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superbfics · 7 months ago

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Leighanne!! This little glimpse into their story over the summer is going to be so magical! Already I'm hooked and I need to know more about their pasts and what's gonna happen between these two!!!! 💛

It seems like everyone is on their way to do something, going somewhere they have to be. They brush past you without even a glance in your direction, air pods buried deep in their ears caught up in their own little world. The sounds of dogs barking mingle with cars honking and loud conversations from patio bars the next block over. The city is alive with summer hanging fresh in the air.

Ugh this just pops me right into summer and the setting! You described the city and their neighborhood so beautifully!!! Feel like I could hear everything, feel the heat on my skin 👌🏻

He has a few years on you, that part is obvious with the pepper that spots the sides of his honey colored hair and the scruff that lines his sharp jaw, but it only makes him look better. His broad shoulders are wrapped up tight in a white undershirt, the thick cotton telling you it was the kind that cost more than your phone bill. The black shorts he wears have a hem high enough to almost be inappropriate when you swear you see the outline of what’s underneath. The Nike swoosh near the slit at the top of his hairy thighs. His shoes match the color of his shorts, the On Cloud symbol etched on the side flashes in the light. Two hundred dollars on just his feet.

Sorry. Not sorry. Sorry.

“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.

“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.

You try to cover it up by swooping down to give Bandit a kiss between the eyes. Only it backfires, making it worse when you realize how weirdly personal that was to do to someone else’s dog, despite the more than pleased wag of his tail.

“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.

“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy.

That's so crazy, like who does that? Wild, to just kiss someone's dog when they just meet them. A stranger....🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

Your voice is lost in the shift in energy, static filling in the air between you when you shake your head ‘no’.’’ His touch is feather light when his fingers wrap gingerly around your ankle bringing your foot to his lap. He makes quick work of your laces, using extra care when he pulls off your shoe. The pad of his thumb rubs over the bruising bone and you notice the way he licks his lips.

“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.

YES AND I NEED A KISS TO MAKE IT FEEL BETTER STEVEN.

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap one/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Welcome To The Neighborhood

—> chapter two

summary: There’s a Bandit on the loose.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: 18+ series for eventual smut, 12 year age gap, reader is 30 and Steve is 42 otherwise none for this first installment :) it’s a meet cute baby.

author’s note: Here it is! chapter one of this little slow burn series with your painfully hot and confusing older!neighbor!widower!steve. This story will take place over the course of one summer, told in mostly blurbs of your chance encounters and run in’s with Steve. This series will have lots of pining, flirting, mild angst and eventual smut. Most chapters will range from 1-2k each except for a few. I hope you guys like reading about these two as much as I liked writing it & I hope to see you back next Wednesday! 🥹♥️

Series Masterlist // Playlist // The tune:

End of May —

Highways and state lines blur together like the buzzing of cicadas into busy Chicago streets. A fresh start. A new life. No plan - that was the promise you made to yourself ten years ago almost down to the date.

The excitement outweighs the embarrassment of how long it takes you to parallel park the Uhaul when you find that one in a million spot in front of your new home. Your hands are numb from the constant battle between the wind and your steering wheel. The breeze from the lake testing your strength for the last hour of your drive. The machine creaks loudly when you slam it into park, your legs wobbling like jello when your converse hit the pavement and out of your truck.

The city hits your ears like the humidity on your skin. The exposed parts of your thighs stick together when the thick air wraps around you like an unwanted blanket. Taking a deep breath, exhaust stings your lungs. Far away from the only place you’d ever known, it’s comforting the feeling that washes over you. You didn’t come here with an agenda. A fresh start with nothing to lose. You came here just to be you.

The trees that line both sides of your street are lush and green from the moisture. They drape over phone lines, weeping under the heat of the sun. Bumper to bumper cars from all kinds of walks of life make the one way street even smaller. Mini gardens in front of mismatched houses only inches apart. This was your new home.

The three story townhouse is covered in dark green wooden paneling, the floors split up into separate apartments, and you managed to bag the top floor with protruding bay windows. Dumb luck mixed with being on craigslist minutes after they posted, you found the one mom and pop place in the city that fit your budget.

The chipped black metal gate that blocks off the front steps lands at your waist, and runs as a property line against an even nicer house next to yours. One that looks like it belongs to someone, not rented out to a bunch of someones. The bright red brick looks new, and the dark wood steps and patio freshly stained. An oriental rug that matches the house has chew toys with missing limbs littering the front entrance. A porch swing faces you and it sways gently with the wind. Your eyes catch the silhouette of someone on the other side of the stained glass in the middle of the thick mahogany door, and it reminds you to stop being so nosy.

Keys dangling in your hand, you take your first steps through the gate. The metal groans loudly before slamming closed behind you. You jog up the less polished, salt worn steps to your front door and the faint sound of a deep voice catches your ears from next door as you jiggle the lock open. Crossing through the threshold of the entryway you’re not surprised when there’s no reprieve to the heat, but disappointed just the same as you pull at our tank top that starts clinging to your skin. You eye the narrow staircase that curves up leading to your apartment, immediately regretting doing this alone.

It takes you less time to unload than it did to load up, at least that's what you tell yourself as you round to the back of the open trailer. Sweat is slick against your skin and you thank yourself for keeping the previous owner's couch even if you thought it was an ugly shade of green.You stare pointedly at the four heaviest boxes left and you swear they mock you while you try to catch your breath from pushing your mattress to your room. The words ‘winter clothes’ scribbled sloppily in bright red marker make your face twist up.

“God dammit,”you breathe out running the back of your hand across your forehead trying to rally. Your A/C was already in the window and the cool air inside becomes your motivation.

You aren’t expecting the abrupt shove forward or the feeling of paws on your butt, sharp nails digging into the soft material of your shorts. Then you hear it, his voice.

“Bandit! Bandit - no! Down!”

Your hands hit the metal of the trailer stopping your fall under the weight of what you’re now realizing is an over excited fully grown German Shepherd. Pink tongue out with spit flying everywhere, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you when you turn around and he starts sniffing all over with a tail that wags a mile a minute. High pitched whines leave him when he realizes how much he wants you to play, but he accepts the scratches you offer behind his ears just the same. Body wiggling while also trying to stay still.

“Hi buddy!” you coo, your voice instantly slipping into the embarrassing one you only use for animals.

That’s when you see him.

The trained muscles in his arm flex when he runs a hand through his hair, catching the stray that flops over his forehead when he comes to a halt in front of you. The bright red leash clutched in his fist matches the color of his cheeks. Big hazel eyes meet yours after lingering on your curves a little too long, making you realize you’re showing off just as much skin as him. Clearing your throat, you tug at the bottom of your yoga shorts, willing them to grow just an inch longer with cheeks burning and not because of the sun.

“Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting him excited before I leash him up. I swear he’s friendly, are you okay? He didn’t scratch you or anything right?”

You’re too distracted by his hands to comprehend his words, tendons moving under taut skin as he hooks Bandit’s hardness. The heat, the move, and the man all getting the best of you.

“Hey -“

His voice brings you back to reality, his brows furrowing over perfect features when he looks at you with genuine concern.

“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine. Honestly! I love dogs. The move in the heat, I think, I think it’s just getting to me.” You smile doing your best to calm the worried look on his face, and you swear you see him flush deeper because of it.

It’s his turn to clear his throat, left hand flexing like he’s looking for a ring that isn’t there. The skin is a lighter shade than the rest of him like there used to be. There’s a beat and an awkward silence before he finally notices the mostly empty trailer behind you.

“Looks like you’re almost done though, top floor?” He questions rocking on his heels a little, pointing over his shoulder to your window. Your A/C is already dripping water onto the pavement.

“Yeah! You live in the building?” Please say yes.

“Me? No.” He coughs a little uncomfortable, while you fight to stop the disappointment from showing on your face. “I umm, I actually live next door.” He winces, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Anyway, sorry about Bandit. Your boyfriend is probably wondering where you’re at.” You don’t miss the way he assumes with a secret hope he’s wrong hidden behind the mossy greens of his eyes.

“Probably,” you pause, ego boosting when you see him squirm, “If I had one.” You giggle and you hate the way your hips twist a little.

That’s when he does it, he smiles, with all of his teeth. It’s just as blinding as it is contagious, and it makes your skin tingle, giddiness dripping from your limbs. It’s short lived though, like pieces of a puzzle clicking together you watch it disappear. It’s replaced by the same concern from before only with a new layer of disbelief.

“Wait, honey, who’s helping you move in then?” He looks at you stunned like he can’t fathom the answer he knows you're gonna give.

“The same person that drove here - me.” You grin a little proud with your chin pushed up and it makes his lips twitch, the same smile from before itching to come back.

“Let me at least help with these last few.” He peeks behind you, eyes scanning over your messy writing, “They look like they might be heavy.”

He teases you just enough to earn a roll of your eyes, but the grin on your face makes him huff out a relieved laugh. Nerves like a first date twist in his gut when he sees the way you look at him from under your lashes.

“I mean, if you insist…?” you trail off, fishing for his name.

“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.

“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.

Sliding your hand into his, it disappears completely when he wraps his fingers around yours. The softness of his palm is warm like the sun that beat down on you all day and it sends electric currents running through your veins, heart thumping loudly in your chest and you wonder if he can hear the way he can hear it. Minutes pass before either of you make the first move to let go, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s not until Bandit whines at your feet that Steve finally caves.

“Let me go put him back inside real quick, it’s still a little too hot out anyway and I’ll help you bring the last of this up, tough girl.” He winks with the kind of casualness that makes you question whether you saw it at all and you have to hold in the sigh that begs to slip past your lips.

“I’ll be waiting,” your voice cracks, your confidence slowly disappearing like the sun behind the hazed skyline.

“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.

It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.

“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy.

You can’t stop your giggle, the back of your hand doing little to hide your smile from him. Butterflies breaking from cocoons in your stomach as you watch him walk away to that big house right next to yours.

“What exactly do you have in these boxes?” Steve grunts as he follows you up the narrow staircase with two in tow despite your multiple warnings.

“Winter coats, sweaters, maybe some boots...” you trail off trying to think, your disorganization more than evident when you open up your front door to even more boxes and bags spread out in disarray.

“You packed your coats and your boots in the same box?” His voice is muffled behind cardboard as the cool air hits, sending goosebumps across sweat-kissed skin. The low hum does something to dull your nerves when you work up the courage to turn around and finally face him.

“Maybe! Who knows, I’ll find out tonight when I open it.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh as his broad shoulders almost brush the sides of your door frame. Stepping one expensive sneaker in front of the other into your more than humble apartment, there’s a fleeting moment of regret about taking him up on his offer when your eyes dart around the mess.

“Where am I puttin’ this boss?” His eyes meet yours from around the side of the boxes, playfulness filling the greens and browns like before.

The muscles in his arm flex when he re-establishes his hold on the box, the sleeves of his shirt getting tighter and the whites of his knuckles start to show. The simple brown leather band of his watch strains, and it makes your throat dry up.

“Ummm.” You shake your head, willing your brain to regain its normal function as you start a clumsy walk towards the direction of your bedroom. “We can put them in my -“

Your shoe hits something hard and you don’t have enough time to realize what’s happening until you're already on the ground. Palms flat against the scratched wooden floor and a sharp pain in your ankle. The culprit, an already half opened box labeled KITCHEN you must’ve left in the hallway when you got distracted by something else.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve sets the boxes down, pushing them against the wall and out of the way raking his hand through his hair again, it must be a stressed habit too.

“Yeah, yeah, my ego is a little bruised but I think I’m gonna survive.” You try to smile, but only end up wincing when you go to push yourself up.

“Here, let's get you on the couch, let me take a look.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, both of his hands coming out to you in an offering. Stubbornness losing for once, you take them.

He lifts you up like you’re weightless, moving you around with ease as he tucks you into his side. His fingers wrap around the curve of your hip to steady you. He’s warm, the pine of his body wash mixing with the spice of his cologne and it surrounds you in a strong hold. It's a short trip to your couch, his abs moving with each step, and you secretly wish it took just a little longer.

He’s gentle when he untangles himself from you. Soft palms on your elbows to hold your balance as you sit down. There’s a hint of his aftershave that hits your nose as your muscles melt into the softness of the cushions, the day quickly catching up to you. Eyelids going droopy.

“Sitting was a mistake Steve,” you groan with a light stretch of your limbs, and another subtle wince.

“Well good thing you conned me into helping you with the last of your boxes then.” He waits a second before meeting your eyes as he pulls one of your many boxes over to sit on, his lips twisting up when he sees the way you scoff.

“Conned you?! You practically begged me to let you help.” Your head bobs with attitude dripping from each word and it makes him grin. He nods furrowing his brows like he’s hearing you, but despite the limited time you’ve spent with him you knew whatever he was about to say was just going to egg you on more.

“I mean, if that’s what you need to tell yourself sweetheart. I remember it a little differently.” He can’t hold in his laugh when you roll your eyes hard at him trying to ignore the newest nickname.

His knees brush against yours when he finally takes his seat, the hem of his shorts rising higher, running tight against the muscle of his thigh. The cinnamon hair that covers his legs tickles you while the sun hits your bay window with just the right light to reveal an expanse of freckles and moles you didn’t see before under his five o’clock shadow and across the bridge of his nose. God, he’s handsome.

His eyes catch yours like he can hear your thoughts, and for a moment you wonder if he actually can.

“Do you mind?” The teasing edge is gone, his eyes a little more soft when the tips of his fingers tap against your leg.

“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.

“No,” it comes out a little breathless and he exhales deep through his nose because of it.

“How about here?” He does the same thing as before, only this time closer to your heel and you wince. “There it is,” he hums to himself, rubbing soothing circles as an apology.

“Like on a pain scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three and a half or four” you tell him, when really you’re too proud to admit it’s actually a five.

“Three and a half? You can’t use that. Solid number only,” he scoffs meeting your eyes from under his lashes, the forest inside them turning black.

“I actually think I can do whatever I want,” you laugh incredulously, your toes wiggling under black socks in his lap.

“I guess it is your house, I stand corrected.” Steve admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh before showing you his teeth in a wide grin, his thumb still rubbing circles because it never actually stopped. “Do you have an ice pack?”

Your finger drums against your bottom lip as you think about everything you had packed, his eyes fixated on the way you lightly pull it down with each tap.

“I don’t remember and if I’m being completely honest I don’t think so.” You look sheepish when you admit your lack of first aid supplies to him.

He chuckles lightly, hot breath fanning against your skin with a shake of his head.

“I think I have one, I’ll grab it and bring those other two boxes up. Keep your foot elevated for me tonight tough girl. Unpack your chaos tomorrow.” He mocks the way your jaw drops at his teasing.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take care of me Steve.” The joke is innocent, at least that’s what you thought.

Something clicks behind his eyes, the warmth draining from his smile when it falls. His brows furrow and he won’t look at you anymore, his thumb stops rubbing those circles, and your foot is placed gently back on the ground. He’s standing up faster than you can catch your breath, faster than you can comprehend. The energy shifts to something distant and the warm summer is replaced with frigid winter. He clears his throat with glassy eyes scratching the back of his neck, and you have no idea what you did.

“Hey I’m sorry if I -“

He cuts you off before you can finish.

“You didn’t do anything, It’s me - look, I’m just gonna go get those things. I’ll leave it at your door, please just elevate your foot. You should be okay by tomorrow.” He doesn’t let you respond, long legs taking him out of your place and leaving you to wonder what you did wrong.

Your head lulls against the back of the couch, staring fixated on the old popcorn ceiling of your living room for what feels like twenty minutes as you replay everything back. Over analyzing his tones and body language coming up empty every time. This was going to drive you crazy.

There’s three raps on your front door, one coming down hard followed by two quick knocks. When you stand up this time, it hurts less, more true to the pain level you gave him as you slightly hobble to answer.

When you open it, your two boxes are stacked where he promised. A dark blue ice pack with a yellow sticky note that says:

beta’d by @superblysubpar 💕 (also made the cute post it for me 🥹)

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter two

#superb steve harrington AU #superb steve harrington series #AIRWIY 🧡#older steve #neighbor steve

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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I'm literally *months* behind in reading this and giving it all the love I know it deserves. I cannot believe I've saved it and waited for so long to read. I'm already hooked and this is just the intro 💙

But you let him, hip bruised from the kitchen counter he pushed you into and when you curled your fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt collar, he sighed and softened under you. He kissed you all pretty, soft and lazy, a dirty flick of his tongue over your lips, quiet little noises from the both of you that were swallowed with booms and pops and fizzes.

HOW. HOW DO YOU WRITE SO BEAUTIFULLY? HOW DO YOU WRITE POETRY? MY GOD WOMAN 🫠

We Tried The World: The Intro

THE MASTERLIST HAWKINS, INDIANA. HOME.

On the fourth of July, nineteen eighty eight, Steve Harrington’s dad punched him.

It was seven o’clock in the evening and no one had been surprised, not really. It had been as inevitable as the fireworks that had started to fill the sky, as expected as the heat that still warmed the sidewalks.

It was just one hit, not that it really made it better. It was the first time, and probably the last time, but enough for Steve to spit out some blood on his mother’s clean kitchen tiles, enough for his bottom lip to split and swell.

He was old enough to stand back up straight, chin tilted high, shoulders squared and a mirthless laugh caught in his throat. Steve watched his dad shake his head, shake his fist. He watched his mother stay silent and leave, high heels clicking down the hall, the front door clicking shut.

All because of the same argument, all because he told his dad he didn’t want a job with him, that he wasn’t interested. And no, he didn’t wanna go to college, he didn’t know what he would want to study. Steve worked hard, Steve saved up, Steve was twenty two and trying to move out but it still wasn’t good enough.

So his dad lost his temper and grabbed his son by the scruff of his shirt, pressed his back to the refrigerator door and yelled at him to do something, to do better, to be better. Steve had said nothing but he held the older man's stare and then suddenly his father’s fist was crushed to the side of his cheek, catching his jaw and cracking.

At ten o’clock that same night, Steve tasted like lukewarm beer and Eddie Munson’s special strain. He ignored the fireworks in the sky, the pretty blooms of colour that were almost the same shade as the bruise on his cheek. He stumbled a little clumsy through the house of a stranger, bodies dancing and drinking all around him, people celebrating as if tomorrow wouldn’t be any different than yesterday.

He found you in the kitchen, a girl he knew but didn’t, and it was quiet enough that you could talk to each other over the music, over the explosions outside. The only light was from the hallway and the sky, reds and blues and greens raining down, reflected in your eyes like glitter.

You didn’t ask about the bruise on his cheek, the dark red split in his lip. You didn’t stare like everyone else, you didn’t push or prod. Steve liked that. He found out you’d been drinking vodka and lemonade when he pressed his lips to yours, overly confident from alcohol and leftover adrenaline.

His hand was on your waist when he pulled back, curled real nice over the bare sliver of skin between your jean shorts and t-shirt and his eyes searched yours like he was looking for something, like he wanted an answer for a question he hadn’t asked yet.

But then he did, after he pushed back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, after he swiped his thumb over the curve of your bottom lip, glossy and red from his kiss.

Steve Harrington gazed at you with a shockingly sincere expression, with a little furrow knitted between his brows and he asked you:

“D’you wanna run away with me?”

#superb steve harrington series

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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THIS STORY IS SO SO SO GOOD GUYS LIKE JUST WAIT I NEED THE NEXT PARTS JELLY PLEASE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

You always write these beautifully poetic passages in your stories, but this is full of some of my favorites you've ever written I think. Not only just insanely beautifully descriptions of what they're seeing and encountering, but also just the internal thoughts and feelings of both Steve and reader. There's so much power in your words, Jelly! You've hooked me immediately, my heart hurts for both of them, but I'm also filled with hope and reader's optimism. You're a rockstar at providing perfect eases to their tension and situation with sweet and comedic moments too. I can't wait to finish this story. This is another to be printed and put on the bookshelf for sure 💛

The ending of his story has been written–there's no more guessing before turning the page. Loneliness wraps its icy fingers around his shoulder, bringing the comfort of an old friend. He feels lighter now that he's shed the ties and obligations to those he loves. He's free to choose his own death and not without options. Armed and still carrying the backpack stuffed with preparations to survive the last battle, he can walk to Forest Hill, put a bullet in his brain, and fall next to his friend, forever sharing his grave, but he's not there yet. He'd rather go out fighting, and the monsters filling this place will be eager to accommodate.

He’s the hero from the storybooks that you read as a little girl, trading the armor for a leather jacket and flak vest, but still just as tragic. A ghost moving through a fog. His sorrow blends him into the landscape, keeping you at arm’s length. If you had met before all of this. Bumped into him on the street or at a coffee shop, you still would have known that he was someone you could trust.

A fine layer of steam swirls just above the surface of the water, dampening your skin and curling the fine hair at your temples when you reach over the rim to collect a water sample. Carefully, you pour a little into the four test tubes and place them in a rack adding a test strip to each one.

...where do I get a hot geologist reader??? Cause um...I'm very turned on by reader who is supposed to be me but isn't me and I want to be her yet also date her. Help?

“Ahem,” he clears his throat as he works his belt loose and you don’t feel the slightest bit of shame that he's caught you ogling. The way the corner of his mouth lifts tells you he doesn’t mind either.

“You wanna turn around?” He asks, thumbs popping the button on his cargo pants before he moves on to the zipper.

“Nope. I’m good.”

You’ve been looking at life through a wall of rose-colored glass, sweetening your view just enough to avoid reality. Saying the words out loud, admitting it yourself–to him, you’ve crashed straight into it, the broken shards cutting you with the truth.

Another bad decision made with good intentions. The list of I’ll Nevers unfurls in front of you covering the path where your future should be. He had figured it out much sooner than you did. Everything you worked for and planned for was all just bullshit. Maybe if you had someone to hold up a mirror, your list would be shorter.

A war rages inside him, confusion over when protecting you became something more. Something that feels like he’s betraying her, even though she’s a world away. The truth is, he wants you. Your endless hope, the smiles you dole out like they cost you nothing, like you don’t realize that they have become as necessary to him as the air he’s breathing. Every day, the feeling of you belonging to him grows, but it’s all mixed up with pain and resentment. He was to meet death with a calm embrace, but fate decided that peace was more than he deserved. Now he’ll fight with his last ounce of strength to give you one more breath, and part of him blames you for that. He wants inside you, to claim you as his, but he can’t accept your comfort without making the pain at the end worse for both of you.

If Tomorrow Never Comes | Part 1 | Empty Streets

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Inspired by As The World Burns

Special thanks to @myeuphoricmindset for her permission and encouragement. Please go check out her amazing fic.

TW: FemReader, Eventual Smut, Mentions of self-harm & death. No Minors 18+ Series Masterlist WC: 5807

Steve watches the tears run down the flushed swell of Nancy’s cheeks, her delicate fingers pressed to her lips. A sorrowful smile stretches his mouth, his soft hazel eyes meeting her sky blue. The last blue. The gaping maw of the rift stitching closed for good. Forever. With Steve on one side and the rest of them safe on the other.

It was finally over and they had won. He decided long ago he couldn’t live if he lost one of them. So, in a split second decision, he gave his life to save them all. It had to be him. No complaints.

The last glimpse of blue shrinks into a sliver of bright light resembling the waning moon, disappearing until darkness and the red glow of death are all that’s left. He places his hand on the seam of the solid black rock, bowing his head, whispering his last goodbye.

He walks alone through the familiar decaying streets. The buildings crack and groan, pieces breaking off, turning to sand before they hit the ground. With Vecna dead, the Hawkins he created will be swallowed by the desert and the electrical storms until the world collapses in on itself and explodes in something akin to a supernova.

He knew all this when he called for El to close the gate. When he pushed a resisting Dustin through into Robin’s arms. In the end, Nancy, the kids, they were all that mattered. He had to die to become the man they deserved.

The man he always wanted to be.

The wind picks up, blowing the golden-brown strands away from his face as he watches red bolts of lighting scorch through the thick omnipresent fog blanketing the sky to strike the clock tower of the public library. The building stands tall and imposing, still intact in this realm, rotting and covered with ropey vines. A storm is coming. He’ll need shelter soon. Maybe the white and brick house on Maple street. He could crawl into her bed and close his eyes, pretending as he drifts off the sleep that it was a night he snuck through her window. With any luck, he’d never wake up. The ground trembles with the deafening booms of thunder, but as he walks away, it’s a quieter sound that catches his ears.

“Help me, please.”

“Careful,” Steve warns, steadying you with an arm around your waist before taking the binoculars out of your hands, letting them hang by the strap around your neck, “Stop walking if you’re going to use those or you’re going to end up catching your boot in a crack.” He motions to the gaps in the dry limestone bed of lovers lake.

“Where were you two weeks ago?” You ask with a wry smile, yanking down the handkerchief that covers your nose and mouth. “Maybe I’m too clumsy to be a geologist?”

“It’s okay to laugh, Steve,” you tell him when his tight-lipped expression doesn’t waver.

Fourteen days ago, he pulled you from a pile of debris through the raging winds into the windowless back room of a flower shop, where he helped you clear the sand from your eyes and stitched the gash in your leg. He sat on the floor across from you, back pressed against the mildewing floral wallpaper, the sweet putrid perfume of decaying carnations filling your nose with the scent reminiscent of a funeral while he explained where you were and why you wouldn’t be leaving.

As an undergrad from Perdue sent to study the rift, you had been harnessed, hanging just inside the opening of the gate, taking samples when the earth quaked and your tether snapped. If it weren’t for Steve, you wouldn’t have survived the night and he’s protected you since. Taking out stray dogs and a few bats while scavenging for food and supplies. He assures you there are other things out there. Worse things. You’ve heard their screeches and howls between the thunder claps late into the frigid nights while you lay pressed against his warm back—safe.

He casts a skeptical eye your way but you don’t miss how the corner of his mouth rises just a little. “I don’t like being out in the open like this.” His nose scrunches as his eyes roam the rolling gray clouds that keep the Upside Down in perpetual gloaming.

“We need to find water. I can’t keep brushing my teeth with flat Sprite.”

Gallons of sour milk and fermented juice fill the coolers at Bradley’s Big Buy, but the plastic containers of water all sit empty just like every river, well, and stream in this version of Hawkins.

“How many more days are we going to waste on this?” He stands just behind you while you scan the lake bed, so close you feel the warmth of his breath in your hair.

“You have somewhere else to be?”

Entire sections of town have disappeared. Neighborhoods and buildings are falling into unstable fissures and there are fires burning in the east. It won’t be long now but you need this and so does he. Something to focus on.

“Everything in this place is damp. There are constant storms–”

“But no rain,” he counters.

“That we’ve seen. There are plants. There are animals. There’s water. Does it look like the land slopes downward over there?”You point to a spot where the trees are denser and closer to the lake bed.

“I guess.” He squints in the direction of your finger until you hand him the binoculars that are still around your neck. He stoops and leans in close, pressing the glass to his eyes. “Yeah, it looks that way.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.” Taking back the glasses, you set out navigating the dry, cracked terrain. Picking your way through the vines and rocks.

As you walk along, Steve’s eyes stay fixed on a rowboat draped in the coiled, spiked tendrils. He swallows hard, face paling. The pained, haunted look marring his features has the dull ache of sympathy sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone.

“Steve,” your voice stays gentle as your fingers slide against the rough skin of his palm, wrapping around his fingers. He flinches and jerks his hand away.

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s suddenly realized you’re there.

“Are you okay?”

“Fi-“ he clears his throat, “Fine.” He continues ahead of you, walking toward the woods.

"No. No way."

The short, wide, yawning mouth of the cave was tucked at the bend of a steep hill covered by browned moss and woody stalks of dead brush.

"Steve–"

"We're not going in. No shot. It could be full of bats. Without another exit we could get pinned down."

“Then you can wait here,” you say, ducking under the cave's entrance.

After a click, the beam of your flashlight cuts through the darkness and bounces off the glittering limestone that drips down the walls of the narrow passage like candle wax. The darkness presses in, your panting breaths echo as your courage starts to flee until you hear an annoyed “Goddammit” and the heavy fall of Steve’s boots as he comes in behind you.

His eyes follow the beam of his light scanning the cave's high ceiling that’s crowded with sharp tipped stalactites before he wretches them to you, his expression turning wary. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’m not worried.” Your hand wraps around his forearm sliding down the worn leather sleeve, stopping short of taking his hand, you give his wrist a light squeeze before releasing him.

“Are you always this tenacious?”

“Always.” You cautiously start down the tunnel, watching for loose rocks and small formations, “It’s a character flaw. I’m an eternal optimist. Everything happens the way it’s supposed to.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, looking away to study the walls.

After a curve, the passage widens and the rushing of water amplifies, up ahead a faint azure glow highlights a keyhole opening. Steve hands you his flashlight and reaches back grabbing the axe attached to the back of his pack. His hands adjust his grip on the handle as he holds it at the ready. With a silent tilt of his head, he motions you behind him as he pauses at the mouth of the chamber. Keeping the flashlights pointed low, you light his path.

“It’s a ledge. A big step down.” He calculates his movement before hopping down. He moves the axe to one hand reaching out for you with the other. Clicking off one of the flashlights you shove it in your jacket pocket before taking his hand, you try to gauge the distance like he had but your foot slips at the last moment. The clang of the axe hitting the stone floor reverberates through the cave when he drops it to catch you.

“Maybe you are too clumsy,” he comments, both hands gripping your hips. Your hands slide from around his neck to his shoulders, staying pressed against him longer than necessary, your eyes locked with his - the gold flecks a contrast in the soft blue light. The spell breaks and he steps back, bending to retrieve his weapon.

“It’s…beautiful.”

You’ve stepped into a glittering cavern. Luminescent turquoise orbs with trailing silky threads cling to the jagged domed ceiling high above a steaming basin of crystal clear water. The underground world's best impression of the starry night sky. This might be as close as you get to seeing it again.

“I’m impressed,” his axe hangs at his side with one hand on his hip, “You were right.”

His praise has you beaming as you move to the craggy edge of the basin and shrug off your pack.

“Make it fast,” he peers through the steam into the water, “I don’t wanna be around when whatever lives here comes home.”

“I don’t think anything does.” Dropping to your knees, you unzip your pack pulling out the supplies you’ll need and lining them up, “There are no tracks or vines or anything. There aren’t even any spores floating in the air. Didn’t you say they don’t like the heat?”

“What about those things?” His finger extends to the neon lights above.

“If we were at home, I’d say glow worms.” You grip the hem of your sweatshirt, pulling it over your head and placing it on your pack.

“Whatever they are, they don’t seem too bothered by us,” he muses, “What are you doing now?” He steps closer, peering over your shoulder as you lower the rope with your geological thermometer attached at the end into the water.

“Measuring the depth and taking the temperature.” The water reflects the lights making it seem lit from below. It’s so clear you can see the metal tube of the thermometer hit the sandy bottom. Handing him the end of the rope you move back to your test tubes. Pulling out the strips, using your flashlight to compare them to the control printed in the kit.

"It's safe to drink." A wave of relief washes over you. Clean water greatly increases your chances of survival.

"Really? You're sure?" The surprise in his voice is clear. He didn't expect to get this far.

"I mean..yeah," you sit back on your feet, rubbing your palms over the denim covering your thighs, "We can add some iodine to be sure, but tonight we'll have drinkable water."

Hand over hand, he pulls the line out from the water. He lets the shiny metal tube dangle for a moment. The water runs down edges dripping back into the basin before he gives it to you to interpret.

"About four feet deep with a temp of 100 degrees. Perfect." Winding the wet string around the thermometer, you place it back in your kit and repack the rest of your supplies, leaving out your empty canteen.

"Perfect for what?" His brows draw in at the middle as he watches you loosen the laces of your boots.

"What do you think?" You pull off one boot and then the other, removing your stripey socks and then stuffing them inside.

"You're not getting in there," he scoffs, hands moving to his hips.

"Steve," you sigh, standing and unbuttoning your pants and lowering the zipper, "I'm absolutely going in there." The denim material is heavy and damp from the humidity, sticking to your skin as you peel the jeans down your legs trying your best to not let them drag on the dirt covering the cavern's floor. "It’s been two weeks since I've showered. I stink and so do you."

"This is stupid." His head shakes and he looks upwards, eyes roaming the jagged rock walls as you slip your shirt over your head.

"It's a necessity. Besides, hot springs are supposed to be really good for you." Your fingers work the clasp of your bra and it slips down your arms. His gaze returns as you drop the lacey garment onto the growing pile of your clothing. Now you have his full attention. Even in the dim light, it's clear his eyes darken.

Ignoring the way your heart beats wildly, your thumbs hook under the silk of your panties and they slide down your hips, "There's not much point in being shy."

With false bravado you face him naked and vulnerable, letting his eyes drink you in, "We have to take care of each other, right?"

The torrent of water is louder in the absence of his answer as it cascades through an opening in the wall feeding the basin. Holding his stare, you walk along the water's edge until you find a spot where the limestone dips and becomes smoother creating a natural point of entry.

"Be careful." He moves closer watching you step in.

A moan slips from your lips as you sink down letting the heat loosen the tension in your muscles, enjoying the slight sting while your skin acclimates to the temperature. Pinching your nose with your thumb and forefinger, you dip your head below the surface into the quiet depths.

He's crouching at the basin's rim letting his fingers trail through the water when you emerge, slicking back your hair, wiping away the drips clinging to your eyelashes. His lips part and you know what he's seeing, the astral light reflecting in the rivulets running down your throat, over your breasts joining the sheen covering your skin.

"Are you coming in?"

He pulls his hand from the water, fingers flicking away the wetness and you can practically see the gears turning in his head while deciding if it’s okay to allow himself this simple pleasure.

“It’s safe, Steve. You can live a little,” you say with your sweetest smile, bending your knees so you're submerged up to your neck, watching the cracks in his resolve widen.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asks with a heavy sigh, unsheathing the knife that he carries on his belt and placing it on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool.

“I’m the one who has to smell you.” Taking a few steps backward to where the basin deepens enough that you can tread water without being over your head.

His Baretta joins his knife before his fingers loosen the laces of his boots. He stands shrugging off his heavy jacket and vest letting them hit the ground with a thwack that echoes through the cave before pulling his dark gray thermal over his head adding it to the pile. Your arms glide beneath the water while your eyes travel the path from the dips in his collar bone over the expanse of his broad chest that tapers into narrow hips.

“You wanna turn around?” He asks, thumbs popping the button on his cargo pants before he moves on to the zipper.

“Nope. I’m good.”

His eyes roll before he lowers his pants and boxers, holding them in front of himself until he catches your gaze and tosses them aside. Your lips part as you suck in a much needed breath. His half aroused cock stands out from his body. Long and thick, the pink veiny shaft and perfectly shaped head bobs, swelling further under your scrutiny. He walks toward the shallow end, and you catch the full smirk twisting his lips.

“Now you can smile.” You splash him as he steps into the water shrugging, his grin continuing to broaden.

His eyes flutter closed as more of his body disappears into the steaming pool, gentle waves lapping at his torso, then shoulders, then neck. A low grown rumbles from his throat just before his head slips under completely. He resurfaces in front of you, muscles of his arms tightening as he pushes the hair from his face.

"Fuuck," his mouth remains parted as he draws out the vowel, a water drop clinging to his plush bottom lip, "This feels good."

It's hard to take your eyes off him in this light. Heat floods your belly, but it’s not the water, you want to be what’s making him feel good. He’s already given away his heart, you're certain, but she’s not here and you are.

"It's nice to be warm. It's so cold here." You drift closer, breathing in the heated air.

"You're cold?" He asks, brows knitting together.

"Sometimes…mostly at night." A pang of guilt has you wishing you hadn’t mentioned it. The last thing you want is to cause him any more worry. "Are these new?" You reach out, fingers ghosting over purple black bruises on his shoulder and chest.

His head bows looking at the spot you just caressed, "Maybe. I can't keep track." He straightens to his full height, chest rising above the surface, water running through the thick patch of chest hair revealing several more bruises in various stages of healing.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard before continuing, fingers dancing over the freckles on his skin, "I know you're doing this–"

He coughs and sinks back into the water, patting his chest, "I think the steam is loosening up some of that shit we've been breathing in."

His head tips back and you follow suit watching the tiny glowing creatures attached to the rocky dome, their silvery tails gently swaying like they’re blowing in a breeze. There's beauty in their simple existence. Head dropping back down, you catch his stare, he’s closer now, and the way he looks at you sends all your thoughts fleeing.

"It's nice here. Quiet," his arms sweep in arcs just below the surface, hands brushing against yours when they meet in the narrow space between you, "I can almost pretend I’m somewhere else."

"Yeah?" Floating closer, you look up at him from under wet lashes. There’s something in his eyes, a fire, making the gold flecks look molten. The gap between you narrows, his chest brushes your nipples. But it’s gone as quickly as it came. He moves away, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

“Do you do a lot of skinny dipping?” You ask, trying to draw him back in, craving the connection. He peers at you unsure if he should answer.

“Come on, Steve. Tell me your secrets.” Biting your lip to hide the mischief in your smile, you draw a cross over your heart, "I promise not to tell."

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “I guess I’ve done my fair share. There was a girl-“

“There always is.”

“Are you going to let me tell you?” With a swift move of his hand, he sends a splash of water in your direction.

“Please, continue,” you giggle with a wave of your hand, licking the water off your lips.

“She and I would sneak out late at night. Meet at the lake to be together." He looks away as he tells you, lost in the memory.

"Midnight Love. Sounds romantic."

“I don’t think she would agree,” his eyes roam the stoney walls where glowing lights fade in and out, “She wanted more and I couldn’t give it to her. There was someone else.” He meets your eyes, wanting you to understand his contrition, “I should have been honest with her. Let her move on. I know better now. I’m all done breaking hearts.”

“Will you be honest with me?” It doesn’t matter what he's done. He’s shown you who he is, and that man is one that you believe in.

“Yes.” The word is heavy on his lips, the look in his eyes confirming his promise. “I can give that to you.”

Nodding your head in acceptance, you feel the shift, bared to each other, the wall between you falls to pieces like the replica of the town that surrounds you. It gives you the courage to ask what you really want to know, “What about the girl you’re in love with, the one that’s up there waiting for you with tears in her eyes? Don’t you think her heart is broken?”

“How did–"

Shrugging, you wait for him to continue.

“We weren’t together,” he confesses, “Turns out I couldn’t give her what she needed either.”

“That’s why you're here? Because you weren't enough for her? Your friends, don’t you think they need you?”

“It's not about her. It's about all of them,” he explains, his voice thick with pain. “Before all this, all the things I thought were important were just bullshit. They held up a mirror in front of me. It made me change directions, made me try to be better. But I moved too slowly and when they really needed me, I couldn't protect them. You know how you said everything happens for a reason?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is it. This is my reason. I had to make sure they’re safe. They can all grow up and do whatever it is that they are supposed to do, be whoever they are supposed to be. Staying behind. Letting them go,” he lays a hand over his heart, “That’s how I became who I was supposed to be and I could finally give that to them.”

“Steve…” You want to scream at him that he’s wrong. He had to be enough for them because he was already everything to you. But it would rob him of the meaning in his death, so you stay silent and let the unspoken words sink beneath the water.

“Okay, it’s your turn. You owe me a secret,” his tone turns light, and he claps his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, “Make it a good one.”

“Let’s see,” you squint up at the ceiling, “I started sneaking my mom’s cigarettes junior year and blamed it on my sister.”

“Come on, you can do better than that. I bet a pretty girl like you has left behind a trail of broken hearts. I want the good stuff.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, tipping your head onto your shoulder with a grin.

“You know you are,” his eyes roll, “Don’t try to get out of it.”

“Fine,” you pout, flicking water in his direction, “I don’t think I broke any hearts. Maybe bent a few. My friends are always losing their heads over some guy. Acting crazy. All in the name of love. I always wanted that, you know? To get swept away in some sort of fairytale romance. It just never happened for me. I thought there would be more time. I thought…"

“We’re not going to make it home, are we?”

“Do you still want the truth?” He asks, knowing you already know the answer.

"I had a list," you swallow hard, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. "I thought if we could find water, we could check that off and solve the next problem and the next. Then we'd somehow figure out a way back. You told me from the beginning but I was too stupid–"

"Hey, you're not stupid." He moves a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "It's not stupid to have hope."

"But it doesn't matter." Your hand covers his, indulging in his touch a moment longer before pushing it away.

“That’s where you're wrong. It doesn’t change anything, but it matters.”

“I’m starting to feel tired. Would you mind if we leave?” Brushing past, you climb out onto the ledge. The water cascading off your body darkens the limestone floor. Your back stays turned away from him while you yank your underwear on over damp legs. The splashing sounds let you know that he is following suit. Your jeans are difficult to shimmy over your hips without drying off and you skip the bra entirely, leaving your shirt to absorb the water. Once you leave the warmth of the cave, you'll be freezing–you should have listened to Steve.

The cave seems smaller, the walls press in as you finish getting dressed and gathering your gear. Space will give you perspective, although you still dread seeing that terrible red sky.

"Are you‐"

Your breath leaves through your parted lips when his hand tugs your hip, turning you, pulling you flush against his chest. He looks down at you, eyes burning, wet hair plastered to the nape of neck drips water down the column of his throat soaking his thermal. The plush curve of his lips so close to your own.

"You're not supposed to be here," he growls as his grip tightens. "I wish you weren't. I wish you had never met me. I wish..."

The tears spill over your lash line and streak down your cheeks, you can taste their saltiness on your lips. His head dips toward you and your eyes flutter closed, holding your breath while you wait to feel the pressure of his lips. Longing and despair give way to a fear that he'll give you what you want because he grieves with you, and that will never be enough to stop the ache. But his kiss never comes. His touch lingers on your skin once he's let you go and you stand there with your eyes still shut as you listen to him walk away.

By the time you make it out of the cave, the scarlet sky has dimmed to a deep crimson, and Steve decides it’s best to stick to the cover of the trees and spend the night in one of the cabins nestled on the shore among the forest of dead wood, instead of crossing back over the dry lake bed. Mercifully, the rolling storm clouds are gathering west of here, across town, leaving the woods quiet beside the dry leaves crunching underfoot. Your silence is an itch under his skin. He wants to apologize, but he’s not exactly sure what for. He meant the things he said, but he hadn’t intended it to sound so harsh. The light in your eyes has been the only thing pulling him back from the darkness of his own thoughts, but he can’t keep pretending. He’s accepted that this was how his story ends, but the way you look at him tempts him into believing there could be another chapter.

These thoughts and questions, you, Nancy, are different currents clashing in a riptide, and he’s trying his best to keep his head above water. As the mist thins, a tiny cottage comes into view, partially hidden by the brush and the gloom. The flaking white paint and curling black shingles are tinged green with mold. With a lone vine, dry and dead, snaking down from the roof across the weathered door. He reaches out, wrapping a hand around your wrist, conveying with a look that you should wait here for him to clear the inside. Walking up the three stone steps, he unsheathes his knife to cut away the vine. It takes a few firm pushes from his shoulder to get the warped door to budge from its frame. The musty air hits his nose as soon as it swings open. This place has been closed up tight. Steve moves quickly through the small space, checking for any signs of creatures, but it’s untouched aside from a few dead vines wrapped around the exposed beams of the ceiling.

When he returns, you’re standing with your arms crossed over your chest, but the look written across your delicate features has changed to anger. His brows pull together, and his lips part to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I don’t wish that.”

“What?” He asks, confused.

“That I never met you. I don’t wish that,” you move closer until your toe to toe with him. “I’m here for a reason. My life has a purpose too,” you say, laying a hand over your heart, anger and sadness making your voice crack. “If you think you’re supposed to die for them. Then I’m here to make sure you aren’t alone.”

The way his mouth gapes in surprise only fuels your resolve.

“You’re not supposed to be alone.” You turn away and walk inside. He follows, shutting the door behind you.

A chill seeps through the damp mattress and the thick stack of crochet blankets piled on top. Despite being fully clothed, the cold works its way through the layers of material straight through to his skin. He’s lying on his side, staring at the closed door of the bedroom, replaying the words you said over and over. He can feel you behind him. Tiny pockets of heat wherever you connect, your forehead pressed to his back, hands tucked between you, the material of his sweatshirt balled in your fist. He’s still not sure what he should have said. The rest of the evening was spent without discussion. In his head, every sentence he forms is chased away with the image of you standing in the cave with your eyes closed, ready to be kissed. His instinct is to act first and think later, but this time the consequence is your heart, and he’s never been more unsure.

“Did you hear about the drunk geologist?”

“What?” It takes a second for your words to break through his thoughts.

“He finally hit rock bottom,” you deadpan, your breath warming his back. “Do you know what kind of fruit geologists eat?”

His mouth quirks. Somehow you know just what he needs.

“Pome-granite.”

He rolls over to face you. Your eyes gleam in the darkness, lashes fluttering, your lips stretched into a smile, you’re so beautiful, and it makes him feel lightheaded.

“You know you have to be patient with us geologists…we all have our faults.”

“God, these are so bad,” he says, his hand landing on your hip, his thumb finding its way under the edge of your sweatshirt to draw circles on your skin.

“I have more.” Your hands smooth up the front of his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, eyes locking with his, and he can see it again, the hope. It’s a beacon in a fog guiding him home.

“Of quartz, you do.”

Your giggles make his smile bigger until he can feel it in the apples of his cheeks. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s felt like this–you make him happy.

“Let me warm you up,” he says when your laughter subsides. His hands smooth over your shoulders until they’re wrapped around your back, pulling you closer, not stopping until your forehead is against his lips and there is no space left between you. Sighing softly, you push a leg between his, until you fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Thank you,” you whisper, but as your warmth fills all the cold places inside him, he knows he should be thanking you.

AN: Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you think? Are these two going to make it? Did you spot the easter egg from our friend @loveshotzz? I'll give you hint this ties in to one of her fics. Do me a soild and reblog if you liked it. 💋 -Jelly

Part 2 Here

#superb steve harrington series #ITNC 💛#upsidedown

552 notes · View notes

superbfics · 5 months ago

Text

Oh this is so sweet 🥹 I can't wait to see what more you do with it! 💛💛

The only person he did have was Dustin but how many times can you ask a middle schooler to hang out before it gets weird? Steve didn’t want to find out.

This line made me cackle 👌🏻

You’re wearing the most perfect smile he’s ever seen and he wants to make you do it again.

"The first one, She's Got A Way. It was my Grandpa's favorite, the first Billy song he ever played me" Steve says, looking off onto the rows and rows of records. Remembering a time when he was just short enough to be the same height as them. Rushing around and looking for the most colorful covers while his Grandpa went straight to the B's. Then he'd sit in the very chair he was now, ankles just barely hanging over the edge as his Grandpa played him song after song, in the very seat you were sitting in now.

"He claimed it was the only song he ever heard that perfectly described how he felt about my Grandmother. How the right women could completley turn you around and heal you when you least expect it" Steve smiles fondly as he repeats those words he hadn't in a very long time.

Imfineimfineimfine

I'm not laying in bed crying about a fictional man's fictional grandpa and his love for the fictional grandma

"I'd love to Steve" you tell him, using his name like it now somehow belongs to you and Steve wishes it does.

Cold Spring Harbor

Chapter One - She’s Got A Way 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, instant attraction, invisible string theory, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, coping mechanisms

Summary: Just when Steve figures he’s bound to be alone the rest of his life, somehow he finds you, and for some reason just being near you makes him feel much less alone in the world.

word count: 2k

→ Two

Masterlist

Spring 1985

She's got a way of showin', how I make her feel

Steve hated being sad. Yet for the last six months that was all he had felt. He should be over it by now. He wished he was over it, but everyday he went to school just to see Nancy with Johnathon and know everything that he lost. He had given up his friends for her, and when she gave him up for Johnathon, he had no one left. No happy family to come home to, and no friends to spend time with, especially no girlfriend to love. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get over her, because she was the only person he had left and she left him too.

So he woke up on the first day of spring break, no parents, no plans, no one at all. It didn’t matter that the first warm sun was shining through his window and the birds chirped happily outside. He figured he would always be alone and he was still just as miserable as before. The only person he did have was Dustin but how many times can you ask a middle schooler to hang out before it gets weird? Steve didn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t going to last all of spring break like this so he was going to do the only thing that made him feel better. The only thing that gave him enough motivation to get out of bed and get ready for the day. So it’s not long until he is walking out the front door and towards his car. Yet before he unlocked it he stopped, eyes glancing into the bright blue sky, and deciding against the drive. It was sunny and almost seventy, plus a walk would be good for him. So he stuffed the keys back in his pocket and started down the road.

Town was half empty once he got there, signs showing that the new mall being built was already taking away business. It was sad to see the town that once was so busy become a shell of nothing. Kind of like him he supposed. Yet the sight of the familiar blue door eased his mind as he pushed in the one place he hoped would be here forever.

“Hey man, long time no see” Ron, the owner smiles from behind the register. Steve matches the smile right back even though he doesn’t feel it. He wished he did.

“Hey Ron, how’s business been?” he asks, eyeing the various shelves throughout the room.

“I wish I could say busy, but ever since word got out that Sam Goody was being built in the mall, no one really cares about Ron’s Records anymore” he says and Steve nods, his throat tightening at the thought.

“I’m sorry about that man, you know I’ll be a customer for life” he tells him and Ron nods, smiling at the boys kindness.

“You and your Grandpa both” Ron says kindly and Steve has to look away before tears form in his eyes.

“I’m gonna check some records out” Steve tells him and Ron nods as he moves to the section he knows it will be at.

Finally reaching the B’s his fingers start skimming the records. It feels like he’s passed a hundred Barry Manilow records by the time he reaches exactly what he’s looking for. Smiling to himself he scans which ones are there, determined what would be the best to listen to. Something that for an entire forty minutes could make him feel much less lonely in this world.

“Billy Joel huh?” Steve looks up and nearly freezes. There you are, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and something about the world stops. He’s not one to be shy but it’s as if the words somehow can’t leave his mouth. There was just something about you. “Since when do boys your age listen to Billy Joel?”

“Hey, he’s still rock n’ roll to me” Steve defends, and it’s cheesy. He knows that, but it doesn’t stop you from laughing. You’re wearing the most perfect smile he’s ever seen and he wants to make you do it again.

“I’m not saying he isn’t, just most guys these days don’t know good music anymore” you say, pulling the record out of his hands and he almost gasps at the way your fingers feel against his.

“Well good music to me is just Billy, always has been” he says and you give him a small nod, smile still on your face. He briefly wonders what it could be about you that makes him suddenly so content.

“Cold Spring Harbor? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it” you say and Steve’s heart clenches.

“It’s his first album, he was only 22 when he wrote it. It’s one of my favorites” Steve tells you and the mischievous grin you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Well let’s listen to it” you tell him, hand grabbing his own, and leading him to the front of the building. In the front window there’s two chairs and small record player in between. They had been there for as long as Steve could remember, he had sat in them hundreds of times. He sits in his, the one chair he always sat in, and you sit, well in the other. His throat dries as he sees you sit across from him in the chair that had been empty for many years.

“What’s your favorite track?” you muse, hands delicately working to pull the record from its sleeve and place it on the player.

"So that's where it comes from" you muse, the record spinning as you turn on the machine. Steve watches as you set the needle on the record, sratching till it finds its groove, and fills the silence between you both.

"Why is it his favorite?" you ask after a few moments, watching the boy as he let's the words sink in.

"A charmer, I'm sure you are too" you say and the shocked look Steve wears has you laughing lightly. It takes Steve only a second to laugh along with you, realizing just how quickly you had revealed him. It's when your laughter calms he realizes the smile on your face has eased his heart more in the last six months than anything else.

"If you must know" Steve says and you giggle again which has Steve wanting to spend more and more time with you.

"Where is this Grandpa of yours, I have a few questions for him?" you ask and Steve freezes, not expecting the words to leave your mouth. It takes him a moment to respond and you sense the discomfort and place your hand on his own. Steve nearly jumps at the electric touch that comes from it.

"He passed away when I was fifteen, right before high school" he tells you, throat tightening around the admittance.

"I'm so sorry, that's awful" you try to comfort but Steve just smiles.

"You would have loved him though. Everyone did. He was my best friend, the only family I really had that spent time with me. Since my Grandma passed when I was ten, me and him made sure to spend all of middle school together" Steve isn't entirely sure why he is telling you this, he just knows your the first person he has been this comfortable around since his Grandpa and he didn't even know your name yet. He didn’t know what it was about you but he figured there didn't need to be a reason.

"That's so sweet, he sounds so special" you tell him and Steve nods, recalling memories he hadn't allowed himself to think about for years.

"He was, just wish he was still around. He was the only person to ever be there for me, front row at every swim meet and basketball game. Was hard going through highschool knowing he was no longer in the stands, but Billy. Well that's all me and him ever talked about. So sometimes, on days like today when I miss him a little extra, I find him in the lyrics of a song" and your heart soars for the boy in front of you. A boy with a deep sadness buried within him. A boy the world hadn't given a chance yet.

"Is he there right now?" you can't help but ask, the last few lines of the song coming through the speakers on the machine. Steve listens, can practically see his Grandpa yelling at him for not making a move. ‘At least ask her name’ he groans and Steve chuckles lightly to himself.

"Yeah he's here. He always is" Steve says and you give him a smile that somehow heals him. "I'm Steve by the way"

"Nice to meet you Steve" you tell him before offering your own name and Steve finds it rattling through his head, the most beautiful name in all of existence, and somehow it belongs to you. The very girl who showed up while he was feeling down and has inspired him without a sound. The beginning notes of You Can Make Me Free fill the silence between you both and Steve sits up, realizing your hand is still atop his own.

"Sorry for spilling my guts" Steve says and you shake your head, wanting him to know that he had done nothing wrong this entire time.

"Don't be, it actually happens a lot. I seem to make people very comfortable. Guess I just got a way about me" and Steve agrees because somehow in just this short exchange you have inspired him to keep on going, reminded him that this is not the end and it won't be all bad. It is like you have some bright light around you and it gives him the strength to keep going.

"Would you maybe want to go get something to eat?" Steve finds the confidence to ask and you beam a smile brightly back at him.

"I'd love to Steve" you tell him, using his name like it now somehow belongs to you and Steve wishes it does. A million dreams of love surrounding you and for the first time since Nancy he finds himself feeling something for a girl he never thought he'd feel again. He just knows he no longer wants to live without you.

"Have fun you two" Ron calls out as you both exit, the record still playing as you both leave it behind. You talk the whole way to the small diner in town, Steve just smiles and listens, loving how everything sounds the way it comes out your mouth. It's as if every word lifts him up as you are walking.

For the rest of the day Steve does his part getting to know you. Making you laugh and flirting where necessary which never fails to make you blush. The sight of your red cheeks alone make his heart soar for you. It's cute the way you show it, exactly how you feel about him. In return you do find yourself charmed by the very boy you couldn’t resist talking to. You wondered where a sweet boy like him had been your whole life and for the first time you aren't as embarassed by the blush on your cheeks as you normally would be.

"I really like you Rosy" he says matter of fact, the nickname falling easily from his lips. You blush at his words again, shaking your head at the boy you figure you aren't getting rid of anytime soon.

"I like you too Steve"

Taglist: @slvtforstve @keerygal @goosy-goose @livsters @blckburd @loveshotzz @ohwauwdoritos @superblysubpar @southereads @amataadriana @violet2022 @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @madaboutjoe @thunderstomp-and-tequila @justdamnpeachy @micheledawn1975 @fangfatale @kingstevesgf @notlilyyyy @eddiesguitarskills @palmtreesx3

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

#superb steve harrington series

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO EXPRESS HOW EXCITED I AM FOR THIS. I'm already so in love with their relationship and the way you write their dynamic!

Are those hives? She's giving me hives.

And

He can feel her mere existence giving him heart palpitations...

I cackled out loud. This is all so perfect 🤌🏻 like of course Steve's unpacking all her stuff & Robin's talking a mile a minute and just shrugging when Steve asks all of his questions. Also:

"...her opportunity to live who she is out loud and finally be free of the confines a small town puts on someone who looks a little different, thinks a little different and loves a little different."

I truly can't wait to read the magical journey you're about to take us all on 💛

Prologue

SexShop!Steve x Reader : SexShop!Robin x OC

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Steve and Robin have about had it with Hawkins, so on Robin's 25th birthday, the pair decides that there's nothing holding them there anymore and they start packing their bags. The friends move to Chicago and quickly find an apartment to call their own. As luck would have it, Robin stumbles on a no-strings-attached job offer for both of them - what could be better?! Now just to break the news to Steve…. This multi part story will both explore their platonic relationship and their chaotic experience working at the sex shop together as well as their own paths of self discovery as they plant their roots in their new city and finally deal with the invisible baggage they drug along with them when they moved.

Warnings: no warnings...this time. Some non cannon relationships in this AU but cannon themes and Easter eggs a-plenty.

Chicago: Summer of 1993

It's only his 5th trip up and down the steps in the last hour, and Steve has about had it. Being left to haul a car full of Robin's personal belongings and boxes up the three flights of spiraling staircases to their brand new apartment building while she goes off in search of dinner and some help wanted signs seemed like a good idea at the time. It wasn't until he opened the hatch and saw how MUCH she actually packed did he immediately regret his choice to stay behind. He stood there regretting his current situation in an unfamiliar, bustling and loud city while sweat beaded on his hairline and flush spread across his cheeks in the humid June air.

Muttering to himself as he passes a redheaded teen girl carrying a skateboard who refuses to get out of his way on the staircase, he finally pushes his way through their doorway and he's thankful to feel the window unit he threw in first thing after they arrived starting to rev up and cool down the space. Steve repositions the particularly heavy box full of Robin's things on his hip while he reaches over for his cup of iced water setting on the counter and pooling condensation. Desperate for the reprieve, Steve gulps down an extra large sip and attempts to swallow but all sense of relief washes away as something slams into his whole left side. The glass he is holding ricochets down to the ground while Robin's box of nostalgic memorabilia topples over and spills out too. Hawkins High all over the floor.

"Jesus Christ, Robbie, what the hell!?"

Bending over to start collecting all of Robin's teenage memories, the last threads holding her down to a town that didn't love her as much as she loved it - Steve doesn't hear anything she says when she first lifts her fists over her head and into the air in celebration - barely registering that she body checked the boy as she threw open the door.

"Rob. Robbie, what the fuck are you saying? You're doing the thing… " he waves his hand in her general direction.

"Oh fuck, sorry." Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath to regroup, realizing now that she came in making a whole lot of noise and saying not a damn thing at all.

She takes a deep breath and with a gleam behind her eye proclaims "I landed us a job, Dingus!" Both fists jolting upwards into the air again, he now sees the job applications crumpled up in her fists and yielded like torches.

"Dude, gimmie that." Steve says. "You're gonna ruin it before I can even fill it out. We can't start a new job being that unprofessional. Christ… . What are we doing anyway? Gotta be better than that restaurant gig we both bombed before we left Indiana."

"Ok so, yeah, yeah this has the potential to be better than that. Definitely better than Family Video. For sure. And there's no stupid costume like Scoops. God. That sucked. We should pretty much know how to do a lot of it already and the manager seems like he's kinda chill. I told him I don't really know much about the ... uh...topic…but uh…that I'm a fast learner and he said we start on Monday and to bring the paperwork with us." She rambles, motioning to the pages Steve now holds in his hand.

"O-oh kay Robin. Details please. You know them in your head but I don't yet. You-you gotta share."

"Ha! Yeah! Sorry about that, I mean…." while she trails off and starts to fidget, Steve immediately knows there's more to the story.

"Robbie. What are you not telling me? "

"It's called The Hideout. It's on Clark St, just a few streets over. 20 minutes walking - tops."

"20 minutes is doable." he says, and then quips back "Man, don't tell me it's a restaurant. I really didn't want to eat shit at that job all over again. I guess I'll take what I can get so we can at least get on our feet… "

" It'snotarestaurantit'sasexshop!" Robin blurts out in one rushed garble of words.

"I'm sorry, WHAT did you say?" Steve stands with his hands on his hips, looking at her incredulously. "Did you say SEX SHOP?"

Steve is freaking out. He's immediately embarrassed for something he hasn't even done yet. He can feel the tips of his ears going hot and shades of red staining his face and neck in splotches. Are those hives? She's giving me hives, he thinks to himself.

"What am I supposed to tell people when they ask what I do?! What are we supposed to tell the kids back home when they start to call non-stop? What am I supposed to say to my DAD, Robin?" He can feel her mere existance giving him heart palpitations while she looks on at him sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders. All he can do is focus on his breathing so he doesn't blow a gasket on his friend.

Among the myriad of other things this move has going for the pair, Robin sees moving to Chicago as her opportunity to live who she is out loud and finally be free of the confines a small town puts on someone who looks a little different, thinks a little different and loves a little different. Steve, just happy for the fresh start and the chance to maybe do things for himself for once, was not really thinking this is how it would all start out, but looking at the excitement on Robin’s face made him soften just a little.

Now pacing back and forth across the entryway to dispel her nervous energy, she looks on at her exasperated friend and he gives her an almost indistinguishable nod of the head in agreement. She smiles softly at him and says, "Anyway, I distinctly remember you once encouraging me to talk about boobies with you, Steve. Lighten up and get ready for tits, dicks…all of it! I'm ready and this city is my sexual awakening!"

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @livsters

#superb steve harrington AU #superb robin buckley AU #superb steve harrington series #superb robin buckley series

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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Not only is the idea for this mini series so engaging and hooks you right away but the voting for the next levels at the end?! Emmy you out do yourself every time, my god. I hate that I'm in love with Steve already 🫠

“If I’m somehow even bringing you the slightest bit of joy with my presence, Harrington,” you deadpanned, “then I’m doing it wrong.” You slammed the locker door shut and smirked when Steve had to yank his hand back, fingers narrowly avoided.

He narrowed his eyes at you, moving only to grab his name badge from the board, making sure he knocked yours onto the floor when he shoved the bundle of keys into his pocket that opened up all the coin slots.

“Murray’s not in until later, Donkey Kong is fried and oh,” he clicked his fingers and pointed a digit at you, all faux sympathy making his face soften. “I knocked you off the top spot on Dig Dug. Again.”

But also:

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same.

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging.

You went straight to Dig Dug.

Bad For Business: Level One

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

“You’re late.”

“No I’m not.”

You were. Twenty five minutes, in fact, and your stomach was still swirling from the night before, remnants of cheap beer and cheaper vodka mixing unhappily with the cold, strawberry pop-tart you’d force fed yourself on the way to work.

Steve Harrington leant against the wall with a grin as he watched you struggle to clock in, the old machine chewing up your employee card before it finally stamped it. You pushed past him, shoulder into his in a way that was awfully familiar now. The blunt words, the eye rolls, the semi serious acts of violence all part of your work day and they had been since last summer. He didn’t give in to you, arms colliding, the smell of his cologne now on your T-shirt too.

“Hungover?” Steve asked, enjoying the way you squinted against the harsh, fluorescent strip lights.

The office was much quieter than the arcade outside of the staff doors and you were trying your best to stay away from the sounds of Super Mario and Pac-Man for as long as you could. Except Steve wasn’t making it easy.

“No,” you lied again. You were so hungover, stupidly hungover. And tired. You’d barely managed to crawl back through your bedroom window when the sun was beginning to rise, the summer outside starting back up as the sky turned apricot and the birds sang. Eddie had walked you home, both of you sharing the last dregs from a lukewarm beer before he bent at the waist and let you use his back as a footstool, groaning and swearing at you as you took too long to grab the end of the broken trellis. “What’s with the fucking interrogation, Harrington? Did Murray die and leave you in charge?”

Outside the office, the arcade machines jingled, beeping and ringing with each win and loss, the constant clinkclinkclink of quarters being dropped into the coin slots, the yells of sugared up kids making your head pound.

“Nah,” Steve’s grin only widened, an almost smirk that made you grit your teeth together. You busied yourself at your locker, shoving your bag into the too small space, the rattle of the metal hurting your very being. “Seeing you each morning is just the best part of my day.”

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s blatant lie, snorting at the possibility you could both be anything close to friends. Steve Harrington lived to annoy you, and had done since middle school. He spent the first couple of grades annoying you at recess, pulling your hair and snickering with his friends when you yelled, all pink cheeked and shocked looking when you stomped towards him, indignant, shoving the heel of your buttercup yellow shoe into his toes.

It went on like that, spitballs launched from each end of the classroom, backs of chairs kicked and faces pulled at the other during presentations. Then you both got older and the words got colder, scathing remarks made in the hallway, lockers defaced with semi serious insults and potential dates ruined by mocking comments said in front of crushes.

Then high school was over, Hawkins seemed to get smaller and the only job available to get you enough cash to leave the tiny, backwater town was a position beside Steve at Upside Down Arcade. Run by someone who everyone only knew as Murray - a man who had absolutely no time for anyone under the age of twenty five and was utterly inept with technology - the arcade was a staple in Hawkins. As permanent a feature as the community pool, the town hall and the library; the brown brick building looked bland from the street outside, but stepping in the doors led kids into a maze of gaming machines, air hockey tables and neon lights.

The carpets had seen better days, the Space Invaders themed pattern a headache of dulled yellows, purples reds and greens, the painted black walls barely seen behind the rows and rows of games, all brightly light and beeping, illuminations flashing pink and blue, leaderboard charts mocking on the screens.

It smelled like burnt sugar and stale popcorn, despite the machine not having worked for over a decade. A heavy mix of all things bad for you: sour candy, old hotdogs, cherry slush stains and pre-teen hormones.

You glared. Steve grinned.

You wanted to say something sharp, something witty and mean, but your head was still pounding and your throat felt like the Sahara Desert. “Bite me, Steven,” you muttered instead, shoving past the boy so you could get out the door first, for no other reason than simply to feel like you’d won something.

Steve was too close behind you when he answered, all charm and flirt, the cadence of his voice dropped to the level he used when he flirted with the older girls that brought in their baby siblings.

“Bend over then, Princess Peach,” he cooed, “at least lemme see what I’m working with.” His voice was at your ear, his stupid hair tickling at your cheek.

The stupid nickname made your nostrils flare, but the suggestive comment before it had your toes curling. You scoffed, shocked, because as the summer crawled by and the heat got higher, you and Steve’s snipes were getting more and more below the belt.

But that was his bravest yet.

You didn’t bother turning round, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and Jesus, you were sure your cheeks were flushed - but if he dared comment on it, you would’ve blamed it on the hangover you told him you didn’t have.

“You’re a pig,” you bit out, ignoring how he kept close behind you as you finally braved opening the door.

The arcade was already full to the brim, bursting with kids, a line of them at the desk, ticket stubs clutched in sticky hands, dollar bills ready to be exchanged for bags full of coins. The door almost hit Steve when you let it go behind you, his hands barely catching it as he scowled at your retreating figure. You planned to lurk in the darkest corner of the arcade for your entire shift, maybe sipping on a stolen slurpee, biding your time and waiting for your headache to soften enough in order to conjure a formulated attack on the Dig Dug machine.

You turned around just before Steve served the first customer, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. He was already behind the cash register, Erica Sinclairs bundle of tickets in his hands as the girl pointed at a toy sword in the cabinet.

“And don’t even try and pretend you haven’t looked before,” you called back to him, smug and referring to his lewd comment before. “Oh, ‘lemme see what I’m working with’,” you mimicked. “You’re not sly, asshole.”

A few kids tittered at the insult, Dustin Henderson snorting especially loud, but some gasped at how you cursed in front of them, a sure fire way to know there’d be a hand written complaint about on Murray’s desk tomorrow. You’d hoped your jab would make Steve shrink, maybe blush like he used to when you got all brave and bold with him. Shit, maybe he’d even had the right to look ashamed.

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same.

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging.

You went straight to Dig Dug.

#superb steve harrington series #Bad for Business 💙#enemies to lovers

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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Literally insane I've waited so long to read this series. Your writing is poetry, simple scenery and lines hit deeper and have more meaning than you could ever imagine. Only on chapter one and I'm in love with this story already. I just have to share some of my favorite lines and passages in my reblogs as I read 💙💙💙

When you chanced a glance at your driver, he looked the way you felt, like he was at peace with what was about to happen, like it was all finally okay.

The sense of adventure overpowered the unknown, the thrill of something new and all of the what ifs made your heart beat a little faster and for the first time in the longest time, you felt like you weren’t sleepwalking through the day.

^ This one really got me - you describe that feeling of *feeling* again so beautifully.

You nodded and Steve’s grin was blinding, summer and sun in a smile.

You knew he kissed like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs, like he was trying to tell you all his secrets.

He wanted everything his own home couldn’t offer him, he wanted to get away. He smiled when you just nodded and said ‘okay’, like giving the boy what he wanted was the easiest thing in the world.

The question took your breath away, because it was so much more than one word. It was possibilities, it was a leap of faith, it was a new state, a different adventure. It was mountains, valleys, lakes, oceans, wide roads, wider canyons, the chance to see something new.

I mean?!?! Are you actually freaking kidding me?!?!

We Tried The World CH1.

THE MASTERLIST SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, 287 MILES FROM HOME.

Steve picked you up a few doors down from your house at six o’clock in the morning the next day.

Hawkins was still asleep, the whole town nursing a sleepiness that only came from a party that everyone had joined in on the night before. The morning air smelled like old bonfire smoke, the leftover fizz from fireworks and the sky was lilac and peach, the air hazy.

You didn’t say much when you walked towards his car, the BMW idling by the park on the corner of your street. You’d told him to park away from your house, to let your aunt sleep through what would’ve been an awkward goodbye.

You left a note on your bed instead, one that you knew she’d understand. After all, she’d been there through everything. Hawkins wasn’t home and you were never supposed to have ended up there.

Steve hopped out and put your rucksack in the trunk for you and when you dropped yourself into the passenger seat beside him, he smiled and handed you a couple of cassettes to pick from. The windows were down, his tank was full and the height of summer was creeping into the car. Everything smelled like cut grass and coffee and boy.

When you chanced a glance at your driver, he looked the way you felt, like he was at peace with what was about to happen, like it was all finally okay.

His cheek was still angry, pink and lilac turning to blue and red overnight and he licked his split lip a little self consciously upon feeling your eyes on him.

You thought he might tell you to quit it, to stop staring but Steve was soft around the edges, maybe from sleep, maybe from the relief you both felt when you approached the edge of town. The sign that told you both you were leaving Hawkins edged closer as Steve drove, the mocking “come back soon!” staring at you both.

It felt like a challenge, it felt like a dare.

Steve spoke then, the engine thrumming underneath you both as he flicked honey brown eyes towards you.

“You sure?”

You stared at the road ahead before finding the boy’s gaze, a quiet determination coming over you. You think he saw it, or maybe he felt it - like the air around you both changed - because he smiled, a little crooked because of his cut but it made you grin back.

Morning had hardly broken and the sky was still a watercolour wash of pastel, but you were wide awake.

You nodded and Steve’s grin was blinding, summer and sun in a smile.

You drove as the sun came up, until the skies turned from peach to blue, the air growing warmer and the view outside your window had less houses. Steve hit the highway and picked up some speed, windows still down and the wind rushing at your faces as you left behind the old water tower, the trailer park on the outskirts of town, Mr Lumson’s old farm.

Hawkins led out into open fields, green and gold and yellow, flat land broken up by old barns, forgotten tractors, a paddock of horses and cows. The road took you through other towns, some smaller, some bigger, gas stations with only one working pump, a vendor on the side of the road selling fruit and homemade iced tea.

It all felt a little surreal, like you were daydreaming in the best kind of way. Because the wind threaded through your fingers as you held your hand out of the open window, it nipped at your open palm and you could smell the fresh air, the pine trees. Because you were sitting in the front seat of Steve Harrington’s car and he was driving you far away from home. You weren't even sure where you were going, you didn’t think Steve really knew either, but everything you loved was packed into the duffle bag in the boy’s trunk - and there wasn’t much.

Some clothes, a few mixtapes, a few half empty toiletries in a make up bag you’d taken from underneath your aunt’s bathroom sink. A tin of pencils, your sketchbook, a few rings - all gold, some important, some not. All the money that you had. It wasn’t like the boy was a stranger, he wasn’t, not really. No one could feel like a stranger in a town like Hawkins, it was too small, people were too close and someone’s grandma always knew someone else’s cousin. You’d grown up with Steve, not by his side, but in the same circle - he’d been in all your classes from kindergarten to high school, sharing friends and the same drug dealer.

You were friendly with Robin Buckley, your aunt and you lived a few doors down from Nancy Wheeler, you babysat for the Sinclair siblings before Lucas moved up to high school and you were both invited to the same parties. You knew he worked in Family Video, you knew he’d chosen not to go to college after graduation. You knew his parents were always gone, you knew he was softer than he seemed and you knew that the reason for his back eye was most likely his father.

You knew he kissed like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs, like he was trying to tell you all his secrets.

And maybe, despite not knowing his favourite colour, his favourite food, his favourite song, you had the feeling you were more similar than you ever would’ve guessed, that you both shared that awful pulsing ache in your chest that there wasn’t a home for either of you anywhere.

So when Steve pulled into a parking lot just off of the highway, somewhere near the edge of Illinois, you didn’t hesitate to nod when he asked if you were hungry, to follow him into the old diner with its neon sign and pink walls. It was nearing eight o’clock and the world was a little more alive now, the roads busier, the diner smelling like coffee and maple bacon.

You found it easy to slide into a booth across from the boy, easier to let your gaze meet his, small smiles playing on both of your mouths. You ordered a tea, Steve a coffee and a plate of pancakes each and when the waitress scratched down your choices, she clicked her tongue, smiled and called you both a ‘cute little pair.’

No one really spoke until there was caffeine in your systems, bones warmed by hot drinks and the drizzle of syrup that you licked from lips and forks. It was a nice kind of silence whilst you ate, the kind you were sure you could get used to, the kind that could carry you across states, across the country.

It was even nicer when Steve wiped his mouth with his napkin, tapped your foot with his underneath the table and raised a brow in question.

“So, where d’you wanna go?”

“Don’t you have somewhere in mind?” you asked him. This was his plan after all, he’d been the one to ask you, to invite you along.

Steve shook his head slow, shoulders shrugging as if the destination had never occurred to him.

You sipped the last of your tea, watching the boy over the rim of the cup and he could tell you were taking your time to think. There was an ache in your chest that felt like the answer, that felt a little like the idea of home.

“California,” you said, voice softer than you wanted it to be. “Carmel-by-the-Sea.”

The sounds of the diner filled the silence between you two as Steve considered your response. The jingle of the cash drawer, spoons stirring in sugar, the pop of the grill behind the open kitchen window.

But then the boy nodded and took another sip of his coffee. There was a soft sincerity colouring his voice, his pretty features, when he asked you: “What’s there?”

You felt a little embarrassed, so you looked at your almost empty plate, sticky syrup on the cheap ceramic, a quarter of your last pancake that Steve had helped you eat.

“The ocean,” you mumbled, nose scrunched as you chanced a glance back up at him. “Never seen it before.”

You didn’t want to tell him that you hadn’t actually left Hawkins since you moved there when you were three years old. You thought that maybe Steve knew that, that he could tell, that he could guess. Because you were living with your aunt, a woman who didn’t really care, but the only family member left in your life that cared enough. Holiday’s weren’t a thing.

“There’s a lot of ocean before Carmel-by-the-Sea,” Steve smiled, a little teasing, a little curious. “What’s there?” he asked again.

Your lips twisted, a downturn of your mouth that you tried to hide because he had figured you out way too quickly. This stranger who wasn't a stranger, this boy who wasn’t really a friend. He was your last kiss though, your companion for the next who knew how many weeks.

But still, it was day one and you were still guarding your secrets, yourself. So you shrugged as if you didn’t know the answer, like there wasn’t one to give and Steve was smart enough not to press. You turned to him instead, sticky fork in your hand, wielded like a weapon that you needed to protect yourself with.

You thought of all the questions you wanted to ask him and they rattled in your head, in your chest, making you feel panicked. You didn’t want to upset him, you didn’t want to cross any lines that hadn’t been set yet.

Why are you leaving town? Does your parents know you’re gone? Do they care? Did your dad hit you? Why did you kiss me? Are we gonna talk about that?

“Why me?” you asked instead and you cringed a little when it came out like an argument, voice a little too hard and harsh.

But Steve just smiled again, fingertip tracing around the rim of his now empty mug and you were almost sure that there was a faint flush of pink high on his cheeks. He shrugged a little shyly before he flicked honey brown eyes up to yours. There it was again, that look, that unbearably soft sincere look, like he wasn’t about to judge you.

“You’re the only other person I know with nothin’ to lose.”

You were a little speechless.

Another half shrug, a lopsided smile that matched the morning sun that was rising in the window behind him.

“The same as me.”

Something in your chest stuttered. Maybe your heart stopped, just for a half a second, maybe less, because something skipped a beat at the realisation that the boy knew you more than you thought he did. It’s why you told him yes, why you nodded your head in that strangers kitchen the night before, lips a breath away from Steve’s, both of you lit up in red, green and gold.

Because with a dad that wasn’t around when you were born, a twenty something stoner with three jobs and no time for a kid, you weren’t sure you knew what it was like to have something that you’d miss when it was gone. It only took three years for your mom to feel the same way, bored of her daughter and the life in a small town in Virginia. You weren’t even sure which town.

Too young to remember it as a home, your mom had dropped you with her sister in Hawkins, an aunt that had no time for a kid, but took you in nonetheless. You were sure there had been a false promise of a quick return. Your mom telling your aunt that she just needed a minute, just some time to get her head straight, didn’t she understand? You were too much hard work. You were difficult.

She told the other woman a week, two tops. And then you were celebrating your fourth birthday, your fifth, your sixth and every one after that with your aunt who never wanted you but never had the heart to say. She bought you a cake from the bakery on Main every year, bought you a new book wrapped in red paper and some cash in a card.

And every year you smiled and thanked her, brushed a kiss across her cheek and took a slice of cake to your room, where you watched the sprinkles melt and colour the white icing, where you pushed the dollars into the tin underneath your mattress.

It had never been enough to buy a car, or a plane ticket. It wasn’t enough to take you where you wanted to go, not even close. But it could help you buy gas and food, maybe a motel room here and there. ‘Cause now you had Steve and that was a statement that you were sure you’d never get used to saying.

You smiled at the boy, a soft laugh leaving your lips in a humourless huff and you nodded, pushing the last square of pancake around your plate.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “nothing to lose.”

“Do your parents know that you’re doing… this?” you gestured between the two of you, glanced out of the windows to his maroon coloured car sitting in the dusty parking lot. You were already both two hours from home, maybe more. “Do they know you’re gone?”

Steve grinned and you could tell it was sharp, without any happiness. The boy sat opposite you with his still sleep mussed hair, big brown eyes and nothing more than a similar sized rucksack in his trunk, right beside yours.

He thought of his room, empty and blue, a couple of books taken from his shelves and a pillow from his bed - the flattest one, old and in a chequered case, smelling like a home that was only really a house.

The kitchen was empty when he left, the living room too, the only framed photos were shots taken in a studio, white backgrounds, pressed shirts, his father’s cold hand on his shoulder. Steve stopped smiling in the third one.

He’d locked the door, stared at the key as he stood on his porch and toyed with the idea of taking it off of the chain it shared with the key to his car. He could post it, leave it on the doormat in the hall for his parents to come home to. He didn’t know when they’d return. He didn’t know when he’d come back, if he would at all.

Steve didn’t know where he was going.

He posted his resignation into the letterbox of Family Video on the way to your house, slowed down when he drove through Robin’s street, wondering if the upset would be worth getting to give her one last hug. He’d spent the night before on the phone to her, hours and hours of frustration and a little anger, upset and unshed tears before he finally got his best friend to understand.

She made him promise he’d come back. She begged him. So Steve nodded even though the girl couldn’t see. He swallowed the lump in his throat and told her yes, that he’d come back, that he promised.

Steve really hoped he didn’t break it.

He thought about telling you that his parents wouldn’t care, that his parent’s probably wouldn’t even notice. The landline could go unanswered for weeks on end and his parent’s wouldn’t think to get an early flight home. He could drive to Europe and back, take some trains, some boats, swim across the English Channel and return home before they noticed he was gone. But all of that sounded a little sad, and Steve reckoned there was plenty of time for sadness later.

So for now, he shrugged, waved a hand dismissively and tugged his wallet from his jean pocket. He smiled when you chucked a few bills on the table first, not bothering to argue or play polite, ‘cause you were both more than aware money was going to be tight if you were going to make it across the country together. And besides, he told himself, this wasn’t a date. This was an escape and it didn’t matter if he knew that you kissed like you wanted to prove something, that you tasted like cherries and something else sweet.

He wasn’t gonna talk about that.

You both crossed the border into Illinois without much fanfare, the windows rolled down and the highway stretching out long ahead of you. The fields on either side of you were undisturbed, the sun blazing down on wide, green pastures, acres of gold wheat and every now and then, you’d pass an old barn that sat forgotten. The sign that welcomed you to the new state seemed a little monumental, despite the fact that the green backing of it was sun bleached and faded, but it meant that you and Steve were no longer in Indiana, no longer home.

It felt good, it felt dizzying and with every mile Steve drove you both across the state line, your smile grew and so did Steve’s. He was beaming when you glanced over at him, hair wild from the wind that funnelled through the open windows, the car going just a tiny bit faster that it was supposed to. But you merely turned up the music, fingers gentle on the dial, whatever mixtape Steve had made pumping through the speakers with static and crackles.

It made the boy beam, and he matched the summer outside, warmth and sunshine in his chest, a new heatwave trapped in his eyes, an adventure waiting on his lips. He was a sight to behold and it made your chest burst, so you blinked, turned back looking out the window instead.

But you couldn’t help the burst of laughter that ripped prettily from your throat when Steve started singing, not all that badly, you noted. He garnered your attention once more, like he wanted it, like he liked it. He didn’t care that you were watching, that you were staring, his hands drumming out a beat on the wheel, a little off rhythm, his hair in his eyes, chin tilted up to the sun as he crooned.

“There's a room where the light won't find you!” The boy was almost yelling to be heard over the roar of the car, and you were laughing through strands of wind whipped hair. “Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down!”

You sang the next line with him, much quieter and shyer than Steve did. But the words held the same weight to them whether they were whispered or yelled, and goosebumps tracked up your bare arms as you let them leave your lips.

“When they do I'll be right behind you.”

Maybe it meant nothing, maybe it was just a song, just a band that Steve liked, that he put on a mixtape. He was just a boy, an almost friend, someone you kissed just once. Just a boy who asked you to run away with him, a boy with honey brown eyes, messy hair, freckles that looked like the start of summer on his cheeks.

Maybe it meant nothing. It was just a song, you told yourself again. But then Steve looked over at you and grinned again, that same slow, soft smile you were already becoming so used to. Maybe it could mean everything.

You rolled through small towns and dust roads, listening to Tears For Fears and wondering if your aunt had woken up and found your note yet. The morning became afternoon and the heat rose with the sun, heating the asphalt, the air, you.

It had been over an hour, almost two, when you turned to Steve, cheek pushed to the fabric of the seat. Your gaze settled over him, familiarising yourself with the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. He had some stubble now, a shadow to his cheeks that hadn’t been there the night he kissed you. Pouty lips, impossibly pink and soft - easy to kiss, you remembered. Eyes that kissed in the corners, always sleepy looking, thick lashes, honey and brown sugar in the sun. Hair that was always a little wild, curling at the nape of his neck, around his ears.

Steve Harrington was a very pretty boy, you summarised.

You cleared your throat when he caught you staring, a pair of Ray-Ban’s perched over his eyes now and despite the dark glass, you could see the way his eyes stuck on yours for just a second, before the road stole back his attention.

“So uh, what’s the plan?” you asked, trying for light and casual.

“Cali, remember? Carmel, the ocean, right?” Steve looked confused, and the pucker between his brows only deepened when you laughed, not unkindly.

“We’re a long way from there, hot shot,” you smiled, gesturing to the road ahead of you both. “What’re we doing in the meantime?”

Steve parted his lips, thinking. Then he laughed too, soft like you did, and waved a hand. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Why, uh, why don’t we stop at town soon? We can get some supplies, take a walk, find somewhere to stay and figure out where we wanna go?”

You nodded before rooting around in the glovebox, nosy and entirely unapologetic about it. You scoffed, eyeing the boy with an air of disbelief.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Do you even have a map, Harrington?”

“No.”

----------

It’s how you and Steve found yourselves in Springfield, a bustling town that was the second choice to Chicago, or first, where Steve was concerned. The boy had wrinkled his nose when you’d suggested it offhandedly, and he’d made a comment about avoiding the cities that were too big, too loud, too much.

Steve wanted quiet, he wanted something slow, peaceful. He wanted rolling hills, he wanted valley’s, he wanted to see green and blue, he wanted sunsets, sunrises, he wanted to see the stars, home cooked meals in tiny diners, coffee on the hood of his car in front of a lake.

So Steve parked up on a street corner in the middle of town, the sidewalks busy enough that no one stared at the two of you, busy enough that no one realised that you didn’t belong. But the crowds and bustle meant that Steve stuck close to your side, a hand always hovering over the small of your back, scared to touch but unwilling to lose you in a new place.

The streets were lined with diners and some small businesses; hairdressers, barbers, bookshops and nail salons. There was a fancy restaurant or two, a dentist's surgery, a pharmacy that looked straight out of the 1950’s and a car garage that sat on the other corner, four gas pumps and a bored looking attendant.

The sidewalks were lined with small trees, striped canopies over the window displays, neon signs over twenty four hour diners and motels showing their vacancies.

It was enough for the first day, you thought. Enough to keep you busy, enough to get started. So you tapped Steve’s shoulder and pointed to a small store across the street, one that looked like you could find what you needed in it.

It seemed like a knee jerk reaction when Steve’s fingers slid gently around your wrist as you crossed the road. You didn’t pull away, you didn’t say anything but he was blushing when you looked at him, the skin where he’d touched you burning in response.

He gave you a sheepish smile when he let go, pink on his cheeks and one hand scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. He didn’t look at you when he explained, “sorry, I uh, I hang about with kids too much.”

There was no time to respond before Steve was shuffling into the shop, the bell above the door tinkling gently. You managed to find a roadmap of the states, each major highway inked in bright red and you traced route sixty six, a small smile on your face.

Your finger ran over the folds and creases, found the Pacific Coast highway and stared at the blue on the page, the dips in the lines that showed off beaches and coves.

Steve came to stand at your shoulder, head above your own as he watched you stare. He saw your smile, the almost hopeful look in your eyes.

His voice was quiet and soft when he said, “it’ll take us what, two weeks? Maybe three depending on where you wanna stop off?”

“Me?” You scrunched your nose, embarrassed to have been given so much say in a trip that wasn’t ever really your idea. “What about you? Aren't there places you’d like to go to? To see?”

Steve looked a little taken aback, like he’d never really thought about it. He shrugged, gazed back down at the map in your hands and moved a little closer so he could stare at the states, the roads, the lakes marked out in patches of blue.

“I didn’t really think of where I wanted to go,” he told you quietly, “just that I knew I wanted to leave.”

You were quiet as you processed the boy’s words, your eyes a little sad as you looked back over your shoulder at him, at his bruised eye and cut lip. So you nodded, like you understood, folded the map back up and placed it on the cash desk before you grabbed a small book from the display next to the till, one that was titled ‘1001 Things To See In America.’

Steve didn’t say anything but you saw him smile, that shy stretch of his lips, the same one he gave you after he kissed you. It showed off a dimple on his right cheek, it made his lashes kiss at the corners, nose a little wrinkled.

He looked really pretty.

He grabbed some bottles of soda as you wrestled with your purse, stretching over your shoulder again to place them on the corner, a big bag of chips quickly following with some dollar bills. Steve grabbed the bag of snacks, took the book you picked and tucked it under his arm, grinning at you as he headed for the door.

“Ready?”

It was absolutely terrifying. But you nodded and followed Steve out the door.

—————

“Did you know that Kansas has the biggest ball of twine?”

Steve was stretched out on the grass of Lincoln Park, the book you picked in his hands as he grinned at you over its pages.

You snorted. “Sounds riveting. Here,” you threw him a pen from your bag, taking your sketchbook out with it. “Start circling stuff that you wanna see, but no fifty foot balls of twine, please.”

“It’s actually only ten feet,” Steve told you, flicking through the pages absentmindedly.

“That’s disappointing.”

It was the boy’s turn to laugh and he took a sip of his soda before he tilted his chin at the paper you were holding, craning his neck to inspect.

“D’you draw?”

You flushed: your immediate reaction to being asked that question because it wasn’t something you showed off. You shrugged, held the pages a little closer to your chest and leaned back against the oak tree behind you.

“Not well,” you muttered, squinting your eyes against the sun. You watched as Steve watched you, how he took in your closed off body, the protective hand you held over the blank page. “S’just something to do, y’know?”

So he didn’t press, didn’t push, just merely nodded and went back to the book, tracing the letters of a title you couldn’t see. It was peaceful, easy, a bag of spicy chips laid open between you, your knees tucked up so you could put pen to paper and sketch out the mess of the boy’s hair in secret.

If Steve knew you were drawing him, he didn’t say. But he had to know, ‘cause your gaze was on him as much as it was your book and every now and then, your eyes met and he smiled.

“What about The Ozarks?” He said, pushing the book over to you, his finger tapped a photo of sprawling forests, cerulean blue springs hidden amongst them. There were people in kayaks, swimming, jumping from cliff tops. “Looks nice, right?”

You hummed in agreement, nodding. “It does, it looks super pretty.” You twisted your pen to your paper, drew in the small mole on his cheek. “That’s Missouri, yeah?”

He nodded, taking the pen you’d given in and circling something on the page, bookmarking it for later.

“About six hours away, if you wanna take the scenic route,” he mumbled, the map in his other hand, the edges of it curling in the light breeze.

“Always take the scenic route, Harrington,” you commented lightly, your lips twisting in concentration as you shaded in the slope of the boy’s jaw. “That sounds like a plan though, at least, a good start to one.”

“Noted,” he smirked and after a few beats of silence, he stretched his leg over the grass to yours, nudging at your foot with his trainer. He nodded at the paper that was still tucked against your knees, hidden against your chest. “Do I get to see?”

You baulked.

“Since it's me and all,” he grinned.

Weirdly, you knew that if you said no, Steve wouldn’t protest or argue. You weren’t sure how, but you were so, so sure of that. Maybe that’s why you chewed at your lip and turned the page, letting him take in the dark lines and soft shadows of his own face.

You’d drawn him from the torso up, t-shirt crumpled against the grass, hair wild from the drive, from the wind, his eyes downcast at the book he was holding.

Steve stared, silent before he coughed out an almost embarrassed sound laughing, eyes flicking between you and the page.

“Wow,” he mumbled, leaning closer to look. You could feel your cheeks heat up, the flush spreading across your chest. “Bruises and all, huh?”

You grimaced, regretting shading in the cut and marks around his eyes and lip, pulling back the paper and wondering if you’d crossed a line.

“Sorry! I’m- fuck, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-” you were rambling and it was awful. God, you felt awful.

“No! No, no,” Steve assured you, “don’t be, it’s amazing, shit… it’s really good.”

You were burning. “Thanks,” you mumbled, staring at anything but the boy. “You have a good face.”

Steve grinned.

“To draw,” you told him, voice a little too sharp and high. “Fuck.”

But Steve was already laughing, although it didn’t feel like it was aimed at you and the sound wasn’t cruel. He didn’t really look at you when he gathered up his things, the map and the book, his empty soda bottle.

“You have a good face too.”

You were pretty sure you were still flushed by the time late evening crawled around, dinner was in an old diner with sticky leather booths, a fuschia sign outside that blinked and flickered as the sun went down. It took a little while after that to find a motel with vacancies, the two of you driving around in the warm night air, the windows still rolled down.

The town smelled like leftover cinnamon from bakeries that were closing, fumes from exhausts, garlic and rosemary from the restaurants that only got busier the more you drove around the block.

Eventually you spotted a sign a few streets down, close to the park you’d spent your afternoon in. A pretty, baby pink building with a red sign above it, green curtains lining the windows and the word “VACANCIES” flashing at you both from the main door.

So Steve parked the car and brushed you away when he took both your bags out the trunk, slinging them over one shoulder like it was no big deal. Night was stretching in and despite not being all that far from home, the excitement of a new town, a new state, was starting to wear you both down.

Sleep tugged at your eyes as the stars came out and once again, Steve guided you into the quiet motel with a gentle hand that didn’t quite touch your back.

He spoke quietly and politely to the woman at the desk, looking at you questioningly when she asked how many rooms. The boy sputtered and stopped, eyes in yours as he let you take the lead.

There it was again, that heat in your cheeks that seemed to be becoming a frequent feeling around Steve Harrington. But he waited patiently, the woman less so, and you sounded far too quiet when you said, “one, please. A twin.”

Steve didn’t say anything as you took the keys from the desk, slid the money you’d both put together into the woman’s hand. It wasn’t until you were both standing in the too small elevator that you smiled at him a little sheepishly, arms crossed over your chest and said:

“I didn’t wanna be in a room alone.”

The boy nodded and smiled, like it was okay, like it was fine. And maybe it was. ‘Cause he put your bag down on the single bed for you when you entered the room, his on the other and told you that you could use the shower first, like this was the most normal Tuesday night.

The summer heat, leftover sunscreen and the hours in the car were sticking to your skin and the thought of a cool shower and some fresh pyjamas seemed far too enticing, so you did just that.

The spray was a welcome sensation, a little weak, a little pour than a dribble but it was better than you could’ve hoped for considering you had no plans to even be in a tiny motel in Illinois until yesterday at ten o’clock.

The party seemed an age ago, in someone's kitchen on Hawthorne Street, groups of strangers, some friends, colours in the sky and spilled beer on the kitchen tiles. A boy, familiar face, a new kiss, asking you to leave town.

You stared at the baby pink tiles, eyes a little wide as the reality of the situation set in. Guilt rolled in your stomach as you realised your aunt would have most definitely found your note by now.

Maybe she’d feel as free as you did.

The buzz of the television played through the thin walls as you got dried and dressed, skin still damp as you pulled on old shorts, a too big shirt that had a photo of Prince on the front, some splashes of dried paint on the hem.

Steve was lounging on his bed when you padded out barefoot, suddenly a lot more shy than you thought you would be. But he smiled and gestured to a bottle of water he’d left on the nightstand for you, brushing gently past your shoulder with his own towel as he went to wash the day away.

The low lights in the room were a little too warm, pink tinged and making everything look rosy. Steve had cracked a window, enough to let the summer air in, a cooler breeze now the sun had gone down, the sky streaked with leftover indigo clouds and you could hear the buzz of cicadas from the park behind you.

It felt a little dreamlike, a little surreal.

And then as you were tucked into bed, the sheets a little scratchy, Steve walked back out in shorts and a threadbare shirt, hair damp and falling in his eyes.

He pulled a pillow from his bag, a sad, flat looking one that still had its pillowcase on it from home. He chucked it onto his bed before tumbling in after it and he turned to look at you, expression almost unsure.

“You okay?”

You shuffled, cheek pressed to the motel pillow and between you both, the light flickered once, twice, sending peach coloured shadows across the room.

“Yeah,” you whispered, scared to break the silence that surrounded you. “How come?”

Steve shrugged, body lazy against the mattress and he stretched, humming in content as he did. “I dunno,” he whispered back, voice scratchy and soft with sleep. “I guess I just wanted to ask. Make sure you still want to do this, y’know?”

You smiled, appreciating the gesture, and you blinked at him, sleep tugging at you more and more. “Yeah, ‘course. The Ozarks right?”

The boy grinned and nodded, eyes shy and gazing at you from under his lashes. He pushed at his sheets with his toes, too warm, shoving them down his legs. You tried not to stare, not at the muscles in his thighs, the small scar on his ankle that shone silver in the low light.

It was quiet until Steve whispered ‘goodnight’, leaning out of his bed to flick the light off, bathing you both in black. Outside, the town kept going, soft music coming from somewhere unknown, the murmured conversation from some people at the vending machines in the parking lot below your room.

You don’t know why you asked it. Maybe it was because it was dark and you were suddenly a little unsure, maybe you just wanted to know a little more about the boy in the bed next to you - like you could collect some more pockets of the boy’s life, like you could find out enough to call him a friend, maybe, eventually.

“Hey Steve?” You waited until the boy made a little noise in the dark, signalling that he was still awake. “Tell me a secret?”

There was a beat of silence, one that made the room feel warmer, summer sneaking in from the outside. You heard the sheets shuffle, the rasp of skin on cotton.

“My dad gave me this black eye.”

His words were heavy, the way only a secret could feel. But it sounded like there was some relief colouring Steve’s whisper, like he felt lighter the minute he said the words.

“I’m sorry,” your response felt silly no matter how much you meant it.

“Tell me one too.”

You swallowed, paused, thinking. The hot prick of tears wet the corner of one eye and you were thankful for the dark, for the night. You brushed it away until it smeared into the mess of your hair, right by your ear.

“Uh, I realised last week that,” you coughed, cleared your throat, sounding more strained than you wanted to, “that I can’t really remember what my mom looks like. Not unless I looked at a photo.”

More silence, still warm, maybe hotter from the burn that lit up your skin. It felt a little like shame, maybe guilt, like your three year old mind was supposed to cling to the memory of the woman who left you, like you were supposed to remember the shape of her nose, the smell of her perfume, the colour that hid in the middle of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said too, and he sounded like he meant it as much as you did.

You both slept after that, each other’s secrets clutched to your chest and you dreamt of roadmaps and a blue, blue lake, where a brown eyed boy was waiting for you.

----

KO-FI ♡

#superb steve harrington series

963 notes · View notes

superbfics · 7 months ago

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Why don't I live in Chicago next to Steve? Why? Whywhywhywhy?! I find myself day dreaming about it far too much now, that's for sure. Thanks Leighanne 🙄

I'm so happy we found out a little more about Steve, despite it being a bomb dropped. I can't wait to read the next part!!!

It’s obvious he barely got home from work by the black slacks that still cover his long legs, but the dress shirt is missing. Instead the white tank top he wears underneath is all that’s there. Tucked in so it fits tight across his torso, his dark chest hair peeks out the top with a silver chain shining against his bronzed skin. His forearms flex tugging on the tennis ball trapped in Bandit’s tight grip, his sock and slide covered feet plant on the ground for added balance. The smile on his face you swear is brighter than the sun that isn’t hidden by any clouds today and you didn’t realize how much you missed it.

HE'S SO HOT GOD I'M GONNA DIE

You play with Bandit’s ears to try and distract him as you do your best to get the rubber ball out of his iron tight bite, completely losing focus on why you came over here in the first place when you succeed and throw it towards their front door.

Hahahaha I would so get distracted by the dog too & I love how Steve is frustrated by our causal attitude and also totally falling in love with how much we love Bandit too 🥹

“Are you sure? I’m not interrupting anything tonight?” You hope he doesn’t pick up on the hidden ulterior motives in your question, but the smirk he gives you tells you he does.

“No honey, I’m all yours.”

He’s closer now, and you notice his five o’clock shadow is as dark as it was the first day you met. Salt and pepper covering his sharp jaw. The faded fresh scent of his deodorant mixes with the spice of his cologne, and the sweat that kissed his skin outside. You want to bury your face in his shirt and inhale.

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap three/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Mr. Fix It

summary: when your kitchen sink breaks, you ask your new ‘friend’ for help.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. lots of pining, and steve opens up a little about his past.

authors note: this chapter was a struggle for me, lots of overthinking and rewriting. I hope you guys like it though 💗

🌇 chapter one | chapter two -> chapter four

Series Masterlist/Playlist/The tune:

Early June - A Thursday

Your first week as a waitress at The Whale was a whirlwind, long hours on your feet leaving you exhausted every time you climbed your staircase each night. Dishes and laundry piling up around your apartment, so when you finally have a day off it is dedicated to playing catch up. The smell of coffee fills your apartment as you stretch looking out your living room window. New curtains ready to be hung leaning against the wall.

His car is gone, the normal work day in full swing for most of the city. You haven’t seen him since that night in the alley, your schedules seeming completely opposite now. Part of you hopes maybe today you’ll at least catch a glimpse of your new friend and his cute dog.

Most of the day is spent going up and down your stairs to the shared laundry room in the basement of the building. In between loads is filled with distractions of things to do in your room and whatever you left playing on your TV. Your eyes actively avoid the dishes that have piled in your sink while you actually fold your laundry. It is only when you don’t have any more excuses that you finally drag your pink fuzzy slipper covered feet over to the one chore you’ve been dreading all day.

“I gotta get better at washing as I use,” you grumble like every other time you find yourself here.

You only get two plates and a bowl deep when the sink starts to clog, groaning annoyedly you flip the switch of the disposal only to be met with the sound of metal grinding against metal. A smell resembling burning plastic hits your nose and you’re quick to flip it off, the water still refusing to drain. Slamming down on the faucet handle, you wait a couple of minutes before daring to reach in to see if a piece of silverware got stuck in there. When your fingertips meet nothing but warm water, panic starts to set in.

You flip the switch one more time out of curiosity, and the same unbearable sound drowns out your TV. You huff turning it off, hands finding your hips as you look around for a solution you know you aren’t going to find without calling someone. Bandit’s bark catches your ears, and you hate that all your frustrations seem to disappear at the thought of seeing him.

You pad over to your window, eyes going big and head dropping at the sight that’s waiting for you.

Of fucking course.

It’s somehow even hotter than it looked outside, and you immediately regret not changing out of your warm slippers, but he’s already spotted you with an offering of a friendly wave with his big hand. He gets the ball away from Bandit, losing his footing surprised, shock painting his features before the dog starts jumping on him. Steve raises it over his head, keeping Bandit too distracted to see you at the gate that he’s signaling for you to let yourself in from.

Your hand shakes a little when you unhook the latch, nerves from never being at his house before and not seeing him for the past week try to get the best of you. He smiles when he looks at you from over the rim of his sunglasses letting Bandit win finally but it’s too late for toys when he spots you. Bounding over with big paws, Bandit wastes no time jumping on you, making you stumble back a little before catching him in your arms.

“Bandit! Come on, don’t knock her down,” Steve scolds, but those pretty giggles that he loves so much come out when his dog starts licking your cheek and it tells him all he needs to know.

“Hi buddy, I missed you too.” You grin, your animal voice coming out only a little when you feel Steve’s stare fixated on you.

Bandit wags his tail jumping down satisfied before grabbing his ball again bringing it back to you to continue the game you interrupted.

“Hey tough girl.” Steve smirks shoving his hands in his pockets watching you accept his dog’s invitation. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Oh my god, my sink!” You gasp, your hand covering your embarrassed grin.

Steve’s eyes widen, his eye brows marrying together in the middle with concern.

“Is it flooding?!” He asks incredulously as Bandit trots back over carefree.

“No, not flooding.” You assure him going back in for the toy, and you can tell your nonchalance is getting to him. “My disposal is making sounds and it smells like plastic burning every time I run it, so the water won’t drain.” You get the ball away from Bandit cause he lets you, only continuing your explanation after you throw it again.

“I was hoping my good friend and neighbor could come check it out?” You try to lighten the mood with a smile but the concern never leaves his face, the pink that dusts his cheeks tells you he’s not unaffected by your ‘charms’ though.

“It’s probably something stuck in the pipes, let me get some tools and I'll come back with you.” He speaks like he’s sure he knows that’s it, snapping his fingers at Bandit to get him to wrap it up.

“Are you sure? I’m not interrupting anything tonight?” You hope he doesn’t pick up on the hidden ulterior motives in your question, but the smirk he gives you tells you he does.

“No honey, I’m all yours.”

It’s strange having him in your apartment again, and god you wish he had put on a real shirt when he got his tool box. The tops of his shoulders are covered in even more freckles, the tint of redness from the sun becoming obvious in your harsh kitchen light. The muscles in his arms twitch in the cold air of your AC that works harder with the heat of two bodies in your small space.

His gaze falls on your full sink and you immediately regret going to get his help. Silently cursing your hormones for getting the best of you.

“Sorry, obviously I was trying to do them. It’s been a long week, I started a new job serving and-“ embarrassment makes blood rush to your cheeks as you go to move past him in an attempt to clean some of it up.

“Hey, you’re fine.” He grabs your arm before you can make it, long fingers wrapping around you in a firm grip but still soft enough for you to pull away if you really wanted to. “I’m not judging you.”

His lips tug into a warm smile when you don’t try and break away, the gold specs in his eyes lighting up while his thumb brushes against your heated skin in a soothing motion. It only grows wider watching how your shoulders give in to his whims with a slump.

“Just know I was about to do them!” You argue weakly with a point of your finger and he just nods, the corners of his mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh at your distress.

“How else would you know your sink is broken?” His voice wavers when he tries to play along with a straight face, but it becomes impossible when he catches the roll of your eyes. You do that a lot to him. He likes it.

“Better watch yourself Steve,” you warn with a grin wrapped around your words that hold no real threat, but it’s hard to fight it when he still hasn’t let you go.

“You shouldn’t threaten the guy that’s here to fix your sink honey. That’s not very smart,” he tsks looking down the edge of his nose at you with squinted eyes, “you’re lucky I’m so nice.”

You immediately feel the loss when he drops your arm and if it wasn’t for the wink that followed, you would have missed it more.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you tease trying to play off how flustered you are but the slight shake in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed, confidence smoldering in his stare before his teeth come out in a blinding smile.

“Let me go take a look, see what I can do. Your dishes aren’t offending me, I promise.” He does his best to ease the last bit of self consciousness still hanging onto the way you look over at the small mess before walking away with tools clanking in the metal box loudly behind him.

It had been almost an hour with him like this.

He’s on his back, long legs extending over the small space of your kitchen tile. Slides kicked to the side, white sock covered feet wiggling with his movements under your sink. The top of him is hidden, the tank top that was tucked in now loose and pulling up, giving you the hint of his happy trail. You try not to stare at the way the muscles in his arm harden with each twist of his wrist, or the grunts that leave him every now and then.

You find out he works in marketing for The Cubs and used to play baseball himself in high school, laughing when you confess how much you don’t like sports. He promises to take you to a game sometime saying he knows you’ll have fun and you try not to think too much into it. He knows you're rolling your eyes again when you answer “sure” with a smile in your voice. He lets you complain about your first week as a server, surprising you when he asks questions because he’s actually listening.

Metal clanks loudly, cutting you off and drowning out the playlist you chose to fill any empty gaps in conversation that never seemed to happen. An “I’m fine” coming out from under the sink just a little too even to really sound ‘fine’.

There’s a beat before you see him reach for the pliers at his hip, readjusting like he’s set his sights on the culprit.

“Wait, I don’t think you ever told me - hmmpf - what - come on - restaurant you work at?” He readjusts again.

“The Whale,” you give him an answer, hypnotized by his ability to multitask like this.

“Oh, my wife loved that place.” He says it casually like he didn’t just drop a Hiroshima sized bomb on you, or maybe he does and that's why he chose to do it hidden from sight.

You're thankful he can’t see the way your jaw drops, or the disappointment that fills your eyes. There’s a beat of silence before you answer, trying to hide the shock in your voice.

“Wife? I didn’t know Bandit had a Mom.” You look up at the ceiling, mouthing the work ‘fuck’ into the void.

There’s another clank of metal followed by a ‘there you are.’

“Erm - I mean - umm, technically I got Bandit after - I didn’t want to use ex wife, I just don’t know the proper term to say I’ve been widowed for five years.” He grunts one more time before he starts shimming out. “I do think I found the source of your clog though.”

Your favorite stray clings to his forehead when you get to see his face again, a pleased smile pushing his cheeks up despite the new information he just told you as he holds the ring you thought you lost during the move.

“My ring!” You gasp, jumping off your couch, the opal stone catching in the setting sunlight.

“Clearly, you do, do your dishes.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you laughing when you shove his shoulder lightly snatching your jewelry back.

“You’re hilarious Steve.” The tightness that had formed in your chest relaxes, his smile becoming contagious.

He likes the way you say his name and the way your lips twist up every time you do. It’s sweet enough to ease the guilt that he’s fought with since the day he met you.

“I know,” he huffs as he pushes himself up, reminding you how broad he is when he’s back on his feet. “You should’ve seen my speech at the Legends of the Ball gala last year.”

He gets that eye roll he didn’t get to see earlier, and god he doesn’t want to leave yet but when you slip the ring onto that finger he knows it’s time to go. For now.

He clears his throat before turning around to test his work. Flipping the switch, the sound it’s supposed to make returns, the water in the sink draining quickly.

“Annnd, all back to normal.” His grin is proud when he turns it off. “‘Now, let me clean my mess up and I’ll get out of your hair.” Mirroring his own words he finally pushes his back and you see the dusty pink that covers his ears when he slips his feet back into his slides.

“I feel like I can’t let you leave without offering you a drink or something?” You know all you have in the fridge is some rosé you got on sale at Aldi, but you needed a reason for him to stay.

“How about this, you can bring me back some of those fish tacos one night this week and we’ll call it even.” He can’t look at you when he suggests it, hoping his ploy to see you again wasn’t obvious while he busies himself with putting all his tools away.

“I think that’s more than doable, I need to thank you for finding my favorite ring too, maybe you should pick a dessert while we’re at it.” You bite your bottom lip when his eyes meet yours with a lopsided grin.

“I’m a big fan of cannoli’s.” He snaps the clasps of his tool box closed before doing a once over to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. Not that, that would be a bad thing if he did, you’d have to bring it back to him.

“Consider it done. Seriously, thank you Steve.” All your teasing from before is gone, making his face soften at your sincerity and he wants to tell you that’s enough for him.

“Anytime, that’s what neighbors are for right? It’s always just me and Bandit anyway. It’s nice to feel useful again.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, like he wouldn’t help you with anything you asked of him despite how he hardly knows you.

You walk him to your door where you both stand on either side of the threshold, toe to toe. Neither one of you is sure of the proper way to say goodbye.

“Give Bandit an extra treat from me for letting me steal his Dad for a few hours.” You break the ice leaning against the door frame, crossing your arms making the decision easy.

“I’ll be sure to tell him it’s from you.” Steve’s eyes gleam from the evident admiration you have for his dog.

“You better.” The threat is empty, the smile on your face to prove it.

“Have a good night honey. I’m always just next door if you need anything else.” He loiters a little bit unsure of himself before finally turning to make his way down the stairs.

“I’ll try not to lose any more jewelry down the drains!” You call after him, relishing in the laugh it gets you that echoes down the narrow hallway.

You wait till he’s out of your sight before you shut your front door. Your mind racing with everything you’d learned about him tonight, sleep was going to be impossible.

---

----

beta’d by @superblysubpar & @newlips 💗

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter four

#superb steve harrington AU #superb steve harrington series #AIRWIY 🧡

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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How I'm currently feeling. It's 11am. I can't handle this anxiety and tension Emmy god damn. How dare you.

He looked unfairly good, hair soft and messy, a blue crew cut sweater rolled up to his elbows, jeans on the edge of too tight. He was cocky about it, eyes glancing lazily to Eddie, a small smile on lips that he hoped told the other boy he wasn’t intimidated by him. Or the arm he had around you.

“Feelin’ brave, lover boy?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised. Steve narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Kiss the girl you’re most attracted to.”

Instead, everyone fell silent when Steve took a few steps towards you. The music was still playing, a faint pop hit from the boombox someone had sent up on the front desk. You stared at the boy, wide eyed and incredulous whilst Eddie let out a low whistle.

“You think I’m the pret-”

Steve groaned, eyes rolling, like it pained him to admit to it. “God, shut up,” he said gruffly, but his cheeks were tinged pink and he placed his hands on the tops of your knees, a more gentlemanly touch than you’d expected.

Steve’s hand squeezed your knee, bracing himself, holding onto you before he could take the next step and dip his face closer to yours, pushing his lips against—

I'm so mad it's not even funny. I NEED THEM TO KISS GOD DAMMIT.

Bad For Business: Level Five

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.7K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

Staff parties weren’t exactly illegal, per say, but they were definitely hidden from Murray and the plugs to the security cameras always accidentally got yanked out. It wasn’t breaking and entering if several of you had keys, right?

Those last on shift would open the back door after closing, the fire exit left ajar with a piece of broken brick, letting in the crowds of older kids that had nowhere else to let loose in small town Hawkins. It was almost perfect, no windows, the arcade room big and already dark, the neon glow of the machines providing dark corners for people to hide in and do god knows what.

The smell of old popcorn and Axe body spray was overtaken by smoke, tequila and too sweet perfume, weed and cheap beer. The cars that would no doubt be left overnight were hidden around the back, parked precariously close together, sitting waiting for a lucky make out session or more.

You were already there when Steve came in, a little before midnight, carrying crates and kegs with Argyle and Jonathan Byers, all of them laughing at something the pounding music was covering up. The front desk was covered in mixtapes, empty cassettes and random sets of car keys, a lighter or five, the beginnings of a rolled joint. Some people were playing on the machines, the coin slot jacked open by Robin so no one had to pay, others were in the spaces between the games, dancing, grinding, drinking. There were couples in the photo booths, lip locked and lovesick, hands under shirts and their intertwined legs visible from behind the curtain.

The stained carpet got sticker as the night grew later, spilled drinks making the air smell sweet, lukewarm beer in red solo cups forgotten about, a condom packet on the console of Mario Bros, some girls underwear hanging from the joystick of the Asteroids machine.

Maybe it was the bubblegum vodka Robin was pouring you, maybe it was the way Eddie was coaxing, teasing, pulling you into the circle. Maybe it was the way Steve hadn’t spoken to you all night but he couldn’t stop his eyes from finding yours in the low light.

“Truth or Dare, my dudes!” Argyle announced, tanned cheeks flushed under the lights, the small group of you gathered at the back of the arcade. “Join or forever be a pussy,” he declared.

The group groaned, nudging each other so drinks spilled over wrists, overheated skin, bodies pressed together in the hazy smoke. People lounged against the machines, girls against boys, hands around waists, cross legged on the old sofa that Murray had never had a chance to get rid of.

It’s where you were, perched on the arm of the cracked leather cushion, body leaning into Eddie’s shoulder as he laughed at the way you were pulling on Robin’s belt loops, vying for details about her and Nancy’s last date. But then the game began and suddenly Billy Hargrove was downing his drink and stripping off, hands cupping his junk as he made a sprint around the arcade, grinning at the whoops and cheers he received.

Robin had to raid the staff office, finding the grossest thing she could in the tiny kitchenette everyone forgot about, pouring three day old yoghurt into her drink to chug.

Eddie had to admit to whether or not those Prince Albert piercing rumours were true. (They were and he announced this into his can of beer with red cheeks, overwhelmed at the sudden attention Chrissy Cunningham was giving him.)

You had to steal some screws from Murray’s desk chair, the outcome unknown until Monday but you already knew the creaky, old thing would collapse to the floor if anyone even touched it.

And then Eddie was calling Steve’s name and asking him, “Harrington, truth or dare?”

Maybe it was the way Steve was frowning at Eddie’s arm over your shoulder, maybe it was the way there’d been a red headed girl lingering by his side all night, but suddenly, all your attention was on him.

Steve took a slow drag of the joint Argyle had handed him before answering, chin tilted up, blowing out the smoke to the painted black ceiling, his gaze still on Eddie, like he was sizing him up. From beside you, Eddie smothered a laugh, leaning into your shoulder only to whisper, “you’ll thank me one day.”

Before you could ask what the fuck that meant, Steve was passing the joint to Jonathan and grinning at Eddie, that same wide, pretty smile he gave you when you were doing your best to piss him off.

“Dare.”

Eddie beamed, dimples on show and looking too smug. He pulled away from you, slouching back into the couch cushions, thighs spread wide, making a show of it all. You rolled your eyes, wondering what had happened between the two of them that was causing such a stand off.

“Feelin’ brave, lover boy?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised. Steve narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Kiss the girl you’re most attracted to.”

The room rippled with amusement, soft laughs and sniggers, tittering from the girls who hoped they had a chance. Steve tried to play it off, head tilted as he appraised Eddie, still leaning against the Dig Dug machine. The lights made him glow peach and sunshine yellow, the loading screen had your name still at the top, Steve’s just below.

“What?” Steve asked and something told you that he was trying to stall. You watched him lick his lips, a nervous habit, a hand running through the front of his hair.

“I think he wants you to kiss the girl you think is the prettiest,” Argyle decided to clarify, eyes reddened and another joint rolling between his fingertips. “Lucky for you, my brother, you got plenty of options.”

Eddie grinned as Steve faltered, eyes locking once more. Eddie shrugged, teeth flashing. “You heard Rapunzel, who’s got your panties in a twist Harrington? Why don’t you show her some love, huh?”

The group tittered again, whispers floating between the smoke and the lights, bets exchanged and several girls dug around in their purses for their lip glosses. The redhead who’d been keeping close to Steve the whole night set her cup of wine down on top of a machine, readying herself.

“Damn, would you look at that?” He tutted, smiling wide. “Harrington is feeling brave.”

You were frozen, bewildered as he came to stand in front of you at the couch, your knees pressed to his thighs. You stared at him, lips parted as he seemed to hold his breath, wary.

“What’re you doing?” You muttered, far too aware of the eyes on you, Eddie grinning, Cheshire catlike beside you, Robin gawking from behind Steve.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Steve mumbled back, gaze flicking from yours down to your lips and back again. “You heard what your friend said.”

“You think I’m the pret-”

His hands were warm, ridiculously large, spanning your entire kneecap, fingers and thumb curling around the sides of your thigh. You watched him swallow, his breathing short. Someone whistled, a low, playful sound that had you feeling too warm, like you’d been caught in the playground, behind the bike sheds with your crush.

Steve squeezed slightly, body burning under his touch, but you brought your gaze back to his and you saw him lift his brows, just a little, just enough. You got the meaning, brown eyes steady on yours.

‘Can I?’

You tried to ignore everyone around you, the way their breaths were held as the tension in the air crackled and fizzed. It’s as if there was an electric current running round the circle, wires ripping through ribs and hearts, starting and ending with you. It made your skin buzz, a tingle you wondered if Steve could feel too.

His thumb pressed into the inside of your knee and you thought that maybe, he just might.

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

It was like the music had stopped as Steve leaned in, your legs spreading just slightly, enough for him to edge closer, one hand skimming a little bravely up your thigh. You heard someone swear, a shocked thing, just as your eyes closed. Steve's nose nudged yours, his breath a little shaky and smelling like smoke and spearmint gum as it landed on your lips.

You tilted your head up, chin lifting, just a little. Just enough for your top lip to catch Steve’s bottom, a shocking touch, a barely there thing but it made your heart jump and your lips part, expecting more. Wanting more.

Steve’s hand squeezed your knee, bracing himself, holding onto you before he could take the next step and dip his face closer to yours, pushing his lips against—

The front door banged against the wall as it burst open, flashlights shining through the low light, cutting into the haze of smoke and neon as the music was abruptly cut off. Hopper, chief of police, and some of his officers were standing in the doorway, framed by the flashing lights of their patrol cars parked out front.

Blue and red flashed over the walls and someone found the light switch, killing the atmosphere as the yellowing overheads flickered on, buzzing from age. People groaned, stubbed out joints kicked under arcade machines, half empty bottles clattering as those underage tried to hide them behind the desk, in their bags and between machines.

Hopper looked less than impressed, moustache twitching as he took in the sight. He swept his flashlight over the wide eyed faces, sighing heavily.

“Okay, party's over,” he announced. “Everyone line up.”

#superb steve harrington series #Bad for Business 💙#enemies to lovers

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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Oh God I'm so in love with both of them it hurts. Yes both. I know it's supposed to be me, but well. Here I am. Your banter and wit for these two is just perfection 🤌🏻

And oh god...I voted for powercut 🫣 listen, I know I know that the imagery and the tension filled angry heat caused arguing would be amazing. But God something about the arcade going dead and them blaming it on each other and just...idk it's not even a want it's a need. But either one will be incredible 🥳💛

The man snorted, finally turning on his computer chair, the wheels protesting and he was grinning at you, gaze amused through his wire rimmed glasses. “They’re busy."

“Make sure you lock up properly when you leave,” Murray reminded you unnecessarily, ‘cause that was Argyle’s bad habit, not yours. “And play nice with Steven - but not too nice.” He ruffled your hair as he passed, already leaving for the day despite the fact there was four hours left of opening. “There’s cameras everywhere, and some of them actually work. We don’t gotta see that, and I got out of the porn business years ago.”

I just love how he's clearly still a meddler in people's love lives and um what he was in the porn business? Even if it's a joke as the girls debated I snorted so loud when I read that 💛

You huffed, an annoyed sound that the boy was so used to, snatching your chips away before he could crush them further. You shrugged, moving away from Steve, eager to put some distance between you and him, ‘cause he smelled too damn nice.

Like sunscreen and summer, leftover chlorine and a cologne that was probably more than his last paycheck. It was annoyingly distracting.

Steve in a plain white tshirt and then this description?! Say less.

He knew where to find you, it wasn’t all that hard. But he still stopped to watch from afar as you bashed the buttons on the Dig Dug machine, swearing softly to yourself when the game didn’t do what you wanted. It beeped angrily, the screen flashed and a patronising ‘game over’ sign flooded the black background.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he called out, too happily.

Do it against the Dig Dug machine do it against the Dig Dug machine do it against the Dig Dug machine...

I- Who said that?

“C’mon, you’re not exactly helping,” he complained moodily. “S’wrong? Scared I’m trying to seduce you or somethin’?”

Your name took first place on the leader board, knocking STEVE H. to the number two spot. The boy didn’t say anything as you walked away, his eyes on your bare legs, as usual, the taste of regret sitting heavy on his tongue.

I literally want to crush him. I wanna beat him at every game in that arcade and sip my slurpee too loudly in his ear and also marry him.

Bad For Business: Level Two

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter. “I’m gonna need you to stay late tonight,” Murray said through a mouthful of his sandwich. You startled, realising he was talking to you. Robin sunk down in her seat, her eyes trained on her microwaved pasta. “The games are getting serviced, but they’re not gonna be done until, pshh, midnight? Maybe.”

“What?” You stared at your boss, your own lunch forgotten about. “But Robin was working that, wasn’t this already, uh, discussed?”

“Buckley has a medical appointment,” Murray replied, too busy staring at some coffee stained sheets of paper to give you any attention. “And I don’t like to pry into my employees personal lives, so, you’re it, kid.”

You turned, neck snapping to the girl. She was already grimacing, knowing fine well that you knew there was absolutely no appointment. Your friend had spent all week gushing about a date she had at the weekend, you just assumed it was Sunday, not Saturday, seeing as she was already on the rota for the late shift.

“Oh no. I hope you’re not too sick, Robin,” you said through clenched teeth.

The girl sunk further down, her nose level with the table and her lukewarm pasta. She had the good grace to wince and mouth ‘sorry’ at you, eyes wide and apologetic.

“Anyway, you and Harrington can utilise your time and do something productive, like cleaning the popcorn machine,” Murray waved a hand, distracted, knocking his coffee mug dangerously close to the computer.

The popcorn machine hadn’t worked since 1973 but you didn’t bother mentioning that, too hung up on the other name that Murray had lumped yours with. “Harrington?” You glared between your boss and Robin, who was now positively morose. “Steve? Steve’s on the late with me? No. No.”

Murray laughed, a mean cackle that told you there wasn’t really any point in arguing, but you tried anyway. “Murray, please, c’mon. Can’t Argyle do the late? Carver? Literally anyone else?”

The man snorted, finally turning on his computer chair, the wheels protesting and he was grinning at you, gaze amused through his wire rimmed glasses. “They’re busy.”

“So am I!” You attempted, voice cracking.

“You owe me approximately…” he turned back to his desk, rifling through the mess there until he produced what looked to be your timesheet. You bit back a swear. “…five hours this week. And that’s not including the forty minutes you were late this morning, so, I think we can compromise on you doing the late and keeping your job, alright?”

You didn’t say anything, just turning back on your chair to slump down to Robin’s level, arms folded and eyes stormy. The girl knocked your ankle with her own, mouthing another apology across the table, and if it weren’t for the fact she’d been trying to work up the courage to ask Nancy out for months now, you would’ve definitely have done something childish, like knock her pasta off the table.

But you didn’t. You were fine. It was fine.

Silence settled over the staff room as he slammed the door behind him, his last comment making Robin firmly push her lunch away. You blinked and stared at her, both of you thinking too much.

“Is he… was that a joke?” She asked, hesitant to know the answer.

“I have no idea.”

—————

Steve arrived as the last of the staff left, coming from his day off to spend the next six hours with you in the dark arcade, waiting for a team of greasy haired men to push some buttons on each machine, wiggle a joystick or two and then demand a couple of hundred dollars for their effort.

It was unnerving to see the boy in normal clothes, no real need for his staff shirt or name badge. His white t-shirt made him look even more tanned, sunkissed from the afternoons spent by his pool, the cotton lit up ultraviolet under the arcade lights.

“What time are they comin’?” He asked in lieu of greeting, heaving himself up to sit on the desk, narrowly avoiding the bag of chips you’d been snacking on.

Like sunscreen and summer, leftover chlorine and a cologne that was probably more than his last paycheck. It was annoyingly distracting.

“Don’t know, Murray said anytime between seven and ten.” You were already tired, draping yourself over the counter, used ticket stubs sticking to your arms. “This fucking sucks.”

“Didn’t you miss me?” Steve grinned, spinning on the desk to face you, his legs crossed in front of him as he leaned forward, taunting. He was good at giving you the eye, that gaze he gave all the girls, thick lashes fluttering, honey brown stare all soft and warm.

Too bad it didn’t work on you.

“No. But I’m glad to see you managed to pick up a sense of humour as well as an STD by the pool today.”

Steve laughed, unperturbed by your vicious comment. It hurt less when you smiled at him like that, all pretty and pleased with yourself, smug about it. “You’re particularly catty today, princess. Still not managed to reclaim a Dig Dug victory?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve grinned. Riling you up was his favourite thing to do. But all too soon, you were pushing yourself away from the desk, chips forgotten about, and rounding the counter. You sighed, looking around the empty arcade as if doing anything was better than talking to him.

“I’m gonna refill the ticket machines,” you declared, not looking at him when you spoke. “Murray said you need to clean the popcorn machine, so, Godspeed.”

Steve blanked, staring at you as you walked away, bare legs lit up in pinks and blues under the lights, your shorts a constant distraction for him. He hated them. “Wait, what? The popcorn machine hasn’t worked in fucking years.”

“Not my problem!” You waved him off before turning the corner, disappearing behind the chunky machines that had stood since the beginning of the seventies. “Have fun, Harrington.”

Steve let the service men in an hour later, the silence that had fallen over the arcade interrupted by mechanical beeping and the switching on and off of each machine. He hadn’t seen you since he’d first arrived and the fact that he’d only managed to get one rise out of you was severely disappointing. So he searched through the large room, navigating the rows of games in a way he knew all too well, each screen flashing invitingly, the promise of a new adventure stuck behind each one.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he called out, too happily.

You spun, scowling at the sound of his voice, his cheery negativity, his wide smirk. A sound of dismissal left your throat, annoyance clear on your face, but you couldn’t resist the bait. “There’s like, three buttons and I only need to use one of them,” you snapped, “how can I be doing it wrong?”

Steve joined you at the machine, leaning on the side of the bulky game, lit up by the flashing neon lights that hung above it. He was six different shades of yellow and orange, all golds and ambers and peaches across tanned skin and brown eyes. He was smug looking, eyes flickering from yours down to your fingers that were prodding at the button, bashing it furiously as you tried to blow up the Fygar’s that were in your way. The game beeped again, angry, and you were back to the main menu.

Steve’s name flashed obnoxiously from the top of the leaderboard, the number one beside it, setting your teeth on edge. You pushed another coin into the slot, took a deep breath and tried to ignore the boy beside you.

Steve only managed another minute or two of polite silence before he was sighing. “Jesus, look, like this, yeah?” His hand covered your own, the one hovering over the button and you froze, staring at him from the side of your eyes. “It’s about timing, not how hard you can mash the button into the board.”

You knew how to play. You were number one last week, you weren’t a novice, Dig Dug was your favourite game. You should’ve shaken him off, snarled something mean about men thinking they always knew best but you were frozen, still staring, looking at the boy like a deer trapped in headlights.

Steve pressed his fingers over yours as the game restarted, the tinny, electronic music beginning all over again. He was methodical about it, pressing the shooter only when the enemies got close enough, a vast difference to the way you manically shot on sight. But he frowned when he realised you weren’t moving at all, the joystick frozen in your other hand.

“C’mon, you’re not exactly helping,” he complained moodily. “S’wrong? Scared I’m trying to seduce you or somethin’?”

You scowled at that, shifting under Steve’s touch, glaring at him from where he still stood beside the machine; one, warm, wide hand still covering yours. His fingers were so much bigger than your own, swallowing your own against the buttons.

“As if you could,” you were quick to shoot back, but you ducked your chin, glaring at the screen through your lashes. “More concerned about where your hands have been.”

You heard him huff out a laugh, a breath through the smirk that seemed to always be on his lips when he was around you. He pressed your fingers down again when you tilted the joystick, successfully blowing up three of the little pixelated enemies on screen.

“Now, now, princess,” Steve’s voice was low, smooth. You hated it. “Don’t act like you weren’t letting Carver drape himself over you last Wednesday.”

You wrinkled your nose at the memory, not liking Jason Carver any more than you did Steve, but at least the latter didn’t invade your personal space like Jason did. The blonde boy seemed to think his old letterman jacket was a one way pass into a girl's pants, no matter how long it had been since high school had ended.

You had absolutely no interest in Jason, you never had and you told him as such on the daily. But it was still fun to say, “you sound jealous, Steven.” You smirked the same as him, letting your gaze slide to him from the side of your eye, watching as he frowned, cheeks rosier than normal in the arcade lights.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he bit back, eyes focused on the screen, his fingers jabbing over yours a little harder than before. “You’re not my type.”

It shouldn’t have cut you as much as it did, a cheap jab, wrapped in barbed wire but it stung all the same. You sneered, a nasty thing, shrugging Steve off, his hand moving from yours and leaving it cold. You pressed the button alone, blowing up the pixels until there were none left and the level cleared. The screen flashed with a new high score and you tilted the joystick with more force than necessary as you typed out your initials.

#superb steve harrington series #Bad for Business 💙#enemies to lovers

789 notes · View notes

superbfics · 7 months ago

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YOU BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL HUMAN YOU GAVE US BOTH?! I- I have no words. It was everything I wanted and more. Frustrated and hot, sweaty skin and peach chapstick AND the dark?! You are out of this world my friend 💛💛💛

Your skin was flushed, a little damp, your hair sticking to your neck and sweat beading at your chest, clinging to the space between your vest and your shorts. Steve definitely wasn’t looking.

Already like damn, yup, the heatwave people were right. This is good. This is delicious. I wanna eat it.

“You impaled it,” you muttered, staring up at the sputtering fan. “You absolute fucking moron.”

ACTUALLY IN LOVE WITH READER WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE ME BUT LIKE I LOVE HER AND-

But the door had already slammed shut and Jason’s car could be heard ripping out of the parking lot. An almost silence followed, the hum of the machines, the stuttering of the barely alive aircon unit, Steve’s strained sigh. And then, a click.

I kid you not, holding my breath. Was like wait...Wait...

Deafening, final, ending in darkness.

WAIT

The lights went out, the sickly yellow overhead fluorescents, the flashing neons on the machines, the screens and even the green numbers that usually flashed on the cash register. With no windows in the old unit, well, you couldn’t see shit.

“Move where?” Steve growled back, his hip bumping against your own, the edges of knuckles grazing against your ribs, against too much bare skin. It was suddenly so much warmer. “I can’t see shit, princess, what am I supposed to do?”

You blinked, squinting into the too bright strip lights and it maybe took you both too long that you were still clinging to each other, your fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, Steve’s wide, warm hand pressed to your lower back, his frame slightly in front of yours… like he was trying to block you from any danger.

Bad For Business: Level Three

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.5K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter. “What do you mean, it just stopped working?”

Standing under the broken aircon unit was not how you wanted this shift to go. Especially on the hottest day of the year.

Especially with Jason Carver and Steve Harrington.

It was hotter than ever inside the empty arcade, the rows and rows of machines doing nothing more than pumping heat into the room from their whirring fans. The jumpy, happy tune from Mario Bros. was starting to make your eye twitch and you hadn’t seen a customer the entire time you’d been working. Normal people were at the community pool, the richest of Hawkins relaxing under their own air conditioning, on their floats in their private swimming pools.

“I don’t know!” Jason fumed, rounding on Steve with more anger than necessary, seeing how he was the one to cause the ancient thing to die. There was a broken off broom handle sticking out of the vent. “I just tried to get the thing to aim towards the desk more!”

You were standing too near Steve, bare arms brushing, pressed close behind the desk as the boy swore, skin glistening and doing everything he could to not look at you. You’d taken your stupid staff shirt off an hour ago, a too thin camisole thing underneath, cropped and letting everyone know that you definitely weren’t wearing a proper bra.

Your skin was flushed, a little damp, your hair sticking to your neck and sweat beading at your chest, clinging to the space between your vest and your shorts. Steve definitely wasn’t looking.

“You impaled it,” you muttered, staring up at the sputtering fan. “You absolute fucking moron.”

It was the straw that broke the sweaty camel's back, because Jason’s nostrils flared and he dropped the second half of the broken broom onto the floor. He held up his hands in defeat, face red with heat and anger. “I’m out. I’m done,” he told you before rounding on Steve. “Sort this shit yourself, Harrington. And maybe teach your girl some manners whilst you're at it.”

No one spoke as he stormed through the empty arcade, the lights flashing on the machines no one played. The door opened for just a second as Jason slipped out, a bright flash of blue sky and sunbeams over the black walls, the neon signs and ultraviolet light. There wasn’t any breeze, no wind that came in, nothing to soothe the heat that lingered heavily in the air.

“She isn’t my girl!” Steve shouted the same time you yelled feebly, “I’m not his girl, jerk.”

Deafening, final, ending in darkness.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” Steve muttered and he cursed when he moved, bumping into you as you both tried to find the edge of the desk and the same time. “Fuck, you’re on my foot—”

“That’s ‘cause you’re in my way,” you huffed, arguing weakly, an edge to your voice that sounded a little like panic but you weren’t going to tell Steve that. You weren’t a fan of the dark, especially the kind that made your own hand invisible in front of your face, the kind of dark that made you doubt your own vision. “Move, Harrington.”

You tripped over something, a cable, a part of an old machine that Murray liked to keep, who knows, but it sent you into Steve’s side with a noise of objection. You swore, grabbing at anything you could, cringing when it happened to be Steve’s arms. He’d long rolled his shirt sleeves up, the cotton folded up to his shoulders, the lines of muscles there slick with sweat, more distracting than ever now you could feel them.

“Christ,” the boy chastised, “you’ve got as much grace as a baby giraffe, here—“ Steve didn’t finish his sentence, he just reached out to grab at you, hands on your waist, fingers skimming over the hand of your shorts as he righted you.

You were still holding his shoulders and you were close enough that you could see the outline of his features, the faint slope of his nose, the line of his jaw, even in the dark. Neither of you said anything, not right away. And then you were both pushing back, hands leaving each other, hips and elbows and ribs bumping into cabinets and stray stools.

“Where’s the fuse box?” Steve asked and he sounded further away now, like he was moving towards the office door, wherever it was. Something clattered to the floor and you heard him curse and then kick it. “Murray’s gotta have a flashlight somewhere, right? Probably stashed with his not so secret weed that he ‘confiscates’ from the kids,” he snorted.

Another thump, a small bang and then Steve’s hands found the office door, a pleased and triumphant sound leaving his lips as the hinges squeaked. The noise suddenly pushed you into action, a nervous anxiety gripping you as you tried to take a step forward, squeaking when your foot landed on a stack of papers that slid under your sneakers.

“Harrington!” You yelped, stumbling forward clumsily. “Steve? Jesus Christ, Steve!”

The door squeaked again, and although you couldn’t see him, a burst of cologne and sunscreen filled the space in front of you. Hands found yours, fumbling, awkward, as clammy with sticky warmth as yours were.

Suddenly the heat was cloying, suffocating. You felt tightly wound, head scrambled, throat dry. “What’re you doing?”

“Helping you, dummy.” Steve snorted, beginning to lead you around the desk, your free hand skimming along the wall, skating over the frayed edges of old posters and forgotten thumbtacks. “Unless you wanna stay here and amuse yourself. Argue with the wall or somethin’, you’re good at that.”

“Shut up.” There wasn’t much heat behind it, your words nowhere near as harsh as they’d usually be, ‘cause you were clinging to Steve’s hand as he led you back to the door. “Asshole.”

The office was just as dark as the rest of the arcade, the old computer on Murray’s desk as dead as the rest of the machines. You let go of Steve’s hand when you found the edge of the lunch table, the legs wobbling as you made contact with it and you could feel Steve behind you, around you, the sound of drawers opening and closing filling the quiet room.

“The fuck is this flashlight?” You heard him murmur, and then, “shit, wait, yes!”

A beam of light flooded the small room, orange-yellow and a little weak but it made your eyes water and squint and the sudden burst of colour. Steve must’ve reacted the same, hissing as his eyes stung, both of you stumbling.

Shoulders bumped, elbows knocked, hands brushed. Again.

You were closer than you’d realised, toes almost touching and Steve was all tight jeans and bare arms, lines of muscle you usually didn’t pay attention to wrapping around strong forearms. His hair was a mess, wilder than usual, sticking to his forehead and over his eyes, cheeks pink from the heat.

You watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes flickering down to roam all too obviously over your frame. Tight shirt, cropped, slick skin, peach flavoured lip balm that he’d watched you reapply in the tiny mirror by the lockers that morning. Silence stretched on, a yawning, all consuming thing that seemed thicker than the heat, warmer than the summer outside.

You licked your lips, salt on your Cupids bow and you watched Steve’s gaze follow the movement. The flashlight fell, bouncing on the worn carpet and the beam flickered across the wall, Steve’s trainers, your bare legs. Steve’s head knocked against your own as you both bent to pick it up, swearing softly and the boy winced, knowing he hurt you more than you hurt him.

“Shit,” his voice was quiet, low and a little rough. “Sorry.”

You were still too close, knelt on the floor with the boy, heads dipped together and you were desperate to shrug off the unfamiliar feeling of softness, the genuine apology from Steve making your chest stutter and still.

You let Steve grab the flashlight, muttering a “whatever,” in order to brush off the moment. You watched him stand, turning quickly when he flashed the beam back down to see you still on your knees before him, tits pushed together in your stupid little vest top, a bead of sweat rolling down your neck and into the dip between them.

He wasn’t looking. He wasn’t looking.

So he left you in the dark as he pushed away the leftover coats that the rest of the staff had left since winter, pulling at the handle of the fuse box, letting clatter noisily against the wall. “C’mere for a second,” he said gruffly, not looking at you at all. “Hold this, yeah?”

“Manners are free, Harrington,” you tutted, “don’t be a bitch.”

Steve still wasn’t facing you, but you were pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. “You wanna stay stuck in the dark? In this heat?” He asked, he handed you the flashlight. “Least you can do is hold this, princess, don’t break a nail now, god forbid.”

You snatched the light from him, shouldering into his space just to piss him off, too close and too warm, cologne and sunscreen and chlorine scent hair from an early morning swim, peach scented chapstick and sweat. You hated it. You hated that you didn’t hate it all.

“Come on, sparky,” you nudged Steve, an elbow to his side, the flashlight pointed at the circuit board, showing rows and rows of switches and wires. “Fix it. Don’t break a nail, sweetheart.”

Steve glared at you, brows stitched together and his brown eyes honeycomb in the light. He looked like he wanted to argue, to snap back at you and bite, but instead he pressed his lips together and turned back to the fuses.

His fingers lingered over the switches, pausing to read the peeling and faded labels under each one, hesitating before he flicked the plastic. Some did nothing, the arcade remaining in darkness, in silence. Steve mumbled under his breath, a grumble that made you want to laugh but you kept your lips pressed together, the light still held aloft for him.

You were silent as you watched him push at each one, plastic flicking up and down, doing nothing. You grimaced as Steve started to play with some of the wires, pushing them back into the board with a little more force than made you comfortable, as if he knew what he was doing, as if was suddenly an expert in hard wiring and electrics.

“You’re gonna blow us up,” you warned, slapping at his hand when he kept prodding at things he didn’t know about. “Steve, Jesus, stop it!”

The boy tsked, budging up closer to you, only to try to shoulder you out of the way, shaking his hand loose from your attempt to grab him. It was a childish scuffle, one you’d definitely had before with Steve, over stolen bags of chips, the last can of soda, the set of keys that worked properly. But this time it was in the dark, skin still slick and the air too heavy and he was so fucking close, hands sliding over the bare skin on your stomach, your sides, his hair tickling your cheek as he poked at your ribs, trying to make you give in.

And then, all at once, Steve’s hand pushed at yours and the flashlight fell again, the beam flickering off just as something in the fuse box sparked and popped.

You yelped and Steve swore, both of you clambering backwards, away from the possibility of a full on fire, grabbing at each other like that would help. There was a beat of silence, one second, two second, three, just the sound of you and Steve breathing a little heavy - and then the lights came back on.

He sprang away from you when your eyes met, your nose scrunched as you tried your best to act annoyed, like your heart wasn’t rattling in your chest, like you couldn’t smell Steve’s cologne on your own skin. You pushed back just as hard, ass bumping with the table, forgotten lunch boxes falling to the floor.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, ducking to hide your warm cheeks.

Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at you. “What’re you even talkin’ about? I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“That was a fluke,” you laughed, more haughtily than you’d ever sounded but god, you were still too warm and you could feel the leftover pressure of Steve’s hand on your back. “You pressed some buttons and hoped for the best, get real.”

Steve glared, snapping the fuse box shut and leaning against it, arms crossed. “S’real cute coming from the girl who didn’t want me to leave her alone in the dark.”

You weren’t sure how you ended up toe to toe again, how you’d managed to cross the small office, chin lifted defiantly, cheeks warm. “No one would wanna be left in the dark!” You tried to reason, words feeling clumsy in your mouth because Steve was smirking, looking far too amused. “It’s not like I wanted to be beside you. I would’ve followed Jason, Jesus, don’t flatter yourself, Harrington.”

Steve just shrugged, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek to stop his grin. He sighed all dramatically and poked a finger to your cheek, laughing when you huffed and slapped it away. “Keep telling yourself that, princess.”

“You’re so full of yourself. I would’ve been fine without you.”

Closer still, toes touching, noses too close, the heat still clinging to you both.

“I saved your ass,” Steve teased. “Admit it.”

“No you didn’t, asshole.” You were unreasonably annoyed about how relaxed Steve was, cocky and lazy as he leaned against the desk.

The boy grinned. “Yeah? Wanna fight about it?”

The sound of the games resetting saved you from replying, the electronic cacophony of alarms and theme songs breaking up whatever was about to happen. You left Steve in the office and spent the rest of your shift with your T-shirt back on, sticky skin and unable to look him in the eye.

#superb steve harrington series #Bad for Business💙#enemies to lovers

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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HAHAHA FUCK 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

“S’whatever,” came Steve’s mumbled reply but you saw the way he dipped his chin, hiding his rosy cheeks, dragging the heel of his trainer over the concrete like it was more interesting than you.

You didn’t wait for his response, eager to escape the way he was looking at you, like he was still thinking about earlier, how close you’d been, like he was wondering what your lips tasted like. But then Steve was catching at your elbow and frowning when stared at him.

FUCKING KISS YOU TWO IDIOTS WE ALL KNOW YOU LOVE EACH OTHER 😭

“You know, you talk a big game for a guy who was asking for a kiss earlier,” you shot back, refusing to let Steve get the upper hand. This is what you were used to, biting, snapping, picking a new fight. “Or did you forget already? You think I’m pretty, right, Harrington?”

But Steve was just as quick, snorting at your bravery, nudging his shoulder into yours as if to tell you he was still too close. “Only when you shut up.”

Steve kissed like he argued, heated, controlled and with a clever tongue.

STEVE KISSED LIKE HE ARGUED, HEATED, CONTROLLED AND WITH A CLEVER TONGUE.

Your hands curled around his shoulders, fingers twisting into his shirt. You pulled him closer, demanding, mean about it and you felt his smile in return, a smirk against your mouth that you were determined to kiss away. Steve’s other hand gripped your jaw, controlling, urging, his thumb pushing at the corner of your mouth, asking for more.

You kissed him like you wanted him, like he could pull you down the side of someone’s house and press you into the bricks. You licked your tongue over his like you’d let him lift you in his arms, like you’d wrap your legs around his hips and grind onto him, making pretty, pretty noises.

Steve grunted, swore into your mouth, felt his eyes roll back into his head. You were something else, as cruel with your kisses as you were with your words and he was losing it, gone on you, adoring everything you gave him. You nipped at him, dragged a thumb down his chin, sucked on his bottom lip when he parted them more for you, his jeans too tight to even think properly.

When he opened his eyes, would it be light? Would the sun have come? Would the sky be lavender? Would it look as pretty as you?

You whispered Steve’s name into his lips and he moaned. He was gone. Fucked. Done.

Bad For Business: Level Six

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.4K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutual annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

Everyone scrambled at the sight of law enforcement, underage teens still blowing smoke from their lips as they ditched their drinks and shouldered each other through the fire exit door.

Steve was caught in the literal headlights, his eyes wide as he watched Officer Callahan clear out the party goers, tripping over abandoned bags and bottles as he went. Steve was still too close, frozen in front of you, his hand still on your leg, his face still too close to yours. Then Robin was scrambling past you both, yelling something about sacrifices, and Eddie looked downright gleeful as he stormed towards a trainee officer, ducking under his arms and running out the door, cheering.

It all happened a little too fast, the lights too bright, Steve too distracting.

Hopper was in front of you both before you knew it, tired looking, bored of it all already. He sighed, weary. “Alright, c’mon. Station, let’s go.”

—————

The holding cell was tiny, barely used and hardly needed in a town like Hawkins, and you could see Hopper’s desk through the bars.

You could also feel Steve’s presence behind you, still too close, the ghost of his hand still staining your leg with a warmth that wasn’t actually there anymore.

“Christ, would you just sit down?”

The voice came from behind you, lazy and still cocky, like the whole situation was boring to him. It was a little past two in the morning and you were practically under arrest with Steve Harrington.

You spun, glaring at him as if this was all his fault. And maybe it was. Not that someone called a noise complaint, no, but because you’d not been anywhere near coherent enough to turn and run like the rest of your friends, scattering out the fire exits as if the building truly had gone up in flames.

No, you’d been far too preoccupied, your mouth brushing over Steve’s, just, barely. An almost kiss. Because Steve fucking Harrington had declared to everyone that he thought you were the prettiest girl in the room.

Your body was still fizzing.

“I just wanna know when we can go home,” you grumbled back, shifting uncomfortably, arms crossing over your chest to gain some heat. “I’m cold. And I need to pee.”

Steve snorted, looking up at you with amused eyes from where he sat on the cell floor, his back to the wall. His legs were stretched out and spread, taking up too much room in the tiny space, ready to trip you up if you moved back without looking. But then he was shuffling, pulling his sweater over his head by the scruff of his collar, handing it to you without really looking.

His cheeks were pink and he was scowling, or at least trying to.

“I can’t help you with the latter, but here.” The blue crew neck was soft and warm and you didn’t know what to do as you held it awkwardly in your hands. You stared at the boy, suspicious, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Put it on, dummy, it’s not gonna bite.”

You huffed, ready to argue, to call him an immature name back but the smell of Steve’s cologne was clinging to the cotton and it was too inviting to turn down. You turned away, as if it was too intimate a thing to let Steve watch, closing your eyes as you slipped the sweater over your head.

It provided instant warmth and suddenly you were burning, cheeks hot as you cleared your throat and offered a soft ‘thanks.’

You eventually conceded, sitting down the cold, metal bench that was bolted to the wall. It put you in front of the boy, your legs between his, Steve’s head just a little lower than your own as he stayed on the floor. His eyes met yours, fleeting, as if eye contact was suddenly too much. You swore the room was getting smaller.

Silence crept over you both with an awful unfamiliarity. Although you and Steve weren’t exactly friends, time spent together was usually filled with bickering, semi serious insults and each other's best attempts to wind the other up. The quiet was only broken by the faint ringing of a phone, somewhere behind a door, the beep of a fax machine, a one sided conversion, muffled and tired.

“Listen—”

“About the dare—”

You both paused, waiting, wondering if the other would finish their sentence first, but silence snuck in once again. You wanted to say more, you wanted to ask why, you wanted to know if Steve really meant it when he chose you to kiss, if this was just another weird game he’d decided to play with you. A game of chicken, waiting to see who was scared enough to pull away first.

When Steve’s nose had bumped against your own, you’d had no intention of pulling away. You’d know that.

“Alright, I called your boss instead of your parents, be grateful, yeah?” Hopper strolled in, a stack of papers in his hands, no doubt another write up to add to your file. “Murray isn’t pressing charges, but he says you both gotta be there early tomorrow to clean.” Hopper flashed a grin at you both. “Ain’t he sweet?”

The lock clunked, metal on metal as the door swung open. You scrambled up, stepping over Steve’s leg and tried not to sulk as Hopper stared at you both, disapproving.

“It wasn’t just us, you know,” Steve grumbled, singing the sheet of paper the older man handed him. “Whole team was there, we just— didn’t have a chance to run.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Harrington,” Hopper huffed, “I didn’t peg you as the mastermind, don’t worry. And I appreciate you both not playing Bonnie and Clyde, now, beat it. I’ve got better things to do than play babysitter.”

The morning was barely breaking as you and Steve left the station, the slight chill making you wrap your arms around yourself. You were still wearing Steve’s sweater, something that you were both far too aware of. The sky was still dark, pink and tangerine tinting the edges, the possibility of the sun just below the horizon and you squinted into the light, hoping for some it’s warmth as you began the walk home.

You sighed and raised your brows at Steve, amusement gracing your features, because spending some time in a cell with the boy wasn’t how you imagined the night ending. Although, you hadn’t exactly pictured it starting with an almost kiss either.

Your hands caught the hem of the sweater, fingers curling, starting to pull.

“Nah, s’fine,” Steve stopped you with a wave of his hand. “Just give me it tomorrow.”

You blinked.

“Okay,” your voice was almost too quiet, softer than Steve usually heard it. But it matched the night, the pink clouds that were starting to roll in, candy cotton and peach. You were wary when you gazed at him, his T-shirt rolled up his shoulders, the leftover beer making his cheeks a little rosy. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“You’re not walkin’ home alone,” he scoffed, like you were stupid for thinking such a thing.

“What?” You almost laughed. You’d have accused of him of being gentlemanly if Steve wasn’t still making that face at you. “I live, like, ten minutes away.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know where you live, princess. Doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.”

You did laugh then, a bright sound in the dark and your smile was wide, warm. It made Steve squirm, his frown deepening, only to hide his flush. “Wow, Harrington, you going soft on me?”

You didn’t wait for an answer as you began walking, the too long sleeves of Steve’s sweater swinging below your hands. You looked back at the boy over your shoulder, his glare still there as he followed, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What? No,” Steve scoffed again, his nose crinkled as he did his best to pretend you weren’t getting to him. “I’m just—“

You stopped then, too sudden, spinning to grin at the boy, beaming wider when he stumbled and tried not to crash into you. “Just what? Being a gentleman?”

Steve swallowed hard as he stood too close, barely catching himself from grabbing at your waist as you turned too quick on him. His eyes were on your lips, gaze heavy, lashes lowered and his throat felt too tight. He swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing.

You didn’t let him answer, still having too much fun teasing him. In reality, you appreciated the boy walking you home, even with dawn breaking, the skies above were still navy and dark, the streets eerily empty, your footsteps echoing on the sidewalk. “You’re not a gentleman, are you Stevie?”

The boy’s eyes flashed at you, dangerous, even though he grinned, matching your energy, that teasing that was borderline arguing. He shrugged back at you, lazy, too confident, still too close. Steve didn’t move back.

“Not for you, sweetheart, that’s for sure.” He flashed his teeth at you, more bite than smile. “Just makin’ sure you’re still in one piece to help clean up.” Steve took the time to let his gaze roam over you, up and down, up and down. “You’d look cute in one of those little aprons, maybe a short skirt—”

You barked out a laugh, backing away from him, admitting defeat. The air suddenly wasn’t as cool as before. “Bite me,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

Steve caught up quickly as you made your way back down the street, walking on the empty road instead of the sidewalk. He was at your side in seconds, long legs taking big strides. You could hear the smile in his voice, the amusement there, his shoulder bumping yours as he ducked his head to whisper at your ear.

“Told you before, princess, bend over.”

But Steve was just as quick, snorting at your bravery, nudging his shoulder into yours as if to tell you he was still too close. “Only when you shut up.”

You spun at that, eyes narrowed, not caring that you were near your house, close to your bed and warmth and away from Steve. He was grinning at your expression, knowing he’d won. Maybe.

If he wanted you quiet, he’d have to work harder than that.

“You’re such a pig, you know th—”

The rest of your sentence was cut off, insults swallowed by the boy you were aiming at, his hand - almost too big and impossibly wide - catching at the nape of your neck to pull you in. He wasn’t soft about it, not really, your chest colliding with Steve’s, your hands finding his shoulders and you didn’t know whether to hold on or push away.

Steve kissed like he argued, heated, controlled and with a clever tongue.

His lips parted yours, heavy breaths and gasps mixing as his top lip captured yours, nose pressed hard to your cheek. And then a little softer, his tongue, licking over your own, slipping past your lips, tasting like tequila and smoke, honey and tobacco.

So you kissed him deeper, a little messier, a small moan leaving your throat that made Steve squeeze his fingers into your skin a little harder. He was dizzy with it, feeling drunker kissing you than he’d ever felt before. It didn’t matter you were both in the middle of the road, not too far from your parents bedroom window.

It didn’t matter he’d had to see you in a few hours, in the harsh light of a new day, with a hangover and a mop bucket in his hands.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t have an excuse for this.

It didn’t matter that he was supposed to hate you.

It didn’t matter that you hated him.

Like the ones you were making now, your hands slipping to his collar, fingers tucked inside, brushing against warm skin, skimming the metal of the chain he wore underneath. You curled your grip over it, tugged, mean, demanding.

How long had it been?

When he opened his eyes, would it be light? Would the sun have come? Would the sky be lavender? Would it look as pretty as you?

You whispered Steve’s name into his lips and he moaned. He was gone. Fucked. Done.

Then Mr and Mrs Cooke’s sprinklers came on and it was over. You both parted, chests heaving, pupils blown wide, a flush over both of you that couldn’t be ignored.

Steve’s lips were glossy from you, pink and kiss swollen, all bitten and shining. His eyes were too dark, heavy lidded and hair a mess, even though you weren’t sure you’d grabbed at it. Maybe you had. You couldn’t really remember anything but his tongue on yours.

“I’ll see you later,” you managed to breathe out, voice wrecked, words a huff.

You didn’t wait for a reply.

PSA: LEVEL 7 WILL BE POSTED 22/5! we'll be skipping a week so i can sail around france and spain thank u <3

#superb steve harrington series #Bad for Business 💙#enemies to lovers

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superbfics · 7 months ago

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Delicious. Delicious. DELICIOUS. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

He was tall and a little wild looking, unruly dark curls and tattoos peeking out from under the leather and denim he wore, all ripped off sleeves and silver rings. He was smirking at Steve like he knew something he didn’t, like was in on some sort of secret.

Steve didn’t like him.

UGGHHH Eddie is so hot. Gotta focus on Stve though....

Steve nodded, keeping his distance as he pretended to tidy away loose rota sheets, used up ticket stubs and a piece of paper Robin and Argyle had been drawing progressively larger dicks on. One had wings and a halo.

Laughed out loud actually, truly 😂💛

Besides, he could take Eddie Munson, right? Sure he was pretty much the same height but Steve was broader, stronger, surely. But maybe Eddie had that trailer park kid scrappiness, that feral sort of energy Dustin said Max exuded when she got ramped up—

Steve is an idiot and I love him. Getting ready to fight Eddie for a girl he "hates" working himself up. This got me so good!! Feral sort of energy that Max exuded, I can't 💀

“You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.” Eddie saluted, a massive skull glinting silver and pink in the light, and then with a wink, he was gone.

What the fuck?

Shit, Steve was still staring. He blinked, shrugged and turned back to the cash machine, despite no customers to serve. “What? Nothin’, god.”

“No,” Steve lied, feeling something burn in his chest. Maybe it was the breath he was holding. “No, he didn’t say anything else.”

Oh my god I can't wait for Dare oh my god oh my god THEY LOOOOVVVEEEE EACH OTHER.

Bad For Business: Level Four

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.2K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

There was a boy at the desk asking for you.

Steve didn’t like him.

“She’s on her break,” Steve told him, eyes narrowed like he couldn’t help himself. “Went to the store or something.”

Steve expected that to be the end of it, but the boy with all the rings just grinned, dimples on show before he hoisted himself onto the desk. “I’ll wait,” he said, too cheery. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve frowned. He was still suspicious. Why was the local drug dealer coming in and asking for you? The arcade was quiet enough that Steve didn’t have an excuse to leave, and honestly, he wanted to stick around and see. “Just didn’t realise you guys… knew each other.”

Eddie looked smug in an awful way, still acting like he was clued into something Steve didn’t have any idea about. Like he was trying not to laugh at him. The longer haired boy tilted his head to the side, all charm and bravado, still smiling. “Oh yeah.” He nodded, enthusiastic. “We know each other real well. Super close.”

You hadn’t mentioned Eddie before. Not in front of Steve. Fuck, you’d never mentioned any sort of boyfriend at all. But then Steve remembered nights that it rained, when he’d jog to his car only to see you run past him, jacket over your head and clambering into an old van, the windows dark enough that you could never see the driver.

Maybe he’d been kidding himself all those times when he assumed it was your dad.

“Oh,” fuck, is that all he could say? “Cool.”

There was a beat of silence between them, smothered in arcade game jingles and alarm bells that announced a new winner, but the air was heavy enough to be felt, thick with a tension Steve wasn’t used to.

Was this what being threatened felt like?

No. No. Steve didn't have anything to feel threatened about. So why was he still talking?

“I guess - I mean - well, I just never knew she had a boyfriend.” Steve cleared his throat, all awkward and he found himself standing a little straighter, chest puffed out, chin held high.

Thank fuck Robin wasn’t on shift, ‘cause Eddie was laughing and suddenly Steve felt about three feet shorter. What the fuck was this guys problem?

“I didn’t know you gossiped about your love lives, Harrington,” Eddie shot back. His smile was wolfish and it looked like a challenge, it felt like a dare. “You interested in who she’s hangin’ out with outside of work?”

“What?” It was jarring, the way Steve’s stomach dropped. A new kind of nervousness twisting around his guts, a heat that crawled from his stomach to his chest. His cheeks felt too warm. “What? No. Jesus, no, I just— we’re not even friends.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it still tasted like one. Bitter and acidic, like swallowing a too big pill without water. It got stuck in his throat, made him wince.

Eddie tutted, leaning back in his hands, taking up the majority of space on the counter top. His legs were swinging, rips across his knees in his black jeans, a chain hanging from his belt looks, glinting in the neon lights. He looked like he was having far too much fun.

“That’s a shame,” Eddie twisted his lips, big eyes looking all sad, acting up like he was on stage or something. “She’s real sweet, isn’t she?”

Steve scoffed, a choked out laugh that made Eddie’s lips twitch up. Steve busied himself with more loose papers, bundling together things that weren’t supposed to be filed with each other, name badges and empty chocolate wrappers stuck between faxes.

“Uh, sure, maybe,” Steve wrinkled his nose, squinting at the other boy. “I don’t know. She’s never, uh, all that sweet to me.”

And then Eddie was laughing, a full, bright cackle of a laugh and Steve was once again left feeling like he didn’t know the full joke. But he didn’t get to ask what he’d missed, what was so funny, ‘cause a kid who could hardly see over the desk approached him, a sticky hand full of equally sticky tickets that he wanted to swap for some knock off Star Wars toy. Disgruntled, Steve fussed with the glass cabinet where they kept all the ‘prizes’, his gaze flickering between Eddie and the door.

Surely you’d be back soon. Right? To see your boyfriend.

When the kid was gone, happily clutching his ‘nightsaber’ (even Steve knew that was wrong), Eddie was watching him again.

“She’s pretty, right?”

Steve froze. “What?” Was this some kind of trick? Who the fuck goes ‘round asking other dudes if they think their girlfriend is pretty? “I don’t— I’ve never—”

Eddie was grinning. Again. That Cheshire Cat smile, white teeth flashing somewhat threateningly. Steve didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Was this about last week? The powercut? Did you go home and tell your boyfriend how close Steve got to you, how he held your hand and for once in his goddamn life, Steve Harrington didn’t wanna argue with you?

“You don’t think she’s cute?”

Nothing had happened. Nothing ever would’ve. It couldn’t. You hated him, and Steve hated you. Right? Right.

“Look, dude, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not trying to hit on your girl, alright?” Someone got a new high score on the pinball machine across from the desk and an alarm rang, tickets flying out of the dispenser, lights flashing red and green. It felt like a warning. “She— we— we don’t talk, alright? Not like that, god, we’re not friends, okay?”

Eddie didn’t really seem to believe him, but Steve was more than relieved when the boy shrugged and slid off of the counter, dimples on show, beaming at him. He dusted his hands off like he’d completed whatever task he’d come to do before dropping a set of keys in front of Steve.

“Tell uh, my girl, that it was a radiator leak. No biggie. Car’s out front,” another flash of a smile, too charming now. Steve’s head was spinning. “Catch you later lover boy.”

What the fuck?

Eddie made his way past a crowd of kids, neon signs lighting up his skin in shades of lime green and fuschia. He spun before he got to the door, clapping his hands together and pointing back at the other boy, like he’d just remembered something important.

Is this where Eddie threatened him? Told him to stop looking at his girlfriend and keep his hands to himself? It was a fucking powercut, it was pitch black, what was he supposed to do? Let her hurt herself? The argument was already playing out in Steve’s head, his defence at the ready.

“And, uh, Harrington?”

Steve felt his fist tighten around the countertop.

“You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.” Eddie saluted, a massive skull glinting silver and pink in the light, and then with a wink, he was gone.

What the fuck?

He didn’t get a chance to ask what Eddie was on about, because Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson approached the desk, ignoring how he was standing with his mouth agape, brows knitted together in confusion. Everything was almost forgotten about as he argued with the two young boys about how no, he didn’t know when Donkey along was getting fixed, and no, he wasn’t prepared to let them poke about at the machine with Dustin’s backpack screwdriver.

And then you came back from your lunch, a flash of daylight breaking the darkness of the arcade as the door opened and shut behind you. Steve watched you hand a wrapped sandwich to Argyle before making your way around the desk to where he stood.

Maybe he was staring, maybe that’s why you were looking at him weird. Maybe that’s just the kinda gaze you gave him on the daily. You were wearing a skirt today, black and swishy around your thighs, your staff shirt cut off so it hit just above your navel, much to Murray’s despair. There was a warning written up and stuck to your locker, but you hadn’t seemed to care.

“What?”

Shit, Steve was still staring. He blinked, shrugged and turned back to the cash machine, despite no customers to serve. “What? Nothin’, god.”

You didn’t argue with him, just narrowing your eyes at his strange mood before pushing your way into the staff room. It was empty bar someone’s leftover lunch and a walkman that lay on the table and then suddenly Steve was barging his way into the too small room, a familiar set of keys in his hands. Your disco ball keychain sent rainbows over the walls, tiny glimmers of light across Steve’s cheeks, his hands, his arms.

He held them out to you, cheeks tinged pink like something had happened and you’d missed it, ‘cause he couldn’t really look you in the eye either. You stared, taking your keys from the boy slowly, like any sudden movements would scare him.

Not that you cared.

Steve spoke before you could say thanks, leaning against Murray’s abandoned desk with his hands shoved in his pockets as he cleared his throat. The air was heavy with something, more tension than you were used to, a weight to it that was more than summer air and teenage hormones.

“Your uh, your boyfriend dropped them off,” Steve was finally looking at you, brown eyes honeycomb in the too bright lights. “Said it was a broken radiator or somethin’.”

You frowned, confused at the word that was thrown out between you. Boyfriend? But once again, before you could manage to speak, Steve was talking again, all his thoughts tumbling out at once, swimming at your feet.

“Eddie Munson, huh? I didn’t— I didn’t know you were dating him. Or anyone. Not that it matters,” Steve sucked in a breath, like he was trying to catch each sentence, like he could swallow back the words he’d already said. “It doesn’t matter, obviously. Why would it? I mean, fuck, s’not like we share updates on our love lives or shit—”

“Harrington.”

“—like, I don’t care if you’re dating him, I just didn’t, like, except it, you know? Munson? Didn’t think he was your type, not that I know what your type is, s’not like I think about it or anything—”

“Steve.”

The boy stopped talking, jaw snapping shut as he looked at you, a little wide eyed. He was breathing a little heavier, hands leaving his pockets only to take through his hair.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You played with the keys in your hands, disco ball keychain clinking prettily between the silver. The reflections scattered, rainbow coloured freckles on Steve’s cheeks. “I’m not dating Eddie, we’re just friends.”

You weren't sure why you were explaining this.

“But Munson said—” Steve stopped mid sentence, the abruptness of it hanging in the air between you. Eddie hadn’t said you were dating. Eddie hadn’t called himself your boyfriend, had he? No. That was Steve’s doing. “Uh, he called you his girl… I just assumed…”

You snorted, eyes rolling in a way that held a lot more affection than what he was used to seeing when it was directed at him. You shrugged, dropping yourself into a chair at the table, eyeing Steve with a new sort of curiosity. He really was acting fucking weird.

“We’re close,” you said, copying Eddie’s words from earlier without even knowing. “Best friends, you know? Nothing… nothing more.”

“Oh.” Steve’s lips were a pretty ‘o’ shape, pink and pouting and you practically saw the gears inside his head whirring. “Right.”

“He was probably just trying to be funny,” you explained, unwrapping a chocolate bar you’d taken from your bag. You bit into it, licking caramel from your lips. “He’s not though. Despite what he thinks.”

Steve nodded, looking a little dazed, but he pushed himself off of Murray’s desk and sent you another look you couldn’t really decipher. Before he made it back to the door that led to the arcade, you stopped him, an edge to your voice that wasn’t there before.

“Did he, uh,” you winced when your voice cracked, staring at the table instead of the boy. “Did Eddie say anything else?”

Steve almost kicked the desk leg, swearing as he spun back to you, eyes darting over your face, like he was trying to work something out. He thought about Eddie’s questions.

If Steve thought you were sweet. If Steve thought you were pretty.

“What?”

‘You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.’

“Did he say anything? You know, stupid shit.” You licked your lips again, chasing sugar, looking nervous.

Lover boy lover boy lover boy.

“No,” Steve lied, feeling something burn in his chest. Maybe it was the breath he was holding. “No, he didn’t say anything else.”

#superb steve harrington series #Bad for Business 💙#enemies to lovers

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