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the walls are thin - ch8

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | ch8 | EPILOGUE [masterlist]

// gorgeously genuine, absolutely beaming ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 5443 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni omg more smut, confessions, last chapter hey!, mentions of hard scratches/blood, soft fucking, fucking with feelings, the end all takes place in atsumu's little room, afab she/her pronouns

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sight is the last sense to come to you.

first, it’s the touch of the grip on your waist; it’s the sensation that stirs you awake. it’s tight around you, strong and tense as if any sort of laxity would cause you to slip out of it. your bare back is pressed up against a beating chest and you’re surrounded by warmth.

then it’s the smell, that familiarly clean scent that isn’t just in front of you, soft blankets bunched up underneath the side of your head, it’s behind you, it’s under you, it’s above you, weaved within the fabric of the sheets and wafting off of the skin that’s all around you.

the sound is apparent next, introduced softly, gradually, tiny piece by tiny piece like an hourglass that only lets one grain of sand through at a time, and then a constant in your ears, not overwhelming or loud, but there. the inhale and exhale, tiny breaths of air that could barely make a candle flicker. the soft hum of the fan, the faintest chirping of birds, the rustling of the covers.

then it’s taste, an unfamiliar one lingering on your lips, heavy on your tongue. it’s almost jarring at first, this foreign, though not unwelcome, taste that you can’t quite put your finger on. it causes you to stir a bit more than the rest of the realizations, not as steady or recognized or easy. the second that you move to turn over, body already in motion, everything’s already come rushing back.

you remember every single event from last night and the taste becomes just another sense that you get to file under familiar and comforting.

your eyes flutter open, blink a few soft times, and then remain half-lidded as you take in the scene in front of you. all of atsumu’s features rendered gentle, peaceful from this blissful sleep he’s found himself in, his bangs covering his eyes in a way that doesn’t really bother him in the state he’s in, lips slightly parted, jaw lax, soft pink on his cheeks from your body heat and the mountain of covers, eyelashes flittering as you let out a surprised exhale at just how incredible he looks right now.

sure, all five of your senses are important, but you would give up the remaining four if it meant being able to see this every morning.

part of you is begging to wake him up, to talk about last night, to talk about what it all means, to hear his voice again, to ask if you can kiss him again, to kiss him again, but another part of you thinks… what’s the rush? why not just lay here for a few more minutes?

you extend your arm out, let it fall against the small dip of his waist, curl your fingers against his lower back, and pull yourself closer. you bow your head into his chest. forehead resting against his heart, you can feel every single beat like a metronome. and then sleep takes you once more, no longer kicking and screaming, but happily submitting this time.

sight is the last thing that comes to atsumu.

first, it’s the sound of your muttering, something delicate that he can’t make out, but his brain implores him to be awake for. he answers back on instinct, questioning hum leaving his throat that does not get any real response from you, just another lovingly sweet, definitely unintelligible babble.

then it’s the touch, your hair tickling his bare chest, the pressure that he can feel on his entire body, wherever you are against him. it’s the tiny movements of your skin against his, brushing up and snuggling into, the tiny breeze of his fan, your breath on his chest.

the taste is apparent next, swallowing gently once he realizes why his mouth tastes like that, a blush rising to his cheeks and a gratitude spreading through his body when it doesn’t go away. he wants to lean down and kiss you again and again, stockpile on the taste of you so he never has to be without it.

then it’s smell, yours, everywhere, head right under his nose, he recognizes it instantly. he wonders how long it will be stained in his sheets, how many times he’ll have to have you around before he, god forbid, gets used to it. it’s fresh and perfumey, not overwhelming, but not too subtle.

he pulls you closer, opens his eyes when you make another adorable noise, looks down at you pressed into his chest, cheek smushed against him, and he curses under his breath, “fuck.” because he wasn’t ready for you to look this good and he doesn’t normally get up this late and he might have disturbed you with how fast his heart is beating at the sight and this has now set an expectation of how he wants to wake up every morning.

he leans down and presses a small kiss onto the top of your head, digs his fingers into your hip as he does so, and he wants to feel bad, really, he does, when you stir awake in his arms, slight confusion immediately dissipating and being replaced with complete comfort, but you reach your fist up to rub the sleep out of your eye and you close one eye because the light peaking through the shitty school blinds is so bright and you run your hand over your hair before looking up at him with groggy eyes, and he refuses to feel bad for anything that has resulted in a sight like this one.

“good mornin, pretty,” he says, voice rumbling against your palm on his chest.

it takes a few moments for you to process your surroundings fully and he’s patient as you navigate through these waking senses. atsumu is just watching you, eyes following the changing emotions on your features.

wow, he looks good.

you have a million thoughts on your mind, all racing to get out of your mouth first, and the one that wins amidst your worries and adorations is, “what time is it?”

“barely 11,” he answers after looking at the alarm clock on his side table. “but it’s a sunday, you can’t have anywhere to be right now.”

you turn on your back and he leans forward to maintain the closeness he had before, chest and head hovering overtop of you. all you can see is him, that gorgeously genuine, absolutely beaming smile, amber eyes filled with fondness. you pick your head up and press a kiss whenever it lands (the tiniest bit of the corner of his upturned lips and the cheek beside).

“‘m not asking so i can rush out of here,” you explain, hands reaching up, fingers outstretched as they part his messy hair. you move closer to him, shoulder pressing into his stomach. his hair is velvety, tangled, feels so nice in between your fingers and fist. “i did this,” you mutter under your breath as you smooth out matted clumps on the back of his head.

even at this angle, hovering above you, shielded from the light, you can see the blush that rises to his cheeks. “you did,” he mumbles, leaning down and pressing his lips into yours.

you put your hands over top of his, sliding them with yours down your sides, fingers skimming over the purplish marks in the lows of your hips. “and you did this,” you breathe, hips shying away from his touch as he puts a bit of pressure on the bruises.

he kisses the side of your cheek, down your face, along your jaw. he speaks into your neck, “and you know what else you did?”

“what’s that?” you ask, letting his fingers play with the maltreated skin as you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers clasped at the base.

“maybe move your hands a bit lower,” he suggests. he skims his lips over your sensitive skin, breathes coolly over your collarbones.

you listen, hands migrating down his back and you feel it instantly. the second your fingertips come into contact with the deep scratches, he pulls away to see your reaction. he watches your eyes go wide, face on fire, apology about to leave your lips, but he leans down and kisses it away.

“holy shit,” you say under your breath, fingers tracing the scratches down, moving left and right to find (very easily) different ones. “oh my god,” you say in disbelief still as you claw your hand, letting your fingernails ghost over the scabbed over scratches. when your nail gets a bit too close to his skin, it reopens the mark and causes atsumu to wince. “m so sorr-.”

“don’t be,” he says, steady in your hands now. “ts a nice reminder that last night actually happened.” he leans down again and kisses your neck. you’re so grateful for the closeness, linking your hands behind his back and pulling him deeper into you.

“what? do you normally have dreams like that?” you tease.

he lets out a light laugh. “yea,” he jokes (or maybe not), “so i can’t believe i got to actually fuck you last night.”

oh? you still don't forgive atsumu? you.. you uh? you want to be with maki instead? okay. >:) (otherwise, carry on babes)

you keep one hand on his back, pads of your fingers following the marks you made in fervor last night, and you cup his cheek with the other, guiding him softly down to you, though it doesn’t take much. he chases your touch until his lips collide with yours. you speak against them, “would you believe it if you got to do it again?”

his skin grows warm against your palm as he presses his lips into yours harder, the smallest grunt breathed into your mouth. “now?” he asks, trying, but failing, to hide the excitement in his tone.

“you said so last night,” you link your arms around his neck, pull him on top of you. his knees are on either side of your upper thigh and his skin, his touch, his warmth is everywhere. “that you would fuck me in the morning when i couldn’t get out of bed.”

his forearms are bracketing either side of your ribs and he pulls away from your kiss begrudgingly. his eyes are glued to your mouth, at whatever words are coming out, at your too-sweet expression as you keep saying things that make him melt. how do you exist? “i’m too sore to be thrown around, but i think you said something about really slow and really hard?” you ask, leaning your head to kiss his forearm, the closest place you can reach.

“you remember that?” he asks, trying to keep his composure for just a little longer.

“how could i forget?” you say, but that alone doesn’t accurately portray how your recollection of last night, “i’m not sure i’ll ever forget last night.”

he has to kiss you.

atsumu leans back down, kisses you deeper this time, to taste you and to tell you that he won’t either and to show you how he feels about you.

he pulls away, looking at you once more, joking as he says, “but not the part where you abused my poor back?”

you blush, chewing on your bottom lip thoughtfully. “actually, didn’t you tell me to?”

he laughs. “yea, told ya to go harder if you needed to,” he nudges your jaw to the side with his nose, starts to kiss down your neck, captures your collarbone between his teeth as he mumbles, “and you needed to i guess.”

“did it hurt?” you ask under your breath, just barely above a whisper, hands moving up his back and threading into his hair as he moves quickly to your chest.

he hums an affirmation against your chest, lips dragging across your tits until he captures one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking the tip against it until it becomes hard in his mouth. he snakes his arm under your lower back, creates a pretty arch bringing your tits deeper into his mouth. you tighten your grip in his hair. it only makes him suckle harder.

“and when i need to do it again?” you ask.

he talks quickly, away for as little time as possible, but you can hear the smile in his voice, “as hard as ya want, baby.” fuck, okay, yeah, you get it. you pull him back into your tits, nodding, embarrassed, almost, at how wet you can feel yourself getting already.

it doesn’t help that you can feel him against your plush thigh, heavy growing cock resting on top of your supple skin occasionally grinding into the fat. it drags across the inside of your leg, skipping over the soft, unlubricated skin. it only takes a few rolls of his hips to smear the leaking precome from the tip and the dragging turns to gliding.

atsumu is grunting and whimpering into your chest, barely able to focus on your perfect pretty fucking tits. if he wasn’t so desperate to slip inside of your warm, tight cunt, he’d fuck your thighs until he blew his milky load all over them. his arms shake at the thought, nearly collapsing his entire body weight into you, not that you’d mind.

he moves his hips, slowly grinding closer and closer to your pussy until the underside of his cock slips between your fat lips. it’s instantly coated with your slick, so drenched that he almost slips inside without warning. he can’t see the mess he’s made between your legs, all he can see is the picture in his brain, how slick and wet and- “fuck,” he breathes.

you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers quick to play with the ends of his hair, because you just don’t know where to put all of this anticipation in your body. you slide your hands down his back, palms smoothing over the scratches, the beads of dried blood unpredictable under your soft fingertips. your touch is nearly tremors, head full with need, walls fluttering, too empty. it’s like he can read your mind.

he slides his cock between your folds, hips stuttering because he didn’t even think he’d get to fuck you one time, let alone two, and he’s not sure if this is a good idea because sure, he could’ve gotten over you if he only felt you one time. one time is enough to savor, but two? two is enough to commit to memory. two is uncharted territory. two is the start of a pattern.

two might mean three and four and five and forever.

he positions his head right against your quivering hole, fluttering so pretty, asking so nicely for him to enter you. he pushes inside, slowly, just as he promised, snapping his hips to be fully sheathed inside of you once his cock is sucked in halfway, hard, just as he promised.

your nails claw into him, not dragging, but gripping, crescent moon shaped divots adding to the visible displays of passion. you press your forehead against his shoulder, shaky breath leaving you as you shift to accommodate his girth. you feel so full, can feel the dull stretch of your tight walls giving way for his thick length. at first, you don’t remember it being that big, don’t remember feeling as speared as you do right now, but as the sensation settles in, you remember it all too well. the lingering stretch, how deep he is in your fucking guts, how perfectly your walls hug him.

he’s doing exactly as he said he would, cock pulling out of you slowly, fucking into you at the same pace save for the last few inches. his hips slap against the insides of your thighs and you can feel the sting so quickly, your body recalling all of the abuse it went through last night. he places his palm on your hip, presses the bruises into your bones, and you whimper. he almost stops, moves to pull his hand away, but you place yours on top of his, looking into his eyes, pleading to him that you can take it.

it takes only a few lazy morning thrusts for you to be crumbling underneath him. he can feel it, too. can feel how tight you’re getting, how hard you’re breathing, how sharp your nails are. “would i be an asshole if i made ya wait to cream all over my cock?” he asks, and your immediate answer is yes, of course, but you look up at him and you can see his resolve fading as well. you know exactly what he wants you to wait for and now you can’t imagine coming before him.

you shake your head no. “i’ll wait for you, baby,” you breathe like an unbound promise. his hips stutter, eyes squeeze shut, and he almost lets himself give in to the quickness of his orgasm, but he doesn’t. he’s not embarrassed or ashamed, he just wants to fuck you nice and slow for a little while longer.

the longer that he fucks you, the less he cares about the things coming out of his mouth. if you called him baby nice and sweet, he’d give you his load in a second, but he wants it to keep going, to last for even a minute longer, this wet, squelching, sticky sound that’s coming from between your thighs and the feeling that’s accompanying it, so he just keeps fucking talking, doesn’t give you a single breath to say something that will make this end too soon.

“god, yer so perfect for me” for him “so fucking perfect. swear to god if i could just fuck you forever” forever “i fucking would. if i could just be with ya” be with you “forever i fucking would. ‘ve got no idea what you’ve done to me, how you came into my life and made me fall for you” fall for you “so hard so quickly, even now ‘m still falling” still falling

the words keep spilling and you can’t breathe, hanging on to every last one, “from the moment i met ya, knew i had to have ya. n then i talked to ya and knew i had to know you, really know ya” know you “couldn’t stop thinking about you” he pauses, but not for enough time for you to reply, not that you even had a reply to give. “spring break, during spring break, couldn’t stop thinking about ya while you were gone, knew i was fucked. didn’t see anyone else, couldn’t.” couldn’t. ba-bump.

you swallow harshly, hands migrating to his hair, his face, smoothing over his cheeks, combing through his locks. you nod your head. “thank you for knowing me,” you breathe. that would’ve been enough for atsumu, something for him to carry in his heart forever, at the forefront of his mind for days until it sinks in and takes residency for the rest of his life, but you press on, pulling him down into you so he can taste your tongue and your words all at once. “you don’t have to think about anyone else anymore if you don’t want to,” you shake your head desperately, words barely choking out of your tight throat. “and i won’t think about anyone else either, just you, baby.”

he starts nodding the second that you tell him he doesn’t have to think about anyone else and he doesn’t stop as you keep babbling on. by the time baby has left your swollen lips, he’s a puddle, spilling inside of you, hips stilling, pressed flat against the insides of your abused thighs, pumping streams and streams of hot come inside of your perfect fucking pussy. you’re filling and filling and so full and you can’t stop the few tears that fall from the corners of your eyes as you come so forcefully that you wrap your legs around his lower back, pulling him in deeper, your stomach tight, forehead against his, alternating murmurs of baby and atsumu and tsumu as your mind goes numb, blank of anything other than him.

neither of you move. neither of you want to move. neither of you are sure that you even can. he’s still inside of you. you’re still surrounding him. his forehead slumps against your shoulder. your arms instinctually wrap around his back, holding him as close to you as you can. the sounds of the two of you breathing in time are the only thing you can hear until he breaks the constant noise, talking into your skin, “did you mean it?”

you hum a questioning noise, still trying to recover. he leans back to look at you. it takes all of the energy in his body, but he does it. “did you mean it or were you just trying to make me come?” he looks so serious that your heart skips a beat. you reach up and place a soft kiss on his nose, blush spreading from the point of contact almost immediately.

“i don’t say things i don’t mean,” you state. that’s really the only explanation that he needs.

he smiles, big, doesn’t even try to hide it. “y’know, i can’t believe you never told me that you could hear me.”

you narrow your eyes, “and i can’t believe you never thought, ‘hey, this might be loud!’”

“i can’t believe it’s taken this long for this to happen,” he admits, falling onto his side and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him, snuggling into your shoulder.

“i can’t believe i just slept with you,” you admit back. he laughs at the confession and that’s okay. it’s valid at first. honestly, it comes out as a joke. or, rather, it comes up your throat as joke. the second it’s left your tongue, it feels different, heavy, wrong.

he hasn’t noticed, not yet, but you don’t blame him. you’d give a lot of things to not feel this off. “come on it, couldn’t have been that bad,” he jokes, another one loading up right behind it.

“no it- it wasn’t i just-,” you say, stuttering through your words, because you’re not trying to make this a big thing, not after the two of you have just had sex twice, but it’s weighing like a big thing.

you go to move, his arms tighten around you on instinct and you want to stay put because you’re very comfortable pressed up against him, but you’re feeling antsy now.

“no, i just,” you sit up, “i can’t believe i’ve just become another girl you’ve hooked up with.” you can’t believe that that’s just come out of your mouth, a conglomerate of fears that you’ve had since you’ve met him.

“we were different than that, i thought, closer than that.” you feel like you’re going to cry. the reason you’ve never fucked him after all this time was because you didn’t want it to end, it couldn’t end. there are a million tells in this room alone that are screaming at you that this doesn’t mean the end, but you still can’t shake it.

“you know? i think that day at the cafe was our first date,” he speaks so clearly, but you’re still confused. why is he bringing up your stupid cafe date? “but i think i should take you out properly this time?”

your stomach lurches and you can’t believe this thought is making it past your lips, “you mean like a second date?” he nods, hand bracing your lower back just to let you know that he’s there. you don’t move away. “i thought you weren’t a second date guy,” you say, cautiously.

“i’m also not a guy that usually gets walked out on because he can’t stop thinking about someone else,” he half-jokes. “can i please take you out again?” it pains you how much he’s fucking trying.

you’re quiet, not answering, slowly moving backwards until your back is flat against the bed, mulling over all that’s happened and the words that he’s said, weighing your options so carefully, accounting for any and everything that you could. him, how thoughtful he is, the note he left you when he was plant sitting, the way he steals your food, the people he’s slept with, his track record, his room, the conversation you had with his brother, meeting his friends, spring break, your text messages, the way that he smiles at you when he thinks you’re not looking, his touch, his arms, his thighs, the beat of his heart.

he rolls onto his back, a large puff of air exhaled from his lungs as he does so. he smooths his palms over his face, fingers parting his own hair, eyes squeezed shut as he exhales again into his hands. “god, you make me feel like-,” he takes another breath, sitting up this time. you get a good look at his back from this angle and if the words he were saying weren’t so important, you’d interrupt him by kissing the toned muscle all over.

“like-,” he pauses, shaking his head, turning his neck, twisting his back to face you, “i don’t even know. i can’t even describe how you make me feel.” he narrows his eyes at you like he’s thinking of the most difficult math problem and trying to solve it in his head. “i know that sounds cheesy, i know it does, but i’m serious, i’ve never felt like this before.”

you sit up with him, his face morphs into realization, a tiny moment in time that you wish you could’ve caught on a camera. it looks effortlessly difficult, a long road to get there, figuring out his feelings in real time, and yet it doesn’t come out like a question. “i love you.”

your stomach drops. you can’t breathe. “you love me?” you ask.

even without instant reciprocation, he doesn’t show an ounce of regret, not a single one. in fact, he replies quickly, even more assured this time, “i do.”

“i can’t believe you just told me that you loved me before we’ve even been on a second date,” you say because it’s the only other thing on your mind other than i’m so scared to tell you that i love you too because i’m terrified that this will all end when we both admit our feelings to one another. he breathes a laugh, nodding, a smile on his face that hasn’t left since he’s admitted it.

“what happens when school ends?” you ask, trying to distract yourself from what’s really happening, from the realization of love glowing throughout your body, “we both graduate in the fall and-”

“i’ll follow you anywhere,” he answers quickly, facing you completely now, all attention on you, eyes scanning your face, just waiting for the okay to kiss you to show you how truthful he’s being.

you keep coming up with excuses, not because you want him to agree with them, but because you want him to keep disputing them. “but you have volleyball and your own things that you’re doing and-”

he cuts you off. “i’m not doing any of that without you,” he says, pauses, and then adds, “if you’d keep me around.”

“okay,” you say, letting the air settle before reiterating, “second date it is then.” it’s the confirmation he’s been waiting for this entire time and he doesn’t hesitate in leaning forward and kissing you so hard that you fall back into the pillow again, no teeth or tongue, but just as desperate as last night and this morning.

it’s not just an okay to the date. it’s an okay to the rest of your lives together, the two of you know this. it’s an okay to attending each other’s graduations, him sitting between maki and iwaizumi and cheering just as loud as the two of them, you sitting between osamu and bokuto and making a fool out of yourself as bokuto tries to lift you on his shoulder, and the mixed graduation party that you throw, the first party that you throw as a couple.

it’s an okay to a small apartment near campus after you decide to pursue your graduate degree, decorated with photos from your dorm, all of the plants that atsumu continues to care for, the cactus he got for you senior year and the cactus you got him as a graduation gift, a tiny shelf dedicated to osamu, tiny trinkets from the trips that the two of you went on all summer, floral bedsheets and a sage comforter, even more photos of him and his friends and you and your friends and you and his friends and him and your friends and just the two of you on your dressers, and a mat outside of your front door with strawberries that reads welcome home.

it’s an okay to the trip that the two of you take to go see osamu, a road trip that consists of an uneven driving division, a playlist with a million genres of music that’s intersected by random half hours of podcasts, and a stop at a stupid roadside attraction that ends in an entire week of you getting to watch atsumu and osamu interact, unhinged and with a love that makes your heart swell no matter how many times you see it, and where osamu lets slip all of the plans that atsumu has for your future and how happy he is that the two of you ended up together, his actual girlfriend. it’s an okay to the handful of trips that you guys take to see osamu after that.

it’s an okay to the huge proposal that seemingly every single person in both of your lives has a hand in planning from the ring to the song to the stupid dance to the setting to the party, not just planning, really, but actually being apart of it too, embarrassment spreading over your cheeks and a stupid pride filling your heart as you enter a rented out building and are “surprised” by too many people to effectively be doing a flash mob proposal and you say yes into a microphone and are hugged by atsumu first and then a million other people and you want to cry but your tear ducts are dry, because it’s also an okay to the actual proposal that atsumu plans all by himself, rents a small apartment in the city that you’re terrified that he bought for you, but that isn’t the surprise here. it’s an okay to the quiet, meaningful, sob-inducing speech that he feeds you and the way that you can barely speak the word yes, you’re crying so hard, crying even harder when he kisses your ring finger before slipping on the ring.

it’s an okay to the wedding that follows, a destination somewhere beautiful that was supposed to just be close friends, but you quickly realize that the two of you foster a lot of relationships that could be filed under close friends, you do it anyways, and you let every single one of those close friends write a speech and you cry a lot and atsumu cries even more and you have your first dance to a stupid song that the two of you became obsessed with on your first road trip and you forgo a father/daughter dance but osamu insists on pulling you to the dance floor and no one dares to join you, all watching in silent awe as atsumu tries to stay stoic but fails miserably and atsumu lets maki steal you every other second because in maki’s speech he refers to atsumu as the shining light in an already beaming life and it’s the best few nights of your shared life, adding a million more photos to your bedroom walls and even more memories to your hearts.

it’s an okay to midnight drives when you’re feeling down, and coming home from work early just to crawl into his lap, and going out to eat more frequently than you should because neither of you want to do dishes and both of you are craving something, and watching tv shows together before anyone else, and continuously finding out new things about the other, and never not thinking that the other person is the funniest person in the entire world, and sharing food and kissing a lot and an unwavering trust that you didn’t think was possible and the love that comes along with it.

it’s an okay to everything.

you say it once more, so you’re certain that he hears it all, so many thoughts, so many promises riding on four little letters, “okay.”

and he says it back, so that you’re certain he’s heard it all, “okay.”

okay so you forgave atsumu and love him but you still wanna read alternate universe maki love? alright. head on over babe.

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#atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader smut #atsumu smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #miya atsumu x reader

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 1 year

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𓆩☆𓆪 kuroo doesn't really know what's come over him. he barely remembers getting home, finding you in the kitchen, and pressing you up against the counter. he barely remembers tugging off yours and his own clothes right there and then. and right now he's barely present as he fucks load after load into you. 𓆩☆𓆪

☆ synopsis: a coworker brings their baby to work, and that sets off the gears in kuroo’s head to have some of your own

☆ warnings: female reader, obvious mentions of children, unprotected sex, reader and kuroo fuck like rabbits, praise kink, mild biting, lots of kissing, kuroo is really horny…like really, size kink, manhandling

☆ notes: welcome to the first installment to ‘oh, baby!’, thank you to @kuroosdarling for reading the rough rough beforehand hehe ily <3

word count: 2.5kei

Reblogs and interaction much appreciated!

at first, everything is innocent. tetsurō knows his coworker only means well. but tetsurō should've expected that when bring your child to work day came at the jva he'd encounter at least one. his coworker asks him if he wants to hold their baby after catching him stare at the small infant in awe. the resemblance between coworker and child clearly evident. he's so amazed at how strong genetics could be.

then tetsurō wondered how strong his own genetics would be when it came to your children.

to recall back, the conversation of children came up briefly between the two of you. you both decided that it would be logical to wait a little while before trying to have any. kuroo was focused on building up his career and so were you. you just wanted to have your priorities straight and be responsible. nothing's wrong with that, right?

and so the conversation had been left with a pin in it and you both moved on in life. you would question when to have children later.

when holding the child in his arms, kuroo only panicks for a moment (were babies always this small?) before the child naturally curls up into his chest. their tiny hand grabs ahold of his (ridiculously) large pinky before continuing to sleep soundly. they even coo with joy.

"they seem to really like you!" his coworker laughs. "you seem to be a natural with kids!"

tetsurō only crinkles his nose in confusion but he can't help the fluttering in his chest at those words. "i'm not really doing anything but holding them."

they laugh again and nod with understanding. “sure, but you seem to be the type to make a great father, kuroo-san. you're a good person. very patient and understanding. by the way, when do you and the missus plan to have kids?"

and so having been asked the question sent him on a spiral.

by the time he's asked, several years have passed since your first conversation about kids. both you and him are financially stable. you're both lucky enough to live comfortably, and you're both happy where you are in your careers. most importantly, you're both married.

honestly, just the thought of being married to you and having a little family turns kuroo on too much. but he wants to have a family that's better than the broken one he had growing up. the best thing he can do for his kids is show them a healthy and long lasting relationship with their mother. and god does he know he can do that. he loves you so damn much his heart aches. he'll walk across fire for you, and the best part is that he knows you'll do the same for him.

the man isn't really present for the rest of the day, having to be called out during a meeting for being unfocused, and eventually sent home after he lies and says he isn't feeling well. and it's partially true, because now that he knows he wants kids, he feels an empty hole in his chest almost as if a part of him is missing.

and if being 'sick' means trying to conceal the boner in his slacks, then so be it. he doesn't want to relieve himself of his problem, no. not when the only thing on his mind is cumming inside of you raw.

tetsurō comes home to the smell of your cooking, his second favorite scent right after you. just seeing you makes him crazy. he'd been thinking about putting a baby in you all day. his hands itch to get started.

you haven't seen him yet, but tetsurō doesn't waste anymore time. he simply eyes you intently, taking time to admire you and all the soft curves of your backside. you feel the warmth of him before seeing him and that's enough to startle you.

a small gasp leaves your mouth as you look up at him in surprise before a honeyed smile appears on your face. a smile that's only reserved for him. "hi! you're home earlier than usual."

he returns your greeting with a grin. "hi beautiful, how was your day?" he tugs you into his grasp. lean arms encase you in his hold as he rests his chin on top of your head and massages your hips.

hips he knows that will bare his children.

"it was good tetsu, are you hungry? i'm finishing up dinner now, and we can talk about your day." you respond, focus retuned to the stove in front of you.

he has to admit, the food smells delicious, but he's hungry for something else this evening. and unfortunately he'll have to endure an earful from you later about letting the food get cold, but he doesn't mean any harm. he just has priorities.

he hums, turning you fully towards him. his eyes lower and become stuck on your stomach. brain stuck on the thought of you being round with his child. you would look so cute pregnant. your breast would be filled with milk, too. maybe you'll let him taste—

"'ro?" you voice snaps him from his thoughts. you try to make eye contact with him and he only smiles, not registering a single thing you just said. his large hands take your face in his hold and you feel his calloused fingers run over your cheeks before he kisses your nose and then all over your face.

"tetsurō, what's gotten into you?" you giggle. you didn't mind his affection, don't get it wrong, but there was something oddly...intense about the way he's acting that you know something is up.

the ravenette seems to contemplate his thoughts, carefully reeling over the words in his mind. "i just thought that...maybe we should start...tryin', that's all." he mumbles, mouth pressing kisses all over your skin. you shiver at his touch, at the way his scent and body crowd in on your space.

ah, there it is.

your cheeks heat up, and you know exactly what he means. his words always slur slightly when he's turned on, almost like he's delirious or hooked on lust.

tetsurō only continues. "today my co-worker brought in the cutest little baby i'd ever seen. looked just like 'em, too. i didn't really understand how children could make someone so happy...but i'm startin' to." he explains, tugging off your pants. he tugs off your underwear next, the cold air hitting your folds makes you jump.

you swallow nervously, "tetsu—"

"made me realize how cute our kids could—will be. they'd be the cutest in the world, i'm sure. wonder if they'd have my eyes and your smile. and hopefully they'll inherit your hair or else we'll be in trouble." he laughs before he undoes his tie, then his shirt, and tosses the garments somewhere on the floor. his belt is undone next and he's quick to unfasten his pants.

you eyes widen, and your heart fastens at the mental image of a tiny child in your arms, the spitting image of you and kuroo.

your husband pauses again, his brows knitted in thought. "do you think...that i can be a good father? for our kids?" he leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes for a moment as he must be pondering the very question.

you nod slowly. "i don't think so, i know so. you'll be great with our kids, tetsu." you answer, running your fingers along his jaw.

"yeah?" he breathes, pulling down his pants along with his boxers. "do you still want some?" he moves your body so that you're sitting safely on the counter away from everything else.

"w-with you? yes..." you answer, voice getting caught in your throat as he prods his fat tip at your entrance. you're already soaked enough that you know he can just... slide right in.

kuroo's breathing becomes extremely labored and his gaze darkens at your words. his single strand of restraint is being pulled taut. "then can we? can we start trying, sweets?" his hands are groping at your chest and hips, and he riles himself up the longer he touches you without relief.

you barely say 'yes' before he pushes himself into you, his jaw going slack as he is enveloped by you, cunt warm and inviting and tightness pleasurable beyond means.

his eyes glass over and he's completely enamored by the fact that he can be this close to you. that you trust him to hold you like he is now.

you look up at him with near helplessness as his grip on your legs doesn't loosen up. the stretch of him never is something you think you can get used to, as you feel yourself struggle to adjust to his size. the heavy and thick fullness of his cock is intense. you can feel how it throbs with need.

"do you think—" he moans as your cunt drags over his cock, sucking him in more, "that they're going to be interested in volleyball?" he lets his tip kiss your cervix and you keen, causing a groan to escape his mouth. "you think they're gonna be a middle blocker like me?"

"are you really asking me that right now?" you sigh, fingers frantically gripping the counter beneath you. you move your hips against him and hope that will shut him up.

spoiler, it doesn't. "why not—fuck, just like that baby—it's a genuine question." he buries his face in the side of your neck, and the smell of your lavender soap invades his senses before his teeth choose to bite and scrape at your skin.

"you're such a volleyball nerd, tetsu." you laugh but soon moan as both of your hips move synchronously. "when are you not thinking about it?"

he huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple as he presses you further into the kitchen counter. his lips linger against your skin before you felt them curve into a smile. "when i'm busy thinking 'bout your cute self, which is definitely more than volleyball."

you tried to formulate a response but only a refined moan escapes your lips again as kuroo pounds you. the sound of skin on skin filters out any remaining thoughts you had.

"you don't understand how crazy i've been goin' today." he grunts, nearly delirious in the way you cream on him so well. he can already feel himself twitch with the need to cum but as much as he wants to, he wants this moment to last a bit longer. he can't cum before you.

one of his hands lace with your own as he regards you. "been thinking about all the different ways to get you pregnant. of all the cute little maternity outfits you'll wear. of me taking care of you when you get tired and your feet ache. you're going to look so pretty carrying our baby, sweetheart."

he's rambling and you're not even sure if he's talking to you or if he's talking directly to your womb. but his words alone are enough to bring you to your first orgasm, pussy clamping down hard on his cock.

"jesus christ," he groans, struggling to keep composure, "it's like your cunt is trying to suck the life out of me." he’ll never not be impressed with how well your tiny pussy takes him.

you only whimper, legs quivering in a way you didn't know they could as you slip them tighter around his waist. with the way kuroo is bullying your insides he just might be successful at his agenda of getting you pregnant tonight.

he moves your legs over his shoulders, laying you down so your back is pressed against the cold surface of the marble counter. you feel chills run down your spine from just witnessing him effortlessly move you how he wants. the new angle he decides to rut in you at causes you to cry out in surprise.

"so perfect, so pretty like this split on my cock. gonna be even prettier filled with my cum. best thing i can give you when you feel so good." his head bows so that he can kiss you and you eagerly meet his lips, the taste of him comforting, addicting, and familiar all at once.

he brings one hand down to your clit, moving his fingers methodically over your bundle of nerves as he coos and encourages you to cum again.

"tetsu, please," you whine, "you feel so good, wanna have your babies." the need and anticipation of getting your husbands cum is starting to make you frustrated yet needy all at the same time. yet the way he's making you feel right now makes you want this moment to last forever.

he must sense what you're feeling and hums, kissing you again sweetly. "oh you're not understandin' me princess," he breathes, hips moving in an animalistic way. "i'm gonna have you knocked up by the end of tonight. that's a promise."

"you promise?" you look up at him with doe eyes, mouth parted as little moans still escape you.

he kisses your knuckles. “always.”

he'd give you the world if you asked. he'd pluck the sun from the sky, too. when he presses his forehead to yours he only professes his love to you like he's saying his vows for the first time. he can feel the tightening of his balls and burning pit in his abdomen as his release creeps up on him.

and when he pinches your bundle of nerves, you cum again for a second time. your eyes roll back in your head and your nails dig deeply into the muscle of his broad shoulders.

tetsurō nearly doubles over when his orgasm follows, and he spills thick, white cords of cum into you. his golden eyes look at you and you swear he cums just a little more from the eye contact you two hold. the hard throbbing and pulsing warmth he provides you makes you clench around him again, a feeling of wholeness and elation when you're finally full of him.

you're both incredibly still for a moment and you just hold each other. he sits you up with regard, and you brush back his sweaty fringe. his large hands massage your muscles before he carefully carries you to your shared bedroom.

he sits down and you realize you're both still very connected.

"t-tetsu!" you grab onto him, eyes widening as your taken by surprised at the new angle.

"fuck..." he hisses.

there's something sensitive in the way he moves inside of you, and you're not sure if that has to do with his cum inside of you or your cunt trying to hold in every drop.

kuroo always liked the notion of kissing your ring finger, because it reminded him that the two of you are joined—united. you start to speak but he does before you can even formulate the words.

"i hope you don't think we're done here." he murmurs, and by the twitch of his cock you know he's serious. him and his damned stamina. exhausted, you only shift your trembling hips to prepare for more.

it's looking to be a long night.

and so it's not surprising when several weeks pass by and when said coworker asks him again about kids, he proudly shows them the ultrasound photo hidden away in his wallet.

he only hopes that after baby number 1 you won't mind more.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo imagine #kuroo x you #kuroo smut

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 1 year

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i tried falling for u — kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader tags-childhood friends (not rlly friends, just classmates), angst, heavy pining. i never wrote full angst before so sorry if this is shit but anyway

Kids are fucking mean.

You’d been in love with Kuroo since you were eight years old. Something about the way he towered over his classmates, towered over you had you breathless, adrenaline pumped through your veins every morning at six am as you got ready for school, head full of Tetsurō.

He’d always been taller than the majority, standing tall at 5'6 at the juvenile age of eight. You’d spent most of your times gawking at him in secret, totally un-oblivious to not-so-secret transparent stares; eyes lingering on his figure whenever he walked past your table in class, walked past your in the hallways, playgrounds, cafeteria; eyes totally captivated on his entire being, your body froze up everytime you spotted him, messy bed hair and all in the corner of your eye.

Your friend, Mika, teased you for it, relentlessly. Snapping her fingers in your face to grab your attention from the giant over to her.

You had been practicing for the volleyball tryouts just to spend time with him, wasting time on your weekend learning how to put the volley in volleyball.

After a couple weeks of self-practice, you were getting nowhere so you had mustered up the very little confidence inside you to tap on his shoulder, tugging on the flimsy fabric till he turned around, eyes meeting no-ones until he looked down.

The moment his eyes met yours, you almost ran away, running behind the huge tree with bark thick enough to hide behind without being seen. Your stomach churns almost nauseatingly when his brows furrowed, looking at you almost weirdly.

“What do you want?” He said after at least fifteen seconds of silence and stares from a random girl that bothered him mid-serve.

“I—uh, can you help me?” You fumbled for words, swallowing excessively at the silence that followed after you used up all the confidence you had to pop the question; you failed to realise you didn’t even suggest what you needed help for.

“Help you with what?” His voice is a little rough, high in pitch but rough nonetheless. It had you fighting the urge to disappear, underwaying turbulence forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Volleyball?” You stated it like it’s obvious, hands moving from behind you to hold out the volleyball you had bought with your own money—yeah, that’s how much you liked him—and smiled weakly at him. “I need help with my serves.”

“You’re on the volleyball team?!”

“No—” You were unable to finish your sentence when his face scrunched up in disappointment. Panicking, you quickly add on, “but I’m trying out! Th-that’s why I need help.”

“Kuro.” A soft voice from the other end of the field speaks up, “what’s taking so long?”

“Ah Kenma, this girl needed help with serving.”

Your world comes to an abrupt stop when he placed his hand on your shoulder, butterflies frolocking around in your stomach when he pushed you forward to face Kenma, the small brunette who has his eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you for disturbing his practice time.

“Whaddya think? Should we help her?”

You stood stiff and still, body rivaling that of a mannequin as Kenma’s eyes rake over your entire form. You felt naked under his stare, the harsh winds of the winter afternoon breezing past had your skirt brushing against your skin to remind you that you were fully clothed.

“Sure.” Kenma shrugged his shoulders and the weight from your shoulders got lifted, metaphorically and physically as Tetsurō removed his bigger hand from your shoulder.

“Alright go over there, I’ll teach you.”

You spent the rest of that afternoon practicing with the both of them. You managed to see Kuroo smile whenever you got the serve over the net, laugh whenever it hit the net or went out of bounds and even compliment you before he left, patted you on the shoulder a bit too aggressively and told you to keep up the good work and you’ll make the team.

You couldn’t stop the smile on his face when the two of them left, disappearing back inside Kenma’s house just across the road. Oh, did I mention you lived just a couple houses away from him? You had the luxury of watching him go for his morning jog everyday at 6am—that’s definitely the reason you wake up that early, not just for school.

Months later, you made the team, playing as the team’s libero.

It was amazing, until you found out that you and Kuroo would not be on the same team. It didn’t occur to you at the time that girls and boys don’t play on the same team, but do attend tournaments and other competitions together.

You were devastated, more than devastated honestly; regretting all the months of work and time you put in just to get into volleyball.

The longer you played volleyball though, the more you liked it and came to the realisation that the training you did paid off.

At a volleyball camp, set up by the school, the girls team went over to the boys team and asked them to play truth or dare.

Your friend Mika was the deciding force behind the whole idea, winking in your direction when it came to Kuroo’s turn.

“Kuroo! Truth or dare?”

“Uh—” He lifted his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them before continuing, “Dare.”

“I dare you…” Mika paused, dragging out the word ‘you’ as she looked around the circle. You had a feeling that wink was her up to no good, and kept your gaze focused on the wooden floor of the gym, playing around with your shoelaces.

“...give (y/n) a kiss on the cheek.”

The air from your lungs gets coughed out violently as you choke around on nothing, eyes flitted up to face Mika who winked at you again, assuring you everything will be okay. One look to your right, confirmed that nothing would be alright, because Kuroo’s face looked like he had been forced to drink swamp water. “No thanks, truth.”

You swear you felt like throwing up. The chicken nuggets you ate earlier for lunch are already making their way up your throat.

This isn’t real, right? It’s just a kiss on the cheek--

The snickers coming from his male counterparts and your own teammates had you dipping your chin down, facing the floor once more, wishing you had earbuds on to drown out the sounds of their mockery.

You quit the team two months after that.

You thought maybe distancing yourself from the sport would also help you get rid of your crush.

News flash, it didn’t.

Your crush stuck with you into your first year of middle school, and your second…and third.

You spent the last weeks of your final term in middle school preparing, and waiting for the right time to ask Tetsurō out for the school dance, catching him at his locker after practice, tugging on the back of his shirt once more because that was the only way you knew how to get his attention.

He slammed his locker shut, volleyball shoes in one hand, P.E bag slung over his shoulder, still towering over you, (he’s 5 '10 now). “Yo, what’s up?”

“I just want to know—” You swung on the balls of your heels, avoiding his gaze at all costs so you don’t splutter on your words. “Do you maybe—I mean, are you going to the dance?”

“The dance?”

“Yeah, the one next week, for the third years to celebrate…before we leave for high school?”

Kuroo leaned against the lockers, head hitting the lockers softly as he looked up the ceiling, touching the base of his neck with his hand. “Aaah, I dunno. That shit looks kinda lame.”

“Oh.” You quickly fixed your face to hide your disappointment, “yeah, it’s super lame. I wouldn’t even wanna go.”

He snickered, tugging his arm through his coat sleeve. “So you’re not goin’?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Yeah, same. I guess I’ll see you around…” he paused for a beat, your breath hitched in your throat when he looked directly at you, “what’s your name again?”

Oh.

“It’s (Y/n).” You told him, praying that you have the self control to hold yourself together when you feel your eyes start to heat up, the tears threatening to escape and your bottom lip started to quiver, “we went to primary school together?”

A tear falls when he looked away, down at his phone when it buzzed and you use that distraction to quickly wipe it with your sleeve. “Primary, ay? Hm…”

He really doesn’t remember—

“You helped me with volleyball? That one time?” Your tone is fairly uncertain, as if you don’t even remember it yourself; maybe it was all a dream or something. Still no memory of you.

“I live like two houses away from you and Kenma—”

“Oh, speaking of!” He perks up and you stand up a little straighter, hoping he’d remembered something of your existence. “I gotta go, Kenma’s waiting for me! I’ll see you later, uhh?”

“(Y/n)...” You’d said, defeated, hands trembling on the strap of your school bag as you watched him exit through the school doors.

A week later, you saw him at the dance.

Dancing with Mika.

Remember Mika? Your so-called best friend?

Yeah.

You watched in utter disbelief as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, not missing how she had to tiptoe a little bit to reach his height, not missing how she smiled as he whispered something into her ear, not missing the red tint on his ears when she kissed him on the cheek.

That was supposed to be you—

But the betrayal didn’t end there.

Oh, how could you forget high school.

Your crush on Tetsurō thankfully faded away throughout the years, only a couple sprinkles in your mind came back everytime you crossed him in the halls.

Aside from the inevitable dull heart ache inside your chest when you saw him, high school was pretty much a success. You’d made a tiny group of friends; Mika and Tetsurō dated for like a couple months, breaking up halfway during your first year.

You never spoke to her again.

Brief ‘heys’ and nods exchanges between you and Tetsurō occurred too. You didn’t go full ghost, you kept as minimum contact as possible.

Until your third year, when Kuroo magically spoke to you again, approaching you at a party his fellow teammate Yamamoto hosted, inviting Kuroo’s arch nemesis, Daishou Suguru.

You were totally unaware that Daishou had a crush on you. Only finding it out after the incident happened.

Kuroo and Daishou had gotten into an argument.

You weren’t sure when or where or why it happened, because you were by the poolside, pants rolled up to your knees as you dipped your legs into the pool, chatting with your tiny group of friends.

Kuroo came strolling in, dropping down beside you by the pool. “Hey.”

You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or not, a quick turn to left, you faced him as he was looking at you with a weak smile on his face. “...Hey?”

“Why’d you sound so unsure?”

You shrug.

He shifted his hands behind him, and you struggled to maintain eye contact with him, shifting your sight over to the ripples in the pool water. He dips his head down to look at you. “Everything okay?”

This was probably the longest conversation you’d had with him so far. No, you weren’t fucking okay. You felt like you were about to throw up—no, that’s nasty.

“I’m good, yeah.”

You send him a reassuring smile that wasn’t so reassuring; he could see it. He wasn’t blind, nor was he stupid. The brief second you looked back over at the pool, you missed him shooting his gaze up to Daishou, lounging beside the door, hands on Mika’s waist as he whispered something in her ear.

Oh, so that’s how you’re playing. Tetsurō’s tongue poked at his cheek before standing up, offering you his hand. “Wanna come dance with me?”

You stare down at his palm, it looks so soft, before blinking up at him. “What?”

“Dance with me.” He shakes his hand in the air, reminding you that it’s there for you to take. When you just stare at him, dazed and confused, he said, “c’mon. You’re clearly sad. Let me cheer you up.”

It never occurred to you how random this all was, how he suddenly wanted to talk to you today, dance with you today when he could’ve done all that before when you had asked him yourself that one day. You’re not even sure he remembered that incident either.

But you just brushed it off, thinking he’s into you as well and finally saw how head over heels you were for him.

So you accept his hand, let him drag you inside, let you dance on him, told you jokes, smiled with you, laughed with you. If you weren’t so blinded by love, you wouldn’t have missed the countless glances over your shoulder at Daishou, doing the same exact thing with Tetsurō‘s ex-girlfriend.

He cupped your cheek and the music drowned out, ears picking up nothing but the sound of his breathing as you stared up at him. His eyes darted down to your lips and sweat formed all over your body. You felt sticky and disgusting as your body temperature rose the closer his face got to yours…is it hot in here?

Your lips opened and closed for a moment before your eyes squeezed shut, preparing yourself for the impact. When Kuroo kissed you, your heart beated through your chest, you could hear it in your ears. His lips were soft as he worked them lazily against yours, hands still holding your face tight.

You had no clue what to do with your hands, awkwardly holding them at your side as if you were scared to touch him. Your trembling hands finally lifted, resting just on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, mimicking the action Mika had done on that day.

Then it hit you; this was your first kiss. Tetsurō Kuroo was your first fucking kiss. And it was amazing. Fireworks went off in your head, giving you the urge to go an extra mile, grabbing his hand from your face, you moved it down to your waist, insisting him to hold you there.

He gratefully did so, sliding his hands up and down your back and you fought the urge to cry. His touch was so warm, so caring, so gentle.

A rough hand ripped Tetsurō away from you and you were left cold, practically shivering as you missed his warmth. Kuroo made eye contact with Daishou who looked livid. He was breathing way too heavily and his jaw was clenched.

Kuroo only cackled, the laughter is still something ringing in your ears to this day and slapped a hand on Daishou’s shoulder, “You good, brah?”

“Don’t fuckin’ ‘you good brah’ me! What did you have to bring her into this?!” The entire party stops what they’re doing to watch the commotion, Daishou’s voice loud enough to catch everyones attention as he points at you, your face still flushed from the makeout.

“So when you make moves on my ex it’s fine, but when I kiss your crush it’s not?”

“Crush?” You say, quietly and Daishou looks at you like he’s fumbling for the right words. “Wait, wait—so you don’t like me, Kuroo? You just kissed me for what—?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs, your heart tore in two.

“Big deal?” You clenched your trembling fists, “that was my first kiss.” You tried to sound angry, but your voice was wavering, your confident persona crumbling down into pieces in front of everyone. “You—did you even know I liked you? After all these years? And you’re just—are you serious right now?”

“You like me?” He didn’t sound phased, just passed it off as a regular occurrence which you assume is normal because he gets confessions on a regular basis. “Oh, my bad, I guess.”

You examined him once more, trying to search for at least a sorry bone in his body, searching for at least an ounce of guilt, but you failed to find anything. Daishou just watched the entire thing, blinking the entire time and Kuroo looked around awkwardly when hot tears started to fall down from your face.

You sped out that party faster than you’d ever ran before, dropping down by a street light and cried, mascara spilling down your face. It was messy and honestly your breaking point. You’d spent at least ten years pining over this guy, only for each time you mustered up the courage to talk to him he either;

Forgot you existed

Blew you off/lied to you

Humiliated you in front of everyone

You were struggling with confidence issues in the past, had a single friend your entire childhood, and she ended up betraying you either way. Your current friends, who you’re sure saw the commotion inside —because who the fuck didn’t? —still didn’t come in to check on you. Not even a text asking if you’re okay, didn’t chase after you, didn’t call you.

Nothing.

You sat there on the sidewalk, diggin your face into your knees and sobbed into your arms.

After you’re sure what is around five minutes, there’s a tap on your shoulder.

“Go away.” You mutter, not wanting to be bothered by some stranger asking why you’re sitting on a sidewalk at 10PM on a Friday night. The stranger taps again and you don’t respond this time, hoping they grab the hint. But they don’t; tapping once more and you shoot up, “What?!”

The guy steps back a bit, hands in the air before moving them to his pockets. “Just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I mean,” he doesn’t need to say much; you had dried tears on your face, black ink tracing down your cheeks from the mascara, your eyes were puffy and red, and your chest was stuttering with each breath you took, “you—uh, don’t look so good?”

“I’m fine.” You wipe your nose with your arm, smudging your fucked up makeup even more.

“No, you’re not.” There’s shifting and the man sits down next to you on the sidewalk. “I saw what happened in there.”

“Ok.”

“It was pretty fucked.”

“Ok.”

He sighs when you don’t co-operate, raking his eyes down your body he notices you’re shivering. A jacket is thrown onto your shoulders and you grip the sleeves gently, unable to look him in the eyes as you mutter out, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

You both sit there in silence for a short moment. He’s counting all the cars parked on the opposite side of the road and you dig deep inside your brain trying to think of a conversation starter.

“I’m (Y/n).”

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” When he tells you his name, you smile at him weakly, looking back down at your fingers. “Want me to walk you home?”

“...yes please.”

#— zeltqz 📭💌#—hq </3 #kuroo angst #kuroo x reader #kuroo headcanons #hq kuroo

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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FAMILY TRIP - ATSUMU MIYA

wc: 1.3k l fluff ᓚᘏᗢ l gn!reader

tw: reader and atsumu have a child, lots of fluff

a/n: this is my first ever writing on tumblr. i hope it’s alright, if i missed anything please let me know. i would kindly appreciate any kind of feedback! thank you for reading!

sighing you take your hat off of your face. being on vacation with your husband and your chubby little toddler, of course meant, that your husband decided to visit the beach before it’s time to leave.

Keep reading

#atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #atsumu x y/n #atsumu fluff #haikyuu msby #atsumu x you #msby atsumu #haikyuu!!

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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a kiss or two… or three; steve harrington

summary: bedtime in the harrington household always contains a copious amount of kisses

type: dad!steve harrington

requested: yes

warnings: none

notes: you can find my masterlist here

“okay, sleepyhead, s’time for bed.” steve’s words were a little muffled from where he’d pressed them to the top of his daughter’s head, quiet in the silent bedroom. she was settled into his side, his arms like a cage around her as he held the fairytale book in front of them, her own arms wrapped loosely around her rabbit plushie. they were propped up against her headboard, a blanket thrown over the knees to fight off the winter chill as steve read page after page of her favourite book to settle her into sleep.

at his words she shuffled, made a soft noise that made his chest ache and then shook her head. she turned her face and hid it in the material of his sweater, her way of trying to make sure he didn’t see just how tired she was. but she’d been yawning for the past fifteen minutes, slowly slipping further and further down until she was almost in his lap. it was already passed her bedtime but one story had bled into another and another because steve was weak and had extreme difficulty saying no to either of his girls.

“don’t wanna.” he let the book fall closed, set it down on her bedside table with a little difficulty considering how tightly the little girl was clinging to him. “just five more minutes?”

“you had five more minutes an hour ago, trouble.” he shuffled a little, stroked his hand over her cheek as though to coax her out from hiding but she refused to move, only buried herself deeper. she yawned again and steve laughed, tugged playfully at her hair. “see, you’re tired.”

“m’not.”

“oh really? so who was yawning?”

“mr floppy ears.” steve’s smile grew even wider, his head dipping as she finally looked up at him. her eyes, almost identical to his, were soft and full of sleep, a clear sign she must have been dropping off as he read to her. he settled his palm on her cheek, brushed his thumb beneath her eye and watched her stifle another yawn, her eyes growing glossy with water.

“i think you’re telling lies.” he used his thumb to tap her nose, watching the way it scrunched and wrinkled in response. she was adorably stubborn sometimes, a trait you claimed she got from steve but he was adamant she was a replica of you in that way, always needing to get her own way no matter what. he shifted and patted her leg, climbing up off the bed. “c’mon, let me get you changed and then i’ll tuck you in, all snug yeah?”

she didn’t answer, just pouted at him, watched with droopy eyes as he rifled through her drawers for a pair of pyjamas. he was quick in finding them, tucking them over his arm before turning back to the bed, his heart almost melting in his chest at the sight in front of him. his daughter was mid-yawn, tiny fist rubbing into one eye, her dead dropping off to one side, plushie clutched close to her chest. she was still sitting up although a little unsteadily and steve wanted to wrap her up in his arms and keep her there forever. keep her warm and safe and protected from everything outside of this room.

he was quiet in approaching her, mumbling her name softly to get her attention and he smiled when she blinked sleepily at him, all traces of argument gone from her. he paused at the side of the bed, tapped ever so lightly beneath her chin. “gotta stand up for me, baby, we’ll be quick, okay?” she nodded a little sluggishly and with steve’s help stood on the mattress, her hand clutching tight to his arm. “what are we gonna have for breakfast?” he spoke quietly, a barely there whisper as he worked her shirt over her head, apologising even quieter when it tugged a little at her hair.

“pancakes. with nutella, the special ones that mommy makes.”

“lift your arm, that’s it. mommy’s special ones? with the strawberries and cream? other one, please.” the girl in front of him, already half asleep, nodded, drowsily did as she was told as he swapped her r shirt for a pink pyjama top, pulling the sleeves over her arms and checking she wasn’t twisted. “gonna do your trousers now, yeah? you wanna hold my head so you don’t trip?”

“i want the ones that she makes into stars and the hearts.” as she spoke she stepped in closer, wound her arms around her fathers neck and tucked her face away in his throat. steve pressed on hand against her back to steady her and used the others to tug at her trousers, helping her step out of them with a little struggle.

“hmm those are the best ones. we can ask her in the morning. can you lift this leg for me? careful.” steve laughed softly when she wobbled a bit, fatigue clearly pulling her under and tried not to wince when she clutched at his hair. “lift the other one and then we’re all done.” within another couple of seconds she was settled into a pair of pyjamas, her head falling on to steve’s shoulder as he lifted her up, settled her on his hip.

“do you think uncle dustin will wanna come and play tomorrow?” her words were a little sluggish but he could only smile, an odd fluttering kicking up in his stomach at the mention of dustin. his daughter had never really been told to call any of steve’s old friends uncle or aunt but it was as if it was just a given, from the moment she could talk it was alway uncle dustin or aunt robin and no one ever corrected her. steve would never admit it out loud but it was something he enjoyed hearing, no one would ever be able to understand the gravity of how much it meant to him, that they’d all still stuck around after this long, watched him grow and build his own family.

“we can ask him,” he pulled her sheets back, kissed the side of her head and set her back on the mattress, watched her plop herself down on to the pillow, shuffle a little until she was comfortable. steve passed her mr floppy ears and pulled the sheets back up, tucking them beneath her chin. “you can show him your new bike.”

“i can show him that i can ride to the end of the street now!” her voice rose a little from excitement and he reminded himself to make sure to call dustin and ask him round, just so his daughter would keep flashing that summer sweet smile. he sat to her side, grazed his fingers softly over her cheek.

“i think he’d love that.” she nodded, a sleepy smile still settled on her lips as she snuggled down into the sheets, eyes once again starting to droop closed. “get some sleep, yeah? you’ll need all your energy so you can beat uncle dustin in a race tomorrow.” he leant down and kissed her forehead, both cheeks, then her chin and finally her nose, grinning at her sleepy giggles. he nuzzled his nose against hers, dropped another kiss to the very tip. “i love you.”

“i love you, daddy. this much.” steve pulled back to see the way she was holding her hands, as far apart as possible.

“that’s a lot.” she nodded, face serious.

“it’s the most.” she blinked at him, hid a yawn behind her hand and steve smiled, ruffled her hair much to her annoyance.

“time to sleep, you want your night light on or off?”

“on please.” he nodded, went to push himself off the bed but she caught his arm, tapped her cheek when he looked down at her. “can i have another kiss?” the laugh he left out was more a breathless puff of air, his chest inflating with overwhelming love, a sudden surge of emotions crawling up his throat and he had to hold back an odd wave of tears. steve had never really known what this kind of love was like growing up and he was determined to make sure that your daughter felt every ounce of the emotion possible at the hands of both of you. leaving hawkins, he’d vowed he would never be like his parents.

“just one more and then you have to sleep.” she nodded and he kissed her cheek but ever the softy couldn’t settle with just that and pressed his lips once again over her head and nose and chin, a ritual they’d developed long ago. forehead was always first, nose last, it was a silent i love you, a press of feelings that neither of them really needed to say but he said it again anyway. “i love you.”

as he went to shift away, the little girl followed him up, pressed her own kiss to his cheek before settling back into the pillows, snuggling into the sheets and mr floppy ears. “g’night daddy.”

#stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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You Make It Easy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [9k] prompts: "I almost lost you" "I fucking hate you" "I’m never leaving, promise" and "I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified to be honest.” A little upside down angst, some soft sex, best friends to lovers.

“God, I fucking hate you,” Steve panted, his voice pained and his words harsh but there wasn’t any heat behind it, his hands soft on you as he pulled you into the rough surface of the rock face.

“Hey now, that’s not v’nice” you mumbled, voice fuzzy and you hissed in pain when Steve tried to gather you into his side, lifting at your sleeve, exposing the bite marks on your shoulder.

You really didn’t understand Steve’s confusion at the sight of you appearing from the gate, waterlogged and chest heaving, ready to run for him, fight for him. You knew he’d do the same for you, for any of you. It’s why the idiot was the one to declare he was jumping over the side of the boat in the first place.

He’d left you on the narrow bench, rocking on the surface of Lovers Lake in darkness as Robin counted the seconds he’d been submerged, sounding like a ticking time bomb as you stared into the water, willing him to surface.

When he eventually did, you didn’t anticipate him to be ripped from your grip so quickly, so easily. You’d heard him call out your name, voice shocked, just as he swallowed water and disappeared.

The only person that seemed so shocked you’d immediately followed him, was Steve himself. Your jacket and any logic you’d had, had been left on the floor of the boat, your only thought being the safety of your best friend.

“Shut up,” there still wasn't any bite to his words, his eyes flashing with worry and anger, and you could feel it roll off of him in waves, his hands shaking on you.

Robin and Nancy exchanged a look, unsure if they should be helping or not, but god they were just as scared, eyes frantic, knowing all too well what else could come out from the vines and red mist of the upside down. So they stayed at the edges of you both, shoulder to shoulder and watching the tree line for monsters and nightmares.

Steve sucked in his bottom lip, trying to stay calm despite the situation you were all in. He felt helpless, frantic at the sight of your blood and the way your eyes were turning a little unfocused.

Dust and grey matter floated around you all, Eddie and the girls bathed in a dull, crimson light as they stared at you both, everyone with their own injuries. Cuts littered everyone’s skin, their clothes ripped, eyes wide, chests heaving.

“You never listen to me, you never goddamn listen to me, I told you to stay in the boat!” Steve was rambling now, voice climbing a little higher in volume as the landscape around you roared and hissed with life.

He stared at you, wide eyed. “Why d’you gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn, huh, sweetheart?”

“It’s been four years Harrington, that shit is on you if you think if I’m gonna start listening now.”

Your eyes were closed, hiding from the pain or your best friend’s accusatory glare, you weren’t sure, but when you heard a small snort of laughter, you knew it was Robin. You opened one eye, peeking out from your lashes and you watched the girl shake her head when you winked at her.

Steve was decidedly less amused. He was muttering to himself, completely ignoring your smart ass cracks but he winced and frowned every time you let a whimper of pain slip out. He felt sick, stomach rolling at the sight of your injuries, hating that you were hurt, mortified that it was because of him.

You could feel his hands on you, pressure and something stung, something seared at your skin and you tried not to think about it, tried not to think about how it was almost Steve. You felt a little sick, the image of the boy in the ground with that thing wrapped around his neck, like something out of a horror movie, your own personal nightmare.

It didn’t matter that you were hurt. You were fine. And Steve was safe. You’d slammed the bat with a broken oar, the wood rotting and damp in your hands and it left splinters and dirt in your palms. But you’d swung it almost mindlessly, panic in your chest that burned worse than the cuts and bites, because Steve had been choking.

He whispered your name and it sounded like a prayer, like a cry for help and you immediately sobered when you pulled your gaze away from Robin and looked back at the boy.

The smile slipped from your face and you realised you’d been slipping down further against skull rock, eyes lazy and unseeing as you let sleep pull at you. It all felt like a bad dream, a nightmare that nipped and sliced at your skin, razor sharp teeth gnawing at your bones until they burned.

Steve was on the ground next to you, kneeling in the rocks and dirt as he crowded into you, hands pressing material onto your upper arm that you quickly realised Nancy had ripped from her shirt.

His movements were clumsy and he was trying so hard to be gentle, to not hurt you anymore than you already were but his chest was heaving, his brown eyes were glassy.

Nancy hovered, placing a hand on his shoulder before whispering, “Hey, why don’t you let me help her?“

But he was shaking his head furiously, eyes set on you, on the blood that was running down your arm, soaking into your shirt and turning the cotton a dark red. He was stubborn and determined, completely unaware of the tears that were making his vision blurry because his attention was solely set on you - the fact that he could feel you warm and moving under his palms was the only thing keeping him together.

“Steve-” you began gently, voice breaking and wavering at the sight of him.

Dirt and blood streaked the sides of his face and neck, an angry, red welt there that you knew you would stay for a while; a horrific reminder of what you had to watch. He blinked at your voice, hands pausing, chest wrecked and finally, a tear tracked its way down his cheek, cutting through the grime and landing on his lip.

“I told you to stay on the boat,” he said again, but this time his voice was shot, cracking, splitting, shaking and he shuddered a little when he stole a gasp of air, his forearm swiping angrily across his lips, smearing tears and blood.

You tried to move, groaning when you shifted closer to him, just an inch - it was all you could manage - but you caught his chin in your hand, eyes wide, fingers splayed across his cheek and jaw as you rubbed circles into his skin with your thumb.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, trying with everything in you to soothe the boy, to bring back the same sarky attitude he had with you before. “I’m okay, I’m here and I know you hate me, I was just trying to-”

“I don’t hate you,” he scoffed and Steve was shaking his head, loosening your grasp on him and rocked back on his knees, staring at you with such guilt that it ruined you.

“I almost lost you,” Steve’s voice had risen again, his words biting and left hanging in the air and behind the anger, the frustration you could hear what was written in his eyes, what was making his chest heave.

Fear.

Behind you both, Nancy, Robin and Eddie shuffled, moving a few feet away to offer you what little privacy they could afford despite the overwhelming threat of god knows what.

The Upside Down was still breathing with you all, it had its own heartbeat, a pulse underneath your feet that served as a constant reminder that you were being watched, tracked.

Like something was waiting.

But suddenly, there wasn’t anything more terrifying than watching Steve break apart in front of you, face damp with dirt, blood and tears, a pretty mess that you wanted to curl into, to ask ‘please take me home, it hurts.’

You sniffed instead, swallowed a gulp of air that tasted stale and like metal and you nodded, understanding. It took you a second but you moved to your knees, pulling yourself up gingerly with your hands gripping your best friend's sides. He was swearing, alarmed and annoyed that you were exerting yourself more than you should but you could feel the way his chest heaved underneath your touch, the way the air between you both crackled and roared with panic.

Anxiety was rolling off of the boy in waves and you wanted to do what you couldn’t do before, you wanted to grab his hand and pull him back up. Out of the water, out of the dark and into the boat.

Safe.

Your hands found his face again, thumbs smoothing away the tears that streaked his cheeks and lip as you swayed into him, chests bumping and he caught you, hands wide across your ribs, his palms gingerly avoiding your wounds.

“Steve,” you whispered, trying to sound stern, trying to cut through his panic but your voice was cracking too, his emotions seeping into your own chest, squeezing at your heart, “Steve, babe, hey.”

He blinked, focusing on you, eyes roaming desperately over your features and he let out a gasp of breath that sounded like a sigh of relief and as he leant into you, forehead brushing your own, he was mumbling, voice soft and a little broken.

“I almost lost you,” he repeated, “you should’ve stayed on the boat, I thought I fucking lost you.”

“Shh, I know, it’s okay, I know,” you soothed him, eyes frantic as you scanned his face, watching how his strong features crumpled, like he was losing the strength that was holding him together.

“I’m here, I’m okay,” you reminded him and you moved slowly and carefully into him, hands dragging from his cheeks and into the hair at the nape of his neck as you wound your arms around him.

It took a second or two, maybe less, before Steve let himself return the touch, strong arms wrapping around your waist and you closed your eyes at the feel of it, not at all surprised to feel your own tears slipping down your cheeks, salt on your lips.

The pain you felt from your bites and cuts disappeared at his embrace, just for a minute. It was enough to warm you, the cold damp from the lake still sticking to your clothes and skin, but the feel of Steve safe and solid against you made you feel like everything was okay.

Somewhere in the distance, a creature roared and the boy’s hold on you tightened.

“You think I’m that easy to get rid of, huh?” You tried to lighten your voice, soften your tone, and you pressed the words into the soft skin of the boy's neck, your lips moving against the curve of it in an almost kiss. “Someone’s gotta stick around and watch your dumb ass, you’d never get anything done without me.”

You felt Steve let out a huff of breath, hot air falling onto your cheek as he pressed himself into you and it sounded like a laugh, like relief and sunshine and safety.

If you closed your eyes and played make believe, you could imagine you were in Steve’s bedroom, drunk after a stupid party and holding your best friend as you fell asleep, wishing and pretending it was something more.

“I’m okay,” you told him again, voice a little firmer and he nodded against you, his breathing stuttering as you soothed a hand over his wild hair, trailing your palm across the back of his neck. “We’re okay, I’m not leaving. Not leaving you, promise.”

The feel of his lips pressed to your temple, white hot and burning your skin, told you that he believed you.

—————

Going back to Steve’s house was the easiest option, for all of you. The home lay empty, free of worried parents, panicked questions, calls to the police that wouldn’t make any difference.

You sat in the back of the car, pressed between Robin and Steve, ‘cause after the kids dropped you a lifeline from Eddie's trailer, you’d watched in surprise as Steve threw his car keys to the other boy, his hand tightly intertwined with your own and no one questioned it.

He wasn’t letting go of you and nobody was going to make him.

Dustin, Max and Lucas were in the trunk, quiet and wide eyes searching their older friends for some signs of reassurance. Nancy was up front with Eddie, talking softly about how everyone needed a hot shower and a good sleep, answering the questions that Dustin was asking, the younger boy’s voice worried and choked.

You leaned into Steve, your cheek on his shoulder, his head resting on yours and every now and then, he’d run his thumb over the top of your hand, reassuring you and himself, that you were both still there.

Eddie slowed and stopped at each house, dropping off the younger of the bunch and you all watched until they disappeared into the safety of their homes, one by one, waving before the doors closed.

You weren’t sure who decided the five of you were staying at Steve’s, it could’ve been Nancy, maybe even Robin. But Steve hummed his agreement and Robin directed the other boy to the house, impressive as it was empty. The windows were dark, the driveway clear and when you all stepped out onto the front porch, you could smell the chlorine from the backyard pool, a false sense of summer and happy memories.

It was easy to let Steve guide you to one of the bathrooms, Nancy and Eddie peeling off on the ground floor to find a shower and food, the kitchen lit up as the smaller girl busied herself at the oven, pressing buttons until it hummed to life and she searched the freezer drawers for pizzas and chicken nuggets, potato waffles and frozen fries, a late night dinner than Dustin would have envied.

You could smell pepperoni and the coffee machine that Steve’s mom bought but never used groaned and clicked to life, but Steve still had his hand in yours, the other on the small of your back as he led you to the en-suite off of his bedroom, as if keeping you as close as possible to the things he held dear would keep you the safest.

It was a little hazy as he pushed open the shower door, murmuring softly about water temperatures and left to right as he tapped the dials. You could only really nod, your grip on him still tight and you briefly wondered if you were able to let him go, if he was gonna be able to walk away from you.

But then he was turning on the water for you, spray hitting against the tray and it immediately engulfed you both in warm steam, sticking to your skin and easing some of the tension you held in your bones.

“I’ll be right back okay?” Steve told you, voice low and gentle as if he was worried he’d scare you. “I’m just gonna get you some clean clothes.”

You nodded again and despite what he’d just told you, you were surprised when his hand slid from your own. You felt uneasy, alone, surrounded by the mist of the hot water but Steve kept the door open and you watched him as he busied himself at his drawers, pulling out shorts and shirts, discarding them on the floor until he found one he deemed comfortable enough for you.

Slipping back into the small bathroom, he placed the clothes on the sink top and ducked his head a little to look at you, gazes meeting. You felt far away and somewhere in the back of your head, you wondered if this is what shock felt like. The humour and sarcasm that fuelled your experience in the Upside Down had long left, sinking away with the adrenaline that kept most of the pain at bay.

But now your arm was aching and your mind was slower, foggier; and moving felt like running through water. Catching Steve’s gaze was the only thing that seemed to ground you then, one hand catching your chin and he lifted your face to look at him, eyes searching.

“You okay?” He whispered it, as if he was terrified to hear the answer.

You were ready to nod again, for a third time but he caught you, fingers smoothing your hair back from your eyes and he looked at you almost pleadingly when he asked, “please, sweetheart, lemme hear you? I need to know if you’re alright, yeah?”

Your throat felt dry but you licked your lips and swallowed, hand reaching up to where he held you, fingers wrapping around his wrist as if he was the only thing that was giving you the strength to still stand. You were so tired.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, voice cracking a little. “Exhausted.”

Steve nodded, a humourless smile on his lips and he pressed his forehead to yours, leaning down into you as you both sought out that little slice of home within a house that didn’t feel like it belonged to either of you.

“What ‘bout you?” Your words were pushed into his top lip, barely grazing but he felt you, warm and soft in front of him.

“Used to it,” he grimaced, chuckling when you rolled your eyes. He turned serious when he cupped the back of your neck, somehow bringing you impossibly closer. “Just please, please don’t do that again. Not for me.”

If you’d had the energy, you would’ve argued with him all night. You would’ve shoved at the boy, angry tears in your eyes, frustration biting at your skin before pulling him back into you and telling him how loved he was, how much you needed him. How you’d jump out of any boat, how you’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he needed your help.

But the shower was still running and the room was filled with heat and steam, making your clothes stick to your skin, the dirt and blood still caking both your bodies slick and itchy.

You didn’t know how to tell your best friend you loved him. How you were so in love with him that it hurt, it ached. It was a push and pull on your heart that you’d felt since you were fourteen, young and too dumb to understand that the boy next door was everything you ever needed.

So instead, you moved away from him, leaning tiredly against the wall and letting the corners of your lips lift into a smile that held just the right amounts of fight and attitude.

Your eyes were shining and you wondered if the boy looked hard enough, that he’d find all the love that you knew was held in your gaze.

“We’ve been making bad decisions together since 1972, Harrington. I’m not gonna stop now,” you grinned and he huffed, an almost laugh you were sure. “If you’re gonna make it a habit of throwing yourself into lakes, you better sure as hell expect me to follow.”

And that was that.

He nodded, pointing to the towels and backing towards the door. Your heart leapt, realising he was leaving you.

“Towels are there, just shout if you need me, yeah?” Steve caught your gaze, watching the tension in your body that had returned, the lock of your shoulders, the square of your jaw. “I’m gonna be right outside sweetheart, I’m not leaving, promise.”

If his words seemed familiar, neither of you mentioned it and the door clicked softly as it shut, leaving you alone.

Shedding your damp, dirty clothes made you feel a little better, the material pooling at your bare feet as you stepped out of them and into the shower. The hot spray stung at your cuts, bore down on your bones and made you ache in a new way, like you were being broken down and put back together again.

You leaned your forehead against the cool tiles, watching as the dirt and blood from your skin swirled down the drain and when you finally turned the shower off, you could hear soft voices from Steve’s room, dulled by the closed door but drawers were opening and shutting, a sure sign that the rest of your friends were freshly washed and stealing clean clothes from the boy too.

When you opened the door, Steve’s shirt was hanging to your knees, hiding the soft cotton shorts he’d given you and the boy was sitting on the edge of his bed, face still streaked with grime and blood, the cut on his brow and lip still angry.

“You should’ve cleaned yourself up,” you told him, frowning as you stepped into the pool of soft light that came from his bedside lamp. It lit the room up in a warm glow, a welcome change from red skies and shadows. “You must be freezing.”

“I told you I wasn’t leaving,” he shrugged, eyes searching your upper arm for your injuries, for any signs of pain or discomfort. He nodded to your shoulder, “How’s the arm?”

You shrugged back, pushing one foot into the plush carpet as you tried to avoid his heavy gaze. It made you feel too warm, like you didn’t know what to do with yourself and before you could brush him off, before you could lie and say you were fine, Steve reached out to grasp your hand, pulling you towards him.

He steadied you in the bracket of his spread legs, his knees on either side of your thighs and he still sat tall before you, his hands making quick work of softly pulling his sleeve up until it uncovered your upper bicep.

He tutted, eyes soft and his thumbs made gentle work of turning your arm this way and that as he inspected the wound. It was smaller now that it was clean, the filth and dried blood that had coated it making it seem worse and angrier than it was.

It still stung, a nip and prick on your skin when the cool air hit it but Steve pressed a quick kiss to the unmarred space below, a hot push of his lips that lit your body up, skin burning, eyes wide.

“There,” he mumbled, voice thick and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn the highs of his cheeks were turning pink. “All better.”

And shit, maybe it was.

You ate with the others as Steve showered, the distant sound of the running water the only thing that soothed you enough and allowed you to swallow down a slice or two of pizza, a chicken nugget that you smothered in ketchup. When Steve finally joined you all, hair clean and damp, on end from where he’d run a towel through it, he frowned at your near empty plate and slid another slice on it when you weren’t looking.

The five of you ate in silence, crowded around the breakfast bar, barely having the strength to pull out the stools as you all picked at the food Nancy made. You were all shoulder to shoulder, dressed in Steve’s clothes, sweatpants that hung off slim hips, shirts with too short sleeves and sweaters that hung off collar bones. Everyone smelled like apple shampoo, clean like body wash and laundry detergent, but the cuts were still on everyone’s skin, red and fresh, unable to be hidden.

And when the plates were empty, Steve batted you away from gathering them all up, planning to take them to the sink. You’d wondered if you could scrub away the blood that was still embedded under your fingernails, and fuck, you wondered who’s it was.

But Steve caught your hand, still gentle as he led you down the hall. Robin followed you both, passing Eddie as he threw himself onto a sofa, blanket in hand and shoving cushions under his head. Nancy disappeared, searching for the phone so she could call Jonathan, her eyes heavy with sleep.

It was easy to let Steve cajole you into the guest room and you stood tired and heavy on your own feet as the boy busied himself with pulling back the heavy duvet, launching the ridiculous amount of throw pillows to the floor.

Robin jumped in first, a noise of content purring at the back of her throat as she slipped between the sheets, head pushed into the plush pillow and her eyes fluttering closed.

You turned to Steve, panic settling into your chest once more at the thought of him leaving, of him walking back down the hall and up the stairs to his own room, a walk that practically took him to the other side of the house.

You wanted to ask him if you could stay with him, if he could take you by the hand again and lead you to his bed but you didn’t feel brave anymore, and he wasn’t asking you that question either.

You stared at him, eyes searching and beneath the strands of hair that fell across his eyes, you could see that he looked as troubled about it as you felt.

But he nodded to Robin, already half asleep and breathing softly. “You look after each other, yeah?” He tapped at your hand with his own, squeezing it briefly, a flash of warmth and comfort before he stepped back into the open door frame. “Come get me if you need anything, okay?”

You wanted to tell him to wait, to stop, to come back. You wanted to tell Steve that you needed him. But you were sure that if you parted your lips to speak, you’d only release the tears that were making your throat tight, your eyes sting.

You felt too small, too fragile and you were desperate to say something, anything. Steve was looking at you as if he was hoping for the same, like he could burst with all the unsaid things that buzzed and fizzed in the air between you.

But he wasn’t feeling all that brave either. Not right now.

So you smiled, watery and nodded, moving backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed and Robin grumbled, reminding you both of her presence.

“Night Harrington,” you whispered, throat tight, eyes glassy.

You watched his neck bob and move as he swallowed, eyes holding just as much emotion as your own. He nodded too, willingly himself to back away from the door.

“Night, sweetheart.”

———————

You tossed and turned for what seemed an age, Robin plastered up against your side and providing you with warmth and the soft sounds of snuffled breathing, her head pressed between her pillow and your shoulder. You wondered how she could sleep after the events that took place merely hours before, how the scrape across her cheek wasn’t stinging against the cotton.

There wasn’t a clock in the room to tell you the time but the sky outside was still dark, then night unmoving and still despite all the things you knew that roamed under the earth, in the depths of lakes and between shadows.

You were buzzing, an electric current that flowed through your body, keeping you awake and on edge. You wondered if it was residual adrenaline, maybe the looming threat of nightmares that promised to take you when you eventually closed your eyes.

Maybe it was just Steve, only a few rooms away.

The thought spurred you into action and with as much care as you could, you pulled away from Robin, smiling slightly when she mumbled her protests, still very much asleep. You pulled the duvet back over her as you slipped from the bed, toes pushed into the soft carpet and it softened your steps and as you headed for the door, leaving the room.

You could hear Eddie snoring from the couch, head tipped back and hair dripping messily over the arm, his lips parted, brow creased. You wondered how he’d coped with everything that had happened, how he’d managed to sleep so deeply so soon. He didn’t stir when you walked past, feet finding the stairs even in the dark, so very used to the house's layout after years of sneaking in and sneaking out.

You stood outside Steve’s room for what seemed like too long, the minutes stretching in, the night barely moving around you. You had raised your hand to knock several times, chickening out everytime, just before your knuckles met the wood. You felt like your heart was in your throat, too hot and too much.

You lifted your arm for the sixth time, chest hammering, stomach fluttering and before you could press your knuckles to the door, it opened, leaving you knocking on air before your gaze met Steve’s.

You stilled, lips parted.

The boy was shirtless, sleep mussed despite his eyes being bright and wide. He looked like he’d slept as much as you, hair misbehaving from where he’d dragged it across his pillows, seeking a comfortable spot that he could never find. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and there were some dinosaur themed plasters stuck haphazardly across his ribs, hiding cuts you never got a chance to care for.

No one spoke.

But you lowered your arm, wondering what you should say, wondering what he was still doing awake. Steve was looking at you like you were a dream, surprised and dazed, and he parted his lips to speak, stopping short when he realised he didn’t know what to say either.

Briefly, you considered asking him if he was okay, but you knew the answer, could read it in the way he looked at you, the way he held himself. You thought about telling him you didn’t mean to wake him, that you were sorry and were going back to bed, but there was something in his gaze that had you rooted to the spot, chest warm, breath coming in harsh pants.

The idea of telling him, your best friend, that you were in love with him, flickered through your mind and the mere thought of it made your tummy roll and dip. You shuffled from foot to foot, wondering if there was another way, if Steve could make it easy for you and read your mind instead.

He whispered your name, a soft noise that sounded like a prayer, a question, a promise all at once. It had your eyes flying to his, gazes locked and something passed between you both, a silent answer, an understanding, a ‘oh, thank god.’

You moved at the same time, you think. A push and pull of two bodies, meeting in the middle, as natural as the tide. He found your hand between you both, grasping in the dark and he tugged you to him as you surged forward, a clash in his door frame, a heavy sigh, a blissed out swear.

Your lips found his easily, his own searching for yours as one of his hands tucked itself across your jaw, fingers splayed messy across your cheekbone, his thumb pulling impatiently at your bottom lip, asking for you to give him more.

You obliged immediately, the kiss deep and slow and languid. It filled your body with heat, it made your toes curl, it made you push yourself further into the boy until your grip on each other left crescent shaped moons on the other's skin, nails raking through hair, fingers pulling at clothes.

You sighed into him, relief and wonder and Steve swallowed your sounds, groaning at your noises, at the way you were pulling him down to you, desperate for more, for everything, for all of it.

For him.

You barely registered moving, his hands cupping each side of your jaw as you stumbled together, chests meeting, feet clumsy as you moved into his room, Steve’s hand only leaving you to push the door shut before pressing you against it.

You weren’t sure if it was the underlying threat of danger, of losing each other all night or simply the decade of growing up together, tension building, bodies blooming, curious stares that turned into lingering gazes over new milestones and hot Indiana summers.

You weren’t sure why it felt the way it did, Steve’s lips on yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, his hands heavy and wandering, pulling up the hem of the shirt that he gave you palms seeking out smooth, bare skin. You had never had a chance to thread your fingers through his hair so roughly, tugging with confidence, as if you already knew he liked it.

He did.

You weren’t sure why it felt so familiar, so natural, like it was some cosmic event that was just waiting to happen, a comet waiting to fall, a star waiting to burst.

His kiss felt like magic, like kismet, like home.

Steve Harrington was mint chocolate chip ice cream, the smell of sunscreen and old arcades, cherry slurpees and Coca Cola, sleepovers on bedroom floors, bike rides without training wheels, first trips to the beach, old cassettes passed between classes, notes in your locker, smiley faces inked into the palm of your hand during lunch.

He was a first crush, last love, favourite kiss, first good morning, last goodnight, twirling your fingers around the phone cord, late night chats, and sneaking through your window.

He was picking you up. Breath heavy and chest heaving as you wrapped your legs around him, both oblivious to the aches and pains the press of your bodies brought you both. It all felt too good, too fucking good to let go of. You pressed closer, his hands under your ass, fingers digging into your flesh and your back was against the door, pushing your moans and sighs into each other's lips.

It was too easy to fall into him, a lifetime of trust there as he smoothed a hand over your bare thigh, snuck his fingers under the hem of your shirt and swore at the discovery of more bare skin underneath, tracing the dips and curves of your body.

The kiss slowed and stuttered, stopping as Steve pulled back just a fraction, just enough for his nose to graze against yours and he found your gaze, both of your eyes hooded and heavy, watching each other through your lashes. You were panting, chests pressed together and heaving, puffs of hot air brushing across the others lips.

You thumbed at his cheek, an affection press of your fingers against his face and he turned, pushing a kiss into your palm that you wished you could peel away and keep forever.

His eyes were still on you, searching for an answer, a question, maybe even regret. He didn’t find any of the latter and when he whispered your name, voice wrecked, you nodded, giving him everything he wanted to ask.

You moved when Steve did, carrying you easily from your perch against the door and across his dark room, the only light coming from the split in the curtains, the open window letting in the summer air, still heavy in the night and the glow from the moon.

He kicked a shoe out of the way, lips finding yours again as his knees hit the bed, bringing you both down until he pressed you into the mattress, sheets tangled and smelling of him. Steve moved over you, knee between your legs, hitched up into the apex of your thighs and you gasped at the friction, the solid weight of it pressed against you.

His arms caged you in, his hands braced on either side of your head as he kept too much of his weight off of you, scared to go too fast too soon. But you let out a soft sound, a whine, a plea; and you reached for him, hand at the back of his neck as you dragged him back down to you, kiss messy and desperate.

You felt like you were going to float away, like you’d open your eyes and you’d still be sitting in the barren landscape of another world, Steve in a chokehold and monsters clawing you apart.

But Steve sighed, soft and pleading, your fingers diving into the hair at the nape of his neck and as you silently told him, more, harder, more, please.

He took the hint, hands roaming, kisses turning heated, with more pressure and bite and the tears of build up burst for you both, an outpouring of crushes and tension, jealousy and what ifs, experiencing lust and falling in love.

His hands found your sides, fingertips walking up the steps of your ribs before smoothing across your bare skin, nothing under his shirt. He grazed a thumb over your nipple, both of you groaning at the feel of it, a new shock of pleasure for you to share together.

The boy pulled back, forehead against yours and eyes squeezed shut as if he was in pain, as if it was all too much. He spoke against your mouth, words rushing across the part in your lips and each syllable felt like another kiss.

“Sweetheart, you gotta tell me if you wanna stop,” he was whispering, voice low and rushed, “I don’t wanna fuck this up, don’t wanna go too fast…”

You shook your head, back arching to press yourself along the length of him, hard against your bare thigh, Steve’s shorts rucked up to the highest point of your leg.

“No, no,” you were panting, voice a high and a little desperate and you would’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t looking at you like you were the entire fucking world. “Steve, please, please don’t stop.”

His lips came back down on yours at that, greedy and pushy, urging you to open for him and you did, easily, keening into him, legs spreading so he could fall into the cradle of your thighs. His hand still stroked over your skin, underneath the shirt, thumb circling over your breast, running down your side, lifting at the hem of your shorts.

You felt dizzy.

“Take it off,” you mumbled, your request mixed in with kisses, lips, teeth and tongue, but the boy got the hint, swearing as he pressed his mouth into your neck and leaned back enough to pull your top off of you.

His lips parted at the sight, another sigh leaving him, eyes hooded and dark as he took you in. You gave him no time for recovery, wiggling prettily against his sheets and his body as you shuffled out of the shorts, dragging the material down your leg and kicking them away.

Steve rocked back onto his knees, jaw slack, hair mussed from your hands and lips rosy from yours. He whispered your name, took his hand and dragged it from your knee to your thigh, gripping at the curves there, staring at how you put yourself on show for him.

“Can I touch you?“ he asked, voice reverent, breaking halfway through his question, like he could barely keep himself together.

You nodded, teeth biting into your bottom lip, body tensed in anticipation.

“Words, sweetheart,” Steve reminded you, “c’mon.”

You gasped at the sensation of his fingers curling into your inner thigh, lifting your leg over his so he could prop you up and spread you out, eyes hungry and disbelieving.

He felt like he was going insane.

“Jesus, yes, Steve,” you groaned, a little impatient, your hands pulling at his, pushing them across the small curve of your tummy, down to where you were desperate.

He fell apart when his fingers swept through you, cursing at how wet you were, telling you how soft you felt. He thumbed at your clit, quickly leaning down and pressing his lips back to yours when you keened loudly, your appreciation ringing out across the house.

Steve kissed away the noise, soothed you down from your frantic reaction and he dipped a finger into you, groaning against you as he slipped one inside, a second joining quickly.

You were overwhelmed, hands grabbing at his hair as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your jawline, smoothing his lips over your neck, sucking a bruise there, biting at the skin before running his tongue over the marks he made.

You were pushing at the waistband of his sweatpants, grinding down against his hand, his fingers moving a little faster as they brought you to the edge, far too quickly.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, voice hushed, eyes lit up at how you responded to him, “I got you babe, c’mon.”

But you shook your head, hands desperate as they dove beneath the cotton of his trousers, finding him hard and heavy for you, Steve swearing profusely as you pumped him once, twice, in your hand.

“Not yet,” you told him, voice shaking, eyes glassy, “want you.”

You heard his breath stutter, his fingers slipping from you, only to glide over your clit again, pressure building at each stroke. You whimpered, grip tightening around him and thumb swiping at his head.

He looked like he was unravelling.

“You gotta stop, I’m not gonna last long,” Steve murmured, voice gone, rough and hoarse. He licked his lips, looking down at you as he ran his hands up your body, gripping you at the waist and pulling you into him. “Not with you, not when you look like that.”

But you were desperate, needing to feel him, over you, on you, in you. Maybe it was the way you were looking at him, bottom lip jutted, eyes glassy, skin still marked up from your cuts and his teeth. Maybe it was when you pulled him down into you, lips at his ear telling him, “I’m already close too.”

He gave into you. You made it easy.

His sweatpants hit his bedroom floor, a soft thud against the drawers of his dresser, neither of you looking to see where they landed. His lips were on you again, body flush, skin warm and Steve was mouthing at your jaw, your neck as you tilted your head back, giving him everything he wanted.

You brought your knees up to his sides, caging him and he crowded into you, one forearm on the pillow by your head, holding himself over you as the other smoothed over your cheek, into your hair and you communicated through soft gazes and parted lips, a tilt of your head, a hand on his chest, as he pushed into you.

It took everything you had not to moan too loud, biting down on the muscles of Steve’s shoulder instead, the boy sighing, muscles taught, staying still. He gave you both a minute, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your ass before lighting up your skin, trailing fire down your thigh and hooking his fingers underneath your knee. He hitched your leg to his side, thigh pulled high as he opened you for him, the slick slid of both of you making it easier to move.

Steve set a slow pace, agonising as it was amazing, both of you blissed out and lips parted, the summer air painting a sheen over your skin, stray hairs stuck to flushed cheeks, eyes heavy and hooded. He moved over you like he’d done it before, head bent, lips brushing almost lazy against your own, as if kissing you was already second nature, as if he should’ve been doing this all along.

You bit back a sound, a tight huff that made Steve snap his hips, making both of you stutter and swear. You could tell the boy was growing impatient, tightly wound and ready to snap but he was holding back, holding on, waiting for you.

Pushing yourself up, you grabbed at him, hands slick on his skin as you gripped his shoulders and he got the hint, lips curling into a smile that made your heart thump and he grabbed at your ass, rocking back onto his knees until you were seated on top of him.

He took the chance to push your hair back from your face, kiss you slow and deep, hands squeezing at your ass, sliding over the small of your back as he held you to him and you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop. Not when he felt so deep, so good.

You rolled your hips, gasping when the movement caught him off guard, made him bite down on your bottom lip. He hissed, eyes wide as he looked down between your bodies, watching your hips move over him, rocking, grinding and taking him in over and over again.

“Jesus christ,” he whispered and he sounded fervent, voice swallowed by the whimpers and moans that fell from your mouth. “Fuck, you’re too pretty, too much,” he puncuated each word with a press of his lips, pushing kisses to your cheeks, you jaw, your neck and shoulders. “You close?” Steve asked, mouth agape as you started to move quicker, hips stuttering with impatience and greed and you almost sobbed when he clutched at your tighter, one arm around your waist as he helped you move, leaning you back as he thrust into you, his other hand dropping between you, thumb rubbing tight circles over you.

You hummed, nodding frantically, hands grasping at his broad shoulders, his neck, crying out as you tightened around him and Steve swore, head tilted back and eyes clenched shut at the sensation. He gathered you to him, arms wrapped around you and he let you both fall back into the mess of sheets and pillows, hand out to catch you both as he moved another once, twice, three times, into you, hips stuttering, all rhythm lost.

He fell when you did, eyes shut, stars blinking behind lids, the world warm and hazy. You clutched at each other, hand petting and soothing over damp skin and smoothing back hair, mouths panting out hot air into the crook of the other’s neck. You pressed kisses to his jaw, stubble rasping over your cheeks in a way that you decided you loved, skin flushed and sticky.

It took a second or two, before Steve realised you were both shaking, limbs liquid, voices gone. Carefully, as not to hurt you, he pulled back, slipping out from between your legs and you exhaled at the loss, hands reaching out to him in the dark and he found your fingers, twisting them between your own as he fell onto the bed beside you, chest still heaving.

You wondered when it would feel awkward, if at all. If the inevitable moment of regret would hit, a common feeling after having sex with your best friend, you were sure. But it never came, the moment stayed warm, familiar, safe. Steve turned to you, slipping the sheets over both of you, pressing a kiss to your palm and pulling you into the heat of his chest.

You fit just under his chin, the perfect height to place your lips on his collar bone, dropping kisses along the line of it, legs tangled.

“I feel like this is normally the part when one of us says we’ll need to talk about this, y’know?” Steve murmured, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. His thumb soothed over your ribs, dancing across your skin in a way that made you feel heavy, melting into him. “But I get the feeling that you might feel the same way I do.”

The boy’s voice cracked a little at that, and he cleared his throat, ducking his head into you as if he was scared to see your reaction, as if you were ever going to tell him he’d got the wrong idea.

You hummed, a soft noise of agreement and you pulled back a little in his arms, just enough where you could nudge at his nose with your own, silently asking him to meet your gaze. You found his eyes, brown and warm like honey, but looking so conflicted, so unsure.

You brushed your nose against his again, once, twice, soft, slow.

“Would it help if I said it first?” You asked quietly.

Steve didn’t reply but you felt him hold his breath, his chest still and tight against yours, both of you still bare, warmed by the other, slick from sex. You continued despite his silence, knowing the boy well enough by now that despite the bravado and confidence he had throughout high school, he was fucking terrifed of what could possibly be rejection.

You saw him swallow hard, adam’s apple bobbing and if you didn’t know the boy any better you might have laughed. ‘Cause you were naked and in his arms, your bare chest pressed against his, his leg wedged between your naked thighs and you’d jumped off a boat for him earlier, swam to another dimension to save his life.

But it was Steve, the boy whose family left him alone, the boy who looked after everyone before himself. So you shifted from his arms, catching the way his eyes widened in panic, as if you were going to get dressed and hightail it out of his bedroom window.

You soothed him, hand stroking over his cheek and you smiled when he realised your intentions, crawling over his body and settling yourself onto his lap again. Your thighs spread themselves over his, leaning down and into him as he propped himself against the messy pile of pillows at his headboard.

His palms smoothed over your thighs, a solid and warm weight that gave you more comfort than he knew, making you feel a little braver as you crowded into him, hands pushing back his wild hair, nose bumping against his.

You cradled his face, hands on the strong line of his jaw, tilting his head for him as you brought your lips back to his, a soft press of your lips that turned into a demanding kiss, a little force and heat behind it as you wished and prayed for him to feel the way you did for him. You left him breathless, a mess underneath you, hands gripping your legs, lips parted, eyes wide.

You smiled.

“Hey, Harrington?” You whispered, lips brushing over his in an almost kiss that he tried to chase. He hummed at you, answering without words. “I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest.”

It felt a lot like saying I love you, and Steve must’ve understood cause he gaped at you, brown eyes shining in the dark and he brought his arms around you, pulling you down and into him in a hug that engulfed you.

He spoke into your hair, eyes closed and the dark of the night making him feel brave. “Fuck, yeah, same.” He cleared his throat, voice thick, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you started, voice quiet and small and the boy was quick to bring your face to his, eyes serious when he interrupted.

“You won’t,” he choked out, “shit, sweetheart, you could never.”

“Yeah?” You sniffed, eyes glassy and god, you were overwhelmed. By the night, by Steve, by his lips, his bed, his body against yours. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

———————

No one said anything the next morning.

Not Robin when she woke up in the guest room alone, your pillow cold. Not Nancy when she passed you both leaving Steve’s room as she left the bathroom, his shirt swallowing your frame, your shorts on his bedroom floor.

She had smiled at you both, knowing, looking at your sleep mussed hair, soft smiles and marked up neck, Steve’s hand on the small of your back as he led you downstairs. Eddie followed your joined hands from where he was still sprawled across the couch, chest bare, rings glinting in the morning light. He grinned, laughing quietly when he caught Robin’s eye behind you both, shrugging when she shushed him.

It felt like a new day, a fresh start, a second chance.

The idea of defeating whatever this monster was, working out what it was that he wanted with you all, keeping the kids safe, helping your friends. It all felt a little less impossible than the day before. Your arm still stung, a dull ache that reminded you of the fights that had already been lost, but Steve was pressed against your back as you cracked some eggs into a pan, a breakfast for all of you, his arms around your waist and his chin resting on top of your head.

He pressed a kiss there and you decided that he made it feel a whole lot easier than it should.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #steve harrington one shot

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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Can We Always Be This Close?

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [22.4k] A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises.

When you were both eight years old, Steve Harrington handed you the last popsicle and told you he loved you.

It was the most innocent kind of talk, from the mouths of kids, fresh faced, summer freckles, ankles dipped in the pool and sunburn on your cheeks.

You weren’t truly sure you both knew what those words meant back then, the depth and meaning that they held. But you said them back, lemon and sugar on your tongue and he’d beamed at you, brighter than the Indiana sun and that was that.

And that night, when you were camped out on his bedroom floor, the first day of summer vacation and his bed sheets draped across your heads, he shared his secret stash of twizzlers with you, lips tinted red and pinkie fingers linked.

His eyes were solemn when he whispered to you, the dulled yells of his parents downstairs acting as his backing track. His mom was slurring a little, his dad laughing mirthlessly and something smashed. You had both flinched, moved closer together between the pillows and stuffed animals.

You remember his mouth brushing up against the shell of your ear, hushed promises falling from his lips, the kind that only an eight year old could make.

Steve Harrington promised you three things that night:

One, he’d always be your best friend.

Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary.

And three, he’d never break your heart.

He only kept two of those.

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

“I think Jessica is coming over,” Steve said as he handed you a can of soda, the cold condensation on it making your fingers slip over his.

You screwed your face up and rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses - Steve’s sunglasses - ‘cause it was a rare Saturday that you’d managed to get off work together, seventeen and desperate for time to do nothing with your best friend.

It wasn’t meant, but you let the sound of annoyance slip from your lips, stretching yourself out on one of the Harrington’s sunloungers. Steve looked at you from where he’d sat himself down by the pool edge, exasperated and somewhat fond. You picked at the edge of your bikini bottoms, peachy orange and still damp from the water.

You scrunched your nose, looking over at him from over the top of his old Ray Bans as he took a sip of his cola, eyes on you, waiting for you to talk. He knew you wanted to say something, could tell from your face, the way you twisted your lips and fidgeted with your swimsuit.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

If you didn’t know the boy well enough, you’d have thought his tone was condescending, maybe even a little mocking. But when you were both fifteen, he’d stood by your side at the counter of the ice cream parlour, watching your cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when the older guy behind the freezer had winked at you, handed you your cone and called you ‘sweetheart’.

Steve had called you the same ever since, never getting tired of the way you lit up at it, all soft and full of affection, lips twisted to hide your smile, nose turning pink.

“I thought it was just gonna be us hanging out today?” You asked, trying to keep your voice level, casual.

It was silly the way your chest was hurting, an anxious creep across your bones, making your skin too warm in a way that the sun wasn’t. It wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t like Jessica, you didn’t really know, honestly.

But you’d been in Steve’s life long enough to know that not many of his girlfriends had liked you. It made hang outs and movie nights awkward, a fresh set of eyes on you, watching the way you and Steve interacted, holding back from the way you’d normally touch him, keeping your head off his shoulder, throwing your legs over the arm of the chair instead of his lap.

You’d go to the kitchen, the bathroom, bringing back more snacks and a drink only to hear the boy being interrogated about how long had Steve known you, didn’t she have a boyfriend and god, why was she always here?

You’d stand with your back against the hallway wall, a packet of twizzlers crushed to your chest as you listened for Steve’s response. It was always the same, sure and strong and leaving no room for argument. It made you feel warm and a little safer, like you belonged in the Harrington house just as much as him, brought up in the large home with its pool and absent parents together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas in the dining room, mom and dads by your sides.

“She’s my best friend,” he’d always say, “where she goes, I go.”

Some girls put up with it for longer than others, dirty looks given to you out of the car window when Steve would insist on dropping you home too, a messy press of a kiss pushed to your cheek before he made sure you got in your front door okay.

There were girls that were done after bumping into you in the school hall, a sweater on your frame, the hem almost covering your shorts and god, they’d think, that looks awfully familiar. They’d sit in whatever class they had next, eyes on the chalkboard but their minds trying to decide if they’d seen that sweater on Steve’s bedroom floor before, thrown lazily over the back of his desk chair.

You’d find them arguing about it at his car after school, voices clipped and raised, drawing a little too much attention and you’d hear your name said like a curse. Steve would let them walk away, hands rubbing at his eyes and when he’d pull himself onto the trunk, he’d find your gaze across the parking lot and he’d smile, a little soft and a little sad.

But he’d look at you from the driver seat when he was taking you both home, eyes flickering with something else as they dare to roam across your shoulders, your chest. You’d catch him staring, brows raised and your knowing smile would make him blush but he’d tell you, everytime:

“Looks better on you anyway.”

Steve shrugged, looking a little guilty but swung a leg into the pool, letting the water swish around his shin.

“I know, but,” another shrug, his gaze on the blue tiles, “she’s my girlfriend.”

You sighed, pushing yourself off of the lounger and walking over to the edge of the pool, chlorine and cedar from the garden filling the warm air. You poked a toe to the boy’s side before sitting down next to him, both feet in the water and the garden slabs sun-warmed against the back of your thighs.

You nudged a shoulder into Steve’s, fighting a smile when he did it back, shuffling closer so your arms brushed together.

“We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages,” you told him, trying to sound annoyed but your words came out a little mournful, huffy even. “It’s been weeks.”

You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Between school and both of you working weekend jobs, it was hard to find time to see each other. And since the startling realisation of finding out there were kids with superpowers out in Hawkins, other worlds that held monsters and magic, you figured trips to the cinema were at the bottom of both of your lists.

“M’sorry,” Steve said anyway, and you hated the way he sounded, like he really meant it, like it made him sad too. “If the kids didn’t need rides to the arcade all the damn time, maybe we’d-”

You rolled your eyes, fond. “You know it’s not the kids I mind, Harrington.”

And that was true. You and Steve had taken your unofficial babysitter roles pretty seriously, and with six twelve year olds to wrangle together, it would’ve been a hard enough job without the threat of impending doom lurking behind every corner.

You’d grown up thinking monsters only lived under your bed, hiding behind your closet door, and they could be banished with a flashlight, a kiss from your mother, the promise of chocolate chip pancakes in the morning from your father.

But you’d grown up too fast, seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real and you hated the way you knew how to butterfly stitch someone's skin back together, how you’d seen too much of your best friend's blood.

He pressed his nose to your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin and he let his teeth graze you, a playful threat of a bite before he sighed, knowingly, understanding.

“Jess said she likes you,” Steve offered, hands on the grass as he leaned back, head tilted to the sun. He was watching you from under his lashes, the length of them casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Said you had chem together and you were crazy smart.”

You scoffed, laughed mirthless, because the only reason Jessica Preston knew you had class with her was ‘cause she used you to cheat off of you before you moved seats.

“I bet she did,” was the only answer you gave, because the garden gate was suddenly squeaking and Steve was standing up, splashing water over your thighs as he greeted the girl in question.

“Jess, hey!” Steve called out, reaching for her and pressing a kiss to her lips. His came away glossy and a little pink as Jessica reached into her bag, pulling out a tube and quickly reapplying. He gestured to you, smiling, “you two know each other, right?”

You grimaced, holding your hand up in some sort of wave before you pushed Steve’s glasses onto your head.

“Sure,” you said, not sounding sure at all. You stood up, brushing drops of water and small flecks of gravel from your skin. “Chemistry, Mrs Telford’s class.”

Jessica squinted at you, pretty features twisted in confusion and Steve wanted to jump head first into the pool from the awkward silence that had filled the yard.

“Right!” The girl finally gasped out, all false smiles and white teeth. “Totally! Of course.”

And then, you were dismissed.

“Steve, there’s a party tonight,” you heard the girl tell him, stomach twisting as you walked past them, grabbing your shorts from the lounger and dragging them up your legs. “Matt’s parents are gone and,” she tapped a finger on his chest, trailing it down his sternum. “So are mine.”

You wondered if you had too much sun, wondered if the heat was what was making your insides bubble, your chest feeling too tight. You found your way into the kitchen, the open patio door doing nothing to curb the same heat that had leaked in from outside.

You ran the tap, waiting for it to turn freezing before filling a glass and chugging it, back pressed against the counter so you didn’t have to look out the window.

You could still hear them though.

“You can pick me up, right? I’ll be ready at eight and then you can stay over at mine,” Jess was practically purring and it made you slam the now empty glass down into the sink a little harder than you meant to. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

“Uh, actually, we’re having a movie night later,” you froze, turning to look over your shoulder to see Steve gesture to you through the window. Jess followed his hand, lips downturned and eyes holding venom.

“You’re kidding right?” The girl asked, disbelief spilling from her lips. “I’m offering you a night in my bed and you’re turning me down for Back To The Future with her?”

It was actually The Goonies, you’d wanted to tell her, but Steve was licking his lips nervously, eyes flickering between you and Jess and you really wish you could say something to save him.

You stepped out the patio doors, arms crossed self consciously over your chest. “Steve, it’s okay, we-”

Steve shrugged and he didn’t look surprised when Jessica stepped out of his embrace, glossy lips twisted in shock and annoyance.

“We’ve had it planned for a while Jess,” he explained, “movies, pizza and-”

“Well come after,” Jess demanded, like it was simple. “Or better yet, just do your stupid movie night some other time.”

Steve looked confused, staring down at the girl as if he was wondering which part she wasn’t understanding. You grimaced, eyes wanting to fall shut ‘cause you knew what the boy was going to say and god, you wished you could hide from it.

But then he was explaining to her that you were staying over, crashing at his like you always did, like you had done for years.

Steve said it so plainly that you almost wanted to laugh. In fact, your lip twitched, the threat of a smile pulling at it and you turned, toeing at the grass as you waited for the impending blow out. The boy had an endearing habit of stating the truth with such a sincerely soft tone, almost oblivious to the carnage his honesty could sometimes cause.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stated, voice climbing a little higher in volume and pitch as she took in this new information. “I could’ve sworn you just told me you had another girl staying with you tonight.”

Steve scrunched his nose, mouth parting as he wondered what he was supposed to say to that. He floundered, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to gain some control on the matter.

“Jess, what? It’s not a big deal, it’s not like that.”

And he was right, it wasn’t. Not yet.

Nothing had ever happened with you and Steve, not when you were pressed together at night, side by side in his bed, moving closer as you slept, pillow creases on your cheeks, hands close to places you shouldn’t have been touching.

Nothing happened in the mornings either, when you were both soft with sleep, hair mussed and misbehaving, warm hands and toes pushing into the other's skin as you tried to find the comfort of that lazy feeling in each other.

You’d never noticed him stare at you when you got out of the shower, skin still damp, hair pushed back from your face and a too big shirt clinging to your thighs. He never realised you held your breath when he pulled his top off at night, body warm and solid beside you, fingers desperate to trace a map of constellations across his back, freckle to freckle.

Your realisation that your best friend wasn’t just attractive, but was pretty, was a slow burn. It came as you aged, an appreciation growing as you did, Steve too. You noticed the boys in your class as they grew taller, filling out, and you didn’t realise the same was happening to Steve until the summer you both turned fifteen.

You’d spent school vacation at his parents lake house, watched him laze shirtless on the small motorboat, new muscles flexing, drops of water casting tiny rainbows across the tanned skin it clung to. He’d grown his hair out, chocolate brown strands out of control and messy, boyish as it was pretty. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, new feelings, and when Steve continued to throw you over his shoulder, playing in the shallows of the lake, his wide hands spanning the curves of your thighs, your hips, you ignored the burn his touch left behind.

Jess huffed out a laugh and it sounded dangerous, a little like a threat. She found your gaze, held it until hers dropped to scan you up and down, doing her best to make you feel small.

“Whatever, Harrington,” she shoved past Steve, shoulder edging into his chest as she headed for the gate. “Ask your little friend to suck your dick instead.”

You burned at her words, eyes wide as you stared at a crack in the patio, refusing to watch as she stormed through the gate, the hinges protesting loudly as it was slammed shut, leaving you both in silence.

The trickle of the pool filter was the only sound for a minute, maybe two, then you heard Steve sigh, heavy and world weary. You looked at him, feeling a little guilty.

“Shouldn’t you go after her?” You asked.

Steve gave a half shrug, already moving to sit down on the lounger that you’d spent your morning on. You joined him, sitting on the end so you didn’t touch, like you weren’t supposed to after Jessica’s accusation.

“Nah,” he told you, “it’s fine, it’s… whatever.”

You snorted and the sound made the corners of his mouth lift a little, eyes flitting over to you, always interested in what you were going to say.

“That’s a new height of romance, Harrington,” you mused, foot dipping into a small puddle of pool water. You drew lines and shapes on the dry concrete with your toe, watching the sun dry them out almost instantly. “It’s whatever?”

“I dunno,” Steve sighed, reaching over to pluck his sunglasses back from the top of your head and pushing them over the bridge of his nose. He looked good with them on, you mused, too pretty, too nice. “Wasn’t like we had that much in common.“

“Then why date her in the first place?” You asked, face twisting with annoyance.

Steve had developed a habit in freshman year of dating girls who gave him nothing more than wandering hands in the back of his car, passive aggressive comments when he missed their calls and whiplash when they found out about you.

A smirk tugged at his lips, a handsome match with his Ray Bans and messy hair and he turned to you, eyebrows raised.

“You’re a pig,” you muttered, trying to sound disgusted but Steve was pushing his fingers into your sides, hands dragging over your ribs and you were laughing despite yourself, “get off me!”

You were ignored, unsurprisingly, and you wondered if Jessica had made it back to her car yet, if she’d driven away or if she had heard your shriek of delight when Steve suddenly stood and scooped you up.

One arm was wrapped around your waist, a wide, rough hand pressed against the skin just under your breast, his thumb grazing the of your bikini. The other curved itself on your thigh, your body held tight to his as he ran with you, hurtling you both to the edge of the pool and you pressed your face into his neck when he jumped, bracing yourself for the cool water.

Steve didn’t let you go until you both surfaced, his feet planted on the bottom of the pool as he pushed you both to the surface. Your hands were around his neck and you gasped, water dripping from your lashes and lips, hair a wet mess and he was laughing. That soft laugh that made any summer day feel warmer than it already was, a laugh that reminded you of fresh lemonade and bedroom sheet forts.

He let go of your legs before you waist, letting the lower half of your body slide out of his grasp and slide against his, so you were chest to chest, your abdomens pressed together and you almost lost your footing, chin slipping under the water, eyes gazing up at him despite the way the sun made it hurt.

Maybe it was the way you pressed a hand to his stomach to ground yourself, feeling the muscles tense under your touch, maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe he just forgot he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. But something happened and Steve cleared his throat, letting go of your waist and allowing himself to fall backwards and under the water.

He reappeared a few feet away, hair darker and slicked back, eyes a little wild as he looked at you, like you were suddenly dangerous.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.

You weren’t overly fond of Nancy Wheeler, not at first.

You couldn’t deny that the dislike you felt for the girl stemmed from jealousy and your own inability to get a handle on your feelings but, you had to admit, she was better than most of the girls Steve had dated before.

Pretty, smart, sharp and with a keen eye. She liked journalism, the quiet and even you. You shared the knowledge of The Upside Down, bonded over the fear you both felt for her brother and his friends and when you passed each other in the hallway, you nodded, civil and overly aware of all the things you’d both seen together.

You weren’t joined at the hip and you didn’t love how she slid her hand into Steve’s, or how he kissed her at her locker, telling you he’d catch up with you at lunch. You’d spent months telling yourself you weren’t jealous of Nancy, just that you missed your best friend and you resented the way the girl took up all his free time.

You missed the way he snuck in your bedroom window, a pointless task and waste of his energy, ‘cause your parents would hear him clambering up their drainpipe, eyes rolling, fond and affectionate, ‘cause it was Steve.

He’d always told you that he did it for the fun of it, to see you smile when his head appeared over the sill and so you’d help him clamber over the window frame. He’d spend the late hours with you, whispering about nothing and laughing about everything, shoulder to shoulder in your bed until you both fell asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets, his shoes in the middle of your floor and his arm slung over your waist.

You liked it when the sun woke you early, the curtain still opened from when you’d forgotten to close them after Steve’s sudden appearances, the light pink and peach as it leaked into your room. It painted stripes of light and shadow over your walls, over the boy’s broad shoulders and cheek, the other smushed into your mattress, hair a mess and lips parted sleepily.

You got to admire him like that, when his eyes were still closed and he was so unaware. Steve couldn’t catch you staring, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they looked, if he knew how pretty you thought he was, if he thought you were pretty too.

He still picked you up for school in the morning, his BMW sat at the end of your drive but his clothes were sleep creased, hair mussed from spending the night with Nancy instead, sneaking through her bedroom window and not yours. He still smacked a kiss to your cheek when you parted for class but it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t quite just yours anymore and you hated the way it hurt.

So yeah, you could appreciate that Nancy was a nice person and seemed to be good for Steve - at least, until she wasn’t - but you didn’t have to like her for it.

When she broke your best friend’s heart, you’d found him sitting on the hood of his car after school, lips downturned and expression sour, nothing but worry beating in your chest ‘cause you hadn’t seen him since the morning before and no one answered your calls to his house that night.

But then rumours started swirling around the halls, floating over tables in the cafeteria like wildfire and you couldn’t fucking find him. You saw Nancy in the library during your free period, her head bent close to Jonathan Byers as they whispered about something you couldn’t hear, their hands on the table, fingers too close to touching and Nancy had the right to look guilty when her gaze met your own.

So you’d marched straight over to Steve and he crumbled a little when he saw it was you, slipping off the hood and letting you usher him to the front seat. He didn’t really hesitate when you held out your hand to him, silently asking him to let you take care of him.

He placed the car keys in your palm, eyes tired, face sad and you were desperate to fix it. You hadn’t seen Steve like that before and you didn’t know what to do, his pain was yours, your heart beating hard against your chest until you felt like your bones were bruised.

There were talks of the girl cheating on him, wandering around late with Jonathan and you knew they shared the same worries and trauma that you all did when it came to knowing things the rest of the town didn’t, but you didn’t know what was happening between the pair.

So you drove him home, listened when Steve told you that he loved her, that he didn’t know how to fix it. But then it was and then it wasn’t, a game of on and off, yes and no, that you couldn’t really keep up with.

It all came to a head on Halloween, after months of leaving your window open for no one.

Steve climbed in, startling you, hands finding your bedroom floor before his feet did and when he stood, eyes meeting yours, you wanted to be mad at him.

It had been a week since you hung out, passing in the halls and waving when you could, exams stressing you out and his time taken up by Nancy and all the parties he seemed intent on going to. He’d given up trying to get you to go with him, sick of it all after the second time, a spare part, third wheel, an audience to his kisses with Nancy.

But he stood by your bed with the most forlorn expression on his face, features soft and watery and you simply pulled back the sheets, shuffling over to the side that had been made yours when you were both seven, so Steve could claim his.

The boy toed off his shoes, his jacket falling to the carpet as he shrugged it off and you felt like a kid again when he crawled across your mattress, shuffling underneath the covers and pushing himself against you.

Steve got as close to you as he could without asking for a hug, his pride already seemingly too hurt to put himself out there, even with you. But he didn’t hesitate when you turned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you, your nose pressed into his hair. He smelled like smoke and weed from the party, a little like Steve underneath it.

He returned your touch instantly, seeking it out with a desperation that almost shocked you, eager to accept it when it was offered. He tugged you in by the waist, arms wrapped around you and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

He wished he told you then, that you smelled like summer and afternoons by the pool, like cherry popsicles and promises and home. But he didn’t feel brave enough, not then, not yet.

“We broke up,” Steve finally mumbled, voice a little broken and muffled by your neck and hair. “She broke up w’me. Called us bullshit.”

You frowned, confused, pulling back a little in the hopes that Steve would look at you and explain but his grip on your waist only tightened and you patted at his hair, smoothed the almost curls at the nape of his neck and whispered his name.

“Steve, hey, babe, what?” You received a groan in answer but you persisted, shuffling out of his grasp and gripping his chin with your finger, pushing at him a little pleadingly until the boy looked up and met your gaze.

“What happened?”

Steve didn’t answer until you pulled the sheets over your heads, your own little bed fort that let the dim light of your bedside lamp filter through, soft and warm and hazy. You let go of his chin, your hand smoothing his hair back from his face and he pushed his cheek into your touch as he spoke.

“Nancy, it’s over,” he told you, a frown pulling at his brow, “she said the whole relationship was bullshit, that I was bullshit.”

You held your breath, letting him talk as you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone, feeling him relax into you despite the way he was letting his words tumble from his lips, mixing in with his emotions until he was stuttering over himself.

“She, she said we were just acting like we were in love?” Steve caught your stare, his eyes confused as he looked at you, as if he could find an answer in your gaze but you just gaped at him. “Said that I only thought I was in love with her ‘cause I was too busy tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t in love with someone else, or some shit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“What?” You whispered, voice full of surprise because what the fuck?

“Right?” He answered, indignant and wide eyed. “I don’t know what she was talkin’ about, she would answer me, just told me she wasn’t in love with me and god, fucking Byers took her home.”

“Jonathan?”

You screwed up your face, hardly even reacting when Steve groaned again, pushing himself back into you, his face comfortably pressed into your chest, just above the swell of your breast, his mouth warm through your shirt.

It should’ve startled you, the proximity, the intimacy, especially after missing him for so long. But it was still Steve, your best friend, the boy that promised to be there until the very end.

“Why’d Jonathan take her home?” You asked, your cheek pressed to the top of his head as you spoke, the sheets fluttering around you both as Steve shifted, arms wrapping around you more, pulling you until you were flush with his body.

He couldn’t have been touching more of you if he tried.

“She was drunk,” he mumbled into your chest, lips moving over your shirt, making the material shift across your skin and it lit you up, body electric and the air buzzing. “I told him to. She didn’t want me.”

You sighed, eyes closing at the pained sound in the boy’s voice and you let him hold you, your own hand taking into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked.

“Steve,” you murmured, soft and sympathetic.

He whispered your own name back to you, his tone the same and it made you smile. You could feel his own against your chest, lips lifting, breath coming out in a small huff.

“You could still talk to her tomorrow, y’know?” You said conversationally. You hated yourself for trying to fix it for him, for attempting to out the girl back between you both but fuck if you weren’t a good friend. “Maybe she just said all that shit ‘cause she had too much to drink.”

You twirled a length of the boy’s hair around your finger, making it curl. “Was it Jack Templeman’s punch? That dude makes rocket fuel in a bowl, she might have been absolutely wasted.”

Steve shook his head before he pulled back, falling into your pile of pillows and gazing at you.

“Nah, I don’t wanna chase her,” he said and despite the sadness in his voice, he sounded sure. “I don’t wanna be with someone who thinks I’m bullshit. I mean, I know I’m not perfect, but damn, bullshit?”

You shook your head, gaze hard and you wanted to shake him, to make him understand how wrong Nancy was.

“Steve, you're not bullshit.” He held your stare, lips parted. “You’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sorry I don’t know why Nancy said that, I wish I could-”

He stopped you before you could continue, a small smile lifting at his lips and he found your hands between the tangle of sheets, tugging you over to him and onto his chest. You lay your head there, protesting when Steve’s finger poked at your cheek, fond and soft.

“I know what you’re gonna say, sweetheart, and it’s fine.” He sighed, sleepy and weighted. “You don’t need to fix everything for me, not this time, anyway.“

You fell silent, thinking about the times Steve was referring to, wondering if this was finally the year he stopped needing you. The thought made your chest hurt, your eyes blur and you sniffed.

“My dad’ll be home from that conference soon,” he mumbled softly and you could tell without even looking at Steve that he had his eyes closed. “You can come fight my battles for me then, how’s that sound short stuff?”

It was silly, his words. The way they made you feel. Like you were needed again, important. Like he didn’t wanna face the things that scared him without you. It hurt that after all those years, he still felt like that about his own father but it calmed a part of you to know that he didn’t seem as cut up about Nancy Wheeler as he once was.

“Are you okay?” You asked, tentative, and you made a face ‘cause god, that seemed like a stupid fucking question. “Will you be okay?” You asked instead.

Steve hummed noncommittally and you craned your neck to look up at him, smiling when you were proven right at his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as you shifted over him, tucking yourself into his side.

“I mean yeah, sure,” he murmured, voice dropping lower and rougher as sleep pulled at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

He turned his face to yours at that, nose nudging at your forehead as he blindly sought out your features, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your temple.

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair and you stilled, swallowing the lump that had caught in your throat. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been around.“

You squeezed your eyes closed at his words, letting them burn until you were sure you weren’t going to cry.

You wanted to say it was okay, to soothe him, to make Steve feel better but the lie got caught on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him something that wasn’t true.

You shrugged instead, lips twisted to keep them from turning downwards, his words heavy on you because god, you’d missed him so much.

“I missed you,” Steve whispered and fuck, it lit you up inside. “Like, really missed you.”

He was soft and gentle with it, words brushing against your temple, breath warm, hands twisting in the sides of your shirt, barely grazing at your skin, head butting at yours playfully.

He was Steve, he was late nights, long days, summer rainstorms, driving lessons, flunking your test, Saturday afternoon drives, feet on the dash, music too loud, smile blinding.

He was a little bit yours again.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling a little lighter than you had before, eyes falling shut like Steve’s. “I missed you too, Harrington.”

Steve’s breath was becoming slower, chest falling heavy and lazy and you both curled into each other on instinct, sleep pulling both of you together, the same way it did when you were both ten and piled on the sofa, movie still playing.

“You still my best friend?” His voice was a soft mumble, and you heard the worry there, hidden behind a crack of humour.

“Yeah, I’m still your best friend.”

—————

You didn’t see Nancy until a week later, and when you did, you didn’t expect her to corner you at your locker, big eyes wide and asking if you could talk.

You met her after school, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot from where Steve would be waiting on you, perched on the hood of his car as usual.

Nancy saw you coming, her face a little nervous as she bid goodbye to Jonathan who’d been standing beside her and you watched as they squeezed each other's hand before he took off.

You raised your brows as you approached, tugging your headphones to sit around your neck and you wondered what Nancy Wheeler could possibly have to say to you.

The world wasn’t ending, the kids were all safe and she wasn’t your best friend's girl anymore.

She squinted at you, trying to work out your mood, your emotions but you remained a little stoned faced, wondering if Steve would be pissed if had to see you here. You knew they’d spoken since Halloween, a chat that Steve had said felt too formal and stilted, but the air was cleared enough that they could cross paths when dropping Dustin, Will and Lucas at Mike’s house, an awkward wave exchanged from the front door to the car.

“You wanna sit?” Nancy asked, gesturing to a bench that sat by the edge of the school line, shadowed by trees that provided a little coverage from the wind that was picking up now that winter was approaching. You kicked at the leaves on the ground and shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, holding it tighter to your body.

“Sure,” you muttered, following her across the grass, leftover rain sticking to your boots.

The sky was still blue, a crisp Fall day that turned your nose pink, numbed your fingers and had you wishing for a Hawkins summer, the smell of sunscreen and cut grass replaced with rain and the promise of snow.

You sat on opposite ends of the bench, bodies turned to face each other and with the safety of your school bags between you both. You picked a dead leaf off the sole of your shoe, waiting for the other girl to talk.

“Look, I don’t know what Steve’s explained to you,” Nancy said, voice cracking a little with what seemed like nerves. “You know, when we spoke the other week.”

You shrugged, “I mean, not much,” you answered, “but it’s really not my business to know.”

Nancy nodded at that, appreciative, “I guess but I just want us to be friends, you know? I wanted you to understand why I broke it off with Steve. He’s a great guy but-”

“I know he is,” you interrupted, brows pulled together in confusion ‘cause there was never any debate about that. You softened a little when Nancy smiled at you, lips pulled up and eyes a little knowing. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” she told you, voice lighter than it had been before. “Like I said, Steve’s great… I guess I just didn’t love him the way I should’ve. And maybe that would’ve been a little easier if I didn’t see the way he looked at someone else.”

You frowned, staring at the girl as she looked back at you, silently willing you to catch on.

“What?” You asked, “I thought this was about you and Jonathan? You can’t act as if you haven’t been glued to Byers hip since this happened.”

Nancy had the right to look guilty, picking at her nail before looking back up at you. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I didn’t mean for what happened with Johnathan to happen… it just did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

She brushed a curl from her face, bringing her bag down to her feet so there was less separating her from you. The wind rushed at you both, stinging your cheeks and whipping at your clothes before it settled back down and let Nancy speak.

“I’m not blaming this on Steve, I’m not, and I shouldn’t have said he was bullshit,” she rushed out, “maybe we were just meant for other people you know? And think that, maybe, Steve doesn’t know that he’s already found his person.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, “but whatever. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear the two of you arguing every other day.”

Nancy nodded, smiling at the way you were avoiding her gaze, your mind suddenly racing with what she’d said.

“For what it’s worth,” the girl murmured, foot nudging friendly against yours, “it would probably make it a lot easier on the poor guy if this girl could admit that she was in love with him too.”

“Alright, yeah,” you stood up suddenly, cheeks flushed and your head a little scattered. “I think you’ve got it twisted Wheeler, but, uh, good talk.”

The girl hid a laugh, pressing her lips together as she watched you gather your bag, eyes shining. Nancy nodded, looking up at you as you stood a little awkwardly. You raised a hand in a goodbye, a small smile lifting at your lips in what seemed like an amicable agreement.

You stopped before you got too far, the sun in your eyes as you squinted back at the girl who was still sitting on the bench.

“Hey, Nancy?” She looked at you, eyes surprised.

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?” You asked and she was taken aback at how genuine you sounded. She paused, eyes flicking over to where Jonathan’s car was parked, engine idling as he waited for her.

She nodded, resolute. “Yeah, I am,” she answered quietly and confidently.

You nodded too, surprised at how it warmed you to hear that. You never wished ill on the girl, you just didn’t like how she broke your best friend, leaving you to put him back together again, piece by piece.

“I’m glad Steve’s got you, you know,” she called back before you could start to walk away again and her words made your heart stumble. You swallowed, looking at her with parted lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”

And well, wasn’t that a statement to behold?

When you finally clambered into Steve’s car, bringing the chill and some stray leaves from the outside, Steve was frowning softly, concerned by your lateness.

He looked at your flushed cheeks, pink nose and glassy eyes from the sharp wind and cranked up the heat, pointing his vents to your side too.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice worried, “I was gonna call in the kids, start a search party.”

You laughed, a little strained after the conversation you had, rubbing your hands together for warmth and you shrugged, noncommittal.

“I was uh, just catching up with a friend.”

Can I go where you go?

When Steve got a job after graduation at Scoops Ahoy, it was supposed to mean free ice cream and catching a late showing at the cinema after his shifts.

It brought you Robin Buckley, Steve in a sailors hat, a new flavour of ice cream every month and fucking Russians.

You thought dimensions and demogorgons were about as much as you could handle but Dustin came back from camp with a new gadget he’d built, some kind of high tech radio that looked like it was held together with duct tape and paper clips but the thing actually worked.

It worked well enough to pick up secret codes from underground labs, translated by Robin and well, fuck. Suddenly you were trapped in an elevator that wasn’t actually supposed to be an elevator and Erica Sinclair was going to miss her Uncle Jack’s party.

You knew Steve wasn’t happy with you, you could tell by the way his jaw was set, the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and his lips twisted and his gaze dropped when you tried to catch his gaze.

It made the air in the elevator crackle and buzz, tension on top of tension as you moved around each other, looking for a way out, hardly touching, hardly speaking. Robin twisted her lips, sympathetic, when she caught your gaze, your face flushed with annoyance.

He’d told you not to come.

Not out of meanness, or because you had fallen out, simply because he didn’t want you in harm's way. You’d ended up yelling at each other, a hundred feet below the mall and trapped in a metal box because why did it matter when Robin and the kids were stuck there too?

Steve, of course, cared that he had another friend, a thirteen year old and a ten year old to keep safe and he had every intention of doing so. But he couldn’t help but feel sick, his stomach rolling, at the thought of you being put in a dangerous situation.

You’d told him that he was being stupid, that you weren’t leaving him. You thought you’d seen all the dangers Hawkins had to offer, you could handle yourself, you could help him.

His worst fears came true when you all got split up, Dustin and Erica hopefully somewhere above you all, on their way for help, for something, anything.

But then a man came, tall and dressed in uniform, badges adorning his chest, and he took one look at the way Steve stood in front of you when he entered and swung for the side of his head.

The boy fell backwards, dazed, groaning at the shock and pain of it all before pulling himself off of the floor, body slow and sluggish. He lifted his head in time to see the same man gripping you by the back of your neck, hair fisted painfully in his grasp as he pulled you out of the room. Robin was yelling, swearing as she tried to get a grip on you, her hand wrapped around your ankle from where she was on the floor but you were pulled from her easily, a swift kick sent to her stomach for the audacity of her trying.

Steve felt his heart leave his chest, plummeting to his stomach, his blood running cold and everything around him slowed down. His vision was fuzzy but he could see the panic on your face, lips parted in a gasp as you tried to get to grips with what was happening.

Russians. A lab. Under Starcourt Mall.

He couldn’t move fast enough and he wanted to yell out, he wanted to run. But it was like being trapped in a bad dream, body damp, sheets tangled around his limbs as he tried his best to scream, to move, but nothing fucking happened.

The door slammed shut before the ringing in his ears could stop and he could taste blood in his tongue, metallic and horribly warm. He made his fists bleed from pounding on the door, knuckles cracked and bruised, voice wrecked from yelling your name.

He only stopped when the man came back, pulled him from Robin's side and threw more hits to his face, his body. His skin was littered with angry bruises, almost black, skipping the shades of lavender and pink, turning inky within minutes.

Between each punch, Steve spat out blood and asked where you were, groaning as he spoke. He was ignored, time and time again, until he lost it completely, tried to lash out, fists swinging, legs thrashing and he wasn’t sure if he was crying, or it was just blood dripping down his face but he wanted to sob, desperate for you.

He was thrown to a chair, tied back to back with Robin as some guy in a white coat threatened him with surgical equipment that looked like it didn’t belong in a hospital and when his eyes fell shut with the weight of his injuries, he wondered if he’d ever see his best friend again.

You were finally gathered up in what could’ve been hours later, maybe one, maybe five. A guard tugged at your wrists, taped together and red raw from where you’d tried to pull them apart and suddenly you were pushed through the same door they’d taken you from, thrown at Steve’s feet and the yelling continued.

Who did you work for, who did you work for, who did you work for?

It didn’t end until people were dead and Starcourt Mall was on fire.

Alarms had gone off, Dustin rushing in with an electric cattle prod of all things, weidling it like battleaxe and telling you all you had to run. You weren’t sure who was supporting who as you all tumbled back to the surface, dripping blood and tears onto the mall floor as Steve gripped your hand with a fierceness you’d never experienced from him before.

But then there were guns, El broken but still fighting, the rest of your friends, concern and confusion written on their faces ‘cause when you had all been fighting Russian Soviets, they’d been fighting Billy, the evil inside of him turning him into something different from the boy you’d seen in the school halls.

You’d held Max when he fell, body bloodied and ripped open, eyes glassy like he’d known what was coming. You left the mall that night with a new fear of loud noises, of fireworks that cracked and snapped in the sky. You knew what burning flesh smelled like, you knew that there was more to be said about monsters, more danger in the world than just the creatures that lurked in the cracks of the earth.

You knew that evil could come in the shape of a man, a familiar face, behind a uniform, a doctor's white lab coat.

You were tired, beaten, a little bloodied and bruised and your throat was raw after you’d screamed for Steve, fists beating on the door as you went ignored. You heard him from behind the steel walls, his voice as wrecked and panicked as your own and you sobbed when you heard his yells turn to groans, sickening wet thumps of bone hitting bone, breaking up the sound of him calling out your name.

You sat beside him in the ambulance, hands still clutching each other tightly, fear of being torn apart again ripping through you both. The medic wanted to take him to hospital, to make sure his cheekbone wasn’t shattered, that you both weren’t suffering from shock or concussion but Steve refused, just wanting to go fucking home.

The sky was angry, red and crying, plumes of black and crimson smoke billowing from the broken building and you didn’t know what to do. People were dead and the whole world seemed to be burning.

But Steve took you by the hand, pulled you to his side as you made sure everyone was okay, as well as they could be considering the circumstances and the boy stood a little numb as he watched you drop to your knees and fold Max into a hug, tears streaking through the blood and dirt on your cheeks when you pressed a kiss to El’s forehead.

Everyone was a little broken, barely standing, barely breathing and it didn’t seem difficult to continue the lie to your parents, calling them from a pay phone to say that you were okay, you had seen the news but it was fine, you had been at Steve’s the whole time, you’d be home in the morning.

You let Jonathan bundle you both into the back of his car, one of his old jackets thrown around your shoulders as Nancy sat in the front, Steve beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He dropped you both at Steve’s front door, little to be said between the hour of you as shock and tiredness tugged at your bodies, your heads. Hands were pressed to shoulders, squeezing softly, telling each other everything you all needed to say but couldn’t - not then, not just yet.

Thank you, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re okay, I’m happy you’re safe.

The Harrington house was empty, as expected and the rooms felt darker and colder than they had before, empty and too big, your harsh breaths rattling too loudly and you could feel a panic building inside you, clawing at your chest.

It grew when you looked at Steve’s face, dried blood and dark bruises making him look like he was about to fall apart and when you squeezed your eyes closed, you could hear the way he yelled your name, raw and broken.

A sob bubbled from your throat, spilling from your lips and you’d barely taken a breath before Steve was in front of you, arms pulling you into him, a hand around your neck, foreheads pressed together. It was supposed to ground you - and it did, in a way - but the cries still came, stuttered and broken, the heavy kind of sobs that made your body heave with the exertion of it all.

Steve held you through it, both of you swaying unsteady on your feet in the middle of his hall, shoes streaking dirt across Mrs. Harrington’s white tiles. Neither of you could ask the other if they were okay, ‘cause the answer was obvious but when your tears finally stopped, your face wet and your head sore, the boy took you by the hand and led you up the stairs.

He walked past his bedroom door, the little slice of heaven you most wanted at that moment in time, the only place in the large house that truly felt like home to you both. It was a surprise when he nudged open the door to the main bathroom, rarely used due to all the ensuites that were accessed through bedrooms but the large corner tub there suddenly looked like a gift from above.

You felt like a spare part when Steve let go of you long enough to turn the taps, filling the bath with hot water and a mixture of his mother’s expensive soaps and bath milks, sweet smelling bubbles and steam filling the room.

You found a first aid kit underneath the sink, pushed to the back of the cupboard, unused and when you motioned to the boy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he did without arguing. He spread his legs for you without you needing to ask, standing between his knees with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you mumbled out apologies, dabbing the stinging liquid into his skin.

Steve simply held onto your legs, eyes closed and his hands wrapped around the back of your knees, his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there as he whispered back, telling you it was okay, it’s fine, I'm fine sweetheart.

The cuts on his face didn’t seem as angry, as severe, when you wiped away the blood that crusted around them but the dark bruises seemed mean and vicious against the pale cast of his skin, shock seeping out all the colour from his cheeks.

He let you press a kiss to his forehead, clutching at the sides of his head, fingers buried in his damp, messy hair and the push of your lips was fierce, conveying everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, because fuck, you didn’t know how to tell your best friend that you think you were falling in love with him. Because how else could the thought of losing someone hurt so fucking much?

Steve left you alone to bathe, skin stinging as you stripped down to your underwear, your body and bones lazy as you pulled at your jeans and shirt. You gave up when you got down to your underwear, cotton pants and lacy bralette mismatching in a clash of cherry print and forest green and they both stuck to your skin as you slid into the hot water.

You drew your knees to your chest, eyes closed and head pressed there as you let the heat nip at you, cuts and scrapes protesting but it was good to feel something when your head felt numb, your chest hollow. You weren’t sure how long you sat there for but you could've sworn someone was calling your name, a knock on the door echoing on the tiles and your mouth felt too fuzzy to answer.

Steve could only hear the slow, steady drip of the tap and panic rose in his chest when you didn’t answer him and he had thoughts of you unconscious and slipping beneath the bubbles.

So he knocked once more, heart racing before he turned the handle and pushed at the door a little, calling out your name.

He heard the water splash at the sides of the tub, movement at least. But then he heard you sniff, the noise turning to soft sobs and it gripped at his heart, crushed it a little and before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, bare feet on the tiles and staring down at you, tucked into the smallest ball you could amongst the bubbles.

Neither of you spoke as Steve pulled off the shirt and cotton sweats he’d changed into, his own eyes glassey as he left his boxers on, stepping into the water with you, sitting down in the space behind you.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he spread his legs and pulled you into them, your back to his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around your knees too, holding you to him. He let you cry like that, head bent over yours, the two of you curled into the water together, steam licking at your skin. You think you felt a tear drop from his eye, warm as it slid through your hair and onto your cheek and the feel of it made you search for his hand, scrambling desperately under the hot water and foam so you could link your fingers through his.

Your grip on each other was as tight as it was when he’d pulled you to your feet after Dustin saved you from pliers and scalpels, the same way it had been when a six year old Steve had helped you up from the playground, knees scraped and front tooth missing after falling from the monkey bars. It was the same touch you granted him when you were twelve and he had to go to the emergency room, his arm broken after falling off of his bike. You’d begged to ride in the ambulance with him and his mom, his ink stained fingers reaching for you, not Mrs. Harrington.

When you had no tears left to give and the water was turning lukewarm, Steve turned the tap again, let the hot water fill the room back up with steam and soothe your tired bodies. He grabbed a sponge, tapped at your knee until you turned to him, face to face and unbelievably vulnerable.

But you let him smooth the sponge over the bare skin that he could see, up your arms, wiping away the soot from the fire, the stubborn dried blood that didn’t want to leave. He squeezed warm water over your chest, looking at your eyes and definitely not your bra, the pretty, green lace turning darker against your skin.

He pressed a kiss to your hair when you let your head fall into him, too tired to sit up and when you couldn’t hear the far away whine of sirens in the distance anymore, he helped you stand, the water that was light pink with blood swirling down the drain. He wrapped you both in towels, murmuring the whole time that you were okay, he had you, it was gonna be fine.

You pulled your favourite shirt from underneath his pillow, tugging it on and falling into his bed, the smell of Steve and home surrounding you in the same way that the sheets did, soft and comforting. The boy clambered in beside you, body stiff and pain settling in his bones but you glued yourself to his side, hands intertwined and pressed between your chests and you couldn’t close your eyes until Steve leaned into you, breath warm and smelling of mint as he pressed his lips to your ear as he told you: “Remember when I promised you that I’d protect you from everything bad?”

You nodded, remembering that cherry flavoured popsicle and the way Steve’s pool looked so much bigger and deeper back then. “We were eight, Steve.”

He hummed in agreement, forehead rubbing fond against your own and you revelled in the fact that you both smelled like the same cotton and lemongrass body wash.

“We were,” he agreed, voice a soft whisper, cracking a little from the yelling that had ripped his throat apart. “But the promise still stands, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes to look at them and he looked a little fuzzy as you teared up. But Steve shook his head gently, hand tightening around your smaller one.

“No more tears, please babe,” he sniffed too, as if the entire night suddenly hit him, “I got you now, yeah? I’m never gonna let anythin’ happen to you, promise.”

You slept then, a little broken and fitful, but every time you shifted in your sleep, the boy followed, bodies traversing across the mattress and between the sheets. When you woke in the morning, you had your head on Steve’s chest, a leg thrown over his own, your thigh hitched high over his and his arms were a vice grip around you, his face pressed to the top of your head.

The sheets were on the floor, a pillow by the door as if it had been kicked and the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain, bright and warm and mocking. The world felt a little different after that night, and so did your friendship with Steve Harrington.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all.

Working at Family Video with both Robin and Steve meant that you got to spend a lot more time with your friends. It also meant that Robin was more privy to watching how you and Steve interacted with each other and it had the girl taking notes on your relationship with the boy like her new favourite science experiment.

“Look, I’m just saying, he’s not really dated since Starcourt and the boy lost it over you that night.”

You rolled your eyes, still putting away the videos that were stacked in your arms as Robin followed you up and down the aisles. The store was quiet, a Tuesday afternoon giving you little to do but you’d graduated after you fought a monster and survived the soviets, so applying for colleges wasn’t all that high on your to do list.

Your parents had taken that news better than Steve’s, both couples perplexed at their kids' choices to stay in Hawkins and work for the summer but at least your Dad had threatened bodily harm against you when you’d told him.

You eyed Steve who was on the other end of the store, leaning lazy against the counter as he ticked off the delivery list. He looked a little older, like you did, but the stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders made your lips part every time you chanced a look.

He was still Steve, but he was a little taller, a little stronger. He was still late night drives and sneaking through your window, mixtapes on your birthday and cherry popsicles in his backyard during the summer. Maybe he flirted a little more with you, comments suggestive and compliments coming easier but you tried not to think about it. When you did, late at night and alone in bed, it made your head spin, your lips part, your eyes close.

You sighed, turning to Robin to tell her with an exasperated whisper, “we’ve been best friends since pre-k, of course he was upset that I was dragged away by a fucking Russian Soviet, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes at you, stumbling over her own foot as she tried to keep up. Steve glanced up at you both at the noise, brows furrowed as you both froze, eyes a little wide and you waved, hands raised awkwardly in unison.

“What’re you both doing?” He called out, suspicion lacing his voice and you felt heat travel from your chest to your cheeks.

“Nothing,” Robin called out at the same time you told him you were fixing the horror section.

Your voices piled over each other and you wanted to groan, because Robin couldn’t lie to save herself and now you both looked like idiots. But Steve just smiled, fond, and turned back to his stack of papers.

“I'm telling you,” Robin continued, voice a little lower now, “Steve likes you, like, he likes you, likes you. Why can’t you see that?”

You stopped and turned at her last words, truly taken aback at how sincere she sounded, how confused she seemed.

‘Cause Steve was still Steve and you were still you and nothing in the world could really change that. Steve had promised you that he’d always be your best friend, and at nineteen, that still seemed like a pretty sweet deal.

You shrugged, pushing the last copy of Nightmare On Elm Street onto the shelf and you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed at her interrogation.

“It’s not like that,” you told her, whispering still, “it’s never been like that with Steve.”

She huffed, swiping a finger along the row of videos and blowing away the dust she’d collected. Robin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Would you want it to be like that? ‘Cause seriously, dude, I still can’t believe that, in like, sixteen years of friendship, you’ve never even kissed once.”

You shrugged again, holding back on telling the girl that sometimes you thought the same.

When you were fourteen, you thought that Steve was going to be your first kiss. Looking back, you weren’t sure why, you just did. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope, maybe it was just inevitable.

‘Cause you grew up beside the boy and never once did he feel like a brother, and that had to mean something, right? He held your hand when you watched scary movies, when you crossed the road on Main Street, when it was rush hour, just like your parents had told you to when you were seven. He never dropped your hand, he never kicked you from his side of the bed when the movies you watched together became too much.

You went through middle school and high school still the same, joined at the hip, still sharing secrets, still holding hands when things got too hard.

But then one summer, Hayley Collins had a birthday party and you’d been sick, too ill to attend but Steve had still stood underneath your bedroom window, features twisted with conflict as you told him it was fine, he could go without you. You remember telling him to have fun, and to bring you back some candy.

He did. He brought you back fistfuls of sweet stuff, bags of M&M’s and pop rocks but you didn’t expect him to bring his lips to your ear and tell you a secret you never expected.

Steve had had his first kiss. A game of spin the bottle in Hayley’s basement with her cousin who was from out of town. A girl a year older, a girl who had pretty blonde curls and a reason to wear a real bra.

You remembered the feeling when your heart sank and the pop rocks stopped fizzing on your tongue. You wondered why the sugar tasted bitter, why your eyes were suddenly pricking with hot tears and when the boy asked if you were okay, a grin slipping from his lips, you lied and told him that you still felt sick.

You turned to Robin, a fake smile pulling at your lips as you tried to act casual, as if her words weren’t kickstarting a feeling in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore for the last five years.

You furrowed your brow, turned to the cart that was still full of videos no thanks to your friend, and picked up another pile. You stacked them until they reached your chin, until they gave you a reason to walk to the other side of the stands and take a deep breath.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you lied, and it felt heavy on your tongue, tasting too sweet and sinful. Because of course you had. “It’s not something that’s crossed my mind.”

Robin saw right through you and you could tell by the way her brows rose and she hid her smile behind a press of her lips.

“Sure,” she said, voice too light. “Humour me then. What do you think would happen if you did let it cross your mind?”

You stared at her, mouth agape, because what the fuck was the girl getting at.

She grabbed some of the videos you were holding, The Exorcist close to slipping from its slot underneath your chin and she started stacking them beside you, completely out of alphabetical order, but that was a problem for another day.

“Just listen,” she said and you hated how she sounded excited. “What do you think would happen if you asked Steve to kiss you?”

She dropped a box, cursing when the corner of it hit her toe but she bounced back up, bright eyes still brimming with all the thoughts that were swirling round her head at once.

“Cause you know he would, right? Like the poor guy can’t say no to you, he’s never been able to.”

You made a sound of protest, heart hammering in your chest because Steve was still right there, fingers running though his hair, pen between his lips and so completely fucking oblivious.

But Robin suddenly stopped and spun to face you. She wrapped a hand around your wrist, soft and warm and you could tell she was choosing her words carefully before she said them, a sure fire way to tell that the girl was being serious.

“There’s a reason that none of his girlfriends have stuck around, babe,” Robin murmured, sincerity lacing every word. “It’s ‘cause he always picks you, every time.”

—————

It had been a week since Robin had cornered you at work, whispering to you about Steve and kissing and god, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You thought about it when he gave you a ride home after work, sun setting, the day turning pink and casting indigo shadows over his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

You thought about it when he pushed himself into you during Saturday morning shifts, his body lazy as he leant against you, his chest to your back and his head on your shoulder. It felt softer and intimate than when he’d done it before, your mind running wild with the idea that if you turned around and kissed him, right there in the middle of Family Video, he might kiss you back.

You thought about it when you were lying by his pool, his parents gone, the kids and Dustin’s new friend Eddie starting water fights on the lawn. You’d watch the way Steve watched you, jealous eyes and lips pouted when Eddie soaked you with a water balloon, skin damp, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. You watched how he softened and lit up again, your attention on him when you shook your wet hair over his bare chest and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed the movements you made when you bent to slide your shorts back up your legs.

So maybe it was for those reasons that you turned to him one Friday night, when it was just the two of you out in his backyard, and asked him why he’d never kissed you.

It could’ve been the joint you’d been sharing making you feel braver, or maybe the shadows that you were hiding in, the spaces that the pool lights didn’t quite reach.

Maybe it was the way Steve had been looking at you each time you took the joint from his lips and put it between your own. Hair a little messy, eyes hooded, jaw slack.

Maybe it was because of all of it. Maybe it was because you were nineteen and growing impatient. Maybe it was sixteen years of build up. Of wondering, wanting, waiting.

The air smelled the same way it did when you were eight, chlorine and cedar from the trees, that afternoon's sunscreen mixing with weed and smoke. Your tongue was stained red from the popsicle you’d had, Steve’s blue and there were new freckles on both of your faces, noses a little pink from lying out in the sun all day.

And when the afternoon faded into evening and the sky was lilac, Steve produced a joint with a grin, a wiggle of his brows and suddenly you were lying on the deck together, the pool filter trickling in the background and laughing soft as you blew smoke into the night.

There was a buzz of insects from the forest that stood behind the house, the faint hum of someone’s music that played from a couple of yards over and you felt the warmth radiate from the boy from where he lay beside you.

Your bare feet pointed to opposite ends of the pool, one of yours dipped into the water and your heads were touching, cheek to cheek. If you turned to look at him, you knew your lips could slip over his easily and the thought of it made your body fizz.

He had just plucked the joint from your mouth, thumb grazing clumsy over your top lip, fitting pretty into the dip of your Cupid’s bow when you tilted your head, cheek resting on the patio, the slabs still warm from the afternoon sun.

“Hey, Harrington,” you sounded quiet and lazy, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But god, your heart was in your throat, pulsing like a warning. “You ever thought ‘bout kissing me?”

If Steve was shocked, he didn’t show it, not really. His eyes widened slightly, joint hanging slack from his lips and he stubbed it out on the concrete before swallowing, hard.

He turned to you, noses almost brushing and you watched the way his gaze settled on your lips.

“Why d’you ask?” His voice was a hush, warm and rough.

You shrugged, boldness faltering because he hadn’t answered your question but holy shit, he was still looking at your mouth, the way your tongue snuck out to wet your bottom lip before you spoke.

“Just something Robin said,” you told him, nose scrunched.

Your words made his lips part, nodding in understanding because of course Robin was involved and the girl had been at him too, hounding him in the stockroom at work, calling him out on his obvious crush on your over old, dusty videos.

But all the boy could say was, “oh.”

And then there was silence, for a second, maybe two. It felt like minutes, like an hour, like the sky was suddenly crashing down on you, as if lavender clouds and the stars were going to bury you were you lay but then-

“I have,” Steve said, quietly sure. You looked over at him as he blew out a breath, “course I’ve thought about it. ‘Bout kissing you.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to keep silent, his admission washing over you like a tsunami sized wave, one that you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your head above.

You sat up suddenly, shocking Steve and he leaned up onto his elbows with wide eyes, watching as you turned to face him, legs crossed and knees knocking into his thighs.

“Why haven’t we?” You asked, bemusement colouring your tone and you couldn’t help but press your hand to his where it lay on the deck. Your fingers brushed over his, a new kind of touch. “Why haven’t we ever kissed?”

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, if it was rattling against your ribs as loud as it seemed to be. You held your breath as Steve sat up too, mirroring your pose and crossing his legs until you were knee to knee and looking like a couple of innocent kids again.

He shrugged, blowing out another breath and he tugged a hand through the front of his hair, making it stand on end. He looked a little wild, like you short circuited him, like you were half way to ruining him.

The boy’s voice cracked a little when he tried to answer and you wondered if this was okay, if you should’ve asked but then Steve was speaking, his thumb drawing absentminded circles over your bare knee.

“I’m not really sure,” he said and he spoke soft and quiet, like he was telling you a secret. “I suppose I just didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”

It was the answer you expected. Best friend first, the prospect of a girl to kiss in the background of his mind. You should’ve been happy, you should’ve felt loved, but the idea of never having Steve in the way you realised you wanted him was becoming more crushing by the day.

“Or maybe,” he suddenly continued, “I guess… I guess I didn’t realise I was allowed to.”

Your lips parted at that, a small bomb dropped in the middle of the Harrington’s backyard. You waited for the pool to empty, for the small wave to hit your back, for the sky to light up but nothing came and Steve was watching you, waiting.

“You’re allowed to,” you whispered and oh my god, you didn’t feel high enough for this, but you continued, tummy dropping and skin electric. “You’ve always been allowed to.”

You heard Steve’s breath hitch and it only felt natural when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot behind your ear and god, he was leaning in and so were you.

“I just don’t know if we should,” he was telling you but he was still moving into you and his hand never fell away from your face.

“It’s just a kiss,” you told him, voice shot, lips falling apart and you could smell his aftershave, the leftover chlorine that stuck to his skin and he was summer, he was cherry and smoke and god, he was forbidden, he was yours. “Friends can kiss, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It’s really just curiosity, right?”

His nose was bumping against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of the other's breath falling across your lips and you wondered if he’d taste like his popsicle, blue raspberry, sugar and fizz.

You nodded at his question, too gone to speak and the movement made your top lip brush against his. Sparks against your skin, electric, dangerous and it made you sigh.

“Steve?” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut like you were seven again and making a wish beside your birthday cake, candles making your skin glow.

He hummed, thumb still pushing against that spot on your neck, “yeah sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

And fuck, maybe Robin was right because the boy didn’t say no. In fact, Steve didn’t say anything, he just moved into you until your nose was pressed into his cheek and his lips were plush against yours and oh my god you were kissing your best friend.

He still tasted like raspberry, like you thought he would. Like summer and promises and pool days and a little smoke and Steve.

It was a slow push of his lips to your own, mouths slanting over each other’s, soft and languid like you both knew this was your only chance. You thought you heard him moan, a soft, low noise that made your chest hurt and when the kiss lingered, you brought your hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as you tugged him a little closer, greedy.

And when his tongue licked at the curve of your bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at your chin, asking you to open for him, you did, no questions asked. You sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over yours, a hand falling to fist in his t-shirt, soft cotton crumpled in your hand because you felt like you were going to float away.

Then Steve was pulling back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours and eyes still slammed shut as he gave you another secret, pressed to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your neck.

“I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss,” he said it like a confession, like something holy. “M’sorry you weren’t.”

And then he was back on you, lips melted between your own and you knew that the pretty noises that you pulled from him would play like a record in your dreams for months on end. Steve was grasping at your hip, the material of your dress bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up your thighs.

You were in his lap, wide hands on your sides, guiding you as you kissed him, lovesick, eyes closed, body buzzing and you fell across his knees, thighs shifting apart to cage him underneath you and oh my god.

Fuck.

You sat a little higher than him, knees planted on the deck and his head was tilted back to kiss you as you crowded him. One hand was on your jaw, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper now, a little dirty and when he pulled a small moan from you, his hand clasped at the back of your thigh, skin on skin.

You could feel him hard underneath you and it made your head feel fuzzy, your body pleading with you to drag yourself along the length of him, hips rolling, chest heaving.

When you pulled back, panting, the reflections of the pool were bouncing off your faces, ripples of light dancing across the boy's features, hitting his eyes and turning them caramel. You felt golden when he touched you, skin lit up, the air around you both crackling like a storm was coming.

Maybe it was still the weed, maybe it was a new found courage, maybe it was just teenage hormones and the thought of seeing each other naked for the first time since you were both four, but when Steve asked if he could take you inside, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It felt different in his bedroom when you both tumbled in, colliding with the dresser as you kissed each other like you meant it, like you’d never do it again. The room felt smaller, darker, softer, more intimate than it had ever been for you and suddenly you felt like a girl at the end of date.

Steve touched you like you were more than just his best friend and it made your stomach roll, your thighs rub together and you couldn’t quite get over the way his hand spanned the width of your cheek, fingertips grazing your hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at your bottom lip, eager for more of you.

It all got a little wild after that, loose change and bottles of aftershave cologne clattering off of the drawers, falling to the floor as Steve picked you up and slammed you on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. Hands roamed up your thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into you.

Your dress came off first, his shirt following, a mix of colours on the carpet and he pressed his lips to the skin he uncovered, mouth over lavender lace and delicate straps.

It felt desperate, you felt desperate. And when he sucked a bruise into the column of your throat, you keened, high and needy. It made the boy groan, mouth vibrating against your chest as he kissed over the lace triangles covering you, his gaze flicking up to watch you nod at him before he was pushing one aside, tongue smoothing over a nipple.

It made you grab at his hair, fingers delving deep, tugging in appreciation and you were prepared for the sound it pulled from him, low in the back of his throat and it made his eyes flutter shut.

“Sweetheart,” Steve huffed out, hands skimming up and down your sides as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.”

He sounded wild, unravelled and sharp around the edges. It made you feel full of power, pretty lips and lace and soft skin, and you pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants and before you could ask, you were being manhandled again, legs around his waist and his hands on your ass.

He sat you both on the bed like that, spread out pretty on top of him, knees pushed into the mattress as you pulled at his belt, holding yourself up as he shuffled out of his jeans. He sucked tiny bruises on your collar bones as your bra was peeled off, nothing but your underwear separating you both and you felt his hands drag down your back, a touch that was so affectionate and soft that it took your breath away.

Then night seemed slower after that, like time paused for you both, just for you to remember every touch. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis just for you two, just so you would both remember the way the other felt, ‘cause fuck, you had a feeling this wouldn’t happen again.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Steve gasped, lips barely leaving yours as pushed and pulled at your hips, helping you rock over him, body rolling across his lap. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

But you were ready to climb him, your hands grabbing at his hair to tug him back to you, kisses swallowing his words and telling the boy that you wanted exactly the opposite.

It was strange how natural it felt, to tug the length of him out of his boxers, the feel of him hot and hard in your hand. You shuffled in Steve’s lap as he palmed you over the lace of your underwear, breath uneven. It didn’t take long for him to tug them down your legs as he slid on a condom, your foot kicking purple lace to his bedroom floor and you suddenly felt like you were underwater; body moving lazy and slow as you lifted yourself onto your knees, Steve’s hands strong and reassuring as you took him in your hand and sunk down onto him.

Neither of you moved, bodies tangled and still as you fit perfectly in his lap, arms wrapped around each other as you panted heavy into parted lips. Steve whispered your name, like a prayer, soft and broken before he pushed his lips to yours, head tilted into you so he could catch your lips deep and slow.

He grunted in surprise when you tightened around him, body clenching on his at the touch of his tongue across your bottom lip and you whimpered, hips beginning to wiggle. This was more than you’d felt before, more than wandering hands in back seats, more than a quick and fast hook-up in a party bathroom, more than fingers under skirts in your bedroom when your parents were asleep across the hall.

“Can I move?” You ask, quiet, your hands grappling desperately at Steve’s shoulders palming over the muscles there. “I need to move, Steve, please.” If you were begging, you didn’t care, because you felt so full, so tight around him and you couldn’t help but admire the way the boy looked underneath you.

But Steve didn’t have you waiting long, any teasing long forgotten about ‘cause he felt like he was wound too tight and you felt like fucking heaven around him. You didn’t know your eyes were wet until his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, breath stuttering and you both gasped and swore when you lifted yourself up, just to rock yourself back down.

He moaned your name so prettily, lips glossy from your kisses and his eyes were hooded, gaze set on you, jaw slack, hands roaming across the expanse of your back as he held you to him.

You moved over him with purpose, Steve answering with low groans and he pulled soft whimpers from you, your hand catching his face so you could look at him, gazes heavy and hot, pinned to each other. Your thumb found the curve of his bottom lip, tugging a little and Steve moaned when the pad of it slid over the edge of his teeth. “Steve,” you gasped, hips moving messy and the boy grabbed at your ass, helping you ride him a little faster.

“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me, tell me what you want and I’ll give you it,” he pressed his lips to yours as he spoke, words slipping over your lips, your tongue and god, they tasted sweet. “I’ll give you anything.”

“More,” was all you could manage, breath hitching, eyes slamming shut ‘cause Steve’s hand dropped between you both, skin slick and he pressed his thumb over your clit; quick, hot circles that made stars flash behind your eyelids. “Close?” Steve asked, voice rough and you nodded, moving a little wilder over him, the boy reciprocated, hands holding your hips still so he could thrust up hard into you until you were biting down on the muscle on his shoulder, thighs tensing, eyes tearing up.

Steve whispered your name when he came, arms tight around you, head buried in the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he’d always remember the way you felt around him.

He kissed you one last time that night, bodies still naked and stretched out between his sheets and you didn’t say anything to each other as you caught your breaths, eyes wide on each other. There was a part of you that wished you could have the excuse of alcohol, too messy after some party to remember. You couldn’t blame the weed either, the half smoked joint still stubbed out in the backyard, hardly enough to do anything than let you both share a buzz.

In the morning, you pulled on your clothes, wrinkled on Steve’s bedroom floor, still smelling of smoke and the boy. You tiptoed around his room, searching for your underwear, your shoes, all while the boy lay on his bed, face down, hair mussed and the white sheets barely covering his waist.

You wish you had it in you to let yourself drop back down into bed with, to have the courage to press a kiss to the freckle on his right shoulder, smooth a soft hand down his spine. But the sun was coming in through the window and your lips were still swollen from your best friend’s kisses and everything was starting to taste like a mistake.

You didn’t know it, but Steve was awake as you left, eyes open and face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like your shampoo, heart beating wild in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t call out to stop you. And well, that was that.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue.

You didn’t talk about it.

A week passed and neither did Steve and before you knew it, you were a month down the line, the feel of your best friend's lips on your skin feeling like a fever dream and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the feel of him moving against you, inside you.

It hurt to look at him, for a while. It got worse before it got better, stilted conversations and awkward eye contact, the taste of regret in both of your tongues and all the things you wanted to say to each other were left unsaid.

But it was fine.

Steve asked you round for a movie one Friday, videos stacked on the coffee table in his living room, your favourite sweater of his lying out on the arm of the sofa along with red vines and the good kinda popcorn.

You didn’t push yourself into his side like you normally would and you didn’t know if that disappointed him or not, but when he dropped you off home later that night, the sky was a dark, rosy pink, the lingering smell of rain in the air and he smacked a messy kiss to your cheek before you climbed out of his car.

It was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Steve started dating again, one girl, two girls, three girls. Lucy on Saturday, Matthew David’s cousin Paula the next Friday, Cindy from last year's cheer squad the week after.

You didn’t ask about it and he didn’t tell you, just poking an affectionate finger to the apple of your cheek when he told you he’d see you the next day. You were his best friend, again, still, only.

It was fine until one Friday shift, when you disappeared into the back room a little earlier than the store closed. You came back out in a new dress, short and pretty, with blush on your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. Robin had wolf whistled, Steve had frowned.

“Where are you going?”

His tone of voice cut you in half, accusatory and a little shocked. Steve leaned over the counter, a finger picking delicately at a lock of hair that you’d spent too long trying to get to sit nicely.

“A date,” you told him, voice soft, gaze lowered as you tried to cram lip gloss tubes and perfume bottles into your bag.

“With who?” Was the instantaneous response, that same tone of voice.

You saw Robin’s gaze flitting between the pair of you, not privy to the events that took place a month prior, but not for a lack of trying. The girl was perfectly aware that something happened. She just didn’t know what and neither your or Steve had told her anything.

“Nate Owens,” you told him and god, why was it so hard to meet his eye? “You know, he was on the team with you.”

Steve pulled his brows together, bewildered at your answer. “Yeah, I know him, why the fuck are you going on a date with Owens?”

You heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath and she watched as you squinted at the boy, annoyance on your features. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed the last of the returns and made her way to the other side of the empty store, leaving you two alone.

“What?” You huffed out, exasperated already. Your stomach was tumbling and you hated the way you didn’t know why. Maybe it was first date jitters, maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, maybe it was because you knew you had absolutely no interest in dating anyone that wasn’t your bet fucking friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve grappled for something to say, stuttering over excuses until he tutted and grabbed the stapler, carelessly turning it over in his hands as he told you, “you’ve got nothing in common with him, like, at all.”

You scoffed, pulling at the hem of your dress and smoothing out imaginary creases, you were annoyed, something burning and twisting inside of you. “Sure Harrington, I forgot you choose all your dates based on compatibility and shared goals for the future.”

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve tried again, “he’s only after one thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am too,” you said loftily and you didn’t look for Steve’s reaction, you didn’t want to. You moved from behind the counter, leaving a cloud of perfume in your wake and headed for the door. “Robs, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

Before the girl could answer, Steve was tailing you, moving across the store with that stupid stapler still in his hand and he called out your name, making you stop and turn.

“He’s just gonna hurt you,” the boy explained and you hated how his voice had turned a little softer. “You can do so much better than him.”

“Yeah?” You turned fully, chin raised and shoulders set as you locked eyes with Steve. “Who should I date then, Steve? Who’s good enough?”

The air felt electric, fully charged as the boy stared back, lips parting, chest barely moving as if he was holding his breath. If Robin was still there, you didn’t know, your mind only registering the way the boy was still silent in front of you.

“That’s what I thought,” you eventually muttered, hot tears threatening to prick at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t wait sixteen years to start taking an interest in my love life Harrington, I’ve got by just fine without your advice.”

You’d opened the door by the time Steve replied, voice hot and clipped with anger and something else, a tone you’d never heard him use with you before. “Yeah, well, don’t come fucking crying to me when he turns out to be a dick.”

You laughed humorlessly, your back turned to him as you faced the night outside, the cool air nipping at the heat on your cheeks. You wanted to go home, to chance a look at Robin and silently ask her to clamber into bed with you, if she’d let you cry onto her shoulder as you ate pizza and watched reruns of Charlie’s Angels.

There was also a part of you that wanted to turn to Steve, glassy eyed and confused, to ask why it suddenly felt like you were fighting for the first time since middle school.

But you didn’t.

You walked out into the night and let the door slam shut behind you.

If you’d hung around, you would’ve heard Robin slam down the copy of Stand By Me that she was holding, eyes a little angry and disappointed as she looked at the boy and said: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

‘Yeah,’ Steve thought, ‘he knew he was.’

----------

You hated that Steve was right, you hated that Nate Owens was a pig, you hated that he did nothing but look at your chest over the dinner table, you hated that he tried to lean in for a kiss the minute you both got back into his car, you hated that he got pissy with you when you didn’t let him push his hand up your dress, you hated that he told you to put out or get out.

You hated that he left you on the side of the road, a little out of town, at a restaurant that you didn’t really know, dinner paid for with his daddy’s money.

You hated that when you finally found a payphone at the side of a dark gas station, you punched in Steve’s number. You hated that you started to cry when you heard his voice, you hated that he told you was coming to get you.

Steve found you easily despite your awful directions, and when he asked if you were okay, voice quiet and gentle, you choked out a little sob, feeling pathetic and Steve told you to stay put, that he would be there as fast as he could.

He definitely broke some laws to get to you, flashing through amber lights faster than he was supposed to and when he pulled into the station only twenty minutes later, his heart ached at the way you leaned against the brick wall, half in shadows with your arms wrapped around you, the slight wind picking at the hem of you dress, lifting it from you thighs.

Steve got out of the car before you could move, pushing yourself off of the wall and he hated that your eyes were glassy, that you seemed embarrassed. You let him tug one of his sweatshirts over your head, one he specifically grabbed for you before rushing out of his door, ‘cause he watched you leave work without a jacket and if he’d been in a better mood when you were going on your date - if you’d have been going on a date with him - he would’ve teased you about being cold later.

Steve opened the passenger door, waiting for you to fold yourself into the front of his car and when he got back in, the only light coming from the old neon sign that was flashing red, telling customers that the store was open.

He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white and he glanced at you, expression almost unreadable.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, and it was true. You’d thrown an elbow into the Nate’s chest when he tried to push you too far, too fast, the sharp point of your arm catching him just below his throat and he’d turned on you, telling you to get the fuck out. “The only thing hurt is my pride, but I guess that’s on me, huh?”

Steve sighed at that, turning fully in his seat so he could face you, his hand coming up to press into your cheek, his thumb running gently under your eye, catching the tears there before they fell.

“Sweetheart-” Steve started, but you were overwhelmingly emotional, everything from the night and Nate and Steve suddenly becoming too much and god, you just wanted to yell with it.

“What? Is this the part where you say I told you so?” You tried to sound biting, but the words hitched in your throat, fresh tears springing to your eyes. “Why’re you even here Steve?”

You knew why.

“Cause you asked me,” he answered, simply and that was all there was to it, wasn’t there? “And I’m not gonna tell you shit, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like that early, I dunno what was wrong with me.”

You wanted to press further, you wanted to ask him if he truly didn’t know the reason he acted like an asshole. You wanted to ask if he was jealous, if he wanted you the way you wanted him, if he missed you, if he thought about you when he went on all these dates, if he wanted to kiss you again, if he thought about it all the time, the same way that you did.

But Steve was still talking, fingers slipping from your face to pick at a stand of hair, playing with the end of it absentmindedly. The car felt too small, too warm and too dark, and you were sure that the last time you were both this close, you’d been in Steve's bed, wrapped around him as he made you come.

“He didn’t deserve even an hour of your time,” he told you, brows knitted together in a frown. “And you deserve better than Nate fucking Owens, you’re too good for him,” he repeated his statement from earlier and it made you chest ache, your tummy tumble over because god, you wanted to be brave.

“Who’s good enough then, Steve?” You breathed it out, voice almost a whisper because you were so close to losing it, to grabbing the boy by his face and telling him how you felt, how’d fallen in love with him fuck knows how many years ago and you’d only recently let yourself believe it.

He started, wide eyed, lips parted and waiting, the same reaction he’d had back at Family Video. But you didn’t walk away this time, you let out a huff of laughter, no humour in it as you sat back in the seat and started out of the windscreen. The gas station was deserted, the night creeping into a new day, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the light was still flickering.

It painted you both crimson, eyes brighter than they should’ve been, cheeks rosy. You pushed a foot to the dash, dress slipping up your thigh and gathering in the crease of your leg, showing off way too much skin but you didn’t care.

“I grew up with all the other guys in our grade knowing that I was Steve Harrington’s best friend,” you told him, voice hushed and cracking, “all of them too scared to touch me ‘cause your stupid ten year old ass always threatened to beat them up.”

He was still staring, lip twitching as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not because it was true. But then he watched a tear slip down your cheek and it caught the light, a flash of ruby before it got caught on your top lip and you licked it away.

“Then in high school, I was a challenge, ‘cause I was still Steve Harrington’s best fucking friend. Boy’s would either be terrified to talk to me or treat me like the best prize they could win. They thought I was off limits, some thought I was your girlfriend and god, Steve, fuck…”

You swallowed, hard, breath catching in your chest and the car was so silent, the boy watching, listening.

“I never thought that I wanted that, to be anything more than your friend. I didn’t,” you tried to sound convincing, but even to your own ears, your protests sounded weak. “But then you kissed me.”

You looked at him from under your lashes, hands twisted nervously in your lap, his sweater fisted between your fingers and you hated the way it smelled like him, like mint and cedar and smoke and suddenly, it was all too much.

“I know I asked you to,” you blurted out, eyes brimming with tears again, spilling over the line of your lashes and suddenly, you didn’t care about what you said anymore. “But fuck! Robin said that you never say no to me, that you’d do anything for me and god, I just wanted it once, I didn’t know it would go that far that night… I don’t regret it,” you rambled, words falling clumsily over the next and you chanced a look at him, his eyes full of shock but there was a softness behind it, familiar and fond. “I don’t regret it at all, I just-”

You sucked in a breath, let your head fall back onto the rest and let your eyes fall closed before you admitted another secret.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

You kept your eyes closed as you kept talking, the words, the confessions, falling so much easier now that you’d started. The dark made you feel a little bolder, the silence of the boy encouraging you to just keep spilling your heart out, no interruptions.

“I thought that maybe you would feel the same, that you’d say something first, ‘cause you’ve always been braver but then you started dating that girl, then the other one. And maybe I was just stupid, maybe I was wrong,” you sighed, gazing to the side to catch Steve’s eye, a warmth blooming over your entire body, embarrassment, adrenaline and the feeling that you were throwing yourself off a cliff surging over you. “But there was a part of me that thought you’d maybe figure out you loved me too.”

You didn’t know what you expected, really. There was such a large part of you that still believed you were only going to ever be friends, that if Steve wanted more, he would've told you by now. That part told you you were imagining things, that sleeping together was nothing more than an experiment, a product of being high and bored with your best friend. It told you to ignore the way you thought he looked at you, the way that sometimes, you were so sure his touch lingered for longer than it needed to.

But then there was a voice in the back of your head, a shit, it sounded a little like Robin’s and it told you that the boy before you would do anything for you, anything you asked. And wasn’t that why he was here now? It told you that friends didn’t look at each other like that, that friends didn’t have to untangle themselves from each other's arms each morning, that friends didn’t kiss like you had both done.

Steve whispered your name then, a hand reaching out to catch yours.

“You know I love you,” he whispered, voice a little shocked, a little awed. He sounded broken too, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. “I’ve always loved you, you’re my best friend.”

Your heart fell.

“I- I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve said and he was rambling, falling over his words as his eyes searched your face for something he wasn’t going to find. The softness you’d held in your features was gone. “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you-”

“Don’t call me that,” you choked out, your heart racing, your stomach twisting. You thought you might be sick. “Fuck, shit, take me home.”

You pulled your hand away from where the boy held it, your demand sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet of the car. You couldn’t look at him. The red light was still flashing, flickering and it suddenly felt like it was splitting your head in two, like it was pulsing to the same beat as your heart.

Steve said your name again, pleading, his hand on your arm, silently begging you to turn, to look at him.

“Can you let me explain? Please, god, I didn’t mean it like that, you have to understand-”

“Take me home, Steve, please.”

But he ignored you, tugging the keys out of the ignition and leaning forward, a hand tilting at your chin to try and a catch your gaze but your cheeks felt too hot and the burn at your eyes told you that you were going to start crying again and all you could think about was the list of boys who were too scared to make you theirs, too happy with a quick fuck in the back of their shitty cars and you never used to care because you were only ever happy with one boy.

You knew you should’ve let him talk, that you owed him his chance to speak but the burning sensation of embarrassment and rejection was creeping up your spine like poison and you hated it, you couldn’t stand it.

You panicked.

You pulled at the door handle, fingers clumsy as you pushed the door open, clambering out with Steve’s sweater still swamping your frame and you could hear the boy calling your name even after you slammed the door shut.

You made a start for the alleyway behind the gas station, somewhere the car couldn’t follow and by the time you made it a few streets over, you realised Steve wasn’t coming for you anyway.

You got halfway home before the rain started falling, a pathetic spit that misted into the air and soaked you through. It made your hair stick to your cheeks, Steve’s sweater damp and hanging heavy on your body and by the time you reached home, it didn’t smell like him anymore.

Good, you thought.

Because when you were eight years old, Steve Harrington was the first big to tell you he loved you and then he promised you three things:

One, he’d always be your best friend. Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. And three, he’d never break your heart.

It took almost twelve years, but shit, the boy finally broke one of them.

Take me out, and take me home.

It took Steve twelve years to break his promise to you, but only four days to fix it.

Which was impressive really, when he spent the first three days agonising over what to say to you. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, worse than the plague, quite frankly.

He expected you at work the next day, chest sore from holding his breath as he watched the door, eyes tired from staying up all night.

He’d stayed in that gas station parking lot for too long after you’d left, eyes wide as he watched you leave, disappearing behind the alleyway almost instantly.

Steve had slammed his hands on the dash, overwhelmed with everything you’d said, admitted to him, with glassy eyes and he fucking hated how he’d made your bottom lip tremble, your breath hitch and stutter as you tried not to cry.

He’d panicked.

And you’d left.

He’d driven home slowly, trying to catch sight of you on the sidewalks that led home, rolling down the streets that looked unfamiliar to see if you were there, trying to find shortcuts. When the rain had started, he’d cursed, no sight of you anywhere and by the time he’d pulled up outside your house, he was relieved to see your bedroom light on, a sign you’d made it home safely.

He wanted to knock on the door, to climb into your bedroom window and try to make you smile again, to stop you crying because he couldn’t fucking stand it when you cried, especially because of him.

But the window was shut, a rare sight and he knew it was a hint, a very obvious clue for him to stay the fuck away. He watched your light flicker off, the house bathed in darkness and he’d sat, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursing himself.

He should’ve told you, he shouldn’t have been so fucking scared.

You didn’t show up at work and when he asked Robin if she’d heard from you, the girl had told him that you were sick, had called in early and spoke to Keith.

“She’s put in a line for the entire week, actually, said it’s a bad bug,” Robin had told him knowingly. “Whatever you’ve done, Harrington, I suggest you fix it.”

Steve didn’t ask how Robin knew, didn’t press her for any more details, ‘cause he knew her too well, knew she wouldn’t tell him shit so he just slammed a video he was supposed to be rewinding on the desk, and sighed, heavy and tired.

“I know.”

You didn’t answer his calls. With your parents visiting family out of town, there was no one in the house but you and you made a point of refusing to pick up the phone at all.

Robin would visit, not bothering to knock as she slipped into your house, huffing and humming to herself as she climbed your stairs, barging into your room unannounced.

She set a careful gaze on you, a lump underneath the duvet, as she dumped your favourite snacks at the foot of your bed.

“You’re not sick, are you?” You hated how it didn’t even sound like a question, just an accusation. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

And you did, you told her everything from the joint, to your kiss, the entire night. You told her about Nate, about your confession, about the way Steve looked at you when you told him that you thought he loved you too.

Robin listened, curled up by your pillows beside you, your head on her shoulder and her cheek resting on yours, a bag of Reece’s Pieces between you both.

“I know that this probably isn’t what you wanna hear right now,” the girl began, patting your hand with her own, “you know, with you being all heart broken and what not.”

You huffed.

“But I don’t believe for a second that Steve doesn’t love you, that he isn’t in love with you.”

“Robin, please,” you groaned, shoving your face into her arm, because she was right, you didn’t wanna hear it. You’d spent too long trying to convince yourself that she was right, Steve was in love with you, only to blurt out your feelings for him and have him look at you, sheer panic on his face, in return.

She sighed, knowing it was useless trying to make you see her side of things, so she pushed her nose to your temple, blew a raspberry to the side of your head and stole another Reece’s Piece.

“Have you spoken to him?” She asked, voice unusually quiet.

You shook your head.

“Have you let him try?” The girl said knowingly.

You shook your head again.

Another huff, a somewhat affectionate butt of her head to yours and then she turned, shuffling against the pillows until you were face to face.

“He’s really broken up about this,” she told you and her words made you wanna cry again. “You need to let him explain.”

You sniffed, eyes watering and despite the ache that still lived in your chest, you nodded.

“‘Cause I don’t think you said things right, y’know?” Robin squinted at you, trying to make sense of what you’d told her Steve had said that night. “He’s a guy, shit, he’s Steve. Communication isn’t his strong point.”

“I don’t know what’s more clearer than ‘you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you’. Idiot or not, he made it pretty obvious that we’re never gonna be anything more.”

The movie that you had both hardly been watching was over, the screen fading to black and the credits rolling. A love song started to play, soppy and too cheery and you grunted, searching for the remote between the sheets before angrily pressing the off button. Silence fell over you and Robin snorted, flinging herself over your lap and looking up at you with a small smile.

She pressed a finger to the tip of your nose and you scowled.

“Ever think that maybe he’s just scared?”

Your frown deepened and you stared down at your friend, lips parted at the absurdity of her question.

“What?” You scoffed. “I’ve watched him take down a demogorgon with a baseball bat, Robin, the boy isn’t scared of much anymore-”

“He also got his heart broken by the first girl he told he loved,” Robin interrupted. “He dates girls that he isn’t really interested in, that are the complete opposite of you. His folks are never around, he’s made his own family out of his friends.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick, your chest tight.

“You're probably the most constant thing in his life, y’know,” she mused, voice unbearably soft. The girl brought a hand up to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture fond. “He’s always had you, maybe he’s just scared to fuck things up and lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You didn't want to. ‘Cause that stupid burn was scratching at your eyes again, at the back of your throat and you were so done with crying, you were so over pushing your face into your pillow to dry your face.

Robin sat up suddenly, stretching and bending down to pull on her shoes. She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth before smacking a kiss to your cheek and you were still silent, bundled up between pillows and blankets in bed.

“Talk to him, babe,” she told you, heading for the door without any other goodbye, “ I’m sure he’s got a lot to say.”

Fuck.

You picked and put down your phone six times before you decided to pull on your shoes and start walking. It didn’t take long to walk from yours to the Harrington’s, but you moved at a snail's pace, playing tightrope along the edge of the sidewalk before you stopped at the corner of Steve’s street, heart suddenly ready to burst from your chest. The sun started to set as you waited, hesitating. The sky turned from blue to lilac, tangerine and peach and the air became still.

You walked up his front path, hand raised, ready to knock.

It was a sparkler between your ribs kinda feeling, jump off a cliff kind of feeling, take a shot of tequila kind of feeling, risk fucking everything kind of feeling.

You’d walked away from the boy, his words stuck in his throat, your name dying on his lips and now you were ready to make it up to him. ‘Cause Steve was right, whatever either of you felt, you couldn’t lose him either.

The idea of rejection hurt, but not having Steve Harrington in your life hurt even more.

So you knocked.

Once, twice, three times, but no one answered. His car was in the drive, no parents to be seen and you took a deep breath before you plucked up the courage to open the door like you normally could.

Your footsteps echoed in the large hallway and the only sound you could hear came from the backyard, the tinny sound of music playing from outside. You found him there, spread out lazy by the edge of the pool, shirt off, one leg dipped into the water and his hair messy from swimming and the leftover heat from the day.

Shadows from the tree branches above fell over him, cutting through the gold light, streaks of pink and rose painting his skin pretty and you stood for just a second, watching through the open patio doors.

You tugged anxiously at the tagged hem of your shorts, the T-shirt you’d tucked into it suddenly feeling too constricting and you wanted to pull at the collar, you wanted to take off running again, because the sight of him hurt.

Before you could step out into the last patch of sun, Steve sat up, muscles flexing, pool water swirling and he froze, lips parted and staring at you.

It had only been four days since you’d last seen him, but it felt like far too much time had passed. You hadn’t gone that long without him in years, not since your parents told you that they were taking you to Utah to spend a summer with your grandparents. They’d cut the trip short by two weeks, aggravated and done with their fifteen year old daughter who didn’t shut up about how much she kissed her best friend.

Yearly trips to the lake house with the Harrington’s resumed the summer after that.

The boy whispered your name as if he’d scare you off and he sounded tired, sounded a little broken, just like Robin had said.

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, stepping out into the yard and into the streak of sun that stretched across the patio. It warmed you, skin lit up, a golden glow slanting over both of you and even from where you stood, Steve’s eyes looked like honey.

“Hey.”

He stood, a hand raking through his still damp hair, making it even messier than usual and he mimicked you, hand raised, wingers waggling shyly, as if you hadn’t known each other for seventeen years.

“I was just coming to see you,” Steve admitted and he sounded as nervous as you felt. “I tried calling you. A lot.”

You nodded, feeling guilty and it burned at your chest. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve nodded, bare foot scuffling against the slabs and you wanted to crawl back into your bed, already feeling defeated. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this with Steve.

“I was gonna come round, you know,” Steve started again, gesturing to you, he looked lost, a little helpless. “Before now I mean… I just- I didn’t wanna upset you and you didn’t answer the phone so I just,” he shrugged, looking at the pool instead of you. “I didn’t wanna upset you any more.”

Almost silence; the trickle of the pool filter, the buzz of insects, the sway of the wind in the tree branches.

And then, “I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice softer than before. “A lot.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding then, feet moving forward and you let yourself fall into one of the loungers, a space beside the pool that was so overly familiar.

You looked at the boy then, and god, he was the last cherry popsicle, he was sunshine, he was summer, he was full of promises and all your secrets, he was late nights and early mornings, first crushes and last kisses.

“I’ve missed you too,” you told him, voice hurting with sincerity.

It seemed to be all the boy needed to surge into action, because he relaxed at your admission, moving to the other lounger so he could sit across from you, bare knees almost bumping and he was leaning forward, invading your senses and he smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, mint and cedar and boy and summer and Steve.

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” you told him, eyes suddenly filling with tears because you were so embarrassed by it all. From your outburst to your storming away, leaving the boy sitting confused after he’d come to get you. “I just- I couldn’t sit there and handle the rejection, I never should have said anything, it was so stupid of me-”

You were stopped by his hand reaching out and covering your own, that familiar warmth of his fingers twisting between yours, a wide, rough palm, calloused on your own.

You looked at him, cheeks warm with your ramblings and he sighed, affection radiating from him as he gazed at you. He didn’t look confused this time, or panicked. Maybe a little bit scared but there was something else there and it shone a little brighter.

“Sweetheart, I never once tried to reject you,” Steve huffed out a soft laugh, “shit, I don’t think I could if my life depended on it.”

“What?” You froze, brows knitting together as you replayed the same conversation you both had in the car and you shook your head, confused. “You literally told me I was your best friend, Steve, that you couldn’t lose me.”

“And that’s true!” He burst out, “you just never let me finish!”

He sighed, using his free hand to scrub over his face and he took a deep breath before he faced you again.

“I panicked.” He said it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m so sorry babe but I fuckin’ panicked. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you, you can’t even fucking imagine how long. I just didn’t wanna mess it up, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk not having you.”

A sound of surprise left your lips at his words and you wanted to laugh at the irony of them, ‘cause yes, yes could imagine. But you kept quiet, letting the boy speak, making up for how you didn’t last time. You squeezed his hand instead, hoping it was reassuring enough.

You watched him lick his lips as he thought about his next words and your brows rose when he suddenly moved, kneeling in front of you and tapping at your knee, silently asking for you to spread your legs and let him in. You did, almost embarrassed by the lack of hesitation on your par but Steve moved into the space tour created for him, suddenly too close.

You exhaled a little slower, could count the new freckles on his nose, could see the small scar that cut through his brow, the one you gave him when you were seven and pillow fights got too boisterous.

He smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, a touch that brought comfort and he took another deep breath, readying himself for what he wanted to tell you.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” he said slowly, each word dropping like an atom bomb and you wondered if the earth was shaking. “Maybe longer, I was probably too stupid to work it out before then.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and Steve grinned at the sound.

“It took me a little while,” he admitted, gaze lowering as if he were suddenly shy, “I didn’t know the difference between loving you and being in love with you. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember.”

His fingers found the frayed hem of your shorts, twisting the strands between his fingers absentmindedly.

“I remember Nancy telling me that, uh,” he cleared his throat, words catching on his lips with nerves and hesitation, “she uh, told me that I didn’t love her like I thought I did. That I was in love with someone else.”

You inhaled sharply, remembering the girl telling you something similar that day on the bench. You’d been confused and a little irritated at her, defensive maybe, now that you looked back on it. You remembered the way she twisted her lips to hide a grin that she didn’t want to annoy you with, eyes all too knowing.

“I kinda realised then,” Steve nodded, eyes finding yours from under his lashes and god, you wondered when his face had moved so close to yours. “She was totally right, I just didn’t really wanna admit it.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice a little sad, ‘cause that had been years ago, and you felt overlooked, like so many missed opportunities had passed you both by and god, were the two of you really that stupid?

“I was stupid!” Steve burst out and you laughed, a little sad with watery eyes but shit, you were too. “So I kept dating random girls, anyone, really. Tried to take my mind off you, tried to forget about you in my bed.”

God, the memory made you burn.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, still leaning into you, eyes closed like he was at confession. “Asking you out on a date seemed so ridiculous when I already know you better than anyone else.”

Your nose grazed Steve’s, and you let out a small sigh because as much as you were hurt by it all, you understood. You and Steve had seen every movie there was to see, had taken trips out of town to every concert, spent too many evenings at burger joints and ice cream parlours. You probably wouldn’t have guessed you were on a date with the boy unless he was in a tux and there was a chandelier above you.

And that seemed like a big ask.

“I would’ve loved to go on a date with you,” you said anyway, cause the idea of Steve pulling up outside your door with flowers in his hand gave you butterflies, tugging at your heart in a way that made you warm.

“Yeah?” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you nodded.

He moved impossibly closer still, cheek to cheek so he could find your ear with his lips, hands moving to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside.

“I spent so long tryin’ to work up the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend,” his admission sounded like his biggest secret yet and you held your breath as he whispered it to you. “So long that years passed and we got older and suddenly the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t seem enough.”

It was strange, but you knew what Steve meant. The word seemed too arbitrary, too normal, to describe the relationship you had with each other, how you felt about the other.

“I know,” you told him, voice just as soft and quiet as his. “I’d still like to be yours though.”

His grin was contagious, warmer than the sun that was starting to set, brighter than the rays on the pool and you swore the world was spinning a little faster in excitement, as if the planets and the moon were just as happy as you were.

“Yeah?” He asked, low and rough, nose pressing to your cheek, lips just brushing yours.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed, waiting, wanting.

“Can we always be this close?” Steve asked, and you melted a little at the question, at that soft sincerity he always managed to give you.

“Yeah, god, please,” you answered and your voice sounded a little husky, a little pleading because you couldn’t imagine anything else. “Can you kiss me, now?”

The boy swore under his breath, the curse mixing with a huff of laughter and he smiled against you, mouth pressing happy to your cheek and you beamed at him, lashes tickling his skin, both of you warm against the other.

“Could never really figure out how to say no to you, y’know that?” He whispered, as if he was giving away a secret. Steve let his lips hover over yours, his hands wrapping around the small of your back, fingers playing with your belt loops, pulling you flush with him. Your hands smoothed over his bare chest and around his neck, skin hot with the sun, with being near you.

“Can I take you on a date?”

Something bloomed inside of you, wildflowers between your ribs, a new day of summer, a heatwave in your chest.

“If I say yes, will you kiss me?” you asked, a little bratty, a little teasing. You’d waited so long for both, you didn’t know what you wanted first.

But then Steve was pushing into you, lips pressing down onto your own, his hand along the underside of your jaw as he used his thumb to push a little under your chin, tilting you up to his mouth so he could lick into you, adoration pouring into you. You felt the way he loved you, like the way everyone else saw it. It still felt new, his lips on yours, new in an exciting way, new in a ‘god, I could get used to this’ way.

“Lemme take you on a date,” he said again, a smile on his lips, pressing it to yours and his voice was sunshine but rougher, even warmer and it made you smile that cheek hurting kinda smile.

You nodded.

“You still my best friend, Harrington?”

Steve pulled back to look at you, eyes shining. “That and more, sweetheart.” And when he said that, it felt enough. ‘More’.

“You still gonna protect me from everything bad and scary?” You nudged the tip of your nose to his, voice sweet.

“With everything I have in me,” he answered honestly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching your laughter. “Baseball bath and all.”

“Promise you won’t break my heart?” You asked, forehead to kiss, eyes full of every emotion you felt. Love, excitement, fear, hope, nervousness, adoration.

“Promise you won’t break mine?” Steve whispered back, a hand on your cheek, thumb grazing over your lip.

“I promise,” you told him, hands gripping right at his shoulders, running across the nape of his neck, diving into his hair.

“I promise,” he repeated, and shit, you believed him.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #stranger things

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]

warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and-

A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins.

Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden.

"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.

"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly.

You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants.

"Well, it's nothing like that."

The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.

"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it."

You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move.

You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door.

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin.

"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point."

"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip.

"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left."

Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains.

The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously.

"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous."

"You like her?"

"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat."

"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere."

"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"

"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff.

"Right," he says.

You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile.

"Do you like to read?" you ask.

Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies."

"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear."

He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you."

You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?"

"Uh…"

"I've got pink lemonade."

"Oh, then definitely."

You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers.

Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin.

"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table.

"I'm good, thanks," he says.

"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest."

"You're a Tempest girl?"

"Everybody plays Tempest," you say.

Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest."

"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."

His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.

"How did you know that?" he asks finally.

"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd."

"I could be."

"But you're not."

You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat.

"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed.

"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon.

He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you."

He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile.

"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.

You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?"

"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.

"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.

"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?"

"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke."

"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him.

"What do you want?" Steve asks him.

"Why do you assume I want something?"

"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky."

"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring.

"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask.

Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily.

"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.

Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners."

"Can I please have a ride-"

"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry."

Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?"

"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way."

"Uh-huh," Dustin says.

The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands.

"I'm sorry about him."

"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do?

"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade."

"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door.

Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off.

The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.

When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth.

"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door.

You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed.

You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces.

You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?"

Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively.

"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently.

You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.

"Skating? I don't have one."

"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades."

You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?"

"Now!" he says.

"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin.

Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait."

You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?"

"Totally," Steve says.

You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.

You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand.

Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.

You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best.

“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.

“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.

“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs.

“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”

Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”

There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks.

“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.

“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit.

“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About Springsteen."

You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.

“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.

The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here.

Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you.

Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck.

“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question.

You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”

Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”

“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”

“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap.

“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”

“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich.

You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly.

“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.

“Robin," Steve chides lightly.

“What?”

You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.

Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.

She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without.

“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance.

Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”

“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying.

"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!"

"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly.

You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice.

"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.

You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.

Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you."

"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.

You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids.

You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"

"Steve is."

"I didn't bring-"

"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."

Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes.

Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails.

"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him.

"I'm not good."

"You're doing great!"

He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him.

"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock.

You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye.

You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering.

"I'm sorry!" you say.

"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out."

"Thanks to you."

You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart.

"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you."

Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot.

"I think I might need to sit down."

"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective.

You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot.

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens.

"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up."

Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it.

"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.

"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends.

"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side.

"They should lock you up."

You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him.

"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out.

Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner."

"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies.

"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking.

He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close.

"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that."

Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?"

"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight.

She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red.

Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it.

He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player.

Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.

The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over.

He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air.

Have you seen her?

So fine and pretty.

He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you.

"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight.

"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through.

You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!"

And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground.

He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him.

He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude."

Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty.

You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath.

"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."

He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy."

You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.

"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word."

His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word."

The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.

He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth.

"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.

"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in.

"Sick. Apparently."

"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?"

"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday."

You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?"

"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September."

"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense."

"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list."

"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche."

You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!"

"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?"

His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me."

"Of course they did. Why didn't you?"

You glare at him. "I was busy!"

"For the month it was in theatres?"

"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!"

"Like what?"

"Like school!"

"Everybody has school."

"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."

"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies.

You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"

He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality.

Yes, it's love in the third degree.

You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.

"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?"

He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.

"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly.

He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus.

Dance the night away.

"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling.

"You're enough for the two of us."

You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?"

"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work."

"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?"

"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks.

You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."

"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer.

"You'll burn your retinas."

"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?"

You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller.

"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours.

You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?"

Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO".

"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?"

"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one."

"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly.

"Shut up, Steve."

"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in."

The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve."

"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual.

Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect.

You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge.

He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel.

"Y/N. Hey," he says.

Still nothing.

He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping.

"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.

You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.

"Hello."

"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.

"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked."

"You're not naked," he says.

"I'm naked. Stop looking at me."

Steve turns away obligingly.

"Stop laughing at me, Harrington."

"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.

"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep."

Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car."

"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."

You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs.

"You're messing with me," he says.

"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you."

"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?"

You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty."

"So are you."

"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small."

"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you."

"You're sure?" you ask quietly.

Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure."

The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy.

"Steve?" you ask.

"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers.

"Woah, thank you!"

"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month."

You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?"

"Nope."

You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion.

"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits."

You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it."

Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing."

"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie."

"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away.

"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything."

"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it."

You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke."

"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested.

You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is.

Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything.

You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place.

That's a dedicated employee right there.

You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch.

"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful.

"Steve," you say softly.

"What?"

"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me."

He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over.

"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?"

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature.

"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down."

Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.

Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back."

"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.

"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?"

"It's on."

Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?"

"I'm sleeping fine."

"Are you sure?"

His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face.

You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout.

"You can tell me."

The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue.

"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…"

"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek.

You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"It doesn't sound stupid."

"No?"

"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs."

You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then."

"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common."

"You see me."

"When I'm annoying you at work."

"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday."

"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator.

"I can't stop watching the door."

You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache.

"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…"

You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently.

You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door.

"Dustin," you both say.

"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says.

You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door.

"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?"

"She's got heat stroke."

"I don't!" you call hoarsely.

"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?"

"She has heat stroke."

You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things.

"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again.

The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion.

"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket."

You laugh again, twice as loud.

"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head.

"What don't you understand about heat stroke?

"Potential heat stroke," you interject.

"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude."

"You should take her to the hospital."

You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?"

Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype."

"For what?"

"Top secret."

You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs.

Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat."

Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!"

"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa.

"I'm not dying, Steve."

Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense.

"Are you good?" he asks.

"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead."

"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you.

"Don't die of heat stroke."

He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"What about The Breakfast Club?"

He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!"

You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away.

"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew.

Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.

"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says.

Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows.

"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.

"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night."

Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?"

"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask."

Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half.

Better safe than sorry.

"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge.

Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans.

"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.

His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly.

"No!"

"You're her boyfriend, right?"

"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly."

Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows.

"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles.

Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend."

Four sets of eyebrows raise.

"I am! I'm romantic."

"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says.

Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look.

"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?"

"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly.

"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.

"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her."

"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says.

Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?"

"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me."

He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?"

They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in.

"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails.

"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess.

Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me?

You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath.

It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression.

It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever?

What if I feel this lonely forever?

You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands.

Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve?

If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door.

Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.

You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit.

"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance.

"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.

The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go.

"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath.

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!"

You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony.

"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me."

You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay."

He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path.

He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?"

A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates.

"Okay," you say weakly.

He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk.

The smell is beautiful. A floral wave.

The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas.

"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears."

"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble.

"Half the store. The other half's on standby."

"Standby?"

"I worried you might not have the space."

"I won't."

Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping.

"Why did you do this?"

"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-"

"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion."

"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal."

You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious.

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So."

"So you got me a florists?"

"Half."

You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it.

"They're for me?" you whisper.

"For you. All of them."

You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity.

"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone.

He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that."

You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly."

"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first."

You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose.

"Do you like them?"

The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder.

"I didn't know which one was your favourite."

All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet.

You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger.

"Thank you, Steve."

"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse."

"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you.

"Shit," he mutters.

You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face.

"You're okay, baby," he says.

You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down.

The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.

Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.

"I know what'll cheer you up," he says.

You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out.

Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar.

"Oh my god."

"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.

"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand.

You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.

"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree."

He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing.

"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance.

"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!"

It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo.

Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop.

He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly.

"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask.

"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song."

"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album."

"You said however long I wanted!"

"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess.

"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush.

When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency.

"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully.

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels.

You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy.

"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek.

"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh.

"Good thing," you agree.

He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again.

You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing."

"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.

"You did."

"Sorry, I-"

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again.

"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness.

"Yeah?"

"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?"

"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.

You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond.

"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap.

"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek.

You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.

"You're beautiful," he says.

It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks for reading!

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem!reader

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

Text

so basically

watching stranger things isn't enough i need to marry steve harrington

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington #dustin henderson #joe keery #eddie munson

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 - 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: steve gets jealous over your friendship with eddie.

𝗮/𝗻: i finished stranger things which absolutely broke me and i am officially in a steve mood so i decided to try out writing for him :D i hope u guys like it!!

𝘄/𝗰: 1.1k

“i can’t stand that kid” steve mumbles to dustin, watching you laugh at whatever horrible joke eddie is telling you.

right now it was late at night, and your friend group, consisting of the kids + nancy, jonathan, robin, and eddie, were hanging out at steves house.

“hey! ‘that kid’ is my friend for your information. it’s not his fault that he’s not a loser and isn’t afraid to actually flirt with y/n.” dustin retorts.

“yeah yeah, whatever. i should’ve just ignored you and not invited eddie.” steve says bitterly while ripping his gaze away from you, frustrated at eddie stealing all of your attention while at his own house.

“dude, stop being such a wimp and make a move on her already. it’s so obvious she likes you.” dustin encourages, tired of hearing steve whine about you.

Keep reading

#steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

Note

Can I request a Steve x reader fic with their "six nuggets"

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬

word count: 2.2K+ (it ran away from me!!!)

tags: dad and husband!Steve x fem!reader, cool uncle!Eddie and cool aunt!Robin, domestic bliss, fluff with smidge of implied smut at the end, this made me feel so fucking soft anon ur a genius x

Steve doesn't need an alarm clock to wake him up in the mornings anymore, he's found.

No, ever since marrying you and having six kids, at least one of them is bound to wake him up if he hasn't already risen for the day. Sometimes it's his oldest, Heather, pulling back the curtains and chastising him under her breath that her ballet practice starts in an hour and he's still in bed. Other times it's the twins - Scott and Cory - brown tussels of curly hair peeking from the side of the bed as they excitedly tug at his sleeves, reminding him that he's chaperoning their school trip for the day.

But today it's his youngest, five year old Dianna, crawling into the empty space next to him and gently patting his chest to wake him up.

"Daddy." she says, shaking him awake with her small hands. At the sound of his youngest child's voice Steve wakes up in an instant, fatigue dissipiating as he quickly sits up with a tired smile.

"Morning, sweetheart." Steve says, heart overflowing with adoration with the way his daughter then giggles, jumping into his embrace, her neatly pulled back hair tickling his bare neck. "Where's momma?" he questions, pulling back to admire how adorable she looks with a red ribbon tied into her hair.

"She's making breakfast and asked me to come get you." Dianna dutifully responds, proud at her accomplishment. It makes him sigh contentedly, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"And so you did. Let me get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

She nods fervently and nearly slips on the wooden floor with how fast she runs down the hallway in her fuzzy socks, making Steve yell out for her to slow down. Amused at the five year old's antics, he shakes his head sideways in resign whilst getting dressed for the day: argyle black socks, blue linen pants secured with a darkened belt, white polo shirt with collars tucked in to his waist.

When Steve finally trods down the staircase you're humming along to a song flowing from the radio, Dianna perched on the kitchen counter with Heather next to her brushing out her younger sister's hair. The twins are arguing about a soccer match on the couch whilst Colton - second oldest and star football player - is helping set the table whilst you cook. The only person he doesn't see is his second youngest, Madison, until he feels someone run into him at full speed and embrace his legs from below.

"Morning, dad!" Madison gleefully quips, ever so the morning person. Steve chuckles, ruffling his daughter's hair fondly.

"Morning, Mads. Did you get a good night's sleep?"

She nods eagerly, practically bouncing up and down on her heels.

"I did! I went to bed early because the auditions for the musical is today!"

Steve gasps in awe, patting his daughter's head tenderly before sitting down on a nearby chair.

"Is it? What's the musical?" he asks, letting out a soft groan when Madison excitedly clambers onto his lap, awkward elbows digging into his lap as she climbs him.

"Once Upon a Mattress!"

"She's been singing all the songs for about a week, pops. I can't believe you haven't noticed." Heather notes from the back, turning around briefly to address him. Steve chuckles, lightly bopping Madison's nose.

"Well princess, I'm positive that you're going to do so well. You're going to blow all their socks off."

The sound of the stove being turned off catches everyone's attention, in addition to you calling out to everyone that breakfast is ready. All the younger kids dash to the long wooden table, playfully pushing against each other and arguing over who gets to sit next to you and Steve, whilst Heather and Colton help you bring over the stack of food from the kitchen. Amongst the chaos of getting all the kids to settle down and quickly eat their food, you're left to give Steve a quick kiss on the lips, hurried but still sweet and loving.

"Morning, handsome." you tease, winking at him as you set down the last stack of waffles. He grins at you, wrinkle lines by his lips.

"Morning, beautiful."

"Ew, mom and dad just kissed in front of us!" one of the twins, Scott, yells out, scrunching his face. It elicits most of the younger kids to also frown in disgust and pout immaturely, commenting on how 'gross' it is to see you two kiss, whilst it only makes Colton roll his eyes and Heather to laugh out loud in amusement.

"Hush and eat your breakfast." you chastise your children, stabbing your fork into your plate of strawberries and pointing it towards them. "All of you have a very busy day today and I don't want anyone to be late."

Breakfast is quickly devoured over small talk of what everyone's up to - Heather's date with Angelina, Colton's upcoming SAT exam and college scouts attending his final game, the twins talking everyone's ears off over wanting to learn guitar like uncle Eddie - and the moment the clock strikes half past eight, there's a rush of bodies up and down the stairs as you place all the dirty dishes in the sink.

Steve is the one to zip up the twins' jackets and to tie Madison's shoelaces when a familiar vehicle shows up by the front porch, accompanied by an obnoxious honking.

"There's my favorite little rascals!" Eddie shouts from his van as the twins and Madison quickly scurry towards him, each of them hugging Eddie's waist and squeezing his body tightly. Eddie's grin is bright and wide, hands patting against the kids' backs, before he looks up.

"Steve. The better Harrington." Eddie says to Steve and you respectively, winking at you.

You laugh, leaning against the doorframe as Steve scowls and places a protective arm around your waist - but it's playful, and everyone knows he doesn't mean it.

"Thanks for agreeing to drive the kids today." you say, pulling the cardigan closer towards you as the autumn breeze rolls in.

"Nah, it's nothing. Anything for my favorite married couple."

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that so Vickie and I don't get offended." Robin adds from the side, leaning against her car. "Is Dianna ready to go?" she questions, only for the young girl to come barreling out the door and slam herself against Robin's legs.

"Hi auntie Robin!"

"Hiya hun, look at you with your cool bumblee socks and everything." Robin coos, leaning down to be eye-level with the young girl. Steve frowns at that, looking back towards you.

"I thought you were driving her."

You shrug, stepping one step closer towards Steve.

"Well, since Heather will be out late with her date tonight, Colton can drive himself now and Eddie's taking Mads and the twins... I figured we could have a date night all to ourselves." you slowly explain, deft fingers brushing against his cheeks. "So I called Robin."

"You owe me, Harrington number one." Robin warns and then winks, pointing at Steve, before letting Dianna into the backseat and getting into the driver's seat herself.

Pressing a soft kiss onto Heather's forehead as she rushes out the door and giving Colton a firm hug as he dangles the keys to his own BMW, the once bustling Harrington household is plunged back into silence in a mere matter of minutes. Steve blinks slowly before closing the door behind him, a soft grin appearing on his face.

"You little vixen." he murmurs quietly, pinning you down on the couch as you let out a squeal of joy upon feeling your back hit the soft cushions. "Spontaneous date night with all the kids handled? How do you do it?"

His hair's falling over his eyes as he stares at you fondly, boyish smirk marking his pink lips.

"Hm... Can't take all the credit. Eddie and Robin stepping in helps, but I guess it also helps that I'm an awesome wife." you tease, trailing your fingers down his arms, tracing the faint outline of his upper muscles. The flickers of infatuation in his eyes still never fails to send a chill down your spine, stomach afloat with butterflies.

Steve's aged beautifully, too. Slight wrinkles on his calloused hands, faded smile lines adorning his cheekbones, grey hairs peeking in between brown ruffles of hair. His wedding ring is cool against your cheek when he leans down and presses his lips to yours, moulding his mouth against yours, elicting a soft moan from your mouth.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful." he growls, left hand digging into your hips, slipping underneath your sundress in one swoop. You bat at his arms, giggling.

"Says you, Stevie. You're just as gorgeous as the first day we met."

He hums, leaning forward close to enough to brush his nose against yours, eyes not leaving your lips.

"Hm, if only you from the 80's could hear you saying that now. Probably would have a heart attack and insist there's no way you would fall in love with, and I quote, the biggest douchebag of Hawkins High."

You roll your eyes at his comment.

"Please. I'd pay good money to see 'King' Harrington's reaction back then. Old you probably would have had an aneurysm at the mention of marrying me and having six kids."

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, raising his eyebrows.

"Old me would have an aneurysm but not out of disgust, babe. Old me still had a huge crush on you, so he'd probably be spiraling on the floor, giddy with happiness and shock."

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you bring him down for another kiss, this one more slow and tender. It's the kind of kiss that has any smart quips he's prepared to die in Steve's mouth, mind completely preoccupied with how good you taste - strawberry chapstick and leftover maple syrup from breakfast - as well as how warm and soft your pilant body feels underneath him.

"I love you, Steve Harrington. Thank you for giving me this life and our beautiful six kids." you breathe against his lips, stroking his cheeks.

"I should be the one thanking you, doll. Our six little nuggets wouldn't have been born without you doing all the hard work. All I did was... deposit a lil something at the beginning." he shrugs sheepishly, making you laugh and smack him in the chest lightly.

"Ugh, that's such a disgusting way of describing how conception works."

He hums, amused, before biting at your bare shoulder lovingly.

"Mm, but it's true, isn't it?"

He shifts to sit you on his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist as he sits upright.

"We're such a great team, baby. Each of our kids, they're... smart, kind, good-hearted, talented... They're the best parts of both of us combined." he trails off, eyes glazing over with happy tears which he quickly blinks away (you pretend not to notice). "God, I have no idea how we got so lucky."

You let the sentiment hang in the air for a bit, the awed expression on his face too sweet to wipe away quickly.

"You're such a sap, Steve. I fear for what you'll do on the day of Heather's graduation." you tease, making him groan, head falling forward into the crevice of your neck.

"Oh, don't remind me. Our little girl's going off to college in a month's time." he moans, devastated. It makes you laugh, the down trodden eyes and the 'kicked puppy' expression on his face as he mopes openly.

"She's 18, Stevie. She has a girlfriend, she's got her own car and a driver's license, her own debit account... Besides, New York isn't that far away." you try to reason with him, but he still pouts.

"Still. That's too far. I can't stand the thought of any of our nuggets being so far away from us." he groans into your skin. You tut, running your fingers through his hair whilst massaging his scalp just the way he likes.

"What shall we ever do then, dear husband... Colton's going to follow suit in less than a year, then it'll be Scott and Cory off together, then Madison and even Dianna in the future-"

His head shoots up at that, an unreadable look glazing over his eyes.

"You're right." he whispers, left arm coming up to tug at the sleeves of your sundress whilst his lips brush against your collarbone. "We gotta have more kids so we'll never be alone."

"Steve-"

His lips are already sucking on bare skin, wet lips marking his territory as you feel his hands travel lower.

"Steve, as much as I'm enjoying this, I put in a reservation for us at the spa uptown-"

"When is it?" he questions, not even looking up from where he's kissing you - right underneath your ear, dark spots already forming around your neck.

"I-in, fuck, half an hour." you manage to stumble out, already feeling pleasure rush in. He smirks at that, grabbing your thighs.

"Then we have plenty of time."

"C-can't, we'll be late-" you try to reason with him, but all protests die in your mouth when Steve stands back up and kisses you squarely on the mouth.

"I'll be quick. Promise."

He wasn't. And you two end up being 20 minutes late.

-> a/n: if you're wondering how I went about the kids - thought it'd be cute to have a neat 3 girls and 3 boys split, and I chose the names based on US data on most popular baby names of the 90s.

ngl i loved writing this and am tempted to expand it into a universe with blurbs/oneshots connecting all the stories: idk lmk if that sounds gucci

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction

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imsleepdeprivedfr · 2 years

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heart on fire | steve harrington

summary steve is a determined guy (6.1k) content & warnings fem!reader, byers!reader, no v2 spoilers!!, swearing, pining, rejection, getting together, other than that just fluff

The red hunting cap. The baseball mitt. The museum. The ducks.

You sit precariously on the edge of a dryer, a sheet of lined paper in hand and your book in the other. Your tongue prods at the inside of your cheek, your eyebrows scrunched together and wrinkles creasing your forehead. Sheets upon sheets of crumpled paper rest next to you.

You tighten your grip on your pencil like you can will a creative idea to pop into your head. With a grand sigh, you look up and out the window of the laundromat — it’s such a nice day out that you feel slightly dejected that you’re spending it inside writing an essay.

A soft pop song plays overhead and the machine rumbles quietly under you. The AC unit coughs its last cough and gives out, only further encouraging the beading sweat on the back of your neck. The laundromat was empty — it was a Monday and it was your turn to do the laundry — so, really, it wasn’t like you were missing out on anything special.

You fail to notice another patron enter the laundromat in the midst of wallowing in self-pity over your essay. You also fail to notice when he walks over to you and towers over your figure as you stare blankly at your paper. He clears his throat loudly.

“Uh, hello?”

You look up, and there stands the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington in all his glory. He hadn’t changed much since you last saw him at graduation — his hair, his blue striped polo, his jeans, his wristwatch. You wondered what he was still doing in Hawkins.

It was odd that he was going out of his way to talk to you. The only interaction between you that you could recall was when you snuck off campus to get lunch and ran into him and his crew — though he didn’t know nor ask for your name, he gestured towards the menu and asked what he should order since he’d seen you in here before. It was a little bit weird.

That was during his King Steve era. From what people said, he now worked at the Family Video a little ways down the road. By all means, Hawkins was as sleepy a town as towns came and, no matter how insignificant, word travelled fast. The downfall of King Steve piqued more than a few people’s attention.

“Oh, hi,” you say, confused as you set your pencil and book down beside you.

He reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. Nervous. “Uh, you’re… Byers, right?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “Depends on why you’re asking.”

“No reason,” he says, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. Even though it was summer, he had a jacket slung over his shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like? Laundry,” you tell him, though it comes out sounding more like a question than a response. You gesture towards the running machine under you. “What else does one do in a laundromat?”

Truthfully, you’d always made Steve out to be a jerk. While he had never done anything to you personally, the incident with Jonathan’s camera had you hot under the collar for longer than you’d like to admit.

You’re sure some of your resentment must manifest in your tone based upon Steve’s reaction. He gives you an undecipherable look that isn’t quite neutral and takes a prompt step backwards like he’s afraid to breathe in your proximity.

The machine’s rumbling slows to a stop beneath you and a melodic chime rings out loud and clear. Steve steps to the side with a stiff half-shuffle, half-step sort of move as you hop down and unfurl your laundry sack, feeling suddenly self-conscious as you bend over with your back to his front.

“What’re you doing here, Harrington?” you ask half-heartedly to break the heady silence between you as you take the clothes out of the dryer. A brown tee shirt, old blue jeans, a plaid flannel, one of your skirts that you’d lost months ago —

“Who’s clothes are those?” asks Steve with complete disregard for your question.

“Mine,” you say as you stand up, your knees popping loudly and the wrinkled denim skirt hanging from your hand. Steve’s leaning against the washing machines opposed to you, and when you meet his gaze, he looks away and his cheeks redden like he’s shy. You know he’s not shy.

“No,” he says, gesturing to the remaining clothes still warm in the dryer. “I meant those.”

“Jonathan’s. And some are mine. Why?” Your tone is laced with suspicion.

He puts his hands up, casting his gaze downwards. “Oh. Jonathan.” He pauses. “I’m only making conversation. What’re you writing?”

You sigh loudly and return to the task at hand, kneeling over to add the rest of the clothes to your bag. “An essay. Now, I have a question for you. Why are you acting like you’re interested in my life? Why are you talking to me now, of all times? Why are you in a laundromat without clothes to be washed?”

“That’s three questions.”

“What’re you acting like that for?” you ask exasperatedly as you finish packing up the rest of the clothes. “I just don't understand why you're trying to befriend me out of the blue like this.”

“That makes four,” he states matter-of-factly. Then, he continues, “I didn’t know that it was a crime to talk to you. God forbid I strike up a conversation with someone who seems interesting, am I right or am I right?” His voice is nowhere close to lacking in playfulness, attempting to banter with you like you’re an old friend.

You eye him suspiciously, the laundry bag tied off and secured under your arm. It wasn’t that Steve wasn’t a social butterfly, it was that he seemed to have a genuine interest in talking to you when, before, he didn’t seem to care two hoots about anyone that wasn’t in his inner circle. It just didn’t seem plausible that he’d talk to you just because he thought you looked ‘interesting.’

“Yeah, okay, Harrington,” you say, straightening up and adjusting your camisole. Your bracelets jangle on your wrist. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He watches you leave, the bell jingling as you open the door and step out into the heat, the sunlight reflecting off the shades tangled in your hair. He glances back to where you were sitting atop the dryer, and there lay your book and your pencil.

He pockets your pencil for safekeeping then picks up your book, careful to dog-ear the page you left off on before snapping it shut.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” says Robin from behind the counter, her legs kicked up lazily and her head dipped backwards and the fan blowing her hair all around her face. “You know what? I’ll tell you how it’ll go.”

She sits up and holds her hands up in front of her, her elbows resting on the counter. Steve only watches without speaking from where he stands under the AC unit, his arms folded and his weight leaning against the wall.

Robin holds up her left hand, and in a low pitched, gruff voice, “Hello. I’m Steve and I have your book and your pencil because you left them at the laundromat.” Her four fingers meet her thumb as she mocks a conversation, opening and closing hand-Steve’s ‘mouth.’

Then, in a higher tone and with her right, “I’m the mystery girl and Steve won’t tell Robin my name because he’s a dumbass.” A brief pause, then, “Oh, Steve, you’re my hero!”

Robin brings her hands together, making dramatic, loud smooching sounds. “Mystery girl, I knew you’d come aroun-”

Steve interrupts her with a quick swat to her hands. “Not funny. So not funny.”

Robin only shrugs, dropping her hands back to her sides and leaning away from the counter. “The moral of the story, Steven, is that it can’t go wrong. It’s not like you’re asking her to marry you or anything.”

“It’s gonna seem like I’m… cajoling her,” Steve worries aloud as he paces back and forth in front of the counter, a hand brushing swiftly through his hair.

“Where’d you learn that one?” Then, a reiteration, “Cajoling, I mean. Have you been reading the dictionary or something? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a word with more than three syllables.”

“Robin,” he says seriously, dismissing her teasing. “She probably thinks I’m weird.”

Robin takes a moment to mull it over, her lips pursed. “Eh. Probably not. I think you just interrupted her while she was busy,” she says, “What did you say she was doing again? Writing an essay?”

“Yeah, she was sitting on a dryer writing something and — Robin, you don’t even know how pretty she looked.”

“Obviously! You won’t tell me her name!” Robin’s voice is twinged with bitterness. “How am I supposed to know-”

“Oh, well, would you look at the time,” Steve says, tapping at the face of his watch intently. “Looks like my shift’s over! Bye, Robin!” He shrugs his tacky vest off and escapes out the door, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

The next morning, you sit at the table, your breakfast hot and ready before you but your mind elsewhere. Jonathan sits next to you, quiet and unmoving and observing as he was.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks gently, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. “You barely said a word all day yesterday. I’m worried.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, really,” you say. A lie. “I’m just… distracted. The essay.”

“Oh,” Jonathan replies, seemingly buying your lie — if he didn’t, he gave no indication that he would call your bluff. “You know, if you ever need help, you can ask me. I can help you if you want,” he tells you, his tone so earnest that a pang of guilt twists in your stomach.

The doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” you say immediately, pushing out your chair and standing up. Your gut churns and you almost feel queasy.

The door swings open to reveal Steve standing stiffly at your doorstep, holding your book with your pencil tucked inside like a makeshift bookmark.

“Hello,” you state plainly. You’re instantly hyperaware and embarrassed of your naked legs when you notice Steve’s gaze lingering a bit too long. Darn sleep shorts. “Hello?”

“Oh,” he says, like he’s surprised to see you at your own house. “I have your… thingamajiggity.” One of his hands is tucked behind his back and the other hangs limply by his side.

“My… what?” You stare at him skeptically. It wasn’t every day that Steve Harrington was standing at your stoop and speaking cryptically.

“Your book?”

“My book,” you repeat slowly, “You forgot what a book is called?”

“No!” he all-but-shouts defensively, breaking the stillness and tranquility of the crisp morning. “I did not. I brought it for you because you left it at the laundromat. And your pencil.”

You blink at him. “Oh, thanks. Can I have it?” You reach your hand out in anticipation, but you’re left with your arm extended less-than-gracefully as Steve clearly debates saying what he wants to say.

“Uh, Harrington? I need my book.”

“Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

“Sorry?”

“I asked,” he takes a deep breath, his ears tipped by red and a blush creeping up his throat, “I asked if you want to go on a date with me.”

When you don’t say anything, he rushes to slap a band-aid over a bullet wound. “I mean, like, as friends. Platonic with a capital P. I need some help with, uh, something and you’re smart and-”

“Harrington,” you say exasperatedly, “Stop, please. I need my book. It’s checked out from the library and I have to return it soon.”

He stands frozen. Then, though not without reluctance, Steve hands over your book, your fingers brushing lightly where you meet in the middle. “Um, not to push, but-”

“I’m not really interested like that,” you tell him weakly, hugging the book close to your chest. “Sorry. Maybe you should go.”

Steve clearly no longer retains his sense of bravado and swagger that he once had in high school. Heat rushes to his face and his voice comes out strangled when he chokes out, “Oh, okay. Bye, then.”

You step back inside and plop down on the couch, watching through the window as Steve sits down in his car and buries his face in his hands. He hits the steering wheel, once, twice, then threads a hand through his hair and speeds away.

For the second time this morning, you feel guilty. Jonathan settles next to you, a frown playing on his face as he follows your gaze, watching Steve’s BMW disappear around a bend.

“Are you two…?”

“No,” you say gingerly, tightly clutching your book in your lap. “It’s not like that.”

Steve Harrington was a determined man. He’d gotten that a whole lot of times before. And, perhaps, his relentlessness was what he prided himself on most.

The next time that he saw you was two days later. You were dressed in that denim skirt from the fateful day at the laundromat and some sort of tank top with buttons down the front — he forgot what the style was called. You had a fraying canvas bag slung over your shoulder and a Walkman strapped to your belt loop and he could hear your music playing faintly through your headphones.

You, on the other hand, were unaware of his presence. He stood on his lawn, very much enchanted by you and very much shirtless, but you were too wrapped up in the enervation of your afternoon walk to notice him.

The sun beat down on your bare back and you felt sweat accumulating in the most unpleasant and unfortunate of places. Summers in Hawkins were not only burning hot — they were humid and muggy and uncomfortable in more ways than one.

It’s only during the transition between songs do you hear a voice shouting your name from behind you. You dare a peek over your shoulder and you see Steve jogging up to you, his bare torso glistening with sweat and his hair falling messily over his forehead and into his eyes.

“Hey!” he calls breathlessly with far too much enthusiasm for his current pyretic state. “Whatcha listening to?”

You hit pause. “Hi. Sting,” you tell him, rolling a loose pebble under the toe of your shoe.

“Sting,” he echoes, “You a fan of The Police?”

As you turn all the way to face him, you can’t help but ogle at his naked chest. He was broad and tan and sculpted, and, really, you were a simple, easy-to-please girl.

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” you say, suddenly feeling awkward and in desperate need of an escape. In comparison to him, your clothing was nowhere near scandalous, but you felt equally as naked in your tank top and small skirt. It isn’t weird, you tell yourself, it’s hot out.

Steve looks as skittish and uniformly uncomfortable as you feel, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and kicking at the line where grass meets pavement, his gaze cast at your shoes.

“I, um — I wanted to apologize for being… weird. For overstepping. The other Tuesday,” he says as he takes a hesitant step closer, his face flushed and so close to your own that you could count the freckles dusting his cheeks from his time spent in the sun.

“It wasn’t really weird,” you say with a light frown. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. “It’s okay. What’re you doing out here in the heat?”

“Oh, I was mowing the lawn,” he responds, gesturing behind him to the sputtering lawnmower sitting in his yard. “But it broke. Hey, do you have plans tonight? My friend and I are gonna have pizza and watch a movie if you want to come.”

“Um,” you hesitate, your eyes darting around and searching for a means of escape. “I’ll… er-”

“You can say no,” he interjects, though his voice is twinged with disappointment and a hint of embarrassment. Then, without giving you a chance to respond properly, “Uh, I’m gonna go. Inside, I mean. Bye, Byers.”

A hot breeze stirs the dead leaves on the pavement as you watch in silence as he crosses his lawn to his front door, his shoulders slumped and his feet shuffling and kicking up sprays of dirt.

Based on the harrowing, conscience-stricken claws gripping at your gut, Steve Harrington had to have some sort of hold on you. You had no real reason to turn him down but you did anyway and your decision tarried at the forefront of your mind until the late hours of the night.

Steve munches loudly and frustratedly on microwave popcorn.

“Would you quit moping?” asks Robin with a pointed glare, The Breakfast Club playing softly in the background. “She didn’t say no. Maybe she’ll show up in a little bit.”

“You didn’t even see the look on her face,” he says seriously as he wipes his mouth with the back of hand. And, without so much as sparing her a glance her way, “You woulda thought I asked her to rob a bank with me!”

Robin snorts derisively. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

Steve sits up abruptly, a solemn look on his face as if someone just died. “You don’t even know,” he deadpans. “She ran off so fast.”

The term ‘crush’ was much too juvenile-feeling for Steve, but saying he was ‘into you’ felt too casual, saying he had ‘feelings’ was too serious and felt like too much of a commitment of sorts. He couldn’t find the words to express how he was feeling.

A loud knock at the door. Steve jumps up.

“Finally, the pizza!”

“Or maybe,” Robin razzes in a lazy drawl, “It’s your girlfriend.”

“You’re not 13, Robin. Act your age.” Steve makes a point to glare at her as he scoots off the couch and into the foyer, his socks sliding against the hardwood floor.

The pizza guy stands at his stoop. Maybe it was half-baked for Steve to expect you to be there when he opened the door.

He hands him a few dollars and a tip, and it’s only after Steve hears his car speed away does he realize that they forgot the bread.

“They didn’t give us the cheesy bread,” he says as he plops back down on the couch, his tone sour. “Damn.”

“Oh, are you serious?” Robin sits up, a frown tugging at her lips. “Get another order of it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Another knock.

“You get it,” Steve demands.

“You get it.”

“Fine.” Steve didn’t feel much like arguing. He stands up with a dramatic groan, slapping his thighs as he shuffles off to the foyer again.

You wait nervously at the door, wringing your hands together behind your back as you hear the floorboards creak faintly inside under his weight.

The door swings open and Steve stands there with a slice of pizza in hand, looking concerned and confused as he takes the sight of you in.

“Byers?”

“Hi, Harrington,” you say lightly, letting your hands come to rest at your sides. “Can I come in?”

“Huh?” He stands idly, his jaw slightly agape and his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squinted like he couldn’t believe you were actually there.

“Inside,” you say slowly, gesturing over his shoulder and down the hallway. “Pizza and a movie? You invited me.”

“Oh,” he says, a metaphorical lightbulb switching on above his head. “Yeah, come on in.”

He steps backward haphazardly, allowing you to pass into the entryway. You kneel on the floor to undo your shoelaces, Steve hovering over you and blocking the light as he takes a bite of his pizza.

“We don’t have cheesy bread,” he tells you plainly, “The delivery guy… forgot, I guess.”

You scoff as you straighten up. “That’s a bummer,” you say sincerely as you follow him down the hallway into the living room.

“Did you get the cheesy bread?” calls Robin as she turns around on the couch. Her eyes dart from you then to Steve then to you again, her jaw dropping in surprise. “Uh, what are you doing here? You’re who-”

“Robin,” Steve hisses through clenched teeth as he gives her a disgruntled look. “Do you two... know each other?”

“Yeah,” you say plainly, hopping over the backrest to settle next to Robin. “Last year, we were lunch buddies. Before I graduated.”

“Lunch buddies,” Steve echoes, bewildered. He sits on the loveseat adjacent to the couch, brows once again knitting. “Robin, this is — was — your senior friend?”

“Yes?” Robin eyes him suspiciously as she picks off a slice of pepperoni from her pizza. Then, when you lean over to get your own slice of pizza, she imitates hand-Steve once more with an inquisitive smirk.

Steve glares daggers at her, gesturing for her to stop that before you get the chance to see and question it. Now that he thought about it, there were countless times he’d seen you chatting with Robin while he was on his break. It just hadn’t occurred to him that you were the same girl that would visit Family Video to talk to her.

Before you knew it, the movie was wrapping up and it was well past midnight. Robin still sits attentive with her bottle of Sprite in hand, but Steve had dozed off a good half hour ago, his lips slightly parted and his eyelashes fluttering. Not that you were paying much attention to him, anyways.

“He’s really a good guy, you know,” says Robin quietly as the end credits roll. “He isn’t like how he was in high school.”

“He was horrible in high school,” you reply, your tone neutral.

She nods agreeably. “He was. But he isn’t like that anymore. Honestly, you should see him with his little ducklings.”

You shift in your seat to turn to her, a frown obvious on your face. “Robin, he isn’t the person you were telling me about… right?”

She goes red in the face. “Hell to the no,” she says instantly, “He is the epitome of what my type isn’t. He and I are only friends, but I think he has a soft spot for you.”

In the following weeks, you mull it over, Robin’s words ringing in your head.

I think he has a soft spot for you.

You wouldn’t deny it — Steve was funny and considerate and not too hard on the eyes. Plus, you saw him around all the time and he would always give you a friendly wave, whether he was filling up his gas tank or through the window while he was grabbing lunch at a burger joint.

It was like clockwork. A wave and such a friendly, bright grin that you couldn’t help but let him overtake your mind.

You resort to walking by his house for the off chance that he’d be out on his lawn, watching out his window, something. Not in a stalker-esque way, in a maybe-he’ll-make-conversation way.

It’s two and a half weeks until you see him in his yard again — not that you were counting. He’s wearing swim trunks and a loose tee and he’s sitting in a shady spot in the grass, evidently struggling to open the packaging of some water balloons.

You debate whether you should go up to him or just resume on your walk, but you take too much time mulling it over and Steve looks up and sees you standing there across the street.

“Byers!” he calls, abandoning the plastic to cup his hands around his mouth. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” you respond, abashed. Your voice echoes faintly in the empty streets. Heat distortion ripples across the pavement and you have to shield your eyes from the sun to even make out his figure. “What’re you doing?”

“Come over here!” he shouts much louder than necessary. “I’ll show you!”

You hesitate for a moment, looking both ways before sprinting across the street and into his lawn. He lifts his sunglasses and pushes them into his hair, squinting up at you as he stands up from the grass.

“What’s all this for?” you ask, eyeing the blue bucket halfway full of water balloons. “You’re going to have a water balloon fight… with yourself?” You motion at the empty lawn, the empty street.

“No, you dingbat,” he says breathlessly, pinching his shirt and pulling it away to fan himself. “With the… horde.”

“The horde,” you repeat, confused. “Who?”

He laughs wryly. “Oh, you know. Dustin and his flock. They invited themselves over. They’ll be here in,” he checks his watch, “10 or 15 minutes.”

“Huh. Cool,” you say. A long pause, then, “You need help opening that?” You gesture to the mangled packaging of the water balloons.

“Oh, no way,” he tells you, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I’ve basically got it licked.”

“Alright then,” you say, dropping your tote down and taking a seat in the grass and staring up at him. “I have some scissors in my bag, though. Just in case you’re inclined to use something… other than your teeth.”

He looks confused, but only for a moment until a lopsided grin forms on his face, spreading ear-to-ear until he finally speaks. “Have you been watching me?”

You scoff hotly. “In your dreams, lover boy,” you say matter-of-factly as you watch him resume trying (and failing) to tear through the packaging.

He grumbles something incomprehensible, swiping his hand along the sweat beading above his brow. Then, finally, he turns to you. “You think you could lend me those scissors?”

“Sure,” you say, digging through your bag — but your scissors are nowhere to be found. “Oh, shit. I forgot I lent them to Robin so she could take the tag off of her new vest.” You give him a sorry half-smile. Then, smugly, “But I bet I could still open it without the scissors.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins even wider. “Try your hand, then. Let’s see.”

He hands you the maimed packaging and you try your hardest to tear the plastic off, but you’re just as unsuccessful as he was. By the time you throw in the sponge, your clothing is drenched in sweat from your efforts and you flop back onto the grass, throwing the packaging as far across the yard as you can manage.

You hear the grass rustle as Steve lays down next to you.

“Hey,” you say, your tone softer and lacking the playfulness harbored just a moment ago.

“Hey.”

“Why did you talk to me in the laundromat?” The grass is soft underneath you as you roll over to face him.

“What I told you is the cold, hard truth,” he says quietly as he stares up into the blueness of the sky. “But maybe I left a little part out.”

You don’t say anything.

“I mean, I always thought you were, like, gorgeous,” he continues, suddenly tentative, “but it was towards the end of school that I noticed you noticed you and I figured you’d go off to some fancy college up north so I didn’t bother talkin’ to you. You’re real smart, you know.”

“I don’t think college is the path for me,” you admit, “Jonathan’s more of the scholarship-smart type. He’s going to NYU in the fall. What about you? What’re you still doing here?”

Steve huffs dejectedly. “I didn’t get accepted to anywhere.”

“You’re good at basketball, though,” you tell him with a small frown, staring intently at his limp stature. “I’ve seen you play before, back in school. I would’ve thought you got a sports scholarship for it.”

He laughs dryly. “Me too. Why were you writing that essay?”

"It was sort of... a creative piece. For some researchy thing my mom's been talking about. Opinions and... stuff. I dunno, I didn't question it."

"Oh."

A terse silence instills, the only sounds to be heard being the distant twittering of birds and his pool equipment running faintly and the warm breeze tickling your nose. You lay there for what could be a minute or an hour until you break the silence.

“I think I’ll go.”

Steve grabs your wrist as you sit up, drawing you back to him. “You should stay. Hang out with the kids, and Robin if she decides to come,” he says, “It’ll be fun. We’re gonna swim, I think.”

You take a moment to think it over. “Sure,” you reply lightly, “But I should go home and change into a swimsuit.”

Steve lights up and breaks into a face-splitting, million dollar smile. “Wicked!” Then, he clears his throat and reverts his expression to neutral. “I mean, cool.”

By the time you return to Steve’s in your bikini and coverup, the front yard is deserted and the kids’ voices are ringing out from around back.

You hear Mike shouting angrily, “Lucas, you asshole!” followed by a loud screech and a splash. You let yourself in through the side gate, towel slung over your shoulder.

The moment you step into the backyard, you’re sprayed with a cold jet of water, effectively ruining your button-up and shorts. When you wipe the water out of your eyes, you’re met with Steve and Dustin both wielding water guns and guilty expressions.

“We thought you were Robin,” Dustin says sheepishly, his hand lifting to shield his eyes from the sun. Then, “Sorry. Where’s Will?”

“It’s fine,” you sigh, undoing the buttons of your soaked shirt and dropping it with a wet plopping sound onto one of Steve’s loungers. “Will’s with Jonathan. I don’t think he wanted to come.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dustin looks disappointed for a moment, but recovers quickly. He scampers off to where Lucas and Mike tread water, cannonballing in and leaving you alone with a very shirtless Steve. He still wore his grey swim trunks from earlier.

“You ever get that packaging off?” you inquire, your gaze trained on the kids as you shift your weight from foot to foot.

Steve attempts a weak laugh. “Yeah. I ended up using my own kitchen scissors. Half of ‘em were already popped, though.”

“You’re terrible,” you say, swatting at his arm. “It’s ‘cause you were trying to tear that poor packaging off like you were a wild animal!”

“Uh-huh,” he says agreeably, “If my memory serves me, you were also trying to tear it apart for, like, 10 minutes.”

You click you tongue, shaking your head as you knock your shoulder with his. “It’s not about me right now.”

To your equal amounts of surprise and delight, a burst of hearty laughter bubbles from his chest. You’d realized he didn’t laugh like that all that much — he resolved to half-hearted scoffs and, if you were lucky, a brief, low chuckle that he’d often cover up with a fake cough — but nothing as exuberant or genuine as this.

“Steve,” you say, unable to help a smile of your own, “Steve, what’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he says, collapsing onto one of his loungers as he wipes the tears from his eyes. “I don’t know. You’re funny. Hey, you know what would be evil?”

“What?”

His laughter ceases into a stone-faced, serious expression. He points to the blue bucket with the water balloons, then to where Max’s ginger hair peeks out over the top of a lounger across the pool. She was sunbathing, you conclude, with Robin right next to her.

“That’s so evil. They’d never forgive you,” you tell him, your eyes widening at the prospect. “Wait, didn’t you say you thought I was Robin when you ambushed me?”

Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Not my idea. Blame it on that little shit,” he says as he lifts his arm to point at Dustin, who was standing in the shallow end and shouting obscenities at Mike and Lucas. “He was like, ‘you know what would be a super terrible thing to do?’ I tried to stop him, I really did.”

“You’re an awful liar.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re as guilty as he is.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t partake. I said I tried my hardest to stop him, but that shithead is as stubborn as a mule.” He only shrugs good-naturedly. “So?”

“Uh, no way, Steve. No way will I take advantage of those poor girls’ vulnerable states.”

“Okay. I will,” he says, standing up from the lounge chair and beelining towards the blue bucket.

You feel a sort of obligation to save Robin and Max from their impending doom, so you trail behind Steve as quietly as you can. When he gets close to the edge of the pool with water balloons in hand, you give him as hard a shove as you can muster.

He falls in with a loud yelp, sending a tidal wave of water at you and completely drenching your swimsuit — you hadn’t set foot in the pool and you were already soaked.

“You asshole!” shouts Steve as he resurfaces and treads water, spitting a spray at you. “What was that for?!”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaim giddily, “I had to protect them!”

Suddenly, you feel a pair of cold hands on your back and before you’re able to turn around to see who they belong to, you’re falling into the pool just as Steve had a moment ago.

Your head pops up as you float next to him, wiping the chlorine water out of your eyes with an angry shriek. Like some sort of wet, swampy banshee in a bikini.

Dustin stands at the poolside with a triumphant grin plastered on hid face, his hands planted firmly on his hips like he’d won some sort of sick and twisted game.

“Fuck yeah, Henderson!” Steve shouts from beside you, pumping his fist in the air. “Nice one there!”

“Oh yeah? Nice one? What if I did this?” you press sourly, splashing Steve right in the face with a giant wave. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Steve, who had his mouth wide open in a wolfish grin, sputters and blinks the water away. “Oh, you’re in for it now,” he says solemnly before propelling himself through the water, heading straight for you.

He captures you almost instantly — you had no time to make a speedy getaway before his arms were encircling your waist and pulling you flush to his bare chest. You can feel his heart racing.

Then, after a tense moment of silence, “Steve,” you say quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck because, after all, he was what was keeping you afloat in the deep end. “If you want to kiss me, do it now.”

“Huh?”

“I said, if you want to-”

He saves you the embarrassment of repeating yourself with a quick brush of his lips to your own, then, when you don’t recoil, he goes in for another. You can vaguely hear Dustin making dramatic gagging sounds and Robin cheering you on, but in that moment, it was only the two of you, your heart on fire and burning hot and bright like the sun.

masterlist thank you for reading ♡

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction

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