P. W R I T E S

W E L C O M E

↳ she/her + eighteen

↳ requests always open

↳ all my work is off the dome [stop ai, save the environment]

M A S T E R L I S T

steve harrington

↳ evil spy

↳ after hours

↳ school's out

↳ neon lights

↳ the (almost) vanishing

↳ needed you

↳ curly girl

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Steve's obsessed with your curly hair.

WHAT TO EXPECT: 18+, mdni, allusions smut, suggestive content, hair kink lwk, established relationship, no use of Y/n

A/N: this one goes out to my curly girls! LOVE YA

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

The morning light filtered through the blinds feeling warm against your skin as you slowly drifted back to consciousness. Your body was pleasantly sore, serving as a lingering reminder of what you and Steve did last night. The familiar and comfortable scent of him surrounded you, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you.

You rolled over to face his dresser full of little league baseball trophies, your eyes adjusting to the bright morning spilling across the room and reflecting the gold plating. Steve’s childhood bedroom remained unchanged, save for the shelf of stuffed animals you made him put back up when you first came over. The plaid wallpaper that his mom had insisted on decades ago still covered the walls, now faded with time but still charming, just like your boyfriend.

Your mind drifted back to last night, to the way Steve had been so gentle with you. You were pinned beneath him as his hips moved in a steady rhythm that made your fingers curl into his shoulders, your nails digging crescent moons into the muscle there as he whispered your name against your throat. The way he looked at you with those brown eyes blown wide and dark and how his hair fell across his forehead so perfectly made you crazy for more of him. Steve had taken his time, mapping every inch of you with his mouth and his hands, learning what made you gasp and what made you moan his name, or even beg. 

But more than anything, you remembered his obsession with your hair. 

It had started innocently enough when he threaded his fingers through your curls while you kissed, tangling in the strands as he lowered you onto his bed. But then he had paused entirely, eliciting a whine from you until he gathered a fistful of your hair and watched the way it caught in the dim lamplight, spilling like liquid from his fingers. Steve had buried his face into your mass of curls, inhaling deeply against your scalp, his voice muffled and reverent when he murmured, “God, I love your hair. I think about it all the time…when you’re not around, when I’m at work, when I’m trying to focus on literally anything else.”

Steve had wrapped your curls around his hand like a lifeline, using the gentlest pressure to tilt you head back, exposing your throat to his mouth while his other hand gripped your hip to rub circles on your hipbone. Every time he thrusted into you, he seemed to need to adjust his hold, whether it was twirling a ringlet around his finger while he watched you fall apart beneath him, or running his fingers through it after when you were both sweat-slicked and breathless. You had been passed out on his chest and his touch remained tender, separating the tangled and clumped up curls with more patience than he showed for anything in his life.

Before you could sink too deeply into the memory, the mattress shifted violently behind you. Steve’s arm locked around your waist with a sudden and startling strength, and with a practiced ease that made you yelp in surprise, he rolled, dragging you with him until you were sprawled across his chest. Your legs tangled with his and your hands braced against his bare shoulders. 

You burst out giggling, the sound bright and startled in the quiet morning. Your hair spilled forward, catching the sunlight streaming through the blinds. It fell around both your faces like a curtain, sealing you into a private world that smelled of his masculine shampoo and body wash you had used. 

“Morning,” he rumbled, his voice gravely and impossibly deep, his eyes blinking open slowly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His hands found your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles against your sleep-warmed skin under the fabric of his old t-shirt you’d stolen sometime during the night.

You leaned forward, pecking his nose, and your hair shifted with the movement, falling in a thick veil that framed your face. The morning sun caught the individual ringlets, illuminating them from behind so they had a divine glow. 

Steve’s breath caught audibly as he stared up at his gorgeous girlfriend, fixated on the way the light filtered through your hair. His hands slid up from your waist to thread into the strands at your temples with a gentleness that made you want to sob. 

“Look at you,” he whispered, almost to himself, his fingertips gingerly combing through the sections nearest your face, spreading the curls wider so the sun could catch more of them. “Look at how the light…God.” Steve couldn’t even bring himself to formulate a whole sentence, too taken aback by your beauty.

You felt your cheeks warm. He was completely entranced and mesmerized by the way your hair curled around his fingers, the way it bounced back into place when he stretched a coil between his thumb and forefinger only to release it.

“How does it do that,” he murmured, his voice thick with wonder. “How does it curl so perfectly? Like little spirals, or tornadoes, or…or curly fries.”

You scoffed, slapping him playfully on his bare chest. “Curly fries, seriously, Steve?”

“I have a way with words, what can I say?” He boasted like it was the sexiest thing he could’ve said in the moment. Steve shook his head, at a loss for words, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “Okay, I was just joking. You’re killing me. You know that?”

“I didn’t know my curls could kill,” you giggled. “You'll have to blame my genetics.”

Steve’s hands moved deeper into your hair until his palms cradled the back of your skull. “So soft,” he breathed, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Smells like my shampoo.”

“I used it last night,” you whisper, tracing his plush lips with your thumb. 

“Driving me crazy, sweetheart.”

He shifted beneath you, his hips rolling upward so you could feel him against your abdomen. You moaned softly at the thought of just spending the whole day in bed with Steve. His right hand slid down from your hair to the nape of your neck, his palm warm and broad and possessive against your skin.

“Pretty girl,” he whispered, the sleepy softness in his eyes burning away into something hungrier. Applying the lightest bit of pressure, Steve guided you down the last few inches until his mouth crashed against yours. 

Unlike the gentle exploration of last night, this kiss was desperate, almost like Steve had been starving. His lips parted yours with a sweep of his tongue that made your thighs tighten, his hand still firm against your neck to angle your head exactly where he wanted you. You could feel the rumble of his groan against your lips, the way he kissed you like he was drowning and you were air.

The sun warmed your back through the thin cotton, but Steve was burning beneath you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged breaths, his mouth hot and demanding and devastatingly skilled as he claimed you through a kiss. 

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Where a rough day at your summer job leaves you broken and needing the one person who can make you feel better. WHAT TO EXPECT: 18+, workplace misogyny, emotional degradation, swearing, hurt/comfort, established relationship, suggestive themes, fluff, no use of Y/n

A/N: me writing this knowing i have to wake up in three hours for my internship (i love my internship, it is so much fun and not like anything i describe in this)

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

The summer air in Hawkins sat heavy and humid, but the air conditioning at Hoffman & Associates Law Firm was arctic and merciless, just like everyone who worked there. You’re eighteen, technically an adult, but the associates treat you like a malfunctioning appliance with tits, only there to fetch their breakfast, fetch their lunch, file their ancient case documents from 1963, and smile when they call you “sweetie” or “hon” or “the girl” instead of your actual name. You’d been there since seven that morning, blistering in heels and a pencil skirt your mother insisted looked “professional,” and in nine hours you’d learned exactly nothing about law except that men like Calvin Hoffman will look at your chest while criticizing your turtleneck for being “distracting,” and that Diane at reception will delete your phone messages just to tell the partners you never called them back.

You were supposed to be shadowing a junior attorney. You were supposed to be learning interrogatories and brief formatting. Instead, you spent six hours as a delivery service, paid for parking out of your own $5.50-an-hour paycheck, and ate a granola bar in the supply closet while listening to them laugh about your ditzy demeanor through the walls.

You were the new hire and needed the letter of recommendation. So you swallowed all the rage and humiliation like pushing down a pill for the first time. You had a bone-deep certainty that your parents were wrong about this “opportunity” but terrifyingly right about the real world waiting for you. 

By 5:30pm, you were in your car, driving on autopilot to the only person that could cheer you up: Steve Harrington.

The Starcourt Mall was busy for a Monday, but not swarming like the weekends, which is good because you couldn’t handle seeing anyone from Hawkins High right now. You walked past clusters of teenagers in crop tops and jean shorts, tan and carefree with shopping bags dangling from their arms and laughter spilling out of them like you used to spill laughter, back when you were one of them, back when summers meant the quarry and sneaking around with Steve and freedom.

Now you felt like a child in your mom’s clothes and a pig in lipstick, sweating through a blazer and blisters bleeding into your heels. You just wanted one last summer with Steve before college pulled you hundreds of miles away from him.

The nautical brightness of Scoops Ahoy hit you like a physical force after eight hours of beige walls and fluorescent hum. You blink against the glare, eyes watering as you step inside, already tasting the two scoops of vanilla ice cream with lots and lots of sprinkles. It had been something you ordered since you were six, back when the world was simple and you were free and unemployed. 

You didn’t know if the ice cream would cheer you up or just make everything worse, now. It was a sugary reminder of everything you lost to childhood memories. 

Steve was wiping down the counter with a rag in his ridiculously adorable sailor uniform. He looked up the instant you walked in like he’d been waiting for you, like some part of him always knew when you’re near. His face broke into that goofy grin, the one that still makes your stomach flip even after three months, and he tossed his sailor hat to the side without looking.

It hit his coworker Robin square in the back of the head. “What the hell, dingus!” She turned to see you and her irritation melted into something soft and knowing. She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Of course,” and busied herself with washing scoopers in the sink.

Steve doesn't say anything as he turns to the freezer, already scooping, because you’ve been here enough times that he knows; two scoops, vanilla, rainbow sprinkles, extra cherries you didn’t ask for but he gives you anyway. He sets the cup on the counter and finally speaks, his voice dropping into that register he saves just for you, warm and intimate and so gentle it makes your throat tighten.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here today.”

“Get a room,” Robin chimes in, polishing the scoopers now. “Preferably not the break room, please! I can hear everything that goes on in there, y’know.”

“Ignore her,” Steve shakes his head, their silly banter bringing the slightest of smiles to your lips.

You reach for your purse. Your hands were shaking in fine tremors you couldn't seem to control, adrenaline and exhaustion and the sudden, overwhelming safety of Steve colliding in your chest. You dig out crumpled bills and slide them across the counter, not trusting your voice yet.

Steve looks at the money, then at your face. He pushes it back with two fingers, shaking his head. “You know I hate when you do that.”

You gulp down a sob and slip the bills into the tip jar instead. Your hand lingers there, trembling against the glass. Steve stiffens.

You’re quieter than usual, too quiet. Steve’s gaze lingered. He may not be the brightest, but he wasn’t stupid. It was just a beat that lasted two or three seconds. His eyes scan your face, cataloging the slightly smudged mascara under your eyes, tension in your jaw, and the way your shoulders are hunched forward. He knows you’re uncomfortable in your blazer and skirt, and the heels are killing you. He notices the way your hands shake just resting on the counter. You couldn’t hide it from him if you tried. And you’re too tired to try.

His expression shifted, jaw tightening, something dark and protective flashing across his face.

“It was Calvin, wasn’t it?” he asks, and his voice has gone low, furious. “He was being a dick. Right?”

The question is rhetorical at this point. 

Steve comes around the counter in three long strides, not giving a single flying fuck about the customers waiting in line and motioning for Robin to take over. He reaches for your elbow and guides you toward the Employees Only door without a word. 

The metal chair is cold against your legs, but you barely feel it before Steve’s hands are gripping the underside of the seat to drag you across the linoleum floor until your knees knock against his. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay because he knows you’re not, and he doesn’t tell you to calm down because that would just make you angry (he learned the hard way). He just cups your face in both hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, grounding you with the warmth of his skin. 

The words tear out of you in jagged pieces, breath hitching and hiccupping, ugly-crying in a way you’d never let anyone else see. You tell him about Calvin looking at your chest while criticizing your turtleneck for being “distracting.” You tell him about Diane deleting your messages and telling the partners you never called back, about the folding table in the hallway next to the bathroom because they “didn’t want to rearrange the workflow” for a temp. You tell him about paying for parking that’s coming out of your paycheck, about the Thai food burning your wrists on the lunch run, about the note on your desk—”Next time, be faster”—like you’re a dog that needs training. You tell him about being called “sweetie” and “hon” and “the girl” all day by men who can’t remember your name but somehow never forget to look at your ass when you bend over to pick up their dry cleaning.

You tell him about the fear, the gnawing terror that this is it, that you’re going to spend your life being invisible and hyper-visible at the same time, too stupid to be taken seriously and too threatening to be allowed in the room.

And when you’re hollowed out, when you’re shaking so hard your teeth are chattering, you look at his face so close to yours, so worried and furious and soft all at once, and whisper the truth that’s been crushing you since May.

“I just needed you,” you sob, reaching for him, fisting your hands in his stupid sailor shirt. “I just needed to see you. I wish we could just enjoy this summer…I wish we could just be together before I have to leave you. I don’t want to spend our last months like this. I just want you.”

Steve makes a broken and desperate sound. His arms are around you, pulling you out of your chair and onto his lap like you weigh nothing. He cradles you against his chest, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles against your spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice vibrating against your cheek. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, baby.”

You tilt your head up, and he’s right there; close enough to count his thick eyelashes and freckles, close enough to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes swimming with tears he’s not letting fall.

“You are the smartest person I know,” he says, his thumb brushing over your trembling lower lip. “You are worth ten thousand Calvins–no, fuck Calvin. You’re worth this whole stupid town and more. I don’t care if I have to skip shifts, I don’t care if I have to drive to that firm and sit in the parking lot like a creep. We’re gonna have this summer. I promise you.”

He presses kisses to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your eye where tears keep spilling. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers against your damp skin, his hand tangling gently in your hair. “I’m so sorry they don’t see what I see. But I see you, and you’re incredible, and so much better than everyone in that stuffy office.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of freshly made waffle cones and the cologne you bought him a couple weeks ago. “I love you,” you mumble into his warm skin, your voice still raw from crying. 

Steve went still for half a heartbeat. You had never exchanged those words yet, but both of you had been thinking about it for a long time. Steve’s hand is cupping your jaw, gently tilting your face up to his. His eyes are darting back and forth between yours, looking for truth or deception. “Say it again,” he asks softly, begging, “Please.”

“I love you,” you whisper, and his mouth is on yours, desperate and consuming. This kiss isn’t the same as the sweet, careful kisses he’d given you in his car or on your porch, mindful of curfews and parents and propriety. This kiss was desperate and consuming, teeth clicking and breath mingling. His tongue slid against yours in a way that made your spine arch and fingers fist in his uniform to pull him impossibly closer.

Steve broke away only to drag his plush lips down your jaw to the column of your throat. “I love,” - a kiss to your pulsepoint - “love,” another at the corner of your mouth - “love you,” and then his lips are on yours again, stealing your breath and all your previous worries. “I love you.”

His hands slide down your back, spanning your waist and pulling you flush against him until you can feel every line of his chest and rapid beat of his heart. You gasp when his tongue traces your throat and he groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. His thumb brushes bare skin where your blouse has ridden up and you arch into him, wanting more. 

“Steve–” you breathe before he silences you with another kiss, one hand cradling your neck. 

“Hey!” Robin’s voice cuts through like a bucket of ice water being dumped on your head. “No babymaking in the back room, dinguses! This is a family establishment!”

You freeze, mortified, face burning against Steve’s throat. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, forehead dropped to your shoulder while his hands stay firmly planted on your waist, gripping as if he physically couldn’t let go of you.

“Robin,” he grits out, “I swear to God–”

“Save your swears for later, idiot. It’s rush hour and your girlfriend’s lipstick is all over your face and neck.” You hear the smirk in her voice. “Also, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” you ask, finally able to turn around and face Robin.

“Well, you’re both clearly not thinking straight and I am not prepared to be an aunt yet.”

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Where a horrifying encounter with a flower-faced creature leaves you injured and unexpectedly rescued by Steve Harrington.

WHAT TO EXPECT: graphic injury description (blood & gore); demogorgan attack and violence; panic, anxiety, and shock; hurt & comfort; fluff; non-canon; no use of Y/n

A/N: n/a xx

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

The summer night air was heavy and still, clinging to your skin like linen in the southern heat as you continued your usual post-dinner walk through the neighborhood. Your Walkman played softly in your ears, and you found yourself humming along to the rhythm of some Billy Joel song. Each footfall on the cracked pavement echoed in the oppressive silence of your neighborhood. It usually wasn’t like this, you thought. Dogs barked behind the fences, kids rode their bikes, and laughter from backyard barbecues were some of the sounds you’d often hear at this hour. The streetlights hummed, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe just at the edge of your vision. You picked up your pace, a prickle of unease crawling up your spine. Usually late night runs would calm you down, but a primal instinct screamed that you were being watched.

You slid the headphones from your ears, letting them rest around your neck as the muffled music continued to play.You risked a glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Just the empty street and the dark windows of sleeping houses. It was entirely possible that you were just paranoid from the horror movie your friend made you watch the other day. But the feeling intensified, a palpable pressure that made the air feel thick and hard to breathe. Your heart began to hammer against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet night.

Then, a squelch and a gurgle.

Not from the street. It came from the side, from the dense line of trees that marked the edge of the woods bordering your neighborhood. A wet, rhythmic tearing sound, like thick fabric being slowly ripped apart, accompanied by a low, guttural clicking that set your teeth on edge. You stopped dead, your head swiveling toward the dark treeline.

The shadows between the oaks seemed to deepen, to coalesce. A shape detached itself from the darkness, stumbling out into the dim glow of a distant streetlight. It was tall and lanky, moving with a gait that was both clumsy and unnervingly purposeful. Your breath caught in your throat. It looked like a person, but wrong. Its skin was a sickly, pale pink, glistening with a wet, oily sheen under the faint light.

It took another step, fully emerging from the woods, and the sight of it sent a bolt of pure, undiluted terror through your system. Its head was a horror that your mind couldn't immediately process. It was a flower. A grotesque, fleshy blossom of layered petals that pulsed and quivered, centered around a dark, gaping opening lined with sharp teeth. A low, guttural hiss emanated from that abyssal maw as the petals unfurled slightly, as if tasting the air.

Your brain finally caught up with your legs. You turned to run, but you weren't fast enough. The creature lunged towards you with an unnatural, fluid grace. Like it attacked many times before. It wrapped around your ankle with the speed of a striking viper. The contact was cold and impossibly strong, the surface rough and abrasive against your skin.

You heard your bones crunch before you even registered the pain. A sickening, wet snap that reverberated up your entire leg. An agonizing scream was torn from your lungs as the skin and muscle gave way, the creature's grip tightening like a vise. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of blinding pain and terror. You were being dragged, your body scraping across the rough pavement, toward the waiting horror. The flower-face pulsed with eager anticipation.

The creature hauled you toward the old oak tree at the edge of the woods. At its base, the gnarled roots had parted to reveal a fissure that glowed with a sick, pulsating red light, like exposed muscle tissue. The air around it shimmered with an unnatural iciness, and the guttural clicking from the monster intensified into a gurgling growl.

Panic, pure and undiluted, flooded your veins. Your heart hammered against your ribs with such ferocity you could feel it in your teeth, the frantic thrumming drowning out everything else. You were screaming, you knew you were screaming, but the sound was distant, muffled by the roaring of blood in your own ears. Your mind refused to process the impossible sight before you. Tree. Portal. Monster. The words were meaningless fragments in the face of this overwhelming, primal terror.

Just as your head was about to cross the threshold into that crimson void, a surge of desperate, animalistic adrenaline shot through your system. Your flailing hand, slick with sweat and grime, slammed against the rough bark of a thick, exposed root. Your fingers dug in, nails splintering against the wood. It was your only anchor in a world gone mad. With a guttural cry that was more animal than human, you pulled with every ounce of strength you possessed.

The creature's grip on your ankle was like iron, but the sudden, violent resistance caught it off guard. You felt a sickening, wet tearing sound as flesh and muscle gave way. For a horrifying moment, you thought your foot would remain in its grasp, but with a final, agonizing wrench, you ripped free. You didn't run; you scrambled backward on your hands and one good leg, dragging yourself away from the tree, your vision blurred by tears. You collapsed onto the pavement of the street, turning just in time to see the red fissure shrink and vanish, the roots of the oak settling back into the earth as if nothing had ever happened. The tree looked normal now.

The adrenaline began to fade, and the pain arrived. It crashed over you like a tidal wave, a white-hot tsunami of pure agony that started at your left ankle and consumed your entire body. You couldn't stop the scream this time, a raw, ragged sound of pure suffering that tore at your throat. You looked down, and the sight almost made you pass out.

Your ankle wasn't just injured; it was destroyed. The skin and muscle looked as if it had gone through the shredder. Blood dripped from the horrific wound, a steady, scarlet river started to pool on the asphalt beneath you. Every beat of your heart sent a fresh, searing wave of agony through the mangled limb, a sickening, rhythmic torture that made your vision swim and your stomach churn. 

The world was a dizzying haze of pain and confusion. The normalcy of the silent street was a cruel joke after the horror you'd just escaped. You were vaguely aware of the distant sound of an engine, a low hum that grew steadily louder, but it was an abstract noise, unable to compete with the roaring in your ears and the symphony of agony from your ankle.

Then, the roar of the engine became a screech of tires. A pair of blinding headlights flooded your vision, growing impossibly large and fast. The squeal of rubber on asphalt cut through the fog in your mind, a sound so violent and close it made you flinch. The car stopped with a final, shuddering lurch, its bumper just feet from your head.

You were laying in the middle of the road, a tangled mess of limbs and terror. Blood from the scrapes on your arms and legs mingled with the much more copious, terrifying flow from your ruined ankle, creating a dark, sticky halo around you on the pavement. You were awake, but your thoughts were scattered, like leaves in a windstorm. Scared, disoriented, and so very confused. A part of you wondered if you were already dead, if this was some bizarre afterlife.

“Holy fucking shit.” A car door slammed, and footsteps hurried toward you. A figure crouched down, blocking out the streetlight, and you blinked, trying to focus your swimming vision. It was a boy. His face was etched with concern, his brown eyes wide as they took in the state of you. "Hey," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Hey, are you okay? Don't move."

“I…I don’t really think s-so,” you barely managed, staring up at the spinning stars.

“Shh, shh, I shouldn’t have asked that,” the boy shook his head. “Steve’s got you, don’t worry. I got you.”

“Steve,” you breathed his name.

“Yeah, Steve from school, remember?”

“Huh?” Your head lolled to the side, the warm pavement kissing your cheek. “I’m so confused.”

“I know, I know, just let me take care of you.” His hands were gentle as they hovered over you, unsure where to touch without causing more pain. He carefully shifted your weight, sliding one arm under your shoulders and the other behind your knees. "I've got you," he murmured, and then you were being lifted. The movement sent a fresh, blinding wave of agony from your ankle, and you cried out, a weak, broken sound.

He froze for a second, his grip tightening slightly to steady you. "Sorry, sorry. Just hang on." As he carried you toward the still-running car, he glanced down at your leg, and his breath hitched. "Jesus," he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of shock and something that sounded suspiciously like familiarity. He realized then, with absolute certainty, that you were not okay, that you couldn't walk, that this was far beyond a simple fall.

He opened the passenger door and carefully set you down on the seat, his movements practiced and sure. He leaned across you to grab the seatbelt, his arm brushing against yours as he clicked it into place. "There you go," he said softly, his eyes scanning your face again. "Just breathe. You're safe now."

And in that moment, the fog in your head parted just enough for recognition to dawn. The hair, the jawline, the puppy dog eyes. It was Steve Harrington. King Steve. You'd seen him a thousand times in the hallways at school, surrounded by his stuck-up friends, a world away from your own. You'd harbored a small, pathetic crush on him from a distance, but you'd never spoken a word to him. And now here he was, buckling you into his car while your blood soaked his upholstery.

A fresh wave of mortification washed over you, hot and sharp, even through the pain. "I'm…I'm so sorry," you stammered, your voice trembling as you gestured weakly at your ankle. A fresh trickle of blood escaped the makeshift tourniquet of your torn pant leg, dripping onto the pristine floor mat. "Your car..."

Steve just shook his head, his expression firm as he slammed your door shut and hurried around to the driver's side. He slid in, turning to face you, his eyes serious and intense. "That's the last thing I'm worried about," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He put the car in drive, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. 

He drove with a focused intensity, one hand occasionally leaving the wheel to squeeze your shoulder, a silent promise that you weren't alone. Then, with a sudden lurch, the red BMW haphazardly mounted a curb, coming to a stop in a perfect, suburban driveway. "We're here," he said, his voice tight with urgency.

Before you could process it, he was out of the car, slamming his door and rounding the hood to yours. He opened your door with care, his movements a stark contrast to the frantic parking job. "Easy now," he murmured, sliding one arm under your knees and another behind your back. He lifted you again, and this time, the world tilted as he bolted up the flagstone walkway to his front door. He fumbled with his keys for a second before unlocking it, then he was moving again, taking the stairs two at a time. You felt the jarring impact of each step, but he held you tight against his chest, whispering reassuring words into your ear, a steady stream of "I've got you," and "Almost there," that did more to calm your frayed nerves than any painkiller could.

He burst into a bathroom at the end of the hall, flipping on the light with his elbow. He set you down gently on the cool countertop, the sudden stillness a shock to your system. The adrenaline that had been propelling you finally evaporated, and in its place, the full weight of the night crashed down. The monster. The portal. The pain. The impossible reality of it all. You saw your reflection in the mirror, smeared with dirt and tears, your leg a mangled, bloody horror. A sob escaped your lips, then another, until you were shaking silently, tears carving clean paths through the grime on your cheeks.

Steve didn't say a word. He just reached up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear before it could fall. Then, with a focus that was almost clinical, he carefully lifted your ruined ankle, resting it on a clean towel he'd laid out on the counter. The sight of it, so stark and brutal under the bright bathroom lights, made another sob wrench itself from your throat. You covered your eyes with your hand, unable to look, unable to bear the evidence of what had happened.

"Hey, look at me," he said softly. When you didn't, he continued, his voice calm and steady. "It doesn't look as bad as it feels. I promise." You heard the sound of running water, then the gentle patting of a washcloth as he began to carefully clean the blood and dirt away. "We'll just get this cleaned up, wrap it tight, and you'll feel better." You wanted to believe him. Oh, how you wanted to believe him. So you did. You let his words wash over you, a balm against the terror, and focused on the gentle, methodical way he was taking care of you, as if you were the most important thing in the world.

The sting of the alcohol was a fire that shot through your entire body, a fresh, sharp agony that made you gasp and flinch violently. Your eyes shot open, and without thinking, your arms shot out, clinging to the solid warmth of his shoulders. Your fingers dug into the fabric of his jacket, holding on for dear life.

"I'm sorry, I know, I know," he whispered, his voice strained with a pained sympathy that was almost worse than the physical hurt. He didn't pull away. Instead, he held the pad steady, his other hand coming up to rest firmly on your back, a grounding pressure as he finished cleaning the raw, exposed wounds. His movements were efficient and sure, and soon he was wrapping your ankle in thick layers of gauze, the pressure a welcome, dulling comfort. "There," he said, his voice softer now. "That should hold until we can get you to a hospital tomorrow."

He finally looked up from his work, and his expression faltered. He saw the silent tears still tracking down your face, the trembling of your lower lip. All the clinical focus drained away, replaced by that raw, earnest concern. "Hey... hey, come here." Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, carefully maneuvering around your injured leg. You collapsed against him, your face buried in the warm, worn denim of his jacket over his chest. The smell of his cologne, clean and masculine and so undeniably Steve, filled your senses, and the dam finally broke. You sobbed, great, wracking, body-shaking sobs that you'd been holding back since the moment you saw that flower-face unfurl.

He just held you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, the other cradling the back of your head. "It's okay," he murmured into your hair. "You're okay. You're safe now. I've got you." He held you through the storm, a silent, steady anchor in the chaos of your mind.

Eventually, the violent shudders subsided, replaced by the occasional, stuttering breath. He felt the change in your body, the way your grip on his shoulders loosened just slightly, though you didn't let go. You felt safer here, in his arms, than you had all night. You had to tell him. You had to say it out loud, to make it real, to see if he'd look at you like you were insane.

"It was..." you started, your voice muffled by his chest. You took a shaky breath and pulled back just enough to look at him, though you couldn't quite meet his eyes. "There was a thing. A creature."

He just listened, his expression unreadable but patient.

"It was in the woods. It looked…human, but not. It was slimy, and its head..." You swallowed hard, the image seared into your eyelids. "It was a flower. A flower face. And it had teeth. Razor sharp teeth." You rushed the words out, a desperate, jumbled torrent. You looked up at him then, your eyes wide and pleading. "I know how it sounds. I know I lost a lot of blood, but I'm not making it up. I'm not crazy. I saw it."

His thumb brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. "I believe you," he said, his voice low and certain, cutting through your frantic plea. "You're not crazy." The simple declaration was a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of your own disbelief. His hand lingered, caressing the side of your face, and you felt the last of your resistance melt away. You leaned into his touch, your body going slack against his, a profound sense of relief washing over you so completely it almost hurt.

A choked, watery laugh escaped your lips. "I can't believe this," you murmured, the sound barely more than a breath against his chest. "Out of everyone…King Steve is the one comforting me." The nickname felt absurd now. "We're basically strangers."

"Strangers?" he questioned, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He shifted slightly, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "We've gone to the same school for years. I've seen you in the hallways, with your perfectly styled hair and perfectly styled outfits." He paused, his gaze softening as he remembered. "I've seen you in the library during free period, tucked away in that corner by the windows, always with some worn-out classic. Last week it was 'Wuthering Heights.' I see you at the movies with your friends, how you always get the popcorn with extra butter, even when your friends tell you not to." He looked down, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sorry, I sound like a creep. I just…wasn't sure if you ever noticed me back."

Your vision swam, the edges blurring into a soft, hazy focus. You told yourself it was the blood loss, the shock, the exhaustion. It couldn't possibly be the way his confession was making your heart flutter erratically in your chest. "Of course I noticed you, Steve," you breathed out, the words feeling heavy and important. Your head lolled against his shoulder, the last of your strength finally giving out.

He seemed to feel the change in you, the way your body became boneless and pliant. He tightened his hold, his voice soft but firm. "Alright, that's enough for tonight," he decided. "Time to get you to bed." He shifted, preparing to lift you again, his mind already made up. You were staying here, with him.

Steve carried you from the bathroom, down the hall, and into a darkened room, his movements careful and steady. The soft give of a mattress beneath you was a welcome relief, and you sighed as he pulled the cool, clean sheets up to your chin, tucking you in like a child. You blinked up at him, your vision hazy in the dim light from the hallway. He crouched beside the bed, his silhouette a comforting shadow against the wall. Leaning in, he pressed a soft, warm kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it made your heart ache.

"Good night," he whispered, his voice a low rumble.

He stood to leave, and a spike of pure panic, cold and sharp, shot through you. You couldn't be alone. Not tonight. Your hand shot out from under the covers, your fingers wrapping weakly around his wrist. "Stay," you mumbled, the word slurred with exhaustion. "Please…stay with me."

He hesitated for only a second before nodding, his expression softening in the gloom. He rounded the bed and slipped under the covers on the other side, keeping a careful, respectful distance between you. The mattress dipped with his weight, a solid, grounding presence. But it wasn't enough. You needed more. You needed the reassurance of his warmth, the proof that he was real and you were safe.

With a soft groan, you rolled over, the movement sending a dull throb through your bandaged ankle. You snaked your arm across his torso, seeking his heat, and rested your head on the solid plane of his chest. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your ear was the most comforting sound you had ever heard.

He froze for a moment, then his arm came around you, gently pulling you closer until you were nestled securely against him. You snuggled in, a contented sigh escaping your lips as the last of the tension finally drained from your body, replaced by a profound sense of safety.

Steve stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the faint shadows cast by the moonlight through the window. He listened to the sound of your breathing, now deep and even, a sign that you had finally succumbed to sleep. All he could think about was your terrified confession, the raw fear in your voice as you described the flower-faced monster. He knew exactly what you were talking about. The Demogorgon. The Upside Down. He thought it was over, that he and his friends had finally closed the door on that nightmare for good.

PAIRING: frat!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Where you crash a neon frat party with your sorority sister, get swept out of the mosh pit by Steve Harrington, and a heated moment on the stairwell leaves you breathless. 

WHAT TO EXPECT: 18+, frat/college party, alcohol consumption, intoxication, brief crowd aggression, fighting, brief anxiety, swearing, suggestive themes, sorority friend (friend’s name - F/n), FAKE SORORITY/FRAT NAMES

A/N: this is based off of a (slightly) true story… hehe

WORD COUNT: 7.1k (i reached flow state)

ChiSig’s frat house glowed like it had been dunked in highlighter ink. Even from halfway down the block you could see it. The windows blazed different colors every few seconds, neon streamers tangled through the porch railings and the nearby trees, bodies moved in every doorway. The bass traveled through the pavement and up your bare legs, a steady thump-thump-thump that matched the buzz already humming under your skin. 

You and your sorority sister, F/n, didn’t even make it to the front steps before you started laughing in a drunken haze. They were messy, breathless giggles that came from cheap drinks and pushing through people to get to the front. And also running up the hill to the frat house from the pregame. 

“This is fucking insane,” she cursed, grabbing your arm and shoving a guy to the side to make it to the entrance of the barricade. A group of brothers stood before you, arms crossed and smirks written all over their smug and entitled faces. 

A guy with a pristine white polo and khaki slacks tilted his head to the side like a puppy. “You ladies got a bid?”

“Oh, yeah-yes.” You scramble to pull out the orange wristbands your social chair gave you, scolding yourself for not having put them on at the pre so this wouldn’t be an issue. The brother scoffed and F/n snapped back at him with a glare.

“We are in KPhi , y’know.” She arched a testing brow and you both watched his ego slowly deflate as he moved the barricade to the side to let you in. F/n laced her hand in yours and pulled you up the front stairs.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. Black lights lined the ceilings, turning white shirts violet and teeth blinding. Every surface pulsed with color. It felt less like a house party and more like you’d stepped inside a rave stuffed into a suburban living room. In another room, a long wooden table had been set up with trays of body paint. Thick, glossy puddles of orange, green, pink, and yellow were displayed before the rowdy crowd acting like a bunch of kids fighting over art supplies. 

Your friend gasped. “Oh my god, Y/n, look.” She pointed at the pink paint. “We have to.”

“Immediately!” You screamed over the booming music. You unapologetically shoved your way in, elbows knocking against strangers, and dipped both hands straight into a tray of hot pink. The paint was cold and slippery between your fingers, neon enough that it almost hurt to look at. 

F/n narrowed her eyes at you. “Don’t you dare—”

You smacked both of your paint-covered hands against her thighs. Two perfect glowing handprints bloomed against her skin. She shrieked so loudly that someone managed to turn and hear it over the blasting music. 

“YOU LITTLE—”

Before you could run, her hands were already coated in the same electric pink. She grabbed your waist and dragged her palms up your sides, leaving streaks across your ribs, and finally planting her handprints on your breasts. You yelped in surprise before both dissolving into laughter. It quickly turned into war with the weapons being neon paint. Handprints and smears were on almost every limb, and by the time you stepped back to look at each other, you were practically glowing. 

“You look feral,” she yelled over the blasting music. 

“No, you look feral,” you replied, not being able to come up with anything better in your state as you took in the smear marks you left across your friend’s cheekbones. “WILD!”

“Hot wild?” She applied more shiny red lip gloss and handed it over for you to use. You gladly accepted, smearing the sticky substance over your lips and handed it back.

“Obviously,” you smack your lips and fluff your hair a little extra. “C’mon, I wanna dance!”

“Let’s find you a pledge!” F/n shrieked in excitement. Finding a guy at every party for you was one of her favorite extracurriculars. “I heard this pledge class is really hot!”

“Twist my arm!” You feigned an annoyed groan, already letting her drag you by the wrist anyway. “Five minutes in and you’re already pimping me out.”

“It’s called networking,” she corrected seriously, then immediately dissolved into giggles.

The second you stepped fully into the furniture-less space that could be considered a living room, the music swallowed you whole. “Girls on Film” by Duran Duran was so loud it felt physical. The bass thumped through the floorboards and straight up your paint-covered thighs, vibrating in your chest like a second heartbeat. The air was thick and humid, heavy with sweat and perfume and cheap vodka. And it was most definitely expanding the volume of your hair. 

F/n didn’t hesitate and dove straight into the crowd, pulling you behind her like you were crossing a busy street. Bodies, with shirts and some without, pressed in from every side immediately. Shoulders bumped yours, hands brushed your waist, someone’s hair even stuck to your lip gloss for half a second before they disappeared again. It was utterly suffocating, but in that intoxicating way where you didn’t want space. You wanted to be swallowed by it. You would have found this situation gross if you hadn’t taken three shots before.

You lifted your hands above your head and just let yourself move. There was no method to your madness as you jumped, swayed, laughed, and ran your hands through your hair. Your hips knocked into your friend’s as she spun clumsily.

“You look gorgeous,” you slurred, clamping F/n’s shoulders in your palms as you admired her in your drunken daze. 

“N-no,” she swayed, “you are more beautiful.” F/n was definitely way more intoxicated than you. The chorus of the song picked up and suddenly the entire room jumped at once, the floor shaking like it might give out.

You shrieked, half startled and half thrilled.

“THIS IS MY SONG!” F/n screamed, even though you were pretty sure she’d said that about three songs ago.

“You say that about everything!”

“BECAUSE THEY’RE ALL MY SONGS!”

She grabbed your hands and you both started jumping in place, screaming the lyrics even though neither of you knew more than the chorus. You nearly collided with a guy twice your size and he just laughed and spun you back toward your friend like you weighed nothing. The alcohol buzzed pleasantly behind your eyes, softening everything around the edges. The lights blurred and the music resonated with every bone and nerve in your body. You felt warmer, and not just from the amount of bodies pressed closely. You both got shoved into a mini mosh pit near the DJ booth and just accepted it, knowing there was no way you could physically push yourselves out. 

You bounced into strangers, got pushed around, and almost fell three times. Someone accidentally elbowed your side aggressively, but you didn’t have it in you to be pressed. You were laughing too hard.

“BEST NIGHT EVER,” your friend yelled into your ear.

“BEST NIGHT EVER,” you echoed.

At some point the dancing stopped feeling like dancing and started feeling like survival. The mosh pit had grown without either of you realizing it, and what started as a loose circle had turned into a full-blown crush of bodies, shoulders knocking into ribs, drinks sloshing everywhere, and shoes sticking to the floor. Every time the bass dropped, the entire group surged forward like a wave.

Someone crashed into your back and sent you stumbling forward. Your friend caught you by the forearms before you face-planted, and both of you just clung to each other. “WHAT THE HELL—” you gasped, being smushed into F/n by a shirtless frat guy. A guy twice your size barreled past and clipped your shoulder hard enough to spin you around. For half a second you lost your balance, the room tilting, lights streaking purple and blue overhead. Your heart jumped into your throat before you managed to right yourself. Not knowing how else to ease the situation, you began to laugh because everything felt so ridiculous and dramatic.

Your skin carried a light sheen of sweat and you prayed your makeup wasn’t completely gone. 

A guiding and steady hand wrapped firmly around your upper arm before you followed the swell of the mosh. 

“Hey! Hey— you two are gonna get crushed in there!”

You blinked, disoriented, and turned toward the male voice. Through the flashing lights and moving bodies, you saw your friend’s boyfriend shoving his way through the crowd like a determined golden retriever. He was flushed and sweaty, grin huge and crooked, clearly drunk out of his mind. He finally reached her and immediately looped an arm around her waist, tugging her protectively into his chest like he’d just rescued her from a burning building.

“Found you,” he said, kissing her cheek sloppily.

She squealed and smacked his chest. “We were fine!”

While they bickered, you realized you were still being held. That same steady hand on your arm slid down to your wrist, then your hand, fingers threading through yours naturally, like it was obvious you’d go with him. And you did without hesitation. He guided you backward out of the crowd just as another surge of bodies crashed forward, shielding you with his shoulder so no one knocked into you on the way out. The difference in the adjacent room was immediate. The air was slightly cooler and there was way more space.

You finally looked up at the tall man. He wasn’t just tall, but broad in an effortlessly masculine way. His shoulders stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt slightly, fabric clinging damply from sweat. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he wasn’t even winded from pushing through the crowd. He looked so grounded, like the opposite of the entire party and the opposite of you. You felt like you were still floating as your ears screamed bloody murder. 

His hair was a mess in the most devastating way. It was styled in thick brown waves that peeked under from a backwards cap, curling slightly at the ends from sweat and falling forward over his forehead. There were streaks of neon paint across him too. His corded biceps and forearms were streaked with bright green paint and blue handprints were scattered along his jeans.

You weren’t sure if you were hallucinating, but you were pretty sure the black lights made his skin glow and his smile brighter. It was soft and crooked. He was trying not to grin but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were planted on yours and didn’t bounce away like everyone else’s had all night. They stayed like you were the only thing not moving in the room. And you could feel yourself swaying on the heels of your feet. Your stomach did this weird little flip you couldn’t blame on the alcohol as you tried to pull yourself together. 

“Oh,” your friend’s boyfriend said, pointing lazily between you both. “This is Steve. He’s pledging with us. Harrington, this is—”

“Y/n,” you told Steve your name before he had the chance to finish. For some reason, you suddenly felt hyper-aware of everything. Was your hair frizzy? Was your makeup gone? Did you have any lipgloss on? And you were probably staring at him like a sweaty and obsessed maniac.

Steve repeated your name slowly like he was committing it to memory. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice not matching the party at all. It wasn’t loud or sloppy or slurred like everyone else’s. The warmth in Steve’s voice made you lean in closer without realizing. It made you feel safe for some odd reason, despite knowing him for a minute tops. 

You also realized that he was still holding your hand. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like he didn’t even notice he was doing it. Your face felt hot as you smiled shyly, smiling so hard your cheeks actually hurt.

You didn’t really remember deciding to go back. One second you were standing near the edge of the living room catching your breath, the cool air licking at your overheated skin, and the next the music shifted to a lower, heavier beat. Your friend gasped.

“Oh my god I love this song,” she said, already tugging her boyfriend back into the crowd. He followed willingly, stumbling a little, laughing into her hair. And then it was just you and Steve left standing there for half a second, the noise swelling around you again.

He glanced toward the dance floor then at you. “You good?” he asked, not pushing or assuming in the slightest. Steve sounded like he was just checking and he actually cared about the answer you were going to give him.

You nodded, still smiling. “Yeah. I wanna go back.”

His lips curved. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He held his hand out without even looking down, like he already knew you’d take it. And you did.

This time, the dance floor didn’t feel like the trenches on a battlefield anymore.

The DJ had switched to something bass-heavy and rhythmic instead of jumpy and chaotic. People were still moving and still packed together, but it wasn’t that violent shoving anymore. It was swaying, grinding, and bodies rolling with the beat instead of crashing into each other.

It felt more intimate.

Steve walked slightly ahead of you, still holding your hand behind him, gently pulling you through openings in the crowd like he’d done this a thousand times before. His shoulders parted people easily. He looked so confident that no one really argued with him when he guided you past.

And every time someone got a little too close, like when a hand drifted too near your waist, some drunk guy stumbling backward, or a shoulder about to knock into you, Steve’s palm would slide to your hip or your lower back and he’d smoothly shift you out of the way. He was effortless and protective without making a show of it. Like it was instinct, like it didn’t even occur to him not to.

At one point someone tried squeezing between you and him and his hand tightened around yours automatically, tugging you flush against his chest instead so you didn’t get separated.

“Sorry,” he muttered near your ear. But he didn’t sound sorry at all. Your heart skipped and you didn’t dare move away.

He kept one hand on your waist, which was loose and respectful. He was giving you room to step away if you wanted, but you didn’t. If anything, you stepped closer. Your hands found his shoulders and paint smeared faintly onto his shirt. The fabric was warm and damp from dancing and you felt the solid muscle flex underneath.

You started moving together without talking about it as your hips swayed to the beat. His thumb traced absent little circles against your side. You leaned in to talk, lips near his ear. “This is way better than getting trampled.”

“What?” he said, smiling, not hearing you over the obnoxiously loud music.

You laughed and leaned closer, practically chest to chest now. “I said this is better!”

“Oh— yeah. Way better,” he agreed, throwing a thumbs up. His hand slid a little more securely around your waist when someone brushed past behind you, pulling you instinctively closer so you wouldn’t get knocked forward. Your body fit against his stupidly well. The bass vibrated through both of you and you could feel it through his chest. Your hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck to steady yourself. Or maybe just because you wanted to touch him. Probably both.

“Where are you from?” You asked, leaning in even closer, your mouth accidentally brushing the side of his neck. Just barely but you felt the soft, warm skin. And you also felt him inhale sharply.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. “Sorry,” you breathed, but you didn’t actually move away.

His hand tightened at your waist. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’m from Hawkins, Indiana.” 

“Never heard of Hawkins before.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s pretty small.” You could feel his laugh against your cheek when you talked. Feel the rumble of his voice through his chest when he answered. Every time you leaned in, your lips grazed his skin or his jaw or the corner of his ear, and neither of you corrected it. If anything, he kept pulling you closer.

Dancing with Steve felt different. It wasn’t the drunk, flailing chaos you’d had with everyone else. It felt grounded, like even though the whole room was spinning and shouting and flashing neon lights, there was this tiny bubble carved out just for the two of you. The party slowed down every time he looked at you and every touch meant something. His hands weren’t wandering or careless like the other guys at parties sometimes were. He wasn’t grabbing or showing off. Steve simply held you like you were something worth protecting. And every time you laughed, he looked at you like you’d personally invented the concept of happiness. 

Your friend and her boyfriend were somewhere nearby dancing, you knew they were, but you couldn’t look away from him long enough to check. You couldn't focus on anything except the way his hands felt on your waist and the way he kept leaning down to hear you. The way he said your name like it mattered. Like it belonged to him already. You wanted to belong to him already.

Fuck, you were drunk but you were trying so hard to sober up for him. You didn’t want to seem like a drunk mess. 

Steve leaned down toward your ear again. “You want water or something?”

“What?” you laughed.

“WATER,” he tried again, louder.

Before you could answer, someone stumbled between you and shouted, “Yo— they’ve got pure fuel upstairs!”

Steve blinked. “What the hell is pure fuel?”

You grinned. “Probably something lethal.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You wanna investigate the lethal mystery drink?”

You pretended to think very seriously. “For science.”

“For science,” he echoed.

He held his hand out again and your heart did a little flip before you took it.

Getting out of the crowd this time felt easier, maybe because you knew how he moved now. Steve slipped through people like water as his hand stayed warm and steady around yours, thumb occasionally brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. Every time the crowd tightened, his palm slid to your waist. Every time someone stumbled too close, he shifted you behind him without even looking. It was so natural it almost made you dizzy.

The stairs were darker, quieter, the music muffled into a heavy thud through the walls instead of something that rattled your bones. The air felt cooler already and your ears rang from the sudden change.

You exhaled, laughing softly. “I think I lost hearing in my left ear.”

“Yeah?” he smiled. “Worth it?”

You looked at him.

Paint smeared across his throat. Hair falling into his eyes. That lazy, soft grin.

“Yeah,” you said.

Definitely worth it.

Halfway up the stairs, there was a small landing with an old window cracked open. Just enough so that the night air slipped through. It felt like heaven.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You both gravitated toward it at the same time, like magnets. Steve pushed it open a little more and cool air rushed in, washing over your overheated skin. It lifted your hair off your neck, cooled the sweat at your collarbones, and made you shiver in the best way. You leaned out first, forearms resting on the sill. The night outside was dark and quiet and normal. Crickets, distant streetlights, and someone laughing on the sidewalk invaded your senses. It felt so separate from the chaos inside that it almost didn’t seem real. Steve leaned beside you, close enough that your arms brushed and you could feel the heat still radiating off his skin.

“That’s insane,” you murmured. “It’s like a sauna in there.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Thought I was gonna pass out.”

You laughed. “You did save me from nearly dying earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“Mosh pit casualty. Would've been tragic.”

He bumped his shoulder gently into yours. “Couldn’t let that happen.” Something about the way he said it, half joking, half not, made your stomach twist. 

You started talking. Not yelling and not shouting half-sentences into each other’s ears. Where you were from. What you were studying. Dumb first semester stories. The worst classes you’d ever taken so far. The fact that he only joined the frat because his friend dragged him to rush and now he was accidentally pledging.

“I swear,” he said, “I didn’t even mean to. I just kept showing up places and suddenly they’re like ‘Congrats, you’re in.’”

You giggled. “That’s the most boy thing I’ve ever heard.” Every time you laughed, his eyes lit up like he’d won something. Like making you laugh was the goal.

You realized you weren’t leaning on the window anymore, you were leaning on him, and he wasn’t moving anytime soon. If anything, he kept inching closer like he was testing the space until your back brushed the wall of the landing. You didn’t exactly remember stepping back, but it was there. Cool plaster was against your shoulder blades and Steve was in front of you. He wasn’t trapping you, he was just close. Close enough that your knees almost touched his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin.

Your heart pounded at his proximity and without hesitating, you placed your fingertips on his jaw, accidentally marking his skin with neon pink paint. The color streaked across him in a soft swipe, bright and glowing under the faint purple light from downstairs. For a second, you just stared at it and then at Steve. At the way your hand looked there, small against the warm, solid line of his face. Steve didn’t pull away or break the moment. He leaned into it. He wanted you to keep touching him

Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone, half tracing the paint, half tracing him, and you felt the faint scratch of stubble under your skin. The detail grounded you and made you senses sharper and your surroundings slower all at once. The music downstairs thudded through the walls, distant and muffled now. 

Steve’s hands were still on your waist, thumbs resting in that soft spot above your hips like he’d memorized it already. You could feel the heat of his palms through the thin fabric of your top. He swallowed and you watched his Adam’s apple bob. 

“You’ve got paint,” you murmured, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

“Yeah?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. I think I might’ve gotten some pink paint on your face.”

He huffed a small laugh. “Guess I’m matching you now.” 

You smiled and your hand didn’t drop. Neither of you seemed capable of moving away. Steve’s eyes flicked between yours, searching carefully.

“Hey,” he said quietly. The word barely made it out.

You hummed. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for a second as if he was choosing his words.

“I don’t wanna—” He stopped, shook his head a little, smiling nervously. “I just… I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.”

Your heart squeezed. God, of course that’s what he was worried about. “I’m not,” you said immediately.

He searched your face again, like he needed to be absolutely sure. “You sure?” he asked, softer. “’Cause I can back up. I just—”

You slid your hand from his jaw to the back of his neck and gently pulled him closer. He stopped talking.

“I’m sure,” you whispered. Your foreheads almost touched now. You could feel his breath against your lips. Warm. A little shaky.

“You’re okay with this?” he murmured.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I want this.”

Relief melted his worried expression. “Okay,” he said quietly and carefully. His hand slid up slightly, cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing just under your cheekbone. The touch made your knees feel weak. You nearly stopped breathing. He leaned in slowly, slow enough that you could’ve changed your mind, slow enough that it felt like he was giving you every chance to step away.

You leaned forward, noses brushing clumsily but sweetly. You both laughed under your breath when his lips finally met yours. They were gentle and tentative, like he was testing something precious. It wasn’t a drunk-sloppy makeout like you’d unfortunately witnessed at a million of these parties. Instead, Steve was soft and warm and careful. He acted as if he was scared you might disappear if he pressed too hard. 

That initial, gentle contact was a spark, but it was the shift in his kiss that lit the fire. The careful pressure softened, then melted into something deeper as his lips parted yours with a tender insistence. His thumb, which had been stroking your cheek, stilled, and his other hand came up to rest on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The solid warmth of his chest against yours stole the air from your lungs in a way the first kiss hadn’t. You could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, a frantic rhythm that mirrored your own.

You tilted your head, deepening the angle, and a soft, breathy sigh escaped you. It was all the encouragement he needed. The hand on your back slid upward, his fingers splaying wide between your shoulder blades, holding you to him with an unmistakable possessiveness that sent a jolt straight through you. His kiss lost all its remaining hesitation. It became hungry, exploratory. He tasted like the cheap beer from the party but underneath it was something uniquely Steve, something warm and clean and addictive. Your own hands, which had been hanging limply around his neck, found their way into his hair. The strands were softer than you’d imagined, and you curled your fingers, gently tugging.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, a vibration you felt more than heard, and it was the most intoxicating sound you’d ever experienced. The world shrank to this small space, to the feeling of his body caging you in, his leg slotting between yours. The friction was maddening, a delicious pressure that made you arch into him, silently begging for more.

Steve broke the kiss, making you whine softly. “May I?”

“Please,” you begged, eyes still shut, already pulling his head back to yours. He began to trail his lips along your jawline. His breath was hot against your skin, ragged and uneven. 

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper that sent shivers down your spine. He nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, a silent offering. Steve took it, his mouth traveling down the column of your throat, licking and sucking in a way that was both worshipful and demanding. Your hands tightened in his hair, holding him to you, as his own hand slid from your face down the curve of your neck, his thumb tracing the frantic pulse point there before his fingers dipped lower, skimming the dip of your shirt.

He brought his mouth back to yours, and this time it was a collision. It was all teeth and tongue and desperate, needy sounds. There was nothing gentle left, only a raw, primal need that you felt in every fiber of your being. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were the only thing that could save him, and you kissed him back with the same frantic energy. The party, the music, the people all faded into a distant, meaningless hum. There was only the hard wall at your back, the solid press of his body against yours, and the dizzying, all-consuming way Steve was kissing you like he never intended to stop.

Your soft moan was a catalyst. He shuddered against you, a low groan rumbling in his chest as if your sound was the only thing grounding him. "God, I've been wanting to do that all night," he breathed, his voice a husky whisper against your lips. He didn't give you a chance to respond, sealing his mouth over yours again. The kiss deepened instantly, losing its tentative edge and becoming something sure and searching.

His hand slid from the small of your back, tracing a slow, deliberate path up your spine. The simple touch sent shivers everywhere, and you arched into him, a silent invitation he was more than happy to accept. Steve broke the kiss for just a second to press his forehead against yours. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I was so scared I was reading this wrong."

You shook your head, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. "You weren't." That was all the encouragement he needed. He ducked his head, his lips trailing a hot path down the column of your throat. He wasn't frantic or rough; he was savoring it. Each press of his lips was a discovery, a question you were answering with the soft sighs and gasps you couldn't hold back.

"Good," he whispered against your skin, right over your racing pulse. "Because I don't think I could stop now." He nipped gently at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, and the sharp, unexpected pleasure made you gasp his name. He froze for a moment, then let out a shaky breath, his lips curling into a smile against your skin. "I love the way you say my name," he admitted, his voice so low and intimate it was a secret just for you. "Keep making those sounds for me. Please." He returned to your mouth, his kiss slower this time, deeper, as if he was trying to memorize the taste of you, one sweet, intoxicating moment at a time.

Then the door at the top of the stairs slammed open, crashing against the wall with a deafening bang. The sound shattered the bubble, and a wave of loud, aggressive voices flooded the stairwell. 

“—don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, man!”

“Yeah, you’re full of shit! You said you’d hold my spot!”

The shift was instantaneous. One second Steve was kissing you like you were the only person in the world; the next, he was a solid wall of muscle in front of you. He moved with a speed that was startling, the way he spun around to back you into the corner, his broad shoulders shielding you completely. Your face was pressed against the worn cotton of his t-shirt, your cheek digging into his back. The warmth of his body was no longer inviting; it was a cage.

"Hey! Take it somewhere else!" Steve's voice was sharp, cutting through the yelling. It wasn't the soft, breathy tone from moments ago; it was hard and commanding.

But the guys were too drunk, too far gone. A shove echoed, followed by a thud against the wall. "Fuck you! This is between me and him!"

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands fisting in the back of Steve's shirt. The yelling, the aggression, the raw, stupid anger, it was like a switch being flipped inside you. The hazy warmth evaporated, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. The party noises came rushing back, the thumping bass, the indistinct roar of a hundred conversations, the clinking bottles.

Where was your friend?

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You were supposed to stick together. You came together. You were supposed to watch out for each other. One minute you were getting a drink, and the next… this. You had no idea how much time had passed. You had no idea where she was. If she was okay. If she was looking for you.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening until it was hard to draw a breath. The fight in front of you was just a jumble of meaningless threats, but the fear inside you was crystal clear. Everything was coming back, the overwhelming crowd, the sticky floors, the sickeningly sweet smell of spilled liquor, the knot of anxiety in your stomach you'd tried to drown with that one shot. You were alone. You were lost in a stranger's house, and the one person who felt like an anchor was currently shielding you from a brawl.

Steve must have felt you trembling, or heard the change in your breathing. He shifted slightly, turning his head just enough to speak over his shoulder, his voice dropping back down to a low, urgent whisper meant only for you. "Hey. Look at me. It's okay. I've got you. Just stay right here." His hand came back to find yours, his fingers lacing through yours and squeezing tight. "Come on," he murmured, his body still shielding you. "We're getting out of here." He kept you tucked behind him, a human shield, as he expertly navigated you away from the chaos of the stairwell and into a quieter, dimly lit hallway. The relative silence was a balm, and you finally dared to lift your head, your heart still hammering against your ribs.

That’s when a door down the hall swung open and your friend's boyfriend stumbled out. He was blinking slowly, a stupid, drunken grin on his face as he fumbled with the zipper of his jeans. He saw you and the grin widened. "Hey! There you are! Having a good time?"

Relief was instant and overwhelming, so potent it almost brought you to your knees. "Oh my god, where is she? Where's F/n?" you asked, your voice trembling with a desperate hope.

He squinted at you, as if trying to place your face. "F/n? Uh... I dunno." He shrugged, a monumental gesture of indifference. "She was with some girls by the kitchen last I saw. Wanted another beer." He hiccupped. "Think she was mad I was taking too long. Whatever."

The relief in your chest curdled, turning into a hot, sharp surge of fury. It was so swift and so powerful it made you dizzy. All the fear, all the panic, all the sickening worry, it all funneled into one white-hot point of rage aimed directly at him.

"You don't know?" The words came out low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the trembling mess you'd been seconds ago. Steve's hand tightened around yours, a silent question. You pulled away, taking a step toward your friend’s lazy-ass boyfriend. "You were supposed to be with her! Your one job was to stay with her and you don't fucking know where she is?!"

He held up his hands, his drunken smirk finally faltering. "Whoa, chill out. It's a party. She's a big girl."

"Chill out?" Your voice rose, shrill with disbelief and anger. "She's my best friend, you asshole! We have a system! We look out for each other! What if something happened? What if some creep—"

"Hey," Steve's voice was firm but calm as he stepped up beside you, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. "He's not worth it. Let's just find her." His gaze flickered from your furious face to the boy’s befuddled one, a clear warning in his eyes.

But you were too far gone, the fear having morphed into a protective, maternal rage. You shrugged off Steve's hand, glaring at your friend’s boyfriend. "No. You're going to help us find her. Right now. Or so help me god, I will make sure everyone at this party knows what a shitty boyfriend you are."

You didn't wait for his pathetic excuse. You turned on your heel, grabbing Steve's hand and pulling him back toward the front door, the party's thumping bass a grim reminder of where you'd left your friend. You pushed through the throng of bodies, your singular focus on getting outside, on finding air. You burst out onto the front lawn, the cool night air a shock to your system, and there she was.

F/n was standing by the street, arms crossed, looking utterly miserable. Relief washed over you so intensely you felt lightheaded. "F/n!" you yelled, running over and pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh my god, I was so worried. I couldn't find you."

She hugged you back, her grip surprisingly strong. "I know, I'm sorry. I was looking for you. I just needed some air." Her eyes flickered past you, and her entire expression changed. The hard lines of her face softened into something you couldn't quite decipher.

You turned to see her boyfriend jogging, or rather stumbling, out the front door. He spotted his girlfriend and a look of pure, drunken relief crossed his face. He half-ran, half-tripped over to her and practically collapsed against her, burying his face in her hair. "Baaaaby," he slurred, his arms wrapping around her waist. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You watched, baffled, as F/n’s tense shoulders relaxed. She stroked his hair, her expression melting into one of fond, weary affection. You didn't get it. You didn't understand how she could look at this sloppy, irresponsible mess and see someone worth loving. But she did, and the quiet, happy sigh she let out as she held him was all the proof you needed. A group of their friends spilled out of the house, cheering and yelling about heading back to his place. F/n gave you an apologetic look. "Are you good? We're gonna go."

You just nodded, too exhausted to argue. "Yeah. Call me in the morning if you’re not too hungover."

With a final wave, she let her boyfriend lead her away, disappearing down the street with their loud, laughing group. And then it was just you and Steve on the quiet, litter-strewn lawn. The adrenaline from the fight and the panic from before finally crashed, leaving you feeling hollowed out and cold. A shiver wracked your body, violent and uncontrollable.

Steve saw it instantly. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "Come on," he said softly. "I'll walk you home."

You accepted without a second thought. The walk back was silent at first, the cool air seeping through your thin shirt. Another shiver rolled through you, and Steve stopped. Before you could ask what was wrong, he was pulling his own shirt over his head.

"Steve, what are you doing? Don't, you'll freeze," you protested, your eyes widening as his bare torso was revealed in the dim streetlight.

He just shook his head, a small, determined smile on his face. "I don't care." He stepped forward and gently draped the warm, soft cotton over your head. It smelled like him "Put it on. You're shaking."

You complied, your fingers fumbling with the sleeves. The shirt was huge on you, the hem falling mid-thigh, and the warmth was immediate and glorious. He didn't give you a chance to thank him. He just tucked you against his side, his bare arm wrapping securely around your shoulders, pulling you into the heat of his body. You leaned your head against his chest, the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart a comforting thrum against your ear. You walked the rest of the way in silence, cocooned in his warmth and his scent, feeling safer than you had all night.

You reached the familiar, ivy-covered brick of KPhi and stopped, the walk seeming both too short and endlessly long. Steve's arm was still around you, a warm, steady weight you were reluctant to lose. You turned to face him, looking up at his silhouette in the dim porch light.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. "For… everything."

He smiled, that gentle, genuine smile that had undone you in the stairwell. "Anytime." He leaned down, and the kiss he gave you was different from the others. It was soft, sweet, and full of a quiet promise. It wasn't hungry or desperate; it was settling. 

When he pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against yours. "So," he murmured, his breath warm on your lips. "When am I going to see you again?"

A playful spark ignited in your chest, chasing away the last of the night's exhaustion. You leaned back just enough to look him in the eye, a small smirk playing on your lips. "What made you think I want to see you again?"

For a split second, a flicker of panic crossed his face, and it was the most adorable thing you'd ever seen. You let him squirm for exactly two seconds before you broke, a laugh bubbling up. "I'm just messing with you," you said, your voice full of affection. "Of course I want to see you again."

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. You grinned, then turned and started walking backward toward the front door, his oversized shirt hanging off your frame. You gave him a little wave, a final, flirty goodbye.

But you only made it three steps.

Something, a sudden, overwhelming need, propelled you forward. You spun around and ran back up the sidewalk, closing the distance between you in seconds. You grabbed the belt loops of his jeans and crashed your mouth into his.

This kiss was nothing like the one before. It was all the intensity from the stairwell, all the desperation and relief and want, packed into a single, breathless moment. You poured everything into it, and he met you halfway, his hands flying to your waist, pulling you hard against him. You were kissing him senseless, and he was kissing you right back, just as lost.

Without breaking the kiss, you started walking backward again, pulling him with you, step by step, toward the house. He stumbled along, a willing prisoner to your momentum. You fumbled behind you for the doorknob, your lips never leaving his, and managed to push the heavy door open.

You pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. In the dim, silent foyer, you finally broke apart, both of you breathing heavily. You looked up at him, at his dark, hungry eyes and his kiss-swollen lips.

"You can stay," you whispered, your voice ragged. "But you have to be really quiet. You can't wake anyone."

“You mean, you have to be really quiet.”

“I can kick you out just as easily as I brought you in.”

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Where Steve Harrington celebrates his last day of high school with you, and a drive home turns into a summer afternoon spent in his pool, talking about the future.

WHAT TO EXPECT: fluff, established relationship, suggestive themes, emotional vulnerability, mild swearing, use of Y/n

A/N: a lil cheesy 🧀 but i couldn't help myself

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

Steve was already there when you pushed out of the Hawkins High School doors, leaning casually against his infamous red BMW, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other. The sun hit the polished paint just right, making the car glitter and gleam. He was trying to look calm and effortless, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the parking lot and his foot from kicking loose pavement around when he didn’t see you anywhere. Lifting his head one more time, he finally caught sight of you bursting through the stream of high schoolers trying to rush to their cars.

You lightly jogged toward him in quick strides, hair bouncing and fluttering in the wind with your backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Steve’s stomach did that stupid little summersault it always did when he looked at you. Despite making things official a couple months ago, his heart still thudded in a way that made his hands itch to reach out and touch you. Just to make sure you were real and not a dream. He watched the way your shoulders swished through the air, the easy sway of your hips, and the small graceful motions of your arms as you tucked your oh so precious books into your chest like you were cradling a baby. You were beautiful, and Steve wasn’t subtle about thinking it. 

Before he could even say a word, you dropped your backpack and books with a clatter to the asphalt and launched yourself at your boyfriend. Arms wrapped around his strong neck as your lips crashed into his in a kiss so unapologetically full of energy and affection that Steve’s knees threatened to buckle. He returned it with all the clumsy, fumbling enthusiasm he could muster, tangling his hands in your hair. He pulled back lightly, eliciting a soft moan from your throat. “Your books,” Steve mumbled against your lips, but you silenced him with another passionate kiss. His hands slid down to grip your waist then push against your lower back until there was no space in between you. “Baby,” he whispered as you trailed light kisses down his jaw. Steve bit back a groan. “Baby, your books.”

“Screw my books.” You finally pulled back, breathless and giggling like you didn’t just make your boyfriend forget everything he ever knew from a single kiss. “Congrats, grad! You can officially say you peaked in high school.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A lopsided grin tugged at his lips and you jokingly pushed his head, surprised he was so chill about it. “But graduation’s still a few days away, so I technically didn’t graduate yet.”

“Pish posh!” You threw your head back and rolled your eyes, laughing as Steve instinctively tightened his grip around your waist so you didn’t tip too far back. His hands were warm and sure, like he knew exactly how to keep you steady without even thinking about it. When you straightened again, you poked him lightly in the chest, right over his heart. “Technically, today is your last day of school. That counts. In my eyes, you graduated.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve said easily, the corner of his mouth twitching as he finally loosened his hold. He crouched down to gather the small pile of textbooks and your backpack you’d abandoned on the pavement, scooping them up with one arm before turning and flinging them into the backseat of his car without a second thought.

“Hey, what the hell! My books are precious cargo, you can’t just toss them around like that,” you protested immediately, brows knitting together as you pointed accusingly at the backseat.

Steve froze mid-movement, panic flashing across his face as he straightened up too fast. “What? Wait—I—” He gestured helplessly between the car and the ground. “You literally just threw them onto the dirty asphalt before pouncing on me like a linebacker, I thought—” He cut himself off when he caught the way your lips were twitching, failing to contain a smile. His shoulders slumped as realization hit, and he let out a breathy laugh, dragging a hand down his face.

“God, you’re messing with me,” he muttered. “My heart dropped straight to my ass because of you,” your boyfriend stuck his finger in your, shaking his head as he opened the passenger door for you. “Thanks a lot, babe.”

You stepped closer instead of getting in right away, tilting your head to the side and looking up at him with exaggerated innocence. “Of course,” you said sweetly, voice light as you leaned in just a little. “Anytime…babe.”

Steve just stared at you for a second, stunned and smiling like an idiot in love.

Steve pulled out of the horrendous school parking lot for hopefully the last time, but he knew he’d be back to pick you up next year. One hand was on the wheel and the other was relaxed against the gear shift as he navigated to the main road with ease. You reached over when Steve inclined in speed and rolled the window down, letting warm summer air rush and the faint smell of manure in immediately. Both of you groaned at the scent but it soon passed as Steve sped by the farm. 

Your boyfriend glanced over at you, smiling, then turning on the radio to play your favorite song by the Talking Heads: This Must Be the Place. The familiar tune crackled through the speakers, reminding you of all the warm summer days and nights you would be spending with Steve. You stuck your hand out the window, palm slicing through the breeze and feeling the wind push back playfully against your fingers. A second later, your head followed, hair whipping freely as you leaned into the breeze. “SCHOOL’S OUT!” You yelled as loudly as you could. Eyes half-lidded and content, you exhaled out the last of your stress.

Steve glanced over at you, trying his best to keep his focus on the narrow road. His heart stuttered in his chest and he instinctively reached out to rest his hand on your thigh. It was light at first, then firmer as you leaned out of the passenger window even more. Part of him was terrified you’d lean too far that you’d slip or get hurt somehow. The other part of him couldn’t bear to take his eyes off of you, noting to himself how lucky he truly was. 

Steve should’ve felt as carefree as you, but the future sat heavy on his shoulders as an invisible weight he couldn’t shake. Not today, not even now. Graduation loomed and beyond it was a blank space where a plan was supposed to be. He didn’t have any college acceptance letters or a clear direction, just the unsettling awareness that he was stepping into something undefined. 

He knew it was too early to be thinking like this. You were young and the summer before your senior year of high school was just getting started, and here he was imagining tomorrows that weren’t promised to anyone in Hawkins. Maybe it was the slimy demodogs that he’d seen and survived. You didn’t know about the horrors of the Upside Down that rewired his sense of time and safety. When he’d stared death in the face, the future didn’t feel like something he could take for granted. And Steve was strangely grateful that you were untouched by it, blissfully unaware of the darkness beneath Hawkins. Your laughter and your easy joy was the best distraction he could’ve asked for. 

His hand stayed firm on your thigh, grounding himself as much as he was grounding you, as if holding onto you could anchor him in this moment and keep the rest at bay. He didn’t want to burden you with his fears or his uncertainty. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it. He’d figure it out on his own and find a way forward. He wanted to be someone who could provide, someone dependable, someone worthy of the future he couldn’t help but picture with you in it. Or whenever you were ready for that kind of future.

You slid back into the passenger seat, breathless laughter still clinging to your lips as you pulled yourself inside the car. Steve glanced over at you once more before flicking his eyes back to the road. You had caught the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his jaw tightened like he’d been thinking about something far heavier than the plans the both of you had made to kickoff the perfect summer.

You leaned over the console, studying him. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Steve hesitated for a heartbeat. You didn’t know it, but he was thinking about how you were only a year younger and you still had another year of finals and college acceptances ahead of you. How you’d get into some incredible school, leave Hawkins behind, and maybe even forget about him one day. His future was just as unclear as yours and he refused to add to your stress, so he shoved the thoughts aside and focused on the present. 

He smiled at you, soft and easy, like nothing had been bothering him. “Just thinkin’ how lucky I am,” he said, glancing over again. “And how unfair it is that my girlfriend is this gorgeous and still puts up with me.”

“You are so cheesy, Harrington,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. You kept your eyes on the road ahead and crossed your arms over your chest. Looking at him would only make the blushing worse. “And stop with all that self-doubt, I can hear it in your voice. You are the prettiest and silliest boy I know.”

“Hey, I’m serious,” he insisted, reaching over to push your shoulder. “You could literally be with anyone.”

“Yeah and I’m with you,” you snapped, which was rare. You just wanted your boyfriend to understand that you were still crushing on him hard like you did when you were first talking, how he was still King Steve in your eyes, and that he could do no wrong. A silence fell over the both of you as a new song began on the radio. 

“So…my parents are in Florida.” Steve reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, hoping it would ease the tension. Knowing you too well, Steve relished in the fact that you melted under just a small touch. “Like, fully gone. For weeks.”

That earned him a knowing look. “Wow, you didn’t even wait five minutes.”

He grinned, one hand tightening on the wheel while the other drummed against your thigh as he shrugged. “I’m just saying. Empty house. Pool. No one to tell us to keep it down.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how his large hand inched further up your thigh and how warm the car felt. “You are unbelievable,” you said, attempting a teasing tone but coming out breathy instead.

Steve chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Unbelievably temping. I know you love me, Y/n, don’t act like you don’t want it.”

“Steven Harrington, keep your eyes on the road or I’m going to strangle you.”

“I mean, I’ve never tried that before, but I wouldn’t mind—” Steve was cut off by you turning up the volume on a Tears for Fears song all the way to drown out his cockiness.

By the time Steve pulled into his driveway, you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, hopping out of the car like you’d done this a hundred times before. The front door barely had time to shut before you were bounding up the stairs, calling a quick, “I’ll be right back!” over your shoulder as if the house belonged to you too.

You changed in his bathroom, touching up your hair and lipgloss even though it would be absolutely ruined in a couple minutes. You tugged on the bikini he’d once offhandedly told you he liked best, not because it mattered, but because it made you smile to remember the way he’d said it, a little shy. A moment later, you padded back down the stairs and slipped out the back door, the late afternoon sun warming your skin.

Steve was already outside, standing at the edge of the pool in his board shorts and dipping a toe into the water. You crept up behind him, quiet as you could manage, and slid your hands up his bare back, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades. He let out a soft sigh, the kind that came from being caught pleasantly off guard, and turned around to see the top of your head. Steve’s skin was smooth to the touch and freckled, still warm from the sun when he pulled you close. It was so comforting. He flexed his biceps as you unashamedly felt him up, drawing your nails over each defined muscle, scar, and mole. You slowly looked up to grin at your boyfriend, but before he could say a single word, you shoved him square in the chest.

Steve yelped as he toppled backward into the deep end of the turquoise water, disappearing beneath with a splash just as you took a running leap after him. Your cannonball combined with the ripples from his fall sent water flying over the edges. You surfaced first, pushing your hair back and blinking water from your eyes, laughing as you looked around for him. A second passed, then another. The water stilled just enough for a flicker of unease to spark in your chest. Steve?

Before you could call his name, strong arms wrapped around your waist from below, sure and solid, pulling you back against him. The grip wasn’t harsh, just unmistakably secure, like being caught mid-fall. “Steve, you’re crazy!” You gasped, laughter bursting out of you as he broke the surface behind you, pressing a kiss behind your ear to make you shiver.

“You were the one that pushed me in!” Steve said incredulously.

A little while later, the sun had begun its slow descent, the sky bleeding into soft shades of orange and pink, the light reflecting off the water in lazy ripples that shimmered like an eyeshadow pallet. Steve was stretched out on his back atop a pool float, arms folded behind his head, legs dangling into the water. He’d tried, unsuccessfully, to coax you onto it with him, but you’d only laughed and slipped away, choosing instead to keep swirling around in the warm water. You still had some energy you needed to swim out. 

You swam circles around him, letting the water drift past your shoulders. “I can’t believe that was your last day of high school. Who’s gonna drive me to and from school every week?”

“I still can,” Steve turned his head to look at you in the water. “I’m probably just going to end up working for my dad anyway.”

“You’re going to be working a big boy job, making big boy money. Don’t worry about me.” You flick some pool water up at him, grinning. “Plus, aren’t you babysitting some kids on the side or—”

“I am not babysitting anyone, for the record,” Steve cut in quickly. “And what do you mean ‘don’t worry about me’?” He shifted on the float, finally sitting up as he watched you. “I’m constantly thinking about you, what you’re doing, what you’re thinking.” Steve caught your hand, stopping you from swimming in circles around him. “And if I took the job, you know, I could be around for your senior year.”

“Steve…” you started, but he kept on going, words tumbling out like he’d been holding them in all day.

“I would just look out for you a little bit,” he added, tilting his face up toward the sky again like he was playing it off. “Make sure you don’t forget about this pretty face.” 

You giggled, shaking your head until he looked at you earnestly with his signature puppy dog eyes. 

“Y/n,” he said quietly, “I’m serious.”

Instead of answering, you leaned in and kissed him. He barely had time to react before you tugged his arm and sent him crashing into the water with a splash. He resurfaced almost immediately, pushing his hair back and laughing.

“Hey!” Steve protested, swimming toward you. “I want another kiss!”

“Then get over here,” you said, right before he reached you.

His hands found your waist easily, steady and familiar, and he kissed you again. Steve was slower this time, like he wasn’t in a rush anymore. He had all of summer with you. You melted into him, arms sliding up around his neck as the water lapped at your torso..

“Steve?” you murmured, resting your head against his chest.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Do you know how amazing you are?”

He scoffed lightly, one hand rubbing soothing circles at your back. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been told once or twice—”

“No,” you cut in gently. You pulled back just enough to look at him, water dripping from your lashes. “I mean it. You always show up, even when you have other stuff going on. You care so deeply because your heart is so big. You don’t even realize how much you do for people, how much of an impact you’ve made on others and me.”

Steve stilled, looking down at you like he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I love you, Steve,” you finished simply, pressing your face back into his chest.

hi my lovely!! i’m so happy you’re done with exams, happy summer! 🌞🌷

sorry about the recent edits to my page. i had a crashout about my writing right after i posted and impulsively decided to delete some of my work. do not fret because i have been regretting it ever since and will re-upload all of my fics!!

i have a 9-5 internship this summer, but hopefully everything should be up by this weekend or next. there are a few more things that i wrote but never posted, so stay tuned for that perchance?!

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Where a late-night closing shift turns into a nightmare, Billy Hargrove turns into more than just an annoying coworker, and Steve sweeps in to save the day.

WHAT TO EXPECT: violence, flayed Billy Hargrove, choking/strangulation, panic/anxiety, hurt/comfort, mention of cuts, fluff, not cannon, use of Y/n

A/N: n/a xx

WORD COUNT: 4.0k

“Hey, Billy,” you glanced over your shoulder to the blond-headed boy rummaging through the supplies closet. Notes written haphazardly were scribbled on a legal pad on the check in desk, passive aggressively reminding all employees to search the lockers for forgotten food or else we’d get rats. “Did you check the men’s locker room for food? I don’t want Darrell to get mad at us.”

Billy’s frantic search for a mop skidded to a halt as he turned around slowly to look at you directly in the eyes. His perfectly curled mullet clung to his sweat-drenched and pale skin. You didn’t want to say anything to your coworkers, but Billy had been looking sickly for the past couple of days. It surprised you that he still showed up to work. Dark and angry veins stretched below the surface of his skin and a feverish sheen clung to him, even in the air-conditioned break room. His eyes were the worst part, though. They were glassy and unfocused, pupils blown wide like he’d been staring straight through your soul, like he knew you were already insignificant to him. 

His jaw kept tightening and unclenching, the muscles ticking as if he was grinding his teeth down to nothing. One hand flexed at his side, fingers twitching like they didn’t quite obey his mind anymore. You watched as a faint tremor ran through him, like he was trying to hold himself back.

Your instincts were screaming when nothing was technically wrong. Billy scared the shit out of you when he looked normal, even more so when he glared at you like you were his next prey. Your best guesses were a bad case of the cold, sun poisoning, or maybe even a messy breakup. 

Despite your judgemental assumptions, part of you hoped your coworker and classmate was all right. “Billy? Are you okay?” You ask, watching his broad back muscles fill the red lifeguard longsleeve. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but it looked like he had grown a few inches taller. Or maybe it was just your fear of him growing. “I have some advil in the back if you need something,” your voice suddenly small and meek.

He slammed the supply closet door with a thwack and stomped out of the check in office, completely ignoring your olive branch. “I’ll check the lockers after I shower,” he said, voice flat with a tinge of aggression.

You told yourself it was nothing, just another weird mood swing of his to shove down and ignore. You’re exhausted, and overthinking it wouldn’t make the double shift any shorter. Steve was coming to pick you up soon, and the thought of him waiting outside grounded you more than anything else. He would be leaning against his signature red BMW, his jean-clad legs crossed, hands tucked in his front pockets, and an easy smile on his face as he saw you walking up. Time really couldn’t move any slower as you banished the thought and focused on finishing up.

You wiped down counters, straightened the pool chairs, and put the money from the snack bar in the safe. Your body ached in that dull, heavy way that only came after too many hours on your feet. 

The mop bucket sloshed quietly as you pushed it across the tile when you heard glass shatter then a gnarly crash echoing from down the hallway. The sound made your heart drop because it didn’t sound like an accident. It sounded like something being thrown.

The crash came louder this time. It was the sound of something slamming into tile with bone-jarring force, causing the lockers to shudder in their frames. The echo ricocheted down again, sharp enough to make your ears ring, followed by the wet, hollow thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

Voices started up, high-pitched and panicked, which made you panic even more. No one was supposed to be here, it was after hours. It sure didn’t sound like kids trying to trespass and jump in the pool. 

You heard shouting, overlapped and frantic, the words blurred together. Someone was crying, another yelled the number ‘eleven’, and then the distinct sound of choking. Your chest tightened and adrenaline flooded your veins so fast it made you dizzy. Your heart pounded, each beat loud in your ears as fear snapped your body awake, every nerve on edge. The rational part of your brain tells you this can’t be real, but your instincts don’t care. 

You drop the mop as the lights flicker. It clatters against the tile, the sound exploding in the sudden quiet between screams. Your pulse hammers and your hands shake, breath coming quick and shallow as you brace yourself for something terrible.

You don’t even have it in you to meekly peek through the crack in the door. Instead, you shoved it open completely until it slammed against the wall. The men’s locker room assaulted you all at once as you took in the sharp tang of metal and sweat, the echo of shouting bouncing off concrete walls. Your Reeboks skidded slightly on the tile as you stumbled inside, heart slamming against your ribs.

The noise was coming from the weight room. You turned the corner and froze.

Billy had a girl lifted clear off the ground, one massive hand wrapped around her throat. She’s brown-haired, small, her legs kicking uselessly a feet above the floor. His arm was locked straight like she weighed nothing at all.

In the corner, four kids were huddled together, backs pressed to the wall, eyes wide and shining with terror. You didn’t even get a good look at them, too focused on the girl Billy was choking. You didn’t know Billy was capable of this. But then again, this didn’t look like Billy. His shoulders were hunched, spine curved in a way that looked painfully unnatural. The muscles in his back rippled and twitched beneath his skin like something was moving underneath it. The black veins you noticed from before were even more pronounced and now covered his whole body. He wasn’t even yelling or speaking, he just looked so focused and sure of his actions.

The girl’s eyes flicked to you, wild with fear, then her eyes rolled back into her head. Something in you snapped and you didn’t think or hesitate. You grabbed the heaviest weight you could lift, fingers slipping on cold metal, and swung with everything you have.

The impact was brutal. The weight connected with the side of his head in a sickening crunch, the sound echoing through the room as Billy staggered forward, grip finally loosening. The girl collapsed to the floor in a heap, gasping and coughing.

Billy began to rise. You lifted the weight over your head, muscles screaming as adrenaline carried you. You swung again, desperate and reckless, determined to finish it before he could get back up. But he caught it in his palm, making your heart stutter. His hand clamped around the metal bar of the weight like it was nothing. No strain or hesitation was in his face. The impact didn’t even make him flinch. 

Slowly, Billy straightened to his full height, still gripping the weight, his gaze never leaving yours. His eyes were dark, pupils now blown wide until there was barely any color left, like something was staring out from behind them. He threw the weight aside, crashing into the rack with a deafening clang as it skidded across the floor, but Billy didn’t look away. His attention was locked on you, sharp and suffocating like you're pinned under it. 

A slow smile pulled at his mouth. This wasn’t the smile he gave the older women who lounged near his tower. There was no charm or arrogance in it, just hunger.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, not matching the weight of the situation. He stalked you like prey. Each step was deliberate and unhurried. “You think you’re brave for doing that? You think that was enough, as if you could hurt me?” He talks as he moves, words slicing into you, calm and cruel. You felt weak under his scrutiny. 

You retreat without realizing it, feet scurrying backward across the floor, heart hammering so hard it hurts. The brick pressed into your spine all too soon, stealing the last of your space from him. Billy stopped inches from you. He leaned in just enough that you could feel his breath, hot and uneven against your cheek. Like he could smell the fear radiating off you, he clamped a hand over your throat and began to drag you up the wall. Your back scraped against the brick as he lifted you, toes barely brushing the floor. The pressure around your throat tightened, crushing and merciless. His grip was iron and you choked on a broken sob as instinct took over.

You clawed at his hand. Your nails scraped uselessly against his skin, fingers slipping as panic made you clumsy. You tried to pull his wrist away, try to kick, try anything, but he didn’t even react. It was like fighting a wall. Tears blurred your vision. 

“Please—” The word barely made it out, strangled and weak, swallowed by the crushing force around your throat. Your lungs burned, desperate for air that wouldn’t come. Each breath grew shorter and thinner, until all you could hear was the roaring of blood in your ears. Black spots crept in at the edges of your vision, closing in no matter how hard you fought them back.

You thought of your boyfriend. You thought of Steve waiting outside right now, leaning against his car, checking his watch, wondering why you’re taking so long. You imagined the crease between his brows when he got worried, the way he always asked if you’re okay, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You should’ve been out there by now. Your hands weakened, scratches slowing, your heart stuttered as your body started to give up on you. The room tilted. Billy’s face blurred, twisting into something inhuman as his expression read satisfied.

Your heartbeat slowed. The last thing you hear, cutting through the ringing in your ears like a lifeline, was Steve’s voice.

“Hey, dickhead, get your hands off of my girl!”

You hit the floor hard, crumpling where Billy dropped you, your body folding in on itself as air tore back into your lungs in painful, ragged gasps. Your vision swam, edges blurring, brick and fluorescent light smearing together as you curled instinctively, hands still clawing at your own throat. You could still feel his hands around it.

You heard the sound of fists connecting with flesh over and over again. You blinked, trying to focus, and through the haze you saw Steve, wild and furious, swinging with everything he had. He didn’t hesitate or hold back. Every hit was fueled by pure panic and rage, like the sight of Billy’s hands on you flipped some irreversible switch.

You watched from the floor, dazed, as Steve beat Billy to a pulp, only He only stopped when something Billy lifted off the ground. Just…rose. Your breath caught. Your head swam harder, nausea rolling through you as your brain scrambled for logic. This couldn’t be real. You had to be completely out of it. Oxygen deprivation, shock, or something.

The brown-haired girl, the one Billy had been choking, stood now, eyes blazing, her face twisted in fury as her hands shook in the air. She was screaming, raw and animal, and Billy hung there like a broken marionette, suspended by nothing at all.

God, you must’ve been so out of it.

The scream crescendoed, and with a violent flick of her hands, Billy was hurled sideways with impossible force. He slammed through the wall like it was made of paper, bricks exploding outward as his body disappeared into the darkness beyond.

Silence crashed down around you. Your ears rang. Your head lolled back against the floor, vision still hazy, chest aching with every breath.

Steve was suddenly right in front of you. He dropped behind you and placed you in between his legs, your back pressed against his heaving chest. “Hey,” he whispered immediately, voice low and shaking, like he was holding himself together just for you. “Hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, okay?”

He pulled his arms firmly around your torso, one hand fidgeting with the strap of your lifeguard swimsuit. You could feel his heart racing behind your back, fast and frantic, like it was still catching up to everything that had happened. “You’re safe,” he murmured, over and over, pressing his chin gently into your shoulder. “You’re so safe. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His grip tightened just a little, protective rather than panicked. “I should’ve been here sooner,” he whispered, words thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I swear…I swear I won’t let Billy near you ever again. Won’t let him even think about you.”

“Steve…” you barely manage to whisper, feeling your throat close up all over again. “W-what just happened?”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” Steve rocked you in his arms, knowing that the gentle motion lulled you. He kissed the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair. “Don’t worry about it, just breathe with me,” he said softly. “That’s it, good girl. Slow. You’re doing so good.”

“Thank you,” you wheeze, “for saving me.”

He chuckled, already knowing you were going to make a quick recovery with that fight still in you. “You were so brave,” he whispered. “You hear me?” You nod, finally slumping all of your dead weight into him. “So so brave. My brave girl.” 

Steve adjusted his grip on you automatically when footsteps approached, tightening his hold just enough to keep you steady without jostling your breathing. He didn’t look away from you at first, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing proof that you were still here and all right.

He looked up to see the kids were hovering a few feet away. Lucas, Will, Mike, Max, and the girl that just single-handedly launched flayed Billy through the wall. However, they looked small now. Shell-shocked and covered in grime, sweat, and fear. Steve exhaled sharply.

“You little shits okay?” he asked, voice rough.

They nodded. Hesitant. Max crossed her arms as a self defense mechanism, like didn’t just watch her stepbrother get beat up. Part of her believed he deserved it in away, the other found him redeemable.

 Will’s hands were still shaking and Lucas swallowed hard before answering. “Yeah,” Lucas said. “I think so.”

Steve let out a breath he had been holding for some time now, his shoulders loosened just a fraction. “Good,” he said, then immediately scowled. “Because that was insane. Absolutely crazy. All of you could’ve been lying here dead.”

“But, El—El, she—” Mike started to argue with the older boy until he cut the kid off.

“El this, El that,” Steve emphasized his words to get his message across. “As the only fully conscious and responsible adult here, it would’ve been my fault if something went south. Consider yourselves lucky I came to pick up my girlfriend.”

Steve looked down to you, nearly passed out in his arms. Max bristled. “We didn’t have a choice.”

Steve huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Billy…something’s wrong with him.”

His jaw tightened. “Doesn’t mean you go sneaking into places like this. You don’t face off with psychopaths on your own. You don’t—” He stopped himself, rubbing a hand over his face. “God. You don’t do this without backup.”

El stepped forward, eyes flicking to you. “He was going to kill her.”

Steve met her gaze, something serious and unflinching passing between them.

“I know,” he said quietly.

For a moment, the room was still. Then he straightened, squaring his shoulders. “But you fought him,” he added, grudging respect threading through his tone. “You didn’t run. You protected each other.” Lucas nodded once. Will looked relieved. Max lifted her chin just a little. “That matters,” Steve said. “That counts…for now.” Steve stood with you against his chest, hiking you higher into his hold, already turning towards the makeshift exit in the bricks. “But next time,” he added over his shoulder, “throw him out the door or something. This is going to be a bitch to explain.”

A bea passed. “Deal,” Max said.

Steve snorted. “Yeah. We’ll see. C’mon,” Steve said, already moving. “Let’s go before Billy decides to come back for round two.”

He adjusted his grip on you and stepped through the rubble without hesitation, Nikes crunching over debris as he carried you straight through what used to be a brick wall. Warm summer night air rushed in and behind him, the kids followed, adrenaline finally bleeding into chatter.

“Did you see how far she threw him?” Lucas said, awe creeping into his voice.

“He went through the goddamn wall,” Max added, slinging an arm around El’s shoulders. “Like, through it.”

Will let out a shaky laugh. “That was kind of awesome.”

Steve shot them a look over his shoulder. “Hey! Hey—keep it down.” They quieted instantly. “As far as anyone knows,” Steve continued, nodding toward the gaping hole, “this was a structural failure. Old building. Bad foundation. Boom! Tragic, but not Miss Supernatural over here.”

Max snorted. “Sure.”

Steve didn’t slow. “I’m serious. Pool management asks? Earthquake. Gas leak. Anything but a telekinetic ten year old. Y/n is not getting in trouble for this.”

“We’re not ten!” The kids complained in unison.

You tried to breathe in, but it came out as a cough instead, sharp and rattling as you felt it through your burning chest. 

“Hey, hey,” he said, breaking into a jog, arms tightening instinctively around you. “Easy. I’ve got you. Just hang on.”

The parking lot lights blurred as he moved faster, the night cool against your overheated skin. He got to his car, yanked the door open, and didn’t even think about putting you down.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the kids. “Go. Get home. Lock your doors and stay out of trouble. Call me if you need to.”

El lingered, watching you closely. Steve nodded at her, an understanding passing through them. “Thank you.”

She nodded once, satisfied, and followed the others to another side of the parking lot where their discarded bikes were..

Steve slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, finally letting out a breath, but he still didn’t move you. Instead, he shifted so you were cradled in his lap, one arm solid around your back, the other braced protectively across your waist.

He rested his forehead briefly against yours, grounding himself as much as you.

“Not letting you go yet,” he muttered. “You’re stuck with me for a minute.” The next twenty minutes to his house, he kept you in his lap, driving with one hand as you slowly but surely recovered.

+

You were cocooned in Steve’s bed, swallowed by soft navy sheets and one of his old Hawkins High gym t-shirts that you drowned in. His pajama pants were rolled  around your hips, warm and familiar, smelling faintly like detergent and his expensive cologne.

He’d carried you inside earlier despite your protests. “I can walk, Steve,” you’d said, voice hoarse.

“I know,” he’d replied, already tightening his hold. “Humor me.”

He’d hovered the entire time you showered, sitting on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands and back hunched over. You could hear his cautious and worried breathing, like a very good boyfriend trying not to unravel in front of you.

Now you lay on your back, staring at the fan circling on the ceiling as he sat beside you on the mattress, leaning over you just slightly.

“Cold,” he warned softly, before the cream touched your skin. You hissed anyway. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, even though his hands were impossibly gentle. He dabbed carefully along the bruises blooming dark against your throat, jaw tight as he worked. His touch was reverent, like he was afraid you might break if he pressed too hard.

He didn’t say much, but something was brewing deep down. When he finished your neck, he moved to the small cuts along your hairline, cleaning them with painstaking care. You flinched once, and he froze instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Tell me if it hurts. I mean it.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I promise.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Okay,” he said anyway, voice low. “Can you flip on your stomach for me, pretty girl?” Steve helped you roll over carefully, one hand braced at your hip, the other at your shoulder. You settled onto your stomach, cheek pressed into his pillow. “Just for a second,” he said, almost apologetically.

With his fingertips, Steve gently dragged his shirt up along your spine, exposing your mottled back to him. The scrapes there were angry and red, tracking where the brick had bitten into your skin. Steve inhaled sharply through his nose when he saw them.

You felt the way his hands hesitated, the way something in him twisted at the sight. “Steve,” your voice firm. “J-just get it over with.”

“I should’ve—” he started, then stopped himself. Instead, he dipped the cloth again and began to clean the scrapes, careful and methodical. You winced despite yourself, fingers curling into his sheets like a vice. “I know,” he whispered, immediately. “I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s not you,” you said, muffled into the pillow.

“I know,” he repeated, like he was trying to convince himself.

Each time you flinched, his jaw tightened. It clearly and visibly hurt him to be the one causing you even the smallest bit of pain, even when he was helping.

When Steve finished, he gingerly pulled his shirt back down and caressed your ruddy cheek with his knuckles.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “All done.”

He didn’t move away right away and neither did you.

The room was quiet, safe, and for the first time all night, you didn’t feel threatened.

You shifted closer, the sheets rustling softly as you climbed right into his space, settling on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Steve adjusted instantly, one arm coming around the small of your back, where the cuts didn’t reach. The other slid up to cradle your head against his chest.

His heartbeat was steady and strong now. You felt it rise and fall beneath your cheek, anchoring you there. He ran his fingers through your hair slowly, absentmindedly, the way he always did when he wanted you to sleep. Your head lifted and fell with his breathing, the motion soothing in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Call me crazy,” you murmured, voice soft and tired, “but… did that girl in the sauna with the brown hair start levitating?”

Steve’s fingers stilled for half a second. Then they resumed, gentle and rhythmic, like you didn’t just stump him. He let out a quiet huff, a small, almost fond chuckle. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “I think you scared yourself pretty good back there.”

You tilted your head just enough to hear him better. “I mean, yeah, but I thought I saw her and Billy’s feet just above the ground.”

“You lost a lot of oxygen,” he continued, tone easy, reasonable. “Adrenaline, shock, all that stuff messes with you. People see weird things.” His hand smoothed over your hair again, slower now. 

He was probably right. Everything he was saying was true. You most likely just started hallucinating from the lack of oxygen. Plus, that would literally be impossible. “Yeah, okay.”

You hummed softly, eyelids heavy. “Get some rest,” Steve murmured, thumb tracing a slow line along your scalp. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Right now you just need to sleep.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping even lower. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Where Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson mistake you for an evil Russian spy at Starcourt Mall, a botched surveillance mission spirals into flirtation, and an unexpected date with a boy in a sailor uniform.

WHAT TO EXPECT: fluff, flirting, mild suggestive themes, mild swearing, angst if you squint, use of Y/n

A/N: #first post, this is so hype!! Please feel free to send in requests and thank you so so much for reading!! 

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

“Target acquired," Dustin Henderson deadpanned, fingers gripping his binoculars as he crouched behind a potted plant with his partner in crime, Steve Harrington. The duo had been searching Starcourt Mall endlessly during Steve’s fifteen minute break from scooping ice cream into the sticky fingers of Erica Sinclair and her minions.

“Where?” Steve perked up immediately, boredom evaporating in a flash as he straightened from where he’d been lounging on the cool tiles. The mall had promised everyone in Hawkins an air-conditioned escape from Indiana’s grueling summer sun. It was teeming with bodies constantly in motion and practically buzzing with the display neon lights. Classic pop songs spilled from storefronts, the sugary smell of fresh waffle cones from Scoops Ahoy, and constant chatter and laughter filled the air. Teens roamed the mall in packs, scouting out their crushes or shopping for items to add to their summer wardrobe. 

Dustin adjusted the focus on the lenses, “Ten o’clock. Sam Goody’s.”

“Give me that,” Steve ripped the pair of binoculars out of the younger boy’s hands. He peered into ocular lenses, revealing a girl moving briskly along the first-floor walkway. Your stride was purposeful, shoulders pushed back and squared like you had some secret business to attend to and no intention of being slowed down by any of the shenanigans in the mall. The aura of determination in your walk made people step out of your path and look behind them. A black wrap sweater clings to your form along with a black leotard that’s hiked up over your hipbones. Sheer black tights stretch down your legs and a small duffel bag was slung securely over your shoulder. Dark sunglasses hid your eyes completely, giving nothing away to Steve other than a set, unreadable expression. Even with your gaze hidden, Steve couldn’t look away. Your unspoken confidence throttled him from all the way across the mall, pulling his attention in despite every logical warning screaming in his head. Steve shook his head, luscious hair shaking with his movements. He couldn’t fall in love with the enemy. “Duffel bag, dark shades, spy-looking outfit. She checks off all the boxes,” he sighed, slowly turning to face Dustin.

“Evil Russian,” the pair concluded simultaneously, soon scrambling from their crouched positions to follow their lead.

You took the escalator up to the second floor, eyes dropping briefly to your manicured nails as the steps carried you upward, checking the neatness out of habit before lifting your gaze to your surroundings. Oddly, no one stood too close to you. Usually, the escalator was so packed that people were basically back to back as they waited to reach the second floor. Instead, people glanced at you in speculation before they looked away just as fast, giving you a wide berth like you might bite. 

Suppressing a sigh, you shift the strap of your duffel bag higher on your shoulder. It occurred to you that maybe you shouldn’t have gone with the all-black outfit. The bright pink and blue set screamed approachable instead of mysterious and possibly dangerous probably would’ve been a better move for this highly judgmental crowd. It was no use now as it was sitting in the wash back at home. Dressed like this, you looked like a ninja or something, and judging by the looks you’re getting, the idea isn’t as funny to everyone else as it is to you. 

“Slow down!” Dustin warned as he trailed behind Steve who was pushing through the crowd.

“We’re losin’ her,” Steve responded, not looking back. His focus was directly on your ass in that leotard your back…just your back. 

The curly-haired boy catches up to his taller counterpart and follows his gaze directly to your swaying hips. Dustin groaned, slapping him with the back of his hand. “Focus, Steve. This girl is a national enemy! Besides, you’re getting too close.” Steve barely acknowledged Dustin’s comment and continued to sidestep and weave through the families, teens, and couples.

His lack of spacial awareness caused him to shoulder check a mall-goer in the process. “Watch it, dickwad!” The boy shouted with his arms raised, but Steve barely acknowledged him too. 

The loud comment made you stop in your tracks, not being able to help yourself in avoiding mall drama. That and the tingling feeling on the back of your neck like someone was following you. You glanced over your shoulder and with two fingers, tipped your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose just enough to peek out over the rims. Eyes sharp as you assessed the surroundings, landing directly on a boy dressed in a red and blue sailor’s outfit. He was standing up against a stone pillar like he had put himself in timeout. Weirdo, you thought.

Right beside him, a boy wearing a yellow and green camp hat fumbled with the telephone, speaking robotically and trying his best to avoid eye contact with you. Weirdo, you thought again. 

Steve froze as your gaze swept over his general area, heart slamming into his ribs. He panicked, realizing he was just staring at the pillar and quickly moved to look at shoes being displayed through the store window. Steve isn’t used to feeling like this over a girl. He’s faced interdimensional monsters and stared death in the face more times than he could count, and somehow barely managed to keep his wits about him through most of it. Girls were never a problem for him until now. It was definitely the stupid Scoops Ahoy hat that flattened his hair more than he would like it too. His coworker, Robin’s, voice rang through his ears: “Company policy is such a drag.” Flirting always came easy to Steve, in fact, he barely had to think about it. But you’ve seemed to reduce him to a mess of frayed nerves, his stomach doing flips as he gets closer and closer to you. He was secretly hoping that the lead was wrong and you weren’t really an evil Russian. 

You turned a corner sharply, not knowing the instigators were on your tail until Steve’s hand shot out, lightly yet firmly grabbing your wrist. You whipped around, startled, placing the sunglasses on the top of your head to get a clear scan of the sailor that still held your wrist in his large hand. 

“What are you doing?” you ask slowly, voice raising an octave, yanking your hand away.

Steve was suddenly paralyzed, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He shifted on his feet, raking a hand through his hair as if that could somehow buy him some more time. It didn’t. He planted his feet on the ground and placed his hands on his hips, trying to exude confidence. Despite this, the words refused to form, stuttering out in awkward, brown bursts. “I–I mean, wait—uh…”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing and flicking to the nerdy kid beside him. “Look, I gotta go, so if you have something to tell me, do it quickly.” You cross your arms against your chest and pop your hip expectantly. The sailor’s gaze drops to your cleavage in the tight leotard and you roll your eyes, already turning around. “Unbelievable.” 

“Wait, wait! We know who you are,” the young boy’s voice stops you in your tracks once more and you slowly turn around again. “You’re a Russian spy.” The curly-haired boy stands triumphantly like he just cracked a code he’s been trying to solve for weeks. His lips pulled back revealing a toothless grin.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s had too much ice cream,” Steve awkwardly chuckled, a mix of horror and embarrassment flashed across his beet-red face. He grabbed Dustin by the collar of his vest and shoved the boy behind him, shaking his head in disbelief. “Kids these days, am I right?”

You blinked at the eccentric pair, one eyebrow raised as the absurdity of the situation pressed in. A giggle started to rise through your chest, quickly hiding it behind your hand as their smiles from their faces faded and they grew antsy by the second. They looked at each other, realization dawning on their features.

Steve and Dustin knew they messed up big time.

“You got me good!” You pouted with doe eyes, playing along with their act. Stepping closer to the two, you leaned in and tilted your head as if you were speaking to two puppies. “Next time try and be a little more stealth.” 

Just as you were about to step toward the studio doors of the jazzercise class, a familiar feminine voice called out, sharp and breathless. “Hey, Y/n!” Your friend, Tina, came rushing up to you, dressed in a blue and green jazzercise outfit. Her sneakers and scrunched socks resembled yours. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks flushed from running from her parked car to the second floor. Without hesitation, she grabbed your other wrist and started tugging you toward the studio. “I thought you said you’d save us a spot near the front.” Seeing that your feet were rooted in the red carpet of the mall, Tina looked you up and down. “Damn, I didn’t realize a funeral was happening in today’s class. Don’t you look like a ball of sunshine!” Her sarcasm bled through, but that was what you loved about her. She barely looked at the two boys before pulling you further into the upbeat music.

“Better luck finding your evil Russian,” you call out. The younger boy placed a hand on the sailor’s shoulder, prompting him to walk away.

Steve’s eyes widened, panic and longing mixing in equal measure. He had the feeling he was letting an opportunity slip. Lunging forward and ignoring Dustin’s pleads, he caught your wrist once more, holding you steady against your friend’s pull. “Wait, just hold on for a second.” His grip was gentle but firm.

Tina whipped her head around, her gaze landing on your wrist in his hand. “Scram, sailor boy! We’ve got a class to attend.” 

“W-wait, Tina, can you just save me a spot? I’ll be right there,” you said, not taking your eyes off the boy who still held your wrist. Tina sighed, giving you a bored look and heading into the class.

“Look, I’m–” Dustin kicked Steve’s shin lightly, “We are really sorry about the mixup. This one came back from his ‘smart people’ camp and hasn’t stopped with the conspiracy theories.” Steve patted the boy’s head, taking the bill of his hat and using it to steer Dustin away while he chatted you up. He groaned at this and dragged his feet back to Scoops Ahoy. “I’m Steve Harrington, by the way.” He puffed his chest out but his voice didn’t fully convey his confidence. 

You tilted your head, a slow smile spreading as it dawned on you that behind the goofy costume and sailor hat, he was cute. Really cute. Steve stood there, looking nervous and earnest all at once, still holding your wrist, which made your insides do a silly flip. “Y/n L/n,” you said before you could overthink it. Now you were the one getting all nervous.

“Hey, I know this might be weird, but can I take you out on a date?” Steve asked, his whiskey colored eyes never straying from yours. His head drooped and his hair flopped with it as he laughed inwardly, scrubbing a palm over his cheek. “I promise I clean up nice.”

“All right, everyone, listen up!” You heard the instructor yell, most likely setting up his boom box at the front of the studio. Where you were supposed to be right now with Tina. Wham! starts blasting from the speakers, signaling the start of the warmup. “Who is ready to sweat?”

Your brows furrowed, wanting to stay with Steve and also wanting to go back into class. “Look, I’ll meet you here after your class is done and maybe we can catch a movie or something. Super chill,” Steve said calmly even though he was the exact opposite of that. “They’re playing Back to the Future.”

You nodded, blushing lightly. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

Steve perked up, almost surprised you had said yes. He couldn’t wait to get back at Robin for making that stupid chart, because he just earned a point for ‘You Rule’.

“Really? I–I mean, yeah totally,” Steve mentally smacked some sense into him and combed his fingers through his voluminous waves. “I’ll pick you up here when you’re done.”

Before either of you could revel in the moment any longer, Tina tugged your arm in the direction of the class, practically dragging you toward the studio doors. “Come on, seriously! You’re going to miss the warmup, Y/n!”

You let her drag you this time, glancing back at Steve to see him staring at you with his mouth agape and eyes wide. His hands rested on his hips as he walked backwards, never taking his eyes off of you. 

“Yeah, ladies, warm it up. Bring it down to your hips and start feeling that burn down in the loins, right?” 

“Ugh, I just love this guy, he’s so funny!” Tina giggled as the both of you rolled your hips, following the instructor.

“Come on, ladies, show me what you got!” 

Both of you follow along, letting the music guide you, muscles loosening as your body falls into the rhythm. You watch yourself in the mirror, trying your hardest to focus, but you catch a glimpse of the sailor boy still outside with his jaw practically on the floor. 

Steve tells himself that he shouldn’t be watching, he just met you for godsakes. A flicker of shame twists in his chest as he realizes he’s so obviously ogling you, until you look over your shoulder. Your hips sway easily with the upbeat music as your gaze locks on his through the glass. You smirk, but it’s playful, and bite back a laugh when you see the way he stiffens, like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Steve looks away for half a second, scrubbing a hand over his face again, then glances back again anyway. Apparently self-control was not one of his strengths today. When your eyes meet his once more, something warm and fuzzy bubbles in his chest. 

Steve had a good feeling about you, and though he said that about a lot of girls in his past, he meant it this time. 

A firm slap landed on his back, startling Steve from the jazzercise-induced trance he was put in. “I can’t believe you pulled her, man,” Dustin said. “In a sailor costume at that.”