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consistentlyamess · 27 days

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I wanna chew through electric wires, this is so good.

“I always forget how much I hate being here.” And that is but isn’t all of it. Yes, he forgets how much he hates being here, but he also forgets how small he feels being here, how young. He forgets the fights, and the silence that was somehow worse. He forgets the seemingly constant alternation in those last few years of sleeping in Eddie’s or Robin’s bed simply because he didn’t like being small and alone in this big house. And it’s a good thing, he thinks, that he can forget about these things in the new life he has. But it’s difficult to remember that the plaid room and the silence isn’t his life any more when he’s back in it like he is now.

eXCuSe MEEEE????? not him feeling the exact same way I feel when I go home????

"And he knows that they are the same in this way, two people convinced that no, never anything good like this, not for them, and now getting away with something good like this, good for them, and only them, and only theirs. "

I love you Gin, please never stop breaking my heart:")))

Atlantic City

college!steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy universe

wordcount | 3.2K

content info | 18+ smut, WASPy parental trauma, misogynistic father boooooo, little angst, New Jersey, mostly fluff though

a/n | special thanks to orange anon who isn't anon anymore - apologies this one took a while :')

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He can’t sleep. He’s in the plaid room again, close and quiet and suddenly he’s small, young, swallowed up by the thin pall of the past. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if this was such a good idea, but Andy’s not even here for him to tell her that. Down the hall in the guestroom because his mother hadn’t even given them the chance to protest that no, both adults, no, same room is fine. She had already dropped Andy’s bag in the guest room and his bag in the plaid room and given him a pointed look about the whole thing that meant silence, he knows it well.

And he’s considering it, he is, padding down the hallway and slipping in under the covers with her, breathing her in and breathing the detergent his mother has used since he was little out. But something is stopping him, keeping him tangled and curled up in the plaid room, that smalling, that suddenly twelve again thing.

They had flipped a coin before spring break. Which set of parents would be met first, and nobody was winning, really, in this situation. Andy took it in stride when it became clear they’d be paying a visit to Chip and Diane Harrington, shrugging, dramatic warbling of that John Mellencamp song, a little ditty about Chip and Diane, two American kids causing parental trauma in the Heartland. He had laughed at the time. He’s not really laughing now.

Dinner had been as tense and tight as a closed fist. At first, his parents had behaved like Andy wasn’t even there, directing all their questions, all their scrutiny onto him, the usual rundown of yes, decent grades, and yes, how great, the post-grad job he has lined up, yes, mom, yes, dad. And when their attention turned to Andy, never one to back down, ever, the conversation had curdled from a question about her thesis to her asking Diane about her multiple admissions to the state hospital for “exhaustion,” air quotes necessary to connote the dose of skepticism Andy parceled around the word while Chip glared at her and Diane grew skittish, smiling nervous and talking in that high, airy voice of hers.

Steve had managed to steer far enough away from that with a tact that can only be found in the children of parents like Chip and Diane, always on the defense in that way. But when they had gone up to bed, his father had stopped him, hand curled, clawed, on his shoulder and I’m not sure about this one, champ. Not sure about this one, right, and got a mouth, doesn’t she? Something else was said about a firm hand and a tight leash while his stomach started to swirl and sicken. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, the smallest okay, dad, goodnight, dad, and he hates himself for that, tossing and turning in his twin bed because he hates that he didn’t, what? Defend her? Snap and snarl back against the closing hand, closing jaw of his dad? Not that Andy needs anyone to defend her, not that it matters what Chip thinks, not really, but still, but still.

He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there when his door cracks open, the muffled sound of footsteps, a hand curling on his hip, skating up to his ribs and he doesn’t even look over his shoulder, just inches to the very edge of his bed to make as much room as he can for her to slip in behind him, her palm coming to rest splayed over the center of his chest, her lips pressed to the nape of his neck as she settles around him.

“I’m sorry, I think I was a dick to your mom.”

“It’s okay, she’s so heavily medicated I don’t think she’ll remember it in the morning.” She hums, her legs tangling up close with his, perfectly curled into and around each other and barely fitting on this stupid twin bed, but it’s the greatest relief to have her here with him, like the walls aren’t closing in, like his ribs aren’t pinching and pulling taut, her palm over his heart reminding him to pump blood like this, breathe like this. And when she presses a kiss to the shell of his ear, for whatever reason, that’s the thing that finally breaks the thick heat swelling and stuck behind his eyes, water starting to pool and spill, turning his vision into stained glass.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He tries to speak, but a strange sound breaks in his throat instead, a little like a sob, but softer, her hands holding him through the shake.

“Am I making it better or worse being here right now?”

“Better, please stay.” She holds him a little tighter, little closer, her other hand brushing his hair back from his face and of course, baby, of course I’ll stay, and he can’t even feel all that foolish for crying in front of her because she’s not like that about these things, and it plainly feels too good to be held by her for him to think about much else than her hands and the warmth of her body against his.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Right now?”

“Well, I was thinking in the morning. Don’t want those two thinking I kidnapped you and like, ritually sacrificed you to Courtney Love or something. But I’m also not opposed to leaving now if you really want to.” He turns over just enough that he can look at her, the soft curve of her smile, nothing but care, no judgment, no recoil when she sees his bleary eyes, the pull of his frown. She cups his face in her hand, thumb stroking at stray salt beneath his eye, and he knows that she would do it, if he said he wanted to leave right now, she would do it, pack both of their bags and toss them in the car and get them the hell out of here before his parents even woke up. How lovely, how devastating, to be loved like this, to be loved by her.

“My mom said she wanted to take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Steve, to be frank, I don’t really give a fuck about what your mom wants right now.”

“Where would we go, back to your place?”

“We could, but Robin and her girlfriend are watching Sylvia until the end of the week so really, we could go wherever we want to. Anywhere else you want to go?”

“Anywhere?”

“Yeah, I’m paying for gas, dream big, we’ve got a whole week to kill.” And by some strange unfurling in his mind, the first place he thinks of is Cape May, New Jersey, an errant memory of a family vacation, a good memory, young memory, warm and rare memory. Small town and candy-coated storefronts and the beach, of course, the beach. He remembers spending most of that week blowing his allowance on ice pops and roaming the pier alone, sticky hands and sugar-sour stomach, threading through throngs of too tall and too tan legs. He remembers pure, unfettered joy. And if Andy has any qualms about New Jersey she does a good job of hiding it, smiling and alright, baby, we ride at dawn. They don’t really sleep, just curl up close and plot out their grand escape until the light is starting to turn pale and thin, and the plaid room becomes something other than a cage.

She takes care of it in the morning, takes no prisoners and leaves no room for questions, breezes into the kitchen on a long sigh and Robin called, something’s wrong with Sylvia, and he does his best not to laugh as he oh no, should we go back? and Andy’s gosh, I feel terrible, but yeah, we probably should, a veritable production right under the rims of Chip and Diane’s coffee mugs. They get their bags into the trunk of his car in record time while Andy coddles and coos oooh, I’m really sorry, Chip, Diane, but it was lovely to meet you, Chip, Diane, oooh in June? Hmm, I think we’ll both be a little too busy, but thank you, Chip, Diane, let’s not and say we didn’t. That last part, muttered under a quick breath as she ducks down into the passenger seat. He makes a mental note to thank Robin for calling his parents’ house, after he called her and asked her to do exactly that earlier in the morning.

They don’t look at each other until they’re back on the highway heading east, grins splitting into laughter, Andy leaning over the console to press a smacking kiss to his cheek.

“To Jersey, baby.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Well, I try. Let’s switch off when we reach Cincinnati, alright?”

And, well, the truth is they didn’t think this through, at least not as well as they thought they had. They stop more times than they should, don’t even make it to Cincinnati before breakfast beckons. A crueler for him, coffee with cream, and a maple bar for her, her coffee black, perfect shards of sugar sifting and snowing over the dash of his car, a little sick and a little giddy kick in their stomachs. A handful of stops in Ohio too, gas stations and rest stops and an admitted music shop because they’ve run out of fresh cassettes by the time they pass through Akron. And Pennsylvania, forget it. A delirious afternoon haze, a strange conversation about the Amish, the lingering smell of pickles from the burgers they shared for a late lunch. But after their third or fourth driver seat switch, Andy starting to nod off on the passenger’s side, he realizes a bit idly that he hasn’t really stopped smiling since they left Indiana.

For the record, they never make it to Cape May. The sun has already set, leaving a vivid wash of orange bruising into blue by the time they’re driving through Atlantic City, and they both seem to have the same thought at the same time. Yeah, like the Springsteen song. So they scrap Cape May and car crawl down to the beach, and it’s cold, March, wind bitten and bitter, and dark, and they cling to each other, hands tucked in close against ribs and chin tucked toward chin as they flirt closer to the water. And because it’s cold, and because it’s dark, they’re the only ones out here on this gray-blue stretch of beach, the slow thrum of the water breathing in and out. Andy grins at him and he feels young in a new way, and when she wordlessly starts shrugging out of her shoes and popping the button of her jeans, of course, he follows suit.

It’s cold, bracingly so, all the air shuttering up still in his lungs, up to his shins, then his thighs, then his hips, Andy holding his hand and it doesn’t count if you don’t get your hair wet before she’s dipping under the dark ink of water, resurfacing with a burst and break of laughter, her hair slicked back and the pooling water on her skin shimmering and shining in the distant light of the city. He does it too, with a yelp, a yawp, coming back up for air to the sound of her laugh and then they’re sprinting out just as fast as they dared and daunted in, teeth chattering as they pull their clothes on over damp skin.

“We’re probably gonna catch some kind of flesh-eating disease from that water.” Shivering words that are almost drowned out by the wheezing roar of the heat turned all the way up in his car, he has to laugh, a little bleary eyed while she winds and weaves through the city streets, eyes peeled for a hotel.

“At least we’ll go out together.”

“Knew you were gonna say something like that. So romantic, we can put ointment on each other’s matching rashes.”

“Well when you put it that way.” Matching grins, turned giddy and bold, and they smell like the sea, and that’s less lovely than it sounds. They smell like brine, like snapping cold, his nose burning a little with it, eyes red-rimmed and weary, but still smiling, her hand in his over the console.

They end up getting a room at a motel with so many lights burned out in its vacant rooms sign that all that’s left is the red neon glow of CAN. It’ll do. A shower for both of them, because when she starts pressing kisses to the soft hook of his jaw, she laughs, you’re salty, Jesus Christ. And she wasn’t wrong, boyish and a little brash when he licks a stripe up the side of her neck, smacking his lips in a barely contained grin while she squawks and squirms. So, a shower, skin tacky and warm, and he feels like something perfect, something preening, is unfurling in his chest as he watches her lay out on the coarse sheets of the bed, bare, the soft spread of her hips, shadows bending and breaking in warm lamplight. She smiles at him, her chin tucked down and shoulder hiked, chipped purple nail polish trailing a line of want from her navel up and up between her breasts, along her clavicle. It becomes more clear to him every time he sees her like this that yes, he’s a goner.

“Hi.”

“Hi, baby, you feeling good?”

“Yeah, you?” She hums, mmhmm, rolling her lips back to hide the stretch of her smile, palms splaying along his ribs when he settles between her thighs, breathing in the close heat of each other. And there are words he would like to say, though they fail him, this feeling too big and buoyant to wrap language around. Good love, giddy love, turning to fizz and foam, and he thanks her, thank you for today, with his mouth pressed into her sternum, nose grazing up along line and ligament, the catch of breath in her throat, her smile.

They move with a patience that’s new to them both. In the early days, the beginning, when they were both still skirting around the edges of this being something serious, there was also a tinge of something a little frantic, a little fear and frenzy laced into their fingertips because, no, never sure if that time, or that time, or that time, would be the last. But neither of them are worried about that any more, whispered promises and easy comforts, staying, and certain in it. For the long haul, for it all. So now, now, they can take their time.

And this is different too, at least for him. He had gotten used to, and good at, the performance of things like this, the putting on of things like this, move like this, moan like this, bodies fitted with bodies for particular outcomes. Andy had seen right through that early on, turning the tables, quick spin and her hands on his chest and an easy grin, and he was no longer thinking about the aesthetics of it, of what should follow what, wrapped up in the sense and sate, and now he blushes when she tells him he makes the prettiest sounds for her, pretty, pretty, pretty, my pretty boy.

Her palms soothe presence into his spine, here, like this, be here, like this, and there’s a beat every time his hips settle against hers, a hiccup, a breath, how nice it feels to be with her, to be feeling this with her, both of them sighing, little keening cries that flicker into breathless laughter because how absurd, how obscene for them to have something as good as this. And he knows that they are the same in this way, two people convinced that no, never anything good like this, not for them, and now getting away with something good like this, good for them, and only them, and only theirs.

The soft inside of her knee pressed against his hip makes easy movement out of turning them in the sheets, languid limbs and him on his back and her draped over him, the curve of her spine and the taut line of her neck when her head tips back, pooling light like flecks of gold and he puts his hand there, there, curled close at the front of her throat, not taking anything, but in fact asking, and accepting. Her hips roll, liquid and lovely, dark hair curled damp between her thighs, and it’s something better than art, he thinks. She sighs his name when his hand slips heavy down to cup the weight of her breast, just because he can, pleasure because he can. Like that, like that, they unravel for each other in the close stillness of the night, and stitch back together in the hazy aftermath, her cheek pressed over the battering ache of his heart, all hers.

“Can I ask you something about your parents?” Her chin propped on her forearm, voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his palm stopping its circuit in the dip of her spine.

“How did they meet?”

“High school, I’m pretty sure.”

“I didn’t think that actually happened.”

“I don’t think it does any more, it probably shouldn’t have between those two.”

“Hmm, made a good kid, at least. Though I think that has more to do with you than it does with them.” And then, an afterthought, agonizingly sweet, her knuckles brushing along his cheek, you made it out, you know, and he does, presses a kiss to the pads of her fingers, making that knowing real.

“What about yours?” Roll of her eyes and sigh, the same, but different.

“Two big Boston families, one marriage of sensibility. Add in a little catholic guilt and you end up with five kids and no hope of divorce any time soon.” She says it with half of a smile, a weak laugh that sounds like something else, something tired and trying. He doesn’t push though, doesn’t ask any more. She’ll tell him when she’s ready, he knows. Instead he nods and says a few simple words that sound a lot like what she told him. Getting out, both of them, making something new for themselves, together.

“You think they’ll like me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m not even gonna ask if you think yours liked me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His words crackle and curl with his smile, relief in those words, in believing them. She smiles and something warm splits open in his chest, her palm pressed there like she knows.

“No, baby, it doesn’t.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #cryINGHA

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consistentlyamess · 2 months

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Mr and Mrs Mountain: In Conversation with Steve and Jo Harrington

(National Geographic, 1993)

I sit down with the Harringtons on a sunny day in December in the living room of their Boulder Colorado home. They’ve just moved in, and they apologize for the few stray boxes still littering the dark wood floors.

“We’re not used to having all this space,” admits Steve Harrington, going on to describe how he and his wife spent most of the last three years living in sublets, tents, and the errant hostel, jumping from Boulder, where they’ve decided to call home, to various parts of the world for an awe-inspiring roster of expeditions. But their most frequently-visited location is Everest, of course.

“We leave around mid-March and can usually expect to be back in June. It’s become a pretty well-oiled machine by now.” What Harrington is referring to is their expedition outfit, Summit Trek, that has been in business since 1991. It’s 1993 when I sit down with the Harringtons, and they’re confirming their client list for an Everest expedition… in 1996. The next three years have already been all booked up. Why, you ask, does this young yet affable couple have a veritable waitlist to join their outfit? It’s simple, they’ve never lost a single client on any of their ascents, a rare feat for repeat Everest expedition guides.

“We really take a lot of pride in the safety of our trips. There’s more and more outfits every year that are willing to take clients up Everest, but it’s always been the getting back down that’s the tricky part,” says Jo Harrington, sitting on the arm of their worn leather couch, her arm draped loosely over her husband’s shoulders. She carries herself with a great deal more poise than her twenty-six years may allow her, a sort of wry steel to the way she speaks, chin tilted down, daunting and demure at the same time, as if Catherine Hepburn and Clint Eastwood had a lovechild with a particular athletic prowess. She wears her hair in two short braids, flyaways framing sharp eyes and dark brows. In a pair of rumpled khaki cargo pants and a thermal with the patagonia logo stitched into the chest (she has been sponsored by the brand for four years now), there is still a strange elegance to her, carried in quick hand gestures and a permanently rasped voice. First brought into the climbing world’s consciousness at the age of sixteen for taking home gold in the 1983 Climbing National Championships in her age division, Harrington, nee Taylor, would go on to rack up an impressive resume of climbs. She currently has conquered five of the seven continental summits, and still holds the women’s speed record for climbing El Cap.

“I’m going for Steve’s record the next time I get out to Yosemite,” quips Jo while her husband grins up at her. He currently holds the men’s speed record on El Cap.

Indeed, the Harringtons have become darlings of the climbing world, meeting in 1990 on both of their first ascents of Everest, and falling into a whirlwind relationship that would see them going into business together within the year as co-guides of their very own expedition outfit.

“I just wouldn’t leave her alone, basically. Asked her where she was going after Katmandhu and she said Boulder, and I said alright, I’m going to follow this woman wherever she leads me.”

“He was easy to be around. To climb with, to talk with, to suffer with. I knew that I could trust him as my partner from the start.” And that trust Jo speaks to seems to be the secret ingredient to what has made their outfit so successful.

“For an ascent to go as well as it can, there has to be almost seamless communication between guides. There can’t be any doubt that you have each other’s backs, that you’re going to do your job to the best of your ability because that’s the level of care and respect you have for each other,” says Steve, tucking a long brown lock of hair behind his ear. He is the picture of a dirtbag, reformed (his words), with his long hair and single silver hoop in his ear, a perpetual tan to his skin from all the years spent out in the weather, a ruggedly bright smile and dark eyes that crinkle knowingly as he speaks. He plays with the wedding band on his left ring finger, spinning it around as he talks with a quiet confidence. Harrington rose up in the climbing world through a sort of scrappy perseverance, spending his teen years hoofing it around the United States and climbing whatever he could get his hands on as fast as he could. Besides El Cap, he currently holds the speed record for the Moose’s Tooth in Alaska, as well as for Kings Peak in Utah. These days, he’s less interested in speed than he is in altitude.

“There’s no going fast on something like Everest, not if you want to come back down in one piece.” Jo nods at her husband’s words, and it is clear that this couple holds a deep respect for the mountain they summit every year, with a group of nine people that pay them to lead them to the peak. It would seem this respect is also part of what has brought them so much success as expedition guides, with Outside Magazine declaring Summit Trek as the “premier” Everest outfit for climbers who want the best of the best experience on the mountain. The going rate for an individual to join one of their expeditions certainly reflects this reputation. Excluding airfare and personal equipment, it will run you $75,000 to join a Summit Trek expedition. For context, this is almost double what most outfits charge, and $10,000 more than what Adventure Consultants, one of the other more reputable outfits, ask. When asked about this price point, Jo smiles.

“We understand that it’s a steep price we’re asking, but it reflects the quality of the experience we provide. People also have to understand that a good portion of that money is put right back into the business for permits and equipment. You get what you pay for, and when it comes to something like Everest, I’d like to think people are willing to pay more in order to get more out of the experience.” Her argument certainly seems to stand. Currently, with the additional help of infamous climber Eddie Munson as their other co-guide, respected mountaineer Robin Buckley running base camp communication, and climber-turned-physician Nancy Wheeler, the Summit Trek team has successfully taken 27 people to the Everest summit and brought them back down safely, with plans to take another 27 up in the next three years.

I asked the couple, who have now been married for just shy of a year, what it’s been like working together in such a dangerous context. They both seem to find this question amusing, sharing a quick

glance between them before Jo answers the question.

“I know I wouldn’t do this work with anyone else. We’re partners in every sense of the word and I love getting to do this work with my best friend.” Steve rests a hand on her knee, nodding and adding his own thoughts.

“Yes, it’s dangerous, but we’re a particular kind of people that seek out that kind of danger. We get to see and do crazy things together, it’s amazing. I think we’re very lucky to get to do this.”

My last question for the seemingly invincible couple, do they see themselves slowing down any time soon? Jo laughs.

“Well, you can only go up that mountain so many times before it takes its pound of flesh from you. We’re certainly not going to do this forever, and I think we’re definitely starting to think about putting down more roots for the future. But for now, we really love the work we do.”

...

series masterlist

#please go read everything gin does IMMEDIATELY #it's always beautiful #it's always heartwarming #it's always a tiny little painful #but ultimately just fucking great writing #can't wait for this series gin #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader

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consistentlyamess · 3 months

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person touching other persons in world. Here.

(CJ the X - Stranger Things & The Meaning of Life)

I randomly think about this video about once a month and it always makes me cry.

let's not think too much about what that says about my mental health

#cj the x #stranger things #video essay #interpretation #theory #video essaist

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consistentlyamess · 4 months

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not enough secret gardens and hidden passageways and bookshelves that open to a mysterious library these days. get working on that girls.

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consistentlyamess · 4 months

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GET UP GET UP GET UP DO THINGS NOW DO THEM SCARED DO THEM HAPHAZARDLY IT'S THE LAST FEW DAYS OF A YEAR THAT BARELY LOVED YOU SO TAKE IT ALL BACK AND POWERBOOST YOURSELF INTO NEXT YEAR RIGHT NOW!!!! WE'RE MAKING IT OVER THIS WALL IF IT'S THE LAST BEAUTIFUL GRAND THING WE EVER DO!!!! I'LL MEET YOU HALFWAY UP THERE AND WE'LL TOSS EACH OTHER OVER BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I'LL CHASE YOU WITH A STICK RIGHT INTO A WONDERFUL FULFULLING LIFE IF I HAVE TO!!!!!!!!!!

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consistentlyamess · 4 months

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are you a lace or velvet person?? mountains or fields?? paperback or hard cover?? rose bush or fruit tree??

#lace #mountains #paperback #rose bush

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consistentlyamess · 4 months

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Reblog to give the person you reblogged this from motivation to work on their WIPs.

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consistentlyamess · 4 months

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swimsuits

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consistentlyamess · 4 months

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I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

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consistentlyamess · 5 months

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if being hard on yourself worked, it would have worked by now

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consistentlyamess · 5 months

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How to show emotions

Part IV

How to show bitterness

tightness around their eyes

pinched mouth

sour expression on their face

crossed arms

snorting angrily

turning their eyes upward

shaking their head

How to show hysteria

fast breathing

chest heaving

trembling of their hands

weak knees, giving in

tears flowing down their face uncontrollably

laughing while crying

not being able to stand still

How to show awe

tension leaving their body

shoulders dropping

standing still

opening mouth

slack jaw

not being able to speak correctly

slowed down breathing

wide eyes open

softening their gaze

staring unabashingly

How to show shame

vacant stare

looking down

turning their head away

cannot look at another person

putting their head into their hands

shaking their head

How to show being flustered

blushing

looking down

nervous smile

sharp intake of breath

quickening of breath

blinking rapidly

breaking eye contact

trying to busy their hands

playing with their hair

fidgeting with their fingers

opening mouth without speaking

Part I + Part II + Part III

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

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consistentlyamess · 5 months

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My cup of tea, Kappabashi

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consistentlyamess · 5 months

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We'll see about that - Chapter 2⎮‘Cause you’ve got too many scars to hide

[4.8K] who?me?getting carried away? never!

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: You just wanted a fresh start but you might get more than you bargained for when the sleepy town of Hawkins lives up to its reputation.

warnings: takes place after season 4, 18+ , MDNI, slight age gap (reader is like 2 yrs older than Steve), canon typical violence, mentions of a lonely childhood, mentions of difficult relationship with parents, swearing, eventual smut, abusive relationship, brief stancy storyline, strangers to friend to lovers, pining, storm, pnaic attackish happening, mentions of blood and injuries, slowburn, flashbacks in italics, i changed a tiny thing compared to the sneak peek but i think it's better this way, sorry and lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: HI HELLO!! thank you for your patience and all, it did take a lot longer to churn this chapter out that I expected but here we are!! comments, like reblogs are apprciated as always or just come chat at me! And as always 💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!!💜💜💜 Fic Masterlist Previous Chapter I Next Chapter Coming Soon

‘You sure you have everything?’ Laura asked with a worried look in her eyes.

‘Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t much to begin with really.’ You tried to laugh it off but it came a little broken. A little less careless than you would’ve liked.

‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.’ Laura almost whispered and gave your upper arm a light squeeze. She tried to be encouraging but it was more along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’.

‘You did way more than you ever signed up for Lore. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here right now.’

‘I just-‘ She tried to finish but couldn’t. She just shook her head instead and searched your face a little.

‘How’s your nose?’ She touched the gauze for a second.

‘I’ll be fine Lore. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore. The doctor said I won’t even be able to see it in a couple of months. The stitches in my eyebrows might show a little. But you’ll have to be really closely. It’s all gonna be fine. I promise.’

She nodded hurriedly, fervently. Willing your words to be true.

‘You’ll call me when you get there?’

‘Of course! And I’ll write and maybe you can come to Hawkins sometime.’ You smiled whistfully. Maybe someday.

‘Okay. Are we completely sure that the old car is taken care of?’

‘Hundred percent, yes. The plate is gone and it was sold like two states away.’ She said a lot more confidently. That they could take care of. The least they could do, she felt like

You took a deep breath.

‘Okay.’

You hugged each other and suddenly it did feel a lot more like saying goodbye. You cried in the past few weeks. A lot. But it was mostly out of frustration. Maybe anger. The sadness of it all you tried to keep hidden, even from yourself. It was too much to bear all at once. You had to keep going and if you let yourself consider the full weight of it all, it might crush you and the hole thing would fall apart. You couldn’t let that happen. For Laura. For your mom. For yourself. You kept it together though, the roared up, you watched Laura disappear in the rearview mirror and your were off. You drove about ten minutes before you had to pull over and cry for a good five minutes, uninterrupted because the tears just kept blurring your vision. This was it. You did it. You got out.

——

Fall arrived with full force in Hawkins in the middle of September. Leaves started ruffling slightly more dryly in the trees, the sun became less punishing, nights started to feel a lot more cozy with a cup of tea in your hand.

You did meet Miss Kelly in the end. As well as the other teachers. Well, the remaining ones. You never really had difficulty with creating connections. You were nice and open to people. You had a good sense of humor and way of putting people at ease fairly quickly. One of the reasons you thought Robin gravitated towards you. The teachers of Hawkins Elementary? Not so much. You, yourself were a little bit rusty. You became a tad more guarded and careful but that was nothing compared to them. They avoided eye contact, dodged every invitation and initiation of conversation. The children were a lot similar. The reward stickers didn’t work, you scaresly got a chuckle or a smile when you made jokes or tried to ease conversation. They came in, they did the work and that was it.

In this environment it didn’t take long for an uneasy feeling of impending doom to set in the pit of your stomach. It was unsettling to say the least. With work kicking in and trying to crack the code to the good graces of your students or at least easing their worries a little you didn’t really have time to hangout with the crew. You shared a coffee with Nancy here and there and you really cherished those mornings. You totally got what Steve saw in her. She was smart and kind and made you feel welcome. But under the demiour exterior she still had a kick to her. Some fire and fierceness that made you quite sure that she could kick anybody’s ass if she wanted to. Will slowly became a regular after classes to hangout, talk about art and get some tips as well. You felt a lingering sadness in him that you were all too familiar with. But you could also feel how he softened up after being shown kindness. It broke your heart a little bit but you were happy to provide those moments of serenity. A little relief feels like a lot at certain times. Jonathan usually picked him up and you chatted sometimes. You felt a kinship with that you couldn’t really place, until it was made clear that their father was also an asshole and he, just like you, was somewhat of a weird kid in high school. Everytime the topic of Nancy came up however, he immediately became more guarded and tried to avoid the subject as much as possible. You were extremely curious but didn’t want to push him.

—-

The third hiccup happens when you and Robin are arguing about a movie at Family video.

‘What? No fucking way, there’s nobody who’s hotter that Pheobe Cates!’

‘Thank you!’ You hear Steve shouting out from in between the rows. Robin gives you a ‘see?’ look.

‘Okay, not the best company, but I do stand by it. Phoebe Cates and maybe Molly Ringwald.’

‘Are you sure you’re straight?’ Robin asks you with a playful tilt in her head. You don’t have a chance to answer because the whole store shakes. It’s an earthquake. You heard about them but never experienced one. Your balance is thrown off, some tapes hit the ground but the shelves stay and for a second you’re not sure if it’s really happening. Robin then disappears behind the counter, Steve calls out and from 83 you to 92 percent certainty that it’s real. Robin emerges, Steve gets back and a blind man wouldn’t miss the look they share.

‘Peach’ Steve comes up behind you. ‘ You okay?’ He asks. He’s holding your elbow and at this point you’re not entirely sure where the disorientation is coming from. He squeezes a little harder. ‘Hey, everything’s alright, we’re all good.’

‘What was that?’ You ask in a voice that’s a little weaker that you’d like it to be.

‘It was an earthquake, they happen here sometimes, we’re all good, but I’m gonna need you to go home now, okay?’

‘But-’

‘No! Sorry, but no.’ you can feel the way he softens from one second to the other. ‘No, I need you to go home. We know how to handle this, we’ll check in tomorrow and everything will be fine, but you have to go home. Please.’ He’s pleading and the honey brown eyes have their charm whether you’re willing to admit or not. You tell yourself that he’s right. That you’re gonna be safer at home.

So you go. While you’re driving home a storm breaks out. And not just any storm. It was properly raging. Lighting after lightning came down from the sky and the thunders were just sort of blending into each other. You fucking hated storms. The wind was howling and the second you got into the apartment, you cowered away into the corner of your living room. How did it get so bad, so quickly? How was this even possible? Was this the curse everybody was talking about? Catching yourself in the whirlpool of your thoughts, you gripped your knees tighter to your chest. What a fucking pathetic sight, you thought to yourself. It’s just a fucking storm and you’re crouching in the corner like a frightened puppy. Look at yourself, and you think, you can take care of yourself. Adorable. It made your skin crawl because it was him talking. It was his words, his voice, even without him you had him in your head. Grabbing at the sides of your head you tried to stop it. Tried to physically squeeze the thoughts out. But it didn’t work. Turning the TV on also didn’t help much. Your breath quickened, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears and the tears started flowing down your face. You don’t have a sense of time anymore. It might have been a few minutes, it might have been hours. You don’t even have it in you to glance at your watch.

‘Nonononono’ you practically whined. ‘No, please, stop it. Just stop it please.’ The storm, this feeling, the fear, all of it. You couldn’t drown it out and it made you feel paralyzed but also clenching all your muscles at the same time. Laura told you that her therapist suggested a check-in with herself about every 30 minutes to unclench her jaw. She told you it really helped her. You tried. You really did. But you couldn’t tell your jaw from your shoulders anymore and nothing worked.

Another shock came to your system when there was a knock at the door. Everything became even more blurred around you and you thought you might throw up. You wanted to go get the gun but you couldn’t move.

‘Go away!’ It was a guttural scream. It came from somewhere deep and instinctual that has been secluded for so long. You were sobbing at this point and then you heard it. Through everything, you still heard it.

‘Peach?! Is that you? It’s Steve. Are you hurt? Can you open the door?’

Steve. It clicks in your brain and you could swear your heart stopped the same second the thunder and lightning miss a beat. Everything is quiet just in that second and you feel like the world changes settings just for you. Like a personal little raining cloud fizzles, disappears and a warm light appears above your head that starts to melt your frozen limbs and fried out nerve endings. Your movements are still rigid but you feel your fingers twitch.

‘Steve-‘ You whisper in front of yourself and lean forward. He knocks again and you call out a little louder this time. Shedding your blanket, your body starts cooperating. Just keep crawling toward the warm voice. Still, by the time you make it to the door, he’s saying he will break it down if he has to and is not leaving until he sees you.

The door opens up and he’s standing there, relief washing over him when he lays eyes on you, just to quickly be replaced by concern again.

‘Hey, what happened, ‘re you okay?’ He wants to hold you so bad but for now is satisfied with finding your fingers in the dark and touching them. You nod, as best as you can, which admittedly is not very good.

‘W-why didn’t you ca-call?’ You ask just to regret it with the next breath because your throat and voice are wrecked from the sobbing.

‘Phone lines are out. I also didn’t want to spook you. The last time you got a phone call, you acted a little funny...’ He gets it out in one breath, rushing through the sentence. ‘What happened, did you get hurt?’ He looked you over, searching for something. Teared fabric, blood, something. You put your hands on his shoulder in an attempt to calm or at least slow him down and it only registers properly then that he’s fully drenched.

‘Shit, you’re completely soaked through! Come in, let’s get you dry.’ You’re still unsure of your movements but you usher him in, despite his muffled and somewhat weak protests. He wanted to stay but unlike you he did have some teared fabric and blood on him that you were yet to notice. He didn’t want you to see that but he did crave some comfort after watching Nancy holding Jonathan’s hand while Robin patched him up. He was selfish, he knew that. He tried to tell himself that it has to mean something that after his arm was bitten by a demobat his first thought was to check on you on his way home. He just wanted to see your house, maybe some lights, possibly you moving in front of a window. But he couldn’t see anything other than the flickering of the TV and after the night he didn’t take it as a good sign. Or just really wanted to see you. He thinks both might be possible, even if the letter might make him a little creepy.

You lead him to the bathroom, the new purpose giving a little stillness to your limbs and voice.

‘I can put your clothes in the drier for a quick round and get you something to change into. The guy who lived here left some st- Jesus fucking Christ what the hell happened to you?’ the moment you turned on the light you saw it. The cuts, the bruises, the blood, some dried, some fresh.

‘You should see the other guy’ he tried to give you a cheeky smile but you could tell he was hurting.

‘Did you get into a fight? Who did this?’

‘Yeah, something like that. But I’m gonna be fine, I promise, I’ve had much worse. Ask anyone, Dustin we’ll gladly tell you about every single time I got my ass handed to me.’ His face is hurting, he’s cold but all he can think about at this moment is that he hates you’re worrying about him. He hates the way your eyebrows crease together as you try to assess the damage he’s taken. He hates the way your hands hesitate to reach out. You clearly had a rough night yourself and he hates he’s making it worse. You open your mouth like you’re gonna say something but it closes again.

‘Okay’ you say finally. ‘Sit down, I’ll get the first aid kit.’

He’s dumbfounded for a moment but ultimately glad you’re not asking questions. He’s agitated, he’s scared, he’s alone and he doesn’t trust himself with keeping a secret now. If you start asking it might all just spill out from him which he desperately wants to avoid. You can’t get anywhere near this. Well, not any nearer.

You come back with hands full of stuff - dry clothes hanging off of your arm, a glass of water in your hand, the first aid kit in the other.

‘Here’ you start by handing him the water. After laying the clothes on the side of the tub, you hand him an aspirin. ‘This’ll take care of the pain for now. You can take a shower if you want to, then I’ll disinfect your wounds, get some bandages and if you get a good night’s sleep, you’ll be better by tomorrow.’ You spoke so softly, he immediately calmed down and for a moment even forgot that he just barged in on you, on your weekend no less. He forgot to look away for a second though and his eyes started searching yours. Your face was puffy, your eyes were red and there were some sniffles here and there.

‘Were you crying before I got here?’

‘Thank you usually works in this situation.’

‘Shit, I’m sorry, I am very thankful but I came here in the first place to make sure you were okay and as far as I can tell, you’re not.’

‘I- It’s just… I fucking hate storms.’ Your arms come up, wrapping around yourself. Not being able to hold his gaze you glance down to the tiles and take a deep breath. ‘I’ll be fine, I just want it to be over.’ You start moving for the first aid kit. ‘But you’re a pretty good distraction, so let’s get you cleaned up, shell we?’ You leave him to change and when you go back he’s sitting on the top of the closed toilet waiting for you. You’re meticulous but soft, determined but attentive and the way you balance the disinfectant, the cotton pads is almost hypnotic to him. In return the sense of purpose anchors you and you’re able to tune out almost everything that’s not connected to helping Steve. When you get to a particularly nasty cut above his eyebrow, he hisses.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done.’

‘No, you’re okay, this is what you’re supposed to do, right?’ He quotes you back to you and even as his eyes are shut tight you can tell that his face is about an inch away from slipping into a smug grin. He makes you chuckle and he swears it’s a better painkiller than the actual pill you gave him.

‘Okay, there are a couple of pretty deep cuts here. I’m gonna need you to hold still. Hold onto something and tell me about a good memory.’

‘A good memory?’

‘Yeah. I learned it with kids. When I have to tend to them, making them talk keeps their mind occupied and lets me apply the disinfectant or put a bandaid on.’

‘Huh, that’s smart’ he looks up at you with a goofy grin and sparkling eyes and you have to clear your throat to remind yourself what you were doing.

‘So, good memory. You have anything?’

‘Yeah, sorry, yeah, I got it. Do your worst.’

‘Alright, start talking, pretty boy.’ The nickname slips out so effortlessly, you almost don’t notice it. The way his lips part a little and the tip of his ears run pink clues you in that you did indeed say it out loud and he did hear you.

‘Uhm, yeah, I, uh, the first thing that came to mind was the day I got my car. And before you roll your eyes, I know how it sounds and for a long time it was like that. Being the only 17 year old who was driving around in a brand new BMW instead of a banged up used car my parents passed down was pretty sweet. It was a guilt present from my dad because he forgot my birthday that year.’ A peng of pain hits your heart. He doesn’t sound very hurt now but you can imagine it wasn’t always like this. ‘I could drive my friends and girls around and it did feel like a sanctuary sometimes. Then those friends turned out to be not very good people, the girls turned out to be more interested in the car and pool in the backyard than me and shit happened and I got my heart broken and then I started driving this little shithead around and the car didn’t change and I basically still just drive people around but those people happen to really like me, for god knows why, and it got us out of some deep shit and I’m actually afraid of the day when it breaks down finally or I have to sell it or anything because half of my goddamn life is in that car.’ You pull away as he finishes his story and let his hair fall back to his forehead. You move back for a second to wipe a stray lock away from his eyes and then lean back to the sink. Your voice is barely above whisper as you speak again.

‘You’re all done.’ He touches his face carefully and you watch him with soft eyes. ‘Thank you for telling me that. Technically it wasn’t one memory but I’ll let it slide for now.’

His smiles.

‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’ You ask, tilting your head, crossing your arms.

‘A good memory. I just laid my heart out for you, it would make me feel better if I wasn’t the only one.’

‘Okay, first of all, you told a semi-moving story about how much you love your car, ‘laying your heart out’ is a tad dramatic.’ You start packing the stuff you spread around the bathroom. ‘Second of all, I don’t need to be cleaned up or distracted, so maybe next time.’

‘Well, that’s not fair! C’mon, just one, just a tiny little story.’

‘God, you’re unbearable!’ You roll your eyes playfully. ‘This wasn’t part of the agreement and-’ You don’t get to finish the sentence because there’s a particularly loud crash, thunder and lightning coming down with a real fury. You jump with a gasp bumping your knee on the side of the tub.

‘Fuck’

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Steve calls, coming up behind you. ‘You’re okay, it’s okay, it’s just a storm.’ He turns you to face him so he can find your eyes. He’s lying through his teeth but he needs you to believe that it’s just a storm. You’re too smart and stubborn for your own good. He can’t slip.

‘I just really fucking hate storms.’ You say as you lay your forehead on his shoulder.

‘Yeah, I got that.’ He’s careful, he holds you so lightly because he’s scared you’re gonna come to your senses and pull away before he can properly figure out which floral scent is coming from your hair and which one is your perfume and can properly memorize the little baby hair on the nape of your neck or imagine how it would feel to be tickled by them in the morning.

‘Just breath, I’m here. And maybe if you need some distraction, you could tell me about that good memory, now?’

You don’t look up, but you chuckle a little.

‘Well, when I was a little girl there was this treehouse in the neighbor's yard. I was so jealous of it, I wanted it to have one so badly, or just go up in it, just once. But the house was mostly vacant and I got caught by my mom one time when I was trying to climb the fence, so I just stared at it and wished that someday, maybe I could play in it.’

Your voice was a little muffled because you were talking at the bathroom tiles but Steve was listening intently. He pictured you with a petulant little pout, sitting in a garden, burning holes in the treehouse with your eyes. It made him smile.

‘And then one day, out of nowhere, a family moved in. They had a daughter, Lilly, and she just invited me over one day when she saw me in the garden. We played and talked and given it’s not that hard to make friends when you’re eight, we did become inseparable almost instantly. I had such a good time, I almost forgot about the treehouse. I would’ve been happy to just spend the whole afternoon curled up in the grass, talking but then she said she wanted to show me her treehouse and I nearly started crying, I was so excited. We went up and it was everything I wanted and more. I think that was the highest I’ve ever been at that point, I could see the whole neighborhood and it felt like nothing could touch me there.’

‘We spent so much time there. It became like a sanctuary too. We went there when we got our first crushes, when she got yelled at, when we wanted to feel safe. On some summer nights we even slept out there and I think those were the best nights of my life.’

During your story Steve was stroking your arm up and down, soothing you, saying with every touch ‘I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be your new treehouse, all you have to do is ask me’.

‘Technically that wasn’t one memory either but I liked it, so I’m gonna let you get away with it.’ He squeezes your arm one last time and lets go slowly, trying to get you to look up at him.

‘The storm passed I think. It’s just the rain now.’

‘Is it gonna come back?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe. Hawkins has some weird weather sometimes.’

‘Hawkins seems to have weird everything sometimes.’

‘Yeah, that’s fair.’

With the weather getting back to something you can handle and the house quiet with the dim lights of the bathroom it starts hitting you how close the two of you are standing and how this whole thing has been very, well, for lack of a better word, cozy. Even if it was only the instinct to help someone, he quite literally saved your night. Maybe even you. You’re wondering why exactly he came here in the first place and you find some kind of answer in the way he's looking at you, the way he stayed with you in the storm. It’s the same need to take care of people. It’s the driving the little shitheads around even though they really are shitheads, it’s the trying to distract someone from pain and hurt by making them think about something nice, something happy, it’s the holding a burned hand under cold water and it’s the swiping a lock of hair away so it doesn’t land in their eyes. It’s not something that just leaves you. Heartbreaks and grief can suppress it for a while but the world has a funny way of bringing it out again in the most unexpected moments. Like in a tiny, poorly lit bathroom during a storm from hell, trying to wipe the blood from the cheekbones of the prettiest boy. You inhale sharply because your insistence to keep your distance might be wavering and you know it’s a bad idea. Steve’s still into Nancy, Nancy’s with Jonathan, Jonathan is acting weird, well, everyone’s acting weird. But you keep looking at each other and you’re almost a hundred percent sure, he has similar thoughts running through his mind.

‘I uh, I should go, I think, I don’t want to bother you anymore.’ He starts talking finally, running a hand down the back of his neck.

‘You weren’t bothering me. If it wasn’t for you I would still be curled up in the corner of my living room.’

‘I can, you know, I can stay too. In a completely non-creepy way. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’ll gladly keep on distracting all night if needed.’

You don’t miss the slight double-entendre painting the words and you raise an eyebrow.

‘In a non-creepy way, huh?’ He gets flustered when he fully understands what you mean and what he just said. He’s about to start protesting but his nerves prevent him from being quick on his feet. You save him, mercifully.

‘I know what you mean, relax. And thank you, it’s very knight in shining armor of you but I’ll be okay now. You should go home, take a hot shower, drink some tea and get into bed. I’ll throw your clothes in the drier and get them back to you.’

‘Alright, yeah, you’re right. Thank you for taking care of me, Peach. You’re a lot better at this than I am or god forbid Robin.’

‘It’s alright. Thank you for distracting me, Harrington!’

‘Back to second names? Really? After all we’ve been through in the last like two hours?’

‘I mean, I gotta be careful. Can’t call you everytime there’s a storm, now can I? Gotta keep it professional.’

‘You can. You can call me in every storm. You can call me without a storm too, I left my number for a reason.’ You wince a little.

‘Yeah, sorry I haven’t called, I guess. I’ve just been so busy with school and everything.’ You couldn’t let him know that you tried. You tried so many times but chickened out at the last second every single time.

‘It’s okay. I can wait. You know where to find me.’

He starts walking towards the door and you follow him out. You fall back into silence again, listening to the rain on the roof and the remains of the wind quietly howling outside.

‘Most of the bandages will last like a week I think but you should change the one above your eyebrow and the one on your left cheek sometime tomorrow.’

‘Thanks Doc. And seriously, call me if you need anything.’

‘Okay.’ You whisper with a soft smile.

‘Good night, sweetheart. Get some sleep.’ He says as he comes close to you. He hesitates for a minute and then presses a barely there kiss to your hairline.

‘Good night’ you whisper back.

You clock the slight pause after he gets in the car and you watch as the maroon BMW leave. You wonder if this is going to be one of those moments you regret, wishing you could say what you wanted to say, wishing you could just ask him to stay or one of those moments you’ll see as dodging a bullet, wishing you could see everything in that moment.

#steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #we'll see about that #WSAT #WSAT fic #morning reblog

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We'll see about that - Chapter 2⎮‘Cause you’ve got too many scars to hide

[4.8K] who?me?getting carried away? never!

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: You just wanted a fresh start but you might get more than you bargained for when the sleepy town of Hawkins lives up to its reputation.

‘You sure you have everything?’ Laura asked with a worried look in her eyes.

‘Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t much to begin with really.’ You tried to laugh it off but it came a little broken. A little less careless than you would’ve liked.

‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.’ Laura almost whispered and gave your upper arm a light squeeze. She tried to be encouraging but it was more along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’.

‘You did way more than you ever signed up for Lore. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here right now.’

‘I just-‘ She tried to finish but couldn’t. She just shook her head instead and searched your face a little.

‘How’s your nose?’ She touched the gauze for a second.

She nodded hurriedly, fervently. Willing your words to be true.

‘You’ll call me when you get there?’

‘Of course! And I’ll write and maybe you can come to Hawkins sometime.’ You smiled whistfully. Maybe someday.

‘Okay. Are we completely sure that the old car is taken care of?’

‘Hundred percent, yes. The plate is gone and it was sold like two states away.’ She said a lot more confidently. That they could take care of. The least they could do, she felt like

You took a deep breath.

‘Okay.’

——

—-

The third hiccup happens when you and Robin are arguing about a movie at Family video.

‘What? No fucking way, there’s nobody who’s hotter that Pheobe Cates!’

‘Thank you!’ You hear Steve shouting out from in between the rows. Robin gives you a ‘see?’ look.

‘Okay, not the best company, but I do stand by it. Phoebe Cates and maybe Molly Ringwald.’

‘What was that?’ You ask in a voice that’s a little weaker that you’d like it to be.

‘It was an earthquake, they happen here sometimes, we’re all good, but I’m gonna need you to go home now, okay?’

‘But-’

‘Peach?! Is that you? It’s Steve. Are you hurt? Can you open the door?’

The door opens up and he’s standing there, relief washing over him when he lays eyes on you, just to quickly be replaced by concern again.

‘W-why didn’t you ca-call?’ You ask just to regret it with the next breath because your throat and voice are wrecked from the sobbing.

You lead him to the bathroom, the new purpose giving a little stillness to your limbs and voice.

‘You should see the other guy’ he tried to give you a cheeky smile but you could tell he was hurting.

‘Did you get into a fight? Who did this?’

‘Okay’ you say finally. ‘Sit down, I’ll get the first aid kit.’

You come back with hands full of stuff - dry clothes hanging off of your arm, a glass of water in your hand, the first aid kit in the other.

‘Were you crying before I got here?’

‘Thank you usually works in this situation.’

‘Shit, I’m sorry, I am very thankful but I came here in the first place to make sure you were okay and as far as I can tell, you’re not.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done.’

‘Okay, there are a couple of pretty deep cuts here. I’m gonna need you to hold still. Hold onto something and tell me about a good memory.’

‘A good memory?’

‘Yeah. I learned it with kids. When I have to tend to them, making them talk keeps their mind occupied and lets me apply the disinfectant or put a bandaid on.’

‘Huh, that’s smart’ he looks up at you with a goofy grin and sparkling eyes and you have to clear your throat to remind yourself what you were doing.

‘So, good memory. You have anything?’

‘Yeah, sorry, yeah, I got it. Do your worst.’

‘You’re all done.’ He touches his face carefully and you watch him with soft eyes. ‘Thank you for telling me that. Technically it wasn’t one memory but I’ll let it slide for now.’

His smiles.

‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’ You ask, tilting your head, crossing your arms.

‘A good memory. I just laid my heart out for you, it would make me feel better if I wasn’t the only one.’

‘Well, that’s not fair! C’mon, just one, just a tiny little story.’

‘Fuck’

‘I just really fucking hate storms.’ You say as you lay your forehead on his shoulder.

‘Just breath, I’m here. And maybe if you need some distraction, you could tell me about that good memory, now?’

You don’t look up, but you chuckle a little.

‘Technically that wasn’t one memory either but I liked it, so I’m gonna let you get away with it.’ He squeezes your arm one last time and lets go slowly, trying to get you to look up at him.

‘The storm passed I think. It’s just the rain now.’

‘Is it gonna come back?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe. Hawkins has some weird weather sometimes.’

‘Hawkins seems to have weird everything sometimes.’

‘Yeah, that’s fair.’

‘I uh, I should go, I think, I don’t want to bother you anymore.’ He starts talking finally, running a hand down the back of his neck.

‘You weren’t bothering me. If it wasn’t for you I would still be curled up in the corner of my living room.’

‘I can, you know, I can stay too. In a completely non-creepy way. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’ll gladly keep on distracting all night if needed.’

You don’t miss the slight double-entendre painting the words and you raise an eyebrow.

‘Alright, yeah, you’re right. Thank you for taking care of me, Peach. You’re a lot better at this than I am or god forbid Robin.’

‘It’s alright. Thank you for distracting me, Harrington!’

‘Back to second names? Really? After all we’ve been through in the last like two hours?’

‘I mean, I gotta be careful. Can’t call you everytime there’s a storm, now can I? Gotta keep it professional.’

‘You can. You can call me in every storm. You can call me without a storm too, I left my number for a reason.’ You wince a little.

‘It’s okay. I can wait. You know where to find me.’

He starts walking towards the door and you follow him out. You fall back into silence again, listening to the rain on the roof and the remains of the wind quietly howling outside.

‘Most of the bandages will last like a week I think but you should change the one above your eyebrow and the one on your left cheek sometime tomorrow.’

‘Thanks Doc. And seriously, call me if you need anything.’

‘Okay.’ You whisper with a soft smile.

‘Good night, sweetheart. Get some sleep.’ He says as he comes close to you. He hesitates for a minute and then presses a barely there kiss to your hairline.

‘Good night’ you whisper back.

#steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington slowburn #robin buckley #robin stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #nancy wheeler #nancy stranger things #jonathan byers #jonathan stranger things #argyle stranger things #we'll see about that #WSAT #WSAT fic

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