#strangerthings3

steve harrington x fem!oc

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the mentions of Dolores Avery in season 1 & 2

season 1

Joyce Byers called early that November morning, long before Dolores Avery was usually awake. She stirred, throat slightly dry from sleeping with her mouth open, and fumbled for the phone. The moment she pressed it to her ear, she heard the tremble in the voice she knew belonged to Joyce.

"Hi, honey."

Dolores sat up straighter, the phone cord stretching and nearly tipping over the glass of water on her nightstand. "Shoot—" She steadied it. "Hi, Joyce. Is everything alright? Do you have a shift tonight? I'm free after school if you want me to look after Will."

There was a pause. A shaky inhale.

"No... no, um... that's okay," Joyce said, her voice thinner than usual. "I just—" Another pause. "I was calling to ask if you might've seen Will. But it seems like you already answered before I asked."

Dolores's stomach dropped. "What's going on? I can come help, if you need—"

"No, I'm sure everything's fine. He's probably just at Will's... I'll call Karen," Joyce said too quickly. "Sorry for bothering you. I'll talk to you later. Have a good night, honey."

"Jo—"

But the line went dead before Dolores could say another word.

She stayed frozen, the phone pressed to her ear, listening to the quiet hum of the dead line. Her heart sank, heavy and cold.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

—

Dolores loved going to school. She enjoyed slipping into the back of classrooms, moving comfortably through the hallways, waving to the few friends she had chosen to surround herself with. Lately, though, her attention had been drawn elsewhere. She had been keeping an eye on Jonathan Byers, watching the way he moved from bulletin board to bulletin board, taping up homemade missing posters, searching desperately for any clue that might lead him to his brother. His worry was raw and visible, and Dolores couldn't help but feel a quiet ache for him and for the family she had grown close to over the years.

As she passed by the notice boards, her eyes lingered on what was left of Jonathan's work, tracing the edges of the carefully cut paper and the hopeful scrawls. With the news of the tragic confirmation, Johnathan had ripped away the most. Her stomach twisted with worry. She wanted to do more, to offer some comfort, but she didn't know what to say.

"Hey, Dee."

Only one person calls her that.

The voice made her start slightly. She looked up to see Steve Harrington leaning casually against a locker a few feet away, hair a little messy, smirk teasing at his lips. He had that easy confidence he always seemed to carry, but his eyes softened when they landed on her.

Dolores gave him a small, distracted wave, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her oversized glasses. She tried to focus on Jonathan's posters, but she knew Steve noticed the wistfulness in her gaze, the quiet longing for something she couldn't quite name, something just out of reach.

Steve tilted his head, offering her a warm smile. "You okay?" he asked, lightly, though his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. Dolores nodded, forcing herself to smile back, her heart fluttering. She stepped away, walking down the hall. She could fell Steves' lingering eyes at the back of her neck. Maybe she should say something, or even just look back. She didn't have it in her.

Not right now.

By the time she got home that evening, the quiet stillness of her room felt heavier than usual. She dropped her backpack onto the floor and sat at her small desk, absentmindedly tracing the edges of a well-worn notebook. Then she noticed the envelope sitting on her dresser, probably placed there by her mother, a stark white piece of mail stamped with the familiar handwriting.

Her hands trembled slightly as she picked it up and opened it. Inside was a single folded sheet.

The words hit her like a cold wind: an invitation to Will Byers' funeral.

Dolores sank back in her chair, clutching the paper like it might somehow shield her from the weight of the loss. Will. The sweet, gentle boy she had watched over, laughed with, and cared for was gone. The ache in her chest deepened, spreading into a hollow, sinking kind of grief that made the usual light room feel smaller, darker.

She folded the letter carefully and set it on her nightstand, staring at it for a long moment, unable to breathe past the knot in her throat. For a moment, she simply sat there, silent, the quiet hum of her room filling the space where joy used to be.

—

When the day finally came, Dolores had borrowed her mother's clothing, her own closet had nothing dark enough for the occasion. The borrowed dress felt heavy, stiff, and wrong on her; it wasn't her. She lived in color, in movement, in the little joys that made her heart feel light. Dark clothes didn't make her feel any lighter, any happier. They made her feel as if she were pretending to be someone she wasn't.

—

A few days of sorrow later Dolores's phone rang, its shrill tone cutting through the quiet of her room. What time is it even? She groaned, blinking sleep from her eyes, and reached for it. On the other end was Jonathan's voice, quieter than usual, hesitant but trembling with relief.

"Hey... Dolores," he said. "Ok so. You might not believe me but I—um... I just wanted to let you know... Will's alive."

Her hand froze around the phone. Alive? She blinked, heart hammering, breath catching in her throat. This phone had heard the start and the end of the disappearance in Will Byers. In just the way it started, in her bed voice full of sleep, mind in disbelief, it ends. He is found?

Jonathan continued, voice careful. "I know this is sudden, but... if you want, you could come by the hospital. Just... to say hi. No pressure. I thought... you'd want to know. After all you di-"

Dolores sat up straighter, clutching the phone. Her chest swelled with a mixture of disbelief, relief, and joy. She had expected the worst for so long that this felt surreal, almost impossible.

"Y-yeah," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I'll be there."

And just like that, the heavy weight that had been pressing on her chest since Will went missing lifted slightly. She has never been so confused but she's also never felt such relief. There was still so much to process, but for the first time in weeks, Dolores felt the spark of hope ignite again.

Dolores ran through the hospital doors, glasses tilted on her nose, hair a tangled mess from rushing out the door. Still wearing her pyjamas. She made no thought to the shirt she was wearing when she put it on before going to bed a few hours ago. Now she relised that it had been a shirt Steve Harrington had gotten her. A big apple shirt he had gotten her when he went on vacation to New York City with his parents a few years ago.

She spotted him immediately in the waiting area, leaning back with that familiar easy confidence, though his expression was softer, quieter than usual. Sporting a nasty black eye. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him, the same flutter she'd always felt but had tried to ignore.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice catching slightly despite her attempt at casualness.

Before Steve could answer, he stood up and pulled her into a tight hug. Dolores froze for a heartbeat, then melted into it, the warmth of him grounding her after so many weeks of fear and uncertainty.

"You're never going to believe this," Steve whispered, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes wide, a mix of disbelief and relief sparkling in them.

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season 2

By fall 1984 rolled around, Steve had gained a very good but very young friend in Dustin. Their strange but confusingly convenient friendship had helped them learn a lot about each other. Dustin's favorite revelation, the one Steve now will mentioned at the most inconvenient and often hilarious moments, was that he used to be best friends with Dolores Avery, the pretty girl with bright clothes and radiant smile. To Dustin, it was almost impossible to imagine, that they used to be inseparable, best friends in a way that made his own friendship with Steve feel even more special.

Steve missed Dolores fiercely, all it took for him to finally realise this was that he now saw how fragile this life in Hawkins was, with the weird demonic things going on in town. He didn't always know how to reach her, how to bridge the distance that high school and life had placed between them. It wasn't just nostalgia; it was a genuine ache, the kind that left him restless and quietly desperate.

Dustin, ever determined, had now taken it upon himself to remedy this. He had created a mission: Operation Make Steve Happy. And while the plan was loosely defined, full of improvisation and a fair bit of chaos, the goal was simple. Help Steve find his way back to the people and the feelings that mattered most.

end of season 2 (leaving the Hawkins lab)

Hoppers' cop car smells like sweat, smoke, and fear.

Steve sits in the front passenger seat, breathing hard, knuckles white on his knees. Bruised. Exhausted. Not really keeping it together.

In the back seat, Dustin, Lucas, and Max are squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder, whispering too loudly about what just happened, Hopper snapping at them every thirty seconds to quiet down.

The forest blurs past the windows.

Bob is dead. Will is possessed? Everything is falling apart.

Steve feels his chest tightening, something panicky and hollow building under his ribs.

He needs air. He needs quiet. He needs—

He turns to Hopper, voice rough. "Hey, uh... Jim?" He coughs out.

Hopper's eyes don't leave the road. "What."

Steve hesitates, embarrassed. "Can we... can we make a quick stop? On the way?"

Hopper immediately. "No."

"Please."

Hopper glances at him, annoyed. "We are in the middle of a goddamn crisis—"

"It's important," Steve blurts, surprising even himself. He swallows. "Just one minute. I just— I need to talk to someone."

In the backseat, Dustin who is listening more intently than ever before perks up so fast he smacks Max in the face with his curls. "YES WE SHOULD STOP! Steve is saying that it is important and I really just think we should li-"

"Ow— Dustin. What? Who are you talking about?"

Dustin grins.

Hopper growls but turns on his blinker. "One minute, Harrington. One. I am serious. I will drive away without you. And if this is some teenage drama—"

"It's not," Steve lies.

The kids giggle in the back as the car pulls onto Dolores Avery's street. Dustin has whispered Steves' wanted destination to his friends in the back of the car.

Dolores Avery is half asleep on the couch, a vinyl record humming softly as it spins, some Stevie Nicks track drifting through the living room. Her hair is set in pink curlers; her oversized glasses sit crooked on her face. A vintage crocheted blanket is wrapped around her shoulders. One that her mom spent a whole sommar crocheting.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when someone pounds on her door.

She opens it "Hell—" she freezes. "Oh." She lets out a short breath.

Steve Harrington stands on her porch.

Bruised. Dusty. Eyes tired. Breathing uneven.

Behind him, a cop car filled with kids stares at her like she's a zoo animal. Dustin waves both arms "HIIII DEE!" Lucas gives her a tiny, awkward nod. Max just looks confused.

Steve steps forward, blocking the kids with his body as if he suddenly remembers how weird this looks.

"Uh... hey, Dee," he says softly.

Dolores's voice catches. "Steve? What— what's going on? What are you doing here?"

Her glasses tilts sideways. Steve sees it. His expression softens, something that seems to happen when she is around, without him meaning to. He reaches out gently, two fingers, and straightens them on her face.

"You can't sleep in these," he murmurs."They'll break."

She blushes. "You know I have more than these."

He shakes his head. "But these are my favorites."

From the cop car, Dustin whispers, "He's gonna to do I—"

"Shut up," Lucas hisses.

Dolores looks back at Steve, at the exhaustion, the way he won't quite meet her eyes.

"Steve..." she says quietly, "are you okay?"

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

"I... I don't know."

She doesn't think. She steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

Steve collapses into her instantly, arms around her waist, forehead pressed to her shoulder, breathing her in like he's been underwater all night.

The curlers poke his chin. He doesn't care. She whispers into his ear, "It's okay."

He swallows hard, clutching her like he means to memorise the shape of her.

Hopper leans out the car window. "IT'S BEEN MORE THAN A MINUTE HARRINGTON! Let's GO!"

Dustin yells, now sitting in the passenger seat staring out the very open window, "And he deserves a few more!" Steve pulls back slowly, reluctantly.

Dolores cups his cheek gently. "You should go do whatever you have to. I'll be here when you want to talk. Be careful. Please."

His nods. "I just had to see you. I know that we aren't really as close as we used to be and I really just want to see you more. Again. And I miss you. A lot."

He steps away, backing toward the cop car. Holding her hand, not letting go till the distance stops them.

Dustin, who is smiling ear to ear, jumps back to his seat. Hopper mutters grumpily as Steve climbs in. "That better have been worth it."

Steve looks back at Dolores standing in her doorway. Blanket around her shoulders, glasses slightly crooked again, curlers bobbing softly.

"It was," he murmurs. "If anything happens tonight I just had to see her before. Just incase."

The car pulls away. Dolores watches until the taillights disappear. Behind her, the Stevie record keeps spinning.

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For centuries, the worldwide admiration and fascination with what some may see as nothing but a mere weed growing out of the ground, but is seen as a holy symbol and a blessing to others, has existed.

The way something so pure and beautiful could grow out of the earth in even the harshest of conditions around it without so much as a flinch was fascinating. 

How each color and shade symbolized something different. Stood as a symbol with different meanings and intentions.

It needed care like every other plant, like at least six hours of sun a day. Needed well-drained soil that was rich in organic matter. Needed someone to prune and take care of it to make sure it could grow better. Needed regular watering to keep it healthy and alive.

Every living, breathing plant deserves the same care as the last. Deserves someone to care about it. To give it the proper things it needs to thrive and grow into something beautiful. 

But we both know this isn’t about plants.

SCREENSHOT REDRAW (i don’t like it too much but it’s okay🗣️)