Mistake worth taking- steve harrington
Summary- You've loved Steve Harrington for years, but he keeps his distance. When Vecna threatens Hawkins, you're forced together on a deadly mission. Request-Hii I was wondering if you could write a Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader where she’s like 2 or 3 years younger than him and she’s in love with him and he knows about it but he pushes her away because of the age gap but when they’re in the upside down she gets hurt and he freaks out and they have an argument and he realizes his feelings for her. Sorry if it’s confusing :)
Thank you so much for the request and your kind words! I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it! Requests are open so please share your amazing ideas!
Masterlist
The bell above the door of Family Video chimed softly as you pushed inside, the returned VHS tape clutched in your hand. The store was quiet in the mid-afternoon lull, fluorescent lights humming overhead, casting everything in that particular shade of retail beige that made the whole place feel suspended in time.
You'd only meant to drop off the tape and leave. Maybe catch a glimpse of Steve Harrington behind the counter—because you were pathetic like that, apparently. Eighteen years old and still nursing a crush on your little brother's best friend, the guy who'd made it abundantly clear through years of careful distance that you were off-limits. Too young. Dustin's sister. A line he wouldn't cross.
The counter was empty when you walked in, so you headed toward the return slot, footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. That's when you heard voices drifting from the back room, the door left slightly ajar.
"I'm just saying, she's not exactly subtle about it." Robin's voice, amused and gentle.
Your hand froze halfway to the return slot.
"Robin." Steve's voice. That particular tone he used when he was uncomfortable, when he wanted a conversation to end.
"Come on, Steve. The girl looks at you like you hung the moon. And you're telling me you haven't noticed?"
A pause. Your heart hammered against your ribs.
"Of course I've noticed," Steve said finally, and something in your chest lifted for just a moment before he continued. "But she's too young, Rob. She just turned eighteen. She's still—I don't know, immature? She doesn't understand what she's asking for. And even if she did, she's Dustin's sister. That's a line I can't cross. Getting involved with her would be a mistake."
The words landed like physical blows. Too young. Immature. A mistake.
"But you think she's pretty, right?" Robin pressed, and you could hear the smile in her voice.
Another pause, longer this time. "Yeah," Steve admitted, awkward and quiet. "She's pretty. But that doesn't change anything."
You didn't wait to hear more. The VHS tape clattered into the return slot louder than you'd intended, and you turned and walked out, the bell chiming your exit. If Steve heard it, if he came out to see who'd been there, you didn't know. You were already gone, eyes burning, throat tight, hands shaking as you climbed into your car.
Immature. The word echoed in your head all the way home. Not cruel, not mean—just dismissive. Like you were still a kid playing dress-up, and he was the adult who knew better.
Maybe he was right. Maybe you were immature for ever thinking someone like Steve Harrington could see you as anything other than Dustin's annoying older sister.
The call came three days later.
Dustin's voice was frantic on the other end of the line, words tumbling over each other—Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson, something about Vecna and the Upside Down and we need to meet at the lake, now.
You'd been through this before. Not like this, maybe, but enough times to know that when your little brother called with that particular edge of panic in his voice, you didn't ask questions. You just went.
Lover's Lake was dark and still when you arrived, the water reflecting the cloud-covered sky like black glass. The others were already there—Steve, Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Max, Lucas, and Dustin, all gathered around a stolen boat with grim expressions and the kind of tension that came before something terrible.
You parked and got out, gravel crunching under your feet as you approached. Steve saw you first. His whole body went rigid.
"No," he said immediately, before you'd even reached the group. "Absolutely not."
"Steve—" Dustin started.
"I said no." Steve's voice was sharp, final. He turned to you, and there was something almost panicked in his eyes. "You're not coming."
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission," you said, keeping your voice level even as your heart rate kicked up. You hadn't spoken to him since Family Video. Hadn't planned to, really. But you weren't about to let him dictate what you could and couldn't do.
"This isn't a discussion." Steve moved toward you, putting himself between you and the boat like a human barrier. "You're staying here with Dustin and Max and Lucas. This isn't—it's not safe. You don't understand what we're walking into."
"I understand perfectly well," you shot back. "I've been dealing with Upside Down shit since I was fourteen, Steve. I'm not some helpless kid you need to protect."
"That's not—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and something else—fear, maybe—written across his face. "Look, if something happens down there, I can't protect you. I can't watch out for everyone and make sure you're okay. You need to stay behind."
The words stung more than they should have. Too young. Immature. A mistake.
"I'm going," you said flatly.
"No, you're not."
"You don't get to make that choice for me."
"The hell I don't!" Steve's voice rose, and several heads turned toward you. He lowered it again, stepping closer, and you could see the genuine terror in his eyes now. "Please. Just—stay here. Stay safe. Let us handle this."
"Why?" The question came out sharper than you'd intended. "Because I'm too immature to handle it?"
Something flickered across Steve's face—confusion, maybe a hint of recognition—but he pushed forward. "Because I don't want you getting hurt. Because if something happens to you, Dustin will never forgive me. Because—" He stopped, jaw working. "Just stay. Please."
You looked at him for a long moment, this boy you'd loved for years, this boy who thought you were a mistake waiting to happen. Part of you wanted to listen, to stay behind where it was safe, where you wouldn't have to prove anything. But a larger part—the part that was tired of being dismissed, tired of being seen as Dustin's kid sister and nothing more—refused to back down.
"I'm going," you repeated.
Steve stared at you, and you watched something crumble in his expression. Resignation, maybe. Defeat. "Fine," he said finally, the word bitter. "But you stay close to me. You don't do anything stupid. And if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?"
You didn't answer, just pushed past him toward the boat.
The ride across the lake was silent and tense. You sat near the back, avoiding Steve's gaze, trying to ignore the way your hands shook slightly as you gripped the edge of the boat. You were terrified—absolutely terrified—but you'd rather die than let him see it.
When Eddie cut the engine and the boat drifted to a stop over the gate, Steve immediately turned to you one more time.
"Last chance," he said quietly. "You can still go back."
You met his eyes, saw the plea in them, and shook your head.
Steve's jaw tightened. Then he nodded once, pulled off his shirt, and dove into the water.
Everything happened so fast after that.
Steve went through the gate. Then he was being pulled back down, dragged by something you couldn't see, and you were screaming his name, and Robin was yelling, and then you were diving in after him without thinking, without planning, just knowing that you couldn't let him face whatever was down there alone.
The Upside Down was worse than you remembered. Darker. Colder. The air tasted like rot and electricity, and the sky was a roiling mass of red clouds and lightning that never quite struck. You surfaced in the water on the other side gasping, disoriented, and then you saw him.
Steve was on the shore, and he wasn't alone.
The demobats swarmed him like a living nightmare, leathery wings and serrated tails, and Steve was fighting, swinging an oar, but there were too many. One had its tail wrapped around his throat. Another was tearing at his sides.
You were running before you fully registered the decision, feet pounding against the slimy ground, and then Robin was beside you, and Nancy and Eddie were there too, all of you converging on Steve with whatever weapons you could grab.
The fight was chaos. Pure, screaming chaos. You swung a broken board at anything that moved, felt it connect with leathery flesh, heard the awful shrieking sounds the creatures made. Blood—Steve's blood—was everywhere, dark and slick, and he was making sounds you never wanted to hear again, pained and desperate.
"Get it off him!" you screamed, and Robin was there with a lighter and hairspray, turning it into a makeshift flamethrower, and Nancy was beating at the one around Steve's throat with a paddle, and then finally, finally, it released him.
Steve collapsed, gasping, and you dropped to your knees beside him, hands hovering over his body, not sure where to touch, where it was safe. There were bites on his sides, his neck, blood seeping through his fingers where he pressed his hands to the wounds.
"Steve, oh my god, Steve—" Your voice was shaking, your whole body was shaking, and you pressed your hands over his, trying to help stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood.
"I'm okay," he gasped out, but he clearly wasn't, and when he looked up at you, when he saw your face—the terror written across it, the tears streaming down your cheeks, the way your hands trembled against his skin—something in his expression shattered.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, and it came out almost like a sob. "You shouldn't—god, you shouldn't have come down here."
"Shut up," you choked out. "Just—shut up and let me help you."
Nancy was already tearing strips from her shirt, making bandages, and between the three of you, you managed to wrap Steve's wounds well enough to stop the worst of the bleeding. They weren't as deep as they'd looked—a few bites, painful but not fatal—but the sight of him hurt, of him bleeding, had carved something hollow in your chest.
When Steve could stand, when you'd all caught your breath, you started moving. Away from the lake, toward the woods, looking for shelter, for a way back to the gate at the trailer park.
Steve kept looking at you. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked, could see the guilt and anger and something else written across his face every time you glanced his way.
You were maybe twenty minutes into the woods when it happened.
One second you were walking, carefully avoiding the vines that covered the ground like veins. The next, something wrapped around your ankle and pulled.
You went down hard, hitting the ground with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. The vine tightened, and you felt something sharp slice into your leg, felt the hot rush of blood, and then you were screaming, clawing at the ground as it dragged you backward.
"NO!" Steve's voice, raw and terrified.
Hands grabbed you—Steve's hands, Robin's, Nancy's—and they pulled, pulled hard, and the vine released with a sickening tearing sound. You felt it rip through your flesh as it let go, felt the pain explode up your leg in a white-hot wave that made your vision blur.
"Oh god, oh god—" Steve was on the ground beside you, hands hovering over your leg, and you looked down and immediately wished you hadn't.
The wound was bad. Deep. The vine had torn through the flesh of your calf, leaving a gash that was bleeding heavily, blood soaking into your jeans, pooling on the ground beneath you.
"No, no, no—" Steve's hands were shaking as he pressed them to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too much, too fast. "This isn't—you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't have come, this is my fault—"
"Steve—" you gasped out, but the pain was overwhelming, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.
"I've got you, okay? I've got you." His voice was breaking, hands slick with your blood, and when you looked at his face, you saw tears tracking through the grime on his cheeks. "Nancy, give me something—anything—"
Nancy was already there, tearing more fabric, and Steve wrapped it around your leg, tight enough to make you cry out, tight enough to slow the bleeding. His hands never stopped shaking.
"I'm sorry," he kept saying, over and over. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have let you come. This is my fault. God, this is all my fault."
"Steve, stop—" you tried, but he wasn't listening.
"If something happens to you—" His voice cracked completely. "I can't—I can't lose you. Do you understand? I can't."
You stared at him through the haze of pain, at this boy who'd called you immature, who'd said you were a mistake, and now looked like his world was ending because you were hurt.
Robin helped him get you up, supported between the two of them, and you limped through the woods, every step agony, Steve's arm around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
You made it to the trailer park eventually, back through the gate, back to the real world. Your leg was bandaged properly, the bleeding stopped, but the wound was still bad, still painful, and you could barely put weight on it.
The group was regrouping, planning the next move. Vecna was still out there. This wasn't over.
That's when Steve turned to you.
"You're staying here tomorrow," he said. It wasn't a question.
You looked up at him from where you sat on the edge of Eddie's couch, leg propped up, and felt something hot and bitter rise in your throat. "Excuse me?"
"For the final push. When we go after Vecna. You're staying behind." His voice was firm, but there was a desperate edge to it. "You're hurt. You can't fight like this."
"I can still help—"
"No." Steve crouched in front of you, and his eyes were pleading. "Please. Just—stay here. Stay safe. I can't—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I can't do this if I'm worried about you."
"You've never worried about me before," you said, and the words came out more bitter than you'd intended.
Steve flinched. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" You leaned forward, ignoring the pain that shot through your leg. "You've made it pretty clear what you think of me, Steve. I'm too young, too immature, too much of a mistake for you to bother with. So why start caring now?"
The confusion on his face would have been comical if you weren't so angry, so hurt. "What are you talking about?"
"Family Video," you said flatly. "Three days ago. You and Robin. I heard you."
You watched the color drain from Steve's face as the memory clicked into place. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "You—you were there?"
"I was returning a tape." Your voice was shaking now, all the hurt you'd been holding back for days spilling out. "And I heard you tell Robin that I'm too young and immature, that getting involved with me would be a mistake. So forgive me if I don't really care what you think I should or shouldn't do anymore."
"That's not—" Steve ran both hands through his hair, looking genuinely panicked now. "You don't understand. I didn't mean—"
"Just leave me alone, Steve." You turned away from him, blinking back tears. "Go plan your mission. I'll stay out of your way. Isn't that what you wanted?"
For a moment, he just stood there, and you could feel him looking at you, could feel the weight of all the things he wasn't saying. Then, quietly, he said, "No. That's not what I wanted at all."
But you didn't turn around, and after a long moment, you heard his footsteps retreat.
The next day, when it was time to split up for the final battle, the plan was set: Steve, Nancy, and Robin would go to the Creel house to kill Vecna. You, Dustin, and Eddie would stay at the trailer park, closer to the gate, providing a distraction with music and noise to draw the demobats away.
You were sitting on the steps of Eddie's trailer, checking the makeshift spear you'd fashioned from a broken pipe and duct tape, when Steve approached.
"You should come with us," he said without preamble.
You looked up at him, surprised. "What?"
"To the Creel house. You should come with us instead of staying here." His voice was tight, controlled, but you could see the fear in his eyes. "It'll be safer. We'll be together. I can—"
"You can what? Protect me?" You stood, testing your weight on your injured leg. It hurt, but you could manage. "I thought you wanted me to stay behind."
"I did. I do. But—" Steve stepped closer, and his voice dropped. "I need you with me. Okay? I need to know you're safe, and the only way I can do that is if you're where I can see you."
It would have been touching if it wasn't so frustrating. "Steve, the plan is already set. Eddie and Dustin need help here. I'm staying."
"Then I'm staying too—"
"No, you're not." You met his eyes, firm. "Nancy and Robin need you. You're going to the Creel house. I'm staying here. End of discussion."
You could see him struggling, see the war playing out across his face. Finally, he turned to Eddie, who'd been watching the exchange with poorly concealed interest.
"You look after her," Steve said, and his voice was hard, almost threatening. "You keep her safe. If anything happens to her—"
"Dude, I got it," Eddie said, holding up his hands. "She'll be fine."
"Uh, hello?" Dustin's voice piped up from behind them. "I'm literally right here. I can look after my own sister, thank you very much."
Under different circumstances, it might have been funny. As it was, you just felt tired.
Steve looked at you one more time, and there was so much in his eyes—fear and regret and something else you couldn't quite name. Then he turned and walked away, and you watched him go, trying to ignore the way your chest ached.
The plan went to hell almost immediately.
The demobats came faster than expected, more of them than you'd prepared for, and suddenly you were fighting for your life in Eddie's trailer, swinging your makeshift spear at leathery wings and snapping jaws while Dustin screamed and Eddie played his guitar like his life depended on it—which it did.
One of them got through. Caught you across the shoulder with its tail, sent you sprawling. You hit the ground hard, felt something in your ribs crack, tasted blood. Another one dove for you, and you rolled, brought the spear up, felt it punch through flesh.
"Close the gate!" Eddie was yelling. "Close it now!"
You scrambled up, limping, bleeding, and helped Dustin and Eddie tear down the rope, seal the gate, trap the remaining bats on the other side. When it was done, when you were safe, you collapsed against the wall, breathing hard, pain radiating from your shoulder, your ribs, your leg.
"You okay?" Dustin asked, and you nodded even though you very much weren't.
That's when you heard the footsteps outside. Fast, running. The door burst open, and Steve was there, and the look on his face when he saw you—
"What the hell happened?" He was across the room in three strides, hands on your face, your shoulders, checking for injuries. "You're bleeding. You're—god, you're hurt again."
"I'm fine," you tried to say, but he wasn't listening.
"You said you'd keep her safe!" Steve rounded on Eddie, and there was real anger in his voice now. "You said—"
"Steve, it wasn't his fault," you interrupted. "There were too many. We did the best we could."
But Steve wasn't hearing it. He turned back to you, and his hands were shaking again as they hovered over your shoulder, your ribs, like he was afraid to touch you, afraid he'd hurt you more. "You're not fine. You're—look at you. You're covered in blood."
"Most of it's not mine," you said, which was only partially true.
"That doesn't make me feel better!" Steve's voice cracked, and suddenly he was sinking down to his knees in front of you, hands covering his face. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you get hurt. I can't—"
You stared at him, this boy who'd kept you at arm's length for years, now falling apart at your feet. "Steve—"
"I love you," he said, and the words came out broken, desperate. "Okay? I love you. I've loved you for so long, and I've been so scared of it, so scared of what it means, of what could happen. That's why I said those things to Robin. Not because I think you're immature or because you're too young, but because I was terrified of how much I care about you."
Your breath caught in your throat.
"I thought if I kept my distance, if I convinced myself you were just Dustin's sister, just a kid, then maybe I could protect you. Protect myself. But then you got hurt, and I realized that staying away from you doesn't keep you safe. It just means I'm not there when you need me." He looked up at you, and his eyes were red, tears tracking down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I said, for making you think you weren't enough. You're everything. You've always been everything."
You couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. All you could do was stare at him, at this confession you'd wanted for years, coming now, like this, in the aftermath of near-death and blood and fear.
"I don't expect you to forgive me," Steve continued, voice rough. "I don't expect you to feel the same way anymore. I just—I needed you to know. I needed you to know that you're not a mistake. You could never be a mistake."
For a long moment, the trailer was silent except for the sound of your breathing, Steve's breathing, the distant rumble of thunder from the Upside Down.
Then you reached out and put your hand on his cheek, and Steve's eyes closed like the touch hurt.
"You're an idiot," you said softly.
His eyes opened, confused, hopeful.
"You're an idiot," you repeated, "if you think I could ever stop loving you. Even when you were pushing me away. Even when you were breaking my heart. I couldn't stop."
"You—" Steve's voice was barely a whisper. "You still—?"
"Yes, you idiot." And then you were pulling him up, pulling him close, and his arms wrapped around you carefully, mindful of your injuries, and you buried your face in his neck and felt him shake with something between a laugh and a sob.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm so sorry."
"I know," you whispered back. "I know."
Behind you, you heard Dustin make a gagging sound. "Okay, this is officially the weirdest day of my life, and we literally just fought demon bats in an alternate dimension."
Eddie laughed, and even Robin—who'd appeared in the doorway at some point—was smiling.
Steve pulled back just enough to look at you, and his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn't realized you'd shed. "You're sure?" he asked quietly. "You're sure you want this? Want me? Because I'm a mess, and I'm probably going to be overprotective and annoying, and—"
You kissed him.
It was soft and careful and tasted like blood and tears and relief, and when you pulled back, Steve was smiling—really smiling—for the first time in days.
"I'm sure," you said.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay."
"But if you ever call me immature again—"
"Never," Steve interrupted, shaking his head. "Never again. You're the bravest person I know. You're incredible. You're—"
"Steve."
"Yeah?"
"Shut up and kiss me again."
He did.
And somewhere in the background, Dustin was definitely still complaining, and Eddie was definitely laughing, and the world was still ending, Vecna still out there somewhere, disappeared but not defeated. But for this moment, in this trailer, with Steve's arms around you and his lips on yours, everything else could wait.
You'd fought monsters and survived the Upside Down and nearly died more times than you could count. You'd earned this. You'd earned him.
And Steve Harrington, with his stupid hair and his big heart and his terrible timing, had finally stopped running.
"I love you," he whispered against your lips.
"I love you too," you whispered back.
And for the first time in a long time, you believed that everything might actually be okay.




















