#ruby writes steve
Text
nine facts, one lie
summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.
Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]
[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny
Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington.
It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington.
From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.
Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.
Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained.
Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity.
Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask.
You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.
It was impossible to pinpoint what about him grated you so much; maybe, it was how he seemed to have girls in and out of his bed like he was playing a game, trying to rack up as many points as possible. Or maybe, it was that even you, invisible and not even on his radar let alone on his list, could see the appeal.
Even better than easy on the eyes, Steve Harrington is one of those guys that makes you understand the word gorgeous.
It doesn’t help that he’s rich as well, with a huge house with a pool and even a swanky car to pick you up in. A complete daydream. Swept away into sheets softer than yours at home, you’d get to spend a night in the arms of the most popular guy in school and if you’re really lucky, he’ll still pretend to know your name the next day.
What had really stuck with you was gossip you’d happened to overhear, head stuck in your locker as you fished around for your books and papers. Tommy H and Steve were 3 lockers over, at Tommy’s locker, and sharing the details of Steve’s latest conquest.
So was she any good? Tommy had been asking. I always assumed nerdy chicks weren’t as good- they practically cream their pants considering no one’s ever kissed em’ before.
Steve had laughed along too. Yeah, man. She was all over me. Had to keep picturing someone hotter though, you know those geeks aren’t the prettie— Your stomach had curdled and you had slammed your locker door louder than needed, just to shut him up. You were sure they both saw you leave.
It drove you insane. And even though Steve likely knew nothing of your existence — didn’t matter you had once been chem partners, nor the fact you shared English class— he was probably as close to an evil nemesis you’d ever get.
Hence the utter betrayal of Robin’s friendship with him.
Originally, when she’d told you over the phone, gleeful and gossipy, that King Steve had just been hired at Scoops Ahoy, the two of you had snickered. It hadn’t been enough to watch him drift from his other asshole friends, something in you burned deliciously hearing he’d fallen from yet another pillar.
It had only gotten better. Robin recounted countless stories where he had flunked out with girls — you’d nearly lost it hearing about her whiteboard, tallying up his ‘hits & misses’ when trying to score a date. It finally seemed Steve Harrington was somehow more of a loser than you.
On the 4th of July, 1985, Starcourt Mall burnt down — and the strangest thing about it all was that Robin suddenly didn’t seem to mind Steve so much.
They were friends. You’d been a little miffed at her quick change of heart as she doused your gossipy mood in an instant, insisting that Steve wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.
Rather reluctantly, your teasing remarks about Steve were brought to a halt as Robin retaliated each time, urging you to give him another chance. And while you agreed to be civil, especially considering you had to see him every time you visited Robin at work. But what could you do? Old habits die hard.
Fact #2: Steve Harrington is trying to be a better person.
Okay, you didn’t know that one, but Steve certainly did.
It means even though Robin had dropped several warnings and a few premature apologies, Steve was prepared to be absolutely lovely when meeting her other best friend (the other being himself, of course). Robin still seemed tense about the two of your meeting — so far you’d specifically come to visit her at Family Video when you knew Steve wasn’t there.
But a few shifts had been swapped around and on her late night Thursday shift where you always came by to keep her company, Robin was readying herself for the collision of her two friends.
Despite all her convincing, she could tell you weren’t sold on the new Steve she claimed to love and you hadn’t come by when he was there, meaning all your experiences to do with Steve were rooted back in his days of assholery.
It didn’t matter to Steve; he loved Robin and he had lots of practice trying to gain the ‘wow, you’re not a douchebag anymore’ gold star. He had this in the bag.
The janky chime of the door buzzer announces the arrival of someone in the store and being the one at the counter while Robin tends to the shelves, Steve’s head pops up, ready to greet.
“Hello! Welcome to Family Video!”
It sounds far too rehearsed, recognizing the customer service voice you put on at your own job. You nearly smile at the cheery greeting, taken aback by Steve’s handsome grin and his floppy hair, messed from the force of his movement. Then you clock yourself and have to fight off an urge to scowl.
Eyes already searching over the aisles for Robin, you’re just wondering if she’ll come save you from this conversation when Steve seems to realise who you must be.
“Oh, you must be y/n.” His easy smile, hands leaning forward onto the counter that separates you, takes you aback.
In your peripheral, you can see Robin spot you and head in the direction — but she doesn’t come quick enough to stop Steve from bungling the whole conversation with his next sentence.
“Robin’s told me a lot about you. I’m Steve,” His tone is friendly and at your silence, he continues. “Steve Harrington.”
Oh my God. He doesn’t even remember you.
Over Steve’s shoulder, you can spy Robin burying her head in her hands and muttering something to herself. Any annoyance you had pushed down springs to the surface. You school your expression as neutral as possible, though you’re sure your brow crinkles in irritation.
“I know.”
Okay, that was meaner than you intended, especially as you recall Robin’s plea to be civil at the very least. You clear your throat, unsure if you can completely hide your distaste for him.
“We were chem partners, freshmen year.” You remind him, attempting a smile. It might be a grimace. “And I was in your English class your senior year.”
Steve seems to realise his mistake, his cheeks turning rosy and his eyes widening almost comically — fuck, way to go, Harrington. All of his pep talks, amping himself up to be so friendly to you and then he goes and ruins it by not remembering you.
It’s embarrassing. Hawkins is a small town and practically everyone knows everyone, with the exception of popular kids who didn’t think they needed to. He winces, frustrated that his past has come back to haunt him yet again.
“I’m sorry.” He says, more sincere than you’re expecting. Well, you’re not expecting an apology at all — the Steve you remembered would’ve laughed it off, claiming that he couldn’t forget a pretty face and trying to brush over the fact he forgot you at all.
“Seriously,” he reaffirms at the hint of surprise on your features. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget your face. I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason I passed that chem class.”
Robin seems to sense your internal battle, baffled by his apology but still irritated by the fact his memory didn’t deem you memorable enough. She also wants to jump on the spot and say ‘told you!’ because the surprise you’d shown means you hadn’t believed her.
A part of her feels bad, knowing the battering Steve’s taken to his head too many times has undoubtedly knocked a few memories loose; but it’s not that they could explain that to you.
“I’m just shelving — want to come sit?” She offers, taking the conversation away from you and Steve. “We watched Highlander today and I could sit and explain the whole plot to you?”
It’s the usual activities you and Robin did when you came to bug her on her shift. You loved listening to Robin talk as she possessed a unique ability to turn a 10-minute retelling into an hour-long debate. Each subplot in the film needed to be discussed, with bad analogies that came out of left field and made you laugh til your sides hurt. It wasn’t a bad Thursday night all around.
Just as you’re about to respond, Steve cuts in and speaks instead.
“Robs, you’ve only got two hours left. It’s a Thursday, you could take off if you wanted? I don’t mind.”
Robs. Somehow the nickname for your best friend coming from Steve is more jarring than the polite offer he’s extended. Steve’s eyes shift back over to you, offering another weak smile and you wonder if this is a continuation of his apology.
“Really?” Robin’s excitement is evident. Bunking off early means you two will sneak a movie and have time to grab some greasy food for an actual hangout. “I mean- are you sure?”
Steve nods sincerely then cracks a grin, shooting a sarcastic smile at Robin. “What think I can’t hold down the fort for a couple hours?”
Robin is already peeling off her Family Video vest, digging under the counter to pull out her school bag. “I don’t think it, Steve. I know it.”
He laughs, meandering his way back to where Robin has left the returns cart and, furiously, you have to admit he’s being awfully nice. Robin nearly trips coming around the counter, her hand grasping your arm tightly to keep herself upright and she beams at you.
“C’mon!” She says, pulling you out the door, the buzzer chiming again as you both leave the store. Once outside, she pauses and you can feel her stare burning into your temple. She doesn’t say it but you can feel the beginning of an i told you so building in her throat.
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” She plays clueless but her grin gives her away. She links an arm through yours.
“Don’t say anything.” You say with a scowl, the two of you beginning to stroll down the stairs out the front. The crispness of the night makes you tug her a little closer. “I still don’t like him.”
Fact #3: Steve Harrington still likes to flirt.
In the beginning, the compliments are because Steve really wants you to like him.
He sees more of you with the change of shifts and perhaps, he gleefully thinks, you aren’t completely avoiding him anymore. You’ll come to see Robin in store even if he’s working as well and inadvertently, conversations spring up between the two of you.
The first time he tries to slip in a compliment casually, he’s not entirely sure what reaction he gets. On this day you’re waiting for Robin to finish out back, packing up some of the schoolwork she’d done in the backroom, and to Steve’s delight, you’ve opted to wait up by the counter with him.
You’ve already exchanged an awkward couple hello’s and now silence falls between you. Steve clears his throat and tries to earn his not a douchebag star.
“Did you get a haircut?”
You blink. Without thought, you bring up your hand and run it over the silky strands — cut fresh from yesterday. Surprise sprouts in your chest at the fact he noticed.
“Yeah,” you nod, tucking it behind your ears. “I did.”
“It looks good.” He compliments, pairing it with a genuine smile. “It like,” he gestures with a hand, hoping his ears aren’t as red as they feel. “Frames your face better. You look nice.”
For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and the simple act of a compliment from an attractive guy makes your lips twitch into a smile. Robin bundles out of the back room before you remember to say something snarky, like What and my hair looked bad before?
Instead, it hangs in the air and when you leave behind Robin, you really consider smiling over your shoulder at him.
But it ruminates; the compliment loops in your mind until your insecurity unstitches it and it warps into something else entirely. His motivation is the question on your mind.
In what world does Steve Harrington flirt with you?
It has to be a joke. He must be making fun of you because that’s exactly what Steve used to do and if he’s not, that means he has changed and you’re suddenly worthy of his attention.
You recall the locker-room talk, his jeering tone and everything about his compliment turns sour.
Somehow, Steve’s worried he’s managed to make it worse.
His compliments dropped here and there — commenting on film choice, saying he likes your sweaters, all it seems to earn him is scowls. Your scrunched nose and heated glare from your distaste either means he’s worse at flirting than he remembers or it’s a painful reminder that still you see him as King Steve.
He’s not — he knows he is not. King Steve wouldn’t have bothered looking at the film you’d picked out, his comment would’ve been on your body not on the clothes you choose, and he certainly wouldn’t have noticed something as trivial as a haircut.
And because Steve is nothing if not a whinger, he tells all this to Dustin when the kid comes in to visit.
“I mean, I know I was bad but,” Steve cut himself off with a scoff, following Dustin through the aisles. Dustin didn’t even look as though he was listening, eyes trained on the shelves intently. “I apologised for not remembering her, like, an actual genuine apology— and that was years ago! I don’t get why she doesn’t like me, man.”
Dustin, who had indeed been listening to the rant of his older friend, promptly stopped and plucked a film off the shelf with a quiet aha!
“Are you even listening to me, Henderson?”
“Yes, Steve.” Dustin spun, eyes narrowed as he stared up at Steve intensely enough to unnerve him. “From what I’ve heard, you were pretty damn bad so I’m not surprised some people hold a grudge!”
“Yeah, but—”
“And you didn’t remember her. Maybe you did something rude in high school and completely forgot about it?”
Steve waved his hands dismissively, shaking his head in disagreement. Without noticing, you had slipped in the store up front, usual conversation struck up with Robin. However, you’d been quickly distracted as you searched the store for Robin’s other half and were baffled to find him following around a child.
“Looking for Steve?” Robin jibed when she noticed your gaze wandering across the store, your attention going with it.
You ignored the jab, rolling your eyes with a light laugh. “He wishes. Is he talking to a kid?”
“Who Dustin? Don’t let him hear you call him that.” Robin warned with a roll of her own eyes, shuffling about some stock room records in her hands. “He’s like Steve’s best friend. He was, uh, in the mall fire with us last year.”
The mall fire. Robin doesn’t talk about it at all, a hollow expression taking over her features that freaks you out far too much to push it. Pushing past your surprise, you decide to focus on the other part of her sentence.
“They’re friends?”
As if to prove your point, the two of them head to the front of the store in the middle of a bicker — Steve lags behind a bit, hands waving dramatically as Dustin calls over his shoulder, tone righteous and just a tad smug.
You catch the end of Dustin’s sentence— “Not every girl has to swoon over you, Steve, you know that right? So what if she doesn’t—” cut off when Steve shoves his shoulder, having spotted you.
Dustin looks as though he experiences a ripple of emotions; annoyance, as he whips around, ready to cuss Steve out for the shove, which quickly turns to confusion at the wide-eyed look Steve is staring down at him with. By the time he’s facing you something has clicked as he looks at you with renewed interest.
“Dustin.” He introduces, stepping forward with one hand held out for you to shake. “Dustin Henderson.”
Unwittingly, you peer over his shoulder and connect eyes with Steve — who gives a shrug in response, an awkward smile on his face. Taking Dustin’s smaller hand in your own, you smile and introduce yourself, unable to keep the hint of confusion out of your words.
“I’m Steve’s best friend.” The curly-headed boy explains, gesturing over his shoulder and Steve’s smile gets a little more awkward. He feels a smidge nervous considering there’s no telling what will fall out of Henderson’s mouth next. Steve’s a little relieved when it’s a typical plea for a ride, spinning back round to him.
“Andddd as my best friend, he’ll be totally happy to drive me to the Byers’ right now. Robin can handle the store for 10 minutes without you, can’t ya Robin?”
He slides the tape he’s grabbed onto the counter as he says it, a silent ask to check it out. Likely under Steve’s account which Dustin says it’s for the employee discount — which makes Steve scoff, considering he pays for it anyways.
All eyes move to Robin who freezes at the sudden attention, papers paused mid-shuffle in her twitchy hands. She narrows her eyes at Dustin and you find yourself watching Steve as he has a silent exchange with the girl — another halfhearted shrug that means he’s happy to take him if she doesn’t mind.
Robin swipes the tape and types the details into the computer hastily, waving them both off. “Yeah, yeah. y/n can always get behind the counter, worst-case scenario.”
Dustin fist-pumps, taking the tape back from Robin as she hands it over. He heads to the door and calls out to you as he goes, “And you’d look better than Steve in the vest too!”
It makes you laugh when Steve scowls, sidling up to you to lean over the counter and snatch up his car keys. He pauses, eyes roaming your face and looking as though he wants to say something to you.
“Steve!” Dustin’s voice pierces the glass and you look to see him waiting on the top step, hands raised, expression unimpressed.
Steve sighs, muttering the word dickhead under his breath and then he’s out the door.
Fact #3: You may have misjudged Steve Harrington.
It’s been just over a week since seeing Dustin in the store with Steve and though you’d never admit it aloud, it has shifted the way you see Steve.
A minuscule shift, you huff to yourself, tiny and not enough to completely dissolve your built in dislike for the Harrington boy. But you find the thought worming into your brain frequently, tripping over it in surprise when you realise you’re thinking of him again.
It’s just… it didn’t make sense.
Just like the flirting, it didn’t compute in your brain unless you rationalized it back to some asshole motive.
But Dustin had introduced himself as Steve’s best-friend, which was sort of weird enough on its own but you figured it had to be some insane trauma bonding from the mall fire.
Even if they had been the same age, Dustin didn’t seem like the company you’d expect Steve to keep— but neither was Robin, you thought after a moment of contemplation.
Robin’s knowing grin outside Family Video a couple of weeks ago that screamed i told you so floats up in your memory; you might have to concede she was maybe, potentially, just a little bit right.
The thoughts weigh on your mind as you wait in the kitchen for Steve’s car to pull into your driveway. A couple months ago you would have outright refused to accept a ride from King Steve and you still weren’t sure if you thanked him for his generosity tonight, whether it would come out snarky or genuine.
But he did offer, unasked.
You and Robin wanted to see a rerun screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that was showing a few towns over. Robin couldn’t drive and neither could you, which meant when she’d seen the poster, it had only been a fleeting moment of excitement before you realised you didn’t have any means of travel.
She must have been moping about it at work that day because it was sometime in the evening after she got off work that your phone rang and she nearly shrieked down the line that Steve would take you both.
So, here you were; waiting for Steve to pick you up.
God, even the sentence sounded odd in your head. A flash of amber headlights on the street grabs your attention and before you can delve into the flip of your stomach, you duck out of the house and slip into Steve’s car.
You take the front seat. Mainly because it would be too weird to get in the back, as though he was your chauffeur — though you suppose for tonight, he is. Steve smiles when you get in and you find it easy to mimic it. Gravel crunches as his tires pull away from the curb, gathering speed as he heads for Robin’s house.
Eyes out the window, you don’t see how he steals glances at you every couple of moments. The air feels tinged with awkwardness and Steve swallows, wondering if he’s allowed to break it. You’ve been a little warmer to him — I mean, hell, you just offered him a smile.
As he pulls the car up in front of Robin’s house, engine idling, he pushes out a breath and dredges up his courage.
Yes, in the beginning, the compliments were because he wanted you to not see him and scowl. Tonight, it’s because you look beautiful and he wants you to know it.
“You look—” Oh god, and now you’re looking at him, eyes a little wide before they narrow in suspicion. “—uh, pretty.”
“What?”
“I mean, you always look pretty!” He amends. “But, y’know, you look lovely tonight. Pretty.” Stop talking.
“P-Pretty lovely.” It falls off his tongue in haste, delivered so terribly he’s surprised he doesn’t cringe immediately after. God, it was like whatever flirting skills he had flew out the window with you.
“No, Harrington, I mean— why do you keep saying these things?”
Steve feels utterly lost, shown on his face as he blinks, once, twice, and doesn’t say anything. Your insecurity bubbles up, mixed with anger at the thought he might indeed be messing with you.
“I don’t know if this is funny to you, to- to like, joke that you like my clothes or- or to pretend to think that I’m pretty but it’s not. And I—”
“Woah, wait — who said I was joking?” Incredulity taints each word, his brows pulled high in surprise. Steve’s stomach twists, feeling his heart recoil at the complete seriousness in your words — you think he’s been making fun of you.
“Well, why else would you call me pretty?” You ask pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Because you are?” It’s faint, Steve’s voice suddenly a lot softer.
You’re not sure you can contain the ripple of emotions on your face, his words sticking you in the throat so you have to swallow thickly. It’s like a switch is flipped, each compliment of the last couple of weeks shifting into a new meaning in your mind.
It’s overwhelming and you find yourself searching Steve’s face desperately, drinking in his sincere expression, brows drawn together as he offers a weak smile. Fuck, you think and along with it, dozens of apologies fester and churn — god, you’d been so rude and—
“Um, backseat please!” A sharp knock at your window scares you, nearly jumping out of your skin and breaking your focus on Steve. When you turn, Robin’s standing on the sidewalk, bent at the waist to peer at you through the glass. You stare at her dumbly for a moment til she wiggles her eyebrows with a grin and it makes you crack a smile, finally reeling yourself in enough to move.
Unclipping your belt, you’re rather thankful to be shoved to the back of the car. Hidden in the dark, you shift to take the seat behind Steve. Your eyes spy a sliver of his neck, exposed skin about the collar of his jacket and it fixates you for a moment.
Because you are? Steve’s words follow you, plaguing you in the shadows of the backseat — you purposefully ignore how it makes your heart sing ever-so-slightly.
Fact #4: Bradley O’Connor is not to be trusted.
“Guess who came into my work today?”
It’s said all gleeful, your hands gripping the counter as you nearly launch yourself over it in your excitement. On the other side stands Robin, doodling in her notebook — or she had been, til your arrival had been announced by the door chime, her ‘Welcome to Family Video!’ cut off by your sudden commotion.
“Um,” Robin begins indignantly, brows raised high. “Half of Hawkins? You work at Bradley’s Best Buy y/n, like the whole town shops there.”
Her sarcasm bounces off you, undeterred in your good mood; it was like the sun was shining just for you today. You didn’t even mind Steve obviously listening in on you two, his hands frozen above the keyboard as he eavesdropped from his seat at the computer.
“Yeah, speaking of Bradley’s...” you grinned at Robin, hoping your hint was enough. It was, her expression shifting into something more enthusiastic.
“Bradley Bradley?”
You nod at her question, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to contain your giddy grin. But it’s hard when your long-term high school crush Bradley O’Connor came through your till, flirted like there was no tomorrow, and insisted you jot your number on his receipt.
He didn’t even seem to care that you worked at a supermarket. You knew well that he and all his friends lived in the cushy tax bracket which meant the first job they ever worked would be after college. Kids like you and Robin, stuck working hours in dead-end jobs to help pay rent, were often easy pickings for teasing.
It just made you lean into your naive feelings more, swooning at the fact he didn’t care. You had been too elated in your feelings to notice the piles of his friends waiting outside the store; if you had, it might’ve made you more cautionary.
“Bradley O’Connor?” Steve butts in, swiveling in his chair to question you. The way Steve says his name, tinged in disbelief, makes you narrow your eyes.
“Is that so hard to believe?” You say defensively and chose to not acknowledge Robin’s deep sigh. Eyes widening, Steve splutters for a moment as he shakes his head.
“What? No, not like that! I just mean—him? Really?”
You can’t quite pick what’s hiding in his voice, eyes instead following Robin as she whirls around and delivers a glower that makes Steve reconsider his tone, swallowing.
“I mean—” He starts again, clearing his throat, cheeks a titch pink now. “I didn’t realise he was... your type.”
You stare at Steve, your expression skeptical as you try to pull apart whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. When you can’t figure it out in a moment, you ignore the comment and turn back to Robin and ignore it.
“Asked for my number.” You lean closer to Robin, wiggling your brows as you lead her along the excitement you’d felt earlier today. “Insisted on it actually.”
Robin’s brows manage to raise even higher, nearly disappearing into her hairline and you’d be a bit offended if her grin didn’t match your own.
“Oh. My. God.” She says, her pen punching down on the pages of her notebook to punctuate each word. “Oh my god.”
You don’t bother trying to hold back your grin, nodding along, some form of a squeal escaping you — it vaguely occurs to you should rein it in with Steve listening in, but you can’t find it in yourself to curb your feelings for his sake.
“Finally!” Robin manages to break her script of oh my god’s. “You’ve only liked him for—what? Two years?”
You flush automatically at the admission, your grin becoming a grimace as you shoot a glare at your best friend. She means well, but you’re not exactly lining up to let Steve Harrington in on all your secrets.
Your eyes flit over to where he sits, still watching the conversation. As if he can read your unease, he mimes turning a lock over his lips and tosses the key behind him blindly in an exaggerated motion. You’re in a good enough mood that it makes you laugh lightly, breaking back into a smile and comforted that at the very least, Steve won’t go ratting out your affections.
“Hey, as happy as I am for you, aren’t you supposed to be helping your Mom today?”
Like a bubble bursting, Robin reminds you that, alas, the world exists outside the perfect moment of exchanging digits over the cash register at work. Your eyes widen, a little horrified as you spin around and squint at the clock on the wall. Shit.
“Shit.” You verbalize the thought and you’re out the door before you remember to call out your goodbyes.
Steve watches you go, your purple wind-breaker flapping behind you wildly as you all but sprint around the corner and out of sight. It’s a bit too comical and he can’t help but chuckle. The sound draws Robin’s attention and all too suddenly, Steve feels as though he’s been caught doing something wrong as she whirls around to face him.
For a moment, they just stare at each other. Steve wonders if he’ll have to remind her that despite the jokes they both make, he can’t actually read her mind.
She breaks the silence. “What was that?”
“What was what?” It’s genuine confusion, Steve’s head tilting to the right an inch.
“I didn’t realise he was your type.” Robin mocks, her voice high pitch and hands gesturing somehow sarcastically. “That! What was that?”
Steve frowns, defensiveness creeping up in his tone. “That was nothing!”
Okay, so, that sounded way less casual than he hoped. Steve clears his throat, spinning on his seat to face the computer again. It was nothing. Robin was being a vulture, picking at remains, picking at nothing — absolutely nothing.
“Nothing at all.” He mutters, beginning to type again and Robin snorts behind him, voice still doused in sarcasm.
“Mm, for my own sake, I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re clearly interested in her.”
Steve hits a wrong key in his surprise, an annoyed beep! coming from the computer. It sums up how he’s feeling. He turns his head back to Robin, brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “What? No, no way.”
“Yes, way.”
“Robin, no. Even if I did—not that I do but even if I— look, I’m not stupid enough to get a crush on someone who hates me.”
This puts out the fiery retorts for just a moment, Robin dimming as she recalls the bitterness you harbor for Steve. Well, harbored — she knows you back to front and she’s willing to bet money that if you stopped hating him for just a second, you’d probably like the guy.
“She doesn’t know you.” She lands on eventually, features softening as she recalls the bitterness on Steve’s face whenever some idiot from high school dragged up his past — usually, in an attempt to humiliate him.
“Look, I’m not interested in her.” Steve reiterates, though a little weak, waving his hands wildly as if it will help drive the point home. “Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen. “
The door rattles as it’s opened by a new customer. Robin and Steve both cease their conversation immediately, turning to greet automatically — and who should it be Bradley O’Connor, himself. He doesn’t spare a glance at the front counter, sauntering straight into the action movie aisle.
“In fact,” Steve begins, an idea formulating in his mind. He spins back to Robin with a grin. “I’ll happily help her get her next date.”
“Steve, don’t—“
Steve ignores her protest, sidling out from behind the counter and tracking Bradley down to where the rom-com section starts.
“Welcome to Family Video!” It’s a bit cheery and it makes the boy jump in surprise, surprised by the new voice. Steve continues. “Anything I can help you with today?”
Bradley chuckles stiffly, a little affronted at the enthusiasm Steve’s to help a customer. He clocks the double take he does, the glance down at Steve’s name badge giving away that Bradley’s well aware of who he is. Exhaling, Steve hopes he won’t bring it up.
It looks as though Bradley weighs something up in his head, taking another once over at Steve before he speaks. “Yeah, actually. You know what movies chicks dig?”
Steve can tell in the way Bradley says the word chicks that he’s an asshole. Not thinking of girls as people, more like scores: notches in his belt. It makes him tick, jaw clenching.
But he was like that once. Nancy Wheeler had found a genuine spot in him and coaxed it out. You — you could do the same.
So, Steve says, “Yeah, man. Anyone in particular? Usually depends on the girl, honestly.”
Bradley sniffs, one hand nudging under his nose as he skirts his gaze around the store. He lands on Robin, who thankfully, doesn’t look like she’s trying to eavesdrop at that exact moment.
“Do ya know y/l/n?” He jerks his chin in the direction of Robin. “Buckley’s friend?”
Steve nods, glad at the easy segue; now, all he had to do was talk you up. And Steve Harrington was nothing if not a flatterer. He halts a moment later with a frown, realising what a noncommittal date it was. You deserved better than that, Steve thought.
“y/n? You can’t just rent out a film for a girl like that. She’s a total catch, dude— you gotta do the whole nine yards, yanno? Cinema, popcorn, be a gentleman and all.”
He pairs his suggestion with a usual charming smile, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Bradley seems to pick up on the extra interest and his brows quirk up.
“You got like, a thing for her or something?”
His pink cheeks nearly give him away. Steve, to his credit, manages to not blunder his next response. It’s almost like Robin’s line of fire earlier prepped him for this moment.
“Nah,” he replies, coolly. “She’s just a friend.”
The next words are a little less casual, Steve straightening up as a surprising amount of protectiveness curls in his gut. “And as her friend, I’m just looking out for her.”
Bradley swallows, breaking eye-contact as if Steve could puzzle out his ill intentions if he looked long enough.
“So, be nice and take her out all proper.” Steve lets it sit in the air for a moment, then smiles, a polite way that’s well practiced in his line of work. “Can I get anything else for you?”
It might be the quickest customer Robin’s ever checked out, with Bradley managing to get the film rented and be out the door in under 2 minutes.
Thankfully, Robin is chuckling when he wanders back behind the counter. He had been harboring a thread of anxiety, worried he had really overstepped by thinking he knew best — it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. On top of that, Steve really doesn’t want this to bite him in the ass, especially considering it was to help you.
“Don’t—” Robin starts, a smile curling her lips. “—let this go to your head, but that wasn’t nearly half bad.”
Steve tries not to feel smug, settling instead on pleasantly content. He was in your good books after this, for sure.
When you call the store from home, wire twisted in your fingers and talking loud enough in your excitement that Steve could hear it from beside Robin, she makes sure to mention the good word he put in for you.
Fact #5: If you call Steve Harrington from a pay-phone on a Friday night, he’ll pick up.
The bleak cold of the night air isn’t anything compared to the shame that’s building in your chest. You’re trying your best to ignore it, to not give in to your anxious doubts — what did Bradley say on the phone?
It was supposed to be a movie night at his place — that was what he’d suggested when he toyed with your feelings at work, a handsome smirk on his face. You’d tried not to sound disgruntled at the hurried change in plans, instead trying to lean into your excitement that tonight went from casual to a definite date.
Bradley O’Connor didn’t just invite anyone to the movies with him. And he’d said 7 on the phone, you huffed to yourself.
7 o’clock. The showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that was playing at Hawk cinema. Though, he did sound a bit distracted on the phone, his voice sounding distant.
You glance at the clock above the ticket booth. 7.13pm.
Heaving a sigh, you tuck your coat closer around yourself and wonder how long you should wait before it goes from sad to truly pathetic.
Five more minutes, you think, Give him five more minutes.
Because you hopelessly want his flirts, his coy smile, and charming winks to be real; you want to be swept up in a teenage daydream and have it all work out for you for once.
You swallow, picking at your fingers as you dredge up your hopes, convincing yourself he’s coming — because if he doesn’t...it means Steve and his confused tone were fucking right. That Bradley wasn’t the type to go for your type.
You shouldn’t have waited the five extra minutes.
Technically, you think bitterly, you were right. Bradley does show up.
You’re stepping out, wondering if you should brave the walk home in the dark — but a familiar group of raucous boys in Letterman jackets heading for the cinema freeze you in your tracks.
“Holy shit, she actually came.”
It’s not said kind, not in awed disbelief as you’d hoped. It’s cruel — jeering explodes in the group of boys, unkind laughs and snickers resounding off the bricks as they smack each other, all in on the joke. The realisation sinks into your stomach, staining it black.
Bradley looks smugly satisfied — a pompous conceited piece of shit that you should’ve known better than to believe.
You don’t even want to look at him, a hot sting of tears burning behind your eyes. You don’t want to give him a chance to taunt you. Your feet take you forward, barging through the group and smacking your shoulder against Bradley’s shoulder, hard. You hope it hurts.
“Tell Harrington thanks for the suggestion to take you to the movies!” He calls after you like he knows how it rubs salt into the wound. It does; it stings maybe more than the initial humiliation. “Guess he’s not an idiot all of the time!”
The boys laugh, a series of oohs that finally break your floodgate. Tears streak, hot and fast, and you brush them off before they reach your chin, sniffling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The humiliation is coating you, sticky and clinging like a fog and you squeeze your eyes closed as you inhale quickly. You round the corner fast, feet not stopping til you’re at least four blocks from the cinema, further downtown.
You feel dumb. Scratch that, you feel like a fucking idiot.
A stray tear escapes without permission and the next thought is that you want to go home. Blurry eyes scanning the street, you clock the phone booth and head for it, fueled by the urgency of your thoughts: get home, then fall apart.
The glass is cold as you push the door open, creaking and weathered. You close the door and turn, staring at the phone. Who do you call?
Your mom is the first thought. She’d driven you in — though, you’d told her you’d get a lift home with Bradley since he had a car. You’re not up for the coddling you’ll get when she sees the state of you in the slightest. Besides, she’d mentioned heading to a friends for the evening.
Robin is the next thought. And you would, except she can’t drive so all she’d do is ply you with a combination of questions and furious insults directed at Bradley.
Your next thought...No.
You sigh, leaning your head against the glass, not caring about how grimy it might be, and smack your head against it a couple of times. No, no way were you about to call Steve Harrington for a lift.
Not when he fucking set you up. Not when he’d just taken the shred of trust you’d granted him and torn it up immediately. Especially not after crying because you believed a date like that with a guy like Bradley O’Connor was genuine.
You were not calling Steve.
The Harrington household number is easy to find in the paper phone book.
It’s under Steve’s father’s name, some prick with big money who’d likely report you to the police for harassment if he picked up the phone. You stare at it and then at the phone, a frown set on your brow as you weigh it up.
Steve didn’t work Friday night — you know, because it used to be a night to go visit Robin, back when you avoided Steve.
A stray thought floats up, bringing back the words of Robin on the phone as she had celebrated the news. It’s a bitter memory now, made entirely worse as you recall what she had said. Steve talked you up, her voice crackled down the wire, when O’Connor came in. Put in a good word for you.
A new emotion surges in your chest and you’re relieved to shrug off some humiliation for anger. God, you feel even more stupid for thinking Steve would’ve actually talked you up.
As you punch in the number, the keypad taking a bit of a beating, you huff and think at the very least, he can owe you a ride for ruining your evening.
“Harrington residence, this is Steve.”
“Harrington.” You spit it out with venom. On the other side of the phone, Steve recoils a bit, surprised at the tone.
“y/n? I thought you were—”
“I’m on Cavendish Boulevard, right by Tony’s. Come pick me up.” It’s fierce and clipped. You don’t really want to unleash your anger on the phone, lest he leaves you stranded and you have to ring around your mother’s friends just to find her. You just want to go home.
Steve makes a noise of confusion over the phone, a bit slow on the uptake. “But I thought tonight was—”
“Harrington.” you say again, a little softer, your emotions leaking into your voice involuntarily. Fuck, you sound pathetic but in the moment you can’t bring yourself to care. You plead, “Please.”
“I’m coming,” He says, voice indicating he’s caught on to why you might be calling. “Yeah, I’m coming, just sit tight.”
Fact #6: When Steve Harrington says he ‘knows a spot’, he doesn’t always mean Skull Rock.
You’re angry.
That much Steve can tell. Steve’s reminded too much of the last ride he gave you when you pop the door, sliding almost uncomfortably into the passenger seat and turning your clenched jaw towards the window.
Unrest torments Steve’s head, unsure if he’s gained enough trust to ask what went wrong this evening. On the other hand, you had called him. At the very least, you trusted him to come and get you.
The tires groan as he drives out of Tony’s parking lot, the hood of the car dipping to the gutter and rolling out onto the quiet roads.
“Am I allowed to ask what happened?” Steve drives slow so his eyes can flick over to you, watching the way you smooth your hands down your thighs, a self-soothing motion. It makes his chest twinge, a tad more worry than he’s probably warranted to considering you are barely friends. If that.
“Depends.” you finally turn to face him, a pinch in your eyebrows. “What did you say to Bradley?”
Steve detects the cynicism of your question in a heartbeat. Even though he knows he was all charm, Robin even affirmed it, he still rehashes the conversation, scrutinizing it for what he had said wrong.
You take his silence as admittance. Scoffing lightly, you focus back out the window, eyes boring into the streets. You’re in the middle of a mutter, something like I was so right about you when Steve manages to find his voice.
“I—” Shyness has crept up inside, Steve suddenly worried you’ll find his comments odd and not endearing. Worse, you’ll think he’s being in-genuine again. You’re just quiet, waiting. “I told him that he should take you to the cinema, instead of just renting a film. That you deserved a better— a proper date.”
He shoots a look in your direction, trying to see how you take in the words. Your shoulders have bunched up stiffly, your body turning further away but he can still see the furrow in your brow, angry emotions emitting out in every direction from you — you don’t believe him.
“I swear,” He continues, more desperate to prove himself. “I said something about— that you were a catch and- and you can ask Robin, I swear to—”
“Steve, stop.”
Horror churns through his gut when Steve realises you’re crying, soft tears dripping off your cheeks. As if you can sense he’s about to talk again, ready to rattle off his insistence, you speak before him.
“If I believe you,” you inhale shakily, pushing your palms into your eyes hard. You don’t want to cry in front of Steve. “If you’re telling the truth, then that means...”
Your teeth chew on your lip, hiding its quiver as you relive the humiliation of earlier all over again. “It means, I was actually stupid enough to believe him.”
Painfully, Steve can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in waves as you bury your face away. He swears under his breath. He’d detected asshole from Bradley two words in but this? This was not even in the ballpark of what he’d considered happening tonight. How fucking childish to ask someone out as a joke.
You seem to be slipping into a ramble, uncaring that you’re pouring your feelings out to Steve — Steve who you hate, or at least you did. Steve who you were ready to verbally pummel a minute ago. Steve who is looking at you so gingerly that you might consider he actually cares about you.
“He- all his friends were there.” You admit, words wobbling and tone revealing your utter mortification. “It was just a big fucking joke.”
For a minute, the car is silent; you stare at the road and watch it get swallowed beneath the car.
“I’m— I’m so fucking sorry.” Steve starts again, feeling like he’s managed to take one step forward and fifteen backward with you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I had no idea he would do that, I swear, I wouldn’t have—“
He cuts himself off, apparently out of words to say, or taking your silence as a cue to shut up. His apology sits in the silence and you know now, he means it. Bradley’s smugness compared to Steve’s sincerity leaves no contest; you’d been too in your own head to realise you’d muddled them up.
You’re faintly aware that Steve has been driving absently, guzzling up gas so you can have a moment suspended away from reality. But he seems to grip the wheel tighter, with more purpose, and instead of looping the block again, Steve picks a route.
You wipe under your eyes again, sniffling through your clogged throat. “Where are we going?”
Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, throwing a glance at you.
“Where I go when I’m upset.”
A snarky retort rises in your mind on instinct, the hurt part that wants to lash out, make someone hurt like you’re hurting. You think about saying something like what does rich, popular Steve Harrington get upset about? when he says, “Helped me a lot after the, uh, the mall fire.”
You swallow the words on your tongue and guilt stains your throat.
It’s a short drive; Steve drives so comfortably that you question how many times he’s traced this route. Too plagued by horrid memories, forced into his car and driving until he’s tired enough to sleep without nightmares.
You can’t say you’re expecting the stretch of road that crawls out to Skull Rock. For a moment you regard him, wondering if he’s daft enough to try to get lucky right now. But the car veers off track, driving down a less traveled path.
He doesn’t stop til you’re surrounded by timber trunks — there’s not much room to open your door when Steve puts the car into park.
Normally, you make a witty comment — “You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, right? I can’t see how that would make me feel any better.” — but you bite your tongue. You feel too downbeat to be witty now.
Steve rounds the car and pops the trunk, leaning over it with one hand still gripping the top. He rummages for a moment, moving junk around til he pulls out a couple of items: a baseball bat, some bag that clinks noisily, and a few other items, stuffed quickly into the bag. He tucks the baseball bat under his arm.
“C’mon,” he murmurs and waves you to follow him, after shutting the trunk and locking the car. Again, you’re eerily aware that this route is well-familiar to Steve. You stumble to keep up, eyes on your feet so you don’t get a face full of dirt.
Eventually, the trees give way to a clearing littered with various junk, glittering broken glass all around making Steve tell you to watch where you step.
He makes his way towards a rotten tree trump in the centre of the clearing, poorly cut and barely a flat surface on it. Still, Steve digs around in the bag and fishes out an empty beer bottle. You think you can guess where he’s going with this.
Carefully, he manages to balance it on a slanted surface and as expected, he draws the bat out from under his arm and offers it to you.
The wood is warm from being pressed against his side and you curl your fingers around it, sapping it into your hands. He digs around in the bag for another moment, revealing a pair of safety glasses — damn, he’s really prepared.
Steve unfolds them and steps closer, offering them out to you — but you don’t remove your hands from the bat, instead jutting out your chin to indicate for him to put them on for you.
It makes him pause. Steve regards you for a moment, eyes unsure before he steps even closer.
It steals your breath, the intensity of his gaze as he pushes the glasses up your nose, his fingers tracing along the rims and down the arms of the glasses, tucking any stray hair behind your ears. It’s oddly intimate, watching him through the plastic, his expression focused, breath fanning over your face. He looks handsome — the shadows cutting his jawline nicely and you can smell his cologne when he’s this close.
When he steps back, you have to remind yourself to breathe — the scent of him still swirls in your chest.
Even though you know what he’s brought you here for — the bottle, the bat, the open junkyard already doused in broken litter — you still don’t make a move.
Steve gestures to the bottle. “Hit it. Hard as you can.”
It’s a soft instruction; you know if you wanted, you could turn around and he’d drive you all the way home, no questions asked. But then you’d spend the rest of your evening drowning your sorrows, wallowing in a pint of ice-cream and sniffling over the phone to Robin.
You turn to face the bottle, lifting the bat, and readying your grip.
Holy shit, she actually came.
The bat connects fast with the bottle, a loud crash pistoling off and filling the clearing — the brown glass dissolves into the night, pieces are thrown in every direction and you’re suddenly very grateful for the safety glasses.
You heave in a breath, surprised by how that felt. It’s thrilling. You whip around to look at Steve and choke on a laugh at what you see — he’s put on a ridiculous pair of sunglasses.
They’re not at all the usual stylish ones he’s worn to parties before. It’s likely didn’t want that pair damaged but still needed to protect his eyes. Instead, these pair look like women’s sunglasses, with big wide round frames. It’s a bizarre sight, Steve Harrington is women’s sunglasses, at night-time no less.
“Nice glasses.” The tease falls off your lips instinctively, a laugh contained in the words.
Back to poking fun at him — a definite sign you’re feeling better. He sighs, playing it up, popping his hip, and planting his hands on his sides.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “Be thankful I gave you the cool ones. Normally, it’s just me up here anyways.”
It’s somewhat of a lie. He’d bought two pairs of the safety glasses, one for Robin as well, but she hadn’t liked the loud noises of broken glass when he brought her with him.
But Steve thought the stupid oversized glasses his mom had tried to dump — he was going to offer them to Robin but it had slipped his mind — would be a better choice. You wouldn’t be thinking about fucking O’Connor if he’s in women’s sunglasses.
It’s surprisingly effective; a giggle titters out of you again and you cover your mouth as if it’ll help hide the sound. You’re a bit bewildered at how easy it feels to laugh so soon.
Steve pushes the glasses up onto the top of his head, his hair sticking up at odd angles and he narrows his eyes at you. His smile gives him away. He bends and roots through the bag, finding another bottle for you to smash. The sunnies slip back down to cover his eyes as he sets up the next one.
It wobbles precariously on the stump but you don’t wait for it to settle, baseball bat swinging and shattering it in a second.
“Fuck!” You scream and the curse is swallowed up in the splintering sound of glass. Steve whoops, looking almost like a suburban mom, cheering from the sidelines. The scream helped — hell, swinging with all your might and channeling your rage into demolishing a bottle was definitely helping. You don’t feel upset, you feel enraged.
The stump isn’t empty for long, Steve dutifully scoops up another bottle and places it out for you. He pauses, sunglasses back in his hair, and points at the bottle as he fixes you with a determined look.
“This one’s O’Connor.”
You meet his eyes, his brows knitted together and an expression that says he wants you to destroy it because he’s angry with you — angry for you. He steps back.
When you hit it, an earsplitting crack thunders out. The bottle fractures, fragments careening off in every direction. A wild grin sweeps across your face, knowing that whatever comes at school next week— whether Bradley went back to ignoring your existence or used tonight as fuel for taunting — you could just picture how you felt as you shattered that bottle.
“That felt good.” You breathe out, turning back to Steve. Your teeth graze your bottom lip, sinking in to stop from grinning like a lunatic. A delirious laugh wrestles itself out of your chest and you let your head drop back, eyes turning up at the inky sky, laughs petering out.
Steve tries to ignore how the sound lights up his chest like a Christmas tree, some part of him burning with glee with the knowledge you’re feeling better because of something he did.
He watches your gaze rove across the sky, searching for something he doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he should dig out the next bottle or whether this was it — that now, he’d take you home now and he’d be back to just a brief hint of a smile from you if that.
Head dropping forward, you offer back the baseball bat and Steve’s heart sinks.
Reining in his dejection so it doesn’t show, Steve takes it from you and pulls a polite smile; at the very least, he’ll get some credit with Robin for cheering up her best friend.
As he moves to tuck it under his arm, he freezes at your own motions. You’re bending down, rummaging through the bag, and scoring a bottle — this time, a big champagne bottle, left on the bench from the last time his parents had been home. Four? No, five days ago.
You plant it on the stump, hands hovering around it as it quivers for a moment, only dropping them when the bottle finally settles. You step back, look at him and Steve finally understands what you’re doing.
Surprise sprouts in his chest, his lips parting. You’re giving him a turn?
“Well?”
He’s been gawking a bit, he realises and Steve remembers to close his mouth. He shifts the bat out from under his arm and then pulls the sunglasses off his head. He offers them to you, with a nod.
“Swap. I’ll miss the bottle completely with these on.”
“But that’ll make me laugh.” You point out, tone cheeky as you pass them over regardless.
Steve slides them on, a dramatic eye-roll as he steps up to swing. He’s usually only here when his anger is feeling uncontrollable, like hot lava boiling over and burning him from the inside out. He’s calmer tonight, with no emotions running rampant — well, maybe not any bad ones at least.
He scrounges his brain to think of what’s annoyed him this week; Keith, as always. The champagne bottle on the stump, the only bitter evidence his parents had been home in the last week. The agonizing wobble in your voice as you’d cried in the passenger seat of his car.
There’s a familiar burn in his muscles when he swings, another bottle sacrificed to anger and destined to a life scattered in the dirt. You whoop loudly, just as he had, and Steve can understand why you’d laughed at the sight of him in those sunglasses. They’re huge and you look nearly bug-like, shiny round domes of black staring back at him.
“Nice glasses.” He grins cheekily, a copy of your own words. He doesn’t need to see your eyes to know you’re rolling them at him.
The bat and safety glasses get passed between you two, equal turns until the bottles run out. Steve’s only sorry he didn’t bring more, drinking in the giddy and wild grin that overcomes your face when another bottle meets its fate.
When you pack it in and stumble back to his car, Steve revels in the closeness you seemed to have gained. No longer three steps behind, your shoulders brush his on the walk and when you stumble over a root, your hand shoots out and grips his arm, steadying yourself. You hold it for a moment longer than you should.
The skin of your hand still tingles as you slide into the passenger seat. The air of the car is more comfortable now, cozy even, as Steve cranks the heat and the trees pass you in a blur as you drive out. Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart is warbling on the radio, the volume turned low and you can’t help but stare at him.
You were so wrong about him.
You were so astronomically wrong about him; it’s the only thing you can think of as you drive home, amber streetlights illuminating the streets of Hawkins. The clock on the dash reads 9.57pm — meaning you’ve been with Steve for nearly two hours. The fact nearly draws an awed sort of laugh, but you press it down til it’s only a smile, hidden as you turn back to the window.
He drops you off by 10.14pm, insisting on buying you a milkshake to complete the night.
Honest, I get one after every time I smash shit. It’s hard work you just did! He’d said as he ordered. One chocolate shake for you, one vanilla, for him. You gotta, like, replace electrolytes and all. The fact you don’t think he’s said it to make you laugh, makes you laugh even harder.
The milkshakes sustain the silence on the final drive home and you quickly understand immediately the importance of the shake. After all the frustration, the sugar is near soothing as the cold sweet dances on your tongue.
The engine idles as Steve brings the car to a halt by the curb outside your house. You eye it, astonished by your reluctance to end the evening and you wonder if Steve can tell.
You don’t know if you want him to notice it or not; reading into your hesitancy feels like a whole new can of worms. The porch light is on, waiting for you.
Home. What you’ve been yearning for since 7.15pm this evening — finally, the roller-coaster of emotions has wrung you out and tiredness seeps into your bones. But you can’t leave without a goodbye. Not without telling Steve what tonight meant to you.
“Thank you.”
You don’t mean to murmur it, but it’s nearly a whisper as you take your eyes off the house to turn to Steve in the driver’s seat.
Steve somehow manages to soften more at the quiet words, an easy smile pulling on his lips. He nods. It means of course like you don’t even have to thank him for it. The car purrs beneath you, filling the silence with a quiet rumble.
You want to say it again, louder because it’s not just a thank-you — it’s thank you, I’m sorry, I was wrong about you, can we start over? I hated you for the longest time but do you ever think you could like me?
The last thought punches a breath out of you and it sets you in motion. You couldn’t be having those thoughts; not with the tension in the air, his closeness so enticing now you’ve tasted it once. You couldn’t be having those thoughts at all.
You’re on the sidewalk, about to close the door before you remember to squeak out a ‘goodnight!’. The walk to your door is short enough that you shouldn’t feel the cold of the night — besides, you’re too warm inside, emotions churning wildly to notice anyways.
It doesn’t help when you reach the porch and peek over your shoulder, the maroon BMW still waiting by the curb, amber headlights shining, for you to make it inside okay.
Fact #7: You’re way too wasted right now.
You’d started with vodka and that had been, what? An hour ago.
An hour ago when O’Connor had made his entrance with his buddies, stupid cheers erupted from the crowd of high schoolers that were stupid enough to worship the likes of him.
Or maybe, you’re the stupid one for hoping you wouldn’t see him tonight.
But if the open invite to Melody Carter’s house for a late-night Saturday party meant the likes of you and Robin could come, of fucking course O’Connor would be there.
You had been only planning on one more drink, the one you’d been pouring when O’Connor showed face, but his smirk across the room had you finishing it instantly. It burned as you swallowed it down, your hands already moving to pour more liquor into your cup.
Two more shots down of — what was it? The label tells you it’s tequila — and you’re thoroughly drunk. Which, honestly, might not be a great move considering the number of people at this party. There are a lot of people here.
What had started as a party for only the senior year had quickly snowballed, kids older and younger showing up. Hell, you were pretty sure you’d seen Aaron Bright pass through the front door, a boy two years out of high school.
Did that mean Steve was coming?
Oh-kay, that had to be the tequila speaking.
But once the thought is in your head, it spins out, unstoppable, careening and building up your hopes before you remember to crush them. You weren’t hanging out to see Steve; quite the opposite in fact.
The bottle-smashing adventure you’d shared with him had been just over a week ago and maybe your thoughts had strayed to him a couple of times. A couple of times might be putting it lightly.
You just— you didn’t know how to act around him anymore.
Without the shield of ‘Steve Harrington is a douchebag’ to give a reason for your scowls, you had to admit he was utterly charming.
You couldn’t tell if it was the shift in your own perception or if Steve really was this nice, each sentence flirty or teasing — either way, it meant you were as good as reduced to blundering through any interaction with him.
So, naturally, you’d resorted to avoiding Family Video instead, which, hey, might not have been your best idea.
Robin had tracked you down after you didn’t show up to two of her evening shifts to hang. Gossip flowed as you divulged her in your Friday night, the prank O’Connor had pulled, and the subsequent tears that had followed. With a guilty smile, you let Robin get wrapped up in her anger and forgive your absences — too distracted to even ask how you’d gotten home.
Technically, you hadn’t lied. You had just... omitted certain facts.
Besides, you were feeling confused enough about Steve all on your own. You had no doubt that adding Robin, the mutual best friend between you two, and her opinion would make it all the messier.
Or maybe she’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear. Something in your head whispers, the tequila burning a little fouler in your stomach. That you can’t have him. That she knows him and he would never want you.
For good measure, you chase down one more shot.
And that’s how Steve finds you — wasted out in the back garden of a party.
Robin had invited him, halfheartedly during one of their shifts. Honestly, a high school party had very little appeal to him — most parties had no appeal after the events that had transpired in the last couple of years.
But Robin had been a bit adamant as she realised he didn’t have a date lined up like he usually did. He’d winced as she connected the dots, counting on her fingers that it had been nearly two months since he’d used his weekend for social plans. That is, excluding hanging with Robin.
The fact he stopped going on dates round bout the same time you stopped completely ignoring him was completely unrelated. But Steve was glad Robin didn’t notice the coincidence, so she couldn’t grill him about it.
In fact, she was surprisingly mute over his sudden agreement when Robin purposefully mentioned you’d be there. Her twinkling eyes said she knew more than she’d let on.
And at first, it seemed like a colossal mistake to come.
Steve didn’t like alcohol like he used to. The last few years had birthed something in him that hated not being in control of his body, especially when dark corners seem to hold something more sinister, or the lights flickered.
Or maybe it was the fact he hasn’t really been to a party since Halloween ‘84. Steve shoves the memory of that night down, away.
He lasts two minutes in the crowded main room before he’s shouldering out, hoping the garden will provide some relief. It brings lungfuls of fresh air, the natural blanket of the night and you.
You’re fairly certain you came out here to fight the spinning in your head, desperate for fresh air but now, sprawled out on the cool grass, you’re completely distracted by staring up at the sky. You’re not exactly sure what you’re looking for, gazing into the stars.
A head pops into your vision, Steve’s hair flopping over as he peers down at you. “y/n?”
“Steve!”
Whatever he was expecting, it was not the unbridled glee in your voice. You squirm happily, like a slug in the rain, and if your slurring hadn’t given you away, it’s evidence of how drunk you are. It doesn’t matter that something in his head says she’s drunk, he still finds himself smiling.
“That’s me.” He scans the garden for Robin, assuming the two of you would be together. Concern laces his next words. “Why ya out here on the grass, sweetheart?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Steve’s not sure what it is he’s said, but he’s never seen a reaction like this out of you before; your hands cover your face, giggles slipping loosely out as if you’re hiding a secret.
Sweetheart. You hide the flame in your face behind your hands. There’s nothing to be done for your giggles, loud and drunken, not stopping no matter how much you will yourself. The pet-name brands itself onto your heart, the heat of it racing under your skin.
Steve tries again. “Where’s Robin? I thought you two came together.”
“We did.” You remove your hands to reveal your wide-eyed expression as if just remembering the fact yourself. Man, that must have been ages ago. “She was talking to... to...”
“Vickie?” Steve supplies, with an amused smile.
“Yes!” You snap your fingers at him, expression showing a little bit of disbelief mixed with awe. It shows in your words. “How did you know that, Steve?”
Steve. Not Harrington. You’ve called him by his name twice and Steve’s a little embarrassed by how much he likes it. Likes the sound of his name in your mouth, on your lips.
He shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of the thought, mind stuck on your lips too long. Stay focused, Steve chides himself. Extending out a hand, he offers it to you with the intent to have both of you track down Robin.
Though, if you’d last seen her with Vickie, there’s a chance Robin would bite his head off for interrupting the two of them. Vickie, apparently, had a hard time believing the fact Steve and Robin’s relationship was entirely platonic in nature. Tracking her down at a party might not help.
He’s pulled out of the tangent of thoughts when you slap your hand into his — and tug.
Steve topples, immediately grateful for his lack of alcohol because, with any less coordination, you’d be squished beneath him. A hand plants on either side of your head, catching himself just above you. You grin, alcohol on your breath and Steve isn’t completely sure whether he’s imagining the pink on your cheeks.
“Uh,” Steve says, before scrambling off you hastily. He wasn’t sure if he could be so close to you without his face growing warm; or worse, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Though spying your amused expression, as if you’d known the closeness would make him blush, maybe Steve didn’t need to be worried.
“S’just,” you say, words a bit mumbled. “s’lay down on the grass. Y’know, look at the stars.”
You point up at the sky in case Steve didn’t understand. The grass is still cool under your back and your head isn’t spinning so much but you don’t really feel like moving. Something in you knows that your limbs will feel like cinder-blocks and movement will send your head back into a tizzy.
Without thinking, your push your lips into a pout and aim it at him. Steve flops down without argument.
“You didn’t tell me why you ended out here,” says Steve, wanting to keep you talking. He’s not entirely confident you won’t just fall asleep if the two of you lapse into silence.
You swing your neck, head lolling to the side to look at Steve. Eyes narrowed, it’s like you’re trying to see if he’s genuinely asking. Whatever you find in your search must satisfy you, because you speak, rolling your head back to peer upwards.
“O’Connor’s here.” You say, bitterness in your tone. “Then my head started spinnin’.”
Steve watches as you tilt your head back towards him, pulling a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “S’now I’m here.”
You’re not sure what convinces you to do what you do next.
Perhaps, it’s because Steve’s expression is tilting too close to pity and you don’t want it; or that you feel lonely enough that you’ll take touch whenever you can, brave enough with the alcohol in your blood to ask.
Or maybe, you just want an excuse to touch him.
“Gimme your hand.” With a gesture of your own, you hold your hand up like you might be asking for a high-five. It wavers, fingers quivering if he looked close enough. After a moment of confusion, Steve humours you.
You feel the callouses first, rough skin scratching against yours as Steve gingerly holds his hand out, letting your press your own against it. It’s warm, warmer than your own and you wish you could twist your fingers until they slotted in with his.
Don’t says a voice in your head, drowned out in the drunkenness. Don’t do this to yourself. Maybe, it’s the voice of reason. It seems you’re very good at building yourself up just to get torn back down.
Hand pressed to hand, you can’t find it in yourself to care about that; you want to touch him, so you ask, and he gives it to you. The alcohol makes it black and white.
You hated him. You did, but now it’s all garbled and wonky and different — and you don’t hate him at all. Not anymore. Every complication you had worked up, all the knots tied in your brain seem to dissolve; hand to hand, it’s easy to admit what you’d been denying to yourself.
“I used to hate you, y’know.”
Steve’s not sure if this will ever get easier to hear. That people he’s grown close to carry reminders, unshakeable memories, of an old ego that still haunts him.
He doesn’t know what to say. He knows you know he’s sorry, that he’s different now. So, he weakly says. “Used to?”
“Yeah.” A smile finds your lips, tugging them up slightly. Steve thinks he could marvel forever at how your lashes kiss in the corner when you smile. It’s aching. “Used to.”
“S’kinda hard to hate you,” you sigh, eyes turning skyward. “I should. You didn’t even remember me a couple months s’ago,”
Steve focuses on your hand against his to deter the twinge in his heart. Your hand is smaller than his and when he curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours. A breath bursts past your lips, loud enough he hears it.
“M’sorry.” he whispers, though he’s said it time and time again.
He doesn’t care; he’ll say it a thousand it times if you’ll keep looking at him like that. Features soft, so different to the glare he’s all but memorised — instead, your eyebrows drawn together like the sight of both your hands, palm to palm, might be the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
Steve feels you push back against his fingers, a gentle pressure like you’re trying to hug him back.
“And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Even while drunk, you can’t look at him while you confess. If you look at him, then it’s real and logic will prevail and you’ll rein everything back in.
Looking at both of your hands, feeling the yearning spool in between your ribs — none of it matters. You like him so much that it feels woven into everything else; weaved into the noises of the party, the black of the night, the grass tickling the back of your legs.
You like him so much it makes you sick.
On second thought, that might be the alcohol.
Steve’s response, whatever it might be, vanishes when you rip your hand away and sit up suddenly — emptying to contents of your stomach into a lovely rosebush to your right. Disgusted with the sudden visual aid to what you had for dinner, you groan. The movement has sent your head spinning again, rotating out of the same orbit as Earth.
Steve’s palm soothes down your spine, rubbing warmth as he murmurs comfortingly.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, more to himself. “You’ll be feeling it in the mornin’.”
You groan again, eyes sliding shut and tumbling you into darkness.
Fact #8: You’re never drinking, ever again.
You’ll be feeling it in the morning. The last memory of last night curls up like smoke in your head and all you can think is Steve was fucking right.
The sheets feel scratchy as you release an agonised noise into your pillow, coiling in tighter. There’s a pounding in your head, bleeding out of your ears and eyes and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so terrible in your life.
Eyes screwed shut tight, you move slowly and draw your head up. Sneaking a look, relief fizzes in your chest as the recognition of your sheets — you made it home, you’re in bed. Never mind that you can’t quite remember how you got here. A shuffle of your legs tells you, uncomfortably, you’re still in last night’s jeans.
What time is it? There’s sun coming through the gap in the curtains. Daytime. Some sleep-covered murmur escapes you, though even you can’t tell what it’s supposed to mean.
Plopping your head back down, you search your memories. It’s an effort to push past your headache to put together the puzzle of last night. Visions of arriving at the party, of drink number one, and dancing with Robin are clear but sometime after O’Connor shows up they begin to get hazy.
You remember the cool grass. The moon. Steve. God, that’s right, he was there — what you might have said to him is anyone’s guess. Another grainy and fogged memory of puking in the bushes. The rest of the night is locked behind a tequila fueled paywall in your brain
Burrowing back into your sheets, the hangover takes priority and you only hope to sleep it off.
—
The next time you wake, the pounding in your head has shifted to the door.
You can’t have been asleep for more than an hour according to your alarm clock, blinking midday numbers back at you as you drag your head up. Thankfully, a large portion of your hangover has been cured with sleep — otherwise, the unending knocks on your door might be the end of you.
You struggle to speak, aware of your sandpaper throat but whatever gurgle you produce is good enough for whoever is on the other side of the door. Robin, judging by the intensity of their knocks.
Lo and behold, Robin bowls into the room once she hears signs of life.
“What did you say to Steve?”
Oh.
That has you sitting up, wincing at the pain it brings and you nurse your head in your hands. “What?” you rasp out. “Nothing!”
That might be a lie. You wince again, searching through you scrambled memories for what she could be referring to and come up short. Robin can read your genuine confusion.
“Why?” The word comes out a bit shot. You clear your throat. “Did he say something to you?”
“Nothing specific,” Robin grimaces a bit. She’s never been the best at hiding her emotions. “He just— he asked if you’d talked to me. Said he was checking if you were still alive. Which, yanno, thank god you are! He said you barfed in Melody’s mom’s rose bush, which quite frankly is hilarious and—“
“Robin.” you moan, trying to cut off her ramble. “Why are you here?”
Robin seems to remember the original reason she was nearly breaking down your door, body jumping like she’s been zapped. “Right!”
She suddenly seems to reconsider herself, ducking her head and beginning a well practiced pace across your carpet. “I know you said you don’t like him, which I get, I know- he was the worst! But I dunno, you seemed to, like, I don’t know? Warm up to him? I guess, he just seemed real bummed on the phone when I said you hadn’t called me.”
A series of emotions jolt through your nerves, none as strong as the elation at hearing Steve had called to ask about you. You push it down with another groan and fling yourself backward, bouncing on the springs of your mattress.
Hands hiding your face, you mumble the next words as if you don’t quite want Robin to hear them.
“I don’t not like him.”
“And I can’t tell what that is supposed mean.” Her pacing hasn’t ceased. Her arms gesticulate wildly as she speaks. “You don’t not like him sorta, to me, just sounds like you like him!”
“Robin,” you whine, well aware of the way she can read you like words on a page. “What do you wanna hear? That you were right?”
Robin halts her pacing, leaning her knees onto the edge of your mattress. You peek at her through your fingers. She’s looking a little more wide-eyed. “Yes. Absolutely. If my two favourite people in the world could suddenly get along, maybe even be friends, I think I’d like to know.”
“We’re not—”
“But that is not why I’m here.” She’s gone serious, brows raised as her voice turns softer. You nearly think she’s taunting you, a hint of a smile hidden in her expression.
“I’m here to discuss the distinct possibility that you have managed to skip the part where we become a cool trio of friends and have traveled into more than friends territory.”
Damn her. She’s too good, unspooling your secret right after you’ve only just managed to admit it aloud (not that you could remember that thought). Dragging your hands down your face, you groan again — there’s no point in hiding it from Robin, especially when she seems to have you all figured out.
“I’m gonna take that as a ‘wow Robin, you’re incredibly smart and totally right’.” She jibes, looking far too smug.
Perplexingly, she doesn’t appear to care that you confirmed Steve had you feeling gooey inside and weak at the knees. You dredge yourself to a sitting position, blankets pooling at your waist, and regard her with as much sarcasm as you can.
“Wow, Robin,” you drawl tiredly, still a bit catty from your lack of sleep. “You’re so totally right.”
“Don’t forget the incredibly smart part.”
You wallop her thigh with your sleeve, halfhearted and not at all mean. She grins. For a moment, you’re monumentally relieved to be sharing this with her — you’re best friends, talking about a boy you like, back to feeling thick as thieves with her.
“You gotta talk to him though, you know that right?”
A sigh. “Yeah, I know.”
—
By the time you’ve rinsed the last of your hangover down the shower drain, washed down with the suds of your strawberry shampoo, the sun is nearing the horizon.
Droplets cling to the ends of your hair, leaving a trail behind you on the carpet as you don fresh clothes. You try your best not to analyse each piece, shoving down any self-doubts and recalling Steve’s generous compliments littered through the past couple of months.
Tonight. It had to be tonight, you decided. Any longer and you’d lose the nerve, crawl back to avoidance because you’re not really sure you want to hear what you said to him in the garden.
You can only imagine it’s some confusing amalgamation of your complicated feelings — mixed with the amount of alcohol you had drunk? It was a stab in the dark trying to guess what you had said.
The plan you have is half-baked at best. The walk to Loch Nora isn’t far — but if your plan goes south, you’ll have plenty of time to wallow and clear your tears on the walk home. Thankfully, It’s still too early for dinner. You can smell the beginnings of it bubbling on the stove as you creep down the stairs.
As soundlessly as you can, you slip out the front door. Warm air greets you. The sunbeams trickle across the sky, dipping lower behind the horizon and painting soft blemishes of pink and orange across the sky.
The other perk of the walk is that you’ll have ample time to decide what you’ll say to Steve; you can deliberate each word, orchestrated so that it can be played down if need be. Minimal cringe and hurt feelings.
You’re running a few options over in your head when the rumble of a car cruising down your road draws your eyes. With a startle, you realise it’s a familiar maroon colour — a car you’d been in just over a week ago.
You watch as Steve parks, evidently so entrapped in his own thoughts to notice you on the doorstep. He’s messing with his hair anxiously, eyes on the ground and when you look closer, his mouth is moving, an indication he’s talking out loud to himself.
He makes it halfway up the driveway before you stumble out to meet him.
“Steve?” You call out and his head shoots up, a little alarmed to see you. His steps falter, the pair of you met in the middle of your drive.
“Y/n. Hi.” For someone who had come to your house, he seems a bit affronted to be seeing you. Acutely, you realise that he’s nervous. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “Were you— is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“No!” You squeak. “No, I was just... coming to see you, actually.”
“Oh.” Steve blinks. He ducks his head for a moment, clearing his throat but you still spot the pink on his cheeks. “How’s your head? You’d had, uh, a lot to drink last night.”
There’s only a mild rush of embarrassment to your system, a sheepish grin playing at your lips. “Right. Last night- I’m sorry you had to, er, see that. Or rather, thank you for taking care of me.”
Steve smiles back. One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous motion. You don’t mean to zero in on his large bicep, tan skin on display with his short sleeves but it’s impossible not to — Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose.
You smile timidly, willing your cheeks to cool.
“Yeah, about that.” He starts, eyes shifting about nervously. He can’t pick a spot to focus, too nervous to look you in the eyes.
Steve’s been throwing around your words ever since you uttered them to him in the garden. And now I can’t stop thinking about you. Tone so sweet, so sincere, your brows drawn together like it hurt you to admit how much Steve had been on your mind.
His stomach had nearly turned itself inside out at your reveal, nerves flaming and relief coursing at the realisation that it was mutual. You’d been on Steve’s mind since even before you’d given him your softest smiles after bottle smashing, sugary grins over your milkshake, a genuineness you’d never shared with him before — and after? God, it had driven him mad.
But then you’d scampered out of the car like a spooked animal. Stopped coming by Family Video and cursedly, seemed to slip back into an old pattern of ignoring him.
Then, the garden.
God, if you hadn’t been drunk, and maybe if Steve wasn’t so surprised by the sweetness you showed him, he might’ve kissed you.
Holding your palm against his, you might as well have been grabbing his hopes and hoisting them out of the depths — that perhaps, your avoidance stemmed from something different this time round.
Steve takes in your shy expression, bottom lip trapped in your teeth, and prays it’s all for the same reason he’s nervous and not instead, because you’re trying to awkwardly figure out how to tell him it was all the alcohol talking.
“What you said…” He’s trying to be nice to his feelings, on the defence in case he’s so terribly wrong about this. About you. “Did— did you mean that?”
The face you pull doesn’t instill him with confidence, his stomach plummeting at your hesitance. Fuck. He’d overshot, as usual, clinging too tightly to the threads of affection you’d shown him.
“I…” You’re unsure where to begin. God, what did you say?
Steve thinks he can garner what reaction that is; it’s the exact opposite of what his heart had managed to convince him. You went back to avoiding him on purpose. He cuts you off hoping to save himself some awkward rejection, shaking his head and taking a step back.
“Don’t worry. It was— you were drunk,” Embarrassment starts flooding in, a hot uncomfortable flush up his neck that makes Steve want to sink into the ground. “I shouldn’t have— it was weird of me to ask.”
He’s rambling too fast to get a word in. You take a step forward as he takes another step back, worried that he’ll leave before you can even get a word in. Never mind that all plans for orchestrating the perfect thing to say are out the window — you have to say something.
“I don’t know what I said!” You blurt, desperate to halt his retreat. It works; Steve stops, taken aback by your words. Oh God, what now? You debate where to start.
“Seriously, I— Robin came over and was talking about how you’d called and— I-I remember some of last night but it’s a bit—”
“You don’t...” Steve interrupts, giving a confused shake of his head. The wind ruffles his hair, strands dancing over his forehead. “Remember any of it?”
Why does it feel like you’ve disappointed him? Despite your initial wish to not relive whatever you’d said in the garden, you’re suddenly dying to remember. Even now, you can feel yourself combing the hazy memories, hoping there’s a stone you’ve yet to turn. It’s fruitless.
“I remember embarrassing myself by puking in the bushes.” You grimace as you say it, heat rising in your face. You can feel your nerves fraying, heart pounding but none of it in a good way. “Look, Steve, does it matter what I said? I-“
“It does.” He says, voice suddenly lower. It rasps, more serious than before. “It matters if you meant it. Do you?”
He takes another step forward, close enough that you can smell his cologne again. The same comforting musky scent as when he pushed the safety glasses up your nose and tucked your hair behind your ears in the woods together, touch gentle and eyes kind.
“You said,” He breathes, his honey eyes hopeful. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me.”
Oh.
It seems to be a habit of yours; rewinding through your actions towards Steve in the past, heavy with regret. He’d still been sweet, checking on you out in the garden even though you’d left him in the dark for a week. After managing to make you forget the worst date ever.
Then you’d upchucked your feelings, so drunk you couldn’t remember it, and then your dinner too. You were a mess; Steve Harrington made you a lovely absolute mess. Fuck, you’d likely ruined whatever chance at something with him.
But then again, here he was.
Still showing up, enough hope to dredge together the courage to drive over and ask you what it meant.
“I meant it.” You say, softly. You feel captured in his gaze, pulled into his orbit with no choice about it. He’s like the sun, gravity pulling you closer the longer you stand this close to him. Your heart feels like it’s made of jelly, each thump echoing out into your limbs. “I— fuck, you made it so hard to hate you. I used—”
“—Used to hate me.” Steve recites the words before you can say them, amusement in his voice. Some of his nervousness has leaked out, shoulders less tight. You can nearly see a glint of his Harrington charm in the curl of his lips. “Yeah, you said that last night too.”
It’s said to poke fun, teasing you for last night’s loose tongue. You groan, head tilting back. “God, anything else I said last night that I should know about?”
Steve steps closer. It makes your breath hitch, your head straightening up and bringing your faces closer still. You’re not sure where this is going, not sure what he’s thinking, if he can hear the thunder of your heart — he hasn’t even said anything that implies the feelings are mutual.
You vaguely wonder how he knew that your words held more weight than they appeared. He’d been paying more attention than you’d expected; knowing that I can’t stop thinking about you meant more than what was on the surface.
This time, you know him well enough to know that his teasing is not mocking. That the Steve in front of you is not at all like the one you’d remembered from the school hallways, the one who’d thrown around shitty comments, had notches in his belt, and didn’t care who got hurt as a result.
He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”
The world doesn’t stop spinning, but for a moment, it certainly feels that way. Blood rushes in your ears, blooms under your cheeks, and the words sink in. The wind sounds like the sweetest music, the colour spread across the sky is a shade that could only be called love and a boy is telling you he likes you too.
It faintly occurs that the silly teenage daydream you pictured with Bradley — you’re instead getting with a boy you swore you hated not two months ago.
It makes you like him even more.
He’s earned it, your trust, your affection — your kiss.
Wordlessly, you surge forward at the same time Steve does. You clash, gifting each other an awkward headbutt instead of some swooning kiss. Pain splinters momentarily across your forehead, gone after a moment.
You can’t help it, a laugh bursting from your lips. You’re so nervous. It doesn’t deter you, peering up at him with adoring eyes. Somehow, you still manage a tease. “Were you trying to kiss me, Harrington?”
His hands cup your face, fingers tucked under your jaw, and thumbs stroking your cheeks. His own smile barely contained, elation shining in his eyes.
“I will if you stop calling me that.”
He kisses you before you even get a chance to agree.
There’s bliss hidden in his lips, you think happily. Steve kisses soft, plush lips that mold to yours like its second nature, two pieces of the universe aligning.
You can feel the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his thumbs upon your face and you sigh, content, into the kiss because no one has ever kissed you like this.
He kisses you and suddenly, there is no war-torn battle in your mind. Your hands have twisted into the fabric on his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s unbearable. You want him, completely, embarrassingly, and undeniably. You’ll take anything he’ll give you — you want him to give you everything.
When the kiss breaks, it’s only for a moment; Steve presses another, short and gentle, then another, and another, like he can’t handle not stealing another taste of your lips.
“Steve,” you rasp, chuckling a bit. Your eyes are still closed, like you’re worried it’ll all be some dream if you dare to open them. His nose nudges yours, crushing closer to you, unwilling to relent the closeness he’s finally been granted.
“Let me take you out.” He whispers and it’s enough to open your eyes, lashes crinkling as you beam up at him. Steve drops a kiss on your cheek, thumbs stroking with a tender care that makes you shiver. “Please.”
As if you could say no. You give a minuscule nod but your delight is given away in your smile, eyes bright as you admire each detail of his face fondly. “Yeah, alright.”
It makes him laugh, amusement dancing across his features, and God, he looks so handsome you have to kiss him again.
You do, hands escaping the confines of his shirt and twisting around his neck. Steve hums happily, something you’ll come to learn he does whenever you kiss him first. It makes you gleeful, a shot of pure euphoria tipping down your spine. You shiver, wonderfully.
“Just promise me,” you say when you pull back, breathing a titch ragged. You grin. “Not a movie date.”
Steve grins, one hand leaving your face to curl around your waist. It’s warm, heat radiating into your skin.
“Still no faith in me, sweetheart?” He chides, fingers dancing along the skin of your waist, giving away his joy. The pet name makes your knees weak, a flash of a forgotten memory in the garden breaking through.
“Something tells me you’ll convince me.”
Fact #9: The first fact is a lie.
His next kiss feels like a promise; that he’ll do the work to convince you, just like he’d done the last few months. That he’d be more than happy to. You drink in affection from a boy who’s so sweet on you with a happy sigh.
He tastes like sunlight.
Fact #10: You might just be falling in love with Steve Harrington.
taggin sum mutuals below!
@hawkinsindiana @spideystevie @harringtonbf @writtenbybelle @hoesbloated @familyvideostevie @lurkymurker @sattlersquarry @steddiesandwich @circesstars @upsidedownwithsteve @raggedyoldwitch @sunshinehollandd @ohschmidts @appocalipse
#this... was so scrummy to write#i can't believe i pumped out that many scenes#i think i started this wanting to prove that i could indeed write a fic past 5k#LO AND BEHOLD 16K LATER#good god i hope u love it#anyways i'm LITERALLY IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!!#steeb...come gimme kiss#i deserve to be called sweetheart by my babygirl bf <3#ruby writes#ruby writes steve#steve harrington#steve#harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve x reader#steve harrington fic#steve fic#steve harrington imagine#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#sending a sacrifice (my sleep while i wrote this) to the fic gods....
7K notes
·
View notes
Note
Omg hi. I have an idea for a steve fic if u want to write that would be amazing coz you write steve really well. Ok its something after steve and reader are married and they go to some formal event or wedding or anything? And towards the end of the party reader is wearing steves suit jacket over her dress and steve loves it and is kind of turned on so he whispers in her ear about what he wants to do with her? Only if u want to
hi, thank you!! i changed it a little bit and also made it a little blurb instead i hope that’s okay!! (0.8k) [18+ for suggestive bits]
Steve’s been handsy all night. From the moment you’d stepped out of the bathroom, green satin draped perfectly over your body with your head tilted to put your second earring in.
His jaw had fallen slack, slightly blown away from your appearance and despite his best compliments and hints, you wouldn’t skip out on the wedding.
He can’t really remember whose wedding it is. Someone from high school, an old friend of yours you’d stayed in touch with post graduation, he thinks. It didn’t matter. He’d crash an infinite amount of weddings if it meant seeing you dressed like this.
His hand sits heavy on your thigh the whole drive, thumb stroking the inside of it. Steve has to be touching you at all times. An arm around your waist when you walk in, his hand on your thigh again while you sit at a table, fingers stroking your elbow as you hold a flute to your lips, gloss sticking to the rim.
At some point, you shiver. The air conditioning in the reception hall has left the room almost icy when you’re not surrounded by a hoard of wedding guests on the dance floor. In an instant, Steve’s shrugging his suit jacket off and hanging it over your shoulders. You try to protest but it’s warm against your bare arms and smells like Steve and you end up tugging it tighter against you.
There was something about the fabric hanging over you, swaying when you did, one hand always gripping the front of it to make sure it stayed snug around you. Steve felt his chest burning, adoration spilling over when he’d watch you talk to Nancy and Robin across the room. A hint of pride mingling with it all because it was his jacket that you were wearing.
The jacket slips, exposing slivers of your bare shoulder for the briefest of moments before you’re tugging it back into place. His cheeks felt flushed, either from the buzz of the alcohol or how worked up he was seeing you in his clothes.
You’re not much better. While you’d been cold, Steve was burning up making him roll the sleeves of his white button down up to his elbows. His tie had loosened around his neck, the top button being undone. You were ready to jump him right then and there.
You don’t really question it when he pulls you away from everyone else. The place was buzzing with people, quick to drain both your social staminas. He just wanted a minute alone, you assumed.
He secludes you on the outskirts of the room, hidden in the shadows of the dim lighting. His arm is warm around your waist. The disco ball hanging in the center of the room casts broken fragments of light over your face.
Steve’s nose nudges against the soft skin of your neck, taking subtle inhales of your perfume. It’s one you only wear on formal occasions, something intoxicating, sensual. A little woody with notes of something floral and maybe it’s the pheromones but he can’t get enough.
His lips start to press against the spot below your ear, a mere brush at first. It tickles, your shoulder rising up to squeeze his face. You can feel his smile against your skin as he presses his lips more sure, more fervid against your skin.
“Steve,” it’s a mix between a laugh and a gasp. His lips curl into a smirk, brushing against your earlobe. His teeth are a dull scrape against it.
“What?” a false sense of innocence. Like he isn’t in the middle of sucking lilac below your ear, like his hand hasn’t slipped behind his suit jacket hanging off your shoulders to hug the curve of your ass. Your mouth feels dry, it’s a struggle to swallow down the soft mewl you want to let out.
“You look so pretty, baby,” a hot exhale against your ear causes a heat to spread down your body, pooling low in your stomach. “‘Specially in that dress with my jacket ‘round your shoulders.”
A whimper catches in your throat, the heat of his words searing into your brain. He’s murmuring in between open mouthed kisses against your neck, warm drags of his lips against velvet skin. How pretty you are, how he’d take you right there if it weren’t for the people in the room.
You dip away, feeling like you’re on the verge of combustion, like you’d explode at any moment. You kiss Steve’s pout away. A kiss you’d intended to be quick becoming anything but when he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeper, slower. Your head spins.
You pull back and immediately grip his hand, dragging him behind you to say your congratulations to the bride and groom. You ignore the knowing look in her eyes as she takes in your blown pupils and Steve’s less than subtle smirk, making up some excuse about not feeling well and bailing early.
Steve’s nose nudges your temple as you leave, his seemingly permanent smirk pressed to the side of your face. You bite back a smile, cheeks burning as he babbles on about how pretty you look and how he can’t get enough of you.
“Yeah, yeah Casanova," your voice has a teasing lilt, it makes Steve grin. He lets out a soft laugh. "Let’s just make it to the car first, okay?”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington blurb#📝: a writes!#my first and probably last 18+ LMDSLGJ#angel & ruby if u see this.....don't. we talked about this last night.
389 notes
·
View notes
Text
@stevebabey’s steve x reader fics are the only ones I can read fr bc so many people mischaracterize steve and make him into this weird over-sexualized dude who is quite frankly so bad at dirty talking and is just hypermasculine and icky whereas ruby always makes steve into this caring, quick-witted, versatile character that feels v akin to steve’s real personality and feels much more organic
#anyways ruby has saved my life with her steve x reader fics fr#also u guys need to diversify ur dirty talk srsly#im so sick of fics where steve just asks ‘you gonna come f’me?’ like 40x lmfao#theres so much more to it than that#i also hate when ppl make the reader this hyperfeminine trope bc#guess what#not all women who like men are femme af#like some of us have short hair and dont wear skirts#mind blowing ik#i almost wanna write my own steve x reader bc i feel like i can do it justice without making it just obscene or cringey idk fjjdjdjd#ANYWAYS#stranger things#steve x reader#steve harrington
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
okay I'm SUPER biased on this one because my girlfriends dad LOVED it, but another movie that has underused fanfiction potential and specifically is a great trope to shove the fruity four into is jumanji (2017)
#jack black KILLED that role he carried that movie#bravestone = eddie#mouse = steve#whatever cjaracter jack black played = nancy (possibly controversial opinion)#ruby roundhouse = robin#if you feel inspired to write this feel free (please do it and tag me) because i won't write it#im ready to defend my opinion on which character is which btw go ahead and try to fight me on it#stranger things
1 note
·
View note
Note
for blurb day i was thinking maybe just some soft fluff of the morning after steve and r say I love you for the first time? i love your writing<3
Steve’s room was bathed in a rosy glow, an early morning peach light that turned his bare, white walls into the colour of the rising sun.
He’d moved into his new apartment only two days before, boxes half unpacked and stacked against a still empty dresser that held a red wine bottle and Ruby tinted glasses beside it. You hadn’t gotten round to making the bed frame, not yet, not when Steve had made use of all the floor space to spin you around, an old cassette playing Fleetwood Mac as you laughed into his chest.
You’d both led the empty Chinese food cartons on the living room floor boards, cushions scattered instead of a couch, a lamp by the mantle and the small fern Robin had brought sitting by the window.
You’d let the boy pull you into bed, just a mattress on the bedroom floor, sheets fresh and piled on top, crushed under your weight as he kissed you stupid, wine on his tongue, his tongue on yours. You couldn’t remember what date this was, what number, not when days bled into weeks and months and suddenly it had been so easy to let Steve slip off your clothes at night and start calling you his girlfriend, cheeks pink and eyes unsure.
You’d kissed away any uncertainty, pulled his clothes off too with just as much conviction. It had been months of firsts, of new things, exciting things, pretty things that made your stomach tumble and your heart grow a little bigger.
It swelled even more when you woke up that morning, Steve’s arms around your middle, big hands on your bare stomach, fingers climbing across your ribs and you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat even whilst he slept. His breath picked up as he woke, warm huffs across the back of your neck, all that bare skin pressed against yours as he shifted between you and the sheets.
“Mornin’, baby,” he husked, voice sleepy and rough. You felt him smile, felt in paint itself against your neck. “Sleep alright?”
You hummed in return, a happy sound that made Steve’s toes curl, made warmth bloom across his chest and hold you to him a little tighter. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help himself, not when the words had been stuck in his throat for weeks now, cloying and thick with affection and he was too sleepy to stop it—
“God, I love you.”
It made your heart stop, a sudden pause in the moment, even though you were so sure you could hear it in the air. A thundering, a wonderful kind of noise. You tried to turn in Steve’s arms, more awake than you’d ever been but Steve groaned, hands gripping at your hips so you couldn’t budge.
“You— you, sorry, I— you don’t have to say it back.” You heard the boy swallow, heard the crack in his voice. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, I meant it— shit, I did. But… you don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to.”
You grinned, cheek pressed into the pillow where Steve couldn’t see and your hands found his under the sheets, prying his fingers from your hips until he eased off. He let you gather his hands in your own, a small feat considering the difference in size, but you felt his chest move in relief when you brought them to your lips.
A kiss, one for each knuckle, soft and gentle until Steve softened behind you, the tension leaving his body.
“Can I turn round now?” You asked him. “So I can look at you when I say it back?”
You couldn’t see him yet, but Steve beamed.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#Steve Harrington fanfiction#Steve Harrington oneshot#Steve Harrington blurb#Steve baby blurb
530 notes
·
View notes
Note
Velvet
my skin in your teeth
summary: you’re meant to eliminate creatures from the upside down, but something — or someone — has got a hold on you lately…
warnings: 18+, blood drinking, biting, allusions to sex, smut, maybe a bit of obsessiveness, and hint of implied soulmates. to be honest, i don’t really know what this is. just wanted to write something. also thanks @myosotisa and @blueywrites for the additional vampire inspiration. 🤍
vampire!eddie munson x f!monster hunter!reader
Chance and Andy cackle ahead of you, their feet rustling the leaves littering the grass, guns at the ready. Normally you’re on duty with Steve, Nancy and Robin, but the powers at be today have decided to put you together with the biggest assholes of the bunch. Cocky, rude, still bullies despite everything — and yet, some of the best shots in the Upside Down Elimination Team. You suppose there’s some comfort in that. Should things go awry.
Your one goal on today’s mission? Make sure the perimeter of area four is safe. Fortunately for you, it’s been a quiet night. For the guys? They’re not having fun with it. For two trigger happy individuals, an eerily quiet night is an oddity. During your last overnight shift, you, Nancy, Robin, and Steve had managed to take down at least fifty demobats that had come through the gate, along with a fully mature group of demodogs.
The hours tick by. Nothing out of the usual to see. A flicker of movement from a solitary demobat with an injured bat here, rustle of leaves there. But nothing major to note when you return to base once the sun rises and your shift ends.
That is, nothing until three in the morning arrives and you catch the familiar whistle. The crack of a twig in the distance. The rustle of leaves as they draw nearer. A pack of demodogs rush through trees, but the familiar glint of predatory canines draws your attention.
You draw your dagger and throw. The metal slams into the trunk with a loud thud and you shout over your shoulder, “You go on ahead, I’ll take care of this!”
The guys run along, practically bouncing in their steps at the mere prospect of taking down a pack of demodogs on their own. Giddy with it. But your mind? Your mind is drawn to the darkened silhouette in the woods, the one that, given the chance, Andy and Chance would rip apart bit by bit.
And you can’t allow that, because Eddie Munson is yours.
——
It was forbidden; fraternizing with the Upside Down.
Even more so slipping away in the middle of the night to entertain a dalliance with a creature harbored and hemmed in the place where the world had ripped into quadrants.
No one understood how it happened. You’d all seen him die. Had seen what happened when a man was ripped apart by those winged hellions. And yet he’d appeared one night, trembling and starved. A hunger that you’d managed to quench, despite Steve shouting at you otherwise, by slicing your own palm and offering it to your friend.
The friend who peered out from those darkened eyes, lines of deep hunger like spiderwebs crawling from beneath his lashes. You whispered that it was okay, that you wanted this when he stared up at you with worried eyes.
Don’t want to hurt you, he said, sounding so much younger than his now twenty-one years of age. Or twenty? None of you understood this magic. He died at twenty, heart stopped at twenty — but months had trickled by, his birthday passed, and it only felt right to honor it all the same.
Shaking hands had curled around the back of your palm, his lips sliding over wet, injured skin, dripping scarlet rubies onto the forest floor below. Steve whirled around, choked out a horrified breath as Eddie drew in your blood, drew in your essence.
Loud, hungry gulps met your ears, making Steve retch. But you leaned in closer, curled your fingers around his bicep, clinging to him as you slipped away in your mind.
Into that heady, rich, velvety, lush ether.
“Eddie,” Robin warned, as your eyelids drooped, body slumping further into his frame, “Eddie, I think she’s done. Let go of her.”
He fell back, ragged breaths pulling from lungs. And he sounded so familiar, you nearly weeped at it. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart —”
Those eyes shifted, changed back into the ones you knew before all of…this. Less haunted, more him, and despite the world tilting on its axis as you fell back into Steve’s arms unconscious, it seemed worth it.
You carried on with it in secret. Your friends decided it was better if, until things got better around Hawkins, Eddie remained nothing more than a shadow in the night. They’d find a way to make things right, but in the meantime…you learned how to keep things secret. How to slip away beyond the outer lines of Hawkins — to find ways to sneak off during patrols. Often, Steve would turn a blind eye. Nancy would wave you onward. Robin would give you a little eye roll and tell you to run along.
It started with conversations in the night. Things you never talked about when you’d known one another prior. And yet — since the day he’d drank your blood, you felt a connection to him in a way you hadn’t before. You would sit side by side, laughing and reminiscing. Dreaming, on nights where the world was quiet and it felt like you were the only two people who existed.
Those meetings changed as the seasons did. His gazes lingered longer. Your hands wandered. His lips glided over yours. Your fingers threaded in his hair. He fisted the back of your thigh and dragged you into his lap, whispered he wanted you against your throat.
That first time had been quick and needy. A frantic thing, with buttons flying, his shirt nearly shredded at the hem to get it off faster. He rolled you over onto your back and pinned you there against the dirt, the ground biting into your flesh, reminding you that you were alive despite it all. And you kissed him, panting into his mouth as his hips rolled furiously against your own, your fingers clutching at blades of grass, nearly ripping them up from the root as your orgasm stole your breath.
It kept on like that for months. Secret meetings, whispered words. His teeth in your skin, your bodies entwined, heart to heart, chasing whatever this thing was between you.
He was euphoria and light in a world filled with darkness, and you were addicted, and nothing would rip him away again.
——
The sounds of the guy’s hoots and hollers of enjoyment over their hunt grows quieter as you approach Eddie. He’s leaning against a tree, the dagger embedded near his shoulder, those dark eyes of his crinkling at the corners as you draw nearer to him. Lips curl back over elongated canines, and you note the swirling lines beneath his lashes, deciding you’ll have to do something about that later when you have more time and there’s no threat of the jackass twins coming back and throwing a wrench into things.
“Sorry I tried to kill you,” you tease, falling into his chest as broad palms slide around your hips to tug you close, “needed to make it look believable.”
“It’s fine, but next time you should try harder.” He draws a sigh from deep within your chest as he leans in to claim your mouth. It’s a quick kiss, doesn’t linger long, his head pulling back to look at you in amusement. Mouth curling into a grin, hair in disarray, dark eyes gleeful in the night. “Didn’t know you could throw a dagger like that.”
“You liked that, huh? Been working on that for months now.”
Your smirk grows as he flips you around, your back hitting the trunk of the tree. He grunts out as you coast a palm along the front of his jeans, grinning ruefully at the way his erection strains against the fabric.
“You did.” A satisfied smile creeps up along your features, heart skipping as he grips the dagger hilt near your head and tugs it free from the bark. The metal glints, the sharpened edge twirling as he toys with it in his palm. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, him playing with your weapon, but the way he’s so leisurely about it — like he’s maybe done this before…knowing how good he is with his hands because you’ve been a very satisfied benefactor of their skills many a time now —
“You okay there? You forget I can hear your heart racing.”
He drags the dagger along the hollow of your throat, the standard issue button up uniform loose there, and then lower still toward the first button. He flicks his wrist and a button clatters against the ground, moves down a few centimeters and does the same to the next, the next, the next.
The knife follows. Falls into a pile of leaves, rustles them. There’s a moment — a quick, flash of time before he’s cutting off your breath in a searing kiss. Lips and teeth and hunger — a ravenous type of love, a ruinous thing that you crave. Fingers curl around your throat, apply the perfect amount of pressure that has you moaning into his mouth. He tips your chin up, up, up. His tongue glides along the skin there, silly nips spliced between, the rake of a fang over the throbbing beat of your pulse.
Heat pools in your belly. The sort of heat you know he can sense, your heightened arousal never to be hidden thanks to newer senses. He chuckles to himself as his nose nudges beneath your ear, lips toying with the lobe, breath sending chills down your spine as you shudder against him when his free hand slides down the front of your jeans, dragging a lazy circle over the wet fabric covering your slit.
“How long do we have before those idiots come back to get you?” he asks, a sultriness seeping into his tone.
“Long enough for you to feed,” you rasp out on a gasped breath, “or fuck me. Maybe both.”
“What do you want?” he asks, teeth scraping deliciously against your pulse again.
A little bit more, if you push him down a bit and ask him to take what he needs, and he’ll have sunk them into you again, submitting you to the delectable liquid honey that’ll flood your senses once he does.
The anticipation is one thing, a clanging cymbal that heats your blood. The knowledge that you can do this for him — that you enjoy it. It’s frighteningly empowering. Knowing it’s you who has kept him for so long— that it’s your blood that sings to him. Some might call it wrong; your friends had their own reservations and fears about it, understandably so.
After that first time, you got better with it. Quickly made sure to learn when to stop, how to stop (even if you often didn’t want to).
Sex had been one point of connection for the two of you. And that had been wonderful in and of itself. You craved him in ways you had never craved another. But this? Him having a part of you within him, your souls quite literally becoming one every time he drank from you — that was another level.
A sort of intensity that often made you both lose control. Whatever it was, you were irrevocably changed. This wonderful man, this creature you were meant to kill — the love that drew you into the forest like this, his hands making quick work of your jeans, tugging them down to your ankles, as his mouth licked at you furiously.
A gasp heaved from your chest. Fingers clutch in his hair as he pushes your hips back against the bark, fingers gripping tight to the dough of your thighs, keeping you spread out salaciously before him. It’s thrilling, the waves of your orgasm robbing you of your breath at the dawning realization of it, that at any moment Andy and Chance could appear.
That they might see you tangled so deeply in the web of lies you’ve become so tangled with these months, wrapped in the arms of the man who…loves you.
Because it’s forbidden, yes. By all means, if you’re found out it could be dangerous for both of you. They could kill him — would kill him.
But you would rip them all apart for the man who made a mess of you for all others.
You wince. And there’s coo. Eddie’s hands loosen from around your thighs, his body coming up to its full height before you. He lifts your hand, turns your palm up to inspect the splinter wedged into a fingertip. Blood pools from the wound, a scarlet teardrop that coasts down the back of your hand, trails toward your wrist.
Eddie’s eyes darken, and your lips curl up. You say quietly, “Go on.”
It might be wrong, on many levels, the way he brings your hand up to his mouth, tongue dragging along your wrist, the back of your palm, erasing the trickle of blood.
And it’s downright sinful the way he drags your finger into his mouth, eyes hazy and hooded, sucking lightly. Your mouth drops open, eyes fluttering rapidly at the beginnings of that familiar euphoria sparkling around the edges of your mind.
“I want to be inside you,” he groans, making no effort to let go of your offended appendage, “and you know I prefer somewhere private for…that.”
You know he means when he sinks his fangs into you, when he’s inside you, and you both lose yourself to the magic in his bite. Wants to be alone for when that primal desire kicks up within him, and he loses himself in your body intertwined like that.
“Eddie,” you whisper, dragging him down to the ground, onto the jeans laying sprawled across the floor. “Please. It’s been days.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, hissing out a breath as you make quick work of his belt buckle, the sound of a zipper ramping up your heart rate, “because your schedule has sucked this week —”
“Please,” you urge him as he helps you up and over his thighs, sliding you down his length like the thousands of times you’ve done this before.
His breath stutters against the curve of your throat as you rise and fall steadily over him, injured hand splayed over his heart.
“Please.”
There’s always a sting. It’s only a brief moment. A soft prick of pain like that of a needle. Only it’s really two, and they immediately are replaced by his tongue to soothe away the ache. A healing balm that oozes into your bloodstream. When he latches on again, it’s a bubbly, almost buzzing feeling that spreads through you. The feeling of sifting slowly through sinking sand, like dragging your fingers through water. Your mind numbs, a feeling of floating — of lightness unparalleled has you sinking further into him, the rolling of his hips beneath you tethering you to reality. Here and there, on the precipice of something earth shattering. It’s always like this with him.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers against where he’s bitten into your collarbone, into the skin peeking out from the collar of your shirt, “God, I love you.”
And he’s rolling you over, hands on either side of your face, eyes closed in blissfulness. The forest floor at your back, your thighs around his hips, bodies connected in a practiced dance. You marvel at his features, missing that point of additional connection, cupping his cheek instead. He’s told you you taste like the sweetest nectar, like heaven itself. Says it’s not like this with anyone else. That you’re divine, velvet, rich. You’re ethereal and his. And it takes everything in him to restrain himself, to tamper down the throbbing of his heart when he’s drinking you in, to not take too much. He could lose himself in you, in the bliss of your coupling, in the perfection of your essence.
You both come with a cry, and, as always, hate when it ends. There’s no time to hold one another, to kiss along his bare skin as he keeps you close to him. Not with the fear of Andy and Chance appearing at any time, fresh from their hunt, with murder on their minds.
Instead he leans down and cups a hand around the back of your head. Presses his forehead to yours and whispers of his love, devotion, desire for you. It’s a promise for later, sealed with the softness of his lips against yours, and he’s gone…slipping into the shadows.
No longer next to you, and yet forever marked on your heart.
——
A pair of white, well-loved Reebok’s sit near the door.
Paintings and sketches are scattered around the living room.
Further in the home, Eddie listens to the familiar thump-thump coming from down the hall. Can hear the reassuring inhale and exhale of your breath.
It’s night once more, and you’re finally off work, finally able to catch up on some sleep. Have slept most of the day since you got home, now that he thinks of it.
The bed shifts as he joins you once more, kissing along a bare spine, blankets curling low around your hips. He chuckles at the memory of you earlier, nearly kicking the door open on the hinges, ready to reprimand him for showing up unannounced while you were on patrol, only to end up ridding him of his clothes on your way to rest for the evening.
“Hi,” you whisper, eyes blinking up at him, adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom, “How long have I been out?”
“Few hours,” he tells you, running a hand along your bare shoulder. “Missed those eyes.”
“Sap.” It’s a tease. You see him every day, and even then it’s not enough.
“I made you dinner,” he says, rolling over onto his side beside you, nose brushing yours gently.
“Thank you.” You lean over to kiss him, smiling against his skin. That’ll never get old. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Another kiss. “Today was fun.”
A smirk curls your lips. “It was.”
“I should visit you at work more often.” He’s grinning, the insinuation of his words making your heart stumble happily. It’s music to his ears. “You liked that, didn’t you? Could smell it on you. Bet if I touched you now you’d be wet just from the memory of it.”
He’s not wrong. And he proves that point with the teasing drag of his middle finger along your clit, relishing the soft cry of, “Ed —” that spills from your parted lips.
“Reminded me of that first time we were together,” he purrs, rolling over you. Rolling you over onto your back. Your body settles beneath him, form soft and warm against his. “Forest floor.”
“Sexy,” you tease, breaking off into a whine as he pushes inside, rolling his hips against yours slowly. “All the dirt, twigs and leaves. Nothing screams romance like a nice forest fling.”
“We worked with what we had at the time,” he chuckles, cock dragging along your walls, drawing another moan from your throat. “But I think I like this better. Our bed. In our home.”
Because, though it’s forbidden, you never could handle the thought of being without him.
Had asked him to move in here months ago, into your home on the outskirts of town, to live a quiet life away from prying eyes.
Here, where you could protect him.
Here, where you never needed to be parted from him.
Here, where for a year now, and forever still to come, he’d have a place by your side.
“Next time, just bite me somewhere else, will you?” you ask, when you tumble back onto earth when it’s all over and you’re left satiated once more, body draped over Eddie’s. Eddie’s brows arch high on his forehead. “By the time your freaky magic saliva started to heal the bite, the guys thought it was a hickey and teased me relentlessly. And I can’t be with you from jail if they keep it up.”
“Pretty sure we’ll always be together.”
Forever, he’s promised.
Because maybe it’s his new, more animalistic side. The part of him that recognizes a soul mate. Maybe it’s the way you fit in his arms, the way your lips feel against his, or the way your blood sings to him.
But he thinks, in a way, you feel like his.
And he knows, in his heart, he’s yours.
#lunaloveseddie#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#vampire!eddie Munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic
336 notes
·
View notes
Text
@eddiemonth prompt, oct 8th: Rockstar | Times Like These - Foo Fighters | Confident
a/n: rockstar!eddie & corroded coffin. steddie. suggestive themes but not explicit. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour.
read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3
When Eddie was a teenager, he pictured himself on stage, surrounded by pyrotechnics and aggressive bass riffs. His hair was long, his skin mottled in tattoos with maybe a love bruise or two, and his favorite ruby red guitar slung low to his hips as he belts his vocals into the microphone.
All but the last part comes true.
He does end up sweaty from the heat of the fire cannons on either side of their set. Freak shreds his bass every fucking show, his fingers undoubtedly calloused beyond repair. Eddie’s hair gets in his face as he plays his own guitar, his Sweetheart, but he doesn’t get to sing.
That’s all Steve.
Unassuming, surprisingly talented Steve Harrington who Eddie discovers can fucking sing when he’s home from a tour, driving around together through the empty streets of Hawkins, Indiana. The 90s bring a new landscape to heavy metal and rock and roll, and as cocky as Eddie might be, as confident as he is when it comes to his music, he can see when someone has one up on him. Steve’s rendition of The Foo Fighters’ Good Grief as he drums along on the steering wheel sets his heart aflame– and maybe another appendage that he’s tried to ignore for the better part of ten years.
Steve agrees to join the band with a heavy bit of convincing, agreeing only when Eddie offers to retain his role as frontman.
I don’t wanna be a rockstar, Ed. That’s all you.
The band truly takes off when Steve joins, his voice adding a different flavor and Eddie’s backing vocals rounding out their sound. Eddie tells Steve night after night, show after show, that he’s happy he’s there, because he is. Maybe being in love with his bandmate hadn’t part of the teenage fantasy, but it’s become his favorite part of the reality, even if it’s one-sided or unrequited. His skin remains unbruised, no groupies or flings to be found, but he’d prefer a blank canvas over meaningless artistry anyways.
They end up touring again, exploring the country and parts of Canada together but always with different hotel rooms. Eddie never minds sharing with Gareth, or Jeff, or Freak but he also doesn’t make a habit of thinking about their dicks.
After their show in Toronto, the end of this leg of their tour, Eddie and the rest of the band celebrate in Eddie’s room– it’s the biggest of their block and Eddie won rock-paper-scissors to claim the lone room this time around.
Drinks flow, smoke from their joints curl out the window screen into the night, and before Eddie realizes it’s happened, he’s left alone with Steve.
Steve, who hasn’t had a thing to drink and only a few puffs of his joint, but is laying across the bed with his feet crossed at the ankles and his head resting in Eddie’s lap anyways. Steve, who Eddie listens to as he hums the melody of their encore and whose hair he can’t help but thread through his fingers. Steve, who Eddie has been watching night after night sing the words Eddie’s written himself, some of which are about Steve.
It’s a dangerous position to be in.
“Gettin’ tired yet, Harrington?” Eddie asks, grinning as Steve rolls his eyes.
“Oh, we’re back to Harrington now, Munson?”
Eddie just shrugs and continues playing with Steve’s hair. It’s soft, still damp from his shower, and Eddie’s surprised he hasn’t shoved him off yet with some comment about how he’s gonna fuck it up. But he doesn’t, and Eddie doesn’t know what to make of that.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Steve asks, shifting his gaze from the ceiling to Eddie’s eyes. “It’s weird.”
“I contain multitudes, don’t try to make me some one-dimensional agent of chaos.”
Steve laughs and it’s better than any song Eddie’s ever written. And he’s written some damn good songs, if he does say so himself.
Eddie lets out a little oof as Steve sits up, bracing himself on Eddie’s stomach to turn and face him. There’s something in Steve’s expression that Eddie can’t place– searching eyes, furrowed brows, one corner of his lips quirked up.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
“God, you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”
“I do, actually. But yeah, go ahead.” Eddie bites his bottom lip and shrugs.
“How come you never wanna share a room with me?”
Eddie just about chokes on nothing, inhaling oxygen into the wrong pipe or something. His ears turn red, a tell that no amount of shaking his hair out can hide, at least not from Steve. He feels the soft skin of Steve’s hand graze his cheek as he tucks hair back behind his right ear, exposing the bright red shade of embarrassment.
“Is it me? I can’t imagine that I, Steve Harrington, make you, big ol’ Rockstar Eddie Munson, uncomfortable after all these years.”
You motherfucker, Eddie thinks, his mouth a little behind the speed of his thoughts, effectively leaving him speechless.
“Little bit, actually,” Eddie manages to admit.
He shouldn’t admit anything, but he’s alone in this quiet room with the boy he’s loved for so many years, who’s touching him like he loves him, too. Who can blame him?
“How come?” Steve whispers, his lips suddenly closer, their noses nearly touching. Eddie may or may not be breathing, but he tries. Fainting would definitely kill whatever this energy is between them.
“Ed, c’mon. Just, just tell me you want me, too. Please.”
Too? He thinks.
“Too?” He asks.
Steve smiles and nods, running his thumb across Eddie’s chapped lower lip before resting his palm against his cheek.
“Too.”
—
The following morning, Eddie and Steve meet up with the rest of the band in the hotel restaurant for breakfast– or, well, brunch at best given the time they actually make it downstairs.
“Notice you stayed in Eddie’s room last night,” Jeff asks, one eyebrow raised halfway up his forehead as his eyes flit back and forth from Steve to the very clear, purpling bruise on Eddie’s collarbone.
“Astute observation,” Eddie grins and answers for him, digging into the stack of pancakes in front of him, ravenous.
“Sure did,” Steve just grins, shrugging as he shifts in his seat.
Gareth, Freak, and Jeff all exchange a look, the kind of look that comes with inside jokes and long-suffering waiting.
“Wait–” Steve starts, pointing an accusing finger at Jeff. “You all left early on purpose, didn’t you?”
Gareth laughs the hardest, rivaled only by Eddie who watches them all with incredulity as Jeff parrots Steve with casual confidence.
“Sure did.”
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#st fic#corroded coffin#eddie month#eddie month prompts#myblurbs
328 notes
·
View notes
Text
No More Running
Day 7 of @steddielovemonth‘s Steddie Love Month Event!
Rating: General
CW: None
Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a romantic
WC: 1,122
Prompt: “Love is what makes you brave” submitted by @sidekick-hero
Note: Guess who came down with a cold. Me. Guess who ignored their many deadlines to write this. Also me. Sorry if this isn’t the best (and is also very late), but I’m pretty sick and can’t breathe out of my nose. I wanted something soft to make me feel better, so I wrote this. Enjoy!
He wasn’t going to run anymore. That’s what Eddie promised himself when he woke up from surgery after being dragged out of the Upside Down. He wasn’t going to run, and he hasn’t. He hadn’t run from Wayne, he hadn’t run from the somehow alive Jim Hopper, he hadn’t run away from the aftermath of Vecna, and he wasn’t going to run from this.
Eddie’s been developing feelings for Steve since he made that promise. Waking up to learn that the Steve Harrington bridal carried his half dead body out of hell really does something to a guy. Not only that, but Steve is one of the sweetest guys Eddie has ever met. Long gone is the King Steve of Hawkins High; replaced by a loving, caring, and smart man.
Steve had been there for Eddie through the whole recovery process. He helped with proving that Eddie was innocent, he helped Eddie with bathing, and he helped Eddie with cleaning and wrapping his wounds.
Steve also helped Eddie with processing the trauma of Spring Break. He held Eddie’s hand and talked him through panic attacks. He stayed awake with Eddie when sleep seemed like a monstrous task; the fear of what he’d dream fraying Eddie’s nerves and keeping him awake.
Steve was also just an amazing person overall. He had an amazing sense of humor; making Eddie’s ribs ache with the laughter he tugged out of him. Steve was smart, he could read people’s emotions like no other. He knew exactly what Eddie was feeling by looking at him for only a couple of seconds. Steve could pull the real reasons as to why Eddie was quiet out of him when no one else could.
He was easy on the eyes, too. His chestnut hair looked glorious, styled or not. His eyes were kind and genuine; but could turn bitchy in a way that sent heat down Eddie’s spine. Steve’s hands were big and spotted with freckles and moles, like the rest of his body. His skin was sun kissed and hairy. Everything about him made Eddie want to pounce on him.
Everything about Steve had made Eddie fall head over heels in love with him. Eddie knew about Steve’s woeful dating history; knew about Steve’s failed loves. How people have used Steve for a quick fling or bragging rights before tossing him to the side.
Eddie wanted to give Steve the world. Eddie wanted to worship Steve the way he deserved; to kneel at his feet and kiss up his body, to whisper praises into his ear, to pump Steve full of love and want, and maybe some other things besides love, too. Eddie wanted to make sure Steve knew that he deserved better than those past flings could have ever provided.
That’s why Eddie is stood outside of Steve’s font door, holding a bouquet of deep, ruby roses. Eddie had put on a black button up and black jeans. His wallet chain still dangled on his hip, complementing the silver of his rings. He had tied his hair up into a bun, leaving some framing pieces around his face. He spent a while on doing himself up, had wanted to look good for Steve.
He leaned forward and knocked at the door. Steve always teased him about not using the doorbell, but Eddie liked knowing that Steve knew it was him at the door based on his knock alone.
Eddie heard shuffling from behind the door before the sounds of the lock being opened filled his ears. His heart picked up its pace, knowing how close Steve was. Eddie sends out one last prayer, despite not believing in any type of greater being, that Steve felt the same way he did. And if he didn’t, to at least keep Steve in his life for as long as possible.
The door swung open, Steve stood in the doorway in grey sweatpants and a Hall and Oates T-shirt. He looked absolutely gorgeous like this, soft and relaxed. He had obviously been lounging around before Eddie had come knocking on his door.
“Hey, Eds!” Steve said, a smile stretched across his face. Eddie’s gut filled with warmth. His heart stuttered with the overwhelming love he felt for this man.
“Hey, Stevie. I hope I’m not bothering you?” Eddie said. Steve shook his head,
“Nah, man. You’re not bothering me.” Steve looked down,
“What’re those for?” Steve looked back up and made eye contact with Eddie.
“They’re uh, they’re for you, actually.” Eddie turned his head away. He could feel his face warming up. He held the roses out for Steve to take, hopefully he’d take them.
Steve grabbed the bouquet, pulling Eddie’s attention back up. Steve’s own cheeks and ears flushed.
“Why? Is there an event or something that I’m missing?” Steve sounded shy and a bit nervous. Eddie shook his head and smiled at Steve.
“No, I just wanted to get you flowers. Could I talk to you, actually?” Eddie asked, he shuffled his weight from foot-to-foot as he spoke. He was nervous and scared about confessing his feelings to Steve. He really hoped that this wouldn’t destroy their friendship.
“Sure, yeah, come inside.” Steve said, stepping away to make space for Eddie. Eddie stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He turned to Steve, straightened his back and gathered all of the courage he could muster.
“Steve, you’re my best friend. You mean so much to me. You’re so kind and amazing.” Steve’s blush deepened at Eddie’s words,
“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You’re strong, not just physically, but in every aspect of the word. You are so observant, you can always tell when I’m upset. You can read me like a goddamn book,” Steve chuckled and looked down at the roses in his hand, he was never really good with accepting praise.
“You are my everything, Stevie. And I’ve developed a lot of feelings for you, So, would you like to go out with me?” Eddie finished. Steve’s eyebrows had raised with surprise, his mouth forming an “o” shape. Steve blinked, then his mouth fell back into a smile.
Steve walked up to Eddie, dropping the hand holding his flowers to the side. He placed his free hand onto Eddie’s face. His thumb swiped over Eddie’s cheek before pulling him in.
Their lips smooshed together and a fire lit up in Eddie’s chest. Steve’s lips moved against Eddie’s, their lips forming a rhythmic push and pull. After a minute, Steve pulled back. He smiled at Eddie, both their faces still red and warm to the touch.
“I would love to go out with you, Eddie” Steve whispered against Eddie’s lips.
Eddie’s so glad he didn’t run from this.
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
Flashing Lights
Jack Harlow x SingerOC
Series Masterlist
03) Fun Girl
“I DIDN'T PEAK IN HIGH SCHOOL I'M STILL OUT HERE GETTIN CUTER!!” Maryse and Saweetie rapped along to Industry Baby by Lil Nas X and Jack while on their way to the gym.
“Nas and Jack ate that up!” Saweetie told Maryse as the song was coming to an end. Maryse immediately agreed.
“They sure did! It’s definitely going to be huge, I can tell.” Maryse replied. Saweetie watched her long time friend take a photo of the song playing on the radio before smiling back down at her phone.
“Hm, so things must be going great between you and Jack?” Saweetie questioned
Maryse was so distracted by her phone that she didn’t hear her.
“BIIIITCH! I can’t believe Jack got Rubi Rose pregnant!!” Saweetie shrieked loudly.
Maryse jumped in her seat, her phone dropping to the floor of the car. “WHAT?!”
Saweetie couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Oh I knew that would get your attention.”
Maryse picked up her phone with an eye roll. “That’s seriously not funny.”
Her friend simply gave her a knowing smile before turning into the parking lot of the gym. “I was just wondering how everything’s going with lover boy, but I’m assuming it’s going great because of that silly little grin you have on your face.”
Maryse ignored her and grabbed her gym bag and hopped out the car. “First of all, he’s not my lover boy, we’re simply just friends.”
Saweetie laughed again, “yeah ok boo whatever you say, but I’ve known you since college and you don’t even smile half as big when I text you!” She said walking ahead of Maryse
Maryse hurried behind her to catch up. “Will you slow down, geez”
“And that’s not even true!” Maryse huffed.
“Uh huh. SURE. Then who are all those love songs you've been writing about?” Saweetie turned to question Maryse
“You’ve been going through my songbook?!” Maryse asked before dropping her mouth in shock.
“No, I was lying. I just wanted to see your reaction.” Saweetie soon told her.
Maryse sighed a little. She may have a tiny crush on everyone’s favorite white rapper but she swears it’s only a little one. They’ve only hung out once more since that day at the studio, two months ago.
“Ok, fine. I might have a tiny crush on the guy.” Maryse told her, bringing her thumb and pointer fingers together to emphasize how small of a crush she had on Jack.
“Besides, nothings gonna happen anyway. I’m nowhere near ready to start dating again.” Maryse mentioned. She dated Nate for so long, that now that they broke up, she was scared to open her heart up again.
Saweetie gave Maryse a look of sympathy, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you not ready or are you just scared that Jack is going to hurt you just like Nate did?”
Maryse’s head dropped with a sigh. She hated how well Saweetie knew her. “Look, the gym isn’t the place to really talk about this, so we can talk more about it later but here’s something to think about. Don’t let your fear stop you from finding the love you truly strive for. Nate has nothing to offer you right now in the present. So don’t let him shape your future.”
To stop herself from crying in public she reached forward and gave Saweetie a big hug. “I love you, Diamonté. Thank you.”
Pulling away Maryse jokingly said. “When did you get so wise?”
“Girl, I think it’s all the Steve Harvey tik toks I’ve been watching. That man knows everything!”
The two of them looked at each other and laughed loudly before walking towards the treadmills.
After Maryse and Saweetie made it back from the gym, the two girls decided to just chill around the house. Saweetie was currently in the kitchen cooking their favorite Filipino dish sinigang when Maryse decided to hop on Instagram Live to catch up with fans.
“I’m about to hop on live so don’t say anything crazy!” Maryse yelled from the kitchen table.
“No promises! You know I can’t control what comes out my mouth!” Her friend yells back
Maryse just shakes her head before sending off a tweet to let her followers know to join the live.
“Hi guys! Surprise, I’m on live! It’s been a long time huh?” Maryse said, speaking into the phone.
She leaned forward squinting a little to read the comments that were rapidly coming in. “Ooh okay, we got 6 thousand people on right now, thank y’all for joining!”
“What are you doing right now?” Maryse read the comment out loud. “Well, I landed in LA yesterday afternoon and right now I’m waiting for my personal chef to finish my dinner” She said trying to hold in her laughter, and mouthed “watch this” into the camera. Maryse could hear Saweetie drop her utensils down in the kitchen. Not even 10 seconds later, Saweetie pops down next to her and hits her slightly with her hand.
“Bitch, you wish I was your personal chef!” Maryse smiled at her before looking back at the comments.
Saweetie pointed towards a comment on the screen. “Here’s a good one, Maryse. When are we getting new music?”
Maryse tapped her pointer finger to her face, like she was thinking. Her new single was dropping soon but they didn’t need to know that quite yet.
“I don’t have an answer to that, but I’ve been in the studio almost everyday trying to make sure everything is perfect. I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”
Maryse laughed seeing Doja comment that she and Saweetie were having too much without her.
“Doja! We’re having a horrible time without you! We miss you so much!” Maryse replied back and blew kisses to the camera. “You know, you my bestie in a tessie!” Saweetie said to Doja.
Maryse and Saweetie laughed and talked to the fans for a while before she saw the name Urban Wyatt request to join the live. Before she could react, Saweetie blurted out, “Who the fuck is Urban Wyatt?!”
All Maryse could do was stare at her friend in bewilderment then shake her head. She accepted his request and a couple seconds later he showed up.
“I’m sorry about her, she’s from our straight outta the hood program, and lacks some home training.” Maryse said jokingly.
“But how are you doing?”
Maryse wanted to ask him where his best friend was, but contained herself.
Urban laughed at her joke before responding. “I’m alright, you know just in the studio with my boy.”
Behind Urban you could hear a voice questioning who he was speaking to. The sound of Jack’s voice was making Maryse’s stomach tingle, it seemed to get worse when he finally appeared in front of the camera.
Maryse couldn’t help but give him a shy smile, but it turned into a full blown smile when Jack smiled back.
“Hello, ladies.” Jack greeted them, taking a seat next to Urban
“Cracker Jack!” Saweetie said with a wave before going back to eating her food.
“Hi, Jackman, I heard you guys are in the studio.” Maryse already knew this, the two of them were texting all morning, and planned on hanging out the next day since they were both in town.
Jack nodded, taking over the phone from Urban. “Been here all day.”
Jack got closer to the camera “what’s the move for tonight? Y’all look good.” Jack said with a flirty smile. He wasn’t lying, they both looked good. But he was only looking at Maryse.
“Boy bye!” Saweetie said with a wave of her hand while Maryse couldn’t stop the smile on her smile.
Deciding to ignore him, Maryse answered his first question.
“We’re probably just going to bar—“ Maryse was cut off
“Fuck a bar! We going to the club! We OUTSIDE!”
Giving a funny look into the camera, “my apologies, I guess we’re hitting up the club” Maryse shrugged. She really didn’t feel like going out but also felt like she needed a night out after spending so many nights in the studio.
Since Jack was in the studio, Maryse could hear what sounded like horns in the background. She couldn’t help but bring it up.
“Let the people hear what you’re working on! From what I can hear it sounds good.” Maryse told him.
“Yeah! Let us hear, Cracker Jack!”
“Will you ever stop calling me that?”
“No.”
Jack shocked his head at her before talking the phone over to the soundboards.
“Alright, I’ll play the first 20 seconds. Mainly because that’s all I have and I can’t give away too much.” Jack said before giving a wink into the camera.
If Maryse was lying down, that wink would’ve had her giggling and kicking her feet.
The ladies watched as Jack pressed play and the sounds of horns sounded from behind him. It sounded amazing. After a few seconds you could hear Jack come in
Mm-mm, mm, mm-mm tss
My nail tech knows how to keep a lil' secret
I don't wish for my success, I speak it….
Maryse and Saweetie started bobbing their heads and dancing in their seats. The comments were going crazy at the snippet. Maryse cheered a little as the snippet ended.
“Jack, you gotta finish that ASAP! I’m loving the horns” Maryse told him, Saweetie nodded her head in agreement.
Maryse thought it was sweet watching Jack put his head down shyly to hide him blushing.
“Thanks, ma” He told her.
It was Maryse’s turn to blush.
Jack and Urban had to get off soon after to finish working in the studio but not before dropping the news that the two of you worked on a song together and quickly leaving the live leaving the fans to freak out
“He’s lying. What I tell you guys about believing white men!”
LIFEOFMONET
liked by saweetie, chloebailey, wolftyla, michaelbjordan, urbanwyatt, latto777, jackharlow and 756,935 others
lifeofmonet: I see why my ex didn’t want me outside, they love me out here 🤪
view all 5,266 comments
user: ah yesss
dojacat: don’t have too much fun without me!
user: literally so obsessed with you 😍
user: Nate really an idiot for letting you go!
user: need new music now
jackharlow: have fun, ladies!
user: I love single Maryse!!
user: CITY GIRLS UP FR
Maryse and Saweetie walked down the sidewalk with their arms hooked together. They weren’t in the least bit drunk, but laughter has been going on all night. The two spent a total of 30 minutes at the club before deciding to just go to a bar with good music instead.
“What are we having?” Saweetie asks Maryse as they walk to the bar. Sitting down waiting for the waiter to approach them.
“Hm, let’s be lemon drop bops tonight” Maryse told her with a grin.
“Yes hunny! I love the sound of that”
3 lemon drops later Maryse was starting to feel buzzed. She’s always been a lightweight.
Leaning over to talk in her friends ear she said “I’m going to the restroom, I’ll be right back!”
Saweetie nodded before asking if Maryse needed her to come with. Shaking her head no Maryse replied “Stay here! We don’t wanna lose our table!”
Maryse made her way to the restroom in one piece. Thankfully, there was hardly a long wait.
After washing her hands and convincing herself that she wasn’t that drunk, Maryse left the bathroom. As she was turning the corner she ran into what felt like a brick wall.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry—“ Maryse stopped herself once she saw who it was.
It was Nate.
Rolling her eyes, she moved to walk around him but he stopped her.
“I have nothing to say to you, move out of my way.” Maryse gritted her teeth at him.
“Oh c’mon babe, don’t treat me like that.” Nate said, stepping closer to her. Maryse’s back hit the hallway wall.
“I saw your little instagram post.” Nate mentioned
Maryse couldn’t help but roll her eyes again at him. “Really? That’s why you have me cornered right now.” Nate was really starting to piss her off. The alcohol making it worse.
“Let’s get back together.” Nate begged her.
The audacity of this man. “HELL NO! I don’t know if it’s because you’re constantly hitting your head while playing football or what but I’m never getting back together with you. Now, I suggest you leave before Diamonté sees you and kicks your ass.” Maryse told him before pushing past him and walking away
“That’s fine! I don’t want your hoe ass anyway! No one does.” Nate spat out, nose flaring.
Maryse almost turned back around to give him another piece of her mind, but what he said next made her stop in her tracks.
“I’m glad you said no when I proposed to you. You know what they say, you can’t turn a ho into a housewife. You're always going to be the fun girl, the homie. It’s cool to hang out with you until it’s time to settle down. Never going to be wifey material with that nasty attitude.”
Maryse counted to 10 in her head to calm herself down. How dare he. She continued to walk away, not even wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing he hurt her. Making her way back to the table by the bar she ignored Saweetie when she asked why it took her so long and ordered a round of vodka shots. Maryse had a point to prove now. She’ll show him a fun girl.
Few hours later, the crowd in the bar was starting to thin. This particular bar was open 24 hours but it was almost 3 am so people were starting to leave. Maryse and Saweetie were giggling like teenagers. They’ve lost count how many drinks they each had tonight.
“You're really lucky I wasn’t around when he cornered you, that’s all I’m saying!” Saweetie told her
“What were you gonna do? Kick his ass?” Maryse questioned.
“Yes I would’ve went WWE on his ass!” Maryse could not stop laughing at that. All she could visualize was Saweetie suplexing a football player double her size.
“I think we should call it a night.” Maryse said after they stopped laughing with a slur of her words. She was dreading the hangover she was bound to have in the morning.
Saweetie nods in agreement, “yup, I’m done. But you gotta call Uber. My phone died.” She slips off the stool and staggers towards Maryse. “Oh, I love this song! Let’s dance, while we wait! Saweetie screeches as she pulls Maryse towards the dance floor to dance to Sticky by Drake
“There’s hardly anyone dancing anymore!” Maryse complained.
“Who cares?” She argues before pulling Maryse towards her.
“Oh fuck!” Saweetie ends up tripping over her feet, falling and managing to drag Maryse down with her with a yelp. “Sorry!” She laughs.
Maryse would be embarrassed right now if she wasn’t drunk off her ass. She couldn’t imagine what the two of them looked like laying on the bar floor a giggling mess. As much fun she’s having, Maryse is starting to remember why she doesn’t go out with Saweetie.
“URBAN, JACK WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” Saweetie yells out
Hearing Jack’s name almost sobered Maryse up completely.
Looking up, Urban looked like he was trying to contain his laughter while Jack had a worried expression on his face as they loomed over top of them.
“You texted me to come pick you up from here.” Jack said, helping you to your feet. Urban doing the same with Saweetie.
“Oh.” Jack stumbles back in surprise as Maryse throws her arm around him in a drunken hug. “I’m so happy you’re here!”
“Damn, they’re plastered.” Urban said, trying his hardest to hold Saweetie up right.
Jack just nods before telling him to make sure Saweetie got home safely. He was going to take Maryse back to his place.
“You think you can walk to my truck?” Jack asked Maryse.
“Of course I’m not that drunk.” She was.
Jack guides her out of the bar. Maryse was ashamed to admit it but if Jack’s arm wasn’t wrapped around her waist to hold her up, she would be eating concrete right now.
As they walk out the exit door, Jack decides to carry Maryse to his car, since he parked around the back to avoid the possibility of paparazzi.
“You aren’t going to throw up on me, are you?” Jack jokes
“No” Maryse scuffs
“Hm, are you sure?” Jack laughs, the vibrations from his chest pass through her.
“I’m fine, I promise.” Maryse said as she relaxed into his arms.
Jack places her down for just a few seconds so he could unlock and open the car door.
“Ok, just warn me before you throw up, these are my favorite pair of New Balance. I’m putting you in the car now.”
Maryse insisted again that she wasn’t going to throw up. Jack still didn’t believe her. He lowered her into the car and leaned over her to buckle the seat belt. His LV cologne invaded her nostrils. As Jack pulls back all Maryse could do was give him a big cheesy smile. She reaches her hand forward to try to reach out to him.
“Woah, there’s two of you!”
Jack couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Maryse, you’re adorable, you know that?”
“Yeah, that’s what people say.” She said tiredly before closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the seat.
Jack drives them back to his apartment, not wanting to leave her alone in this state. The ride back was quiet before he heard Maryse speak in almost a whisper.
“Jack?”
“Yes, Maryse?”
“I’m really starting to like you.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Jack. He hated that she probably wouldn’t remember this.
“Don’t hurt me, ok?”
“I could never, Maryse. I could never.”
Jack was left alone in his thoughts for the rest of the ride home.
——————————————————————————
AN: Another long chapter full IG lives, lemon drops, ex boyfriends and drunken confessions! Hope you all enjoyed this, let me know what you think!
Also I’m super proud of that gif, it almost looks real! Haha
Tag List:
(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)
@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @laylasbunbunny @ilyangelsxo @comehomeimissyou @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome
#jack harlow#jack harlow x reader#jack harlow x y/n#jack harlow reader#social media au#jack harlow instagram au#jack harlow social media au#flashing lights
295 notes
·
View notes
Text
the swindling of steve harrington’s heart
word count: 9.5k
synopsis: you write for the advice column in the hawkins post, under the pen name gabby. you get a letter asking for advice about a first date and there’s no way it’s the same guy you’ve just landed a first date with, right? steve harrington doesn’t need help with his dates... right? [based on this post] [fem!reader + strangers to lovers but… steve’s a big sap for you already, ok?]
The first letter comes in on a Tuesday.
It’s posted in an ordinary envelope, with only a messy scrawl on the front to dictate that it was for the advice column of Hawkins Post. Inside revealed the same loopy letters, on a single piece of paper, reading:
Out of all the letters you’ve ever received at this job, most of which were lengthy admissions of troubles in suburbia, this one was by far the most interesting one you’d gotten all month. All year if you were being honest.
Writing advice under the pen name Gabby for your local paper likely wasn’t anyone’s first choice of job, not at least for those serious about writing as yourself was.
But between flipping burgers down at Benny’s and slinging shakes at Rita’s Diner, it seemed the lesser of all evils. And hey, it paid decently enough and you had a sweet little set-up in one of the drowsy corners of the office.
It’s how you wind up here, scanning over the letter from one mysterious S.
It’s penned on some spare paper, nothing special. It wasn’t even lined paper like you might usually use for sending a letter of any sorts. It intrigued you the moment it had been dropped into your basket.
Hands flipping through the 4 other letters in there, rows of soft pink and blue envelopes, all with familiar handwriting, you determined that this one was, indeed, a new writer.
You practically devoured it from the first line. Gossip was rampant in Hawkins, like all small towns, but it was not so often shared so publicly with the paper, despite the anonymity that came with the advice column.
Most people in Hawkins seemed to come for advice on outshining their neighbours with a peach cobbler. Some asked whether jazzercise really was the go. There were very few sad tales of love in between the mush.
But this? Even just from the use of the word crush, you knew this wasn’t the average housewife talking midlife marital issues. This was someone your age.
It’s just a little bit funny, you admit — you, yourself, couldn’t imagine ever turning to the local paper to seek out love-life advice. Especially considering none of your previous replies as Gabby implied you had expertise in that area.
You decided it meant they were truly desperate or perhaps completely a hopeless romantic, or a bit of both.
But you couldn’t lie, either way, it’s entirely endearing to you.
It didn’t matter that it was probably someone who had no ‘game’, it was entirely completely made up by the fact they were clearly trying very hard, very genuinely.
They cared enough about getting things right. Whoever they were wooing was very lucky— re-reading over the short letter shoots a grimy wave of envy through your chest. When was the last time someone cared that much about a first date with you? About any date with you? The answer was… probably, never.
It didn’t help either that you had just landed yourself a date. A date with Steve Harrington.
For just a moment, a very brief moment, you look down at the signed S and wonder: would he?
No, he wouldn’t, you decide swiftly. The fragile hope that briefly hung up on the idea is shaken off as you recall his charismatic nature, his easy grin when he asked you out just the other week.
There had been a bit of nervousness, sure, but when you consider the dating history he’d had through high school, well… You feel embarrassed for even considering it.
King Steve Harrington doesn’t need help with his dates.
Besides, the letter clearly states this was S’s long-time crush. You were fairly certain that if the school’s golden boy harboured any sort of feelings for you, it wouldn’t have slipped past your radar.
Last time you checked, Steve had only noticed you when you had gone into Family Video the other week — when he had promptly asked if you wanted to see a movie together sometime.
Sure, it hadn’t been nearly as smooth as you expected, though, that wasn’t to say you weren’t charmed. You’d heard a lot about Steve— though, who at Hawkins High hadn’t?
He had been that customer-service type of welcoming, hands braced against the countertop as he leaned into it, a handsome smile on his face.
You had pretended your stare didn’t linger on his arms. Or that you were drinking in all the subtle changes to himself, physically and more, since his primped-up freshmen-self.
You had even admitted to yourself that he managed to pull off the dweeby Family Video vest, trailing behind him as he led you both to the action-film section.
Steve had stood close enough that you could feel the warmth emanating from him, and had helped debate your choice. He didn’t even comment when you got distracted looking at his arms when he crossed them, even though he smiled a little more smugly, having seen your wandering eyes.
Like it was your fault he had gorgeous, tanned, toned arms that made you want to drool.
But even with all his suaveness, Steve still looked surprised when you laughed at his joke, or his attempt at one — and then some of his coolness seemed to flee.
He had fumbled through the whole interaction of checking out your film and asked if you’d like to ‘maybe if you want, totally cool if not’, wanted to watch one with him sometime.
You think you’d say yes all over again just to see the way he had lit up. He positively beamed, then swiftly ducked his head to hide his hasty grin.
Saturday at 8, you’d agreed on. At the Hawk. He’d pay for the tickets and you’d shout the snacks. It’s a date, were his exact words. He had looked extra delighted when you had repeated them back to him with a nervous grin of your own.
It’s what you think of as you peer down at the letter in your hands, loopy scrawls telling a plea in love. You think about what you hope you’ll get on a first date — with Steve or anyone, for that matter — and pull up a new sheet to draft a response.
It’s about the only advice you can give. Truthfully, dates fail for a multitude of reasons that change on a day-to-day basis and if this S just didn’t match with their date, well… that was out of your hands.
But if S liked them this much, enough to reach out to the murky depths of the local paper’s advice column, then they should show that. If nothing else, you’re sure their date would be flattered at their sincerity.
Try as you might not, the letter plagues your mind as you leave work. Your response sits on your desk, penned up and ready to be printed for the Friday morning paper, hopefully giving enough time to your advice-seeking S.
By Saturday, however, it’s the last thing on your mind — it’s hard for anything else to occupy it when it bubbles away blissfully at the thought of your date later in the evening.
You try to not let your thoughts carry away with what Steve might wear, what film you’d watch, whether you’d be able to sneakily hold his hand in the shadows of the cinema.
It plays a romantic pink-saturated loop in your brain, daydreaming of some silly kiss in the back row because Steve just can’t resist, he’s had a crush on you for so long— okay, maybe the letter was on your mind just a little.
But 8 o’clock whirls around faster than you expect and you arrive outside the cinema with only a couple minutes to spare. You’re more than relieved to see Steve already there, leaning up against the brick wall where the upcoming movies are showcased, bathed in soft golden light.
He’s got on a pair of dark wash jeans and the polo he’s wearing stretches around his arms deliciously, forcing a giddy sigh from your lips.
There’s a jacket slung over his crossed arms and one of his feet is tapping rapidly against the ground. Even from afar, you can see him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Your heart spurs faster at the sight. He’s nervous.
“Steve!” You call out, unable to help how you’re already smiling like a lovesick fool. It doesn’t help when Steve’s head pops up, his hair bouncing just a bit. He lights up at the sight of you, features moving from worry to something happier.
He straightens up, back scraping the bricks, and he steps forward to meet you in the middle.
“Hey,” he breathes, a grin stretching over his lips. This close, you can smell the cologne he’s wearing— something musky, with a hint of bergamot — and your head spins, all dizzy with delight.
“Hey, yourself.” You reply as playfully as you can manage. You swallow back another wave of nerves.
Fuck, was he this pretty when he asked you out? In the space of a couple of days, he seems to have gotten even more attractive. He’s got that entire look about him that reminds you of a daydream.
“You look, uh, really lovely tonight.” Steve compliments, tucking his hands into his front pockets nervously. He sounds so sincere it aches, the words worming under your skin til you believe them completely; he really does think you look lovely.
It’s a strange moment of consideration you find yourself having. You’re here, on a date with Steve Harrington and he thinks you look really lovely.
It’s not like you hadn’t heard the rumours about the cosmic shift in the King of Hawkins High — going from sneering at other kids in the hallways to cleaning off graffiti on his own accord.
Yet, some small part of you is still delightfully surprised, as though it had been unconvinced until you had seen it for yourself. In the past, a part of you had been truly miffed at the waste of a pretty face on a douchebag like King Steve.
Now, it’s like an entirely different person. When Steve offers you another smile, earnest and sweet, you’re secretly glad to get to be the one who takes a chance on him.
You come to a standstill at the back of the winding line outside the ticket booth, the pair of you lingering closer than needed. The brush of his shoulder against your own feels blazing, a streak of warmth. You hope he can’t feel your resounding shiver— and half-hope that he does and gets closer because of it.
“That— uh, thank you,” you manage to remember your words. Even better, you manage to accept the compliment semi-regularly, even though your insides are knitting themselves into a tangle of nervous anticipation.
“You too. Look nice!” You say, louder than you intend. The girl ahead of you peers over her shoulder and somehow even that’s not enough to keep your mouth from running. “I mean, you sort of always look good. That’s kinda—” you wave your hand over him generally, “—your thing. Looking… nice.”
Dear god stop, you will yourself, mouth snapping shut and eyes following quickly, screwed up in embarrassment. Way to completely disregard the advice you gave a stranger and pile on the appearance-based compliments.
You do your best to hide your wince as you peek your eyes back open. It’s a relief to see Steve chuckle good-naturedly, a delicate pink touching the apples of his cheeks.
“You know,” Steve begins as the line ambles forward slowly. His gaze switches between the ground and you, too nervous to commit to looking you straight on. “I didn’t just ask you out because you’re pretty.”
He pauses. Rethinks his words and makes a hasty correction. “I do! Think that you’re pretty, that is.”
His quick assurance makes you laugh just a bit and you hide it behind a bitten-back smile. Steve stops examining his shoes for a moment, glancing to check you haven’t taken his words the wrong way.
Your heart feels like it does a forward roll in your chest, seeing his even pinker cheeks. God, in what world do you make Steve Harrington so nervous?
“I just—” Steve continues, shoulders hiking up a bit, another nervous motion. “I don’t want you to think that that’s the only reason, I asked. I like that you��re nice. You’ve always been nice.”
You blink at him. In a moment of clarity, a couple of revelations roll through your mind, each one steamrolling the last one before you can grapple each one properly.
Revelation No. 1. is the fact that Steve had noticed you. Past tense. Noticed you enough to think you’re nice and bookmark that in his brain. He remembers things about you. And then— then he had made a special effort to compliment you. Specifically outside of your appearance.
And hadn’t you just given specific advice like that? You had! You had given advice to an anonymous person known only as S, with instructions for their first date. Their first date with their long-time crush.
Which means... you’re Steve Harrington’s long-term crush. Which means, oh my god, Steve Harrington accidentally wrote into your job to ask you for advice on his date with you.
The result of the revelations, each one blooming quickly as the one before it, leaves you entirely speechless for a moment. Baffled. You gape like a fish, mouth flapping around empty words. You can’t quite compute it. Steve? Steve is the one who wrote to the local paper for advice? Steve Harrington wrote in for advice about a date with you? His long-term crush?
You’re thankful Steve’s nervous enough to not look at you because, for a silent 10 seconds, you’re sure every emotion from ecstatic and bewildered crosses your features. What in the actual hell?
You’re not sure how you expect yourself to continue this date and act like a regular person, knowing what you know.
And, more importantly, should you tell Steve?
You get about 10 more seconds of floundering to debate it, tossing up a thousand different ways this entire evening could change if you reveal yourself.
Steve would be embarrassed. Steve would be angry. Steve wouldn’t believe you and just think you’re messing with him. Steve didn’t even write the letter and you’ve connected dots that don’t even exist.
You can’t pinpoint which one is the truth. You truthfully don’t know Steve well enough to predict how he might react, no matter how sweet he may have been. A realisation of how quiet you’ve been rolls through you when Steve’s head pulls up, concern knitting his brows together.
Something else altogether comes out of your mouth instead.
“You noticed me?”
Steve goes even more red. It’s a glorious sight and in an instant, you can tell he hasn’t meant to give that much away. The line shuffles forward and Steve seems thankful for it, clearing his throat and eyeing the ticket box ahead like he was wishing you were both there already. There’s only one more couple ahead of you.
“Is that weird?” He says after a moment, his voice a bit smaller than before.
“What?” You say, because it’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say. “No! I’m sorry I didn’t— that wasn’t an accusation!”
You mull over your thoughts, trying your best to put into words how it had actually made you feel. How it had soaked your inside with giddiness, not with worry.
“It’s... really sweet, actually.” You admit, feeling bold enough to nudge your shoulder against his.
“Yeah?” Steve asks, the question said so earnestly it’s like he’s not quite sure he believes you.
“I mean,” You smile, sneaking a nervous glance sideways at him. He’s watching you, expression hinting at anticipation. You nod, continuing, “I’m glad you didn’t just ask me out because you think I’m pretty.”
The last word comes out a bit strained. It feels strange to admit it out loud even with the way Steve looks at you; little glitters of adoration in his eyes.
“It’s-” You clear your throat and bite back a smile that might be too eager. “It’s nice to be noticed.”
Steve makes a small sound of content, like some sort of pleased hum. Then the couple ahead of you is moving and it’s your turn to step up for tickets.
You hurry through tickets and snacks, getting a packet of Reese's Pieces, some popcorn, and one huge cup of soda with two neon-coloured straws sticking out. When you duck through the velvet curtains at the theatre doors, arm already looped through Steve’s, it feels like you’re entering not as two people but as something closer.
The evening whirls by in a lavender haze and Steve is nothing short of everything sweet and charming. Even with his nerves tripping him up now and then, it’s all endearing to you.
You two are the last ones out of the cinema, ushered out by bored employees whose glaring only deepened when they realised you and Steve had conducted a popcorn throwing competition between yourselves. You had been left in the dust, with Steve catching near every piece you threw at him. You were less gracious, salt smearing on your cheeks from so many missed throws.
By the time you’re both back out the front, the night has found a chill to drape across the evening. The sky glitters darkly. The bulbs surrounding the front of the cinema glow and crackle quietly and you’re pleasantly delighted to find you don’t want to leave just yet.
“Hey,” Steve starts. He’s stuffed his hands in his pockets but you can see them twisting about nervously. “Yanno, I had a really good time tonight.”
You can see the moment he bites his tongue and holds back another sentence. You smile as encouragingly as you can — though something about how well the night has gone has your courage growing, doubling, tripling in size.
“Me too.” You admit. You ignore how your palms start to dampen just a titch and seize the words before your nerve fails you. “Did you— do you want to do it again, maybe?”
Steve nods, a stray strand of his hair escaping with the enthusiasm of the motion. He chuckles a bit, pushes it back, and steps closer. “Yes. I mean, yes, of course. You’re... this was so lovely.”
There’s a stir ecstatically in your chest in his words, which drip in sincerity.
“Thank you,” you murmur, head ducked in shyness. It’s still strange, for someone to be so forward in their affections to you. “Um, should I- I could give you my number?”
Steve nods again, just as fervently as last time. He’s somehow gotten closer in just the few minutes you’ve been speaking like there’s a magnetism within you that he can’t resist.
“Yeah, totally! Did you — I don’t have a pen, I’m sorry,” He chuckles again. His hand scratches at the back of his neck.
You’re thankful for your insane preparedness, digging through your bag to produce a pen. By the time you pop the cap off it, a green marker, Steve’s already rolled back his sleeve. He holds out his arm.
“Your canvas awaits,” He jokes. Your smile grows into a grin, almost ashamed of how funny you found that. God, crushes made you stupid — though thankfully Steve seems to grin wider at hearing your laugh.
You curl your fingers around his wrist to hold his arm still. He’s warm, hot blood pumping beneath your touch. You try not to focus on how you can feel his pulse under your fingertips, nor how it’s racing far faster than normal. After your number, you hesitate for a moment before adding a quick doodle of a heart. It’s sloppy, not exactly your best work.
Steve loves it. The moment you release his arm, he thumbs over the heart. Steve looks up at you, an infectious type of smile on his face now. “I’ll give you a call, yeah?”
You nod, tucking your hands in your pocket. You’re unable to stop yourself from rocking up onto the balls of your feet in your excitement.
“Uh, you should probably call after 9 unless you want to meet my mom already.”
Steve huffs a laugh. “Got it. After 9. No meeting mom just yet.” He promises.
This time, reading the letter feels like there’s sparking gunpowder littered in your very heart — lighting it up in a frenzy of fire in your chest as you read. It’s impossible to do anything except inhale each new word. You felt a little bad, sure, reading a review of your own date but then again, it was your job.
Besides, you’d tell Steve. When... Well, alright, you weren’t totally sure when you were going to tell him.
Definitely not before the next date. It was still fragile — and some part knew that if you told him, there was a good chance Steve would be too embarrassed. Would work himself up over it and it would ruin everything.
It was like... a souffle. You had to take it out of the oven at the right time; too soon, and everything would sink in on itself.
So, you decided to wait it out. Dish out some more advice and... see how the next date went.
You write back, There isn’t such a thing as giving too much away. This girl will be flattered to know you care as much as you do. Take her somewhere special to you.
It’s just enough of a nudge you think. ‘Somewhere special’ was a wide-open prompt that Steve could interpret as he liked. He could pick just how intimate the next date would be. You promise to yourself quietly, that if you get a third date, you’ll tell him then.
Steve calls you the night after your responding advice is published in The Hawkins Post. 10 minutes past 9pm. He tells you, voice low and sweet, that he’s got a surprise spot in mind.
“If you’re up for that,” Steve hastily tacks on. “We don’t have to. I’m- we can go out for dinner if you’d prefer that. I totally love dinner.”
Faintly through the phone, you hear the quiet noise, like a thud. You have to smother down a giggle as you realise Steve’s smacked himself with the phone in his own exasperation.
“I’m up for a surprise,” You assure him, clutching the phone a bit tighter in your excitement. “That sounds fun.”
“Fun,” Steve echoes, with a tone of disbelief. Like he hadn’t believed you’d agree until, well, you had. “Yes! It’ll be fun. So much. I hope so. When are you free?”
His words come out so quickly. You can’t hide your laugh this time, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to try to dissuade the giddy grin threatening your lips. No dice. Nothing can stop your elation.
“What kind of surprise are we talking about?” You ask first, thinking over your next words, wondering if you’re brave enough to say them. You take the leap. “Because, well, I know it’s a Tuesday but I’m free tomorrow night and—“
“Yes.” Steve cuts in eagerly. “Tomorrow night, let’s do it. I can pick you up?”
“Okay,” you agree, nodding even though he can’t see it. You don’t think your grin can’t get any wider, barely contained enough to relay your address for him to jot down.
Tuesday evening is soft, the sky a pale blue that washes warmth over the day. Steve picks you up on time. He’s handsome as ever, leaning up against the driver's side door as he waits for you.
Your heart does a little skip when he straightens up upon spotting you, perking up like he had at the cinema. It reminds you faintly of a dog wagging its tail; his happiness at seeing you so visible to see.
“Did you get prettier since the last time I saw you?” He says, in lieu of greeting as you trot down to meet him. You feel heat bloom beneath your cheeks.
“I-” Your nerves creep up and honesty takes over your words. “I don’t know how to answer that.” You titter out a laugh, a smile tugging at your mouth.
Steve hums as you come to a stop before him. He pretends to give you a serious once over, his eyes light and smile easy. His gaze comes back up to rest on your face before he nods firmly.
“Mmhm, it’s just as I expected.” He reports back, soft and genuine. “Prettier in every way.”
You laugh again, nervousness bleeding into the sound but his words sink into your skin warmly. Fingers twisting into your sweater, you try to rein in your rabbiting heart.
“You’re a goof, anyone ever tell you?”
Steve grins. “Never said I wasn’t. Now, your chariot awaits.”
He sweeps an arm to the car behind him.
He’s right, it is a surprise. You’re not entirely sure where you’d been anticipating — maybe his favourite spot to eat? But instead, he takes you to a clearing, with blankets of grass and wildflowers dotted across the landscape.
For a moment, when you creep out from his car, hands still clutching the edge of the door, you wonder if this is how he found Skull Rock and the likes — that maybe Steve Harrington was an explorer by nature. You think back to your advice and wonder; what makes this place special to him?
Your heart twists, knowing that he’s taken your advice, even if some part of you tears up in guilt. You will tell him. You take solace in knowing there’s not much to be guilty of; telling him the best way to woo you is hardly terrible manipulation.
Sure, it’s swindling but... of the sweetest kind. You lead him to your heart and in return, get to steal his own.
Steve’s brought along a blanket and picnic for the two of you. There are crudely cut sandwiches, though you don’t doubt he’s tried his best, paired with punnets of ripe fat strawberries. It’s... adorable. Dizzily endearing, how much effort he’s put in for you.
Your heart aches a little more at his pink cheeks as he unpacks all this for you like he’s worried what you’ll think. He is worried about what you’ll think, you realise. Despite all you’ve heard and known about King Steve, your mind winds up thinking back to his letter... I don’t want her to get freaked out if I come on too strong.
A fire of determination burns in your chest. Loving loudly would never be— could never be something to hide. Nor to feel embarrassed over, not with you at least.
So, you start by trying to feed him a strawberry, like a thousand romance novels have taught you. Instead of a cute gesture, you smush it into his cheek instead by accident as he turns his face suddenly. An apology squeaks out of you.
“I’m— oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You’re wiping the red juice splattered on his cheek, your own cheeks feeling fiery and hot. Steve takes your endless apologies well, assuring away the beginnings of your mortification.
He only manages to truly stop your flow of embarrassed apologies by squishing a sandwich against your cheek as well, just to make it fair — a peel of your laughter fills the field, some of your nervousness floating away with it.
Then, just as you had, Steve wipes off the smear of cream cheese on your chin with his thumb, the motion soft and gentle. Your nerves jump around again.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you begin, finally asking the question that’s been burning since you arrived. “Because I’m loving this date but… Why did you pick this spot?”
You’re careful to word your question in a way that doesn’t give away what else you know. Beside you, Steve takes a moment to think. His eyes scan over your face before he tilts it back to face the clearing, his arms resting on his propped up knees.
He’s just a boy. A pretty boy on a picnic rug he brought along to your date, in a field of flowers that he took you to. You have the thought to compare him to a painting in this moment right as Steve starts to speak.
“I came up here a whole lot after,” Steve heaves a loud sigh like he’s regretful for what he’s about to bring up. “After me and Nancy broke up. It was good to get out of town and just, like, have my own time to think. To think about what I really wanted.”
You dare to ask. “And did you figure it out? What you really wanted?”
Steve glances over at you and smiles crookedly. It’s one of his real smiles, you’ve come to realise. “To not get my heart broken again, for starters. That just— that shit sucked, you know?”
He laughs a little bitterly, more to himself, and steals another glance at you, like his words are a test and he’ll find an answer in your expression. You smile gently, hoping to convey every softness that you have for him. Every good intent.
“Well, m’not looking to do that.” You admit truthfully. “Maybe, I’ll… I’ll ease the ache?”
Steve seems to soften at your words, relaxing. His shoulders drop an inch. “I hope so.”
“And maybe, I want a little bit of loverboy Steve Harrington for myself too.” You say, your smile turning more coy. It’s true that loverboy was one of the nicknames for Steve tossed around Hawkins High halls but it hadn’t really stuck the same way The Hair or King Steve had. Except for, well, secretly with you.
“Loverboy?”
“That’s what they call you!”
“And who are they?” Steve asks, some of his signature charm creeping back in. He smirks at you, leaning in closer and your breath hitches nervously. You grin despite it.
“People!”
“Uh huh…”
Time flows easily around the two of you, weaving like the softest cocoon. As the sunset blossoms, the grassy clearing becomes breathtaking. The moment the sun dips below the horizon, dimming the sky and encouraging out the stars, you suddenly know why this is Steve’s special spot.
He stretches out on his back, eyes to the sky. You copy him. Two little bodies cocooned in the sweet grass, wrapped in the night-time.
“This might seem strange,” Steve starts. His brows are bunched together, thinking hard, but his expression lightens as he turns his face to you. “But... Thank you for coming out here with me. For trusting me.”
A beat of quiet. A wind ruffles over the clearing, a soft whistle in the night. Steve swallows nervously. “Was it a good surprise?”
His question is so earnest it aches. It’s so obvious that he just wants to do this right and well for you.
You know now that even without your advice through the paper, Steve would have charmed you all the same. That you might’ve taken another route and it might’ve taken another couple of dates before you got here, sharing secret spots— but that you’d end up here, with him, regardless.
“It was,” you tell him truthfully, chest glittering with happiness. You smile at him, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Thank you for showing me.”
Steve grins. He turns back to face the sky, eyes cinching shut for a moment. Breathes in the moment. You admire the dimple of his smile. His pretty mouth. His eyes peek back open as turns back to you, voice dropped down into a whisper, “You’re welcome.”
It feels like a little more than you’re welcome — like maybe, he’s thanking you too. You’re really thanking yourself too, for wandering into Family Video when you had, for saying yes to Steve, for giving yourself this chance with him.
Moonlight shadows across his face, strong brows and sloped nose even more defined in the dark. You stare, eyes dragging from mole to mole, avoiding his intense brown eyes that threaten to make everything in your chest melt pathetically.
Shit, is he going to kiss you? Your stomach jumps with a spike of pure want and you move forward— right as Steve sits up. Embarrassment flushes down your spine and you recoil back, sitting up quickly as Steve had but not quick enough.
“Wait,” Steve says suddenly, twisting to glance at where you’d both been lying just a moment. In your panic, you don’t hear the eagerness in his voice. “Were you gonna—?”
Somehow, it seems more embarrassing to admit it aloud. That you might have been ballsy enough to kiss Steve first. You shake your head without thinking about it, arms coming to curl around your knees. Fuck, you wish you had read that moment right.
“Uh,” You spit out stupidly. “No, no, it was just…” you clear your throat. The awkwardness of the moment is nearly painful.
“I mean, yes,” you correct yourself quietly, clearing your throat again. You don’t want Steve to think you don’t want to kiss him. “I was, but—“
“You were?” Steve sounds close to devastation. His expression has crumpled a bit, regret rippling off him in waves. Your stomach turns.
“It’s okay!” You assure him hurriedly. “It’s— you know, the moments gone but there’s always… next time, right?” Your voice comes out a bit tight.
Steve seems a tad bit relieved at your words, shoulders deflating an inch or so. He nods along, even though you can still see the tinge of embarrassment on his face — it’s adorable, that he’s the one feeling embarrassed like it wasn’t you who made a move at the wrong time.
“Yeah,” Steve hasn’t stopped nodding, even as his gaze has travelled off you, staring down at his hands. The furrow in his brow hasn’t eased up, still drawn together in the middle, even as he agrees, “Yeah, next time. Uh, totally.”
Then, his head jerks up in your direction. “I’m sorry, by the way, I didn’t mea—“
You wave him off, a nervous chuckle coming out. You sort of want to bury your missed kiss along with all your humiliation but with every other word but Steve keeps kicking off the dirt. “Seriously, it’s fine, Steve. Really.”
His nod isn’t all that convincing to say he believes you.
Regret festers deep in your gut when the evening seems to derail from that point on. Try as you might, you can tell Steve is stuck in his own head; no doubt hounding himself for the strange rebuff he’d given you.
It would be endearing, that he’s so twisted up inside over it, if it didn’t seep awkwardness into the remainder of your date. You wish you hadn’t tried to kiss him.
The car ride to drop you home is absent of the sweet conversation you’d had when he’d picked you up. Words lull, just an oddly tense air between you two. You’re not sure how to fix this.
When Steve pulls up to the curb, the engine idling with a low rumble, you don’t open the door, not yet. Instead, you turn to Steve.
He’s already waiting, already looking over at you, a hint of worry in his expression — though, it’s gone in a flash.
Steve peels his white-knuckled grip off the steering wheel, pressing his hands into his thighs nervously. He gives a strange sort of chuckle and exhales.
“Right,” He starts, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I know that— well, obviously, that wasn’t how I’d hoped that would go at the end and—”
He pauses, eyes scrunching shut with a groan as he tries to collect his words. The next sentence looks like it takes effort to grind out. “I would understand, is all, if you decided you didn’t want to go out again—”
“I do.”
“—because that was, well- wait, what?”
Steve forces his eyes open and doesn’t even try to hide his astonishment. Your heart throbs achingly at his obvious surprise.
“I do want to go out again.” You nod along with your words. Being so sincere makes you feel a bit naked, forcing your vulnerability out into the open so that you don’t let him spiral. But you’d rather deal with that discomfort that let Steve get the wrong idea.
“Yeah?” Steve breathes. He seems to remember himself, picking his hands off his lap and draping them over the steering wheel. They tap at it lightly. Still nervous. “I’ll— I’ll call you?”
You nod again. For a brief moment, you think of how dates are supposed to end with kisses, or so you’re told. Your eyes dip down to his lips.
You want to. Even just pressing a peck to his cheek might satisfy your churning, growing urge to kiss him — but you certainly don’t have enough courage scraped together after his accidental rebuff.
A little part of you whispers meanly that it may not have been so accidental.
“After 9pm, remember?” You hear yourself say with a smile. Opening the door, you step out onto the sidewalk and close it gently behind you.
Then you deliver Steve one more smile, one more look back, because that’s the bravest you can be at the moment.
He doesn’t call the next night.
Or the night after.
You’re certainly not expecting another letter from Steve, especially considering how your phone has sat idle and quiet in its cradle since your date on Tuesday. Ringing, but not for you.
But come Friday morning— there is it.
Another letter, scribbled in handwriting you’re coming to recognise. Your heart stammers through the next couple beats as you realise what it is, who has sent it.
This time, you nearly consider not reading it. For him and for you, you consider letting it get lost in the piles of paper, never seen, never read. But burning curiosity wins, coddled by your bruised ego.
This letter is messier and more hurried than its predecessors, letters looping together all slanted.
And…oh.
A small worry in you settles. Changes and transforms into something warmer as you realise he hasn’t called you because he’s waiting for advice first. Waiting, unknowingly, for you to answer him.
You genuinely think the space where your heart is supposed to be is empty — that the organ has melted down like gooey candle wax, dripping down your ribcage in burning hot affection. Your chest aches in the best way.
You’d never understood films where girls lie on their beds and kick their feet up, doodling hearts on paper. The urge is suddenly quite overwhelming. Christ. Steve really likes you.
He hadn’t called you back because— because part of him thinks you wouldn’t want him too. That one missed kiss would be the dealbreaker, even after those lovely dates.
You want to scoff, to laugh, to track down Steve and grip him by the shoulders and say, ‘I think you’re stuck with me if you’ll have me!’
You settle for pulling out a fresh sheet to draft your response.
It’s a bit of a gamble, considering the part about the stars is complete codswallop. The newspaper doesn’t even technically have an astrologist; the horoscopes are auto-generated every week. You’re praying Steve won’t know that.
The paper goes to print on Friday evening, for the early weekend morning the day after. Saturday morning, there’s a call of your name downstairs and you’re halfway down the stairs when you pause at the sight of your mom on the phone.
“Someone on the phone for you,” She comments, the smallest raise of her eyebrows. You ignore the way that makes you hot inside, rushing down the end of the stairs to rescue who you hope is Steve on the other end of the phone. Your mom skirts away but not without one more meaningful glance back at you.
You turn and face the other way, giving away nothing. You’re sure you sound a bit breathless as you speak into the receiver, “Hello?”
A crackle on the other end.
“Hi.” A voice says nervously. There’s a moment’s pause. “It’s Steve.”
You fight off a combination of responses; a girlish squeal and a hefty sigh of relief. He called. The cord of the phone loops around your fingers automatically.
“Hey,” You say, aiming for casual. You’re not sure if it comes out that way.
A small part of you doesn’t mind if he hears your poorly tamped down excitement — an even smaller part wants him to. There’s something different about this call, knowing what you know.
“I’m real sorry it took so long to call,” Steve says, voice genuine. He clearly feels the need to explain his silence. You suppose if you hadn’t received his letter, you might still be feeling a bit confused and bummed out. “I— I’ll tell you all about why tomorrow? If you’re free?”
It’s sickeningly sweet that he still sounds so nervous.
“Of course,” you say. “It’s—” It crosses your mind to tell him, here and now, to explain that you knew exactly why he took so long to call you. You fumble and something else comes out instead. “I’m- I’m glad you called, Steve.”
“Me too.”
Your cheeks ache a bit with the force of your grin. The cord of the phone loops over your finger again and again as you sink against the wall, clutching the phone tighter and pull yourself together,
“So, what’s the plan?”
“You, me, maybe head over to Indianapolis and try out the new golfing game they just set up over there? That sound… good to you?”
It sounds very good to you.
“I can’t say I’ve ever played golf.” You admit.
A little worry piques up about making a fool of yourself, then settles quickly. Steve wouldn’t make fun of you. If you sucked, you’re actually sure he’d find some way to spin it all romantic style.
“I’ll teach you.”
“You’ve played?”
“Never,” You can hear Steve’s smile through the phone. “But can’t be that hard right?”
—
There’s a lot of thought that goes into what to wear, evident in the holes you must be wearing in your carpet from pacing across it. Restless energy drives you, some labyrinth of nerves and anticipation knotted in your gut.
Spread out before you on the bed lies everything you own in the colour yellow.
If she wears yellow, it’s your sign. Make your move.
Your own words— well, Gabby’s words, delivered to Steve via the Hawkins Post on how to know if he’s earned your heart like you know he so desperately wants to. You want to show him he has — in a way that seems like a goddamn sign from the universe.
The skirt is one of your nicer ones.
Along the waistline, embroidered flowers are stitched into the fabric and it swishes in just the way you love. Best of all is the dreamy buttery colour, like the colour that bleeds through at the beginning of a sunset, when the sky starts to change at dusk. It’s yellow as yellow comes — for good reason.
You want him to see you and know.
For the sign to be so unanimously yes that he doesn’t have any space for the same doubts that tornadoed up in his head after your last date.
The type of giddiness that can only be spurred on by crushes and love alike spins up inside you, like sugar catching in a wheel and turning to cotton candy. You’re so sweet on him it’s making you feel gaga.
You’re also terrified — because you have to tell him now. Inklings of anxiety settle in your chest, leaving little notches in your ribs that twinge a little bit. You really don’t want Steve to leave your life, not now that he’s just come into it.
A little part of you regrets not telling him on the first date, when all your revelations rolled into one big Oh My God! outside of the Hawk cinema.
You hadn’t told him though, so you need to tell him now. And then again, if you’re asking Steve to trust in the stars then… maybe, so should you.
The afternoon sun lights through the glass of your front door and coats the entrance hall in gold. Steve, as always, is on time. You’re barely down the stairs, the clock chiming at 1 o’clock, when a familiar toot! sounds from out front. Your fingers stress with the fabric of your skirt, smoothing it down for the nth time.
Here goes… everything.
You open the door to step you and you startle in surprise to find there’s already someone on the doorstep.
The door snicks shut behind you, bumping your forward an inch, and the warmth of the afternoon sweeps across your skin.
Steve’s staring downwards, one hand adjusting his ringer t-shirt nervously and the other holding together a fresh bouquet of flowers- sunflowers.
He got you sunflowers.
Yellow, yellow, yellow. There seems to be a theme to your love.
His head shoots up at the sound of your entrance, his eyes snagging on your sunny-coloured skirt which shifts in the wind. You swear you can hear his breath hitch as he takes in the colour, a smile blooming wide across his face.
Remembering his manners, Steve clears his throat and tears his eyes off your skirt but it’s too late — the buttery yellow has done its job and he knows.
His grin has turned brazen and wild. Confidence rolls his shoulder back a bit and his chest puffs out. He looks so handsome it makes you hopelessly nervous.
“These are…” Steve holds the flowers out but his words trail off. His eyes back on the ground as he thinks, hard, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.
In a second, he seems to come to a decision because he’s stepping closer to you, so close that if you both leaned in a couple more inches, your nose would brush his chin. He holds the sunflowers purposefully out the way, mindful of crushing them.
He smells very nice, you realise. The scent of his cologne inspires a flustering reaction; you’re sure there must be cartoon hearts swimming above your head. You reign in your thoughts before they get away from you.
“Look, I messed up our last kiss and honestly, until recently I didn’t even know that was something I was even capable of doing.” Steve huffs a laugh, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.
His eyes screw shut for just a moment, gathering his thoughts, or perhaps his courage. Maybe both.
“But, I am. I’m- I feel like a fool around you and I miss these little cues because I’m trying to think of the right thing to say or— or because I can’t stop looking at you. And it’s because I like you. I really like you.”
He inhales a shuddering breath. The sun beams make his eyes two shades lighter.
“I’ve been confused and lost in love once before and it means that some days I’m not even sure what that feeling even is, what I’m looking for, but… I think it may feel a lot like you.”
There is it, presented forward to you. His heart on his sleeve, bleeding for you.
His affections are so transparent it makes you ache for him more. Sunlight seems to fill your chest, burning in its ardor and the tenderness soon follows.
You feel the fondness you have for him, just a seedling of new love, taking root deep in your heart. A part of you suspects it may have snuck in there far earlier, nestling in sometime between your longing glancing and shared smiles.
“And now, I really, really want to kiss you.” Steve says, the words so earnest they scrape on the way up his throat.
His brown eyes are searching your face as his free hand rises, hesitating for only a moment before it finds a home curled along your jaw. “And get a chance to get it right this time.”
“Steve,” you whisper. His name makes your mouth tender like no other word can. “Kiss me.”
His fingers slide along your jaw and touch the edges of your hair as he inches nearer and your heart lurches up your throat in anticipation. His lips are quivering ever so slightly, you notice.
And then his lips are on yours.
He kisses your mouth with all the adoration of a familiar long-time lover, deep and longing. Pushing up on your toes, your hands grasp at his shirt, the fabric twisting between your fingers as you pull him closer. It’s… lovely.
Your heart aches and soars, beating as one with him as his kiss sets a fire aflame within you. You are officially and utterly enraptured by Steve Harrington and all he is, but especially his kisses. You already miss the last of his lips when Steve breaks the kiss.
He doesn’t move back, staying close, and the tip of his nose bumps against yours. He’s sporting a grin that rivals the day in sunshine.
“You wore yellow,” He says, voice doused in awe.
Oh. That’s right. His words are a swift kick to reality. You pull back just a bit, hands flattening out on his chest, just so you can see his face properly because you know if you’re too close, you might fall victim to his brown eyes.
“About that…”
Steve blinks and takes a second to realise that he must have spoken aloud. He chuckles, a hint of embarrassment in the noise, and rushes to explain. “That was— that must’ve sounded-”
“I’m Gabby.” You interrupt before he can get carried away.
Steve frowns, confusion creasing between his brows. “What? I thought your name was—”
“No!” You jump in again, biting down your smile at his adorable misunderstanding. “I-I mean I write as Gabby. From the Hawkins Post.”
Steve blinks at you again. His face blanches and then, it’s like watching fruit ripen, the apples of his cheek getting pinker and pinker with every passing second.
He splutters, a myriad of emotions overtaking his features; surprise, bewilderment, embarrassment. He jumps from one to the other in an instant.
“You- you’re— and you?”
There’s not really a proper sentence coming from Steve, just bucket loads of endearing and unneeded embarrassment radiating off him, so warm you can nearly feel it. Steve sputters for another second before he finally manages to spit out a sentence.
“The whole time?”
You have the decency to look sheepish when you nod. Steve steps back for a moment and you try to ignore the spike of fear it invokes in you — he buries his face in his hands, squishing the flowers against his hair, and releases a pitiful sounding groan into his palms. After a moment, he drags his hands down his face and peeks up at you.
“The whole time?” Steve asks again, in a meek whisper.
“I’m sorry!” You squeak out, guilt beginning to overflow. Oh god, you’ve deceived him and he hates you—
“No, no, no,” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, which then cards through his hair. He’s still looking a bit frazzled but his eyes finally focus back on you.
“It’s not— Oh, man, I can’t believe it was you. No wonder the advice worked so well! This is- this is a new kind of embarrassing—”
Steve groans again, though his smile is starting to return. “I can’t believe you still went out with me once you figured it out. God, I knew that writing in was a bit pathetic, it’s gotta be like a—” He holds his hand out flat, hovering at chest height. “Top ten loser move of all time and you still—.”
“No, it’s not!” You insist, stepping forward to close the gap between you. You shake your head, eager to convince him of how it had seemed from your side; a sweet love letter from someone who cared enough to try to get things right.
“It was sweet and honest. Before I even knew it was you, reading that first letter, I… I wanted it to be you.” You admit, a bit bashfully.
Steve takes a moment to look at you, eyes dancing down to look at your yellow skirt which swishes as another breeze passes by. Warm afternoon air cocooning around you, you look the picture of devastatingly pretty, dolled up for a date with him. You’ve seen this dorky and little bit pathetic side of him, with his desperate search for advice and missed kisses and yet… you’re still here.
“You did? You mean that? You don’t think it was… weird?”
You shake your head, a few strands of hair escaping from behind your ear. Steve thinks about tucking them back for you. He doesn’t feel brave enough yet.
“I mean that. I— it was crazy when I figured it out and I sort of thought it was just wishful thinking but, definitely not weird.”
You hold your hand up, fingers nearly pinched together with only a few centimetres between them. You squint, smile overtaking your lips before you can stop it. “Was just a little bit funny, though.”
Steve laughs, head tipping forward to hide his rosy cheeks. He peers back up at you through his lashes, a new twinkle in his eyes. “You’re a little minx, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t plan it!” You splutter out, defending yourself. “It was- it was just a freaky coincidence.”
“A freaky coincidence?” Steve’s brows hike up an inch. His smile turns into a smirk and he rocks up on the balls of his feet, then steps back in closer to you. “Mmhm. Totally believe you.”
“Doesn’t sound like you do.”
“Weren’t you the one who told me to trust in the stars? You should take your own advice, really.”
He leans in so close that you think he’s about to kiss you. He doesn’t— just hovers an inch from your lips.
“I’ve found it works astoundingly well.” He says, voice husky with how low it is.
You shiver a bit, delight zinging up your spine and try your best to not to smile too much because, well — as you find, it’s awfully hard to kiss someone properly when you’re cheesing out, grinning too wide.
Good thing, neither you or Steve seem to mind very much.
#dear god#i hope this doesn’t crash in burn#it’s been…. how many months since i posted an x reader fic#5 MONTHS!!!!#GOD IM SORRY#i had this idea…. november last year#took me so fucking long#anyways… if u liked nine facts…. maybe u like this?#except no enemies :(#ruby writes steve#steve x reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fluff
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
even more daisy jones-adjacent things. parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. tw mentions of substance abuse, talks of blacking out. part 6. part 7.
ao3
It hits number five.
The song about losing, the song Steve helped write, the song with Steve's vocals, hits number five. It's the highest Corroded Coffin has ever gotten on a chart, and it's the highest Steve Harrington has, too.
They're ecstatic, Chrissy is smug, and the record company offers an album.
If, and only if, Steve Harrington continues to work with Corroded Coffin.
Eddie scared himself by saying "yes" first and scared himself even more by agreeing with Steve. But, he reasons, if they're going to be writing an album together, he needs to get the hell over himself.
Easier said than done, but Eddie has always had an "A for effort" kind of mindset.
He's always been the one writing most of the songs. He's always been the one with too many words in his head, always itching for a pen, always thinking in terms of guitar tabs and staff notation when Archie is feeling especially pretentious. Eddie has always done most of it, which has always worked. Jeff helps with lyrics because "I need to make sure you won't make me say anything stupid," Gareth has no interest beyond writing his own drum parts, and Archie, despite knowing the most formal music theory of any of them, doesn't care beyond cleaning it up.
But Eddie needs to write with someone now, and he realizes very quickly that he can't work with someone he hates, or, worse, barely knows.
"Let's play a game," he says, setting down his guitar and kicking his feet up on the couch. He and Steve have long since abandoned writing in the studio and instead decided that Steve's house - a little stucco bungalow with a pool and other cars always in the driveway - would make for a better venue.
Steve scowls when he sees Eddie's feet on the couch, but he stops humming to himself and starts paying attention. "What kind of game?"
"Truth or truth."
"Don't you mean truth or dare?"
"Nope," Eddie says. "Truth or truth. I ask a question, you answer it honestly, then I have to answer my own question. Then you ask, I answer, you answer. Rinse repeat, you get the drill."
"How do you win?" Steve asks, looking up at Eddie from where he sits on the floor.
"You win if you ask a question the other person refuses to answer."
"Sounds like I can just give up as soon as you ask."
"You could," Eddie admits. "But where's the fun in that?"
A tiny, barely-there smile pops up on Steve's face, and that's how Eddie knows he's starting to get somewhere.
Yeah. He's on edge around Steve. He thinks that anyone in his position would be. But Steve is admittedly impressive and mysterious and pretty, and all of that calls to Eddie's lesser instinct to push.
So, the game starts. They exhaust the run of the mill questions fairly quickly; Eddie learns that Steve's favorite color is sapphire, that he used to babysit and lifeguard, that he's from some podunk town in Indiana that he doesn't seem too keen on sharing more about. Eddie, in turn, says that his favorite color is ruby, that he used to work as a mechanic and thought about doing tattoos, that he's from a lot of different places all around Appalachia but the simpler answer is "born in West Virginia, raised in Kentucky."
"Shouldn't you make country music or something, then?" Steve asks.
"Folk's more applicable," Eddie says. "And I grew up listening to it, but I need to make something a little more... all-encompassing."
"I wouldn't say metal's very general."
"No, but when you listen to it, you can't think of anything else but the sound, can you?"
Steve considers for a moment, then nods wordlessly. "Your question."
Eddie thinks. He stares at Steve's twitchy hands, his exhausted face, his slumped posture. And he asks, in direct opposition to his better judgement, "When's the last time you slept?"
He watches, in real time, as Steve's face completely shutters.
But that only lasts an instant. The complete fall, the shut-down, lasts a fraction of a second before Steve completely shifts. He sits up taller, brushes his hair back from his forehead, and looks more alert, less fidgety.
He sobers up, right there in front of Eddie, or at least he pretends to.
"That's a boring question," he says. "Last night."
"You're supposed to answer honestly," Eddie reminds him.
"I am. I slept last night. Seven hours."
Eddie bites his tongue to stave off his instinctual, No, you didn't.
"You're supposed to answer your question now," Steve says once the silence has stretched too long.
"Same as you," Eddie says. "Last night."
Steve scoots closer toward the couch. There's a smug smile on his face, one that Eddie doesn't particularly like.
He thinks he might need a cigarette.
Then, Steve asks, "When's the last time you drank?"
Yeah. Eddie's definitely going to need a cigarette by the time this conversation ends.
"Two years ago," he says because if Steve won't be honest, he will. "August. Indianapolis. I was blacked out. I don't remember anything until halfway through the show the next day. Gareth says he thought about dragging my ass offstage because I was too far gone to tune my guitar until after the first three songs."
The smile melts off Steve's face the more Eddie talks. If Eddie were a better person, he wouldn't find such joy in that.
Eddie isn't a better person. Steve isn't, either.
"Eddie, I-"
"Answer your own question."
"A week ago," Steve says. "I was out celebrating Robin's birthday. Honest."
Eddie believes him. Really, he does. But he's a little bit vindictive, and because Steve shoved him, he has to shove back harder.
"What are you running from?" he asks.
Steve goes completely still. "What?"
Eddie doesn't bother explaining. He knows that if he brings up the way Steve is always a little not here, the way he's fidgety and always too warm, the way he always wears something with pockets that he sticks his hands in, that Steve won't say anything at all.
So, he says again, "What are you running from?"
"I'm not running from anything," Steve says.
"I think I win the game."
Steve scrubs a hand down his face. "Sure. Whatever. But answer your own question."
"Monsters," Eddie says because he's honest.
Steve raises his eyebrows. "You have no idea what monsters are, Eddie."
"Is that what you're running from?"
Steve stares at him again. Eddie watches his hands move in his pockets.
"I need a cigarette," he says, standing up. "You want one?"
Steve shakes his head. "I don't smoke. It stains my teeth."
Eddie walks outside before he pushes further, says something about the fact that Steve is doing way worse than cigarettes and cares more about his teeth than staying alive.
What the hell is he running from?
Eddie hates himself for wanting to find out.
#ria writes#dja au#steddie#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#eddie munson#st#st ficlet#stranger things#stranger things ficlet#rockstar eddie munson#tw drugs#tw substance abuse
334 notes
·
View notes
Text
ficrecs masterlist.
welcome to my ficrecs masterlist!
find my main blog @ichorai.
find my own fics here.
below the cut includes marvel, game of thrones, house of the dragon, dc, star wars, the boys, friends, bridgerton, bullet train, the gray man, the walking dead, arcane, and succession fics!
marvel.
ೃ⁀➷ bucky barnes.
be still, my indelible love by @pellucid-constellations
code words by @cinebration
cookies and tea by @han-writings
counting by @/pellucid-constellations
depth of a shade by @softlybarnes
dreamscape by @wkemeup
first date by @melwilson
flight risk by @/wkemeup
guiding light by @/wkemeup
harmless by @shurisneakers
henleys and hairties by @lovelybarnes
if without you by @rassvetsky
it will come back by @shedobewritingalittle
i've got you by @majestyeverlasting
keep you warm by @heavenlybarnes
lavender by @/wkemeup
lilac wine by @nexusnyx
looped by @/softlybarnes
nostalgia for the new by @real-jane
safe by @hailhydra920
sleeping on the floor by @duckie-bee
snow days by @bucky-bucket-barnes
the sound of your heart by @jobean12-blog
stairs by @/lovelybarnes
time after time by @intrepidacious
two sides of the same coin by @anonymityisfunwriter
under oath by @ugh-supersoldiers
untitled by @vanderlustwords
valentine by @/softlybarnes
waiting waiting waiting by @/wkemeup
the way he loves by @/lovelybarnes
whatever happens, wherever i go... by @foreverindreamlandd
ೃ⁀➷ charles xavier.
gravitational pull by @lazydoodlesandfanfic
ೃ⁀➷ eddie brock.
exchanges by @whirlybirbs
ೃ⁀➷ frank castle.
wherever you go, i go by @amhrosina
ೃ⁀➷ jack russell.
come back to me by @/cinebration
a good night by @noforkingclue
untitled by @ruby-dragon
ೃ⁀➷ jake lockley.
bad days by @gooddaysmeanwritingdays
the jake problem by @bensolosbluesaber
keep the secret? by @mkfluffluv
trouble sleeping by @the-butterfly-blues
ೃ⁀➷ kate bishop.
this is a hospital by @alotofpockets
ೃ⁀➷ logan howlett.
blast from the past by @lune-hime
the breaking point by @stardustdreams-andcaffeine
dating logan howlett would include... by @chiefdirector
i don’t mind by @siren-and-faies-writing
family outing by @/lune-hime
forever winter by @luna-writes-stuff
if you’ll have me by @make-me-imagine
laura saw you two making-out... by @ellana-ravenwood
logan headcanons by @n1ghtw1ng01
reluctantly here by @moonlit-imagines
tragic endings by @buckyseddie
world on fire by @cobbvanthsblaster
ೃ⁀➷ marc spector.
bad days by @gooddaysmeanwritingdays
a future without you by @/mkfluffluv
halloween again by @/softlybarnes
jealousy by @stevenspector
just let me dream a little more by @the-archxr
lavender kisses by @kiwicider
loss by @b6cky
sleepy thief by @slightlypossessed
trouble sleeping by @/the-butterfly-blues
untitled by @/softlybarnes
untitled by @/softlybarnes
ೃ⁀➷ m’baku.
lord of the mountains by @/foreverindreamlandd
ೃ⁀➷ miles morales.
corazón despeinado & cielo en la miente by @parkerflix
ೃ⁀➷ namor.
safest place in the world by @legends-of-apex
sanctuary by @eunsuri
until the waves call me home by @harrysweasleys
ೃ⁀➷ natasha romanoff.
lazy days by @alotofpockets
penguin by @luthorgarbage
ೃ⁀➷ peter parker.
banana split by @/kiwicider
caviar and cigarettes by @curseofaphrodite
ೃ⁀➷ pietro maximoff.
at the end of the day by @acciopietro
peter with an s/o who’s too nice by @takenbypeter
waking up with pietro maximoff by @angelltheninth
ೃ⁀➷ steve rogers.
as you wish by @rookthorne
bridges break by @/shurisneakers
hide and seek by @earth616variant
parade by @rodrikstark
surname by @withbuckybarnes
a threat beneath the nice veneer by @witchywithwhiskey
untitled by @blushstories
ೃ⁀➷ steven grant.
10.21 am by @brockify
bad days by @/gooddaysmeanwritingdays
cuddling headcanons by @bowieandqueen11
heaven's cloud by @/brockify
jealousy by @/stevenspector
loss by @/b6cky
trouble sleeping by @/the-butterfly-blues
untitled by @forever-rogue
ೃ⁀➷ wade wilson.
untitled by @thebisexualdogdad
wade hitting on you, clossus’ sibling by @/moonlit-imagines
game of thrones / house of the dragon.
ೃ⁀➷ aegon targaryen.
pretty when you cry by @/kiwicider
ೃ⁀➷ aemond targaryen.
and what of your love? by @endless-ineffabilities
the campain by @sapphire-writes
can’t help falling in love by @lauraneedstochill
can i sit here? by @aemonds-war-crime
citrus by @aemondx
devotion by @milliesdiary
the dance between dragons by @house-strong
dragons, knights, and princesses by @runningmunson
education by @oneeyedvisenya
haven’t i been good to you? by @cosmoeticss
heartbeat by @spideymatcha
i’d rather be sad with you, than anywhere away from you by @jasonsmirrorball
i’m a damsel, i’m in distress, i can handle this by @valeskafics
in a week by @/oneeyedvisenya
in dreams by @/oneeyedvisenya
in the beginning by @avtrbee
judas by @s-brant
just kill me and be done with it by @targaryenrealnessdarling
a mother for a son by @/targaryenrealnessdarling
nectar of the gods by @aemndx
now i draw a luxury nxde by @xfancyuu
not at all in love by @/oneeyedvisenya
one eye open when i’m sleeping by @just-some-random-blogger
persuasion by @aemonds-sapphire
practice makes perfect by @1800-fight-me
she was lovin’ me, she was wantin’ me by @astrumark
a song of flames and fury by @/sapphire-writes
a stranger by @/targaryenrealnessdarling
time can’t stop me quite like you did by @/jasonsmirrorball
tipping point by @/oneeyedvisenya
touch starved aemond by @aemondsbeloved
unexplained illness by @warmfieldofgrass
the warrior princess by @theold-ultraviolence
whispers unsaid by @/theold-ultraviolence
unnoticed by @/aemonds-sapphire
untitled by @/aemonds-war-crime
untitled by @/aemonds-war-crime
untitled by @themotherofhorses
ೃ⁀➷ daemon targaryen.
in the shadow of your heart by @/endless-ineffabilities
puppy love by @/just-some-random-blogger
ೃ⁀➷ jacaerys velaryon.
the dance between dragons by @/house-strong
love, parents, and truths by @/house-strong
under the weirdwood tree by @targaryen-jpg
unexpected visit by @jacesbeloved
ೃ⁀➷ jon snow.
the jealous type by @ninjasawakenedmystar
the making of a man by @januaryembrs
moon of my life by @depends-on-the-sellsword
a northern light by @fallatyourfeet
snow by @l4verq
ೃ⁀➷ robb stark.
robb stark being protective would include... by @imagines-all-day-everyday
ೃ⁀➷ sansa stark.
warmth by @megsironthrone
dc.
ೃ⁀➷ adrian chase.
complex simplicity by @bingoboingobongo
my favorite girl by @vigilvntes
now or never by @/whirlybirbs
on her majesty’s supersonic service by @training4theapocalypse-backup
ೃ⁀➷ bruce wayne.
convenience by @imaginingmarvelandeverything
lingering shadows by @/foreverindreamlandd
middle of the night and shadows in the night by @hollandorks
i won’t drown, batman by @twinklelilstarkey
the way down by @whats-rambled-rambled
a world alone by @/vigilvntes
world’s greatest detective by @bkwrm523
ೃ⁀➷ dream / morpheus.
darling by @daddyjackfrost
the deal by @spideybatsy
exit light, enter night by @clints-lucky-arrow
how to mistakenly summon an ancient being & keep him by @writethrough
imagine being the one who releases morpheus by @undiscovered-horizon
love game by @/avtrbee
playing with morpheus’ hair by @paradiseinaverno
the mixup by @7-wonders
morpheus’ love languages by @auroraborealyss
saving grace by @/avtrbee
today i bury you in me by @the-darklings
star wars.
ೃ⁀➷ poe dameron.
the f-word by @the-little-ewok
heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional
officially unofficial by @thelovelylolly
one last dance by @loud-mouth-loser
peacetime by @lomlpoedameron
untitled by @starryeyedstories
the boys.
ೃ⁀➷ black noir.
domestic by @mlmxreader
in your dreams by @seeds-and-sins
friends.
ೃ⁀➷ friends.
how the friends characters would react to you asking for their pronouns by @lanawinterscigarettes
ೃ⁀➷ joey tribbiani.
the one where you’re dating joey by @charliewritesfanfic
untitled by @maximoff-pan
bridgerton.
ೃ⁀➷ benedict bridgerton.
365 days of you by @promenadewithme
as a kite by @saintlike78
benedict bridgerton and marriage by @iliveiloveiwrite
en garde by @delphispoeticals
forgive me by @benedictscanvas
invisible string by @purelyfiction
it is just tea by @leahsficemporium
knight in shining armor by @magpiencrow
matchmakers by @siempre-bucky
muse of mine by @murswrites
my heart, my future by @/make-me-imagine
pall mall by @tontattletale
paint with me by @/magpiencrow
the princess and the lord by @ficnacs
that’s my wife! by @wysteria-clad
they’re not the only ones by @/maximoff-pan
this and the next by @/iliveiloveiwrite
whatever the poets say by @cressidaclearwood
bullet train.
ೃ⁀➷ tangerine.
all in a days work by @fookinfandoms
bathroom b!tch by @keravnous
confessionals by @dragoneye01
crazy in love by @danny-cordray
tangerine comes home to you asleep by @magicchai
the gray man.
ೃ⁀➷ court gentry / lloyd hansen.
only the lonely and stop all the clocks by @charnelhouse
the walking dead.
ೃ⁀➷ rick grimes.
rick protecting you would include... by @joelsgeetar
arcane.
ೃ⁀➷ viktor.
all nighter by @shimmerforall
aphrodisiac with academy student viktor by @zaunitearchives
forgotten by @ficfanatictrf
human testing by @the-hidden-pages
rest by @writingmysanity
a theory by @gaybybirth
untitled by @astudyincontrasts
viktor with a sleey s/o headcanons by @kitt357
wet dreams by @/gaybybirth
succession.
ೃ⁀➷ roman roy.
bear hug by @richeeduvie
the blood pours by @bowieandqueen11
cuddling with roman roy by @/richeeduvie
date death by @/richeeduvie
heartbreaker by @the-west-meadow
hit me by @/the-west-meadow
jump then fall by @lukas-matsson
just close your eyes by @/lukas-matsson
like a leopard’s tongue in the mouth of a snake by @z3nitsusgf
neck and neck by @/richeeduvie
out of control by @jaebeomsbitch
phone line by @/richeeduvie
pining and anticipation by @aprilthearcher
the poison drips through by @itsasainz
red bird by @wildlunar
resolved issues by @/bowieandqueen11
roman roy being jealous would include... by @/bowieandqueen11
roman roy x age-gap reader headcanons & part two by @missscarlettangel
roman roy smut headcanons by @succcession
romeo take me somewhere we can be alone by @/missscarlettangel
romulus by @/richeeduvie
sneakers by @/richeeduvie
steamed by @/richeeduvie
sunlight by @/bowieandqueen11
this slant of light by @/richeeduvie
touch me (i’m sick) by @/richeeduvie
untitled by @/richeeduvie
untitled by @/the-west-meadow
untitled by @/the-west-meadow
untitled by @/z3nitsusgf
what’s an office crush? by @/missscarlettangel
when he’s gone by @/the-west-meadow
while you were sleeping by @/richeeduvie
#ficrecs masterlist#ichorbarnes ficrecs#bucky barnes x reader#eddie brock x reader#jake lockley x reader#logan howlett x reader#marc spector x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#peter parker x reader#stephen strange x reader#steve rogers x reader#steven grant x reader#wade wilson x reader#jon snow x reader#sansa stark x reader#adrian chase x reader#bruce wayne x reader#poe dameron x reader#joey tribbiani x reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#charles xavier x reader#jack russell x reader#tangerine x reader#morpheus x reader#court gentry x reader#lloyd hansen x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#roman roy x reader#robb stark x reader
720 notes
·
View notes
Note
💘 “it’s not much, but i got you this.” with stevie but friends to lovers vibes 🤭🤭 maybe u got stood up on a valentines date or smth
ruby your brain is sooooo…… the friends to lovers vibe here KILLS me! the way i was giving myself the butterflies writing this…it’s bad for me out here. mutual pining...idiots in love....love being in the little things.... yeah <3 [1.1k] | join the party!
Getting stood up sucked but something about it being Valentine’s Day rubbed just a little bit more salt into the wound. You’re not sure how many more sympathetic, pitying looks you can take.
“Sweetie, if you’re not gonna order we’re gonna have to ask you to give up the table,” your waitress says, that same sad smile on her face. Her eyes are kind and you know she means well but you can’t handle any more sympathy tonight. You smile at her tightly.
“Okay,” you relent, pushing your chair out. You pull out a few spare dollar bills you had in your purse and leave them on the table before leaving. When you’re outside and pulling your jacket around yourself to help against the wind, you’re wishing you asked to use their phone.
There’s a payphone maybe a block away you think and you start your trek to it, feeling more angry than anything else now. Stupid Bobby Skeeter, leaving you stranded like that. You scoff to yourself, kicking a pebble with the toe of your boot.
When you get to the payphone and punch in Steve’s number, you hardly expect him to answer on the first ring.
“Steve?” he responds with your name and before he can get far, you cut him off. “I’m at the payphone off Cherry and Main.” You can hear him shuffling on the other line, hear the jingling of his keys getting snatched off the counter. “Bobby didn’t….”
“I’m on my way,” is all he says and then he hangs up. You stand with the phone to your ear listening to the dial tone for a second before setting it back on the receiver.
Steve’s headlights flash over where you’re sitting on the curb when he pulls up not even ten minutes later. It should’ve taken him longer but you don’t dare question it. You rise to your feet as Steve gets out of his car and rounds it to give you a hug.
You hadn’t been all that sad before if you had to be honest with yourself but feeling Steve’s arms around you, squeezing you tight breaks some kind of dam behind your eyes. The first tear slips down your cheek as you wrap your arms tighter around Steve’s neck and hide your face against his collarbone.
He rubs a hand up your back and lets you hold on for as long as you need in the shine of his headlights. The car is still running behind you two and you can faintly hear a Bruce Springsteen song playing over his stereo. After the song ends, Steve speaks up.
“Are you hungry?”
You pull your head back with a small, wet laugh and nod. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, taking a step back. It’s only then does Steve realize how pretty you look, done up for a date that didn’t deserve you. “Starving.”
He takes you to a small diner off Fifth Street on the edge of town and you fill yourselves on greasy cheeseburgers and salty french fries and Steve insists on the two of you getting milkshakes. He makes you laugh and you almost forget all about your failed date.
Afterwards, he takes you home. You sit in his car in front of your house for a minute. In the silence, it’s easy to feel sad and sorry for yourself again. You bite back the prick of tears at the corner of your eyes.
“I wasn’t even sad at first,” you say, feeling like you need to explain yourself. Steve looks at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “At first, I was pissed and I spent the whole walk to the payphone cursing his entire existence. And then…I don’t know,” you scrunch your nose and wipe at your eyes. “I guess it was just a way for me to hide how much it hurt me, you know?”
Steve frowns, eyes scanning over you. He grabs your hand and squeezes it three times, like an apology he doesn’t need to give and a way of letting you know he’s there and he cares.
“Barry’s an idiot,” he says, purposely getting his name wrong because he knows it’ll make you smile. You roll your eyes.
“Bobby.”
“Eh,” he shrugs. “Same syllables.”
You let out a soft laugh, looking down at your hands in your lap.
“I, um. I’ve got something for you,” he says, letting go of your hand and leaning across you to open the glovebox. He pulls out a small wrapped gift and your eyes track it, your heart slowly starting to inflate. He holds it out to you.
“It’s not much..” you look at Steve and his heart chips away in his chest from how sad your eyes look. “But I got you this.”
You sniffle and wipe your nose with the sleeve of your jacket. You take the wrapped gift from his hands, shifting against the passenger’s seat of the car.
“You got me a Valentine’s gift?” you ask, voice sounding small. Steve’s cheeks start to warm, turning a light shade of pink that he prays doesn’t show in the dark. His eyes meet yours and he nods, a tight lipped smile on his face.
“‘Course. Open it,” he nods towards it and you look down at the gift in your lap. You glance back at him once, a tiny smile starting to lift your cheeks. The wrapping is an old brown paper bag but it’s wrapped nice and neat like he took his time with it. (He did.)
You pick at a corner of it and slowly peel back the paper. It doesn’t take you long to uncover his gift to you. It’s a new cassette for your walkman, the one you’d been eyeing lately. The one you’re not even sure you’ve mentioned but one time offhandedly. You think you might start crying again.
“Oh..Steve,” you utter his name so softly, like it’s something delicate and fragile. You swallow, tracing along the album cover art. He follows the movement of your hands with his eyes and then looks back up at your face, just as you’ve wiped away a new set of tears.
“Oh god...do you..is it..” he can’t get his words out and when you look at him with a beaming smile, eyes teary, he’s truly rendered speechless.
“It’s perfect. I love it,” I love you, you want to say but you bite your tongue. Instead, you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Stevie.”
He blinks, cheeks burning furiously now. He smiles at you and nods once.
“Anything for you.”
You have to bite on your lip to contain your grin.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington blurb#📝: a writes!#allie's valentine's house party <3#allie's vday party blurbs!
522 notes
·
View notes
Text
⭑ ˙₊⁺𓈒 ࣪LOOKING FOR DISCORD 1x1 PARTNERS⭒ ִֶָ˙ 𓈒˙₊⁺
hi there! i’m looking for some new rp partners to write with on discord. i tend to write in third person paragraphs and ask that my partner does the same. also, please be 18+. under the cut are a list of parings i’d like and the bolded characters are who i would play. like this if you are interested!
american horror story:
mallory / michael, kyle / zoe, & violet / tate.
anyone but you:
bea / ben.
bottoms:
hazel / pj, isabel / josie, & brittany / isabel.
boys, the:
annie / hughie, kimiko / frenchie, & becca / billy.
bridgerton:
anthony / kate, edwina / frederick, violet / edmund, charlotte / george, benedict / sophie, penelope / colin, eloise / sir philip, & eloise / theo.
caraval:
scarlett / julian, donatella / legend, & evangeline / jacks.
corpse bride:
emily / victor.
daisy jones and the six:
daisy / billy, camila / eddie, lisa / warren, & karen / graham.
dc:
dinah / helena, harley / ivy, harley / flag, selina / bruce, diana / steve, & raven / beast boy.
disney:
tink / peter pan, belle / beast, jasmine / aladdin, rapunzel / flynn, tiana / naveen, ariel / eric, & anna / kristoff.
five nights at freddy’s:
vanessa / mike, chica / foxy, & charlie / elizabeth.
folk of the air:
jude / cardan & taryn / locke.
grishaverse:
alina / darkling, shadow summoner oc / darkling, nina / matthias, kaz / inej, & nikolai / zoya.
invitation, the.
evie / walter.
knives out:
marta / ransom.
lisa frankenstein:
lisa / creature.
mean girls:
janis / regina & cady / aaron.
never have i ever.
ben / devi, trent / eleanor, aneesa / fabiola, & lindsay / paxton.
once upon a time:
emma / killian & august / ruby.
percy jackson and the olympians:
annabeth / percy, sally / poseidon, & thalia / luke.
ready or not:
grace / daniel.
red, white, and royal blue.
henry / alex.
rick and morty:
jessica / morty, unity / rick, beth / jerry, & tammy / summer.
scream:
chad / tara, danny / sam, ghost face oc / ethan.
teen wolf:
lydia / stiles & cora / isaac.
vampire diaries:
hope / landon, lizzie / landon, lizzie / mg.
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
Happy Wetnessday 💦
Which of all the characters you've written (reader inserts count too) would you pair up with another of your characters?
And because it wouldn't be Wetnessday without a little filth: which of the RG doms would you want to ruin you?
xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦
Hi Wetnessday Anon! 🥰🎉
Hmm, that's not exactly a "tough" question, but one that required me to give it some thought. I also unexpectedly realized I'm quite protective of each pairing and have some trouble separating them 😅
After thinking it through, I went with the "most compatible" route, rather than completely flipping the tables. I think Ruby Garden's Fawn would be really good with The Sacred Hunt Curtis. The primal play, chase kink, rawness of it all. Buuut, if that feels like a bit of cheating (since in my written canon she is with Curtis, only in a different universe), I also thought of: Sweet and Stained's Moonflower with Leshy Steve from Entwined. The love for nature, the trailing on the edge between light and darkness.
Now when it comes to my personal dreams about Ruby Garden Doms...
Master Ari is my dream Dom 🥺🫠
I mean, I probably wouldn't survive him in real life, but he's the kind that I crave so sooo much.
And it's not just about brat taming, lol 😆I really enjoy Master Ari's creativity, playfulness and wicked sense of fun. And in it all, he's still very calm, loving, fun to be with.
In full honesty, each of the Doms I write has something I personally long for and/or wish to try, but if I had to pick just one then it would be Ari. Master Steve would be right next on my list. But this time it's Ari who wins.
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
writing patterns 👁️
rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern!
I was tagged by @cranberrymoons! Thank you, this was SO FUN 💜
(All Steddie Fics)
1. Eddie could hardly breathe past the blood that was flooding into his mouth, threatening to choke him before he even had the opportunity to bleed out. – Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)
2. “That was amazing, Eddie!” – Life is a Game (and True Love is a Trophy)
3. After the “earthquake" Steve made arrangements to have the RV brought back to his house for safekeeping. – Pieces of Memory
4. Eddie grinned as he pulled his trusty van, the very same rust-bucket he’d been driving since high school that he liked to refer to as Van Halen, if only to elicit the groans of both friends and strangers, into the small parking lot beside the Buckingham beach motel. – No Vacancy
5. Will Byers was only 12 years old when he learned that monsters were real. – The Crawl
6. Eddie opened the door. – I Couldn't Lose You
7. Steve and Eddie had been best friends since The Beginning. – Honey, You're Familiar
8. The ear-piercingly loud siren of the building’s fire alarm jerked Steve out of an already fitful sleep. – Burnin' For You
9. Steve was busy nursing his 4th or 5th drink of the night, he wasn't completely sure how many he'd had to be honest, and daydreaming about big brown eyes while he stared across the bar, when Robin suddenly came up from behind and threw her arm over his shoulder. – Ruby
10. This was Steve’s favorite part of sex. – The romantic implications of misquoting Pride and Prejudice
Patterns – I do like to open with a name, apparently LOL but otherwise it's just chaos it seems!
no pressure tags: @penny00dreadful @hitlikehammers @pearynice @hairstevington @soaringornithopter @griefabyss69 @sidekick-hero @hornedqueenofhell @klausinamarink
#tag games#fanfic#fanfic writing#steddie fanfic#steddie#stranger things#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington/eddie munson
33 notes
·
View notes
