Jenni The Banished

“What did you drink?” He asks, already reaching for his jacket, stretching the phone cord as far as it would go. His arms are going in the sleeves as she slurs her answer into the phone,

“Don’t ‘member.” And he pictures her shaking her head defiantly, probably right in the entrance hall, grabbing the wall for support with one hand and holding the phone in the other. “Sorry, Stevie, can you come get me?”

“Yes. Yes, honey, ‘course I can. Can you just wait outside for me? Please?” She murmurs a yes in response, and he hangs up promising to be there soon. Which, to his credit, he is.

That is, after sprucing his hair up in the mirror with a bit of spray. There would be people there, after all, and Steve wasn’t an animal.

After breaking several traffic laws all in the span of 10 minutes, Steve’s car pulls up outside the bustling house. There’s loud music playing from inside, and he hears delighted yelps as people are diving into the pool he knows is in that backyard. He knows this place too well, but had decided to skip out on this particular party. Bad idea, apparently. He parks in the middle of the street like an idiot, because it doesn’t seem like anyone wanted to leave that party anytime soon. And then he rushes out, and sees her.

Exactly how he imagined.

Head in between her legs, hair fanning out around her body, sitting on the curb in a little dress with no jacket. Who needs a jacket anyway? Not Steve. He kneels in front of her, tapping her left knee and making eye contact with her. “Hey, pretty girl.” She giggles, and he smiles. That’s what he wanted to see. No matter how drunk she was, Steve loved to see that stupid smile. He reaches up, shrugs his jacket off, and drapes it over her shoulders.

“You came to get me.” She beams, clumsily reaching for him. He grabs her hands, and steadies her as she wobbles, sitting down, somehow.

“Yeah, honey, you called me. Come on, up.” She’s too wobbly to stand by herself, so he reaches under her armpits and picks her up with him, holding her just slightly off the ground. “Think you’re good to stand?”

“Maybe.” Her legs swung in the air, and he set her down, careful to keep one arm around her waist to keep her steady. “We can’t go to my house. My mama is gonna be sooo mad.” She shakes her head, a very serious expression on her face, and he can’t help but laugh. “Stevie, not joking!” She complains, weakly slapping his arm. He mocks hurt, rubbing the spot and pouting down at her as he leads her to the car.

“Fine, you can sleep over. Don’t have to lie.” He teases again, and receives another swift punch on the arm, this one decidedly harder. He opened the passenger door of his car, helping her in and leaning over to buckle her in. He was suddenly very aware of how her eyes were on him, big and owlish, because her breath was warm on his neck as he situated her.

“Stevie.” She whispers, and he turns his head to meet her eyes, half-kneeling on the pavement. His heart flutters, and curse that. “You’re so pretty. I love you.” She leans in for a kiss, but he leans backward, shaking his head.

“Not right now, honey. You’re very drunk.” He should really get a medal for this. It was the hardest thing he’d done in his entire life. The most beautiful girl ever called him pretty, told him she loved him, tried to kiss him, and he had to say no? This was killing him. He stood, closing the door and climbing into the driver’s seat. The drive home was silent, because her arms were crossed like she was a petulant toddler. He felt bad, he really did, but if they were going to get together, it wasn’t going to be like this. She couldn’t be drunk while it happened.

She forced him to carry her into the house, and take off her shoes, but mercifully was okay with changing herself into some pajamas she’d left at his once. He tucked her into the guest bed, meaning to say something, really, but she was out as soon as he pulled the blanket up to her neck. He pressed his lips softly to her forehead, and turned the light off.

His life really did suck.

—

The following morning, he was in the kitchen making pancakes when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned his head around to look over his shoulder at her, smiling softly. “Hey, sleepyhead.” He grins, going back to the pancakes as she situates herself on a kitchen stool. “Sleep okay?”

“Head hurts.” She complains, and he laughs even though he knows she’ll kill him for it later. He did find it funny. Just a little bit.

“Well, that’s what happens when you drink as much as you had last night.” He shrugs, and flips the first pancake right onto her plate. “Eating makes it better.”

“I know.” They’ve been through this a few times, usually when both of them are drunk, but ever since he’d been starting to babysit Steve was on a turn for the better. He kept hoping maybe one of these days she’d take one too. She ate in silence for a few minutes, and he went back to making the pancakes. By the time she spoke again, he was already turning off the stove. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sweetie?” He turned fully, leaning against the countertop. He tilted his head to the side, watching her a moment.

“Did I say something embarrassing last night? I just- I have a feeling I said something weird. Or did something, I don’t know. But just tell me, please, because I hate this feeling.” She laughs nervously, and he wishes he could kiss all over her face and make it better. But not now (yet, hopefully).

“Uhm-” He busies himself with trying to tidy the countertop, washing the pan in the sink and shrugging nonchalantly. “You know, uh-” He clears his throat, physically unable to get the words out for a second. “You just tried to kiss me, is all.”

The groan escaping from her is instantaneous, and she buries her face in her hands. “Oh god, really? Steve, I’m- I’m really sorry, I do really stupid things when I’m drunk-”

“I didn’t think it was stupid.” He exhaled deeply, finally turning to face her, his lips slightly pursed. “I just didn’t let you do it because you were drunk. But you know, uh- it wouldn’t have been stupid. If you weren’t drunk.”

“Oh.” She looks away from him, down at her food, and he’s worried he’s ruined everything. Maybe it really just was a drunk action, and there was nothing behind it. “Well, I’ll have to try it again sometime.”

His heart leaps, pounding at his ribcage, trying to beat its way out of his chest and into her hands. As far as he’s concerned, it’s already there, but he wishes it would go so the ache would go away. He clears his throat again - god, what is stuck in there? “Now, would be acceptable.”

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, she pads out of her stool. Steve has to look away because he can’t watch, eyes focusing on the ceiling, until finally, she’s standing right in front of him. He knows because he feels a soft tap on his shoulder, and looks down to see her standing there.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He whispers, searching her eyes. She giggles again, just like she did last night, but with more clarity this time. Not drunk anymore.

Do it. Do it. He can’t. King Steve is freaking out on the inside, and it’s like her body is a magnet literally pulling his heart out of his chest. Can it just go already?

He leans in to kiss her, hoping that’ll make it stop.

He is mournfully wrong. It only gets worse.

credits to viviansturns for the dividers!

your bedroom is your sanctuary. it’s small and a little cluttered, but it’s yours. the curtains are drawn, the only light coming from the little fairy lights strung across your headboard, casting a warm, hazy glow. and steve is on top of you, kissing you like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin.

it started out normal. well, your normal. a desperate, frantic makeout session that quickly escalated. clothes were shed, hands roamed, and now he’s settling between your thighs, his weight a perfect, grounding pressure on top of you.

he pushes into you, slow and steady, and you both let out a collective sigh. it’s perfect. he feels perfect. he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has your toes curling. and then he lets out this sound.

it’s not a moan, not really. it’s a full-body, from-the-back-of-his-throat groan. it’s loud. it’s so loud it’s almost comical, and it’s followed by a string of breathy curses.

“oh, fuck, baby, you feel so—shit—so good.”

you can’t help but smile into his shoulder. you love it. you love how vocal he is, how he just can’t help himself. he’s an open book, and you’re currently reading your favorite chapter.

but then he stops.

he just freezes mid-thrust, his whole body going rigid above you.

you pull back, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “what’s wrong?”

he’s avoiding your eyes, his face buried in your neck. you can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. “nothing,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by your skin. “keep going.”

“steve, you stopped,” you say, wiggling your hips impatiently. “what happened?”

“nothing happened,” he insists, but he still won’t move. then, in a much smaller voice, he adds, “did i… was i too loud?”

you have to physically bite your lip to keep from laughing. “too loud?”

he finally lifts his head, and his face is so red it’s almost purple. he looks completely mortified. “i just… i get carried away. and it’s… it’s embarrassing.”

you stare at him. truly and utterly stare at him. is he serious? “steve harrington. are you telling me you’re trying to be quiet right now?”

“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “your parents are, like, two rooms down. and it’s just… undignified.”

“undignified?” you repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. you prop yourself up on your elbows, ignoring the fact that he’s still inside you. “you do realize we’re literally having sex, right? the dignified ship has sailed.”

“that’s not the point,” he whines. “the point is i sound like a… a dying whale or something.”

that’s when you do it. you can’t help it. a giggle escapes your lips, and then another, until you’re full-on laughing, your head thrown back.

he looks utterly betrayed. “it’s not funny!”

“it’s a little funny,” you manage to gasp, wiping a tear from your eye. you cup his face, your thumbs stroking his burning cheeks. “steve. look at me.”

he does, his eyes all big and wounded like a puppy’s.

“i love it,” you say, your voice dropping to a serious, sincere whisper. “i love that you’re loud. i love knowing i’m making you feel so good you can’t help yourself. it’s the hottest thing i’ve ever heard.”

his blush deepens, but the wounded look in his eyes is slowly replaced by something else. something hopeful. “really?”

“really,” you confirm. you pull him down for a soft, reassuring kiss. “now, please. stop trying to have polite sex with me and fuck me like you mean it. i want to hear you.”

that’s all the encouragement he needs.

a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, and all traces of his previous embarrassment vanish. he’s back. he starts to move again, and this time, he doesn’t hold back.

he’s not just loud now, he’s theatrical. with every thrust, there’s a corresponding grunt or groan or a string of filth whispered right against your ear.

“fuck, just like that. you’re so tight, baby. taking me so well.”

“god, you feel incredible. i could do this all night.”

“you like that, huh? you like hearing how good you make me feel?”

and you do. you really, really do. it’s like a feedback loop of pleasure. the louder he gets, the more turned on you get, the tighter you clench around him, which in turn makes him louder. it’s a beautiful, messy, perfect cycle.

the knot in your stomach tightens, faster than usual, spurred on by his constant stream of praise and profanity. you can feel yourself getting close, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“that’s it, baby, come for me,” he pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. “wanna hear you. wanna feel you. come on.”

and you do. you shatter, a loud cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. it’s intense, all-consuming, and it’s all because of him.

he follows you over the edge a second later with a guttural, positively pornographic groan that you’re sure would give your dad an aneurysm. he collapses on top of you, his whole body limp and sweaty.

for a moment, the only sound is your combined, heavy breathing. then, you feel his chest start to shake with silent laughter.

“okay,” he says, his voice muffled by your pillow. “maybe you’re right. that was… way better.”

you run your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, a lazy, satisfied smile on your face. “told you so.”

he lifts his head, his eyes sparkling. “just… maybe try to keep it down a little next time? pretty sure your dad owns a shotgun.”

you laugh, pulling him down for another kiss. “no promises.”

You were meant to be meeting Steve after school — he would drive you both to his house, the two of you would spent the evening watching movies, eating snacks and making out and then he would drive you home before curfew. It was what you did most nights. Unless he had a late game on or you had a family thing, even then you'd be sat in the bleachers watching him, cheering at the little thing he did.

Steve had been your boyfriend for coming up to a year now. It was wonderful, everything was perfect. You weren't 100% on his mates, Tommy H and Carol, but you had enough attitude saddled on your belt with the help of your father being the chief of police that you could handle them whenever they were in the same vicinity as Steve.

Some people thought your relationship was weird. Steve had always tended to go for the more mainstream, popular girls that had big poofy hair that matched all the magazines. When everybody first saw you sharing a cigarette behind the bleachers together, someone with your style of make up and the type of cassettes that filled your messenger bag, everybody was surprised.

But you didn't care because things were good with Steve. Perfect even. You'd catch him after a class, he'd walk you to your next one, you would spent lunch together, he'd drive you to school every morning if your dad couldn't and you loved every minute of it.

You thought Steve did too.

The ill-fated incident occurred on a Tuesday afternoon. Steve had basketball practise after school, so you'd gone to the music room to practise on the school classical guitars. He had told you when practise was supposed to finished so five minutes too, you turned up outside the gym changing room, pulling your headphones off and tucking them around your neck just before the hour ticked over.

The door was quite thin, apparently, because you could hear everything they were saying in there, even over the light hiss of the showers running. Men's voices carried, especially against the sharp tile, echoing directly towards you and finding your ears.

At first, you didn't think that Steve was the one speaking. It didn't quite sound like him, but when Tommy laughed, you realised it had to be him. There were no other voices, no other possibility that it could be anybody but Steve.

"I dunno man, she's just getting annoying. A bit clingy." Followed by Tommy's menacing laughter that you recognised from the more than once occurrence of you jabbing back at him at the lunch table.

Steve called you annoying. Clingy.

You. Out of all people. Out of the girls that followed him around the corridor, even though he was stuck to your hip the entire day. Out of Carol who wouldn't leave you alone at the lunch table. Out of his ex's that were still caught up on Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, even when they saw you making out in that alleyway down the side of the gym.

Honestly, you laughed to yourself a bit, and slipped your headphones back on. With a hand lifted up and elbow resting on your waist, you began picked at your nails, admiring when you'd got them done yesterday.

Because that was the funny thing.

You were a naturally reserved person. The only person you told absolutely everything was your dad, and that was because he was the chief of police and he'd find out one way or the other. When you and Steve first got together, it took you a while to let him in, it took you a while to trust him enough to let him see that side of you.

Now he was saying it was too much?

Okay, then. If it was too much, then you'd pull back. Go back to being yourself. Go back to being his girlfriend from nine months ago. It was easy enough. If that's what he wanted, then that's what he'd get. You stayed at the door (if you were being totally honest to yourself, you only stayed because you needed a ride home) but a plan begun to form in your mind.

You didn't know how much longer it was until the door swung open, followed by Steve and Tommy their bags slung over their shoulders. Only then did you pull your headphones down and back around your neck, ignoring that weird look that the two boys gave each other. Soon enough Tommy was gone and you were left alone with Steve, ready for him to drive you home.

Automatically, his arm slid around your waist, a swift kiss pressed against your hairline. "Hey sweetheart, you alright?"

You didn't return the sentiment. "Yeah, fabulous. Ready to go?"

"Of course!" He didn't sense anything was wrong. That was exactly what you wanted. You knew Steve well enough by now that you knew he would play exactly into your hand.

The two of you walked to his car, his hand in yours, the connection feeling familiar, feeling nice, but in your head there was still the underlying switch — his words playing on repeat. The reality that he was keeping it from you, still settled there. When he opened the car door for you and slipped around the other side to get in the drivers seat, the second part of your plan was revealed.

"Oh, Steve, by the way, I've gotta cancel our usual evening tonight." You spoke, voice smooth and casual as you buckled yourself in and he started the car. "If you could just drive me back to my dad's that would be perfect, he's got the night off so we're gonna have a night in together. We don't get them very often anymore."

Steve fell for it, reversing out his spot and beginning to drive off in the direction of your dad's place, knowing it off by heart. "Yeah, sure, that's all good. We still on for tomorrow, though?"

You smile, curated and fake but all the more believable. "As far as I'm concerned, yep."

The ride back was quiet. He asked you about your day, you politely returned the favour. You didn't ask anything out of the usual and didn't answer anything out of the usual. For any particularly blunt answer, Steve just put it down as you being tired. You always became a bit more reserved when you'd had a particularly annoying day, so Steve didn't think anything was out of the ordinary.

As he pulled up to your house, your grabbed the bag from the back seat and unbuckled yourself, ready to leave before Steve could coax anything else out of you. You said goodbye without a parting kiss, which Steve did think was a bit odd but he wasn't in the place to bring it up, instead you shut the car door with a smile and watch as he drives off.

You let out a breath, standing on the side of a street for a bit before turning and letting yourself in.

From the kitchen, Hopper heard you walk in. He was stood at the sink, cleaning up from breakfast that morning, casting a concerned look towards you as you dumped your bag and shoes by the door.

"You alright, kid?"

"Yeah, all good." You grin, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe.

Hopper shrugged, playing a dish on the drying rack and wiping his hands before turning back to you with his arms crossed. "Aren't you supposed to be at Harrington's tonight?"

You shook your head. "Nah. He called me annoying so I'm pulling back. Told him we had an evening planned."

"He called you annoying?"

"And clingy!" You laugh at your dad's reaction. He hadn't been too keen on Steve when the two of you first got together, but once you had convinced him you really liked Steve, your dad had backed off a bit. Now you knew that was all going to go down the drain now. "I think— at least. I don't know, it was either me or some imaginary girl he's made up. It's all good, I'm not fussed about it. If he thinks I'm too much, I'll just be around him less."

Hopper squinted at you. "That ain't very healthy for you, kid."

You shrugged, fiddling with the cassette at your waist. "Well, at least I'm not changing myself for another guy. Just seeing him less. I don't mind, honestly."

"Alright." Hopper stood up straight, stretching. "If that's what you wanna do. Lemme know if I need to hit him with my car or anything, okay?"

"Will do, dad." You grin.

"That's m'girl." Hopper smiles, walking towards the living room and ruffling your hair along the way. He cackles at your reaction, a high screech, but you're following him into the living room either way, ready to spend a night away from the guy that was talking bad about you behind your back.

For the next couple days, you manage to avoid Steve completely. You honestly don't know how you manage it. Wednesday, you ring him in the morning and tell him your sick and can't come into school that day and he can't come and see you at the fear of getting him sick. You spend all day with your dad in the station listening to 60s and 70s funk and soul.

Thursday, you go in but get your dad to drive you in on the way to the station, avoid Steve between classes and spend lunch in the library catching up on the work you missed Wednesday. He rings you that evening and asks if you even came to school but your just shrug even though he can't see you and say, "Yeah, I was in, guess you just didn't see me."

Friday comes around and you've very luckily got a gig in Indianapolis. Steve was supposed to drive you but you lied and told him your dad managed to get a spare ticket and was now going to be driving you up into the capital.

Instead, you used the money you were saving up for Steve's anniversary present to pay the bus fair for the three hour bus journey into the capital. You also used the excuse that traffic was bad so you had to leave around midday to be on time and there was no point in coming into school at all.

See, this reserved thing was easy once you got back into it. Sure, you were lying every now and again, but Steve was being just as bad by calling you annoying behind your back.

Genuinely, if you even were being annoying and clingy, you would have preferred that he just told you, communicated with you and had a proper conversation about it, rather than just keep it to himself. He still hadn't connected the dots with timings and the conversation with Tommy. He still just thought you were being genuine and you just coincidentally had all these things lined up one after another.

Then Sunday evening rolled around. You'd avoided his calls all weekend, avoided him in town and managed to have plausible excuses for every time you had missed once of his calls.

You and your friends had planned to go see a movie in town that evening. You knew that Steve usually hung around that part of town a lot, but you weren't worried. When you were with your friends you could just say you were busy, or that you were running late and were going to miss the beginning of the movie.

Any way, your friends knew about it all. They were all on your side about it, perhaps a little confused about why you were pulling away but they let you do your own thing, they trusted you with how you handled situations.

So you all walked into town together, meeting the other two at the theatre, all four of your ready to go see a movie. From the alley down the side of the building, you hear Tommy's horrid laugh again, which meant that Steve would probably be there too.

When the four of you walked past the alley, you saw Steve sit up at the sight of you, already being pushed by Tommy and Carol to move so he doesn't just watch you walk away. You giggle a little, but attempt to make your friends speed up, them catching on immediately to Steve being there and that you don't exactly want to talk to him.

"Baby!" But he calls for you either way, and you and your friends can't get into the theatre in time before his hand is on your shoulder. You turn, staring up at him with a monotone expression, the best you can pull together in this moment. He smiles when he meets your eyes. "Hey!"

You turn back to your friends, who have moved closer to the door of the building, egging you on to leave him. "Hey Steve— Sorry we're in a rush. Gonna miss the movie, I'll see you later!"

He's too fast, he catches your upper arm, not letting you leave. "You'll miss the adverts and the trailers, you can stay for a bit, surely?"

With parted lips, you realise you can't get out of it. "Yeah, sure. What's up, then, Steve?"

Steve's eyebrows furrow at you, dropping his hand from your arm. Suddenly his hands are shoved in his pockets, and he begins to curl in on himself, the doubts settling in. "No.. nothing in particular, just— haven't seen you in ages."

"Yeah, I've been busy. Can't help it." You do your best to keep your sentences short, building that wall taller and thicker than ever, just to hurt him.

"I know." Steve nods. "I've missed you. A lot. Haven't seen you in nearly a week."

You step back, the words coming to your head perfectly. With your hands coming up to cross over your chest, you glance quickly at the alley, Tommy and Carol's heads poking out from behind brick as you turn back to Steve with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know, Steve, you're being a bit clingy."

You ignore the gasps from both your friends and Steve's. The boy's lips part, eyebrows furrowed deeper than before as he feels his chest crack at your words. His voice his meek as he speaks, full of confusion and heartbreak. "What?"

Your shoulders shrug before you can stop them. "I mean, surely you can go a couple days without seeing your girlfriend. It's getting annoying, Steve, I'll admit." You don't even realise you've quoted his own speech word for word, it was just the first rebuttal that came into your head.

"Baby."

Steve cracks. He goes from confused to just broken and upset. His eyebrows turn inwards, and he stumbles a step forward, but you're one step ahead of him, stepping backwards. This just hurts him even more.

You scoff at his single word, harsh and hurting.

"Yeah, it don't feel good, does it?"

It's dark outside when the movie ends. When you've eaten an immense amount of popcorn and gossiped over the end of the movie, you and your friends vacate your seats, laughing and cackling as you all walk outside.

You turn on the balls of your feet and walk towards your friends, ushering them inside the building. You leave Steve outside the movie theatre, not feeling an ounce of guilt as you take your seat.

It's then you notice. Steve's Beemer parked directly outside the building, with the boy sat against the drivers seat door, one knee tucked up against his chest, his elbow hooked around the joint, head resting in the crook. At the sight of him, you slow your steps, watching as your friends continue.

He looks pathetic. But he's waited up for you, even when you said that shit to his face, and the guilt begins to seep in at the sight of him there.

Steve was wrong. He should have told you that you were being clingy and that he needed space, but you didn't have to go so hard on him. You could have spoken to him about. You were being hypocritical about the whole situation, really.

When your friends call after you, only then does Steve notice you're standing right in front of him.

You turn to your friends, letting Steve stand up. "You guys go home, it'll be okay, I'll see you all at school tomorrow. Just gotta…" They all understand, nodding and walking off, leaving once again, just you and Steve.

As you turn back to Steve your gaze is waring. You don't just want this to brush over like it would it any other relationship, but you don't don't want to end up being so hard on him again. This needs to be a civil conversation about where you both went wrong. You've come to your senses now and you won't let this conversation end horribly.

"Please, baby." Steve speaks, voice broken and soft as he takes a step towards you. His face is warm under the orange streetlamp, and he just looks so beautiful you think you might die. "I just want to know what happened."

Again, you scoff, but it's different from the last time. It's an empty scoff now, just tired and fed up and disbelief. "I can't believe you haven't figured it out yet."

His eyebrows furrow and his hand reaches for you but you can't bring yourself to let him touch you, so you back away. Steve gets the message and pulls back, nodding bitterly. "I know, I'm an idiot and I'm stupid and I can't figure it out. I just need a little help here, sugar, please. All I can see is you avoiding me all week with excuse after excuse that I can't say no to, then you call me clingy and annoying? Am I being clingy and annoying? I just wanna know and I'll back off, but— I really do miss you."

"You don't remember."

"I don't."

You take in a deep breath and glance off to the side for a second, composing yourself. You don't feel yourself getting upset — this isn't worth that — but there is something dangerous settling in your stomach and you fear the words that may come out your mouth if you let your heart speak over your head.

"Last Tuesday." You speak, calm and collected, and looking Steve in the eye. "I waited for you outside the changing room, I took my headphones off and I heard you say that 'she's being clingy and annoying'. Honestly, I was stupid for even sticking around but I didn't have another ride home. Then I just thought, if you think I'm too much, I'll just see you less. I didn't change myself or how I act, I just pulled back a bit.

And, if I'm being frank then yes, I know it was hypocritical of me. I know I should have communicated with you but I was pissed that you spoke about me behind my back and I thought we had a strong enough relationship for you to tell me if anything was pissing you off so I was annoyed and I acted out."

You're rambling, now. You can't help it. Every thought you've ever had from the past couple days all come tumbling out and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

"But this is two-way street, Steve." You say, the avalanche only building more with each word that spills from between your lips. "We both have to communicate and I couldn't be around someone that would say that shit behind my back. I'm angry that you didn't tell me I was being too much—"

Steve steps forward. "Sweetheart."

You pause, lips parted as you look up at him, his gorgeous brown eyes staring at you with so much love that you couldn't quite piece together what he had taken from your conversation. "What?"

"That wasn't about you."

Oh, you've really gone and fucked it now. Panic creeps in at you star at him. "What do you mean?"

Steve reaches a hand up, presses it against your cheek to partly ground you and partly ground himself, too. His palm is warm against you, and you have to admit that you've missed his touched, even just casual, even just a small gesture. "When I said she was clingy and annoying, that wasn't about you. It was about Daniella K."

Daniella K. The ex-girlfriend that still left notes in his locker. That still followed him around corridors even when he had his arm around you. Fuck.

"She had sat through the whole of practise and waited until the end to ask me if I wanted to go to the movies that evening. I, once again, reminded her that I have you. And that she needs to leave me alone." Steve speaks, his voice regaining it's strength as he realised that this was all a whole tangled web of miscommunication.

You were going to be sick. You stumbled out of his grasp as a hand flew up to cover your mouth, a mumbled, "Fuck." Sounding from beneath your hand.

"Baby, it's okay."

"No, fuck, oh god, Steve." You stammer, gaze flicking between the concrete pavement and his face as he edged towards you again. "Jesus Christ, I'm actually so fucking stupid, what the hell was I thinking?"

Steve furrows his eyebrow and grabs you again, one hand around your waist to pull you back towards him, the other reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. "Hey, no, none of that. No way on this Earth are you stupid. I should have told you about Daniella, it would have just cleared everything up immediately."

Your head falls into his chest, his scent and grasp familiar and comforting as your heart twisted at your mistake. "I'm so sorry, Steve. I should have just communicated with you."

"I should've too." Steve shrugs, pulling your head out of his chest to get a proper good look at you again. He smiles as you look up at him and he shrugs, clearly not as annoyed about this whole ordeal as he has a right to be. "It's okay, people make mistakes, people get angry. I'm not hurt by it, because I know what happened. We're all good. We'll just learn from this and do better if it ever happens again."

A sigh leaves you and you nod up at him. "Can you forgive me?"

Steve grins, placing a swift kiss against the apple of your cheek. "Already did, sugar."

"You're the best." You smile, lifting yourself up onto your tippie-toes to press your lips against his, welcoming the love and the warmth that he always brings.

His hand automatically reaches for your cheek, tilting your head to get even closer, an arm coming up to wrap around the back of his neck as he pulls you taut against him. It's perfect, it's you and Steve, it's everything sorted out and a promise to never let communication cause any rift between you ever again.

When he pulls back, he keeps you against him, hands switching back to your waist and letting his thumbs rub against the skin there where your shirt has ridden up a little. "Now, our one year anniversary is next Saturday, please tell me you didn't fill your diary that far ahead to avoid me?"

You scoff a little in disbelief, but the smile is still creeping onto your lips. "I can't believe you just said that. Yes, I'm free."

"So I can still spoil the living hell out of you?"

"Yeah, you can, baby." You grin, letting yourself fall into his chest again, feeling his arms wrap around your torso as he begins to sway the two of you slightly.

With his chin resting against your hair, he mumbles, low and meaningful. "Don't ever think you're too clingy or annoying or too much. I love how much time we spent together. I love you no matter what, and I love that I see you at every possible moment in school, and that you're the first person I see every day when I drive you to school. You mean everything to me, sweetheart. and I never want you to think anything else."

"You're literally my favourite person ever." You murmur back, just loud enough where you know he'll hear it, even if your face is pressed into his polo. "I love you."

"Love you too, baby." He smiles, letting the two of you stand there for just a bit longer. "Let me drive you home?"

"Always."

Steve laid in his bed and couldn’t sleep. The only thing he could think about was what had happened that day.

After the gang had left the gun shop and spent the rest of the afternoon making other makeshift weapons it had grown quite late.

Nancy and Dustin had voted for going into the Upside Down and attacking straight away, but Eddie, Y/N and Lucas had voted for waiting until morning, going through the plan one more time, and trying to catch up on some sleep.

Erica and Max had shrugged, and finally it was decided that they would spend the night at Steve’s house. It was big, there were no parents to interrupt and enough food for them all.

Steve’s house, or more accurately, his parents, had two guest rooms, then there was the master bedroom – rarely used – and Steve’s room.

They voted that Max and Erica would take one guestroom. Y/N, Nancy and Robin would take the master bedroom, sharing the biggest bed. Then Eddie, Dustin and Lucas would take the last guestroom. Eddie made a cot for himself with some pillows on the floor, leaving the bed to Dustin and Lucas.

Steve had gone to bed in his own bedroom. Alone. And while he couldn’t help but thinking about what would happen the next day, it wasn’t the foremost thought on his mind.

He thought about Nancy. About how she and Steve had talked when he drove the ’borrowed’ RV.

How he had admitted he wanted to have six kids – ’nuggets’, as he called them – and ride around the country in an RV just like the one he was driving. That he wanted to settle down in Hawkins. Have family, completely different from his mom and dad.

And how he had told her that he had always imagined she, Nancy, would be a part of that fantasy.

Nancy hadn’t said anything, but the look on her face... yeah, Steve got the hint immediately. There was no room for Steve and six kids in Nancy’s future, that was clear as day. At the most, they would remain friends.

Steve supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Nancy had been done with him two years ago. But these few days it had felt like... like there was a new chance.

But he was clearly wrong.

And it stung.

Then he heard a noise, forgetting all about Nancy and the hurt he felt.

He immediately sat up. Had Vecna gotten to Max? Or had Vecna let loose a bunch of demogorgons, storming the house?

Steve got out of bed soundlessly, grabbing his trusty old bat from inside the closet, sneaking out into the upper hallway.

First he stuck his head into the guest bedroom with Erica and Max, exhaling a breath of relief when he saw that Max was sleeping, her headphones over her ears, hopefully with Kate Bush on repeat.

Erica was sleeping too, not moving a muscle.

Steve closed the door, still convinced he had heard something.

Then there it was again! A small noise, almost like something scraping against the floor!

Soundlessly he walked down the stairs, bat ready to fight any monster that might have gotten inside.

However, when he came through the doorway to the dining hall he stopped dead in his tracks, jaw dropping.

Then he quickly moved to the side so he wouldn’t be seen. Not that he thought there was much risk of it. The two people inside the dining room, one sitting on the table, the other kneeling in front of it, was clearly very busy, not noticing anything other than each other.

One of them was Y/N. Sweet Y/N, whom Steve had gotten to know at the same time as Robin when they worked at Scoop’s Ahoy together. She, just like Robin had gotten dragged into the mess with the Russians, the Mind Flayer and the fire at Starcourt Mall.

Steve might have flirted a little bit with Y/N, but back then he’d mostly had his eyes on Robin – that was before he knew about her sexuality – and after all that, when the truth serum had made them all brutally honest… there just wasn’t any room for romance between Y/N and Steve. They had seen each other high as kites, sick as puppies in the mall’s restroom’s and hidden away from the Russians in the mall’s movie theater, looking like they’d gone ten rounds in a boxing match with both hands tied behind their backs.

That created a deep bond between people. Steve loved Y/N like a sister, just like he loved Robin, but… after that first initial flirt he had never thought about her romantically. Or sexually.

But someone else clearly did. That, and more.

Y/N was sitting on the table, legs spread, naked except for a purple bra covering her breasts, one foot on the table, while the other was resting on the shoulder of the person kneeling in front of her, face buried between her legs.

And by the looks of the curls that Y/N’s hand was clutching, that person was Eddie Munson.

Steve realized he shouldn’t be surprised. Dustin had mentioned that Y/N often laughed at Eddie’s antics in school, his speeches in the cafeteria, and that she had asked about Hellfire club.

Because of that, Dustin and Mike had asked her to be the stand-in for Lucas during the Championship game.

And Steve had noticed the lingering glances, the little touches that had happened ever since this mess started, with Chrissy’s death and Vecna.

Apparently Y/N and Eddie had decided to make the most of what might be their last night alive.

Steve watched Y/N, how her mouth hung open, how she clutched Eddie’s hair, how her breast rose and fell as she panted, clearly close to the edge.

He felt like some goddamn pervert, spying on them, but... for some reason it eased the ache in his own chest, the one caused by Nancy’s rejection. Seeing this moment between Eddie and Y/N. It was like… it made him happy for them and even second hand happiness… was better than the emptiness he had felt up until now.

 Maybe Steve should be offended – they were fucking on his (well, his parents) dining room table – how depraved was that?!

But he wasn’t. He was just glad they could have this moment, since none of them knew what would happen tomorrow.

Steve could hear the wet sounds from Eddie, how he devoured Y/N’s pussy like it was a sweet dessert.

Steve could see how Eddie used one hand, most likely fingering her while still licking, sucking, slurping.

Who would have known that Eddie ’the freak’ Munson was such an expert on eating pussy? It was apparent with the way tears streamed down Y/N’s face and how she tried to keep her sobs, moans and breathing down, so to not wake anyone.

He suddenly saw Y/N’s head fall back against her shoulders, how she tensed up, back arched in a bow, thrusting her hips wildly against Eddie’s mouth. She was cumming. Hard.

Steve registered that he himself was suddenly rock hard. Even though he didn’t thought of Y/N like that, and he barely knew Eddie even though they were getting there. But this... this was so erotic, so... somehow sweet and yet hot, that he couldn’t help but be affected.

Eddie rose to his full height and made a show of pulling his fingers out, sucking them clean, and then smashing his lips against Y/N while she wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, definitely tasting herself on Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie started to unbuckle his belt, and pushed his jeans down, just enough to get his cock out, Y/N’s hand immediately wrapped around it, starting to move her hand up and down.

Steve’s eyes widened. He himself had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about when it came to his cock, but it was obvious that neither had Eddie.

He didn’t see much else though, because Eddie started to move his hips, evidently sliding it through Y/N’s still wet folds, making her moan.

”But Eddie... don’t you want me to...?” she whispered and Steve understoood she wanted to return the favor – suck Eddie off.

”No, princess. Need to be inside you so badly, need to fuck you,” Eddie replied, his voice hoarse.

Y/N nodded and finally Steve could see how Eddie thrust with his hips, clearly pushing into Y/N. Both of them froze, clinging to each other like they were drowning.

”C-can I...?” Eddie stuttered out after a moment of silence and Y/N whisper-yelled:

”Move!”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the urgency in her voice, how she made it sound like she would die if Eddie didn’t start moving right then.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice; he started snapping his hips, pushing his cock back and forth into Y/N’s cunt, the wet sound of sex and flesh slapping against flesh.

”Fuck, princess, you feel so good!” Eddie got out through gritted teeth, thrusting so hard that the legs of the dining room table – the table Steve’s mother had so proudly bought in a catalogue from New York – were scraping against the floor, moving with every forceful push.

”Oh, Ed...” Y/N moaned, her scratching at Eddie’s back, leaving red marks behind.

Eddie buried his head against her neck, making her whimper, so Steve guessed he sank his teeth into the soft skin there. It would’ve been what he would do.

Steve could see that they were both getting close. Eddie’s curls was sticking to his neck and naked back from sweat, Y/N’s forehead was pressed against his shoulder, small ’uh, uh’s’ coming out of her mouth.

Then, finally, she froze in her movement, biting down on Eddie’s collarbone, her legs shaking around Eddie’s waist. Steve saw the expression on Y/N’s face and knew that she was having an intense orgasm.

Eddie was grunting a little when Y/N bit down on his shoulder, but other than that he kept going, his groans growing louder as he held her so hard Steve was certain he would leave marks, as Eddie was cumming as well, his hips thrusting wildly as if he couldn’t get deep enough in Y/N’s pussy, bringing him so much pleasure.

Steve leaned against the wall, feeling a sort of calm fall over him as they both stilled, the afterglow of the orgasm visible on their faces as Eddie kissed Y/N’s tears away and Y/N’s ran her fingers up and down Eddie’s back.

Then, suddenly Y/N looked over Eddie’s shoulder and met Steve’s eyes. Y/N’s eyes widened and she gasped, before exclaiming: ”Steve!”

Steve panicked, he couldn’t think clearly. So he did the first thing his brain told him to do – he turned tail and ran.

Meanwhile Eddie was frowning at Y/N. ”Did you just call me ’Steve’?” he asked, a bit of anger in his voice, and Y/N shook her head. ”No, it was Steve! He was standing there… right there,” she said, pointing to the doorway. ”He was watching us!”

The dull sounds of someone running upstairs was heard and Eddie grumbled as he pulled out of Y/N, wiping her down with his bandana until she’s stopped leaking his jizz.

Then he kissed her forehead, and gave her back her panties, which he had stuffed into his back pocket before turning around and stomping upstairs.

”Harrington! Don’t think you’re getting off that easy!” he snarled, but quietly, still wary of the rest of the gang sleeping.

Meanwhile Y/N pulled her panties on, laughing so hard she almost fell.

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The tension was palpable as you, steve and Eddie were sat around the TV. You had all been smoking and drinking all night with Robin and Nancy till they left a little while ago. Now the three of you were sat around comfortably cross faded, trying to ignore the looks you gave each other.

You Eddie and steve were all best friends, best friends that sometimes kissed a little, best friends that made out when they were high maybe. But that was it, just friends.

But tonight it all felt different, you pretended not to notice the way Steve’s eyes watched your legs in your tiny shorts every time you moved and the way Eddies eyes drifted back to your tits every few minutes.

They did the same for you, ignoring the way you bit your lip when they moved their arms and flexed, or when you caught a glimpse of their obvious hard one in their jeans.

It’s Eddie that breaks the tension, lighting up a joint from his pocket. “Cmere sweetheart, shotgun with us.” He says, taking a look at steve and seemingly getting the answer he needed, looking away to pull up up and into his lap.

You let him move you as he inhales on the joint, ignoring the sound of steve shifting from his chair onto the small couch next to you. He wraps a hand over the back of your neck and pulls you in, exhaling into your parted lips.

You inhale and go to move away, instead he pulls against you harder, pulling your mouth against his properly. You don’t fight him, falling against him properly as your hands move to his hair.

“Hey now, don’t forget about me.” Steve says from beside you, eddies hand moving away for Steve’s to thread through your hair. He turns you towards him still in Eddies lap and connects your lips, licking into your mouth and taking dominance easily. You let out a gasp against his mouth when you feel Eddie press kisses anywhere he could find skin, littering you with marks.

“Here steve.” Eddie interrupts your make out session to press his own lips against steve, exhaling smoke into his mouth before starting to kiss him as well.

The sight just made you wetter in eddies lap, your hips grinding subconsciously over his jeans in desperate search of friction.

“Aw, I think our princess is needy hm?” Eddie chuckles, pulling away from steve slightly to look you up and down. “You want us both baby?” He asks, already knowing the answer as you whine in his lap.

“Aw, needy baby for us hm? Relax for us love, we will make you feel good.” Steve says, taking the joint from Eddie to his own lips, inhaling slowly as he moves a hand to your hip, thumb running over the exposed skin where your shirt has risen up.

You accept the joint that’s held infront of you eagerly and giggle when Eddie picks you up still in his lap. “As much fun as the couch may be tonight is for the bed.” He says, biting into your shoulder when your core rubs against his length through his jeans.

You land on the bed with a thump as Eddie drops you. Steve on one side and him on the other staring at you for a moment, taking in your already half gone look.

“Aw baby, you look ruined an we haven’t even gotten our cocks out yet, can’t wait to fuck you dumb sweet thing.” Eddies teasing you as he strips, peeling away his shirt quickly prompting steve to do the same.

You start to do the same, fumbling with your thin tee shirt when Steve is grabbing it for you, pulling it up and over your head with ease as Eddie tugged your shorts down.

“God your so pretty baby, so wet for us too.” Steve remarks, running his fingers through your folds.

“Who do you want first baby?” Eddie asks but you already know the answer you should be giving, Eddie first. You could tell Steve wanted to fuck your mouth anyway.

You struggle trying to get the words out, looking at Eddie with pleading wide eyes. “Yeah okay doll, so out of it and you’re still empty, adorable.” He chuckles quietly, watching Steve tap his cock against your lips, gaining your attention easily.

“That’s it baby, be good for us.” Steve speaks, watching as his cock slides into your mouth slowly then looking over to see Eddie sliding himself inside you so you were filled everywhere.

His eyes roll back as you moan around his cock, the feeling of him down your throat and your other boyfriend filling you up entirely overwhelming causing you to gag around the intrusion down your throat.

“Fuck I missed this pussy baby, so wet for us huh?” Eddie speaks breathless as he fucks into you, mouth half occupied sucking marks into your skin.

You can only give him a muffled moan in response but it’s enough for him. “Want you to cum for me baby, cum on my cock with another shoved down your throat like a good girl.” His words bring you closer and closer to the edge and when a hand reached between you and Eddie to start rubbing circles on your clit it all gets too much.

Your vision goes white as your jaw slacks fully, your back bowing up pressing your neck against eddies face where he had littered it with bites and hickeys. “Good girl, such a good girl for us.” Steve groans as you swallow around him again, forcing his own release down your throat while Eddie filled your pussy with an inhuman growl.

“God baby you always do so good for us.” Eddie murmurs as you all start slowly coming down. Steve freeing himself from your mouth and laying down next to you and Eddie.

You whine as Eddie pulls out of you slowly, shifting off to the side so he could curl around you properly as you settle. Your thoughts are interrupted however when you feel warm breath fan over your pussy, and before you could do anything Steve was licking straight through your folds, teasing your clit gently when you gasped, your scream muffled by Eddie slotting his lips against yours.

Steve groans into your pussy, the vibrations of his voice sending a bold of lightning through you again. You can feel him smiling as you go ridged in his hold on your thighs. Eddie continues making out with you, letting his hands roam freely, occasionally coming up to your throat and just holding it there, as if to remind you who’s in charge.

“You think we weren’t going to get as much of you as we could the night we finally made our move? You’re not gonna remember your name by sunrise.” Eddie speaks as though it’s a threat but you really can’t wait.

You let Steve go down on you like a man starved as Eddie learnt what really made you melt, he picked up that you would turn into butter on a warm summers day if he just left his hand on your throat, maybe squeezing every now and then.

Steve really did act like a man starved, pulling your second then third orgasm from you, each hitting harder than the last. Eventually your crying from everything going on around you, tears only fuling them on as they tease you for how wrecked you look, as if they look any better.

“Think you can take Steve’s cock baby? Let him fill you up hm?” Eddie asks, turning your head to look at him before you nod, too dumb to form words. “Such a good girl baby.” Eddie smoothed a thumb over your jaw, tracing over your lips and pressing inside gently, prompting you to suck. Only making eddies eyes blow wider as you brought it further in your mouth as Steve filled you up with his cock.

“So fucking wet princess fuck, feel me right here inside you huh? So good f’me sweetheart.” Steve mumbles, dragging his cock in and out of you listening to the obscene noises that came from you.

Your orgasm creeps up far too soon, between Steve thrusting in and out of you and Eddie turning you into playdough underneath him you feel yourself snap again, clenching down on the heavy cock inside you, forcing Steve’s own release as Eddie leans up to kiss him, pressing you down with a hand on your jaw as two fingers pressed themselves inside your mouth.

The scene is so hot that you barely notice the gush coming from between your legs until Steve is pulling out. “Fuck we made her squirt.” Eddies voice rumbled but it felt so far away, all you wanted was to fade into the darkness. As if he sensed it he leans over you, smiling when he sees how gone you look. “Sleep pretty thing, we’ll clean you up.” He murmurs, moving your hair out of your face.

“Steve hears that all the time and he goes in anyway, don’t ya Steve?”

You wish there were a drug (prescription, over-the-counter, homemade in a bathtub, you’re not picky) that could hose the last twenty-four hours clean out of your brain. Like a mental Clorox bomb. Rip the wallpaper off. Burn the couch. Scrub the inside of your skull until you couldn’t recall your own name, let alone that sentence.

The one currently rerouting every single one of your thoughts back to Steve Fucking Harrington and the inadvisable fixation on whatever situation he’s got going on in his Levi’s.

Incredible. Gold-star behavior. You should be on a watchlist.

You splash cold water on your face as if it’s holy, hoping it’ll scald the thoughts right out of you if you’re devout enough about it.

It doesn’t. If anything, now you’re just damp and distracted. 

You scrape your hair into a ponytail with trembling hands, snaring your fingers on knots you don’t have the patience to untangle. Your reflection meets you in the mirror with narrowed eyes and a contempt so sharp it could peel paint.

Maybe it’s fine. This is just textbook human behavior.

Curiosity kept the species alive, didn’t it? Curiosity made fire, built tools, landed on the moon. You just… redirected it. A little. Preoccupation plus sleep deprivation equals temporary psychosis.

And Steve Harrington’s size is just an equation you haven’t solved yet. That’s all. 

However, your brain doesn’t want the excuses you’re giving yourself. It wants contact. And the second you try to intellectualize it, it slips the leash, teeth bared, wrecking itself on imagery and impulse and the sheer kinetic force of your own dumb, dumb hunger.

You know what he was like in high school. Or what he was supposed to be like, if the teenage hivemind was to be believed. House parties every Friday. Cheap beer on his breath. Pretty girls folded into the backseat of his car.

You barely spoke, back then. Might never have, if not for the apocalypse flattening the social hierarchy and parking you two side-by-side in survival’s waiting room. 

There’s something kind of poetic about that, if you squint.

And yeah, with a reputation like that, it’s not exactly shocking to imagine he’s got... experience. The rumors made sure of it. Especially the ones that got real creative below the belt.

You open the bathroom door too fast. Before your heartbeat has settled, before your mind has purged even a fraction of the things you just let yourself picture. 

Terrible, wonderful things involving you and him and way less clothing.

You step out with heat still coiled under your skin, eyes unfocused, and crash straight into him.

Hard. Chest to face. His chest, your face. 

The impact should’ve knocked the thoughts clean out of your head. But they just double in volume. Multiply like gremlins.

You’re ninety percent sure he’s looking straight into your frontal lobe and watching the mental porn reel on loop. 

“Shit, sorry — I was just, um, doing the cold-water-to-the-face thing. That’s why I’m wet. My face, I mean.” You motion to your cheeks, as if this will clarify anything. “Not because I’m sweating. I mean, I am sweating, but not — okay, that’s not important. Anyway. Didn’t mean to, uh, crash into you.”

“Whoa, hey, you’re fine,” he says, all gentle grin and slow hands, like he’s trying to calm a skittish animal. He leans in instead of backing up, tilts his head. “You alright? You’re burning up.” His knuckles skim your cheek. “What were you doing in there, running laps?”

Your heart might stop. Or rupture. Or just melt into a little puddle and drip out of your ear, leaving behind a chalk outline and a puff of smoke.

His touch is so steady, so casual, it makes your own body feel uninhabitable.

“I’m okay,” you blurt. “I mean, I’m warm, but I’m always warm. Homeostasis, you know? Higher basal body temperature.” You blink. “Not sick, though. No fever. I checked. Not checked, but I’d know. Probably. I think.”

Steve studies you for a second longer than necessary before his hand falls away. The cool air rushes in where he was, and you almost flinch.

“You sure?” he asks, brow pinched. “You look kinda…” He stops himself. Swallows. “Never mind.”

His fingers move to his belt, fidgeting without thinking, you’re sure. You follow the motion like he’s got you on a string, and you're the world's most suggestible puppet.

His jeans are tight. Unreasonably so. 

Is this new? Has he always looked like that? Or are you simply being punished? Because your thoughts are not kind anymore. They are filthy and frantic and belt-shaped.

“I’m fine. I promise. Seriously. Don’t start psychoanalyzing me.”

“Right,” he says, lips twitching like he almost smiles. “Just saying, you’ve been a little… scarce. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

Your foot pivots, heel to toe, heel to toe. “No, I’m not avoiding you. Why would I —?”

And there it is. The stumble. The dead end.

“Good question. Why would you?”

“I wasn’t!” you say too fast. “I just… figured if I gave you space, it’d keep things from getting…” You wince. Shit. “I mean, no. I wasn’t avoiding you, really.”

Steve leans back against the wall like it was built just for him, arms crossed, smirk dialed up to lethal.

“Yeah?” he says. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like someone running scared.”

“I just think it’s completely fair to occasionally take space, okay?” you ramble, hands flailing. “Sometimes people just need time. Alone. To recalibrate. It’s healthy. Especially if, hypothetically, someone maybe said something that stuck in your head like a thumbtack and now you can’t stop thinking about it, and it might not even true but it feels true, and —”

“What feels true?”

You try to reroute. Hit the emergency eject. Say literally anything that doesn’t involve Robin or Steve or his dick size.

Your mouth moves, but nothing intelligent follows.

“I — uh.” Good start. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. It’s — wow, I’m bad at this.”

You don’t specify what this is. You pray he doesn’t ask.

But then his brow twitches, just a little. And his eyes widen with that soft, dooming interest that means he’s put something together.

“This is about what Robin said.”

You choke on the inhale. “What? No.”

Steve actually looks sorry for you.

It’s worse than laughter. Worse than death. It’s in the eyes, the little tilt of his head, the amused pinch of his lips like he’s fighting the urge to ruffle your hair and tell you to sit this one out.

“Jesus,” he says, grinning. “You might be the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

“I wasn’t — I haven’t been, like, dwelling on it or anything.”

“If it’s been keeping you up at night,” he murmurs, almost innocently, “I could just tell you. Might help you sleep.”

You cover your face with both hands. “Please stop talking.”

“What?” he laughs. “You’ve got questions, sweetheart. I’ve got answers. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“I don’t!” you say, voice pitching an octave too high. “I do not have questions. Maybe — okay, fine — maybe I had a thought. Singular. One unit of mental disturbance. But that’s not the same thing, and I definitely don’t need answers, because answers imply interest, and I’m not interested. I’m so far from interested.”

“So you’re telling me, just for the record, that there’s zero interest in whether or not Robin was exaggerating... or proof she wasn't?”

You immediately take a step back like his words physically shoved you.

“You can’t — don’t say things like that. You can’t say things like that.” 

He follows anyway. A goddamn golden retriever walking into the flames, all softness and sunlight, warmth invading every inch of your body like light through the blinds.

He smells like vanilla and ocean wind and the kind of summer you only remember in snapshots. Melting popsicles. Sweat-slick heat. Grass stains on your shins.

Your gaze dips to the slope of his collarbone, to the tiny freckle just beneath it.

You think about mouthing over it like it’s the last clean sin left in the world.

“Why not?”

“I — because.”

“That’s not an answer.” He takes a half step. “You sure you don’t want to know?”

“I’m sure I don’t need your charity.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is this?”

“This is me giving you the chance to just ask,” he murmurs. “Because I think you’ve want to.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m…” You trail off, suddenly unsure what the ending of that sentence is. What? Pathetic? Presumptuous? Clingy in that skin-crawling, middle school way? “It’s embarrassing, okay?” you say instead, voice barely above a whisper. “So if you’re being nice, stop. Please.”

“Do you really think I’d be standing here if I didn’t want to be?” he says. “That I’d be — what? Entertaining you out of pity?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” you say, hands flying up. “You’ve always been nice to me, Steve, and maybe that’s just a you thing, maybe you’re just pathologically polite and constitutionally incapable of making a clean exit from a conversation because you’re scared of being rude and I get that, I really do, but I’m kind of a lot, like, objectively, and sometimes I can’t tell —”

He leans in and kisses you. 

The moment detonates, no warning or countdown, just pure combustion, like his mouth struck the match and you were already soaked in gasoline. 

Or maybe it dissolves instead, maybe it disappears entirely and takes you with it, because suddenly there’s nothing solid left to stand on. 

Your thoughts scatter in every direction, slippery, clattering out of reach before you can grab onto even one of them. Maybe it’s relief, or maybe it’s panic, or maybe it’s both in equal measure tangled so tightly you can’t separate them, because the kiss doesn’t feel sweet or soft or safe.

It feels like something that’s been waiting. Pacing. Burning its way through the walls of his chest until it finally found a way out through your mouth.

This isn’t a kiss you’ll bounce back from. This isn’t a kiss you can shrug off later or file under harmless flirtation, Steve being Steve, like always. Because this is not harmless. This is not casual. This is not anything close to friendly.

It’s blistering. It’s possessive. It’s entirely incompatible with every version of this relationship you’ve tried to pretend was normal.

Your brain blanks. Your lungs forget how to function. You can’t even remember what you were saying before your mouth is full of heat and your brain is full of him, and all the polite categories you sorted him into are collapsing like paper in the rain. 

No one kisses like this out of pity.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes drag over your face like he’s assessing the wreckage, seeing what parts of you still work.

You’re flushed. Breathless. Somewhere between euphoric and humiliated and already hungry for more.

“You talk too much,” he says, almost fondly. But his eyes catch on your mouth, and the way they darken doesn’t feel fond at all.  “Maybe I should keep kissing you until you forget how to speak.”

His thumb traces your lip like he’s considering biting it next.

You blink past him, looking anywhere that isn’t his mouth or his eyes or his neck or the absolutely devastating angle of his jaw, because you’re pretty sure if you keep staring at him, you’re going to forget basic laws of human decency. And public indecency.

Like Joyce Byers walking out of the breakroom with a mug that says “World’s Best Mom” and catching you looking like a couple of hormonal teenagers in the AV room.

“Steve,” you whisper, half-mortified, half-dizzy. “We can’t just make out in the hallway.”

“Then let me take you somewhere we can.”

You nod before the sentence even fully lands, a reflexive, eager little movement that tells on you immediately. So much for playing it cool. So much for dignity. 

He doesn’t comment on it, thank the gods, but he does capitalize on it, fingers already hooking into your wrist as he pulls you backward, mouth never quite leaving yours, like he’s discovered a loophole in reality where consequences can’t reach him as long as he keeps kissing you. 

The hallway blurs, your awareness narrowing to the press of his body and the sound of a closet door being located purely by faith.

“You know,” he mumbles, voice rough and amused between kisses, “there’s a middle ground between unresolved sexual tension and closet makeouts, but clearly we skipped it.”

You giggle helplessly against his mouth. “You’re the one who kissed me!”

“Mmhm.” He presses another kiss to the corner of your smile. “And look at that —” kiss “— still doing it. Can’t seem to stop.”

There’s a clever comeback balancing precariously on the edge of your tongue, but it never makes it past your lips because his tongue gets there first, hot and shameless, swallowing the thought whole as he presses you back, deeper, until your spine meets cinderblock and your heel kicks something papery and hollow that might’ve once been a box but is now a casualty of lust.

The sound is distant. Muffled. Everything is. Except him. Except the way his fingers, practically dipped in snow, slip beneath your shirt, finding your hips to flatten against the give of flesh.

Your body jerks toward him like a tide you don’t remember starting. He meets you halfway, grinding in slow and steady, the thick ridge of his jeans dragging across your thigh but not there, not where you actually need him.

You know that smile. You can feel it ghosting across your mouth, equal parts smug and merciless.

You brace one hand on his shoulder like you might push him back, but it’s a lie. You just need something to hold onto.

“You’re being mean.”

“Thought I was nice,” he murmurs, not even bothering to hide the grin stretching across his face. “That’s what you said, right? ‘You’ve always been nice to me, Steve.’” His hand drags slow over your waist, inching lower. “Funny how quick your definition changes when you don’t get what you want.”

“You’re twisting my words on purpose.”

“Maybe.” His hand palms your ass, full and greedy, and a faint noise punches out of you. “Or maybe I’m just demonstrating,” he says then rolls his hips forward until the you feel the line of his length presssing right against you through the fabric of your skirt. “People wouldn’t keep saying things if there wasn’t something to back it up.”

Oh.

Well. That clears that up. No more half-smiles or “wouldn’t you like to know” bullshit, no more overheard rumors or vague commentary from people who’ve allegedly seen things, because now you’ve seen things.

Now you’ve felt things. Not secondhand or exaggerated or imagined, but actual, firsthand, physically-verifiable evidence currently pressing against you like an anatomical threat.

He’s hard. Through the layers. Thick and hot and very, very real. So real it’s bordering on impolite.

You don’t understand how he’s just… lived like this. Walked around. Sat next to you. Carried on entire conversations with that much potential sitting in his pants. It’s inhumane. 

You want to help. You want to unzip, unburden, atone. You want him in your hand, in your mouth, carved into every version of your imagination like an overdue upgrade.

And you’re going to make that happen. Even if your brain’s just looping ohmygodohmygodohmygod like a broken fire alarm.

“M’wanna see,” you mumble, voice dipped in sugar and challenge and please.

Your hand slips down before you can even finish the thought, trembling with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for Christmas mornings and divine interventions.

You find his belt blindly, drag your knuckles over the stiff leather like it might melt under your palms, and start working at it with a kind of frantic desperation.

But it’s hard, and he’s big, and your fingers are trembling, and the buckle just won’t —

“C’mere,” he says softly, catching your wrist before you can make it worse. His fingers brush yours as he takes over, the buckle opening instantly under his hands like it’s been waiting for him specifically. “So eager, aren’t you?”

“‘S not my fault,” you whisper, almost defensively.

You’re not even trying to play it cool anymore. Because you’re not. Cool, that is. You’re boiling. Bubbling. Practically vibrating with need.

You are eager. Ridiculously so. 

“Not your fault,” he echoes, voice gone hoarse. “No, baby. I did this, didn’t I?”

He hums in his throat, hands drifting up your thighs. His fingernail grazes a scar, a stretch mark, a patch of skin you’ve never liked. He draws absent little shapes that make you twitch. One circle. Then another. 

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing coherent makes it out, just your own shallow breathing, tangled in vowels.

Your hands are trying to get into his pants, trying to do something, but it’s all angles and nerves. 

You get as far as his waistband before his hand finds the damp heat of your underwear and presses down. 

Whatever you were going to say evaporates instantly, lost in the whimper that slips out instead.

He groans softly when at that, thumb starting slow circles over your swollen clit, like the sound just fuels him. “There it is. That’s the noise I was waiting for.”

His other hand slips into his boxers, palm wrapping around himself with a hissed breath.

He drags himself free and your eyes drop instantly, your breath catching like he’s knocked the wind out of you. 

It’s… obscene. Thick and flushed and heavy and pretty, if cocks can be pretty.

He’s big. Bigger than any rumor. Bigger than anyone should be. The head’s already slick, angry pink, twitching the wrap of his fist.

Your thighs clench automatically.

Steve sees the look on your face and huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh, hand stroking himself once.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You wanted it. Touch.”

Your hand wraps around him like you’ve been waiting your whole life for the opportunity, thumb swiping the slick at the tip without thinking.

“Robin was so right, oh my god, and did you know she once said you probably broke up with that girl because your dick was too big? I thought she was being so rude and now I’m like — shit, maybe she was being nice —”

“Christ,” Steve growls.

You don’t stop. Can’t. “And those stupid rumors in gym? With the thing about the baseball team? And the —”

He cuts you off with two fingers pushing inside you like punctuation. Deep. Perfect.

You gasp like he stole your oxygen. Clutch his cock like it’s your last tether to reality.

“There,” he mutters. “That’s better.”

You whine, then moan, high and sharp, your head tilting back. Your hand twitches on his length, trying to keep up, trying to do something, but your rhythm’s off, messy, helpless.

“Steve — I — I’m trying to — I’m just —”

His free hand finds your jaw.

“Shh, baby,” he says, “just breathe. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You can’t think. You really can’t. There’s static where your thoughts should be, white noise words once lived, and all of it being overwritten by the flex of his fingers. Your body spasms on instinct, like it’s trying to trap the sensation and keep it.

What kind of person is this good? What kind of boy-next-door-has-a-bat-in-his-trunk knows how to ruin someone with just two fingers and a thumb?

Not that you’re complaining. You’re just… processing. Or trying to. Which is hard, because he looks so beautiful like this. Hair mused, pupils blown, jaw slack. You want to keep him like this. Want to memorize this version of him.

“Want you,” you materialize. “Steve, please. I want you inside me.”

“Yeah?” he says, jaw tight, like the word almost chokes him.

Your eyes well and you nod, fingers digging into his skin. “Yeah. Please — please, Steve.”

“I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart,” he says, thumb brushing your clit once, then pinching, gentle, filthy, mean. “Want it so bad, don’t you?”

You’re nodding frantically before he’s even finished lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing hot and slick against your entrance.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice cracking with restraint. “You sure you —”

You cut him off with action, sinking down without waiting, a breathless cry catching in your throat.

“Fuck,” he grits. “Okay. Okay. Baby, slow down.”

He’s big, so big, and you knew that, and you’ve said that, and now it’s too late, he’s already inside you, and you swear you can feel him everywhere, not just between your legs but in your chest, your throat, your teeth, like he’s in your bloodstream now, branded into your nerve endings, and it stretches, stretches, stretches until it feels like you might split in half and you don’t care because it’s so good, impossibly good, the kind of good you didn’t think was even real outside of books or porn or those random sleepover stories where girls said it hurt the first time and then got quiet and dreamy and said but it felt amazing too, and now you understand, now you get it, because this… this is transcendent.

You materialize those thoughts into words as best you can: “I — I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

“Fuck. I’m trying so hard not to move,” he pants, knuckles whitening where he’s gripping you.

“Please, Steve,” you babble, hands curling around his biceps. “I’m okay. I’m okay. Promise. You can move, I need you to.”

But you don’t sound okay. You sound wrecked. Because he’s so close, so real, his sweat dripping onto your collarbone, his breath tangled with yours like it’s shared, like you’re not two separate people at all.

“You sure?” he pants, but he’s already circling your clit again, already letting his hips roll forward like he needs it to survive. “You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

The pleasure’s cresting again, thick and dizzying and curling in your belly like your body’s working ahead of your brain, chasing a high you can’t articulate.

“Funny,” he mutters in your ear, “you got all flustered over kissing me in the hallway, and now look at you…” He thrusts hard, then again, a little growl pulsing in his throats. “Letting me fuck you in a closet where anyone could walk by. Anyone could hear.”

“I don’t care,” you breathe, eyes wide and glassy. “Let them — let them hear.”

You’re clenching around him, tighter, desperate, the idea of getting caught only making everything worse.

“Yeah?” he says, hips stuttering as your cunt flutters around him. “You want them to hear how needy you sound?” He circles your clit rougher now, chasing it. “You gonna come for me right here? Gonna soak my cock and let the whole building hear it?”

You should be ashamed. You should be mortified. But instead you’re gasping into his shoulder, cunt clenching around him like your body’s forgotten how to let go, and your brain is stuck on loop of his words. 

Because you are, you’re going to, because he’s still thumbing at your slit like he knows exactly what your breaking point sounds like and he wants everyone else to know it too, and it’s so hot it feels like being worshipped and ruined at the same time.

“Steve, I’m gonna — I’m gonna come —” The words fracture as your hips jerk, body trying to meet him stroke for stroke.

“I’m right there — just let go, baby, come with me.”

The orgasm builds and breaks in you like a tidal wave, folding over every nerve ending, leaving you gasping, trembling, clutching at his shoulders like you’re afraid you’ll drift away. They might. You don’t know anything concrete right now.

He groans your name as his rhythm falters, hips stuttering, and then he’s coming too. You feel it, the rush of heat, the way his cock throbs inside you in sync with every last sound that crawls its way out of his throat. 

His breath is warm against your cheek, lips brushing yours but not kissing, just hovering there, like even that would be too much. You’re both trembling, sweaty and flushed and completely gone, still pressed together like if you separate too fast the world might not start spinning again.

You can feel him inside you still, the rush of his seed spreading and pooling.

Everything’s cotton and fog. Your whole body hums. You don’t know what to do with your hands.

Steve kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheekbone, then your forehead, whispering your name like he’s checking for a pulse.

“Still with me?” he breathes, nudging your nose with his. “You okay?”

You nod. Or think you do. Maybe you just melt a little more into him instead.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy, breath still not fully your own. “That was…”

You trail off, because no word feels big enough.

Steve smiles like he knows what you meant anyway, like he felt it too. He brushes your hair off your damp cheek, kissing your temple.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

It was weird how gentle he was afterward, like the same hands that just took you apart couldn’t stop smoothing you down, wiping sweat from your hairline, murmuring sweet nothings between kisses.

You were still trembling, your thighs sticky and your thoughts barely functional, so when he cupped your face and whispered, “Do you maybe want to go on an actual date with me?” it took you a full five seconds to realize he wasn’t joking. 

You blinked, dazed, nodded (maybe said yes?) and then you were pulling your shirt down, slipping past mops and shelves and half-melted brain cells toward the exit.

You were still smiling when Hopper strolled past with a grunt and a raised brow.

“Ten bucks says you knocked something off the janitor’s schedule.”

You nearly fall over. Steve turns bright red. You both pretend very hard not to exist.

that’s why you let him tug you up over his face, fingers hooked around your thighs, right beneath your ass.

“sit,” steve murmured, his breath warm against your wet folds. your hips lurched—fuck, it feels weird like this.

you stayed put, your mind racing. he could feel you hesitate.

“honey, c’mon. don’t leave me hangin’…” steve’s hands held the crook of your waist, thumbs rubbing against the sides of your stomach comfortingly.

you just let out a breath. “don’t wanna suffocate you.”

steve could only laugh, pressing impatient kisses against your inner thighs, eyes focused up at you. “y’gonna make me beg, baby?” he hummed. nosing at your skin. “so mean to me.”

“but what if i kill you— hah—!”

he yanked you down by your hips, flat of his tongue greeting your sopping pussy, collecting your essence.

he moaned into you, eyes fluttering shut, pretty eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he licked at you with need.

his lips found your clit, wrapping around the bud, causing your weight to fall further on his face.

steve could only hum in satisfaction, hands groping your ass to hold you in place.

“steve— shit…” a gasp tore from you, hands gripping at his headboard as you sat helplessly on top his mouth.

and steve was right where he wanted to be.

his tongue bullied its way between your folds, teasing your entrance with little circles. you could only whine, head lulling back.

his fingers dug into your hips, grinding you on his mouth.

his tongue rubbed against your clit with each grind, making your thighs tremble with every pass.

you felt your brain going fuzzy. “f- fuck, m’close,” you murmured lazily, soft moans following suit.

steve only took that as encouragement, keeping your hips arched forward as he buried is tongue into you, nose nudging at the underside of your sensitive pearl.

with a cry, you felt a snap in your lower belly, waves of tingles shooting up your spine and down your legs.

steve watched you, pupils blown wide and eyes sparkling with desire. you looked like an angel, and sounded even sweeter.

he greedily sucked at your pussy, even when you squirmed on top of him at the post-orgasm sensitivity.

he only held you down, his head shaking as he tried to bury himself even deeper.

and you couldn’t do anything, gravity keeping you against his mouth, a throne you couldn’t escape. forced to be worshipped.

and maybe steve wanted to worship you all night. wanted to keep you writhing.

“you can give me another one, right?”

"well, it's just that...you know..." he started as he scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit you had long picked up on.

"what? are you bad at it or something, because i don't believe that for a second." you countered with your arms crossed over your chest. "is it me? like, are you not attracted to me or something?"

"what? god no, that is far from it." he defended quickly, taking your hands into his. "i've just been cautious about having sex for a while."

"why? is something wrong?" you questioned, worried that something bad had happened to him.

steve hesitated for a moment, seeming to take a moment to find the right words to explain his conundrum. "i just don't want to hurt you with...it."

silence hung in the air, with steve holding his breath while you studied him carefully. "are you saying you're scared to break me because you have a big dick?"

steve harrington who... in all honesty, was not expecting those words to come from your mouth, much less the snort that followed

steve harrington who... listened while you explained that you didn't care what size he was, you just cared that the two of you wanted to have sex, and that there was nothing to be afraid of

steve harrington who... still waited a bit longer before initiating sex, because he could still hear the voices of all the other girls he was with telling him that he was too much

steve harrington who... insisted that you took control, just so that you could stop if it ever got to be too much

"we can stop at any time, remember that." steve reminds you as he lays back on his bed, his hands rubbing smoothing circles on your hips.

"steve, what did i tell you? there's nothing for you to be worried about." you say as you rest your hands on his chest.

"i know, i'm just saying that—holy shit." he says with a groan, his head tilted back as he feels you position him at your entrance. "you little shit."

that pulls a laugh out of the both of you as you slowly and carefully sink down, biting your lip at the stretch. you'd thought after seeing him and having a couple orgasms you'd be more prepared, but boy were you wrong.

"are you okay? is this too much? we can stop if you want." he rambles once he's noticed you'd stopped moving.

"i'm fine, i just...overcalculated a bit." you say, leaning back slightly and resting your hands on his thighs.

steve harrington who... sits there and waits, not rushing while you adjust to his size

steve harrington who... nearly loses it once you sink all the way down, his grip on your hips tightening

steve harrington who... wouldn't admit it, but whimpered a bit when you finally started moving because it all just felt so good

steve harrington who... almost loses it again when your nails start scratching down his chest

"oh my god, 's so good." you moan as you rock your hips.

"yeah? am i making you feel good, baby?" he mutters against your skin as he presses kisses down your shoulder.

"so good, so so good steve." you whined as you leaned closer, nearly pressing your full weight onto him. "need more."

"you need more? you need me to take over for you?" he whispers in your ear, grinning when he sees you nodding. "gonna flip us over, 'kay?"

when he does he notes the breath you let out once you're both settled, giving you another second to adjust. "please, move." you beg, hands gripping his biceps.

"'s okay, i got you baby." he says as he pulls out, admiring the sight of where your bodies come together before thrusting in. the new angle has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your hand reaching up to pull him closer as he thrusts deeper and deeper.

every move either of you make seems to come together to form a perfect symphony, your nails scratching down his back and moans feeling the air.

"steve, 'm gonna cum." you whine into his ear.

"it's okay, baby. go ahead and cum for me." steve says, his hand sliding between the two of you to rub tight circles on your clit. "doing so good for me, hm? my pretty girl."

his words of encouragement are what finally send you over the edge, the pressure in your stomach finally letting go as you cum. "there we go, that's it. you look so pretty when you cum for me." he praises as he presses kisses to your jaw.

he doesn't stop thrusting, chasing his own release as you come down from yours. to help him along, you start kissing across his chest and dragging your nails down his back.

"fuck." he groans as it finally comes, as deep in you as he could be. you moan as you feel him filling you up, biting on your bottom lip softly.

"see? didn't break me." you say with a cheeky smile once he rolls off of you, both of you panting to catch your breath.

steve harrington who... checks up on you while and after he cleans you up, and even a couple hours later when the two of you are just laying in bed

steve harrington who... isn't completely over this insecurity, but definitely feels better about himself after this experience

steve harrington who... 100% won't be as nice the next time

“Steve!” She squeals his name, launching herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a way that has Robin mouthing ‘sorry’ and gesturing to an equally drunk Vickie. 

Steve blinks, a bit stiff as she throws herself at him. His arms instinctively loop around her waist to hold her upright. “Hey sweetheart.” He greets, bringing one of his hands to pat her head, albeit a tad awkwardly. She preens at the affection, trying to bury herself in his chest all the while Steve stares Robin down. “We’re gonna head out, alright?” 

She pouts, shifting to look up at him, she rests her chin on his chest. “Mkay.” She relents, contented by the simple fact that she’s in his arms. She locks her hands together around his waist and sighs happily, in a bit of an exaggerated fashion. Looking over her shoulder to wave goodbye to Robin absently. 

Steve’s hand drifts to the small of her back as he guides her to his beloved Beamer, her head resting on his shoulder as she hums a little tune to herself. He opens the car door, helping her settle into her seat before rounding the car to the driver’s side— he stares at her for a second, confirming she's buckled in before starting the car. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” She asks almost immediately, looking at him. It’s far from an abnormal request. She stays over all the time. 

Steve blinks, his gaze focused on the road. “I— Yeah sure, of course, Angel.” Comes his swift response, though he swallows a bit nervously.

It’s silly, Steve knows it's silly. But he’s a bit on edge around her when she gets drunk. 

The last time his (now ex) girlfriend got drunk, she denounced their entire relationship as bullshit and admitted she didn’t love him. Okay, maybe that's a bit exaggerative but that’s certainly how it felt. And naturally, his sweet girlfriend was not Nancy Wheeler, they’re two completely different people. But he can’t help but fear what words will come out of her mouth when she's drunk and free of all inhibitions. 

Drunk words are sober thoughts. And Steve doesn’t think he can hear how his girlfriend doesn’t really love him again. He doesn’t want to hear it. It's irrational, he knows it's irrational, but he can’t help but be scared. Because he really likes this girl and well, he hopes she really likes him too. Loves him, even. She hasn’t said it before, not once. And he hasn’t either, so he can’t really fault her for it. But it leaves him feeling nervous, maybe even a bit insecure in their relationship. But those are feelings he buries, shaking his head in an effort to wipe them from his mind. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, gaze flicking over to her as she toys with his radio, humming along to the music and bobbing her head. Cute. She’s cute, his distress diminishes at the sight. How can he think such negative things about his delightful girlfriend? He begins scolding himself mentally, puffing out his cheeks in an effort to free himself of his thoughts as he returns his eyes to the road and—

A poke to his cheek. 

He blinks, turning to look at her. “Sweetheart? You need something?” He asks, bringing his gaze to the road. 

“Nuh uh.” She says simply. “Just wanted t’ poke ya.”

He nods, as if that response made complete sense. “Right, right, of course.” He murmurs absently. 

It’s only a couple more minutes before Steve is pulling into his driveway. Putting the car in park and rounding the vehicle to come and open her door. He guides her out of the car and into his house. 

It’s empty, per usual. 

She kicks off her shoes upon entry, shrugging off her jacket— which almost falls to the floor before Steve catches it with a quiet curse under his breath. Hanging it in the coat closet swiftly as he tries to keep up with her. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” He tries to coax her, he really does. Treating her like a bomb about to blow. But instead, much to his dismay, she’s padding to the kitchen and opening his fridge with a pout. 

“But ‘m hungry.” 

He hums, hand coming to her waist to guide her to the stairs as he gently shuts the fridge. “I can bring you a snack.” He responds, making an attempt at directing her to his room, “while you get ready for bed. How’s that sound?” 

She pouts, again, feet rooted in the floor. “But I wanna be with you.” She responds, arms wrapping around his waist, she presses her face into his chest again. “My boyfie. Can’t I just be with my boyfie?” 

He goes a bit stiff, surprised by the action, but brings a hand to her hair nonetheless, patting her head gently. He pecks her forehead. “‘Course you can. But you gotta get ready for bed.”

When she looks up at him, her eyes are teary. And now Steve is really panicking. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What did he do? What does he do? 

“Stevie, why don’t you wanna hang out with me?” It comes out like a whine, but she sounds genuinely hurt. Eyes darting over his face, brows strewn together as she looks at him in search of an answer. Genuinely confused by his avoidance and distance. Drunken emotions amplified and washing over her like a tsunami. It's not like she wants to cry, but she's growing frustrated and hurt.

He blinks, clearly surprised as he shakes his head rapidly, trying to reassure her as his hands come to her cheeks. “Baby, of course I wanna hang out with you. I just…” He smooths his thumbs over her cheeks. “Just wanna take care of you first, yeah? Got to get you nice and comfy in bed and we can chat all night.”

She sniffles, and much to his dismay, shakes her head. “Liar.” She says. “You always avoid me when we go out. Am I no fun or somethin’ Stevie?” She asks, tugging at his shirt absently, she looks down to evade his gaze. “I just wanna dance with you. But you’re always sitting in the booth or— or nowhere to be found at all!” She frowns. 

Oh, she’d noticed that. Well now he just feels like a dick. “You are the most fun, sweet girl.” He responds, and she seems to perk up at the pet name, leaning into his touch. She tilts her head to press a kiss to his palm, gazing up at him through her lashes. He swipes his thumb under her eye to catch a stray tear. “It’s not your fault at all. I’m just being silly.” 

Her brows furrow, and her brain is still a bit fuzzy from the drinks, but she’s not stupid, nor is she plastered. “Whatcha mean?”

Steve purses his lips, looking away for a moment. “I… we can talk about it tomorrow.” 

Oh that was not a good thing to say. 

She looks at him like he’s committed a felony, mouth gaping open. Her hands come to his shoulders to shake him back and forth. “Tomorrow? Stevie, now I’m not gonna sleep at all, why would you say that?!” She cries out, and her eyes are beading with tears again. 

He mentally face palms, his hands coming to grip her face to keep her still, he says her name firmly to get her attention. Waiting for her to acknowledge him, she eventually pauses her movements, blinking up at him. “Sorry.” He breathes out, brows furrowing a bit, trying to figure out how to handle… this. “I– it’s just something easier to talk about while you’re sober.” He explains.

That does not help at all. And he quickly realizes his mistake when she starts to open her mouth to express her newfound distress. “I— I’m nervous!” He blurts out, trying to halt another minor meltdown. “When you get drunk, I get nervous.” 

She blinks, registering his words. Her brows furrow and she tilts her head curiously, hand slipping into his. “Why?” She asks. “‘M not… I didn’t think I did anything too crazy, do I?”

Steve shakes his head rapidly, his hair bouncing a bit with the movement. “No, no baby. Not at all. It’s just…” The sight of his hair distracts her, a hand coming to gently caress and tug at the strands as he tries to speak, his face reddening at the action. “Y’know, some people are mean when they’re drunk.”

It takes a second for his words to process in her head, her hand in his hair slipping down to cup his cheek. The affection taking him a bit by surprise, he lets his head lull in her hold as he watches her carefully, awaiting a response. “Mean?” She repeats with a frown. “Am I mean?”

He shakes his head, hand coming to cup hers and hold it against his face. Steve tilts his head to kiss her palm. “No, never.” He responds. “But sometimes people say really honest things while they’re drunk and that can feel mean.” He tries to articulate his thoughts. “Like maybe you’ll reveal you actually hate my hair or something.” The joke doesn’t really land as his eyes dart over her face.

She purses her lips. “But I love your hair.” She murmurs absently. “‘S pretty. Just like you. My Stevie is the prettiest.” She leans forward to peck his chest through his top and he swears his heart explodes. Cute. So completely and utterly cute, she’s going to kill him. “All soft and fluffy.” She adds, pressing her forehead against him, her eyes flutter shut sleepily. 

“Course.” He breathes out, hand coming to rub her back gently. “I just—”

“This about the bullshit incident?” 

The words are a tad slurred as they leave her lips, but they have him stiffening. “P-Pardon?”

“We went to the same high school, Steve, I wasn’t popular but the gossip got around.” She sounds surprisingly sober as she says it, nuzzling into his chest. “Our relationship isn’t bullshit.” Her voice is soft, sweet as she shifts to gaze up at him through her lashes, extending a pinky. “Promise.”

He lets out a shaky breath, a part of him feeling oddly moved by her action, and a bit embarrassed that his failing relationship with Nancy evidently made local news at Hawkins High all those years ago. But he extends his pinky to lock with hers. “Promise.” He echoes the words. 

“‘M a very pleasant drunk too.” She adds with a rapid nod of her head. “Just wanna cuddle you all the time. But you’re always gone.” A pout dawns her face once more, though it's no longer one filled with genuine tears.

His face warms again and he breathes out a laugh. “Yeah?” His pinky releases hers, hand traveling to her waist to try and return to his initial goal of getting her upstairs. “Next time, then.” 

She nods, this time allowing him to redirect her towards the stares. “Next time.” She agrees with a swift nod. 

He leans down to peck her cheek, and she giggles at the action. Affection stirs in his chest as he litters kisses over her skin. Her forehead, her nose, her chin, everywhere he can reach. Her laugh warms his head and he can’t help but grin at the sound, it’s like listening to light itself. 

Yeah, he loves her. 

He’ll have to tell her that, tomorrow.