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engdame · 1 year
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taylor swift songs as colors: burnt orange
the road not taken looks real good now, and it always leads to you and my hometown
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‘tis the damn season // dorethea
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harrytheehottie · 9 months
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‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON PART THREE
a/n: finally!!! the final part of ‘tis the damn season series. it’s a doozy! hope you enjoy! 
word count: 5.5k ⭐️ part one ⭐️ part two ⭐️  tell me your thoughts 
You wanted to say yes.
You knew you should have said yes.
You were standing in the pub where you first met. He rented the place out for the night - filling it with lights, candles and flowers. He had pictures of the two of you throughout the years placed on every table accompanied by a letter.
The first picture you took in this same pub was one neither of you were aware of. One of his friends took it upon themselves to snap a picture of the two of you talking in the corner and sent it to Harry the same night with a text, “I think you found your girl.” It was a feeling they got, he explained, a feeling that he brushed off but now, was thinking about how much of an idiot he was to not take the hint that night.
It took about 3 years for the two of you to get your shit together - Harry more so than you. It was fun at first, hooking up with no labels or “funny business” until it started to feel like you were someone he was ashamed of. And then one day, it all came out of Harry - his love for you, his deep regret for thinking you never wanted anything more with him and his eagerness to try again.
So, you did. You tried and you were happy, very happy. You and Harry spent 3 months dating slowly learning one another without the clouded judgements that come with sex. He was working on his commitment issues in therapy - something he shared with you quite often. You were proud of him for putting himself first and allowing himself the time to truly open up beyond the surface level. You were a unit, a very happy, solid unit.
Until tonight.
When you wake up that morning to an empty bed and a note next to your morning coffee that reads - “I’ll be out all day, meet me at the pub @ 7? Xx Harry'' you knew something was up. Harry wasn’t new to this random dinners and surprises thing, it was actually something you really loved about him. His ability to always make you feel like you were constantly on his mind. He would send you texts of things he saw throughout his day, a song on the radio you’d like, he’d pick up ingredients for dinner and have it ready when he had some time off and you’d been at work, if you mentioned an artist, play, movie that you’d like to see - he would have it on your calendar and you’d make it down to the O2, Royal Albert Hall, any venue across London with the best seats in the house.
You never really talked about marriage. You had been together for three years and never once spoke about marriage, the future? Yes, but never marriage. As far as you were concerned, Harry didn’t want to get married, didn’t believe that a piece of paper could ever sum up what the bond that the two of you had.
So, when you found yourself in your local pub with Harry down on one knee in front of you his hair parted down the middle - just like you always told him you loved because of the way it framed his face, wearing his olive green blazer with nothing underneath but the thin gold necklace with the banana charm you gave him for an anniversary shining off his chest.
“You mean the absolute world to me and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Harry spoke as he pulled you in for a hug.
“What’s all this about?” You asked, unaware of what Harry was getting at.
“I love you,” he whispered into your ear before pulling away from the hug and taking a step back.
You could feel the sudden nerves that filled him. The way he started rubbing his hands together, his thumb and pointer finger pulling at his bottom lip, Harry looked down at the ground before looking back at you, his green eyes finding yours, taking a deep breath before falling down to one knee.
You were frozen.
Your heart dropped down when you realized what was going to happen.
Harry was going to propose to you.
“There is no one else out there for me. Will you please give me the privilege of calling you my wife?”
Harry looked up at you, the corner of his eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“Harry,” your voice trembled. You knew it wasn’t what he was expecting, you hated that you had to do this to him. “I…” you couldn’t finish your sentence but Harry knew.
He moved up from his position standing up in front of you, the tears that were supposed to be from happiness now streaming down his face for something much worse. You were still unable to speak. You felt the rush of guilt ruining this moment. You were more aware than ever that you were alone in this pub that had every detail of your relationship over the last 3 years in it.
“S’not how I really pictured this going” Harry snapped you out of whatever daze you were still in.
“Neither did I,” you admitted. “Harry, I am flattered beyond flattered, that isn’t even the right word for what I feel right now. I just never, I just. I feel so bad. I don’t want this to ruin us. I don’t want to regret this. ”
Harry let the tears fall, his brows furrowed his hand running through his hair before finding the way to pull at his bottom lip again. You’ve never seen Harry like this. The mixture of anger and sadness and you don’t believe this is that moment but if it was, you knew you deserved it.
“Believe me, my dear no one will regret this moment more than I will.”
“Harry don’t say that, please don’t say that. Can we just talk - can you hear me out?”
“I invited our family and friends. Planned this whole night with no doubt in my mind you’d say yes, we’d have time to ourselves before our friends and family surprise us in about 20 minutes.”
“They’re coming here?”
“Yes, here. S’why I rented out the entire pub. If I had any indication that you’d say no I probably wouldn’t have planned it this way.” He was being short.
You hated how much you deserved it.
“Harry, I love you so much. I just wish I had a heads up? We never spoke about marriage, I thought you didn’t want to get married when you told me about childhood and traditions and what we did or didn’t want you never once brought up marriage. I just,” you reached out in front of you to hold his hands, your thumb running up and down his knuckles. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you but,”
“You don’t.” Harry said in a low voice, his anger becoming more apparent as he refused to look you in the eye.
“Baby, please”
“Don’t.”
You wished you could take this moment back. Say yes and talk about it later. You wanted a future with Harry, you didn’t see a future without him in it. But there was something telling you to say no. You weren’t ready - you knew the both of you weren’t ready. Harry was about to embark on the craziest tour schedule that you have ever seen and you didn’t know what that meant for the two of you. And now, you were stuck, in the pub that you knew you’d never be able to walk by again, telling the love of your life you couldn’t marry him and trying to create a plan on what you’re going to do when your family makes their way over.
“We could just pretend?” You whispered.
Harry began to chuckle, clapping his hands together, “You want me to spend the next two hours in front of our closest friends and family pretending like you didn’t just… say no to a future with me?”
Before you had the chance to speak up and because timing was never either of your best qualities, the door of the pub opens, starting with Harry’s Mum and sister, Gemma and Anne walking through the door beaming with excitement. They have more flowers, balloons and what appears to be a congratulatory cake.
And it didn’t take long for their excitement to quickly die - the ring box with the ring in hand on the bar next to Harry, the clear distance between the two of you and if that wasn’t enough - the way Harry looked over to his mum and sister, with his brows furrowed, his lips began to tremble and like they were on cue, both women came rushing towards him.
You watched as they hugged and embraced him, the constant sorry’s slipping through their conversation. Neither of them even wanted to ask any follow up questions. If there was any shot of a reconciliation you had to get out of there as soon as possible.
“I’m going,”
“No,we will go, the two of you stay and work out whatever it is you need to. Mum and I will man the door and contact those we need to.” You were quickly cut off by Harry’s sister.
You nodded in agreement, the last thing you wanted was to give them another reason to hate you. They gave Harry one last hug and before the women started to walk away, Anne, Harry’s mother who you grew very fond of through the course of you relationship walked towards you with open arms, whispering “I know you love him, I’ve never been more sure of it and if that love is still there, allow yourselves the chance to fight for that love.”
“No matter what happens Anne, I’ll always think of you as family,” is what you could respond with. Gemma followed her mother, giving you a hug and reminding you that, “it’s your life and we’ll always love you.”
As you watched the two most important women in Harry’s life exit the pub that was supposed to be used to celebrate the next step in you and Harry’s life you wondered if they were trying to mask the disappointment.
“I don’t want to do this.” Harry said. He was short, rightfully so.
“Do you think I want to do this? Do you think I want to do any of this?” Your anger kicking in, “not once have we ever had this discussion. You have never brought up marriage until this very moment, you don’t just ask someone to marry you without bringing it up first.”
“Sorry, here I was thinking that proposals were supposed to be surprises,” he was pissed. You knew it from the second you rejected him. It always starts off slow, frustration turns to sadness and then into anger. You’ve never been the subject of that anger, until now.
“Do you know what a marriage is? It’s not a fancy wedding and an excuse to have a party. It takes work - what am I meant to do when you’re on tour for 9 months out of the year? Drop everything to be by your side? Give up my career so you could live out yours? We don’t even live together Harry, for fucks sakes. What shall I do with my house? Sell it and move into yours? Everything about our relationship from the day it started has been about you - when do you want me around, when is it time for you to want to take me seriously, and one day finally you came to your senses and apologized for the hell you put me through. Do you know how that feels? How does that mess with someone? I love you Harry, I love us. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that deep down something inside me will always wonder if I’m just here until you find your next best - no one makes the girl you've been stringing along for years the girlfriend, and now you expect me to say yes to being a wife?”
You were exhausted. You felt every emotion that you buried deep inside come rushing out.
“You’re still holding onto things from years ago and you know s’not fair. I was a dickhead, I owned that, I’m ashamed of that. I want you, I want every part of you for the rest of my life,” Harry’s green eyes meeting yours, you felt every word he was saying but you knew you couldn’t, not now.
“I believe you Harry and I love you so much, that’s why I can’t,” you were aware of how hypocritical you were being. You needed to think.
“You can’t even say it, s’pathetic, is this your way of getting back at me? If so s’working if that’s what you were going for.” His accent getting more thick stumbling over his words,  a sign that this conversation was far from over.
“If that’s what you think Harry then I don’t know if I have anything else to say to you.”
“S’not what I think? It’s what I know. S'pose to the love of my life and she can’t even say she’s rejecting me, s’pathetic, rented out this pub, bought a ring, got our friends and family excited.”
“You’re not being fair Harry.” You knew he was speaking from a place of hurt but you also knew, if you stood there any longer and allowed him to keep going - you’d both say something you could never take back.
“Fair? S’not fair?”
You moved closer to him, and when he didn’t step back from your advance towards him, it gave you hope that you’d be able to come back from this. You took his hands into yours, and looked him in the eye, searching for the familiarity and love that you always knew was there, even when you were going through the worst of it, “Harry, I want this to work, I love you.” You put your arms out to hug him and he fell into you - the comfort of his body embracing yours, your hands running circles around his back, you knew that it would take some work but you and Harry always came back to each other. “I’m going to go now.”
You pulled back, kissing him on his chest right where the first button of his blazer met. You looked up at him one last time and he couldn’t muster up the courage to look at you, mumbling his goodbye as you walked out the door.
&&
Gemma and Anne took care of letting everyone else that was invited know. Your parents came over with food and flowers and you tried to keep it all in. All you could think about was Harry, what he was doing or thinking and on the third night of radio silence from him, you began doom scrolling through the internet. You knew you shouldn’t have. You never allowed yourself to google yourself. It was never worth it. Once you became officially linked to Harry it was a breeding ground for rumors and gossip. Tonight was worse.
Harry Styles seen with a new mystery woman. Girlfriend hasn’t been seen in weeks. Trouble in paradise?
You clicked the link. Your stomach dropping at the sight of a very drunk Harry being escorted out of a club, a sigh of relief washing over you when you realized the mystery woman was one of the lesser known people in Harry’s inner circle. You kept zooming in and out of the images of him. The way he could barely walk, stumbling out with his security guards, his body looked limp. You haven't seen him like this since before you officially got back together. He kept partying for special occasions but never went overboard.
You wanted to reach out to him. Tell him that you could work through this. You wanted to be with him. You wished he would’ve waited. But that’s the man you fell in love with. His spontaneity was one of your favorite things about him. You never thought it would be the type to keep you apart.
During the years that you and Harry were in a limbo you would always wonder what he was up to on nights that you weren’t together. Your relationship always felt like it was in his hands. Does he want to see you? Did he ask you to come to a show? How fast can you get to his house? When were you going back home for the holidays? You felt like you had this duty to him even though it was no strings attached friends hooking up. The ball felt like it was never in your court.
And you could never escape him. When you’d go weeks and weeks of not seeing him you would inevitably catch his face somewhere. On your weekly grocery run there would be lines of magazines. It felt like you couldn’t escape. You would avoid the supermarket as much as you could so you wouldn’t be subjected to anymore of him. You immediately fell back into bad habits which made Harry constantly going out hurt more. You wondered what he told people. How those around him would react. The ones who knew you but had loyalty to Harry. What did his family think? You felt completely isolated.
And you really tried not to let your mind wander too far but you also couldn’t help but wonder how long it was going to take him to fall into someone else.
&&
You went out for one of your friend’s birthdays after being stuck at home for weeks. The last thing you wanted to do was be in a nasty club surrounded by drunk people. It had been years since that point of your life since you got into a relationship with Harry and now that your life felt like it imploded, it was the last thing you wanted to do. But you had to. Your friends had been your rocks through this experience and it was probably good to spend a night out trying to clear your mind of things.
So, you put on your little black dress paired with your favorite leather bomber jacket that Harry gifted you for your one year anniversary, kept the tears at bay once you had your hair up in a bun and makeup on ready to take on the night.
You took a shot of tequila before leaving your apartment to get your nerves in order. A second shot immediately as you got to the table at the club. Your third as you wished a happy birthday to the birthday girl. You were feeling the good type of drunk where you weren’t sloppy just a little loose. All of the worries of the last few weeks just went away, you felt good and present.
“I’m so glad you came out with us,” the birthday girl said as she embraced you for a hug. All your friends were happy to see you, they only knew bits and pieces of why you and Harry were in this current stage so they were being extra supportive tip toeing around your current relationship state.
Everything was good, you were all having fun.
Until, the birthday girl decided she wanted to leave the club and go walk over to a pub that she knows has karaoke. You walk in and the first song that you hear is one that had been a part of the ‘soundtrack’ of you and Harry’s relationship, The Way I Feel Inside by The Zombies. You remember it clearly, and can see it playing out in front of you like a movie. You were over at his. Harry decided to treat you to a dinner that ended up turning into a takeaway because he overcooked the pasta before you got there blaming it on his nerves.
“I make you nervous?” You teased as you watched him pour the both of you a glass of wine.
“Very,” the shy smile paired with the blush on Harry’s cheeks answered your question. Your heart beating out of your chest as you took his statement in. You felt like you spent so much of your early arrangement fighting for him to come to this realization and now that he was doing this all for you and letting you know how much you meant to him, you couldn’t help how much it melted your heart. Your relationship wasn’t perfect and it definitely came from unconventional circumstances but you knew he was it for you.
“Oh my god, are you Harry Styles' girlfriend?”
“What?” You were snapped out of your daydream and suddenly there were two very eager girls in front of you with their phones out.
“It’s you right?” They both said almost in unison before they flashed their phones in front of you, an image of you and Harry taken by a stranger illuminated the screen. You remember that day, you were both wearing each other's hoodies, a coffee in hand as you walked through the park. You had no idea that someone took a picture of the two of you.
Luckily, you were immediately pulled away from the girls by your friends. Your mind was spinning and you felt like you were out of your body. People taking pictures of you and Harry was unfortunately something you were used to. You have never been approached by anyone on your own and even rarely with Harry. He made a point to protect you from that and you were grateful.
But now, you were drunk, unsure about your future but hopeful that if anyone could make it work, it would be the two of you.
&&
You woke up from a text from Gemma, you hadn’t spoken to her since the incident and your mind immediately went to something being wrong with Harry.
Gemma: Hello! Are you doing alright? Just checking in.
Hii! As good as I could be right. How are you? Is Harry alright?
He’d probably say the same as you
If her motivation for checking in was to make you feel bad it was working.
I just want to make sure you’re okay and know you always have a friend in me, regardless of what happens.
Also, please don’t read any of the online bullshit. That’s a dark place to be and it’s not good for either of you.
Gemma was one of the first people to have a talk with you about the reality of being in Harry’s life. It was shortly after you accidentally ran into her after not so secretly leaving Harry’s childhood bedroom. She invited you to lunch once you were back in London to have a talk with you.
“I don’t know what you and my brother have and I’m sure he’s tried all he can to protect you from that side of the internet but I know how curiosity can creep up on you or anyone in your life and I promise it’s not worth it.”
You listened. You wanted to protect your bubble for as long as you could and you knew that allowing that outside noise into your life would do more harm than good. 
&&
You were woken up in the middle of the night by three rapid knocks at your front door. It startled you at first. It was too late at night for it to be someone you were expecting but there was also something soothing about your walk to the door. Your stomach filled with butterflies and anticipation, like your body knew who always knocked like that no matter what the situation. And when you opened your front door and saw Harry in front of you, slightly disheveled and clearly drunk from whatever bender he was on.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” You tried to hide the concern in your voice but knew you were doing a shit job at it.
``Ve been drinking at the bar across the street everyday waiting for you… walked over here a few times, s’just the first time I’ve made it up the steps. Think your neighbors finally took pity on me and let me up.” He was slurring his words and talking at a faster speed than usual, which were tell-tale tell signs since you were younger that he had a bit too much to drink and was probably going to regret whatever he was saying in the morning.
“You should come in.” You said making room for him as you opened the door wider, Harry stumbled his way inside. He was wearing a white button down and some brown trousers, his hair had grown out since the last time you saw him and the facial hair that you always loved was growing out too.
The silence in the room was heavy, the last time he was here everything felt natural. You were in a routine of dating, splitting time between your two homes, dinner dates, movie nights that you never made it past the first 30 minutes of any movie before your hands found their way to each other. The comfort Harry felt in your space was still there as he made his way into the kitchen, opening the right cupboard to grab two cups and plates.
“Making us a cheese toastie, you always loved a cheese toastie after a night out with a glass of milk.” Harry spoke before you could question him.
“Not sure if you’re that far gone but I didn’t go out.” You laugh as you watch him open your fridge for the ingredients. All the build up in your head of what the first time you would see Harry would be like suddenly disappeared. He was your Harry and no bump in the road was going to change that.
“S’gues I’ll just have both of them then?” He said.
“And leave me here to starve?” You walked across the kitchen island that you were standing at and took the pan out the dishwasher for him.
“You’ve always said you liked to watch me eat.” Harry teases you for a drunken confession you made years ago after a night out. You ordered in some burgers and fries and you made the mistake of telling him it was turning you on.
You fell into a comfortable silence as you watched him make a couple cheese toasties. You poured each of you a glass of almond milk and walked over to the coffee table, opting to eat while sitting on the floor. He was sobering up with each bite. You watched him eat, taking all that you missed in the last month. His skin was paler than you remembered, a sign that he hadn’t been out as much as you anticipated.
“Did you come here just for some food?” You broke the silence in the room. It was nice pretending that you didn’t just go over a month without speaking and now he was turning up after a few drinks to your front door.
“Obviously not,” Harry moves his body closer to yours placing his hands on your thighs - the familiar feeling of comfort in all of this.
“We have a lot to talk about.”
“Can we wait?” He asked his green eyes, finding yours, the familiar look and feeling of reassurance and comfort you always felt when he looked at you. You had come a long way from him not being able to look at you as you left the pub that night. “We have the rest of our lives to talk.” He whispered in your ear before pulling back and meeting your eyes again.
“I just want to say I’m sorry and I love you and I’m grateful that you’re here. You don’t know how many times I wanted to pick up the phone but thought you were just done with me and I don’t know how lucky I got to have someone like you,” you pause to take a breath, “I’m just so sorry.”
Harry leaned in closer and responded with a kiss. Your arms wrapped around him as Harry moves his to the back of your legs and thighs moving you so you’re now straddling his lap. Your mouth moved in a way that was so familiar, “I’ve missed this so much,” Harry said as he kissed down your neck, whispering how beautiful you are and how many nights he wished he would’ve just come over to yours. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you,” the roughness in his voice sends a flutter through your entire body.
“Hmm,” you quirk a brow at him.
A small smile on his face, as he pulls up your shirt and you help him take it off. Harry pauses for a second, repositioning you so you are now sitting down and he is in front of you, slowly working his way down from your lips to your neck before cupping your breasts and moving his mouth down your chest as he sucks on your nipple. Your slow moans filling up the room. You had a lot to talk about and this was always his way of feeling close to you and letting his guard down. And it was working. Your arousal grew as he continued to lick and suck up and down your chest. You squeezed your legs together in anticipation and it lit a spark into Harry as he moved down your body to where you wanted him most.
Harry pulls down your underwear and slips his thumb where you need him most circling your clit. You push your hands into his hair pulling the front ends away from his face so you can really see him work on you. He moves his thumb faster before shifting his to slip two fingers inside you. You close your eyes as you shift your body to adjust to the sensation. The feeling of comfort, arousal and home all wrapped into one. This was more than just sex with Harry - he was communicating all of his feelings for you through his slow and steady actions. The primal way he was watching how your body reacted to him. Always putting in the work for you before thinking about himself.
“Harry…” you moan.
“Missed that sound.” Harry mumbled as he continued working his fingers inside of you before moving down to find his mouth onto your center. You tightened the grip on his hair - pulling and tugging as he sucks and licks you into your first orgasm. Watching him working you up is turning him on -- your hands moving from his hair to his own waist, unzipping his pants and watching him grow - the more he was making you feel good it was making him feel better.
And that was the rest of your night, your bodies saying all the things that you couldn’t yet. The way you ached for him and he ached for you. As you drifted to sleep in Harry’s arms, you knew that no matter the distance and time apart you both knew this is was worth fighting for.
&&
You woke up the next morning to a familiar song playing throughout the house.
Should I try to hide
The way I feel inside
My heart for you?
Would you say that you
Would you try to love me too?
You walked downstairs and found Harry in nothing but his briefs, coffee brewing in the coffee maker with a stack of pancakes. A view that you were used to, a sense of calm and home.
“Morning!”
“What’s all this?” You questioned as you walked over to him and planted a kiss on his lips.
“M’just making breakfast for my girl.”
You quirked a brow at him, “I could get used to this, maybe I should reject you more often if it comes with these types of perks.” you teased.
“Ha, ha, very funny…” Harry deadpanned before breaking into a bit of laughter himself.
You spent the morning enjoying each other’s company and the breakfast feast that he made before spending the rest of the day putting all your cards on the table. Harry was going to reroute his tour to make more time to fit your schedule so you weren’t the one that had to constantly rearrange yourself to fit into his. You were going to move into his at the end of your lease. You created a plan on And most importantly, you talked about how a ring and a wedding was never the end goal for you.
“My goal has always just been you,” Harry finished your sentence before you could.
And for you, it’s always just been Harry.
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katyswrites · 1 year
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'tis the damn season
PART 4 | SERIES
Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings: Smut (18+), angst, friends-with-benefits, parental neglect/abuse, smoking, alcohol use, two fools who can’t just say what they feel
Wordcount: 9.1k
Childhood friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again, broken promises, and roads not taken, lots of angst, soft smut, illicit affairs, what-ifs, and it’s always been you. And it all leads to your hometown, during Christmas break.
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Part 4 | the warmest bed I’ve ever known
THEN, Spring 1988
“Wait, what?” Robin cried in disbelief.
You sighed, twirling the phone’s cord in your hand.
“Robin, look -”
“You mean I’m not going to see you at all? You’re killing me here -”
“Robin! It’s just… this is a really big opportunity. And, I’ve got my own place here now, and flights have gotten crazy expensive -”
You heard Robin laugh through the phone, then a sigh.
“You know I’m fucking with you, right?”
A small wave of relief washed over you - you had been dreading this call, so much that you’d been putting it off for over a week.
“You are?”
“Yeah! I mean - I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty bummed that you’re not coming back to Hawkins. I miss you like crazy. But, that’s so exciting… like, an internship with the New York Times? I mean, you’re really doing it - making it in the big city, all of that -”
You smiled, and flopped down on your bed, clutching the phone.
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly glamorous - it’s an unpaid internship, and I’m taking extra shifts at the coffee shop to make it all work, with two roommates -”
“Yeah, but… it’s all pretty amazing. You’re really getting out, doing what you’ve always wanted. And I mean, me and Steve are still stuck back here -”
You twinged inwardly at the mention of his name, and were suddenly thankful that Robin couldn’t see you right then.
“Oh c’mon - don’t talk like that. I mean, you said the semester’s going well, right?”
Robin sighed, and you could picture the way she was probably rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, at Hawkins Community - but, I’m thinking of transferring next year. Not sure if I can afford it though.”
“There’s nothing wrong with community college, Robin. I’ve told you that like a million times -”
“It’s not the school itself, you know that. I just… you actually got out, away from Hawkins. The most interesting thing here is the movie theater, and only one screen is working right now, did you know that?”
You bit your lip, and searched for the words - you couldn’t argue with her there. But, Robin carried on, the way she often did:
“But, to be honest, it’s probably good that I’m sticking around here - without me here, God knows what would happen to Steve. I think we’re a little codependent, to be honest - did you tell him yet, that you’re not coming back for spring break, or the summer? I can, if you want, but I didn’t know -”
“Oh, uh - I mean, you can, if you want,” you answered quickly. “No need to make a big deal out of it, but, um… I don’t care if he knows, I guess. He’ll figure it out, when I don’t show up, anyways.”
You were aware that you were stammering, your heartbeat quickening and palms growing clammy at the thought of Steve. In the days following your argument, you had found yourself spiraling, thinking of nothing but Steve. There were a million times that you thought about calling him, or driving to his house, or even writing him a letter - but the idea of facing him again was enough to make you sick. In the end, you had headed back to New York in the new year, and subconsciously made a vow to never see him again. When you had received the summer internship offer, and the chance to renew the lease on your apartment, you had jumped at the opportunity. 
You hadn’t told Robin about what happened between you and Steve - it felt wrong to lie, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to talk about it. But you had somewhat assumed that he would say something - those two were inseparable. If she knew anything, though, she wasn’t letting it on. In fact, she was talking about Steve like things were completely normal, which was lending itself to awkward conversations like this. 
“Um, okay… by the way, just between you and me, I think he really misses you.”
You stiffened, and cursed yourself for your sharp intake of breath - Robin probably heard that.
“You think so?” you asked, trying your best to keep your tone steady.
“I mean, yeah - whenever I bring you up, he gets kind of weird… I can’t really explain it. He usually talks to me about these things, but… it doesn’t matter. I love him, but he can be such a guy sometimes, you know? But, I think he’s going to be sorry to hear you’re ditching us, that’s all.”
No, you thought. He’ll actually be thrilled to know he doesn’t have to see me again.
The thought alone was enough to make your eyes start to burn with tears, and you soon had to make a lame excuse to hang up the phone. And once again, you were alone. 
NOW, Winter 1988
For the two days following your conversation with Robin, where you had confessed everything, you find yourself spiraling. Maybe it’s just the run-in with Steve that had done this, the reminder that he’s real and here, only minutes away - in New York, it had been easy to keep him off of your mind. But, now, everything reminds you of him - driving past your old high school, the small Methodist church on the corner, the movie theater at the center of town, or the footprint of where Starcourt Mall used to be, bringing you back to that one summer when he scooped ice cream in that ridiculous sailor uniform. You feel him in the chilly winter wind, in the bare trees lining the sidewalks, in the smell of fireplace smoke drifting through the atmosphere on especially cold nights. And you hear him in the music on the radio, when that one Wham! song comes on, and you picture him rolling his eyes and smiling endearingly and you belted it in his face.
You had thought that being back in Hawkins would feel strange, after being away so long. But no, it’s worse - it aches. 
But, Christmas is on its way, and you throw yourself into holiday prep in full force. You decide to not think about Steve, to the best of your ability. You gather and wrap gifts, help hang lights over the fireplace, and finish addressing the last-minute Christmas cards that your mother forgot to send out. Then, comes the baking - you’re always tasked with it, making cakes and cookies and confections for all of the parties, including your special lemon cake, saved for an indulgent breakfast on Christmas morning. It’s what brings you to the grocery store in the afternoon, with a long list of baking essentials. The store is a bit of a zoo, with Christmas only about a week away, and you find yourself shouldering down the aisle labeled ‘Baking Needs.’ It’s slim pickings, and you inwardly groan as you have to get the more expensive brand-name baking soda. You’re so preoccupied that you’re intentionally drowning out the sounds of the people around you, scanning your handwritten list with a furrowed brow. 
Okay, you think, I’ve got the eggs, lemons, flour, sugar, unsalted butter -
It’s why you hardly see him, not until you’re looking up and moving again, nearly crashing your cart right into him.
“Oh my - oh, hey,” you say, your voice getting caught in your throat when you realize who it is.
Steve stares back at you, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He looks just as he did a few days ago, a bit changed from the boy you last saw a year ago. But, he’s still Steve, and he’s standing in the middle of the grocery aisle right in front of you. The mundanity of it all somehow makes it seem more unbelievable, more exasperating. To his credit, he’s frozen in place, looking like he’s seen a ghost.
“Hey,” he replies softly.
You both stare at each other, almost filling the silence, then stopping - what is there even to say? Shoppers weave around you, muttering to themselves, crackly Christmas music playing through the store’s sound system. But you may as well be able to hear a pin drop, because you can’t find a single thing to say, and neither can Steve.
“I - um - what are you doing?” Steve asks. You glance down at you cart, full of chocolate and flour and absolutely nothing practical, then shrug.
“Oh, you know - buying stuff for Christmas baking. My parents are busy with work, and I’m the one who knows what to get anyways, so… yeah.”
It’s stiff, and awkward, and a ridiculous exchange to even be having. He just nods.
“Oh, yeah - the great Christmas baking extravaganza.”
Right - three years ago, Steve had been there to help you, letting you instruct him around the kitchen, and the cookies had nearly burned because you two got… distracted. You shake the memory, feeling sick.
“Oh - yeah. I think I’m making my chai cookies for your party, actually… your mom told my mom that she really liked those.”
He raises his eyebrows at that, curious.
“You’re - you’re coming to the party on Saturday?”
“I - well, yeah. I didn’t think I was, but… my mom was pretty insistent.”
Something flickers across his face then, something unreadable, then his expression hardens.
“Right, yeah -makes sense. I mean, that you’re coming because of your mom.”
His words are clipped, his voice sharp. Fuck.
You just wish, more than anything, that the ground will open up beneath you and swallow you up, if it means getting out of this encounter. But, miracles don’t happen often, so you have to swallow your pride and face him instead. You sigh, looking down at your cart. 
“Steve, I - that’s not what I meant. Well, I guess it is, but - I figured you didn’t really want to see me. And I’m not going to make you uncomfortable in your house, that’s not fair.”
Just silence from him, and you can’t look at him. You just find yourself focusing on a bag of flour in the cart, reading the label as you try to figure out something else to say.
“But, it seems the world just wants us to run into each other anyway, apparently,” you mumble.
“Hm, yeah, I guess,” Steve says coldly. Another moment passes, just the two of you in the grocery aisle - somehow, of everyone in the store, he’s the only one who truly seems like a stranger.
“Well, uh - I guess I’ll see you on Saturday,” you say quickly, finally bringing your eyes back up to meet his. “I - I’ll try to stay out of your way, though. It’s the least I can do.”
You make a move to keep pushing your cart, but Steve just sighs.
“Hey, wait -”
Despite yourself, you stop in your tracks, frozen. You look back at him, and there’s a question in his eyes, searching your face for… something.
“Yeah?” you reply.
“I, uh - are you free later today?”
You furrow your brow, and nod cautiously.
“Um, yes - I mean, I think I should be. I have a couple of other errands to run, but I don’t think it’s going to take super long -”
“You want to meet at Gateway? And like, get a coffee, or something?”
You feel your stomach twist and turn into knots - there’s something in his voice, the harsh edge softened just a bit, pleading for you. And he’s staring at you with those honey brown eyes, and you know one thing - if you say no, that’s it - the nail in the coffin. So you swallow, and nod slowly.
“Yeah - sure thing.”
He nods curtly, and glances at his watch.
“Okay, well - it’s noon, so want to say like, around 2?”
“Mm hm - that’s fine. I’ll meet you there, I guess.”
You let your gaze linger on Steve for a moment longer, then turn and walk down the aisle, pretending to look at your shopping list. You wonder if he’s still staring at you - but you don’t dare to turn around to find out.
*****
You arrive at Gateway Diner at 1:56 pm. Steve is never on time for anything, that much you know - so you sit in your car for a moment, gathering yourself. You take a few deep breaths, shutting your eyes and resting your head against the wheel. You feel a bit sick, your mind in a haze ever since the conversation in the grocery store a few hours ago. Coming back to Hawkins was a huge mistake, Christmas be damned -
You take a moment to glance at yourself in the mirror, and sigh - if you had known this was happening today…
You fish around in your bag, silently thanking yourself for always carrying around a little concealer and mascara. You do your best with your finger to cover the dark circles under your eyes, hastily dabbing in the concealer until it’s deemed good enough. As you quickly run mascara over your lashes, you laugh to yourself, feeling like a fool - but, it doesn’t stop you, nor does it stop you from finally getting out of the car. You take one more deep breath in the chilly December air - you can do this.
When you enter the diner, your cold cheeks burn as they meet the warm air. It’s thick with the sounds of chatter and silverware, the smell of greasy food wafting from the kitchen. It had been so long since you had last been here, and somehow, you actually feel like you’re somewhere familiar for the first time all week.
You try to catch the eye of the girl behind the counter to be seated - someone new, she might even still be in high school - but before you can, you hear an all-too-familiar voice call your name. You whip your head towards it, and see Steve sitting at a booth by the window, waving in your direction. 
You nod and head over, each step feeling impossible as you grow closer to him. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve run into him, you realize - you’ll never quite get used to the sight of him, not anymore.
He already has a mug of coffee in front of him, halfway done, by the looks of it. He got here early, and waited, you realize with dread. Fuck.
“Hey,” he says, offering a small smile as you slide into the vinyl booth.
“Hey,” you parrot. He’s just staring at you, and you suddenly find yourself fidgeting. Unsure what to do with your hands, you just fold them flat on the table, suddenly making this whole thing feel like a business meeting between colleagues. No, worse than that: you’re strangers.
“Thanks for coming,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
You shrug, staring down at the full cup of coffee sitting in front of you - he must’ve ordered it for you.
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would, either.”
It’s brutal, but honest - his face falters slightly, but to his credit, he recovers quickly.
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
Silence again. Heavy, awkward. You fumble with one of  the little creamers, pouring it into your coffee and avoiding eye contact as you busy yourself.
“So,” he starts, “uh - how’s New York been?”
You shrug, stirring the coffee with a spoon.
“Fine. I mean, good - really busy. I’m still interning with the Times. And, working at this coffee place downtown. But, it’s cool, because I’m actually doing stuff. Like, I don’t just grab coffee - I get to sit in on meetings, they listen to my ideas, let me look over stuff as it gets edited - I’m learning a lot.”
You find yourself rambling, carrying on with details he probably doesn’t care about, because somehow it’s better than that godawful silence. Steve, to his credit, is at least pretending to be a good listener - he’s looking at you intently, hanging on each word as you carry on about your apartment, your roommates, the breaking news article you practically stayed overnight in the office to help get published.
“- I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was exhausted, but it was worth it - there was this thrill to it, knowing that I helped to make that happen, and it was on the front page. Below the fold, but still -”
“That’s amazing,” he says quietly. You stop, and meet his eyes. He’s just looking at you, face soft, and something tells you he actually means it. Bastard. 
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s what you’ve always wanted - for as long as I remember. So, that’s awesome, really. Did they put your name?”
You raise your eyebrow, confused.
“What?”
“Your name. On the byline? You always said that was your dream - to have your byline on the front of the Times.”
You hesitate for a moment, completely caught off-guard - you don’t even remember telling him that. But he does.
“Oh, that. Well, no. But, I didn’t write it, exactly - I called some sources, did some editing, but… it wasn’t exactly mine.”
He shakes his head as he raises the coffee mug to his lips.
“That’s still not right - you deserve it. I’ll march down there and tell ‘em that myself.”
You feel something flutter in your chest, in a way that’s achingly familiar, because it’s so Steve. 
“Yes, well - I think I can handle that for myself, thanks.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but sounds more defensive than you intend - did you intend it that way? But, you can't think on it, because the wall is put back up. You can see it in his face, how it hardens, how he straightens up a bit - he was just starting to relax, both of you were, but that iciness remains.
Before you can say anything, a waitress is approaching, carrying a tray full of food. You vaguely recognize her - middle-aged, with a friendly face and massive perm. Is her name Joan, maybe? You feel just a little sad, starting to feel more detached from the town you grew up in than you ever have before.
“The full breakfast for you, young man - and a full stack for you, with extra syrup,” she says enthusiastically.
You look at Steve, and raise an eyebrow. He just offers a small smile, and shrugs.
“I ordered before you got here - I figured you’d never say no to pancakes, right?”
“I - yeah, no, that’s great. Thanks, Steve.”
You set yourself on pouring the side of syrup over the plate, and Steve just shakes his head.
“So I was right - you still like to drench everything in sight in syrup,” he says playfully.
“Shut up,” you retort, earning a chuckle from him. It’s slightly forced, but still nice to hear - you hadn’t been sure if you remembered what his laugh sounds like anymore. 
“Thanks, though,” you add. “I’m actually pretty hungry.”
You both sit in silence while you eat. It’s strange, how something can be simultaneously so uncomfortable yet familiar. The booth is the same, with its worn vinyl, the sticky tabletop, the smell of coffee and syrup and eggs settling wrapping around you like a warm hug. But then there’s you and Steve, the only unrecognizable thing in this diner - still technically the same people who had slid into this booth as teenagers, but a bit older, more hardened, and something irreparable separating you.
“So,” you say after a while. “Uh, I realize I talked a lot about myself, but… how are things with you?”
He glances up at you for a moment, and shrugs.
“Oh, you know - the same. Working at Family Video, hanging out with Robin, the kids - I guess they’re hardly kids anymore. But, you know me - not much to report.”
There’s an edge to his voice, and it takes you a moment to remember why. You had managed to block out most of your argument from last winter, because the memory of it riddles you with an immeasurable guilt. But, you remember now:
Uproot your life? Be serious Steve - you couldn’t take a week off from your minimum wage job, chauffeuring a bunch of teenagers, and maybe being Daddy’s punching bag?
You suddenly want to sink into the floor, because if Steve is intentionally giving you a cold shoulder, you can’t say you don’t deserve it. But, wasn’t him asking you to meet him here, his way of extending an olive branch? Or, was it just to get some closure?
It’s an elephant in the room, this great big thing making it impossible to be near him, making your stomach turn intermittently. So, it has to be addressed, eventually - it needs to be ripped off like a band-aid.
“Hey, Steve - I… I’m sorry.”
He looks up at you, meeting your eyes properly. 
“What for?” he asks quietly.
You sigh, placing down your fork.
“You know what for,” you say firmly.
“Do I?”
He’s playing a game, his words a little more biting. This is going to be even harder than you thought, you realize - and you had already been prepared for it to be godawful.
“I - last time I saw you… I said some things I regret. Some really shitty things. And, you didn’t deserve that. I -” you steady yourself for a moment, taking a deep breath to combat the heaviness in your throat. Your chest is tight, your palms clammy.
“I just, um - I’ve played that argument in my head, like, a million times. And, I’ve felt a lot of things. Sometimes I get angry, upset, or just plain sad. But most of the time… I just feel shame. Like, utter, fucking shame. So, it may not mean much at this point, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix this but… I’m sorry.”
You do mean it, every word, and there’s something unbelievably cathartic about finally saying the words that have been playing through your mind for a year. You’ve played this conversation in your mind a thousand times, and for once, you think that maybe you’re not screwing it up.
Steve’s face is unreadable - you can tell he’s thinking, and listening, but it’s hard to gauge what he’s really thinking. 
After a moment, he simply asks, “Then why did you leave?”
“What?”
“Why did you leave? When you didn’t come back this past summer, I - I thought you were gone for good. That I’d never see you again.”
He says it matter-of-fact, blandly, like he’s trying to stave off any emotion. You don’t really know what to say to that - did you think you’d ever actually see him again? Did you want to?
Honesty, you decide - at this point, it’s the least you owe him, even if you don’t actually know what the truth is.
“I - I thought I was, too. Gone for good, I mean. It wasn’t an actual choice - like, I didn’t think I wanted to stay away forever. But, you were right about one thing - I’ve always wanted to get out of Hawkins, and leave it all behind for something else. Any yeah, whenever I was gone, I missed you, Robin, my family… but then, when - well, when that happened… I got the internship offer, the chance to stay in my apartment, to start my life in the city. So, I decided to stay there. I ran, because… because I’m a coward. And, because I figure you hate my guts, and it’d be easier if you didn’t have to deal with me anymore.”
Because I couldn’t bring myself to face you, because I’d rather miss you than be hurt even more, because I -
“No,” he whispers.
“No what?”
“No, you’re not a coward,” he says firmly. “You’re a lot of things - Smart. Talented. Stubborn. Honest. A terrible singer, and a sugar addict -”
Despite everything, you find yourself laughing at him, because there he is again, the Steve you know.
“- but a coward? No, no way. Maybe you were scared but… that’s not the same thing, not really. I mean, you got out of Hawkins, you’re kicking ass at your dream job before you’re even done with school - that’s not a coward, got that? And… I don’t know how you could ever think that I hate you. Ever.”
He leans back in the booth after that, some tension visibly leaving his body as he gets it off of his chest. You just feel yourself freeze, your ears roaring, eyes burning.
“I - Steve, don’t -”
“I mean it,” he says. “I was hurt, and pretty pissed - maybe I still am, I don’t know. But hating you… that’s not something I could do.”
For not the first time in your life, you feel the sudden urge to protect this boy, to want to give him everything, to make sure nothing ever hurts him again. But you can’t say it, because it’s not quite a feeling you can put into words, unless -
“Promise?” you ask, perhaps a bit pathetically.
“Promise,” he says. 
With Steve, it’s easy to believe him, even if it’s only for a moment.
*****
When you’ve both drank your bodyweight in coffee, cleared your plates, and exhausted conversation, you make a move to leave the diner. Steve insists on paying, dropping bills on the table as you both re-emerge into the cold December air. After the warmth of sitting inside, the outdoors bites your skin, flushes your face. You wrap your scarf just a little tighter, shoving your hands in your pockets as you both walk to the parking lot. 
The day is already starting to dull, and thanks to the peak winter season, you know that there’s probably only about an hour of daylight left. Neither of you speak for a while, not until you reach Steve’s car. The familiar red BMW makes you want to cry, and you suddenly feel stupid for even feeling so attached to something like a car. But, it’s not a car - it’s an extension of Steve.
“Well, thanks,” you say carefully. “I - I’m glad we got a chance to talk properly. To clear the air, I guess.”
There’s still so much to be said, so many questions you want to ask - but maybe you’d never really know the answers to those.
He just kicks at the gravel, scuffing his Nikes as he contemplates.
“Me too. I mean, uh - do you have anywhere you need to be?”
You shake your head cautiously.
“Um, no? I already dropped my groceries at home, but I’m probably not going to start baking until tomorrow… I think my parents are out tonight, anyways. Wait, why?”
He shrugs, leaning back against the side of the car.
“Well… wanna go for a drive?”
He asks it so simply, as if no time has passed at all. In your high school days, and when you’d visit for college breaks, going for an aimless drive was a frequent occurrence, just an excuse to spend time together. But now, it feels like more than that - a peace offering, an attempt at normalcy. 
“Oh! Um - yeah, sure. Why not.”
When you slide into the passenger seat, everything is the same - not that you had really expected anything else. The dusty dashboard, the worn-leather smell, the crackly radio - all the same, like you had never left.
“Where are we going?” you ask casually as Steve backs out of the lot. You pull off your big red scarf, tossing it into the back seat as heat wafts through the vents.
“Dunno. Wherever we feel like, I guess.”
The answer is the old parking lot adjacent to Hawkins High, tucked right between the school and an old Methodist church. It’s basically deserted, the middle of the work and school day making you and Steve one of the only cars here.
After he parks, the boy just sighs, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes. You let him just do that for a while, the Christmas music on the radio serving as the only form of company. You stare ahead across the street, at the old high school building. The girl and boy who walked those halls a few years ago don’t exist anymore, not really - instead, there’s the versions of you and Steve sitting here in this car, changed.
“D’you ever miss it?” you ask.
“Hm?”
“High school. I mean, I know a lot of it is bullshit, and I think I’d die if I had to take another algebra test, but… do you ever miss parts of it.”
He thinks for a moment, before sighing and straightening up in his seat.
“Yes and no. I do think some things were a lot more simple back then. I mean, I was an asshole, but I kind of got my shit together towards the end. But, to answer your question - do I wish that my biggest problem was winning the next basketball game, or which girl I was going to take to prom? Yeah. Of course.”
You think about his words for a moment, and echo a similar sentiment - a desire for a life that was simpler, more carefree than you had realized at the time.
“We’re getting old,” you joke.
He laughs heartily, nodding in agreement.
“Oh, yeah - we’ll be in the old folks home, soon enough.”
You both laugh at that, the feeling and sound of it nearly foreign.
“Do you think we’re all going to end up like our parents?” you ask, voice a bit firmer.
He pauses again, staring straight ahead out the front window.
“No,” he concedes. “I hope not.”
The hours pass, the dusk quickly turning into the heavy cloak of night. The pair of you mostly sit in silence after that, occasionally swapping an old memory from childhood, laughing at a story from your high school days, occasionally wondering aloud where some of your former friends and classmates are today.
“I wonder if Tommy H. and Carol are still together,” you wonder aloud.
Steve groans. “Ugh, don’t remind me of them.”
“Why not? You guys were friends -”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. I wasted so much time with them, and people like them, just to be something I’m not. I just wish I had figured that all out sooner.”
“Why?” you ask. “I mean, I know they were kind of dicks, but… there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be popular in high school.”
“Maybe not,” he says. “But, I didn’t realize that what I really wanted - what I needed - was there in front of me, the entire time. And I didn’t need to chase anything.”
Your breath hitches in your throat, because you know what he’s getting at - you think back to that conversation years ago, in the haze of early summer, when he confessed to regretting distancing himself from you in high school. The same night he’d kissed you for the first time, when a lot of things happened for the first time -
You find yourself looking at the boy in the driver’s seat, and you want to reach across and just touch him - run your hands through his hair, brush along his face -
And you don’t realize that you’re leaning closer to him, you hand half-reaching out towards him. You catch it, pulling it back and settling it in your lap. But he’s looking at you with those big brown eyes, warm like honey, and they feel just a bit like home. And he’s leaning towards you, too, closer than he probably should be.
“Steve?” you ask, softer than a whisper.
“Yeah?”
You can feel the heat radiating off of him, contrasting with the cold fogging up the windshield glass, and he’s so close, the familiar smell of him becoming too much -
“I -”
Then, a screeching HONK, loud enough that you jump, your head nearly hitting the ceiling.
“Oh, fuck -”
“Jesus, sorry,” he says, realizing it just came from him, elbow pressed too hard into the steering wheel of his own car.
“It’s fine,” you say. Your eyes flit down to the clock on your dashboard, and you let out a shaky breath.
“Oh, wow - look at the time! I - I know my parents are out, but, it is pretty late -”
“Oh, yeah,” Steve says hurriedly. “Let me just drive you back,  I guess.”
“Sounds good!” you say, your voice a little too shrill, too enthusiastic. “Just bring me back to Gateway, actually - we left my car there.”
“Right, of course - I’ve got you.”
You two don’t say much else on the way back, letting Baby It’s Cold Outside and Sleigh Ride fill the silence instead. When Steve brings you back to the diner, you offer each other a curt nod, and you manage to get out a thanks again, I’ll see you at the party.
Before you can close the door, you’re stopped as he says “Hey, wait -”
“Mm?”
“Are we - are we friends again?” he asks. His voice is soft, pleading, his eyes wide and shining through the dimness of the night. You cross your arms and pull your coat tight, thinking carefully about your answer.
You want to say yes, of course, I don’t think we could ever not be friends, Steve. But then you remember what he had said all those months ago - those three words, which somehow crossed a line more than any amount of sex ever could. It’s what stops you, makes you hesitate, even as the boy stares at you expectantly.
“I - I don’t know,” you admit. “I guess I just - I need some time still, to figure stuff out. I don’t know if things can ever go back to the way they were, but -”
“They can’t?” he asks, sounding a bit defeated. You sigh, kicking yourself internally. You’re barrelling down a familiar path, and this whole thing could blow up again in an instant. So you gather yourself, measuring your response.
“I mean - not exactly as they were, no. But… I do miss you, Steve. More than I realized. So… I think it’s a start,” you decide.
He thinks for a moment, then slowly nods.
“Yeah, okay - I can do a start.”
You both just stare at each other for a moment, and you ultimately decide to step back. Before slamming the passenger door closed, you add, “Well - thanks again. I’ll see you on Saturday. At the party, I mean.”
He nods curtly, offering a semi-forced smile.
“Yeah - Saturday.”
When you’re back in your car, and you’re certain he’s driven away, you let your forehead rest on the steering wheel, wishing you could just melt into it and never come out again.
*****
It’s difficult to say whether you actually feel better after your day with Steve. Most of you says yes - apologies were made, the air was cleared, and for brief moments, it had felt as if nothing had happened at all. But, it also brought back memories - far too many memories. Little things, really - Steve’s laugh, they way his eyes glint in the sunlight, the smell of his cologne, the cigarettes he keeps in his glove box; the way he looks at you, the look he gets when you make a joke, the way he sounded saying I love y-
You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of your doorbell ringing. You glance at your bedside clock - it’s a little past 10pm, but there’s no way your parents could possibly be home yet…
You swing your legs over the side of your bed, shrugging on a sweater as you pad down the hallway to your front door. The doorbell rings again, and you roll your eyes - probably a last-minute late night delivery from out-of-town, because your mother always forgets something until a few days before Christmas.
When you open the door, the last thing you expect is Steve Harrington to be standing there in the dim porch light. His face is flushed from the cold, the flurries of snow dusting his hair, and he looks just a little too handsome. The sight of him makes you ache again, in a way you can’t quite explain. His eyes widen at the sight of you, as if you’re the last person he thought would be standing in the doorway of your own house.
“Steve! Hi! I, uh - what’re you doing here?” you ask with surprise. 
“Oh, um, you know,” he says, raising up a flash of red in his hand. “It’s just - you left this. In my car, I mean.”
You look properly at what he’s holding, and you make out what it is: your scarf. You hadn’t even realized it was missing.
“Oh! Um, thanks,” you say, taking it from his outstretched hand. Your fingers brush his, just for the briefest second. And, despite how cold his skin is, it feels like it lights you on fire at the contact. You pull back quickly, as if he’s actually burned you, and sling the scarf over your arm.
“Don’t mention it,” he replies, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
You both stand there for a moment. Two. The wind howls a bit, and you both shiver.
“Was there anything else?” you ask, hardly daring to raise your voice above a whisper.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean maybe?”
“Maybe?”
“No, I mean, yes - that’s all.”
You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms.
“So, you drove out here in the middle of the night, as the snow is starting, just to bring me my scarf back?” you demand.
He just stares at you, long enough that you wonder if he somehow didn’t hear you. Then, he’s taking a step forward, and whispering, “No.”
You’re not sure who moves first, but he’s crashing into you, arms tugging you into each other as his lips find yours.
You gasp as he kisses you, surprised by how right it feels, how easy it is. Your hand is fisted in his coat, and he brings his hands to both sides of your face as you back up through the doorway, pulling him with you.
He kicks the door closed behind him, hardly breaking the kiss - it’s desperate, and messy, and nothing is gentle about it. He kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t, enough to knock the breath from your lungs. And you don’t want him to stop, not ever, not if it means that you’ll never have to lose him again.
You stumble your way through the house, until you’re searching frantically for the door of your bedroom, the pair of you barrelling through it in a whirlwind and slamming it shut.
It’s the first time you’ve stopped kissing since he came through the doorway, and you both just stare at each other, chests heaving, hearts racing.
“I,” he starts. “I swear, I’m just trying to -”
“I know,” you whisper, bringing one hand up to card your fingers through his hair. “I’ve always known, Steve.”
He furrows his brow, confused.
“Always known what?”
But you don’t answer, and just pull him in for another kiss instead. It’s gentler this time, just a bit sweeter, and he’s sighing into your mouth.
He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, the kisses becoming desperate again. With every kiss, you’re trying to say a million things: I’m sorry, I missed you, I need you, I could never hate you, I lo-
But neither of you speak, because it’s just desperate moans and gasps, wandering hands and and tongues, and trying to touch anything, everything.
You don’t know when he shrugged off his coat, but you’re tugging at his sweater, perhaps a bit too desperately. He chuckles and steps back for a moment, pulling it off in one swift movement before bringing his hands to your head again, pulling your lips to his. It’s like you’re both addicted, unable to go more than a moment without touching each other. The distance and times is washing away, with every kiss, every brush of skin, every piece of clothing shed. 
He’s pulled your own sweater off of you, making a point to kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder and down the valley of your breasts, and you moan.
“Fuck, baby -” you gasp. “I - I”
“What do you need?” he asks, voice wild and desperate. “Tell me, anything you want, baby.”
“Just touch me, dammit,” you breathe, earning a laugh from him.
“I thought you’d never say that,” he growls, gently pushing you so you’re walking backwards. You let yourself fall as soon at the back of your knees hit the bed, and he’s hastily fumbling with the button of your pants.
In any other situation, you’d want him to take his time, to take it slowly, sweetly. But you don’t have the patience for that, not right now. SO you help him, popping the button and shimmying your pants down your legs, reaching around and unhooking your bra for good measure. As the straps slide down your arms and it falls off of you, he groans.
“Fuck - you’re so fuckin’ perfect, you’ve no idea -”
Your heart flutters at the praise, but you just pull him close to you, crashing his lips into yours again.
“Steve - please -”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he concedes, guiding you backwards. “Lay back, baby.”
You oblige, breath hitching in your throat as his lips wander along your throat, your breasts, swirling his tongue around your nipple. You gasp and arch your back, and the sounds you’re making only push him further, his lips traveling down, down, down -
Then he’s pulling your panties down your legs and kissing you everywhere - your ankle, the inside of your knee, your thigh, and then -
When he first licks a stripe along your slit, you let out a strangled cry, practically flying off the bed as you arch up. He practically growls, pressing his lips to his clit as he does, and you’re pretty sure you’re whimpering.
“Oh, fuck - Steve, that’s it - right there. I - ah! - add your finger there, yes -”
He’s working on you like it’s his job, lapping at you like a starving man. His tongue circles slowly around your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you hear the sound of your slick, your heaving breaths and pleas filling the room. You grip the sheets, bringing your heels to his bare back to press him closer into you.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he breathes into your cunt. “It’s so hot, baby - you taste so good -”
He’s speaking nonsense, half muffled as he licks at you, but the praise is enough for you.
You can’t even warn him, your orgasm hitting you embarrassingly fast. You come hard, screaming his name as you throw your head back and practically buck into his mouth. He continues licking at you softly, gently working you down from your high.
“That’s it, there you go - God, I love how you sound when you come,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your core. When it becomes too much, you gently tap his head, signaling him to come up for air. He pulls himself up slowly, hovering over you with a big grin on his face.
“Hi,” you breathe.
“Hi.”
His chin and lips are coated in your slick, but you don’t care. You pull him down into another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“You doing okay?” he asks as he pulls back, taking a moment to brush some hair from your face. You nod, unsure if you’re able to speak quite yet. So instead, you reach downwards, fumbling with his belt and button, biting your lip as you fumble in the dark between you two.
“Whoa, okay, hang on,” he says, pulling back to stand up for a moment. He rids himself of his pants quickly, his boxers the only remaining clothing between you two. Then he’s hovering over you again, smiling as you start kissing him. You reach down and start palming at his clothed bulge, straining against the confines of his underwear.
He groans into your neck, and shakily places his hand over yours and pulls it back.
“Wait, wait, baby - as much as I want you to touch me… I think this is gonna be over way too fast if I let you do that.”
You feel pride surge in your chest, the idea that you can have that kind of effect on this beautiful boy above you. So instead, you say nothing, and move to sit up. You wordlessly guide him, coaxing him to lay back against the mattress so you can straddle him.
He’s looking at you like you might not be real, and in that moment, you’re not sure if he is, either. So instead, you help him pull off his boxers, letting his hard cock spring free. It looks nearly painful, and you want nothing more than to make him feel good, to give him anything he wants.
So, without much ceremony, you take his cock in your hand. He hisses at your touch, and as you raise yourself over him, you meet his eyes one more time - are you sure?
He just nods, and you lower yourself onto him, enveloping him inch-by-inch. You both moan at the feeling, moving yourself slowly as he stretches your walls. He screws his eyes shut and throws his head back, groaning at the feeling of you around him. After what feels like a painstakingly long time, he bottoms out, filling you so completely that you think you might cry. 
You sit there for a moment, both getting used to the feeling - it had been a while for you, and if you had to guess, it had been for him as well.
“Can I move?” you ask after a moment. He just nods, eyes finally flying open to focus on you.
You being rocking back and forth, slowly, and he looks as if he’s died and gone to heaven. Soon enough, though, you begin to pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock as he rocks into you. He shifts until he’s nearly sitting up, gathering you close to his chest and you continue to rock in his lap. He snakes his hand down to where you meet, rubbing fast, messy circles on your clit. The sounds filling the room are just the slapping of skin, heaving breaths, and a slew of dirty words falling from both of you, incoherent and out of control.
“Oh, fuck - baby, you feel so good - so fuckin’ warm and tight, just for me -”
“I - oh, God - you’re amazing. Your cock is so big, filling me perfectly -”
“So beautiful, riding me like this - I can’t believe you came so quick before, babe - can you do it again?” he whispers, mouthing at the skin behind your ear. You just nod, burying your face into the warm skin of his shoulder, meeting his thrusts as he fucks up into you.
Then he angels himself perfectly, hitting that spot inside of you, and you start to cry out.
“I’m close, oh god, Steve - right there, harder, please, fuck me harder -”
You feel his cock twitch inside you, and feeling just a little bit evil, you squeeze around him. He sounds as if you’ve killed him, pressing his teeth into your shoulder.
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna -”
“Come for me, Steve,” you whisper. “Come when I do.”
He mouths at your neck, and as you feel the familiar hook pulling in your abdomen, it hits you - what both of you need, right now, in this moment. You slow your movements slightly, pulling back to look him in the eye.
“Steve?” you breathe.
“Mm?”
You take his face in your hands, kissing him sweetly, completely in contrast with the way he was roughly fucking up into you. You’re both growing more sloppy, more desperate, chasing your respective highs.
“I - I love you,” you whisper.
That’s enough for both of you. You snap, throwing your head back and screaming as you squeeze and convulse around him. You’re seeing stars, the warmth spreading through you and your orgasm hits your like a train.
Steve follows a second behind, cock twitching and spilling into you as he cries out your name like a prayer, mumbling sweet nothings into your skin as you slow your rhythm, riding out your orgasms together. His hips stutter, then still, only the sounds of your rapid breathing and racing hearts to accompany you.
He still has his arms wrapped around you, chests flush to each other. Steve starts pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, his hand slowly rubbing your back. Neither of you say anything, not for a while - the wind howls outside, the snow falling a bit more now.
Eventually, he starts to soften in you, and you pull yourself off, clambering to the other side of the bed. He wordlessly reaches for the unmade comforter and pulls it over you both, noting the goosebumps forming on your skin.
You both just lay there, side-by-side, staring at the ceiling as you wait for your breathing to return to normal. It’s him who finally breaks the silence, because it always is.
“That was -”
“-amazing,” you finish breathlessly, turning your head on the pillow towards him. It’s a tiny bed, and you’re practically nose-to-nose. He’s smiling softly, still blissed-out from what happened only moments ago.
“So… what you said,” he says quietly. “Did you mean it? Like, really mean it?”
And he looks terrified, like your answer might break him, and it makes you want to cry. You want to crack open your chest and draw him inside, keeping him safe right next to your heart. You reach across and gently brush your fingers along his face, ghosting over his cheek and jaw.
“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course I did. I think I have for a long time, Steve.”
His face crumbles, and he sighs with relief, turning up to kiss your palm.
“Did you?” you ask, anxiety creeping into your chest. You’re not even sure if he remembers when he said it last year. He looks confused, but only for a moment.
“Wait - did I - I did, didn’t I?” he says, shaking his head incredulously.
“When I said that, I - it was in the moment, and I almost swore I didn’t - I’ve played that moment, that entire night, in my head almost every day. And - and never knew for sure if I actually said what I felt.”
You feel your heart flutter, your stomach doing somersaults.
“So - you meant it?” you ask cautiously.
He smiles again, big and wide, and gently presses his lips to yours.
“Yes,” he breathes. “I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
“Since we were five?” you ask, feeling like the wind has been knocked from your lungs. He just nods. You nuzzle your nose into his, and softly whisper, “Well, I love you too, Steve Harrington.”
LATER, WINTER 1989
It’s loud, warm with bodies, and hazy from smoke - you make you way through the crowd, drink in-hand. You glance at the clock - it’s 11:57, where is he -
“Hey you!” a voice shouts. You laugh as RObin slings her arm around you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek.
“Hey!” you laugh, pulling her close into a side hug. “Where’ve you been?” 
“Well, I was talking to Nancy, but there’s only so much canoodling with Jonathan that I can handle.”
You chuckle, glancing over at where the couple stands in the corner, practically devouring each other.
“Well, where’s Vickie?” you ask, searching over the crowded living room.
“She went to get more champagne, but I don’t - oh! Look, they found each other!”
You follow her gaze, and settle on Robin’s redheaded girlfriend - talking to Steve. You relax at the sight of him, even though he had been by your side only a few minutes ago. He smiles when you spots you, holding out an arm to wrap around you as you sidle up to him.
“Hi,” he says softly, quietly enough that you hardly hear him over the music. 
“Hey, you,” you reply, earning a kiss on the crown of your head.
“Is it almost time?” you ask. Robin glances at her watch, and practically jumps.
“Oh, gosh, yeah! Okay, everyone!” she shouts, scrambling to stand on a chair. Most of the room directs their attention to her, raising their glasses and letting out a few whoops and cheers.
“Alright people, grab someone pretty, make a few resolutions - and say goodbye to the 80s!”
Everyone cheers, and Robin looks down at her wrist again.
“Okay! Ten! Nine -”
Steve pulls you close by your waist, gazing down at you like you’re his whole world. Though, you know that there’s a good chance it’s true. He brushes your hair to the side, and whispers, “Ready for 1990?”
You know what promises the new year will bring - you, starting your full-time job in New York, in the apartment that you and Steve are getting together, with the promise of always coming back to Hawkins for the holidays. A life, that you’re building together, after so many years of dancing around it. It makes sense that you’ve ended up here, ringing in a new decade after being a part of each other’s lives for nearly as long as you’ve known.
“Five! Four! Three -”
You grin, bringing your hand to the nape of his neck.
“As long as it’s you and me, Harrington.”
“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Robin screams, followed by a series of applause and cheers.
Steve meets you halfway, and kisses you like he always does, enough that you melt into him like you’ll die if you aren’t attached to him. There’s no need to run anymore. Because, as long as you’re with Steve, you’re home.
Author’s note: well, that’s the end of TTDS. I’m sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it! I’m diving into my new Steve series next, and working through my inbox for some blurb requests. But, if you’d like to request prompts/blurbs based on this story, I’d be happy to do that - I think it’s be fun to see other scenes from throughout or after the events of this story. I appreciate every like, reblog, comment, and message - I read every single one. Let me know what you think of the story! Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and I’ll see y’all in the new year!
Taglist: @cityofidek @decadentwastelandtrash @fallingwithoutcaution @selfdeprecatingnerd @scream-still-screaming @le-who-zer-her @freezaz123 @andrewgarfieldsupremecy @shireentapestry @divinelovers @thatstoomuchman @buckleysbitch @evansflowers @untoldshortsofthefandoms @godcreatoreli @hotelfohn @thesillynonsense @itsfloorcry @dullsocietyy @draynmelol @the-winter-spider @suniloli @livid-euphoria @iknowrocknroll @tsundere-exe @palmtreesx3 @boxofsmittens @bradleysgirl @etherealforever234 @jxackles
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I love that "suburban legends" has a double meaning of 1) being household names all over suburban america, and 2) being well known in your small town a la pageant queens and high school football heros. It is such a clever phrase!!!
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daenerys-targaryen · 11 months
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TIME FLIES MESSY AS THE MUD ON YOUR TRUCK TIRES NOW I'M MISSING YOUR SMILE. HEAR ME OUT! WE COULD JUST RIDE AROUND!!! AND THE ROAD NOT TAKEN LOOKS REAL GOOD NOW!!!
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circle-with-me · 1 month
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‘tis the damn season - part 5
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Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Gen/Viv/Vivvy)
Content Warning/Tags: 18+ MDNI!!! nightmares, psychological abuse, verbal abuse, implications of physical abuse, menacing/threatening behavior, toxic relationship with parent (father), mentions of death, mentions of car wrecks, mentions of alcoholism, panic attacks, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie.
First part of this may be rough for some but after that is pure FLUFF I swear! Tooth rotting. They’re adorable, I love them so much.
Word Count: 3k
tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @sitkowski @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666 @cookiesupplier @lilrubles @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants @sammyjoeee @collective-heartbreak @agravemisstake @catharsis-in-darkness @0fth34byss
Authors note: PLEASE PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU READ THIS PART!
There is a nightmare scene that can be pretty rough for some and I want to make sure everyone is prepared. You do not have to read that part to know that is going on with the rest of the story so I have divided it up so you can scroll through it. The scene is in italics. Once you reach the snowflake divider you’ve made it to the rest of the story. Love you guys and thanks as always for reading my thing ♥️
thank you to @deathblacksmoke and @concretenoah for being the best beta readers/listening to me go on about this fic incessantly. They’re my biggest helpers and supporters and I wouldn’t know what to do without them 🤍
warning divider by @cafekitsune, snowflake divider by @saradika-graphics, t. swift lyrics dividers by yours truly
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“Genevieve! Get down here NOW!” 
She stiffens at her father’s booming voice calling for her downstairs. Even with her door closed it sounded as if he was right next to her. Gen sits at the edge of her bed, dreading what would happen next. He would become angrier the longer she made him wait but fear kept her frozen.
“GENEVIEVE!” The voice boomed again. “Don’t make me come up there!”
She whimpers at the threat, knowing if she doesn’t get up immediately he’ll make good on it. Wiping the tears from her cheeks she gets up and opens her door, padding down the hallway to the staircase.
Gen stands at the top of the stairs and peers over in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him. She hears noises from the kitchen, shuffling around followed by shattering glass and a string of curses. He’s drunk, but what else is new? 
“God dammit Genevieve, you don’t fucking li-” She jumps as his large frame stampedes out of the kitchen and to the bottom of the stairs. He halts when he sees her, the fury in his eyes turning to annoyance. He grips the railing, taking a step up. 
“Mija, why did I get a call from school today telling me you’ve been skipping class?”
Gen feels her heart start to race. 
“Daddy, I-I..” She stammers, tears welling up in her eyes. “I only skipped class once so I could..”
He slams his fist against the railing and Gen freezes in place, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. 
“Don’t lie to me, bitch.” He spits.
“I’m not lying to you, daddy! I promise. It was just one time! I wanted..”
He takes another step up.
“What the fuck is so important that you had to skip class for, huh?”
Gen whimpers, she knew he’d be furious to find out the truth but if she lied it would be ten times worse. She doesn’t even look up when she speaks.
“Tomorrow is Will’s birthday and I wanted to get him something special. He likes manga and the only place that sells it around here closes early. So, I left before the last period started so I could get there on time.” 
“You skipped school to buy that stupid boy a comic book?” Gabriel sneers, narrowing his eyes at his daughter. 
“Daddy, he’s not..”
“And whose fucking money did you buy that with?” 
“Mine.” She sniffles. “Mrs. Hart has been having some trouble getting around so she asked me to help her with some housework. I told her not to but she insisted on paying me.” 
He barks a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. In fact, it’s so cold it makes Gen’s skin crawl. 
“Always taking advantage of people. What would your mother think of you?” Gen winces. He loves to use her mother against her. “I bet you went over to the neighbors begging for money. Just like when you cry to Will about how terrible I treat you.”
Gabriel ascends the step once more, taking two steps this time. 
“Maybe I wouldn’t drink all the time or be so ‘terrible’ if I had a better daughter. Did you think of that? I lost my wife and I get to look at her spitting image every single day. You will never be half the woman she was… It should have been you that died in that wreck.”
If he had said that a year ago, his statement would have devastated her. She reasons that in some way it probably still does, but her bitterness and hatred for the man she calls her father usurps that feeling. 
Gen looks in his eyes— eyes that have been lifeless and cold for years. She knew the risks, the consequences, the days of recovery ahead of her but she didn’t care. If he was going to sink that low then so was she.
“No, daddy. You can blame your drinking on me if you want to but you had a problem long before mom died. If you weren't such a drunk that wreck never would have happened. It should have been you that died.”
Gabriel’s lips curl in anger, a snarl coming from his chest. “You little fucking bitch!” He bounds up the stairs towards her, reaching out to grab her and—
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Gen’s eyes fly open and she pants looking around the room. Her vision is so blurry she can barely see anything and it doesn’t help her racing heart. She lays her head back against the pillow, trying to slow her breathing. 
“It was just a bad dream. It’s over. Breathe.” She whispers to herself. After a few minutes, she opens her eyes, her vision much clearer. She feels something shift slightly next to her and she looks over.
Beside her, as far away from her as he possibly could be, was Will. His brown eyes stare at her like she’s a wounded puppy and he wants to rescue her. From day one, he was always her protector, but he had witnessed enough nightmares to know he needed to stay away until the coast was clear.
Gen smiles meekly at him, body still trembling and tears falling freely. She stretches her arm out towards him. He was so far away from her that her fingertips barely brush his chest. 
A strangled “baby” is all she can get out but that’s good enough for Will. He envelops her in his arms, pulling her into his chest, softly kissing her face. She sobs into his arms while he rubs her back, soothing her with sweet words. 
“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” He whispers. 
Will doesn’t need her to tell him what happened. The whines and cries in her sleep were enough. He remembers all of the sleepless nights for both of them, navigating through the nightmares and trauma plaguing her. Will thinks about the years of nightmares she has had with no one to comfort her like he is now and his heart aches.
Gen clutches onto him, burying herself deeper into his chest, gasping sobs wracking her body. Will holds her tightly, knowing it always gets worse before it gets better. He gently strokes her hair, crooning a song he’s done his best to forget in her ear.
“I look back to the one and only summertime
When my girl was the envy of every friend of mine
She slept safely in my arms
We were so young and invincible”
Will feels her shuddered breaths calm a little. The grip she has on him relaxes, her hands still shaking but lightly rubbing at his sides. He takes that as a hint to keep going.
“Closed lips
She was never one to kiss and tell
Those trips in the summer never went so well
Young love was such dumb love
Call it what you want
It was still enough”
Gen’s body continues to calm as he sings. He stops singing and hums as he takes a peek at her. He notices she’s not crying anymore and wipes the remaining tears from her face. She cracks an eye open and sniffles, hugging him even closer and nuzzling into his neck whining for him to continue. He smiles softly. There’s my girl. He thinks.
“And it's still out of my reach
And you're still
All of the things that I want in my life
How could I ask you to leave me?”
And we were just kids in love
The summer was full of mistakes
We wouldn't learn from
The first kiss stole the breath from my lips
Why did the last one tear us apart?”
His singing becomes quieter as he processes the lyrics. They were fifteen when they first heard this song. It came out the summer they started dating and it seemed perfect at the time. Will heard it first and declared it “their song” immediately. Gen had complained at first that the song was too sad but Will told her to focus on the sweet parts. He reassured her the sad verses would never apply to them.  
Fourteen years later the realization that they not only do apply to them but almost mirror their situation perfectly was almost too much for Will to bear. 
“We're falling down
Can we pick up the pieces?
We're at an all-time low
How do we get it back?
We're falling down”
The last few words come out a cracked and broken mess as tears stream down his face. He attempts to hide his pain from Gen but she hears it and can feel his heart pounding. She looks up at him, tears of her own returning, but the look in her eyes is no longer panic. Instead, it’s heartbreak, empathy, and longing. 
Gen smiles at him, adjusting herself so that she can wrap her arms around his neck. She kisses him gently. It’s so gentle that he can barely feel it and he wants more but doesn’t want to rush her. 
They lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, their lips meeting with little intention besides soothing the other person. Will’s hands roam her back and sides, staying in neutral areas until she’s ready. 
 When Gen deepens the kiss, he lets her have control. He can feel that she needs more by the way she pulls at his neck and rubs herself against him. He smiles into the kiss and plays with the frayed ends of her shirt.
“Is this okay?” He breathes, rubbing his fingers only barely under the hem.
She nods and he slides his hand under her shirt, his thumb brushing her ribcage just under her breasts. She lifts her leg over his hip and pulls him in closer, moaning as she feels how hard he is against her. Will cups her breast in his hand while he grinds into her slowly, swallowing every moan she gives him.
“Turn around for me.” Will requests and she obliges, rotating in the opposite direction and making a point to place her ass right up against his crotch as she settles down. Will chuckles and grabs her hips, grinding into her hard. Gen giggles back at him, gasping softly. 
“Are you ready for me, baby? Need you.” He says slipping a hand in her panties and running a finger through her slit. He curses at how wet she is and quickly shoves his boxers down, hiking her leg over his. He pushes her panties to the side and slips inside of her.
Will slides his other arm underneath her and wraps it around her chest, pressing his body as close to hers as he can get. He presses kiss after kiss on her face and neck, slowly dragging his cock in and out of her. 
Gen reaches back to card her fingers through his curls, bringing their lips together. She whimpers against his mouth, begging him to go faster. Will increases his movements, the sound of her stuttered moans already forming a knot in his stomach.
“Touch yourself for me, Vivvy… please” Will pants into her neck. “Need to.. fuck, want you to finish with me.” 
Gen snakes her hand down her stomach, circling her clit with the pads of her fingers. Will watches her from over her shoulder, squeezing her hip so hard  he’ll be shocked if he doesn’t leave a mark. 
“Will.” Gen cries, moving her hips to meet his thrusts. With every new thrust inside of her he can feel her getting closer. The muscles in her belly are tensing and her legs are beginning to shake. Will watches as she practically bounces on his cock chasing her release.
“I’m here, baby. Let go for me. I’ve got you.” He coos, feeling his own climax coming on quickly. 
Gen stills in front of him, crying out his name, shaking and moaning. Will pulls her so close he can barely breath and continues thrusting until he spills deep inside of her. 
For some time, neither of them move or say a word. Will curls around her, still holding her tightly while Gen places featherlight kisses to his fingers. Both actions, while truly sincere, have hidden meanings. 
One of them is trying to keep the other as close as possible in fear of them retreating. While the other is remembering for the first time in years what it’s like to experience a safe place in the form of a person.
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Gen feels the bed dip beside her and a warm hand runs up her arm. She makes a contented sound but keeps her eyes shut. Will removes his hand and replaces it with his lips, kissing up to her shoulder. 
“Time to get up, sleepy head.” He hums. 
Gen pulls the covers over her head groaning and he laughs, fighting to get them off of her. 
“Viv, It’s almost 2:30. We’ve been sleeping all day!”
The vice grip Gen has on the comforter stays as Will hears her grumbling something underneath them.
“What’s that?” He says, tilting his head and putting his ear to the blanket. “I can’t hear you, you’re gonna have to whine louder!”
A hand reaches out of the comforter and pinches Will’s side and he yelps. A satisfied snicker comes from below the fabric barrier as her hand retreats but he’s quick to grab it.
Gen squeals as he rips the comforter off of her and grabs her other hand, pinning them above her head. He watches her as she giggles uncontrollably; She’s trying, but not really to remove herself from his grasp. He kisses her face repeatedly and he lets her remove her hands so she can wrap her arms around him. 
“We need to get up, Vivvy.” Will says between pecks. 
“Whyyyy?” Gen drags out, giving him her best pout.
“Well, for one.. we haven’t eaten all day which is just not acceptable. Especially for a lazy day. And two…” He stands up and walks over to the window and peeks through the blinds. “It’s snowing.”
Gen sits up on her elbows, a baffled expression on her face. 
“And…?” 
Will rolls his eyes. 
“And.. If I recall correctly someone used to love playing in the snow. At least before she turned into a big grump.” He teases.
Gen’s eyes light up and she scrambles to the window. She looks out as Will holds the blinds open for her, noticing how much it snowed overnight. Gen estimated there were probably five to six inches outside. It was perfect for a fun day in the snow.
“Can we go outside now?” She asks, buzzing with excitement.
“Food first. Snow after.” He replies.
After they eat, Gen practically runs to get dressed, stealing clean clothes from Will’s dresser to layer with. Seeing her in his clothes, the way his sweatpants cling to her hips and accentuate her curves makes him short of breath. 
He considers the option of pulling them off of her and bending her over the dresser she was standing at but he knew not to mess with a woman and her snow plans. Even if sex was involved. Besides, there was always afterwards.
Will decides it’s best to distract himself so he walks into the living room to finish getting ready. Gen follows him shortly after, grabbing her boots and putting them on.
Will zips up his puffer jacket and turns around, watching as Gen puts on her pathetic excuse for a coat. He stands and watches her for a moment, an amused expression on his face. When she looks up, she sees him and grins.
“What?” 
“You spend a few years in L.A. and forget how to dress for the weather here.” Will snickers as he gets up and assesses her outfit. He shakes his head and tuts at her. “Unacceptable.” Gen sticks her tongue out and Will laughs as he walks to his closet.
He brings her his extra puffer and beanie, placing the hat on her head and letting her put the jacket on herself. 
“At least you brought a scarf, you monster.” He teases, fixing it around her neck. “Can’t have my girl freezing out there.”
Gen feels her cheeks flush, surprised at how quickly she accepts it. Was there a point in fighting it though? She was his girl. That had never changed, no matter how long she tried to combat it. In the back of her mind, she’s reminded this is temporary, but she stubbornly pushes it away. For once, she’s going to let herself have what she wants. 
Will zips the jacket up for her, adjusting the scarf and making sure she was nice and snug. “That’s much better.” He says as he leans in and kisses her nose. He wraps his arms around her waist and rubs his nose against hers, grinning as she giggles uncontrollably.
“Ready to go, baby?”
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Gen peers around the corner of the tree she’s hiding around. Will stands a few feet away, his back facing her. She sneaks around the tree, as quietly as the crunch of the snow would allow and runs toward him, throwing the snowball in her hand at him and hitting his back. 
“There you are!” Will yells, running after her. He gathers up snow, throwing it back at her while he chases her. Shrieks of laughter permeate the cold winter air as they sprint around like little kids. Will finally catches up to her and grabs her, pulling her down on top of him.
Gen pulls down the scarf around his face, covering his face with kisses, focusing specifically on his cold red nose. She doesn’t miss the quiet giggles he lets out between each peck. His arms squeeze her tightly against him and despite the 20° temperature, she feels warmer than ever.
Will removes his arms from her suddenly and she sulks. He beams at her, spreading his arms and legs out in the snow, attempting to move them in a sweeping motion. 
“It’s very hard to make a snow angel when you’re on top of me.” 
Gen scoffs and rolls off of him, landing on her back next to him. 
“That’s the first time you’ve ever complained about me being on top of you before.”
“First and only time, Vivvy.” He winks. “Now, are you gonna make one with me or is mine gonna sit here out in the snow all by itself?”
Gen and Will make their snow angels, and Will hops up to help her off the ground. They stand in front of them to assess their handiwork.
“Looks good to me. What do you think, babe?” He asks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“Perfect.” Gen responds, nuzzling into his chest. “Absolutely perfect.”
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ninethirtynine-pm · 3 months
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taylortruther · 8 months
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I just can’t get on board that he didn’t know what to expect from her lifestyle and the inevitable tour. No what it was is that he was having a self pitying party and felt bad about the direction of his own career while Taylor was about to embark on a once in a lifetime kind of tour and she’s ready to let herself shine. Now that being said tho maybe he really didn’t know what to expect tbh. When him and Taylor met, she was hiding. 2023 Taylor isn’t really the same 2017 Taylor. Maybe he went into the relationship thinking Taylor will keep making music but in a moderate way, nothing to the current extent. And I think Taylor thought the same too with the way she spoke about her career in miss americana. And this boom and resurgence for Taylor caught them both off guard. But the thing is Taylor welcomed it with open arms but he thought whatever they had planned in 2018-2019 got turned around, in part because of the pandemic re: his career and two because of Taylor’s growth in popularity.
and also like i said before, i often wonder how many times they disagreed about how she wanted that popularity.
and i think about this because, since reputation (which is about her finding love through the noise with joe), she's written more and more openly about desiring fame. she wrote nothing new, the lucky one, and ikp about the way the outside world and media intruded on her life and her legacy... but in reputation we got "he really knows me, which is more than they can say" and in folkmore we got ttds and dorothea and "is it enough if i can never give you peace?" and in midnights we got "the life i gave away ... chasing that fame" and "you should find another guiding light, but i shine so bright."
she acknowledged some of the pain of fame early on. but in her later music, she frames it more as her choice, and one she stands by. i can't help but think this was coming up often in her relationships to joe as well as herself.
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jordynlwymmd · 4 months
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'Tis the damn season, write this down✨
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@taylorswift @taylornation
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JUST A BOY IN A CHEVY TRUCK THAT HAD A TENDENCY OF GETTIN STUCK ON BACK ROADS AT NIIIGHT /// TIME FLIES MESSY AS THE MUD ON YOUR TRUCK TIRES NOW I’M MISSIN YOUR SMILE
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missamericanaposts · 13 days
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What they don’t tell abt The Eras Tour The Movie (Taylor’s Version) is that even though all these new songs that were originally cut for time are in the movie again, we STILL don’t have the beloved Tis The Damn Season😭😭😭
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genevievemd · 1 year
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‘tis the damn season - january
January 1 - 30, 2023
Book: Open Heart (Beyond) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Format: Text/Edits Rating: T Category: fluff Trope(s): and one of them uses social media
Series Summary: A look into the final eight months of Ethan and Gen’s first year of marriage.
Warnings: none
A/N: You read the dates correctly! It’s the entire month this time! Mostly because it’s a pretty chill month. Enjoy
Series Masterlist
Sunday, January 1st
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Monday, January 2nd
{texts between Ethan and Alan} 
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Tuesday, January 3rd
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Wednesday, January 4th (Ethan’s 41st Birthday)
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{Texts from Louise to Ethan}
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{Pictagram DM’s between Desiree and Ethan}
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Friday, January 6th
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{texts between Tobias and Ethan}
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Saturday, January 7th
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Tuesday, January 10th
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{Texts between Gen and Bryce}
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Friday, January 13th
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Saturday, January 14th
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Sunday, January 15th
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Monday, January 16th
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Saturday, January 21st
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Wednesday, January 25th
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Monday, January 30th
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A/N: *cue dramatic music*
K, bye. See you next week (or in two weeks, haven’t decided) with the update!
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harrytheehottie · 1 year
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tis the damn season part 3 preview - read part 1 & part 2. coming soon.
“Harry, I am flattered beyond flattered, that isn’t even the right word for what I feel right now. I just never, I just. I feel so bad. I don’t want this to ruin us. I don’t want to regret this. ”
Harry let the tears fall, his brows furrowed his hand running through his hair before finding the way to pull at his bottom lip again. You’ve never seen Harry this, the mixture of anger and sadness and you don’t believe this is that moment but if it was, you knew you deserved it.
“Believe me, my dear no one will regret this moment more than I will.”
“Harry don’t say that, please don’t say that. Can we just talk - can you hear me out?”
“I invited our family and friends. Planned this whole night with no doubt in my mind you’d say yes, we’d have time to ourselves before our friends and family surprise us in about 20 minutes.”
“They’re coming here?”
“Yes, here. S’why I rented out the entire pub. If I had any indication that you’d say no I probably wouldn’t have planned it this way.” He was being short.
You hated how much you deserved it.
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katyswrites · 2 years
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'tis the damn season
PART 1 | SERIES
Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, smoking, angst
Wordcount: 4.7k
Childhood friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again, broken promises, and roads not taken, lots of angst, soft smut, illicit affairs, what-ifs, and it’s always been you. And it all leads to your hometown, during Christmas break.
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PART 1 | you, in my hometown
THEN, Autumn 1973
You were five years old, the very first time you laid eyes on Steve Harrington. It was the first day of kindergarten, 1973, Hawkins Elementary. You had just moved to town from Indianapolis, your parents deciding a small-town suburb was a better place to raise a family, just the place for you. You knew nobody, and sat in the corner, tugging nervously on the new plaid dress your mother had dressed you in, feeling more out-of-place than you ever had in your short life.
It was at recess, that the boy had approached you in the sandbox, plopping himself down on the edge. You were alone, most kids opting to climb the playground or start a game of tag, but you were more than happy to build something in the sand. You looked up at him, squinting in the bright light of the early September afternoon. There he was, messy hair sticking in every direction, brown eyes quizzical, curious.
“Hi,” he said plainly. 
“Hi,” you replied, confused and slightly perturbed that this boy dared to interrupt your precious sandbox time.
“What’re you doing over here?” he asked.
“Why d’you want to know?” you shot back.
The boy shrugged, kicking at the sand with his feet. “You seemed lonely.”
You really looked at him then, properly, cocking your head. “I do?”
“Well, you’ve been by yourself all day.”
He had said it so matter-of-fact, as if it’s something that hadn’t been obvious to you.
“I don’t know anybody,” you replied.
“Well, it’s gonna stay that way if you don’t try to make friends.”
You looked down at your dirty hands, the muck of the sand covering your once-clean dress hem and crossed legs, suddenly feeling a bit foolish.
“I mean, I guess so,” you conceded.
He shifted then, sitting right in front of you in the sand.
“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”
You stare at him a moment, his face expectant, hopeful. When you tell him your name, he grins, and extends a hand. 
“Nice to meet ya - wanna be friends?”
You look at him, then down at his hand, confused. 
“My parents say shaking hands is the polite thing to do, when meeting someone new.”
Still unsure of what he meant, having never encountered this in your short life, you held out your hand to mimic him. He reached out and took it, shaking it firmly. You held on longer than you should’ve, only letting go by following his cue.
He smiled at you again, toothy and warm, then pointed at the sandcastle you were in the middle of building.
“What’re you making?”
You glanced over behind him, where the other kids were running, climbing, playing.
“Aren’t you going to play with your friends?”
“We’re friends now, remember?” he said, shrugging. “I can play with them another day.”
He says it so simply, as if it would be silly to consider anything else.  Then, he sat with you for all of recess, chatting and asking questions about what you’re doing, where you’re from, and for the first time, you think Hawkins might not be so bad.
THEN, Summer 1975
“But mom -” you whined. “Just another five minutes -”
You hung your head out the window of the treehouse, your mother waiting down below, a hand on her popped hip. She sighed.
“Sweetie, I gave you another ‘five minutes’ twenty minutes ago. Steve’s mom is here to get him, and we’re about to sit down for dinner.”
You groaned, and withdrew from the window, flopping onto the wooden floor. Steve faced you, legs crossed and face solemn.
“I guess I’ve gotta go, huh?”
You nodded, sighing.
“It’s my stupid mom - I don’t see why you can’t just sleepover again!”
“I know!” he exclaimed, resting his chin in his hands. “I like staying here way better than my house.”
You frowned at that. “What do you mean? You’ve got a pool, Steve. And your house is so much bigger -”
“Yeah, but - ya know, your mom makes an awesome dinner… your dad talks about basketball with me… and, we get to just hang out all day!”
You blushed a little, but buried your head in your knees so he didn’t see. 
“I mean, I guess you should go. Your parents might get mad.”
He sighed, but then grinned. “I mean, I’ll see you tomorrow though, right?”
Of course you would - you two saw each other nearly everyday. You nodded furiously. “Yeah, definitely.” 
Then he descended the ladder, and leapt to the ground. Before he ran off to his mom’s car running in the driveway, he turned, and looked up at where you were leaning out of the treehouse’s window. He waved up at you, beaming.
“See ya tomorrow!” he called up.
As his mom’s car backed up out of the driveway and drove off, you watched it, all the way until it turned down the street. You sighed, tuning out your mother’s calls for dinner. The early evening was still rather bright, the way that was so characteristic of the height of summer, the cacophony of buzzing insects accompanying the blushing sky. At the age of seven, there’s very little you were certain of in life - most questions were unanswered, much of the world still filled with wonder. But, you knew that Steve Harrington was your best friend, and nothing would ever change that. As it turned out, that was only partly true.
NOW, Winter 1988
You press your head against the car window, watching the world pass by. Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree plays on the radio, crackling through the car’s tinny sound system. You’re tired thanks to your early flight from New York, another hour and a half of driving ahead of you before you reach home. You half-listen as your mom babbles on about plans for the upcoming weeks, rattling off holiday preparation plans. 
“And then we have the town tree lighting on Friday - you’ll come to that, won’t you? And, I was thinking you and I would hit the mall on Saturday - I know Christmas is still two weeks out, but you know how last-minute shopping just creeps up on you -”
You nod, and let out a few mm hm’s, watching as the highrises and clusters of buildings give way to scattered houses and stretches of forests and fields, leaving Indianapolis behind as Hawkins draws closer. You shift in the passenger seat, already feeling on-edge. Hawkins meant a lot of things - it meant home, with your slightly overbearing parents, your remaining high school friends, home-cooked meals and your twin-sized bed, feigning the simplicity and innocence of your childhood. On the other hand, though, Hawkins meant a life left behind, words unspoken,  the person you used to be, and it meant seeing -
“Oh! And, the Harringtons are having their holiday party next Saturday, on the 17th - we’re all going, and we’d love if you could bake that lemon cake -”
Your stomach flips at the sound of the surname, and you whip your head around to face her.
“Wait, what? I, uh - that didn’t happen already?” 
You know your voice sounds a bit too shrill, words too rushed. Your mother raises an eyebrow.
“Well, no - they always have it the weekend right before Christmas, you know that. And, I told them we’re coming, but you can bring friends, if you want - there’ll be a whole bunch of kids there, they said that Steve’s inviting his friends -”
You inwardly wince, a pit forming in your stomach.  
“I just - I might be busy…  mean, there’s so much to do, with shopping, wrapping, and, uh -”
“Sweetie, you’ve always loved that party, it’ll be nice to see everyone! They always ask about you, you know -”
You clench your fist and turn back to face out the window, forehead pressed to the glass. Your mind is reeling - you specifically had been trying to not think about him. Because that leads to thinking about what happened, to thinking about what could’ve happened -
“Besides, it’s your last year of school - after this, who knows where you’ll end up, or what kind of time you’d get off if you’re working -” “Yeah, okay, fine,” you concede, crossing your arms. The song on the radio changes to Last Christmas, and it takes everything in you to not scoff at the irony. It’s another hour until you reach home, you reckon - you rest your head on your arm, and hope that you can nap for a bit, just so you don’t have to think about anything else right now.
THEN, Autumn 1982
You were sitting criss-crossed on your floor, flipping through a copy of Seventeen magazine. Robin Buckley lies on your bed, feet up against your headboard as she stares at the ceiling.
“I mean, I don’t get what the big deal is,” she says, toying with the metal frame with her foot. “I mean, it’s just some stupid dance.”
“It’s not stupid - everyone goes,” you replied, scanning the pages for makeup tips. “Hey, do you think your mom would have anything I could borrow? She sells Avon, right?”
Robin shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, that’s her gig for now. But I don’t know what she keeps onto, I don’t really use that stuff.”
You rolled your eyes. 
“Look, Robin - maybe it’s because you’re a freshman, but take it from me - homecoming’s a huge deal.”
Robin raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on her face. “Why? I mean, it’s not like you’ve got a date, right?”
You felt your face heat, and you grabbed the pillow from underneath you, chucking it in her general direction.
“Shut up.”
Robin broke out into a fit of laughter. “I’m just calling it for what it is!”
You crossed your arms indignantly.
“Well, neither do you!”
Robin scoffed, flipping herself onto her stomach.
“Yeah, but the difference is I don’t care about that stuff.”
You returned your attention to the magazine, clicking your pen to start filling out the Which Fall Fashion Style Is Best For You? quiz, replying, “I mean, you say that now - just wait until you have a year of high school under your belt, and you’ll see.”
It was Robin’s turn to roll her eyes, then, resting her chin on her fist. “You know you’re not oh-so-wise for being a sophomore, right?”
You chuckled, and looked back up at her.
“All I’m saying is, there’s more to high school than band practice and drama club.”
Robin grinned at that. “But band and drama are so fun - plus, you get to meet killer, younger friends like me -”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said dismissively, waving your hand. “But, you’ve got to admit, we’ve kind of become losers.”
“We’re not losers, we’re -” Robin thought for a moment, furrowing her brow. “We’re artsy kids, we’re above vomit-stained parties, football games, 1.8 GPAs -”
“You’re so stereotyping the popular kids -”
“You only say that because you like Steve Harrington!”
Your face burned, and you were certain you were turning a ripe shade of red.
“I don’t like Steve - we’re friends. Well,  family friends - we go way back, him and me.”
Robin just smirked, rolling over onto her back again.
“Whatever you say,” she says playfully.
“I mean - we don’t really hang out anymore, not like we used to,” you admitted, though it still stung a bit to say aloud.
It had been some time, since you and Steve had sought each other out. He’d catch you in the hallways sometimes, and you even occasionally helped him with his homework. But, you had started having less classes together, being on two different academic tracks. And, ever since joining the basketball team, and the swim team, and hanging out with Carol and Tommy H… things weren’t the same.
It’s what happens, your mother had said, when you had called Steve’s house for the third time in a week only to be told he wasn’t there, that he was busy doing something else. It’s called being teenagers - boys and girls tend to grow apart, sweetie.
You had grumbled something at that, about how it wasn’t the same thing with Steve, but deep in your heart, you knew it was true. He wasn’t a stranger, exactly - but, he wasn’t your friend anymore, not the way he had been.
You sighed, and settled onto your stomach, mimicking Robin’s position from down on the carpeted floor.
“Is that such a bad thing?” Robin asked, picking at her nails. “I mean, he’s kind of a dick, you’ve got to admit.”
You opened your mouth to say something else, thinking for a moment, before you settled on, “Maybe. But, he wasn’t always.”
THEN, Winter 1983
You sipped your hot chocolate, leaning against the corner of the living room wall. The Harringtons always went all out for Christmas, having the food catered from the best Italian restaurant in town, a full table of baked goods and holiday sweets that Willy Wonka would envy. The spiced smell of mulled wine and cranberry cocktails stung the nose, idle chatter and drunken laughter echoing through the house. They invited nearly everyone - his dad’s coworkers, his mother’s book club, all of the neighbors, and, of course, Steve’s friends. Steve had once told you that it was one of the only times during the year that the house didn’t feel abysmally empty, too big for who lived within. 
When you were kids, you all played in Steve’s room for a lot of the party, only making your way downstairs to load up on desserts and hot cocoa, making sure to get wired up on sugar before ultimately crashing and needing to be carried home. Now, though, it was different. The now-teenagers mingled with the adults, sneaking some wine and champagne, then absconding off to the basement to get drunk and stupid. 
Now, you were staring off at the couch, the younger crowd opting to start the evening in the sunken den, at least until food came out. Steve was sitting on the couch, wearing a ridiculously ugly Christmas sweater, which he was still somehow managing to make charming. And, curled into his side was Nancy Wheeler, looking dainty and beautiful, as usual. He had his arm casually around her, rubbing small circles on her upper arm. Tommy and Carol were all over each other in the corner.
God, you thought, it’s a fucking family Christmas party. 
You took a sip of your cocoa, which had thankfully been spiked with rum that Steve had taken from his parents’ liquor cabinet. You looked away before Steve could catch your eye, and see that you were staring.
“So, where are you thinking of applying?” Steve’s mother asked, lazily swirling her chardonnay in her glass. 
You blinked, pulled back to reality for a moment. 
“Hm? Oh, um - well, I’m trying to dual major in Journalism and English - uh, I know they seem similar, but they’re really not, so -”
“Yes, but where do you want to study? When you graduate next year?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, gripped the handle of the mug a bit tighter.
“Well, I want to be in a big city, so - NYU, Emerson, Fordham, American, Northeastern… oh, and Columbia, which I know is a bit of a reach, but worth trying for.”
Her mouth formed a tight line, her nail tapping the rim of her glass.
“Well, that sounds wonderful,” she said, though her voice was twinged with a bit of sourness. “You really should talk to Steve - he’s really dragging his feet with the applications. I mean, even if he does get them in… just between you and me, we both know he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I’d hate for him to be disappointed.”
Your skin prickled, the hot cocoa turning sour in your mouth. You thought about the times Steve had confided in you about his parents over the years, his innocence feigning and turning to genuine disdain. Now, you knew well enough to not ask about his family unless he brought it up, the topic being an incredibly sore one.
You took a deep breath, and pasted on a false smile. “Well, just between us, Mrs. Harrington - I think Steve’s pretty great, and he’ll find his way just fine.”
Before she could retort, you shouldered past her, making your way to the table of hors d'oeuvres in the dining room. You smiled at Karen Wheeler, who was conversing with Joyce Byers on the other side. As you stuff a stuffed fig in your mouth, you hear a voice right behind you.
“What’d she corner you about?” Steve asked. You whipped around, coming face to face with the boy. You nearly choked on the food, covering your mouth while trying to swallow it down.
“Um, what?” you managed.
“My mom. Was she grilling you?”
He was asking nonchalantly, as if it was just about the weather, but you knew him better than that - most of it was an act, an armor he had developed over the years.
You just shrugged. “No, not really - she was just asking about where I’m applying to school. You know, just what every adult’s been asking me for the last year.”
His face faltered a bit, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Did she find time to shit on me, while she was at it?”
You gave him a sympathetic look, and reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “Hey - don’t let them get to you,” you murmured, just out of the adults’ earshot.
He sighed, and picked up a mini hot dog from the table, shoving it in his mouth.
“Yeah, well - you and I both have always known that you’re the smart one.”
Your heart ached a little, the way it always did when Steve talked about himself that way.
“Hey,” you whispered, “have a little more faith in yourself, yeah?”
He nodded, lips pursed. Then, he got a mischievous glint in his eye, and leaned in closely. 
“Well, how about we load up on some booze, and take this thing down to the basement?”
You grinned, raising your mug of cocoa. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already started, Harrington.”
He laughed, and shook his head.
“I really do love ya sometimes, you know that?”
Your stomach flipped at that, and you cursed yourself for it. He had said it to you before, a thousand times - when you had given him your last stick of gum in 2nd grade, when you had covered for him when he was out past curfew, when you had come to pick him up when his car broke down in the middle of the night, never once complaining that it was 2am and freezing. Because he was Steve, and even as distance had started to push you two apart over the years, it was impossible for you two to say no to one another.
So, you just smiled, nicked another mini hot dog from the table, and replied as you walked away, “Yeah, and I guess you’re alright.”
THEN, Summer 1985
You scooped the jungle juice out of the bowl, some sickeningly sweet red concoction that had been thrown together, filled with more liquor than you’d like to think about. You filled the Solo cup, the sticky juice dripping down the sides and staining your fingers. You took a drink from it, letting the sweetness dance on your tongue as She’s A Beauty blasted through the speakers. You heard a crash and bang ring from the kitchen, followed by whoops and cheers.
You waded through the crowd, the stench of sweat and booze saturating the air. You caught Robin’s eye, and she waved from the crowd. You both met in the middle, and she clung to your shirtsleeves, grinning.
“Finally! Thought I lost you in this crowd of delinquents!”
You rolled your eyes. “Are you drunk?”
She held up her hand and made a pinching gesture. “I mean, just a little!”
You were both screaming over the music and din of the crowd. Natalie Crone was known for throwing killer parties, legends in the halls of Hawkins High, and her graduation bash was no exception. You had been to them before - not necessarily because it was your scene, and band kids like you and Robin wouldn’t typically get an invite. But, Steve had brought you a few times, and now, they weren’t the kind of parties you were exactly invited to - most of the school just showed up. 
“What are you drinking?” Robin yelled, gesturing to the red cup.
“The juice! No clue what’s in it, though.”
“Oh, great - a perfect formula for you to become a blackout mess!”
You scoffed, and leaned in closer.
“Don’t rain on my parade, Robin!”
She smiled, and pulled you close. “Oh, I’d never!”
You both laughed, and moved with the music, downing more juice as you did. Every now and then, a toast was called to the class of ‘85, all of the seniors drinking whatever was in their hand, cheering and hollering. 
Soon, though, it was too hot, too much, and you were itching for nicotine and a breath of fresh air.
“I’ll be right back, smoke break,” you yelled, leaning in closer to Robin’s ear. She rolled her eyes, expressing her disapproval for the habit, but you ignored her like you usually did.
You shouldered your way through the crowd, passing a girl spilling her drink down her top, a couple sticking their tongues down each other’s throats in the corner, until you were finally outside on the back porch. There were a few scattered partygoers - one guy throwing up on the lawn, another few people passing a blunt and blowing smoke over the railing. 
You breathed in the fresh night air, the sweat cooling on your skin as you embraced being out of the stifling house. You settled yourself against the siding of the house, fishing a box of Marlboros out of your back pocket.
You fumbled for a lighter, frowning when you can’t feel it - did it slip out, while you were dancing inside? Before you could grumble and let yourself become frustrated, a voice cut through the night air.
“Need a light?” Steve asked, his smirking face barely illuminated in the porchlight.
You smiled, lifting your leg up and pressing it against the wall for support. 
“What’s it gonna cost me?” you asked cooly.
“Well, it seems we’re an odd couple,” he said, sighing as he leaned back against the wall next to you. “Can I bum a cig? Left mine at home, been kicking myself all night.”
You chuckled, pulling another cigarette out of the box and handing it to him. He accepted it gratefully, placing it in his mouth delicately before he brandished a lighter. He leaned in close, and you met him halfway, letting him light the cigarette hanging from your lips before he lit his own. He took a deep drag, exhaling through his nose as he closed his eyes.
You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Having a tough night?”
He shook his head, haphazardly running his hand through his hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I was honestly thinking about leaving - the whole thing’s kind of depressing.”
“Why?” you asked, noting the sternness hardening his features.
“I mean - I guess because it’s my last hurrah? It’s stupid, but - everyone in there? They’re going to college, or are set up with some kind of job, or have a plan, and I’m… here. And, it’s my last chance to kind of feel like somebody, you know?”
Your face softened, a knot forming in your stomach. “Jesus, Steve… that’s kind of heavy, don’t you think?”
He glanced over at you, groaning. “Yeah - no, you’re right. It’s just - nevermind. I don’t need to dump this on you. Like I said, stupid.”
He took another drag from his cigarette, looking down at the ground.
“It’s not stupid, Steve,” you said, voice softer, more sincere. All of the usual joking you reserved for your banter was stripped away, your heart aching again for the beautiful boy beside you, who seemed to never quite see himself the way the rest of the world did, the way you did.
“I mean, half of these people are going to flunk out of school anyway, or like, get stuck in a job they hate, or like, end up in a loveless marriage, so… I wouldn’t worry too much.”
He scoffed. “Okay, Ms. NYU, you’re one to talk.”
His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it. It stung, more than it probably should’ve, but you shrugged it off.
“I’m just saying - you’ll figure it out.”
Silence fell between you two for a moment, the buzz of the party and booming music muffled inside the house, the buzz of the evening filling the void.
“You know,” you said, “you said you were thinking about leaving. Are you still?”
He smiled at the ground, and shook his head. “No, not really.”
“Why’s that?”
He locked eyes with you then, a small smile forming on his face. “Well, I found someone pretty cool to hang out with.”
You laughed, flicking some ash off of your cigarette. “Is that what you think I am? Cool?”
“Oh yeah, totally - I mean, I’ve always thought that.”
You both laughed for a moment, until it fizzled out, both of you sitting in silence, blowing smoke into the night. You glanced up at him, chewing the inside of your cheek. Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing in your system, swirling with every coherent thought and tainting them, making you a bit braver.
“Hey, Steve?”
Your voice felt small, and a bit pathetic.
“Hm?” 
“What - what happened to us?”
He stilled for a second, his breath halting. It's a minute, passing moment, but you noticed. 
“What d’you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
You’d completely turned to face him now, your hip pressed into the wall, hoping you looked casual. He sighed, deeply and fully, still not fully meeting your gaze.
“I don’t know - really, I don’t. I mean - we grew apart, started running in different circles.”
“You mean, I became a nerd, and you became the King of Hawkins High,” you said bluntly, your tone biting.
“I wouldn’t put it that way -”
“You became too cool for me, Steve. I mean, I get it, I do. But - I know you’re still you. You always were. And - there were times, over the years, that you acted like you hardly knew me, like, around school and everything. And, maybe you don’t anymore, in a way. But, it kind of sucked, you know?”
You were aware that you were rambling, your words slurring a bit, but it felt like a weight being lifted off of your chest, even if it sickened you to force the words out. When you looked up again, he was looking at you, really looking at you.
“I’d never act like I didn’t know you,” he said, voice low and soft. “I’m sorry if I ever did.”
You nodded, squashing out your cigarette butt with the toe of your shoe.
“Thanks,” you whispered. 
When you looked up again, he was closer, his face inches from yours.
“If I could do it over again,” he breathed, “I’d give it all up, if it meant we could’ve kept things the way they were. Us being close, I mean.”
“Yeah? Even if it meant being a total, utter nerd?”
He nodded, eyes flitting down for a moment.
“Yeah - I’d join marching band and everything.”
You roll your eyes. “Harrington, that’s some absolute bull-”
Then, you were cut off, as he closed the distance and pressed his lips to yours. You squeaked with surprise, not even sure how to register what was happening. But then, your eyes fluttered closed, and you relaxed into the kiss. He tasted like cheap beer and smoke, and smelled like mint and cologne, and your hands were in his hair. You were kissing the boy who had always been there, who had once promised to always be your best friend, and it all at once felt strange and familiar, right and wrong. But, in that moment, everything was Steve, and you let yourself lean into it, ready to feel it all. 
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number1abbasupporter · 3 months
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been thinking abt my ttds marylily lately
maybe that means i’ll actually write 😍
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