded bar. It was packed for a Tuesday. Steve left you and Robin in a booth and took to the bar with his fake ID.

When he came back, he had three beers held in his hands. He placed them down in front of each of you and slid into the booth on your side.

There were a few opening acts before Corroded Coffin - no one particularly interesting. You were barely listening to the music at all as you chatted with Robin and Steve, laughing harder and harder the more drinks you got in your system.

When Eddie came onstage, the three of you cheered louder than anyone. He caught your eyes in the crowd immediately, smiling and waving back. The band started playing, and you nodded along to the music.

“I need another drink,” you said, hinting that Steve should get up to let you out.

“I’ll go get it for you,” he said, standing.

“No, I need to stretch my legs,” you said. You had forgotten just how tiny your skirt was until you stood and could feel the breeze on your upper thighs. “We can go together.”

Steve nodded, leading you through the crowd. You may not have noticed, but Steve didn’t miss the way every guy in the bar was looking at you, letting their eyes freely drop to your barely-covered ass. Steve shot dirty looks to all of them, staying close behind with his hands on you at all times.

You made it to the bar, leaning against it. It was packed, the bartender all the way at the other end. “This is gonna take forever,” you groaned.

“Wait here,” Steve said. “I’ll go catch him down there. Another beer?”

“And some shots,” you smirked, which Steve returned. You watched him go, disappearing into the crowd of people.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turned around, startled. A large man stood behind you, not entirely unfriendly looking, but you knew better than to trust strange men in bars. “What?”

“Was that your boyfriend?” the man asked, gesturing towards Steve. You looked back at him at the bar before turning back to the man.

“Yes,” you said on instinct.

The man looked like he didn’t quite believe you, like maybe you were just trying to get rid of him (you were). “How long you been together?”

“5 years,” you said easily, thinking of the day you and Steve had become official best friends. “High school sweethearts.”

“Oh yeah?” the man said, his little interest waning.

“Yeah,” you said. “Actually, he stole me from that guy up there.” You gestured up to where Eddie was going crazy on stage, and the man’s eyes widened. “We were together for a little while. But Steve? He’s the real rocker, if you know what I mean.”

The man looked thoroughly uncomfortable at this point. The sight of Steve coming back over from over your shoulder was enough of a push for him to get out of this interaction. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“The real rocker, huh?” Steve asked with a smirk, sliding up next to you and handing you a shot. He carried both your beers in his one hand. You tilted your head back and swallowed the shot with ease. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I think he was gonna hit on me. Asked if you were my boyfriend.”

“And you said yes?” Steve asked teasingly.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“Nice story,” Steve said, and you blushed, realizing he had probably overheard more than you thought. “I’m the real rocker?” he repeated, like he had really gotten a kick out of that.

You shrugged. “It made him uncomfortable. I thought it was funny.” You took a second shot.

Steve looked at you - really looked at you. His eyes slowly trailed over your body, your outfit, taking in every inch of skin exposed by the tiny material. His heart thudded harder, harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret when Robin came up between you, grabbing your arm.

“You guys took forever,” she said. “Now I need a drink.”

It had been a few years since graduation when Richard Harrington decided he was done torturing his son and gave him a job at his insurance company.

Steve’s first real Big Boy Job. A job where he had to dress in business casual, get up early to style his hair and iron his shirts. He did well there, rising up the ladder faster than expected - you knew it was on Steve’s own merit because his dad wasn’t exactly the charitable type.

You were a junior in college, studying education. Dean’s list, soaring grades, on track to be class valedictorian. Things were going well.

“Do you want to come with me to the company Christmas party?” Steve asked one evening as you were lounging at your apartment. He was still in his work clothes, button up shirt undone with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’d come over right after he got off. Most days, all he wanted to do when he got off work was hang out with you.

“You want me to go?” you asked, sitting your mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, like it was obvious. “I mean, it’s probably gonna be lame, but if you’re there-“

“I’ll go,” you said. “Do I need to dress up?”

“Uh…yeah. Probably,” Steve said.

“It’s fun to have an excuse to dress up sometimes,” you mused.

You couldn’t find anything in your closet you actually liked that fit the vibe of Steve’s fancy annual company Christmas party - so you dragged Robin and Lori out shopping with you. Lori was having fun, at least.

“How many dresses are you gonna try on?” Robin whined, running her hand absentmindedly through the rack of clothes. “I feel like you’ve tried on everything in the store.”

“I just haven’t found the right dress yet,” you mumbled as you examined a little black number on the rack. For some reason, this had to be perfect. You had to look perfect. It was important to you.

“You’ll find it,” Lori said. “It’s in here. I can feel it.”

It was an hour later, and Robin was dragging her feet. You were starting to feel bad - maybe you shouldn’t have brought her, but you missed her since you no longer worked together. You didn’t get to see each other as often.

“Oh my god,” Lori said, slowly pulling a hanger down. “This…”

You turned and saw your sister holding a glittering short red dress. It was stunning. It fit the Christmas/winter wonderland vibe perfectly. You took it from her, the material softer against your skin than you expected.

“Go try it on,” Lori encouraged.

You went into the changing room for what felt like the millionth time and shed your familiar clothes. You took the dress off the hanger, the fabric cascading across your skin like water. It was easy to put on, too.

You stepped out of the dressing room, and Lori gasped.

“Oh, finally,” Robin said.

Turning to look in the mirror against the wall, seeing yourself in the dress for the first time - it took your breath away. You had never felt particularly confident in yourself, but if anything was going to give you unbeatable confidence, it was this dress.

“You look so hot,” Lori said.

“Agreed,” Robin added. “This is the one. And I’m not just saying that because I wanted to get out of here 6 dresses ago.”

That night you dressed in your new gown. The hem went right to mid thigh, showing off your legs in a very sexy way. It showed off your cleavage just enough without it being too revealing for a company Christmas party.

You knew Steve was just your best friend, but you were about to knock him dead.

He picked you up right on time, the knock on the door coming at 6 on the dot. You opened your apartment door to the sight of Steve dressed in navy pants with a white and grey button up and matching suit jacket - a red tie around his neck that somehow matched your dress perfectly. He wore his glasses, which he hardly ever did. 

He had been standing there in his normal bored kinda way, leaning against the door frame as he waited for you to answer like he had much more interesting things to do. But once you opened the door and he saw you, he practically choked, standing up straight and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Wow,” he finally managed to get out. “You- you look incredible.”

“Looking handsome yourself,” you smiled playfully, grabbing your black clutch from the hall table. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, ready,” he said, still distracted. Even with his mind reeling and actively trying not to look too hard at your body, he led you to the car with his hand on your back, opening the door for you and holding your hand as you sat down.

“Is this a date, Harrington?” you teased him as he got into the driver’s seat of his new car. “This feels kinda like a date.”

Steve laughed lightly. “Just trying to be a gentleman.” He thought for a second. “I guess you could be considered my date for the night. By some people.”

“Our first date,” you cooed playfully. “Cute.”

At the office building, Steve parked in his designated spot - close to the front. He helped you out and escorted you inside with you hanging onto his arm. You stepped on the elevator and Steve pressed the button for the 15th floor.

The doors closed, and you and Steve were left in the quiet, the only sound the rumbling of the ascending metal box.

Steve cleared his throat. He looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at you. It was starting to make you feel a little bad. “Do you not like my dress?” you asked softly, your earlier confidence being left behind in the ground floor lobby. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No!” Steve said quickly, almost a little too loud. “No, that’s not- I like it. I really like it. You look stunning. Actually…” he thought for a second. “Stunning,” he said again. “You’re gonna be the hottest chick there.”

You laughed, feeling a little better. You just couldn’t understand why Steve was being so weird.

On the top floor, it was much louder. Muffled Christmas music traveled down the bright white hall, and Steve led you down, opening the door for you.

A party had been set up inside, not huge, but pretty big. Lots of guys in suits dressed similarly to Steve, mingling with drinks in their hands and beautiful women on their sides. You were sure most of these women had rings on their fingers, however. Big, flashy rocks.

Steve was quickly wrapped up in a whirlwind of conversations with his colleagues. You were each handed a champagne flute that you sipped on while you listened to Steve talk about things you didn’t understand while smiling and laughing at the appropriate times.

But Steve kept his hands on you. If you weren’t holding onto his arm, his left arm was around your waist, or his hand on the small of your back. And you couldn’t help but notice how handsome and grown he looked. Steve never wore his glasses, but all of a sudden you wished he would more often.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you whispered to Steve just as he got waved over by another man.

He looked down at you. “Do you want me to take you? They’re just over there, but-“

“No, I’m okay,” you smiled. “Keep mingling. I’ll be right back.”

Steve watched you leave, the sway of your hips in the fabric of that dress near hypnotizing. When you were out of sight, he turned and walked over to Tom, the guy who had been calling him over.

“Hey, man,” Tom greeted, clapping Steve on the back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, having a pretty good time,” Steve answered with a friendly smile.

“Was that your girl?” Tom asked, nodding in the direction you’d gone. And Steve wasn’t going to play the game tonight - he really wasn’t - but then Tom said, “Because I’ve been watching her all night, and she’s hot as hell. I was going to ask for her number if she’s just a friend. Or maybe you could set a guy up?” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve mischievously, and Steve felt like he could’ve punched the guy.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve said. He told Tom your name - and it had never felt quite so right rolling off his tongue.

“Lucky bastard,” Tom teased. “I hope you appreciate what you’ve got. Because that girl is-“

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said, politely cutting him short. “I’m a lucky guy, believe me I know it.”

“How’d you two meet?”

“High school,” Steve answered easily. “She was, uh…she was my assigned math tutor.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he recounted the memory. “Brought me from a D to an A in that class. I’d never learned so much in my life.”

“If my math teacher looked like that…”

Steve smiled, as if he was lost down memory lane. “We became best friends after that. Literally inseparable since. I haven’t gone a day without her in 10 years.”

“That’s sweet man, really,” Tom said, more genuine this time. “I’m happy for you. You deserve a nice girl. Just don’t be an idiot - don’t let her go.”

Don’t let her go.

The words rang around in Steve’s ears for the rest of the night. Even when you returned, back by his side while he made the rounds - he couldn’t stop thinking about what Tom had said. Don’t let her go. Don’t let her go.

Steve hadn’t realized how he felt about you until it slapped him in the face in that exact moment - out of nowhere, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He looked down at you, smiling and laughing as you sipped on your champagne and talked with his boss’s wife - and it nearly took his breath away.

How had he been so stupid all these years?

Sure, there had been times he was unbearably attracted to you - but he was only a man, and you usually happened to be wearing something unreasonably sexy when it happened. Like now.

But there was more. It was the way his heart clenched when you laughed. The way you made him smile like no one else. They way you made him laugh, kept up with his sense of humor, never made him feel stupid or less than. You befriended everyone - there wasn’t a cruel bone in your body. Friend of everyone, yet you never let anything get in the way of your friendship with Steve. You were his best friend.

And he loved you.

He had to get out of there.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked you, mid conversation.

You looked up at him, surprised. “What?”

“I think I’m ready to go,” he said. “I just think…I need to get out of here. Get some fresh air.”

You looked at him with your eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Okay. We can go.”

Grateful you didn’t put up a fight while Steve felt like he was losing his mind, he told everyone a quick goodbye and led you back to the elevator. The ride down was silent, and significantly more awkward. Steve couldn’t wait to be out.

The elevator dinged as it stopped at the lobby once more, and Steve speed walked off. You were running as fast as you could in your heels, trying to keep up. “Steve, wait up! Where are you going?”

He was outside now, the cold air whipping through his hair and making his nose burn. He knew you had to be freezing in that tiny little dress. He had made it to the large fountain in the courtyard when he turned abruptly, nearly making you knock onto his chest.

“Jesus,” you said, stopping. “What are you doing, Stevie? What happened in there? Are you okay?”

Steve didn’t answer any of your questions because he didn’t know how to. Instead, he took his suit jacket off and handed it to you. “Here. You’re probably cold.”

You looked at him strangely. But you were cold, so you took the jacket and slipped it over your shoulders. “Thanks.”

It was silent besides the running water sounds of the fountain. You and Steve just looked at each other, the only ones outside at this time of night. The party was still in full swing upstairs. You just stared each other down, both of you waiting on someone - the other or yourselves - to make the first move.

Steve finally took a step closer to you. He said your name, so gently it floated across to you on the breeze.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked. “I thought we were having a good time, and-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes went wide and you reeled back as if you’d been struck. “What?”

“You heard me.” Steve took another step. “I’m in love with you. I’m fucking in love with you. And I don’t think I can pretend I’m not anymore.”

You were in complete shock. The sounds of the rushing water filled your ears once again, and you gaped at Steve like a fish as you tried to come up with something to say. It felt like your brain had just completely short circuited.

Steve began to look defeated. His head dropped and he held intense eye contact with his loafers. “I…I just had to tell you. I’m sorry.”

More rushing water. Then - “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I think I just ruined the friendship,” he said. “I think I just ruined our fucking friendship.”

“No,” you said immediately. It was your turn to take a step closer. “You didn’t.”

Steve slowly looked up at you, taking his time meeting your eyes as if he were afraid. You’d never seen Steve afraid. “I didn’t?”

“No,” you said. “Because I…I love you too. I’m in love with you too.”

You just stared at each other. That damn fountain carrying the whole atmosphere. Steve took another step, and he was standing so close to you you could smell his cologne and aftershave. His head was tilted down, looking into your eyes like he was reading you from the inside out. “You love me?”

It took you a minute to get your bearings. Your heart was pounding now, and you felt like your body was filled with bubbles from the champagne. Light, bubbly, like you could float away or maybe just pop out of existence. You nodded shakily. “Yeah. I…I love you.”

Steve’s forehead came down to gently rest against your own. Then he slowly raised his arm - his hand finding its spot on the side of your neck, cradling your jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “And I’m in love with you. So, so in love with you. Think I always have been.”

“Steve…”

He shook his head just barely. “Just let me…”

He leaned in those last couple of inches, and then Steve’s lips were pressed against yours. 

When people talk about sparks flying during a kiss, you’d never believed them. It had certainly never happened to you, and you’d kissed plenty of people. But you had never kissed Steve.

He moved his lips against yours so softly and slowly. Like he wanted to feel and savor every second of the kiss, didn’t want to rush. He was hungry for it, but he could take his time. Your hands came to sit on his biceps as his free hand rested on your waist.

It felt so right. It didn’t feel like a first kiss - there was no awkwardness, nothing uncomfortable, just pure passion and love and desire. Steve was a good kisser, too. His tongue traced your lip and you opened for him, his tongue just barely brushing against yours.

Steve let out the slightest breathy moan, like he had finally gotten something he’d been longing for for so long. Your knees wobbled and his grip tightened on your hip, pulling your body closer into his.

“Don’t go fallin’ for me too hard, now,” Steve smirked, his voice so low and deep it gave you chills even though he was being his normal cheesy self.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Harrington,” you said, still breathless from the kiss. Steve only smiled bigger.

He kissed you again, shorter this time. A couple soft pecks against your lips, then a longer press, like he didn’t want to stop. “Be my girlfriend.”

“Are you serious?” you laughed. “How much champagne did you have?”

“Hardly any,” he said, “and I’m dead serious. Did you not just hear me tell you I love you?”

“You meant that?” you whispered.

“‘Course I did,” he whispered back, nudging your nose with his own. “I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. All those shitty dates…my failed love life…” Steve laughed lightly. “And you were right here in front of me the whole time.”

Your expression softened, looking up at Steve with eyes that were somehow glittering in the night. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat - you were quite literally breathtaking.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Steve’s smile grew. His only reaction was to pull you in again, wrapping his arms around your body as yours went around his neck and he kissed you nice and slow again with all the love in the world, beneath the December stars.

“Can you help me with the potato salad?” Lori asked, already three dishes in her arms and Annie clung to her leg.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, jumping into action. You grabbed the bowl of potato salad along with the ice bucket and followed Lori out into the backyard.

The sun was shining, a perfect Memorial Day. The cousins were splashing in the pool, the older relatives talking as they sat in the warm sun with smiles on their faces and beers or lemonades in their hands. You and Lori put the dishes down on the buffet table. Lori was dressed in a one piece swimsuit with a sheer coverup on top, while you were in your red bikini top with short jean shorts over the bottoms.

“Finally,” Lori said. “I didn’t think the food was ever gonna get done.” She turned to you, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. There had been a lot of running around, and she was five months pregnant. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself with the aunts.” Family had come from all over the surrounding states for this Memorial Day reunion, and it was…a lot.

Lori let out a groan. “Thank god for you.”

You squealed as arms wrapped themselves around your body and lifted you into the air. Lori just watched on with a knowing yet amused smile.

“Steve!” you scolded once he’d set you down. You slapped at his arm lightly.

“What?” he said. “I missed you.”

“It’s been like 20 minutes!”

“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling your body into his and kissing you.

“Get a room,” Lori teased, although she was still smiling as she turned and walked away.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked Steve as he picked up a deviled egg and popped it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. He chewed and swallowed. “Your family is nice.”

“You weren’t scared to meet the whole family after only 5 months of dating?” You smiled, your hand running over his bare chest.

“‘Course not,” Steve said. “I’ve already been part of the family for years. The extended family didn’t scare me.”

You loved that about Steve. He was so confident and sure of himself. One of endless things you loved about him.

You heard a voice calling your name. Your grandma was approaching, her paper plate piled high with potluck food. “Is this your boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asked with a sly smile as she reached the two of you.

You smiled, looking up at Steve. He beamed back down at you like he’d never been happier in his life, his hand gently rubbing your lower back. “Yeah,” you said. “He is.”

“Hi,” Steve offered her his hand. “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“He’s a cute one,” she whispered to you, but Steve definitely heard. You were sure he didn’t need the ego boost. “Don’t let him go.”

You leaned your head against Steve’s shoulder, and he squeezed your hip.

Yeah. You didn’t plan on it.

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if you’re on the list but not tagged here it’s because it wouldn’t let me :(

[im-robins-bitch]

How Billy shows he loves you (Gn) :

When he puts his thigh over your feet to warm them up

He picks you up and drops you off everywhere without needing to be asked

He de-ices your car in the mornings

He helps you with cooking, a pro chopper and is great at mixing and mashing even the toughest, thickest mixtures

Makes you breakfast on his days off

Glares at anyone who interrupts you when you are talking, rambling, and will interrupt them back and bring the conversation back to you

Remember things you say about friends/co-workers

He loves the gossip

Will look out for your friends, scaring off creeps, giving them a ride too when he comes to pick you up. 

He likes going to the cinema together and gasp, actually watching the movies

Listens when you talk about your day and asks follow-up questions!!

He bakes the best bread

It’s become healing for him; he tries out all the different kinds. 

Just such an acts of service guy

You need gum? Open your mouth and he’ll spit you his

Want to try out a new hairstyle? Feel free to practice on him

Need help picking an outfit, he’s there and offering his opinions. Watching you strut around and do spins? He can’t think of a better use of his time

He’s protective of you, almost to a fault; he had to learn to calm down and become a boyfriend rather than a guard dog. 

He’s still ready to bark when needed, though

Something a little bit different that I had floating in my google docs.

[supernovafics]

boyfriend!steve who loves recording everything

wc: 899

a/n: been thinking about this a lot a lot and finally got around to writing it

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and here we have my beautiful girlfriend who put this whole party together.”

you looked into the video camera for a brief second, drunkenly smiling into it before looking up at steve. “you’re having way too much fun with this thing already, birthday boy.”

“what? it’s actually a very cool gift.” you could tell steve was a little drunk too, but you didn’t think that would’ve changed how into the gift he was; the camera the kids pooled their money together to get for him. “say hi.”

“hi,” you said, smiling and looking right into the lens again, and then you playfully stuck your tongue out at it. 

“i love you,” steve said with a soft happy laugh. “so much.”

“i love you too. so, so much,” you told him and he leaned down to kiss you. 

“thank you again for doing this whole thing,” he mumbled against your lips. “best surprise ever.”

you couldn’t help but smile. “no need to thank me. you deserve it, best boyfriend ever.”

the camera was filming the wooden floor at this point, but it probably still picked up what you two were saying. 

you pulled away from steve after a second, knowing that the longer you two were wrapped up in one another, the more your friends would playfully make fun of the two of you.

“you should go film robin and nancy doing karaoke. i think that them drunkenly singing bohemian rhapsody needs to be documented.” 

steve nodded. “great idea.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

after that first night, it should’ve been obvious, but that camera became steve’s favorite thing. it almost made the new pair of nikes you’d gotten him look like the most boring gift ever, but you didn’t really mind it.  

it was always the most random moments that he wanted to record of you two. “for memories” was always his response when you asked why he wanted to record you two brushing your teeth in the morning or you two lying on the couch and watching a bad movie that he brought home from family video. 

or even in this moment when you two were cooking in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

you immediately gave him a look when you noticed him turn on the camera. “steve, you’re making it seem like we’re cooking something super elaborate. it’s just a grilled cheese.” 

“it’s still like a fun cooking show,” he said, smiling as he set the camera up on the counter, placing it on top of a stack of random containers. “what do you need, chef?”

there was no way of telling if either of you were actually in the frame— you had a feeling that at least your heads were cut off— but still, you decided to play along. he was acting too cute and adorable not to. 

“bread and cheese, chef,” you told him as you went to grab a pan from the cabinet below you. “oh, and butter too.”

“got it,” steve nodded and went over to the pantry and then the fridge, and then made a show of showing the camera all of the ingredients he grabbed. 

you couldn’t help but laugh a little as you watched him. you decided to play along further and follow suit as you did most of the actual cooking; making a point of showing the camera exactly what you were doing and even exaggeratingly explaining it too. 

and when you two were eating at your small kitchen table ten minutes later, you admitted to steve with a smile that he was right, and filming everything did make it feel like a “fun cooking show.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

and then there were the moments when you were the one to grab the camera and initiate the recording. it was seldom, but when you did do it, steve always got the happiest grin on his face. 

like, in this moment, when you were coming out of the bathroom and grabbing steve’s t-shirt that had been haphazardly tossed to the floor thirty minutes earlier and slipping it over your body. for no particular reason, other than you found yourself wanting to, you grabbed the camera off of steve’s nightstand and then slid into his lap, straddling him.

he was already smiling as you turned on the camera and the familiar red light came on when you pressed record. 

“say hi,” you told him, your own smile on your face as you pointed the camera at him. his messy hair from what you two had previously been doing was probably the cutest thing you’d ever seen and you made sure the camera saw it. 

he smiled wider. “hi.”

one of his hands found your bare thigh and you let out a contented hum in response. 

“y'know, i’m surprised you haven’t asked to film us yet,” you said softly. "us doing what we just did…”

his eyes widened a bit at your shy suggestion and you smiled wider, zooming in on his expression. “is that an option?”

you stopped recording him then and reached over to set the camera back down on the nightstand. 

“maybe,” you answered, shrugging innocently. “i think it could be kinda hot.”

steve shook his head. “not just kinda. very hot.”

you leaned down to kiss him then. it was slow and languid and steve’s hands immediately went to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him.  

“very hot,” you hummed in agreement. 

[wonderlandwalker]

Hell Hath no Fury like a Buckley

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!buckley!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: there's exactly two thoughts left in Steve's brain: you, and the fact that he's about to majorly violate the bro code 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the usual I guess, hopeless pining, smut, mostly those, seems the only writing style I have is 'falls desperately deeply in love at first sight' and I'm not in the mood to psychoanalyse it so here's more of that

𝐚/𝐧: was gonna work on this more but I had to commemorate Pope Francis' morbidly entertaining demise somehow x

Steve Harrington was many things—

Former King of Hawkins High (retired, thank you very much). Babysitter extraordinaire (unofficial title, of course, but the kids would back him up). And, according to Robin Buckley—his best friend, partner-in-crime, and personal tormentor—a ‘walking disaster with good hair’.

But right now?

Right now, he was fucking mortified.

Okay.

Wait—

Let’s rewind.

Five minutes ago, life had been simple: Steve had been doing his best impression of a responsible lifeguard, which mostly meant leaning against the chair with his sunglasses perched low, pretending he wasn’t counting the minutes until his shift ended and he could stop caring about pH levels. The Hawkins community pool was the same as ever— the sharp tang of sunscreen and chlorine in the air, kids cannonballing into the deep end, and Debbie — the one lifeguard who actually gave a shit about the rules— blowing her whistle at some poor kid for running. Steve?

Steve was here for two reasons. One: free access to the pool after hours — unofficial, of course—courtesy of Keith’s lack of managerial oversight.  And two: A pay cheque that barely covers gas money but is still better than listening to his dad rant on to him about ‘loafing around all summer like a goddamn bum.’

And then— 

Then he saw you.

Which, okay, is not that unusual— people come to the pool all the time.  And it wasn’t that you stood out, not really. No, you were just— there. In a swimsuit like half the other girls, a loose cover-up tied around your hips, but fuck— As you stepped into the sunlight, it was like the universe had hit pause. You moved like a struck match in a room full of shadows—vivid, flickering, impossible to look away from. Everybody else blurred at the edges, cardboard cut-outs in your wake, but you? You burnt.

And Steve—God, Steve was already half in love with the way the light would destroy him. He knew the story. Knew how it ended. Orpheus wasn’t supposed to turn around. But you smiled at him, and suddenly he understood: some temptations aren’t meant to be resisted. They’re meant to unravel you, thread by thread, until you’re grateful for the ruin.

Oh, shit.

You were walking straight toward him.

Fuck.

Think, Harrington, think.

You looked familiar. Hawkins isn’t exactly a metropolis—if you’d gone to school here, he’d know you. Had you been at the summer fun fair? Sat behind him in chem sophomore year? Christ, this was bad. Steve—King Steve, who used to have the entire school catalogued in his peripheral vision—couldn’t even scrape together a fucking name. Maybe you were—

Your eyes met his—sharp enough to flay him open—and your smirk said you knew exactly how hard his brain was liquidating.

Double fuck.

You were smiling at him—Christ—that stagnant, astute curve of lips that already felt branded behind his eyelids, and he was staring. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Some distant, rational part of his intellect screamed at him: say something cool. Say something cool. 

Instead, all he could track was the way you tilted your head—that loose strand of hair escaping, catching sunlight like spun gold as it tumbled free. His fingers spasmed at his side with the sudden, visceral urge to reach out—to brush it back behind your ear with a touch too tender for whatever this was. The realisation made him feel violently stupid, like some second-rate rom-com hero about to monologue his feelings in the rain.

"Hey," you said, and your voice wrapped around him like smoke. Steve's pulse stuttered. "Have you seen Robin by any chance?"

The whiplash of it—the casual destruction of that moment—left his cerebrum sputtering like a dying engine.

Robin?

Why the hell were you asking about Robin?

Robin doesn’t have friends he didn’t know about. He is her best friend, which means he knows all her people—the band geeks, the weirdos from the record store, and even that one girl who could recite The Hobbit in Elvish. He’d met them all.

And yet, here you were, asking for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you had the right to know her schedule. Like you—

His mouth moved faster than his brain. "She left to grab beers, like...five minutes ago."

"Figures," you hummed, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched—that tell-tale sign of years weathering Robin's particular brand of chaos. "She swore she'd meet me here, but I guess we're operating on Buckley Standard Time again."

Steve's thoughts screeched to a halt.

Buckley Standard Time.

That was—

No. That couldn't be right. Because that was his bit. Well, technically it was their bit — his and Robin’s— the joke he'd made after she'd shown up forty minutes late to their shift because she'd "gotten into a debate about whether hot dogs were sandwiches with some guy at the record store." 

He'd thought that was theirs. Just theirs.

But you knew it.

Which meant—

Oh shit.

Oh, no.

His stomach dropped like he’d just crested the first hill of a rollercoaster—that awful, weightless second before the plunge. Because there were only two kinds of people who knew Buckley Standard Time: him, and someone who’d known Robin longer than he had. And unless you were some kind of psychic super-stalker (which, given the way his heart was currently trying to break through his ribs, he might’ve honestly preferred), that left only one earth-shattering possibility.

His eyes flicked over your face again, searching for it—the resemblance. The same sharp wit tucked into the corner of your smile. The identical nose scrunch when you laughed. Christ, how had he missed it? He’d been too busy being dazzled, too busy cataloguing the way sunlight caught in your eyes, to notice the nuclear bomb of a truth staring him in the face.

“Y-you’re—” Steve cleared his throat, trying to wrestle his voice into something resembling casual indifference. It came out closer to a pubescent seagull. “You’re Robin’s…?”

“Twin.Yeah.” Your grin widened, head tilting in a way that should’ve had a government warning: Caution: May cause permanent heart palpitations.

Holy.

Shit.

He’d heard about you, of course—the mythical other half of Robin’s childhood stories, the shadow in the Polaroids stuffed in her wallet. He’d even known you were coming to town for the summer. But in his mind, he’d just pictured… Robin 2.0. Same chaos, different zip code. But meeting you in person was a different kind of disaster.

Not only were you Robin’s sister—fully, irrevocably off-limits by the Bro Code in every conceivable universe—but he’d just spent the past two minutes mentally drafting embarrassingly bad poetry about how your eyes reminded him of...something poetic (he hadn't gotten that far). 

And Robin?

Robin was going to murder him.

Slowly. Painfully. With that special look of disappointment she reserved exclusively for when he was being “particularly Harrington-ish”.

"Oh," he said, brilliantly. "Cool. That's—cool." The words hung in the air like particularly unimpressive confetti. You raised one eyebrow, clearly savouring the spectacle of smooth talking. Steve Harrington reduced to a floundering mess. "You okay there?"

"Yep. Great. Never better." His grip on the lifeguard chair tightened until the plastic creaked ominously. "Just, uh—didn't know Robin had a sister." Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid—

The moment the words left his mouth, your face twitched—part amusement, part genuine bewilderment. “Really?” For a second he wondered if he should just fucking bolt, but then your smile returned, and he forgot how his lungs worked. "I've been away at college," you explained, shifting your weight just enough to make the hem of your cover-up ride up, and Steve suddenly developed an intense fascination with the chlorine dispenser behind you, his ears burning crimson. "But I'm back for the summer, and Robin promised me pool privileges." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "Apparently, you're the guy to sweet-talk for after-hours access."

Sweet-talk.

You wanted to sweet-talk him.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His mouth opened, ready to blurt something catastrophically eager like, "You don't even need to sweet-talk me; I'd drain the pool and refill it with champagne if you asked," when—

"There you are!"

Robin materialised like some kind of vengeful angel, arms loaded with a six-pack and a half-eaten bag of chips. "I see you two already met." Her expression cycled from relief at spotting you to instant suspicion as her gaze darted between your amused smile and Steve's deer-in-headlights-meets-fish-out-of-water-meets-man-who-just-remembered-he-left-the-stove-on panic. "Why does Steve look like he's about to pass out?" She asked flatly, already exhausted. "Earth to Harrington. You good?" Robin waved a hand in front of his glazed-over eyes, then shot you a look. "This guy's supposed to save lives? Yeah, right."

Which brings us back to fucking mortified.

Robin doesn’t even wait for you to reach the car, having commandeered you on an urgent towel retrieval mission she absolutely (and suspiciously) couldn’t handle herself. One second Steve's watching you go, the next he's being manhandled behind the snack bar like a misbehaving golden retriever, Robin's fingers digging into his bicep like she’s trying to jump-start his malfunctioning brain through sheer force. "What the fuck is up with you?" She hisses, voice low enough that it bypasses his eardrums and vibrates directly in his panic centre. Her free hand gestures wildly toward the parking lot. "Why are you acting so weird?”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. His throat makes a noise like a dial-up modem trying to connect. "I wasn't—" Robin's eyes narrow into lethal slits. "You were." She releases his arm only to jab a finger against his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise. "The moment she walked in, you short-circuited so hard I could smell burning wiring. You called the pool ladder ‘ma’am’. Twice."

Steve’s pulse kicks into overdrive. “What? I was just—being nice.” He gestures vaguely at the pool, as if that explains anything. “I’m a nice guy, Robin. It’s a thing I do.” She scoffs, nostrils flaring. “Harrington, I’ve seen your ‘nice’. This wasn’t ‘nice’. This was—” She makes a frantic explosion motion with her hands, complete with a “pshooo!” sound effect. “—full-system meltdown ‘nice’. You were sweating.”

“It’s July,” he protests weakly.

“You never sweat.”

“I always sweat!”

“You once fought a demodog in a leather jacket and came out dewy at most.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “That’s— that’s not—” But before he can dig his grave any deeper, you reappear, sauntering over with a smirk that spells nothing but trouble. “Everything alright over here?” Robin’s grip on his arm tightens like a warning. “Great!” she chirps, voice suddenly three octaves too high. “Steve was just telling me how thrilled he is to have another Buckley around.”

Steve’s smile is less charming Harrington grin and more man awaiting execution. “Thrilled”, he croaks. “Yep. So. So thrilled.” Your grin widens at his words—slow, studious, dangerous. "Yeah?" You step closer, and Steve's heart launches into an Olympic-grade gymnastics routine—triple backflip, perfect landing, gold medal in catastrophic panic. "Because I was just thinking..." Your finger taps a thoughtful rhythm against your chin. "...about all that quality time we'll be sharing. Robin says you throw legendary parties."

Steve’s brain flatlines. Parties. Together. You. Him. Oh God.

Across from him, Robin’s gaze darts between the two of you, her expression morphing from suspicion to outright dread.

Steve's Adam's apple bobs like it's trying to flee his throat. She knows. Christ, she definitely knows. He has just enough coherent thought left to realise:

He is so spectacularly, catastrophically, irrevocably fucked.

He spends the rest of the week trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here. The universe, it seems, has other plans.

Because you're everywhere—a constant, maddening presence burning at the edges of his vision like the ghost of a flashlight in the dark. He swears you're doing it on purpose, catching his eye just to watch him fumble, that sly smile playing at the corners of your lips every time his pulse stutters under your gaze. And God, does it stutter.

You’re at the impromptu movie night Nancy throws, wedged between Robin and Eddie on the couch, laughing as you recall some childhood disaster involving a stolen bike, a jar of peanut butter, and—if Robin’s dramatic interruptions are to be believed—a "very pissed-off raccoon with a personal vendetta."

"Way more traumatic than this," you declare, gesturing at the slasher flick on the screen where some poor extra is meeting their gory demise. Steve—who’s stranded in the armchair like some sombre, forgotten puppy—can’t manage to join in. Not when your laughter does things to his pulse that’s sure to send him into cardiac arrest any day now.

But then your knee brushes against Eddie’s as you lean forward to grab a handful of popcorn, and something hot and irrational coils in Steve’s gut. It’s stupid—Eddie’s just a friend, and it’s not like he has any claim over you—but the way your fingers linger near Eddie’s wrist for half a second too long makes Steve’s jaw clench.

Then there's the Hawkins High tailgate, where the lukewarm beer and golden-hour sunlight are the real stars of the show – not the Tigers' tragic losing streak. Steve leans against his BMW, nursing a drink and trying to convince himself that he’s here for school spirit— he’s lying. He’s so fucking obvious about it that Robin’s been giving him that look all afternoon—the one that says, ”I will skin you alive if you make this weird.”

And like his personal reckoning—you appear. One second, he’s staring blankly ahead, and the next, you’re sliding onto the hood of his car like you own it, all long legs and lazy smiles. The dying sun paints your skin in hues of amber and gold, catching on the delicate bend of your collarbone and the smooth plane of your thighs where your cut-off shorts ride up.

Christ.

He wants to map every inch of you with his mouth, starting at the delicate dip of your ankle—that vulnerable hollow where his lips could linger—then leisurely, torturously working his way up. Up the taut line of your calf, tracing the sensitive bend of your knee with his tongue. Higher still, along the trembling skin of your inner thigh, where his teeth might graze just to feel you shiver. An unhurried pilgrimage of worship, every gasp and hitch of your breath another sacred waypoint in his journey.

”Dude, you’re, like, actually drooling.” Dustin’s voice cuts through his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. Steve chokes on his drink, beer burning his sinuses as he wheezes, ”What? No, I’m not—!” But Dustin just raises his eyebrows, impervious. ”Uh-huh. Sure.” And then Robin’s there. ”So!” she chirps, stealing Steve’s beer right out of his hand. ”Who’s ready to watch our team get slaughtered?” You hum softly in your throat – a vibration Steve feels more than hears – as you tilt your head toward him. The calculated brush of your knee against his thigh burns through the denim between you, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. His breath catches when you don't pull away, your leg warm and insistent against his.

He’s so screwed.

Even as the midday sun is brutal at the Hawkins pool, he barely feels it—not when you’re walking toward his lifeguard chair with that look in your eyes —the mischievous Buckley spark.

You hold up the sunscreen bottle , tilting your head with a smile of practiced innocence. "Can you help me?" Before he can answer, you're already turning—presenting your back to him where the strings of your bikini top form a delicate, infuriating knot. "I can't reach," you add, voice dripping with false helplessness.

Steve's soul nearly leaves him: "I— You—Robin can—" "Robin's allergic to coconut oil," you lie effortlessly, glancing over your shoulder. The sunlight catches the curve of your shoulder blade, the flutter of your lashes. His mouth goes desert-dry. "And you are the lifeguard." You let the implication hang between you like the summer heat. "Isn't it your job to protect me?"

Fuck.

His hands tremble as he squeezes sunscreen onto his palms, the lotion warm from the sun. When his fingers finally make contact with your skin, you hum—soft, satisfied—and he swears you lean into his touch, just slightly. The sound goes straight to his gut, hot and insistent. His thumbs press into the dip of your spine, dragging sluggish circles that have no business being that deliberate. “You missed a spot,” you murmur, shifting just enough that his fingers brush the edge of your bikini tie. Steve’s breath comes ragged. This is torture.

And now? Now the bass from Tina’s stereo thrums through the floor, rattling Steve’s bones like a second heartbeat. The air is thick with sweat and cheap beer, the kind of chaos he usually lives for—except tonight, his entire world has narrowed down to you.

All evening, he’s been trapped in a loop of stolen glances and half-formed hopes, wondering if the way your eyes linger on him means something or if he’s just another fool drunk on wishful thinking. Is this real? Is this worth it? The questions gnaw at him, unanswered, even as he drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down with a clink. And then, as if summoned by his desperation, you’re there. Emerging beside him like smoke, you lean into the wall, your shoulder pressing against his, and suddenly—the music, the crowd, the entire fucking room might as well not exist.

"Trying to hide from me, Harrington?" You taunt, tipping your drink to your lips. The bottle’s rim glistens under the dim light, and your mouth—pink, slow, meticulous—lingers there for a beat too long. It’s a calculated assault on what little composure he has left. His throat goes dry.

“Would it work if I were?” He shoots back, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice is rougher than he intended, betraying the way his pulse jumps under his skin. You laugh, low and keen, before stepping into his space. Your palm lands on his chest, searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Probably not.” You admit, fingers crooking slightly—testing, teasing—and he knows you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart beneath your touch.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in until your breath ghosts his jaw, “Robin talks about you all the time.” 

His breath hitches.

This is dangerous.

Your knee brushes his thigh, prudent and—holy shit—his thoughts dissolve into static. “But she never mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered.” The words curl into his ear, sweet and lethal. He should say something clever, something smooth, but all he can manage is a shaky exhale as your fingers trail up to his collarbone, tracing the edge of his shirt. You’re close enough now that he can smell the jasmine of your perfume and the faint tang of gin on your tongue. Your hips tilting, just a fraction, and— “I wonder”, you whisper, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “what else I don’t know yet.”

Before he can respond—before he can even breathe—you’re leaning in, your nose almost brushing his. His hand lifts—to pull you closer? To push you away? —when—

"Oh my God."  

Robin’s voice shatters the moment as she stands there, arms crossed, looking done. “I leave you two alone for five minutes—”

Steve jerks back like he’s been burnt. "Robin! Hey! We were just—"

"—about to make my life a living hell?" 

Steve’s mouth snaps shut, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still debating whether to reach for you again, and his gaze flickers to your lips — just for a moment— before he forces a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The gesture does nothing to hide the flush creeping up his throat. “Come on,” he deflects, “We were just talking.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. And 'talking' now involves you two looking like you’re about to re-enact Dirty Dancing in the middle of the living room?" Steve can feel your pulse kick where your thigh brushes against his, but you don’t back down. You’re clearly used to these sparring matches with Robin, a rhythm he doesn’t yet know the steps to, and he’s equal parts terrified and intrigued.

"Maybe you should’ve knocked," you shoot back, grinning wider when Robin’s jaw drops and Steve’s composure nosedives like a bird that just noticed the window isn’t open.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not." Robin jabs a finger between the two of you like she’s warding off evil. "I refuse to be the third wheel in whatever… this is." She spins toward the kitchen with enough dramatic flair to create wind resistance. "I'm getting another drink," she announces over her shoulder. "Or seven. Alone. Like the abandoned best friend in every fucking rom-com."

Steve takes a half-step forward. "Rob—"

"Save it, Dingus." She pauses, levelling you both with a glare that’s equal parts warning and surrender. "Ground rules," she announces, holding up a finger. "You—" The finger jabs at Steve's chest. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll give you a live demonstration of why The Texas Chainsaw Massacre wasn’t rated PG. Spoiler: It’s the bone saws.” Her finger swings to you, and Steve can practically hear your heartbeat kick into overdrive against his side. "And you—if you give him another existential crisis, I'm telling Mom you're the one who broke Grandma's urn and that you're the reason we had to get the couch steam-cleaned in '82."

Then she’s gone, swallowed by the noise of the party.

The silence between you is thick, charged. Steve exhales, slow and shaky, before turning back to you. The air crackles—Robin’s interruption only fanned the flames, and now it licks at his skin, relentless. His voice comes out rough, just this side of breaking: "She’s never gonna let me live this down." You bite your lip, stepping closer. The scent of your perfume coils around him, dizzying. "Then we might as well give her something real to complain about," you murmur, lips grazing the shell of his ear. His breath stutters when your fingers skate up his throat, nails scraping just barely over his stubble. A whimper claws its way out of him, raw and unbidden. "Christ. You’re killin’ me here." You grin, all teeth. "Good." Your thumb brushes the frantic pulse under his jaw. "We’ve got about twelve minutes until she storms back. Better make ‘em count."

This time, when you lean in, there’s no one to stop you, just the muffled clink of Robin angrily rearranging liquor bottles in the kitchen. Steve finally—fucking finally—learns what you taste like (gin and mint and something addicting), how your lips feel against his (softer than he imagined, but demanding, hungry), and how the dip of your waist fits under his palms like it was made for him. And Christ—the sound you make when he pulls you flush against him, a moan clawing its way up your throat, is enough to unravel him completely.

His brain, stuck on a loading screen for days, finally processes one coherent thought:

Fuck it.

Steve's hand fists in your hair, dragging you closer—Christ, not close enough—until your shared breath turns jagged. Just as he tilts his head to finally taste you properly, you pull back. His stomach plummets like a failed carnival ride. For one gut-twisting second, he's certain he's ruined it—misread the way your body arched against his, all heat and hunger, like you wanted to melt into his skin. Then your fingers lock around his wrist, nails biting just shy of pain, and the look you give him isn't hesitation—it's wildfire. "C'mere," you murmur, already walking down the hallway, tugging him along. Steve doesn't think; his body moves before his mind catches up, pulled by the magnetism of your touch.

The party dissolves into white noise—drowned out by the hammering rhythm of his pulse. Every passive draw of your thumb against his skin is a brand-new dare, burning straight through to his sternum. The hallway diminishes around you, lit only by a sputtering bulb that throws strobe-light shadows across your face. He doesn't miss the way your teeth sink into your lower lip as you glance at the bathroom door—or how your grip tightens like you're fighting the urge to sprint the last few steps.

Then you're shoving him inside, all impatient hands and shared momentum. The door clicks shut behind you with finality, sealing you both in the dark. Somewhere outside, a cheer goes up—maybe for the keg stand, maybe for the universe laughing at how thoroughly Steve Harrington is about to lose his goddamn mind.

The space is cramped, the air thick with the odour of soap and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume. The sink digs into his lower back, cold enough to make him hiss—but then your hands are on him, warm and demanding, and he forgets everything else. Forgets the way your thighs had tensed when he licked the salt off his hand before taking a shot. Forgets the way you’d watched his throat bob as he laughed at one of Robin’s jokes. Forgets the way you’d nearly choked on your own tongue when he’d rolled up his sleeves in the kitchen, forearms flexing as he scooped ice into a cup. The party’s bass thrums through the walls, a distant echo beneath the serrated sound of his own breathing and the slick noise of your mouth on his skin. Christ, he hopes the music’s loud enough to drown out the way you whimper when he sucks at your pulse point.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” you admit, voice low, and the crude honesty in it makes his throat go dry. Your fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer. “All week”, you correct, and suddenly he’s replaying every glance, every brush of contact: the way you’d “tripped” into his side at the pool, how you’d lingered in his space after movie night, your knee pressed to his thigh for a full thirty minutes before Robin kicked you both off her couch. The memory of your breath on his neck when you’d leaned over his shoulder to steal a fry at the diner—had you always smelt this good?

Steve’s hands trail up your waist, thumbs carving possessive lines into that sliver of exposed skin where your shirt’s ridden up. “Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked—drunk on the way your breath hitches, on the way your ribs expand under his palms like you’re already starving for it. “Funny. I thought I was the one losing my damn mind.” You hum—a quiet, perceptive sound—before inching your lips along the column of his throat. He feels the vibration of it like a live wire down his spine, sparking at every vertebra. “Show me,” you murmur against his pulse, and the challenge in it sends his blood south so fast he gets lightheaded. It’s all the permission he needs.

One hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back as he crashes into you. This kiss isn’t like before—no teasing, no hesitation—just heat and teeth and the slick, filthy slide of your tongue against his. He swallows your whimper when his other hand slips under your shirt, palm skimming the bare dip of your waist. Christ. The whimper you let out when his fingers dig into your hip isn’t just sound. It’s a bloody revelation.

Steve knows he’s on borrowed time. Robin’s sharp and observant—she’ll come looking sooner rather than later, and when she does, she’ll take one look at his flushed face and your swollen lips and know. The thought should sober him up, but right now? He doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your nails bite into his shoulders, the way you gasp when he nips your lower lip, and the way your body fits against his like you were carved from the same damn stone. And when you roll your hips against his—slow, deliberate, maddening—his grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. His voice is rough, wrecked, barely recognisable when he growls against your mouth: "This isn't exactly how I pictured our first time."

The words tear from Steve's throat, rough and wrecked—a confession to his sinful thoughts. The second they hit air, he freezes. Shit.

But you—Christ, you—just beam like you've won the lottery, dragging your teeth over his swollen bottom lip in a way that makes his knees threaten to buckle. "You pictured our first time?" Your voice drips with delight, thumb brushing the frantic pulse in his neck. Heat floods his cheeks, but you don't let him recover. You crash into him, kissing him so hard his back slams against the tiled wall. His hands move on pure instinct—lifting you onto the sink with a grunt, fingers skating up the soft underside of your thighs like he's memorising the map of you. When they dig in, kneading with a hunger that surprises even him, you moan directly into his mouth, and the sound goes straight to his dick.

You moan, and the sound tears something primal from his chest—a growl that rumbles against your lips, vibrating through you. "How about we save your ideal first time for later?" You murmur against him, biting his lip just hard enough to make him jerk against you. Your voice drops to a whisper, all heat and promise: "And focus on fucking my brains out in the next ten minutes?"

Steve's resolve doesn't just shatter—it disintegrates. Any pretence of patience evaporates as his hands find your waist, fingers pressing bruises into your hips that you'll savour tomorrow. His mouth crashes into yours again, but this time he's a man on a mission. He charts your skin like territory to be conquered—the sharp line of your jaw, the salt-slick column of your throat, the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his tongue. When he reaches the swell of your cleavage, you arch into him with a gasp that turns into a whine as his teeth scrape delicate skin. Your fingers are already working at his belt, tugging with impatient urgency.

"Steve—"

"Fuck," he rasps, pulling back just enough to watch your face. "You sound even better than I imagined." And Christ, he has imagined this—in the shower, trying to relieve the ache with his hand, in his bed with the sheets tangled around his thighs, in the fucking Family Video break room when you'd leaned too close to reach a tape. Every fantasy pales in comparison to the reality of your nails digging into his hips as he shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself. Your hand wraps around him in one smooth motion, and for one blinding second, the world narrows to the slick heat of your fingers, the way your thumb swipes over the head just to watch his abs clench.

If this is heaven, he'll sign his own damn death warrant.

But then—then—you spin him around with surprising strength, dropping to your knees on the bath mat. The cool tile bites into his palms as he braces against the sink, but all he can focus on is the way your breath ghosts over him, the way your eyes lock onto his as your tongue—

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

His vision fractures at the edges, tunnelling until the universe condenses to three points: the wicked curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes against your skin, and the sinful press of your tongue where he needs it most. For one suspended, blasphemous moment, Steve's convinced Robin actually killed him—because there's no earthly way this is real: your mouth sinking onto him like you've been starving for it, hot and wet and perfect, swallowing him down to the hilt with a vibration that travels straight to his fucking spine. The sound you make—a muffled, content hum around him as he hits the back of your throat—sends a full-body shudder through him.

Holy mother of God.

He knows better than to look. He knows he shouldn’t—but he does anyway, helpless as a marionette with its strings cut—

Big mistake.

Because now he's watching, really watching, as your lips stretch obscenely around him, as your throat works to take him deeper. Your eyes lock onto his, crinkled at the corners with vicious amusement as you take him deeper, and shit, suddenly he’s sixteen again, stumbling across his first Playboy, heart racing and palms sweating. Except now it’s your mouth, your knowing gaze scalding him hotter than July asphalt as you savour every choked noise he can’t suppress. He should say something, should at least try to form words, but all his head does is thud back again. That look alone—like you’re cataloguing his every twitch and heave—threatens to spill him into your throat right fucking now. If he doesn’t—

A burst of laughter ricochets down the hall, sudden and too close. Your fingers tighten reflexively around the base of him, nails grazing the sensitive skin there, and Steve’s entire body tenses like a bowstring drawn too tight, but his hips jerk forward before he can stop them, dragging a ragged groan from him.

“Fuck—we have to be quiet,” he rasps, but you just smirk around him, all devilish intent, dragging your tongue along his underside in a measured, filthy stripe that makes his vision blur at the edges. His legs actually cave in; he has to brace a forearm against the wall to stay upright.

It’s agony.

It’s ecstasy.

Then your eyes flutter shut, and the soft, satisfied hum you let out vibrates through him straight to his spine. His fingers fist in your hair—gentle, got to be gentle—but his hips jerk of their own accord, chasing the sinful heat of your mouth like it’s his only chance at salvation. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he chokes, voice shredded. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.” And he means it. Because if this is what you do to him in some shitty bathroom, with Robin and half the party just beyond the door—Then what happens when he gets you alone? His mind whites out, fever-bright with the images: Pinning you against the first available surface—his bed, his car, the fucking kitchen counter—anything to finally take what you’ve been tormenting him with. Peeling you out of your clothes with agonising slowness, just to hear you whine and beg for his name. His mouth on every patch of skin he’s watched you expose all summer—the dip of your collarbone, the inside of your thighs, that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp when he accidentally brushes it. The way you’d clench around him when he finally sinks in, tight and desperate after an eternity of stolen glances. The filth he’d whisper in your ear: “Knew you’d take me so fucking good.”

“Christ,” he grits out, hips stuttering as you swallow him deeper. His knuckles tensing against the sink. “You’re so fucking—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupts him.

“Hey, dipshits!” Robin’s voice slices through the haze, sharp with accusation. "You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there."

Steve’s head thunks back against the wall. Goddamn it.

His entire body locks up, every muscle pulled taut between the mind-numbing pleasure of your mouth and the very real possibility of Robin kicking the door in. His fingers twist tighter in your hair—not to stop you, never to stop you, but because if he doesn’t anchor to something, he might genuinely combust. The bathroom light flickers overhead, casting shadows against your cheeks as you glance up at him, and—fuck—he’s never seen anything more obscene.

"Shit," he hisses, voice shredded. "Fuck, fuck—" The litany spills from him like a prayer, like a curse, like heresy. You pull off just enough to smirk up at him, lips slick and swollen, and the sight alone nearly undoes him. "We should stop," you murmur—liar, fucking liar—your breath scorching his skin. Your tongue grazes his tip as you speak, and Steve sees actual stars. He groans, low and wounded, but his thumb trails over your bottom lip anyway, smearing spit as he claims the wetness there. "Yeah. Yeah, we—" Another knock, louder this time, rattling the doorframe.

"I swear to God, Harrington," Robin’s voice cuts through the wood, "if you’re defiling my sister in there, I’m replacing your hairspray with Nair."

You pull back just enough to make him ache, and Steve’s breath hisses through his teeth—sharp, frustrated, barely holding back something far filthier. His hands twitch at your waist like he’s debating dragging you right back, but all he does is adjust himself with a rough groan, his jeans straining. When his gaze locks onto yours, it’s wildfire in the dark, pupils swallowing every last bit of reason. "This isn’t over." The words scrape out of him like a match strike, sulfur-sharp and spark-ready.

A smirk curls your lips as you stand, lips grazing the stubble along his jaw. The shudder it pulls from him is downright criminal.

"Better not be," you murmur against his skin, your tongue swiping the sting from his skin, sweet as poisoned candy. "Or I’ll finish what you started on my own—and trust me, you’ll lie awake trying and failing to picture it half as vividly as it’ll sound."

Steve’s breath catches. "Christ," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s half-hard, wholly ruined, and absolutely fucked when you step back, looking far too innocent for someone who just had their mouth on—

The door flies open under Robin’s impatient fist. Steve barely has time to yank it wider before she’s glaring up at him, arms crossed. But Steve only has one thought consuming him:

Later.

[pt. II]

[secretlovezz]

Whiplash

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: you've been avoiding Eddie like the plague and he's desperate to figure out what he's done to deserve it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort?? idk, kissing, fluffy ending, pining, idiots in love, use of y/n, she/her pronouns used for reader, reader is a crybaby ig idk she reacted how I would soooo, lmk if i missed anything!

Wordcount: 2010

A/N: Not really proofread and kind of written in a rush cause I wasn't feeling it about halfway through so sorry if you can tell 😞

You weren't there... again.

Your absence from your usual seat to the left of Eddie leaves him in a deep state of confusion his eyebrows furrowing in thought. This was the fifth day without your presence at his side, almost an entire week without your voice giddily telling him about the book you were reading or a new recipe you've tried, almost an entire week of being deprived of that perfect little gleam in your eyes when you looked at him rambling about something you enjoyed, and his heart ached in deprivation.

And because of this, he could with full confidence say you were avoiding him- but as to why he had no idea.

Eddie's silent at the lunch table staring at nothing in particular, and though the guys -especially the freshman- had finally learned to normalize Eddie's peculiar-ness and oddities this new silence and bleak aura had them surprised. He was stuck in his head racking through everything that's happened in the last week that could have possibly scared you away from him.

He thinks about the time he asked you for help with his math homework, but that couldn't be it considering that definitely was not the first time he'd asked and definitely was not the first time you'd happily agreed to do so. He reminisces about when he'd come to visit you during your shift at the local library in boredom playfully bothering you as you re-placed books onto the shelf.

He thinks and thinks and thinks but nothing comes to mind for your sudden evasion.

"Dude, you think any harder and steam will come out of your ears," Gareth rolls his eyes at Eddie, "What the hell's wrong with you anyway?"

Eddie leans back in his chair and dramatically throws his head back to look at the ceiling, his hair flows behind him and moves as people walk by, "She's avoiding me."

Dustin's head snaps up, still chewing his food he inserts himself into the conversation, "Who? Y/N? I just talked to her last period, she seemed fine," He shrugged.

At that Eddies head pops back up, eyes locking with Dustin's in a way that leaves the younger boy cringing, and the crease between his brows intensifies, "So she's still talking to you guys but not me?" He starts to pout a little by the end of his question.

Everyone sends looks to each other before slowly nodding and Eddie's forehead loudly makes contact with the cafeteria table, the guys wince in response.

"Well... have you tried- I don't know, asking her about it?"

The glare sent in Mikes direction after his question almost makes him apologize. Eddie heatedly scratches his head and groans in irritation; he'd tried more than a handful of times to get ahold of you, tried more than enough times to just hear your voice again but nothing worked. When he waited by your locker you would walk the other way, when he called you, you hung up as soon as you heard his voice, and worst of all you would throw out the little notes he sent you in class as you walked out and away from him once again.

"Duh! Of course I have," Eddies reply is laced with annoyance and frustration, "But I can't ask her anything if she keeps running away- I mean come on! She won't even look at me, man." His voice is soft and emotional when speaking his last sentence, He runs his hand over his face weakly and suddenly he feels like he's being pitied. He doesn't want that.

He hastily moves to pick up his things, thrusting the items into his little lunch box with more force than necessary with a pout on his tired face before standing from his seat and angrily walking away across the cafeteria, from the table and the others. They all sigh when he makes it past the cafeteria doors and after a silent moment Jeff is the first who speaks up, "So- When do you guys think they'll get over themselves and finally get together?"

《----------♡

When the last bell rings after what feels like years to Eddie he's swiftly making his way out of class and out of the building, but now what time would usually be spent merrily walking to his car and making plans to see you during the weekend was spent instead making his way into the woods strolling past trees and going to the little picnic table placed in that clearing he visits every once in awhile.

He stares at the ground and his feet as he treads, kicking rocks, stones, and branches on the way.

Eddies just about there just a few trees away from the clearing before he hears footsteps other than his own a little ways ahead of him he pauses head finally lifting to look in front of him and waits to see who appears.

To his surprise you pop into his vision and his round, brown eyes widen. He goes to take a step forward his body automatically and urgently trying to get to you, desperately needing to be near the drug that is you, but he stops himself to observe.

You sit at the table and pull a book out from the satchel bag at your side and a humorous huff leaves through his nose, his face relaxing and lips curling up at the sight of you doing something you often enthusiastically spoke to him about before realizing that its a book he does not recognize, that you had started a new one, and you hadn't told him like you usually would have. The thought wipes the smile from his face in an instant and his brows furrow for the nth time that day.

He steps forward and does not stop himself this time, sauntering toward you almost as angrily has he had left the cafeteria without your knowledge as you are already too engrossed in whatever new story you were traveling into. When he sits across from you at the table you feel it shift with the added weight and at last realize that you are no longer alone.

When you eventually look up, placing your thumb in-between the pages you were reading to keep your place, your heart drops at the sight of the frustrated man in front of you. You try to move away but he quickly grabs your wrist urging you to sit back down, you look at him again and the anguish written on his face makes you find your seat.

Your gaze moves to your lap and Eddie doesn't let you go too afraid you run away again.

Eddie is the one to break the stifling silence, "Talk to me... please?" The sound of his voice makes your heart ache so guiltily it hurts, "Just- Just tell what I did wrong- tell me so I can fix it."

Though your mouth opens to respond nothing comes out and your eyes gloss over with salty tears. Eddie's hold on your wrist moves to your hand gently cupping it in his calloused palm while his thumb moves to continuously swipe over your warm skin.

Your cheeks warm at the intimate contact and it only makes your eyes well with my tears reminding you of why you were ignoring him in the first place.

"When you-," You struggle to get the words out of your closing throat but Eddie still listens patiently, "Last time... you- you did something. It wasn't a big deal to you- but um... to me it- it meant a lot and that's kind of the problem."

The brunette across from you leans in closer and tilts his head in confusion, "What did I do?"

You glance to the side in embarrassment but Eddie's thumb taps you twice to bring your attention back to the conversation, "Talk to me Princess; Tell me what I did so we can go back to normal, I miss my best friend."

You didn't want to go back to normal.

For the first time in days your eyes connect with Eddie's and you take in a shaky breath at the sight of his enchanting eyes. "You uh- you kissed me..."

Now he's confused. He had kissed you? When? He's sure he would remember finally getting to kiss you.

Your free hand travels to your cheek and it all clicks for him, the pieces falling into place. He can't help but let out a chuckle of amusement; you were right- he had kissed you, kissed you on your cheek, that is, a sweet little peck against your skin. His laughter dies out when you rip your hand from his, the tears in your eyes spilling over.

Eddie stands and rounds the table to you, "Hey hey I- I'm I shouldn't have laughed. Don't cry, sweetheart." His hands place themselves on your elbows as your hands move to cover your face. He starts to feel like that little kiss really did more than he had thought.

"Did it make you uncomfortable? I won't do it again I promise," You shake your head at his words, "Talk to me, baby."

"Don't do that! Don't call me those names if you don't mean it," Eddies eyes go wide at your outburst and his mouth opens to speak but you beat him to it, "you- you kiss me and call me those names and I- It's just too much... I like you too much."

All too quickly Eddie is forcefully removing your hands from your face and cupping your cheeks thumbing the tears from your skin, "I like you too much too."

"Don't be mean Eddie."

He connects his forehand to yours, both of your eyes closing at the closeness, "M'not, would never joke about that." His soft pink lips brush gently against yours as he speaks and your breath hitches. Your lips part slightly and your cold breath fans Eddie's face. "How can I show you I mean it hm? How 'bout... a real kiss?" He mutters. You nod all too briskly for someone who was just crying and it makes Eddie smile.

In the fullness of time Eddie presses his lips to yours and when he finally gets the taste of your lips on his he realizes he's waited entirely too long to do this despite being willing to wait an eternity for you. He's been starving for the absolute goddess that is you, now getting to satisfy that hunger digging in with no resistance and sliding his tongue past your lips flushed against him. The ache he had felt without you there fading once and for all as you kissed him back. Your hands atop his squeeze as a noise escapes the back of your throat and Eddie kisses you deeper at your audible reaction. He wants to consume you, wants to keep you so close you never leave his side, he needs it- needs you and makes sure it shows in the way he kisses you.

When he pulls away your both panting for air, Eddie's grin is smug on the top of your head and your arms are wrapped around him.

"I can't believe you made me feel like shit for an entire week just cause I gave you a lil' kiss on the cheek," Eddie mocked trying to get a quick quip in.

"Shut up! It totally freaked me out."

His loud cackle echoed in your ears and you smiled, pulling him closer and pressing your nose into his skin. Eddie's arms moved to wrap around you as well and his large hands snake around you also trying to squeeze you impossibly closer. He presses a fast peck on your cheek, then your temple, and then the top of your head. Eddie takes a deep breath inhaling the scent of you- memorizing it.

"Promise you won't do that to me again. Don't leave me alone like that again."

"I won't Eds, I promise."

"Besides! What are you going to do without me here being oh so entertaining huh?"

You laugh, "I have no idea."

[piiplup]

“steve, you’re staring,” you mumble with your eyes closed. it’s late into the night when you can feel your boyfriend’s eyes bore into your face, and he chuckles lightly when realizing that he’s been caught.

“am i not allowed to look at the prettiest person who exists? ‘cause like, it hasn’t really sunk in yet that you’re in my bed of all beds that exist,” he puts his hand on your cheek while you’re opening your eyes, meeting his gaze in the dark room.

he’s wearing a tired smile on his face as if he could fall asleep any minute, he can barely keep his eyes open, but he just wants to look at you, even if it means he’ll lose some hours of sleep. “we’ve been together for three years, steve, it’s not the first time i’m in your bed,” you reflect his smile with one of your own before shuffling slightly closer towards the man, wrapping an arm around him to stay close.

“i know, but it still feels like the first time you stayed over. don’t think i’ll ever get tired of it to be honest, just having you here. like, i could never imagine anyone else here,” he admits. “don’t wanna sound sappy, but my life would be absolutely miserable without you.”

“really, why?”

“i don’t know, it’s just that life actually has a meaning when i’m with you. i just wanna protect you from everything bad, make you laugh, kiss you, hug you, greet you when you get home from work, talk with you until we fall asleep, travel and see the world with you, hold you when you’ve had a bad day, i wanna do everything with you. and sometimes i just think about how fucking lucky i am for having you,” steve rubs his thumbs against your cheek while speaking and the smile on your face grows wider as your eyes begin to water.

“and i’m lucky for having you, steve. i wanna do everything with you too, and i love you, so so much,” you mumble before he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. it’s quick but enough to make your heart beat faster than it already did.

he leans his forehead against yours. “i love you too, baby,” he closes his eyes and just holds you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight. “so much, you could never imagine.”

[reysdriver]

Hi! Can I request Eddie Munson + Let me take care of you + fluff. Maybe he takes tipsy readers makeup off?

you come home tipsy after girls' night and Eddie is there for you, like always — eddie x fem!reader fluff

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking ofc, some sexual innuendo

words: 1.8k

a/n: i don't think I used the quote in the request but I think actions speak louder than words so it works lol, I hope you like it!

Eddie liked scary things, but not usually when he was a victim of them. He nearly had a heart attack when he heard the doorknob shake to his own trailer while he was home alone. 

His uncle was working an overnight shift and wasn’t supposed to be back until morning, and he wasn’t sure who else would be coming to his place in the middle of the night with no warning or knock. 

He walked quietly over to the window and cracked the blinds just enough to see who was outside, and his fear subsided the second he looked. He saw you fumbling with your keys—none of which would fit the lock—and looking slightly frustrated. 

Well, he couldn’t have you getting upset, especially not at his house. He opened the door with a smirk on his face. 

“I don’t think any of those are gonna work, princess.”

You looked up and a smile graced your face as all your frustration escaped you. 

“Eddie!” You exclaimed cheerily. Then happily and slightly wobbly, you leaned forward and kissed your boyfriend after not seeing him in days. 

When your lips collided, Eddie tasted all the cocktails you had downed throughout the night lingering on you. He connected the dots right there on why you were attempting to use your house keys on his trailer at 1 in the morning. 

“You’re a little tipsy there, sweetheart. That’s why you came to see me.” He teased. “You only love me when you’re drunk.”

“No, I love you all the time!” You protested, twirling a lock of your hair between your forefinger and your thumb. 

“I know, I was just kidding. Now, come inside.” He snaked his hand around your waist to make sure you didn’t fall, and ushered you inside. “Did you walk here?”

“No, I got dropped off. Robin called Steve from the bar and told him we’d steal a car and drive home drunk if he didn’t come pick us up.” You explained. You moved closer to Eddie as he closed and locked the door behind you both. “We weren’t actually gonna do it, though.”

Eddie wasn’t concerned at all, but he appreciated you clarifying anyways. 

“I’m glad.” He said, not sarcastically enough for you to notice. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Steve came real quick after we called him, and I told him to drive me over here.”

“Why didn’t you just call me?” 

“It was Robin’s quarter. She paid for the call, so she picked who was on the other line.”

“You walk around without any change? What if you needed to call someone?”

You rolled your eyes like his assumption was the most nonsensical thing you’d heard all day. 

“Of course I have change, Eddie. You need it for gumball machines.”

Well, nobody could argue with that. 

As Eddie helped you take off your jean jacket, you lifted your foot to remove the high heels that had been uncomfortable since your third drink. Doing so, you lost your balance and almost toppled over. 

Luckily, Eddie caught you before the wall did and lightly scolded you as he helped you find your footing again. 

“You’ve gotta be careful, baby. Don’t want you falling and breaking that pretty face.” 

Your boyfriend dropped to his knees to make sure you could get out of your shoes without breaking a bone. 

“Did you have a good night out, though?” He asked from down on the floor. 

You nodded, watching as Eddie removed your shoe while you leaned against the wall to steady yourself. “The first bar sucked a little bit, but we went to another one and turned the night around.”

“That’s good.” He hummed. “You look nice. I like that colour on you.”

“Then I’ll wear it more often.”

Eddie placed your shoes neatly by the door, just next to his own messy pile of combat boots and dirty sneakers. 

“You’re too good to me.”

“No, you’re too good to me.” You responded, slurring slightly. 

He started walking you away from the front door, snaking an arm around your torso to make sure you didn’t fall every time you took a step. 

“Well, then you can do something real nice for me, and then we’ll be even.” He mused. “Tomorrow, though. Tonight, I’m just trying to get you to bed.” 

“Yeah, I bet you are.” You lazily chuckled. 

He rolled his eyes, leading you into the tiny bathroom of the trailer. He didn’t bother closing the door, since he knew the room would be far too claustrophobic if you two were closed in. 

“How much did you have to drink?” Eddie said, shutting the lid of the toilet seat and gesturing for you to sit down like he’s just prepared a throne for a queen. 

“Just a couple drinks.” You said casually. “And then a couple more.”

Eddie shook his head, concealing a smile at your drunken words. He turned back with a washcloth, soap, and a Dixie cup. 

“Now, your makeup looks great, but I’m gonna have to take it off for you.”

“Why?” You pouted, stretching the word sadly. 

“You can’t leave it on all night ‘cause it’s bad for your skin.” He explained to the best of his knowledge. “And if you leave it on all night, you’re gonna complain. And you know who’s gonna hear about it? Me.”

You nodded solemnly, showing understanding. But Eddie still didn’t move, worried you’d still have qualms. 

After thinking for a moment, you finally made a decision on the situation. You looked up at Eddie, tears pricking at your eyes. “Can we say goodbye first?” 

Eddie blinked. He could see that you were drunk and emotional, so he tried to tread lightly when he responded. “Say goodbye? To the makeup?”

You nodded once more, and Eddie just went along with it. 

“Okay, yeah. Why wouldn’t the makeup deserve a sendoff? Alright, let’s go to the mirror.”

Your boyfriend held out his hand and helped you get back up. He moved to the side of the tiny room so you could stand in the center of the mirror. 

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.” Eddie said. 

“Okay.” You said, gazing into the mirror. “Makeup, I had a fun night with you tonight. I’ll miss you. I love you. Bye-bye.”

You turned to face Eddie again, accepting his help washing your face. 

“That was beautiful.” He added. You were just a bit too tipsy to notice that he wasn’t truly as serious about this as you were. “You ready now?”

After hearing your hum of acceptance, he added the soap and water to the washcloth and brought it up to your face. He swiped firmly but gently, trying to recreate how he had seen you do it yourself before. 

“Let me know if I’m doing anything wrong, okay?” 

You shook your head as much as you could with it in his hand. “You could never do anything wrong, Eddie.”

“You hold me in such a high regard, it’s nice.”

“You’re nice. You’re the best.”

“I think you’re the best, but we can do this back and forth all night.”

“We can do a lot of things all night, Munson.” You said with a raised eyebrow. 

If you hadn’t just spent the evening at the bar, Eddie would have jumped through the window you just gave him, but he knew he couldn’t tonight. 

“You get a little flirty when you’re drunk, huh?” He remarked. “It’s nice. I’ll buy drinks for our next date night. You can get flirty and I can get louder than usual.”

“Yayyy!” You exclaimed, quietly but sincerely. 

Eddie wiped off the last bits of makeup that he could get, then handed you the cup full of water and instructed you to drink it. In one swig, you downed it all, so Eddie moved out of your way so you could appraise his work.  

“Think I did a good job?”

“Very good job.” You affirmed. “How’d you get so good at that?”

He smiled, opening the door and allowing you to leave first. “I guess I had a good teacher.”

“It better be me.” You mumbled, slightly jealous but too tired to do anything about it. 

You headed for the front door, ready to leave for the night, when you were stopped by Eddie’s hand on your arm. He steered you away from the door, much to your confusion. 

“Pretty sure that’s the wrong way.” He said with a quiet chuckle. 

“I gotta go home, Eds.” You whined. 

“It’s the middle of the night. Just sleep over.”

Your heart swelled to twice its size. You were so touched by your boyfriend offering to let you stay at his place for the night that you smiled ear-to-ear. “Really?!” You asked excitedly.

Eddie was confused by your reaction. You’ve stayed over at his house plenty of times, and it was really nothing out of the ordinary. He just didn’t feel like driving you home in the middle of the night when he thought staying over would be just as good. Turns out, in your eyes, staying over wasn’t just as good; it was way better. 

“Yeah, of course.” He said, once again trying not to laugh at you in your drunken state. “Now, let’s go get ready for bed.”

You basically skipped over to his bedroom, just so excited to sleep over.  

“Alright, I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

You sat down on his bed, waiting patiently for Eddie to bring you clothes you could use as pyjamas.

Eddie started going through his drawers for something clean and comfortable that he could loan you for the night. Before he could find something, though, the bathroom light in the hallway caught his eye. He remembered how Wayne had been on his ass lately about turning off lights when he didn’t need them, so Eddie stopped his search and went to shut it off. 

He took a few steps over to the bathroom, then turned it off for the night. He started walking back to his bedroom using only the moonlight coming through the blinds as a guide.

When he got back to his room, he noticed you were lying down now, and tried to keep his steps light while he walked towards you. Once he saw your eyes shut, he knew you were asleep and that it wouldn’t be good for either of you if he woke you up. 

So Eddie let you sleep. He walked quietly around his room, grabbing a bottle of aspirin out of his drawer and leaving it next to your pillow in case you woke up with a headache. He kissed your temple and quietly said goodnight. 

Eddie’s never had someone care for him in the same way you did, and so he was happy to have opportunities to repay that. 

Even though he sometimes acted like taking care of you in moments like this was a chore, you both knew he was more than happy to do anything for you.  

[asoftsighh]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ eddie munson x fem!reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

eddie, your best friend, picks you up from work and then kisses you

1.2k words

a/n: this is kind of a shy!reader but not really🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

By the time the end of your shift rolls around, you’re practically falling asleep on your feet. Hours of waiting tables and running back and forth to the kitchen is exhausting. Your apron is tied too tight and you’re pretty sure that you have blisters from your shoes.

The good thing, when you step outside into the chilly night, is that Eddie is waiting in the parking lot. You shuffle towards his beat up van, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself. Whether to hide your somewhat embarrassing uniform or to fight off the cold, you’re unsure. It’s not like he hasn’t seen this outfit before, its stripes and all. 

You reach the passenger door, tugging it open, and something that sounds like Metallica spills out. He looks at you like you’re a cold, wet, stray puppy. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” he says, smiling brightly, like you’re just the thing he was hoping to see. You look him over as you sit down, putting your bag on the floor by your feet. His hair looks somewhat tame tonight, it’s curly, frizzy strands thrown over his shoulder. 

You give him a small smile. “Hi, Eddie. Thanks for picking me up.”

He’s picked after every one of your shifts the past two weeks, ever since he found out that you’ve been walking home every night. When you had mentioned that to him, offhandedly, he looked as if you had three heads. 

He waves a ringed hand at you, brushing off your gratitude. You thank him every time, and everytime he ignores it. “Don’t thank me. We can’t have you walking home at night looking like that.” He gives you a look as he puts the van in drive, pulling out of his spot.

You look down at yourself. Your uniform is far from scandalous, with its loose shirt and skirt that ends right above your knees. It’s hard to tell when Eddie is just messing with you, with his constant flirting and teasing. 

“What’s wrong with my uniform?” 

He laughs, loud and sudden. “I didn’t mean your uniform, babe. I meant… your face.”

You blink in surprise, looking out the front windshield, not wanting him to see the blush creeping up on your cheeks. It’d just make it worse, you think, to watch the muscles of his arms flex as he turns out of the parking lot, to watch his side profile. 

“My face?” Your voice is quiet. You’ve been friends with Eddie for a long time, but somehow, he is always able to pull the shy side of you back out from where you’ve hidden it. 

Eddie is quiet for a moment as you watch the road go by. There aren’t nearly as many cars out at this time as Eddie cruises down the road. 

He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just...” He glances over at you quickly, then back at the road. “You’re pretty. That’s all.”

You’re grateful that it’s nighttime so he doesn’t see the deeper flush covering your face and down your neck. You press your cold hand to your cheek, praying he doesn’t look over. You can feel your pulse beating in your throat, pounding hard. 

He clears his throat, changing the conversation, most likely for your sake. 

“So,” he starts, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing softly. “How was work? Any creeps this time? I’ll throw hands.”

You huff out a small laugh, pulling your hand from your cheek and letting it fall into your lap. “Not tonight. Some kid spilled soda all over my shoes and I had to rinse them in the sink.” Your still damp, pathetic looking converse squish as you flex your toes. 

He snorts. “Remind me again why you have this job?”

He turns down your street, headlights illuminating the street sign,  as you say, “I need money for my books and clothes and stuff. And for whenever me and you get food or go to the record store.”

He doesn’t reply right away, too focused on parking along the curb in front of your house. The outdoor light is on just for you. 

You unbuckle but don’t immediately get out. You turn in your seat a little, looking over at him. He’s already watching you, in that soft way of his, where his eyes somehow become even rounder. 

“Thank you, again. Really.”

He shakes his head, chunks of hair falling in front of his face. He pushes it back with little care. “Stop thanking me or I’ll feel more like a chauffeur than your best friend.”

Best friend. The word echoes through your chest. Does he treat all of his best friends like this, you wonder. Calls them babe and pretty girl, braids their hair to ‘practice’, picks them up from their shifts even though it’s only out of the way for him?

You laugh quietly, but it sounds slightly sad and pathetic. “I’m serious. I don’t want to be a burden.”

He looks truly baffled, his eyebrows raising. He shifts in his seat too, mirroring you. “What? This is the best part of my day.”

Your breath hitches. Eddie isn’t one to be shy with his love and appreciation. He’s all for compliments and thanks whenever he can give them. But, he’s never sounded this… vulnerable. Open. 

You swallow thickly. “Eddie..”

He reaches out, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone tentatively. “Can I…” You watch his Adam's apple bob. “Would it be totally crazy if I kissed you?”

Your eyes widen, your palms dampening with sweat. You must nod or answer, because he leans in slowly, giving you time to change your mind. Instead, grasping every ounce of confidence within you, you close the gap. 

His lips are soft, albeit a bit chapped. But, the warmth of him spreads through your whole body, all the way to your toes in your damp shoes. His hand now cups your cheek, holding you to him as if you’d ever move away right now. 

He pulls away slowly and you flutter your eyelashes open. You don’t even remember closing them. 

He smiles at you widely, something you quickly reciprocate. You study his dimples under the light from the nearby streetlight, how his eyelashes naturally curl beneath his brows. Pretty.

“Well,” you say, still with that broad smile pulling at your lips and flushed cheeks. “Goodnight Eddie.” Your hand, which you realize now is trembling, fumbles with the car door twice until you manage to push it open. 

He says his goodnight right before you close the car door behind you, your bag slung over your arm. You walk across your lawn to your front door, unlocking it. Before you step inside, you look over your shoulder at Eddie, who still sits parked at the curb. 

He’s watching you, elbow propped up on the console, chin on his closed fist. From here, you can just make out his lips parting, like he wants to yell something out the open window, but he’s unsure what. 

His curls halo around his unreadable, but soft expression. 

You lift your hand in a small wave, holding back the giddy grin that threatens to take over your whole face. Instead, you watch as he mirrors your wave. You turn around, ducking inside and closing the door behind you, listening as his van drives away. 

You lean back against the front door, finally letting out a sound that resembles a squeal, touching your lips with your fingertips. 

They are still tingling. Still warm. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[keeryhours]

Masterlist

Eddie with a plus size girlfriend, who is obsessed with seeing you naked, who buries his face in your tits or between your plush thighs and could stay there all day. Who slaps your ass hard as he fucks you from behind, watching the jiggle of your ass and thighs.

Who loves you in short skirts, or crop tops that show off your tummy. Who convinces you to wear that bikini to the pool even though you’re nervous, “Because you look soooo hot in it babe, please let me show you off.”

Eddie, who asks you to prom even though he swore for his entire high school career that it was stupid and he’d never go. Yet there he was, throwing rocks at your window at midnight, guitar slung around his neck and shoulder as he played your song. Then, his honey voice calling up to you, “Will you go to prom with me, princess?”

Eddie, who insists he wants to go dress shopping with you. Who says he wants to see you trying on all those different dresses, seeing the way each one accentuates your body and shows off his favorite parts (which is all of you, to be fair).

When you try on The Dress, you both know immediately. It’s perfect. It’s black and off the shoulders, a flowing, glittering skirt with a slit that goes up to your mid thigh. The bodice has sheer panels that show just the slightest tease of your skin. Eddie wants to rip it off right then and there.

In fact, he follows you back to the dressing room, unzips it for you and bends you over in front of the mirror. You watch as he makes quick work of his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free his cock, aching and rock hard since he saw you in the first dress. He pushes inside of your already soaked pussy, long arm reaching around you to cover your mouth as you let out a whimper.

He pumps into you from behind, hips snapping against your perfect ass with a slapping noise he tries his best to keep quiet with shallow thrusts. He can watch every part of your body in the mirror, from your gorgeous bouncing tits to your fucked out facial expression. He digs his free hand into your hip, and you can’t help but stare at the intense look on his face in the mirror as he fucks you.

He cums fast, the hot as fuck view combined with the thrill of fucking in public proving too much for him to last. He grunts as he fills you up, and your eyes roll back as you feel the warmth of him deep inside.

When he pulls out he helps you get dressed back in your own clothes. He kisses you deeply - “I promise princess, I’m gonna make you cum over and over again when we get home.” You like the sound of that, but honestly didn’t mind that he was the only one who finished with your quickie. You like making him feel good. But of course, he makes good on his promise.

Prom night rolls around, and Eddie picks you up in a limo he saved up for months to rent. When you nearly cry telling him he didn’t have to do all that for you, he shakes his head like it’s total nonsense. “Nothing’s too good for my princess.” You never thought you’d see the day that Eddie Munson went all out for prom.

All eyes are on you when you walk in together. Jaws drop at the sight of the metalhead wearing a suit with his hair neatly combed and pulled back, a boutonnière matching your dress pinned to his chest.

Eddie dances with you all night long. The music isn’t his thing and you know this, but Eddie doesn’t complain once. He actually seems like he’s having a great time.

He’s having an even better time when he pulls you off to the bathrooms, locking you in as he hikes your dress up to your waist, lifting you to sit on the sinks. He drops to his knees and buries his face in your pussy, not caring about your loud, breathless moans as he makes you cum on his tongue. Then he’s undoing his own pants, and you think there may be nothing hotter than Eddie fucking you in a tux.

“Oh my god, baby,” he moans against your neck as he ruts into you, his pace fast and desperate. “You feel so good. Christ, you feel so fucking good, so tight and wet. My perfect girl has a perfect little pussy, doesn’t she?”

When he cums, he’s not quiet. He moans your name, pumping you full of rope after rope of his hot load. His hands grip your hips so hard they tremble. When he finally composes himself, you help each other fix your appearances, hoping no one would notice.

You feel the proof of how good you made him feel dripping down your thighs the rest of the night.

[moonstruckme]

Okay, very self indulgent but poly!Steddie and the reader gets a masters degree but her family doesn’t come to graduation? Nobody came to mine and it felt pretty sad to see my friends with families but hey! the reader has steddie

Hi angel, I'm sorry you felt alone. Congratulations on getting your masters!!

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 624 words

Eddie’s still yawning while Steve half-drags him through a row of filled seats. He lets his boyfriend apologize for the both of them as they shuffle past and knock knees with strangers. 

Steve is as huffy as if Eddie’s the one who made them late—as if Eddie spent ten minutes fussing over his hair while his boyfriend idled in the driveway—but damned if they don’t find two seats smack in the middle of the row anyway. 

Eddie skims the rows of graduates. “Where’s she sitting?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve fusses with the flowers—the ones he won’t let Eddie hold, despite the fact that Eddie was the one who went to the grocery store at eight this morning to get them. “There’s not that many grad students, we should be able to see her. Shit, I should have gotten a program.” 

“I got you,” Eddie soothes, passing Steve the leaflet he snatched from a table on their way in. Steve takes it without comment. Eddie’s about to snark at him, but when Eddie yawns again Steve leans to the side, offering Eddie his shoulder as a pillow. 

Eddie smiles and kisses his boyfriend’s cheek. “You’re welcome, asshole,” he says warmly. 

“So many speeches,” Steve mutters. He’s just as tired as Eddie—seriously, whose idea was it to have your ceremony at ten in the morning?—but twice as grumpy. He perks up, though, when he looks up from the program. “There she is.” 

“Hm?” Eddie picks his head up from Steve’s shoulder, looking out over the rows of graduate students. 

He doesn’t know how he didn’t spot you before. This time, his eyes find you like a compass finds north. You’re turned around in your seat, looking up into the crowd of friends and families with a searching gaze. Your lips have a sad little pinch at one corner. With everyone around you radiating pride and excitement, you look small. 

“Hey!” Eddie shouts. Steve flushes, shushing him. “Hey, that’s my girl!”

“Shut up,” Steve hisses, covering Eddie’s mouth with a hand like Eddie won’t just lick it (he does). “Don’t yell, idiot.” 

“Look, she’s looking!” 

Steve joins Eddie, almost resignedly, in putting his hands up for you to see as your eyes skim the area of seats the shout had come from until they finally land on your boyfriends. 

Eddie waves enthusiastically. “Hey,” he says again, quieter now. 

You light up. Your smile bursts across your face, bright and beaming and the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. He and Steve both mirror it like the fools they are. You wave back at them, and when you eventually turn around in your seat, you look just as happy to be there as everyone else. 

“She looks really good,” Steve says in a reverent tone. 

Eddie scoffs. “What else is new?” 

They’re both a little bit starstruck by you, Eddie thinks. Steve maybe didn’t have as much trouble as Eddie did finishing high school, but neither of them have ever worked as hard as you have in getting your degree. More often than not, it was Eddie who heated up pizza rolls, allegedly for himself but really to push on you so you’d take a study break, and Steve who drove onto campus to bring you coffee between classes. You really earned this. It’s nice to see you basking in it a little. 

There are speeches. Some girl, some dean, blah blah blah. Eddie dozes on Steve’s shoulder until your row stands up to go onstage, and Steve strangles the flowers in his hand as they approach your letter of the alphabet. 

When your name crackles through the microphone, Eddie whistles loudly enough to make the lady in front of them cover her ears. Steve joins him.

[supernovafics]

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

pairing: bestfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

summary: in which a middle of the night conversation with steve reminds you both that things are changing 

warnings: explicit language, mixed pov, a bit of drunk!reader, one sided pining (allegedly), very angsty

author’s note: i���ve been working on a really long steve fic (which is like 90 percent done and will hopefully see the light of day very very soon) and i took a break from it and somehow this was born in a matter of days. inspired by the song midnight blue by electric light orchestra. enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You wanna get out of here?”

The music was loud, even as the night started to finally come to its end, but you still heard Steve clearly. 

“I thought you’d never ask, Harrington,” You turned to him sitting next to you at this empty table in the backyard of your aunt’s now husband’s house. 

The little smile you gave Steve made his eyebrows furrow. “How drunk are you right now?”

You scoffed as you shook your head. “Not at all.”

Your words were pretty much immediately proven opposite when you stood up from the table and stumbled a bit. Steve was by your side immediately, grabbing your arm to keep you from falling. 

“So, what was that you were saying about not being drunk at all?”

“Okay, that only just happened because of how long this stupid dress is, no other reason.”

Your bridesmaid dress had been the bane of your existence all day— it was way too long and designed to be tight in places that made everything more difficult— and then coupled with the heels you had to wear with it, you were honestly surprised you hadn’t toppled over sooner. You didn’t expect a wedding taking place in a backyard, even as huge and spacious as this one was, to be so incredibly fancy, but it was. 

Steve didn’t say anything in response to your previous words and instead simply slipped his hand in yours as you two started walking away from the table.  

“Do you wanna say bye to your mom before we leave?”

“No thanks,” You shook your head. “I’d rather her not see me drunk right now.”

Steve smiled at you. “Hey, that’s progress, at least you’re admitting it now.”

You only rolled your eyes at him as he led you two out of the backyard and toward his car. 

“This is your fault, by the way.”

The laugh Steve let out was immediate. “Ah yes, because I’m the one who kept giving you glasses of champagne, and it definitely wasn’t you grabbing one every time a server passed by.”

“I’m glad you’re taking full responsibility,” You said, smiling at him as you got into his passenger seat. 

The drive to Steve’s place managed to sober you up for the most part, and it also made you very tired. 

“Okay, here’s a t-shirt and shorts,” Steve said, holding the clothing items out for you to grab, but you didn’t because you were sitting at the foot of his bed, trying, and failing, to unzip the zipper at the back of your dress. He gave you an amused smile. “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, please,” You nodded as you stood up from his bed and turned around so that he could do it. You started slipping the straps off your shoulders once he was done.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said, leaving you to change into the clothes he gave you. 

You were in his bed with the Hawkins High t-shirt on along with the basketball shorts that you tied tightly at your hips when he returned with two glasses of water.  

You turned on your side to face him once he was changed out of his fancy wedding clothes and slipped into bed next to you.

“This is the second time in a row that you’ve been the sober one taking care of me. Next time you have to get drunk so I can take care of you,” You said and then booped the tip of his nose with your finger. “Things are starting to feel a little unfair in this friendship.”

Steve let out a laugh, and you figured he was thinking back to last week when you two went to a party at some old high school friend’s lake house; the punch had been lethal, to say the least. “Okay, I promise to get super drunk at your going away party next week.” 

At the mention of your goodbye party— which was meant to be a happy and joyous occasion to celebrate you moving to Chicago— your smile faltered. Hearing about the party, reminded you that things were changing; that everything was going to be entirely different soon. 

And you’d been avoiding that thought a lot lately, even as you slowly started packing up your childhood bedroom, and found a place in Chicago with the help of your mom because a friend of hers was renting a place out.

Pretty much everyone in your life knew that you weren’t the best with change, and you’d avoid it at all costs if you could, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t understand that sometimes it simply had to happen. It was a contradictory mindset— you hated change, but it also made sense to you. 

It did still really suck, though. 

You suddenly sniffled and one of your hands came up to wipe at your face, and you quickly turned around so that you weren’t facing Steve anymore.

“Hey,” His voice was soft. “Are you crying?”

You didn’t outwardly answer his question. “It’s stupid, but I’m just now realizing that this is the last time we’ll do this. After next week, there’s probably not gonna be another night like this one.”

What you didn’t tell him was that you had a feeling that once you left, your friendship wouldn’t be the same anymore. And how could it be when you were moving to a different state and you were going to go from seeing him almost every day to probably only a handful of times a year?

The pros were supposed to outweigh the cons, and on paper, they did. You had always wanted to live in Chicago, and you were moving there for what was essentially your dream job— two very solid pros. However, the biggest con was leaving Steve, and that suddenly felt like it outweighed everything. 

“It sucks, but in a good way, if that makes sense,” Steve told you as he shifted closer to wrap a comforting arm around you. “It really sucks that you’re leaving, but you’re leaving to do something that you really want to do, so that’s great.”

“It’s bittersweet,” You said the word he was looking for. Your hand found his beneath the blanket and intertwined it with yours. His words were completely right, and in a way, they did comfort you.

“Yeah, exactly,” Steve responded, giving your hand a light, reassuring squeeze. 

“You should come with me,” You whispered to him. It was the first time you offered, and you slightly regretted not asking sooner. 

But, you hadn’t because you knew how much he really liked his life here— working at Family Video with Robin and driving the kids around everywhere (which he claimed he hated, but you knew he secretly loved it). And then there was a part of you that wanted to pretend that things weren’t really changing, so that was another reason why you hadn’t asked him. 

“I can’t,” He whispered back. “It just wouldn’t make sense, y’know?”

You simply nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see you. His words shouldn’t have hurt you, and you really shouldn’t have suddenly felt so sad about everything and so scared about the future too, but you still kind of did. 

Suddenly, you were no longer tired, but you truly wished that you could force yourself to sleep. And when a few minutes of keeping your eyes shut and hoping that would make you fall asleep didn’t work, you pulled the blanket off of you and got out of bed.  

“Where are you going?” You heard Steve ask from behind you. 

And when you didn’t answer and instead continued walking out of his bedroom, he got out of bed to follow you.

Steve hadn’t wanted to say no to you. If the circumstances were different, he would’ve said yes and uprooted his entire life to move with you to Chicago in a heartbeat. But, he couldn’t do that. 

And he was glad that you didn’t push further on the topic because if you would’ve asked him what he meant when he said, “It just wouldn’t make sense,” he wasn’t sure what he would’ve said with in response; if he would’ve lied or mustered up the courage to finally tell you the truth. 

However, he knew that there was really no point in being honest anymore. He loved you, but you were leaving, so what would be the point of finally admitting it to you? 

This secret that he had been keeping tight to his chest for years at this point would only complicate things, and probably confuse you, and definitely ruin the friendship you two had if he told you. 

He’d gotten good at pretending that nothing had changed on his side of things, and he was okay with continuing to pretend if that meant keeping things good between you and him. 

In this moment, though, he wasn’t sure if things were good between you two. 

He wondered if you were pissed at him for saying no to moving with you to Chicago and if that was why you left his room. He followed you out into the hallway and down the stairs and then out into his backyard. 

You sat down at the edge of the pool and put your feet in. Steve didn’t question you— although he did want to ask where this sudden energy had come from because he could’ve sworn that you had been falling asleep in his car barely an hour ago— and instead simply followed suit. 

The water was warm because of the heater that his parents never turned off, and Steve watched as you kicked your legs every now and again. Neither of you said anything, and it was hard for Steve to tell if this silence was comfortable or not. 

After what felt like an hour’s worth of silence, he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

You shook your head at him as you sighed. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you, Steve.” You kicked your legs again. “Things are just feeling a lot more bitter than sweet right now.”

Before Steve could say anything in response to that, you were standing up and then looking down at him. “It’s barely midnight. Let’s get in the pool.”

“Um, okay. You wanna change? I think you left your swimsuit here from when we swam a couple of days ago.” 

“No, it’s fine,” You said and then proceeded to jump in. 

“You sure you’re not still drunk?” Steve asked with an amused smile when your head emerged from the water. 

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him. “I’m as sober as a baby, Harrington. Now get in.” 

He smiled wider at you, things felt okay again. He jumped in the pool fully clothed as well, and you were smiling at him when his head popped up. 

You quickly complained about how heavy your clothes felt, and you pulled off the soaked t-shirt and shorts and set them on the ground next to the pool, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. Steve made a point of keeping his eyes locked on yours. On paper, this wasn’t that different from the many times he’d seen you in a bikini, but something about this felt a little different.

He, of course, pretended that it didn’t, though. Mainly because of how unfazed you seemed. 

Both of you ended up floating on your backs and looking up at the stars. There was a night back in middle school when you two had done exactly this, minus the pool. You two had been in your backyard staring up at the sky, and you rattled off the constellations you knew and then proceeded to make up names for others, but Steve thought you were telling the truth. And he probably would’ve thought that way forever if you hadn’t told him the next morning that half of the names weren’t true. 

He still remembered most of the fake names, and in this moment, he reminded you of them. 

You laughed immediately. “I can’t believe you still remember that.” 

“How could I ever forget the first lies you ever told me?” Steve joked.

“That was early on in our friendship. I wanted you to think I was cool.”

He let out an amused sound. “Oh, yes, because you knowing the name of every constellation would definitely make me think you’re cool and not the biggest nerd ever.”

“Shut up,” You told him, but still laughed. “My logic wasn’t all that great back then.” 

Steve only hummed in response and turned his head to look at you for a second. You were still looking up, but there was a certain look on your face that he couldn’t decipher.  

“You know the worst part about cities?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed at your question and how random it seemed. “What?” 

“You don’t get to see this every night.” 

He nodded even though you couldn’t see him. “You should add that to the cons.”

“How do you know I made a pro-con list?”

“Because I know you and every big decision you make has to have a pro-con list.” 

You got quiet, and Steve worried that he offended you, but he wasn’t making fun of you at all. He loved you and your lists. 

“Well, you should also know that you’re at the top of the con list,” You told him, and moved so that you were no longer looking up at the sky but instead looking at Steve, and he followed suit. “It says ‘There’s no Steve’ in all capital letters.” 

He could feel his heart squeeze in his chest upon hearing you say that.

“I feel honored. Truly,” He responded and gave you a playful smile because he didn’t want things to turn too serious again.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” You said softly, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around him. “A lot. So much. Maybe even too much.” 

Steve’s attempt at keeping things light failed, but he didn’t care. His arms immediately circled your waist. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

Things became quiet again, and when you pulled away, you splashed him with water. 

“What was that for?” He asked with a laugh as he wiped at his face. 

You gave him a small, sad smile. “Maybe I am a little mad at you.”

Your joking words came out soft, almost as if they weren’t entirely a joke, and Steve immediately felt bad. 

“I would go with you, and a part of me really does want to. Seriously. But, it’s just that…” He trailed off, not knowing the best way to say what he needed to. The words just wouldn’t form on his lips.  

You shook your head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it. I know that you like your life here, and you don’t wanna move to a city. Chicago has always been my “dream,” not yours. It’s okay. Honestly.” 

It’s not that, was what Steve wanted to say in response to your words. It was probably what he should’ve said. However, he realized that everything would be a lot easier if you just believed that.

“I’ll visit you all the time,” He promised instead. 

That made you smile. “Good.”

You two ended up back in his bed half an hour later. With dry clothes on and a comfortable silence lingering in the air. You fell asleep quickly, but Steve couldn’t, for some reason. 

His mind was running a million miles a minute, and his thoughts were going back and forth. For the first time, he was actually considering going with you to Chicago. He thought about how fun it could be; how new and exciting. 

His head became an unending push and pull. One side of him was telling him that he should do it and go, but everything else in him was saying the complete opposite. 

Being hopelessly in love with you here in Hawkins felt like one thing; he could pretend that he wasn’t pining, like he’d been doing for the past couple of years. But, if he moved with you to Chicago— just you two in a new city— he felt like it would be damn near impossible to not blurt it out and potentially fuck up everything. 

However, even though he knew that, he also kind of wanted to just lean into the part of him that was saying, “Do it. Go with her and see what happens. Maybe she even feels the same way.”

Sometimes Steve liked thinking about the moment things had changed for him; he could recall it quite easily. It was a month after his breakup with Nancy, and you dragged him to a random classmate’s party to help cheer him up because you knew that he was still feeling a little melancholic about it all. The party sucked so you ended up going to the movies, a midnight showing of some terrible horror film and you two were the only ones in the theater. 

You made jokes the entire time, trying to keep things light and fun, and something shifted inside of him. He suddenly felt so fucking grateful for you, that you were in his life and had been since middle school. He always felt lucky to have you in his life, but that time in the empty movie theater felt different.  

That time when your hand instinctively found his during a part of the movie that actually was pretty scary, all he could think was, I love you. I’m in love with you. 

It hit him so abruptly, and he initially chalked it up to still being sad about his breakup, but even after he felt entirely over Nancy, these new feelings for you never went away. And it was as if he instinctively knew that he could never tell you; it felt like no question that he’d have to keep it a secret.  

In this moment, Steve turned on his side away from you and closed his eyes, hoping that he could just force himself to sleep.  

But, no, he instead thought about something from earlier at the wedding, you and him dancing to a slow song that neither of you recognized. It was early on in the reception, before you started accepting every glass of champagne that came your way. 

You thanked him for coming with you to the way too fancy wedding— you had asked him last second when you realized just how many estranged and random family members you’d see and have to talk to and you couldn’t bear the thought of suffering through that alone, and he found someone to cover his Family Video shift when you called him in an anxiety-induced panic. 

Steve immediately told you that there was no need to thank him because he would always be by your side whenever you needed it, and you pulled him in for a hug and told him that you’d do the exact same for him too. 

“This is gonna sound super cliche and stupid, but hear me out. This is the best part about being best friends,” You had also said. “We’ll always be there for each other, and I don’t think anything’s gonna change that.”

Steve nodded and gave you a small, amused smile. “That is very cliche, but you’re also very right.”

He remembered how true his words felt in the moment. 

He now fully understood that he couldn’t let a confession potentially change everything that was so right and good between you two. It made sense why his initial thought when he realized how he felt was to bury it down and keep it a secret.

This, what you two had, was enough. 

And it felt okay continuing to believe that. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333