#steve Harrington fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

headkiss · 5 months ago

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fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

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kimoralov3 · 4 months ago

Text

daylight

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

description: steve has had a lot of trouble in his love life. but he's also one of the biggest idiots known to man because the girl of his dreams is standing right in front of him

warnings: swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, everyone is a lil mean to steve, mentions of stancy (not like that), like i said steve is an idiot, slight angst, fluff

word count: 3059

a/n: tagging @arkofblake because this technically was smth that she requested before i changed it. also shout out to her mom for the knowledge about phones from the 80s lol

“Steve, you can’t keep staring at her like some sort of lost puppy.” Robin says as she helps Steve put some beer and sodas in the cooler.

“What are you talking about?” He asks as he turns back to the fridge.

“Oh please, you’ve been staring at Nancy and Jonathan ever since they got here.” Robin comments as she opens the bag of ice and clumsily dumps it into the small cooler.

“Have not.” Steve mutters as he shuts the fridge door. Robin gives him a look, the look she seems to be giving him a lot these days. “Okay, fine. I have been staring at them, but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“Oh really? What other reason is there for you to be staring at your ex and her new boyfriend?” She says suspiciously.

Steve pauses, trying to find the words to express the tangled mess that is his love life. He eventually gives up, shaking his head as he grabs the cooler off the counter and walks outside to the pool. “I can’t explain it.”

“Oh come on, you gotta give me something.” Robin pleads, giving Steve her best puppy dog eyes.

Steve glances over at his best friend before quickly looking away. “Those don’t work on me.” He says definitely, but quickly gives in when he spares another glance at Robin. “Seeing them together just makes me think about all the things I don’t have.”

“Wow, that’s really sad.” Robin says solemnly as she holds the back door open for Steve. “You sure you don’t still have feelings for Nancy?” She adds after another moment of silence.

“Absolutely positive, Robin. That ship sailed a long time ago.” He explains as he sets the cooler by the pool.

And he wasn’t lying. Steve really was over Nancy. Sure, there had been a time when he thought the two of them would evolve into something more, but that was ages ago.

But now Steve was alone for the first time in years, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He’d been on dates, but they’d turned more into a chore than something he was actually enjoying. They all left him feeling like a piece of him was missing, a piece of himself that he just knew was important.

“Steve?” A voice called, pulling him from his well of self despair.

“Yeah?” He says as he turns around, nearly falling over when he notices who’s in front of him.

“Can you move over so I can grab a soda?” Y/N asks politely as she gestures to the cooler behind Steve.

“Oh shit, yeah, of course.” Steve stutters as he moves out of the way, nearly falling into the pool. Y/N gives him an awkward smile as she grabs a soda before walking back over to sit with Jonathan and Nancy.

“What was all of that about?” Dustin asks as he appears beside Steve, munching on some Goldfish.

“Jesus kid, you need to wear a bell or something!” Steve exclaims as he presses a hand to his fast beating heart.

“Or maybe you just need to be more observant.” Dustin says mockingly as he flicks a Goldfish at Steve’s face, causing the older male to swat at him.

“Will you two quit it!” Robin says as she separates the two of them. Dustin flips Steve off before going to go sit back with the party and Suzie.

“I swear that kid has no manners.” Steve mutters to himself as Robin walks away to go sit with Eddie and Chrissy. Steve is so busy mentally planning out his revenge against Henderson that he doesn’t notice a certain someone staring at him like he’s hung the moon and the stars.

—

“Robin, you seriously need glasses or something. How could you put Ferris Bueller and Top Gun in the same section?” Steve complains as he removes the tapes from the shelf.

“Oh quit being a baby and move them, I’m busy here.” Robin calls from the back. Steve rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he moves to the back of the store to grab his cart.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” He says when the front door rings. He sets the missorted tapes on a random shelf as he walks back up to the front counter.

“Welcome to Family Video, how can I help y— Y/N?” Steve asks, shocked to see her here.

“Oh, hey Steve. I forgot you worked here.” She says with a laugh as she adjusts her bag on her shoulder. Effortlessly, and beautifully to him, if anyone cared enough to ask what he thought. Which was a rarity.

Steve gives her a small smile, silently cursing himself for not taking his normal amount of care when he was getting ready this morning.

Robin really needs to learn some patience.

“Yeah, have been for a while.” He says as he rubs the nape of his neck. “So, what can I help you with today?”

“Well, my parents are out of town so it’s just me at home. Figured I’d get some movies to keep myself occupied for a while they’re gone.” She explains as she looks around the store before her eyes land on Steve once again, causing a shiver to run down his spine. “Got any recommendations for me?”

“Of course, walk with me.” He says, shooting her his signature smile as he walks over to the staff picks shelf.

“Is that Labyrinth?” Y/N asks with a chuckle as she picks it up and inspects the back.

Steve groans, rolling his eyes as he sees the movie. “Fucking Eddie. He must’ve snuck it onto the shelf when he was here earlier.”

“Well, he has good taste. Think I’ll be taking this one with me.” She says as she waves the box. Steve can’t explain it, but he feels a small tightness in his chest.

“To each their own, I guess.” He says with a shrug, trying to ignore this strange feeling. “Anyways, I would definitely recommend these if you’re looking for a more calm night in.”

Steve hands over The Goonies, The Muppets Take Manhattan, and Back to the Future, waiting patiently for a reaction.

“Oh my god, is this a Muppets movie?” She asks with a laugh, inspecting the box. “My little cousin loves this movie.”

“Hm, I don’t know how I should feel about that. Are you calling my cinematic taste childish?” Steve asks with a chuckle as he leans against the shelf.

“I would definitely call it that.” Robin says, wheeling a cart as she walks past the two of them. Steve glares at her while Y/N snorts, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“I wasn’t going to say that it was childish. I was going to say that it’s…interesting.” She explains, her voice pitching up on the last word.

Steve scoffs at that, shaking his head. “Sure, we’ll go with that.” He says jokingly. “So, will this be all for you?”

“Uh, yeah. This should be good enough for the weekend.” She says as the two of them walk back to the front counter.

“Glad to be of service.” Steve says as he takes a small bow, cursing himself for how stupid he probably looks.

“You know, you’re really funny.” Y/N says as Steve rings up the movies. Steve smiles softly, more affected by her words than he would like to admit.

“Could you tell Robin that? She says I have the humor of an old man.” He jokes as he puts the tapes into a bag. Y/N snorts again, this time a little louder.

“See what I mean? Very funny, Harrington. Very funny.” She says as he hands her the bag. There’s a brief moment of silence before Y/N speaks up again. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow? You know, watch a movie with me or something?” She asks nervously.

Steve’s mouth hangs open a little, blinking slowly. There was no way he heard that correctly. “You want me to come over?”

“Yeah. Only if you want to, of course.” She clarifies quickly.

“Of course I wanna come. I’ll even bring some snacks.” He says as he leans his arms on the counter.

Y/N smiles at that, nodding her head. “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She says, giving Steve one final wave before leaving.

“Man, you are such a doofus.” Robin says as she comes up behind him.

“Can you not?” Steve says as he turns around to face her. Robin smirks, winking at him before walking away.

—

“You did what?” Eddie asks with a laugh as he stops strumming on his guitar.

“Don’t laugh at me, I need your help here!” Steve says as he throws his soda can at Eddie.

“Hey, careful! This is my most prized possession.” Eddie says as he throws the can back at Steve, missing him entirely. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

“Y/N invited me over, and I went because of course I would, you know? And everything was going really well, at least to me.” Steve explains as he leans back against Eddie’s dresser.

“Okay, doesn’t sound too bad so far. What happened after that?” Eddie says as he turns the knobs on his guitar.

“Then I thanked her for inviting me and left.” Steve says simply. Eddie abruptly stops what he’s doing, setting his guitar down on his bed.

“You did what now?” Eddie exclaims as he stands from the bed, causing Steve to look up at him.

“Left. Why, what’s wrong?” He asked, very confused by Eddie’s sudden outburst.

“You’re a fucking idiot, that’s what’s wrong.” Eddie says as he grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him into the living room. “Stand right there.”

Steve grumbles something under his breath as he rubs his arm where Eddie had grabbed it. “Since when are you strong?”

“Amps are heavy as shit man. Now shush.” He says as he dials a number on the phone. Steve mutters something about Eddie being rude as he watches him press the phone to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” Steve asks, only to be shushed by Eddie. Steve rolls his eyes, watching as Eddie waits for the person on the other end to pick up.

“Hey Y/N! Do you have a moment to talk?” Eddie says when the person on the other end picks up. Steve automatically stands up straighter, listening closely to try and hear what Y/N was saying.

“— Not in the mood—” Is the only thing that Steve can make out from here, causing him to frown. Was Y/N really that upset with him that she didn’t want to talk to anyone?

“Just humor me, please? What exactly happened yesterday with Harrington?” Eddie asks as Steve gets closer to the phone.

“I did what you and Robin told me to and asked Steve out, and absolutely nothing happened. I even tried scooting closer to him to see if he would catch the hint, but he didn’t! And then when it was time for him to leave, I went to kiss his cheek and he hugged me, Eddie. He hugged me!” Y/N rants from the other end of the line. “So either everyone is bullshitting me and Steve Harrington actually isn’t into me, or he’s the most oblivious man on the face of the planet.”

Eddie gives Steve a knowing look as he says his goodbyes before hanging up the phone. “See? Idiot.”

Steve bangs his head against the wall as Eddie pats him pitifully on the shoulder. “So you mean to tell me that yesterday was supposed to be a date?” He finally says when he’s done with his attempt to knock some sense into himself.

“It was a date. Could you honestly not tell?” Eddie asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“No! I just thought that she was trying to be nice!” Steve says as he slides down the wall.

“Man, can’t believe this. Former king of Hawkins High is sitting on the floor of my trailer, having a crisis because he blew a date with a pretty girl.” Eddie says as he shakes his head. Steve doesn’t even bother responding, sitting there with his head in his hands. “So, are you going to try and fix it or not?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks as he finally looks up.

“God, since when did I become the smart one here?” Eddie asks in mock disappointment. “You need to go back over to Y/N’s and make everything right.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I think you of all people should know that I’m not good with this stuff.” Steve said as he stood up. Eddie groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“My god, Harrington. You’re hopeless.” He says. “Here, I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”

Under any other circumstance, those words would’ve sent fear straight into Steve’s heart. Especially coming from someone like Eddie. But he was desperate, and desperate people don’t always make the smartest decisions.

—

Steve stands outside of Y/N’s door, her favorite flowers in hand. He stands there for a moment, mentally going over everything that Eddie told him to say. He takes a deep breath before giving up and knocking on the door.

It’s silent for a moment before Steve hears the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. The door opens up to reveal Y/N standing there, arms over her chest.

“What do you want, Harrington?” She asks coldly. Steve gulps at that, rocking back and forth on his feet a little. Guess I deserve that a little.

“I just came here to apologize. For yesterday.” He says as he holds out the bouquet of flowers. Y/N hesitates before taking the flowers from him, smelling them quickly.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” She asks after a moment.

“For being an idiot. If I had known that you wanted yesterday to be a date, I would’ve handled things a lot differently.” Steve explains as he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Different? Different how?” She asks as she leans against the doorframe. Steve pauses, trying to think of the best way to say what he wanted to say.

“Can I come in? I think it would be better.” He asks as he scratches his head. Y/N gives him a suspicious look before stepping aside and gesturing to the living room. Steve mutters a small thank you as the two of them walk into the living room and sit on the couch.

“So, what exactly is it that you would’ve done differently?” She asks as she sets the flowers on the coffee table.

“For starters, I wouldn’t have let our first date just be us watching a Muppets movie on your couch.” Steve says in a joking tone, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “If I had known, I would have taken you out to dinner. Hell, if you really wanted I would’ve taken you to go see one but god I would not have gone to go see a freaking kids movie.”

“Why, what’s wrong with kids' movies?” Y/N asks teasingly, causing Steve to laugh for the first time since he got there.

“I guess you’re right.” Steve says as he turns to face Y/N. “Can we get a do over date? I promise that this time I won’t act like a complete idiot.” He says sincerely. Y/N seems to mull it over for a moment before looking up at Steve.

“Promise?” She asks softly, as if she was still hurt and embarrassed from what happened the night before.

“Swear on my life. And you know if I break it, I’ll have Nancy, Robin, and Eddie on my ass about it.” He adds jokingly, but it isn’t really a joke. He had seen first hand how scary Nancy could be when she was upset, and he did not want to be on the receiving end of her wrath. Again.

“Fine. But I’ll need you to ask me properly.” She says after a longer moment of consideration, sitting up straight against the back of the couch.

“Fine by me.” Steve says as he stands up, pulling Y/N with him. They give each other small smiles before Steve clears his throat dramatically. “Y/N, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now. Longer than I would personally like to admit. So, will you do me the honor of going on a date with me?”

Y/N stands with their hand on their chin, looking off into space as she pretends to think long and hard about Steve’s offer. Steve starts to get nervous that she might actually reject him when she leans up, pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “Of course I’ll go out with you, Steve.”

Steve feels the heat rush to his cheek at Y/N’s actions, looking down at them with the biggest grin in the world. “You know, technically we’ve already had our first date. So it wouldn’t be completely insane of me to kiss you, would it?” He asks as he steps closer to her.

Y/N lets out a chuckle before responding, her hands behind her back. “No, no. I don’t think it would be completely insane, as you put it.”

That’s all the permission Steve needs before he pulls Y/N closer by her hips, their lips slotting together perfectly. He feels more than hears her sigh into the kiss as she raises her arms to wrap them around his neck.

When they both pull away for air, Steve swears he can see all the stars in her eyes. “That was…”

“Wow, how many girls can say that they took Steve Harrington’s breath away after a single kiss?” She asks teasingly, although it was easy to tell by the heat of her cheeks that she was just as — if not more — affected by the kiss as Steve was.

Steve rolls his eyes, which was seeming to become a common practice for him these days. “Way to ruin the moment.”

Y/N shrugs, giving Steve one of her award winning smiles. At least they were in his mind. “What can I say, it’s one of my many special talents.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfiction #kimoralov3

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rustedhearts · 4 months ago

Text

somebody told me (fratboy!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve has made it very clear that he doesn’t want you. but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you either.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

i want your things in my room (part one) the library record store

tags: angst, mean!steve, so much tension, yeah the football player is tim riggins in my mind and so what?! i literally wrote this months ago, enjoy <3

"heaven ain't close in a place like this"

— somebody told me, the killers

may 1st, 2009

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

It came hissed in the doorway between the second floor fraternity steps and the sticky wood paneled wall. Steve hovered above you, breath sour with beer and a new bottle dripping condensation through the hand dangling at his side. His eyes were slanted and directed down at your eyes watching him in surprise.

30 seconds ago, he cornered you against the wall after your swift trip to the bathroom. You caught eyes with him across the kitchen nearly an hour ago, and it took all this time of carefully scanning your movements when you weren’t looking for Steve to get you away from the junior you came with.

“What are you talking about?” you laughed. “It’s a party.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

You swallowed, trying not to let your good-natured grin drop. You were well aware that Steve didn’t invite you.

After he practically ran from your bedroom two weeks ago, things went radio silent between you and Steve. You texted, he didn’t answer. You called once, thought about leaving a voicemail, and spent a whole weekend crying when you realized: he didn’t want you. Someone who wants you doesn’t flee your room the way he did that night.

You were perfectly content wallowing in your idiocy for ever thinking Steve Harrington could have a special spot for you in his tiny, shriveled heart—until said junior you were attending tonight’s party with saw you at the dining hall.

You were studying late into the evening, sitting all alone at a table near the fireplace with your books sprawled out and your picked-at dinner in scraps. He came staggering in with a band of other men, all sweaty and half-dressed from practice. He was a linebacker on the football team, and he looked damn good easing into the chair across from you and making it squeak.

His name was Tim and he had a handsome smile, and a slow way of talking in this Texan drawl that had you blushing. For the ten minutes he sat and talked to you and asked you what you were so focused on, you forgot all about Steve.

You texted for a week, grabbed a few lunches and coffees together, and now here you were. At a frat party, invited not by Steve—but Tim.

“I know that,” you told Steve, pulling your arms up to fold them over your chest. Steve’s eyes flashed down to your breasts cupped under a black lace bra peeking through a red shirt.

“I came with Tim.”

Steve screwed up his nose, pulling back a little. “Tim? Tim who?”

Huffing, you pushed yourself off the wall and pressed Steve back by the shoulder. “Tim, Steve. Now, excuse me, but I’m gonna go find him—“

“No, hey.”

Steve snatched you by the elbow, causing you to fumble on the carpeting and narrowly miss someone heading up the steps. You gasped, stumbling into Steve still against the wall.

“Steve, what the hell?”

“‘m not done talkin’ to you.”

You glared at him, wrenching your arm away with force. “I don’t care.”

You rushed down the steps before he could speak again, head suddenly swollen with confusion, heart pounding hard in your chest. He hadn’t touched you in weeks. Hadn’t spoken to you, looked at you, so much as acknowledged you since the last time he was inside you.

All it took to get his attention was to finally attempt to move on? It was bullshit. It made your cheeks flame and your mouth line with sweetness that made your stomach coil. It wasn’t fair.

“Hey.” That soft Texan drawl called to you.

You raised your head from where you were glaring at the floor, softening when they found Tim’s green gaze. He grinned at you, still holding your red plastic cup from earlier. You retrieved it from him and allowed yourself to tuck into his side under the weight of his arm.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you told him. “Long bathroom line.”

Steve stepped into the fluorescents of the kitchen, weaving his way through bodies with wide, squared shoulders. He tossed a quick glance your way and shook his head as he made his way through the room. And what pissed you off most was the fact that he thought he had the right. The right to be upset, the right to think anything of you.

“Baby, you look so pretty in that lil’ top,” Tim said, tipping his chin down to you with a lopsided grin. He was a few beers in and loopy.

You grinned. “Do I?”

“Mhm. Real pretty—come gimme a kiss.”

You perked up on your toes to meet his mouth. His lips were always warm and soft and soaked in beer. Lord, college boys drank a lot. If you closed your eyes and forgot where you were, sometimes he even tasted like Steve.

But Tim always called you baby, and Tim always called you back. He walked you to class with your books in his arms and a hand on your waist, opened the door for you, and helped you into his truck when he took you for coffee.

And Steve? Steve acted like you didn’t exist if his dick wasn’t inside you.

Your tongue was just slipping past Tim’s teeth when you were torn apart by force. Tim stumbled aside, knocking you as he went and catching you quickly with a hand on your waist. Both your heads turned sharply toward the assailant.

Steve stood near the island where Tim had previously been, holding a bottle of beer and a look of nonchalance. His eyes glided from Tim’s look of surprise to your absolute glare.

“Sorry about that,” Steve said coolly. “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Tim resumed his spot beside you, and your body felt like it was vibrating against his. Every part of you was burning—and you couldn’t tell from what. Anger? Humiliation? Arousal? Maybe all three. You swallowed with difficulty and let Tim pull you in again. But your eyes never left Steve’s.

And his never widened from their slits. The ball of muscle near his jaw bone knotted when he clenched his teeth and it didn’t move.

“You okay, baby?” Tim’s attention was on you, and you looked away from Steve to smile at your date.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

The footballer had an easier lightness to him. Breezy, taking things with a grain of salt. He didn’t bother fighting Steve for his ‘mistake.’ He didn’t scold him for knocking you. He only smiled at you with a pair of pretty dimples and kissed the top of your head, arm bending around your shoulders.

“Wanna get outta here?”

Because he’d be going home with you. And it only took Tim a few moments to deduce that it was that fact alone that would drive Steve crazy. Even if you couldn’t.

You nodded, hand rubbing over his chest. You spared one more glance toward Steve, who had stepped away toward the other side of the kitchen with slow, slithering steps. He took a swig of his beer and clenched his teeth on the swallow.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Tim held your hand on the way out, guiding you down the front steps and toward the street. Your arms swung over the pavement, and you almost felt compelled to check if Steve was watching. What the hell was wrong with you?

“So what was that?”

You peered up from the pavement to Tim’s green eyes. “What?”

He cocked his head back at the brightly-lit house dimming behind you. The music faded the further you went. He was still wearing that dimpled grin.

“Back there, with that guy.”

You inhaled, looking back toward your feet. It only took a few moments to decide that you didn’t want to lie.

“We…used to hookup. But it’s completely over, I swear.” You skirted to a stop, gathering Tim’s other hand and meeting his eye again. “He’s just being a dick about it.”

He snorted. “I sort of got that when he came from across the room to ram into me.”

A giggle burst from your mouth, but it drooped into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

Tim frowned, brows creasing. “For what? You don’t got nothin’ t’ be sorry for, pretty girl.”

The warmth pulsing in your chest you could certainly make sense of now. “Okay.”

He grinned again, dropping one of your hands to squeeze your chin affectionately. “Okay. Come on.”

You walked the rest of the way to your apartment with his heavy arm over your shoulders again. And Steve watched from the front seat of his car, knowing exactly where he was going as he peeled away from the curb.

✶ ✶

“Alright, goodnight, little lady.”

“Goodnight, Tim.”

Your voices were punctuated by the slam of a door. Quick footsteps followed, a rhythmic succession ascending the staircase. Over the creaky board on the other side of the door, then—

“What the fuck?”

It burst open to a streak of lamplight in your bedroom and one Steve Harrington shadowing it at the foot of your bed. He had your university football teddy bear in his hands. It was a gift from Tim and it had his number on the bear’s soft yellow t-shirt.

Steve leapt to his feet. “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t seem to close your mouth. It hung open as you watched Steve raise his brows and jerk his chin expectantly. He tossed his arms out on either side.

“Huh?”

You came to your senses with a hard blink. “What am I doing? What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?”

“Same way I always get in,” he quipped.

Heat touched your cheeks as you stepped into the room and gently clamped the door shut. You snatched the teddy bear from his hand and placed it back on your desk silently. Your purse fell to the floor where you were standing.

“You didn’t answer me. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Is this about the party or Tim?” You kicked your shoes off one by one, keeping your back to Steve and his stupidly pretty face.

You had such a soft spot for pretty boys, it seemed.

“You know what? Both.”

“Okay,” you sighed, pulling the first layer of your outfit off. Steve’s eyes scanned the lace of your tank top as red fabric made its way toward the hamper. “Tim and I are seeing each other. Tim wanted to go to the party, which happened to be at your frat—alas, there we were.”

The mattress springs yipped when you bounced on the edge to pull a clean pair of socks on. You wanted to strip your jeans, too, but you didn’t want to give Steve any ideas. He was already standing there with his arms crossed and his biceps and chest all puffed and sculpted. He already had that handsome pink tinge to his cheeks: his beer blush.

“Well, it’s weird,” Steve stated.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling a snicker. “Okay, Steve. Can you leave now? I’m tired.”

Steve tapped his finger on his arm, watching you shift on the bed and feign exhaustion. He chewed his cheek for a minute before reaching for his hair.

“Well…you know I missed you, right, sweetheart?”

He dropped his hands and softened his eyes into that soft, puppy-dog pout. Your scoff was sharp and sliced through the room. Steve stepped toward the bed.

“Right.”

“No, really,” he urged, sinking into the mattress before you. “You know I was just made president, and I just got super busy, that’s all. I meant to call you.”

You tipped your head at him and stared directly into those faux-pleading hazels. "How come everything you say to me sounds like a line, Steve?"

Steve sat unblinking for a moment. Then his cheeks colored a rosy shade, and he covered it with a cruel scoff and another sweep of his hair.

"What? Come on, you-you know I like you."

You pushed off the bed, head shaking. That warmth was slowly but surely returning to your body in violent form. You pulled your hair off your neck and padded toward the window to open it. Your room already smelled too much like Steve.

"You like playing with me," you corrected, keeping your back to him even as the mattress shrieked with his freed weight.

"You know, you're such a bitch-"

You spun around, shoving him by the chest. Steve stumbled a step back, but the smirk on his face made you regret even touching him at all.

"Get out."

"Hell no," he bit, lunging back into place. He grabbed at your arm again. "You think Tim wants you either? You think he doesn't just like playing with you? You always gave it up so easy."

Tears bubbled in the edges of your eyes. A tingling burn settled in the bridge of your nose. You shoved at him again and angled your head away from him and his sneering scowl and beer breath.

"Fuck you, Steve."

“You’re trying to replace me? Hmm?” Steve cocked his head to meet your eye, and you wished you could will away the hot tear trickling down your cheek. “That’s fine, sweetheart. I’ve got ten of you in my pocket.”

He shoved your arm away with a scowl, and you sniffled as he headed toward the door. All the hot-headed, enraged words pulsing on your tongue shriveled and died—and they were replaced with a hurt and heartbreak that was so familiar it was almost comfortable.

Yet as he opened your bedroom door, you rubbed your arm where he had held you and sniffled.

“Stay away from me, Steve.”

Door in hand, Steve turned and scoffed at you. “No problem.”

✶ ✶

You spent the next hour crying between makeup wipes and playing your radio on low. Pulled a faded grey t-shirt from your pajama drawer and tried not to look at Steve’s face rumpled at the bottom on a white t-shirt. Why hadn’t you thrown it away? He was so hard to let go.

With the football bear cradled to your chest, you wiggled under the covers and reached for the lamp. Your phone buzzed consecutively on the nightstand, causing pause. The plastic clicked on its hinges as it flipped open, and the sheets rustled when you shot up in bed.

u up?

tim is a fckn l0ser

answer

i’m sorry

The first time he called, you didn’t answer. You watched the small square light up with his name, felt the plastic shake in your palm with the force of its ring.

answer

Another call. You pressed the green button, but waited.

“Hello? Hey-hello?” His faded voice brought you from your daze.

You pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Jesus, do you not read your texts?”

“Wh-what…why are you calling me?” Disbelief colored every syllable from your mouth.

Steve huffed. “I just…how much do you really know about this Tim guy?”

You looked at the bear sitting on your lap against the sheets. “About as much as I know about you, Steve.”

The line buzzed with quiet for a while. You played with the hem of the teddy bear’s shirt and gnawed on your lip. An ache balled in your chest when the thought of him hanging up occurred to you.

“Fair,” he said quietly.

Sighing, you shimmied under the covers again and reclined back against the headboard.

“Why are you calling me, Steve?” This time it was softer. You couldn’t give in to him anymore, but you had to hear him out. He never called you like this.

He never acted like he cared until now.

“Just…don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

You scoffed, pressing your palm against your head. Despite the way your heart pulsed with excitement, and the way your nerves locked up at the thought—you knew Steve didn’t mean any of it. He was just jealous. He wanted you as his personal plaything and he didn’t like to share.

You couldn’t swallow it anymore. You couldn’t keep biting your tongue to stay the perfect toy in hopes he might see you as more.

You had to end it.

“You already took care of that, Steve.”

You reveled in the buzzing silence of the other line for a beat.

“Goodnight,” you told him.

And you hung up the phone.

#rolly!#fratboy!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington angst

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stevesgother · 1 month ago

Text

Chalkboard Hearts - S.H

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, so much fluff, teacher!steve and mom!reader. No descriptions are given of reader or abbey, other than that abbey has curly hair, steve and reader are the same age (about 24-25), set early-mid 90's

AN - i don’t write for kids often so i hope this reads well and is realistic. i don’t have a clear end for this series in mind, so i’m gonna keep writing it for as long as y’all want it :) feel free to send requests for blurbs for this AU if you so wish and as always, thank you - emma

“Moooooom,”

You hear a tiny voice whisper in your ear. Most mornings started this way, if not all of them. Whoever said getting children out of bed in the morning was difficult had clearly never met Abbey. Every day you peeled your tired eyes open to see the miniature version of them staring back at you, the only difference being they were much wider, and lacking the distinct fog of leftover sleep.

Today her hair was sticking up in all different directions; frizzy curls here and tangled knots there. Your daughter takes after you in many ways, one being that she’s an active sleeper and it shows when she wakes up. Her bed was always disheveled; embroidered blankets strewn across her bedroom floor and little red lines indented in her cheeks where they had been smushed against her pillow.

“Mornin’ Ab,” you say, voice gravelly with disuse. “Have you made your bed yet?” you eye her suspiciously.

You know she hasn’t and she confirms as much when she spins on her heel and dashes for her room down the hall. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less if her bed was made or not, it was merely a guise to buy you a few extra minutes of peace and quiet each morning.

︵୨୧︵

When she doesn’t reappear, you assume she’s gotten distracted and decide to make your way downstairs to scrounge for something to eat. You never ate breakfast before you had Abbey; either for lack of time or because the smell of food so early in the morning made you nauseous. Eating three meals a day was just one bullet point on the long, running list of changes in your routine since becoming a mother.

Two bowls of Frosted Flakes were set out on the table after deciding there was no time for anything more nutritious.

“Abbey!” You call, “Breakfast!”

You hear the sounds of sniffling and small feet padding on hardwood as she enters the kitchen– pouting. You try not to gape at the utter monstrosity of an outfit she's put on. She whines, “I don’t know what I want to wear!”

You sense a meltdown coming already, on today of all days. Pre-school was easy, as Abbey was a fairly agreeable kid. Or at least she used to be. Lately it felt like you had to battle her about anything and everything.

“You look so beautiful, Ab!” you reassure her, attempting to deescalate the impending tantrum. She has on pink corduroy pants and a frilly forest green blouse. For accessories she’s sporting a chunky plastic necklace that definitely came with a dress-up kit, along with a tutu. You have no idea where the tutu came from.

Eventually she decides not to fight you, at least not on her outfit. However, as she climbs into the kitchen chair, she scowls down at the soggy cereal in front of her and asks in the most darling tone she can muster,

“Can I have Scooby fruit snacks instead?”

“How about I pack some in your lunchbox today and you can eat them at snack time?” you try to barter.

Sneaking a glance at the clock, it mocks you with its unforgiving hands– you’re going to be late and your daughter will have skipped supposedly the most important meal of the day. Some mother you are.

“But I want them right now!” Her petite fists bang against the wooden table and she’s a heap of dramatics wriggling in her chair.

“Hey, what did we talk about? Yelling is not nice, even when we’re frustrated. Right?” She acknowledges you with a teary nod along with more crying and petulant moaning that can be heard as you run to the bathroom and grab a hairbrush with two bows. When you return, she’s still moping over her breakfast, but taking bites nonetheless. A win is a win.

You begin detangling the mess of knots and snarls at the back of her head. “Ouch, Mommy!” she cries when you try to comb through a particularly tangled section.

You place one of your hands over the crown of her head like a claw in a poor attempt at keeping her from squirming, “The more you move the longer it takes, sweetheart,”

“Hmph.” she pouts, folding her arms over her chest. When all is said and done, your daughter has her hair parted and tied into two high pigtails, secured with little pink bows, and you’re rushing her out of the front door with haste.

︵୨୧︵

In all the hubbub, you realize you’ve barely gotten yourself ready. Reaching over to buckle Abbey into her carseat, she asks,

“When can I sit up front with you?”

“When you’re this many,” You hold out both your hands to display all ten fingers.

She mimics you with her own smaller fingers, “Ten?”

“That’s right!” You smack a kiss on the crown of her head as you pull back, she smells like her strawberry scented shampoo.

“Watch your feetsies,” you warn and she tucks her legs unnecessarily far into her chest as you close the door.

The ride is filled with the usual nonsensical ramblings of a five-year-old. She beams back at you through the rearview mirror, eyes sparkling and nodding fervently when you ask if she’s excited to make some new friends today. Your social butterfly, the complete antithesis of you.

The elementary school is only a few miles from your home, and before you know it you’re circling a crowded parking lot and preparing to drop your only child off for her first day of kindergarten. The rush of emotions you feel are indecipherable, something like a mix of somberness, excitement, relief, and anxiety.

As you walk towards the front of the building, you’re surrounded by dozens of kids aged five through twelve greeting their teachers and saying ‘Hello’ to friends they haven’t seen all summer. The teachers are holding laminated signs that indicate their name and what grade they teach; thank God for that. Abbey’s little fist squeezes around your index finger and you can tell she’s becoming nervous, despite her previous unbridled anticipation.

“Hey, it’s okay,” You assure, “Look, I think that’s your teacher right there,” you point towards a tall, brunette man standing near the double doors.

A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips when she sees the teacher in question. He’s dressed in a striped button-down shirt and khakis, with a lanyard dangling from his front pocket; the typical teacher attire.The sign he’s holding reads, ‘Mr. Harrington’ and just below that, ‘Kindergarten’ with a little cartoon apple printed next to his name. He looks young compared to the rest of the staff, closer to your own age. This must be his first year teaching.

As you approach him, Abbey treks in front, eager to meet him. Her backpack is adorned with sparkly butterflies and it covers nearly her entire torso; bumping the backs of her knees with every step she takes.

The man crouches down to her level and greets her, “Hey there,” he offers a warm smile, “what’s your name?”

“Abbey,” she says timidly, twiddling her fingers and flashing a toothy grin at him. She doesn’t bother with her last name, honestly you’re not positive that she even knows it.

“Well, it��s very nice to meet you, Abbey,” he holds a gentle hand out for her to shake and she does so hesitantly, “My name’s Mr. Harrington, and I’m going to be your teacher this year. How does that sound?” The way he’s so patient and attentive with her stirs something within you that you haven’t felt in years, but he’s a teacher, for goodness sake. He looks up then, locking eyes with you and rising back to his full height.

This time, it’s your turn to shake his hand. “I’m Steve.” He flashes you a smile directly out of a Colgate ad and you hope you’re not blushing as much as you feel like you are.

You must look nervous because he immediately assures you that Abbey’s in good hands this year. “We’re having an open house tonight, I hope to see you both there,”

You glance at your daughter, “What’d you think, Ab? That sound fun?”

“Yes!” She squeals and almost falls over from the weight of her backpack.

“Okay then,” With that, you crouch down to give Abbey one final hug. It’s clear that she’s itching to go socialize with the other kids, so you try not to delay her with your sappiness.

“Be good today, okay?” you give her a tight squeeze and a smacking kiss on her little cheek, “I’ll be back to get you at two-forty-five.”

“What will the clock say?” She asks inquisitively. Her favorite question.

“It’ll say ‘two-four-five’,” She nods in understanding, “But I bet you’ll be having so much fun that you won’t even remember to look.”

She’s already on her way to the door when she calls, “Love you, mommy!” and blows you a kiss with her lips puckered. You blow her one back and fight the tears threatening to surface. When did she get so big?

A pang of insecurity settles in your chest when you chance a look around and see all the children accompanied by two parents. You begin the walk back to your sedan before the thought has a chance to fester.

︵୨୧︵

Six hours goes by alarmingly fast when it’s spent running around your house in a frenzy, trying to catch up on all the cleaning you aren’t able to do when there’s a rampant five-year-old on the loose, making a brand new mess where you just cleaned an old one.

Before you can even register the time has passed, it's two o’clock and you need to pick Abbey up in a mere forty five minutes. Looking around your house, you feel satisfied with the progress you were able to make on tidying and call it a day.

This time, you decide to try and appear more presentable before visiting the school, and firmly remind yourself that it has nothing to do with how flustered your daughter’s kindergarten teacher makes you. By the time you’re dressed and have pulled your hair up into a halfway decent top knot; it’s time to go.

︵୨୧︵

The line for pickup wraps around the front of the building, aided by crossing guards and supervised by a few teachers. Twenty minutes into waiting, you regret not having gotten here a little sooner. ‘Tomorrow’ you think. Soon, you catch sight of two little pigtails bobbing up and down as your Abbey skips over to you, grinning ear to ear while Steve watches from the doors she just exited.

“Mommy!” she shouts as she bounds towards you. You place the car in park and run around to greet her.

“Hi, Bug!” you exclaim as you bend at the waist to pick her up. She gives you a tight squeeze around the neck, and you catch a split second of Steve’s gaze over her shoulder before he’s disappearing back inside the school

Plopping her as gently as possible into her carseat and fastening the straps over her chest, her mouth is already moving a mile a minute– absolutely ecstatic to tell you all about the activities she got up to while you were gone.

“What is ‘open house’ ?” she asks, kicking her feet like she can’t possibly contain all the excitement inside her little body.

“It’s just a chance for all the mommies and daddies to meet your teachers,” you explain, “And you get to show me around your new school, fun right?”

Her face lights up like a christmas tree at the prospect, “Are we gonna go?!”

“Yes, but first we have to eat dinner. What sounds good?”

Without missing a beat, she yells a little too loudly, “McDonalds!”

You want to say yes, of course you do, but your shifts at the ER barely cover the minimum of your living expenses. Your resolve begins to crumble, however, when she looks at you with those saucer-round eyes, and her bottom lip juts out in the most precious pout. Who knew she could be so harmlessly manipulative?

“I don’t know, Ab. I think we have some chicken nuggets in the freezer at home, though,” you say, with an air of hopefulness that she might accept the compromise.

“Not the same,” she whines, “Please, Mommy! I’ll be extra extra good please–”

And with that, it’s over.

“Okay! Okay, fine,” you feign annoyance through a smile, “We’ll stop on the way home,”

You can still hear her squeals of excitement when you close the door and walk around to the driver's seat.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey dresses a little more cohesively for the open house than she did this morning. This time she’s clad in a thrifted pair of overalls overtop a little purple blouse. She leads you, hand in hand, inside the school like she knows exactly where she’s going– despite only having spent six hours here.

Steve’s classroom looks exactly how you’d expect. The walls are a light, mint green and it’s as if a character from Sesame Street threw up all over it. Abbey leads you to a reading nook in the corner of the room, surrounded by books and complete with several bean bag chairs, and proclaims this is her favorite spot. She shows you where her desk is– right in the very front of the classroom– and on it, a laminated sticker with her first and last name sits neatly near the top. The walls are lined with colorful letters in alphabetical order, accompanied with numbers just underneath them.

“Abbey!” you hear a familiar voice call, “I’m glad you and your mom could make it!” turning to you then, “I’m actually not sure I ever caught your name,” he chuckles awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the fact that he doesn’t know it yet.

“Oh, it’s–” and before you get the chance to tell him, Abbey pipes up and tells him your first and last name with a confidence that she certainly didn’t have when it came to her own introduction this morning. You’re relieved that she feels so comfortable around him already.

He repeats your name back to you and holds out his hand for you to shake, “It’s nice to meet you,” You pay no mind to the way your heart beats a little faster in its cage at the sound of your name on his lips. His palm is surprisingly soft when you grasp it in your own.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you grant him a polite smile, “Abbey could not stop talking about you on the way home,” you pinch her side, teasing, and she giggles in that contagious way that kids do.

“Is that so?” he feigns surprise when he looks at her.

“Nooo!” her giggles amplify as she becomes increasingly bashful.

He crouches down to meet her at eye-level, exactly like he did this morning, “Well, that’s a shame, because I think you might be one of my favorite students,”

Now, she’s a heap of laughter and has a blush spreading from the apple of her cheeks to the tips of her ears. You can’t help but feel enamored by how great he is with children, silently wondering if he comes from a big family, or if he has a child of his own.

“Did you introduce your mom to Nibbles?” he asks her when her laughing mostly subsides.

She gasps like she can’t believe she would’ve forgotten such a thing, then she hauls you by the arm over to a tiny cage on a table, presumably for an even tinier animal.

“Mommy, look! This is Nibbles,” She’s peering between the metal bars of the enclosure and encouraging you to do the same, when you lean in closer you see a small, tan gerbil sleeping in a little nest of bedding.

“He’s our friend and he helps us learn, so we have to be very careful with him,” she tells you with a sudden seriousness that's amusing to see displayed on such a young face. It’s obvious she’s parroting Steve.

You turn to see Steve observing from a few feet behind you, both hands shoved in his pockets, “I didn’t think teachers actually had class pets,” you breathe a huff of laughter.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles with you, “I brought him from home, actually. Figured he could use some socialization. With dozens of children.” he informs you sarcastically. God, he’s funny too.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be a hamster guy,” you tease.

“He’s a gerbil, first of all,”

“Right, sorry, my bad,” you smirk.

“No time for a dog, I guess,” he shrugs, “thought I could use the company,” he’s clearly still bantering, but there’s an underlying melancholy in his tone that you can’t quite place. Before you can think about it for longer than a second, an impatient five-year-old is tugging on your arm and begging to show you the library.

“Okay, alright,” you laugh, “better get to it, the library awaits,” you shoot him an apologetic look for having cut the conversation short. You feel less guilty, however, when you see more parents and children start to funnel into the classroom, busying him in yours and Abbey’s absence.

“See ya, “ he waves.

“Bye, Mr. Harrington!” Abbey yells, already halfway down the hall.

︵୨୧︵

In the library you have to shush Abbey several times, much to her dismay.

“We use our inside voices in the library, Ab,” you remind her for the fifth time. She frowns but it’s temporary when she spots her favorite section: the picture books. Abbey is ahead of a kindergarten reading level now, and it's one of her favorite hobbies, but you can still never go wrong with a good picture book.

You’re about to follow her when you hear someone call your name.

You turn, “Stephanie?” you ask, puzzled.

“Oh my gosh! It’s been forever!” an old friend from your shared high school, Stephanie, pulls you into an unreciprocated bear hug. Squeezing and swaying back and forth for an awkward amount of time.

“Hey,” you draw out the last syllable and try to paint your voice with a nostalgic excitement, “How have you been?” you ask, even though you’re sure you’d rather be shot than continue this conversation.

You don’t know if you could really call Stephanie a ‘friend’, or if you ever could. The only reason she even knew your name being the shared, piranha-esq social circle you both ran in years ago. She reminded you of your past– who you used to be– someone who you’re not particularly proud of.

“Oh, I've been just fine!” She gestures wildly with manicured nails. Her lips are overlined and her hair is still damaged from bleaching and too many perms. Evidently, not a lot has changed. You ponder if she’s still the mean girl she always was underneath all that makeup, or if at some point in your adolescence she decided to mature.

“Todd and I just bought a house over on Maplewood, are you familiar?”

“Oh, no, not really– my daughter and I live across town,” You don’t like how ashamed you feel, “I’ve heard it’s beautiful over there, though,” you attempt to smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“That was your daughter?” She’s trying not to sound taken aback and failing, “With–?”

“Yes,” Your teeth grit ever so slightly. You hate that she won’t say his name, as if speaking it into existence would somehow break you. Like you’re fragile.

“I was terribly sorry to hear about what happened, Hon,” Her sudden sympathetic tone irritates you, whether it’s genuine or not. You don’t need pity, especially not from Stephanie Nettles.

“It’s okay, Steph, really,” losing patience by the second, nothing about it was okay. “It was a long time ago, Abbey and I are doing fine,” you assure her.

“Oh,” she fawns as she presses her bony hands against her chest above her heart, “Can I meet her? Would you mind?" Her tone is saccharine sweet. You figure it can’t hurt, but when you turn around to retrieve Abbey, she’s not where you left her. The spot on the rug that she was previously occupying is empty and her book is abandoned on the floor.

“Abbey?!” Calling a little too loudly for the setting you’re in but you can’t bring yourself to care. You search row after row, it’s not a big library, and after every shelf you’re expecting her to be there– browsing novels and you’ll feel silly for overreacting.

But that doesn’t happen, and you realize with mild panic that she definitely left the library; somehow without you noticing. You suppose this is the safest place for her to go missing, but the thought doesn’t soothe you for long as you still have no idea where your daughter could be.

Stephanie is staring at you with concern, but still making no effort to help you locate Abbey. You don’t speak and neither does she as you rush out of the room and begin to pace the halls, still calling out for her. You check the bathrooms by the gym, a couple of empty classrooms that aren’t locked– she’s not there either.

When you’ve checked every available room and potential hiding spot in the near vicinity and still see no trace of her, that’s when the real dread sets in. What if she’d wandered outside and been taken? Or worse, there had been an accident and she’s hurt? She could be miles from here by now, she could be–

“I think this might belong to you,” a mellow voice rings out.

Steve and Abbey walk leisurely towards you, hand in hand. A complete contrast to the frazzled mess of anxiety you are right now. You hurl yourself in their direction and wrap Abbey up in a hug, lifting her off her feet.

“Oh my God, Abbey,” normally you’d be fuming at her for wandering off like that when you know that she knows better, but you can’t feel anything other than relief in the moment.

“Found her on the swings,” Steve continues, “Isn’t that right?”

Your relief does eventually morph to frustration, “You know better, Abbey Jane. Don’t stray off like that again. Do you understand?”

She succumbs to her guilt and you can tell her short-lived freedom has lost its novelty. “I’m sorry, mommy,” her little eyes well with tears. “The other kids were going to the swings, I wanted to go,” she pouts.

“We could’ve gone, baby, but you have to ask first, okay?”

Her meek response is muffled in the crook of your neck, “Okay,”

She’s still sniffling into your shoulder when you remember Steve is there, and your surroundings come back into focus.

“Thank you for finding her, Steve–”

“--His name is Mr. Harrington, mom,” she corrects like she can’t believe you’d embarrass her like that by calling her teacher the wrong name.

“--Mr. Harrington,” you stifle a laugh for your daughter's sake, sending him a knowing look.

He returns the expression, “Anytime,” he smiles, sweet . “Think that's enough scaring your mom for today, huh?”

Instead of acknowledging with words, she simply nods her head, eyes glued to the floor, ashamed.

“I think someones getting sleepy, might be time to head home,” you drag a gentle hand down her back soothingly.

“Will you carry me?” she asks too adorably to say no, despite her being ever-so-slightly too big for it. Grunting as you pick her up, you say, “Thanks, again,”

“No need,” he ruffles Abbey’s head lightly as you pass, “See you tomorrow, right?”

“See you,” her eyelids are heavy already. You make your way back to the car slowly but surely, arms growing more numb with every step.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey manages to bargain a bath out of you and four books before bedtime instead of the usual two. How you ever say no to her, you’re not sure. By the time you finally tuck her in, it's well past nine o’clock.

“Did you have a good day today?” You ask as you bend down to kiss her forehead.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington is my favorite teacher,” she proclaims drowsily.

“He’s your only teacher, Ab,” You snicker.

“But he’s still my favorite,” she replies in the same cadence one would say ‘Duh’.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to go to sleep super fast tonight so you can see him sooner, right?”

You can practically see the lightbulb turn on above her head like she’s just had a groundbreaking revelation and nods fervently. You tuck her in tight on both sides, and give her a kiss on each of her cheeks and once more to her forehead for good measure.

“Love you, Abbey girl,” you tell her on your way out, “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, mommy,” she says wearily from underneath her princess bedsheets.

The door closes with a soft click and you make your way to the living room. You never had the chance to ask Stephanie what she was doing at the school– from what you knew, she didn’t have any children. Perhaps she was a teacher. It didn’t matter as long as you didn’t have to interact with her again.

As you lounged on your old sectional, you couldn't help your mind wandering back to thoughts of Steve. You wanted to know more about him. Where he came from, what made him want to work with kids, why he needed a gerbil to keep him company. Distantly, you imagined what he was like outside of an elementary school setting. You hoped one day you’d find out.

He was Abbey’s teacher, sure, but what was the harm in a little crush?

taglist - @soulxiez

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

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accioharrington9 · 11 days ago

Text

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

prompt: four times you spent a holiday with your best friend Steve Harrington and one time you didn't and missed him.

word count: 10.2k

warnings: friends-to-lovers, everyone can see it (including steve and reader but they're both kind of in denial), mutual pining, characters in their mid-twenties, fluff and (some) emotional angst, steve uses a cheesy nickname for reader, mentions of partying and alcohol consumption, some swearing, no use of y/n

notes: hi all, this is the first reader fic that i publish here, so bear with me, i tried my best <3 in light of the year-end celebrations, this fun little idea of a fic came to me and i decided to give it a shot, so i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

🥂🥂🥂

“What are your resolutions for the new year?”

You looked up from your glass of champagne when Steve asked you that question out of the blue. You were both leaning against the kitchen island at Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment, distractedly observing your friends playing a drinking game you had both stepped out of. You were glad to allow your friends their fun, but mostly, to have a reason to get some alone time, just the two of you. A silent agreement, as always.

“You know I don’t believe in resolutions,” you answered before bringing a flute smudged by your red lipstick to your lips.

“Oh, come on, kitten, humor me for a second.”

You raised an eyebrow at him while he waited for your response with a cheeky smile. You heard Robin burst into laughter from the living room, but you were too focused on Steve’s loose strand of hair and the woody scent of his new cologne to acknowledge it.

“Fine,” you obliged him. “Well, I resolve to quit drinking coffee, exercise more, and buy a new and well-functioning car.”

“You’re full of shit,” Steve laughed. “Like you’re ever going to get rid of Gina.”

“Of course I’m not getting rid of Gina, she’s my ride-or-die,” you said, referring to your personified old car.

“Yeah, emphasis on ‘die’ – you're missing a rearview mirror in there.”

You nudged him playfully, briefly losing your balance but Steve helped steady you immediately, putting a hand on your hips that hovered there longer than necessary. You chuckled for good measure but couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face.

Everyone knew you and Steve had a thing for each other. It had been that way since high school – lingering looks in the hallway between classes, overly tactile during a mundane conversation, pretending to forget something at the other’s house to have a reason to go there again… Everyone knew it, was used to it, and never mentioned anything about it – you and Steve included.

Nothing had ever happened because the timing was always off. If it wasn’t Steve who was dating someone, you were; then you moved away to go to college, and when you came back to Hawkins after graduating, Steve had just left for an internship in New York. Eventually, you grew tired of the never-ending “what-ifs” and made your peace knowing that Steve Harrington would always be more than just a friend but less than a lover. A fine line you both tiptoed in and out of too much over the past eight years.

“What about you?” you eventually asked Steve. “You’re corny as shit, you must have a lot of them resolutions in mind.”

“I only thought of a couple, and they’re not that corny.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Steve laughed again, running a hand through his hair as he reflected on what he’d say. You admired him while he did so. It was frustrating, still having that teenage crush on your longtime friend, not being able to let it go, not entirely at least. You sometimes wished you could be his friend the way Robin was to him, or Eddie was to you. It would make it all so much easier, so much less painful than this in two minds you were both stuck in, this blatant desire for more, this fear that it could all be ruined in seconds, poor decisions fragmenting the illusion of a blissful friendship.

“I thought about learning how to play the guitar.”

“Cliché,” you teased. “What else?”

You could see the turn the conversation had taken when Steve hesitated before talking – looked nervous, even.

“Moving out. Getting my own place.”

You stared at Steve, quiet. You couldn’t say you were surprised – he’d been roommates with Eddie since they both enrolled in community college a few years ago. Even after graduating and getting a job, they stayed that way, because it was simple; splitting the bills, having someone to talk to after a lonely day. But it could only work for so long. It was only a matter of time until one or the other got bored and needed a change of scenery. To you, it was no surprise Steve had that revelation first.

“You sound serious,” was the only comment you could express.

“Because I am,” Steve said. “I started looking at one-bedroom apartments to rent in the neighborhood.”

“Does Eddie know?” you asked.

Steve pursed his lips as he shook his head from left to right. You hummed and couldn’t help but look at the young man in question, with his curly hair tied back in a bun and his poor imitation of some football player his team had to guess the name of. You loved this friend group – you loved the dynamic, the hijinks, and the stability. You loved hanging out with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan at Eddie and Steve's apartment. You loved everything about it and the thought of losing your bearings, of disrupting your habits, made you too sad for the 31st of December, five minutes away from another midnight of confetti, embraces, and promises.

“You’re the first person I told,” Steve eventually said, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. “I thought you could share some of that wisdom you have to advise me.”

You snorted, lazily knocking your shoulder against his arm. “You buttering up to me, Harrington?”

“Only if it’s working.”

You got lost in his beautiful brown eyes, aware of the subtlest things, like his pinky finger brushing your hand timidly, the mint toothpaste on his breath, or how perfectly he wore the sweater you gifted him. It felt so right, standing close to him and toying with the possibility of the unknown. It always did with Steve.

“Okay guys, it’s officially one minute away from midnight, gather ‘round!!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

Reluctantly, you left the little bubble of peace and happiness you had created in the kitchen, Steve following closely behind. As you started counting down from ten, surrounded by all your closest and dearest friends, you only had eyes for Steve.

It had become a habit since you first celebrated New Year’s Eve with him years ago – you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d kiss you at midnight. It was a fantasy you’d entertained ever since you were eighteen, the final and first thought of each year that passed without ever becoming real. Each year, naively, you thought it’d be different. But each year, it was the same old song all over again.

As the clock struck midnight and cheers erupted among the friend group, you hugged everyone. You saved the best ‘til last, heart beating frantically as Steve wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck, getting drunk on his cologne – pathetic, disillusioned.

“Happy New Year, kitten,” Steve whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek – soft, tender, and terribly platonic, as usual.

“Happy New Year, Harrington,” you kissed his cheek in return, the trace of your lipstick leaving a mark on his skin like a temporary tattoo.

And you were too busy thinking about the undone to notice that this year, Steve held you in his arms a little longer than usual.

🌹🌹🌹

“Bro-lentine’s Day?”

“Is that one of those boys band they keep talking about on the radio?"

You held back a laugh at Steve’s question and Eddie’s comment regarding the odd suggestion Robin had just made. The four of you were waiting in line at a Wendy's drive-thru in Steve’s car, the crescent moon shining its feeble light in the night sky above.

“Why would you even think about spending Valentine’s Day with your loser single friends when you have a beautiful girlfriend you could shower with gifts?” Eddie asked, to which Steve, behind the wheel, concurred immediately.

“I mean, I obviously love you guys, but I mostly suggest that because Vickie’s working a night shift on the 14th and I figured it’d be nice to hang out together, the four of us, instead of just… I don’t know, being alone?” Robin admitted.

“Oh, so we’re your stand-ins?” Eddie exclaimed, feigning offense under your amused attention. “Classy, Buckley.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot like a pity party, Rob,” Steve pointed out.

You laughed along as Robin kept putting her foot in her mouth. It was often like that – Robin and Eddie gently bickering in the back seats while you exchanged knowing looks with Steve, in your designated seat at the front of the car.

The only difference was this time, when Steve searched for your eyes to have a silent laugh with you, you avoided his gaze, pretending to look in the distance, thinking about something you needed to say to him but couldn’t find the courage to.

“Okay, fine,” Eddie eventually yielded. “Let’s do this thing. But I have one condition – we go to Steve’s new apartment.”

“Excellent idea!” Robin exclaimed, enthusiastic.

“I told you guys, I’m not done unboxing my stuff, the place is a mess,” Steve argued as he started the ignition to move forward.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You say that like you have a thousand boxes.”

“It's his plethora of hair products - they take up a lot of room,” Eddie teased, which made Robin snort.

“You’re both hilarious, seriously, I can’t stop laughing,” Steve said with a straight face.

“So, it’s a deal,” Eddie said. “Bro-lentine’s Day at Steve’s new place – no, I’m sorry Rob, you’ll have to find another name, I hate how it sounds when it comes out of my mouth.”

“What do you think, babes?”

You only focused back on the conversation when Robin called your name, looking away from the constellations in the sky.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry babes but count me out of this one,” you said with a sorry smile.

Robin laughed, thinking you were probably messing with her. Steve was driving slowly now that the line ahead finally seemed to clear.

“Right, because you have something better to do on Valentine’s Day, of course,” Robin joked while Eddie chuckled.

You tried not to take offense because you knew it was some innocent banter, but it didn’t stop you from frowning.

“Actually, yes, I do,” you contradicted. “I have a date that day.”

The car braked abruptly, causing a blast of horns from the vehicle behind and surprised yelps from the back seats.

“What the fuck, Harrington??” Eddie ranted. “That’s why I keep telling you you’re a shit driver, seriously, how did you manage to get your license, man?"

“Sorry, I got… distracted for a sec’,” Steve apologized.

You couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eye, so you toyed with the bracelets around your wrists and stared at your shoes, waiting for your friends’ reaction to the news.

“Is it someone we know?” Robin asked bluntly. “It’s the cute guy from the music shop at the mall, isn’t it? I knew he had a crush on you, you’re the only one who got Like a Prayer for half price.”

“It was… actually a twenty-percent discount,” you corrected, even though none of your friends cared about that information.

“Who even asks someone out on Valentine’s Day?” Eddie asked himself out loud. “We have three hundred and sixty-five days a year, why choose this nightmare of a commercialized day deliberately?”

“I think it’s cute,” Robin shrugged.

You attempted a smile, but it was nowhere near convincing. Robin and Eddie weren’t even paying attention to you anymore, discussing with each other the pros and cons of a first date on the 14th of February. You gathered the courage to look at Steve, decipher his expression. He might’ve been trying to get your attention a moment ago, but now, he was just staring in front of him, both hands firmly holding the lower part of the wheel.

“So, you’re really going to abandon me with these two idiots, huh?”

Your laugh at Steve’s rhetorical question was a mix of amusement and relief. If there was one thing that meant more than anything to you, it was the harmony between you two. You knew that as soon as you or Steve dated someone, that harmony was threatened. It had happened before. It was a fatality.

“You’ll be just fine,” you assured softly. “It’s just one night.”

Steve chuckled, finally making it to the pickup window. “Yeah, you’re right. Just one night. Easy-peasy.”

At that moment, you couldn’t have imagined that on the 14th of February, you’d find yourself knocking on Steve’s door at ten in the evening, makeup ruined by your disappointed tears, holding tight to your coat and shame in the cold evening air.

When Steve opened the door and saw you standing before him, he blinked at the unexpected sight of you sniffing and shivering.

“What are you doing here, kitten? Is everything okay?”

As soon as you heard Steve’s voice and the concern he displayed, it was out of your control – another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Oh no. Come here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice- when Steve opened his arms at you, you dived in, letting him hug you tight, accepting his warmth and empathy.

“Dude stood you up?” Steve asked, voice muffled as his face was buried in your hair.

“Worse,” you said. “He was there.”

Steve huffed, because it could’ve been a funny anecdote if not for the dried mascara that ran under your eyes.

“So, we’re not going to the music shop again, huh?”

“I never said it was the guy from the music shop,” you pointed out.

“You never denied it either.”

You snorted and you felt Steve smile against your head. He was the first to part from your embrace, but you were under the impression he could’ve stayed like that much longer.

“What’s taking so long, dingus?” Robin shouted from the living room. “You need help with the pizzas?”

“It’s not the pizzas,” Steve retorted as you stepped inside the apartment.

Both Robin and Eddie turned around on the couch and looked equally surprised to see you there.

“Is it okay if I crash Bro-lentine’s Day?” you asked sheepishly.

“We’re not calling it that!” Eddie said in a singsong.

“You’re more than welcome to crash Bro-lentine’s Day, babes,” Robin told you while wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you sat next to her.

“I give up,” Eddie sighed before heading for the kitchen.

“What did the loser do to get you like that?” Robin inquired, touching your face where the tears had dried.

“Honestly, he wasn’t even that bad,” you explained. “He just… wasn’t what I expected. I guess I’m tired of getting my hopes up and ending up disappointed every time.” You paused, reflecting on that state of mind. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Robin contradicted with a sympathetic smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day, anyone would’ve expected a perfect date.”

“Hence why you don’t date on that doomed day.”

“Can’t you just let it go already, Eddie??”

You smiled softly at your friends’ innocent quarrel, and you realized in the end, there were no other people you’d rather spend the day of love and romance with.

So, you settled comfortably on the couch in Steve’s new apartment, surrounded by dozens of wrapped boxes and your closest friends with a glass of wine and a cheesy movie to watch, sharing the details of your date with them.

“Well, his loss, darling, not yours,” Eddie said in conclusion to your story.

“Definitely,” Robin nodded.

You smiled lightly and you thought maybe, just maybe, they were right.

“Why are you smiling like that, Harrington?” Eddie then asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no reason,” Steve answered casually before finding a tiny spot between you and Robin on the couch.

🎉🎉🎉

There was nothing more frustrating than being late to meet your friends and having your car’s engine make that hideous sputtering sound as you kept putting the key in the ignition without it ever starting.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you echoed in sync with the car’s noises.

“I see Gina’s being cranky today.”

You glared at Steve, sitting in the passenger seat and enjoying himself a little too much.

“It’s too hot outside, she doesn’t like it when it’s too hot,” you explained to yourself more than Steve.

“It’s the 4th of July, kitten. It’s always hot on the 4th of July.”

“Thank you so much for this enlightening forecast, Harrington, have you ever considered a career in meteorology?”

You bit your lip when you realized how harsh your comeback had sounded. You slowly turned your head to lay regretful eyes on your friend.

“Sorry,” you winced.

“You’re good. I think I know why Gina’s cranky today – she takes from her owner.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it.

The sun was starting to set in a sky adorned with pink and orange hues only summer could take credit for. The air was hot, crickets chirping and bees buzzing while the whole town was already busying itself in preparation for the incoming festivities.

For the past six years, on Independence Day, you’ve met all your friends by the lake on the outskirts of Hawkins to have a barbecue with beers and watch the fireworks. It was a tradition you all honored religiously each Fourth of July.

Except this year, Robin was celebrating with Vickie’s family, Eddie was working at the music camp, which meant you were spending the evening with Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve, a group hangout that looked an awful lot like a double date, and it worked yourself up into quite a state.

“Did you get the Buds?” you asked Steve as the ignition still wouldn’t start.

“Packs in the trunk,” Steve answered straight off.

“And the blankets?”

“In the backseat.”

“The radio for the music?”

“Nance’s taking care of it.”

You fell back in your seat after failing one too many times to start the car and just closed your eyes, sighing heavily. You wiped your hands on your shorts, the summer heat getting the best of you, chest heaving and patience hanging by a thread.

“We can take my car tonight, maybe Gina needs the rest,” Steve suggested. It irritated you even more.

“We always take your car, tonight’s the one night a year we take mine,” you argued, putting the keys in the ignition again.

“We’ll take yours another time, then, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” you just said.

Without a heads-up, you got out of the vehicle. Steve followed you as you opened the hood to check the engine. You were rough in your endeavor, hair falling out on your face and hands quickly stained with oil.

“Why are you being so stubborn today?” Steve asked you, tone cutting sharp like a knife.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You can tell as much as I can your car’s not going anywhere tonight, mine’s parked right behind and ready to go, so why are we losing time for nothing?”

“She’s just being picky right now but I’m getting there. She needs a little boost and she’s good to go,” you insisted, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead before realizing it’d smudge the oil.

“Yeah, sure, at this rate, she’ll be good to go for Thanksgiving,” Steve said ironically.

You shut the hood close abruptly, shooting daggers at Steve as he stood in front of you with his arms crossed. He looked just as irritated as you did.

“You’re being an asshole,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Steve snickered, eyebrows raising like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“Oh, I’m the asshole in this situation? You’re a fine one to talk!”

“Are you seriously turning the tables on me right now?!”

“I’m not, you’re clearly in a mood today and you’re taking it out on me! Last I heard, I’m not a punching bag!”

Your face twisted into a scowl because Steve annoyed you a great deal, but mostly because he was right. You were far from being good company today, and today was meant to be fun, chill, eventful. You could blame it all on Gina, but you knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I’m just saying I’m going to get the car started just fine, all I need is a few minutes to figure it out. And we’re already late anyway, they won’t hate us for the extra ten minutes,” you said as you opened the hood again.

“This is not about the car and we both know it,” Steve stated, sure of himself. Of course, he was – he knew you like the back of his hand.

You closed the hood as soon as you opened it, walking closer to Steve to face him properly.

“Maybe you should take it easy if you want her to work, you know,” Steve remarked.

“Why don’t you just say what’s on my mind, Steve? Since you apparently know it better than I do,” you hit him with your words.

“But that’s just the thing! I don’t!” Steve exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now and you won’t tell me a goddamn thing!”

“You already know what’s going on with me, I made it perfectly clear – I want my fucking car to start so we can go and meet our friends, as we do every year!”

“And I made it perfectly clear that we can take my car, so why are we still arguing about this??”

“Because it’s the way things are supposed to be!!”

The silence that followed that revelation felt intrusive. You couldn’t wait for Steve to tell you off, to argue with you some more, but instead, he didn’t say another word and just stared at you, dumbfounded. It allowed you to reflect on your behavior of the past ten minutes and you immediately dropped your eyes to look at your shoes, ashamed.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked you then, voice softer.

You sighed and looked in the distance, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s the tradition. On the 4th of July, you come to my place to help me pack everything, we take my car to pick up Eddie and Robin on the way to the lake, we meet Nance and Jonathan there, then, you and Eddie set the barbecue while Jonathan and I take care of the music, and Nance and Robin lay the blankets to make us cozy. And we eat and drink until they shoot the fireworks from downtown – it’s how the day is supposed to go.”

“Right, and it’s how it’s going to go today,” Steve assured, confused.

“No, it’s not. Rob and Eddie are not there this year, and because of Gina, we’re late and missing out on the sunset.” You paused, taking a breath. “It’s what I look forward to the most. Watching the sunset on the lake with you guys. All of you.”

Steve relaxed his shoulders and breathed out like he finally made sense of the underlying problem. He stepped closer to you and his hand cupped your face, willing you to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, I’m going to take a wild guess and assume it has something to do with Nancy and Jonathan talking about moving to Chicago next year for Nancy’s job,” Steve said. “Am I boiling or getting colder?”

The rhetorical question elicited a weak smile on your lips.

“I know Chicago’s not that far from Hawkins, but… I like the way things are right now, you know?” you explained while Steve listened, nodding. “I like that we can hang out whenever we want to, show up unannounced at each other’s place, and whatnot.”

“You can still do that if they move to Chicago. It’ll just take you more than three hours to get there,” he teased you.

Steve did it – he made you laugh. “I’m not so sure Gina would survive the trip.”

“I’ll let you borrow my car, then,” Steve whispered, and even though you were bantering, it sounded like a promise.

You chuckled, the knot in your stomach coming undone as Steve put his thumb to your forehead, stroking where you had wiped the oil stain earlier.

“You look like shit,” he told you unceremoniously.

“And you’re a shitty friend,” you bit back, making you both smile.

Friend. The denomination never felt strong enough to define what you and Steve meant to one another. Yet, it was the only one you used, the only one that brought you comfort, especially in those blurry moments that kept you wondering why that boy had always been so sweet and kind to you, even when you felt undeserving.

You jumped at the sound of a car honking from the street, bringing you back to reality as you and Steve turned your heads to see what happened. You felt amused, and somehow relieved when you saw Nancy popping her head out the passenger window of Jonathan’s car like a beautifully staged interruption.

“Oh my God, you guys are late too?” Nancy shouted at them. “I told Jonathan to go over the speed limit, and as you can imagine, he was not happy about it.”

Steve laughed, and you followed suit because it was almost ridiculous, how perfect the situation had turned out. Sure, things felt different this year, with winds of change impending, and the future of your friend group unclear. But at least, you were all on the same page.

“While we’re here, get in the car with us!” Nancy offered, gesturing for you to come closer. “Maybe we can still catch the sunset.”

You exchanged an amused look with Steve, silently agreeing that your uncooperative car and your latest conversation would remain a secret you’d share only between you. Your friends didn’t need to know the reason why you were late.

So, you and Steve hurried to put everything in Jonathan’s car, climbed in the backseat, and made it to the lake just in time to admire the remnant of sunset and put everything into place to wait for the fireworks.

And as you put a blanket over your and Nancy’s shoulders, the fire crackling in the quiet of the evening around you, you couldn’t help but search for Steve’s eyes. He was already looking at you, sitting across the fire next to Jonathan. You smiled when you realized, and he winked at you, playful, secretive.

Maybe you were lying to yourself, in the end. Maybe you didn’t mean it when you said you liked things the way they were. Maybe there was one thing you wouldn’t mind changing, you thought as you looked away from Steve to look up at the fireworks now erupting in the sky above.

🎃🎃🎃

“I’m not sure I get it, Robin – who are you dressed as?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question, Nance? Marty McFly? Don’t tell me you still haven’t watched Back to the Future!”

“I didn’t have time.”

“In five years, you didn’t have time to watch a two-hour movie?”

“I work a lot, okay?!”

You were only half-listening to Robin and Nancy’s bickering as you finished getting ready for the Halloween party that your high school classmate Tina and her best friend Vicki Carmichael threw every year.

Usually, on the 31st of October, you would just crash at Steve and Eddie’s former apartment with the group, stuffing your face with popcorn and watching horror movies. But this year, the boys didn’t live at that apartment anymore and it was the last Halloween you’d all spend together in Hawkins before Jonathan and Nancy moved to Chicago next January. You all agreed it called for a memorable celebration, hence why you were now getting ready with the girls at your place.

“So, you mean to tell me you haven’t had time to watch Back to the Future, but you had it to watch all three Star Wars movies, judging on your costume?” Robin asked while Nancy grunted in frustration.

“I told you last week, me and Jonathan are wearing couple’s costumes – he’s Han Solo and I’m Princess Leia, obviously,” she explained while pointing at her long white dress and peculiar hairstyle.

“Couple’s costumes,” Robin repeated. “Kids these days, they’re just talking nonsense.”

“It’s romantic and fun, you’re just jealous you didn’t think about it for you and Vickie,” Nancy retorted as you were starting to think you were in the middle of playground taunts.

“Oh yeah, I should’ve asked Vickie to dress as Doc, it would’ve been crazy romantic,” Robin sassed.

Once the heels were at your feet, you turned around on your chair to stare at your friends.

“You two realize how stupid your fight is, right?” you chipped in.

“We’re not fighting,” Robin and Nancy said in unison.

You rolled your eyes and turned back around to face your vanity and finish your makeup, but it was too late – you had involuntarily drawn the attention to you.

“And who are you dressing as, hot stuff?” Nancy cooed while smirking at your reflection in the mirror.

You hummed the Dirty Dancing theme song to answer her question, and she nodded approvingly, taking in your pink dress and silver heels.

“I love it,” Nancy smiled.

“Thanks,” you said as you stood up. “And you two look equally great, so stop biting each other’s heads off.”

“So, if you’re Jennifer Grey, does it mean Steve’s dressing as Patrick Swayze? I could see him pulling that off.”

Robin’s question took you aback for it came out of nowhere. You gaped at her, face warm and thoughts racing.

“Hmm, no, he’s not. That’d… be a great couple’s costume, for sure. But we’re not a couple, so…” you stammered, awfully self-conscious.

“Well, yeah, but you might as well be.”

“Robin,” Nancy reprimanded her with warning eyes.

“What??” Robin exclaimed while you watched, confused. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what I mean, it’s been going on for years, this… whatever this is. And honestly, we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see it.”

Nancy blushed, embarrassment written all over her face as she rubbed a hand over it.

“I don’t… understand,” you admitted, tugging at the hems of your dress to anchor yourself in the moment.

“There’s nothing to understand, babes,” Nancy said softly. “Robin was just joking. Right, Rob?”

Nancy was now glaring at Robin, who had no option but to concur. It felt like you were missing something there, and you didn’t like it. Were your friends talking behind your back? Were they annoyed at your relationship with Steve? Annoyed at the ambiguity, the unsaid, the attraction? Was it all that obvious as of late?

“I’m sorry, guys,” Robin said with a sigh. “I had a fight with Vickie earlier today and it messed me up a little bit.”

“Oh, babes,” Nancy softened, hugging Robin from the side.

“I know that’s no excuse for being a jerk,” Robin winced in your direction.

“You’re all right,” you said with a sympathetic smile, and both Robin and Nancy seemed relieved.

The three of you talked Robin through her problem until it was time to meet the guys outside. Nancy was the first to exit the apartment, but Robin lingered by the front door, hand hovering hesitantly above the handle. Eventually, she made up her mind and turned over to face you.

“I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for earlier,” Robin told you.

“It’s okay, Rob, I get it. You were upset about your fight with Vickie and said stuff you didn’t mean. It’s fine, it happens to all of us,” you said, wondering why Robin had felt the need to bounce back on that.

“No, but see, that’s the thing – I did mean it,” she contradicted. “I just didn’t say it like I should’ve.”

“And how should you say it?” you asked with a frown.

Robin looked uncertain now, fidgeting where she stood. You imagined that if Nancy were still in the room with you two, she’d probably give Robin an earful.

“When I said that we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see what there is between you and Steve, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she elaborated under your undivided attention. “It’s just… We’re your friends, and you know, as friends, we want what’s best for each other, I’m sure you feel that way about us too –“

“Robin, cut to the chase, please,” you interjected before she could lose herself in her explanation.

“We just think if you two admitted what you’re both obviously feeling for each other… You could be very happy together. And the rest of us would be too because damn, we’ve watched it happen since high school and it’s about time one of you does something about it, babes.”

You stared at the door behind Robin, wishing to run away from this conversation that was too much for you to handle. It was the first time one of your friends confronted you on the matter, upfront, and you had no idea how to react.

“I’m not expecting you to say anything, don’t worry,” Robin added. “I just wanted you to know what everyone else is thinking. Do what you want with that information.”

You opened your mouth to respond but you heard the distinctive sound of Eddie’s van parking on the street, your sign that it was time to go and end this conversation for good. You rushed to the door, opening it before Robin could and hurtling down the stairs to some extent on your heels. Once you were outside, you breathed in slowly, calming down and processing what one of your best friends had just confided to you.

You and Robin met Nancy on the curb as Eddie slid the van’s side door open to let you in the backseats.

“Evening, ladies,” Eddie greeted.

“Wow, you’re Elton!” Nancy exclaimed after studying Eddie’s costume, a white ensemble with feathers and glitter that was the singer’s signature.

“You could get that but not mine?!” Robin exclaimed, almost offended.

“Move on, Rob, and let’s have fun tonight,” Nancy teased her while sitting near Jonathan, dressed in the easily identifiable Han Solo outfit.

Robin took the passenger seat next to Eddie, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to Steve at the back of the van. Of course. Almost like it had been on purpose, you thought to yourself.

You settled next to him and you were almost insecure, something you’d never felt around him. You resented Robin for not knowing best, and not keeping her mouth shut.

“Hey, kitten,” Steve welcomed you as you smoothed the edges of your dress.

“Hey, Harrington,” you said in return, attempting to smile at him.

You studied his costume as he studied yours. Aviator sunglasses on his head, green jumpsuit, sleeves rolled back under his elbows – Maverick from Top Gun. You'd gushed over the character when the movie came out, and you wondered if it happened to be a funny coincidence or if Steve had picked that costume on purpose.

“Baby,” Steve suddenly said.

“What?” you choked out with widened eyes.

Steve frowned. “Your costume,” he clarified. “Baby from Dirty Dancing, right?”

You processed the information and chuckled awkwardly, feeling stupid. You let Robin get in your head and you hated it.

“Right,” you breathed out as Eddie drove away.

Something passed in Steve’s eyes, and you were not sure what it was. Hesitation, desire, resignation… You watched and waited, fingers laced on your lap, heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“You look… very nice,” Steve told you in a hushed voice.

You knew neither Nancy nor Jonathan could’ve heard it – they were engaged in a vivid conversation with Robin and Eddie in the front of the car. It was an intimate declaration, meant for you and you only.

Your lips parted subtly, but Steve’s eyes caught it regardless. It did not soothe the rate of your beating heart.

“Thanks,” you croaked it, throat tight. “You’re not too bad yourself."

Steve smiled briefly, then did the strangest thing. He leaned in, his face awfully close to yours, and you thought; this was it. He was going to kiss you. Right then, right there, in the back of Eddie’s van dressed as the guy from Top Gun on the way to a Halloween party.

And as much as you wanted him to kiss you, it wasn’t how you wanted him to do it. Not the place, not the time. Maybe Steve realized it too because he moved away as quickly as he had gotten closer to you, clearing his throat and watching out the window like nothing happened.

The party at Tina’s villa was loud, messy, and packed with former classmates – some you were glad to run into, others you made a strong case of avoiding. You had a nice chat with your high school sweetheart, even though you could feel Steve’s eyes on you the whole time. When you couldn’t bear the weight of his yearning gaze, you took a sip of that rum punch Vicki Carmichael had made – a few times.

You fled to the bathroom around eleven to freshen up and have some alone time. You were reasonably drunk, but still conscious enough to notice someone was already in the room when you barged into it.

“Oh, so sorry, I didn’t know someone was in there –”

You cut the apology short when you recognized the person’s reflection staring at you in the mirror.

“Becky, hi,” you said, surprised.

The girl greeted you back, the sound of your name imperceptible amid the party people shouting in the hallway. Now, you were reasonably drunk and very uncomfortable.

Becky was the last girl Steve had dated. They had been together for two years and seemed happy until Becky broke up with Steve overnight. Everyone assumed she’d probably met someone else, but you always felt like that was too simple and there was another more plausible explanation.

“You okay?” Becky asked you.

“Y – yeah, I just needed to cool off,” you mumbled.

You assumed Becky would urge you to clear off and leave her be, but instead, she stepped aside to give you some space in front of the sink.

You closed the door behind you and stood in front of the mirror, silently watching Becky perfect the mascara on her lashes. You quickly gathered she was dressed as Madonna in the Material Girl music video.

“It’s… been a while,” you said to break that awful silence. “What are you up to these days?”

“Small talk, huh? I thought we were way past that.”

You chuckled, ill at ease and too drunk to have a proper conversation. Out of all the girls Steve had dated, Becky was the one who unsettled you the most. You never knew what to expect of her.

“How’s Stevie?” Becky then asked before reapplying some lipstick.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Becky's inquiry, but something turned your stomach. You always hated it when she called Steve that name. It reminded you of a jealous version of yourself you’d rather leave in the past.

“He’s good,” you said casually, no matter your inner turmoil. “You know. Same old, same old.”

Becky’s lips turned into the semblance of a smile.

“I take it you two still aren’t together.”

You felt your heart drop at that comment. What did she mean, “still”? And what was up with everyone and their insights regarding your relationship with Steve?

“It sounded a lot less petty in my head, I promise,” Becky said when you stayed silent.

“It’s not that,” you replied. “I’m just… surprised you would say that.”

Becky sighed and turned around to face you. It looked like she was about to get a lot of things off her chest, and you were not sober enough for that.

“You know why I broke up with Steve?” Becky asked you, and she obviously wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Why all the girls he dates eventually break things off with him?”

You blinked. You didn’t want Steve’s ex-girlfriend to share that information with you. You had absolutely no desire to detain such knowledge. Yet, you shook your head, permitting Becky to say what she really thought, too curious to pretend you didn’t care.

“Because it’s painfully obvious he’s in love with you and we’re just here passing time until he finally has the balls to tell you.”

In love. You had thought about it all with Steve – he thinks I’m pretty; he’s attracted to me; he likes me more than a friend. But never in your wildest dreams had you dared fantasize about these powerful little words.

He’s in love with you, Becky’s voice repeated like a broken record on a loop in your mind. Taunting, hopeful, too good to be true.

You found yourself sitting on the bathtub’s edge, both arms at your side, speechless. Becky leaned against the wall across from you and chuckled like she'd just shared the funniest story.

“Don’t tell me this is shocking news.”

“I…” you started without finishing your thought. You were at a loss for words and your head started spinning, the fateful sentence seeping into your mind faster than the liquor in your system.

“Look, obviously, it wasn’t my place to tell, but you know, despite everything, I always liked you,” Becky confessed. “You were always nice to me, even though I could tell it was not easy for you.”

You lowered your eyes, apologetic. It was true – you had always been nice to Becky. After all, it wasn’t the girl’s fault if you had feelings you’d never dare confess to your best friend.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Becky resumed. “I’m trying to help you two out. This whole faint-hearted act was probably cute when you were sixteen, but you’re adults now. Are you waiting for him to get married and start a family with someone else to tell him how you feel?”

The mere thought made your heart ache. You didn’t want to picture Steve married to someone else. It made you nauseous.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” Becky apologized.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her in a whisper, feeling like your head was about to explode. “Why are you telling this to me and not him?”

Becky stared at you like you’d just said the most nonsensical thing.

“Because he’s an idiot and a coward. If you’re waiting for him to make a move, you’ll wait a long time, honey.”

You spaced out for a moment, and when you returned to your senses, Becky was gone, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts in that bathroom.

Becky was right. Steve was an idiot and a coward. The inebriation clouded all your good judgments, so you got to your feet and walked out of the bathroom to look for Steve. After everything that happened tonight, you were confused, upset, and even angry.

You found him outside by the pool, joking around with some guys from his old swim team in high school. You marched to him, bold and determined, and he didn’t notice you right away, so you hooked your fingers to the fabric around his arm and dragged him behind you. You ignored the guys whistling at you both or Steve protesting and asking what had gotten into you until you walked into an empty room on the side of the villa and closed the patio door behind you.

“Okay, what the hell was that about??” Steve exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, away from the party noises and the music. “Have you lost your shit??”

“You’re an idiot,” you told him in an accusing tone.

“Tell me about it,” Steve sassed you.

“And a coward!”

“Oh, so you have a whole list, huh?”

“That’s what Becky said.”

Steve looked at you in silence, processing what you just said.

“Of course, you talked to Becky….” he sighed. “Let me guess – she said I stole her INXS tape? She needs to let it go, she clearly lost it, she can’t keep blaming me for –“

“I don’t want you to get married, Steve,” you interrupted him, blurting out what you had been obsessing about for the last ten minutes.

Steve froze and looked at you like you were insane. And you might just be, you realized. You took a step back, dizzy and embarrassed.

“I… was not planning on getting married any time soon. Where is that coming from?” Steve asked you, stepping toward you.

You bit your tongue, holding from saying another stupidity you’d immediately regret. Suddenly, your choice to confront Steve and isolate yourselves in a bedroom didn’t look like the brilliant plan it seemed to be five minutes ago.

“Forget it, I’m drunk, and I don’t know what I’m saying,” you stammered, head low as you walked toward the door.

“Hey,” Steve brought you short by taking your hand before you had the chance to leave. His touch was tender, your hand fit perfectly in his, and you understood what Becky meant when she said "still not together".

“Talk to me,” Steve urged, lacing his fingers with yours. It was unbearable, how natural it felt. “You used to tell me everything, and now, I have no idea what’s up with you anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, wishing you could go back in time and stop yourself from putting the two of you in this awful situation.

“Come on, kitten, we’re friends, you can tell me anything.”

Friends. You loathed the word that normally comforted you. You couldn’t stand to hear it.

He’s in love with you. How could he say you were friends when he was the one you called first when your car broke down, when he’d snuck out of college to comfort you after you got dumped by your ex-boyfriend, when he drove you across the country to see your sick grandfather for the last time? How did he have the audacity to minimize what you meant to each other after taking such a significant place in your heart for years and years?

“We’re not friends,” you mumbled.

You looked at him and thought you could see heartbreak in his eyes. You’d hurt him. You’d hurt him badly.

“We’re not?” he asked, his voice breaking in the inflection.

You held your breath as Steve questioned you with glistening eyes. He didn’t understand what you were trying to tell him, and it was killing you.

“You know what I mean,” you breathed out, unable to say the actual words.

He’s in love with you. It was so simple. Why couldn’t he just admit it?

You’re in love with him too, why can’t you say it? you admitted to yourself.

Because no, it wasn’t that simple. Steve wasn’t the only coward in this situation. After all these years, it was so scary to admit, even more to say out loud. How could you expect him to say it when you were terrified of doing it yourself?

Eventually, Steve let go of your hand, an almost insignificant gesture that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

“Actually… No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said, defeated, before leaving the room.

You did it. You ruined everything, you thought as you sat on the floor and cried your heartbreak away.

🎁🎁🎁

It was supposed to be the merriest day of the year, with children's laughter filling the air and countless presents to unwrap. Yet, your heart was not in it, and you had to hold back tears during dinner that night at your parents’ house.

You hadn’t talked to or heard from Steve in almost two months, and it was officially the longest you’d spent without seeing each other. The thought was excruciating. He was your best friend in the entire world, you were head over heels in love with him, and the absence of him was like gasping for air on the verge of drowning.

But today was a merry day. Today was all about spending time together, eating a nice homemade meal, and reuniting. So, you played the part – you ate dinner, played board games with your cousins, and chatted with your uncles and aunts. You did what you were expected to do, and nothing more.

When you returned to your place, to your sad and lonely apartment, you sat down on the floor, still in your red party dress, back to your couch with a glass of wine, and flipped through a photo album Nancy and Jonathan had given you for your twenty-fifth birthday.

It was a recollection of happy times Jonathan had captured with his camera throughout the years – from graduating high school to renting your first crappy apartment, taking your first trip to New York with the group, and celebrating various occasions with them.

You took the last photo from the album, holding it between your fingers to get a closer look. It was a picture of you and Steve on New Year’s Eve the year before. You were posing for the camera, smiling from ear to ear. You were looking at the lens, but Steve only had eyes for you, holding you in his arms with rosy cheeks. When you looked at it like that, in retrospect and from another’s perspective, it seemed so evident that the guy in the picture loved the girl posing next to him.

You were fully crying now, blurry eyes and stuffy nose in contradiction with the holiday spirit. You were about to put the picture away in the album when something in the back of it caught your eye.

There was a note in the handwriting you would recognize anywhere at any given time – Steve’s. Your heart skipped a beat. It had gone unnoticed the first time you’d looked through the album at your birthday party and none of your friends had mentioned a thing about it. You started to look at a handful of pictures to see if others had something hidden on the other side, but they were all blank. All except for one.

You took a deep breath, pondering. Maybe Nancy and Jonathan were unaware of it, but Steve not saying anything didn’t make sense. This note had been there, forgotten in an album gathering dust in your bookcase, for months, and it could’ve gone on for years had you not felt nostalgic on that specific day.

You wondered if you should read it or pretend you’d never seen it. It was only a few words; they were probably some meaningless inside jokes or more personal birthday wishes. But they could also be something more, much more.

You knew you couldn’t live with the uncertainty, so you gathered your courage and read.

Happy birthday, kitten! Don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I want you to know you’re my favorite person in the entire world, and I love you. Yours always, Steve PS: stop being a sourpuss just ‘cause you turned 25

It had been there. Right there, under your nose, all along. Yours always.

Before you could think it through, your coat was around your shoulders and you were behind the wheel, ready to drive to Steve’s place and tell him how you felt. Screw the stability and the uncertainty – you loved the boy too and you needed to tell him tonight.

It was past midnight, the air was cold and the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the pavement as you drove a little too fast toward Steve’s building. Your heart was racing in your chest, anticipation mingling with excitement while you rehearsed what you’d say in your head.

You were going to confess your true feelings to Steve. Nothing could scare you anymore.

Except, perhaps, the ominous sputtering sound your car made when you tried to restart at a traffic light.

“No, no, no, no, no, come on, not now!!” you begged desperately.

The ignition wouldn’t turn over, and you could’ve screamed at the sky. Was it some sort of cosmic sign preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life?

You got out of the car to check the engine under the hood. When you opened it, it did something it’d never done before – it gave off fumes.

You coughed violently as you stepped away from the car, looking all around you and realizing you were alone on the street in the middle of the night with a kaput car and wasted opportunities.

“This is a nightmare,” you told yourself out loud. “This can’t be happening to me.”

Your eyes burned as you were about to cry again, disheartened and pathetic. Then, some headlights on the other side of the road caught your attention.

A maroon car stopped next to you and turned the ignition off. You held your breath, recognizing the vehicle instantly and wondering if the universe wouldn’t happen to be messing with you.

The driver exited the car and eyed yours up and down before chuckling.

“I had a feeling Gina wouldn’t make it through the year,” he said.

You laughed, the sound choked up in your throat at the improbability of the situation. You couldn’t believe Steve was there, rescuing you even without meaning to, always being there when you needed him to, the constant one in your life. As luck would have it, you thought.

“What are you doing here this late at night?” you asked him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he remarked with a smile.

You returned his smile, nervously fixing your hair. The wind was rising, and the air was filled with change and expectations.

“I was… on my way to your place, actually,” you explained, somehow shyly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

A few seconds passed until Steve spoke again like he was processing the information. “That’s funny, I was on my way to your place too.”

You swallowed, unable to stop hoping. “You were?”

“Yeah… Of course, I was,” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and I realized I never got a chance to give you your present because we weren't speaking to each other, so… Anyways, I can just give it to you now.”

“We’re literally in the middle of the road, Steve.”

He looked around at the empty and silent street for good measure. “Yeah, and it’s not like it’s rush hour right now, I think we’re good.”

You opened your mouth to retort but opted against saying anything else. It was your first interaction with him in weeks, it was out of the question to ruin it just to have the last word.

The young man got something from the backseat of his car and immediately handed it to you. You took it carefully, turning it over in your hand to try and figure out what was beneath the wrapping paper.

“I… don’t have your gift,” you admitted, crestfallen. “I mean, I did get you something, but I didn’t think to give it to you tonight.”

“It’s okay, kitten. Just open it.”

You complied, slowly unwrapping the paper with trembling fingers and shortness of breath as Steve observed quietly.

You were now looking at a book’s front cover, and it might’ve seemed unremarkable at first glance, but it was not some common paperback.

“First limited edition,” Steve explained, even though you already knew. “You talked about it at Eddie’s place a couple of months ago, that it was almost impossible to find today, and you’d love to have it. So, I went to every bookstore in town to ask if they knew where to get it, and one of them gave me their counterpart's number from England, they had to send it all the way here but… Yeah,” Steve concluded, face red and hands in his pocket. “I found it.”

You looked up from the book to lock eyes with Steve. He seemed expectant and abashed, almost anxious of your reaction.

“You went to all this trouble for me?” you asked in disbelief.

He pursed his lips and nodded as if it was that obvious.

“You’re well worth the trouble.”

All this time, you had expected blatant signs, big gestures, and declarations, when Steve had been telling you how he felt in his own way for years. It had always been there – in fleeting touches, longing stares, and understated actions.

“I read it,” you eventually confessed.

"The book?" Steve asked, puzzled.

“No," you laughed. "The note you wrote in my photo album. I read it tonight.”

You noticed the way Steve held his breath at that revelation. Suddenly, you no longer cared that you were standing in the middle of the road with your dead car by your side. Suddenly, all that mattered was the pretty boy standing before you and what you felt for him.

“It was corny, right?” Steve said with a nervous laugh. “I know you don’t like it when it’s corny but –“

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute, Harrington?” you cut him short with an amused eye roll. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel here.”

“I know,” Steve breathed out. “I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel for months now, but I never find the right words.”

In the elation of the moment, your words got a mind of their own, and you heard yourself saying: “Show me, then.”

Friends. A designation you held onto for the past eight years, a status that put things into perspective whenever Steve introduced a new girlfriend to the group, a word that freed you of your guilt when getting into relationships yourself, a term that helped you when you would yearn for something more, something you thought to be unrealistic and unreachable.

That word no longer held any power over you now that you were in Steve Harrington’s arms and he leaned in to seal his lips with yours into a long-awaited and overdue kiss, the promise of a cherished and beautiful future.

You'd envisioned the scene time and time again in your mind, but none of the imaginary scenarios your fantasies created could measure up to that kiss. It was sweet, yet demanding, like you were the air he needed to breathe. He kissed you like he loved - sincerely, tenderly, and intensely. You smiled against his mouth, and your heart melted when he did it too.

When you parted from him, lips swollen and eyelashes fluttering, you felt like everything was finally right and mourned the time you wasted being scared of changes.

“So… What now?” you whispered, getting a strand of hair out of Steve’s face to look at him better.

The boy held your gaze, enamored and enraptured like you’d never seen him before. You enjoyed it while it lasted because it was a momentary bliss until reality caught up.

“Well, first, we’re going to call a tow truck," Steve said as he entwined his fingers with yours. "And then, you’ll bid farewell to Gina,” he nodded toward the car.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You’d almost forgotten about your car. It was truly ironic, how you needed to say goodbye to your oldest partner while embracing a new beginning with your best friend.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” you asked while batting your lashes at him.

“Hey, just because we’re going to make out a lot from now on doesn’t mean you get to do that,” Steve jokingly scolded you while gesturing at your face.

“Do what?” you asked, coy and amused.

Steve laughed and put his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, kitten, I’m taking you home.”

At first, it didn’t feel like much had changed between you and Steve. You were still teasing each other, spending time with the group before Nancy and Jonathan’s departure, and arguing about what car you should buy now that Gina was in a junkyard.

But things had changed for the better, and you realized it on New Year’s Eve when Steve kissed you at midnight, as he would for many new years to come.

❤️❤️❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

do something with king steve who secretly likes female/shy/reader

hope u like it xoxo — the one where king steve keeps his best girl a secret (shy!fem!r, secret relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

“Boo!”

You jump when a figure appears suddenly behind the door of your opened locker. They’re wearing bell bottoms and a sparkly clip in their strawberry curls. Carol Perkins giggles when her attempts to scare you work. Tommy Hagan follows just behind her, laughing louder until his freckled face scrunches together.

The only reassuring thing about seeing both of them together is knowing Steve isn’t too far behind. He’s got his tongue in his cheek, and his arms crossed over his chest, visibly unamused. “What are you guys— three?” he scoffs, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.

“Yeah, three inches deep in your mom,” Tommy retorts with a boyish chuckle.

Carol squints her made-up eyes at him. She deadpans, “That’s not the comeback you think it is, Hagan.”

You turn to Steve with a panicked glimmer in your eye. You’re so used to being the butt of all their jokes that being in their proximity now fills you with something close to ice-cold dread. You peer at the boy beside you with pinched-together brows, knowing he’s the only one who cares about you past cheating off your homework.

“What’s going on?” you wonder quietly, for only him to hear.

Steve grins, brows raised and eyes twinkling. “My house is gonna be empty tonight. ‘Cause, you know, my dad’s got a work conference or whatever, so… No parents. Big house—”

“A total recipe for disaster,” Tommy interjects with a laugh.

“You’re throwing a party?” you ask, voice trembling. There’s little more that scares you than crowds — well, crowds and loud music and drunk people. Parties were never your scene. Steve knows that better than anyone.

He corrects you quickly, stammering over himself because he never wants you to feel uncomfortable. “No! No, not a party. It’s gonna be lowkey. Just a— a get-together, you know? Just the four of us.”

“Ooh,” Carol croons from behind you. “So no priss?”

“Shut up, Carol,” Steve snaps.

“I’m just used to you following her around like a lost puppy, that’s all.” Carol and Tommy laugh about it together. ‘Cause that’s all they’re really good at — making stupid jokes and cackling like supervillains.

Steve rolls his eyes with an annoyed huff and turns his attention back to you. You take it from him wholly, every ounce of his focus.

There was something ethereal in your vagueness — in how softly you spoke and how pretty you looked when you weren’t even trying. You’re quiet and mysterious and hidden. Steve desperately wants to be the one that deciphers you.

“Are you in?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone.

Your gaze falls to the tile. “I don’t know…” you murmur.

“C’mon,” he croons and steps closer to you. His sneakers enter your vision until you look up at him again, peering at him from beneath your lashes. His grin is pink and pretty and lopsided. “Don’t leave me with these assholes all night.”

“Dick,” you hear Tommy scoff from behind you. He sounds much further away than that ‘cause all you can see now is Steve. And his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his stupid pretty smile.

You cave instantly.

You never really stood a chance, anyway. Not with the way he was looking at you.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble and turn back to your locker. You switch your English textbook for a History one and cradle it in your arms. Steve grins, knowing he’s forgotten his on purpose just so he could sit next to you all period.

“Good,” the boy hums.

“We’re finally wearing Wallflower down,” Carol muses, giggling to herself.

Tommy knocks you too hard on the shoulder. “You’ll be one of us in no time,” he grins.

You grimace as they walk off down the hall. That’s the last thing you’ve ever wanted. The thought of there being an ounce of similarities between you and them makes your stomach ache.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Steve tells you, smiling quietly when you nod.

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and passes you a folded-up piece of paper. He doesn’t look back at you when he follows his friends down the corridor. You don’t open it until he’s gone.

West wing chem lab, he’s written in chicken scratch. Come find me.

—————

The hallway at the west end of the school is dim and empty. The floors are untouched, and the lockers are sparingly opened. The air is thick and noticeably stale. You open the door to the old chemistry room with a high-pitched squeak that sounds like something out of a horror movie.

Steve waits for you in the dark classroom, lit only by the natural sunlight streaming in through translucent curtains. He sits at a table in front of the window and toys with the burner at the end of it. He turns the thin blue flame on and off and on again, silently wishing he’d plucked a cigarette from Tommy before he left.

His honey eyes flit to yours when you walk into the room. He grins at the soft smirk on your bitten lips. “What’s that look for, huh?” he teases, turning off the burner and sliding off the desk.

You shrug. “Nothin’…”

“I missed you.”

You scoff when he wraps his arms around you. His wide palms smooth over your back. “You just saw me.”

“It doesn’t count when I’m with Tommy and Carol. I need you all to myself…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs lowly, ducking down to kiss you. His plush lips lock with yours, tasting of nicotine and chewing gum — a near-lethal concoction. He smiles against your mouth when you melt further into him. He parts from you with a gentle smack.

“They’re starting to like me, I think,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over his chest. “Tommy and Carol.”

“I think so, too.”

“It’s awful.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” he concurs, grinning wide when you giggle.

“But, you know, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” you stammer, gaze falling when it becomes too hard to hold his. “If they don’t think I’m, like, the lamest person on the planet.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why you don’t want them to know about us, right? ‘Cause you’re King Steve, and I’m… fish bait,” you conclude with a forced laugh.

“No,” he answers instantly. “What? No. That’s not— That’s not why.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want them to know about us because they’re assholes,” Steve confesses. “I mean, they were awful to Nancy when we were together. ‘Cause they’re miserable, and they hate when other people are actually nice. I just don’t want them to… ruin anything, that’s all…”

You muss with a rogue thread at the neckline of his sweater and smile quietly to yourself. “I thought you were scared because you accidentally fell in love with the Wallflower instead of the Prom Queen.”

Steve scoffs. “I didn’t accidentally fall in love with you, first of all.”

“No?” you murmur, brow quirking in disbelief.

“No, it was very intentional.”

“I don’t believe that,” you argue with a lighthearted chuckle. You think it’s easier than saying, I don’t believe you because there’s no way you love someone like me because you want to.

Steve’s palms squeeze your sides reassuringly, like he can hear all the mean thoughts swirling in your head. “Well, you didn’t make it any easier on me,” he tells you, a crooked smile tugging at his pink lips. “You started talkin’ all smart in Ms. Click’s class, and I started melting.”

“That’s when you knew you liked me?” you scoff. “After I gave a presentation about geopolitical tensions in China?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, licking his lips with heavy eyelids. “See what I mean? That’s hot.”

“God, you’re such a boy.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one #king!steve

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lanalosty0uu · 2 days ago

Text

⋆.˚ PROLOGUE ᝰ.ᐟ

🕰️ BACK TO THE FUTURE 🕰️

no specific warnings on this chapter slight foreshadowing of another stranger things character!

main masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

"Oh, no need to help, dear! I can do it by myself."

The nice 50 year old-ish lady told you not to worry about her fish pond. You're a second year high school student who just got accepted in an exchange program, and now you’re finally here, in Hawkins, Indiana.

"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Byers, I can handle it pretty well… My dad also has a fish pond on the back of our house.” You tried to reassure her that it’s totally fine for you to take care of it. Remembering that she can already be categorized as an old lady, it would be very cruel of you if you let her clean it by herself.

“You are truly an independent and hardworking young lady… Reminds me of myself back in the old days.” You can see her smile while looking to a blank space, probably reminiscing herself back when she was younger.

You chuckled at her compliment, slightly thanking her for saying something you don’t hear everyday, especially from your parents. Instead of saying anything further, you smiled at her before continue cleaning her fish pond.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“Please, dear. Feel free to look around.”

Ever since you got here last week, you never had the courage to explore her gigantic house. Not because it has spirits living on it, of course not! (hope so) But, it’s more like you don’t wanna disturb her peace and you don’t wanna look like you’re being nosy about her personal stuff. Yet, from the first step you took on this house, you literally fell in love. The vintage architecture, big pillars on her yard, it seems impossible for an old lady to live her by herself.

Sure, her house only has two levels, but the interior of her house is just mesmerizing. The details and antique things in this place are remarkable. If only you don’t have to control yourself, you’d already touch every single one of her things.

The only thing that you did here was to go to school and spend time with her a lot. You went shopping together, clean the house, do regular house chores, watch cheesy rom-coms or comedy movies (which you surprisingly also love). The whole week basically already felt comfortable for you.

You always loved old people. You get to hear their stories, adventures, and all what happened in the past. It seems… Very interesting, so different with what you have now. And one of the things you love about Mrs. Byers, is that she talks about her youth days a lot in the 80s! You, as a person who is a big fan of the 80s always had an open jaw when listening to how beautiful life seemed to be in the 1980s, especially in the year 1985.

“These are some beautiful watch collections, Mrs. Byers!” You looked through a cardboard box full of old clocks and watches inside.

“Those were my parents’. I was planning to give those to the antique store since I don’t really use it. But you can look around there if you’d like, dear! If one catches your eye, please do take it before people put a price on it in the antique store.”

The feeling of knowing that you can look at these old watches and actually bring them home without needing to let out a single dollar made you feel euphoric. But, you still need to help her cleaning up this messy attic, not wanting her to get asthma from breathing the dusty air so much.

“Maybe I’ll do it later, Mrs. Byers. I gotta clean these up first.”

Mrs. Byers looked at you, giving you the ‘I swear this kid never rests’ look. Yet, she just smiled. And you know deep down she’s really happy to have someone to be her company and to help her around since her husband died a year ago.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“If you need me, I’ll be downstairs, okay dear?” Mrs. Byers excused herself to go back to her room, probably knitting since it’s what she’s been doing at home (as far as you know). She left you there in the attic, wandering through her watch collection.

As you were diving through it, you took pictures of every single watch, especially the ones that has unique details in it. But one caught your eye… A golden pocket watch. It has golden chains, chained to the top of the watch. Tiny details surrounding the face of the watch. Since it looks pretty old, it was also covered in dust and rust, including the roman numbers that tell the time inside.

You made the watch dangle around your arms, admiring it’s old, yet timeless beauty. You started turning the clock around, seeing if it still works or not. Sadly, it’s broken. You immediately thought of the 80s just by looking at it, imagining how Mrs. Byers would always wield it and brought it everywhere she goes, even though you know this watch must’ve came from an older time… Most likely to be from the 30s or the 40.

Since you liked that pocket watch so much, you put the chains around your arms, keeping it there as you put back the rest of the watches gently inside the cardboard, not wanting to be irresponsible after Mrs. Byers let you mess around with all of it.

note: hey, i'll be publishing the first chapter like around... later! but i'll be posting it today as well (i'll try hihi ^^), lmk what r ur thoughts about the prologue so far, and if there's any of u that wants to be in the taglist, feel free to ask! hope you like this one <3

@xprloki @pupwrites @gorlillaglue25 @lovestrucklyuniverse since y'all seemed pretty excited abt this, i've decided to tag y'all in this and all future chapters, really hope y'all like it and continue reading <3

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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luveline · 6 months ago

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kbd —You gather the family consensus on a fifth baby. mom!reader x dad!Steve, 2k

The first baby you and Steve have is a ringer for him. She’s his copy down to the eyelashes, and she has his good heart. She’s a good sister, a beautiful daughter, and she’s a brilliant student.

But growing up makes you curious.

“Mom, why are you in the bathroom again?”

You laugh nervously. “What?” you ask, gaze on your hands.

“You’ve been in here like ten times today! Are you okay?”

She sound so, so cute when she’s suspicious. Her voice twists up and her concern feels too big. She knows it’s not normal to go to the bathroom this many times and she’s clearly not okay with this new development.

She knocks the door hard. “Do you need me to get dad?”

You open the door and pull her in quickly. She giggles, startled to be grabbed and put on the counter, her hair falling into her eyes the same wavy pattern as her dads. He’s got strong genes. Steve stamps the kids as Harrington’s, all except your Beth, who looks just like you.

“Mom, what the heck is going on?”

“I’m gonna ask you a huge question and you have to tell me your first answer. Don’t worry about anything else. Be honest, okay?”

“Okay. You’re making me nervous.”

You show her your pregnancy test. “You know what this means?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Did you pee on that?”

“I did. Babe, do you know what that means, though?”

“You’re having another baby?” Avery guesses. You go quiet. She beams at you. “Wait! Wait, mom, are you having another baby?”

“I don’t know yet.” One positive test and six negatives makes you think it was a mistake, but you’ve been pregnant four times before. You’re starting to feel like an expert. “If I did have another baby, what would you think?”

She tips her head back. You put the test aside and take her smaller hands into yours. She’s so pretty, all your babies are beautiful, and they’re all so special, and maybe you do want another one. Is that crazy?

You nibble your lip as Avery thinks.

“Well, we need a bigger house.”

You nod agreeably. “We do.”

“I love being a big sister.”

“You’re the best one there ever was.”

Avery holds your hands back, still smiling. “Well, mommy, I think it’s good. Then I will have four sisters. That’s even more than Stacey K.”

You look her dead in the eye, but it’s all love pouring between you both. “So if mommy wants to have another baby, that’s okay? You’d be happy?”

Avery puckers for a kiss, which you give. You wrap your arms around her and push her head into your neck. “Have another baby if you want, mommy,” she says, laughing, “I love babies. Um, most of the time. More now you got us the sound machine.”

“Avery… don’t tell anybody, okay? Can we keep this our secret? I don’t know if I’m gonna have another one yet. I need to make sure everyone’s happy first.”

Avery pats your back. It’s adorable. “Sure, mommy.”

You ask Beth, next. Stealing her away from her colouring sometime later that day, you pull your second eldest against your chest outside in the back yard and watch the clouds move in the sky as it changes from blue to carnation pink. “Bubby?”

“Yeah?” Beth asks.

“Can I ask you a secret question?”

“Yes.” She looks away from the sky. “Why?”

“Because I care about what you think, okay?”

“I know.”

You ask Beth if another baby would be too many. She says no. She says she needs a brother, maybe twins if you can manage it, but it’s fine if you can’t. You kiss her cheek and spend another ten minutes with her staring up at the changing colours.

The first test being positive rocked your world. You were happy, but shocked to find yourself grinning at the two pink lines, because you thought four was enough. There’s a few years between each of your girls and you’d never expect to be pregnant again so soon after the last —you and Steve had one good night a fortnight ago. Wren’s not even a year old.

Why do you want another baby so badly?

You kiss Beth again. You love your kids, and you finally, finally got that promotion at work, and you’d been thinking about moving anyway, because two of the girls are sharing a room. You didn’t bring it up in fear of upsetting your sentimental husband before it was necessary. All your babies grew up here. This is where you and Steve started your life, and it’s never perfect but it’s amazing, and he’ll not want to leave it.

He would be much happier if you left to make room for another baby, though.

If you ask Dove what she thinks, she’ll probably say yes and grumble, and then spill the secret, so you don’t ask, but you watch her carefully for a while when Steve demands you and Beth come back inside.

You let Beth run off and sit down.

“You’ll catch a bug,” he says, leaning over your seat at the kitchen table to kiss your cheek. “You’re already freezing.”

“We were watching the sun go down.”

“Watch from the window.” He squints at you, his arms wrapping around your front. “Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay, liar.” He taps your chin until you lift it and kisses you soundly. “It’s a good thing you’re this beautiful. You wouldn’t get away with your shit if you weren’t.”

“My shit.”

He grins into another kiss. “Sorry,” he says, kissing you softly. “I’m kidding, I love you, don’t frown at me.”

You entrap him for a skewiff hug. He couldn’t be more eager, nosing at your cheek, the baby and Dove giggling at something where they sit at the table eating skinny banana slices.

“They’re like us,” Steve says, following your gaze, “best friends.”

You push him away from you gently. “Shush. Don’t you have stuff to do?”

“I bet you think so. But no, I don’t, I’ve done everything.”

Four kids is a lot, and somehow you and Steve have gotten really, really good at being their parents. You have four healthy, happy girls, with all the food they could ever eat and more princess dresses than they could ever wear. Now it’s six thirty on a Saturday and all that’s left to do is watch some TV.

Maybe you’re an idiot to mess this up.

“I need to pee really badly, so watch the baby.”

“Jerk,” you say. You do not need to be told to watch your own baby.

He snickers as he leaves.

It was the high of the test. That first positive test was just a shock, is all. Your life is perfect now, nothing needs to change, because Steve loves you more and more everyday, and you adore him —you’d do anything for him and your girls. You and Steve would treasure another baby, but some things aren’t meant to be.

But– but you could have another one. So you’re not pregnant right now, so what? Steve would have another baby with you if you asked. He’d probably spin you around in circles and call you the best, sweetest woman alive. You could spend the next nine months on the couch and he’d still think that way.

“Baby?” Steve calls.

“What, dad?” Bethie asks.

“Not you, baby. Mommy, can you come here?”

Your system gets another shock. Shit, the bathroom.

You grab Wren to her horror and Dove’s jealousy and chug her along to the bathroom. You could’ve left her in her high chair, but soft bananas are a scary task for an unsupervised baby who eats mash for every meal.

Steve’s waiting in the doorway. It’s a small bathroom, and you can see as quickly as he can the mess of pregnancy strip tests you left on top of the bathroom trash can. There’s two in his hand.

“Steve, I was gonna tell you about it,” you say, frowning.

He frowns back. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Really. I mean, obviously I would have,” —you tell each other everything— “but I was trying to work out how I feel, and the girls too. Avery always wants more sisters and Beth said she wants a brother and–” You smile. “I know I said we were done having babies for a while, if ever again, I know that was me, but when I thought I was pregnant again I got this rush of happiness going through me like a wave.” You shift Wren and her frowning higher up your chest. She’s appeased by a quick kiss pressed to the top of her head. “I don’t know why but I think I really want another baby.”

He leans against the doorway, his arms crossing, with a strange expression playing on his mouth.

“You can probably tell. I took like, twenty tests,” you exaggerate, embarrassed by your impromptu speech. “I kept hoping they’d come up positive. I got one positive first and the rest were negative, so I guess it was just a fluke.”

“Ohhh,” he says, smiling around it. “Oh, that makes more sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“I think they just needed a little more time to cook, honey. They’re all positive.” He isn’t good at hiding how happy he feels. “You really want another one?”

He’s achingly hopeful.

You close the gap between you to lean on him and check the tests. “It must be super early,” Steve murmurs.

“Well, it was only two and a half weeks ago,” you murmur back, seeing the double pink lines for yourself. Both tests are positive. “The ones in there, they’re…”

“They’re all positive. When was the last time you had your eyes tested?”

“It was dark in there,” you joke, not sure what to say, even as a crest of pure joy begins to rise through your entire body. Your hands hum.

“You want another baby?” he asks, pulling you tightly against him. “Then let’s have another baby. Let’s do it. You can have everything you want.”

You stare at him.

He nods. “We can do it. Let’s have another baby.”

Heat in your eyes, the barest line of tears in your waterline as you give him a one-armed hug. “You want to?” you ask.

He breathes out by your ear. “That’s a dumb question. And it’s pretty good luck, right? I mean, we weren’t trying, I didn’t even know you wanted another one, so for it to catch…” He does that groaning pleased thing where he buries his nose against the side of your face.

“I didn’t know until the test was in my hand.”

He laughs happily into your skin before he pulls away. He kisses you, he kisses Wren, and he flicks your tummy gently. “Holy shit, that’s a lot of Harringtons.”

You get another loving kiss for all your efforts. “Steve?” you ask, eyes still closed, his face hovering just an inch away from your own.

“What, honey?” He says it like light of my life, angel, sweetheart, all the devotion you're used to.

“We’re probably gonna have to move.”

“Are you kidding? I already figured it all out. We’re gonna convert the attic.”

You laugh as he dots a kiss against your cheek. “We are?”

“I got a quote a couple of months ago, I figured if Beth and Avery got too picky we could give Avery a new room upstairs. But it’ll still work, don’t you think?”

You finally descend into giggly happy tears and Steve pretends he’s immune, but you hear him sniffing as you stroke Wren's chubby cheek with your finger. “What do you think, sweetheart?” you ask softly. “Do you want a baby sister? How about a brother? What are you thinking?”

She gurgles her own laugh. “Da,” she says, pointing at Steve like he’s funny.

“Do I get to decide?” Steve asks her, gasping happily.

Steve has a lot more to say about it all later that night when the kids are sleeping, baby Wren on his chest, just for an hour before you both sleep too.

He starts with asking if you’re sure, which you are for now, then the scary stuff, because you got really exhausted last time and it’s not going to be easier. He talks so much and you just lay there, in awe, because he means what he told you. You can have everything you want. Steve’s gonna make sure of it.

“I’ll get you some prenatals in the morning, okay?” he promises, stroking hearts into Wren’s sleeping back.

You shift over the pillow to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, H. I love you.”

“I love you so much I don’t think you get it,” he says, tipping his head your way.

But you do. It’s why five kids feels like a gift, and not a curse. You get how much he loves you.

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headkiss · 17 days ago

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it’s christmas (this is gonna be a nightmare)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve puts a little too much pressure on himself to make this holiday a magical one. or: 4 times steve messes up your first christmas together, +1 time it's perfect.

word count: 7.4k

content: established relationship, one injury (no blood!), some kisses, a lot of steve's thoughts, and a love confession <3 fluff all around!!!

a/n: a full length fic!! it's a christmas miracle!! thank you to the anon who sent the ask that inspired this fic and to all of u for being here. i love u, happy holidays <3

⁺̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇⊛̇̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇

Steve Harrington doesn’t know too much about what exactly a perfect Christmas looks like. He has his parents to thank for that.

What he does know is that this year has to be just that: perfect. Because this year he has you.

Though you went to high school together, you and Steve properly met in the summer. Right at the beginning of it, where the evenings still have a chill of wind but the sun cuts through it with welcomed warmth. Robin convinced him to take her to the flower shop just outside of town, and you’d been behind the counter to greet them.

Robin recognized you, and she chatted your ear off while you helped her pick a bouquet with the sweetest smile Steve had ever seen and he felt like an absolute moron for never having noticed you before at school. But he noticed you then.

He’d forced Robin to wait for him in the car while he stayed back, bought you your own bouquet of flowers from the store as if you weren’t the one who’d made them, and asked you on a date. Steve fumbled the whole way through, pricking himself with a rose thorn and cussing mid-sentence, but you still said yes.

You’ve been together ever since, and Steve feels incredibly lucky for it. Lucky for how kind you are, how well you fit in with his friends, how much the kids (Max, especially, though he won’t call her out on it) like you. Lucky for being allowed to grab your hand, to kiss you whenever he wants.

And, on the nights you stay over that grow more frequent with each month, lucky to have you fill the space in the Harrington home that usually feels so cold and empty.

So, maybe the holidays make him extra sentimental, maybe he cares a little too much about making sure it’s the best damn Christmas you could have. Maybe, for once, he’s actually looking forward to it all.

Robin startles him into the present — leaning on the counter at Family Video — with a stiff poke to the cheek. “Dude, I can literally tell you’re thinking about her by the look on your face. It’s kinda gross.”

He scoffs at her, even though he probably was making a face. “Sounds like jealousy to me, Buckley.”

“Shut up, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know each other! I deserve compensation.”

Steve hangs his head dramatically. Robin is never letting that go. Ever.

“My friendship isn’t enough for you?” Steve says, placing a hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

“You annoy me,” she says, flicking his arm.

“Ow- whatever. You’ll be free of me in like five minutes.”

Steve checks his watch just to be sure. Robin’s closing by herself today, and while Steve would normally just stay and bother her anyways, he’s got plans that involve you and takeout and napping together on his couch.

As if the thought conjures it, you walk through the door, the bell jingling cheerily above your head, Steve’s car keys dangling from your fingertips. (Yes, he lets you drive the BMW.)

“Thank God,” Robin says when she sees it’s you. “Please get rid of him, he’s getting on my nerves.”

You smile and walk towards Steve, who immediately tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you in close, stamping a kiss to the side of your head.

You turn your head to the side and look at him, “What did you do?”

Steve gasps, “Me? Honey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

You send him a wink, and Steve grins. He fucking loves having you with him, being able to speak without speaking. Your hand grabbing his and squeezing says I missed you, his squeezing back says me too.

“Okay, please remove your public displays of affection from the store and leave me alone with the overplayed Christmas song radio station, thank you.” Robin announces.

“Don’t miss me too much, Robs. I know it’ll be tough,” Steve says, guiding you forward.

“Good to see you, Robin!” you wave on your way out.

“You too!” And just before the door closes behind you, Robin’s voice rings out; “You’re my favourite half of the relationship!”

Your smile widens. Steve is the best thing that’s happened to you, and his friends becoming yours is one of the greatest bonuses you could ask for. It’s like his life made room for you as simply as the ocean’s tide pulls in and out. Gentle and certain.

He catches the keys when you toss them to him, and Steve’s mood just seems to lift and lift on the drive back to his place with you in the passenger seat, Christmas lights lining the streets glowing on your cheeks.

Yeah, he thinks, this Christmas is going to be perfect.

That weekend Steve calls you and tells you to be ready by noon and to dress warmly. He doesn’t tell you much else besides his usual ‘see you soon, honey’ or ‘miss you’ murmured sweetly through the phone.

As instructed, you’re dressed in a pair of jeans and one of your favourite knitted sweaters, your brown leather jacket overtop and socked feet stuffed into your Doc Martens. Though you feel plenty warm, Steve will probably fuss over you and hold you close for body heat anyways. And, well, you’d never be opposed to that.

Steve’s BMW rolls into your driveway exactly one minute past twelve, and by the time you walk outside to meet him, he’s already standing on the passenger side of the car waiting to open the door for you.

“Always a gentleman,” you say, kissing him quickly on the cheek.

You slide into the seat that’s become yours for the most part, and Steve ducks down to kiss you properly on the mouth before pulling back, “Mm maybe not always.”

He closes your door and you laugh lightly, your face a little warm even though he’s been your boyfriend for months now. You don’t think you’ll ever be unaffected by Steve Harrington’s charm, ever be used to it being aimed at you.

Of course, you knew of him in school, but knowing the real thing, the kind, caring boy who’d been buried under King Steve back then, is probably the greatest gift you’ve ever had.

Steve drives with one hand just above your knee, his thumb running back and forth over the stitching in your jeans. Still, he doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you, his only hint was to “pay attention to the radio station.”

It’s playing Christmas music. Like that narrows things down a whole bunch.

You chat the entire way. Steve asks you how the flower shop is doing (“Poinsettias are flying off the shelves”), you ask him who he got for the group’s secret Santa this year (“Max. I’m going to need your assistance”). It’s so easy to talk to him, to laugh and joke and not have to worry about what you say or how you come off.

You never knew being with someone could be so easy until Steve.

Eventually, he pulls into the long driveway of a farm. A Christmas tree farm, to be exact, if the wooden arch you drive through is to be trusted.

“What are you planning, Harrington?”

He shrugs, his hand squeezing your knee, “Thought we could pick out a tree together. Put it up at the house. My parents aren’t gonna be around — shocker, I know — I figured we’d do it together. Make it our own.”

Steve pats your leg before letting it go and putting the car in park, his palms dragging over his thighs like he��s suddenly nervous.

“Our first Christmas tree,” you say quietly, almost to yourself, a smile creeping onto your face. He really is sweet. “I love it. Let’s go adopt a tree, Stevie.”

He flashes you a smile before getting out and jogging around the hood to open your door for you. You’ve learned to wait for him to do it since you’ve been together. The last time you tried to open your own door he made you close it again just so he could be the one to open it.

Before, you’d never really cared about that sort of thing, but Steve has single-handedly raised your expectations.

He grabs your hand and leads you towards the classic red and white barn, following the signs painted simply with a tree and an arrow pointing you in that direction.

When you turn the corner and see the selection of trees, however, Steve pauses.

There are maybe seven trees left, none of which are very impressive upon first glance. Their branches are skinny and the pine needles leave a lot of space to see through them. It’s safe to say these aren’t the Christmas trees Steve was hoping to surprise you with.

He was sure there’d be something better left, at least. And he’d been wrong. Minus a point on that perfect Christmas, he supposes.

Still, he walks you to the selection, the farm’s employee greeting the two of you as you walk up; “Hey y’all. Good afternoon!”

“Hey man,” Steve starts, “you wouldn’t happen to have any more trees left, would you?”

“Sorry folks, this is all we’ve got. Most people like to get ‘em early.”

Steve’s hope dwindles, and you can see him deflate a little bit.

You, however, don’t mind one bit. You tug on his arm to get his attention, and Steve turns to look at you, brown eyes shining like honey in the sunlight. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “Even the little trees need homes, right?”

He shakes his head with a small smile. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you tend to talk about plants as if they have feelings. You do it when you tell him about the flowers you sell, too.

“Right as usual, honey,” he decides. “Pick your favorites.”

So, you wind up with two small Christmas trees rather than one full one, and there’s a small victory in it when you and Steve strap them both to the top of the BMW without too much of a struggle.

Another victory when you sing along to ‘Last Christmas’ and hold out your fist as if there’s a microphone in your grip to get him to join you. Admittedly, it isn’t a very good rendition, but Steve loves it all the same.

You have a way of turning things around for him, even without knowing it.

When you get back to Steve’s, he brings both of the trees inside and sets them up before bringing down the bins of ornaments and lights from the attic. He only shouted once when a spider crawled over his hand.

Having two trees makes it easy to turn decorating into a lighthearted competition. You both claim one as your own and decorate them with string lights and tinsel and ornaments. Steve’s mom would probably have an aneurysm seeing them used so haphazardly.

Though by the end, your tree is definitely prettier, Steve still feels like he’s won something as you lean your back against his chest and his arms cross over your own, keeping you there.

As a kid, he wasn’t even allowed to do the decorating. Mrs. Harrington had to make everything look picture perfect, and Steve’s hands didn’t help with that. Not according to her.

Today couldn’t feel more different from those memories of his childhood.

“Yours is better,” he tells you, chin perched on your shoulder, his voice low in your ear.

Objectively, it probably is better (your prior experience with arranging plants was an advantage), but you don’t actually care about that.

Today felt like a little glimpse into the future you and Steve could have. It’s easy to picture it: your own apartment, buying decorations you both actually like, setting it all up together every year.

“I think they’re both brilliant,” you say.

And while today wasn’t what he was picturing, wasn’t what he’d hoped for with his ideal holiday in mind, Steve finds that he can certainly live with that. Your adorable little clap when you’d finished decorating was enough to cement it.

It’s only one thing. He’s got plenty of chances to be perfect later, he guesses.

Steve dips his head and kisses the top of your shoulder over your sweater.

You stay over at Steve’s that weekend. You’re both off work, and you find yourself spending your days (and nights) off with Steve more and more.

In the morning, you blink your eyes open slowly, naturally. No alarm set, your boy wrapped around you. It’s how you’ll spend every morning someday.

The sunlight sneaks through a crack in the curtains, cutting a line across Steve’s blue bedding. You squint at it, shifting onto your back gently. Steve’s arm remains slung over your waist as you move, his knee against your leg. You roll your head to the side to look at him, a smile creeping over your mouth at the way his cheek is smushed into the pillow, his lips pouting and hair a mess over his forehead.

Mornings have easily become your favorite time to spend with Steve. He’s cuddling you in some way every single time without fail, even when he wakes up. His voice is all low and gravelly from sleep and it feels like an honor to get to be the one to hear it like that. Usually, you spend an hour in bed with him after waking up. Laying together, talking, kissing. Sometimes (often) more.

You’d stay put right now if you didn’t have to pee so bad.

Slipping out of bed without Steve noticing proves a challenge, his arm tightens over you in his sleep, his brows scrunching. You whisper a soft “I’ll be right back.” He mumbles something incoherent, but his arm relaxes and you’re able to sneak away.

On your way back from the bathroom, you pause and take a peek out the window. You gasp happily at what you see: snow. A bright, white layer blanketing the ground sparkling in the sunlight.

You turn back to the bed and let yourself fall to it with a bounce, earning another grumbled protest from Steve, but there’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. You trail a hand up his arm to his shoulder, giving it a small shake, “Stevie, wake up.”

“Hm?” his eyes scrunch before opening. “What happened, honey?”

“It snowed!”

“Yeah?” he huffs a laugh at your excitement, his hand searching for yours in the sheets.

“Yeah, and it’s so pretty. We should go out before it melts.”

“It’s winter, sweetheart. Not gonna melt that fast.”

“Steve.”

“Okay, okay,” his hand leaves yours in favor of wrapping itself around you again, and he uses it to tug you close again. “Just five more minutes.”

His nose is pressed to the top of your head, and he breathes you in, smiling to himself. Mornings are Steve’s favorite, too. Only when they’re spent with you.

Secretly, he’s also happy about the snow. He was hoping mother nature would be on his side so that he could check yet another holiday item off his list with you. Hopefully one that will turn out nicer than the tiny trees you’d ended up with.

It’s definitely more than five minutes by the time you get Steve to get up and out of bed. You attempt to get him outside right away. He stops you with a: “No snow-related activities on an empty stomach!”

So, it’s a rushed breakfast of bagels and coffee provided by Steve, and then you’re gearing up and heading into the back yard.

The cold bites at your cheeks, and the tip of Steve’s nose is pink within minutes, but you love it.

There’s a snowman built together, snow angels made that get ruined when Steve rolls himself on top of you and steals a kiss or five. Naturally, all there is left to do is have a snowball fight.

You start it when you’re still on the ground, a hand sneaking into the snow to grab a handful and pressing it to the back of Steve’s head. He gasps, and you take the opportunity to push him to the side and get up.

“No fair!” he calls. “I was distracted and you went for the hair.”

“Your fault for not wearing a hat, babe,” you laugh.

“Oh, you won’t be laughing for long, honey. You’re in for it.”

And just like that, you’re running around like kids in a schoolyard, hiding behind trees, slugging snowballs at each other and cheering when you manage to not miss.

Steve silently thanks mother nature or the universe or whatever made it snow for the wide smile on your face, your eyes shining with mirth.

At one point, you’re suddenly distracted by something in the trees, and the snowball is out of Steve’s hand before he sees you start to look towards him again.

It hits you square in the face.

A quick “Ow” comes out of your mouth, though it really doesn’t hurt that bad. Your first reaction is just to let it slip, but Steve’s heart sinks to his stomach.

“Shit, honey.” He runs over to you and cups your face in his hands, his mittens soft against your skin as he brushes the snow from your face. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to get you in the face.”

Minus another point, for sure. Perfect Christmas: -2.

“I know, don’t worry,” you tell him, because he clearly is worrying.

“You okay?” he checks. He literally winces when you sniffle, frowns when he sees the way your eyes water. “Honey. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, Steve, I’m fine,” you reach up and grab his wrists, squeezing them over his jacket. “I’m only crying ‘cause it got my nose. It doesn’t actually hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you assure him. “Didn’t you used to play sports in school? Thought athletes had better aim.”

“I was a swimmer, baby. No projectiles involved.” He smiles softly when you laugh, but he can’t stop himself from asking one more time. “You’re really not hurt?”

“It’s just a bit of snow, Stevie.”

His eyes run over your face anyway before he nods. Then, he dips forwards and lightly kisses your cheek, the other, the tip of your nose, and your mouth.

“Well now I’m certainly all better,” you say against his lips.

Steve pulls back but doesn’t go far. “I think this snowball fight is over.”

“Buzzkill,” you tease.

He bends down and picks up a handful of snow before shoving it in his own face.

“Steve!” you laugh.

“There, now we’re even,” he says, snowflakes clinging to his lashes.

You let him lead you inside after that, his arm draping over your shoulders, yours hugging his middle as you walk across the yard.

Once you’ve both shed your layers of coats and boots and hats and mittens, Steve takes you upstairs and runs you a bath to warm you up. He apologizes another two times when he looks at your face for too long, and you have to kiss him to stop him uttering another ‘sorry.’

Hell, if it’s gonna make him this sweet on you, you’d probably take a snowball to the face any day.

Eventually, when the bathtub is full, a layer of bubbles over the surface, you coax Steve into joining you. He leans against the side with you between his knees, back settling into its home against his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

Steve runs his hands over your shoulders, presses kisses into your hair. All along he’s reminding himself that the next thing will go right. He won’t be throwing anything, at least.

The next weekend Steve calls you again. He asks you to be ready in the evening this time, but still keeps things vague other than the fact that you’ll be outside and need thick socks.

You have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind, but he’d called it a ‘redemption date’ over the phone and even though you truly don’t think he has anything to redeem himself for, you don’t want to spoil his plans, so you play along.

He comes to the front door when he picks you up this time, knocking gently as if you hadn’t been waiting for him by the windows.

“Hi, honey,” he drops a quick kiss to your lips, “had to come and approve your outfit. Don’t want you getting cold and stealing my jacket again.”

He’s lying, really. Steve fucking loves draping his own jacket over your shoulders and seeing you pull it tighter around you. When that happens, he braves the cold, but he figures that probably won’t be smart for spending hours outside.

“Aww, but yours is so much warmer than mine,” you pout jokingly.

Steve simply grabs your thickest jacket from a hook by the door and holds it out for you to slip your arms into.

As suspected, he drives you to a skating rink. He chose one a town over from Hawkins, where they have twinkle lights strung above the rink and rainbow Christmas lights lining the boards. Steve smiles when you gasp lightly in delight at the sight of it. The brightness cutting through the already dark night sky.

Steve guides you over to the skate rental booth first, bumping his hip into yours when you attempt to pay for the rentals. “As if. My idea, my wallet.”

“You don’t even let me pay when it’s my idea, either.”

“Well, that’s just chivalry, babe.”

You roll your eyes at him and thank the man behind the booth when he hands you both your skates. As you walk towards the lockers and cubbies set up nearby, you lean up and kiss Steve’s cheek, his light stubble scratching your lips.

��Thank you for this,” you say.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he tells you. “Though I should warn you that I’m not very good at this.”

“What? You, not good at something? Please.”

“No, seriously. I’m like bambi on ice.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder weakly, “Don’t worry. I’m probably even worse.”

Steve grins. So far, so good. This one will be perfect. Well, as perfect as it can be considering his skating skills.

You sit on one of the benches and Steve puts both of your shoes in one of the cubbies. He ties his own skates first before kneeling in front of you to help you with yours. He knows how to tie them, at the very least.

He helps you slip your feet into the skates first, then tightens the laces on one before peering up at you and checking, “Feel okay? Not too tight?”

“It’s good, Steve. I feel like Cinderella.”

“A perfect fit! She must be the one!”

“Dork.”

“That’s prince dork to you.”

Steve finishes up with your skates, squeezing your ankle before setting your foot down and standing back up.

On the ice, neither of you are very graceful. You hold onto the boards most of the time, and Steve stumbles and nearly falls every few strides, but you’re laughing and having fun, so who cares?

So what if you get lapped by multiple people on the rink, including children? So what if you get some side eyes for being too slow or in the way? Neither of you can bring yourselves to be bothered.

Best of all, Steve keeps a hold on your hand the entire time. He literally saves you from falling with his grip on your hand squeezing and pulling you up straight.

However, your hands being clasped also means that, inevitably, when one of you goes down, you both do.

It happens after a decent amount of laps; your toe pick catches on a dip in the ice and it’s all it takes for you to lose your balance. Steve somehow twists himself to catch the brunt of your fall.

He expected that to come with some pain, a couple bruises, maybe. Instead, his wrist twists painfully against the ice as he falls, as if he’d tried to catch himself with it, and he can’t help the hiss of pain that comes out when he lands.

“You okay, honey?” he asks you.

“Of course I am. I landed on you, Stevie. Are you okay?”

He tests his wrist out by flexing it, wiggling his fingers, and he tries to hide it but he winces when he does, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. “M’fine.”

“Bullshit, I saw that wince, Harrington.” You manage to get back up on your feet and hold out a hand for him to grab, “Up, I’m taking you to the ER.”

“No, no. I’m good.”

“Steve.”

“Baby.”

“Come on, you don’t want to make it worse, do you?” you urge him. “Plus, I’ll only keep worrying and bugging you about it until you let me take you to the doctor. Your wrist is already swelling, babe.”

Mostly because he doesn’t like the thought of you worrying about him, Steve agrees.

When both of your skates are off (your doing, this time) and given back to the booth, you reach into Steve’s coat pocket and grab the keys to the BMW. He doesn’t protest, and that alone tells you he must be hurting more than he’s letting on. You even manage to open your own door for once.

Steve’s quiet on the drive to the hospital, his hand resting limply on his leg. His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezing shut every so often when a burst of pain comes. You do your best to avoid any pot holes or bumps along the way.

Once there, you make him sit in one of the waiting room chairs, “I’ll get the check in forms and everything. Stay put, yeah?”

“Your wish is my command,” he says, trying to joke. His voice wobbles a tiny bit, though.

It’s at least an hour of waiting before someone can see him (and that’s including your many pesterings to the front desk). You don’t mean to be a bother, but you’ve never seen Steve injured in any serious capacity, and it’s messing with your head.

He took the weight of that fall to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. The way he pays attention to things like that is one of the many reasons you love him.

You love him. You haven’t said the words to each other yet, but you’ve felt them for a long time already. It’s hard not to love Steve Harrington.

Finally, the doctor takes him back, and you follow. After an x-ray and some prodding, he determines that it’s a sprained wrist and that he should keep it wrapped for a few weeks to make sure it heals. They give him a prescription for some mild painkillers, too, for the first couple of days.

You breathe a sigh of relief knowing it isn’t broken, but Steve’s shoulders are still slumped.

He’s in pain, sure, his wrist now wrapped up in a tensor bandage, but really he feels defeated at messing yet another thing up. Third strike.

Steve lets you guide him back to the car and drive back to his place. You’ve decided you’re staying the night to take care of him, and as much as he hates looking weak or feeling useless, he’s glad to have you around.

You dote on him back at home, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer after making sure he’s settled on the couch, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, bringing him meds and water.

“Honey, it’s just a sprain. Please stop fussing and sit with me.”

His brown eyes shine a little, and you could never say no to him when he looks at you like that.

You sit beside him and he drops his head to your shoulder, your hand coming up to play with the strands at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp gently. His uninjured hand rests on your thigh and squeezes.

“Best painkiller ever,” he says.

Steve has convinced himself that nothing could possibly go wrong this time around.

His plans for today involve staying at home, just you and him, no outside forces to deal with or avoid. So much less potential for failure. That’s what he thinks, at least.

Steve knows nearly every piece of you, so, obviously he knows you like to bake. You’d made him a cake for his birthday, and every so often you bring him other treats from home. Naturally, that meant that there was no way he was leaving out Christmas baking.

He’d considered doing gingerbread houses, and then remembered that the last time he tried that in a competition with the kids, his house was nothing more than a messy pile of gingerbread slabs. One with a bite taken out of it.

So, considering his past failures this holiday season, he’d settled on something that he thinks — hopes — is really hard to mess up: sugar cookies.

His mother’s collection of cookbooks had never been used for more than decoration until now. Steve searched through them until he found a recipe, wrote down the ingredients, and bought them at the grocery store to make sure he had everything.

In school, he never did much studying, but he reread the hell out of that recipe in order to get at least this one thing right.

The tensor bandage is still wrapped around his wrist, which is fucking annoying, really. He has to adjust it every day, and it’s hard to do with a single hand. He much prefers when you do it for him, sealing it with a featherlight kiss.

Worse, the thing still hurts, and you refused to let him drive and put more strain on it than necessary, so you took the bus and walked the rest of the way to his house.

He’s got all of the ingredients and tools laid out on the island when you ring the doorbell. “Hurry up, Harrington, it’s freezing!”

Hurry he does. He lets you in and helps you unwrap yourself from your bundle of a scarf and hat and mittens and jacket. Steve dips in to kiss your cheek, your skin cold against his lips. “Wouldn’t have to freeze if you let me come get you.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself for no reason, I’m fine,” you grab his uninjured hand and kiss the pads of his fingers, “and I like these hands.”

He smiles at your words, smug, “Yeah, I know you do, honey.”

You shake your head at him, but you’re smiling all the same, “I take it back. Your ego is getting too big.”

“Nooo, it’s just the right size,” he winks.

“Don’t you have plans, Steve?” you ask, changing the subject. “Getting a little off track, aren’t we?”

“Later, then,” he says, taking your hand with his good one and leading you to the kitchen.

You pause at the entryway of the kitchen, scanning over the things on the island, two aprons Steve must’ve dug up from somewhere hanging from the knobs of the cabinets.

“Tada,” he says, “we’re making cookies.”

“This might be my favourite one yet, Stevie.” You walk over and grab one of the aprons, leaving the other (a pink floral number) for Steve. “I’m in charge, though.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, taking the other apron without a complaint. “This is your kitchen today, chef.”

“Mm. That has a nice ring to it.”

“Chef honey,” he says, planting a kiss where your neck meets your shoulder, breath warm even through your shirt.

You get started after that. Predictably, you make a mess with flour on the island and mixing bowls strewn about the surface. You get distracted with a bit of a flour war somewhere in there, Steve smudging it onto your cheek, you onto the tip of his nose.

When it’s time to roll out the dough and cut out the cookies, Steve grabs a handful of cookie cutters from one of the drawers, setting them onto the counter with a small clang. They’re all holiday themed. Candy canes and snowmen and Christmas trees.

“Someone’s prepared,” you say, bumping your hip against his.

“I run a serious establishment here, baby.”

“I thought I was in charge.”

Soon enough, after sneaking bites of raw cookie dough and cutting out as many cookies as you could manage, they’re placed into the oven, the timer set.

You end up in the living room, a random channel playing on the TV while the cookies bake. It starts innocently enough, just sitting next to each other, shoulders and thighs pressed together.

Then, Steve’s good hand wanders, starting above your knee and moving up and up until he’s squeezing the top of your thigh, tracing patterns with his thumb. When he speaks a husky, “Come closer?” how could you ever say no?

So, somehow, you’ve ended up straddling Steve’s lap, his injured hand resting loosely on your waist, the other pressed in between your shoulder blades to keep you close. Yours are in his hair, running through the strands, tugging even.

It grows heated fast, and all of a sudden you’re making out like a pair of teenagers, Steve urging you to press further down in his lap, to writhe there while his mouth works yours until it’s all you can think about. All you can feel.

The room feels warmer, Steve’s jeans tighter over his lap, your chest bumping against his, hearts racing. Even just kissing him feels better than anything you’ve ever had in the past.

He kisses you like he’s starved everytime, sometimes a ravenous hunger, like now, or, when he’s gentler, something tender and soft. A sweet tooth.

The cookies are long forgotten. The timer sounds and nobody hears it. You would keep going forever, if you could. But then there’s the smell that hits your nostrils. The smell of something burning.

“Steve?” you say against his mouth.

“Uh-huh?” he breathes.

“Do you smell that?”

He pulls back, and it’s immediately after you say the words that the alarm goes off, piercing through the air, killing the mood, much to your dismay. Even more to Steve’s.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You’re both rushing to the kitchen then. You, fumbling off his lap, him beating you to the kitchen and frantically taking the baking sheet out of the oven and turning the thing off. You grab a towel from the counter and start fanning beneath the alarm to get it to go off, and when the cookies are dealt with, Steve joins the efforts.

Eventually the thing stops beeping, and you both rest your arms. The room still looks a little cloudy, the cookies black at the edges.

Steve doesn’t say anything, only rests his elbows on the island and slumps his head, defeated.

He’s so frustrated with himself. Not for kissing you. No, he could never be mad at that, but at the outcome of his final attempt at a holiday date going south again.

You frown at him, walking over and placing a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “Steve? You okay?”

“I just- I messed it up again.”

“Hey, I’m as much to blame as you are. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

He huffs a weak laugh, picking his head up and twisting to look at you. Your pretty face, eyes nothing but kind. Fuck, he loves you, and he just wanted to show you that. To make Christmas as magical as it's supposed to be.

“I really wanted it to go well, you know?”

You realize then that he’s not only talking about today. That he’s been putting this pressure on himself all month to make plans and something has happened every time. You don’t blame him for that, if anything, it makes your heart ache with adoration.

“Steve, it doesn’t matter to me. Things happen, it’s okay,” you kiss his bicep lightly. “I’d rather things go a bit wrong with you than to have them go right with someone else. You are the best part.”

“I-” love you, he almost says. But he doesn’t want the first time to be like this, in a room that still stinks. “You’re the best part for me too, honey.”

You decide that next time, it’s your turn to do something for him.

Steve comes home from work on Christmas Eve, eyes tired and feet hurting despite having worn relatively comfortable shoes today.

He’d tried to get the day off, tried to be able to spend it with you in bed for hours and hours and not getting up until the afternoon. Keith had other plans for him.

He even tried to dramatize his wrist injury. Still, he was forced to go in.

Walking up the driveway, Steve sees the glow of lights inside filtering through the curtains. He’s fairly certain he hadn’t left any on, but he also knows he’s often wrong about these things, so he shrugs it off and goes inside.

There’s noise coming from the living room. Crackling of the fireplace that he barely ever uses, music playing quietly, and then he hears you humming along.

“Honey?”

“Yup, it’s me!”

You know where the spare key is, Steve’s the one who told you the information and encouraged you to use it, but you’ve often been too nervous to do so. Not today, it seems.

While Steve was at work, you’d set up your plan for him.

He follows the sound of your voice without much of a thought, a moth drawn to a flame. When he turns into the living room, he stills.

There are strings of warm white Christmas lights hung about, the fireplace is actually housing a fire, and in front of it is a fort made up of red and green and white blankets and pillows. Some plaid, some with snowflakes, all Christmas themed.

“Did you do all of this?” he asks, walking slowly to where you stand by the fort.

“Figured it was my turn to organize a date, don’t you think?”

“Baby. This is all really sweet, but wha-”

You cut him off, “Uh-uh. Let me explain.” You reach for Steve’s hands, and he meets you in the middle willingly. Suddenly nervous, you shift your weight on your feet. “I thought we could do presents a little early.”

His brows scrunch, “But Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Please?” you ask, squeezing his hands once.

And, really, Steve would never say no to you. Especially not when you’re saying ‘please’ all sweet and delicate like that.

“Okay,” he says. “Yours is in my room. I’ll go grab it. And change; I smell like Family Video.”

“‘Kay, Stevie.”

You kiss his cheek before he goes for good measure.

Steve is confused the entire time, wondering what it could be that you’re up to, but he does as he said he would. You’d been wearing a set of pyjamas (one he loves on you; a soft baby blue pair of shorts with a matching sweater), so he goes for one of his pairs of plaid pants and a plain t shirt before grabbing your messily wrapped gift bag from where he’d hidden it under his bed.

Back in the living room, he finds you now settled on the ground of the fort, which you’d lined with fuzzy blankets and the biggest of the pillows. His gift is sat beside you, a gift box wrapped in a lovely bow. Your skills of wrapping bouquets are transferable, he’s learned.

He joins you, sitting across from you, but close enough that your legs tangle and knees bump.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he scratches the back of his neck, handing you the gift bag. “Let me explain it before you say anything.”

That grabs your attention, but your plans aren’t about his present to you, really, and you know you’ll love it no matter what because Steve knows you better than anyone.

You lift out tissue paper first, uncovering multiple different things inside the bag, also wrapped. It pieces together as you go. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, your entire skincare routine, a couple of pyjama and underwear sets.

“It’s so you don’t have to bring an overnight bag every time you stay over now. I, um, cleared out a couple of drawers in my dresser and the bathroom.”

“Steve,” you look at him, heart squeezing. It’s so thoughtful, so him, and you surge forward you wrap your arms around his neck and breathe into his skin, “I love it. Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Perfect.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do,” you sit back into your spot. “You know I hate carrying things.”

“I never let you carry anything, honey.”

“Exactly,” you nod. Now, you hold out his gift for him to take, “Your turn.”

You watch Steve’s hands as he tugs the bow undone, then lifts the lid of the box.

Nestled inside are four delicate ornaments. A Christmas tree, a snowman, an ice skate, and a plate of cookies. One for every date he’d planned for you.

Steve frowns at them, not because he doesn’t like them, but because he doesn’t quite understand where you’re going with this.

“I thought it was time we started collecting our own ornaments. For our place, one day,” you tell him.

“They’re lovely, but honey you- you really wanna remember these things?“ he shakes his head, more at himself than you. “I messed ‘em all up.”

“There’s one more thing in there,” you say quietly.

The thing you're nervous about. A thing you’ve never said out loud before.

Steve finds it beneath one of the ornaments, a small piece of paper folded up. When he opens that, his heart stutters in his chest. Written in your handwriting are three words: I love you.

He blinks away from the paper to look at you, though his thumb continues to trace the words absentmindedly. “Honey-”

“I love you, Steve. Okay?” You shift closer, kneeling at his side, your hands coming up to frame his jaw, your fingers kind against his skin. “I don’t care that things didn’t go how you planned. I mean, I would rather you didn’t require an ER visit, but the point is that I don’t need things to be perfect. And I know you’ve been hard on yourself trying to make them so.”

He lets go of the paper and reaches up to grasp your wrists, his thumb finding your racing pulse. His uninjured hand holds on tighter than the other.

“Thank you for trying for me,” you continue, “for caring. But no matter what happens, things are perfect for me. Because I get to do them with you. Got that, Harrington? You’re perfect, and I love you, and-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. It’s a simple but firm press of his lips against yours, but it says enough.

“I fucking love you too, honey,” he says, his forehead against yours, lips only a breath apart. “You saying all of that it means — you mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he nods. Steve pulls back the tiniest bit to be able to see your face fully, his sweet brown eyes locked on yours. “I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect, and I didn’t wanna let you down, but you’re right. They were perfect, because you’re here. And I love you for bein’ here.”

“As long as you’ll have me,” you say. You push his hair off his forehead before letting go of his face and sitting back, “Why don’t you give those ornaments a try?”

“On those trees?” he asks, eyebrows lifted, voice joking.

“Steve.”

”Okay, okay.”

He picks up the skate first. Surprising, considering that one had ended in a physical injury for him, but you say nothing and watch him walk over to your little trees by the window. You join him, sitting on the arm of the couch nearby while he scans over the tree.

“Pick a spot, handsome,” you encourage. “There’s really no wrong answer here.”

He goes to hang the first ornament, hand wavering before setting on a branch.

“Well, maybe not-” Steve tackles you onto the couch before you can finish. You dissolve into giggles as he pokes at your ribs, his head on your chest.

Steve’s done keeping score.

Perfect Christmas. That’s it.

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thank you so much for reading!! if you enjoyed please please consider leaving a comment and/or a reblog and letting me know what you thought! it would mean a bunch of<3

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