#fallingintofiction
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A Vintage Love | Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader
Summary: Steve Harrington used to be your best-friend. Then he broke your heart. Then he became your kid brother's babysitter? And now you're chasing giant cat-eating lizards around Hawkins together. [3.5k]
Warnings: S2 SPOILERS! Enemies-ish to lovers. Cursing. Way too many Star Wars references.
Credits to 10 Things I Hate About You for one minor spiel.
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“Y/N!!!” Dustin yelled, fist repeatedly slamming on your bedroom door, the hinges painfully squeaking for mercy.
You sighed, pushing your headphones off and slinging them around your neck. Subtly slamming your hand against your desk before getting up, you flung the door open with a harsh, “What, doofus?! You’ll break my door down, again!”
Yet your expression and confidence faltered when you saw Steve Harrington next to him. Your childhood best friend (until he became a popular dick), your longtime crush, and your baby brother’s… babysitter?
He was wearing a wrinkled gray jacket over a navy shirt, a pair of tight light-blue jeans hugging his muscular legs – because, holy shit, he was a man, not the scraggly teenager you used to tackle.
And Steve’s heart strings tugged at seeing you after so long. The same, beautiful face. The same eyes. The same nerdy fashion style from before: an Indiana Jones shirt underneath a light vest.
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You and Steve had grown up together. ‘Glued by the hip’, one could say. Every waking moment was spent in the other’s presence. Walking to school. Sitting next to each other in class. Going to the movies. Lazing at his pool. Rollerblading.
It was a special bond. An affectionate one, filled with hand holding and sun-kissed cheeks; playful shoving and name-calling.
Until one fated day: the start of high school.
With teenage hormones raging, testosterone flooding every ounce of his body, reaching every receptive gland, Steve Harrington wanted recognition.
He wanted, for once in his life, to be noticed – if not by his parents, why not his generation. He wanted a name for himself, a title.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about all that. You were content with what you had, eager to join the reputed Hellfire Club, disregarding whatever labels would be stuck on to you.
And Steve was content, too. He adored you.
But he wanted more. And life bears sacrifices.
He made it perfectly clear on that first day of school, during lunch. You walked up to him, a tray in your hands and a grin on your dimpled face, only to be sneered at by Tommy and Carol.
The most painful expression beset your features as you retreated: pure heartbreak. He saw the way your hands shook when you dropped your tray on an empty table, the liquid pooling in your eyes as you bolted off.
Steve’s chest physically ached. He felt nauseous, overwhelmed. Like his body was fighting against him, trying to stop him from making a big mistake.
He ran after you. But when he heard your cries echoing from the girl’s bathroom, he felt a stake being driven through his heart. A stake made of your devastation. Piercing his taut flesh, cutting every artery and vein, rupturing the sack of cardiac muscle, dislodging itself through his back.
And so he panicked. And so he ran away.
For years, Steve had regretted losing you – losing you for some overrated popularity bullshit, primitive constructs that matter so much to insecure teenagers. And the remorse only hit harder whenever he saw you strolling the school hallways alone, or being pushed against a locker for wearing Star Wars merchandise.
If only he could turn back time.
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You looked expectantly at Dustin, one hand on your hip.
“There’s a baby demogorgon roaming around Hawkins, his face opened up and he ate Mews, Steve and I are gonna hunt him down, and we need your help,” Dustin rambled. Steve watched in quiet amusement at the expressions flying across your face in rapid succession: confusion, disbelief, grief.
“You’re our only hope,” Dustin added, knowing the reference would win you over.
You knew about the Upside-Down. You had helped search for Will, and then Dustin told you about everything that went down: demogorgons and other dimensions and a bald child named Eleven.
“Mews?” You whimpered out. Dustin nodded solemnly, lips pressed together. You exhaled a sigh, pressing your hand to your temple before shouting, “Son of a bitch, the fuck are you waiting for then! Let’s go! I’ll meet you in the car.” You ushered them out with your hands, at the last minute grabbing Dustin by the collar of his shirt, pulling him so that you could whisper in his ear.
“The fuck is Steve Harrington doing here?” You hissed, teeth clenched.
“I thought you two were friends,” Dustin shrugged.
“Past tense, brother dear.”
“Look, I issued a code red, alright?” Dustin gestured to his headgear. “And nobody else was available. He was my last resort.”
You gently rolled your eyes, slapping him lightly against the head, muttering a short “gimme a sec.”
You pulled on some more decent clothing: jeans, loose sweater, jacket, Nike sneakers. The bangles on your wrist jiggled, blue and green and purple like all the lightsabers of the rainbow; headphones slung around your neck.
You sprinted to the car, jumping in the back. Steve tried to forced Dustin to move, to let you have shotgun, rambling about getting some more humility and learning some manners – all to no avail.
Steve’s eyes hadn’t left you since he saw you locking the door to your house, tracing you longingly, knowingly. He knew your gait better than his own. Recognized the sneakers on your feet, the same pair you bought years ago, creased and muddy. The chain around your neck that you slept with.
“You sure you don’t want shotgun?” Steve looked in the rearview mirror at you.
“I’m good,” you smiled softly, leaning back, feet on the console. Your nose instantly scrunched up in disgust, “Jesus, Steve, it stinks. You hiding a body back here?”
The boy chuckled, scratching his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know it, Henderson.”
“It’s bait,” Dustin explained, though you were perfectly content with the banter. “And stop flirting, it’s disgusting.”
“Necrophilia, too, Harrington?” You picked up some bent and damaged roses haphazardly discarded on the back seat, continuing to egg him on much to Dustin’s dismay. A rumble of a laugh bloomed from Steve’s throat.
He really missed you.
Though you didn’t speak another word during the ride, opting to stare out the window and play with the soft rose petals while Dustin rambled on and on, Steve couldn’t keep his gaze off you. He shot fleeting glances at the mirror every few seconds, just to make sure you were still there. That he wasn’t dreaming of a vintage love.
And he suddenly thought the roses suited you much better than Nancy.
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You walked ahead of the boys, can in your left hand, flinging bits of meat around you with your right, headphones tightly clasped over your ears.
Behind you, the boys were having a quiet conversation that you didn’t even notice, too distracted and deafened by the music blasting in your ears.
“All right, so let me get this straight,” Steve started, confounded, chucking scraps of raw meat around, “You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl… who you just met?”
“All right, that’s grossly oversimplifying things,” Dustin defended.
“I mean, why would a girl like some nasty slug anyway?” Steve scrunched up his nose in disgust.
“An interdimensional slug?” Dustin grinned. “Because it’s awesome!”
“Well, even if she thought it was cool, which she didn’t, I… I just… I don’t know. I just feel like you’re trying way too hard.”
Dustin looked at the ground, the hint of a frown on his eyebrows. “Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?”
“It’s not about the hair, man. The key with girls is just… just acting like you don’t care.” Steve’s eyes were fixated in front of him on the tracks, on his surroundings, absentmindedly chucking meat.
“Even if you do?” Dustin asked, minor bafflement in his tone.
“Yeah, exactly,” Steve nodded. “It drives them nuts.”
“Then what?”
“You just wait until, uh… until you feel it.” Steve nudged Dustin with his elbow.
“Feel what?”
“It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh…” Steve squinted in thought, “electricity, you know?”
Dustin nodded. This was, after all, his area of expertise. “Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere.”
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Steve shook his head, hair bouncing. “Like a- like a- like a sexual electricity.”
“Oh.”
“You feel that,” Steve pointed a finger, “and then you make your move.”
“So that’s when you kiss her?”
“No, woah, woah, woah! Slow down, Romeo.”
“Sorry.”
“Sure, OK, some girls, yeah, they want you to be aggressive. You know, strong, hot and heavy, like a… I don’t know, a lion.”
“Mhmmm.”
“But others, you gotta be slow, you gotta be stealthy, like a… like a ninja.”
“What type is Y/N?”
“What?!” Steve stopped dead in his tracks, turning to Dustin.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Dustin asked nonchalantly, a blend of sheepish and confident.
“And what makes you say that, Henderson?” Steve squinted at the boy, a pink dust sprinkling on his cheeks.
“I don’t know. I just remember when I was young. You came over all the time. And you always stared at her. And you were always chasing her,” Dustin counted off on his fingers.
Steve gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, feelings that never truly vanished suddenly resurfacing like a tsunami wave.
Dustin’s lips curved into an ‘o’ shape, understanding hitting him, “so that’s why you two stopped hanging out. Making her think that you don’t care. I got ya-”
“No, no. Y/N/N’s different,” Steve interrupted. “Ignoring her doesn’t win her over, that’s not why- that was my mist- She’s different than other girls.”
“Yeah, she seems pretty special, I guess.” The only image in Dustin’s head being that one Halloween when you dressed up as Chewbacca and forced him to be an ewok.
“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Steve affirmed, gaze resting on your figure. The light swaying of your hips and shoulders as you danced to a tune only you could hear. But damn, when did you get so curvy? And hot?
“But this girl’s special, too, you know,” Dustin added, talking about a whole different type of ‘special.’ “It’s just, like, something about her.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Hey, hey, hey.” Steve paused, arm extended.
“What?” Dustin halted at his side.
“You’re not falling in love with this girl, are you?” Steve’s eyes bore into Dustin, stern and serious.
“Uh, no. No.” Dustin shook his head vehemently.
“Come on, you two!” You yelled, turning around and seeing them a dozen feet away from you, huddled together. “Otherwise we’ll be lizard feed soon!”
Steve waved in assent and recognition, continuing to walk, still talking to Dustin, “OK, good… Don’t.”
“I won’t.”
“She’s only gonna break your heart, and you’re way too young for that shit.” Eyes glossed over. A visceral pain emerging.
A solemn expression grew on Dustin’s face, which Steve adroitly noticed. His heart softened. He remembered the same expression on your face.
“Fabergé,” Steve spoke into the silence.
“What?”
Steve pointed to his hair. “It’s Fabergé Organics. Use the shampoo and conditioner, and when your hair’s damp- it’s not wet, OK? When it’s damp…”
“Damp.”
“You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray,” Steve shyly finished.
“Farah Fawcett spray?” Dustin chortled.
“Yeah, Farah Fawcett. You tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass. You’re dead, Henderson. Do you understand?”
“Yup.”
“OK.”
The two continued walking, flinging meat.
“Farah Fawcett, really?” Dustin questioned. “Y/N uses that.”
“I mean, they’re both hot.”
Dustin shot Steve a slightly disgusted yet bemused look.
❃❃❃❃❃
The three of you emerged from the thick of the woods into an abandoned field, a few broken down vehicles scattered about including a bus. You placed the headphones around your neck, scanning your surroundings.
Having donned his sunglasses, Steve nodded while looking around. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, this will do. This will do just fine. Good call, dude.”
Dustin beamed, and you ruffled his curls before a shrill voice called out: “I said medium-well!”
It was Lucas, and next to him a red-haired young girl.
“Who’s that?” You asked, and when Dustin scowled Steve instantly understood.
Extending your hand in greeting, you quickly acquainted yourself with Max Mayfield, more commonly known as Mad Max. A few jokes later, you already liked her, and the two of you instantly got to work, collecting scraps of metal and piling them around the bus, creating a fortification. After watching you discreetly, Steve joined in. Dustin and Lucas, on the other hand, were crouched behind some car, bickering in whispers.
Strolling past, Steve hit the car with a metal chair. “Hey! Dickheads! How come the only ones helping me out are Y/N/N and this random girl? We lose light in 40 minutes. Let’s go. Let’s go, I said!”
“Alright, asshole! God!” Dustin huffed out, simultaneous with Lucas’, “OK! Stupid!”
You all started throwing metal sheets onto a pile, piling it along the bus, rolling barrels, spreading gasoline around. You couldn’t help but revel in the sight of Steve: sweaty, rubbing his forehead with his sleeve, muscles bulging against the cloth of his clothes, jeans increasingly tighter.
You strolled over to a distant hedge to search for more scraps, and at watching you walk off Dustin nudged Steve with his elbow, gesturing with his head to follow you. For all his nagging, your little shithead of a brother happened to be quite protective over you. Steve pretended to roll his eyes, but like a lovesick puppy jogged over, muttering, “alright, alright.”
“Shit,” he heard you hiss. You were crouched down, examining a trail of blood seeping from your hand.
“Hey, you alright?” Steve acknowledged the way you tensed up at his voice, breath freezing in your lungs before that gorgeous smile of yours returned, albeit subdued.
“Sharp,” you pointed to a discarded car door.
“Here, let me.” Steve unzipped his jacket, untucking his shirt and ripping a piece off, despite your vehement protests. He crouched down next to you, head low as he wrapped your hand gently. Small mumbles of “sorry” when you winced at his applied pressure to tie it off. The linger of his hand on yours, the minor sweep of his thumb over your knuckles, like a caress.
“Thanks,” you said. A silence grew. You sat on the little mound of hill, turned towards the setting sun. Steve followed, a slight distance away from you.
After a moment: “Her name’s Max, by the way.”
“Huh?” Steve asked, head turning to you, eyes meeting for the first time.
“Random girl. She’s called Max.”
“Oh, right, right.” Steve nodded, looking into the distance, squinting at the sun. Where were his sunglasses now that he needed them?
“How have you been doing?” You asked timidly, bending your knees in front of your chest and hugging them.
“Aside from chasing giant lizards, you mean?” You giggled, and Steve’s ears marveled at the music. “Yeah, not exactly how I planned to spend my week.”
“I’m glad you’re here, though.” You smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly, bangles sliding down towards your elbow.
Steve wanted to say so much: I’m sorry I ever left, I’m not that thrilled about putting you in danger, I’m an oblivious and selfish prick. But Dustin’s shouting for you to return stopped him. Steve stuck out a calloused hand, helping you up. Despite his support, you still managed to trip on a scattered pebble, falling into his chest.
“Easy,” Steve hummed. Your perfume was intoxicating. Your hair tickled his neck. “You always were clumsy, Henderson.”
“Guilty as charged,” you pushed off, surprised at the firmness of Steve’s chest. That wasn’t what middle-school-Steve felt like.
The pair of you walked into the bus. A golden sun setting behind you. A dark and scary night rising.
While Lucas was on the roof, serving as lookout with binoculars glued to his eyes, the rest of you were in the body of the bus. Max on the back seat; Dustin pacing around; you and Steve side by side on the floor. He kept flicking his lighter, an unbearable waiting tension. Palpable, hard on your chest.
“So, you really fought one of these things before?” Max broke the crisp silence.
Steve nodded.
“And you’re, like, totally 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?”
“Shit. Don’t be an idiot, OK?” Dustin spoke, annoyed. “It wasn’t a bear. Why are you even here if you don’t believe us? Just go home.”
“Dustin!” You scolded, shooting him a shocked look, eyes wide.
Max was, naturally, taken aback. “Geesh, someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?” She crawled up the ladder, next to Lucas.
“The hell has gotten into you?” You asked him, kicking his shin with your shoe.
“Steve told me to show Max that I don’t care,” he shrugged.
“You what?!” You turned to Steve.
Steve stuttered, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, “I-I-I just.”
“That’s the advice you gave him?” You scoffed.
“I’ll be over there… somewhere,” Dustin squeezed away to the front of the trailer, peeking out of the metal holes.
“So that’s your tactic, is it? Is that why you left me, too?” Fury and sorrow taking control of your brain, your actions. You were a puppet in your mind’s hands. “This whole time, were you just pretending that you didn’t care, or did you actually not give a fuck? Because it sure as hell felt like the latter.”
“No, no, no, that’s not-”
“All I ever wanted, Steve, was for you to see me,” you confessed, whispering into the cold night air, unaware of your actions. Tears welled in your eyes, all you could see was blurry redness. Your voice choked up, suffocating.
Steve was silent for a moment. But he caught your words. They didn’t float off. They didn’t ricochet back. They were caught, embraced, and reciprocated: “I never laid eyes off of you.”
Startled, you turned to him, breath catching in your throat.
“Y/N/N, listen to me,” Steve grabbed your hands in his, gentler with the wounded one, searching for your eyes which expertly avoided his. “I made a mistake. A big mistake. Which I- I can’t take back. And I’m sorry. Alright?” You started to pull your hands away, but he gripped them tighter. “I know that means bullshit but I- look, you didn’t deserve any of it, OK? And the advice? It’s shit advice. Cause you’re not like other girls. You’re special. And I’m a blind dumbass. And I care fo- screw it, I love you… too damn much.”
Chest huffing, jaw trembling, the odd tear falling down your cheek, Steve’s calloused thumb rubbing it away before it could slide over the bump of your cheekbone. You finally brought your eyes to his - his dark brown forests of sincerity and pain.
“I love you, too, Steve Harrington,” you voiced. “I always have. But I also hate you.” Your jaw trembled. “I hate everything about you: the way your hair is always so goddamn perfect, the way you make me laugh… and the fact that you broke my heart.”
He went to interrupt you, but you placed your finger against his lips. “A-and most of all, Harrington, I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not at all. After everything, not even a little bit.”
You moved your finger away. It felt like a weight had fallen off your chest, but had somehow latched itself to your foot, pulling you down into an endless chasm. Fat tears cascading down your cheeks. Drowning you.
Until Steve cut the silence.
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
You swallowed, eyelashes wet, emotions rampaging. The adrenaline of confessions erupting.
“Then do it.”
In one swift movement Steve cupped your neck, pulling you against him. You were on your knees, practically straddling him, palms flat against his firm chest. His lips desperately found yours, years of sorrow and loneliness forcefully emerging.
His fingers dug into your skin, your nails latched onto the fabric of his jacket. Neither of you wanted to lose the other. To let go even for a second. For fear that the other would fall into the void, travel to another galaxy, get lost in the vacuum of space.
Pulling away, you brought your forehead to Steve’s, eyes locked together, panting breaths hitting each other. His fingers traced your hairline, the contours of your face, your neck. His jacket bunched in your tight fists.
“Don’t you ever leave me again. I swear on my mother, I’ll kill you, Harrington,” you spoke under your breath, stance not faltering.
Steve flashed his lopsided grin, “If I do, I’ll hand you the gun before going.”
“It’ll probably be your nail-bat,” you giggled, scanning his face. The curve of his nose, the moles scattered like raindrops, the waves of hair.
His expression turned serious, nose bumping against your own as he whispered against your lips: “I won’t. I promise. I love you.”
“I know,” you couldn’t help from saying.
“Ahhh! My eyes!” Dustin yelled from the front, shielding his face with his arms. “Son of a bitch, Steve!”
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Thanks for reading! x
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Any Way the Wind Blows | Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: You get cursed by Vecna, and find yourself floating in midair while Steve suffers a mild breakdown. [2.5k]
Warnings: S4 SPOILERS! Angst.
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“Woah woah woah, hey, you feeling OK?” Steve asked, gripping your shoulder tightly, his dark brown eyes emptily searching your fleeting ones.
He had just witnessed you entering some form of… trance? He wasn’t entirely sure what it was. And, to be frank, neither were you. It was an out-of-body experience. One moment you were leaning across the counter at Family Video, talking to Steve; the next you heard a deep, rumbling voice echoing behind you.
“Y/N.”
You followed it, past the dark particles floating in the air, to a stiff wooden clock lodged into the wall. The ticking made you wince, the repeated gongs made you shiver.
And then it was over. And you were back, next to Steve.
You blinked rapidly, looking down, lightly shaking your head to clear the confusion.
“Y/N? Talk to me, I’m not a brick wall.”
You glanced up, finally registering Steve’s presence, the concerned look in his eyes, the furrow of his brow.
“What? Sorry, yes, I’m fine, just… just got a bit dizzy there.”
Steve knew you were lying. He could read you like the back of his hand. Better than the back of his hand. He could read you like every perfectly placed hair on his goddamn perfect head. But he didn’t want to press you.
And you. You had recognized the darkness, the ominous atmosphere, the biting tension in the air. You remembered the Upside Down. Yet you didn’t want to believe it was real.
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It started with the headaches. You’d had occasional tension-induced pain before, but this was more frequent, and much more potent.
Steve immediately noticed them. The way you walked away from him, clasping your fingers to your temples, eyes forcefully shutting.
But only after breaking into Hawkins High, ransacking the counsellor’s office, and Max reading out the symptoms that the dead teenagers had experienced did you know that you were in trouble.
In fact, right after she read them out, as the kids continued to rummage through the counsellor’s drawers, you were blinded with pain, pulling away from the arm Steve had wrapped around your shoulders as he leafed through some document.
His brows came together, furrowed. He watched you walk into a darker corner of the room before he quietly approached you.
“You want some aspirin or something?” he whispered, refraining from touching you.
“You got some on you?” You turned around, one eyebrow raised, your other eye slightly closed, blocking out the light.
“No… but I could go get some. I swear, counsellors should be able to give kids medicine. It’s high school, for Christ’s sake. Hormones. Stress…” he paused in his rambling, looking at you with wide eyes, “Can a kiss make it better?”
You chuckled, “I wish, gorgeous.”
Steve slowly approached you, reading your every movement, seeing no signs of discomfort at his invading your space, and thus proceeding. He slung his arms around your waist, bringing his lips to your forehead. It was burning hot.
“Max! Max! Is she OK?! Wake up!” You heard Lucas’ voice gradually increase in panic.
Steve turned as fast as lightning, running over instinctively to see what was happening before his mind even registered his surroundings.
He recognized it. The trance. He looked back at you, over his shoulder, lips parted.
You approached her as well, pressing your palm to her forehead, lightly justling her frame.
You and the boys kept shaking her until she finally emerged, resurfaced. She grabbed your hand, pulling you into the hallway, talking about some clock.
She had factually confirmed your sight of the old grandfather clock.
Both of you were in trouble.
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Everyone knew that Max was in danger, though nobody believed she would die.
But only Steve knew you were going through the same thing.
He tried talking to you about it, shouting obscenities and repetitions of "you're insane!"
But you pushed him away with a small, “I’ll be fine.”
I mean, what could you do to prevent Vecna killing you?
❃❃❃❃❃
Max wanted a moment with Billy, at his grave, to read him a letter.
You, Steve and the kids stayed in the car. Lucas and Dustin sat on the hood, watching, like lookouts. You and Steve were inside, at the front.
The tension was so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife.
Steve’s hand was sprawled along the window, fingers pulsing, dancing.
You were combing your hair through your fingers, your knee jumping around in anxiety.
Too much time had passed. The waiting became unbearable. You grabbed Steve’s wrist, twisting it to see his watch.
“All right, it’s been long enough.” You stormed out of the car, ignoring the admonitions of Dustin and Lucas. Steve was hot on your heels.
“Max, kiddo, you alright?” You jogged up to her.
She turned her head to the side, softly nodding, smiling.
And then you were back in hell.
❃❃❃❃❃
“Y/NNNNNN,” the deep voice growled.
You turned sharply, face to face with… quite frankly, you didn’t know what it was. Vecna? Yes. Human? Human form, once, maybe.
“Stop this!” you yelled, “let me out!”
“It’s time, Y/N. Time for you to join me.”
❃❃❃❃❃
Dustin and Lucas noticed Max and Steve’s agitation, sprinting up instantly.
“Y/N?! Y/N?! Baby, you gotta wake up, now,” Steve pleaded, hands gripping your shoulders tightly. But this had happened before. He knew you would emerge from your stupor.
Until your eyes twirled around to the back of your socket.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Dustin repeated, increasingly agitated, increasingly quick.
Lucas only stood back, eyes wide, terrified.
“Shit, fuck, Y/N, honey, come back to me. I’m right here, LISTEN to me,” Steve begged now, hand cupping your jaw, shaking you harder. His hands were trembling. He turned to Dustin, grasping him by his jacket. “Call Nancy and Robin! Go get ‘em! Call Nancy and Robin! GO!”
Dustin had never seen Steve so desperate, so raw. His eyes rimmed with red, his body barely breathing. Henderson sprinted down the hill, tripping over his own two feet. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“Y/N you can’t do this to me, this wasn’t how things were gonna work out,” Steve was crying now, pushing your hair away from your face. “I can’t lose you, I-I-I just can’t- WAKE UP FOR GOD’S SAKE.”
Dustin darted back up, throwing a dozen cassette tapes and a Walkman on the grass, flinging his own body along as well.
“What is this?” Lucas and Max pleaded at the same time.
“Her song – what’s her favorite song?!” Dustin was staring at Steve, eyes frantic.
“What?! W-why?!” Confusion laced Steve’s features.
“Robin said if she listens– it’s too much to explain right now. STEVE.” Dustin grabbed him by the shoulders, yelling in desperation, “WHAT’S. HER FAVORITE. SONG?!”
Steve didn’t hesitate, remembering the endless car rides where he let you blast your tunes, bare feet tapping along on the dashboard; the midnight dancing at his house, just the two of you, shameless; the sole moments where, in a haze of silence, you would start humming with your sweet voice.
“Queen. Get Queen. Bohemian Rhapsody!”
The three boys fidgeted amongst the tapes, until Lucas, scrambling, found the correct one. He placed the cassette in the Walkman Max was holding as Steve gently clasped the headphones around your ears, smoothing your hair, placing a kiss on your crown, holding the back of your head in his hand. His other hand grasped your own.
The boys heard the muffled opening. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
❃❃❃❃❃
You had escaped from the darkness, and emerged in some red universe, debris floating everywhere.
“What are you doing in here, Y/N?”
The ground was covered with spiders, the clock’s chimes haunting, echoing in the background.
“Come back to me.”
You spun around and around, examining your surroundings, searching for somewhere to run. Only then did you notice the corpses strewn on the pillars, dark tentacles wrapped around their necks.
“Would you like to join them?”
Vecna emerged from behind a staircase, menacingly approaching you.
You turned around, intending to run, but something wrapped around your ankle, pulling you away.
“FUCK! NO!” You were screaming, desperately trying to grab something.
You were thrown against a pillar, a tentacle wrapping around your throat.
You couldn’t breathe. You were choking.
And then.
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Music breaking the void.
Looking behind Vecna who had leeringly approached you, you saw a hole in the red. An opening to another world. Your world. There were the kids. And there was Steve.
“Y/N?! Wake up! Please! We’re right here.” Steve was pleading. You saw he was holding you, shaking you.
“Please! Come on!” Dustin, Lucas and Max shouted in tandem.
“They can’t help you, Y/N,” Vecna seethed. “You belong here, with me.”
“Motherfucker,” you wheezed out.
Vecna’s claws started spreading over your face, obscuring your vision. You tried to escape his grasp, but only hit your head against the pillar behind you.
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And then your body started lifting up.
Steve knew what was happening. If Eddie’s story was true, this sole levitation signaled your impending death.
He grabbed onto your hand, holding it, forcing you back down. But the gravitational force pulling you, whatever it was, was stronger.
Your hand slipped from Steve’s, your fingers grazing against his palm. He tried reaching your foot, but it was too late. Your ankle missed his grasp.
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You saw your body float up; saw Steve grab at his hair, pulling it raw; saw the kids yell in fear and frustration.
You started to accept your end.
But not your mind. Your brain embraced the music. Your soul saw the desperation of those kids – your friends, and the love of your life.
“Mama, oooo. Didn't mean to make you cry”
Like often advertised, your life started to flash before your eyes. The good bits, at least.
“If I'm not back again this time tomorrow”
You, Max and Eleven at Starcourt Mall, snapping silly photos in the photobooth, scrunchies and rainbow outfits, peace signs and crinkled eyes.
“Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters”
Playing Dungeons and Dragons with the boys, their younger faces radiant, so absorbed in the game, shouting with every turn of events, throwing the pieces around the basement.
“Too late, my time has come”
And Steve. Every single fucking moment with Steve. Cause there was no grey cloud. It had been bliss.
Cheering him on at his basketball game, louder than any cheerleader. Jumping over all the bleachers, running up and kissing him when he lost, his hands wrapping around your waist limply, defeated, as you whispered comforting words in his ear.
“Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time”
Hiding together in the storeroom of Scoops Ahoy, playfully flirting, cuddling, Steve’s hair barely contained under his ridiculous hat – which he promptly removed, muttering something about company policy. Robin would bring you both free ice cream, always your favorite flavors, and Steve would insist on having to lick off what was staining the side of your lip.
“Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go”
Visiting Steve at Family Video, sitting behind the counter with him. He never left your side, his arm was always across your shoulder, his lips peppering your face with kisses: your nose, your eyes, your forehead, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, your lips.
“Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth”
The morning after your first time with Steve, your bodies intertwined, your hands clasping each other’s and laid together against Steve’s chest. You just relaxed, caressing Steve’s face, pushing back his hair. His eyes fluttered open, sleepy, a dazed smile spreading across his face. A look of utter adoration.
“Mama, oooo. I don't want to die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all!”
I don’t want to die. I don’t.
With all your strength, you grasped one of Vecna’s tentacles, pulling it off. A rather warrior-like roar left your lips as he dropped you to the ground. You scrambled to your feet and began running.
Running towards Steve.
“I see a little silhouetto of a man, scaramouch, scaramouch, will you do the fandango?”
Vecna didn’t move. He sent boulders and debris flying your way. He tried to stop you.
“Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening me!”
But, let’s face it, however cheesy it may sound, nothing can stop the force of true love.
“Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me!”
You ran. Your lungs burned. Your feet were numb. Yet you ran.
“So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye”
You dodged every obstacle, you jumped over every ravine.
“So you think you can love me and leave me to die. Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,”
Your eyes focused on Steve. That was the finishing line.
“Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here”
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You gasped, eyes flying open, your body racing down to the ground.
“Y/N!!!” Steve was there instantly, catching you, taking the brunt of the impact.
You were gasping, crying, hyperventilating. Steve was, too. He wrapped himself around your torso forcefully, repeating, “it’s OK, it’s OK, you’re OK, I’ve got you now, beautiful, you’re safe.”
You dug your nails into his shoulder, but he didn’t mind. He had you back.
“I thought you- you were-“ Steve couldn’t bring himself to say it. The notion that he had lost you, that you died while in his hands, in his care…
“I’m still here,” you wheezed out, “can’t get rid of me that easily, Harrington.”
He pressed his lips to your temple, rubbing your arm, hair bouncing as he shook his head at your intact humor. You were back.
The kids had grabbed at you as well, wanting to make sure you were real, that you were alright. With your other hand you caressed each of their cheeks.
Steve held you while you calmed down. He wasn’t letting go ever again.
As the sun continued to set, you were still attempting to regain control over your breath, to accept what had happened.
Dustin, Lucas and Max had made their way to the car, informing Nancy and Robin of what occurred.
Steve just kept his eyes closed, rocking you, breathing your sent in.
“Come here,” you mumbled, pushing away from him, catching his gaze.
He brought his forehead to yours, eyes locked.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again. You hear me?” he whispered.
You slowly nodded, glancing down at his lips. Your nose bumped his, and then your lips met.
It started as a soft kiss. But gradually became forceful, desperate. Steve’s hand cupped your jaw, your palms were pressed against his chest.
You could have stayed like that if it wasn’t for Dustin’s shouts of “Get a room!”
You chuckled. Steve muttered something about Henderson needing to get his ego in check. He stood up, reaching a hand out to help you.
“Not taking these goddamn headphones off ever again,” he muttered, placing the headphones back on your ears, pressing ‘play’ on the Walkman.
You smiled at him, grabbing his rough hand, clasping it in your own, your small fingers enveloped in his.
“Any way the wind blows...”
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Thank you for reading! x
#help I am obsessed#lady writes#fallingintofiction#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things#stranger things s4#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#joe keery#joe keery imagine
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Sleeping Beauty | Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: Steve finds you asleep on his sofa. [0.5k]
Warnings: Absolutely none. Pure fluff.
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There was something about the scene in front of him that completely melted Steve Harrington.
Maybe it was merely the fact that his house wasn’t empty, like usual. That the lights were on, that your shoes were by the door, that your jacket was on the coat rack. That he wasn’t met by darkness and loneliness that steam-powered a train of negative thoughts.
Perhaps it was the fact that you felt comfortable and safe enough to doze off at his house. That you felt secure in his presence. That you were relaxed enough to let Steve encounter you as your most vulnerable: the only time when you were defenseless.
Conceivably, it could have been that he knew you had stayed up for him, waiting for him to return from work. Even though it was a little past midnight, the lights were all on, the television was softly blaring, and you were in the living room, not in his bedroom, sprawled across the sofa. You had driven yourself to exhaustion by a desire to greet him warmly.
Quite possibly it was simply how adorable you looked. Curled up in a sort of fetal position, head resting on top of one arm, chest rising in even breaths, cheek squished, mouth slightly open. A barely-audible snore escaped your lips – more of a loud breath than anything. Body engulfed by Steve’s yellow sweater, cozy and protected, smothered in his cologne.
It was, naturally, a combination of all these factors. Needless to say, Steve felt his heart swell at the sight.
He tiptoed towards you, quietly turning off the TV and the lights so they wouldn’t disturb you. He wrapped his arms around your body, one hooked under your knees the other around your back, cradling you against his firm chest, lifting you with ease.
You stirred, fingers toying with the collar of Steve’s shirt, tickling the fine exposed hairs. Your body, instinctively, recognized his: the familiar scent, shape and touch; a mold for your own. “Steve?” you mumbled incoherently.
“It’s me, baby,” Steve hummed. He carefully carried you up the stairs, to the cave of his bedroom. He laid you down gently, helping you take off your clothes and don a large shirt of his, before pulling the duvet over your sleepy figure. You instantly curled into it, pulling it to your chest.
Steve began to get ready for bed himself, and sped up the pace exponentially when he heard your small, sleep talking “Stevie?” and saw your hands blindly searching for him.
He joined you under the covers, pulling you into his side. You were sprawled over his chest, head between his shoulder and collarbone, his arms encircling your entire frame, legs intertwined, breaths simultaneous.
He traced your hairline, kissing the crown of your head. “I love you, my sleeping beauty,” he mumbled, tightening his grip.
Steve thought you were asleep – and you were. But your body responded with a reply, voice thick with sleep: “Ditto, Prince Charming.”
Steve chuckled, and hummed, “Good night, sweetheart.”
His toes rubbed against your own. His knuckles drew shapes in your back. He shut his eyes, your steady breaths lulling him into a deep slumber. Your gentle weight anchoring him to an ocean of dreams.
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Thank you for reading! x
#lady writes#fallingintofiction#not sure if I'll make it until Friday#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things#stranger things s4#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#1980s#joe keery#joe keery imagine
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1986: A Love Odyssey | Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: You work at the local cinema in Hawkins, and Steve is starstruck when he first sees you. [1.8k]
Warnings: 16+ for light steaminess, cursing, no spoilers, fluff.
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The first time Steve Harrington saw you, he had come to watch Top Gun with Robin.
He entered the cinema as per usual, striding across the red velvet carpet towards the snack stand with Robin in tow. They were bickering about who was more attractive, Meg Ryan or Rebecca De Mornay, and how unfair it was that Tom Cruise got to kiss both of them.
But as soon as Steve looked up to place his order, his hand already reaching for the wallet in his back pocket mechanically, he was dumbfounded. He blanked at the conversation he was having, jaw slightly gaping open, staring at your face across the counter. Your rosy cheeks. Your soft hair, despite the tangles. Your necklace, resting against your collarbones. Your endless eyes.
He was so in awe that he didn’t register the confused furrow of your brows, the small smile on your lips, the light giggle as you repeated, “Hello? Are you OK? Can I get you anything?”
It took Robin’s sharp elbow hitting him in the ribcage for him to fall back down to Earth. He grabbed his side, muttering, “what was that for?”
Robin simply nudged her head towards you, then behind her at the developing queue.
Yet, once again, Steve was like a fish out of water when he looked at you.
“He’s trying to think of a pick-up line, so while he’s contemplating, which, I can assure you, is certainly a strain for him, could I get a bucket of popcorn and a Coke?” Robin said.
While Steve grumbled a “shut up,” under his breath, you just smiled at Robin, nodding, your face bright. You then looked expectantly at Steve, slightly shy.
“Ditto.”
You pushed your hair behind your ear, reading out the price, rushing to grab their orders as Steve placed the money on the counter.
“Enjoy the movie,” you beamed, and Steve would have swore his heart stopped. As you reached to give them back their change, Steve grabbed your wrist across the counter.
“No need. Keep it, doll face.”
As the pair headed towards their screening, Robin stared at Steve, bemused. “What was that?”
“What was what?” he feigned.
“Mr. Steve Harrington, flirter supreme, wooer of all women, was just left speechless,” Robin guffawed.
“She’s different,” was all he replied, suddenly slapping himself on the forehead, “shit, I forgot to ask her name.”
“Y/N,” Robin smirked. When Steve turned, confused, she added, “it said so on her name tag. You're not the only one who thinks she's cute.”
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The second time Steve saw you, he was with Dustin, Lucas and Mike. They were watching Stand by Me, rated R for some reason, which thus required a guardian. Dustin had effortlessly persuaded Steve to join them.
Steve had gone to the movie house several times since your first encounter, hoping to spot you again. But you were never seen, either because you were working 'behind the scenes,' or because it was your day off.
This time, he was ready. The three boys stood behind him as he approached you, hand combing his hair back, signature smile plastered on his lips. His confidence was only boosted when he saw the knowing look in your eyes: recognition. You had remembered him.
“Hi there,” you said, “how can I help you?”
“Look, about last time, I-”, Steve was stuttering, he had to look down, “I came prepared, today, I-I made this whole speech weeks ago, even practiced in front of my goddamn mirror, I just, whenever I look at you I-”
Glancing up, he saw your eyes searching his.
“'Is that canon fire, or is it my heart pounding?'” You whispered. Steve looked incredulous. “Ingrid Bergman. Casablanca. Here,” you ripped a piece of paper from a discarded receipt beside you, scribbling your house phone number. “Give me a call sometime.”
“Can you pinch me? You’re just so damn cute, I swear I’m dreaming,” he leaned his elbow against the counter, your eyes locking together as you giggled.
“What’s your name, dream-boy?”
“Steve. Steve Harrington.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve.”
“Y/N, right?” he gestured towards you name tag. You nodded. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
The two of you could have stayed like that for eternity, had it not been for the boys nagging, “Steve, hurry up, the movie’s gonna start!”
As you took their orders, grabbing their snacks, you wished them a pleasant film, smiling at Steve.
Walking away, Steve was starstruck. The boys were teasing him, but he was simply starstruck.
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The third, fourth, fifth and sixth times Steve saw you, he didn’t care what film he was going to see.
For weeks, the pair of you had been talking on the phone into the early hours of the morning. Steve felt like he could listen to your rambling forever. You mostly prattled on about films, and even though Steve often had no clue what you were talking about, he just nodded along, “yeah, definitely, I totally agree.”
He cherished every word you spoke, the way you pronounced each letter, your cadences and rhythms.
He particularly adored making you laugh. “I look a little like Tom Cruise, don’t I? It’s the hair. Listen, listen. ‘Just take those old records off the shelf. I sit and listen to them by myself.’”
The bubbling joy slipping out of your lips, a smile audible in your voice. Sheer happiness.
And you were new to Hawkins. You had no prejudices or preconceived notions. You listened to Steve attentively, about his absent parents, about his failures in romance. You formed your own image of this amazing young man, uninfluenced by any rumours about what he was like in high school. “Steve, who even cares what you were like then, when this is who you are now!”
Every time Steve came to the cinema, you both exchanged a few flirtatious remarks across the counter. He watched your every movement, your every gesture. The nervous tapping of your foot. The timid way you pushed your hair back. The way you hid your hands behind your face when you grew embarrassed.
He didn’t care about what he was watching. After entering the auditorium, the only thing he looked forward to was strolling out of it, towards the exit, and waving you a small goodbye. For at those moments, no matter what rude customer you were serving, you smiled at him, practically bouncing with joy.
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The seventh time Steve saw you, it was upon your invitation.
During his previous visit, halfway through the trailers, while munching on his popcorn Steve nearly choked on a piece of paper. Removing it with his fingers and straining to see what it was, he saw a note: “Meet me here. Tonight. 10PM. Don’t be late.”
He knew it was you, recognised your handwriting even. He was so anxious, willing the time to pass quicker.
At 10PM, he arrived. There was a late-night horror film screening that had just started. Entering through the glass doors, hair meticulously arranged and prepared (it had taken hours, but god bless Farah Fawcett), he saw you on the other end of the hall.
“Hey, beautiful,” he waved, walking towards you slowly.
But you weren’t in the mood for slow. You ran up to him, enveloping him in a warm hug as he swayed you back and forth.
“You smell good,” you laughed, pulling away.
“You look good. Great, actually, you’re gonna slay us all dead,” he remarked, as a crimson blush adorned your cheeks.
“Shut up and follow me,” you turned, about to walk off, but then extended your palm backwards, “and could you hold this for me?”
He chuckled, intertwining your fingers with his as you gently pulled him along.
“Where are we going? A hidden cave?” Steve questioned, examining his surroundings, the endless, dark hallways of the cinema.
“It’s a secret,” you whispered, “and be quiet, nobody’s supposed to know you’re here.”
“Don’t worry. I’m stealthy, like a ninja,” Steve joked quietly.
You promptly opened a barely noticeable door, moving out of the way so Steve could see. “Ta da! Fuck, no, wait, now!”
Whatever Steve was expecting, this wasn’t it. It was a screening room - the size of a broom closet. You were providing the single light source through the flashlight in your hand. The room could only fit a film projector on a flimsy table, a chair alongside the projector, and a cabinet. Strewn all around the room were rolls of film, and movie posters: Singin’ in the Rain, On the Waterfront, Halloween, Double Indemnity, Citizen Kane, Psycho… there was not a single empty space on the wall.
“We screen our films here,” you explained, “tonight is Poltergeist. I already set it up, it’s running, but I thought you might want to see.”
You had wrung your hands together, your gaze falling to the ground, and Steve noticed a minor timidness.
“Can I go in?” his eyes were scanning the room. You handed him the flashlight.
“Of course, of course, sit down. Sorry, it’s not luxurious… or big. But this is the projector. You can see the film through the little hole in the wall, or the eyehole on the camera.”
Steve glanced at the darkened auditorium, the audience underneath him, the film playing on the screen. He heard the collective screams and gasps at each scare.
As Steve sat down, you shut the door behind you, awkwardly standing next to him.
That is, before he turned off the flashlight. Before he gently placed his hands on your hips. You held his shoulder for balance as he pushed down, signaling for you to sit on his lap, straddling him, facing each other.
“Have you seen Poltergeist?” you asked, feeling blindly for his face. You traced and followed his features with your fingers: his defined jaw, rubbing the light stubble; his hairline, as you scratched the nape of his neck; the outline of his lips, slightly open.
Steve never replied. As you caressed his face, he wrapped his arms around your waist. Instinctively, you both leaned in, searching for each other’s lips. His found yours first, placing a kiss on the side corner of your mouth, then melting into your lips.
Your chest was flush with his, your eyes closed, your eyelashes tickling his face. You cupped his jaw, pulling him even closer.
Lips already swollen, gasping, you reluctantly pulled away from him. Steve held you, his lips traveling ravishingly down your neck, to your collarbone, nibbling lightly, leaving a mark.
“You know what Clark Gable said?” You gasped out, chest heaving as Steve’s hands played with the hemline of your shirt.
Steve merely groaned against your skin, his teeth refusing to leave the silkiness.
“He told Vivien Leigh,” you could barely speak steadily, “’You need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how.’”
“Smart man,” Steve quickly pulled away to pull his own shirt off his head, the heat of the room due to its confinement, the operating projector and both of your arousal, leaving him sweaty. “Smarter than that Sherlock Homes dude.”
You rubbed your palms up the hairs on his warm chest, resting a hand against his heart, the other reaching his face. “That’s you, Steve Harrington. And I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you. I’m the Clark to your Vivien.”
“I’m not complaining.”
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Thank you for reading! x
#lady writes#fallingintofiction#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things#stranger things s4#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#1980s#joe keery#joe keery imagine
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Distracted | Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: You and Eddie really should be studying, but for some reason you’re just so much more interesting than trigonometry. [0.7k]
Warnings: No spoilers. Fluff. Minor cursing.
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“Eddie,” you repeated sternly, turning your head in a gentle scowl that vanished instantly upon meeting his doe brown eyes. His hand, which had been toying with your hair, mysteriously vanished at the speed of light.
Both of you were seated on his bed; you lying on your stomach, knees bent, bare feet in the air.
“What?” He feigned, a smirk growing on his lips. He bit down in an effort to suppress his smile, to maintain the act.
“Math test tomorrow?” You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop the smile on your lips.
“Life’s too short for math, sweetheart. I’d rather spend it looking at this pretty face,” he poked your cheek playfully.
“But unless you graduate, you won’t have the liberty to be spending time with ‘this pretty face’, so I suggest focusing.” You turned away, continuing with the worksheet, pencil balanced in between your teeth.
It must have been thirty seconds before you felt hot kisses trailing the back of your neck, swerving left, down the curve of your shoulder blade, following the column of your exposed spine. Soft lips. Tentative hands gracing your waist. Wisps of curly hair tickling you.
“Eds,” you regretfully flipped over, grabbing his face in your hands.
“Can we come to a compromise?” He brought his arms to either side of you, hovering above your frame, dangerously inclining downwards.
“Finish the worksheet,” you placed a quick kiss on his lips, dodging his chasing ones, “and I’m all yours.”
“I like that deal, princess,” he nudged his nose against yours, as if shaking your hand in concurrence. For a moment he scanned your face, absorbing your features before jumping back up.
He huffed, raised his worksheet in the air, glared at it in annoyance before dropping it back on the bed. He groaned in defeat. “It just doesn’t make sense, Y/N/N,” he mumbled.
“What doesn’t, hun?” You sat up with him, pulling his paper towards you, your thumb over his.
“Fucking triangles, that’s what… I’m just dumb for this shit.” Eddie looked away.
“You’re not dumb,” you tapped his bicep gently until he looked over at you. “You’re not. Math is just unnecessary. Here,” you pushed yourself off the bed, spinning around and looking before sliding over to Eddie’s guitar, picking up his chain with the guitar pick dangling on it. “This is a triangle, right?”
“Mhmmm,” he drawled.
You sat back down, placing the pick above the problem he seemed to be stuck on.
“To find this angle,” you gestured to the worksheet and then the pick, “we need to use the sine rule.”
“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’.
“And the sine rule states," you picked up your notebook, reading verbatim what the teacher had stated except with much less conviction, "that sine of A divided by the length of A, is equal to sine of B divided by the length of B.”
You looked over at him, only to find Eddie’s eyes glued on your face, completely disregarding the math. “Over here, loverboy,” you gently pushed his face to look at the worksheet, and he puckishly pretended that he was going to bite your hand.
Together, you both managed to solve the problem, a little whoop of triumph escaping from his lips at doing so.
“Shit, they should teach like this at school,” he grinned, scrambling to finish the rest, using his pick as a guide. Even helping you when you struggled. Leaving the same questions blank.
And sure enough, Eddie was soon presenting you with a nearly fully answered worksheet and a bright smile, even before you had managed to complete your own work.
You shook your head with a grin, “Whatever others may say, Munson, you’re smart.”
“Or I just have a really good teacher,” he grinned, tackling you onto the bedsheets. He yanked his chain from off the bed, lifting your hair and encircling your neck with it, the pick resting against your collarbones. He traced it on your skin, and then commenced with covering every inch of you with kisses. Your muscles, your bones, your ligaments and tendons.
“Gonna graduate this year, huh?” You whispered, pulling him up, guiding him to your lips. The smell of his cologne and the faint traces of a joint. His cold rings against your jaw.
“This is my year. I can feel it, baby,” he mumbled, chapped lips against soft ones. Knees knocking, breaths mingling, eyes shut. Chests panting, blood boiling, goosebumps tingling.
“Let’s make it ours.”
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Thank you for reading! x
#lady writes#fallingintofiction#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader fanfic#joseph quinn#joseph quinn imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#1980s#x reader#stranger things#stranger things s4#stranger things season 4
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Slam Dunk, Tiger | Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: When times get tough, Steve tends to vent at the Hawkins High gym. While you comfort him, he might as well teach you to play some basketball.
Warnings: Fluff, innuendos, no spoilers, minimal cursing.
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“Hey there, tiger,” you waved, strolling into the Hawkins High gym, your voice echoing in the emptiness of the room as you dropped your backpack on a nearby bench. The gym was empty apart from Steve Harrington, and the lone basketball rolling away from him on the floor.
Steve was crouched, hands on his knees, head inclined to the floor. He wore his old Hawkins basketball t-shirt with a tiger, shorts resting just above his mid-thigh, Nike sneakers embracing his feet and long socks. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his forehead and dampening his shirt. As soon as he heard your voice, he looked up rapidly, a small smile adorning his lips. His hair was messy, tangled, flying all around – yet somehow gorgeous as always.
“What are you doing her, sweetness?” He dragged his hand across the back of his head, pushing his hair back as he languidly approached you.
“Looking for you, Robin said I would find you here.” You balanced on the tips of your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck as he brought his arms around your waist. You scrunched your nose slightly at his smell, his usual cologne mixed with his adrenaline-induced bodily odor, but it certainly wasn’t the first time you had encountered a sweaty Steve.
“Just needed to vent,” he sighed against your neck, pressing a kiss against your skin. You knew this was typical of Steve. In moments of stress or anger, tension or anxiety, he tended to resort to his high school sports obsessions to release all of his pent-up emotions. He was incredibly good at hiding his own true feelings. But his lackluster movements and taciturn tongue alerted you.
“Everything alright?” You brought your hands to his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp with one, massaging his neck with the other. He groaned softly and you smiled, applying more force.
“Now that you’re here, everything’s perfect,” he mumbled, his body growing more limp against yours.
“Come here,” you pulled away, Steve grumbling in disappointment, refusing to leave his arm from around your shoulder as you dragged him towards the bench. He sat down, and you pulled his shirt over his head, letting his skin breathe. Rummaging in your backpack, you grabbed a cold water bottle and a packet of Oreos. “Drink up, I don’t need you passing out on me.” You handed both to Steve, sitting beside him.
He opened the water with ease, your gaze lingering as his muscles flexed when he twisted the bottlecap. He threw his head back, chugging half the flask at once, parched. He ripped open the Oreos, stuffing a cookie in his mouth.
“I don’t deserve you, Y/N Y/L/N.” Steve reached for another Oreo, bringing it to your lips. You simply hummed in response, biting the cookie, and then grabbing his hand. You had noticed that it was red, and as you twisted it to the light you saw the blisters that covered his callous skin, no doubt from slamming the ball forcefully. You traced your hand over the bumps, kissing Steve’s palm softly.
Standing up, you restarted the massage on his shoulders. His muscles were taught, tense, yet visible and very prominent. Gradually, as your fingers pressed into the tightness, Steve relaxed, exhaling loudly, eyes shutting.
“You wanna talk about it?” You whispered softly, bending down to his ear, placing your chin on his shoulder.
Steve just shook his head, “not right now.”
You pressed a kiss to his lobule, then his cheek. “No worries, bub. I’m here when you need me.”
Your fingers continued to work, until at one moment Steve wrapped his hand around your wrist, signaling for you to stop.
“Wanna play?” he asked meekly, turning to face you, a small smirk playing on his lips. You saw the slight desperation in his eyes, the need for a distraction.
“Steve, honey, we both know that my coordination is equivalent to that of a newborn giraffe,” you shook your head at him as he chuckled.
“Let me teach you.” As you started to protest, he stood up, placing his palm on your shoulder, “You trust me, don’t you?”
Eyes locked with his, you blinked rapidly, finding no way to evade the obvious answer: “Of course I do.”
“Then come on,” his hand slid down your arm, grabbing your hand, urging you towards the court.
You thanked your lucky stars that you had dressed adequately in a pair of cotton shorts, a loose shirt, and trainers.
Steve ran to grab the ball, jogging back towards you. “You know how to shoot?”
“Vaguely,” you mumbled, timidity taking over at the reminisces of high school PHE: the shame, the embarrassment, the utter dread.
“Come ‘ere,” Steve dragged you in front of the hoop, up to the free throw line. “Bend your knees,” he pushed your shoulder down gently.
“Didn’t you say that last night as well?” You smirked, looking behind your shoulder coyly. A pink tint grew on Steve’s cheeks.
“Shut up,” he joked, softly tilting your chin back to the hoop. “OK, now lift your arms, your right one in front of your face, your left one to the side, as if you’re cradling the ball.”
You tried, but the vagueness of his instructions left you clueless. Standing behind you, Steve grabbed your arms gently, positioning them in place. He walked around you, twisting each joint so it stood in the perfect stance. You honestly didn’t give a fuck as to what he was doing. You simply watched him, his focus. The way his brows furrowed in concentration, tongue lightly poking out of his lips.
At one point he looked up at your face, making sure you were alright, that he hadn’t induced any discomfort, but he was only met by your gaze. “Eyes on the game, Y/N/N.”
“You’re shirtless and way too handsome, it’s not my fault I’m distracted,” you grinned. The red flush came over Steve once again.
“Here, gorgeous,” he placed the ball in your hands. Standing behind you, chest flush with your back, Steve helped you carry the weight of the ball, assessing the angle and doing some final positioning. “Now shoot!”
You both pushed, and lo and behold, you scored with a swish.
“It went in!” You yelled, face radiant, spinning around to look at Steve, high fiving him. “Slam dunk, tiger!”
“My superstar,” Steve had the widest grin on his face as he brought his hands up, cupping your jaw, kissing you, “but I’m sorry to say that that wasn’t a dunk. Not that it matters, cause you’re making it rain, baby.”
“How do I dunk?” You pulled away, hands resting against the hairs on his firm chest.
“Woah woah woah, slow down, Magic Johnson,” Steve chuckled. “You can’t even reach the hoop.”
You laughed with him, “then I think that’s enough for today.”
Walking back to the bench, you packed all your things. Steve threw his shirt back over his head, you slung his discarded hoodie over your shoulder, and the pair of you walked out of the gym together, hand in hand, strolling across the Hawkins High lawn. In the crook of his other elbow, Steve balanced his basketball.
“You drive here?” You squinted at the sun, placing your hand above your eyes to shield them from the brightness, turning to Steve. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.
“Left my car at work. Let’s walk there.”
You paused, your hand coming to his cheek, pulling his face down. You caressed the barely noticeable stubble, pressing a kiss to the side of Steve’s lips. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I love you, Harrington. We’re like the two halves of an Oreo. Your troubles are my troubles.”
Steve saw the concerned look in your eyes and nodded, sighing. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, mumbling, “I love you, too” against them.
The pair of you continued to walk, Steve pouring his frustrated heart out to you, flat-out stopping in the middle of the street to release an occasional yell, gesture or tear. You grabbed the basketball to avoid him ramming it at a passing motorcycle who nearly ran you over, and you bounced it along the sidewalk.
The pair of you trudged all the way to Family Video, in the slowly descending sunset, the orange rays dispersed with pink stripes of satin that resembled the tiger stripes on Steve’s shirt – much like how the basketball in your hands did.
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Thank you for reading! x
#lady writes#fallingintofiction#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things#stranger things s4#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#1980s#joe keery#joe keery imagine
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A Missing Munson | Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: A Hawkins High student is murdered, Eddie doesn't answer your calls, and then the Goonies appear on your front door asking for your help in locating the missing Munson boy. Looks like your boyfriend's wanted for homicide. [2.6k]
Warnings: S4 SPOILERS! Vague mention of drugs. Angst -> Fluff.
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The last people you expected to encounter knocking on a Saturday afternoon were standing right in front of you: Dustin Henderson, Max Mayfield, Steve Harrington, and Robin Buckley. Each adorned with an awkward smile and wave.
Considering the repeated doorbell rings and pounding knocks, perhaps you should have suspected it was Dustin. After all, he performed the same obnoxious performance whenever he came to any of your and Eddie’s D&D meetings.
You stared at the certainly varied group in confusion, eyes squinting in suspicion.
It wasn’t the first strange occurrence of the last twenty-four hours. First, a Hawkins High student was murdered. Then, Eddie never answered your calls – and you tried ringing plenty. You started to fear that Eddie was the victim himself, but admonished yourself for even considering it. “He’s probably just high,” was your solution, though you vowed to visit him in the evening.
And now, the Goonies were on your doorstep. You knew them all solely by name and reputation. Dustin was the only one of the four who you were close to.
“Uhhhhh hello?” You questioned in a confused tone, squinting against the sunlight, pulling down your Hellfire Club t-shirt, ‘for your modesty’ as Eddie liked to say with a cheeky wink.
“Y/N, do you know where Eddie is?” Dustin immediately asked, pushing past you and into your small house, slamming you flat against the door as the others followed.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” you replied, closing the door behind you, finally noticing their frightened expressions, your eyes darting from one to the other. “Why? What’s going on? Is he OK?”
“We don’t know,” Max spoke timidly. “Sit down, cause this is gonna sound… crazy.”
You glanced at their serious expressions, ever the more muddled.
“Can we trust her?” Steve whispered to Robin, though everyone heard it. He would, of course, have his reservations – especially considering you were the girlfriend of Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.
“Yes,” Dustin replied, confident and stalwart.
“If it has to do with Eddie, you have no choice but to tell me,” you added.
“You’re in for a ride,” Robin smiled.
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You were flabbergasted. Speechless.
They had told you a true tale of terror, which you wouldn’t had believed had it not been for two things: a) the fact that, as fantastical as it sounded, it explained the supposed ‘curse’ of Hawkins, all the mysterious disappearances and deaths, and b) that you were a passionate D&D player, fantasy lover and overall nerd with a wide range of superstitions.
The Mind Flayer, a Demogorgon, Chrissie Cunningham’s mutilated body… you believed every word they uttered. Above all, you were convinced Eddie had nothing to do with it.
And when Dustin asked if you knew where Reefer Rick lived, you shrugged, “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”
Which is how you ended up in a car with the gang, searching for Eddie and arguing about his innocence.
“I believe in innocent until proven guilty, all that constitutional shit. I just, you know, don’t think we can rule it out,” Steve said from the driver’s seat, one hand leaning on the windowsill.
“That’s crazy! Eddie didn’t do this! No way!” Dustin exclaimed.
“You can’t defend him just because he’s your new best friend who you think is cooler just cause he plays your nerdy game!” Steve retorted.
“I never said that! But yes, I can!” Dustin caught Steve’s gaze in the mirror, “You don’t know him like I do, Steve. OK? When we got to high school, Mike and me? Nobody was nice to us. No one except Eddie and Y/N.”
Sitting shotgun, staring at the fleeting scenery behind the glass window, you smiled softly at the memory of Dustin and Mike as awkward and utterly lost freshmen.
“OK, well, they said the same shit about Ted Bundy. Yeah, he’s a super nice guy, but then he’s murdering women on the weekend. I’m not saying anything, but we can’t presume anything, and we can’t rule it out!” Max threw in, rolling her eyes at Dustin’s unwaveringness.
“Yes, we can.” Everyone grew silent, all eyes turned to you. It was the first time you had spoken up, though you didn’t move your gaze from the window. “Eddie would never do this.”
“All I’m saying is that we can’t rule it out. It’s Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson we’re talking about. I saw Chrissy enter his trailer. He could have gotten high and accidentally killed her. Temporary insanity, that sort of shit. Who knows, maybe he changed his last name, what if he’s actually related to Charles Manson,” Max continued.
“If we believed rumors so easily, I would think of Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, over here, as the dick of the decade. But, alas, Dustin assures me that that’s false; and I, for one, like to give people a chance. One, Eddie has never been violent, not even when high. He wouldn’t kill an ant, let alone a lady. Two, he’s certainly not related to Manson. And three, Eddie’s not a freak. He’s only my freak,” you finished.
Maybe it was your firm tone, or the fact that you were a stranger to this evidently established dynamic, but everyone shut up as you continued to guide Steve through winding, darkening roads.
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Upon reaching Reefer Rick’s house, the sun had already set, and night began to take over. Standing up, you stretched your legs before you took the lead in approaching the house. Dustin followed on your heels and proceeded to ring the doorbell… adamantly.
“OK. Well that’s settled, I guess he’s not here,” Steve said as Dustin began slamming the door with his fist, much like he had done at your place.
“Eddie! It’s Dustin!” The boy yelled, continuing to pound. Steve muttered a small “great” under his breath.
“Eddie!” You joined in, attempting to look through the glass. Steve, once again, scoffed, “alright then.”
“Look, we just want to talk!” Dustin shouted through the mail flap as you all began to encircle the house with your flashlights. “No cops, I swear. We just wanna help. Eddie!”
Dustin continued to knock vehemently, pressing the doorbell repeatedly, starting up with, “Rick! Reefer Rick!”
“Don’t scream that,” Steve admonished him, hitting him softly on the shoulder. “He’s not there, just-”
“He could just be really high,” Dustin replied.
You walked over to the side of the house, flashlight in tow, remembering the boathouse at the back. The remnants of their conversation echoed: “Is that a foot?” “No, that’s a shoe.”
“Hey, guys?” You called out, and as they approached you, flashlights in pointing in one direction, you all managed to illuminate the decrepit building. You knew Eddie would be there. You felt it in your gut. Because you remembered the time he had pushed you against the wall of the boathouse, on the side of Lover’s Lake where nobody could see you, lips ravenously trailing down your neck, his hair tickling your skin.
All of you approached, lights shining against the dusty windowpanes. Robin creaked the door open slowly, cautiously, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone home?”
“Eds?” You yelled upon entering.
“What a dump,” Steve remarked as you all started searching. Steve caught your attention when he turned his flashlight off, and you watched as he grabbed an oar, ramming it into a piece of tarp that covered a boat.
“Steve!” You cried out, running towards him, reaching for his arm to stop him.
“What are you doing?” Dustin asked incredulously. At no reply, he repeated, “What are you doing?”
“He might be in here,” Steve answered, continuing to prod with the oar.
“Exactly why you shouldn’t do it!” You cried out to no avail.
“Just take the tarp off!” Dustin demanded.
“If you’re so brave, you take the tarp off,” Steve retorted. And truth be told, neither Dustin nor you were afraid of encountering Eddie. But both of you were terrified of encountering something much worse: a demon, a body… Eddie’s body.
You heard Max say, “someone was here,” shuffling some wrappers and bottles around on a table.
“Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran,” Robin added.
“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar,” Dustin spoke, sardonically.
“I know you think you’re being funny, Henderson,” Steve continued with the goddamn oar that you wanted to hit him against the head with, “but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died about a hundred times,” Dustin nodded, smiling, “personally I don’t find it funny in the slightest-“
As a figure moved from under the tarp, Steve jolted. Everyone was yelling, a conglomeration of screams and Steve’s shouts of, “Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait!” Before you knew what was happening, before you could register the scene in front of you, Steve was slammed against the wall of the boathouse by the figure, a broken bottle placed to his throat.
It was Eddie.
The voices continued in cacophony, Steve’s “woah, woah, woah!” merged with Dustin’s, “Eddie! Stop!”
“Eddie!” You called out, desperately. At the sound of your voice, his head snapped towards you. There was a feral look in his eyes. His hair was wilder than usual, untamed. He looked lost. Like a frightened animal attacking, not in anger, but in terror, in self-defence.
“It’s me, Eds,” You placed your hand against your chest, keeping your distance as Steve squirmed against the glass. “It’s Y/N. Here’s Dustin,” you grabbed Dustin by the sleeve, pulling him next to you.
“This is Steve,” Dustin gestured towards the terror-stricken boy.
“He’s not gonna hurt you, right, Steve?” You asked slowly, as Eddie’s gaze turned back towards the Harrington boy.
“Right. Yeah,” Steve whispered, out of breath, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?” You called out, and he promptly followed your instructions as the instrument fell with a clang.
Eddie tightened his grip, bringing the bottle even closer to Steve’s neck as the latter squirmed and groaned in pain.
“He’s cool! He’s. Cool,” Dustin assured Eddie, hands in front of him.
“I’m cool, man. I’m cool,” Steve managed.
“What are you doing here?” Eddie spoke through gritted teeth, gaze not falling from Steve. You knew you needed to catch his attention, to help him emerge from his stupor.
“We’re looking for you, Munson,” you answered.
“We’re here to help,” Robin quickly added.
Eddie finally turned to your huddled group, eyes searching, panicked.
“Eddie, these are our new friends. You know them. You know Robin, from band,” You signaled towards her as she mimed her trumpet.
“This is my friend Max,” Dustin chirped in, as she waved awkwardly. “The one who never wants to play D&D.”
“Eddie,” you finally locked eyes with him. “We’re on your side. Baby, I’m always on your side.”
“I swear on my mother!” Dustin yelled, voice raw as everyone confirmed his declaration. “We swear.” “On Dustin’s mother.” “Yeah Dust-Dustin’s mother.”
Eddie stared at Steve, contemplating, before finally releasing him. Harrington fell to the floor, uttering “Jesus Christ,” under his breath as he hunched over. The tension ebbed out of the room, the immediate danger removed.
Eddie stood, back against the wall, slowly sliding down into a crouch. His breath was ragged, his gaze fixed on a nonexistent point ahead. He looked incredibly shaken, refusing to let the bottle go.
You slowly, cautiously approached him, kneeling down in front of him. “Eds,” you searched for his gaze, unable to find one. As you began reaching your hand out to his, Dustin spoke from behind you, “We just want to talk.”
At those words, Eddie jolted, flinching away from your touch. Your heart plummeted. “OK, it’s OK,” you held your hands out, glancing behind you and signaling at Dustin to take it slow.
“We want to know what happened,” Robin chirped in.
Eddie’s hands were trembling, and your chest felt heavy at the sight, watching him so afraid. His eyes were welled with tears.
“You won’t believe me,” he sniffled, finally bringing his gorgeous doe eyes up to yours.
“Try us,” Max retorted.
“I believe everything you say,” you spoke softly, “you know that. Got me wrapped around your little finger.” The ghost of a smile broke out on his lips. “And these kids have a pretty damn convincing story. For all I know, even Mordor might be real now.”
“I didn’t kill her, Y/N,” Eddie’s face fell once again at the memory. “You gotta believe me,” he cried out, a tiny tear dropping down his cheek.
“I know, baby,” you steadily reached your hand out, scanning his every movement for signs of discomfort. He allowed you to approach, your thumb caressing his face and wiping the tear away. “I know.”
He melted into your touch, desperately reaching out for you, wrapping his arms around your body, situating his head on your shoulder, leaning his head against the side of your own. A cascade of affection. Your hands reached for his hair, combing through it, caressing his scalp.
“Oh Eddie,” you mumbled under your breath, kissing whatever part of him that you could reach. From the corner of your eye, you could see Steve’s sympathetic look, as if, for the first time, he saw Eddie as human.
When Eddie calmed down sufficiently, he pulled away softly, and sat down on an empty crate. You sat next to him, taking his hand in your own.
“Her body just, like, lifted up into the air and, uh… and she just, like, hung there,” Eddie started to explain to everyone. “In the air. And her bones… Uh, she…,” he closed his eyes, wincing at the memory. You rubbed his knuckles softly, comfortingly. “Her bones started to snap. Her eyes, man. It… it was like there was something, like, inside her head, pulling,” he tried to gesture. “I… I didn’t know what to do so I… I ran away. I left here there.”
Eddie swallowed, his Adam’s apple prominent. “You all think I’m crazy, right?”
“Of course not,” you said.
“Don’t bullshit me, man! I know how this sounds!” He yelled, and you flinched slightly at the tone. But at seeing the remorse in his eyes and feeling the squeeze of your palm, you knew his outburst was involuntary.
“We’re not bullshitting you,” Max spoke up.
“We believe you,” Robin added, a phrase repeated a dozen times that night.
“Dustin!” You locked eyes with the curly-haired boy. “Just tell him what you told me.”
Dustin spoke up, all attention on him, “Eddie, what I’m about to tell you might be a little… difficult to take… You know how people say Hawkins is… cursed? They’re not… way off. There’s another world. A world hidden beneath Hawkins. Sometimes it bleeds into ours.”
“Like ghosts and shit?” Eddie asked, confused, but not mockingly. Open minded.
“There are some things worse than ghosts,” Max chimed in.
“These monsters from this other world, we thought they were gone. But they’ve come back before. That’s why we needed to find you. That’s why we needed Y/N, to guide us to you,” Dustin explained.
Dustin, Max and Robin’s voices started overlapping, prodding: “If they’re back again, we need to know.” “That night, did you see anything?” “Dark particles, maybe?” “It would almost look like dust, swirling dust.”
“No, man!” He cried out. You could sense Eddie was overwhelmed. “There was nothing you could see or uh… touch.” Eddie paused, moving his head towards yours, yet refusing to meet your gaze. “You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn’t move. It was like she… she was in a trance or something.”
“Or under a spell,” Dustin attempted.
“A curse,” you added.
“Vecna’s curse,” Eddie finished, finally locking eyes with you.
It was too much, really. You saw Eddie’s exhausted expression, his beaten up body. You placed a kiss to his knuckles and then to his temple, pushing his hair behind his ear. “I think that’s enough for tonight. What you need is some Honey-Comb and a joint.”
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Thank you for reading! x
#lady writes#fallingintofiction#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader fanfic#joseph quinn#joseph quinn imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#1980s
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Rain-Dropped Leaves | Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: It's midnight on a hot summer's day, it's raining, and you managed to drag Steve Harrington outside. [0.8k]
Warnings: None. Pure fluff.
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Rain. A cascade of tears billowing from the clouds. Dripping and pouring, kissing the damp ground; clinging onto glossy leaves, spreading a pattern resembling a ladybug; melting into growing puddles, marshy and swampy.
You were inside, curled up on the giant windowsill of Steve’s bedroom. His buttercup yellow sweater bunched up in your hands, your toes curling against your fuzzy socks, forehead pressed against the windowsill.
It was a soothing sound. Constant, rhythmic. The pain of the heavens causing the cleansing of the Earth.
Steve lay sprawled on his bed, arm behind his head, naked chest inclined upwards.
“It’s so beautiful.” You dared to break the silence.
A white flash of light emerged, and seconds later was followed by a deep, rumbling, thunderous noise. Rumbling, like Steve’s chuckle when you lay on top of him.
Steve only hummed in response, scratching his chest with a yawn.
It had been a scorching summer day, the only thing that had saved you was the air conditioning in Steve’s house. And only now, near midnight, did the rain come beating down on Hawkins – a lukewarm storm, rinsing off the heat.
“Let’s go outside,” you turned towards Steve, already leaping up.
“Yeah, that’s a no,” his eyes followed you, as you began pulling on your leggings.
You grabbed some of Steve’s clothes, tossing them at the foot of his bed. “Please, Stevie?”
“Uh no,” his eyebrows were furrowed, head shaking – though far from vehemently.
You got on your knees on the bed, crawling up his frame, near-straddling. Back arched, your lips pressed against his chest, then traced upwards to his neck, eliciting a groan from the depths of his throat. Kisses like rain, scattered and wet. You pushed off, lifting your face to his, blushing at his intense gaze. “Pretty please?”
Steve bit his lip, but your puppy-dog eyes, wide and lovesick, were too powerful. He was completely under your spell. A puppet in your hands. A cloud in your sky.
“Come on,” he huffed, pulling the covers off himself, getting dressed as you thanked him a dozen times. “Yeah, yeah, you’re lucky you’re cute, Y/L/N.”
Bodies waterproof, hair exposed, feet covered in rubber boots. You borrowed Steve’s boots from when he was younger – they were massive, and the result was your foot swimming in the expanse of space, shuffling along.
Steve stepped out, opening his umbrella in front of him, reaching for your shoulder to force you to stay within the confines of his ‘umbrella bubble.’
But that’s not exactly what you had in mind.
From the doorway, you sprinted out. You spread your arms around you, spinning, face up towards the sky, relishing the feeling of tepid rain falling on your hot skin, trailing lines of fissures that made your skin a mosaic.
You laughed, your entire body growing wet and soaked and heavy. Cooled, at one with nature.
“Come on!” You called out to Steve, who hid like a cat avoiding torrential rain.
But Steve was a romantic at heart. Cheesy. From a movie.
He threw the umbrella to the side, running up behind you when you weren’t looking. His arms wrapped around your middle, puzzle pieces reunited, lifting you into the air and spinning you in circles while you squealed.
He eased you down softly, and before he could react you had stomped on the ground, spraying his trousers with water.
“Oh no you don’t!” He howled, starting to chase after you. Although he was an athlete, it proved a formidable task with the weight of his clothes and in the blinding rain.
You suddenly gasped, feeling yourself falling forwards. In the canyon of your boot, your foot had mistimed its step, and you were heading down towards the muddy grass.
But Steve would never let you fall.
Only a foot behind you, he caught you nimbly by your hips, in one rapid motion twirling you so that you faced him. Your hands were situated against his chest, your breaths heaving. You looked up at him through clumped eyelashes.
His hair was soaked, and he pushed it back with his hand, spraying you with gentle droplets. His lips were parted, rivers of rain flowing down his face.
You instantly climbed on the tops of your toes, reaching for his neck, pulling him down towards you and crashing your lips together. The rain pulled you closer together, sealing your lips like glue; the thunder echoed your desperation and fervor.
On the muddy grass, soaked to the bone, you were two plants. Limbs intertwined like roots, lips locked like petals. Two plants made of earth and rain. And you knew his mouth like you knew the feeling of water and the heat of the sun. It was natural. It was meant to be. It was part of you.
“Wanna head inside?” Steve mumbled against your swollen lips, hands secure at your waist, hot breath fanning your cooled face.
“Only if we can continue this in the shower,” you grinned, his lips spreading in the same contortion.
Two plants, roots inseparable, rain-dropped leaves holding hands.
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Thank you for reading! x
#lady writes#so much love for this man#fallingintofiction#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things#stranger things s4#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#1980s#joe keery#joe keery imagine#x reader
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