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me when im on "x reader tag" looking for fics at 3 am BUT all i find is memes and all the funny posts under the world EXCEPT the fics abt the character :
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HIII I was wondering if you could maybe do a reader x James potter ( marauder era ) in which after a crazy party she wakes up in his bed and heโs been in love with her forever so when sheโs gone by the time heโs up, he goes looking for her, maybe angst with a happy ending ?
Tastes like Alcohol & Regret; James Potter
โจ pairing: james potter x fem!reader
summary: After a Gryffindor party that went absolutely wild, you wake up next to your best friend, James Potter, half-naked and donโt know how to act.
โจwarnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, impure / sexual thoughts incoming from James, no smut but if you squint itโs suggested. yearner james, angst!!, reader is lowkey avoidant, happy ending
wc:3.9k
James wakes up with the distinct hangover feeling that indicated something has gone terribly, wonderfully wrong.
His head is poundingโnot enough to make him sick, just enough to remind him that last night involved too many drinks and very little thinking. The curtains in the boysโ dorm are half-open, sunlight cutting straight across his face. He squints and turns onto his side, tugging the sheets up instinctively.
His chest feels cold.
Empty.
Like itโs missing something. Like itโs missing someone.
And then it hits him all at once.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Last night.
The memories come back in flashes, uneven and out of order, like flipping through a photo album too fast. Nothing stays long enough to fully settle.
Gryffindor winning against Slytherin.
Cheering. Too much cheering.
Music loud enough that no one cared if it woke the entire castle. Firewhisky everywhereโon tables, on the floor, in hands that absolutely shouldnโt have had more.
The common room had been packed. Bodies everywhere, heat in the air,
everyone was drunk. Everyone. Sirius had been standing on a table, yelling lyrics confidently and incorrectly. Remus had been pretendingโvery badlyโnot to know him. Peter, probably the most sober person at the party, was talking to a Hufflepuff girl and hitting it off, surprisingly.
And you.
You were glowingโcheeks flushed, eyes bright, like the whole room was orbiting you without realizing it. You were wearing that dress. The one he liked too much. The dainty black one that barely covered your ass and hugged every single curve of your body to perfection, as if it was made for you. The one he tried very hard not to comment on every time you wore it.
Heโd been watching you from across the room, drink forgotten in his hand, thinkingโstupidlyโthat he could do this forever. Just exist in the same space as you. Just know you were there.
Then you looked up.
Your eyes met his, and something shifted.
Not shy.
Not accidental.
Intentional.
Your smile curved slowly, like you were testing something. Like youโd decided to be a problem.
You didnโt come straight to him. That was the worst part.
You drifted closer insteadโbrushing past him once, close enough that your shoulder grazed his arm. Then again. Lingering. Every time you laughed, it felt like it was aimed at him. Every glance held half a second too long. It was killing him, he just wanted to grab you and prove your his for once and for all.
James didnโt know what to do with his hands. Or his face. Or the way his heart was suddenly trying to escape his chest.
Then you stopped in front of him.
Close. Way too close.
โYouโve been staring, Jamie,โ you said, voice light, teasing, loud enough to be heard over the musicโbut soft enough that it felt like it was just for him.
โIโโ He swallowed. โNo, I havenโt.โ
You raised an eyebrow. Smiled wider.
โMhm.โ You reached up, fingers briefly hooking into the collar of his shirtโnot pulling, not yet. Just there. โYou knowโฆโ
His brain short-circuited.
โYou look really good tonight.โ
His laugh came out awkward, surprised. โYeah?โ
โMmm,โ you hummed, eyes flicking down and back up again, slow. โEspecially in black.โ
He barely had time to process thatโbarely had time to register Sirius making some noise behind themโbefore your grip tightened and you pulled him down.
And kissed him.
Not hesitant.
Not unsure.
Quick at firstโjust enough to steal his breathโthen deeper, like youโd finally acted on something youโd been daring yourself to do all night.
The taste of your tinted cherry lipstick and Firewhisky mixed together in the kiss, a match made in Jamesโ heaven.
โWOHOOOโABOUT TIME!โ Sirius had shouted, nearly knocking over a lamp.
Marlene had cheered. Dorcas had clapped. Lily had covered her face with her hands, shaking her head but smiling anyway.
James remembers his heart slamming so hard he thought he might actually pass out. His hands hovered uselessly for half a secondโterrified of crossing some invisible line heโd been holding himself back from for yearsโbefore you laughed softly against his mouth and pressed your forehead to his.
Warm. Close. Familiar.
Like this was normal.
Like this was nothing.
After that, it all blurs together in pieces that feel more like sensations than memories.
You dragging him back into the crowd, fingers laced with his like it was instinct, like youโd always done that. Dancing too close, your bodies brushing every time the music shifted. You teasing himโleaning in just enough to say something he couldnโt quite hear, smiling when he had to bend closer. Kissing again and again, quick and messy and breathless, like neither of you knew how to stop. And the sight of Jamesโ mouth smudged with your lipstick made your knees weak.
Sirius throwing an arm around both of you, announcing loudly that heโd finally been right about something. James barely registering it, too busy trying to keep his head straight, too aware of youโyour hands on his shoulders, the way you kept tugging him back when he drifted even an inch away.
At some point, the noise got to be too much. The lights too bright. The world spinning just enough to be dangerous.
James remembers steering you toward the stairs, one hand firm at your waist, the other gripping the banister, making sure you didnโt miss a step. You laughing quietly, forehead bumping into his chest, mumbling something about him being dramatic.
The dorm room is a blur of whispered jokes, stifled laughter, collapsing onto the bed still fully dressed. More kissingโslower this time, heavier, like exhaustion finally catching up to you both. Foreheads pressed together. Breathing evening out.
Youโd fallen asleep beside him before anything else could happen.
Curled toward his warmth.
Fully clothed.
Your fingers still tangled in the sleeve of his jumper like you were afraid it might disappear if you let go.
That part sticks with him the most.
James sits up now, heart racing all over again. He drags a hand through his already-messy hair, eyes scanning the room like you might materialize if he looks hard enough.
Nothing.
Just the faint scent of your perfume lingering on his pillow.
A hair tie abandoned on his bedside table.
Proof that it wasnโt a dream.
And somehow, that makes everything worse.
His chest tightens.
What if it didnโt mean anything to you?
What if it was just the alcohol, the music, the moment?
James presses his palms into his eyes and exhales slowly. Heโs been in love with you for years โ quietly, stupidly, never brave enough to risk the friendship. And now that heโs had a taste of something more, the thought of losing you makes his stomach twist.
He swings his legs out of bed and stands, moving on pure instinct.
He needs to find you.
He needs to talk to you โ properly โ before the fear convinces him heโs already lost you.
โ โ โ
James doesnโt even bother fixing his hair.
He throws on the first clean jumper he can find, ignores Siriusโs muffled snoring, and bolts out of the dorm like if he moves fast enough, he can outrun the knot in his chest.
The corridors feel too long. Too quiet.
Every corner he turns, he half-expects to run straight into you โ bump shoulders, laugh awkwardly, pretend last night didnโt change everything while secretly hoping it did.
He checks the common room first.
Empty. Just the aftermath of the party: overturned chairs, discarded bottles, a faint smell of smoke and sugar in the air. James stands there for a moment, hands on his hips, replaying the kiss again like it might give him answers.
โBlimey,โ a voice drawls behind him. โYou look like hell.โ
James turns to find Sirius leaning against the doorway, hair wild, shirt half-buttoned, eyes sharp despite the hangover.
โYou seen her?โ James asks immediately.
Sirius blinks once. Then grins.
โOhhh,โ he says, dragging the word out. โSo thatโs the vibe this morning.โ
James groans. โPadfoot.โ
Sirius steps closer, dropping the teasing just a notch. โShe left early. With Evans, Dorcas, and Marlene. Lookedโฆ normal. Happy.โ
Normal.
Happy.
James nods like that doesnโt punch straight through his ribs.
Remus appears behind Sirius, book already in hand because of course he does. One glance at James and his expression softens.
James laughs once, sharp and humorless. โImagine what?โ
โThe kiss,โ Remus replies. โThe entire common room saw it.โ
Sirius claps a hand on Jamesโs shoulder. โMate, Iโve waited years for that. You owe me money.โ
James pulls away, running a hand through his hair. โWhat if it meant nothing to her?โ
That gets Siriusโs attention.
โOi,โ he says, serious now. โShe doesnโt do nothing.โ
James doesnโt answer. He just keeps walking.
They find the Great Hall half-full โ late risers nursing hangovers, plates barely touched. James scans the room automatically, heart jumping every time he sees familiar hair.
And thenโ
There you are.
Youโre sitting with Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene, knees tucked up on the bench, laughing softly at something Dorcas is saying. You lookโฆ fine. Better than fine. Bright in a way that makes Jamesโs chest ache.
You donโt look like someone who regrets anything.
James stops short.
Sirius follows his gaze and makes a low sound. โThere she is.โ
James takes a step forward. Then another.
You tilt your head, smile widening at something Lily says โ and then you look away, missing him completely.
He freezes.
You donโt see him.
And suddenly, all he can think is that maybe thatโs the point.
Maybe youโre avoiding him.
Maybe last night was just a drunk mistake youโve already moved on from.
James swallows hard and turns away before you can look up.
He doesnโt notice Sirius glaring after him. Or Remus watching with quiet concern.
All James knows is that for the first time in years, being your best friend feels like standing just outside something heโs never been allowed to touch.
And it hurts more than he ever expected.
โ โ โ
You wake up warm.
Thatโs the first thing you notice โ the unfamiliar weight of an arm around your waist, steady breathing at your back, the faint smell of smoke and soap and something unmistakably James. Your cheek is pressed into soft fabric, your fingers curled in the sleeve of a black jumper that definitely isnโt yours.
You freeze.
Then it all comes rushing back.
The party. The music. The kiss.
You know you look hot in black.
Someone kill you now. What the fuck.
Your stomach flips so violently youโre surprised you donโt wake him.
Jamesโs arm tightens slightly as he shifts in his sleep, pulling you closer without even realizing it. His chin brushes the top of your head. It feelsโฆ natural. Dangerous in how right it feels.
You lie there, heart hammering, staring at the red hangings of his bed.
This is bad.
Not because you regret it โ you donโt โ but because mornings make things real. Because James is your best friend, and youโve crossed a line you donโt know how to uncross.
What if he thought you looked desperate? Oh Godric this is why you donโt drink.
You turn carefully, slow enough not to wake him.
He looks soft in sleep โ glasses abandoned on the bedside table, hair a mess, mouth slightly open. Your chest aches.
Youโve loved him forever. Quietly. Safely. From the space you thought was all you were allowed.
You slip out of bed before you can change your mind.
You pause long enough to pull his jumper more securely around yourself, a cowardly excuse to take something of him with you.
You glance at him one last time, you donโt really want to leave. But what are you so scared of? Change, confrontation, everything and everyone all at once? You sigh and then youโre gone.
The girls notice immediately.
โYouโre wearing Potterโs jumper,โ Marlene says the second you walk into the dorm.
Dorcas arches a brow. โAnd you look like you didnโt sleep. At all.โ
Lily doesnโt say anything at first. She just takes your face in her hands gently, eyes searching yours.
You crack.
โI woke up cuddling him,โ you whisper.
Marlene squeals. Dorcas grins. Lily closes her eyes like sheโs been waiting for this moment her whole life.
โAnd you left?โ Lily asks.
โI panicked,โ you say weakly. โWhat if he thinks it was a mistake? What if I ruined everything?โ
โYou kissed him in front of the entire school,โ Dorcas says. โIf anything, you made his year.โ
You shake your head. โHe deserves someone whoโs sure. I wasnโt.โ
Lily sits beside you, voice softer now. โYou didnโt leave because you werenโt sure. You left because you care.โ
That hurts worse.
The rest of the morning is torture.
You sit with the girls in the Great Hall, trying to act normal. Laughing when youโre supposed to. Drinking tea you donโt taste. Every noise makes your head snap up.
Then you feel it.
That familiar pull.
You look up and see James across the room.
For half a second, your eyes meet.
Hope flares.
Then he turns away.
Your chest caves in.
Lily follows your gaze and scowls. โHeโs spiraling.โ
โSo am I,โ you whisper.
You stare down at the sleeve of his jumper, fingers tightening around the fabric.
Maybe leaving was the wrong choice.
Maybe the scariest part wasnโt losing him.
Maybe it was realizing how badly you wanted to stay.
โ โ โ
You donโt mean to avoid him.
justโฆ happens.
Every corridor suddenly feels too narrow. Every laugh too loud. Every corner a risk. You take longer routes between classes, sit on the opposite side of the library, linger in the girlsโ dorm until Lily physically pushes you out.
James does the same.
Neither of you say it out loud, but Hogwarts becomes a place of almosts.
Almost bumping into each other at the bottom of the stairs.
Almost locking eyes across the courtyard.
Almost saying something that matters.
Sirius notices first.
He watches James laugh too loud at Peterโs jokes, fidget with his rings, stare at empty space like heโs missing something vital. The confidence cracks, replaced by something sharp and quiet.
โYou going to talk to her,โ Sirius says one afternoon, โor keep pretending you didnโt wake up holding the girl youโre in love with?โ
James doesnโt look up. โShe left.โ
Remus looks at him then โ really looks. โJamesโฆโ
โShe left,โ James repeats, voice hollow. โBefore I woke up.โ
That sentence becomes a wound he keeps reopening.
The rumors start small.
Nothing cruel at first โ just whispers. That youโd been drunk. That youโd crashed in his bed because it was closest. That it was funny. That it didnโt mean anything.
James hears one of them outside the Potions classroom.
โShe dipped early,โ someone says. โGuess it was just a party thing.โ
โThatโs weird though, werenโt they best friends?โ another person adds.
โYeah, mate, but itโs common knowledge that theyโre madly in love with each other.โ
James laughs before he can stop himself.
It comes out wrong โ brittle, sharp โ and everyone looks at him like heโs lost his mind.
He doesnโt correct them.
Because correcting them would mean admitting it mattered.
So he pulls away.
He stops sitting next to you in class.
Stops waiting for you after lessons. Stops looking for you at meals. He convinces himself this is what you want โ distance, normalcy, an undo button.
You feel it immediately.
The absence.
James has always been everywhere โ loud, warm, impossible to ignore. Now heโs a ghost where youโre concerned. You watch him joke with Sirius, listen to Remus, exist easily without you.
It feels like being slowly erased.
โHeโs giving you space,โ Dorcas says gently.
โIt feels like he hates me, it feels like..i was right, i did fuck everything up.โ you whisper.
Lily looks at you with compassion and holds her arms out. โOh, sweetie, he just thinks you regret it.โ
You laugh weakly. โI regret leaving. I regret being a goddamn coward. So much for being in Gryffindor..โ
The words sit heavy in your chest.
You almost talk to him after Charms.
Heโs packing up his things, sleeves rolled, hair falling into his eyes. For a moment, he looks like he did that morning โ soft, unguarded.
You take a step forward.
Sirius appears at his side, saying something low.
Jamesโs shoulders tense.
He looks up โ right at you โ and for a heartbeat, the world holds its breath.
Then he looks away.
You feel something break.
That night, you sit on the girlsโ dorm floor, wrapped in his jumper like itโs the only thing keeping you together.
โI think I ruined us,โ you say quietly.
Marlene shakes her head. โYou canโt ruin something that real.โ
But it feels ruined.
Across the castle, James lies awake staring at his ceiling, fingers curled in his sheets where you should be. He replays the weight of you in his arms until it hurts too much to breathe.
He tells himself heโll survive this.
That loving you quietly again will be easier than risking everything.
But the truth is cruel and simple:
Being your best friend was hard.
Being nothing at all is unbearable.
โ โ โ
It happens quietly.
Too quietly for something thatโs about to ruin you both.
You turn the corner outside the library with your arms full of books, already exhausted, already fragileโand walk straight into him.
The impact is solid. Familiar.
โSorryโโ
โโI didnโtโโ
You both stop.
The books slip from your arms and hit the stone floor one by one, the sound echoing down the corridor like punctuation. Neither of you bends to pick them up.
James looksโฆ wrecked.
Dark circles under his eyes. Hair uncombed. Like he hasnโt slept properly in days.
Like you.
โOh,โ you breathe.
โHi,โ he says, softer than you expect.
You nod. โHi.โ
Silence.
It stretches until it feels cruel.
You glance down at the books, then back up at him. โI didnโt know if you wereโif you wanted to talk.โ
James lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts. โI didnโt know if you wanted me to.โ
Your chest tightens. โI always want you.โ
The words slip out before you can stop them.
His jaw clenches.
โI didnโt think it was my place,โ he says carefully. Too carefully. โAfterโฆ everything.โ
You swallow. โEverything?โ
His laugh is quiet. Bitter. โYou left.โ
The words land gentlyโbut they still hurt.
โI thought youโd be asleep,โ you say quickly. โI thought if you woke up and I was there, itโd make it worse.โ
โFor who?โ he asks.
โFor you,โ you whisper. โFor us.โ
James looks at you then, really looks at you, like heโs trying to decide whether to be honest or kind.
โI woke up alone,โ he says. โIn my bed. After the best night of my life.โ
Your breath stutters.
โI spent the whole morning convincing myself I imagined it,โ he continues. โAnd then I saw you laughing like nothing happened.โ
He squeezes your hand. โThen let me stay.โ
The words undo you.
You curl up together on one of the sofas, still fully dressed, limbs awkward and careful at first. Jamesโs arm settles around you slowly, like heโs asking permission with every inch of movement.
When you relax into him, he exhales shakily.
You donโt talk much. You donโt need to.
His thumb traces small circles against your wrist. Your forehead rests against his collarbone. The world narrows down to the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart under your ear.
At some point, you shift, almost pulling away out of instinct.
Jamesโs arm tightens instantly.
โHey,โ he murmurs. โIโve got you.โ
You swallow hard and stay.
Morning comes quietly.
No panic. No rushing. Just pale light and the weight of him still there, solid and real.
James is awake when you stir, glasses crooked, hair a disaster, looking at you like youโre something precious.
โHi,โ you whisper.
He smiles โ small, real, a little broken. โMorning.โ
You donโt move. Neither does he.
For once, staying feels braver than running.
And this time, you do.
โฆ
a/n: i genuinely loved writing this. keep the requests coming!!
summary: when visiting your friend robin in hawkins turns into an indefinite stay, you decide to entertain yourself by getting under steveโs skin. it turns out different than you expect. maybe better.
word count: 13k
content: fluff, slight angst, no major st5 spoilers (just settings used), upside down is implied but not explicitly mentioned, prob some inaccurate wsqk descriptions, r is a little delusional, a couple of small time jumps, mentions of blood (nosebleed), and a kiss!!
a/n: hiii guys!! itโs been too long since iโve written a long steve fic and i had so much fun with this one!! i just had to write steve a little bitchy (but in a yearning way) after ppl accused him of being annoying in s5. thatโs my princess!!! thank you to my angel @bruisedboys for looking over bits of this one for me! i hope u all love it <3
(ยฌ`โธยดยฌ)
What was meant to be a quick visit to Hawkins turned into an indefinite stay.
While quarantine wasnโt exactly how you saw your spring break trip going, but it isnโt all bad. Despite it being a small town, youโve managed to find ways to entertain yourself. One of those being getting on Steveโs nerves, finding your way under his skin.
Youโd never actually met him before, only ever heard of him through Robinโs letters and phone calls. First, it was complaining, annoyance at how he waltzed through Hawkins High like nothing affected him. Then a โhey, youโre not going to believe thisโ and stories about the pair working at Scoops together, a tally board that amused Robin at Steveโs expense.
And, maybe most surprising of all, them becoming partners in crime. Robinโs tone towards Steve turned more familiar, still teasing but far warmer.
You and Robin became friends in middle school, the kind of friendship that started with a simple introduction and grew into giggling under covers at sleepovers and knowing that someone saying โdonโt tell anyoneโ didnโt apply when it came to your best friend.
Your parents decided to move before high school, but youโve stayed in touch with Robin ever since. A few visits scattered throughout the years, far more conversations on two sides of a phone line, cords twisted around your fingers.
A trip (back) to Hawkins for you had been a long time coming, and though it obviously didnโt end up going according to plan, youโre grateful for it, in an odd way.
Your first couple of years in college werenโt going as well as youโd hoped. No friend group to mess around with, no courses to especially inspire you. It was exactly what youโd wanted and not at all like youโd imagined.
A break from it all is probably good for you, minus the whole devastating disaster thing.
Your school was not willing to let you resume studies when you got back, despite your very valid and sort of unavoidable reason, so youโd basically lost a whole semester of classes that you didnโt even enjoy in the first place.
Itโs like youโre in some kind of snow globeโminus the snowโwith nothing much to do but sit and let the world shake you, let the glitter tumble through the air and fall to the ground at your feet.
Some people would probably be going stir crazy in your shoes. Eager to get back to their life. Youโre grateful for this in between to figure out what to do next. What you really want.
Plus, itโs been nice to be back in Hawkins. Itโs the only place thatโs ever truly felt like home, even after moving away. Even better to be welcomed into the fold. Introduced to Robinโs friends and get pulled in by the groupโs tide like a shell on the beach.
And then, of course, thereโs Steve Harrington.
Steve, who youโve heard so much about. Who you feel like you know already despite never really meeting him. When Robin had told you theyโd become close, like, almost inseparable close, youโd been surprised but pleased. It was like you went on their whole friendship arc along with Robin.
She spoke so highly of him, about how different he was now, how he was kind of a massive dork and not nearly as cool as he pretended to be (to her, this was a positive), and naturally, youโd been looking forward to meeting him.
Even more so after she sent over a polaroid of the two of them, Steve reluctantly posing, an annoyed look on his face thatโs broken up by a hidden smile, Robin grinning wide, both in their Family Video vests.
He was handsome. It was impossible to deny.
Unfortunately for you, Steve has decided, for some reason, that he is not your biggest fan.
Your first official meeting was at Family Video, actually. Pre-quarantine. Robin had asked you to stop by during her shift so you could pick out a movie to watch together later, and youโd happily obliged.
The bell above the door chimed happily with your entrance, and Steve was the one who greeted you.
โHey,โ he called from behind the counter.
You walked up, and found that the picture didnโt even fully do him justice. His t-shirt sleeves tight around his upper-arms as he leaned on the counter, hair flopping over his forehead all intentionally messy, like its had fingers run through it.
He straightened when you approached. Smiled politely, even. Big brown eyes trailing over you and focusing on your face.
And something passed between you then. The air heavier, the room and the muffled radio drifting into the background. He looked at you like you were something rare.
โHi,โ you spoke. And maybe you shouldnโt have. โIs Robin here?โ
Because thatโs when the moment cracked, fizzled out. Thatโs when Steve dropped his elbows back onto the counter, like he couldnโt hold himself up any longer.
โSorry!โ you heard Robinโs voice ring out, coming closer until she was beside you. โSorry! I was in the back, didnโt hear you come in.โ
โWait,โ Steve said. โWho are you?โ
โUm,โ you started.
โSteve!โ Robin chided. She reminded him of your name, and he mouthed it after she said it, confused. โMy friend from middle school whoโs staying with me for the week? Itโs why youโre covering my shift tomorrow, dingus. I told you like ten times.โ
โBy that she means twice,โ you joked, trying to extend some sort of โwe both tease Robinโ olive branch.
He seemed to remember himself during the brief conversation, his face hardening, building a wall around himself brick by brick. His eyes were no longer intrigued, his gaze no longer weighted. No, he was something akin to irritated.
โOh, donโt be jealous, Steve,โ Robin said, clearly noting the shift in his demeanor, too. โI do in fact have friends that arenโt you.โ
Steve rolled his eyes at her, and you opened your mouth to say something else, but you werenโt sure what words would suffice. Robin linked her arm through yours and guided you away before you could say anything else, anyways.
โDid I do something?โ you whispered.
โIgnore him,โ Robin urged you. โHeโs fussy sometimes, but I swear heโs not an asshole. Anymore.โ
Okay. You believe her.
At first, youโre bothered, looking over your shoulder at him like maybe you could figure out what you did wrong just by looking at him.
But then, later, when youโre in the guest room of Robinโs house laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, you remember that look. The first few seconds before you mentioned Robin, before she walked over.
Those moments where he seemed more honest, more open and warm and kind. And then he armed himself, dropped the mask of his helmet and became different.
If Robin says heโs a good friend, a good guy, then he must be. And everyone has their off days, you can understand that. Even relate. So you write it off as a one time thing, thinking next time heโll apologize for being short with you and introduce himself properly and remember your name.
Youโd only gotten that last bit right.
When he saw you next, it wasnโt an apology or a reintroduction. Rather, heโd said your name like it bugged him just to form the sound.
After the massive earthquake, you joined Robin to volunteer. You were directed to the station Steve was already manning, and Robin to the sandwiches.
When you walked up to the table, you took the time to observe him before he noticed you. Towel slung over his shoulder, his eyes heavy, like heโd been tired or seen too much. He smiled at people walking by, helped them find what they needed with a gentleness you admired.
You wanted to forget last time, give it a clean slate, so you walked up with a small but genuine smile and said a small โHey, Steve.โ
He looked up from his folding, pressed his hands onto the table and assessed you. Steve wasnโt mean to you, not necessarily, but he was a bit cold. Unwelcoming. โWhat are you doing here?โ
โIโm actually from here and I just.. thought I could help. Looks like Iโll be sticking around anyways,โ you shrugged, making your way around the table to join him on the other side. โUnless you wanted to fold all of these boxes on your own?โ
And maybe you let your loose sweater slip off your shoulder to expose your lace bra strap. And maybe you noticed the way his eyes flicked over to your newly exposed skin before quickly flicking back to your face, like he just couldnโt help himself.
โYou donโt need my permission,โ he muttered. Then, โYou picked an excellent time for a trip, didnโt you?โ
โYeah, thanks,โ you deadpanned. โI like to plan all my travels around disastrous events.โ
โHa,โ he responded, unamused.
Youโd folded boxes of donations in silence for the remainder of the day.
Normally, if someone didnโt like you, youโd spiral about it a little bit. Wondering what you did wrong, how you could fix it. But itโs different with Steve.
Itโs thrilling, actually, to get under his skin. To rile him up by simply being around. You know heโs got to have a reason for it, because the longer you spend in Hawkins, the longer you spend around him, youโre slowly starting to see the way he interacts with everyone else.
How much he cares about Dustin, how worried he is about Max, the way he drives Lucas to visit her every time he asks.
Steveโs not a mean guy, but heโs snappy with you. And you like to bring it out of him. Maybe he needs an outlet for his frustration, or maybe itโs just something about you, but you canโt bring yourself to be upset over it.
No, youโre determined.
Youโll make Steve Harrington crack one of these days. One way or another, youโll tear his walls down, unarm him. You wonโt let him scare you off.
-
Itโs been a couple of months now. Spring giving way to the heat of summer, that stretch at the end of May into the beginning of June that warms up quickly.
And yes, youโre still in Hawkins. Youโre sort of becoming a local again, you think.
With the weather warming up, youโre all finally able to take advantage of the Harringtonโs pool. Sunlight bouncing off the ripples in the water tinted blue from the poolโs tile. Itโs just the older bunch today, Lucas and Mike and the others doing their own thing that youโd probably rather stay curious about.
Robin had extended the invitation to you to come to Steveโs, because heโd never invite you himself.
Even after months spent around him, in his orbit, heโs still keeping you at armโs length. Holding you back with a firm hand on your collarbone and a practiced scowl on his face. You wonโt give up, though.
Thereโs something beneath that front he puts on around you, a reason that curtain is drawn, and you intend to find it. To tear the curtains open and let the sunlight pour in.
So, naturally youโd agreed when Robin asked if you wanted to join. Yes, it would be nice to go for a swim, to sit out in the sun and just drift for a while. But itโd be even nicer to get a rise out of Steve again. To see him roll his eyes at your jokes or sigh at your arrival or drag a big hand over his face at your prodding.
Luckily for you, youโre an overpacker and thought to bring a bathing suit with you. Even luckier, itโs one of your nicer ones. A two piece that sits high on your hips, thin straps sitting on your shoulders.
You show up to the Harringtonโs in it and a pair of denim shorts, sunglasses pushed up on your head like a headband, worn tote bag hanging from your shoulder.
Steve opens the backyard gate when Robin knocks on it and follows up with a shout a solid three seconds later.
โStill here, are you?โ Steve asks when he sees you.
โOh, Iโm sorry, let me just break a military-ordered quarantine to get out of your hair, princess.โ
โAw, guys,โ Robin whines. โItโs too early for this. We havenโt even walked through the gate yet.โ
You raise your eyebrows at Steve, because youโre not the one with the problem here. Though you suppose you do egg it on. Just a little.
โDonโt worry Robs,โ you say. โSomewhere deep down, Steve likes me. He just has a funny way of showing it.โ
And with that you walk through the gate, forcing Steve to move aside for you. He and Robin linger a few paces behind.
Just as youโve been welcomed into the fold, yours and Steveโs bickering has become a usual occurrence.
โI thought we talked about your attitude, dingus,โ she whispers harshly.
โI do not have an attitude.โ
โRight, and I donโt have a problem with rambling. Any other lies youโd like to spew?โ
โWhatever,โ is his retort. Admittedly, not a great one.
By the time Steve and Robin are done with their hushed conversation, youโve already dropped your stuff by one of the lounge chairs on the pavement, waving hello to Nancy and Jonathan where they sit with their legs dipped in the pool before turning back around and reaching for the button on your shorts.
You glance up as you do, and find that Steveโs already looking at you. Huh.
Looking him in the eyes, you purposefully slip your shorts off slowly, making a show of pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them. He looks away quickly once your shorts reach your ankles like heโd been caught, his cheeks reddened. Maybe from the sun, or maybe not.
Tucking your shorts into your tote bag, you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a pleased smile.
Itโs these kinds of things that keep your faith in Steve alive. The secret glances, the way his eyes find you before his mind can tell him otherwise. And his eyes are so honest then, so expressive and deep with words he refuses to say.
But youโll get them out of him. Youโre willing to play the long game here.
For now, you grab a worn paperback lent to you by Nancy out of your bag and settle onto the lounge chair on your stomach. Elbows holding you up, sunglasses slipped down over your eyes, knees bent so your feet hover in the air.
The sun beats down on your back, but you welcome it. It isnโt that harsh, aggressive burn that comes in the height of summer, but the gentle whispers of warmer days ahead.
You barely get a chapter in before a shadow falls over the yellowed pages of your book, and you can tell just by the silhouette that itโs him.
โHey, youโre cramping my style, Harrington,โ you call.
โDidnโt know the sunlight belonged to you, princess,โ he responds, arms crossed, firing the nickname from earlier back at you.
Only, it doesnโt sting one bit. You imagine him saying it in a softer way, sweeter. Then you remember youโre meant to be a nuisance and wave your hand at him, urging him to scoot out of the way.
He simply rolls his eyes and steps aside.
Too easy, you think. At least, until you hear the slap of his feet against concrete as he runs towards the pool, doing a stupid cannon ball as close to you as possible, effectively splashing both you and the pages of your current read.
You glance over your shoulder at the pool as Steve comes up for air, shaking out his hair like a wet dog.
โThanks for that,โ you say, and he wipes the water from his eyes to watch you speak. โI was starting to get too hot anyways.โ
He splashes you again with his hands.
โReal mature,โ Robin says to him from the corner of her mouth.
You give him a pointed, sarcastic smile before turning back to your book. And that smile turns into something more real, your fingertips tracing the water droplets on the pages as if he placed each one himself.
โAsshole,โ you mutter to yourself with a shake of your head, though it comes out somewhat affectionate.
One of those drops of pool water landed directly on the word cares, and you tap it once more before shutting your book and resting your head on your arms.
Thatโs just it, you think. Steve must care in some capacity about you. He wouldnโt be so easily frustrated, so easily revved up if he didnโt.
You wind up falling asleep like that, the sounds of water sloshing and your friends laughing fading into the background as you drift off. Your neck is sore by the time you wake up, though judging from where the sun still shines high in the sky it couldnโt have been that long.
Robin has moved to the chair next to yours, Jonathan and Nancy sharing a floaty in the pool. And Steve is no longer in sight.
โHey, sleepyhead,โ Robin says when she sees your head lift.
You rotate onto your back and stretch your arms above your head. โMm. How long did I sleep?โ
โI dunno. Twenty minutes, maybe.โ
โWhereโd Harrington go?โ
She gestures loosely towards the house. โAnd there goes my peace,โ a pause, then, more serious; โI really wish you two would get along.โ
โWeโll get there,โ you say, reaching over to pat her hand. โDonโt worry, I have a plan.โ
โI think that makes me more worried, actually.โ And when you swing your legs over and push yourself to stand, she adds, โWhere are you going?โ
โJust gonna grab a drink. Iโm not gonna like, jump him, or anything.โ
โPlease donโt, heโs only ever won one fight.โ
How many fights does one have to get into for only one win to really be notable, you want to ask, but you refrain. You take your sunglasses off completely and leave them on the chair and make your way inside.
The cool air or the AC hits you as you step inside, a welcome break from the heat that seems to be rising with the afternoon.
Youโve been in Steveโs house before, but never on your own like this. You walk to the kitchen slowly, taking in the decor around the house, the notable lack of family photos, or even ones of just Steve. It feels lived-in, yes, but it lacks the warmth of a family home. You frown at the framed landscape on the wall and move along.
Youโre alone in the kitchen too, at first. Wooden cabinets giving the room a warmer tint, white backsplash with the occasional fruit tile, silver appliances. Itโs simple, classic, and so clean that it doesnโt look like anybodyโs cooked in it in a while.
The fridge isnโt too bad, though, a variety of sodas and a few beers, milk and orange juice and a vegetable drawer. You grab a can of Sprite and crack it open, the pop of the tab echoing in the empty room.
You close the fridge and lean your lower back against the counter. Itโs cold against your sun-soaked skin.
โOh, sure, make yourself at home,โ is how Steve announces his presence, shoulder leaned against the doorframe.
Heโs always doing that, youโve noticed. Leaning on something, resting his weight somewhere as if itโs exhausting to keep himself upright, to keep himself steady.
โAw, thank you. Very hospitable of you, Harrington.โ
He scoffs at you. โYouโre impossible.โ
โAnd youโre an excellent host.โ You hold up your can in mock cheers.
And then it happens again, that split second where Steveโs eyes speak for him. They trace your figure, and you suddenly feel exposed in nothing but your swimsuit. Not in an uncomfortable way, necessarily. Just.. heated by his stare, by the warm brown of his eyes and how they seem almost pained.
Besides, you do your own looking, too. Steveโs still shirtless, still damp from being in the pool earlier. His shoulders pink from the sun. Your eyes follow the path of a drop of water that drips from his hair onto his chest, through the thatch of hair there and down over his stomach, disappearing into the band of his swim shorts.
You both suck in a breath at the same time, your eyes flicking upward to find his. Neither of you says anything about it, but thereโs an awareness there, like the ACs been shut off, the room growing thicker.
โThat was my last one,โ he says, nodding to the can in your hand. Though it lacks the usual irritation he employs when speaking to you. Itโs slight, like heโs trying to find it again.
The armorโs back.
โWe could always share, Stevie,โ you poke, holding the drink out for him.
He scoffs and spins on his heel to leave the room. You grin behind the can and take another sip.
-
The heat feels more cruel in August. A lingering, sweltering thing that has ripples coming off pavement. The humidity makes the air feel harder to walk through, a wall of resistance greeting you each time you step outside.
Today is one of the hottest days yet. So much so that even the shade doesnโt help very much.
In the time since Family Videoโsโฆ closure, Robin has found her new calling as a radio host, Steve working the sound effects and making sure things run smoothly, because God forbid theyโre ever employed in separate workplaces again.
Youโd helped them set things up at WSQK when theyโd first taken this whole thing on. Unpacking boxes, figuring out a way to tame the mess of wires in the booth, getting some actual furniture in the place.
This time, youโre mostly just there to hang around, to watch them in action. To see Robin make use of her endless source of words to say and to watch Steve, a pencil tucked behind his ear, juggle the sound effect tapes and his can of soda. Still, he manages to look relaxed while doing it, hip leaned on the desk, t-shirt a little wrinkled. A little sweaty, even.
Itโs an old building, with a severe lack of AC that is especially obvious on a day like today. Not a single cloud in the sky, the sun beaming relentlessly.
A fan whirs inside the booth, placed as far from the mic as possible. Another spins where you sit, aimed directly at you.
After a solid twenty minutes you get a little fidgety just sitting there. Assuredly, it has almost nothing to do with Robinโs hosting skillsโwho youโve heard rehearsing through the walls at nightโand almost everything to do with you.
You feel like you need to make yourself useful, especially after everything Robinโs done for you. Letting you be her roommate free of charge (โYour currency is putting up with Steve for meโ), being completely willing to let you just join her friend group. To tag along to a life that isnโt naturally yours.
Tracing a finger along the surface of the table next to you and frowning when it comes away dusty, you decide to help them out by cleaning up a bit.
You find the supplies easily. Youโre pretty sure youโre the one who unpacked them, and that they havenโt been touched since. Thereโs a duster, all-purpose cleaner, some paper towel, the basics. You grab it and shut the cupboard quietly and decide to start with the area outside the booth.
Itโs easy enough to get into a rhythm, especially with music filling the speakers. If Steve werenโt currently occupied, youโre certain heโd give you shit for the way you bounce on your feet as you clean. You can almost hear him in your head. Wiping surfaces really puts a pep in your step? Seriously?
The booth is, obviously, currently (and for you, sort of always) off limits, so when you finish up with the little seating area, you move along to the living quarters. The two bedrooms are still a work-in-progress, some boxes still unopened, mattresses with no sheets, so you leave them alone and head into the kitchen.
It isnโt fully equipped, either, but a little more so than the bedrooms. Itโs warmer here than where the fans had been going, and you lift your hair off the back of your damp neck and fan yourself for a second.
You check the fridge, but itโs pretty barren. At the very least, you shut your eyes and let the cold wash over you for a few seconds.
The heat seems to creep up on you here, beads of sweat building on your forehead, your mind going a little fuzzy in it. You finish wiping up the countertops and decide to go in search of another fan that probably wonโt help much. Itโll only blow around the hot air, but a breeze is better than the thick stillness.
Just as you reach for the door to the basement, a voice stops you. His voice, of course.
โYou canโt go down there,โ Steve says, sneaking up on you, making you jump the slightest bit.
You turn to face him and find him with his arms crossed. Unsurprising. His t-shirt sticks to his chest a little, pushes against his arms, rides up to expose the band of his jeans.
โDidnโt know I needed authorization to go down a flight of stairs, security guard Harrington.โ You wipe the back of your hand over your forehead. โI just wanted to grab another fan. Not sure if youโve noticed, but itโs boiling in here.โ
โWe donโt have another one. Two not enough for you?โ
โNo,โ you huff, but you give up and walk away, muttering a โdunno how youโre even wearing pants right nowโ as you pass him.
He follows that with a stupid call of โPerv.โ
You pause, not wanting him to get the last word. He sighs audibly and walks back into the booth, and just before the door clicks shut behind him, you add an immature โWeirdo.โ
Itโs silly, but the annoyed furrow in his brow you spot through the glass tells you it worked.
Unsuccessful in your search for a fan, you go back to the kitchen to finish cleaning in there. Climbing up onto the counters to dust the tops of the cabinets, even busying yourself by wiping down empty drawers and shelves in cabinets.
Youโre onto the one beneath the sink when you get a little dizzy, your hands reaching up to grip the edge of the countertop to keep yourself from tipping over. It passes quickly enough, but it leaves you feeling a little funny. Disoriented, sluggish.
When you push yourself up to stand, it worsens, little spots dotting your vision like you moved too fast, your head aching. You lift your hair from your neck again, squeeze your eyes shut. It doesnโt help much, but it forces the dizziness to subside enough for you to walk out of the kitchen, through the main room, and out the front door.
Yes, it wonโt be any colder outside, but maybe the fresh air will help a little. Itโs stuffier inside, heat being pushed around by the fans, a thickness with nowhere to go.
The sting of the harsh sunlight on your eyes makes your head pound, but you breathe in deep a few times, still hoping whatever youโre feeling will pass like a leaf carried by the wind.
Only, it doesnโt. If anything, it just keeps building. Your heartbeat thumping in your ears, nausea creeping up on you, the spots dancing in your eyesight again.
You have to catch yourself on the stationโs wall just to stay upright. Closing your eyes and taking heaving breaths.
Youโre so caught up in it you donโt even hear the door opening and closing. Donโt hear the footsteps approaching until thereโs a shadow in front of you and a question that comes out more genuine than youโd expect.
โWhatโs wrong with you?โ Steve asks. The wording is a little harsh, because thatโs how heโs used to speaking to you, but his tone is quieter, honest.
โNot used to Indiana summers anymore, I guess,โ you reply, head tilting back against the wall with a little thump. It makes you wince.
And Steve, well, he surprises you. He doesnโt tell you itโs โcause you donโt belong, or that you shouldโve just stayed home. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist and says โCโmere.โ
โIโm fine. I just need a minute,โ you say, embarrassed.
Still, you let his hand dig into your skin, let him hold you up and guide you over to where his car is parked. He doesnโt even let go of you when he digs in his pocket for the keys.
Itโs probably the closest youโve ever been to him, and despite the circumstances, you let his touch seep into you. Let his smell surround you, amber and something a little sweet. A hint of hairspray and the saltiness of sweat.
Steve opens the car door and guides you into the driver's seat with the arm still around your waist, the other hand placed delicately on the top of your head so you donโt hit it. He leans over you to start the car, holding himself up on the centre console and fidgeting with some buttons and knobs to turn the AC up.
You resist the urge to lean into him and sink into the seat, your head tipped back against the headrest.
โIโll be right back,โ he says, pulling away and shutting the door gently. You watch him jog off through the window, feeling warm in a completely different way.
True to his word, heโs back in a couple of minutes, a water bottle in one hand and some paper towel in the other. He opens the BMW door and then takes the cap off the water bottle before handing it to you.
Your fingers brush when you take it from him, a spark zipping up your arm. You take a few sips, and when youโre done Steve takes it and screws the cap back on.
He sets the bottle onto the roof of the car. โHere,โ he says, a hand slipping to the back of your neck to get you to lean forward. You oblige, and Steve lifts your hair out of the way and places the damp paper towel there to help cool you down.
โHowโs that?โ he checks, a hand going in front of one of the carโs air vents to make sure theyโre working. โToo cold?โ
โโS good,โ you say.
And you do feel better, the pounding in your head shifting to a dull ache, your eyes focusing as they should. You feel fuzzy in a new way, looking at him. Taking in the way he makes sure the vents are aimed at you, how he hands you the water bottle again and coaxes you to take a few more sips.
It feels like youโre dreaming now.
Steve is nearly silent as he does it, like itโs completely natural for him to take care of you like this. To drop whatever heโd been outside for and let his concern bleed through the look on his face, the softness of his gaze.
Itโs probably the longest heโs ever gone without snapping at you, the longest youโve gone without taunting him in some way. The gloves have come off, and itโs just you and him. The real versions.
He sees your eyes flutter and lets the words slip before he can catch them, gentle and doting. โHey, you feeling okay? Talk to me, honey.โ
Honey. Itโs earnest. Not sarcastic, but soft. What would have been a jab another time dulled to a poke, not a stab.
Steve freezes a little after he says it, worried youโll call him out on it. Say something about how different heโs being and why he is the way he is with you.
But you do something worse. You look at him like you can see right through him, through every layer heโs covered himself in, nod, and say a delicate, โThank you, Steve.โ
He doesnโt understand why you donโt hate him by now. Canโt fathom how you never get angry at him for the things he says or the way he pushes you away. He almost wishes you would, because it would make it all so much easier.
Steve knows itโs the wrong way to go about it, has heard it from Robin a hundred times now, but his demeanour with you is his own twisted way of protecting you.
If he doesnโt let you get close to him, youโre at a greater distance from the mess heโs entangled in. If he keeps you at armโs length, you wonโt ask questions, wonโt get yourself into trouble willingly.
If he didnโt care about you, he wouldnโt have to push you away to protect you. To protect himself. But itโs far too late for that.
At first, the annoyance was real. Frustration at how clueless you were to everything, at how Robin brought you around without concern. Irritated at the prospect of having another person to look out for when he could barely manage everyone already.
But somehow, youโve wormed your way into his life without struggle. Lingering in the corners of his mind when youโre not around, his eyes drawn to you whenever you walk into a room like a string ties him to you.
He indulges, just for a moment, and traces a knuckle across your cheek before straightening.
Itโd be so easy to tell you everything, to let it spill from him in a rush and tug you close afterwards. To let the truth seep from him and move forward. But Steve, who is meant to be brave, is so afraid.
The last thing he wants is for you to get hurt because of him. So he pulls away.
โDonโt sweat too much on my seats,โ he tells you before shutting the door and walking away. Heโs glad he isnโt facing you, so you canโt see how hard this is for him.
You watch him leave, the hum of the air conditioning filling the space that all of a sudden feels so empty.
-
Just as it always does, August gives way to September. The heat of summer lingers during the day, the first chills of fall creeping in at night.
Not quite cold enough to wear a jacket, not warm enough to be in a tank top. This evening, youโve opted for a mini skirt, tights, and a sweater. Steveโs in his usual jeans and a crew neck.
Steve, who youโre currently, miraculously, alone with in the WSQK van.
Youโd been helping out at the station again when something went wrong with the broadcast, and after diagnosing the issue that you know nothing about, Robin sent you and Steve out to pick up some supplies to fix it.
โItโs a two-person job,โ sheโd urged. โAnd I have to stay here and be Rockinโ Robin.โ
โI donโt need help,โ Steve had insisted, offended at the thought of being incapable on his own.
โActually, you do,โ Robin stated. โLast time I sent you to get something you got it wrong because you canโt read labels.โ
โI can read-โ he cut himself off. Robinโs just as stubborn as him, and heโs not in the mood to go back and forth. โOkay, fine. Whatever.โ
Steve walked out, keys spinning around his finger, without a word directed at you. That is, until heโd noticed you werenโt following him and tilted his head at you. โWell? Are you coming, or what?โ
โOh,โ youโd been surprised he gave in so quickly, actually. โRight. Sir, yes sir,โ you saluted like an idiot.
And now youโre here, sitting in the passenger seat of the van, Steve beside you, his hands gripping the wheel a little too tight, the radio barely audible over the sound of the wheels turning, the wind around the vehicle.
Itโs nearly dark out, that shade of blue just after the sun has fallen behind the horizon, streetlights flicking on and casting a warm glow on everything.
He hasnโt said a word to you besides a muttered โbuckle upโ since you got into the car, and youโre starting to get antsy in it. You think youโd prefer his pointed comments, his barbed words, over the silence that feels louder than it should.
It isnโt awkward, not quite, but itโs strained in a way. Like thereโs some unspoken battle going on and whoever says the first word loses.
Tired of pulling at the loose thread on your skirt and saying nothing, you reach forward to mess with the radio. Turning up the volume so you can hear it properly, flipping through channels and pausing each time to hear whatโs playing. You glance at Steveโs reactions, too.
Youโre successful when a song sounds through the speakers and he actually winces. You turn it up a bit more to drive it home.
Heโs getting predictable, you think. The twitch of his eyes or the arch of his brows.
Except, he does surprise you, sometimes. He did. That day in August, when you got overheated and he caught you effortlessly. When he doted on you and called you honey all sticky sweet like the word itself. When he was the barest youโve seen him yet.
Steve, almost completely unguarded. Almost.
Today, though, his fences are mended. Built up once more. Which is why youโre not surprised in the slightest when he side-eyes you, huffs a dramatic breath, and mumbles โI hate this song.โ
โOh do you?โ You look over at him, knees tilted towards his side of the van. โI couldnโt tell from the exaggerated sighing.โ
He gives you this bitchy little twitch of his lips and flips it to another station. You hate how good he looks doing it.
You give him a sweet smile and switch it back.
And just to really get him, you start to sing along. Poorly. Completely off-key and a little shouty and absolutely uncaring.
Steve drags a hand over his face, but you arenโt deterred. You keep singing, grabbing the walkie from the dashboard and using it as a faux microphone. You donโt push any buttons, because thatโd probably give him an aneurism.
โMy ears,โ he whines. โThis is so-โ
You cut him off by singing even louder. Totally annoying, but you can tell heโs battling a smile behind his hand, little crinkles at the corner of his mouth. It makes you grin stupid and genuine.
Then there are headlights shining through the windshield, bright enough to make you squint. You quiet and twist your head to get a look at the car, eyes widening a bit when you notice itโs one of the military vehicles.
Sure, their presence is known, expected, even, but itโs an odd time of day to see one driving around.
By the way Steveโs grip on the wheel has gone from tight to white-knuckle, he seems to think so too.
The vehicleโs red brake lights shine next, slowing to a stop just after passing by the van, and Steve slows, too. Not as abruptly, but to a crawl, keeping the military truck in his rear view. It pulls over. Steve does too.
โShit,โ he whispers.
โWhat?โ you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. โThe U.S. army after you, or something?โ
And Steve, who would usually give you some stupid retort about how youโre more likely to be on their radarโTourists are liabilities, heโd say moroselyโsays absolutely nothing. Stares in the rear view mirror with concerned focus on his face. Eyes a little wide, the rest of his face composed.
โSteve?โ you prod again.
โStop it,โ he says, eyes still glued to the mirror. โJust act.. normal.โ
You donโt know what it is that forces you into gear. Whether itโs the look on Steveโs face or the tension in his shoulders, if itโs the beating of your heart that feels like a warning, or maybe the sound of a car door slamming and the cool blue beam of a flashlight turning on. But something has your instincts kicking in, and you unbuckle your seatbelt before climbing into the back of the van.
Steve, even with how he acts around you, looks away when he notices the way your skirt rides up. A gentleman even when perpetually irritated.
โWhat the fuck are you doing?โ he asks once youโre settled in the back. He turns around to look at you over his shoulder, at how youโve kicked your shoes off.
You get on your knees and lean forward, unbuckling Steveโs seatbelt for him and grabbing a fistful of his sweater to get him to follow you into the back of the van.
โGiving him a reason to leave us alone.โ
Steve, stunned, lets himself be pulled along by your grip, climbing out of his seat and into the back to join you. He kneels, too, your knees slotted together like puzzle pieces, his bumping your thigh.
Youโre still holding his shirt even though heโs right in front of you, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest underneath it, can smell his cologne and feel his breath fan across your cheek.
โUh-โ he starts, but fumbles. Never finds the words to say.
In his defence, you donโt really give him a chance to. The flashlight shines through the back window, heavy footsteps on pavement drawing nearer.
You do the only thing you can think of thatโll make the problem go away. You pull Steve in by his collar and kiss him.
Steve is, understandably, completely frozen at first. You bring your other hand to the back of his neck to try and get him to understand. His hesitation doesnโt last long after you sink your fingers into his hair, scraping his scalp a little.
No, he dives in. Hands shooting to find your waist and squeeze slightly before moving again, like they canโt settle in one place. A wide palm is splayed across the small of your back, the other lowering to your hip to urge you to scoot forward.
His mouth moves against yours like youโve done this a hundred times before. Itโs heated, a little frenzied, like heโs just been set loose. The hand on your hip shifts again, running up your arm, over your collarbone, knuckles tracing the side of your neck until he plants it on your cheek, using it to tilt your head where he wants you.
Yes, your goal had been to get him to kiss you convincingly enough that the man outside would just see a pair of young people making out and walk away, Steve goes beyond.
He kisses you like youโre the one that needs convincing of something. His lips firm, bruising, his grip unwavering.
The kind of kiss that tomorrow, even a week from now, youโll feel warm just remembering.
Steve knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this is a terrible idea. That falling into you this way will cause irreparable damage for him. That pushing you away will become ten times more difficult, little shards of glass embedded into his heart with each shove.
But God. He just canโt stop himself.
Not with how soft you feel against him, how well you fit, how you let him guide you and make the tiniest involuntary noise when he nips at your bottom lip. How you pulled him in, nerves in your eyes, but determination, too.
How you stepped in to help him without asking any questions.
He doesnโt deserve to have you this way, and yet he canโt imagine a world in which heโd pull away first.
Which is why youโre full on making out in the back of the van, the windows probably starting to fog, the radio, the chirp of the blinker, all fading into the background and all thatโs left is the sounds of your breathing, the panting when you break away from each other just for a second before dipping forward again.
You donโt hear the man curse and walk away, you donโt notice the absence of the flashlightโs harsh glow. You donโt even notice heโs gone until you hear the door slam again, the tires rolling off, headlights fading into the distance until theyโre gone completely, swallowed by nighttime.
Itโs only then, when youโre certain the vehicleโs gone, that you pull away from Steve with a lewd smack.
Your eyes flutter open just in time to see the way he chases your kiss when you go.
And then his eyes are open, too, searching your face frantically, blinking like heโs not certain this whole thing has actually just happened. His hands slip away until theyโre resting on his knees. Though, with the way youโre sitting, legs slotted together, you can feel his pinky brushing the inside of your thigh, tracing the seam of your tights.
You follow his lead now, dropping your hands away and sort of hugging yourself.
โSorry,โ you say. Quiet. โI probably shouldโve asked before Iโฆ you know.โ
Steve looks at you. Really looks at you. At how your arms are crossed over your stomach, your shoulders dropped. Itโs like youโre trying to fold in on yourself, to make yourself smaller. To make his target more difficult to hit.
His hands twitch on his knees. His pinky still runs its tiny course against your leg.
โNo, it was, um, smart,โ he says. His voice comes out rough, not totally himself. โGood plan.โ
You look at Steve, too. And you can see whatever inner struggle heโs having written on his face. His stupid, beautiful brown eyes looking a little lost, a little further away.
You understand him. Somehow, you know what he needs. When to push, when to back off.
โSteve Harrington giving me a compliment?โ you say, attempting to bring things back on track. To diffuse his racing thoughts with something heโs used to. โAre you sick or something?โ
You straighten and press the back of your hand to his forehead for emphasis.
Like a rehearsed routine, he scoffs lightly, smacks your hand away gently. Even then, it lacks its usual conviction.
-
As expected, the kiss is on your mind. Often.
This whole thing with Steve started out lighthearted. Flirting, teasing, poking, prodding. But over the course of your months spent back in Hawkins, itโs become more than that. Something in you seeks to be around him, even if it means shouldering the weight of his distance.
Itโs become clearer the longer you spend with him that it isnโt how he really feels, but how he thinks he should feel. How he thinks he should act around you.
Your goal is much the same. Get under his skin, but even more than that, you just want to know the truth. The why.
You actually like him, and you havenโt even had the privilege of knowing the Steve thatโs tucked away beneath the layers of protection. There are glimpses, light breaking the shadows, but a cloud always comes back to cover up the cracks.
After that night in the van, after that kiss, youโre more determined than ever. Because thereโs no faking that. The want and desire, a match lit by the press of your mouths, by the touch of his hands.
So, yeah, youโre thinking about kissing Steve a lot. Sometimes, youโll press your fingertips to your lips when the memory pushes itself forward, like youโre trying to remember exactly how it felt, that it wasnโt a dream.
Even now, sitting across from him in a booth at the diner, youโre thinking about it.
About how easy it would be to bridge the gap again, to see how heโd react if you werenโt doing it as a cover, if it was out in the open, no security blanket of pretending for the sake of your safe getaway.
Youโre not hiding your distraction well enough, if the little kick and accusing glance Robin gives you from her seat beside you is anything to go by.
You shake your head at her, not sure if youโre denying whatever sheโs thinking or just putting it off for now. Either way, it works, and she goes back to whatever debate sheโd been having with Nancy, Jonathan chiming in every now and then and getting mostly overlooked save for a sweet pat on the knee from his girlfriend.
You watch them interact with a small smile, this group of people that have become your people. The way theyโre able to joke with each other and know itโs out of love and warmth.
You look away when Nancy concedes and Robin, too proud, celebrates her win with her arms raised and a chant of โvictory!โ
Steveโs eyes are already fixed on you from across the table when you turn your head. And like that day at the pool those months ago, and other days since, he doesnโt hold your gaze, he looks away as if caught. Red-handed and the tips of his ears going pink.
The groupโs silence is a hint for you to follow their lead and look over the menu, even though you all get the same thing every time. So you drop your gaze too, letting the toe of your shoe tap against Steveโs shin lightly.
Could be an accident, could be something else. I see you, it might say.
His leg shifts, but youโre not sure if itโs in response or just a reflex.
You look down at your menu and scan the options that youโve practically memorized by now. There are only so many places to eat in Hawkins, after all, especially when groceries arenโt as easy to come by.
Youโre reading the handhelds section when a splotch falls onto the page and interrupts your reading. Itโs a small dot, and you look up to find the source when you feel the pressure in your nose. Another drop falls when you look back down and realize the source is you.
โShit,โ you mumble, reaching for some napkins.
Everyone looks at you at once, various levels of question and concern written on their faces as you hold a crumpled napkin to your nostril.
Steveโs the first to speak, and itโs a tone reminiscent of that day at the station when he sat you in the BMW and took care of you like it was easy, natural. โYou okay?โ
โYeah,โ you say, and it comes out awkward with the way your hand is held in your face. โJust a nosebleed.โ
Only, that doesnโt seem to reassure him. Or anyone. Theyโre all still staring at you.
โIโll just, uh, go clean up,โ you say, scooching out of the booth and walking in hurried steps to the bathroom.
Steve watches you go. Well, they all do, but the look on his face is a little different. Itโs not only worried, itโs etched with fear.
โIโm gonna check on her,โ he announces. It hasnโt even been two minutes, but he doesnโt care. His heart is racing, and he doesnโt think itโll slow until he can see you alive and talking.
For once, Robin doesnโt give him any crap as he walks off.
Uncaring and far too concerned, Steve shoulders the womenโs bathroom door open after knocking twice. He doesnโt give you time to respond.
Youโre standing at the sink, a fresh piece of paper towel held to your nose as you look in the mirror, assessing the damage. Luckily, no blood spilled onto your shirt. You flinch when the knocks come, when Steve comes tearing in like a heavy breeze, door blown open and shutting heavily behind him.
โSteve!โ you pivot to face him, hip leaned against the counter, the arm that isnโt occupied with holding pressure crossed over your chest. โYou know this is the girlโs bathroom, right?โ
He ignores you. Doesnโt respond and instead searches your face with frantic, gorgeous eyes. โHave you been getting headaches lately? Nightmares?โ
โUm, thanks for the therapy session, but-โ
โPlease.โ
Steve Harrington, pleading with you. Safe to say it shuts your sarcasm off, makes your stomach twist with the way he shoves an anxious hand through his hair.
โNo, Steve. Iโm fine,โ you tell him. Itโs sincere. A promise, almost. โItโs probably just dry in here, or something. Itโs like youโve never seen a nosebleed before.โ
โIโm not playing around.โ
โMe either,โ you say, but get frustrated with how your words come out a little nasally with your nose blocked. You pause, twisting to look in the mirror again and pulling the paper towel away to check if the bleeding has stopped. Luckily, it has.
You turn to Steve again, making sure to catch his eye, to hold it and speak as honestly as you can. โIโm okay. No headaches, no nightmares. Just a regular, boring nosebleed, alright?โ
He holds your eye for a second afterwards, as if searching for any sign that youโre being dishonest. When he doesnโt find one, he nods, messing with his hair again and looking down at the floor. Breathing a couple of deep breaths.
You canโt look away from him.
Youโre trying to find where his distress is coming from, as if you might see the answer written on him somewhere. You donโt think youโve ever seen Steve so afraid, and itโs completely unmooring.
He cares about you, that much has become clearer now, but thereโs something holding him back. Something other than himself. Something that genuinely frightens him.
โCan you tell me whatโs going on?โ you ask. Gentle, trying not to spook him into hiding again.
โI-โ he starts, but stops himself just as quickly. He shakes his head, reroutes. Steve walks over and pulls another piece of paper towel from the dispenser and wets it in the sink.
โHere,โ he says, squeezing out the excess water and coming to stand right in front of you, the toes of your shoes touching.
Steve tilts your head up for him, his hand splayed on the side of your neck, his thumb tucked under your chin. He uses the damp paper towel to wipe the dried blood from your nose.
โYou donโt have to-โ
โPlease, honeyโ he says again. โJust let me.โ
You do.
Itโs impossible to say no to him this way, with his voice low and quiet and rough, his touch so delicate. The reappearance of the word honey. It nearly undoes you. Your eyes flick over his face as he cleans you up, his tongue poked out the slightest bit in concentration.
Youโre afraid to speak, afraid to shatter whateverโs happening here. Afraid to revert whateverโs made Steve drop his weapons at the door and reveal himself. Here, in the silent bathroom, itโs your own little bubble.
The rest of the world muffled, shining pink and blue in the light and tinting the moment that way, too.
When Steve is satisfied with his work, he tosses the paper towel into the garbage without moving away. His hand is still cradling your jaw lightly, like heโs afraid to hurt you. The other, now free, wipes away the leftover moisture on your upper lip with his thumb.
Steve drops it after that, as if burned. You catch his wrist before he can let the other hand fall away the same. He doesnโt meet your eye until you squeeze, your thumb feeling the rush of his pulse.
โHey.โ
He seems embarrassed all of a sudden. His cheeks getting warmer, some kind of self-appointed guilty grimace on his face. โMm?โ
โThank you.โ
You say it in that way that feels exposing to him. Thank you, but there are other meanings sheltered beneath the two words.
I understand. I can tell youโre hiding something.
I know exactly who you are, Steve Harrington. You donโt have to tell me.
You drop his wrist then, having said what you needed to. And Steve turns on his heel and leaves after whispering a small โyeah. โcourse.โ
His shield is held in front of him again, though it no longer feels like a tough sheet of metal, but a mere piece of paper, easily poked through with the right tool.
Easily poked through if youโre the one on the other side.
-
Thereโs a slight shift to things since the nosebleed.
Or maybe this is only when you notice it, the tiny bits and pieces slowly building up over time until theyโre big enough for you to see. A house settling on the ever-shifting earth, cracks in the porch steps, a door becoming harder to shut.
Steve hasnโt rolled his eyes at you, hasnโt so much as sighed, in at least a week. Itโs probably the longest heโs gone without doing so since youโve met, and you know it means something.
That the rock face that is Steve Harringtonโs guard has slowly been eroded away by your efforts. Changed by the constant tide. His carefully pointed words dulled into a teasing that makes you feel like youโre in on the joke rather than the butt of it.
If you werenโt so zeroed in on him, if you didnโt know him well enough to be able to see his eyes soften or hear the change in his tone, you probably wouldnโt have paid any mind to any of it.
But you do focus on him. You do know him. Whether he wants to let you or not.
It gives you this dangerous little seed of hope. It's taken root in your chest, petals unfurling with every glance he steals that you pretend not to notice.
Hope that your mission, completely driven by your feelings for him now, might be succeeding. That you could make Steve crack. That youโve chiseled away at that stony exterior to get a glimpse of the heart on the inside. Caring and kind, endlessly loyal.
Hope that things could truly be different. Better. That you could, at the very least, become friends.
Though the word friends doesnโt feel quite right. A square peg pushed into a round opening. It just doesnโt fit.
Not after everything thatโs happened these last few weeks. Taking care of you in the sun and with your nosebleed, the genuine concern, the tenderness that leaked through. Especially not after the way he kissed you in the van.
You think about it now, walking up to the doors of the WSQK building, the van parked outside, ground crunching beneath your feet.
You werenโt planning on coming by today. You were fully planning on lounging around at Robinโs for the day. Watching whatever movies she has lying around, napping on the couch. Youโd gotten about five minutes into movie number one when you saw Robinโs lucky coin left on the coffee table.
Sheโd told you about it once when she asked if you had any change and you had pointed it out. Told you that she keeps it in her pocket for every broadcast, that it would be โan abominationโ to get rid of it now.
You can tell itโs the coin because sheโd placed a dollop of nail polish on it to differentiate it from the others. Wonโt that mess with its luckiness, youโd asked her. Um, thatโs totally not how it works, Robin had responded, like it was a ridiculous question.
So anyway, when you spotted it left behind on the table and knew she was doing a broadcast later today, you wanted to bring it to her.
Turns out her lucky token is kind of shit when itโs in your pocket instead.
You open the doors to the Squawk, expecting to find Robin and Steve bantering in the main area. To hear them, at least. Or to see Dustin fixing something with the satellite or whatever it is.
Instead, youโre met with silence.
You know people are here though. Steveโs BMW is outside, too. The doors unlocked, the lights on. Thereโs even a half-empty pot of coffee in the kitchen. A couple of dirty dishes in the sink.
However, your search of the main floor comes up empty. Briefly, you wonder if theyโre pulling some kind of stupid prank on you. If they saw you walking up the drive and decided to hide and jump out and say โgotcha!โ when you jump.
Then your eyes land on the doors leading to the basement. The strip of light slipping through the cracks of the door.
You canโt go down there, you remember Steve saying. All stern and irritated. But things arenโt how they were in August. You shake your head and walk towards the doors.
Tugging a heavy one open with a click, you breathe a sigh of relief at the sound of voices travelling up the stairs.
โThere you guys are!โ you call, heading down. โIโve been looking everywhere. Robin you forgot your-โ
You freeze at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone is down here. Like, everyone. And theyโve all gone silent, staring at you with varying expressions of surprise and nerves, like theyโre worried you overheard or saw something you shouldnโt have.
โ-lucky coin,โ you finish weakly.
โOh!โ Robin walks over to you and takes the coin from your palm, sliding it into her pocket. โWell, thanks for bringing it. We were just, uh..โ
Sheโs doing that frantic rambling thing, saying a bunch of words that donโt actually mean anything strung together. You look around and find that pretty much everyone else is acting strange.
Jonathanโs shoulders are tensed high, Nancy worrying the inside of her cheek. Lucas and Mike share a look that says something like โwhat do we do?โ and โI donโt know.โ
And Steve. Steve canโt even look at you.
โWhatโs going on?โ you ask. โIs everything okay?โ
โWeโre fine!โ Robin tells you, but the squeak in her voice isnโt very convincing. โWhy donโt you head upstairs, and weโll be right behind you.โ
โI know when youโre not being honest, Robin,โ you say.
Itโs one thing when itโs the others hiding something. Lucas or Mike or whoever. You could live with them not telling you something. Hell, youโve been coping with Steveโs secretiveness this whole time and you still havenโt given up, but itโs different with Robin.
Sheโs your best friend, and she doesnโt trust you enough to let you in on this.
โItโs nothing,โ she tries again.
โRobin. Come on, itโs me.โ
โI, um.โ
Robin doesnโt get the chance to find the words, because Steve finally looks up from the floor and steps forward.
โYou should go,โ he says. His voice is cold. Detached, almost.
Youโre taken aback by it. Not the words, necessarily, but the way he says them. This is the Steve from before. Not the one you know now.
โWhat?โ you say, weak.
โLeave,โ he practically spits.
โNo. No, just tell me whatโs going on. Maybe I can help.โ
โYou canโt,โ Steve adds. Every word is a sharp little paper cut swiped against your vulnerable skin. โYou arenโt even supposed to be here in the first place. You donโt belong.โ
โBut-โ
You can feel your resolve cracking with every syllable. Your heart beating an uncomfortable rhythm in your chest, your stomach sinking.
Then, he really does you in.
โYou never should have come to Hawkins.โ
Itโs something aimed to not only cut, but stab. Words picking at an old wound.
Because thereโs an underlying message in there. That you were never supposed to be in his life, that he didnโt want you in it. Itโs as cruel as saying he wishes heโd never met you.
You look around at everyone else in the room, face heating, embarrassed. Nobody says anything. They donโt defend you, they donโt tell you to stay, that Steve didnโt mean it.
You nod, chin wobbling, and turn around, rushing up the stairs. Robin tries to grab your wrist, but you shake her off, the door slamming harshly behind you as you go.
The tears donโt fall until youโre outside, the wind speeding them along and making them tumble in fat drops down your cheeks, streaking your face.
You donโt belong, when you thought youโd been making progress. That maybe Steve actually liked you. You never should have come to Hawkins.
No, maybe you shouldnโt have, you think, wiping at your cheeks and your nose with the cuff of your sweater. Your hands are harsh, much harsher than Steveโs were in the bathroom at the dinner.
You kick a pebble. Even now, when heโs hurt you, heโs on your mind.
Back in the basement at the Squawk, the groupโs eyes have turned onto Steve instead of you. Robinโs are the most accusing of all, though they all feel heavy against him. It makes his skin itch, uncomfortable.
โWhat?โ he bites, before going upstairs himself.
And the thing is, Steve thought he was done nipping at you like that. He wanted to be done. With all of it. The name calling and annoyed looks, the sighing and the comments.
He wanted to move forward. Heโd been trying to figure out how to apologize to you, actually. What the right words would be, if they would be enough.
Because he fucking cares about you. So much it scares him.
He doesnโt even know every piece of you, and he cares this much. It terrifies him to think about how big his feelings could get if he let you in. How badly it would hurt him if you got hurt, if it was because of him.
Steve knows what he did today was wrong. It wasnโt even what he wanted to do, but he was trying to get you as far away from the danger as possible and it manifested itself in the way he was used to.
Heโs not an aggressive person. He isnโt who he used to be in high school. He doesnโt know why he bites.
And that look on your face just before you left, the wobble of your lip and the way your eyes welled but you wouldnโt let a tear fall, the defeat, your shoulders deflated. Well, that look will haunt him for a long time.
But if there had to be a monster in your life, at least itโs him and not something much, much worse. At least youโre still alive and breathing.
Steve can bear the weight of your hurt, can let it crush him and break him down to dust, as long as youโre alright in the end.
-
You cry the whole way back to Robinโs.
Itโs the sadness, at first. The hurt and the sting of everything that had happened. Everyoneโs silence, Steveโs words and how he sounded like a different person when he said them.
After that, itโs frustration. At yourself for thinking things had changed, for letting yourself cry over it now. And at Steve, for being so confusing. Because when the emotions subside, you look at things more broadly.
Sometimes, he can be so sweet. His eyes go soft and honest and expressive, and then he pulls it away. He puts up a wall that he just refuses to let you tear down or climb. You really thought youโd found a way, that youโd met in the middle of it.
You did your share of trying, of finding your footing between stones, and Steve held out a hand and tugged you the rest of the way over.
And then today happened.
But now, with your tears dried and your head less clouded, more than anything, youโre fed up. Tired of throwing fake punches and watching them land. Of taking hits yourself. So you come up with another plan.
Youโre going to get answers out of Steve, and this time, you wonโt back off until you get them.
First, you wait. You turn on the radio and listen to the Squawk, trying not to relive this afternoon every time you hear Robinโs voice or catch a sound effect and know that Steve is behind it. You listen until the broadcast ends sometime in the evening. Then you wait some more, calculating the time it would take Steve to get home from the station.
Once youโre pretty sure heโd be back at his house, you slip your shoes on and head out the door again.
The skies have darkened since earlier today, the sunset hidden behind gray clouds, but you donโt care. Donโt pause to grab an umbrella or a jacket, you just keep walking.
Eventually, rain starts to fall, but you let it seep into your clothes and over your skin.
Youโre soaked by the time you get to the Harrington household, pressing the doorbell nonstop until you see Steve through the glass and hear the lock turn.
โWhat are you doing here?โ he says, not nearly as harsh as his tone had been earlier today.
Steve is shocked to see you, but heโs glad, too. He was afraid that how heโd acted today was enough to push you away for good. Itโs what he thought the right thing to do was, and it felt like the complete opposite.
He looks you over. The same clothes from before, now drenched, your shoes squeaking a little as you bounce on your feet. Your wet hair clings to your cheeks. You look beautiful, you always do.
Your shivering has him springing into action. โJesus, you must be freezing. Come in.โ
Steve tugs you inside with a hand loosely wrapped around your wrist. He drops it to shut the door behind you, then leaves. You slip off your shoes in his absence, wrap your arms around yourself.
He comes back with a towel and a blanket, first draping the towel over your shoulders, then following it up with the blanket. He rubs your arms to help warm you up.
And this is exactly what youโd been talking about. The contrast between the Steve from earlier and the one standing in front of you now is clear. Now, his instincts have kicked in. And those instincts have him taking care of you once more.
He pushes your hair off your face and behind your ear so tenderly. Itโs what makes you finally speak.
โDid I do something?โ you ask.
Steve drops his hand, but he doesnโt back up. โWhat?โ
โWas there something I did to make you not like me?โ
โI- I donโt not like you,โ he stutters out.
โThen how come you act the way you do? Like today?โ You donโt even give him the chance to respond, to lie weakly to your face. โI really thought we were getting somewhere. I even thought-โ
That you cared, you almost say.
You shake the thought off and continue. โI just want to know why, okay? Then Iโll go.โ
โYou didnโt do anything,โ he says. He sounds torn, pained. โYou didnโt.โ
โSo tell me the truth,โ you try. Itโs strained too. The drops of water spilling from your clothes and your hair might as well be your blood with the way you feel. Like youโre bleeding out in front of him and waiting to see if heโll wrap the wound or slice you further. โStop being so afraid, Steve.โ
โThatโs not fair. You donโt understand.โ
โNo, I donโt. So make me understand.โ
Steve runs an agitated hand through his already messy hair. Like heโs been doing it all day. His chest is heaving, and a part of you wants to reach out and place a hand over his heart, to see if heโs as affected as you are.
His head turns to the side, you pry it back to you with a murmured, โSteve.โ
โI was just trying to protect you.โ
A breath is punched from you. Maybe because youโre finally getting what you wanted, that your suspicions have been confirmed. Or maybe because, even though youโd been right, it doesnโt feel good.
โYou had to be.. to be mean to do that? Really?โ You almost laugh at how it sounds. What could possibly be so bad that made him think he needed to in the first place? โIโm not defenceless, Steve. Iโm not dumb or weak.โ
โI was trying to keep you safe!โ he huffs, as if you hadnโt heard him the first time. โIโm still trying to.โ
โWell, stop. Itโs not for you to decide what I can or canโt handle, Steve.โ
โI know-โ
โSo what is it? Whatโs this big bad secret I canโt possibly be strong enough to keep?โ
โThatโs not what I mean.โ
โThen tell me what you mean. Please, Steve, for once, just tell me.โ
Heโs practically panting now, and he knows you wonโt stop until he gives you something, and maybe heโs tired of hiding, too. Both hands come up to fist his hair, drag down his face.
Heโs fighting a battle thatโs living in his own head, not with you.
โSteve,โ you say his name again, and it undoes him.
โBecause I care about you, okay?โ the words seem to spill out of him like theyโve been trying to escape for a long time now, rushed and loud.
But then something changes, Steveโs wild eyes scan your face, like heโs waiting for you to shut him down, to run. When you hold his eye, scrunch your brows in a gentle question, itโs like heโs been set free completely.
โI like you,โ he says, quieter now but no less intense, wholly honest and devastatingly relieved, a weight finally dropped to the ground and off his back. โI like how you never mind your own business and how you reread the same books over and over. I like that you sometimes mouth the words Robin says because you know her so well. I like how much you fit in with everyone, how Dustin asks you for advice and Lucas talks to you about Max.โ
Your eyes well for a whole other reason. All this time.
โI like how you speak with this little accent โcause you moved away, and I like that you came back.โ He huffs a small laugh to himself. โI like you so much it scares the shit out of me, because this town, us, weโre not normal. Itโs not- itโs not safe.โ
โWha-โ
โAnd I thought that by pushing you away, by keeping you at a distance, youโd be far from the danger, too. That as long as you were safe, I could handle being the villain in your book, or whatever.โ Steve looks down at his feet. โI realize now how stupid that sounds. Iโve been called an idiot plenty of times before, so, yeah.โ
Your eyes are soft on him, and you look at him the way you always do. Like you know who he really is.
โI like you too, Steve,โ you say finally, and it feels freeing. An ember relit in your chest. โYou could have just talked to me, you know.โ
โI should have,โ he settles on. Itโs his version of a white flag waving. Iโve dropped my weapons, heโs saying. Itโs a battle finally over. Troops called back, the sun rising anew. โIโm sorry, honey.โ
Youโre still cold from the water trapped in your clothes, but the room feels far warmer.
โIโm sorry, too,โ you tell him. โI was kind of riling you up on purpose, so..โ
โI fucking knew it,โ Steve whispers, shaking his head, but he lets himself smile when he does. The fondness not only in his eyes but in the shape of his mouth this time.
He steps closer, your toes almost touching, and pries your hands away from where they grip the edge of the blanket tight. He holds them between his own, larger and far warmer. Steve hisses through his teeth when he feels how icy your fingers are, dipping his head down to blow some warm air on them, tightening his grip.
There are still things left unsaid, questions unanswered, but the touch is grounding. Reassuring. Itโs a promise that they will be said soon, that he isnโt going anywhere.
โIt worked, didnโt it?โ you joke gently.
โYeah, it worked.โ
Youโre not sure who moves first after that, all you know is that youโre shrugging off both the blanket and the towel to free your arms, Steve dropping your hands in favor of framing your face, thumbs running sweet lines across your cheeks.
Yours wrap around his back, drag him closer, one hand fisted in the material of his shirt, the other on the back of his neck. He shivers, from the coolness of your touch, yes, but from the honesty of it, too.
The familiarity.
His eyes flick between yours once, twice, and then heโs kissing you, lips bruising against yours, but not as heated as that time in the van.
Itโs a slow dance, him taking your bottom lip between his, you meeting him in the middle, your stomach swirling.
The best part isnโt the way he licks at your lip in between kisses, though it makes your heart flutter, or the sweet caress of his thumbs on your cheekbones, but the way that he pulls away.
Because the kiss is broken by his smile. Unabashed at last.
You canโt help but mirror it, cold long forgotten when he leans in and drops his forehead against yours, like he canโt bear to not have you close anymore.
โSo,โ you start, voice soft in the space between your faces. โWill you let me come?โ
โUh, a little forward, honey-โ
You swat his stomach. โMind out of the gutter, Harrington. Am I a part of this now?โ
Steve pulls back just to make sure you can really see him, hands still warm on your cheeks as he says, โYeah, youโre with me.โ
(ยฌ`โธยดยฌ)
thank u so so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog and letting me know!! reblogs are the best way to support writers like me and it would mean a bunch!! love u!!
summary: Steve's new year resolution is to finally tell you how he really feels about you, because being friends with benefits isn't enough for him.
word count: 11.0k+
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
notes: who wouldn't want to be friends with benefits with steve? especially now that he's a baseball coach and a sex-ed teacher ajdlksfjoiwjer. i mean... i never had sex-ed class so i could use some teaching๐
warnings/tags: takes place before season 5, fwb, fluff, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), steve loves to kiss you, steve yearns, idiots in love, a tad bit of miscommunication, slight angst, happy ending, not proofread
12 days of christmas masterlist
The station feels different at night, quieter but not empty, like itโs holding its breath between songs. WSQKโs main lights are off, leaving the place washed in the low amber glow of desk lamps and blinking panels. The soundboard hums softly, a constant companion, and somewhere in the walls thereโs that familiar rattle that Steve swears is the antenna settling, even though it never does this during the day.
Thereโs confetti on the floor. Not a lot, but enough that you notice it every time you shift your feet. Tiny bits of silver and neon paper are scattered around the booth and the hallway, crushed into the carpet from when the kids were here earlier, when someone had decided New Yearโs deserved streamers and noise and way too much sugar. Steve said heโd vacuum it later. He always says that. Somehow, it never happens.
Youโre perched on the edge of the console desk, legs crossed, headphones hanging loose around your neck. The air smells faintly like cold pizza and ozone, that sharp electric scent that always clings to the equipment after a long night. You tilt back in the chair just enough to watch Steve without making it obvious, because watching him has become second nature.
Heโs on the other side of the booth, messing with the patch cables near the transmitter rack, shoulders hunched in concentration. His jacket is tossed over the back of a chair, sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his forearms. Thereโs a smudge of dust on his cheek, probably from crawling around under the console earlier, and you fight the urge to reach out and wipe it away.
โDonโt look at me like that,โ he says without turning around, voice casual, like he hasnโt been clocking your attention for the past five minutes. โIโm fixing it.โ
โYou said that ten minutes ago,โ you reply, smiling despite yourself. โAnd fifteen minutes ago. And earlier when Robin was still here.โ
โThis time I mean it,โ Steve says, glancing back at you with a crooked grin. โI just donโt want it to cut out again in the middle of a song. People get weirdly emotional about that.โ
โPeople get emotional about everything,โ you say. โEspecially at midnight.โ
He snorts, going back to his wires, but thereโs something tight about the way his shoulders stay raised, like heโs bracing for something. The clock on the wall ticks closer to twelve, each second loud in the quiet. Outside, beyond the darkened windows, you can hear distant pops and cracks from fireworks, muffled by the quarantine perimeter and the trees. Hawkins still finds a way to celebrate, even when it probably shouldnโt.
You push off the desk and wander closer, careful not to crunch too loudly on the confetti. One piece sticks to the sole of your shoe and trails behind you. Steve notices and laughs under his breath. โGuess weโre finding that for weeks,โ he says. โDustin went way too hard.โ
โYou let him,โ you point out, stopping beside him. โYou handed him the bag.โ
โThatโs because he looked at me like Iโd ruin his life if I said no.โ
You lean your shoulder against the rack, close enough that your arm brushes his when he reaches for another cable. Itโs familiar, this easy closeness, the way your space has blended with his over the past few months until neither of you really remembers when it happened. The contact sends a quiet ripple through him, subtle but there, and you feel it anyway.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The radio fills the silence, a soft instrumental track bleeding through the monitors, something slow and nostalgic that makes the air feel heavier. The clock clicks over to 11:59.
Steve clears his throat. He straightens up, then immediately leans back against the rack, hands shoved into his pockets like he doesnโt trust them. He stares at the clock, jaw working, and you follow his gaze. โYou big on New Yearโs resolutions?โ you ask, half-teasing, half-genuine.
He laughs, short and a little breathless. โMe? No. Iโm bad at promises. Kinda my thing.โ
โWow,โ you say dryly. โComforting.โ
He glances at you then, really looks at you, and something unspoken flickers in his eyes. Itโs not new, exactly, but it feels sharper tonight, like the edge of a blade instead of the flat of it.
โI mean,โ he adds, softer, โIโm bad at promising stuff Iโm not sure I can keep.โ
The clock hits midnight. Fireworks bloom somewhere far away, distant enough that the sound arrives dull and late. The song on the radio swells, and Steve reaches out automatically to adjust the volume, fingers steady despite everything else about him not being that way at all.
You clap once, halfhearted, nudging him with your hip. โHappy New Year, Harrington.โ
He huffs out a laugh. โHappy New Year.โ Then, quieter, like itโs just for him, โyeah. New year.โ
Confetti sticks to the back of his sweater as he moves, and you reach out without thinking, brushing it away. Your fingers linger there, warm against him, and he stills under your touch. For a second, you think he might turn around and kiss you right there, between the humming machines and the empty coffee cups, like he has so many other nights. Instead, he closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, like heโs steadying himself.
โYou okay?โ you ask, lowering your hand but not stepping away.
โYeah,โ he says quickly, too quickly. โJustโฆ tired.โ
You nod, even though you donโt entirely believe him. Thereโs a lot he doesnโt say these days, things that sit heavy in the quiet moments. Youโve learned not to push, not when the world outside WSQK feels like itโs always one bad signal away from falling apart.
Steve opens his eyes again and looks at you, something resolved settling into his expression, subtle but unmistakable. His mouth curves into a smile that doesnโt quite reach his eyes. โThis year,โ he says, voice low and steady, โIโm doing some things different.โ
โOh yeah?โ you reply lightly. โLike vacuuming?โ
He laughs, genuine this time, and shakes his head. โLikeโฆ not chickening out.โ
Before you can ask what he means, the phone line lights up, and the moment slips sideways, postponed but not gone. Steve reaches for the receiver, but as he does, his hand brushes yours, fingers curling briefly around your wrist. Itโs just a second. Still, itโs enough.
By the time you lock up WSQK, the night has settled into that deep, in-between quiet Hawkins gets after celebrations burn themselves out. The confetti stays where it is, scattered like evidence of something softer that happened earlier, and Steve doesnโt comment on it again. He just flips switches, double-checks the doors, and grabs his jacket with the same practiced motions he always uses, like routine is the thing keeping him upright lately.
The walk to the parking lot is cold enough that you shove your hands into your sleeves. Steve notices without saying anything and drapes his jacket over your shoulders anyway, settling it there like it belongs. You donโt argue. You never do.
His BMW coughs when he turns the key, that familiar rattling protest filling the silence before the engine finally catches. You slide into the passenger seat, tucking your legs up slightly like you always do, knees brushing the cracked leather. The dashboard clock blinks the wrong time, permanently stuck an hour behind no matter how many times Steve swears he fixed it.
โLocked?โ he asks, backing out.
โLocked,โ you repeat. โUnless the Upside Down learned how to use keys.โ
โDonโt even joke about that,โ he replies, grimacing. โI am not dealing with a demodog that understands security systems.โ
The drive is quiet, but not awkward. It never is. The radio stays low, some late-night talk show bleeding static between sentences. Streetlights pass in slow intervals, washing the inside of the car in yellow, then shadow. Steve keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers tapping like heโs counting something only he can hear.
You watch him out of the corner of your eye, the way his focus softens when heโs driving you home, like the road demands less from him than everything else does. He glances over once, catches you looking, and raises an eyebrow. โWhat?โ he asks.
โNothing,โ you say, smiling. โYou just make that face when youโre thinking too hard.โ
โDo not.โ
โYou absolutely do.โ
He scoffs, but the corner of his mouth lifts. โOkay, maybe. Occupational hazard.โ
By the time you pull into his driveway, the tension that always hums between you has settled into something heavier, thicker, like fog rolling in. His house is dark except for the porch light, and the quiet out here feels different than it does at the station. Less mechanical. More real.
Inside, the air is warmer. Steve kicks his shoes off near the door, nudging yours aside with his foot so you donโt trip over them. You hang his jacket on the hook by muscle memory, even though it started the night on his shoulders. He watches you do it, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. โYou want anything?โ he asks. โWater, soda, whatever that weird juice Robin left in the fridge?โ
โIโm good,โ you say. โUnless youโre secretly hoarding something better.โ
โWow. Accused in my own house.โ
You drift further in, perching on the edge of the kitchen counter like youโve done a hundred times before. Steve opens the fridge anyway, stares inside like the answer to his problems might be behind the leftover Chinese containers, then closes it with a sigh. โThis is becoming a thing,โ he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. โYou know. Us justโฆ ending up here.โ
You shrug, swinging your legs lightly. โItโs closer than my place. And youโve got better heating.โ
โThatโs not why,โ he says, too quick, then clears his throat. โI mean. Yeah. It is. Mostly.โ
The silence stretches, comfortable but charged. You can feel it in the way his eyes keep flicking back to you, like heโs checking youโre still there. This is how it always goes โ shared spaces, shared time, shared exhaustion. Nights where the world feels too loud and this house feels like a pause button.
You slide off the counter, padding closer, stopping just short of him. Not touching. Not yet. The air between you feels electric anyway. โRough night?โ you ask quietly.
He exhales, nodding. โThey all kind of are lately.โ His voice drops. โButโฆ this helps. You being here.โ
Itโs not a confession. Not really. Just a truth he lets slip like it doesnโt matter, like it hasnโt been sitting heavy in his chest for a while. You meet his gaze, steady, grounding.
โYeah,โ you say. โSame.โ
Steve shifts his weight, hands uncrossing, like heโs not sure what to do with them. He steps aside, gesturing toward the living room. โCโmon,โ he says. โYou wanna sit? Orโ I mean, we donโt have toโโ
โWe can sit,โ you reply, already moving past him. โIโm not in a rush.โ
His shoulders relax just a fraction as he follows you into the living room, the old house settling around you both, floors creaking under your steps. You leave the hallway light on out of habit, spilling a golden stripe across the carpet. Steveโs hand lingers at the small of your back for a moment as you pass him, his touch casual but charged. Neither of you says anything about it.
You collapse onto the couch, sinking into the cushions, and Steve sprawls next to you, one arm thrown across the backrest, legs stretched out until his foot bumps against yours. For a while, thereโs just the low hum of the fridge, the faint tick of the clock, and your breathing syncing up in the hush. Steve stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming an absent rhythm on the fabric, but his gaze keeps drifting to you when he thinks youโre not looking.
You stretch, letting your head fall back, closing your eyes for a second. โIโm never getting used to this shift,โ you murmur. โMy brainโs still buzzing.โ
He grins, soft and sideways. โThatโs because youโre thinking too much. You gotta let it go.โ Then, quieter, โThatโs what I do, anyway. Justโฆ let it fade out.โ
โIs that what weโre doing here? Fading out?โ you ask, glancing over. You mean it as a joke, but something in the way you say it turns it softer, makes Steve look at you a little too long.
โNot really,โ he says, voice low. โFeels more like catching my breath.โ
You move closer, shoulder to shoulder, and you can smell his aftershave, the faint metallic tang of the radio station clinging to his skin. Steve looks at you, his eyes dark and searching, like heโs reading something between the lines you arenโt saying out loud.
โYou always do this,โ he says, a slow smile curving his lips, โcome in here and take over my couch, my radio, my life.โ
โAnd you always let me,โ you shoot back, nudging his knee with yours. Your laughter rolls into a comfortable quiet, and for a minute the world outside the windowsโUpside Down, crawls, quarantine, all of itโjust isnโt real.
His gaze drops to your mouth, and he doesnโt hide it this time. โYouโre not tired?โ he asks, but thereโs no real question in it, only invitation.
โIโm not tired,โ you say, your voice steady, and itโs the truth. The air between you goes charged, electric, every nerve aware of where he is and what could happen if you just move one inch closer.
He leans in. The couch creaks under his shifting weight as you turn to face him, knees brushing, and the look in his eyes is as familiar as it is dangerous, a silent promise of what always happens next. He waits for you to close the gap, always letting you make the choice, but tonight youโre the one who breaks first. You press your lips to his, soft, then hungry, all that built-up tension unraveling in a rush.
Steveโs hands come up, one cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek. He tastes like mint gum and late-night adrenaline, mouth warm and urgent against yours. You donโt bother with slow; youโve never been any good at that with him, not when the world outside always feels like it might end.
His fingers trail down your neck, tracing the line of your throat, and you shudder under his touch. He knows just how to press, just how to tilt your chin to draw out the sounds he likes, the ones only he gets. The heat builds fast, his other hand finding your hip, pulling you across his lap until youโre straddling him, knees braced against the worn cushions. Your jacket slips off your shoulders, pushed aside by his hands, and you shrug out of it with a little laugh that gets lost in his mouth.
Steve breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you, eyes dark and intent, searching your face for any sign to stop. He always does thisโalways checks, always waits for the smallest hesitation, even when youโre already half undressed in his lap. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him back, and thatโs all the answer he needs.
His mouth trails down, hot and wet, over your throat. You arch for him, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. Steveโs breath is rough, shaky, his voice a low growl against your collarbone. โGod, you drive me fucking crazy,โ he murmurs, teeth grazing your pulse. You let out a gasp, hips grinding down, feeling him hard beneath you, and the friction makes you both swear softly into the darkness.
He stands suddenly, catching you in his arms, lifting you off the couch with an easy strength that never fails to make your pulse jump. Your legs wrap around his waist, instinctive, and he carries you down the hall, mouth never leaving your skin, pressing kisses and little nips along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. The door to his bedroom bangs open, but neither of you cares.
He sets you down at the edge of the bed, hands already tugging at your clothes, peeling your shirt over your head, dropping it somewhere behind you. You work his sweater off, nails scraping over his stomach, and he sucks in a breath thatโs half curse, half moan.
The rest of your clothes hit the floor in a messy, hungry rush. Steveโs hands are everywhereโpalming your breasts, sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you up against him. His mouth covers yours again, deeper, more desperate, and you answer him with a needy sound that makes his hips jerk against you.
He pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you, settling between your legs. His fingers trail down your body, teasing, lingering just enough to make you squirm, to make you beg for more. โTell me what you want,โ he says, voice rough, lips ghosting your ear. You shiver, arching up to meet him, and you donโt hesitate, not with Steve, not when you trust him to give you everything you ask for and more.
His fingers slip between your thighs, finding you wet and ready, and he groans, low and filthy, at the way you gasp, at the way your hips stutter up into his hand. โFuck, youโre always like this for me,โ he breathes, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin.
You reach for him, pulling him closer, nails digging into his back, and he laughs against your throat, the sound shaky, on edge. โGod, you feel so good,โ he mutters, and you can hear the way heโs holding back, trying to drag it out, wanting to make it last.
But youโre done waiting. You reach down, guiding him to you, and he sinks into you with a slow, deep thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. The stretch is perfect, the heat unbearable, and you cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him deeper.
Steve moves slow at first, hips rolling, every stroke measured, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours, searching for every flicker of pleasure, every breathless moan. He knows your body, knows every sound you make, every way you like to be touched. He whispers your name, over and over, like a prayer, like a promise, and you answer him with gasps and bitten-off cries, the room spinning around you.
He picks up the pace, thrusts turning rougher, needier, and the headboard thuds quietly against the wall with every movement. Your nails rake down his back, and he hisses, loving the sting. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your moans, his hand slipping between your bodies to circle your clit, coaxing you closer, higher, until youโre trembling beneath him, desperate and undone.
You come with a shuddering gasp, clenching around him, dragging him over the edge with you. He groans, deep and raw, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, burying his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged.
You both stay tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in the dark. Steveโs forehead rests on your shoulder, his arms locked around you like heโll never let go. You feel the weight of him, the warmth, the way he presses soft, lazy kisses to your skin as you both come down, neither of you willing to move, not just yet.
He doesnโt say anything for a long moment, just breathes you in, his thumb tracing slow circles on your hip. Itโs quiet, peaceful, the chaos of the world outside held at bay by the walls of this room, by the way he holds you, by the way you fit together, perfectly, hopelessly, inevitably.
It doesnโt happen all at once. Thatโs the thing you notice first, once you start paying attention. Steve doesnโt wake up one day different; he justโฆ slips, little by little, like someone losing their footing on loose gravel and trying not to make it obvious.
At WSQK, it shows up in the small spaces. Shared shifts turn into Steve hovering behind your chair a little longer than necessary, leaning one hand on the backrest while you cue up tracks, his knee brushing yours every time you swivel even an inch. When you glance up at him, he looks away too fast, like heโs been caught staring at something he wasnโt supposed to touch. Other times, he doesnโt look away at all, just watches you with that softened focus that makes your stomach flip before you can stop it.
Robin notices before you do. Sheโs slouched in her chair across the booth, boots up on the console, chewing on a pen cap while pretending not to watch the two of you circle each other like idiots. Every time Steve drifts closer, every time his fingers nearly brush your shoulder when he reaches past you, she lifts her brows and gives him a look that says really? without ever opening her mouth.
Steve ignores her. Or tries to. Heโs bad at it.
โYou know,โ Robin says one afternoon, spinning her chair to face him, โthere is such a thing as personal space. Itโs very popular. Big fan base.โ
Steve doesnโt even pretend he doesnโt know what sheโs talking about. He just shrugs, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. โIโm standing.โ
โMenacingly,โ she replies flatly.
You laugh, shaking your head, eyes still on the playlist in front of you. โHeโs not that close.โ
Steveโs gaze flicks to you, sharp and almost hopeful, before he schools it back into something neutral. โSee? Iโm fine.โ
Robinโs eyes flick between the two of you, tired and knowing, but she lets it drop. For now.
The requests line lights up halfway through the afternoon shift, the little red bulb blinking insistently. You point it out, and Steve reaches for the receiver like he always does, voice slipping automatically into that easy, charming radio tone he wears like armor. โWSQK, youโre on the air,โ he says. โWhat can we do for you?โ
Thereโs a pause. Static crackles softly through the speaker, then a voice comes through, older, a little shaky, asking for a love song. Something slow. Something meaningful. Something for โsomeone whoโs been there through a lot.โ
Steve listens, nodding along even though the caller canโt see him. His smile is gentle when he answers. โYeah. Yeah, we can do that.โ He cues the track with steady hands, but when he leans into the mic to dedicate it, something catches. โThis oneโs forโโ His voice falters, just barely, but enough that you notice. Enough that Robin notices too, straightening in her chair. Steve clears his throat, cheeks coloring. โFor someone whoโฆ makes things feel a little less heavy. You know who you are.โ
The booth goes quiet except for the song rolling out over the airwaves. Steve steps back from the mic, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor like heโs bracing for impact. You blink, then glance at him, a smile tugging at your mouth. โWow,โ you say lightly. โGetting sentimental on-air now? Didnโt think you had it in you.โ
Robin snorts, not even trying to hide it. โTruly shocking behavior.โ
Steve laughs, but it comes out thin. He rubs the back of his neck, ears going red, refusing to meet your eyes. โShut up. It was just a dedication.โ
โUh-huh,โ you reply, still smiling, but something about his reaction makes you pause. Heโs blushing. Not his usual half-assed embarrassment, not his joking deflection. Real, deep color creeping up his neck, the kind that only shows up when something actually matters. You tilt your head, studying him. โHey. You okay?โ
He looks up then, finally, and the look on his face knocks the breath out of you just a little. Itโs open, exposed, like he said something out loud before he meant to. โYeah,โ he says quickly. โYeah. Iโm fine. Justโฆ hot in here.โ
โItโs January,โ Robin deadpans.
Steve shoots her a glare that has no real heat behind it, then turns back to the board, busying himself with unnecessary adjustments. You watch his hands shake just slightly as he reaches for a dial.
The storm rolls in fast, the way they always do lately, like Hawkins doesnโt bother easing into bad weather anymore. One second the sky outside the WSQK windows is bruised purple, the next itโs split open with white light, thunder cracking so close it rattles the glass. You glance up from the board just in time to see Steve tense, shoulders lifting instinctively, like heโs bracing for something more than noise.
Then the power cuts. Everything dies at onceโthe monitors, the overhead lights, the low hum that usually fills the station like a second heartbeat. For a split second thereโs nothing but darkness and the echo of thunder, and then the emergency lights kick in, bathing the booth in a dim, ominous red. The equipment racks glow faintly, LEDs blinking like watchful eyes.
โShit,โ Steve mutters, already moving. โOkay, okay, itโs fine. Generatorโll catch in a minute.โ
You swivel in your chair, heart thudding a little harder than it should. โYou sure?โ
โYeah,โ he says, but thereโs a crack in it, just enough to make you notice. โIt always does.โ
The rain pounds harder against the roof, a relentless drumming that fills the silence left behind by the dead equipment. Steve crouches near one of the racks, checking cables out of habit more than necessity. After a moment, he exhales sharply and drops to sit on the floor, back against the metal frame. โGuess weโre waiting,โ he says.
You hesitate for half a second, then slide out of your chair and sit down too, settling between the racks opposite him. The floor is cold through your clothes, but the closeness helps, knees brushing, your legs angled toward each other without either of you commenting on it. The red light makes everything feel unreal, like youโve slipped into a different version of the station where things are allowed to be said.
Steve stares at the floor, elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced together. He looks tired like this, stripped of his easy charm, all the noise and distraction gone. The storm booms again, closer this time, and his knee presses a little more firmly into yours. โHey,โ he says quietly. โIโm sorry.โ
You blink, turning toward him. โFor what?โ
โForโฆ being weird lately.โ He huffs out a short, humorless laugh. โWhich I realize is not super specific.โ
You study him for a moment, the way his jaw tightens as soon as the words leave his mouth, like he regrets them already. โOkay,โ you say slowly. โWhy are you being weird?โ
The question hangs between you, heavy and fragile. Steveโs breath catches. He lifts his head, meets your eyes, and for a second it feels like the storm has gone quiet, like the whole world is waiting.
His mouth opens, then closes. He swallows hard, Adamโs apple bobbing, and his knee presses harder into yours, grounding himself. You can see it in his eyesโthe way they flick over your face, searching, calculating risk, fear, hope all tangled together. He looks like someone standing at the edge of something steep, trying to decide whether the fall will kill him or set him free.
โI justโโ he starts, voice rough. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers catching, tugging a little too hard. โI donโt wanna mess things up.โ
Your chest tightens. โMess what up?โ
His gaze drops to where your knees touch, lingers there like itโs safer than looking at you. โUs.โ
The word lands heavier than it should. You shift slightly, not pulling away, just adjusting so your leg presses back against his. โSteve,โ you say softly, โyou canโt mess up something if you wonโt even tell me what it is.โ
He laughs under his breath, but it sounds close to breaking. โYeah. Thatโs kinda the problem.โ
Another flash of lightning illuminates his face stark white for a split second, and you see everything heโs trying not to showโthe fear, the longing, the way his shoulders are drawn tight like heโs holding himself together by force. He looks back at you, really looks, and his expression changes, something fragile surfacing. โI think Iโโ
The door slams open. โOkay! Generatorโs back online, crisis averted, we all lived, gold stars for everyone,โ Robin announces, voice echoing way too loudly in the small space as the main lights flicker back on. The red glow vanishes, replaced by harsh white fluorescence, and the moment shatters like glass.
Steve jerks back like heโs been burned, scooting away from you, scrambling to his feet with an awkward laugh. โOh. Great. Perfect timing.โ
Robin freezes mid-step, eyes darting between the two of you on the floor, the tension still hanging thick in the air like ozone after lightning. Her mouth presses into a thin line. โโฆDid I interrupt something?โ she asks.
โNope,โ Steve says too fast, already turning toward the board. โJust, uh. Power stuff.โ
You push yourself up more slowly, brushing off your hands, heart still pounding like it hasnโt caught up to the room yet. โYeah. Power stuff.โ
Robin squints at you both but doesnโt push, moving past to reboot the systems. The familiar hum returns, screens lighting back up one by one. Normalcy snaps back into place with brutal efficiency.
Steve doesnโt look at you again for the rest of the shift, but you can feel him there, every movement careful, contained. Whatever he was about to say stays lodged between you, unresolved and aching, echoing louder than the thunder ever did.
Itโs a few days later when the station fills up again, and the change is immediate the second the door starts slamming open. WSQK isnโt built for crowds, not really, but somehow everyone squeezes in anyway. Backpacks end up stacked in corners, jackets draped over chairs, someone knocks over a chair and pretends it didnโt happen. The familiar hum of the equipment is almost drowned out by overlapping voices, the sound of people whoโve learned how to exist in crisis together.
Dustin is the last one through the door. He lingers in the doorway longer than the others did, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning the room like heโs not sure he belongs here anymore. His hat is pulled low, brim shadowing his face, and he doesnโt say anything at first. No loud greeting. No dramatic entrance. Just a quiet step inside, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
Steve notices instantly. โHey,โ he says, softer than usual, moving toward Dustin without making it a big thing. โCโmon in. Youโre blocking the good echo.โ
Dustin snorts faintly, barely there, but he does step further into the room. โDidnโt realize this was a VIP-only establishment.โ
Steve smirks, but thereโs something careful underneath it. โYou kidding? This place runs on chaos and unpaid labor.โ
That earns a small huff from Dustin, and Steve counts it as a win. Will, Mike, and Lucas have already claimed spots near the wall, sitting on the floor with their backs against the equipment racks like theyโve done it a hundred times before. Nancy leans over the desk, scanning a stack of scribbled notes, while Jonathan hovers nearby, camera hanging from his neck out of habit more than necessity.
Youโre perched on the arm of a chair near the board, watching it all settle into place, watching Steve move through them like this is exactly where heโs supposed to be. He checks on everyone without making it obvious, passing out sodas, nudging backpacks out of walkways, steadying the energy in the room with quiet touches and easy jokes.
Robin drops into the chair beside you, eyes flicking between Steve and the group, then back to you. โSo,โ she murmurs, โshould I be concerned that this looks like the prelude to something bad?โ
โAlways,โ you reply quietly. โBut less bad than usual.โ
The meeting, if you can call it that, starts loosely. They talk about crawl schedules, about weird fluctuations in the signal, about things that feel off in the air lately. Steve listens more than he talks, arms crossed, nodding along. Every now and then, his eyes drift to you, like heโs checking youโre still there, still real.
Dustin stays quiet through most of it. When he does speak, itโs clipped, practical, stripped of the enthusiasm he used to bring into every room like a wildfire. He suggests adjustments to antenna placement, mentions something about interference patterns, and then goes quiet again, retreating into himself.
At one point, Steve hands him a soda, setting it down beside him without comment. Dustin stares at it for a long moment before picking it up. โโฆThanks,โ he mutters.
Steve shrugs. โHydrationโs important. Heroes drink water.โ
Dustin almost smiles. Almost.
The room feels heavier than usual, weighted with everything unsaid. Eddieโs name never comes up, but it doesnโt need to. Heโs there in the empty space Dustin leaves beside him, in the way everyone avoids looking directly at the Hellfire sticker peeling off his backpack.
You catch Steve watching Dustin when he thinks no oneโs looking, jaw tight, guilt and protectiveness warring in his expression. When Dustin rubs at his eyes like heโs tired, Steve steps in, gently redirecting the conversation, keeping things moving so no one has to sit too long in that quiet.
At some point, Nancy straightens, tapping the desk. โOkay. We should probably get going before itโs dark.โ
โItโs already dark,โ Robin points out.
โMore dark,โ Nancy amends.
Everyone starts gathering their things, the energy shifting again. Chairs scrape. Zippers buzz. Steve walks them out one by one, clapping shoulders, offering rides, making sure no one leaves alone.
Dustin hangs back again. Youโre near the door when Steve crouches in front of him, lowering himself to Dustinโs level like itโs the most natural thing in the world. โYou good?โ he asks gently.
Steve nods like thatโs an acceptable answer. โOkay. Thatโs okay.โ
The silence stretches, fragile. Dustin nods once, then turns and heads out with the others, leaving the station quieter than itโs been all day. When the door finally clicks shut, the absence feels louder than the crowd ever did. Steve exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He turns, finds you watching him, and for a second that careful mask slips. Whatever he was holding back all day presses closer to the surface.
Robin watches the two of you, arms crossed, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. โโฆYou guys wanna talk about whatever that was?โ she asks, gesturing vaguely between you and Steve.
Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again, glancing at you like heโs measuring the distance between now and whatever he almost said on the floor during the storm. โYeah,โ he says finally, quiet. โJustโฆ not yet.โ
Steveโs place is warm when you step inside, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and settles low in your belly, and not just because the thermostatโs cranked too high again. He shrugs his jacket off, tosses it over the banister like he always does, and you trail after him into the kitchen, shedding your own coat along the way, moving like gravity's strongest here.
He opens the fridge, bends at the waist, and asks, โpizza or leftover Chinese?โ without turning around.
You lean against the counter, eyes trailing the curve of his back, the stretch of denim over his thighs. โDo we ever not choose pizza?โ
He glances over his shoulder, smirking. โYou say that like weโre consistent.โ
You raise an eyebrow. โWeโre consistent about eating shit and not talking about anything important.โ
He snorts, shaking his head. โOuch. Call me out harder, why donโt you.โ
It starts like it always doesโjokes and microwave beeps, the clink of bottles as he grabs two beers from the door tray. He hands you one and you take it without comment, brushing fingers too long in the exchange. He hesitates just long enough for you to notice, then backs off like it didnโt happen. But youโre both already glancing at the couch.
You end up there in five minutes flat, paper plates balanced on knees, your legs folded up and tucked to the side, his thigh warm beside you. Some old movie flickers across the screen, ignored. Conversation wanders in loopsโRobinโs latest weird theory about Upside Down tremors, Lucas being a better liar than anyone expected, Dustinโs fake-casual curiosity about exorcisms, โfor research.โ
Steve laughs too hard at that one, head tipping back against the couch cushion, throat exposed, and you feel your gaze catch. Thereโs a moment, just a beat, where you both go still.
And then he turns his head.
And then he kisses you.
It starts slow, mouths brushing, both of you testing for heat thatโs never really gone cold. His hand finds your jaw, thumb stroking beneath your ear, and your fingers knot in the front of his shirt without meaning to. The kiss deepens with each breath, lazy at first, then hungrier, your bodies shifting toward each other like theyโre sick of waiting.
You climb over his lap, straddling him, your knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his thighs. He groans low into your mouth, hands slipping beneath your shirt, dragging up your back, fingertips tracing skin like heโs not sure heโll be allowed again tomorrow. His lips trail to your jaw, your neck, down the side of your throat, and you gasp when his teeth scrape just hard enough to leave heat blooming.
โBedroom,โ he says against your skin, voice ragged. You nod before he finishes.
He stands with you wrapped around him, your legs around his waist, your back hitting the hallway wall once when he stumbles, laughing through his teeth, the kind of sound thatโs too fond for what this is supposed to be. The bedroom door swings open, and you donโt even remember him kicking it.
The bed is unmade, but you donโt care. He drops you onto the mattress and follows, kissing you again like heโs starving for it, his body heavy over yours. You pull his shirt off with fumbling hands, nails raking his stomach on the way up. His jeans are next, kicked off without ceremony, and then his mouth is on you again, trailing down your chest, your ribs, the curve of your stomach.
He settles between your legs like itโs where he was always meant to be. Youโre already soakedโhe mustโve known, mustโve felt it pressed against him when you were grinding into his lap on the couchโand he doesnโt waste time asking if this is what you want. He already knows. Still, he catches your eye, one hand smoothing up your thigh, the other planted firm on your hip, holding you open for him.
โYou good?โ he murmurs, voice rough.
โGod, yes,โ you whisper, breathless.
His mouth drops, warm and wet, and he drags his tongue over your clit in one long, slow stroke. You gasp, hips jerking before he tightens his grip, keeping you in place. He groans against you like he feels it too, like heโs not just eating you outโheโs devouring. His tongue moves in slow circles at first, teasing, every flick sending electricity up your spine. You clutch the sheets with one hand, the other buried in his hair, tugging when he sucks, hard and perfect, right where you need him.
โF-fuck, Steve,โ you moan, thighs trembling around his head.
He hums, tongue lapping over you, greedy and focused, like this is the only thing heโs ever wanted. He licks you open, soft and relentless, mouthing at you with practiced, intimate confidence. Every sound you make just spurs him on, and heโs locked in, ravenous, like he canโt stop until youโre falling apart.
Your stomach tightens, back arching off the bed as the pressure builds. He senses it, tilting his head, licking with that exact rhythm that always makes you come fast, wet, messy, mind-numbing. Your hand tugs hard at his hair and he groans again, sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking, circling, pushing you right to the edge.
Youโre panting now, toes curling, whole body pulled tight like a bowstring. And then it hitsโhard, overwhelming, your orgasm crashing over you with a cry that rips from your throat. โOh fuckโSteve, fuckfuckfuckโโ Your thighs clamp around his head as you grind into his mouth, chasing every last wave, and he doesnโt pull away, not until youโre squirming from the sensitivity, gasping for air.
He pulls back slowly, dragging his mouth from you with one last kiss to your inner thigh, lips slick, eyes heavy with heat. Youโre still catching your breath, body flushed and shaking, when he climbs up over you, sliding into the space between your arms, bracing his weight on his elbows.
You reach up and cup his face, fingers tracing his cheek. His skin is warm, lips swollen, eyes locked on yours.
โJesus,โ you whisper, voice wrecked.
Steve smiles, and itโs a little shy, a little cocky, but thereโs something underneath it that wasnโt there before. He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead, then one to your mouthโsoft, slow, tender. Like somethingโs cracking open, something heโs not ready to name. His hand finds yours on the pillow and laces your fingers together without a word.
Thereโs something different in the way he moves now, softer but deeper, as if heโs savoring every secondโlike he knows this could be the last time before everything changes and he refuses to let any of it slip away unnoticed.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to look down at you, eyes searching your face for a sign, like heโs memorizing everything. His hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, gentle and reverent, and his gaze is so open you almost canโt stand it.
โYou sure?โ he whispers, his voice quiet and rough with emotion, hips cradled between your thighs, the head of his cock brushing against you, waiting.
You slide your arms around his shoulders, nails digging in, not to hurt but to hold. โGod, yes, Steve. Please.โ
He nods, and for a moment just holds you there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Then, slowโachingly slowโhe pushes inside you. The stretch is perfect, a shivering fullness that has you arching up to meet him, wrapping your legs around his hips, drawing him deeper. He groans softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he sinks in all the way, filling you in a way that feels both desperate and impossibly sweet.
He starts to move, rocking his hips in a steady, gentle rhythm, every thrust deliberate, as if he wants to feel every inch of you, every pulse and flutter. His hand stays at your face, holding you steady, his thumb catching the tears that prick at the corners of your eyesโnot from pain, but from the overwhelming ache of being seen, of being held like you matter.
His lips meet yours over and over, never hurried, each kiss melting into the next. His name spills from your lips, soft and helpless, and he answers you with a murmur, his voice gone so tender it makes your heart ache. โFuck, you feel so good,โ he breathes against your mouth. โYouโre everything, you know that? Everything.โ
You gasp, rolling your hips up to meet him, chasing the heat curling low in your belly, your whole body singing with it. Steve leans down, kissing your eyelids, your cheeks, your jaw, like he canโt get enough, like every piece of you is precious.
He doesnโt rush, just keeps rocking into you, the rhythm stretching out between you, slow and deep, his hips pressed snug to yours with every thrust. Your hands roam over his back, his arms, feeling the tremble in his muscles, the way heโs holding himself together.
Every time you look at him, his eyes are already on you, dark and shining, the raw need there undercut by a devotion so fierce it leaves you breathless. His hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek as he moves, his other arm curling around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. โStay with me,โ he whispers, voice thick. โJustโฆ stay, okay?โ
You nod, a choked sound escaping you, and he kisses you again, swallowing your moans, your whimpers, every gasp. The pleasure builds slowly, the tension winding tight, every roll of his hips coaxing you higher.
You break, trembling under him, coming apart with his name in your mouth and his hand cradling your face, grounding you in the swell of it. He groans, the sound muffled against your lips, and you feel him pulse deep inside you, his whole body shuddering as he follows you over the edge.
He stays pressed to you, both of you breathing hard, your bodies tangled together in the warmth and the hush. His thumb still brushes your cheek, his kisses growing softer now, lingering on your skin, your lips, your temple.
You donโt let go. Neither does he. His forehead presses to yours, breath mingling, and for a while the world outside the four walls of his room doesnโt exist, every worry banished by the way he holds youโclose, gentle, like youโre everything heโs ever wanted and heโs terrified to let you slip away.
Morning doesnโt arrive gently.
You wake to the sound of footsteps that donโt belong to dreams, soft but restless, pacing back and forth across the bedroom floor. Your eyes blink open slowly, still heavy, still warm, the sheets tangled around your legs and his pillow indented beside you. For half a second, you expect to find him there, sprawled and half-asleep, arm thrown out like he always does.
Instead, Steve is standing near the dresser, already dressed, pulling on his jacket like itโs armor. His hair is still a mess, curling at the edges from sleep, but the rest of him is tight, wound too thin. He runs a hand through it, mutters something under his breath you canโt quite catch, then turns and freezes when he realizes youโre awake. โOh,โ he says quietly. โHey.โ
Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice. โHey,โ you answer, pushing yourself up on your elbows, the sheet slipping down your waist. You donโt bother covering yourself more than that. You shouldnโt have to.
Thereโs a pause that stretches too long. Steve shifts his weight, looks everywhere but at you, like the walls might have answers he doesnโt. โIโโ He exhales hard and scrubs a hand over his face. โIโve been thinking.โ
That alone sends a little spike of dread through you. You sit up properly now, drawing the sheet around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. โOkay.โ
He nods, pacing again, words tumbling out too fast. โAbout last night. About us. Aboutโฆ all of it.โ He stops, turns to you, eyes red-rimmed like he didnโt sleep much at all. โAnd maybe this isnโt a good idea anymore.โ
The words land heavy and sharp, knocking the air from your lungs. โOh,โ you say, because itโs the only thing you can manage.
Steveโs face twists instantly, panic flashing across it. โNoโshit, thatโs notโโ He crosses the room in two strides, hands out like heโs trying to catch something mid-fall. โI didnโt mean it like that. I mean, I did, but I didnโt, I justโfuck.โ
You swing your legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor, grounding yourself in the cold. Your hands shake as you reach for your clothes, folded neatly over the chair like he always does after. You keep your eyes on them, on anything but his face. โItโs okay,โ you say quickly, too quickly, your voice a little too steady. โI get it.โ
He shakes his head, frantic. โNo, you donโt. Thatโs notโGod, I hate this.โ He reaches for your arm, then stops himself, fingers curling back into his palm. โI justโฆ things feel different. And I donโt want to screw it up. Or hurt you. Or loseโโ He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard.
You swallow, throat burning. โSteve.โ
He looks at you then, really looks, and whatever he sees on your face makes him pale. โShit,โ he whispers. โYouโre upset.โ
โIโm not,โ you lie automatically, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head. The fabric snags for a second and you fight it, blinking hard. โI mean. I am. But itโs fine.โ
โThatโs not fine,โ he says, voice breaking just a little. โI shouldnโt have said anything like that.โ
You tug your jeans on, fingers clumsy. โYou meant it.โ
โI didnโt mean it like that,โ he insists. โI donโt want you to go.โ
You pause with your hands on the button, breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth. The room feels too small, too tight, like the walls are pressing in. โThen what do you want?โ you ask quietly.
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. His shoulders slump like something inside him just gave up. โI donโt know,โ he admits, barely above a whisper.
That hurts worse than anything else. You nod once, sharp, like youโve made a decision even if you donโt feel it yet. โOkay.โ
He flinches at that, at the way you say it, clipped and final. โOkay?โ he repeats.
โYeah,โ you say, pulling on your shoes, refusing to let your eyes water. โOkay.โ
You grab your jacket, sling your bag over your shoulder, movements too fast, too practiced, like if you stop youโll fall apart right there in front of him. Steve follows you to the door, hands hovering uselessly at his sides. โHey,โ he says softly, desperate. โYou donโt have to leave like this.โ
You pause with your hand on the doorknob, heart pounding so loud it feels like he must hear it. You turn just enough to look at him, really look, and it almost breaks you. He looks wrecked. Scared. Like heโs already regretting everything. You force a small smile that probably doesnโt fool either of you. โI think I do.โ
The door clicks shut behind you, the sound echoing down the hallway, and as you step out into the cool morning air, the first crack of panic settles deep in your chest. The quiet realization that something has changed, that you might be losing him, and you still donโt know why.
You donโt go home. You donโt really know where youโre going at all, just that if you stop moving, if you let yourself sit still with what just happened, something in you is going to split open and you wonโt be able to put it back together. Your feet carry you on instinct, down familiar streets, past houses that look too normal for how wrong everything feels. The morning air is cold enough to sting your lungs, and you welcome it. It gives you something else to focus on.
You end up at the park without consciously choosing it. Itโs quiet in that early, in-between way, the kind of quiet that only exists before kids show up and before the day fully wakes up. The swings creak softly in the breeze, chains rusted and tired. The grass is damp, soaking through the seat of your jeans when you drop down on one of the benches near the playground. You sit there with your elbows on your knees, staring at the ground like it might offer answers if you look hard enough.
Your chest aches in that dull, hollow way that doesnโt fade no matter how many times you tell yourself youโre fine. You replay his voice over and over in your head. Maybe this isnโt a good idea. The way he panicked right after, the way he backtracked, like heโd already lost control of whatever was happening between you.
You press your thumb into the heel of your palm, grounding yourself, breathing slow. You donโt cry. Not yet. You refuse to give him that power over you, even when it feels like youโre bleeding out quietly from the inside.
The sun creeps higher. Time passes in chunks instead of minutes. At some point, you hear footsteps crunching over gravel, fast and purposeful. You donโt look up right away. You already know who it is by the way they stop short, by the sharp intake of breath like someoneโs relieved and annoyed at the same time.
โThere you are,โ Nancy says, hands on her hips. โDo you have any idea how hard it is to find someone when they justโฆ vanish?โ
You close your eyes for a second, then look up at her. Sheโs wearing a jacket thatโs too thin for the weather, hair pulled back in a rushed ponytail, worry written all over her face like she hasnโt bothered to hide it.
โI didnโt vanish,โ you say quietly. โI justโฆ wasnโt there.โ
She studies you, really studies you, and whatever she sees makes her expression soften. She steps closer, stopping in front of the bench. โYou didnโt show up at the station,โ she says. โSteve said you werenโt feeling well.โ
That makes your stomach twist. โOh,โ you reply. โDid he.โ
Nancy sighs, dropping down beside you without asking. โHeโs a mess,โ she says bluntly. โHas been all morning.โ
You huff out a humorless laugh, eyes dropping back to the grass. โGood.โ
Nancy bumps your knee gently with hers. โThat didnโt sound convincing.โ Silence settles between you, thick but not uncomfortable. Nancyโs good at this, at sitting in the quiet without forcing it. Finally, she speaks again, more careful this time. โDo you wanna tell me what happened?โ she asks. โOr do you want me to justโฆ sit here and pretend weโre watching the ducks?โ
You glance toward the empty pond, then back at her. Your throat tightens, and you have to swallow before you can speak. โI thinkโฆ I think I messed something up.โ
Nancy tilts her head. โYou donโt usually talk like that.โ
โYeah,โ you admit. โNeither does he.โ
Thatโs all it takes. Nancy exhales slowly, nodding like somethingโs clicked into place. โOkay,โ she says. โSo itโs a Steve thing.โ
You donโt answer, but you donโt have to. She leans back on the bench, arms crossed loosely, gaze fixed on the playground. โYou know heโs terrible at saying what he actually means, right? Like, catastrophically bad.โ
You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. โThat doesnโt make it hurt less.โ
โNo,โ she agrees softly. โIt doesnโt.โ
Another stretch of quiet passes. Somewhere nearby, a bird takes off, wings flapping loud in the stillness. Nancy shifts, turning toward you fully now. โHe cares about you,โ she says, firm. โA lot. Enough that it scares him. And Steve Harrington does not handle fear well.โ
You let out a shaky breath. โThen why does it feel like Iโm the one getting left behind?โ
Nancy doesnโt answer right away. When she does, her voice is gentle. โBecause when people are scared, they push first and think later.โ
You stare ahead, jaw tight. โI donโt know if I can justโฆ wait around while he figures it out.โ
She nods, understanding in her eyes. โYou shouldnโt have to.โ
Nancy glances back toward the path that leads out of the park, then back at you. โCโmon,โ she says. โLetโs get you back to the station. Or at least somewhere warm. You can sit. You donโt have to talk. You donโt have to see him if you donโt want to.โ
You hesitate, heart thudding. The idea of going back, of seeing Steveโs face, makes your chest tighten all over again. But sitting here alone isnโt helping either. โโฆOkay,โ you say finally.
Nancy smiles, small but real, and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, letting her pull you up from the bench, your legs stiff but steady.
As you start walking back towards the station, the knot in your chest doesnโt loosen. If anything, it tightens. Because you know this isnโt over. Not really. And whatever comes next is going to hurt just as much as it matters.
Back at WSQK, the station feels wrong without you. Steve notices it the second he steps inside, like the airโs been knocked off-balance. Your chair is empty. Your jacket isnโt slung over the back like it always is. The coffee mug you forgot to take home is still sitting by the board, cold and untouched, and the sight of it makes his chest ache in a way he doesnโt have a word for.
Robin watches him clock all of it. He pretends he doesnโt. He checks the dials, flips switches that donโt need flipping, straightens a stack of papers that were already straight. He keeps expecting the door to open, keeps expecting your voice, casual and familiar, asking him if he messed with the playlist again.
โYouโre pacing,โ Robin says eventually, leaning against the counter.
โIโm not,โ Steve replies automatically, dragging a hand through his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes.
โYou are,โ she says. โAnd you look like you kicked a puppy and then realized the puppy was your best friend.โ
Steve winces. โThatโsโฆ graphic.โ
โItโs accurate.โ
He opens his mouth to argue, then the door opens. Lucas steps inside quietly, shoulders squared, jaw set in that way that means heโs holding himself together by force. He looks older lately. All of them do, but Lucas carries it differentlyโlike heโs braced for impact at all times. โHey,โ Steve says, softening instantly. โWhatโs up, man?โ
Lucas hesitates, fingers curling into the strap of his backpack. โCan youโฆ uh.โ He swallows. โCan you drive me to the hospital?โ
Steve doesnโt hesitate. โYeah. Yeah, of course.โ
Robinโs eyes flick between them. โIโll hold down the fort,โ she says gently. โGo.โ
The drive is quiet. Steve keeps both hands tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white, the road stretching ahead of them like a long, narrow tunnel. Lucas stares out the window, knee bouncing, breath shallow. Steve doesnโt push. Heโs learned when silence is better.
When they reach the hospital, the building looms gray and heavy against the sky. Steve kills the engine but doesnโt get out right away. โYou donโt have to come in,โ Lucas says quietly.
Steve looks at him, really looks, and shakes his head. โYeah, I do.โ
Inside, everything smells like antiseptic and quiet fear. The halls echo with soft footsteps and murmured voices. Lucas leads the way like heโs memorized every turn, every corner. Steve follows, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with Max and everything to do with the weight of love heโs been avoiding naming.
Maxโs room is still. Machines hum softly, steady and indifferent. She looks smaller than Steve remembers, pale against the sheets, hair spread out on the pillow like she might wake up any second if someone just calls her name loud enough.
Lucas freezes in the doorway. Steve stops just behind him, close enough that their shoulders brush. He watches Lucas step forward, sees the way his hands shake when he reaches for Maxโs, sees the way he leans down and whispers to her like she can hear him. โIโm here,โ Lucas says softly. โIโm not going anywhere.โ
The words hit Steve like a punch to the chest. He backs up a step, leaning against the wall, giving Lucas space. He watches the way Lucas stays, unwavering, saying things heโs probably said a hundred times already. Apologies. Promises. Memories. Hope spoken into the quiet like it might stick.
Steveโs thoughts spiral, unwanted but relentless.
I donโt want you to go.
Then what do you want?
I donโt know.
The shame burns hot.
He thinks about you standing in his doorway, holding yourself together with shaking hands. The way you said โokayโ like it didnโt tear something out of you. The way you left because staying wouldโve hurt more.
He thinks about how he held your face like you were something precious, how natural it felt to kiss you slow, to stay close, to mean it. He thinks about how fear made him push anyway.
Lucas straightens after a while, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He turns and catches Steve watching, something raw and exposed on his face. โShe hates hospitals,โ Lucas says quietly. โShe always said if she ever got stuck in one, I had to sneak her out.โ
Steve nods. โSheโs gonna yell at you for not doing it.โ
Lucas huffs a weak laugh. โYeah.โ
They stand there together, side by side, looking at Max, and Steve feels it settle in his chest with sudden, brutal clarity. Love isnโt safe. It never has been. But avoiding it doesnโt protect anyoneโit just leaves them alone. Steve exhales slowly, the truth heavy and undeniable. He doesnโt want to lose you because he was too scared to say whatโs already written all over him.
When they finally leave the room, Lucas pauses in the hallway. โThanks for coming in,โ he says.
Steve nods, voice low. โAnytime.โ
As they walk back toward the exit, Steve already knows what he has to do next. He doesnโt know how youโll take it. He doesnโt know if itโs too late. But for the first time since New Yearโs, he knows one thing for sure. Running isnโt an option anymore.
He finds you the way Steve always does when it matters most: not because he planned it perfectly, but because he followed the ache until it led him straight to you.
Youโre sitting on the low steps outside the station when he pulls up, knees drawn in, arms wrapped around yourself like youโre holding something together that keeps trying to come apart. The sky has gone soft with late afternoon, that dull gold light that makes everything feel suspended, and you donโt look up at first when you hear the car door shut. You assume itโs Nancy coming back for you, or Robin checking in, or someone else trying to be gentle.
Then you hear his voice. โHey.โ
Itโs quiet. Rough around the edges. Like heโs afraid volume alone might scare you off.
You freeze. For a second, you consider pretending you didnโt hear him. Consider staying still, small, unseeable. But your heart is already hammering too loud for that, and when you finally lift your head and look at him, you see it immediately: the way his shoulders are tight, the way his eyes are red like heโs been scrubbing at them, the way he looks at you like heโs already lost you and is trying not to say it out loud.
Steve steps closer, slow, like heโs approaching something fragile. He stops a few feet away, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. โI canโt keep pretending this is nothing,โ he says.
The words arenโt smooth. They break on the way out, like he tripped over them, like he almost swallowed them back and failed. His chest rises and falls hard, and he swallows like it physically hurts to keep going.
You donโt say anything. You donโt trust your voice.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, pacing one step and then stopping again, turning back to you. โI tried,โ he admits. โGod, I really tried to justโฆ keep it where it was. Easy. Simple. But itโs not. Not for me.โ
Your throat tightens.
โI made this stupid resolution,โ he continues, voice cracking just enough that it makes your chest ache. โNew Yearโs. I told myself I was gonna tell you how I feel. Like, actually tell you. And every time I get close, itโs like something locks up right here.โ He presses his palm flat to his chest. โLike if I say it out loud, it becomes real. And if itโs real, I can lose it.โ
He looks at you then, eyes searching your face, terrified. โI was so scared you only wantedโฆ what we were doing. That it was just convenient. Comfortable. And if I asked for more, Iโd ruin it.โ
You stare at him, stunned, and then something sharp and breathless breaks out of you that might be a laugh if it didnโt hurt so much. โSteve,โ you say, voice shaking despite yourself, โyou are such an idiot.โ
He flinches. โYeah. I know.โ
โNo,โ you insist, standing up now, closing the distance between you. Your hands are trembling, but your eyes are steady on his. โI mean it. Youโre a complete idiot if you thought I didnโt want more.โ
He freezes, hope and fear warring across his face. โWhat?โ
โI wanted you to say something,โ you confess, the words spilling now that youโve started. โI thought you didnโt because you didnโt feel it. I thought I was justโฆ easy. Familiar.โ
Steveโs breath hitches, sharp and wounded. โThatโs notโโ
โI know,โ you cut in softly. โI know that now. But I didnโt then.โ
The space between you feels electric, fragile, like one wrong word could snap it. Steve lifts his hand, hesitates, then cups your face gently, like heโs afraid you might disappear if he lets go. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, reverent, grounding. โIโm so in love with you,โ he says quietly. โAnd it scares the shit out of me.โ
The honesty in it knocks the wind out of you. You lean into his touch without thinking, your hand curling around his wrist. โYou donโt get to say that and then run,โ you whisper.
โIโm not,โ he promises immediately. โIโm right here.โ
You search his face, looking for cracks, for hesitation. All you find is himโopen, terrified, sincere in a way that makes your chest ache. โOkay,โ you breathe.
He lets out a shaky laugh, something relieved and overwhelmed all at once. โOkay?โ
โYeah,โ you say. โOkay.โ
Steve smiles, soft and disbelieving, and then he leans in, slow enough to give you time to pull away if you want to. You donโt. When his lips meet yours, itโs gentle, careful, nothing like the heat and hunger of before. This kiss lingers, deepens slowly, like a promise being written instead of a spark being lit.
When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in like heโs grounding himself. โGuess I finally kept my resolution,โ he murmurs.
You smile, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, and press another soft kiss to his lips.
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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How readers who donโt reblog like or show any other means of support on fluff pieces feel getting on here and complaining that there is no fluff
The amount of times I see people complaining about how much smut there is, I go onto their blog to see their reposting NOTHING but smut??? ๐คจ itโs not exactly clickingโฆ
BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE!! IF YOU WANT IT SO BAD, THEN WRITE IT YOURSELF
+ authors can write WHATEVER they want, smut angst, or fluff. And if they want to write nothing but smut, then let them! Especially when you donโt support their fluff pieces, why would they write it when nobody supports it?
when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove
James stares in the mirror every morning and goes โI donโt chase, I attractโ like thirty million times only to then go to the great hall and get rejected by his crush for the fifth time this week (itโs Monday)
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I wanted to compile my FAVORITE fics ive saved on this page to spread the love ! (More to be added ๐ค)
PLEASE visit, like, and reblog these pages and their works <3
- updated/added july 10th 2025
Harry Potter:
Project Partner // @hollowdeath (โyou and harry have been working on a project involving amortentia, the most powerful love potion to exist, and when harry tests your device the night before it's due, he has some rather intense side effects.โ) (Warnings: Smut!!! dom!harry, fingering, penetration, breeding) (NSFW) (6k) Slytherin!Harry Potter - Enemies to Lovers // @hollowdeath (โyou and harry have been quidditch rivals ever since you've become captain of the gryffindor team. the tension between you two rises until one of you needs bandaged up by the other, leading to you making a discovery about the school's bad boy that leaves you baffled and insanely curious.โ) (Warnings: โSmut! Angst // Mentions of Blood // Degadation kink // Sub! Harry x Dom!Reader // Dry Humpingโ) (NSFW) (7k)
Drabble // @snowluvvie (Warnings: Blood // Kissing // Eager Reader)
More Than Anything // @rainydayathogwarts (โkeeping your relationship a secret is difficult when you just can't stop staring at your boyfriendโ) (Warnings: Angst / Fluff / Death Eater family! Reader) (1.1k)
Dreaming // @matsdoll (โHarry having a ratherโฆsexual dream about youโ) (NSFW)
Summer Lovinโ // @rainydayathogwarts (โyou decide to visit harry over the summer, playing the classic 'girl next door' so harry's uncle lets you in.โ) (SFW) (0.8k)
Obsession // @hollowdeath (โharry potter (19) is attending university after hogwarts, and isn't recovering well from the war. completely alone, harry soon grows attached to you, the girl from his potions class. however, his attachment quickly turns to obsession, and harry isn't sure how much longer he can be just friends.โ)(Warnings: โsmut!!! perverted thoughts/acts, shame, masturbation, stalking, obsession, yearning/pining, intoxication, jealousy, stealing panties, dry humping, cumming in pants, oral sex, overstimulation, penetration, creampieโ) (NSFW) (19k+(?))
Attraction // @mysticalx("A certain inexplicable gravity one feels towards the other. It is often subtle and steady.") (0.9k)
Flavorful Love // @acvstar ("nothing but harry potter headcanons, but both of you are friends with HEAVY tension. a little thing in the end, like a fic? itโs a bit heated tho!!!" (mentions of sexual content) (SFW)
Forget Me,Not // @folklvrsworld ("au where the wizarding world is under a curse where each witch/wizard that turns 18 loses all their memories and have to start a new life. takes place after the second wizarding war.) (SFW)
James Potter:
Splintered In Time // @godricgryffinsnore (โWhen a spell gone wrong sends you hurtling back to the Marauders era, you find yourself entangled in a life you were never meant to live. Torn between the friendships you left behind and the forbidden love you were never meant to have, you must face the impossible choice: to hold on to a borrowed future or fight for the one slipping through your fingers. But time is never kind to those who dare to rewrite it. And loveโlove is the most reckless magic of all.โ) (Warnings: โEmotional Whiplash // Angst // Snily endingโ) (SFW) (10k)
1-100 Series (Eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts.) (slowburn) (56.3K)
Friends with Benefits // @twovialsofamortentia (smut 18+, unprotected sex, oral f receiving, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, casual sex, sub!james
Make It Up // @venusmcflytr4p ("Modern AU. When James Potter and his secret girlfriend, who happens to be Remusโs younger sister, go up to his room during a house party, Remus gets overprotective.") (Warnings: Alcohol consumption, dub-con?) (NSFW)
Glitch // @wintrsoul ("you had always known that James Potter hated your guts, but one single beeping alarm of his watch told you otherwise.) ( Enemies to lovers) (SFW)
Firewhisky & Trouble // @monserelates (" When, at a Gryffindor party, y/n gets a tad bit drunk and some feelings come out") (SFW)
The Marauders Map // @starcrossedslytherin ("James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter need help for a special resource for their pranks, so who better to go to than the best charms student Hogwarts has to offer- also the girl James seems to be in love with.) (SFW)
Sirius Black:
The Twin Swap // @adalitas-coffeebreak-corner (โIn an attempt to prank your twin brother James, you suddently find yourself in a situation where you can no longer ignore your feelings for your brothers best friend.โ) (Warnings: โbodyswapping with hames // excessive yearningโ)
After Hours // @itsalliny0urhead (โYou and Sirius Black have hated each other for years โ or at least, thatโs what everyone thinks. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, a pureblood and a blood traitor โ you were supposed to hate him. And for years, you played the part perfectly. The insults, the hexes, the glares across the Great Hall โ it was all easy. But it wasnโt real.โ) (SFW)
Remus Lupin:
- soon -
Ron Weasley:
- soon -
Draco Malfoy:
Childhood Lovers // @theodorenmyth (โDraco Malfoy has been hopelessly in love with you for years, and everyoneโexcept youโknows it. After endless pining and relentless teasing from your friends, he finally promises to confess on your birthday.โ) (SFW) (3.8k)
Fred Weasley:
Tangled Up With You All Night // @fear-less (โIn which, you and fred go to the yule ball and end the night with a bang (almost literally)โ) (Warnings: โFluff // Smutty but not descriptive // Estabilshed relationship // Pretend the opposite gender can go into the dormsโ) (SFW) (3.8k)
Fire and Ice // @emeritusemeritus (โIf it's not too much to ask, could you maybe do a Fred fic with a bit of an insecure reader? As in, she hears some people say nasty things about her (mainly about appearance like weight) and her relationship with Fred, and she distances herself from him until one day she really can't handle staying away from him anymore? Sweet sweet fluff with a bit of making out by the end, maybe?โ) (Warnings: Insecure Reader // Self Deprecation // Bullying // Verbal Abuse // implied Sexual Referencesโ) (SFW) (2.7k)
Party Monster // @lordprettyflackotara (โWarnings: MUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fredโs ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)โ) (SFW ?)
First Love // @swfpoetry (โShe fell in love first, he fell harderโ) (SFW)
Hate and Love // @mssorceressupreme (โin the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel. โ) (Warnings: โ18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshineโ) (NSFW) (5.8k)
Brains And Bedhead // @godricgryffinsnore ("A playful and passionate look into Fred Weasleyโs love for his brilliant girlfriendโwhere wit meets worship, rambling turns to romance, and being smart has very unexpected consequences.") (Warnings: suggestive content / implied sexual activity, Light smut (no explicit scenes, but strong innuendos) (SFW) (.6k)
Another Mans Treasure // @spencersmopbucket ("You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend โ but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste." (Warnings: NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner )
George Weasley:
- soon -
MISC!
- Gryffindor Characters Modern AU (โsilly modern! AU head canons of the main gryffindor characters :) pairing: harry, ron, fred, george, ginny and hermione x readerโ) (Warnings: โMentions of substances, Alcohol and weed, mentions sexual acts:โ) (SFW)