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And I Snuck In Through The Garden Gate

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [18.7k] prompt: "Can I kiss you?" Childhood friends to lovers, growing up together, that damn garden gate, a slow burn like summer.

1979. Fever dream high in the quiet of the night. 

When you were twelve years old, you moved to Hawkins, Indiana: population twelve thousand. 

It had cedar lined streets, an old town hall, an outdoor pool behind a chain link fence, one supermarket and a boy next door called Steve Harrington. 

You saw him from your bedroom window, his across from yours, the house your parents bought only a stone's throw away from his. He waved at you through the glass, smile wide, hair messy and wild. He had a scrape on his cheek from falling off his bike, a poster above his bed for a band you’d never heard of. 

The next morning, he knocked on your front door and asked you if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You rode on the back of his bike, hands clutching his shoulders, eyes bright and wide and Steve shared a slushie with you, tongues raspberry blue, cheeks sticky and sun kissed. 

He taught you how to play pac man, hands already so much bigger than yours when he slid them over your own, joystick between your fingers, laughter bubbling in your chest when you won. 

Steve came back the next morning, and the next, the days bleeding into one long summer in a new town that was all wheat fields and quarries, dust roads and white picket fences. 

Then a year later, a week after your thirteenth birthday, you came home from your grandparents in the new dress your parents bought you, a pretty, sunflower yellow thing that fell to your knees and fluttered when you spun. 

You ran straight to the Harrington’s house, one hand knocking impatiently on the door, the other holding the box of sugar cookies you had insisted on saving and taking home to Steve. 

You weren’t sure when it had happened, not really. But at some point over the course of twelve months, Steve Harrington had become your best friend. It happened the way summer did, a slow roll into warmth and blue skies, the familiarity of seeing him every day, the same way the sun slipped through the cracks in your bedroom window shutters. 

He was bike rides, fresh banana muffins from the bakery on Main Street, water balloon fights when you were supposed to be in bed, running in the back yard as your parents shared wine and barbecue dinners. He got taller, his hair got wilder and you both got closer. 

Steve opened the door, smile wide, eyes bright, just for you. He took a cookie and your hand, leading you to his bedroom as his parents yelled out their greetings from the kitchen and you tumbled into his room, chest bursting with how happy you were ‘cause the entire car ride home, you had been so excited to see Steve. 

Steve had too many pillows on his too big bed, a guitar in the corner, a basketball shirt in a frame above his desk. There were books lining shelves, a stereo on his dresser and towers of cassette tapes. His room always smelled like fresh air and boy, something minty, the summer sneaking in from his always open window, the chlorine from the pool below. 

He’d turned to you then, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, taking in your bare shins with their new bruises, one from falling in your skates, the other from tripping outside the library. Steve was yet to turn fourteen but he decided then that yellow was his favourite colour, buttercup bright, that deep rich shade that was painted on your dress. 

“You look like a princess,” he said earnestly, voice soft with embarrassment ‘cause Kyle from school said it wasn’t cool to be best friends with a girl. 

Steve had told him to shut up, brows knitted together, cheeks blushing and he’d spent that rest of recess so confused, ‘cause the boy thought you were the coolest person he knew. 

You flushed at his words, nose scrunched and you picked at the hem of your dress, dipping into a clumsy curtsy, the way all the Disney princess did on the tapes your mom let you watch. 

“Thanks,” you beamed, all teeth and sore cheeks ‘cause Steve always made you smile real hard. 

You felt nervous then, wondering where you and your yellow sundress fit into Steve’s room, but the moment broke, that unfamiliar jitter in your stomach disappeared Steve tugged you down onto his navy blue carpet, NES console beeping as it came to life and he handed you the extra controller, smile bright. 

The day turned to night too quickly, the way it always did when you were with Steve, and soon enough the Harrington’s phone was ringing and Steve’s mom was yelling up the stairs, telling you it was time to go home for dinner. 

Steve walked you out like he always did, shoulders touching as you both hurried down the stairs, eyes tired from the TV screen, fingers sticky from sugar cookies. The sun was just starting to set, the world outside was hazy and peach coloured, lavender clouds low in the sky and everything smelled like cut grass and your mom’s lemon trees. 

Steve walked you to where his lawn met yours, the streets tired and empty ‘cause the summer heat was still lingering, making the air heavy and sweet. You watched as the boy chewed his lip, uncharacteristically nervous, backs of hands brushing as you walked across the grass, damp blades brushing your bare ankles and you wondered why your best friend's cheeks were so pink. 

“Paul Matthews kissed Gemma Kennedy under the bleachers,” he suddenly blurted out, and you frowned, lips twisting. 

“He did?” You asked, unsure of why this news was being shared. You didn’t like Paul Matthews, he was annoying and never gave anyone else a shot of the swings at recess. “What’d he say?”

Steve shrugged, all boyish and innocent. “He said it was kinda gross.”

“Gross,” you repeated, features scrunched. “Why’d Gemma wanna kiss him anyways? Paul smells like gym socks.”

Steve snorted, a shoulder bumping into yours. You could smell your dad’s pasta from the open kitchen window, the pop of a bottle being opened, soft music from one of your mom’s favourite bands. 

“Do I smell like gym socks?” The boy asked, suddenly self conscious and you poked at his ribs, head shaking. 

“No,” you told him earnestly, voice all quiet and sweet ‘cause it was like you were both the only two in Hawkins at that moment. “You smell nice. Like cookies and bubblegum.”

He grinned, too pleased with your assessment and before you hopped over the flowerbed that split your home with Steve’s, he caught your hand, palm a little clammy. 

He murmured your name, voice shy and it made your tummy tumble in a way that you still didn’t understand, not properly, not yet. 

You turned, eyes wide ‘cause you were both reaching an age where boys and girls didn’t really hold hands playing in the street anymore, and if they did, it meant something else. It made kids whisper in the playground, pass notes in the classroom and suddenly watching the older students kiss each other at their lockers didn’t seem as icky. 

“Have you kissed anyone?” Steve asked you, voice laced with curiosity. 

You flushed, heart raging, pulse picking up ‘cause you hadn’t and suddenly it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world. But Steve still had his hand over yours and he squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and something about it felt so reassuring, like he’d keep every secret you gifted him. 

“No.” A pause, a worry, a flutter of nerves. “Have you?”

Were you supposed to? Was a boy meant to like you now? Has Steve kissed a girl? Have you missed something monumental? 

“No.”

Oh. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch an age. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh. 

“You wanna kiss me?” You asked, lashes blinking slow, mouth parted. You could taste the sugar cookies you’d shared with Steve still melting on your tongue. “Me?”

Steve stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed rose and he licked at his lips, unsure of what to say ‘cause Jesus Christ he was thirteen years old and had no idea what he was doing. But he remembered something that Paul had said to him, legs kicking as they sat on the swings together, sun beating down on their backs.

“Wish I had kissed Kimmy Cheng instead,” the boy had said, somewhat thoughtful, brows scrunched. “I really like Kimmy, maybe that would’ve made it better.”

It had made Steve think then, chewing at his cheek ‘cause the only girl he really liked was you, his best friend. You didn’t make him nervous, and when the movies you watched with him got too scary, you held his hand, face behind a pillow and he didn’t hate that. Not at all. 

“I mean, I guess?” Steve mumbled and god, he didn’t understand why his stomach was flipping over, that same feeling he got when he decided he was gonna climb that old oak tree over by Fifth, the one that was too high, that had thick branches that swallowed the world below your feet. “Would be easier if our first kiss was with each other. Might be less embarrassin’, y’know?”

That made sense, you thought, ‘cause you really didn’t want another boy telling everyone your kisses were gross and Steve wouldn’t make fun of you if you were bad at it, would he?

“Okay.” You said decisively, and you took a deep breath, wondering why your heart was beating so fast, the same way it did when Steve went too fast on his bike, your fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders, eyes tearing up at the whipping find, hair covering your face and his. “Now?”

“Now?” He repeated eyes wide and then he swore, quiet, ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to and his hand readjusted his grip on yours, palms clammy and fingers linking. 

You hadn’t held hands like that before. It felt different, a little funny, closer.

But before you could comment on it, the boy was leading you between the two houses, the air warm and trapped between bricks and he opened his garden gate, feet clumsy as you both half ran down the skinny strip of yard at the side of his home. 

It was overgrown there, the little hidden patch of long grass and wildflowers that grew underneath Steve’s bedroom window and it smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. You could hear the trickle of the pool, your mom’s music and the setting sun cut through the slats in the fences in stripes, lighting you both up with gold and bronze. 

It smelled like summer, you decided, the perfect July day and when Steve spun to face you, you let out a noise of surprise. You were happy to notice that he seemed nervous too, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, hand tugging through his already wild hair.

But you were both hidden there, in the edges of the garden, stolen away from the rest of the town and out of sight of your parents. It felt like the biggest secret of all, one to lock away in the depths of your journal and this felt so much more than giving away the last cookie, more than backseat bike rides and a handmade friendship bracelet, more than sleepovers on Steve’s living room floor, heads touching when you fell asleep.

“What do we do?” you asked, nothing more than a soft whisper. 

Steve shrugged, heart rattling against his ribcage and he licked his bottom lip and stumbled a little closer. The toes of his trainers touched your sandals and he was already a little taller than you but he blinked, gaze settling on you from underneath thick, dark lashes and you gulped.

“I don’t really know,” Steve murmured, hands flexing by his sides ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold yours, or place them on your sides, your shoulders. 

He shoved them in his pockets instead, hiding the way they shook a little with nerves and he gasped when you moved closer still, knees bumping clumsy against his own and he could count the freckles on your nose, and he wondered if they matched the ones on his skin, a present from long summer days outside.

“Will I just-?” Steve’s voice cracked and he flushed but you didn’t mention it, you didn’t laugh, you never did. “Should I?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you, maybe all the sugar you’d consumed, maybe it was the heat of sun on your shoulders, maybe it was the way your tummy was rolling with nerves and worry but you grasped at Steve’s shoulders, pushing yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to the boy’s without any sort of announcement. 

Another gasp, warm skin, nails digging into arms, two pairs of eyes wide, noses bumping. 

It lasted a few seconds, maybe less. But your lips were tingling when you pulled away, cheeks a new kind of hot and Steve looked a little shellshocked. You both rocked on your heels into the grass, too tall lavender brushing against your shins and then the boy smiled, a burst of sunshine in the shadows, and he looked delighted.

You were sure your ears were burning, the tips feeling hot and when you looked at Steves, you found his were pink too. You beamed, a nervous giggle, a laugh that got caught in your chest and when you heard your mom’s voice call from the back door - so close to where you were both still standing - you jumped, two kids trying not to be caught doing something they shouldn't.

The garden gate squeaked when you ran back through it, the hinges calling after you and you smelled like a bouquet of flowers as you ran across both lawns, feet tripping over your front porch as you ran inside. 

Something pretty bloomed in between the spaces of your bones that day, when Steve Harrington decided that you were both going to be each other's first kiss. It stayed there, for so much longer than you thought it would. You’d always remember it as brown sugar and vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle, feeling brave, honey coloured eyes and complete and utter innocence. 

1981. Devils roll their dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.

You didn’t even want to go to the party, you didn’t even like Karen Vincent and you were damn sure she didn’t like you. You knew you were only invited because of Steve, a slip of pink paper passed to you after Karen and her friend Shauna slid between you and the boy at his locker, hands on his chest, on his arm.

You’d wrinkled your nose at it all, fingertips gripping the invite like a ticking time bomb but the girls had learnt the hard way that Steve wouldn’t show if you weren’t welcomed too. 

It’s how you found yourself crammed into the Vincent’s basement with too many other fifteen year olds, the music making the walls vibrate, the punch bowl spiked with something that shouldn’t have been mixed with fruit juice and god, it was too warm. 

It was just past ten o’clock and your parents wanted you home for eleven, which meant that, by default, that was Steve’s curfew too. You’d both been allowed to walk home on the condition that you stuck together and kept to the main roads, the summer months making the nights light enough that you could see both the sun and the moon in the sky, the clouds a hazy orange as they sunk into the horizon. 

You’d spoke to a few kids you shared some classes with, avoided the snack table and its fizzing punch bowl, the concoction no longer the same colour it was when Karen’s mom poured it. And then there was a pop of a bottle cork, splashes of spilled liquid on the already sticky floors, some cheers and a circle was made. 

Fuck. 

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Yelled a boy you didn’t really know, some kid from the same basketball team as Steve, “let’s go losers!”

There was a symphony of wolf whistles and giggles as kids piled into the middle of the room, coffee tables and armchairs pushed out of the way in favour of a seat on the floor, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with their classmates, eyes wide and searching for their next possible date to the arcade. 

“Harrington!” the same boy called out, “get in here!” 

Steve appeared beside you, hand brushing gently on your elbow and you frowned without meaning to, wondering why it’d taken him so long to return from the bathroom. But then you saw Karen by his other side, lips glossy and smacking blue bubblegum, eyes sharp on you as she grinned.

“Are you playing Steve?” she asked, lashes blinking, voice coy. 

You grimaced, already taking a step back from the ever growing circle. Someone was placing the now empty bottle in the middle and you eyed the closet door across the room like an old nemesis. Your stomach was twirling, and it wasn’t from all the pizza rolls but the smell of chocolate pretzels and red vines wasn’t helping. 

But Steve’s hand curled around your arm, still gentle, but he could read you like a book. He tsked, his smile playful but eyes gentle, as if he could feel the nerves radiate off of you. Maybe he could, maybe he could hear the way your heart rattled inside your chest, louder than the music, deeper than the bass.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, crowding into you a little so he could find your ear with his mouth. He was so much taller than you now, the top of your head barely reaching his chin and you scowled, knowing what was coming. “Where you goin’ princess?”

“Home,” you told him stubbornly and you suddenly hated the way your denim skirt was sticking to your thighs, too constricting, too warm. 

You heard him sigh, making a noise that only a best friend could, the sound of someone being done with your shit but loving you nonetheless. You moved backwards, hips bumping into the table that was piled high with empty red cups and the boy followed, a puppy at your feet, the same way it had been for three years now. 

“Aw c’mon,” Steve groaned, “if you go home, I gotta leave too and you promised me you’d stay until curfew.”

You huffed, arms crossed protectively over your chest, ‘cause you hated the way people were starting to stare. They always did with you and Steve, especially when he touched you like, so casually, so gently. 

“I can leave on my own, Steve, I’m a big girl.”

No you weren’t. You were fifteen and still scared of the dark after Steve made you watch Day Of The Dead when both of your parents were out late at the new Italian restaurant just outside of town. 

But then, a poke to your arm, your cheek, the end of your nose. You swatted at him, hiding your smile between a press of your lips.

“You know my mom would kill me if I let you walk home alone,” he grumbled but it was soft, still gentle. “Fuck, your mom would kill me after.”

“You can’t be killed twice, stupid,” you said but it lacked heat, an excuse to say something other than agreeing to a game you didn’t wanna play. 

He still knew you too well, scoffing at your evasion, hand curling warm around your wrist and pulling you back to the party, back to him, bodies bumping in a too close proximity that became more tense with every year that you got older. 

It was becoming harder to ignore that your best friend was pretty. You were sure he’d wrinkle his nose at your choice of adjective but Steve grew up and missed the awkward stage, shoulders broad at the same time he grew a foot, wild hair becoming only a little tamer, more product in it and eyes still warm and brown, a new dimple in his cheek you loved to press your finger into. 

You’d heard the other girls in your year call him hot, a total babe, whispered through giggles in the locker room. But your best friend still looked at you all soft, the same way he did before he gave you his first kiss and he took yours, pressed against the honeysuckle in his backyard. He teased gently, took your hand when the streets got too dark and you were both late for curfew, pressed a foot over yours under the dinner table when your mom started talking about test results and extra curriculars. 

Steve was still your best friend. But he was really, really pretty. 

“There he is! Harrington!” Another boy -  Jake someone, from your English class - had forced his way through the crowd to clap a hand on each of your shoulders, pushing you both into the circle. “And you brought your princess, how ‘bout that, huh?”

You flushed, with both annoyance and embarrassment, ‘cause one day when you were all still twelve, Steve spotted you across the park, hands twisting around a basketball as he took in another new dress you wore and called you a princess again. It just so happened that his friends had heard it too. 

His nickname for you never left, but neither did your classmate's memory of the incident. 

And then Steve’s hand was ripped from your arm, bodies separating you both and he was manhandled to the one side of the circle, you to the other, shoulders squished between a boy and a girl you vaguely recognised from gym class, maybe biology too. It was warmer on the floor, heat and teenage hormones gathering sticky between too close bodies, the smell of cheap aftershave and someone’s mom’s perfume mixing with Kool-Aid and sprite. 

“Okay so! You guys know the rules!” Karen was standing from her spot in the circle, suspiciously opposite to Steve, eyes wide and hands animated as she gestured to the closet door on the other side of the room. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is all yours for a whole seven minutes.”

The group giggled, excitement rippling through the circle, bodies shuffling, overflowing cups spilling. 

You panicked, scanning the line of faces until you found Steve’s, his eyes already on yours, knowing and soft. He was mouthing something to you, silent underneath the music and chatter. 

“It’s okay.”

But then Jake was shoving a hand to Steve’s shoulder, urging him into the middle of the circle with a raucous cheer that only teenage boys could make, the rest of the basketball team joining in and Steve bowed his head, lips twisting into an almost smile that he couldn’t really hide. 

You watched as every girl perked up like a meerkat, backs straight, hair twisted around fingers, elbows digging into competitors that tried to make their space in the circle more known. 

Your stomach rolled again and it only got worse when Steve spun the bottle and the glass flashed green in the centre, bodies bowing forward to see where it would land. 

It sounded like you were underwater, excited voices and yells sounding far away, dulled with the thump of the music. The bottle had spun and  spun and spun, landing on you with such precise finality that Karen audibly groaned. 

You looked up, Steve’s eyes wide on yours, lips parted and cheeks pink. Before either of you could speak, before you could shake your head or grab your jacket from the sofa and run up the basement stairs, your hand was grabbed by Jake, lips stretched wide and voice booming. 

“King Steve and the princess!” He cheered and his excitement was echoed by your classmates, hollers and whoops following you as the boy grabbed Steve with his other hand and the three of you were tripping over stretched legs and forgotten bottles, heading for that fucking closet door. 

“Wait!” You said, voice sharp and god, you could hear the panic there. 

You couldn’t kiss Steve. You didn’t want to kiss Steve. You shouldn’t kiss Steve. 

But Jake ignored you and the music was turned up a little louder again as the rest of the party lounged on their spaces on the floor, heads turned and tilted to watch you both with interest, and your arms only found Steve’s chest when the door was yanked open and a few sets of strange hands shoved you both in. 

The door closed, a gust of air, a click, the muffled sounds of the party locked away behind wood. It was dark, musty and your foot hit a shoe rack, your back against a bundle of winter coats that had been retired for the summer. 

“M’sorry,” Steve whispered and you knew he was referring to making you stay. You could’ve been half way home by now, trainers scuffing the edges of the sidewalk, fresh air kissing your cheeks. “Didn’t think it would land on you.”

You grunted an unladylike response as your eyes adjusted to the low light, a sliver of warm white coming in from the cracks on the door hinges, letting you see the way the boy was looking at you guiltily. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled ‘cause you really didn’t want to kiss your best friend but you hated the way Steve sounded disappointed at the idea. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep lying to yourself, but you were certain you had another few years in you. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, voice still soft, as if anyone outside of the closet could possibly hear the music and yelling. “S’not like we have to kiss.”

You snorted, chest sore in a way that felt like rejection and you hated how it stung. You looked at Steve, his eyes still on you as he shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, another raking through his hair in a way you knew all too well. He was nervous, agitated. 

“Sorry I’m not Karen Vincent,” you snarked and god, you hated the way you sounded jealous, you hated the way the words burned your tongue but Steve didn’t pick up on it. There was nothing to pick up. “Promise this wasn’t some sort of elaborate cockblocking plan.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, a huff of air that hit your cheek ‘cause he was so close and he was all cheap beer, gummy worms and hair gel. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the boy mumbled but there was a teasing to his voice, a not so serious lilt. 

You pressed your fist into his arm anyway, a hardly there punch that packed no heat and he poked his finger into your side in retaliation. You swatted at him, glaring ‘cause he knew you were ticklish and all the movement sent an empty shoe box hurtling down from a shelf above you both. 

“I do not cockblock you,” you pouted, almost offended. 

“Not on purpose.” Steve snorted, “Took me all of freshman year to get everyone to believe you weren’t my girlfriend.”

You scrunched your nose at the memory of it, boy’s catcalling you from afar, whispers when you and Steve walked to school together every morning, the unappreciative glares from the girls who wanted him instead. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled again. “How long left?”

“It’s only been like, a minute, jeez, that bad being stuck with me princess?” Steve’s voice was teasing and his hand snuck out to grab at your waist again, touch familiar, but his fingers were tickling, poking gently at the spaces between your ribs and you wriggled against him, knees bumping off of skis and old bikes. 

“Yes,” you lied and the boy knew, ‘cause you could see the way the light through the crack lit up the curve of his grin. 

“Besides, we’ve kissed before,” Steve suddenly said, cautious and soft. His hand was still on you, cupping your elbow to hold you near and it slid down to grasp your wrist. He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Remember?”

You warmed at the memory, wondering why on earth Steve had to bring it up now when you had both never mentioned it since.

“Of course I do,” you huffed, hating the way you sounded bothered. “It wasn’t that long ago. And it hardly even counted.”

Steve scowled, his hurt puppy expression painted across his features. Big, brown eyes set you in place with a stare. “It did so count,” he grumbled, “you were my first kiss.”

“And you were mine,” you fired back, as if this was suddenly an argument that you had to win. Steve always let you win.

“Have you kissed anyone else?” His voice was full of curiosity, void of any embarrassment, not like the way you felt when he asked you such questions. 

It made you flush, eyes wide and lips parting, as if you weren’t supposed to say, as if you weren’t supposed to let him know. Steve had told you about his kiss with Lucy Greeves, behind the bike shed, a few months back. 

He’d told you it was wet and she tasted like the chocolate milk she’d had at lunch. You remembered how he’d thrown himself into your pile of teddies and pillows at the foot of your bed, expression thoughtful as he told you he didn’t really like chocolate milk all that much. 

Then there was Samantha Duncan the year before, a game of truth or dare at the skatepark when the sun started to set and your curfews got a little later. You didn’t watch when Steve leaned into the middle of the circle, friends giggling as he pressed his lips quick to the other girls. 

“Just Miles Campbell,” you muttered, gaze lowered and set on the floor because you could feel the mischief bristle off of the boy as you spoke.

“Miles Campbell?!” He crowed, voice boisterous and no longer quiet. “He’s a giant, what did you do, climb a step ladder- ow!”

You pushed at Steve’s shoulder, face aflame. “Shut up! If you have to know, Harrington, we were sitting down.” You sounded haughty, but you didn’t care, ‘cause the boy was still laughing. 

Steve settled down, a dopey smile just on his lips and despite his teasing, his eyes were fond. Your sides bumped as he shifted, too close and not enough space in the small closet and you were so, so aware that your gaze was level with the bottom half of his face. 

His lips looked really soft. 

“Was he a good kisser?”

“Why d’you wanna know?”

He shrugged. 

“Thinking about asking him out?” You smirked. “Don’t think you're his type, Stevie.”

“Shut up.” 

There was a knock on the door, a sudden sharp sound that had you both jumping apart and you weren’t even sure when you had wandered that close. 

“Five minutes left, lovebirds!” Jake, voice muffled by the door and the music, called out, sounding way too pleased. 

Steve stared at the door, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and you knew he was thinking about something. He only hesitated a little before he knocked a foot into yours, catching your gaze and he spoke as if he wanted to get the words out fast, before he could stop himself. 

“Was he, though?” Steve asked again, voice quieter this time, almost unsure. He looked nervous, “Miles?”

You stared at him, maybe for a beat too long ‘cause the tips of his ears were turning red and he coughed, a little awkward. You made the same strangled noise, shoulders shrugging.

“I mean, sure,” you whispered, “I guess? He was… it was fine.”

You weren’t overly sure if the darkness was playing tricks on you or not, but you could’ve sworn you saw the boy smile.

“He tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” you continued, face warm from embarrassment, ‘cause you suddenly felt like you were sharing too much, even with Steve. “It felt weird, like a dead fish. I didn’t really know what to do.”

“You’ve never made out with someone?” Steve asked and god, you were almost positive he was the only person who could’ve asked you that question without sounding like he was making fun of you. His voice was soft, all fond affection for you that he’d collected over the years and he moved closer, toes touching yours like he knew exactly how to handle you. “Kissed someone like that before?”

“That was the first time,” you squirmed under his gaze, feeling much younger than you were. Were you supposed to have that much experience in making out with someone at fifteen? Did Steve? “I don’t really know if I did it right.”

“Oh,” he breathed and he didn’t sound like he was judging you at all. There was another slow silence, warm and not at all uncomfortable because it was still Steve, and it wrapped around you both like a question. “I could show you. If you wanted.”

The music bled underneath the gap in the door, vibrated against your skin and the drums made your heart drop and stop, thundering to the beat quickly after. You were sure it was the music. You were positive it was the music.

But then Steve mistook your silence for hesitation, a silent ‘no’ and he was already opening his mouth to cover his tracks, to take back the statement, to tell you he was stupid, that he was only kidding.

“I didn’t mean-, we don’t have to… shit, I-”

Four minutes left. 

“Okay.”

You could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, skin warm, cheeks hot, tongue sneaking out to peek between your lips and you wondered if he’d still be able to taste the lipgloss you put on before you left the house. 

“What?”

“Show me.”

He took a step towards you and you watched as the boy tried to keep cool but his ever expressive face gave him away, brown eyes all wide, jaw a little slack and his hand found your waist, a sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt, a place he’d not really touched before.

“Is this alright?” His voice cracked, and he blushed but you didn’t laugh. You never laughed, but you did nod. “Just do what I do, ‘kay? Can I kiss you?”

Was it really that simple, you wondered? But you didn’t get a lot of time to think it over, because as soon as you nodded, Steve was crowding into you more, pressing you into the coats and you still had to press up on your toes to let his mouth meet yours.

It was so different from last time and it was almost the same.

Steve Harrington still tasted like sugar and vanilla, hidden under cheap beer and you gasped when his lips touched yours, the same way you did when you were thirteen. But your hands grasped at his neck, steadying yourself, and he clutched at your waist to help, as if you had both gotten a little older and suddenly knew where to touch.

His mouth was soft over yours, a little hesitant at first, but then coaxing. Your lips slid over his once, twice, three times and then you felt the soft lick of his tongue at the seam of your lips and you remembered the way he’d told you to copy him.

So you did.

Your tongue touched his and your breath hitched with how nice it felt and the kiss moved soft and slow. You grabbed Steve a little harder, body swaying into his in the dark ‘cause your stomach was swooping and your heart was hammering and it felt like you were on the front seat of a rollercoaster, hanging off the edge. 

Maybe Steve felt the same way, despite having more experience, because he gripped you the same way, fingernails leaving little half moon marks on your hips. 

It felt strange, it felt good, it felt warm and it made everything tingle, breath stuck in your throat and a sigh leaving your chest and you felt like you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t, because it was Steve. 

But then voices outside were counting down from ten and they got louder and louder, hands hammering on the door and you both ripped apart before the door swung open, harsh strip lights and the smell of artificial strawberry and natty light swimming back into the closet with you. 

The walk home wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering you and your best friend had had your tongues in each other's mouths. Maybe it’s ‘cause you were still too young, maybe it was because you didn’t realise it yet, but there wasn’t much about yours and Steve’s friendship that would ever be awkward. 

So you followed the yellow lines on the edge of the road home, footsteps a little behind Steve’s and every now and then, the boy would look back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. It smelled like nighttime and summer and everything you associated with the boy, damp grass and leftover smoke from someone's barbecue, chlorine from the pools and you could hear sprinklers in backyards, hissing in the still warm air. 

You were a little late, just over curfew and the television was making your living room glow, the flicker of light coming out from the window. So Steve took your hand and led you through the back garden gate, pool lights leading you both to your patio doors, the rest of the house dark and you could smell lavender and honeysuckle from Steve’s yard.

He helped you find the key to the door, the spare hidden in a plant pot filled with pebbles and moss, one lone rose sprouting from the dirt. Both of your hands fumbled together as your fingers touched, all sudden pink cheeks and lowered gazes and Steve whispered a ‘good night, princess,’ before sneaking back down the lane, hopping over the lower part of the fence and into his own yard.

By the time you had tiptoed upstairs, past your dad who was dozing in the living room arm chair, Steve was in his room, bedroom window across from yours and the lights were still on as he lounged on his bed, shirt off and a baseball clutched in his fist. 

He was throwing it from his hand, watching it fall up and down in the air before catching it again, one arm thrown underneath his head and you couldn’t help but gaze at the muscles there, all new and never really seen before. 

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, the heat from the day trapped in your bedroom and sticking to your skin but you didn’t want to open the window, you didn’t want to alert the boy to your staring. You and Steve had spent nights, weeks, months and years hanging out from the sills, talking over the trailing ivy and flowers and growing below. 

But this felt like something you shouldn't have been doing, especially since you could still taste him on your lips, feel where his hands had burned against your sides, so you pulled your curtains and trapped all these brand new thoughts inside your room with you.

You took them to bed, slipped between the sheets with them and everything smelled like brown sugar and honey, gummy bears and Steve Harrington. 

1984. Killing me slow, out the window, I’ll always be waiting for you to be waiting below.

“Princess, c’mon, every time.”

Steve’s voice was exasperated, laced with something softer and it made swinging your leg over your bedroom window sill a little easier.

You peered down at him, long grass brushing his shins ‘cause no one but you two used that little path that took you out of the back garden gate. He was gazing back up, setting sun brushing his face with gold and caramel, peachy pink clouds in the sky and Steve held his arms out, beckoning.

“You’ll catch me?” You murmured, still unsure, despite this being a well practised escape. 

“Don’t I always?” the boy scoffed, almost offended, but the small edge below your window didn’t offer a lot of footing and you swore the drainpipe was becoming more loose than it used to be. 

“Harrington, I swear,” the threat was empty and it fell idle on your lips when you pushed yourself over the edge, hands gripping at the window frame and feet finding their footing. 

“Don’t second name me,” Steve grumbled and you sensed him moving closer, buttercups and daisy crushed under his sneakers as he kept his arms outstretched towards you. “You good?”

You mumbled some noise of confirmation, knees bent and ready to drop. You hated this part, and weirdly, it got harder as you got older, limbs stretched, body heavier, no longer small and quick to scramble up tree branches and out of windows.

“Steve?” You couldn’t really see behind you, the soft summer breeze picking at your hair and blocking your view of the ground below but you lowered yourself as much as you could, fingers too warm and slipping against the window frame.

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

So you let go, the short drop softened by the boy’s hand catching at your waist and pulling you against him, your back to his front and he held you there, ankles swishing in the damp grass. 

Steve was all hard muscle and cologne, arms stronger than they had ever been, tanned from the summer and wrapped tight around you, hands pressed into the skin underneath your breasts. He let you go when you found your feet, white chucks soaked by the evening dew and you blew out a breath and set the boy with a stare. 

“We have front doors, you know,” you watched him grin at you, wide and bright and so familiar. “Why do we have to do this?”

“S’more fun,” the boy answered and he landed a firm smack to your ass when you bent over, fingers tugging at your laces. “Nice shorts princess.”

“Fuck you,” you squeaked, cheeks warm and you reached out to do the same, plan connecting with the denim of his jeans and Steve laughed before groaning a little dirty and exaggerated. “You’re such a dick.”

He spun you both, feet leading you backwards towards the garden gate, clumsy between the flowers and he grinned, wolfishly. 

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Steve,” you tried to sound huffy, as if you weren’t impressed by his jokes but you sounded flustered instead and you hated how the boy knew it.

But he never said anything, never commented on the flush across your chest or the way your tongue snuck out to wet at your lips, he never poked fun. He just always watched with knowing eyes and a soft smile you could never discern, and kept on teasing you. 

“Y’know it’s better if my dad doesn’t see me leave,” he finally answered, fingers bullying the lock, almost rusted shut from years of only being used by both of you. “I get asked too many questions and I give answers he doesn’t like and suddenly I’m back in my room filling out fuckin’ college applications for the eighteenth day in a row.“

A pang of sympathy hit your chest and before you could tell your friend that you understood, you sympathised, he was placing a warm hand on the space between your shorts and your shirt, guiding you out the gate. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” you grumbled good naturedly, “I could meet you out front like a normal person.”

“Fuck off, we both know you love jumping into my arms as much as I love catching you.”

You couldn’t remember when you started flirting with your best friend, or when he started flirting with you. You couldn’t pick a place or time when it began, or who did it first. But you were both eighteen and more appreciative of all the strong lines and muscles, the soft curves and different ways you looked at each other. 

It would be a comment, a sly remark, a hand touching too close to areas yet to be discovered, a wink, a hug that went on for a beat too long. 

Nothing had happened, not really, not since the closet at Karen Vincent’s party, but everyone at school called you Steve Harrington’s girl and the boys you hooked up with in the backs of cars always pulled away mid kiss to ask if you were definitely single. 

It was all fun and teasing, familiar touches with a familiar boy, sprawled together in the same bed you’d shared with him since you were twelve years old. Except now there wasn’t as much space between you both, limbs longer, bodies taller, leftover alcohol soaking into your heads in the mornings that you woke up wrapped around each other. 

You would pretend you didn’t feel how hard he was, morning wood pressed into the small of your back, the curve of your ass and Steve wouldn’t comment when your shirt had rucked itself up your ribs in the middle of the night, too much showing to be decent. 

It was enough to keep you both on your toes, the close friendship teetering over the question of what if? Could we? Should we? Will we?

Steve didn’t hide the way he looked at you, affection always strong in his brown eyes, hands soft and face fond when he picked a wildflower off the garden wall, tucking it behind your ear but there was always a linger over your bare legs, the way the hem of your shorts cut high on your thighs, the way they pinched in at your waist and made your shirt ride up your ribs. 

The roller rink was busy as expected, ten o’clock on a Saturday night and filled with teenagers looking for something and someone to do. The kids of the day had long left and the lights were dimmer, the whole hall darker with flashes of red and aquamarine, bubble gum pink and candied lilac that flashed across the floor and faces. 

The disco ball twisted in the middle and it sent rainbows and reflections across the walls, painted Steve’s face in technicolour and you gave his cheek a little pat as you took off, wheels spinning you backwards, music thumping in your chest. 

He smiled at you, knowing, brows raised as he took a seat on the tables that lined the roller rink, crowded by the friends you’d found from school, flasks pulled from pockets, clear liquid dumped into red and blue slurpees.  

“Where you goin’ princess?”

You did a little spin, already warm from the sticky air, summer leaking in and slipping between the people skating and dancing, bodies too close. Your foot found the rink, hands leaning on the barrier wall as you sent Steve a wink, your cherry glossed lips widening in a smile that was borderline salacious. 

“To find someone to play with.”

The boys surrounding Steve whooped and hollered, cat calls ringing out underneath the music and you could hear the comments directed to Steve, playful intones about how his girl was nothin’ but trouble, and wasn’t he gonna get a pretty thing like you locked down?

But Steve just shook his head at you, playful and exasperated, while he leant back on the bench, waving away his friends remarks with quiet whatever’s and it’s not like that. 

He had nothing to say when you dropped yourself into his lap half an hour later, body warm from skating, face flushed and eyes a little too wide and bright. 

He ignored the whistles from his friends, the knowing glances, the nudges to ribs. ‘Cause you were wrapping your hands around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and your lips were at his ear. 

“There’s some creep followin’ me around,” you whispered, body tense and Steve’s hands, where they’d dropped to on instinct when you sat on him, tightened on the space above your knee. 

“Who?” Steve asked immediately, voice low and it rumbled through you, you could feel it in his chest and his eyes were scanning the crowds, brows pinched together. 

You didn’t look, didn’t turn away from where you’d pressed your nose to his temple, breathing in his cologne, his shampoo, something minty and like the forest. You caught Candance Peterson’s eye from over Steve’s head and you ignored the way she smirked at you. 

“By the lockers,” you murmured and your breath hitched just a little when Steve wrapped one arm around you, holding you closer to the other hand sliding it’s way between your bare legs, fingers curled around your thigh possessively. “Red shirt, bad hair.”

Steve snickered ‘cause he found him, a guy with an overgrown mullet and beady eyes, hanging by the lockers and benches. He was staring at you, watching the way you draped yourself over your best friend and Steve raised a hand, wiggling his fingers to show that he’d seen him. 

“He didn’t try anythin’, did he?”

You shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against Steve’s cheek ‘cause you refused to move any further away and you knew the boy didn’t mind. His hand was back on your leg, thumb stoking circles on the inside of your thigh and it took everything you had not to squirm in his lap. 

“Nah, just asked too many questions, told me he was wondering why a ‘pretty little girl’ like me wasn’t with her boyfriend,” you scrunched your face as you spoke, lips twisted. “Told him that my boyfriend was right over here.”

It wasn’t the first time you or Steve had used each other to slip away from some unwanted attention. Steve was just tall enough, just broad enough to warrant a second glance, too drunk boys weighing up their options when you snuck under your best friend's arm, wondering if they could take him. 

They usually gave up, watching with a sneer as your pressed your body into Steve’s, his hands taking advantage of your little role play game and he’d let his palm take a slow wander over the curve of your ass, a tight squeeze, a light tap and you’d dig your fingers into the spaces between his ribs for it, his laugh huffing guilty onto your neck. 

You found that you could be just as intimidating, Steve seeking you out at parties when girls from out of town got a little too much, a little too eager and kept trying to touch the hair that he spent too much fucking time styling. The boy would sneak up behind you, arms around your waist as he pulled you back against him and used you as the cutest human shield he’d ever seen. 

The sight of you in Steve’s arms usually stopped his admirers in their tracks, his lips pressed to the top of your head, smile hidden in your hair as you set them with a look that Steve said could make grown men cry. . 

“Oh you did, did you?” Steve drawled, “did you tell him I was the prettiest one out of the bunch?”

You snorted, a sound that always made Steve grin and you loved the way his arms tightened around you. Your position on his knees gave you an inch or two of height on him, a little taller, just for a change. You pulled back enough so you could gaze down at him, lashes lowered and face overly thoughtful. 

“I don’t know, Stevie,” you pondered, all faux heavy sighs, teasing and fluttering lashes. “Danny’s starting to look real cute since joining the team-”

“You shut your damn mouth,” Steve interrupted, voice huffy but he was still smiling despite himself. He took a second to watch the way a refraction of light from the disco ball travelled over your cheek, lighting up the new summer freckles there before it dipped into your Cupid’s bow. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “We both know you think I’m the hottest guy he- oh, shit. Your friend is coming over.”

“What?” You barked out and your voice sounded strangled. You turned to see that Steve was right, the guy in the red shirt was making his way through the gathering crowds, weaving through the busy tables towards you both, his gaze set on you and another question posed on his lips. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Steve was already shifting underneath you, arms hooking under the backs of your knees and you knew he was ready to deposit you on the chair next to him, eyes searching for a fight. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked instead. 

“Shit, what?” The boy’s response was garbled, words tumbling over each other as he stopped his movements and looked at you wide eyed. “Princess-”

You sighed, impatient, a hand clutching at Steve’s chin, tilting his face up to you so you could catch his gaze, the question asked again with just your eyes. A silent exchange, a secret language only you two knew. You watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, eyes heavy, dropping to your mouth and you waited, a second, maybe two and then fuck, he nodded, barely perceptible. 

You crushed your lips to his, swallowed the moan that Steve immediately gifted you, fingers pushing into his jaw and sighing at the way his  hand on your back dropped to the waistband of your shorts, fingertips desperately seeking the warmth of your bare skin. 

It was different to the kisses you had shared before, ‘cause fuck, now you both knew what you were doing and you had almost as much experience under your belt as Steve had. You knew boys liked it when you got a little bossy, hands on their jaw and thumb on their bottom lip, telling them to part their lips for you. You knew they liked it when you sighed all sweet and pretty, hips squirming in their hands, fingers pulling at their hair. They told you that you tasted like cherries, something sweet and tart and like dirty secrets. 

Steve seemed to like it too, ‘cause his tongue was sweeping past your lips, kissing you dirtier than he should’ve for such a public setting and you could hear your friends rippling in excitement around you. 

You pushed your thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he obeyed like you thought he would, parting his lips between yours and groaning into you. It was all teeth and tongue, hot hands on bare skin, hair between fingers, threading and pulling and you wondered how you could still taste vanilla, hidden in his lips underneath blue raspberry slush. 

You liked the way he held you to him, a little too tight, a little more possessive than he’d ever been with you before. Because growing up with Steve Harrington was all protective hands, glares sent to boys who deemed not good enough, rides home from work and gentle hands taking that one drink too many from you at parties that went on too late. 

This was different, this was personal, this was a touch that screamed mine mine mine and it kinda hated the way you knew you’d think about it later, back flat in your bed, sheets kicked to your ankles and your hand pushed down the front of your shorts. 

Maybe Steve would do the same you thought, maybe he already had, you wondered. And images of Steve with his hand flat to the shower tiles flashed through your head, body wet, hair soaked, lips parted and his other palm fisting himself to the thought of you. 

It was suddenly too much and you needed air more than you needed Steve. Your lips left his and the sounds of the rink came rushing back, like you’d pushed your head out from underwater. There was suddenly music, the score of wheels on wood, the siren of a pinball machine, ice clattering into cups from behind the bar. 

Someone amongst the group let out one, long whistle and people tittered and god, it should’ve made you blush. 

It should’ve. 

It didn’t. 

You simply stood from Steve’s lap, his hands still on your waist and guiding you to your feet until you could push your hair back from your warm cheeks, feeling only slightly scandalised when your friends all started but you kept your eyes on the boy. 

You licked the taste of him from your lips, raspberry and sugar and something that you were now beginning to learn was just Steve. His cheeks were tinted pink, lips glossy from yours and his brown eyes were considerably darker, his finger trailing away from yours in a way that made you think he didn’t wanna let go. 

But you cleared your throat the same time he did, only a little wobbly on the eight wheels that held you up and he grinned when you coughed out a laugh. 

“That worked,” you told him, watching as the guy with the bad hair swung the door open, leaving without looking back. 

“Huh,” Steve murmured, “how ‘bout that.”

—————

He didn’t say anything when the lights started turning back on, when the disco ball stopped spinning and people handed back their skates. Steve just found you on the benches, pressed shoulder to shoulder with your friends and he caught your eye from the door, another secret conversation that started with a quirk of a brow and ended with a tilt of a chin. 

You said your goodbyes and followed the boy out the building, watching as Steve placed his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the empty parking lot, fingers twisting and playing together until you hit the main road and it was normal, it was familiar, it was Steve. 

He decided he was staying with you that night, mumbling an excuse about not facing his dad in the morning, how your bed was comfier and your mom made the best waffles but you didn’t need any convincing. 

So you snuck into your house, unnecessarily quiet ‘cause your dad was still up watching TV and your mom was in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book and they barely looked at the boy who was following you up to your bedroom, nothing more than a “night, kids,” called out into the hallway. 

You lay side by side with the boy, half dressed and with too much bare skin on show, Steve’s shirt on the floor, your shorts almost indecent around your thighs. 

It was the first time you thought that something else might happen, legs brushing against legs and hips bumping together as you tried to get comfortable, the burn of the others lips still on your own. 

But nothing did and you were starting to wonder if anything ever would. 

1985. And it’s new, the shape of your body.

It didn’t matter that it had been a Wednesday, it was the first day in weeks that you and Steve had managed to get the day off together and you were both planning on making the most of it. 

It’s why the boy woke you up early, a rucksack already in his hand as he walked through your patio door, left open for that very reason, the rest of the house empty as your parents went to work. 

You’d been surprised at how softly he’d woken you up, fingers prodding gently at the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your pillow, eyes hidden with sleep mussed hair and one leg bare and kicked out from beneath the sheets. He grinned when you grumbled and he took your sleep warmed spot when you finally dragged yourself out of bed and into a shower. 

Steve barely looked away when you reappeared in just a towel, almost too short to be decent and when you turned to your dresser to pull out a swimsuit and clothes, his eyes dipped to the backs of your legs, thighs on show, tanned from the August sun, a small freckle there he’d never seen before. 

“You said you were gonna set an alarm, princess,” Steve teased, head pushed back into your favourite pillow and if he realised it smelled like your shampoo and peach scented body wash, he didn’t say. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Jesus, give me peace, Harrington,” you grumbled, voice still thick with sleep and the summer air was slipping through your open window and it made you move slower than you wanted to. “Turn around.”

Steve did as he was told, face crushed into your sheets and a grin on his lips ‘cause he heard the soft thump of your towel hitting the floor, the shuffle of clothes sliding across your skin. He knew you were winding him up, taking that little game you both blamed to a new level, another limit, because there was no fucking way a girl that looked the way you did, didn’t know what she was doing.

Steve heard the snap of a bikini strap, the rasp of denim shorts over long legs and when you told him he could look once more, he turned around in time to see a flash of cherry red, a swimsuit that hid little, covered by the way you pulled a white shirt over your head. 

You pushed a pair of Ray Bans onto your nose, a little too big and stolen from Steve a few summers before. You grinned, knowing, and held out a hand. 

“C’mon pretty boy, let’s go.”

Steve took the car, drove it to the outskirts of town with the windows cracked, the summer air blowing in sticky and sweet. You had your feet on the dash, a new bracelet around your ankle, woven with blue and orange thread, a matching one around Steve’s wrist that he tried to protest at but his words were weak and his smile was bright. 

He let you pick the song, cassettes spilling out of the glove compartment as you tried to find the perfect mix for a day like this. There wasn’t a cloud above Hawkins and when you drove past the Burick’s farm, the sunflowers were in full bloom, making the world that flashed past your window bright yellow and the strawberry paddocks made everything smell sweet. 

The roads were quiet and the air still, and you couldn’t see another soul as Steve parked up on the roadside, a dirt corner off of the road leading out of town. You both walked into the wheat fields, long grass towering to your waists as you headed for the tree line. The crops brushed your bare legs, scratched softly against your skin and you could feel Steve behind you the whole time, eyes on you, anticipation growing, warming you like the sun. 

When he ran, you did too, feet a little clumsy and neither of you could see where you were stepping but the peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer air on your face made it better.  You chased after the boy, bag slamming on his back, eyes glancing back at you, looking like the twelve year old with the wild hair you once knew.

Steve didn’t stop running until he hit the patch of trees, legs slowing as the branches became thicker and you slammed into his back with a soft ‘oof,’ cheeks sore from grinning and neither of you thought much of it when the boy took your hand and led you through the thickets.

The trees cleared just before the cliff dropped off, the quarry vast and a pretty green-blue underneath you. The spot was secluded, familiar to you both and a well guarded secret that was kept over the years. You came every summer, secret visits that were just for you and Steve.

You’d been waiting for a day like this for what felt like months. The height of summer, blue skies, the distant buzz of cicadas and your best friend, all to yourself. 

Something told you that Steve felt the same, ‘cause when you chanced a sideways look at him, he was already gazing back, soft smile on his face.c eyes all fond and it made the day seem even warmer. 

It didn’t take long for you both to be stripped to your swimsuits, Steve’s eyes blatantly staring as you slipped the denim shorts down your hips and pulled them down your legs. He didn’t say anything when you stretched yourself out on the blanket beside him, pebbles and grass underneath, the sun beating down from above. 

You liked the way he didn’t shy from you, not like the other boys, like he knew he was yours and you were his, like there wasn’t anyone else to worry about. So neither of you flinched when you pressed yourself to his side, warm bare skin on more warm bare skin, shoulder to shoulder and your feet just reaching where his shins were. 

You tapped a toe to them, snuck a peek at the boy beside you, grinning when you saw him smile despite his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered from behind his sunglasses, waiting for the inevitable. 

“Hey, Stevie?” 

Something in his tummy clenched at the old nickname, usually said with mirth and drag of sarcasm, but your lips were at the shell of his ear and you sounded so soft. 

“Princess.” His voice didn’t hitch at the end like a question, it stayed low, a little hoarse, like a warning. 

‘Cause you were propped onto a elbow now, body leaning into him, your hardly concealed chest pressed into his bicep and he could feel the tickle of your hair on his arm, against his cheek and you were still so close that he could feel the way you smirked against his ear. 

You pushed the button on your nose to his temple, a head butt that was more affectionate than anything else and you moved suddenly, leaning over him to grab the rucksack.  

When Steve opened his eyes he saw red, that almost orange colour that reminded him of summers and pool days, the freckle below your collarbone that not many people got to see. 

He couldn’t not look at your chest, pushed out towards his face as you stretched an arm, grasping for the strap of the bag, making a little grunting noise as you reached for it. 

Red and tiny straps, sun warmed skin that was a little darker than last month, the summer making you glow. A stretch of stomach, taught as you leaned, close enough to his own that he could feel the warmth radiate from you. Long legs pushed up onto your knees, holding you over him like a treat, like a taunt. 

But then you were pushing yourself backwards to sit, gleeful with the bag in your hands and you were already unzipping it , hand delving into its contents as you muttered to him. 

“Perv.”

It was soft and fond, no heat, no accusation but it still made the boy flush ‘cause that meant you caught him looking but Christ, you were both nineteen and full of hormones - what else was new?

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” he coughed out, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His eyes stayed hooded behind his glasses, wishing the tint of them made him harder for you to read but you knew him better than yourself. Steve knew that too. “You’ll go up a cup size one day.” 

His words hurt no more than your comment had, all light, no sharpness but you smacked at his shoulder all the same, making him grin wide at you. Steve wondered if you knew he thought of you as nothing short of perfect, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to tell you.

But you’d found what you’d been looking for, a little plastic bag filled with a few buds and some papers, a new grinder ‘cause Steve had lost the last one at a party. You wiggled it at him, Eddie’s special weed making the air grow a little more heady, a little more sweet. 

“Wanna get high with me, Harrington?“

And god, wasn’t that a question?

Steve knew you, knew you inside out and back to front, better than anyone else did. He knew how you got after a few hits, a little needy, all touchy and full of affection. The boy had been to enough parties with you to know. You’d find him, a few hours in, coming out of seemingly nowhere, face flushed and eyes glassy. 

It didn’t matter who he was talking to, who he was with, what he was doing, you’d me on him in seconds, a ball of heat that smelled like his favourite perfume and the inside of Eddie Munson’s trailer, arms around his neck and face pressed to his chest. 

You’d drop yourself into his lap, press messy kisses to his cheeks and giggle all soft when he tried to question you on your whereabouts, if you felt okay, if you’d drank enough water. 

By now, it wasn’t really a surprise to know the entire town still thought you were dating. But he stopped refuting it as much, almost preferring the way that boys kept their distance from you when he was around. He didn’t mind the way you curled into him, lips glossy and sticky and whispering into his ear. 

He liked the way you hummed happy and whispered a ‘yes’ when you’d had enough - and Steve could always tell - and he told you it was time to go home. It didn’t matter who’s house he took you to, his or yours, both were home. 

So god, wasn’t that a question?

“I’m driving princess,” Steve murmured instead of everything he wanted to say. 

‘Will you hold onto me, if I do? Will you crawl into my lap and look at me in that way that you do? Will you put your hands in my hair and tell me I smell good? Will you touch me like I’m yours? Will you touch me like you’re mine?’

But he didn’t. 

“Not until later, Steve, we’ve got all day,” you told him, all smiles and bright eyes.

And you were right ‘cause the morning was still early, the afternoon barely beginning and there were snacks in the bag, water for when it got too hot, a walkman and some mixtapes for when the day got too quiet. 

Steve just smiled and you shook the baggie at him still, a pour on your lips that he could never really learn how to say no to. 

“Roll for me anyway?” You asked because you hated it and you weren't very good, and maybe there was something about the way Steve’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, maybe it was the way you liked to watch the tip of his tongue slide slick along the edges of the papers. 

Maybe. 

So Steve because he couldn’t say fucking no to you and that’s how you found yourself back on the blanket, legs stretched out under the heat of the sun, smoke in the air and everything a little more hazy than it was before. 

It could’ve been the weed that made you do it, maybe you could’ve even blamed it on the sun, messing with your head and your heart but Steve would never have believed your excuses, ‘cause when you suddenly sat up and swung a leg over his lap, he didn’t look surprised at all. 

His hands fell to your thighs instinctively, more than ready to press his palms onto your bare thighs, the high cut of that damn bikini showing more skin than was necessary and Steve swallowed hard from where he lay under you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Princess.”

There it was again, that tone, the low way he said your name, rough like a warning, soft like he was asking for something. 

It almost sounded like please, you realised. 

You placed the joint between your lips instead of answering, the end of it burning amber and you inhaled softly, hating the way the smoke burned your lungs but loving the way it made you feel. But that could’ve been Steve’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as you tilted your head back, neck exposed, blowing smoke to the sky that was still cloudless. 

When you gazed back down at your best friend, his jaw was slack, eyes glassy behind his Ray Bans and you smiled, way too shyly for the stunt you’d just pulled. You took the glasses off his face, wanting to see him, all of him and you held the joint between you, brows raised. 

“Want a hit?” 

The boy nodded. 

He expected you to hold the roll up to his lips, let him take a drag from between your fingers as you sat happily on his lap. 

Steve didn’t expect you to take another draw from it, smoke held between your lips, eyes hooded as you leaned down and into him. Your hands found purchase on the blanket on either side of his head but you were still chest to chest. You didn’t talk, couldn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. You just nudged your nose on Steve’s and he tilted his chin towards you, hands tight on your sides like he was holding on for dear life - and oh my god, he felt like he was - before he parted his lips for you and you let go. 

Smoke blew gently from your lips to his, top lips just grazing, the movement accidental but neither of you apologised, neither complained. And when Steve held the hit there, in his chest, seconds ticked by like a countdown to something dangerous, to something explosive and on his wrecked sounding exhale, he pushed both of you up, a little frantic as your hips settled into the dip of his more. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You asked it softly, like you were telling a secret, like you didn’t wanna admit it, like you were scared Steve was gonna say no, but the boy didn’t answer you at all, not with words anyway.

His mouth was on yours before you could finish talking and you both groaned at the contact. Blindly, you stubbed out the roach on the ground beside you, ashes rubbing into gravel and sand before your hands found purchase on Steve’s face. 

It was a kiss you hadn’t shared before, a kiss that was messier than the others, a kiss that lacked the control the others had. 

It was a kiss that usually led to something more, hands wandering in someone’s back seat, mouths on necks, voices whispering dirty things in the last row of the cinema. 

It was something you hadn’t felt with your best friend before. 

It was hot and dirty and fast, his hands on your neck, your jaw, fingers splayed into your hair and his thumb tugging greedy at the corner of your bottom lip, desperate for you to open for him, so he could lick into you. 

It didn’t help that you were both lacking so much clothing, too much bare skin pressed against each other, chest to chest and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

It was too easy to roll your hips, to whine into Steve’s mouth at the way he let out the dirtiest, prettiest noise for you. It made you want to do it again, it made you wanna thread your fingers into his hair and tug. 

“Steve.”

He thinks that’s what broke him, the way you said his name like that, soft and whimpered, like you fucking wanted him, like you needed him. The boy was sure he’d never been that hard in his life, your ass pressed into his lap, his hands wandering over the slope of your lower back, sliding over your bikini pants, fingers toying with the tiny sides of them. 

Steve thought about all the things he wished he was brave enough to say to you. ‘Are you mine? Do you know I’m yours? Do you know I always have been?’

But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the courage, couldn’t find the willpower 

 to drag his lips from yours, not unless it was to press his mouth to your neck instead, to suck and bite a little bruise there that said what he couldn’t with words. 

Mine. 

You don’t know how it ended, you barely remembered how it had started but as the night leaked in and made the quarry glitter, Steve was smoothing a hand over your hair, messy from his tugging, as you pulled your shorts back on. 

He’d packed up the bag, shrugged his T-shirt back over his chest, lips as kiss bitten as yours, skin warm from the sun and you. It felt like there was so much to be said, it felt like nothing at all. A natural occurrence, an almost yearly event, something cosmic, something magic, like a meteor strike, like a new planet being discovered. 

You got to kiss your best friend and Steve got to kiss his and it simply felt like you were both one step closer to where you were both going to end up. You were so sure it was with him, but maybe that was just the whispers of your moms, voices hardly quiet as they gushed by the Harrington’s pool summers ago, talking about how their kids were something special together, how sometimes soulmates did exist. 

So it didn’t feel awkward when Steve swiped a stand of hair from your cheek, took your hand in his and pressed one more kiss to the top of it before letting go, stepping back for another summer, until one of you - or both of you - were finally ready to say what needed to be said. 

It wasn’t going to happen that day, but it felt closer than ever. 

And when he drove you both home, Steve didn’t tut at you for putting your feet on the dash, in fact, he smiled all soft the whole drive back into Hawkins, past the same wheat fields, the water tower, the sunflowers and fruit fields that made the night smell sweet. 

It was dark when you both snuck in through the back garden gate, Steve’s patio light still on and there was smoke coming from the little fire pit by the pool, gentle chatter and laughter from where both of your parents sat with glasses of wine. Leftover dinner dishes and empty plates sat on the wooden table and neither couple were surprised to see you both. 

You didn’t know that your parents watched the way Steve stood tall behind you, always in reach, an open hand just hovering by your side as if he was always ready to catch you. You didn’t know that his mom would smile at you, watching the way you watched her son, cheeks sore with a grin she’d never tire of seeing. 

Even Steve’s dad would shake his head, fond, making everyone titter and the pair of you blush as he asked accusingly, “and what have you two been up to all day?”

You wondered if they could see the way you flushed in the dark, if they saw the swell to Steve’s bottom lip from the way you’d been greedy with it, if they noticed the pretty lilac bruise that should’ve hopefully been hidden by your shirt. 

But it was okay. ‘Cause you felt Steve warm and solid at your back, his chest pressed against you and the leftover taste of him and smoke on your lips. The air smelled like honeysuckle and chlorine, fresh lavender and basil from a dinner you’d missed and the back garden gate was still swinging on its hinges. 

1986. And I scream, “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Steve fucking hated Chris Maxwell. He’d disliked the guy in high school, always running his mouth and exaggerating his lacrosse wins, the girls he got with, the drugs he managed to score. He had the same car as Steve, the same BMW in a shitty puke green colour and he drove it like an idiot.

He hated him even more when you started dating him.

 You’d dated guys before, shit, Steve had had his fair share of girls over the years too. Nothing ever serious, nothing that meant all that much ‘cause the girls he brought to parties and basement hang outs took one look at you and tried to make him choose. 

Steve always chose you.

You’d dated less, Steve had always noticed, shying away from unfamiliar attention, choosing to kiss and run after the party was over, no numbers exchanged, no dates to be had. You’d always scrunched your nose at him and evaded the question when Steve asked, murmuring something about how it wasn’t worth the hassle.

It’s why Steve had been so surprised when you were dropped off one day by Maxwell, in his snot green car with his stupid smarmy smirk. Once became twice, twice became three times and before you both knew it, you were lounging at the bottom of Steve’s bed one day as he sat at his desk and you were shrugging.

“Uh, yeah, I guess? Maybe he is my boyfriend?”

Steve remembered coughing out a laugh, because, how could you not know?

But you were being picked up and dropped off by the boy on numerous occasions and Steve quickly grew tired of watching him try and eat your face in his front seat. But only two months had passed before things seemingly grew tired and sour, your face twisting in a veil of annoyance when you heard his car horn blast from the street.

He never got out of the car to knock on your door, Steve had noted, never walking you up the path at night to see you safely inside. Steve was sure the last straw came on the day he was already in your living room, hands clutching the casserole dish that his mom had sent him to borrow. You’d rolled up, the stupid vomit coloured car catching the curb as it squealed to a stop, music blasting from the inside and your dad mirrored Steve’s expression as the two men stood at the window.

Noses scrunched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like that little punk,” your dad had grumbled.

“Same,” Steve had answered and the two of them were oblivious to the way your mother grinned behind their backs. 

But Steve had watched you storm out, car door slamming as Chris leaned over to the open window, yelling something about coming back and let’s talk about this honey!

You’d ignored him and Steve had walked home feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.

He still didn’t expect Chris to come sneaking into his back yard one evening, when the town was quietening down, when the fireflies came out and the sun made the sky streaky with pink and peach and lilac.

Steve had been propped against the wall of his house, just beside the back garden gate, hidden in that little lane that no one seemed to use. The space that smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the place that grew a little wild and reminded him of you. There was more ivy on the wall that year, growing more untamed than it ever had and it made Steve smile to see that it was crawling up the side of your house too, almost to your bedroom window. 

A cigarette hung from his lips, a bad habit he hadn’t picked up since he was seventeen and easily persuaded but work was shit, his dad was nagging at him about reapplying for colleges and he hated that he’d hardly seen you in a week. 

And the reason why was creeping through the gate, shoulders hunched and eyes alert. Chris had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve, a scowl on his face as he snarled at him accusingly. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve rolled his eyes, cigarette still wet between his lips and it moved as he replied, his words an annoyed mumble. 

“This is my fuckin’ garden, dickwad. You went through the wrong gate.”

It took the boy a moment to realise his mistake and instead of apologising, or admitting to it, he turned and continued to glare at Steve. 

“S’your goddamn fault I’m sneaking around anyway, Harrington,” Chris hissed, his eyes already seeking out your bedroom window across from them. 

It was ever so slightly cracked, curtains shut and blowing in the breeze but Steve knew you kept it open so you could smell the honeysuckle you loved so much, so that you could hear Steve if he opened his window across from you, to whisper into the night. 

It had been a long time since you shared secrets and stories across the garden gates, but old habits die hard and Steve kept his open for the very same reason. 

“My fault?” Steve snorted, an offended and somewhat dramatic hand pressed to his chest. He kicked off of the wall, cigarette throwing smoke into the air and he exhaled, smirking when some of it blew into Chris’ face. “And what the fuck did I do, Maxwell?”

“Everything’s always about you!” The other boy burst out, without much preamble, “whole fuckin’ relationship revolved around you, you’re all she talked about and then she tell has the nerve to tell me that she’s breaking up with me.”

Steve looked at Chris with raised brows, cigarette held lightly between a finger and his thumb, the top of it still burning in the dim light. 

“Is that so?” Steve took a drag, tried to keep his heartbeat steady, tried not to smile. “Had nothin’ to do with the way you spoke to her like shit and was always demanding stuff, no?”

The boy levelled Steve with a stare, nostrils flared and hands shoved in his pockets. “Of course she tells you fucking everything.”

“Of course she tells me fucking everything,” Steve repeated, emphasis on every word as he glowered at your ex, brows furrowed and fist clenched by his side. “And what’s it to you if she does-”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The two boys looked up, one grinning, the other desperate at the sight of you, hanging out your open window. 

Steve held up a hand in a way, features perfectly amicable as he beamed.

“What are you doing here, Chris? There’s a reason I’ve not taken your calls,” you sounded bored, tired and the boy had barely begun to answer before you’d already moved onto Steve. 

“Honey, please, I’m begging you can we just ta-”

“Steve, are you smoking? Again? Really?” You tutted, elbow on the window frame as you looked down at him with a soft pout. 

“My bad, princess,” but the boy was grinning, not looking very sorry at all ‘cause Chris was silently fuming beside him. “Stressful times, y’know?”

He took another long drag, blew the smoke out above the other boy's head and continued smiling that bright grin. Steve looked up at you again, head tilted as he gestured to your ex and squinted against the sun that was starting to set behind your roof. 

“Want me to take out the trash for you?”

His words earned him a shove, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he barely stumbled against the other boy's hands. But before Steve could retaliate, you were calling down in a voice Steve knew you reserved for telling him off when he got too drunk, when he pushed your buttons a little too much. 

“Hey! Chris! Jesus, quit it!” You were leaning out of the window more, sleep shirt hanging off of one shoulder and a pucker between your brows. “Just go, okay? We’ve already spoken about this, I’m not interested.”

“See, this is what I was fuckin’ talking about,” Chris hissed, low enough so only Steve could hear and Steve didn’t know how to reply. 

Quiet wrapped around all three of you, the distant trickle of the pool, the muted buzz of Steve’s television from his living room and eventually, a strangled curse from your ex boyfriend's lips as he shouldered past Steve and swung the garden gate open, the wood hitting the brick. 

Steve tried not to grin as he looked back up at you, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his brown eyes glittering. The sunset made you both rosy, a sunbeam stretching across the side of your house, lighting up the bricks and you. 

“He seems touchy.”

“Shut up, Harrington,” you knew Steve heard the smile in your voice, the affection in the roll of your eyes. “You coming up?”

And then you disappeared, ducking back into your room and sliding the window closed with a click. 

Steve didn’t realise your parents were out until he walked over the empty driveway, the sun lowering itself into the line of trees across the street, the sky turning lavender, the moon making an appearance. He didn’t knock, just walked in through your front door, shoes toed off by the porch before he jogged up the stairs. 

Your door was already open and he found you lazing on your bed, sheets ruffled and the lights off, just the leftover sun trickling in through the open curtains and the crystals you hung at the windows sent rainbows scattering across your walls. 

Some of them fell across your bare thighs where you lay, stomach down, legs in the air in a pair of shorts that were hardly seen from underneath the huge shirt that you wore. Another streak of colour landed on your face, fluttering as the crystal spun on their chains, dancing in the last of the light. 

Steve wanted to kiss it, to see if the pretty shades on your cheek made you taste any sweeter than he already knew.

“You didn’t tell me you broke up,” Steve said and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, just genuine curiosity, soft and gentle. 

He fell onto the bed beside you, made the mattress dip as he shelled into your pile of pillows at the opposite end from where you lay. He pushed a socked foot into your side, digging in at the spaces between your ribs and making you squirm. Steve caught a smile, spread on your lips just for him and you twisted to bat him away, not surprised when his hands found yours and tugged. 

You let him pull you beside him, into the mess of sheets and too many cushions, lying so you were facing him, noses a breadth apart, eyes lowered as you spoke, suddenly nervous. 

You shrugged, fingers playing with the edges of a pillow, “just sort of happened, wasn’t a big deal.”

A beat of silence, the boy wondering if that was the truth, if there was something more behind your words, if you were hiding something in the way you refused to meet his gaze. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart pounding against the mattress, if it was echoing loud through your pillow the way he was sure it was his. 

It felt like something was building, like something was coming. Something big, something new, something wild. Like a tropical storm, a bolt of lightning across the town, a flash flood, a hurricane, something to announce that summer was over. 

That time was up. 

“You don’t seem too heartbroken ‘bout it,” Steve hedged, his gaze trained on your hands, the way your fingers picked and played with the cotton between you both. He wanted to take your hand in his, run a thumb across your palm and soothe you. 

“Cant get my heart broken by a guy that never had it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stevie,” you chided gently, teasing, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Always thought he wasn’t good enough for you,” the boy responded, keeping what he really wanted to say hidden behind his tongue. 

“You said that about all the guys I got with.”

A gentle nudge, your hand on his chest, a shuffle closer, breathing the same air, the rainbow on your cheekbone flitting to Steve’s lips as the sun moved down. He watched you chase it with your eyes, gaze soft, looking a little longingly, or maybe he was just hopeful. 

“It’s true.”

A soft hum, a pleased noise, a smile that finally reached your eyes and a hand that fell to Steve’s arm, running down the length of it until your fingers found the cuff of his sweater and played with that instead. 

It was the closet Steve had been to holding your hand for a while and it felt like the beginning of summer again, back to bike rides to the arcade, sticky fingers tips and slurpees that were almost too big to hold. 

“Why’d you break up with him?”

You stopped, fingertips brushing over Steve’s wrist, a pause on his pulse point that told you that maybe he was as nervous as you felt. Your knees bumped his, rough denim on soft skin, the day leaking out of your room as the sun fell behind the treetops and suddenly everything was blue. 

Navy tinted shadows, inky skin, indigo lines of barely there light that turned Steve’s skin lilac and you breathed in, held it, let the burn in your chest for a second or two before letting it back out. 

Summer was leaking away, slipping behind the moon and the night, and you suddenly felt too tired to lie anymore, to pretend. 

“He wasn’t all that happy that I was in love with someone else.”

God, you felt brave. 

Bold. 

Blue. 

Steve didn’t look all that surprised, a flicker of soft realisation over his eyes, no shock, just a gentle breath of ‘it’s time?’

“I can’t say I blame the guy,” Steve murmured, chin ducking to meet yours, foreheads pressed together on the same pillow and his hand found yours, fingers twisted together. “Don’t think I’d be very pleased either.”

“I know,” you told him, gaze trained on the way his lips moved when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know when it happened.”

“No?”

You shook your head, feeling heavier than you had, like you were pulled into the boy and something magic was keeping you there. You could smell lavender and cedar and smoke and Steve. 

“Might’ve been at this party, in someone’s basement. Might’ve been the time I was pushed into a closet and my best friend kissed me.”

“That sounds awful,” Steve mused and the beginnings of a grin were pulling at his lips, “a whole five years, huh?”

“Right? Isn’t that just the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He liked the way you said those words, like it was the opposite, your voice all sunshine and warmth and leftover summer. You were blue skies and honeysuckle, wildflowers and long drives, sleepovers on your bedroom carpet and sneaking out through the back gate. 

“Y’know, I think I’ve got you beat,” said the boy, all faux seriousness as he brought his hand to your waist, palm wide and warm as he pushed at your shirt, bunching it up over your ribs until he could touch bare skin.

“You do?” You felt a little breathless at his touch, a feeling you’d craved since last summer at the quarry, a feeling you’d missed despite knowing you’d get it again soon, eventually. Now. 

“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed, voice teasing, gaze staring at you from between dark lashes. “I once knocked on this girl’s front door, asked her if she wanted to go to the arcade with me and I didn’t even mind when she hogged all the slurpee. I was a goner.”

“I did not!” You laughed, the sound pressed to Steve’s neck ‘cause he was pulling you into him, beaming bright and more carefree than you’d seen him in a while. “Liar.”

“Fell in love with the first girl I ever kissed,” he whispered, cheek pressed against yours as he whispered into your hair, like a secret he was sure you already knew. “How sad is that?”

You shook your head, hands clutched the material of Steve’s shirt, fists to his chest as if he was going to leave. 

“S’not sad at all,” you told him and god your voice was a hush, your lips against the shell of his ear and you felt the breath that he sucked in and held. “Long time to wait though, huh?”

Steve nodded, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he pulled back, seeking you out in the dark of your room, noses bumping. 

“Feels worth it, don’t you think?” 

And god, it did. 

It happened the way summer did. Slow and inevitable, like the gradual pick up of warmth through the year, the way you expected the sun in the morning, blue skies through your window, ice cream for lunch. 

It happened like it was supposed to, like it was meant to, like you’d waited all that time just to greet it with a warm shyness, a coy, “oh, I’ve been expecting you.”

It rolled in like a present, like a gift, like a reward. Like something that the world wanted you both to have, like the universe knew you were supposed to be together. So you shared first kisses between the wildflowers, let the seeds of something more bloom between your ribs, the spaces between your chests and your hearts. You let it simmer in the warm afternoons, burn a little stronger on cliff tops over quarry’s, picnic blankets rough under bare knees and hands in hair. 

“It does,” you breathed, closer to the boy than you had been, noses pressed into cheeks and for the last time, your best friend asked you your favourite question, one that tasted like fresh lemonade and smoke, cherry slurpees and fresh flowers in the air. 

“Hey princess?”

You hummed a response, eyes already closed, lashes brushing at the corners, a small smile playing on the curve of your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You were on Steve before he could finish asking, hands on his jaw, tugging him into you, the hand that he had on your waist tightening its grip as your lips met. 

It felt different than last summer. Slower, deeper, lazier, like you both knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, like you both knew you didn’t have to wait until next year, or the year after. 

Like you both knew that this time was it. 

You moved in the dark of your room together, Steve pushing you back into the plush of your bed, moving over you to hold himself there, chest just brushing yours as one hand found purchase in your sheets, careful not to crush you. 

He caught the leg that you brought up to his side on instinct, desperate to feel more of him, wanting to press into him. Steve’s finger curled under the space behind your knee, hooked there so he could hold your thigh against his hip, so he could move into the space you created for him, body rolling into yours. 

He swallowed the gasp you gave him, kissed away the sigh and the blue of the room seemed a little brighter with his lips on yours. You whined against him until the boy caught on, moving back onto his knees only for you to follow, chest pressed against his and only breaking the kiss for him to lift his arms for you. His shirt hit the floor, yours following suit, all bare skin underneath with some new freckles to find, a trail of summer; water fights, sneaking out and greeting the morning together on the hood of Steve’s car. 

Steve ducked down to meet you, to let you kiss him a little deeper, a little dirtier, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, groaning when you opened for him, hand spanning the width of your back, hips pressed together with intent. 

“I’m fucking desperate for you, y’know that right?” Steve groaned, words sinking into your mouth with every push of his lips against yours and you swore you’d never heard anything prettier. “Always have been, totally gone on you, princess.”

“Steve,” you felt hot with the prick of emotion, tears brimming at your lashes ‘cause it was all too much and not enough, want and longing and need building up, years of looking, of touching and just tasting, searching kisses, useless excuses, never talking about it after. 

And then his hands were back on your legs, palms hooked around the backs of your knees and you were falling together, bouncing off of the mattress, pillows falling to the floor and god, you were crashing into each other. 

It was mixtapes on birthdays, fresh strawberries after swimming, a hand held in the dark after a scary movie, sitting in the yard after dark when the night was still warm and you don’t know how to tell your best friend that you thought they were perfect. 

Your shorts slid off too easily, hips raised from the bed and Steve’s fingers curled into the waistband. He kicked off his jeans with the help of your feet, toes pushed into the denim as he shucked them to the floor. 

Suddenly, there was more skin to touch, to taste, to look at, and Steve took note of every curve he hadn’t seen, every little mole and scar, tan lines in places he always tried not to stare at. 

But he kissed them instead, lips trailing hot over your chest, kisses pressed to the dip of your clavicle, the patch of sunburn on your shoulder and you felt like you had caught the entire months of summer in your chest. 

It all felt a little golden.

But night had crawled in and the shadows were darker, making every touch more intense, every kiss feeling like a confession. Your underwear joined his, piled at the foot of your bed with spilled sheets and pushed pillows and the world fell into silence for you both. 

No buzz or insects, no sprinklers in the yard, no screech of brakes from the street, no yelling from a tv. 

Everything was hushed as Steve spread his fingers over you, a choked gasp at the way he made you feel, a kiss to soothe. He kissed you through it, fingers feeling thick as he slid one and then two inside of you, curling up and searching, face pulled back from your own so he could watch you fall apart beneath him. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, so pretty,” Steve told you and you felt it, you believed him, forehead pressed to his as you gasped out his name, hands wrapped around his biceps as he coaxed you over the edge. “Can you come for me princess? Please?”

You did as he asked, as if you had any say in the matter, crashing and tumbling and falling into him, body tight, eyes clenched shut and lips falling apart in the prettiest moan Steve had ever heard. 

“Oh shit, babe, that’s it, ‘atta girl, princess.”

He pulled your hands from his length when you made an eager grasp for him, not cruel, just desperate. Steve shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, jaw slack and eyes heavy. 

“Babe, if you touch me s’all gonna be over in a second,” he admitted hoarsely and his voice held no shame. 

So you covered him in kisses, flipped your positions from where you lay on the bed and pushed the boy into the pillows instead. You caught his lips on yours, messier now that you’d had a taste of what was to come, mouth leaving gloss over his jaw, down his throat and you felt the vibrations over your tongue when Steve moaned. 

You moved over him, slick and warm, hips pushing into his as you straddled him, making a mess of his boxers and short circuiting his brain as Steve gripped your thighs, touch almost cruel as he held on for dear life. 

You pressed your palms to his chest, dropped yourself down a little so your lips could graze his own, a new kind of kiss, teasing, a whisper that was barely there. 

It promised more to come, it kept him waiting and wanting, made Steve groan out at the realisation that he was entirely yours and god, maybe, just maybe, you were his too. 

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, and his voice was shot, “princess, please, s’not nice to tease a man like that.”

You grinned, filled with a confidence you only ever gained from being near Steve, bolstered by the way he looked at you - all heavy lidded and slack jade, chest and cheeks flushed underneath you. 

“You’ve never complained before,” you murmured back, mouth parted over his, Cupid’s bows touching but never really pressing your lips to his. 

It made you both think back to all the looks, the gazes, the stares filled with longing and wanting and yearning. That same question, asked with uncertainty, with a tumble of nerves, a burst of wonder, over the years until you knew what each other would taste like, until you knew how their lips felt between your own. 

“Vixen,” Steve mumbled and it should’ve been said like an insult, like a curse but his voice was molten honey, sweet caramel and the start of a summer morning. 

“Can I kiss you, Harrington?” The question wasn’t needed, and you were starting to think it never had been, but you loved the way his lips lifted into a soft smile under yours, noses brushing as he nodded, waiting patiently with his hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs. 

Steve made a pretty noise at the back of his throat, a gasp and a moan, a wrecked, “please,” falling onto your lips. 

You kissed him without any worries, without any thoughts of what does this mean for tomorrow? You kissed him like you were greeting summer, like he was the month of June and blue skies, like you could taste peaches and fresh lemonade on his lips, like he held all your secrets behind his teeth. 

He did.

Your harsh pants and soft moans mixed as you moved together, the boy shuffling underneath you as he rid himself of his underwear, boxers kicked to the end of your bed where they’d eventually be lost. 

He took himself in his hand, hard and long, his breath shaky as you slid down, gasping into his mouth as you got yourself seated, tightening around him for the first time. 

Steve whispered your name, soft, sinful, like a prayer, like a praise. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he clasped your face in his hands, fingers splayed across the line of your jaw, over the apples of your cheeks. “M’sorry, it’s just- you’re too much, princess-”

You cut him off with a kiss - a silent ‘it’s okay’ -  hips shifting, rolling over him as you moved, whimpering into his mouth. Steve swallowed your noises, gave you back his own and it wasn’t long before he was rolling you both over. 

His hands found the insides of your thighs first, spreading them so he could fit between, length still inside of you, pressing into all the right places. Palms smoothed up your sides, over the ripples of your ribs, calluses catching soft skin and the feel of it all made you sigh, head tilted back. 

Your hands found his, fingers intertwined as he pressed them back into the pillow below you, chest brushing up against your own as he moved, your legs curled around his waist and it was bliss, it was bright white behind your eyes, it was glitter in the dark, it was a electricity in your bones. 

“Steve,” your voice was a whimper, an almost cry, your hands grappling at his shoulders for purchase as he pushed you into the mattress with thrust after thrust. 

It all felt a little wild, gasping into open mouths, lips barely managing to find the other for a kiss, sliding messy over each other as hands pulled hair and fingers squeezed at arms, at thighs, at waists. 

“I know,” the boy said, sounding just as wrecked as you did, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands under the small of your back, fingers splayed wide so he could lift your hips into his own. “I know, fuck, you close? Please tell me you’re close.”

You answered with a moan, a pitched keen, your fingers tugging the lengths of hair at the nape of the boys neck and he groaned, a deep dirty sound in response and then you were falling apart, a vice around him, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting down on the muscle in his shoulder. 

Your name tumbled from his lips, a holy sound and Steve moved a little messier, his hips stuttering before he pulled out, both of you sighing at the loss, before he spilled onto your stomach with the help of your hand. 

The air smelled like summer and sex and Steve. 

Your pants filled the air, mixing with the boys and the trickle of the pool in the backyard. You lay together, breathless and skin slick, flyaway hairs sticking to your forehead, eyes a little glassy and lips rosy from greedy kisses. 

Steve pressed another to you then, and you were almost dizzy with it. He didn’t ask, neither did you. You didn’t have to. Not anymore. So he kissed you a little harder, tempting pretty sounds from your chest that he chased with his mouth, body still pressed against yours in a way you were sure you’d never grow tired of. 

No one spoke until you were both cleaned and half dressed, bodies lazy across your sheets, the night still too warm to wear anything more than your underwear, chests bare in the dark and pressed greedily to each other. A slow hand brushed across the small of your back as you lay on your stomach, head on the boy’s chest and your fingers carding through his hair. 

Every now and then you’d press a kiss to wherever you could reach: his palm when it smoothed over your cheek, his sternum where you lay, the sharp line of his jaw when you found the energy to tilt your head up. 

Steve responded in kind, his lips on your forehead, the top of your crown, the end of your nose. 

The silence was filled with the wonder of each touch, both of you bursting at the seams as you pressed your mouths to each other without worrying, without asking. 

But then Steve shifted against the pillows, moved until you were over him, chest to chest and your legs in the space between his. You propped your chin on his chest, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him and you hummed in delight when he smoothed hand over your hair, tucking it behind your ear. 

“You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

Heavy words were said so simply, so easily, and you did. You knew. But it still sucked the breath from you, it still made you ache to hear it out loud. 

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, because you did. You knew it from the way Steve looked at you, the way he liked to be near you, to sit a fraction too close. You knew it from the way he shared his slurpees, his car, his bed, his thoughts, his secrets. You felt it in his gaze, his touch, in the way he’d grown with you. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah, princess, I know.”

And it was as easy as that. Simple like summer, inevitable, like the way the month of June rolls in after May. It was expected, like the warmth and the heat, like the sun in the morning and the clear starry skies at night. 

It was an eventuality, a slow burn, a want, a need, a necessity. 

It was Steve and it was summer and they belonged in their entirety to you.

oneshots multi parts longer fics baby blurbs dad!series wednesday!series

Winner, Winner

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.5K] smut, eddie's a little shit, bottom!steve if you squint and and impossible quest.

You were being cruel, you knew that. 

But good god, Steve looked so fucking pretty and it was so much fun. It started with a dare, a challenge, a joke among friends, a bet that was sealed with an almost kiss that had Steve hanging his head back and groaning two seconds in. 

‘Cause it was a Saturday night and you were on his lap in a booth at the diner, for no real reason other than you wanted to be close. There was plenty of room between your friends, Robin curled into the corner by the window, Nancy and Jonathan pressed into each other's sides and Eddie leaning lazy on across from you both. 

Milkshakes were half finished, stray fries and spilt ketchup on the table and Robin was rolling her eyes at you both when you abandoned your dinner for the sake of pressing your nose to Steve's cheek and whispering in his ear. He responded with a grin, a hand on your thigh that almost slipped indecently high for such a public setting and finally, your friends cracked and—

“Can you not keep your hands off each other for more than an hour?” Eddie asked. His question was blunt but his tone was good natured, filled with humour and Jonathan snorted. “We’re eating.”

“No,” Robin answered for you, “they can’t.”

“Leave them alone,” Nancy defended, smiling from behind the dessert menu. “It’s sweet.”

“It’s borderline pornographic,” Robin responded mildly. 

Eddie cackled. “If only, Hawkins is dull without the gates of hell opening up.”

Steve glared.

“Seriously though,” Eddie continued, brandishing a half eaten fry in you and Steve’s direction. “S’like you gotta be touching each other twenty four seven. You gonna keel over if you don’t have your hands on her, Harrington?”

Jonathan stretched out from where he was slouched against the leather booth, grinning at Eddie and ignoring his girlfriend's long suffering sighs. “I think he would, y’know,” he laughed. “Did he tell you about how he almost ran over Mrs Lafferty’s cat?”

Robin gasped, eyes wide as she leaned over your and Steve’s laps to gawk at Jonathan. 

“Mr Pebbles?”

The boy nodded, smile sly and Steve was groaning, swiping the hand that wasn’t on your leg over his eyes. He hated his friends. 

“Too busy groping each other in the front seat.”

Eddie hollered and you turned, cheeks warm as you slapped softly at your boyfriends chest. “You told him that?” You cried out, but your friends were up in arms, voice clamouring to be heard. 

“Steve! Mr Pebbles is the backbone of Maple Street!”

“Honestly, you guys, you really should be more careful when you’re driving—”

“We’ve walked in on them doing worse, I dunno why anyone is surprised. Remember that time at Hop’s birthday dinner? Dustin almost opened the bathroom door and saw them fu—”

And then Eddie was slamming his palm on the table, cutlery clattering and the elderly couple across aisle glared at him even more than they had already been doing. 

“A bet!” He declared and everyone groaned. “A challenge  - a quest - if you will.”

“Oh Jesus,” Robin sighed tiredly, rolling her eyes as she fell back against the window. “Here we go.”

The diner lights glowed neon and somewhere in the back of the kitchen, a drying pan hissed and popped. Steve’s hand was still on your thigh and Eddie was looking at you like his new favourite game. 

The curly haired boy wiggled his eyebrows at you and Steve, his grin sharklike. “Up for it, kids?”

Steve was muttering something under his breath and it definitely involved obscenities and snippets of a story about how Eddie’s last ‘quest’ got them all banned from the library and Robin a sprained ankle. 

Neither Robin nor Nancy had yet to forgive him. 

 But you just leaned back into Steve, smiling when he hooked his chin over your shoulder and you matched Eddie’s smile, head tilted to the side, watching him, calculated. 

“What is it?”

————— 

And now it was three days later and you were sitting at the bottom of Steve’s bed, shirt lost on his floor and your skirt indecently high, the fabric hitched up across your hips as you ran your fingertips across the skin on the inside of your thighs. 

The only light came from the bedside lamp, the last of the day giving away to night as the sun sunk behind the houses across from Steve’s bedroom window. 

Everything was pink and rosy, the light, the lavender tinted shadows, the rumpled bed sheets, Steve’s cheeks. 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, saying the pet name like a curse, back pressed to the headboard as he stared at you from behind messy hair. “Baby, c’mon.”

You grinned. 

“S’wrong, Steve?” You cooed, bordering on patronising but the boy didn’t care. He just huffed out a hot breath and squirmed, chest bare and his palm dragged across the hard outline of his cock. “You look a bit pent up.”

“I am,” Steve grunted, eyes squeezing shut as you brought your knees up to your chest and spread them, legs stretching back out to show off the white underwear you wore. “Babe, this isn’t fuckin’ fair.”

“What’s not fair?” You were being mean but fuck, if it didn’t made Steve’s cock jump under his sweatpants. “You said you could last, that’s what you told Eddie, right? A whole week, yeah?”

The boy huffed, eyes opening to watch you trace a finger along the cotton between your legs, the wetness there turning the material a little translucent. Your lips parted and Steve moaned, sounding wrecked. 

“Christ, can we not talk about Eddie right now, please,” he choked out, grabbing at the sheets, fishing them in his hands. “Babe, c’mon, wanna touch you.”

“Touch me and you lose, Stevie,” you told him sweetly. “S’only been three days.”

“Tell me about it,” he huffed, eyes hooded as he gazed at you, his stare following the hypnotic motion of your finger moving up and down your cotton covered slit. “Feels like m’gonna burst. Jesus, babe, you’re killin’ me.”

You were smiling, a little cruel but then Steve was swearing wildly, pushing himself onto his elbows when you tucked a finger under the cotton and pulled it to the side. 

“I know,” you whined back, over exaggerated and pouting. “Got me so wet, Steve, just wanna feel you.”

“You can’t say things like that,” Steve groaned, “baby, please.”

So you took a little pity, although the boy swore louder, crawling over his lap so you could sit yourself pretty there, legs splayed on either side of his hips. You traced the lines of his hip bones, the v shape that framed the ladder of hair on his tummy and you grinned when he rocked up into you, lips parting on a sigh. 

“Better?” You whispered. 

“Yes— no! I don’t fucking know, Jesus Christ, I just need to touch you.”

“Touch me and you lose,” you reminded him again, voice sticky sweet, your palms pressed to his bare chest as you leaned down, tits pushing against the lace of your bra and Steve felt like he was about to bite through his cheek. 

“I don’t care about the stupid bet,” Steve huffed out. He looked broken, head pushed back into the pillow, jaw slack and pupils blown wide as he let his gaze roam over you, his skin as warm as yours, cheeks flushed from the way you wiggled on top of him. “Fuckin’ Eddie.”

“I thought we weren't talking about him?” you quipped lightly, bringing your hands back to your skirt, pulling it up your thighs to flash your underwear again. 

“Shit,” Steve choked out, hands coming to his hair to pull at it in frustration. “We’re not.”

“Wanna watch?” You murmured, smiling as one bra strap fell down a shoulder. You didn’t bother to fix it. “Watch me touch myself, Stevie?”

Steve hissed, hips canting upwards and his hands hovered at your waist, fingers twitching. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” you admonished, feeling the ghost of a touch over your skin. “No touching. You just gotta watch, yeah? Can you do that?”

Steve wasn’t sure he could but he nodded anyway, desperate, eyes wide as your hand went back to your underwear, tugging aside the cotton once more and letting two fingers push into the slick there. You sighed, breath stuttering and Steve lost it underneath you, cursing and groaning, his cock jumping at the sight of how wet you were. 

You took your time with it, made the boy whine as you pressed circles to your clit, slow and lazy, head hanging back, chest pushed out, your other hand curled into the soft cotton of Steve’s sweats for balance. You were dying to feel his hands on you, but there was a masochistic need to hear the boy beg for you. 

“Holy shit, sweetheart,” he breathed out, “that’s so hot.”

“Yeah?” You asked nicely, voice soft and breath stuttering as the pleasure started to pick up. You wiggled a little, lifting yourself up enough to be able to push a finger inside of you, another to make yourself gasp. “You like watchin’, huh?”

Steve nodded, head bobbing frantically and his dick was throbbing beneath you, twitching against your thigh and you wondered if you could make him come like this, if he’d fall apart for you with the briefest of touches. 

“Such a good boy,” you whispered and you were half joking, only teasing until Steve’s lashes fluttered and he gasped out at your words, fingers twisting the bedsheets into balls once more. 

If Steve got harder, you only got wetter, and you whined at his reaction, eyes wide and you leaned down to him. Your hand was still crushed between you both and you rutted against the friction it created, your clit grinding against your fingers and the feel of Steve’s hard cock. 

You didn’t kiss him, not yet, just pressed your nose against his and panted against his mouth, both sets of lips parted as Steve did his best to arch up into you. 

“Y’know,” Steve breathed out, chest heaving against yours, “I don’t think this is what they meant when they said we had to keep our hands off each other for a week.”

You huffed out a laugh and Steve grinned, lips brushing over your jaw and chin, soft and sweet enough to make your eyes flutter shut and you leaned into it, fingers moving faster, trying your best to find that spot inside you that only Steve seemed to be able to reach. 

“Technically,” you gasped, “you’re not touching me.”

Steve threw his head back and let out a loud, filthy sound as his cock moved under his sweats, slipping to sit underneath your cunt, the pressure of it becoming too much for him. 

“Don’t fuckin’ remind me,” he hissed. “Need to though, please baby, c’mon—”

And then: “Oh god, oh shit, Steve! Fuckfuckfuck.”

“—are you gonna come?” Steve gasped out, falling back into the pillow as his eyes rolled back and he groaned. “Fucking hell, sweetheart, that’s it, c’mon, let me see you.”

You keened high as you kept rocking yourself against the boy and your fingers, reaching up to fist Steve’s messy hair in your hand and you pulled, tugging him up to kiss you as you came. You couldn’t help the way you pushed and pulled yourself over his lap, getting him and yourself a little messy, your fingers circling your clit. The friction was too much and it wasn’t enough and it felt too good but fucking hell it still wasn’t Steve that was inside of you. 

But he was swearing into your mouth, stuttering and groaning between each lick of your tongue over his and your hips twitched over his, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You felt a little dirty, using him to get yourself off as he lay hard as a rock underneath you, eyes dark and hooded with need as he gazed at you. 

“That’s it baby,” Steve huffed out a laugh, voice a little strained as he stared up at you, lips shiny from your kiss, cheeks pink and warm. “Keep goin’, yeah, that’s it, you look so fuckin’ pretty when you come, Christ.”

You were panting as you came down, slick fingers pushed to Steve’s chest and he groaned, eyes pleading with you even though he kept his hands by his sides. 

“Was that good?” He murmured. 

You nodded, too gone to speak, your eyes a little watery from the intensity of it all and you burned when Steve said:

“Show me.”

So you brought your fingers to his lips, letting out a little whine when he sucked them almost obscenely, tongue on the pads of your fingers so he could taste what you refused to give him. He looked like a man stared as his eyes rolled back at your taste, humming around the two digits, his own hips stuttering under your own. 

It was only then you realised that you weren’t the only one to have made a mess, a dark grey spot on Steve’s sweats that only seemed to grow. 

You gasped, all faux dramatics as you slipped your fingers from the boy’s mouth and tucked them under his waistband, pulling back the elastic to let it snap against his tummy. Steve whined, sensitive, and you grinned down at him, shaking your head. 

“Steve Harrington,” you tutted, full of playfulness. “You’re filthy.”

His cheeks burned, hating that he liked the way you teased him, a little in awe that you made him come in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

“D’you really blame me?” He asked. “Grinding all over me, looking like that and then you come?” Please, give a guy a chance.”  

You preened a little at his words, skin warm and slick to the touch from your exertion but you rewarded him with a kiss, chest pushed to his as he hummed against your lips, happy to feel you. 

You pulled away too quickly though, the boy chasing your mouth with his and he finally gave in and grabbed your chin with one hand to keep you where he wanted. 

You grinned against him, nipped at his bottom lip and pulled back just enough to pretend to scold him. 

“M’tellin’ Eddie,” you whispered, all faux seriousness. “That’s a rule break.”

Steve rolled his eyes and huffed before switching your positions, reminding you just how easily he could’ve overpowered you if he wanted to as he flipped you underneath him. You squeaked at the movement, the mattress bouncing and Steve blew a raspberry onto your neck. 

“New rule: no talking about Eddie fucking Munson when we’re half naked.”

You snorted, titling your chin up to let Steve kiss a line down your throat, teeth grazing at the space where it met your shoulder and you moaned breathily, already wanting more of him now that he finally had his hands on you. 

“Deal,” you murmured. “You still lost, though.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh and he rocked his hips down into yours, the feel of his cock hardening again making you ache. 

“Did I?” 

It’s April ‘86, when Steve Harrington gets a tattoo over his heart.

It fucking happened again. The god damned upside down tore Steve and his family to pieces again. El was a god damned super hero though, and she had ended it all, gutted the Upside Down from the inside and sealed hell right into itself. Max had gotten pretty fucked up, but she was healing…His sweet Max was always having to heal. She wouldn’t be able to see without her glasses ever again, but Steve had told her they were punk as fuck. Dustin’s limp was slowly going away. Hopper was alive? That part was a little confusing to Steve, but his fucking father was alive and he wasn’t complaining. Hop, however had had plenty to say about Steve. “Why the fuck is there metal in your face, Boy?” “Well Jim somewhere between the demon dogs and the dehydrated wizard fucks, I figured why not pierce my fucking face?” Hopper only shrugged his shoulder as if tell Steve, fair enough.

Eddie had taken him to Indianapolis one day in December and Steve had gotten the left side of his lip pierced, the right side of his nose. Eddie had gone for a septum ring and Steve had to bite his god damn tongue. Eddie Munson was hot, he was fucking hot, and he was friends with his Robbie, and he played guitar and he wrote music; he sang he could fucking sing, Steve was pretty sure he was an avenging Angel or some shit. He was so sweet to Steve’s kids, and he was so fucking creative. And and and…

But Eddie Munson was gone. Not dead, Steve didn’t think, the fucking asshole government bastards had basically ripped him out of Steves arms. Steve was the one who didn’t leave his side for three days in that God Forsaken Hospital. Steve was the one who almost faced charges when he had pushed a doctor up against a wall with anger spilling out of his stupid wet eyes, telling them to do whatever the fuck it took to keep his…to keep their…to keep this angel of a man alive. Steve was the one who watched those fucking snakes wheel him out of Hawkins general, he had had Robin take Dustin to Max’s room with the other kids as soon as the suits had shown up. He hadn’t even…he didn’t even get to…they had almost kissed that one time and neither of them had even brought it up since, and now he was being stolen from a hospital?

It happened quickly after that, days later and Hopper had come back, a week after that and El damned the upside down to the pits of Hell, Max had woken up, everything was okay, every thing was fine? So where was his…where was Eddie?

-

“Dingus, don’t you think that this is like…maybe just a little dramatic?” Robin had thrown herself in the chair next to Steve. He currently has his legs thrown over one side and was waiting for his artist to be ready for him.

He scoffed, gestured towards his now green mohawk, the few tattoos he had already gathered over the last few months, his vest that Will had painted an open mouthed Demogorgon on the back of in lieu of a back patch, “Robin, darling, I am the drama.”

He tried to lighten the mood but saw Robins eyes droop and her pretty mouth tighten into a soft frown, “Look Rob, it’s been a month, he’s—I, he just,” Steves voice broke and he slammed his eyes shut to try and stop those pesky tears that seemingly begged to fall from his eyes these days, “I never got to tell him what he means to me, okay? And this,” he gestured at himself, at the tattoo parlor, “expressing myself like this is the only fucking thing that makes sense to me right now. You make sense, and Eddie fucking made sense, but I never got to tell him okay?”

Listen it’s not like the bat tattoo that sat above his left peck and under his stupid bleeding heart was even easy to see with his smattering of scars and bruises. It really didn’t matter that there may or may not have been an EM above one of the wings, and also even if there were, it was no ones god damned business.

It’s almost May, and his kids were healing. It had been over month and Steve couldn’t stop dreaming about Eddie smirking in the back of that Winnebago “Dont’cha Big Boy”, he couldn’t stop the seeing the actual nightmare of Dustin thrown over Eddie’s nearly lifeless body, He couldn’t stop thinking about carrying Eddie into that hospital and—

“Earth to Spiky Dingus!” Steve was pulled out of his thoughts by Robin waving a hand in his face. The kitchen, his kitchen. They were—the kids were in the backyard, bringing in the end of April, with a pool party and he and Robin were making sandwiches. Someone was knocking at the front door. Christ, He had to stop spacing out like this. “I’m sorry Robbie. Who’s—“

“They’ve been knocking for a minute now, you know I’m not gonna answer your door for you Dingus. We will revisit the Spacey Stevie bit later.” She gave him one of her currently increasing worried looks and whipped around to take the plate of sandwiches outside to the kids.

“Jesus sorry, I’m coming!” Steve ran to his door. Robin hardly answered her own door these days for fear of who might be on the other side, she certainly want going to answer Steves for him.

Steve Harrington has seen a lot of things. He’s been to literal hell and back, far to many times. He’s seen his flock of kids laugh together and fight together, he’s seen a young superhero save the world more then once, but he didn’t think he’d ever see Eddie Munson again.

“Get any new tattoos while I was away, pretty boy?”

It’s April ‘86 when Steve Harrington kisses Eddie Munson.

Part One

It’s August ‘85, when Steve Harrington cuts his hair.

Starcourt had burned down, Billy had died, a piece of Max had gone with the smug bastard. El didn’t have her powers anymore. The kids were exhausted. Hooper was fucking dead, his rock, the only father he’d ever really had.

Steve had been blessed, he had gotten Robin out of the whole ordeal. How good of a friend was he really though, while she had gotten him, she’d also gotten the nightmares, the terrors, the sleepless nights bleeding into morning. She stayed at his house most nights, they slept, or stared at each other in his king bed. He would never stop feeling guilty for getting her involved, but fuck if he didn’t love his girl.

This morning was one of the few moments he watched the sunrise alone, the second day of August. Things were calming down, El was healing a little, the kids were broken but they were gearing up for school. They were going to be okay. Robin had stayed at her parents house in preparation for her senior year. And Steve was here, sitting on the edge of his window in his three story home watching the fucking sunrise alone. He had work at 9, glancing over at his alarm clock he saw it blinking 5:30 AM, he had time.

Steve glared at his stupid hair in his stupid mirror in his god damned fucking ensuite bathroom. This hair, the fucking perfect coif had been a staple to him because Martha Harrington had made it so. But where the fuck was Martha Harrington today? His father? Fuck if he knew. Alaska? Aruba? Alabama? Fuck if he knew. Steve bent down ruffling under the cabinet and pulled out his electric hair clippers. He only used them to tidy things up, helped Dustin and Lucas with their hair if they asked. But today? Today he wanted his stupid fucking hair off his bullshit head.

Steve found himself pacing frantically behind the desk at Family Video. Rob was due to show up to close and swap out with him. Keith was transitioning her to later shifts as she was preparing for school. He was happy with his hair, he had taken the shaver to either side; left the center long. He figured the Steve of late ‘85, deserved to have a flair for the dramatic. Maybe he’d pierce his fucking lip or something. Who the fuck cared anymore. Anyway, he was happy and frankly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought, but Rob. Robin mattered.

He ceased his frantic wandering when he saw a beat up van peel into the parking lot, Robin hanging out of the side laughing in the wind. Who the fuck was dropping her off? Steve stepped out from behind the front desk and opted to just sit his ass down on top of it arms folded, as he watched Robin hop out of this strange ass van. “Cmon doofus!” She yelled at the driver, “I want to introduce you to my summer fling!” Okay what the fuck Robin? She was a lesbian, they had confirmed that on the floor in that spinning bathroom of Starcourt. It was only a week later that Steve had told her, he wasn’t as into women as initially planned. “I don’t know Rob, men with long hair kind of do it for me.” She had accepted him as quickly as he had, her. That solidified everything between them. Soulmates.

Honestly he wasn’t even sure she had had many other friends who the hell? He cocked an eyebrow as Robin came barreling in through the door. Driver of the strange van left behind, maybe they weren’t coming in, “Dingus! I have to introduce you to Doof—Steve what?” Robins eyes looked like they were going to fall right out of her skull, “Steve oh my GOD!” She took two large steps to cover the space between them and grabbed either side of Steves face, eyes darting from his, to the bald sides of his head, the hair he had left on the top stylized in some makeshift Mohawk, he figured he would have time to figure it out.

“I needed a change, Rob.”

She offered him a soft smile, chaotic energy calmed from earlier as the bell above the door chimed and in tumbled Steve’s personal bisexual awakening. He’d kept it under wraps since his freshmen year, his friends were not kind to the boy he had had secret heart eyes for. He hadn’t ever participated in the back and forth between Tommy and the other boy, but he hadn’t stopped it either. God, he was stunning as ever though.

Eddie Munson, stood under the entry to Family Video, mouth dropped open. His stupid long curls, and his dumb tight pants and hot ass beat up boots. He had on that vest he always wore, Steve always wished he had the balls to be as unapologetic as Eddie Munson was, “What the fuck, Harrington?”

It’s August ‘85, when Steve Harrington decides to shoot his shot with Eddie Munson.

Part Two

matters of taste

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Not all trainees are great on the job. Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson in a bakery, however? Absolutely unmatched.

words: 7.8k

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, threesome - F/M/M, semi-public sex, handjobs, oral (f+m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, spitroast, fluids play, dumbification, praise, degradation, implied masochism, hatefucking (i mean kinda but they all have crushes on each other), workplace sex, briefest mention of a housewife kink, steve harrington has a big dick, steve and eddie are already in a situationship bc i said so

additional notes: i love working customer service hahaha /j

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

It’s… you know what. It’s whatever. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine, everything’s fine.

You pause midway through frosting some cinnamon rolls to watch one of the newbies wheeling a cart of mislabelled muffins past your decorating table. You strategically keep your voice void of inflection as you say, “Price stickers, Harrington.”

“FUCK!” 

You watch Steve dramatically jostle the cart back around to wheel it toward the rack that contains the multitudes of different flavor and price stickers used in the bakery, swearing like a sailor the whole time. He collides with another cart, and slams it directly into your other trainee, Eddie Munson. 

“Shitshitshitshit shit-” Eddie curses and stumbles into a rolling rack of donuts. He grabs the rack before it can topple over, and succeeds in catching four trays of donuts when they fall out of their slots and into his arms. 

You roll your eyes at the spectacle the two of them create, which is quickly becoming the norm, and go back to stroking globs of cream cheese frosting across the cinnamon rolls in front of you. 

It’s not like they’re the world’s worst trainees or anything. It’s not like they’re completely incompetent, or that they purposefully goes out of their way to make your job unnecessarily difficult or anything. It’s not like, together, they create the most chaotic and hazardous environment possible.

No, sir. Nothing to see here. No problems to be had. 

“‘You didn’t put the price stickers on, Steve-’” you hear Steve mocking you in a purposefully insulting falsetto, and give him a side-eye that you know he can’t see. “Mehmehmeh- ‘You didn’t put the bagels in properly. You didn’t frost the bundt cakes just right.’”

“‘You didn’t circumcise the bread bags,’” Eddie adds as he shoves the trays of smushed donuts back onto the rack and grabs a rag to wipe icing from his apron.

“Fucking what?” You turn to look at them fully, holding your frosting covered hands out in front of you.

“I don’t know!” Steve whirls around to sneer at you. His bubblegum pink uniform shirt is just about the same color as his face, rosy and flushed with the heat from the ovens and probably his climbing heart rate. “Why’s everything gotta be packaged differently? It’s just bread!”

“I don’t make the rules! Don’t argue with me and just do it!” That’s another thing. Steve’s just so argumentative, about everything. How you package things, how you wash the dishes, how you clean the floors at the end of the day. Meanwhile, Eddie won’t argue with you per-se, but the day he does something correctly will be the day pigs fly. It’s the most annoying fucking thing you’ve had to deal with at this job, and you’re stuck training them. 

It’s not a particularly hard job. You’re just clerks at Mimi’s Bakery, nothing is out of the realm of doability- it’s more of a stamina sport. You’re all closers, so that means a lot of packaging and a lot of cleaning, interspersed with helping some late afternoon and evening customers, within an eight hour shift. It isn’t very busy anymore, either; summer’s over, and you still have about a month until the holiday rushes start. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for them, but they’ve both been here for two weeks and still act like they were born yesterday.

Steve spends an extraordinarily long time putting the price tags on the packages of muffins- and putting them on crooked, anyway, so that the entire pile looks janky and rushed despite his slow pace. Eddie’s too busy wiping chocolate icing from his arms to notice Steve’s haphazard labeling. 

Your eyes trail the wet rag that Eddie drags across his skin, leaving behind only the ink from his tattoos for you to scrutinize. During the lull, the bakery’s PA system comically offsets the tension in the room with a generic old jazz standard. Your boss, Mimi Callaghan, has an enthusiasm for novelties from her youth- hence the confectionary shop-style pink pinstriped uniform dress you wear, and your clashing forest green apron just oozing with sex appeal. Steve looks like a knockoff Ken doll in his similar blouse and khakis, but he confessed to you on his first day that he used to work at the Scoops Ahoy in the old Hawkins Mall, so you assume he isn’t too phased by it. You’re not about to tell him that he makes it work. Eddie, on the other hand, looks like someone picked him up at the Local Smokes down the street and thrust him into the uniform against his will, like he’s not really supposed to be here. You hate that you find the weird juxtaposition of his tattoos to the pink and green uniform kind of hot.

“Don’t forget to face the shelves when you put them out,” you tell Steve as he pushes the cart past you again. 

Steve’s ears glow bright red. “I’ll put out something-”

“Suck my fucking nuts, Harrington, you wanna do the job right or not?”

Eddie cackles loudly as Steve turns around, but instead of glaring at you he just looks mildly amused, like Eddie’s hysterical laughter rubbed off on him. “Why’re you so mean to me, huh?”

“What?” You splutter, gloved hands flexing in the air and squishing frosting between your fingers. “Why- why’re you so fucking difficult? Put the goddamn muffins out, we don’t have all day-”

“I think she likes you, Harrington.” 

You squint at Eddie, still rubbing himself down leisurely with the rag, twisting his rings around his fingers idly even though he didn’t even get any icing on them. He leans against the counter with a smirk on his pretty pink lips like he thinks he’s done something. Like there can’t be another reason for why you’re so easily frustrated by Steve- by either of them, really. Like their lack of decorum or work ethic are completely out of the question, you guess, to his way of thinking. 

“Like him?” you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant as you go back to smacking cream cheese frosting across the pans of pastries in front of you. “Puh- lease. He’s infuriating, he doesn't listen to directions. Also, Steve, your customer service voice? It- you know what, it’s obnoxious. We work in a bakery, you don’t have to put the moves on every girl that comes in.”

“Oh, okay. Hear me out- maybe you don’t like my customer service voice because you’re jealous.” Steve hums, rocking back on his heels and looking even more smug than he did a few seconds ago. “I can put the moves on you, too, if you’re feeling left out.”

You don’t dignify that offer with a response. You kind of just want to punch him in the face. “Go put the muffins out and let me listen to the goddamn PA in peace.”

He has the decency to look shocked. “You like this goofy old shit?”

“I love this goofy old shit, which is more than I can say about you.”

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” Eddie hums casually, in as condescending of a voice as he can muster. “You don’t have to pretend like you aren’t into Harrington. I know I am.” 

“And you, Munson-” You whirl on him, pointing one frosting covered finger angrily in his direction, at which his eyes go all wide and innocent. “Don’t even get me started. Your fucking hair gets everywhere. I swear I had to excavate an entire gerbil from the garlic bread you made yesterday. Take a fucking weedwacker to that thing, for the love of god. And… and your tattoos are fucking dumb.” 

You don’t want to admit that you like the sight of the tattoos, actually. When Mimi had told you that the newbies you’d be training were gonna be “that darling Steve Harrington, and his friend, the Munson boy” you’d been a little bit pleased. There isn’t much to admire in a bakery except cakes, and if having the two of them around the bakery means things just got a little more scenic, then you were happy to have them. 

Unfortunately, a pretty face often means an infernal personality. Finding one without the other would probably take an act of god at this point. Times two, you got stuck with the fucking chaos twins.

“Dumb?” Eddie wolf whistles. “That smarts, sweetheart. It really does. You haven’t even seen all of my tattoos yet. I’d love to give you a tour of them, though-”

Your face burns at the thought of Eddie Munson letting you get a first class look at his tattoos. He probably has ones in places even god doesn’t know about, and you glare down at the cinnamon rolls in front of you to hide how flustered you are about it. “Fuck you, Munson.”

“I wish you would.”

“For christ’s sake- Steve. Muffins, now.” 

Steve does what he’s told, for a change. It doesn’t give you as much of an ego boost as it usually does- really, you just feel sort of dull as you snap your rubber gloves off and throw them in the trash can to the side. You don’t know why you let them bother you as much as they do, but for some reason they just jerk your chain like nothing else.

The bell over the front door jingles, alerting you to the arrival of a customer. You take a quick peek at the ovens behind you to check the time; it’s nearly 8, and the bakery closes at 10. You fight to not roll your eyes as you grab a pair of gloves in case whoever it is wants something out of the display case. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Your voice is sing-songy enough that you want to smack yourself. A middle aged woman has made a bee-line for the counter, straight past where Steve is bent over a display table, struggling to shift all the old muffin boxes to the top and slide the newer ones underneath them. 

You stare at his ass for… probably way longer than necessary, honestly. 

The woman points at a singular cake box left on the counter from today’s special orders, and immediately reaches up to take it without any other introduction. 

Oh. One of these customers. The ones who come in and grab stuff off the counter without asking for assistance, who will walk back into the kitchen to look at the overstock racks and help themselves to things that haven’t been put out on the floor yet.

A tight smile curls at your lips as you snag the tag on the box and look at the name before she can yank it off the counter from you. “For Linda?”

The woman nods curtly. As you turn the box to face her, your eyes shift back to Steve as he moves around the side of the display table. He stretches his arm out to reach for a stack on a higher shelf, and your eyes linger on the way the short sleeve of his uniform shirt rides up to expose his bicep.

“This is not the cake I ordered.”

“What?” You snap your eyes back to Linda’s pinched face, glaring down at the cake on the counter. It’s a basic sheet cake, with white frosting and a screaming red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ on it. Not necessarily a masterpiece, but a neat and pretty cake nonetheless.

“I ordered a cake with a winning streak theme. This has nothing on it,” Linda says icily as you snatch up the order slip you had taken off of the box and inspect it.

“A marble quarter sheet with white buttercream and a red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ in black icing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… what’s on the cake, ma’am.”

“But there’s no other decoration. Where’s the winning streak theme?” 

You blink, and briefly make eye contact with Steve over the woman’s shoulder. He’s all but abandoned his task of stacking muffin boxes, instead watching your face carefully as your conversation plays out. He raises one eyebrow at you, and you’re not sure if that’s him trying to be condescending or supportive. 

“I- I apologize, ma’am-” you start, looking for a way to dig your way out of the situation, “The order does say that you requested the theme, but you didn’t specify any decorations. Our decorators won’t take liberties with the order on their own if you don’t request-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Linda interjects, and you clamp your mouth shut with a dull ache beginning to throb in your temples. “I’m supposed to be at a winning streak themed party in twenty minutes and I have an embarrassment of a cake to show for it. I should be reimbursed.”

“The cake wasn’t paid for in advance,” you tell her mildly, trying not to crinkle the page with her order on it as you hold it up. 

“Uh… accommodated, then. I shouldn’t have to pay for something I didn’t want in the first place!”

“I’m afraid I can’t just give you a cake for free, ma’am. I’m not authorized.”

“Can I speak to your manager, then?” 

You open your mouth to say that, technically, you are what amounts to the shift manager. It’s just you and Eddie and Steve in the store, and even though neither of your job descriptions really include the word ‘manager’ in them, seniority rules over all. You’ve been here long enough to be able to train them, so by right you’re the one in charge. 

But then a warm hand touches the curve of your lower back, and Steve appears out of thin air to gently scoot you aside without so much as a hello.

“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Steve smiles, and you could almost mistake him for being sincere if his fingertips didn’t dig into your back just slightly before pulling away. 

Linda visibly softens her demeanor, smoothing her stringy blonde hair away from her face. “Are you the manager?”

You scrutinize his profile, trying for all the world to read his fucking mind, because you have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s barely even taken a cake order, let alone dealt with a disgruntled customer with a botched one.

“That, I am!” Steve declares, and oh. Cheeky motherfucker. He’s doing the voice. He bats his eyelashes- big, long, sweeping blinks that you think can make him take flight if he tries much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“This girl,” Linda tells him shortly, not even looking at you when she motions in your direction, “is refusing to compromise about this cake. It’s not what I ordered, and if I have to show up for this party without a winning streak themed cake, I’m going to be embarrassed. The customer is always right!”

“In matters of taste,” Eddie says from over your shoulder.

Linda fixes Eddie with a cold stare. “I’m sorry?”

“That, uh… that saying.” Eddie steps up to your other side, obviously choking back a laugh as he clears his throat. “The full saying is, ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste.’ Meaning you’re right about your order, we can’t argue with your personal preferences.” 

“Exactly.” Steve shrugs easily, the picture of self-assurance as he takes the order sheet from your hand and looks it over. You’re not even sure if he entirely understands how to dissect the order sheet itself, but he looks convincing enough while doing it. “If you don’t like the cake, you don’t have to buy it. But my gi- ‘ this’ girl is right.”

You snap your eyes toward Steve, the back of your neck burning. His what? 

Steve continues like he’s made no mistake whatsoever. “We can’t give you the cake for free- the only person who can do that is the owner.”

Linda scowls. “‘Take it or leave it,’ you mean?”

Steve affords her a kind smile. “I’d be happy to pull any of our cakes out of the display instead, if you see any you prefer.”

“No,” Linda insists, obviously unhappy about it, “I’ve been coming here for twenty years and this has never happened, the owner knows me-”

“We can call Mimi, if you’d like,” he adds. 

“No, like I said, I have a party in twenty minutes,” Linda says sourly, and begins digging through her purse. “No, I’ll pay for this one, I guess.”

Behind the counter, you watch Steve ball up Linda’s cake order sheet in his palm, squeeze it unnecessarily hard, and toss it into the waste bin. Then, faster than fucking lightning, you watch Eddie type the price of the cake into the cash register. He hits the sales tax button twice.

“Come back soon!” Eddie says cheerfully as he hands her the receipt. 

You stand motionless behind them both, dumbfounded, until Linda leaves. And then Steve’s immediately cursing, shaking his head as he turns and starts walking toward the back room, hands untying the bow at his waist to undo his apron. “They’ll say anything for free shit. Anything. What the fuck is a ‘winning streak’ theme, anyways? I swear- no, you know what, I don’t actually fucking care. I used to give out freebies all the time at Scoops. But this isn’t corporate, and Mimi knows my family-” 

You follow him closely, disappearing into the back with him as he continues blathering. “Why did you do that?” 

“Hm?” Steve pauses as he’s pulling his apron over his head, and stares at you for a few seconds, like he doesn’t even know what you’re referring to. And then, you see his brown eyes widen. “Oh! I guess… I mean, I could see it going bad, and I figured if she wasn’t listening to you, then she’d probably listen to me. If I, y’know. Put the moves on her.”

You snort loudly. “Always so fuckin’ cute- I could have handled it myself.”

“No, I know you could have. I know.” Steve nods, his hair sort of fluttering around his face as he looks away from you. “But… y’know, you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to, while I’m here. I’ve been tortured by KGB and fought monsters, I can deal with an angry customer-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh. Uh…” He pauses, eyes drifting off to the side, to meet Eddie’s, who trailed behind you into the back room and is lingering over your shoulder. “Dun- Dungeons and… and Dragons? Yeah… yeah! Have you- have you played it?”

“You?” Your giggle splutters loudly in your chest before bubbling up out of your throat unexpectedly. “Steve Harrington plays Dungeons and Dragons? You like that goofy sword and sorcery shit?”

“Fucking metal sword and sorcery shit, thank you very much,” Eddie snaps, and you scoff at him. 

Steve chuckles at your little jab at his words from earlier, looking anywhere but at your face. “Yeah, sort of. I mean… Munson taught me a bit about it.”

“Everything he knows.” Eddie’s grin is wide and holds an air of mystery to it, like he knows something you don’t.

“Hm. Put that on a t-shirt for me and maybe I’ll buy it.” You blush, staring at Steve’s profile as he pulls a water bottle out of the employee break cabinet and takes a long drink from it. Then, you turn to Eddie, who leans against the door jamb. “Where’d you learn that thing about ‘the customer is always right,’ anyways?”

“Hm? Oh… I used to help my uncle Wayne in his garage,” Eddie explains nonchalantly. “Learned a lot from watching him deal with customers.”

“Right,” you hum, nodding slowly, and then turn to Steve. “And you. You could get in so much fucking trouble if Mimi finds out about that whole thing. Where did you pick that up?”

“My best friend- Robin Buckley? You know her?” Steve says as he puts the bottle back in the cabinet and snaps it shut. You shake your head, and he goes on. “Yeah. She’s crazy smart. We worked together at Scoops, and Family Video. Always had a way to respond to everything, even though she’s awkward as hell. And before you ask- yes, she would have tried to put the moves on Linda, too.”

“Would she?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve grins at you fondly, making your heart stall in your chest a bit. “Every single move in the book. If you ask me, she’s better with the ladies than I am.”

You laugh, then nod your head slowly, looking him up and down. “Okay. You’re actually fucking hilarious, Harrington. Too bad I hate your guts.”

“Really? I’m moving up in the world.” Steve grunts. “There’s a fine line between love and hate, my darling dearest.”

“Is that why you almost called me ‘your girl?’”

His smirk creates cute little dimples in his cheeks. “No, I almost did that because you’re the only one who can tell me to suck on their nuts, and I’ll actually consider doing it.”

Before you can even take a moment to process that little wise-crack, Eddie’s distracting you. His hand passes through your line of vision, then comes up and presses against the front of your green apron, just against your breast. You genuinely think he’s trying to feel you up, and you snap your eyes down to find his ringed fingers scraping a giant drop of cream cheese frosting off of your chest. 

You feel your cheeks heat up. That must have come from when you were frosting the cinnamon rolls- more like smacking them around with frosting, really- and the fact that it was there the entire time Linda was here is more than humiliating. You must have looked like such an idiot, trying to conduct yourself like a manager-

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, using that same fucking condescending tone that makes your hair stand on end, before meeting your eye and sucking the glob of frosting off of his two fingers.

You get a sudden head rush, and it takes way more self restraint than it should to not audibly whimper. Oh, he really shouldn’t have done that. 

You stare at him for a long moment, your eyes flickering between his, and his fingers in between his ungodly pink lips. You… you feel like you’re fucking drowning, floundering around with your head underwater and you don’t know what to do. You snap your eyes to Steve, looking for some sort of sympathy or support, but he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, he just winks. 

No. They absolutely should not have done that.

“Fucking… fuck this. Fuck both of you- I have work to do,” you hiss, trying to skirt past buckets of frosting to get around where Eddie’s blocking the doorway, but he refuses to step aside, instead creating a one-man barricade while he snickers and continues sucking on his fingers just to rile you up even more. “Fucking move, Eddie.”

“Oh, it’s Eddie now?” He grins, obviously enjoying how much you’re struggling, with your chest pushed up against his and your arm nearly circling his waist to lever yourself against the other side of the door. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, for a lack of anything else to say. 

“For the second time, I wish you would.” Eddie raises his hand and captures your chin, tilting your head up so that you look at him, instead of over his shoulder or to the side at Steve. Your heart jumps into your throat, feeling his damp fingers on your cheek and remembering how he had been sucking on them a second ago. “Might clean out that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” You snatch Eddie by his pinstriped collar, simultaneously pulling him down to your height and also pushing him back against the wire rack of boxes along the far wall. Eddie curses, stumbling and grabbing onto your hips as if that will steady himself. His nose nudges yours from this angle, and how close you crowd up against him. “You drive me up the fucking wall, Munson. You think you can just sweet talk me like I’m some uptight customer?”

“Woah,” Steve says from behind you, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit surprised. More amused, and intrigued. “I think you struck a nerve.” 

“Did I?” Eddie whispers, with a hint of a smirk still on his face. His dark eyes are looking directly into yours.

He doesn’t even have time to breathe before you kiss him. Desperately. Long and hard and sort of angry, open-mouthed so that you can taste the frosting still on his tongue. He makes the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard- somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as his hands come up to cup your face and pull you closer into him. His knee slotting between your legs, not pushing up but just remaining solidly there for you to lean against it. It takes an inordinate amount of strength for you not to grind yourself down onto his thigh.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Steve says calmly from just beside you. 

Eddie pulls back for air, forehead resting against yours, thumbs stroking your cheekbones in a mockery of a tender embrace. “Go on. Show Harrington how much you hate him, too.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you grumble, but your hands have better plans. One stays on Eddie’s shoulder, but the other snatches Steve by the collar and pulls him forward so that you can attack his face with the same amount of fervor. Eddie has no compunction to be gentlemanly- while Steve’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, Eddie’s creeps up underneath your skirt to give your ass a tight squeeze, pulling you forward to grind against his thigh and making you gasp against Steve’s mouth so that his tongue can lick deeper into yours.

Nothing quite prepares you for how Eddie’s voice affects you when he says, “Uh oh, Harrington. I think I was right- she likes you. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You make a short noise in your throat, your hand sliding down Steve’s chest to his waist, fingers beginning to make quick work of his fly. “Let’s- let’s just double check, huh? Make extra sure.”

“God- yeah. Yeah, okay. Just- be on the safe side.” Steve’s tongue is burning up when it touches your neck, his head nuzzling down so that he can graze your throat with his teeth. 

Eddie catches your hand before you manage to wiggle it beneath his waistband, and looks you directly in the eye just before he spits onto your palm. You whimper noisily at the feeling of it, warm and wet, dripping between your fingers while Steve licks at your neck and heat simmers under the tender skin between your thighs.

Air punches from Steve’s mouth when you work his trousers down his hips and pull his erection out of his boxers- he’s not quite pulsing and swollen yet, but your fingertips still just barely manage to meet from how thick he is. 

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” you curse as you give him a languid stroke, feeling him shudder when you brush your thumb over his tip and then drag your hand down his length again. Eddie’s saliva helps to make the motion fluid and smooth, adding a slick sound to punctuate Steve’s loud gasp. 

“What?” Steve hisses, trying his best to appear passive, but his voice betrays him and cracks. He gazes at you a bit apprehensively, his doe eyes looking a little foggy with need as they flicker over your face and focus on your lips. 

“Nothing on earth needs to be this big.” 

Eddie’s free hand coming up to weave through Steve’s hair and jerking his head back. His teeth catch Steve’s earlobe just before he murmurs, “Told ya, big boy.” Eddie looks directly at you over Steve’s shoulder. “Harrington’s packing a fucking monster, isn’t he?”

You hum as you let your fingers drift along the length of him. Steve’s gaze suddenly turns darker, and his chuckle falls flat out of his mouth like an exclamation of awe more than anything. “Think you can take it?”

You don’t answer that. Your grip tightens just a bit and he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Are you one of those guys that’ll come as soon as I gag?” 

“Fuck, maybe?” Steve’s hands cup the sides of your neck and trail up to cradle your head as you lower yourself in front of him. 

Eddie scoffs. “He can’t handle it worth a shit. Don’t go easy on him.”

“Then he’d better hold on to something.” You scrape your nails down his exposed thigh, reveling in the way his entire body shakes at the feeling. 

And, without any further warning, you wrap your lips around his cock. 

Steve curses, hands balling into fists just before he slams them down against the shelf he’s leaning on. Through your lashes, you watch him gasp for breath and you wonder if he’s honestly going to last long enough to fuck you properly. Not that it really matters, though, because Eddie seems like he’ll be more than happy to pick up where Steve leaves off. 

Eddie’s hand rests on the crown of your head, guiding you on Steve’s cock. His tip leaks with precum that tastes salty on your tongue when you lick at his slit, and as you take him further into your mouth, you realize just how right you were. He hits the back of your throat, making tears spring up in your eyes and a quiet moan bubble up out of your chest on its own when you choke. 

Steve just about loses his mind over it. He groans loudly, scrambling for a place to put his hands and ending up with a fistful of Eddie’s uniform shirt while he tries to compose himself. 

“Holy fuck, you look so good with your mouth full,” Steve grunts, his free hand coming up your chin as he slides his cock out of your mouth and back in again.

“I think I like her more when she can’t talk back to us,” Eddie chuckles darkly, pressing on the back of your head and making you choke again. 

Steve hisses, his fingers tightening on your cheek. “Look at me, let me see those eyes- there you go. Pretty baby.”

You whimper, letting your jaw go slack so that Steve can fuck your mouth all he wants while you try to steady yourself. You should hate it. You should hate this- you hate them both. You think. 

Wait. Do you? 

You’ve never been this needy before, but hell if your cunt isn’t just throbbing in your uncomfortably wet panties, and your nails are digging into Steve’s skin where you grip his thighs for support. If he notices any pain from it, he doesn’t say anything- just keeps giving you these erotic little gasps every time his cock nudges the back of your throat and your eyes flicker shut for a moment before he taps your cheek and makes you open them again. 

“We should do this more often,” Steve says thickly, and without thinking, you hum in agreement. You add a little resistance against Eddie’s hand on your head to regain a bit of control, letting your tongue roll against Steve’s length however you want. 

“You think she’ll give it this good if she’s getting fucked?” Eddie muses suddenly, his finger’s toying with your hair rather than guiding you anymore. 

“Fuck- only one way to find out.” Steve shakily releases the fistful he has of Eddie’s shirt, letting him slip away from his side. Eddie’s hand leaves your head, instead falling to the tie on his apron to start undoing it. 

You whine softly, shuffling up on your knees and nearly slipping when you feel Eddie’s hands flipping the skirt of your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. His large hand smooths over the hem of your underwear, then lowers to stroke the cleft of your pussy through the fabric. 

“Oh, poor thing.”  

“What is it?” Steve asks. 

“She’s soaked through these pretty panties,” Eddie coos softly as his fingers stroke back and forth over the fabric, nudging your clit with achingly gentle, indirect touches. You moan, arching your back for more. “Baby got so wet from sucking Steve’s cock, huh? Sweet little pussy needs some attention?”

“Shit. God, that’s so hot. Fuck-” Steve grabs your hair, guiding you off of his cock with a wet noise that makes Eddie’s fingers press on your clit just a little bit harder. You splutter, drool trailing from your lips and dripping down your chin as you try to catch your breath. Something you can’t quite do, because Eddie won’t stop touching you. 

Steve tilts your head up, leveraging you backwards a bit as he kneels in front of you. “You want Eddie to fuck you? Is that what you need?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around Steve’s wet cock and giving him a few slow pumps. “Yeah, I-” you hiccup when you feel Eddie’s fingers hook your panties to the side, and dip through your dripping folds, unobstructed. “Oh fuck, I want it so bad.”

“Don’t hate us so goddamn much now?” Eddie croons as he presses two fingers deep into your pussy. 

You groan and hang your head, forehead pressing up against Steve’s navel and your nails sinking into the meat of his thigh. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, and it occurs to you that he likes that pain- or maybe he just likes holding you against him while Eddie fingerfucks you.

Steve’s fingers card through your hair tenderly. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Munson. I think she’s having trouble talking.”

“For a change.” Eddie curls his fingers, and you nearly lose your balance, thankful that you have Steve to hold you up. “So fuckin’ wet… I think I want to taste it first.”

Eddie’s fingers leave you, and you openly sob against Steve’s stomach as his grip tightens in your hair. “E-eddie…”

His two hands curl around the waistband of your panties, and rip through the fabric as though it’s only paper. “Hold her up, Steve, it sounds like she’s gonna need it.”

Steve puts his hands on your shoulders and holds you up, rocking back so that he can get a good look at your face. Eddie spreads your legs apart, and you can feel him crowding his body in between them. There’s a slight pause, and then his tongue touches you, licking a stripe of fucking fire through your cunt from behind. 

Oh shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s too good, too warm and slick when you’ve been aching for it for way too long, your clit pulsing desperately and burning hot when his tongue strokes over it. You strain up against Steve’s hands, but he keeps pushing you forward, keeping you there against Eddie’s mouth. You moan obscenely loud, your hands tearing at Steve’s shirt like it’ll somehow convince him to let you go. 

“You’re so damn pretty like this, angel,” Steve whispers, tilting your chin up when your head falls so he can keep looking at your face. He’s flushed, his lips parted and his eyes drooping and so dark that you nearly balk under his gaze.

Eddie groans in the back of his throat and finally pulls back, and you’re not sure whether to chase his mouth or to sob for relief, so you sort of do both at the same time. He plants a hand on your ass to keep you from falling backwards into him. 

“Fuck, she tastes so sweet. Here-” You feel him move, and then Steve holds up a hand to catch something that Eddie tosses to him. 

You lift your eyes and discover that Steve is holding your torn underwear. The light blue fabric looks so out of place and innocent, little pink flowers decorating the waistband. It makes it worse that he’s looking directly at you, keeping you frozen in place. He holds them up to his nose and breathes deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut just briefly before he looks at you again and drags the soaked crotch of them across his tongue. 

“Steve…” you breathe, overwhelmed by the sight of him and the sound of his groan of pleasure. You search for something to say to him, but nothing comes before you feel something hot and thick pushing into your soaking entrance. You gasp, and then claw at Steve’s thigh in lieu of something to hold onto. “Fuck, Eddie-”  

“Shouldn’t you be choking on Steve’s cock right about now?” Eddie hisses through his teeth, sounding strained and letting out a low groan to punctuate it. 

You whine, feeling unbelievably stretched and full as Eddie splits you open, but you still scramble backwards and sink your mouth onto Steve’s cock so quickly that a gasp leaps out of his chest. 

Steve punches out a little laugh, his hand twisting your hair and pushing you down until your eyes water. “So agreeable once you get your pussy filled.”

“God, she’s so tight,” Eddie grunts as he hollows out and starts thrusting, reaching deeper inside you each time. You don’t think it’s so much that you’re tight as he’s just big- you haven’t seen his cock, but you can feel it, like you haven’t fucking felt anything else before, and it’s good. You can feel every inch, every ridge, and it makes your eyes fully roll back into your skull. “Fuck, you gotta feel this-”

“Can’t. ‘M not gonna last, shit…” Steve sounds wrecked, his words coming out sharp and desperate. The hand on your head is shaking, and you’re honestly impressed he’s lasted as long as he has. “‘M gonna come down this pretty throat.”

“You hear that, sweet pea? You gonna swallow all of Steve’s come?” Eddie’s hand weaves through your hair around Steve’s fingers, aiding in shoving your head down onto his cock. 

As if you weren’t going to, and as if he wasn’t already fucking your mouth faster than you could reasonably keep up. But you whimper and bury your nose in the patch of coarse hair at the base of Steve’s cock, inhaling his scent and tasting his musky flavor on your tongue, and you swallow around him. And then you keep swallowing, because Steve comes hard.  

He sounds absolutely gorgeous when he does it, too. If Eddie wasn’t fucking you so hard that you couldn’t stop whining, you think it would be nearly like a symphony to hear Steve reduced to quiet whimpers. By the time the hands on your head relax enough to let you off of him, though, he’s completely out of breath. 

“Good girl,” Steve pants, his hand lifting up to caress your cheek and to wipe a little dribble of his come from the corner of your mouth, so soft that it could be construed as sweet if there wasn’t any context to it. “Fuck… you were so good.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie coos into your ear, still driving his hips into yours with such force that it’s jolting you toward Steve. “Good baby, pretty baby- takes cock like a perfect little slut.”

You groan, hanging your head and arching your back toward Eddie. You seize up, your orgasm simmering low in you like the receding tide before a fucking tsunami, and you’re almost scared of how big it feels. 

“She liked that,” Eddie chuckles darkly, bending further over you so that his breath tickles your ear. “You like it when I call you a slut, huh? Our perfect. Little. Slut.” 

You open your mouth to say his name, tell him to shut up, or keep going, or anything, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. Your hand juts forward and clamps down like a vise onto Steve’s thigh, finding that he’s pulled his pants up. Your nails scratch at stiff khaki twill, trying to beg him to take pity on you, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. 

“Pick her up,” Steve says above you. “I want to see her face when she comes.”

Oh, so he’s trying to kill you, actually. That tracks.

Eddie’s arm snakes around your waist and hauls you up, and he rocks back onto his heels to pull your back against his chest. He hugs you close to him, shushing you when his cock hits you from a different angle and you cry out sharply from the feeling. 

“Pretty thing can’t take it,” Steve murmurs as he crowds in close, his hands coming up to caress you through your dress. The fabric is too goddamn rough and itchy, and your skin is too sensitive for him to be toying with you now. 

“Oh, she can take it.” Eddie sounds so sure, his voice rough and stony as he rocks his pelvis up against you while, at the same time, pulling you down into his lap. “She can take all of it. Can’t you, baby?”

You hope the question is rhetorical. You’re trembling, too lost in the feeling of the mind-numbing bliss Eddie’s giving you to come up with a response at this point. Your hand plunges back over your shoulder into a mess of curly hair, and you feel him turn his head to brush his lips against your ear. 

Steve’s hand brushes up your thigh, creeping under your skirt that’s draped across both you and Eddie’s knees. You barely have time to pick your head up and intellectualize what he’s doing before his thumb touches your clit. 

“Oh fuck-” Eddie chokes out urgently, just at the same time as you sink your nails into his forearm and all of your floor muscles lock down around him. 

And then the tsunami hits. 

You nearly scream, your cunt tightening up to wring everything out of the sensation that it can. Eddie’s cock is so hard and it hits inside you so perfectly every time that you swear you’re going to die from it. You’re collapsing forward, despite Eddie’s grip on your waist and Steve’s solid chest creating a barrier for you to fall into- your limbs feel liquid, all your muscles finally relaxing all at once. 

You feel Eddie falter, his hand slipping on your waist so that you do fall into Steve’s chest. While Eddie’s cock throbs inside you and his moans fill your ears, Steve’s hands cup your face and tilt your head up toward his. And then his lips are on yours, and his tongue is licking deep into your mouth at the same time as you feel Eddie come deep inside your cunt. 

You don’t want Eddie to pull out. Not really. You’re not going to tell him to stay there inside you while you’re both crouched awkwardly on the hard floor, but you do wish he’d take at least a few seconds before he does, because the aching emptiness he leaves in his place is enough to make tears spring up in your eyes. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, you did so well,” Eddie whispers as you sob openly from the sensation, his arm coming back around your waist to pull you against him. And then you both sort of topple backwards, his shoulders hitting the stacks of backstock frosting buckets as Steve shuffles back to lean against the wire rack across from you. He pulls your legs into his lap and starts stroking his hand across your bare calf. 

You try to catch your breath while Eddie reaches for something on the floor off to the side. You blink your eyes open to find him fiddling with his discarded green apron, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket in it before wadding it up into a little ball. 

He promptly tucks it between your legs and starts cleaning you up with it. 

“R’you using your apron… as a cum rag?” You slur tiredly at him, squeaking a little as the rough fabric scrapes across your overly sensitive clit. 

“Don’t want to leave a mess,” he mutters easily, making Steve chuckle across from you. “Why s’it that I can fuck you half out of your mind and you’ll still bitch me out about how I clean shit?”

“‘Cause it’s fun t’see you all mad. You’re pretty when you’re pissy.” You feel his chest shake with laughter as he finishes wiping you down and tosses the apron aside, then wraps his arms snugly around your middle. 

“Good thing you’re pretty all the time, then.” Eddie huffs, rocking you back and forth a little as he fits his head on your shoulder. You tap your fingers across his forearm, looking down at them and humming contentedly. 

“What is it?” Steve asks, smiling at you almost fondly. 

You sigh, dragging your fingertip along Eddie’s skin. “I like his tattoos.”

“I knew it,” Eddie whispers, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, making you giggle and shut your eyes. “I still haven’t shown you the rest of ‘em.”

“There’s always next time.”

Steve blinks. “You want to do this again?”

“Of course I want to fucking do this again, Steve,” you snap, rolling your eyes playflully. “Been wanting to jump both of you since you started, wasn’t it fucking obvious?”

“Was to me.” Eddie’s finger traces along your collar, toying with the first button on the front of your uniform dress. “Also, I haven’t seen your tits, so. I’m not done with you yet.”

“I dunno, the dress kind of does it for me,” Steve admits, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… cute. Like a 50s housewife or something.”

“Let’s get you a string of pearls and see how long ‘Big Dick’ Harrington lasts then,” Eddie snickers, and you laugh tiredly as you watch Steve flush. 

You fall into easy silence, but just as soon as you relax into Eddie’s arms, the bell over the front door of the bakery jingles. And then the hand bell on the front counter dings loudly. 

And dings again. And dings again. And dings agai-

“You gonna get it, this time?” Steve asks Eddie, sounding a little bit grumpy already. 

“No, I’m gonna hold her a while longer,” Eddie says coolly, not leaving any room for discussion. He presses a tiny kiss to your neck, just underneath your ear, and you squeak in surprise at the lightness of it. “Go get ‘em, Mr. Manager Man.”

“Fuckin’-” Steve rolls his eyes as he gently sets your legs aside before gracelessly clambering up off the ground. He smooths out his uniform, tucking in the tail of his shirt before striding through the door into the kitchen. “What’s up, party people?”

“Do you have any chocolate cakes with white buttercream already made? I need it for tonight.”

Eddie scoffs in your ear, his hand drifting across your thigh to rest just shy of your pussy, making your breath hitch and your hips cant up toward his touch. “They always wait for the last fuckin’ minute, don’t they?”

Steve’s yellow sweater this, Steve’s yellow sweater that

What about Steve’s Red Sweater? What about her??

Poor Steve lost a bet and thought paying with 30 bites instead of money was a good idea.

(INPRNT)

I want to breath these words

ONESHOTS Lemon Over Ice Summer Night Lights Sleep Soft Slick Like Summer 18+ Five New Freckles Baby, Honey Goddamn, What’s A Boy To Do? Some Kind, All Kinds Lovesick Night Call When The World Gets Too Loud Cherry Lazy On You Getaway Car With Two Young Lovers And I Get This Feeling In My Chest Summer Skin I’ll Crawl Home To Her Slugger Pretty Boy In The Light Spoiled 18+ Tonight Feels Impossible 18+

Tonight Feels Impossible

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.7K] soft, desperate end of the world smut.

It didn’t happen like this often, there  wasn’t always a need for it. That’s not to say that yours and Steve’s sex life wasn’t plentiful… it just wasn’t always like this. 

More than needy, beyond desperate, frantic, wild, the kind of sex you have with someone who almost died in front of you. The kind of sex you have with someone to remind them and yourself that you’re both still fucking alive. 

You barely make it inside, adrenaline pumping, blood rushing in your ears and the absolutely insatiable need to feel your boyfriend against you in every way you could because the world had gone to shit and when the Earth had opened up at your feet, it had almost swallowed Steve whole

“Steve,” you whimpered, almost cried, because the lock was stuck and you had your hands pressed underneath his shirt and suddenly, it wasn’t enough anymore. 

Vecna was gone. Not dead, not defeated, but gone. Hiding, lurking, somewhere out of sight. The town had cracked into four, split into pieces, a jigsaw puzzle no one knew how to put back together. Not yet, anyway. 

That’s why you were here, at Steve’s, under instruction from Hopper to grab what you both needed and meet back at the cabin, ready to leave town, to get somewhere far away — for now. Somewhere where everyone could sit and take a fucking breath. Where everyone could be safe, even just for a day. 

But you needed more than clean clothes and a toothbrush, Steve knew that too. He felt it, felt the need, the absolute agony of needing to have you right now. 

“Steve,” you said again, voice broken. Your fingers dug into his sides a little, skimming over his ribs as he groaned and swore at the lock. “I need—”

“Baby,” Steve soothed, “I know, I know. Just gimme a m—”

The lock finally clicked, the key turned and you both tumbled into the dark house. It was empty, as always, and you both were told to call each of your parents and explain to them what happened before they saw it on the news channels. 

Murray had grabbed you both by the shoulders, the shock slowly wearing off and settling into tiredness, a slow ache in your hearts and your stomachs and your heads. He’d told you to go home, pack a bag, call your parents and tell them you were okay, you were alive and that everything was fine. 

(It wasn’t. Nothing was fine.)

He told you to tell them to stay out of town, on their vacations, on their business trips out of state. He told you to tell them that you were going to go to a motel a few towns over, that you were both with the Byers, that chief Hopper was back home and alive and keeping you safe. 

It was all too much to explain over one phone call and it was too much to possibly even think about. Because how were you supposed to even begin to do such a thing? How were you supposed to keep your voice from shaking and cracking? How were you supposed to call your mom and tell her that a man had risen from the dead and the office she worked at had sunk into a crack in the earth that looked like the literal gates to hell? How were you supposed to do any of that when Steve was looking at you like he needed you more than air?

That’s why you ignored everything Murray had said, letting Steve slam the door closed behind you as he tossed the keys to the console table at the door, the one with the plastic looking photo of him and his parents, the dead flowers that sat in a crystal vase because no one was ever fucking home. 

You let the boy guide you, never rough, just insistent and when he got too impatient, when the clock in the kitchen seemed to tick louder and louder, Steve whined and ducked down to meet you, lips messily slanting over yours as you stumbled into the living room together. 

Steve didn’t lift you, not quite, but he tugged you against his body, your toes just brushing the floor as you both crashed towards the sofa. Steve was quick to spin you both, making sure he landed first, pulling you down on top of him until you spread your legs and straddled his thighs, lips never leaving his. 

Hawkins was burning but you could only think of the boy. 

Your hands shook as they travelled over his sides, his arms, pulling at his jacket until he shrugged it off, eyes clenched shut as you kept kissing him, making the softest, greediest sounds. 

“Fuck,” Steve sighed, breath stuttering, “shit, c’mere, let me—”

He leaned up to you, reaching you as you sat on your knees above him, letting the boy grab the hem of your dress and pull it off. It smelled like damp and smoke and gunpowder, like the sting of moonshine from makeshift bombs. 

His eyes watered at the sight of your skin, dust covered and scratched and scraped, superficial wounds that looked red and angrier than they were but Steve shook his head at them, as if he could will them away. The boy had watched you from across the hall at Creel house, as helpless and as stuck as you were as you were both forced to stare at the other as vines tightened around your necks and chests.  

Real life was a living, breathing nightmare and the only thing that seemed to help you escape it, was the touch that your boyfriend could give you.

Steve was alive. 

He was okay, he was safe, he was right in front of you. 

It still wasn’t enough. 

You were back on him before your dress hit the floor, your hands grabbing at the hem of his shirt that had a torn collar and you were whimpering as you pulled it off, impatient beyond belief. 

His hands soothed at you, curling around your ribs, thumbs running circles helped the band of your bra and Steve was making soft sounds that were meant to soothe you. 

“S’okay, you’re alright,” he was murmuring, hands roaming without much thought, cupping your damp cheeks, petting over your hair, pulling you into him by the small of your back. “I’ve got you, tell me what you need.”

“You, Steve,” you were crying more openly now, the comedown hitting you harder than you had anticipated and without the rush of adrenaline, there was only upset and fear. “I just need you, Stevie, please.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, your fingers working at his belt and Steve groaned, his own hands shaking as he tried to help you, both of you pushing his jeans down just enough to free his cock from his boxers. He was already half hard, the sight of you in just your underwear and the need to feel you making him twitch. 

“Babybabybaby,” he murmured, “you’re good yeah? Look at me, sweetheart, lemme see your eyes.”

His hand tucked under your chin and lifted it, breathing out when your glassy eyes met his. You were panting, chest heaving, but you were still with him. Steve brushed his thumb under your lash line, swept away a stray tear and brought you back to him for a kiss, needier than before, urgent, a little messy as he licked into you, tongue pressing over yours. 

You were almost sure you heard something snap, the ping of elastic as Steve unclasped your bra and dragged it down your arms, hasty and barely looking as he kept kissing you, all teeth and tongue and complete and utter fucking adoration. 

He whined into your mouth when your hand wrapped around his cock, letting you swallow his sounds, kissing them from him as you dragged your palm over him, once, twice. 

“Need you,” he told you and you tried not to mewl out when you nodded, pushing yourself closer into him, into his touch. “We need to be fast, sweetheart, we shouldn’t even be doing this. Not right now.”

Steve was right, of course. You knew that. You were supposed to be on the phone to your folks as you told them not to worry whilst Steve shoved clothes into a rucksack. 

But despite his words, his logic, Steve was hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them to the side, breath stuttering out from his chest as he felt how wet you were. One finger, two fingers pumping in and out until you grabbed at his wrist and pushed your forehead against his. 

Your eyes were closed, lips parted, stealing the breath from him as you leaned in, barely kissing. 

“Just want you inside me,” you whispered and god, you sounded wrecked. “Please, baby.”

Steve’s head hit the back of the couch as he let it fall back, jaw slack and neck pulled taught. He stared up at you through hooded eyes, fingertips just pushed to your clit, moving slowly enough to make each touch feel like an electrical shock. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispered, but you were already pushing up onto your knees to line yourself up with him, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. “Christ, sweetheart, heyheyhey, shit, go slow.”

You tried to do as you were told, Steve’s hands a strong grip on your hips as you took him in inch by inch, crying out at the stretch. It was the kind of burn you wanted, a slight pinch of pain as Steve bullied his cock into your cunt, gasping at the way you clenched around. 

“Fucking hell,” Steve groaned, throwing his head back, eyes clenched shut as he left crescent moon shaped marks on your hips, panting as you took all of him. He whispered your name, the softest noise, the sweetest. “Baby, baby, y’alright?”

His palm coasted up the soft of your stomach, a slow, warm drag of calluses and scars over your tits until his fingers curled around your throat, a gentle hold, enough for your eyes to snap to his. 

“Talk to me,” Steve murmured, bringing your forehead to rest against his own, noses bumping, lips brushing. “Let me hear you, pretty girl.”

It wasn’t a request for dirty talk, you knew that. Not when it was like this, no, that’s not what Steve was asking for. He just needed to hear your voice. To know that you were okay, you were here and alive and breathing and safe like he was. 

Your breath hitched and hiccuped, lips parting as you whined out. “Steve… Steve, I need you closer.”

It seemed like an impossible ask because the boy was already throbbing inside of you and had every inch of him but Steve just nodded. He’d give you the world if you asked for it, he’d fix the broken one you lived in, he’d stitch it back together and wrap it in a pretty, scarlet bow, just for you. 

He brought you in, chest to chest, arms wrapped around you as he helped you move, a rhythm hardly there, because honestly? Neither of you were necessarily chasing an orgasm, just the need to feel the other. But you rocked and started a messy grind over the boy as he held you, your hands tangled in his hair, thick and messy with dust and grime but you didn’t care. 

You wondered if it would ease the burn, the ache, the need for the boy. You wondered if you both came, gasping and groaning into each other, you wouldn’t want to cling to him for the rest of the night. 

(You doubted it.) 

“Atta’ girl,” Steve cooed, voice rough and heavy with desperation, mouthing at your throat, ghosting his lips over your cheek, your chin as he thrust up, hips canting. “My girl; my gorgeous, sweet girl.”

You keened, hands pulling at Steve’s hair a little rougher, making his lashes flutter, his jaw hanging slack as he fucking growled for you. It all turned a little manic then, messy, dirty, desperate.

Nails across skin, grabbing and clawing, hair pulled, lips bitten, marked up throats and aching hips as Steve held you over him, always with a surprising strength. He kept you there, his hands grabbing at your ass as he fucked up into you harder than before and the pressure, the harsh snap of his hips into yours was enough to send you over the edge. 

It caught you by surprise, your breath catching in your throat in a low, babbling moan, a squeal, a swear. You clung to him, pulling Steve back to you as you came hard, your cunt slick and clenching down on him, tighter and right until he was crying out and holding you to him. 

He snapped his hips one more time, burying himself into you as he came too and you were moaning out loud at the feel of him, cock twitching. 

“I love you I love you I love you,” you were chanting as you came down, as you rode out your high, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck as he cried out, mouth open and pressed to your collarbone.

“C’mere,” he huffed, rosy cheeked as he tore away to look up at you, hands wide and clasping at your cheeks. “Baby, I need—”

He cried out as he kissed you, cheeks as damp as yours, the sound wrecked and desperate. You couldn’t get closer, Jesus Christ, he was still inside you and yet it didn’t feel like enough. 

“I love you,” the boy mumbled into your lips, the words kissed away and kept, tucked away into a space between your ribs, yours to keep forever. “Love you so fuckin’ much, you know that, don’t you?”

You nodded, sniffling as tears rolled down your cheeks and you both tasted salt, kissing away the fear that you both felt. The night felt impossible.

“Yeah, I know,” you soothed, voice quiet, hands petting over the mess of his hair, “we’re both okay, yeah? We’re all okay.”

And you were. For now, at least. ‘Cause you were still in Steve’s arms and his lips were on your neck, kissing a soft, warm line over your shoulder. And it was selfish the way you stayed there for too long, quiet and safe in the dark of the boy’s living room whilst the world outside the window fell apart. 

Neither of you moved until the phone rang, a shrill reality check that echoed through the empty house. You gasped and Steve groaned when you moved off of him, his hands warm on your hips as he helped settle you onto the couch. He handed you your dress and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth before he headed for the phone. 

He was buckling his belt as he answered, brows furrowed and bare chest cold at the loss of you. You could hear the buzz of Hopper’s voice through the receiver and it made Steve’s face fall, made his eyes pinch in the corners as he nodded and told the older man,“yeah, we’ll be there soon.”

You were by his side when he hung up, forehead pressed to his shoulder and his hand found yours, fingers tangling as he brought it to his lips, another kiss, another touch, still not close enough. 

You knew what you had to do, what you both needed to do. So you took a quick shower whilst Steve packed, the water scalding and running grey and red at your feet. He had fresh clothes for you when you walked back to his room, bare feet soaking the floorboards, hair dripping. 

You barely felt the cold, barely registered Steve’s hand on your arm as he brushed past you to shower off the dirt and dust and blood and sex. 

Maybe this was shock. Maybe this was the comedown. Maybe this is what happened when you went too long without touching the boy.  

But Steve let you hold his hand the whole drive over, his car protesting at the way the roads were pulled apart, potholes and ridges in the tarmac as Steve took the best route he could towards the Byers. 

And that was enough, for now. 

What if it wasn't Eddie who almost dies, but Steve.

Eddie and Dustin are in the trailer, bats running into the sides and scratching at the vent. "Go. now." Eddie tells Dustin as he nudges him towards the sheet-rope. "But what about you!" "Not until you're safe!" Dustin makes it halfway up the rope when the bats suddenly stop.  It's quiet in the trailer for a full five seconds. "Did...did they get him?" Dustin scrambles for the nearby walkie-talkie. "Steve, Come in. over."  There's static but no answer.  "Nance, Robin. over."  There were a few more seconds of static and then, "H- Help!  Steve... Vecna got Steve." Robin's voice crackled through the walkie, panicked.  Eddie and Dustin stared at each other for a second, Dustin’s "don't worry Steve, you can be the hero."  bouncing around both of their heads.

Then they were both moving, Dustin yelling into the walkie as they ran. "We're coming, We're coming!" Steve had a hole in his side the size of a baseball. When they got there, Nancy was doing triage, Robin trying to help through her panic.  Steve was unconscious. "He's got a pulse, but he won't respond." "We gotta get him out of here." Eddie said. "Is it OK for me to lift him?" "It's gonna have to be,"  Nancy said. "Gonna have to put him on my back, I can't carry him in front." Between Eddie and Nancy they, as gently as they could, maneuvered Steve onto Eddie's back and they immediately started for the gate. Eddie lungs were burning, his legs were on fire, he could feel Steve's blood running down his back and his leg. Fuck, Steve was going to die in his arms. They hefted him through the gate, Nancy checking his pulse every five seconds. Steve was still there, Still hanging on. Eddie jumped into the driver's seat of the RV once Steve was laid on the couch.  crossed the wires again and started driving. When they got to the hospital Eddie pulled Steve onto his back again and ran him through the hospital doors. Still alive by some miracle.

That was two days ago.  Steve was stable enough now to be moved into a room where he could have visitors, but he was still unconscious. They were only allowed in two at a time, so Eddie let the kids, Nancy, and Robin go in first.  Then it was his turn. He went in by himself.  The nurses said to talk to him, that he could hear what they said. "Hey, Harrington," Eddie said, sitting down next to the bed. "Glad you're alive, man, but it would be great if you woke up," Eddie listened to the machines beep, watched Steve's way too still body. "They tell me you tackled Vecna," Eddie looked down at his hands. "You saved Max.  I know you saved Robin and Nancy.  Saved Dustin... Saved me," He was quiet again. "Don't be a hero."  Eddie scoffed. "Harrington if you wake up I'm gonna kick your ass."  Eddie bit his lip to keep it from trembling, something akin to grief washing over him. For the rest of the time he was quiet, not knowing what to say, thinking if he spoke, he might start crying. He kept coming back almost every day, everyone did. But Eddie didn't know what to say or to think even. He was way more effected by Steve than he thought he would be. Turns out no matter how much trauma you've dealt with, it doesn't get easier. He spent evenings at the hospital with Robin.  They would talk to each other across Steve's bed. Robin told him about the Russians. Eddie talked about the kids. Robin came out to Eddie. "Does Steve know?" Eddie asked. "He's one of the first people I ever told." "How did he..." "Couldn't have been nicer about it," She said, looking over at Steve's face.  She looked lost, like she was drowning. "I'm gay," Eddie blurted out.  Her head whipped back around to him.  "Very gay," Eddie added.  She stared at him, processing what he said before a smile broke over her face and she stuck her hand over the bed. "It's very nice to meet you, Eddie Munson." Eddie laughed at than before shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Buckley."  Eddie replied. When he wasn't there with someone, he read.  He had a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that he always brought along. Sometimes he would read sections to Steve when he couldn't think of anything to say. Sometimes he would just talk.  Say whatever he wanted to Steve.  "You know I meant what I said in that fucking hell dimension, Stevie.  You really are changed.  You are not king Steve anymore..." He watched Steve's face.  He thought back to everything Steve did in the Upside Down, how much he cared for the kids, how much of a friend Robin said he had become. Eddie didn't realize he could grow feelings for someone when they were in a coma.  It scared him. Eddie had never had a boyfriend. Never dated. Never even developed feelings for a hookup. He was starting to think maybe he wasn't wired for it, but now he was thinking maybe being gay in a small town was really stunting his growth. Now Steve Harrington was pushing under his skin... and he wasn't even cognizant. Shit, Eddie didn't even know if he and Steve were possible. Sure, Steve had been alright with Robin, but that didn't mean he was gay himself. Eddie took a deep breath. "Look, Harrington, I don't know if you can hear me but..."   He stopped short.  What, was he going to confess his feelings to a man in a coma?  He reached up and grabbed Steve's hand. "Please wake up.  Please."  Eddie whispered.

It became ritual. Before he left every night, he would hold Steve's hand and quietly say "Please wake up, Harrington, please."  Robin had been there one night when he did it and she nearly cried. Over time it morphed. "Steve please wake up, we need you."  "Please wake up, Robin looks like she hasn't slept in weeks."  "I haven't seen Dustin smile in days, Harrington, wake up." Until finally one night "Steve... please wake up.  You can't just... give me these feelings and then skip out. Please."  Eddie stares at Steve's face, letting it sink in that he finally confessed, and then gets up to leave, still holding Steve's hand for a second longer. Steve fingers tightened around his.  Eddie stared at Steve's hand. Did he really...? "Steve?"  Eddie asked tentatively and the fingers tightened again. holy shit! "Steve!  Oh... shit. Hold on sweetheart I'm gonna get a nurse. Hold on."  Eddie burst out into the hallway.  "I need a nurse!  He's awake! help!" he was kicked out of the room as three nurses and a doctor huddled around Steve's bed.  Eddie found the payphone and called Robin and then Dustin. Ten minutes later everyone was showing up. Max with her crutches, Dustin who looked like had had been crying, Robin with the biggest smile on her face. They couldn't go in, not for a long time, but then finally, two by two, they were allowed back in. Eddie was last again. "Hey, Harrington." “Eddie,” Came Steve’s weak reply. “Glad you’re finally awake,” Eddie said, sitting in a chair next to the bed. “I know… I heard you begging,” Steve said, voice a hoarse whisper. “I was not begging, Harrington,” Eddie retaliated, though he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  “I was making urgent requests. There’s a difference.” “Still heard you,” Steve said. “All… All of it?”  Eddie finally asked. “Not sure.  Heard something about feelings though.”  Steve said, the ghost of a wicked smile on his lips. “You’ve been awake for two hours and you’re already hitting on me? I’m gonna need you to slow down, Sweetheart.”  Steve’s smile just got bigger.  Eddie reached up and hooked two of his fingers into Steve’s. Steve’s fingers tightened around his. “Heard the part about kicking my ass too,” Steve said, voice so quiet Eddie had to read his lips to get most of it. “I promise that can be our first date as soon as you get out of here,” Eddie said. A little huff of air left Steve and Eddie assumed it was as close to a laugh that Steve could get.  “I should let you rest,” Eddie said, standing up, but Steve’s fingers tightened around his again. “Stay.”  Came Steve’s whispered request. “Yeah.  I’ll stay, Stevie,” Eddie said sitting back down. Ten minutes later Robin opened the door to Steve’s room to find Steve asleep and Eddie passed out in the chair next to him, head resting on the bed by Steve’s hip and their fingers tangled together. 

hideout

also on AO3 based on this post i made even tho i said i wasn't gonna write the actual fic (i lied) There’s a new singer at the Hideout. Eddie falls hard, watching from where he’s sitting on the bar across the room, his beer almost slipping from his fingers. The singer’s voice is smooth and soft, and it makes the rest of the world go silent and Eddie’s head go cloudy.

The only problem is that Eddie recognises him from physics.

Eddie didn’t recognise him at first. He’d been taking a sip from his beer when he was announced, introduced as Anonymous, and then the boy appeared on stage, guitar in hand, tossing the chords out of the way so he didn’t trip on them. Eddie had lowered his bottle, his eyes narrowing, but he was too far away, and the lighting hadn’t adjusted on stage, and the boy’s face was lowered.

The boy stopped in front of the microphone. Slid his fingers down the neck of the guitar, making the strings squeak. Took a breath that Eddie could hear over the speakers placed around the bar, even though it’s noisy with chatter and laughter and the sound of glasses on wood tables.

And then he started playing. It was a soft, slow melody, much much different that what Eddie plays. Perfect for the beginning of the night. Eddie had tilted his head, listening intently, setting a foot on a stool by the bar, almost leaning over to listen harder. The room fell a little quieter, and then it fell even quieter when he started singing.

His voice was soft.

Smooth and low and almost soothing, and just as Eddie realised who he was listening to, the lights on stage flicked on.

And now Eddie is sitting on a bar, staring at fucking Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, who’s playing guitar and singing into a microphone in front of a room full of people who have no idea who he is.

Eddie sets his bottle down next to himself, setting and elbow on his knee and and tilting his head as he listens.

He doesn’t know what Steve is singing about.

Something about “flower-faced demons and father figures.” Something about the monsters under his bed, and a baseball bat. Something about kids with decades in their eyes and blood on their sneakers. Something about hiding away in his closet when the booze comes out, about his back hitting glass bottles taken with nimble fingers and desperate hopes.

Eddie almost wants to cry. He doesn’t know why.

If they could see me now would they still care about those cigarettes

Eddie leans back onto the counter, finding his beer and taking a little sip as he watches. Steve’s hair is perfect, of course. He isn’t wearing one of those cute polo shirts like he always wears at school. (Eddie chastises himself for thinking they’re cute. There’s nothing cute about them. Even if they make Steve look like a preppy school boy that should be giving out church pamphlets or something, and even if that makes Eddie want to see him on his knees. He pushes the thought away with a little shake of his head.) He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of pants that reach to just above his chucks.

My head hurts and the sun is too loud, but I’m scared of the dark and the storm clouds

Steve can’t see him from the stage. Even if he could, he spends almost the whole time with his eyes half-shut, looking at the edge of the stage or at his feet. Like he’s shy. Which feels out of character for King Steve, though Eddie supposes he’s never been quite as obnoxious as Tommy H. Or as obnoxious as Eddie himself.

When he finishes singing, there’s scattered applause around the room, and Eddie sets his bottle down to clap, smiling when there’s a little hoot from behind him and Steve smiles bashfully.

“Thanks,” he says quietly into microphone, and Eddie wants to cry again. He doesn’t know why.

Corroded Coffin performs later that night. Eddie sits on the bar all night, waiting to see if Steve comes by to get a drink, but no dice. He doesn’t even know what he’d say if he saw him, if they made eye contact and if, by some small mercy from God, Steve recognised him.

Eddie tosses the chord of his guitar aside, blinking in the intense light that shines on him and his band mates, looking around the bar as some people crowd up around the edge of the stage.

“Good evening, Hideout,” their singer says loudly into the microphone as he tunes his guitar. “How we doin’?”

Eddie grins as cheers fill the bar.

“Eddie, say hi.”

His grin widens, and he steps up to his microphone.

“Do I have to do this every time?” he asks through his smile, and a few laughs scatter around the room.

“Yes, you’re the heartthrob.”

Eddie shakes his head, strumming a chord as the drummer hits two beats in a row. The lights flash.

“Hi,” he says softly into the microphone. A girl screams in the back of the room, and he throws his head back with a laugh.

He spots Steve when they’re on their second song, as he almost yelling into his microphone, and he falters slightly, but manages to catch himself and continue. He can’t tell if their eyes have met or not. They’re too far away and the bar is too dark, the light flashing too much for Eddie to really see him clearly. But it’s definitely Steve. Sitting in the same place Eddie had sat earlier.

He looks away when the song ends, rubbing his cheek and turn away to take a breath. No one can really tell in the dark.

“Our next song is called Class.”

Eddie almost laughs out loud, turning back to face the mic, spotting Steve by the bar again, sipping a beer. The song starts abruptly after a soft two, three, four, and Eddie plays with a grin throughout it all. It’s one of his favourite songs of theirs, and the thought of rich boy Steve Harrington listening to them, and a bunch of people around the stage, belt about how much they hate rich people, amuses Eddie to no end.

You don’t know how good you got it, cash and checks in your silk-lined pockets

Steve is watching, an elbow set on the bar, his chin in his hand. Eddie is out of breath, sweating and panting, and his fingertips hurt like they might be bleeding, but Steve is watching him.

Pay your bail off for the same shit I do, but of course it’s not the same

Eddie takes a deep breath before he speaks into the microphone as the music cuts off, switching to sharp, monotonous beat. His voice is low and scratchy and soft, right up against the mic, his eyes lowered to the edge of the stage.

“Coke is classy on a silver tray instead of the dashboard of a broken down car. Day drinking if it’s a champagne glass instead of a paper bag, celebration instead of self pity. You pay thousands for art in gold frames, but hate the art on the streets. You claim to work for everything you earn, even though your rough start was in the family business. Must be nice to not worry about it all. Must be nice to have a table to put food on. You stare in the streets because I’m not a cookie-cutter man from a cookie-cutter house. Look at those jeans, bet he smells like a trailer park. He has long hair, he must be a fag. He has art on his skin, he must be the antichrist. Don’t look, kids, don’t look! He’s fucking trailer trash!”

His voice escalates through it all, and he shouts the last words before they begin to play again, music crashing down in the bar like a tidal wave, loud and nearly discordant.

Eddie is smiling.

Steve’s eyes meet his a while later, while Eddie is sitting on the edge of the stage talking to a boy with spikey hair and heavy makeup. Eddie’s voice gets caught in his throat as he looks over at him.

He’s pulling the strap of his guitar of his head, and he seems to falter too, but he looks away sharply and goes outside.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking back at the guy sharply. “Sorry, I’m here.”

He laughs lightly. His black lipstick is faded on his inner lips, probably left behind on rims of glasses.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says again, shaking his head with a smile. “Tired, y’know.”

He laughs again, giving him a sympathetic smile, but Eddie interrupts before he can say anything.

“Sorry, I’m—“ He hips down from the stage. “I need, uhm. Some air.”

He leaves before he can say anything else, only feeling partially guilty about leaving the boy hanging, but Steve is already gone by the time he gets outside.

Steve definitely recognized him. It kind of makes Eddie happy. Kind of makes him excited, even though he absolutely hates that it does; Steve Harrington is just a preppy rich boy that doesn’t give even half a shit about anyone like Eddie.

There was that one time he’d told Tommy H to cut it out, man when he tripped someone in the cafeteria that one time. Not that it really meant anything.

Eddie spends the whole weekend worrying.

—————————

Their eyes meet in the hallway on Monday. He’s by his locker talking with Nancy Wheeler, and he looks at Eddie as Eddie passes by.

Eddie looks away.

He doesn’t see him again until physics, second to last period. He’s sitting at his desk staring at the worksheet blankly, watching letters and numbers and symbols swim around the paper, when something drops onto the page in front of him, and he blinks. It’s a folded piece of paper, and he cuts his eyes up without moving to find Steve walking to the teacher’s desk. He says something to the teacher and then turns to the door, glancing back at Eddie.

Eddie looks back at the paper, tentatively unfolding it to find Steve’s pretty girly handwriting.

Bathroom. 5 min

His face flushes with heat, and he covers it with a hand, pulling his hair across his face and folding the note again before he tucks it into his pocket.

He waits a few minutes, glancing at the clock, and then goes to the teacher.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher looks up over his glasses at him. Eddie holds back a deep sigh at the judgement shining in his eyes.

“Did you finish the worksheet?”

“I… No?”

“You can go when you finish it.”

“But.” He pauses. “My bladder doesn’t care about your worksheet. I need to pee.”

“Edward—“

“I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately—“

“Alright, go,” he interrupts, frustratedly. “Whatever.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says curtly.

Steve is leaning against the wall in the bathroom when Eddie gets there. They look at each other silently as Eddie shuts the door behind himself, taking a deep breath and moving to stand across the room, leaning against the graffitied tile and twisting one of his rings.

He looks at Steve. Steve looks at him.

He’s wearing a white shirt. It’s tucked into his jeans with a little belt, and his hair looks perfect even though he’s running his hands through it.

“Hey,” Steve says finally.

Eddie almost flinches, expecting a jeer at his ripped pants and frizzy hair, but Steve isn’t looking at him the way the others do. He face almost looks soft.

“Hi,” Eddie says quietly. He pulls a ring off and twirls it between his fingers. Steve takes a breath to speak, but Eddie blurts, “I haven’t told anyone.”

Steve blinks, and then nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Cool, I— I haven’t… either.”

Eddie nods, taking a breath that shakes against his will. He looks at the floor awkwardly, but Steve keeps looking at me. Eddie doesn’t often feel self-conscious, or insecure, or anything like that. He doesn’t care if people stare at him. But right now…

He wants to hide.

Steve is hot, he decides. He hasn’t allowed himself to think it until now, but he glances up at him, looking at the way he leans against the wall leisurely, the way strands of his hair fall in his face. He’s hot. It’s irrelevant. It doesn’t matter.

So what if he’s looking at Eddie like he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s a freak? Or if he plays guitar and has one of the prettiest voices Eddie’s ever heard? Or if his eyes sparkle and he has cute moles scattered all over his skin?

Eddie wants to slap himself.

“You’re really good,” Steve says abruptly, and Eddie looks up at him, slipping his ring back on.

“Yeah?” Steve nods. “You into metal, Harrington? Wouldn’t have guessed.”

Steve scoffs lightly.

“Not particularly.” He shifts on wall. “But I still liked it. You’re talented.”

“Jesus.” Eddie looks at him blankly. “You’re laying it on thick. I already said I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

“I’m not—“ Steve’s cheeks redden. “I’m not trying to butter you up, I just… It was cool.”

“I’m messing with you.”

“Oh.” Steve nods, looking away, suppressing a smile. “Of course you are.”

“You were really good too,” Eddie says after hesitating. “Like… weirdly good.”

“Weirdly good?” Steve says with a light laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It was unexpected,” Eddie says with a shrug, moving his hands to play with the ends of his hair. “Didn’t recognise you at first. But you seemed… I don’t know, like, in your element.”

“I really like music,” Steve says softly.

“And your lyrics?” Eddie does a chef’s kiss. Steve laughs again, rubbing his cheek. “Genius.”

Steve rolls his eyes, his cheeks pink.

“I mean—“ Eddie ignores it. “‘Flower-faced demons?’ Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Uhm.” Steve’s smile falters and he looks away for a second. Something flashes in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite read. “I, uhm. I have recurring nightmares.”

“Oh.” Eddie stares back at him for a moment. “Well that fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a laugh. “It does.”

“Whats your favourite song?” Eddie asks, twisting his hair. Steve’s eyes follows the movement.

“Uhm.” He takes a breath. “I guess. Boys Don’t Cry. The Cure.”

Eddie nods slowly, twisting his hair around his finger.

“Yeah? Do I pass?”

A little laugh bursts out of Eddie.

“I’m not testing you, man, you can like whatever you like. The Cure’s nice.”

“What do you like?”

“Uhm.” Eddie sighs, pushing his hands into his pocket and flicking his head to get his hair out of his face. “Metallica. Mötley Crüe. Ozzy, for sure.”

“Ozzy?”

Eddie looks up at him. He’s looking at him curiously.

“Ozzy Osbourne?” Eddie says. Steve shrugs. “He’s the, uh, lead singer of Black Sabbath. Bit a bat’s head off on stage a few years ago. Real metal.”

“He fucking what?”

Eddie cackles, looking at the way Steve’s face changes, his brows furrowing, his eyes wide. Eddie nods, and Steve laughs, looking at Eddie the way people do when they make fun of him, but he’s still smiling.

“That’s what you’re into?” Steve says.

“Well—“ Eddie laughs again. “Yeah. And the music.”

“The music,” Steve repeats with a teasing nod. “Right.”

Eddie makes a face at him.

It feels like they’re flirting. Eddie supposes he’s flirting with him, the way he does to the popular girls so they think he’s loveable freaky instead of insane stalker murder rampage freaky. And so they tell their boyfriends to leave him alone.

He can’t tell if Steve can tell that he flirting. Or if Steve is flirting back.

“You should show me sometime,” Steve says softly.

And oh.

Eddie stares. Looks back and forth between Steve’s eyes like he’s trying to see if he’s fucking with him or not. But Steve looks earnest. And nervous.

“Okay,” Eddie says. His voice is also soft. He might be mirroring Steve. “You should, uhm. Come over.”

Steve looks at the floor. And he smiles.

“Yeah, okay.”

Eddie stares at him, twisting his mouth.

“You’re not messing with me, right?” he asks. Steve’s eyes cut up to him. “You’re not gonna like… I don’t know.”

Steve stares back at him for a moment. And he shakes his head.

“No,” he breathes. Eddie can just hear him across the room. “I’m not fucking with you. I think you’re cool, Eddie.”

Eddie guffaws, and Steve looks offended.

“What, I can’t think you’re cool?”

“No!” Eddie exclaims, laughing. “No one thinks I’m cool, that’s— that’s my whole thing!”

“Okay, well…” Steve laughs lightly, tucking his hands behind his back against the wall. “I’m different. You’re cool.”

“Oh, you’re special?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie looks at him.

He is.

“Fine,” he cedes, and Steve grins. He has a beautiful smile. Eddie has to look away. “You wanna come over tonight?” he asks before his brain catches up. His cheeks flush with heat. “I mean— Unless you have, like, homework, or your parents need you home, I…”

“My parents aren’t even in the country,” Steve says. “And I can do my homework when I get home or something.” Eddie stares. “Yes. I’d like to come over. You can show me your music. We can light up a joint or something.”

“Oh, I see,” Eddie says, nodding. “You’re in it for the weed.”

“…I mean it definitely helps.”

“Wow.”

Eddie frantically cleans up as soon as he gets home. He doesn’t think he’s ever cleaned like this before, organising his and Wayne’s shoes at the front door, gathering dirty dishes and stacking them in the sink, wiping counters and sorting the cushions of the sofa. He’s almost out of breath after a while, standing at the door and scanning the trailer for anything out of place. It’s still cluttered and probably nothing at all like Steve’s home, but there isn’t really anything else he can do.

So he goes to his room and finds some weed, taking it to the living room and anxiously rolling a joint as he waits for Steve. Part of him thinks he won’t show up. That he really was just fucking with Eddie. That tomorrow he’ll avoid his eyes and pretend they’ve never spoken.

He’s in the middle of rolling the third joint when he hears a car pull up in front of the house, and he freezes, staring at the door, wide-eyed. He stays like that until there’s a knock on the door, and he scrambles off the sofa, dropping the unfinished joint to the coffee table.

Steve’s eye are wide when Eddie opens the door.

“Was worried I had the wrong place,” he says, exhaling, and Eddie laughs lightly, pushing the door open for him to come in.

“Welcome to casa a la Munson,” Eddie says as he comes in, shutting the door. Steve looks around the trailer, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his face light and curious. His eyes trail across Wayne’s mug and hat collection, across the sofa and table and television, the kitchen and table. “It’s not a lot, but…”

“I like it,” Steve says simply. “It’s…”

“It’s?” Eddie questions, leaning against the small table by the doorway. Wayne hates when he does. Tables are for glasses, not asses and all that.

“I don’t know,” Steve says softly, almost bashful. He’s still looking around. “It looks like people actually live here. My house looks… like a photo set for a catalogue.”

Eddie laughs, crossing his arms, watching Steve wander around, looking at everything.

“Is it all pristine and white?”

“Unless I throw a kegger, yeah.”

Eddie laughs again. He hates himself for it, how much Steve gets him to laugh.

He watches Steve look closely at every one of Wayne’s trucker hats, watches him laugh at the stupid ones, and Eddie furrows his brows in judgement.

“These are your uncle’s?” Steve says, pointing up to them, and Eddie nods. “Your uncle’s funny.”

“I think your brain is broken.”

Steve hesitates, then shrugs.

“Only a little.”

Eddie laughs again. (Fuck.) He shakes his head.

“Music?“

“Yeah, lead the way.”

“Apologies for the state of my room,” Eddie says as Steve follows him down the hall after he grabs the joints from the table, even though he knows he cleaned it up in a rush before Steve arrived.

“I don’t judge.”

Eddie almost scoffs.

“Oh, woah,” Steve exclaims when he enter his room, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie. He turns to ask if he’s judging him, but Steve is looking around the room, his eyes shining brightly. He’s staring open-mouthed, gazing around the room like he’s entered a portal to another world. Maybe he has.

“Woah? Good woah?”

“I— Yeah.” Steve looks around again. He’s smiling. “Yeah, it’s cool. My mom would shit a brick if I tried something like this.”

Eddie looks around his own room. At the posters and tapestries and the white sheet he spray painted CORRODED COFFIN onto that’s pinned in the corner. It looks like a disaster, but Steve is looking around like he’s in the Louvre.

“What does your room look like?” Eddie asks, shutting the door and kicking his shoes off to sit on his bed.

“Uh. Well.” Steve sits on the edge of his bed, still gazing at the walls. He looks awfully, perfectly out of place. “My walls are plaid.”

“Your walls are fucking what??”

Steve laughs loudly. He has a great laugh.

“Plaid,” he repeats, still laughing. He kicks his shoes off too, turning to face Eddie and crossing his legs. “My mom picked the wallpaper when I was, like, thirteen.”

“Jesus.” Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve never felt pity for a rich person, but—“

Steve laughs again.

“You should be rebellious, Harrington. Get an ABBA poster or something.”

Steve shrugs.

“I might. You gonna show me some music, or what?”

“Uh-huh. But first, what you really came here for.”

Eddie tosses a joint to Steve, who catches it against his chest with a grin. Eddie has to lean over to rummage through the drawer of his bedside table, pushing past the half-empty bottle of lube and hoping his cheeks don’t flush, until he finds a lighter. He turns back to look at Steve, popping another joint between his lips, to find him leaning over his lap, an elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm, his joint already dangling form his lips.

Eddie has to take a breath, looking, before he flips the lighter in his hand and leans in. Steve mirrors him, leaning in until the joints are almost touching, and he flicks the lighter a few times before it lights. They both pause for a moment before Eddie leans away, his cheeks flushed red as he inhales the smoke deeply.

Steve sits on the bed and continues to look around while Eddie looks through his records.

He picks a Metallica record, carefully lowering the volume before the music starts.

“Are you gonna hate me if I don’t like it?” Steve asks as Eddie crawls back onto the bed. He looks hot when he smokes. Which Eddie should have seen coming, really, but the way he sucks air between his teeth before he exhales the smoke slowly is doing things to Eddie.

“Nah,” Eddie says easily. “‘S not for everyone.”

“But it’s for you.” Eddie nods, taking a drag off his joint, watching Steve’s chest rise under his t-shirt. “Why?”

Eddie pauses, exhaling, listening to the heavy music for a moment.

“I dunno,” he says lightly. He’s never thought about it before. The music’s always just made sense to him. Always fitted. “Makes my brain go quiet, I guess.”

“Could you sleep with it on?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Steve snickers, taking another drag.

“Can you play this one on guitar?” he asks after a moment. Eddie nods.

“We’ve covered this at the Hideaway before,” he says. He sticks the joint in his mouth, lifting his hands and playing an air guitar, humming along as Steve watches his hands.

“I like how you dance,” Steve says softly, and Eddie grins around the joint.

“Headbanging?” Eddie says, and Steve nods with a grin. Eddie does it harder, listening to the way Steve laughs lightly.

“You have great hair for headbanging,” Eddie comments.

“You think?”

“Mmhmm.”

He gets to see Steve headbang. Steve Harrington. With his lovely hair flying around his head without a care, laughing as Eddie cheers loudly, a joint between his fingers and Eddie’s favourite blanket under him.

“Steve Harrington, I’ll make a metalhead of you yet.”

Steve just laughs again.

—————————

He decides to be brave on Wednesday. He slips a note into Steve’s locker as he’s passing it in the hall. Just a short note, reading having lunch in my van if you want to join signed with a small E.

Even though he knows that it’s unlikely anyone saw him, and even though it’s fine if Steve doesn’t join him, and it’s fine if he does, Eddie feels sick and spends the next ten minutes standing with his face to the wall in a bathroom stall with his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths.

And then a few hours later he’s sitting in the back of his van, the doors open so he can sit in the sun, and then Steve Harrington is joining him, silently climbing up so sit next to him and pulling a sandwich out of his bag.

“You’ve got shit handwriting,” he says after a minute, and Eddie almost chokes on his water, snorting and covering his face as Steve laughs.

“Sorry my handwriting isn’t pretty like yours,” he says defensively, coughing lightly.

“Oh, my handwriting is pretty?”

“A lot about you’s pretty,” Eddie says before he can actually think, and Steve looks at him. His face flushes and he avoids Steve’s eyes.

“I think you’re pretty too,” Steve says after a moment.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Steve laughs again.

“Do you wanna come over this week?” Steve asks as Eddie is kicking his feet. “Like on Friday?”

Eddie looks at him.

“Your parents won’t mind?”

“My parents probably won’t ever find out.”

Eddie blinks.

“Oh, you said they’re travelling, right?”

“Yeah.” He takes a bite from his sandwich.

“Where are they?” Eddie asks, shifting to lean again the wall, facing Steve.

“Somewhere in Canada.” Steve brings a leg up in front of himself, swinging his other leg. “Dad has a conference or something, and after the last time he went to Canada, Mom didn’t trust him to go alone.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and Steve snickers, nodding.

“Although,” he continues, “I’m pretty sure she’s hooking up with his boss. But also I don’t really care.”

“Jesus. How long are they gonna be gone?”

“Two more weeks.”

“You miss them?”

Steve scoffs, giving Eddie a look like the question is absurd.

“No,” he says when Eddie just looks at him. “I don’t miss them.”

“Do they suck?”

Steve laughs softly, moving to sit across from Eddie.

“Yeah, kinda.” He hesitates, looking at the ground between them. “I don’t think they like me very much,” he says thoughtfully. “But I don’t really like them either, so. Oh well.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

Steve hesitates again, nibbling his sandwich. He really is cute.

“I don’t think they actually meant to have me,” he says after a moment. “They’d stick me with random nannies and babysitters until they could leave me home alone, and then… Well, they saved money, I guess.” He shrugs. “They don’t really talk to me anymore. And when they do, it’s…” He trails off, and it looks like he’s zoning out, breathing shallowly. “My dad yells a lot,” he says softly.

“Sounds like a dick.”

Steve just nods.

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I’m actually… I don’t know, like. Scared I’m gonna end up like him.” He takes a breath, blinking, and he looks up at Eddie.

“You’re not,” Eddie tells him. Steve just looks.

“It’s how everyone knows me,” he says. “Even though I hate it. Steve fucking Harrington.”

Eddie’s chest clenches.

“And I’m…” Steve looks away again. “I don’t know. If I’m not Steve Harrington, who the fuck am I?”

It’s not really a question. Eddie answers anyway.

“Your own Steve Harrington,” he says. “Not your dad’s. Or fucking Tommy H’s, or anyone else’s. Just… You’re Steve.”

Steve is almost smiling.

Eddie was to hug him. His eyes are shining almost vulnerably, and he looks tiny, sitting up and against the wall of Eddie’s shitty van.

“What about your parents?” Steve asks through another bite of his sandwich, changing the topic. Eddie lets him.

“Well.” Eddie takes a breath. “Mom was too coked up to be a mom. And Dad wanted me to his little mini-me. And when I refused he treated me like a punching bag instead of a child.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you end up Wayne?”

Eddie looks up at him. Something shifts in his chest. He ignores it.

“When Mom OD’d in the living room, Dad wanted it to be my fault, so I left,” he says, moving down the wall, relaxing. He twists a ring. “I went to my aunt’s house because she was close, my— my mom’s sister— but she, uh, like… genuinely thought I was the antichrist, so—“

“She what?”

Eddie laughs, nodding.

“Genuinely, entirely,” he says, watching Steve’s brows furrow. “She’s one of those people that’s, like, preparing for the rapture or something.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

Steve laughs. He leans his head back against the wall, and Eddie’s eyes get caught on the line of his neck, on his Adam’s apple. Eddie wants to press his hand to it. He ignores the thought.

“She told me wanted to save me and stuff but that I was ‘hopeless.’ So I called Wayne and he picked me up and we moved like a week later so Dad couldn’t find me.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve says softly, and Eddie looks up at him. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks away after a moment, twisting the sleeve of his jacket. “Safe.”

“Me too,” Eddie breathes.

They’re quiet for a moment.

“So was that a yes on Friday?” Steve asks. “I don’t think you actually answered.”

“Oh,” Eddie realises. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Okay, cool.”

“What’ll we do?”

“Uh,” Steve sighs. “I dunno. Watch a movie or something.”

“You’re inviting me over for no reason?” Eddie says incredulously. Steve laughs.

“Why do I need an excuse to hang out with you?” he asks, still laughing, and it makes butterflies erupt in Eddie’s stomach.

“No weed or anything?”

Steve tosses a hand, making a face.

“I don’t need to be high to enjoy your company.”

The butterflies swarm. Eddie almost feels sick.

“Steve Harrington.”

“Mhmm?”

“You slick fucker.”

Steve laughs. It’s almost a giggle. Eddie dies.

Steve ends up laying down as they continue talking, looking at the ceiling of the van. It’s badly spray painted with song lyrics that are barely legible, but Steve looks up at it like he’s stargazing.

He looks like he might fall asleep. Eddie kind of hopes he does. But he sits up after a little while, holding a die in his hands, looking at it like he’s almost marvelling.

“Oh, I was wondering where that was,” Eddie says when he sees the deep purple colour. He lost it ages ago.

“Was under the blanket.” Steve is almost marvelling at it, rolling it in his hands. “This is a D20 right?”

Eddie blinks. Looks at the die and then at Steve again.

“You know your dice?”

Steve glances at him. His cheeks flush pink and he sighs.

“Yeah, the kids I babysit have me well-trained.”

Eddie blinks again.

“The… The kids you babysit?”

“I mean, I guess it’s not really babysitting as much as it is me driving them places and watching while they play D&D, but…” He looks up and laughs at Eddie’s expression. “It’s not officially babysitting, I just— I just get along with them, for the most part. Their parents trust me.”

Eddie stares.

“How old are these kids?”

“Middle school,” Steve says. “Like thirteen or fourteen or something.”

“You… hang out with a bunch of middle schoolers,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “While they play D&D. You know what D&D is.”

Steve laughs again, nodding. He tosses the die and Steve catches it against his chest.

“Why do you hang out with them?” Eddie asks, tossing and catching the die. “If their parents aren’t paying you?”

“Someone needs to make sure they don’t get themselves killed,” Steve says, and he suddenly seems too serious, too worried and forlorn. Eddie watches as he looks at the ground before he looks up again. “They’re good kids,” he says, his voice softer. “Fucking smart. Smarter than I’ll ever be. They don’t deserve half the shit they get.”

“Shit like what?”

Steve sighs.

“Kids are assholes. Bullies, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“And…”

“And?”

Steve takes a breath, his mouth twisting as he thinks. He’s fiddling with the lace of his shoe.

“You know that kid that went missing?” Steve says, looking up at him. “Everyone thought he died?”

Eddie remembers it. Remembers how Wayne worried and worried like it was his own kid. Remembers seeing the kid’s face on a pinboard at the school, remembers hearing what people would say about the kid’s brother.

Bet the freak killed him.

“Yeah, I— I know of him.”

Steve nods, looking back at the lace that he’s twisting around his finger.

“Yeah, that fucked him up,” he says. “The kids at his school called him Zombie Boy, it’s… Jesus.”

“He’s one of your kids?”

Steve smiles at his shoe.

“Yeah.”

“He plays D&D?”

“Mhmm.” Steve nods and looks up at him again, still smiling. “Will the Wise,” he says fondly. There’s a shine in his eye. “He has a wizard robe and hat and everything. I think you’d love him.”

Eddie stares at him, open-mouthed.

“…Who are you?”

Steve laughs loudly. He has a great laugh. Real.

He moves forward, holding his hand out.

Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s, and Steve’s fingers tighten around it. He shakes.

“I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. His hand is warm against Eddie’s, and Eddie wants to pull him in and kiss him. “It is… really nice to meet you.”

Steve’s smile could outshine the sun.

—————————

Steve was right about his house looking like a catalogue. It almost makes Eddie sad, the lack of personality and anything that could make it look like a home. There aren’t any photographs anywhere except one in the living room of Steve’s parents at their wedding. No magnets on the fridge, no unique dishes, no worn and walked over runs. It would look abandoned if it weren’t for the few used dishes in the sink and the flowers on the kitchen table.

Steve’s room is heartbreaking.

The bedroom of a thirteen year old boy with physics and world history textbooks on the desk. It’s clean, and Eddie wonders if Steve cleaned it before going to school today.

The walls are absolutely horrendous. Eddie tries not to laugh, Steve gives him a look that makes his snort and choke.

“You have any tape?” he asks Steve after looking around. (There isn’t much to look at; nothing on the walls except a framed picture of some car. Books stacked on and papers spread across his desk. A pair of slippers by the door. A photo of him and Nancy Wheeler on the wall above the desk that Eddie wants to stare and stare and stare at, but he looks away.)

“Uh, yeah.”

Steve rummages in a drawer before he finds a roll of masking tape, and he tosses it to Eddie before he sits on his bed and watches Eddie cross the room to a wall, reach into his backpack, and pull out a poster that he took off his own wall last night. It’s a worn AC/DC poster, the corners of it curling in as he holds it to the awful plaid wall and rips tape with his teeth. Steve is laughing, and Eddie smiles until the poster is stuck to the wall. It’s not straight, but Eddie doesn’t really care. Steve doesn’t either.

“Highway to Hell?” Steve questions when Eddie joins him on the bed, spinning the tape around his finger.

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah, my parents are gonna love that.”

He’s grinning.

Steve orders pizza for them.

They watch three movies before he goes to the kitchen and comes back with two beers.

And then he sits next to Eddie again, but this time he’s a cushion closer. Eddie almost can’t breathe with him so close, and his hands shake as he cracks the can open. He has his legs pulled up onto the sofa, comfortably curled up in the bland living room of the Harrington mansion.

Eddie drifts off after a while.

He falls asleep.

He wakes up after a while to find the room dark, tv screen full of static and Steve asleep next to him. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head fallen forward. Eddie allows himself to gaze for a moment.

He’s beautiful. He probably has no idea how gorgeous he really is, Eddie thinks.

He looks around after a moment, at the television and the empty cans between them. He moves them carefully, setting them on the ground and sighing.

He’s adjusting the cushion behind him when he hears Steve exhale sharply, and Eddie looks at him. He hasn’t moved, but his eyebrows are furrowed slightly.

Eddie pauses, looking at him, and after a moment, Steve exhales sharply again, gasping, and then it looks like he’s hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyebrows furrowing and relaxing and furrowing like he’s going to cry.

I have recurring nightmares.

“Steve?” Eddie whispers. He wants to reach out and touch him. But he doesn’t know what to do. Steve doesn’t respond, still asleep.

His eyes squeeze. He exhales again.

And a moment later he lets out a whimper so small Eddie almost doesn’t hear it.

“Steve?” he says again, louder. “Hey. Stevie.”

Steve awakes with a start after a minute, and it startles Eddie. Steve’s whole body moves sharply, his eyes flying open, a kind of fear in them that Eddie’s never seen before.

“Steve,” he says gently, but Steve is already getting up, using a trembling hand to shut off the television. The room falls slightly darker, and Steve turns in the center of the living room, looking around like he’s gaging the safest part. “Steve?”

Steve startles again, his eyes finding Eddie on the sofa.

“Eddie?” he asks breathlessly, confused.

“We fell asleep,” Eddie explains softly. “I think you had a nightmare.”

“A nightm—“ Steve cuts off with an exhale, and he averts his eyes, looking to the floor and then around the room again. “Fuck.”

“You’re okay,” Eddie says softly. Steve swallows, looking at the ceiling. His eyes are shining. Eddie’s chest aches.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Steve says breathlessly. “I—“ He takes another breath, and Eddie worries that he might start hyperventilating.

“Steve, it’s fine,” he says gently, shifting on the sofa so he’s sitting in the edge of it. “I know, it’s okay.”

Steve covers his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by his hands.

“Don’t apologise,” Eddie says, watching Steve take stuttering breaths. “I— I know you have nightmares, I’m not… I’m not judging you or anything, Steve, it’s okay.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie can tell that he’s crying, and his whole body hurts as he watches, unsure and lost on what to do.

He gets up slowly like he doesn’t want to scare him, and he carefully, tentatively approaches him.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers. Steve nods, wiping his eyes but still hiding his face, and Eddie sets a hand on his back, gently sliding it up to the back of his neck. Steve exhales shakily. “Come here, Stevie.”

Steve falls against him as he wraps his arms around him, and they sway as he cries.

“You’re okay, Stevie,” Eddie whispers. “I got you.”

Steve apologises again. Eddie tells him not to.

He pulls Steve to the sofa, pushing a hand up into Steve’s hair and combing through it.

“Take a deep breath,” he says softly, reaching to take Steve’s hand and squeezing it. Steve is shaking, but he tries to take a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “You got it.”

Steve falls against him as his breathing levels back out, and Eddie hugs him tightly, pressing his face against the top of his head. Steve shifts, and their legs twine together until they’re tangled together on the sofa, wrapped around each other.

Eddie wonders if Steve is going to fall asleep again. But he can tell that he’s not.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie whispers softly. “Your nightmare?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, his face pressed into Eddie’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” he says quietly.

Eddie combs through his hair again.

“Okay.”

They both sigh, and relax against each other, and Eddie wonders if he’s in some kind of parallel universe.

A parallel universe where he gets to cuddle with Steve Harrington.

Steve smells nice. Like fancy, expensive shampoo and something masculine that belongs just to Steve.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie’s arms tighten.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

He wakes up in the morning with Steve laying on his chest, Eddie’s hand in his hair. Steve is still asleep, breathing steadily, curled up next to Eddie on the sofa. Eddie looks down at him, and he wants to kiss him.

He lets his head fall back against the sofa, smiling at the ceiling.

Steve sleeps. Eddie wonders how often he sleeps this soundly, this peacefully. He can feels Steve’s chest and see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. (He ignores the part of his brain that wants to swallow his breath.)

“That feels nice,” Steve grumbles after a long while as Eddie is slowly, gently playing with his hair. Eddie almost startles, looking down at him, but he can’t see his face.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

Eddie continues. He runs us fingertips across his scalp, dragging through his hair, scratching and pulling through little snags. Steve sighs. He falls asleep again. Eddie can tell when he does, by the way his breathing becomes heavier, the way he presses his face into Eddie’s chest. Eddie doesn’t stop playing with his hair even though Steve is asleep.

Something changes after that. Everything easy between them. Steve reaches across the table to push Eddie’s hair out of his face as they eat the eggs he made for breakfast. Eddie fixes the tag of Steve’s shirt as he’s passing him in the hallway on Monday. They eat lunch in Eddie’s van, listening to metal and chatting with their legs tangled between them. Steve puts his leg over Eddie’s the next time they’re at Eddie’s trailer watching a movie, and he smiles softly when Eddie sets his hand on his leg. A while later Eddie is laying on Steve’s floor, slowly working through his homework (his brain keeps going back to next week’s D&D campaign) while Steve is working at his desk. After a few minutes Steve gets up and sits on the floor next to him, but before he can ask what’s up, Steve is laying down, resting his head on Eddie’s lower back and sighing. (Eddie somehow finishes all his homework with the steady weight of Steve’s head on his back, careful not to move as Steve hums along to the music that’s playing from his radio.)

Steve goes to the next gig at the Hideout, and he allows Eddie to trace dark eyeliner around his eyes and smudge it with his fingertip. He just giggles when Eddie stares at him afterward.

“Christ.”

“No, it’s just Steve.”

“Fuck off.”

Eddie throws his battle vest into Steve’s face so he can finally look away. Steve puts it on over his black t-shirt, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

He looks good.

He looks… really fucking good.

His hair is tousled from the vest hitting his face, and his eyes are shining and framed by messy smudged eyeliner, and he’s grinning lazily like he knows all about the crisis Eddie is currently having.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

When Eddie has to say hi on stage again, this time it’s Steve that gives a little scream, and it elicits a laugh from the bar, but it makes the butterflies in his stomach swarm again.

Steve sits close enough that Eddie can see him while he’s on stage, sipping a beer and smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling.

Eddie gets pulled aside after Corroded Coffin is done by a girl, but another band is already playing, and he can barely hear her. He plays along for a moment before she leaves with a bright smile, and then he slides his guitar to hang on his back as he goes to find Steve.

Who is still at the same table, holding a glass bottle in his hand, but now there’s a man talking to him.

And man that Eddie doesn’t recognise, but immediately doesn’t like.

He’s smiling too fondly at Steve, not that Eddie can really blame him, talking and smiling like he’s fucking flirting. Eddie freezes, watching, a fire growing in his chest even thought it’s stupid. Steve isn’t his. It’s not like he belongs to him.

And it’s not even like the man is being a creep. He’s not touching Steve, or leaning into his space, or biting his lip or touching the bottle Steve’s holding the way Eddie’s seen some perverts do. He’s just talking. Smiling at Steve and nodding and laughing and being friendly.

But Eddie still finds himself striding across the bar and stepping up next to Steve, looking at the man with a too-bright smile and too-bright, “Hi!”

The man’s face lights up with recognition. He tells Eddie he was amazing, man, and Eddie manages to get out a thank you before Steve’s arms are flying around his neck. Eddie startles and hugs him back with a laugh.

“You okay, Stevie?”

“You did so good.”

“…Are you drunk?”

“Only a little.”

The man leaves them alone after exchanging a look with Eddie. They’re both laughing.

Steve pulls away but leaves his arms over Eddie’ shoulders. His eyeliner is even more smudged than it was when Eddie did it for him, and his cheeks are flushed, and the bright lights of the bar are flashing and shining in his eyes.

Eddie wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

The feeling doesn’t go away.

Eddie wonders if it’ll ever go away.

He doubts it.

Because every time their eyes meet in the hall at school, and every time Eddie traces a finger across the back of Steve’s neck in physics and Steve looks up at him with a sly smile, and every time Steve nods his head along with Eddie’s music while they sit in his van, and the first time Steve slides his hand into Eddie’s, Eddie wants and wants and wants and wants.

Steve is a dream.

A daydream.

Eddie barely believes he actually exists.

He listens to Eddie rant about Lord of the Rings and D&D and all the bands he loves, and he listens to Eddie’s music, and even seems to like it a little bit. He lays on Eddie’s bed with his head hanging off the edge upside down and looking around with a smile even as he and Eddie talk. He keeps all the stupid notes Eddie leaves in his locker, and when Eddie finds out, he almost cries. He asks clarifying questions about Lord of the Rings, and he doesn’t get it all but it still lights Eddie on fire. He talks about his kids like they’re the stars even though he refers to them as the little shits. (Except some girl named Elle, who Eddie’s never heard of but apparently is a sweetheart.)

He doesn’t laugh when Eddie pulls out a sewing kit and stitches an old t-shirt that ripped. He just looks at him and smiles and keeps talking.

—————————

It’s a Saturday.

Eddie’s got his van parked in a clearing in the woods, and it’s so bright and sunny that he wonders if he should have brought sun lotion.

The back doors are open and Steve is sitting across from him, Eddie’s acoustic guitar in his lap. He’s plucking at the strings, playing some melody that Eddie doesn’t recognise. He wonders if Steve wrote it himself. He doesn’t ask.

He’s sewing a patch onto an old jacket. He messed it up and is pulling at the thread, careful not to snap it, the sewing needle held between his teeth, his brows furrowed.

The guitar falls quiet as he’s working, and he looks up to find Steve watching him, holding the guitar in his lap, frozen like someone’s taking a picture of him. Eddie gives him a grin, the needle sticking out of his mouth, and Steve’s lips curl into a little smile before he sets the guitar aside carefully. He moves to reach between the front seats and switches on the tape that Eddie had playing on the way over, turning it down so it’s playing softly in the background.

And then he’s crawling across the van and laying next to Eddie’s legs, tossing an arm across his lap, carefully ensuring he doesn’t hit the jacket and mess Eddie up, and he’s pressing his face into Eddie’s leg.

“You gonna take a nap?”

Steve nods, sighing.

Eddie smiles and continues pulling at the thread.

“You know you’re my best friend?” Steve mumbles after a while. It makes Eddie freeze. It makes him look down at the side of Steve’s face, and it looks like he’s sleeping, but Eddie knows what he sounds like when he’s sleeping. It makes the butterflies swarm and his heart pound and it makes him want to cry.

“You’re my best friend too.”

He really is.

He comes to Eddie’s gigs and cheers for him and calls him Eds. He wears Eddie’s battle vest every time. He has posters from Eddie’s room on his walls even though his parents did “shit a brick” when they come home and see them. (He tells Eddie this with a grin, and Eddie says he might be a bad influence for Steve. Steve’s smile widens and he just tells him it’s fun. Eddie wants to die.) He explains basketball to Eddie, which really, in any other context, Eddie wouldn’t give even half shit about, but Eddie fucking listens like his life depends on it. He remembers Eddie’s favourite gum flavour and that he hates bread crust and that he hates with the seams of his sleeves rest on the sides of his wrists.

Steve sleeps peacefully with his head on Eddie’s lap. Even with one of Eddie’s metal mixes on.

—————————

They’re high.

Steve looks so pretty when he’s high. (He always looks pretty.) His eyes are glazed over and half shut, and his cheeks are flushed red, and he looks like he might keel over and fall asleep at any second. Eddie knows he must not look much different. His hair is probably frizzier. Steve’s is still perfect.

“What are you looking at?”

Eddie blinks. He’s staring at Steve, and Steve is staring back, smiling, like he knows. Eddie shrugs lightly, watching Steve take another rip from the bong in his hands. Watching him blow smoke into the air between them, wishing he’d blow it straight into Eddie’s lungs.

“Think you’re pretty.”

Steve smiles as he finishes his heavy exhale.

He stares back at Eddie again.

Eddie doesn’t know how long it lasts, this quiet, gentle tension, until it snaps when Steve says, “I wanna fucking kiss you.”

Eddie blinks.

He wonders how high he is.

“…You do?”

“Jesus. Yeah.” Steve sighs heavily. “Yeah, I do.”

“Please.” Eddie’s voice is too soft. Too vulnerable. Too. “Please do, I— Please, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, and his eyes look even glassier than they did a minute ago. He leans over, setting the bong down and tossing the lighter to the ground, before he moves and crashes his mouth against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s eyes shut and his hands fly up to hold Steve’s face between them, and after a moment the kiss softens, and he might be ascending.

Eddie’s kissed people before. He’s fucked people before. He likes making out with people, and he likes sex. Really likes sex. But this.

This is better than anything. He’d trade every single sexual experience he’s ever had for this moment.

Steve’s head is tilted, and he sighs as he catches Eddie’s lower lip between his and sucks gently. Eddie furrows his brows, pushing a hand into Steve’s hair and lowers the other to his waist, pulling at him until he moves without pulling his lips away, lowering himself to Eddie’s lap.

Eddie groans. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck and lets his lips part for Eddie’s tongue, and Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps when they part. His lips are shining. “Wanted to do that for so long.”

“How long?” Eddie asks breathlessly, combing through his hair, stroking his waist. He’s heavy on his lap, firm and solid and real even though Eddie still feels like he’s floating.

“Since you got up on that stage and fucking said hi like that.”

He kisses Eddie before Eddie can say anything, and Eddie kisses him back, hard, tugging his hair and listening to him whine.

“Seriously?”

“So fucking hot, Eddie, shit.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“Eddie, please.”

He kisses him again.

They’re both uncoordinated and smiling, and Steve is running his fingertips across the back of Eddie’s neck under his hair, and Eddie is shivering like he’s freezing.

“I like you so much,” Eddie says softly when they part, letting his head fall to Steve’s, his forehead pressing against Steve’s cheek. “You’re everything, Stevie.”

Steve sighs. He pushes his head into Eddie’s hand.

After a moment he pulls away and their eyes meet. They stare.

They gaze.

Steve takes Eddie’s hands in his and looks down at them. Gazes at them. Strokes them with his fingers and traces the lines of his palms and veins below his knuckles.

“I really like your hands.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods. He drops one of his hands and Eddie slides it over his hip, watching Steve analyse his hand like he’s studying it, like he’s trying to memorise it.

“Can I?” he breathes. Eddie doesn’t know what he’s asking. He doesn’t care.

“You can do anything, sweetheart.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut.

He seems to hesitate, sliding his tongue over his lips and taking a breath like he’s nervous before he lifts Eddie’s hand up to his mouth.

He drags his tongue up Eddie’s palm to the tips of his fingers, and Eddie’s breath cuts off.

Steve hums like he’s drinking a milkshake, and Eddie smiles at him even though he isn’t looking. Steve turns Eddie’s hand and licks it again, over the side of his hand, over his knuckles, over his fingers. He sucks the tips of Eddie’s fingers into his mouth, furrowing his brows like he might cry.

“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. He presses his fingers into the heat of his mouth, hearing a soft whimper escape Steve’s throat. He leans in and kisses the side of Steve’s neck, sighing as Steve flicks his tongue over his fingers. Steve hums softly, tilting his head to the side.

When he pulls away there’s a bruise blooming on Steve’s skin. It’s beautiful. Eddie didn’t know he was capable of creating anything beautiful.

Steve holds Eddie’s hand between both of his, and he pulls it away. His spit is dripping between Eddie’s fingers. Eddie shivers.

“Fuck.”

Steve moans softly, licking his fingers again before he looks into Eddie’s eyes.

He looks almost shy. Embarrassed. Which doesn’t fly with Eddie, so he leans in and kisses him like his life depends on it, biting Steve’s lip and pressing his tongue into his mouth. He drags his wet fingers over Steve’s cheek, down his neck, and Steve whines.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods desperately, pulling him back in.

They’re barely even kissing. Steve’s mouth is warm and wet and he tastes so good Eddie can’t stop. He’s holding Steve’s neck lightly, his other hand gripping Steve’s hip, and he pulls when Steve rolls his hips against Eddie’s subtly.

“‘S okay,” he says when Steve pulls away, wide-eyed. “It’s alright, Stevie, you can…”

Steve exhales sharply. He slowly rolls his hips, and Eddie bites his lip, trying not to groan.

“Don’t do that,” Steve says softly, breathlessly. He touches Eddie’s mouth, pulling his lip free from his teeth and leaning down to suck on it. “Wanna hear you.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie closes his eyes.

Steve whines as they move together, kissing and clutching at each other desperately. He grabs at Eddie’s hand that’s on his hip and lifts it to his face, turning his face into it and moaning, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Eddie,” he chokes. “Eddie, baby, please.”

“What?” Eddie asks. His voice is rough. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Shit. Fuck, Eddie, touch me.”

Eddie thinks he might be dead. Steve looks like he’s glowing. Fucking ethereal. A blessing sitting on Eddie’s lap. Maybe it’s because Eddie’s high. Maybe it’s because he’s in love.

Oh.

Eddie exhales shakily, his thumb brushing over Steve’s cheek.

“Hey,” he says softly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining desperately. “You change your mind, or it’s too much, or anything like that— you— you wanna stop, and you tell me, okay?”

Steve smiles at him. Kisses him.

“Okay.”

“Open your jeans for me, baby.”

Steve grins and releases Eddie’s hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Eddie watches. Steve leans in and kisses him deeply as he shifts on his lap, lifting up onto his knees to tug his jeans and boxers down his hips.

When he pulls away, Eddie lifts a hand to his own mouth, spitting into his palm, and then he holds it in front of Steve.

“Spit.”

Steve looks down at his hand. Stares at his palm. Leans down and licks Eddie’s spit off before he closes his mouth and closes his eyes like he’s savouring it. Eddie’s eyes widen. Steve spits into his palm again, smiling at Eddie’s expression.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Steve giggles.

“Fucking filthy,” Eddie says fondly, reaching down to touch him, and Steve’s head falls back as he lets out a disgustingly beautiful moan.

Steve is holding the hem of his shirt out of the way. When Eddie looks down he can see the softness of his belly, and he wants to press kisses to it, go suck bruises into it. (He will eventually, he decides, if Steve is cool with it. He has a feeling he will be.) He wants to do that everywhere, leave bruises and bites and love across Steve’s whole body. Eddie wants to make him feel beautiful. He wants to worship him.

Steve finds Eddie’s free hand and holds it tightly as he squeezes his eyes shut. Eddie likes how he sounds. Every breath comes with a soft noise from the back of his throat, weak and desperate and so pretty that Eddie’s eyes burn.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Stevie,” he breathes. Steve’s hand tightens on his.

He watches Steve’s face. Watches him bite his lip and furrow his brows and squeeze his eyes shut. He listens to his breaths, to the slick sounds of Eddie’s hand moving.

“Eddie—“

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He’s breathless. Steve isn’t even touching him. “It’s okay, Stevie, I got you.”

Steve looks down at him. There are tears in his eyes, and Eddie knows that he’s remembering that first night he had a nightmare while Eddie was there. (He’s had plenty of nightmares since. Eddie’s been there for lots of them. He’s heard Steve whimper names and words that make no sense, heard him cry and scream, and he’s held him after every single one. Wiped his tears. Kissed the top of his head because he couldn’t kiss his lips yet.)

Steve kisses him. His lips don’t land square on Eddie’s, and it’s messy and wet and they both have tears falling down their cheeks, but Eddie doesn’t care. It’s beautiful.

“Fuck,” Steve says sharply, pulling away enough that his forehead rests on Eddie’s. He’s breathing hard. Eddie is too. “Eddie, I’m—“

“‘S okay,” Eddie whispers. “Come for me, baby.”

Steve drops his shirt to wrap his arms around Eddie’s neck tightly. He’s trembling as he comes, letting out a long groan into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his other hand into Steve’s hair and holding him as tears slide down his face.

“Did so good for me, Stevie,” he breathes as Steve comes down. “My sweet boy.”

Steve whines, tightening his arms. Eddie hugs him back, pressing a hand to the small of his back as he combs through his hair.

“Eddie,” Steve says after a few minutes.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Need you to take your shirt off.”

Eddie giggles.

—————————

They fall asleep naked, under Eddie’s blankets and quilts, facing each other. Steve falls asleep first.

The barely present light that sneaks under his door from the hallways lights his room up the slightest bit. When his eyes adjust to the dark, it’s enough to see Steve’s face. Eddie traces his features, trailing the very tip of his finger over his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, over his lips and chin and jaw. He tucks his hair back when a strand falls in his face.

“I love you,” he breathes, soft so it doesn’t wake Steve up. He never wants to wake Steve up, never when he’s sleeping like this: peaceful and quiet and calm.

He lifts his head and moves closer to kiss his forehead. He falls asleep with a hand on Steve’s warm, soft waist, and sunlight in his head.

Promptober: Day Seventeen

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 912 words.

You couldn’t deny you hadn’t planned it. You’d been coy since Steve arrived, playing shy, smiling at him in a way that he’d soon learnt meant trouble. 

He’d spent the afternoon with you at yours, being lazy, letting the Esther outside grow wilder as the sky filled over with grey and navy clouds, until fat droplets of rain smudged your bedroom window. He had no intention of leaving. 

But still, you were teasing, not playing fair, making him chase your kisses and only allowing him to mouth over your neck, once, twice, three times, before you were tugging at his hair and pulling away. 

The boy would have been offended - concerned, even - if he didn’t know you better. He saw the telltale curl of the smile you tried to hide, the rosy sine to your lips ‘cause you kept biting down on them. And when you pulled his hair and he moaned for you, he heard your breath spike and hitch just like his. 

And then when your parents called up from the downstairs hall, that they were leaving to meet the neighbours for dinner in town, your eyes flashed with excitement and something else Steve couldn’t quite place. 

You indulged him, finally letting him kiss his way across your bare shoulder, up your throat and along your jaw. In fact, you pushed your lips to his first, greedy as if all your teasing had had just as much of an effect on you as it did him. 

You pulled back just enough to let your lips brush over Steve’s as you spoke, eyes still closed, lashes blinking over each other’s. 

“Hey,” you whispered, breath already laboured, ‘cause your boyfriends warm hands were pushing up the sides of your sweater, squeezing at your waist. “Steve?”

The boy hummed, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, nosing at your cheek to get you to tilt your head for him so he could suck a bruise under your jaw. 

“Yeah, babe?”

He wasn’t paying attention, not really. Eyes still closed, mouth on you, lips soft and sweet and his hair a little wild. 

“D’you wanna see my outfit?”

“What, for like, Halloween?” Steve asked distractedly, one hand sliding higher, thumb running over the lace front of your bra. 

“Mhmm, sure,” you said mildly, trying your best to contain the noise you wanted to let out at his touch, the sound he was trying his damn best to steal from you. 

He groaned when you pulled away, pouting as you moved off of your bed and off of him. But you busied yourself with finding a bag that you’d promptly shoved in the back of your closet after buying. 

“You’re so far away,” Steve complained and you snorted at his miserable expression. He looked lovely, perfectly rumpled and messy in your tangle of sheets, lips glossy from yours, eyes darker than normal. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you replied. “Be right back.”

Your heart was racing as you locked yourself in your bathroom, wide eyed as you stared at yourself in the mirror, pulling at lace and straps and little gold buckles that did nothing to secure anything to your skin. 

You were more exposed than you’d ever felt, and you’d been naked in front of Steve a lot. The red lace was a deep burgundy shade, like wine against your skin and god, you felt warm. You fluffed up your hair, grabbed a gloss from your messy drawers to swipe over your lips with a shaky hand and then, the devil horns. 

You exhaled, turning this way and that, looking at your reflection with trepidation. Was it too much? The lace underwear was high cut and delicate and the bra did wonderful things for your chest. It was the thigh high stockings and high heels that made you feel a little like you were trying too hard. 

You steeled yourself, whispered a breathy “fuck it,” and walked back out to your bedroom. 

Steve was lounging across the mattress with his head in one of your magazines, flipping the pages idly as he waited for you. You cleared your throat, panicked about what to do with your hands so you held them behind your back, chin tucked, lips pressed together nervously. 

Steve’s head lifted and the noise that left his lips made the hours of shopping with a mortified Robin worth it. 

“I— Christ,” Steve breathed, jaw slack, pushing the magazine off of the bed without taking his eyes off of you. “Fucking hell, baby, you— shit.”

You burned under his stare. “D’you like?”

Steve was already pushing to his knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed as he motioned to you to come closer. Your heels clicked softly and you couldn’t deny how you felt a little powerful before him. His hands found your waist, smoothed down the flare of your hips, fingertips catching on pretty lace before they traced the band of your stockings. 

You watched Steve swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his eyes followed his touch. 

“Yeah,” he whispered and god, he sounded wrecked. “I like.”

You were expecting sly comments, a salacious remark or two, but the flirt in his voice was all but gone and Steve stared at you through hooded eyes and thick lashes, lips parted. 

He looked hungry. Ruined. 

“Wanna take it off?” You whispered, fingers tucking his hair behind his ear. 

Steve shook his head, looking offended. “Off?” He breathed. “Absolutely fucking not, sweetheart.”

Pretty Boy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.1k] that nick millar line that's like "stop being mean to me i'll fall in love with you." scoops!steve, record store!reader and some weird drabbles about how steve gets flustered i don't like this i'm sorry

Steve knew he was a goner when he spotted you stacking shelves at the record store. He’d asked Eddie your name and the boy had cackled, slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Harrington, she’d eat you alive.’

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Steve had answered. 

You wore boots with laces that were never fully tied, fishnet tights, bike shorts and too big T-shirts that served as dresses, gold rings on your fingers and ruby red lipstick on Saturdays. 

You looked like trouble, like a whole lot of fun and Steve took Eddie’s warning as a personal challenge. 

The first time he spoke to you, it was on his day off and he shoved some dollar bills at Dustin, Lucas and Max, told them to go to the arcade and stay in the arcade. 

He found you behind the register, perched on a tall stool and flicking through records, cassettes littering the desk and your foot tap, tap, tapping against the wooden legs. Your store was quieter than the rest of the mall, so Steve tried to act casual, thanked everything holy that he wasn’t wearing his scoops uniform and browsed the boxes of music. 

He kept letting his eyes flicker to you, the store dimly lit and smelling like old books and smoke, a stark contrast to the sweet sugar and bright lights of Scoops Ahoy. 

It was nice, Steve noted, cosy, warm, a strange kind of quiet despite the music that played overhead. He didn’t even own a record player, not anymore, not since he’d been gifted a shiny new Walkman for his Christmas after his parents were out of town on his birthday. 

But still, there was something calming about thumbing through the sleeves, some pre owned and fraying at the edges, arranged in their own box that was labelled ‘already loved.’ The handwriting was neat and romantic looking, big swirls and loops in the L’s and Steve wondered if it was yours, if you were sweeter than your big doc martens suggested. 

But then he took his choices to the cash desk and you looked up from the price labels you were sticking to each record, a smile that was like sunshine and sin on your lips. You looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised and now that he was closer, Steve could see a gold hoop in one nostril. 

He swallowed, tried to say something cool, something flirty, something alluring, but his throat was sticky like honey and he was suddenly speechless.  Steve Harrington had lines, he knew how to flirt - sometimes it didn’t work, he could admit that now - but not a single word came from his mouth. 

You were really something. A smirk rather than a smile, jewellery making you glitter, eyes lighting up at the sight of him and Steve felt like he had a neon sign above him, a shiny big arrow saying ‘fresh meat.’

He suddenly knew what Eddie had meant. He was out of his depth. 

“Hey, pretty boy.”

God, scratch that, he was drowning.

Your voice was sweet, lined with a laugh, like you knew something he didn’t and Steve Harrington had never been shy in his life but your words had his cheeks tinted pink and he could feel the same heat at the tips of his ears. 

“Did you find everything you needed?”

He stuttered, stammered, licked his lips and nodded instead. It was that magic kind of flirting, the kind where no one really spoke but the idea was heavy and thick and tension in it made your head spin. And maybe you weren’t as affected as Steve was, but the boy felt a little giddy with it, eyes nervously dancing between yours and your hands, watching the way you bagged up his records. 

He didn’t even know what he’d bought. 

But he took the bag from you with a smile that made him look really soft, hand warm as it brushed your own and he didn’t even wait for his change, he just backed out of the store with a dazed look in his eyes and the sound of your laughter following him. 

—————

The second time Steve saw you, was half way through his lunch break, his hands full of soda cans and wrapped up sandwiches for himself and Robin, ‘cause there were only so many tubs of rocky road he could have instead of real food. 

You were rounding the corner the same time as he was, barely managing to avoid colliding, shoulders bumping and a can of Dr. Pepper falling to the floor and making a break for it. It rolled enough for Steve to deem it a lost cause, telling himself he’d share his drink with Robin instead of trying to juggle it back into his already full arms. 

But then you were catching it, wiggling it at him between a finger and a thumb as you carefully tucked it in the free space under his chin. He gaped, realising who he’d bumped into too late. You were a pretty painting, black lines above your lashes all cat like, lips coloured in a soft rosy shade. The sweater you wore was too big, bike shorts barely peeking out from the hem and you made music as you moved, necklaces catching against each other. 

You were lovely. But your smile was dangerous. 

“Thanks, uh, thank you- for that,” Steve managed, trying to gesture to the soda but almost losing two sandwiches and a bag of chips in the process. “Shit.”  

“S’alright,” you told him softly and Steve had almost forgotten what your voice had sounded like, because after the first visit to the record store, he’d been too embarrassed to return. 

He’d kept watch from behind the ice cream freezer, sighing over you as he refilled mint chocolate chip and scattered more sprinkles on floor than he did atop of cones. Robin thought it was disgusting. 

“Lunch time?” You asked and it was obvious, the way you were making conversation, seemingly actually wanting to talk to him but Steve couldn’t wrap his head around why. 

He nodded, too fast, hair flopping into his eyes and he had no free hands to smooth it back. Was he red again? He felt warm. You were smiling, eyes on his, scanning his face, taking in each of his features without any shame, bold in each of your actions. 

Fuck. You were really pretty. 

“Uh yeah, yeah,” Steve managed, “for me and uh,” he looked back, saw Robin leaning over the cash register with a grin on her lips as she watched on, more than amused. “And uh…”

“Your girlfriend?” You prompted. You sounded intrigued, voice still soft. “The pretty one in the hat?”

“Oh no, god no,” Steve replied and you grinned at how quick he spoke. He shook his head, fumbled another sandwich was still gazing at you from behind his messy hair. “I mean, fuck, she’s pretty and yeah, she’s wearing a hat but— no, not my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you were smiling, arms crossed as you tried not to full on grin at the way the boy was floundering, trying his best to assure you that his co-worker was definitely not his girlfriend. 

“I mean, we’re friends,” he was telling you, “best friends but like, super platonic. So platonic. I’m single.” Steve swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “So single.”

You didn’t miss the little ‘fuck,’  he whispered into the lunch he was still clutching to his chest and his cheeks went from rosy to ruby, a flush across the high points of his face that you would adorable. 

You didn’t say anything, not yet, but you leaned a little closer and pushed yourself onto your toes so you could sweep a hand through the front of his hair, pushing back the locks that had fallen into his face. 

Steve wondered if he had stopped breathing. 

“That’s better,” you hummed and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at his stricken expression. He looked panicked in the best way. 

Steve nodded and you took it as a thanks because his lips were parted and his brown eyes were turning into honey and he looked a little wrecked. It was fun, you realised, watching the way he reacted to you. 

“It’s Steve, right?” You tapped at his name badge, still standing too close for what some people would consider polite but Steve smelled like sugar and mint and the forest, like cedar or pine. 

Steve cleared his throat, tried not to stare at your lips when you said his name and he nodded, “yeah, uh— Steve Harrington.”

Another grin from you, wide and bright and fucking magical, because Steve decided that every time you smiled at him he felt like he was turning inside out. 

“Okay, Single Steve Harrington—” he cut you off with a groan and it was suddenly your new favourite sound. “—I need to get back to work, enjoy your lunch.”

“Right, yeah, shit,” he winced at the way his voice cracked and Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, what was he? Sixteen again? “Uh, do I get to know your name?” It was a lie. He knew your name. He’d asked Eddie weeks ago. 

And you must’ve been thinking the same because you laughed, reallt fucking cutely, Steve noticed, nose scrunched and eyes bright as you said, “don’t play coy, pretty boy, I know who your friends are.”

You left him standing there, cheeks still flushed, soft hair perfectly rumpled from how you’d pushed it back and you couldn’t help yourself. You turned, a head over your shoulder, lashes lowered as you looked him up and down, doing the least you could to try and hide it. 

“Hey Steve?”

The boy's head snapped round to you, eyes wide as ever. His pretty face was a question mark. 

“Nice shorts.”

—————

The third time, Steve was almost confident enough to say you sought him out. 

Because it was a slow Tuesday and the summer outside had reached its peak, the sun warming the mall through the glass roof like a greenhouse, the air stifling and hazy. It was too warm for even ice cream, most of Hawkins had seemed to decide, and even the kids had passed up on free samples in favour of spending a day at the pool. 

But there you were, record store lanyard missing from your neck which told Steve it was definitely your day off. And besides, if he happened to have remembered your shifts, well, that was just a coincidence. 

You swaned into Scoops with your usual confidence, a glint in your eye and a surprisingly bright sundress on your frame. You were still glittering with jewellery, chains and trinkets on your neck, delicate rings on each finger, tiny gold daisies hanging from your ears. Your dress was a startling red, cherry coloured and all the bare skin on show meant that Steve could see fine black lines of ink peeking out from beneath the cotton. 

He smiled at the way you still wore your boots, laces undone and rolled socks peeking out the top. You had spent some time talking between shifts now, “accidentally” bumping into each other when the mall was still closed, early morning starts spent standing in line together for a coffee as Steve tried his damn hardest to remember how to speak in your presence. 

It got a little easier and Steve could hold a conversation without his voice cracking, but every now and then he’d spot you already gazing at him and you had a look on your face that could take a man down to his knees. 

And god, did you know how good you looked in that dress? Did you understand what you did to him? Steve thought that maybe you did because you were leaning over the counter on your elbows and invading all of his personal space with the smell of your perfume and cocoa butter body lotion. 

You tapped out a beat with your fingernails, Ruby red to match your dress, hands dancing in gold, rings that Steve knew woild look so fucking pretty wrapped around his—

“Hey, pretty boy.”

The boy dropped his ice cream scoop and from an empty table behind you both, Robin snorted. 

“Hey, hi… hi,” he settled on, ducking behind the counter to retrieve his scoop and he tried not to wince at how decidedly unsmooth he was around you. 

He’d panicked to Robin more than enough times about it. How he managed to trip over his words, even his own feet, when he was around you. But, despite his friends usual teasing and unsupportive behaviour when it came to his dating like, she’d surprised him with:

“Well shit, Steve, she keeps coming back, doesn’t she?”

“Hi,” you repeated, grinning. “How’s it going?”

Steve smiled back, wider than he’d have liked, too happy, too pleased that you were here on your day off, in his store, standing talking to him whilst you looked like that. 

The hem of your dress swung at your thighs as you tapped your foot to music only you could hear and you were looking up at him with the most wicked expression. Steve had realised you seemed to save those looks for only him, the rest of your time spent in the record store ignoring the boys who tried to chat you up with cheap lines and shit chat. 

Steve sighed and looked around the empty store. “It’s going,” he replied. “What’re you doing here? Aren’t you… off today?”

“Keeping tabs?” You grinned and Steve flushed. 

It was your favourite thing. 

“What? No, no I—” if Steve could get away with volleying a ball of raspberry ripple at Robin right then, he could’ve. She was hiding her face in the pile of delivery notes but he could hear her laughter. “I just— yeah, shit, maybe I am.”

His admission made you preen, straightening up to catch the ends of that stupid, little sailor scarf between your fingers. You lifted one brow, looked at the boy through your lashes and wondered if you listened carefully enough, would you be able to hear the thumpthumpthump of his heart. 

Steve was almost certain you would. 

“That’s cute,” you mused, sighing dramatically, wistful almost, as you tugged at the scarf. Steve jolted closer, lips parted, eyes hooded as he tried his best to keep his gaze on yours. But your lips were right there. And so were your tits. “It’s a real shame you don’t use that knowledge to work out when to take me out on a date.”

Even Robin stilled. 

“A date?” Steve asked and you were so close, closer than you’d ever been ‘cause he could tell your lipgloss was cherry flavoured, he could smell the artificial sweetness, could count the freckles on your nose. 

You nodded, smiled, let your eyes flicker down to where he was licking at his lips and you felt the way he sighed. He had a knuckle white grip on his side of the counter, arms flexed as he leaned in, letting you hold him as close to you as you dared. 

“Y’know… dinner, maybe a movie, a hot little fumble in the backseat of your car before you kiss me goodnight and go home to take a cold shower?” 

“Christ,” Steve breathed and you watched the way he flushed, eyes drooping prettily as he seemingly thought out your scenario. “Yeah— yeah, I can do that, fuck, we can do that.”

The grin that took over your face was more than pretty and Steve was about done for when you finally let go of his sailors scarf, only to reach up and brush back his hair again. He let you, eyes full of sticky fondness,  a little awe as your fingertips brushed across the top of his forehead. 

“Great,” you told him, backing away, boots scuffing across the parlour tiles. “You can pick me up at eight on Saturday.”

—————

Steve had never been so nervous on a date. 

The good kind, an excitement he’d almost forgotten about and he revelled in the way his stomach tumbled, cheeks flush and lips bitten as he waited for you to appear from your front door. 

You’d smiled at his shyness, ducked your head in a similar fashion when he told you how pretty you looked and then it was a night of feet touching under the diner table, stealing the crispy fries from his plate and Steve pretending that he cared. 

He eventually calmed down enough to talk about everything and anything with you, his job, education, his parents, his friends. And when he’d finished making you laugh like it was his new hobby, you both realised too late that you’d missed the movie. 

But you didn’t seem to care, happy to walk shoulder for shoulder with the boy through the emptying mall, watching him with a smile as he worked up enough courage to hold your hand. 

You let him, hands tangling, a finger gently prodding his pink cheek and he swatted at you with a smile, a fond roll of his eyes and then that was it. 

You didn’t leave his side after that. 

The windows of his car were rolled down as he parked up near the water tower, wheat fields and the forest hiding you both from the rest of the down. The summer air smelled sweet, like leftover barbecue smoke and wet grass and Steve had the radio on low as you teased him about his music taste, the way he’d bitten his bottom lip raw from being so close to you. 

He could take it better now, your little mean streak, the one that liked to push his buttons and turn him pink. He still flushed when you called him pretty boy, heard his breath hitch when you stretched your bare legs over his, back pressed to the passenger door as you let the wind pick at your hair. 

But he got a little braver and let his hands smooth over your shins, eyes flickering from yours to the way your sundress was played messily across the tops of your thighs. Steve was a gentleman about it though, listened when you spoke, asked you questions and got to know you, making those eyes at you, even if he didn’t realise. 

“Did you come in that day just to buy those records?” 

Steve snorted, let his cheek turn and press against the headrest so he could look at you with those big brown eyes, wild hair that you ached to brush away. 

“I don’t even have a record player anymore.”

Your laugh was a whole other type of song and it warmed Steve more than the summer night did. 

“You don’t?” You grinned, nudging a foot into his thigh. “Steve Harrington, you’re a damn fool.”

“If you keep bein’ mean to me,” Steve grinned, voice full of tease and sticky sweet affection, “m’gonna fall in love with you, you know?”

And he did. 

—————

You didn’t grudge Robin for the way she rolled her eyes at you upon seeing you walk into Scoops. You couldn’t. She knew, she knew that you knew. So you just smiled.

“Is Steve….?”

“In the back,” she groaned good naturedly. “You’re lucky we’re dead.”

You grinned, blew the girl a kiss and slipped through the staff only door. The door to the walk-in freezer hummed and music came from the break room, quiet and crackling with static from the old radio. You found the boy at the table, feet kicked up on a stool as he played with his empty bottle of soda. 

Steve lit up when he saw you, an unexpected visit as you were on a late shift at your own store, the chances of you both getting lunch at the same time slim. But you’d bartered with your boss, promising that all of the new stock that had been delivered would get done before close. He’d rolled his eyes and grudgingly agreed, muttering about your new boyfriend and how he was affecting your work ethic. 

You hadn’t used that word yet. ‘Boyfriend.’ And neither had Steve, but that was okay. You were enjoying that inbetween stage that came with uncertainty and butterflies, second guesses and kicking your feet in your bed at night when he dropped you off, each new kiss feeling like another first. 

And you were still making the boy blush, the prettiest pink across his cheeks, stealing reasons to touch him whenever you could, playing with the ends of his hair as he spoke, pressing a hand to the skin under his shirt when you wanted his attention. 

Which was a waste of time, if you asked Steve - you always had his attention, whether your hands were on him or not. Not that he ever complained.

In fact, he looked downright ecstatic when you dropped yourself in his lap, pleated skirt hitching up your thighs as you grinned down at him, pink cheeks, messy hair and sailor boy uniform to boot.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

“Hello to you too, trouble,” he’d gotten better at that part, talking to you without falling over his own words, more flirt and confidence in his voice than the first time you’d met. “I didn’t think I was gonna see you until after work.”

“Sold my soul for you,” you pouted, lifting his little hat and placing it atop your own head. “Promised that a full delivery would be finished before close.”

Steve tried to pout back, but he couldn’t help but smile at how you bargained just to be able to come see him. The sailor hat was perched adorably on top of your head, a little squint and with a cherry ice cream stain on the side. His hands palmed at your hips, squeezing gently and you lifted a brow to gaze down at him questioningly. 

“Robin already isn’t happy I’m back here distracting you,” you smiled, “don’t start something you can’t finish - or win.”

“Win?” Steve scoffed, “sweetheart give me a little cred-”

The boy’s words died in his throat as you stood only to swing a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs with your own, fishnet tights stretched over your skin. You brought your hand to his chin, caught it between finger and thumb and smoothed the pad of it over his bottom lip. You tugged a little meanly, let it fall back with a cute ‘pop’ and grinned at how he was already flushed for you, eyes a little glassy and unfocused, cheeks turning pink.

“You’re too easy, Steve,” you whispered, stretching your arms over his shoulders, fingers tugging through the messy curls at the nape of his neck. You leaned in as if to kiss him, turned before he could catch you and pressed your nose to his cheek instead, letting him feel your smile against his jaw before you mouthed at it.

“You smell so good,” you sighed, voice hitched a little higher than normal, a little breathier. “Could just eat you up.”

“You’re a demon,” Steve huffed, canting his hips up into yours, hands squeezing more tightly at your waist but he did nothing to stop you from tugging at his hair. He let his head fall back, exposing his throat to you and your mouth. “Baby.”

“Baby. Love when you call me that,” you cooed, planting a line of kisses along the column of his neck, nipping at his ear lobe as you pressed yourself against his chest. “Makes me feel so sweet.”

Steve groaned, barked out a laugh that ended in a hiss because you rocked yourself against him, grinding down and grinning. “Yeah? You’re anything but,” he lied.

“Mean,” you teased, bringing your mouth to hover over the boys, lips just grazing his. “You don’t think I’m sweet? That’s not what you said the other night.”

You were pouting, pushing your lips to Steve’s in a barely there kiss before pulling away, running a hand over the front of his hair, pushing it back so you could see the way his eyes glazed over at your words. He knew what you were referencing, of course he did. How could he forget?

“I distinctly remember you telling me that you thought I tasted real sweet in the back of your car,” you grinned, wicked, cupped the boy’s face and smoothed your thumbs over the high points of his cheekbones. “There is it,” you whispered.

A blush, pink and warm and rosy, just for you, even after Steve had spent countless times between you legs, lips sucking, mouth too busy to do anything but moan. He was pink even then. But this? Now?

“I think you’re the sweet one.”

Lets get cozy

Somethin' Unholy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson [6.1K] steddie smut, her boys, their girl, it was time to give in.

It had been a long time coming.

Too long, in fact, a couple of years, maybe three. It started at parties, when beer was involved, lukewarm and readily available. Cheap vodka, cheaper weed, lemonade and soda that had lost its fizz, mixed with tequila, the smell of smoke and the heat from dancing bodies.

It started with Steve, a friend who became more but not enough, a boy that you watched grow into a man, all lean muscle, tall frame, wild hair, stubble on his jaw that scratched at you when he pulled you into hugs. Then years ticked over and you broke down the barriers, ripped up the rule book and toed the line between best friends and more.

You looked at the boy for seconds too long, eyes lingering, his gaze fixed on yours, staring right back. You stopped blushing when he caught you, only raising your brows when he grinned, fond, appreciative, knowing.

‘Cause parties happened and you almost always found yourself on his lap, pressed to his side in a kitchen, sharing the same red cup and he let you move up against him when your favourite song came on, hips pushing back into his, his hands close to squeezing at your ass before he caught himself, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded.

It went on like that for a while, late night calls full of whispered secrets and what ifs, an edge of flirting, the promise of something filthy if the other gave in and let it happen. 

And then Eddie arrived, pushed himself into your circle with a dramatic flare, settling down amongst Steve and Robin and Nancy like he’d always been there. 

You liked the way he matched Steve’s height, how they both towered over you when they sandwiched you between them, all warm and solid, boyish teasing, rough hands, flirtatious remarks and kisses goodbye pressed to your cheeks.

And where Steve was soft - gentle with you, deliberate, so aware of how you felt, how you looked at him - Eddie was a little more wild. Messy curls, leather and ripped denim, a smile that told you that he knew how you looked at him, big brown eyes that matched Steves, a carelessness in the way he liked to accidentally brush past you, an arm over your shoulder when the movie started playing.

When Eddie found himself at the same parties as you and Steve, he took to standing with the other boy, their backs against the walls as they watched you move around the crowded living room, hand in Robin’s as you encouraged her to dance. And even when Robin gave up, the two boy’s kept their eyes on you, watched you move to the music with their shoulders pressed together, sharing the same joint that Eddie had rolled earlier. 

Steve and Eddie shared a lot of things, you’d noticed.

Steve’s car when Eddie’s van inevitably broke down, Eddie’s stash of weed, a lighter, sometimes clothes when parties got out of hand and everyone crashed at the Harringtons. They shared cassettes, mixtapes, the key to your back door, the way they looked at you.

Maybe it was the cherry vodka on your tongue that night, maybe it was the way the strangers living room was filled with smoke and the scent of weed and damp skin, the way it was so crowded that you could feel the heat of the other people around you. 

Maybe it was the music, a dirty strum of bass, slow drums, lyrics that made you think things you only thought about in bed, late at night and alone, hands pushed into your pyjama shorts. Maybe it was your short dress, the hem lifting every time you moved, the small strap slipping off one shoulder.

Maybe it was the two boys on the outskirts of the room, Steve sitting on the kitchen counter, a beer in hand, Eddie beside him, his elbow on the other boy's knee as he leaned on him. Maybe it was their eyes on you, roaming, greedy, wanting. Maybe it was the way Steve’s eyes went darker and hooded as he watched you, lips wet when he took a sip of his drink. Maybe it was the way Eddie’s jaw went slack every time you moved your hips a little slower than the time before.

Maybe it was the boys.

Your boys. 

It was unsaid, an unofficial title that no one had been brave enough to say out loud but you were at a party surrounded by drunk, horny strangers and the other boys there were staring, hands twitching, eager to crowd into you and tell you how pretty you looked in that damn dress. But they were all sensible enough to know that wherever you were, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson weren’t far. 

It’s why other girls didn’t get a look in, why the hands on chests, lips pressed to ears and coy smiles went ignored. Your boys were only looking at you, heads tilted towards each other, whispering things you couldn’t hear as they kept their gaze on you, smiles curling into smirks.

It only took you to lift your chin and smile at Eddie for him to come to you, squeezing between the writhing bodies, a ghost in the smoke, the shine of the red and purple glow that flashed from the fairy lights strung up around the room.

He took your hips in his hands, your back to his chest as he guided you against him, moving to the music, the smell of cigarettes and something spicy, Eddie’s cologne lingering on the collar of his shirt. But you were greedy, wanted more, wanted Steve and the other boy was still on the kitchen counter, legs spread, leaning back on his hands as he smirked, watching you both.

He was making you wait for it, an unnecessary unkindness because all three of you knew that Steve couldn’t say no - not to you. Never to you. But he wanted to see you make those eyes at him, all doe like and pleading, bottom lip pushed out into a pout as you let yourself fall back into Eddie, your head against his shoulder. 

It was only when you threatened to turn in Eddie’s arms, to give the longer haired boy every ounce of your attention, that Steve moved. He snuck between the party goers, slipped between grinding bodies to find your own, his hands half covering Eddie’s as he held onto your waist, pressed you between him and the other boy.

It was something new. 

You were well used to dancing with both boy’s, bodies pushed together, toeing that invisible line and pretending you didn’t see the way the other watched from the sidelines, hungry. 

But this? This? 

You were warm all over, the width of your sides covered by the expanse of two pairs of hands. Eddie’s hair was tickling your neck, his head dipped to brush his cheek over your own, your ass pressed into the denim of his jeans and god, he was hard, you could feel it. 

Your own hands went to Steve’s chest, muscles flexing under your touch, a sharp inhale of breath that you could feel under your palms when you smoothed them up and over his shoulders, holding on for dear fucking life. He tucked his own face down to yours, caught your gaze in a silent question, a raise of his brows, one that asked ‘is this okay? Is this what you want?’

You answered by threading your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to you a little tighter and Steve tugged you into him in response, your tits pressed up against him and shit, you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat, if he could feel the way it rattled your fucking bones. 

Eddie’s lips skimmed your shoulder as you stared at Steve, goosebumps rippling across all that bare skin you had on show and Steve dipped his head, let his nose brush against your own, let it nudge at your cheek and Eddie was closer, brushing your hair away from your face so he could watch.

His hand squeezed at you, encouraging, his lips at the shell of your ear, his breath heavy as the three of you moved to the beat together. If people were staring, not one of you noticed.

You didn’t move when Steve crowded you further, pressed you into Eddie until you tipped your head back for him, let it fall back to rest on Eddie’s shoulder, throat exposed for Steve to blow cool air over. The tip of his nose nudged at you again, drew a line up your throat until he hit your jaw and you were fisting your hands in the front of his shirt. Desperate. 

He hadn’t put his mouth on you. Not yet. A line still uncrossed. 

But then Eddie was tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes dark as he looked down at you, ringed fingers catching through your strands, cupping the back of your neck and coaxing you forward. Towards Steve. The bass dropped, the chorus kicked in and Eddie was looking at the other boy expectantly, lips parted, waiting. 

His other hand left your waist, cupped Steve’s jaw instead, a thumb decorated in silver soothing over the line of his cheekbone and he was bringing him forward too. 

‘C’mon,’ his touch said, ‘you know you want to.’

Steve’s forehead touched yours, skin slick, hot to touch and Eddie’s wide hands were back around your waist, hips grinding against your ass, a slow, dangerous burn.

Unholy, you thought.

He took his time, like he always did. Kept you waiting, teasing, needy. Steve held his lips over your own, hovering so you were breathing in what he was breathing out, sharing everything. His hands were still holding your waist, holding you steady for the other boy to move against you, holding you upright so he could wedge a knee between your legs, letting Eddie push you to grind up and down his thigh. 

Then, when you were panting, when he felt your breath hitch, a missed huff of air over his lips, Steve kissed you. 

It was innocent in the most awful way. A slip of his lips between yours, a slide of his top one, the curve of his bottom catching at yours. Teasing, testing, asking. One hand found your jaw, big enough that his palm covered most of your cheek, his thumb pushing at the plush of your cheek until your mouth fell into a pout for him and he could press his own over yours properly. 

Eddie’s chin was hooked over your shoulder, nose pressed to the spot under your ear, watching the way Steve’s tongue licked over your lips, teeth catching. Eddie’s breath hitched when you opened for the other boy, tongues touching, a wet slide over each other, mouths chasing kiss after kiss. It was slow, controlled by Steve’s hand on your jaw, keeping you from taking too much without asking.

Then he was pulling away, nudging your face towards Eddie with his thumb, smiling at you like this was what the three of you did every Saturday, like he was telling you it was okay, that he wanted to share.

The crowd of drunks around you melted into a blur. The lights danced, changed from red and lilac to aqua and lime, a flash of colour of skin. Steve’s fingers hooked into the tiny strap of your dress, his knuckles running over the bare skin underneath. 

You were too warm. 

Where Steve tasted like tequila and beer, honeyed, sweet,  Eddie was all smoke and spiced rum, deep and dark and he was greedier than Steve was, catching your lips with his own the second you leaned back into him. His hand covered Steve’s, both boys holding you as Eddie chased the taste of his friend from your mouth.

If someone had told you that there were other people in the room, you wouldn’t have believed them. 

“Can we take you home?” Steve asked, voice low and soft, Eddie’s lips on your cheek, pushing sweet kisses to it. 

“Wanna come home with us, princess?” The other boy asked, Steve’s hands curling around the dip in your waist, thumbs smoothing over your stomach. 

You nodded. 

It’s how you ended up with Eddie’s leather jacket draped over your shoulders, the hem of it almost as long as your dress. Steve took your hand in his, led you through the crowd with Eddie’s hand on the small of your back and then you were walking home. 

Step by step under the street lights, under the inky night sky, leftover over summer heat and the flirt of a promise in the air. The boys touched you all the way home, nothing too much, just enough to be considered a normal Saturday night. 

Steve kept his hand joined with yours, teasing at how small your fingers were compared to his. He spun you this way and that, let you wander an edge too far before tugging you back to his side, grinning proudly at the way he made you laugh. 

Eddie wasn’t far away, skipping around you both, mumbling a song neither you nor Steve knew but he’d grab at your waist from behind, nose at your neck until you squirmed, humming a beat into your hair as the three of you managed to get yourself back to Steve’s permanently intertwined. 

And when you all reached the empty Harrington household, Steve flicked on the lamp by the sofa and watched you drop yourself onto it, kicking off your shoes and leaning back into the cushions. Eddie mumbled something about something, slipping away into the dark of the kitchen and you wondered if it was deliberate, it this was already planned. 

Because Steve was coming to stand before you, nudging your knees apart with his own so he could drop between them, crouching between your thighs. His hands were hot on your skin, lips still swollen from how he’d kissed you before. 

He looked pretty. Messy in a scandalous way, hair wild from your own hand, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. So, so pretty. 

Your pretty boy. 

“You okay?” he asked, thumbs rubbing circles on the skin just above your knee. “With this?”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to. His touch? What had happened back at the party? What you were sure was about to come?

Either one of those had you nodding your head, brows knitted together because you were so desperate, so pent up, that you thought you might actually cry. But then Steve’s hand was on your jaw, your throat, thumb soothing over your cheek as he let you pull at his shirt , pawing at him. 

“Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” Steve’s voice was honey, sticky sweet with an edge of the same neediness you felt. ‘Cause it had been years of skirting around each other, toeing the line that only Eddie seemed to be able to help you both cross. “Need to kiss you again.”

You pushed your mouth to his without any hesitation. 

The boys hands ran up your thighs, pushed at your dress until his thumbs were pressed to the line between your legs and your underwear, palms curled around you so he could drag you to the edge of the sofa. 

His tongue licked over you, licked into you, a slow, soft burn of a kiss that almost felt lazy. Like he knew he had you now. That there wasn’t any rush. There was no going back from this. 

Eddie’s jacket still hung from your shoulders, a reminder of the boy who was only just coming back from the kitchen now, quietly entering the room to sit on the armchair across from you both. 

He sprawled out, legs spread wide, ringed fingers playing with his bottom lip, like he was trying to feel what you both felt. 

“You both look so pretty like this,” Eddie’s voice was only a whisper, but it cracked through the room, rolled over you like a storm. 

It made you shiver, clench your thighs and drag your mouth from Steve’s. 

You knew what he meant, ‘cause if you looked anything like Steve did - eyes drooping with pleasure, lips slick and glossy from each other, skin flushed and hair a mess - well, what a pretty picture, indeed. 

Your dress was hitched high, splayed around the tops of your thighs with Steve’s hands half hidden underneath, legs spread wide with the boy kneeling between them, your greedy hands curling at the nape of his neck. 

“Is that right?” Steve asked and his voice was just as low and flirtatious as when he spoke to you. 

Eddie smirked and you couldn’t help but ask. 

“Have you and Eddie-” Steve turned back to you, brows lifted, small smile, knowing. “Uh, have you guys done this? Before?”

The boys both grinned and Eddie leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes roamed over the way his jacket was still slung over you, Steve between your thighs. “With each other?”

“Or with another girl?” Steve finished. 

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a white hot burn of jealousy flare in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers turned gentle as they played with the ends of Steve’s hair, his lashes fluttering at your touch. Surely no one else could make Steve feel the way you did? Right?

“Either.”

“Oh pretty girl, Steve cooed, voice fond, “you think we’d do this with someone who wasn’t you?” His mouth found your cheek, sweet kisses pushed to the apple of it, lips trailing to kiss over your lashes, the tip of your nose, your temple. “Don’t you know that we’re yours?”

Yours. Your boys. 

“Both of you?” You felt shy, silly for asking, but Eddie was still out of reach, despite the way he was eyeing you. 

He nodded, “of course, sweetheart.” Eddie meant back in the chair, eyes glittering dark in the low light. “Doesn’t mean we haven’t looked after each other though.”

Heat looked in your stomach, between your legs. You wanted to whine. 

Your nose bumped Steve’s as you turned back to him, lips parted, watching how he smiled. You swallowed hard, chest moving too fast to go unnoticed. 

“Yeah?”

Steve nodded, hands pushing into the dough of your thighs, a soft touch that kept you on edge, kept you grounded and you were waiting for him to talk, to tell you the dirty, pretty things that him and Eddie got up to when you weren’t around. 

“S’real hard sometimes,” Steve murmured, “both of us havin’ to watch you in your pretty little dresses, pretending like you don’t see us staring at you.” A kiss, sweet and quick, on the line of your jaw. 

“When you wanna come sit on my lap and I’ve gotta pretend that I’m not hard as a fuckin’ rock when you wanna cuddle into me.” Steve’s voice was syrupy, warm and sticky. “‘Cause you smell so good and you’re just so sweet, and you look at me with those damn eyes. I can’t ever say no to you.”

“Poor Stevie is wrapped ‘round your little finger, princess,” Eddie crooned from the corner. “You got us both feelin’ like we’re seventeen and ready to make a mess in our pants every time you get too close.”

“So sometimes,” Steve explained, “when you go home and leave us all alone, we gotta help each other out.”

You were panting, eyes fluttering shut as Steve mouthed over your throat, teeth grazing, tongue licking dirty at the line of your jaw. 

“We talk about you,” Eddie continued, “how lucky we are to have you, sweetheart, such a cute little thing. A miracle you like hangin’ out with us so much.”

You whimpered, eyes opening and looking over Steve’s shoulder to see Eddie with his hand on his own thigh, thumb running lines over the outline of his cock.

“Oh yeah,” Steve whispered into your hair. “We talk about you all the time. What we wanna do to you, what we think you’d sound like, what you’d taste like. Bet you’re as sweet as you look, baby.”

Baby. 

“Then we just can’t help ourselves,” Eddie sighed dramatically, grinning at the way you were tilting your head for the other boy, Steve’s mouth sucking a lavender coloured bruise on your throat. “You have us fuckin’ ourselves into each other’s hands just thinking about you.”

Fucking hell. 

You imagined it, the two boys side by side in Steve’s bed, you and your other friends long gone as they got desperate with it, cocks hard, jeans shoved down just enough to wrap a fist around the other. Heads thrown back, lips on throats, jaws slack, pumping the other to the thought of you between them. 

“Do you like the sound of that?” Steve asked, softly. His hand nudged between your thighs, fingers slipping under lace and he swiped a digit through your folds, felt and heard the wet slick there and he groaned into your shoulder. “Oh, fucking hell.” 

He brought his finger back to his lips, sucked it into his mouth and smiled. Behind him, Eddie cursed, gripped his dick through his jeans and lay slack against the armchair cushions.  

“Oh, I think she likes that, Eds,” Steve confirmed, not waiting for you to reply. 

“Dirty girl,” Eddie laughed quietly. 

It was the same teasing they gave you when you got too squeamish over a horror film, when you complained it was too cold just so you could steal Eddie’s hoodie and burrow into Steve’s arms. 

“Does she taste as good as we thought, Harrington?” Eddie was lazing back, all faux calm composure because you could see the way the muscles in his jaw ticked every time you looked at him. 

“Better,” the boy answered, voice wrecked, rough. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

Steve kissed you as Eddie pushed himself from his seat, wandering over to the sofa so he could sprawl on the other end of it, his knee pressed to your hip. Steve’s tongue was curling around your own, making your gasp, little noises falling from your lips that he licked up like they were just for him. 

They were. 

Then his fingers were exploring again, thick and calloused as they nudged at your cunt, thumb spreading you apart a little so he could rub little circles over your entrance, huffing into your kiss as you tried to clench down on him. 

“How long have you thought about this?” Steve asked you, but you could answer because you were too busy staring at how he offered Eddie his fingers, middle and pointer sliding past the other boy's lips. 

Eddie hummed, lashes fluttering, sucking your wetness off of his friends' digits, sucking until Steve pulled them away from his mouth with a dirty ‘pop.’

“Huh, baby?” He prodded again, Eddie crowding in so he could fit himself into the space behind you, legs caging your hips, your back to his chest once more. “D’you do what we do? D’you touch this pretty little clit at night and think about Eddie and I?” Steve cooed. 

You nodded, keening when Steve pressed his thumb to you, all swollen and slick already. He slid his touch over your clit, soft and constant, staring at you the whole time, smiling at the sounds he was getting from you, the glassy look in your eye as you clung to his shirt. 

Then Eddie was pushing your hair back, hooking his chin over your shoulder to look down at the way Steve had your legs spread, lace underwear hiked to the side. He mouthed at your neck, matching Steve’s gentle pace, nothing too much, not yet. 

You felt like you were already on fire. 

“So pretty,” he gushed, curls falling over your face. He slid his jacket from your shoulders, chucked it to the floor and scattered kisses across your shoulders, using one ringed finger to make your dress straps fall down your arms. “Prettiest little thing, with such a pretty, pretty pussy.”

“Eddie,” you whined, arching into him, hips thrust towards Steve, chasing his fingers. “Fuck.”

“Oh sweetheart,” the boy replied, “what d’you need, huh? Want Stevie to be nice to you?”

“Steve’s always nice to me,” you mumbled, face burning with shyness despite the way your two best friends had you caged between their bodies, cocks hard for you, your underwear pushed to the side so they could see how wet they got you. 

Steve made a soft noise for you, sticky and fond, a tap tap tap at your clit for your sweetness. You wriggled, pushed yourself into Eddie’s lap a little more. 

“Hmm, he is, isn’t he?” Eddie replied, voice low and in your ear. He looked at the boy through his lashes, winked at him when you couldn’t see and said, “I think he could be so much nicer though, princess. ‘Cause I just know he’s fuckin’ dying to get his mouth on you.”

You made a strangled sound, a whine and a moan, maybe there was even a ‘please’ mixed in with it and your hands fell from Steve’s shirt to grab at Eddie’s curls, body stretched out between them both as you braced your arms on either side of his head. 

“Yeah? You’d like that?” Eddie cooed, “s’good, ‘cause I really wanna watch that. Fuck, you gonna let me watch Steve eat you out?”

You nodded furiously, tilting your head to the side for Eddie, his mouth biting down on the same mark that Steve had already left. 

“We wanna hear you,” Steve murmured, bending down over you to press a line of kisses along the tops of your thighs, curling his fingers around the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs. “C’mon, sweetheart, let us hear how pretty you sound.”

“Please,” you were begging, unashamed, eyes fluttering shut at the way the cool air hit your cunt, “please Steve, please Stevie, want you so bad, please.”

They were both smiling when Eddie cupped his palms under your legs, spreading you more, your thighs draped over his knees, creating more space for Steve to settle into. 

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, “let Eddie help you, hmm? There’s a good girl.”

It was an electric buzz, his words, those words, the way they made you feel. And let it be known that your boys always paid attention, ‘cause Eddie was laughing and Steve’s lips were parted into a surprised ‘o.’

“She liked that, didn’t she?” Eddie snorted, hands wide and warm as they held your thighs open. “Felt her twitch, wonder if she got a little wetter, huh?”

Steve dragged his fingers through your folds, slid his fingers up and down a little messily so all three of you could hear the dirty slick of it. Eddie groaned and Steve was looking at you like you were his last meal and he was a man starved. 

“Soaked, baby,” Steve whispered, crowding into you to peck at your lips, leaning past you to give Eddie the same sweet treatment. His lips were at your ear, Eddie’s hands stroking across your ribs, thumb tracing the underside of your breast, nipples peaked for him. “You wanna be my good girl, s’that it?”

He pulled back, watched Eddie drag your dress down until the material was shoved underneath your tits, back arched and chest pushed out for him to play with. 

“Our good girl?”

You whined, nodding, hands pulling at Eddie’s curls before they landed on top of his hand on your legs, needing something to ground you as Steve blew warm air over your cunt. 

“Been thinkin’ about this for so long,” he told you, letting the pout of his lips just graze over your folds. He pushed a soft kiss just above your clit, ran a finger down the seam of you, never pushing any further. “You drive us goddamn crazy, d’you know that?”

“Steve,” you cried out, wiggling in Eddie’s arms, trying your best to push yourself closer to his mouth. 

“Ah, ah, princess,” Eddie scolded, “you gotta be patient. Steve’s gonna make you feel good, s’alright. Aren’t you, Harrington?”

Steve didn’t answer, not with words. He just sighed all dreamily as pushed his tongue out to taste you, flat and soft as he dragged it through your cunt. He groaned when you gasped, breath hitching and Eddie chuckled as he held you down against him, cooing softly in your ear. 

“Oh baby, s’good yeah?” He whispered, wild curls tickling your cheek, your neck. He caught your chin with a finger and thumb, turned you so you were panting against his mouth, his own tongue coming out to lick across your lips. “I know, I know, Stevie’s just so fuckin’ good with that mouth, isn’t he?”

 Steve hummed, thumbs coming up to pull at your folds, helping Eddie spread you out nice for them. He suckled at your clit, dipped the tip of a finger against your entrance and groaned at how wet you were. 

It was almost too much. Almost. 

He kept that up, that soft, slow, wet drag of the flat of his tongue against you, sucking at your clit when you started whining, arching up against Eddie. The other boy laughed, not all that unkindly, petting at you to get you to settle back down for him.

“S’wrong?” He asked, rocking his hips against your ass. Your dress had worked itself into a mess around your waist, chest bare, ass against Eddie’s crotch as he rutted himself into you. “You getting greedy, princess? You want more?”

You nodded, gasped out a ‘yes please,’ and tugged at Steve’s hair, made the boy moan so pretty as his nose bumped against your clit, his tongue dipping inside of you. 

Eddie hummed, ran guitar string scarred fingers over the stiff pebbles of your nipples, trailing a palm down your tummy. “I could just slide my cock inside of you,” he mused, grinning when you whimpered. “Could fuck you nice and deep in my lap whilst Stevie boy keeps eating that pretty little pussy of yours.”

You were seeing white, stars and bright flashes of pleasure behind your closed eyelids, Steve’s tongue doing wonderful things over your clit, that same soft, push of his mouth on you. He sucked, gave you a little kiss and you wanted to cry. 

“You think you’d like that?” Eddie kept talking, running his mouth in the same tone of voice he used for Hellfire, that low, gentle commanding cadence that made your toes curl. “Think you’d like my dick inside of you while our best friend licks at your clit? M’sure he’d let me feel his mouth too, huh? Bet you’d come real fuckin’hard for us, sweetheart, bet you’d look so fuckin’ pretty coming for us.”

You were squirming, both pairs of hands holding you down, holding you open as Steve lapped at you, his own cock hard in his jeans, rutting into the air trying to find some sort of release. He moaned into you, lashes fluttering, lips shiny with you. 

“But you see, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed, talking to you like he was trying to explain why you couldn’t have another piece of candy, like he was taking away your favourite toy. “I can’t do that yet.”

You whimpered, eyes brimming with tears, gathering at your lash line because of how overwhelmed you felt. 

“I can’t do that ‘cause Steve’s gotta feel that sweet, little pussy around his cock first,” Eddie’s voice was like chocolate, smooth and rich against your neck. He kissed the spot under your ear, sugary sweet, so lovely to you. “S’only fair, right? How fucking long you’ve both wanted each other.”

You nodded, jaw slack, eyes rolling ‘cause Steve was getting a little rougher, as if listening to Eddie talk was affecting him as much as it was you. He licked at you a little quicker, pushed his lips to your clit in a dirty kiss, sucking hard. You squealed, fingers yanking at his hair, his eyes wild for you when they flicked up to watch Eddie’s hands cup at your tits, pushing them together all pretty and obscene. 

“S’alright, sweetheart, I know, I know,” he mumbled gently. “You’re Stevie’s girl, you were his first.” 

Steve sucked in a breath, ragged, ruined. His fingers slid into you - two, thick and wide - too easy with how wet you were. He started curling them, a hot drag against you, in and out in and out in and out. 

“M’so fuckin’ lucky he lets me share you, aren’t I?” Eddie leaned over, hooked his chin over your shoulder, smiling at how your head lolled against his own. He let a little line of spit drip from his lips onto your tits, over one nipple so he could get it nice and wet between his fingers. “You’re so good to me, letting me touch your boy, aren’t you? Such a good girl, princess.”

“Oh, fu-uck,” you cried out, skin warm, chest flush, Eddie’s big hands still pushing at your tits, cold rings catching at your nipples. “Steve.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, kissed cutely at your hot cheek and Steve moaned his response, finally bringing his mouth away from you to talk. He looked wrecked, a little wild with it all, lips swollen and glossy and so, fucking pretty. 

“Yeah, baby?” He murmured, voice rough and hitching, his fingers still slipping in and out of you, catching and dragging at all the right spots. “S’good? Like it when Eddie talks to you all sweet, huh?”

You nodded, gasping, legs trying to close themselves around Steve’s hand now that Eddie was preoccupied with touching you elsewhere but Steve tutted, tapped at your knee and hitched a thigh over his shoulder to keep you where he wanted you. 

“Yeah, I like it,” you have told him, and god, you’d never sound so needy in your life. 

“Oh, I know, baby,” Steve cooed, lips pouting for you, smiling when your eyes crinkled, closing in pleasure when he thumbed at your clit again. “Y’gonna put that pretty mouth around Eddie’s cock when I fuck you? Hmm? Think he deserves it, no?”

“Yeahyeahyeah,” you were babbling, hands wandering, one curled around Steve’s jaw as he leaned back into you to press open mouthed kisses along your thigh, the other intertwined with Eddie’s as he dragged his palm and yours over your tits. “He deserves it, Eddie’s so sweet, so pretty.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Steve mused, eyes on the other boy as he smirked, hand ghosting over the hard ridge of Eddie underneath you. Eddie jerked his hips, let out a rough moan at Steve’s touch and hissed when he rocked into his hand and your ass. “Hey Munson, d’you think our girl needs some practice first? Think we should make her feel nice and full?”

It was like he was asking if Eddie wanted to stay for dinner. He said it so casually, so softly, it made your toes curl. 

Eddie didn’t answer, just laughed softly and kissed your neck, let two fingers graze across your bottom lip until he was tugging at it softly, digits slipping into your mouth and settling heavy on your tongue. You whined around them, sucked and flicked your tongue around the silver of his ring.

“Atta’ girl,” Eddie breathed, “so good for us, huh? Y’gonna come for Steve now, yeah?”

Both boys watched your lashes flutter, watched you nod and wrap a small hand around Eddie’s wrist. Steve hummed, dipping his face back down, mouth an onslaught on you, tongue flat and wide as he lapped at you, fingers a punishing pace as he fucked them in and out of you. 

You fell apart in seconds. 

Back bowing, biting down on Eddie as Steve kept his face pressed into you, fingers coaxing white hot pleasure out of you. He licked it all up, kissed your clit so sweetly, murmuring dirty, soft words the whole time.

You slapped at both boys, body pulsing, cunt throbbing, eyes glassy. They both laughed, not all that mean, more fond and Eddie let Steve pull you from his lap, bundling you into his own chest as you curled up there, face pressed to his neck as you panted.

“Y’alright, baby? Hmm?” Steve whispered, “still with us?”

“Yeah,” you gasped, “jus’ need a minute, Stevie.”

He nodded, grinning at Eddie over your head, pressing his lips to your hairline, smoothing soft kisses over you as you came down from your high. Eddie leaned forward, brushed back your hair, scratched nicely at the slope of your bare back. 

“Oh, princess,” Eddie mumbled, “he got you good, huh?”

PART TWO: DIRTY, DIRTY BOYS

Dirty, Dirty Boys

PART ONE: SOMETHIN' UNHOLY Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson [6.4k] Steve and Eddie shared a lot of things, you’d noticed. Just smut. More smut.

You nodded, mumbled some nonsense and buried your face into Steve’s chest, let Eddie pet at you. This? That? That was normal, not the first time Steve had pulled you onto his lap to get a little love, Eddie’s hand soothing over whatever part of he could reach, joining in on the touching.

It was the first time you’d done it naked though, bar the rumpled dress that was nothing more than a strip of fabric around your waist. And when you eventually caught your breath, you shuffled back, kneeling between the two boys, gaze flickering between both of them. 

Steve was smiling, almost shy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the way he’d loved on you, licked you clean until you cried. One hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb soothing down the pretty line of your throat and you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was thrumming. 

He could. 

“Do you trust us?” He asked you, bringing you back into him, being awfully greedy with you but he really couldn’t help it. Not when he could still taste you on his tongue. And beside, Eddie didn’t seem to mind, patient, lazy, knowing he was always included. 

You nodded, breathed out a “yes,” and let yourself fall back into Eddie’s touch when his palms smoothed over your bare shoulders, playing with the ends of your hair. 

“You’ll tell us if you wanna stop?” Eddie whispered, nudging at your cheek with the line of his nose, encouraging you to tilt your head for him so he could push kisses to your jaw. 

Your lashes fluttered, you blinked, everything a little sparkly, the world soft like cotton as your two boys touched you all sweet and lovely. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed.

“Even if you wanna just slow down,” Steve added, “you’ll keep talkin’ to us, yeah baby? We don’t have to-”

You almost whined, a soft sound of protest leaving your lips as you wrapped your hand around his wrist, held his palm to your neck and shook your head. 

“I want to,” you told him, ‘cause Eddie has whispered how Steve was gonna be first to slide himself inside of you and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It had been a long time coming, hadn’t it? 

And there was something about the way Eddie watched the two of you, eyes hooded and hazy, tracking the way you both touched each other like he was learning how to play a new instrument, fingers twitching when Steve’s curled into you, thumb tapping out the same beat on your hipbone when Steve licked and licked and licked and-

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured, a kiss pressed to your lips with the praise and your cheeks burned. 

You thought about the boy behind you, wondered if Eddie had anything to say about Steve’s words but he was smiling, knowing, all too aware of how this dynamic worked. 

Eddie could touch and tease and kiss and slide himself snug inside you, he could talk all pretty, whisper all filthy and tell Steve how you liked the way he put his hands on you. 

It could happen this once, it could happen two, three times more. It could go on for weeks, maybe months, god maybe more. But Eddie knew and you knew, that you were Steve’s girl first. 

Shit, even Steve knew. 

It was something cosmic, something a little magic, inevitable like the way June turned to July and the sun came up in the morning. It was some soulmate kind of shit, a slow dance across kitchen tiles and basement party carpets, sidewalks at two in the morning, neither of you knowing when it would end. 

Just that it would. And Eddie wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d fit in somewhere along the way. That maybe tonight wouldn’t be all he got, like this could just be the beginning. 

But no one was ready to talk about that. Not yet, not now, not like this. 

Not when your two boys were crowding either side of you, still far too dressed with their cocks pressed hard against the confines of their denim jeans, eyes glazed over as they looked at you. 

So you licked your lips and tried not to sound too shy when you said:

“Clothes off.”

Neither argued. In fact, both were silent as they pulled off their shirts, giving your greedy eyes the lovely view of their bare chests, Eddie pale and inked where Steve was suntanned and freckled. Eddie only managed to get his jeans and his boxers down past his hips before you were on him. 

You coaxed the boy back onto the sofa, Eddie huffing out a laugh, one hand flying to tug at his curls as you took his cock out of his underwear, the elastic snapping back against his skin. Eddie swore, sighed, tried his best to keep his lashes from fluttering closed because fucking hell, he really wanted to watch what was about to happen.

“Christ, princess,” Eddie huffed, “that’s it.”

You made a noise of agreement, palm curling around the hard length of him, ducking down to lick a stripe over his tip. His hips shot off of the couch, a strangled sound falling from his lips and Steve smirked, big hand covering your own on Eddie’s thigh, both of you pushing him back down.

“Easy, Eds,” Steve chided, “you gonna let our girl make you come?” 

Eddie nodded, eyes hooded as he watched you through his lashes, whining until you took pity on him and took as much of him as you could in his mouth. 

“Ah, shit, shit,” he groaned, one hand falling into your hair, careful to be gentle with you so that Steve didn’t get too riled up and scold him. “Fuckin’ hell, you look so pretty.”

You whined around his cock, flushing at the praise all whilst Steve dragged your rumpled dress down your hips and legs, throwing it into the corner of his living room. 

“Yeah?” Steve asked, kissing his way down your spine, following the arch of your back as he got you naked. He was still kneeling behind you, admiring all your bare skin, the freckle on your hip, the way Eddie had his head thrown back and was panting. “Does she look good with her mouth full?”

He was popping the button to his own jeans, tugging at himself, trying to relieve some of the pressure that he’d felt since the party, since he first kissed you. Steve’s hips stuttered against his own, a groan caught in his throat because he was staring down at the curve of your ass pressed against him, popped out as you balanced your hands on Eddie’s thighs, your mouth making filthy, pretty noises as you sucked at him. 

“Jesus, yeah, yeah, she does,” Eddie breathed out, his hand moving to cup at your face so he could feel the way your cheek bulged with him. He ran a soft thumb over your bottom lip, almost too tender for the dirty things you were doing to him. “Can feel her throat, s’fuckin good, ohmygod-”

You whined as you took him deeper, thrusting your hips back into Steve, desperate for him to touch you, to do something, to do anything. Both boys watched you, grinned at your impatience and Eddie hissed through his teeth as the head of his cock nudged at your throat, your tongue laving the underside of it as you bobbed over him.  

“You want Steve, sweetheart?” He cooed, watching his friend pet at your hips, tapping at your thighs until you spread your legs for him. You were held up by your forearms on Eddie’s knees, hands wrapped around his cock, Steve’s palms curled around your hips. “Gettin’ antsy, huh? Don’t think you’re ready for him yet, Harrington’s fucking packin’, did you know that?”

He watched your lashes flutter, felt you suck at him a little harder and Eddie gasped out a laugh, gathered your hair from your face in his fist so he could watch your eyes turn glassy. 

“Oh, she’s excited, Stevie,” Eddie smiled and the other boy twitched in his own hand, cock throbbing, cheeks flushed.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve mumbled and you couldn’t help it, the contrast of his shy voice and the way he had a tight grip on your hip made you look back. 

You let out a huff of breath, an almost gasp that sounded a little strangled because Steve was fucking slowly into his own fist, hips twitching every time he stroked his palm over the head of his cock. 

It was big. Thick too, and you were already struggling to take all of Eddie but the sight of Steve made you rub your thighs together. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” you tried to laugh but god, it still sounded like a whine. “You’re gonna break me.”

Eddie snickered, wrapped his own hand around yours and stroked over his cock, both of you watching the way Steve’s cheeks went pink at your attention, your words. His eyes were hooded, darker than normal and his lips were parted, still glossy with you. 

“Told you,” Eddie grinned. “S’gonna feel so good though, isn’t it princess?”

You stroked over him a little faster, wrist twisting as Eddie’s own hand fell away to let you take control again. You nodded, pushing your face to his thigh so you could close your eyes for a second and just breathe. You were overwhelmed in the best way, four hands petting at you, naked body fizzing with attention and heat, the slick between your thighs only getting worse. 

Eddie’s hand soothed over your hair, coaxing you to look up at him, your cheek to the denim that still covered the top of his leg as you kept up your movements on his cock. His thumb pulled gently at your bottom lip, letting it fall back into place with a soft ‘pop’ and he groaned, breath ragged.  

“You can’t wait, can you?” He murmured, looking from you to Steve, “can’t wait to feel Stevie stretch you out, huh? S’that what you want? How long have you wanted it, princess, tell us.”

You clenched under his attention, at his soft cooing, his fingers tracing the lines of your face and instead of answering, you took his cock back in your mouth, just enough so you could suck at the tip and let your tongue play slide over him. 

And while Eddie gasped and moaned out obscenities at the feel of your mouth again, Steve pulled at your hips with both hands, tugged you back against him so the length of his hard cock slid along your ass, tucking himself neatly against you, holding you there and waiting. 

You could feel him throb, already wet with you and his palm smoothed along the arch of your back, swept back your hair so he could see your mouth around Eddie. 

He tutted, tsked, “c’mon, babe, you gotta answer him, I wanna hear.”

He crowded over you, placed a sweet kiss on your shoulder, another under your jaw. Steve nosed at your cheek and it still made your heart stutter to have him so close. His lips found your ear and you could feel his smile, the curl of his lips. 

“I wanna know,” he whispered, eyes on Eddie as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. The boys exchange a smile you didn’t see, Steve’s hands sliding over your sides, Eddie’s in your hair. “Hmm? Tell me how long you’ve wanted me for, baby, m’goddamn desperate to know.”

You moaned around Eddie’s cock, a soft gurgle coming from your throat that made Eddie’s hips jump. You pulled back, placed a sweet kiss on his tip that made the boy whine, and turned your head so you were cheek to cheek with Steve. 

His cock was nudging at you, slick against your folds, hot and heavy as you both slowly rocked together, trying to ease the desperation between you both. 

“A while,” you whispered before correcting yourself, “a long time, too long, fuck- Steve, please.”

You pushed back, harder than before, overcome with need and the tip of Steve’s cocked slipped inside of you, making you both cry out. The boy’s hands flew to your hips, grabbed you and kept you still, his chest heaving at the way your cunt fluttered around his head. 

“Fucking hell,” Steve groaned, head thrown back, eyes closed, jaw clenched. He whispered your name, over and over and over like a prayer, kept you from moving back any further as he twitched inside of you. “You gotta stop baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself like this.”

His instructions made you whine and you tested him, wriggled against his hold on you and managed another half an inch of him. You were gasping, barely taking half of Steve and already so full. 

Eddie’s hand found your chin, tugged at your gently to make you look at him whilst Steve reared back, some of his cock still snug inside you. Eddie smiled at you, pouting at your glassy eyes and turned up brows. 

“Oh princess,” he cooed, taking his own cock from your hand, stroking himself over with the wet you’d left their front your mouth. “You gotta calm down, you’re getting yourself too worked up.”

He kissed your mouth, a soft, sweet peck as his thumb pushed at your cheek, making your lips push out into a squished pout. 

“Poor Steve’s about to blow a fucking gasket, huh?” Eddie grinned wickedly, ignoring the way the other boy cursed him out. “You clenching down on him, yeah? That pretty little cunt getting tighter and tighter around Stevie’s dick?”

Steve let out a low moan when you did exactly what Eddie had described, your body seizing up on him like you couldn’t help it, like you were desperate to pull more of him in. 

Another kiss from Eddie, on your cheek, your forehead, still grinning as Steve panted and tried to cool down behind you, hands grazing over your ass. 

“He’s right though,” he mused, working his fist over his cock, stroking slowly, lazily, enjoying watching the way you squirmed around his best friend's dick. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself, sweetheart, you gotta take Steve nice and slow, huh? Let him help you.” 

And with that, Eddie winked at Steve and coaxed you forward, helping you slide off of the other boy and the motion made you both whine at the loss. You suddenly felt awfully empty and you were about to complain but Eddie manhandled you back onto the sofa next to him, lifting you like it was nothing. 

“Lie down, pretty girl,” he ordered softly, patting his lap, “c’mere for me.”

You did as you were told, eager to rest your head on Eddie’s thighs, watching the way he kept palming his cock, wondering if he’d feed it back into your mouth to let you suck on. 

But then Steve shucking off his jeans and moving between your legs, kneeling on the couch cushions in front of you and nothing else fucking mattered. His hands were warm on your thighs and you felt him tremble, once, twice, grab onto you a little tighter and you wondered if you’d wake up the next morning with Steve shaped bruises on your skin. 

He ducked down into you, one of his hands curling around Eddie’s thigh as he nudged your nose with his, brown eyes burning into your own. His pupils were blown wide, lips cheeks still flushed and and for just a second, selfishly, it was just the two of you. 

“You still okay?” He whispered, watching you for any signs of hesitation and when you nodded eagerly, eyes unblinking and needy, he smiled, kissed you soft, licked into you filthy and said, “atta’ girl, baby.”

Steve pulled back, nodded at Eddie in a way that seemed like a thank you for allowing Steve to have these small moments with you. But Eddie understood. Steve needed them and so did you, he saw it in the way you looked at each other, the way you gazed at the other before things moved forward. 

“Ready, pretty girl?” Steve murmured, giving his heavy cock another pump or two, lining himself up with your cunt and teasing at your folds. 

You gasped, tried to arch up to him but Eddie was quick to soothe you, carding a hand through your hair and running a finger over your mouth. Your tongue caught him, hummed around his digit as he slid it into your mouth and both boys groaned at the sight. 

Steve slid forward, inch by inch, stopping to pant and squeeze at your hips when he was half way inside you. You were glassy eyed, breathless, the stretch of him a pretty burn and you were already full, so full. 

“Oh good girl,” Steve moaned, “that’s it baby, you’ve got it, you okay, huh?”

You made some sort of noise, a high keen and Steve swore as you tightened around him, trying his damn best to not let his hips jerk forward. It took another second or two, a slow slide of his cock that made you gasp and when he was finally seated inside of you, Steve dropped his chin to his chest and tried to control his breathing. 

“Jesus fuck,” he gasped out, like he was fighting for control. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, so good, so good for me, huh? So goddamn good.”

Eddie laughed lowly, making a sweet noise of excitement as he leaned over your body and sighed at the sight of you both. “Oh, look at that.”

He spread your folds with a finger and thumb, groaned filthy at the view he got of Steve’s thick cock snug inside of you and he gave your clit a little tap. Your response was borderline ridiculous, hips snapping up off of the sofa, taking Steve deeper still and both you and the boys moaned at it all. 

“Fuckin’ prettiest thing ever, huh?” Eddie choked out, smoothing a calloused hand over the soft of your tummy, holding you down as Steve lifted your thighs, hitched them to his hips and gazed down at you. “Look at you two, just goddamn perfect, am I right?”

You nodded, blissed out, already drunk on the way your boys had made you feel. 

“C’mon, big boy, I wanna hear all her pretty noises.”

Steve tapped your hip to gain your attention, your gaze snapping to him and he lifted his chin, eyes glazed over as he asked a silent question. 

‘Can I move?’

You lifted your hips in response, watched his eyes roll back and then he was rocking into you. A slow, maddening in and out of his cock, your cunt making filthy noises, loud enough for Eddie to swear and groan out like a man possessed. 

You watched him fist his cock, hand moving quicker than before as he trained his eyes on where you and Steve were joined, his jaw slack, lips parted as he let his free hand cup your tits, fingers pinching your nipples a little mean. 

Then Steve was panting, skin slick, boxers shoved down his hips just enough to let his cock move in and out of you. He made the prettiest sounds, eyes flicking from where your cunt was wrapped around him to the hand that Eddie used to stoke himself. His hair was a mess, eyes drooping with pleasure that made him feel boneless and when you whined at Eddie in order for the boy to give you his cock to suck on, Steve almost fell apart. 

He hitched your legs higher, claves against his chest and ankles at his shoulders as he pressed kisses to the inside of your knee, pressed up against you in every sense of the word. It felt like he was turning you inside out and you could help but take Eddie a little deeper too, gagging a little as you let him slip down your throat. 

Both boys were messy about it, gasping and swearing, calling you the sweetest names, moaning out something dirty and every touch of them had you warm, begging for more. Your cheek was pressed to Eddie’s thigh as you sucked on his tip, panting hard about him as Steve picked up the pace and made your toes curl. 

It was all consuming, having both of your boys like this. Steve alone would’ve been enough to make you cry, a white hot crackle of emotion mixed in with the best kind of pleasure; rough hands, sweet lips, soft words, but Eddie’s fingers around your throat made everything worse, made everything better and when he looked down at you, he stuttered, lifted his hips almost too much and sighed. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wiping away a tear that rolled down your cheek, catching it before it disappeared into your hair. “You good, yeah? Doin’ so well for us, that pretty mouth feels so good.”

And as if he wasn’t happy with all of your attention on Eddie, Steve dropped a hand to your clit, thumb brushing over it lazily as he slowed down, made you cry for him instead and Eddie’s dick slipped messily from your mouth as you chanted Steve’s name. 

He set a punishing pace, slow and hot, a steady rhythm that had you seeing the entire solar system, his thumb barely pressing down on you in sloppy circles, dangling what you wanted just out of reach. 

You whimpered, legs flexing against Steve’s chest and he grinned, sucked a kiss to your calf and let your legs fall back to his hips. He leaned over you, lifted his chin at Eddie so the other boy could cross the rest of the distance over your naked frame and give his friend some love too. 

You watched them kiss above you, an awfully sweet exchange considering where their dicks were but it made you clench around Steve and it was sinful the way you saw him smile against Eddie’s mouth at the feel of you.  

Unholy, you thought again, the two of them, the way they made you feel. 

Unholy. 

It was downright filthy, watching their tongues slip in and out of each other’s mouths, your head pressed back into Eddie’s thigh and he petted at your hair, as if to tell you they hadn't forgotten about you. Steve’s fingers on your cunt was nothing more than a tease now, a soft touch that kept you on edge. 

You whined, made soft noises of protest as your hand tried to bat Steve’s out of the way, tried to rub hard and fast circles over yourself the way you liked it but your impatience was enough to garner the attention back to you. 

Both boys were back on you, a little meaner than before, hands rougher as Eddie caught both of yours in one of his, pinning them over his lap and laughing at your pout. 

Steve leaned down to you instead, grinning at Eddie before he kissed you sweet too, nipped at your bottom lip and nosed at your cheek. 

“S’wrong?” He asked, voice impossibly soft. He was honey and caramel, sticky sweet, a hint of something dangerous and all flirt. “Huh, baby? Feeling left out?”

You nodded and whined, tried to arch your back and lift your hips, pulled at your wrists but Eddie had you captured. He tutted, grinned dirty at you and wanted to burst. 

“Yes, yeah, shit, please,” you cried, pouting at both your boys. “Steve, Eddie, I-”

“What?” Steve interrupted, “what d’you want?”

“A kiss,” you whispered, “another kiss.”

Eddie made a little sound of amusement from above you both, stroked a thumb softly over the inside of your wrist. “Ain’t she sweet?” He cooed, and if it had been in any other situation, you would’ve rolled your eyes and slapped at his arm for his cheek but you could only moan at him. 

“Yeah?” Steve pouted, trying hard not to smile, “Is that all? Pretty baby, d’you want a kiss from Eds?”

You were frantic in agreeing, sighing sweet, straining against the hold both boys had on you and Steve was fucking throbbing inside of you, moving minutely, a slow, soft rock of his hips every now and then. 

Eddie let you go only to slide out from underneath you, your head falling softly to the couch cushions as Steve settled back onto his heels and spread your legs wider, pushing himself into the cradle of your thighs. 

“Go on, give our girl a kiss.”

It’s like they planned it, like they knew you inside out. 

Eddie grinned, smiled a little wild and roguish and it was so pretty, the way he looked at you. He settled onto his knees like Steve, bent by your head as he crowded over you and slanted his mouth to yours. 

The second your lips parted under his, Steve squeezed at your thighs and started fucking his hips into you, groaning at the way you keened prettily into Eddie’s kiss. The boy swallowed your sounds, licked into you dirty, his tongue a hot, soft slide over your own and the feeling of his top lip pressed to your bottom was maddening.  

It made you dizzy, the way both boys filled you up, the way they both seemed to know what you wanted, what you needed, how you liked it. Eddie’s hands came to cradle your face, tilted your jaw so he could kiss you deeper and eventually, it was nothing more than your open mouths pressed together as you cried out both their names. 

Steve was making sounds that you’d think about for a while to come, soft grunts and dirty whispers under his breath as he pushed you and himself closer to the edge. And Eddie was cooing, pressing the smallest of kisses to your lips in between filthy words.

“You gonna come, princess? Gonna come around Steve’s big cock? You are, aren’t you? I bet he can feel it, huh, Harrington? Is her pretty little cunt gettin’ tight for you?”

Steve let out a strangled gasp, a hand falling to hold at your side, fingers splayed across your ribs, thumb pushed to the soft of your stomach and his hips pistoned in and out of you. You felt yourself get impossibly wetter, a warm and then cold touch against your clit and despite Eddie’s curls blocking your view, you knew Steve had let a line of spit drip from his tongue onto your cunt, used his fingers to rub it into you. 

“M’gonna come, m’comingcomingcoming-” you were surprised the boys knew what you were saying, your words a sticky babble that got caught in your throat as you sucked in air and squeezed around Steve, hands flying to Eddie’s hair to tug at it. 

“Oh fucking hell, there you go, there you go,” Eddie was groaning, kissing every part of you he could reach while you pulled at his curls, tried to keep him close. 

“Christ, shit, good girl, baby, good fuckin’ girl,” Steve panted, fucking you through the way your back arched and your ass lifted off the couch. He grabbed your hips, pulled you into him until your were splayed across his thighs and fuck, shit, he lost all semblance of control. 

“Takin’ me so good, baby, so good, so good, shit,” he gasped out, hair falling into his face, nails leaving half moons on your skin and you cried out for him the whole time, his name leaving your lips in a messy whisper. “M’close, gonna come, let me come inside you, huh? Can I? Please baby, pleasepleaseplease-”

You nodded and thanked god for birth control, unable to say no to the way your best friend was begging to fill you up. You felt his hips stutter and still, the thick weight of his cock twitching inside of you as he let go and you knew then that this wasn’t the last time you let this happen.  

It was like you weighed nothing, the way Steve scooped you up. Your skin was as slick as his and felt boneless, messy and fizzing with aftershocks as Steve gathered you back into his arms and fell back into the couch with you. 

Your legs were spread over the outside of his, straddling him as the messy slick of you and him slid against his thigh and you whined at the sensation. Your arms were around his neck, forehead pressed to his mouth as he panted against you, lay kisses along your hairline and whispered to you how good you were. His cock softened against you and you tried to catch your breath, heartbeat quickening once more as you saw Eddie move to stand between Steve’s spread legs.

Steve kissed you soft and sweet, caught your face between both hands and smiled at you until your blurry gaze focused on him. Warm, brown eyes, freckles over his nose, a mess of hair and a pretty blush coloured bruise on his neck that you barely remembered giving him. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you with us?”

You were sluggish in the way you nodded, pushing your lips to Steve’s an unbelievably greedy need for him still and your voice was hoarse when you answered.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you whispered, “so good, Stevie.”

Steve knew what you meant, what you were saying, how you were talking about him. ‘Cause he felt the same, had the same rapid heartbeat that fluttered under your own but he could only nod and smooth his hands down your sides, pulling you into him so your back arched real pretty.

“Gonna let Eddie feel you too, hmm?” Another kiss, four hands on you, squeezing at your ass, pressing nicely at the small of your back. “He’s been so patient, hasn’t he?”

You squirmed, let Steve help you onto your knees as he held you over him, your hands curling around his shoulders for support. Eddie gripped your waist, swiped his fingers through your folds and hissed, pumping his cock in his fist a few times, painfully hard from the time you’d spent taking it down your throat. 

“You ready, princess?”

Eddie looked at Steve when you made a whine, a whimper, watching as the other boy’s gaze took in your hooded eyes and slack jaw. Steve grinned, looked back at Eddie over your shoulder and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s ready, Eds.”

The boy gasped out as he sunk himself into you, cock already throbbing at how you gripped him, hot and wet and tight from how hard Steve had made you come. He was intent on doing the same, hands bracketing your hips, one clasped over Steve’s as both your boys held you.

Eddie set a fast pace, hips rutting into you as you pushed back, bouncing on his cock as Steve murmured dirty words of praise from underneath you. His head was thrown back onto the sofa, eyes hooded as he watched you and Eddie through his lashes, feeling greedy as he brought you down to him with one hand on your jaw, kissing the moans from your mouth as Eddie sped up.

“So good for us,” Steve murmured, kissing a line across your jaw. He cooed at your whine, hooked your hair behind your ear and grinned something filthy when Eddie landed a sharp smack against your ass. “Like that? Yeah? Fuck, she liked that Eddie.”

The other boy swore, hips stuttering as he tried to control the urge to come already, gasping at the way your cunt fluttered around him with every thrust, every tap at your ass. He wanted it pink, rosy, matching the way Steve had marked up your neck, evidence of them on you everywhere. 

“You feel fuckin’ amazing,” Eddie groaned and Steve watched the way his brow crumpled, a lovely, pretty glow to his cheeks as his mouth fell open in a silent grunt. It was all too familiar. “Christ, m’already so close, fuckfuckfuck-”

Steve laughed a little mean, eyes glittering at the other boy as you keened, pushed your face into Steve’s neck to bite down and suck at the skin there. He petted at you, fingertips creating trails of goosebumps across your spine and he squeezed encouragingly at your thighs, helping Eddie keep you up, ass popped out real pretty for them.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” Steve said hotly against your ear, eyes still trained on his friend. “You’re makin’ poor Eddie lose it, he was talkin’ such a big game before, wasn’t he?”

Eddie swore, kept fucking you, glaring at Steve with as much heat as he could despite the way his cock twitched and jumped inside of you at the other boys taunting words. 

“Pussy’s too good, huh, hot shot?” Steve raised his brows, smirked at Eddie and wasn’t all surprised when he bent over you, made you groan into Steve as he sandwiched you between them.

Steve was ready, hooked his fingers into the chain that was glinting prettily around Eddie’s neck and he gave it a little tug. “You wanna come again for us, gorgeous?”

You lifted your head, eyes glazed over, lips swollen from all the attention and Steve swore up and down he’d never seen a prettier sight. You let your forehead fall against his, brought a hand back to your shoulder to tangle your fingers in Eddie’s curls and hold him there. 

“Fuck, yeah,” you gasped, “already close, Eds, can feel you everywhere, shit, keep going.”

It was enough to send him over the edge, a sinful groan coming from deep in his chest as Eddie let you and Steve hold him to you both, chest to your back as Steve’s handsome features went slack with awe as he watched you both.

He let go of your hip to reach under you, hand blindly brushing over Eddie’s wet cock as it slid in and out of you, making the other boy hiss. He hummed an apology, found your clit, sticky and swollen between your folds and made you jolt as he pressed down on it.

“Steve, fuck, sensitive,” you cried out, eyes fluttering as Eddie heaved out another wrecked gasp. You were close, he could feel it, your cunt squeezing at him and he fell forward, head to your shoulder as Steve fed him his fingers, silver chain still tangled between.

“That’s it,” Steve praised, eyes on both of you, “look at you, so pretty together, look so fuckin’ good, Jesus. Want you both to come, yeah? Gonna let Eddie come in you, baby? Let him fill you up too?”

That was it. The rubber band snapped, a hot, sharp rip as pleasure seared through you, Eddie chanting your name as he rutted into you, hips slamming into your ass as he came. Your release came in a soft cry, lashes wet with tears that Steve kissed away and his voice was a lifeline in your ear as you clung to him, falling forward to crush you face to his neck.

You came down with hands stroking at your hair, your back, Eddie hissing as he slipped out of you. It was dizzying, the silence that followed. Not awkward, not uncomfortable, just a static buzz in your head that felt like an electrical current.

Both of your boys were livewires, kissing down any piece of bare skin they could reach, neck, shoulders, arms, back, hips, calves, ankles. You hardly heard Eeddie leave, content to stay on top of Steve, legs aching as you breathed him in, a mix of mint and cologne, smoke from the party, sex and summer and fucking Eddie. 

“You okay?” he whispered, hands cupping your jaw to lift your tired head. Your eyes were closed but you nodded, smiled when his nose nudged yours. “Lemme see your eyes, baby, huh?”

Baby. Even after sex. It made you warm. Made you hope that this - whatever it all was - wasn’t over.   

You did as Steve asked, opened your eyes, lashes fanning over your cheeks as you blinked. He was close, tip of his nose rubbing sweetly over your own, back and forth, back and forth until you couldn’t take it anymore and pushed into his hands until you caught his mouth with yours. A soft kiss, short and lovely, just because after all those years, you felt like you could. 

Eddie returned with a warm washcloth and a pint glass of water, not breaking the bubble you had both created, but slipping back inside it, slumped into Steve’s side as you leaned over to give him a kiss too, just as good as Steve’s. Both boy’s tsked and cooed as Eddie cleaned you up, hand gentle between your legs and between the three of you, you downed the cold water, throats burning from all your noises, lips rosy from kissing.

The heavy silence returned, thick and warm and comforting like a blanket, a lovely soft hold around all three of you as Steve eventually led the way up to his bedroom, all of you holding various discarded clothing in your arms. You let Steve wrestle you into one of his shirts, old and stretched out, the collar hanging loose around one shoulder but Eddie just kissed the bare skin on show as you fell into bed beside him.

Steve slid in on the other side, bare chested and still unbelievably warm, like the sun lived in the spaces between his ribs, a pretty, pretty contrast to Eddie’s smoke and bourbon scent, hands decorated with cold, silver rings as they traversed your sides. 

No one said anything when you pulled both boys into you, Eddie curled around your frame like a backpack, his chest pressed to your spine, curls spilling wild and messy across the pillow you shared, just like him. It let you lay yourself across Steve, cheek pressed to his heart, a grounding thudthudthud under your ear, his hand in your hair and his eyes fluttering closed when you pressed one more kiss to the hill of his collar bone.

 “We’ll talk in the morning?” you dared to whisper into the dark, “about this?”

You didn’t sound scared, or regretful, both boys noticed, just unsure, hesitant, like you were expecting rejection, even with the way they were still glued to your sides. They were all encompassing, their bodies following the lines of your own as they settled into sleep and you. 

You felt Eddie nod, the line of his nose brushing up and down the back of your neck and he squeezed the arm he had around your waist a little tighter. Reassuring. 

“Yeah, princess,” he whispered, voice scratchy, full of sleep and smoke and sex, “we can talk in the mornin’.”

Steve backed up his sentiment with a thumb pressed to your cheek, a soft tap that made you look up at him, neck craned to see the way his eyes shone down at you in the low light. 

“We’re ready to talk whenever you are.”

Endless Gifs of Steve Harrington (16/?)

We Tried The World CH4.

THE MASTERLIST THUNDER LAKE, COLORADO.  1227 MILES FROM HOME. 

The world around you changed as Steve drove you both out of Kansas. You packed up the car and drove through the night, bikini still on underneath a sundress, hair damp and skin smelling like chlorine. 

Steve sat next to you, tired, happy, sipping coffee and looking like he’d just leaped off of a cliff. His eyes were bright for the late hour, his hair wild from a day spent mostly underwater. 

He seemed lighter since he’d told you his secret, whispered it into the reflections off the pool, letting the silence and the sinking sun soak it up. You’d dressed on the edges of the water, both smiling, both blushing, avoiding too much eye contact as you dragged towels over bare skin. 

He’d opened the car door for you after you both scaled the fence and you wondered if his secret had sunk to the bottom of the pool, if it was supposed to stay there, never to be spoken of again. But by the time you’d driven out of Wichita and hit the back roads, the sun was gone, the moon was high and Steve stopped at some traffic lights and they lit you both up in scarlet light. 

The boy let out a breath, like he was readying himself and you’d turned at the noise, a question on your lips you never got to say because Steve leaned over the console, just a little, hand outstretched. His fingers were surprisingly warm when they grazed over your cheekbone, just underneath the line of your lashes. You’d blinked, almost gasped, and then Steve was pulling back and whispering “eyelash.” 

You slept for a while, tried your best to stay awake to keep the boy company as he drove but after the second stop for gas and another coffee, Steve was pulling one of his sweaters from his bag, coaxing it over your like a makeshift blanket and you couldn’t help it. 

It smelled like him, like the forest, like sunscreen and faded cologne. You closed your eyes without meaning to, lashes fanning over sunburnt cheeks and Steve turned the music down low, until whoever was singing was whispering to you, lulling you to sleep under Steve’s sweater. 

When you woke up, it was still dark, the land outside looking a little rockier, a little more up and down than before. The moon was high, a pale yellow that cast some light into the front seats of the BMW. Steve had pulled over, into a dirt parking lot off the side of the road and he slept upright, arms crossed, lips slack, head nodding off in every direction. 

 So you woke him up with your hand pressed to his forearm, squeezing softly to him to stir. He looked at you, bleary eyed and sleep mussed, leaning into your touch like he needed it to wake up. Steve didn’t fuss too much about handing over his keys, all previous arguments about you taking turns to drive out the window. 

Sure you knew how to drive, even a stick shift. You just didn’t have your licence. But that didn’t seem to matter all that much at three in the morning, in the dark and in the quiet of nowhere, Colorado. 

The world was asleep, letting you do what you wanted, what you pleased. It shut its eyes and gave you the moon, a long open road and only a hint at where you were driving to. Steve said ‘thanks, sweetheart,’ as you passed each other in front of the headlights, swapping places and sleepy smiles. 

If you reacted to the term of affection, you didn’t show it. And if Steve grinned when you slipped his sweater over your dress before settling behind the wheel, he hid it well. He fell back asleep quickly, an almost undeserving amount of trust given to you as he shuffled into the corner of the seat and the window, the keys to his most beloved possession in your hands. 

So you drove until the sun started to come up, a whole new picture in your windscreen. Mountains, canyons, valleys. The land turned rusty, oranges and reds and patches of green and wildflowers. The road went up, up, up and you climbed with the sun. Peachy skies greeted you, made Steve stir and wake up with a smile because the warmth of a new day was creeping into the car and you had the sleeves of his too big sweater curled around your hands as you held onto the wheel. 

Your ears popped and so did Steve’s, a quick sting that told you both you were higher than before, the roads still climbing, twisting and turning between mountains, overlooking lakes that seemed to appear from nowhere. Everything was pink when the sun came out, the sky, the rocks, the land, the water. 

Even Steve, who was looking at you with the softest smile, his hair mussed from where he’d tan his hands through it, the crease of his seat belt cutting across cheek. The bruise around his eye was completely gone now, skin unmarked except from the evidence of a good sleep. 

He watched you change gear, tongue peeking out from between your lips as you concentrated and the boy was laughing, turning the radio up as the new day started, a new song, a new state, a new kind of buzz between you both. 

Synths, drums, building, rising, getting faster and faster, and then you rounded a corner on the quiet road, burst out from between the tall trees that grew on either side of the tarmac and then and then and then—

A picture perfect view, a rolling mountain, rose coloured in the rising sun, dusted with greenery, with trees that looked like matchsticks. It led down to a lake, almost too blue to be real holding a mirror image of the scene above it. 

The sky was like silk, washes of pastels, clouds coming in from the horizon that promised a bright and warm day. And then you were laughing and so was Steve, a burst of noise that said ‘holy shit, can you believe this?’

The boy was grinning back, leaning forward on his seat, hands on the dashboard, eyes fucking shining and he looked at you like he knew, like he agreed, like he was telling you, ‘I’m so fucking happy I’m here. With you.’

I’m so happy it’s you. 

You pulled off the road, tires kicking up clouds of orange dust and you were still laughing, eyes a little glassy, overwhelmed. Steve seemed to understand because he didn’t question you, he just got out of the car too, walked around the front of the bumper and joined you at the metal barrier that separated you both from the drop below. 

The world was still waking up, birds barely calling out, the low buzz of insects seeming too far away and the heat in the air still felt fresh. Steve’s shoulder brushed yours and together you took a big breath in, held it and let it out on another huff of laughter. He let you lean into him, tears brimming at your lash line because it was all so pretty and it had been ten days since you’d left Hawkins. Ten days since you left the place that was supposed to be home and suddenly it hit you that you didn’t really miss it.  

Not your aunt's house, or your bed, or even the way the neighbours cat sat on your windowsill each morning.  

Because it had only been ten days but suddenly Steve Harrington was the closest thing you had to a best friend, the closest thing to a home, something that made you ache with warm familiarity. 

You sniffed, sighed, scrubbed the back of your hand over your watery eyes and then Steve was there, laughing softly, not unkindly, just amused. His hands curled around your shoulders, squeezed at you and tugged you back a little, just enough that your back bumped his chest and he let you stay there, leaning, supported. 

His chin hooked over your shoulder and it felt a little like a hug. 

“Y’okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little silly at your outburst of emotion. You felt entirely vulnerable, more exposed than you ever had, feeling more naked than the times you stood before the boy, wet and in a bikini. 

“Yeah,” you tried to whisper back, but it came out in a little gasp. “M’fine, shit, it’s just— it’s just pretty, y’know?”

Steve’s gaze flickered from the view to your face, lips twisted in conflict as if he was trying to decide what he wanted to look at more. But your eyes were shining, unshed tears clinging to your lashes like glitter, lips parted in awe. He could see the summer in your skin, in the glow that wasn’t there when he first picked you up that morning, just outside your house. 

His stare settled on you, close and steady, your back still pressed to his chest and for a second, he wondered if he’d be allowed to reach out and hold your hand, I’d you’d let him, if it would make you smile. But he didn’t feel as brave as he wanted to, not yet. So he cleared his throat and nodded, his cheek brushing your hair and said:

“Yeah, s’real pretty.”

He was still looking at you.  

—————

Steve took back over driving duties. It went like it always did, windows down, music up, his sunglasses over his eyes and his hair a little wild. Seeing him like that made your stomach flip, like you were the only one that got to see this version of him. 

Maybe you were. Maybe this Steve was yours. 

You sang to him, he sang back, voices louder and crazier as the wind whipped through the car and the sun made everything so much warmer than you’d ever felt before. 

It made your cheeks hurt, smiling at it all. It made you feel like a teenager again, the way Steve looked at you. Tongues pressed to cheeks to stop yourselves from grinning too much, eyes dancing over the other, gazed hidden behind Ray Bans and tangled hair. 

Steve drove you both into a town, cheeks burning as you passed signs that said “Loveland” and it seemed like easy to follow each other around the streets. The place was a big city, but it had a small town feel that felt a little like home and it eased you both as you walked around parks and lakes, trying to find a store. 

It was easier to touch each other more too, ten days in and a few nights tangled together, legs twisted, ankles hooked around calves and cheeks pressed to chests. So you didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t think too much of it when Steve pointed to a supermarket across the road and grabbed your hand. 

He held it as you navigated through the traffic, jogging a little to keep up with him and as you walked through the doors he didn’t let go. It was hardly a thing, palms barely touching just fingers twisted together like you were scared to lose the other. 

He only let go when he grabbed a cart and the boy rolled his eyes and grinned when you hopped inside of it. So it went like that, Steve pushing you around the store, your sundress and his sweater riding up your thighs as you let your dust covered shoes hang out over the side. 

He passed you snacks, bottles of water, some cans of soda and even a new blanket as you read out loud from the little book you’d bought way back in Illinois, telling Steve all about the Rocky Mountains and the Continental divide. He even threw a disposable camera on your lap as you neared the checkout, a roll of film loaded and ready to go. So it was settled, because you asked and Steve said yes, and suddenly you were planning for a few days in the wild, with creeks and lakes and canyons and the chance to see stars in the sky again. 

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you as you loaded up the car, his sweater still swamping your frame, the hem of your dress peeking out from underneath. He hadn’t asked for it back and although the day was getting warmer, the temperature creeping upwards, the soft material smelled like him, like mint and boy and summer and Steve, and you didn’t want to take it off. 

Not yet. 

The drive out of town made your body buzz, that same feeling of anticipation you felt when you had travelled towards The Ozarks. It happened the same way, with the skylines and brick buildings falling away from you as you ventured further away from the city. The road led you back into canyons, made you both feel like ants in a toy car and it was brand new, it was different, it was a little bit magic. 

The road started winding, the land around you growing and when the sun reached its peak in the sky, what little clouds had been there slipped away and you were left with blue, blue, blue. Everything around you got taller, jagged rocks lifting up from the ground until they became cliff faces and mountains grew in the distance, breaking up the skyline with peaks of snow that seemed so far away. 

You passed campsites, cabins and people walking with backpacks heading towards trails, cars with canoes on their roofs, signs warning you about mountain lions. It was a new world, something else entirely, and Steve seemed as mesmerised as you were. So you stopped at a little information centre, took turns in the tiny toilet and grabbed a map of the trailheads and some chips from a vending machine that needed a shove from Steve’s shoulder to rattle loose.

The parking lot cleared as you walked back to the BMW, kicking up dust as you stared up at the mountains in the distance, the canyons that closed you in from both sides. Trees littered the cliff faces, patches of green that broke up the rock, the roads, the wooden cabins that were selling hiking equipment and camping gear. 

You turned to Steve as you reached the car, sundress skimming your thighs, Steve’s sweater trailing past your fingertips, your hair a little wild from the way the wind had whipped through it during the ride here. You found the boy a few feet behind you, sleeves rolled up, all tanned skin and hair messier than yours. He held the little camera he’d bought up to his face, eyes squinting as he looked through the lens at you.

“What’re you doing?” you laughed, embarrassed at his blatant attention.

“M’takin’ a photo of the mountains,” Steve grinned, pressing the button until the camera clicked and whirred. He was still pointing it at you. “You can draw me, but I can’t snap some pictures? Rude.”

He was still grinning when he brought the camera away from his face, rolling his eyes and passing it to you when you wiggled your fingers at it. The boy hopped up onto the closed trunk, knees on his elbows and squinting into the sun but you clicked the camera, capturing Steve and the mountains, the burgundy of the car, the glare of the sun.

It was quiet when you let the camera fall to your side, memories already locked inside of it, both of your smiling faces, surrounded by a world that looked a little alien to you. Steve nodded towards the hills and valleys in the difference, the road that wound around a bend and disappeared into the wild.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” you replied.

So you both drove out towards the mountains, climbing higher and higher again, cars becoming less frequent the further into the national park you ventured. You passed campgrounds, signs for cabins and tent pitches and Steve turned off onto a smaller trail, dirt road kicking up dust as you turned the music up a little louder, smiling as you sang. 

“Maybe you wonder where you are, I don't care,” you were louder than ever, unashamed, eyes shining, windows down and Steve’s eyes flicking from the road to you. 

“Here is where time is on our side, take you there, take you there,” Steve finished, and god it all felt a little cosmic, like the world meant for you both to be there. 

You stabbed a finger to the map, declared your destination to be a blue spot on the paper called ‘Thunder Lake’ and Steve made a joke about you always leading them to water, like some sort of make believe creature, something from a fairytale. But he listened and obeyed when you pointed this way and that, yelling left and right through laughter and new songs. 

The road opened up for you both when the trees on either side of you cleared and a rocky beach led down to a crystal blue shoreline, mountains surrounding the water, closing you in. The lake felt like it belonged to you and Steve, it felt like a new secret to share. 

You stepped out together, wonder on your faces, smiles curling into grins and it was like the air glittered, like the sun got a little warmer when you stepped into its light. 

The car was left on the gravel, the air not as warm as it was back in town, so you kept Steve’s sweater on, ducked your head and bit your lip when he plucked at the material and grinned at you. You had lunch by the waters edge, the surface glassy and unspoiled, mountains for friends as you shared a packet of chips, broke apart sandwiches and took a half each. 

It was the nicest kind of quiet.

And when the run had passed its highest point in the sky and the world started to glow a little pink, a little more peach and orange as evening rolled in, you lay on your stomach on a grassy patch, sketchbook opened and a pencil sucked between your lips. Steve was a little away, balancing on one foot on a rock in the shallows, arms outstretched, an old flannel hanging over his t-shirt. 

You were finishing up drawing the rip in his jeans, just above his knee when he came wandering over. He’d caught you drawing him enough times now that you didn’t immediately hide your page, but the flush was still evident on your cheeks when he plopped down beside you. He was close, closer than he used to dare, thigh pressed to your ribs and his face hovering over your shoulder.

He smelled like the mountains, fresh and like pine needles, the last of the sunscreen and passionfruit iced tea. 

“Does my hair really look that bad?” he complained, but there was a smile on his lips, a shine in his eyes when you snorted and nudged at him.

“Shut up,” you told him, fonder than ever. 

“Can I?” he asked, nodding towards your book. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your hands felt empty without it, but Steve kept it close between you both. 

The cover was frayed, stained, the pages curling and dog eared, some ripped, some missing. The book held a little of everything, scenes from Hawkins, some self portraits, your aunt cooking soup at the stove. The most recent pages were filled with Steve.

Profiles of his face, strong jaw, full lips, furrowed brows. Steve lying in the sun, Steve driving the car, head tipped back, sunglasses hiding the way his eyes glittered. You’d drawn the car, muddy, dust covered and loved, the lake from the Ozarks, a bird's eye view of the winding roads that took you out of Kansas. You sketched the outside of the motel from Illinois, wrote the room number underneath the lines of ink like a signature, and drew two floating figures in a big, wide pool.

You were holding your breath. 

“I like these,” he murmured, trailing his touch over the lines, a finger pushed to the figure that was supposed to be you, floating on your back in water. “They’re really good.”

You ducked your head, tried not to smile and whispered a thank you and grinned anyway when he poked at your cheek. 

Then you were squealing, laughing, tugged clumsily onto your back as Steve fell back with you, his hands on your shoulders as you both dropped back into the long grass. The camera flashed above you, a click and whirl as Steve captured the scene. 

The pair of you, shoulder to shoulder, cheeks touching, lips split with wide smiles and eyes bright. Your hair mixed with the boys, with the blades of grass, skin painted apricot in the setting sun. 

“We were definitely only half in the frame,” you snorted, your hand pushing at Steve’s side as he scoffed in protest. 

“What d’you mean, I’m practically a professional.”

You laughed again, softer this time, because Steve was pushing himself up, turning to hover over you and he was grinning, backlit by the sunset and you were suddenly reminded of his favourite colour. 

He was sunset yellow, gold and peach and tangerine, coral coloured cheeks with hair that suddenly seemed caramel. He was sunkissed, freckled, stubble on his jaw that had grown since the last motel stop, his hair a little more curled at the ends from being outside. 

Clouds had started to roll in over the mountains, burnt orange and indigo, bringing in the threat of rain but you couldn’t find it in you to care when Steve was looking at you like that. 

Like the same he had on the Fourth of July, right before he kissed you. 

But then he was sitting back, clearing his throat and tugging at his hair like he needed to give his hands something else to do. In case he felt like he was going to do something stupid. 

Like touch you. 

So Steve handed you back your book instead, pages slipping free that you’d once torn out but decided to keep, half finished sketches, lists and a photo that was lined with peeling, old tape, yellowed and dog eared. 

“What’s that?” Steve picked up the photograph, gentle with a finger and a thumb, like he knew it was something special. 

You sat up and looked, heart skipping a beat. It was an image of a house, white wooden slats, a blue roof and matching shutters, a buttercup yellow door surrounded by hanging flowers. The house sat on a hill, sand covering the path leading up to it, long grass on its edges, like nature itself built it. The photo looked old, like the photo had seen some water damage, some wear and tear and a lot of love. 

“Uh,” you started, blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears that you didn’t want, didn’t expect. You sniffed, shrugged, feeling silly. “That’s my grandparents house.”

“Oh,” Steve looked at you, unsure whether to reach out and touch you or not. He placed the photo on the open pages of your book and nodded. “S’really lovely. The house- it’s pretty.”

You smiled and nodded too because it was. 

“Did you go there a lot?” The boy asked and he sounded so earnest, so sincere. “Is it in Virginia too?”

You shook your head, smile slipping into something sad and you picked up the photo, ran a thumb over its work edges and glanced back up at Steve. There were four of him, his pretty face split into fractures with the tears that made your eyes a little glassy. You blinked, felt stupid when wet hit your cheek and surprised you. 

“No, uh, I’ve never been,” you told him. “I met them once or twice, I think? I was young. They were so mad at my mom and they were really old when she left. They couldn’t travel a lot and by the time they got sick I knew my mom was never coming back and my aunt couldn’t afford to fly us out.”

You left the rest unsaid, the obvious outcome lingering in the air like the end of a movie that never got a happy ending. 

“Oh,” Steve whispered and you nodded again, like you agreed with him. 

“It’s silly,” you said because maybe it was. “I’ve never been but I look at this photo and it feels like the closest thing I maybe would’ve had to a home. I remember my grans baking; scones and the best meringues you could ever taste.”

Steve smiled when you did, your face lighting up with a memory and he watched your eyelashes flutter like you were trying your best to remember it all. 

“My aunt said my grandad called me ‘duck,’ said he loved quiz shows and toffee.” 

You sniffed again, rolled your eyes at yourself and leaned against Steve when he let himself fall into your space again. 

“I remember him bringing me a bag of it when he last came to Hawkins, told me to hide it and not tell my aunt,” you huffed out a laugh. “I still have the last piece of it.”

You thought of the chew, still twisted in its shiny gold wrapper, hidden in a little tin in the bottom of your bag, mixed with jewellery and loose coins. 

“That’s nice,” Steve said and he whispered your name, caught your attention and smiled all sweet, nodded encouragingly at you like he was saying it was okay that you told him. “S’really nice that you have those memories.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, watery, wiped the back of your hand roughly across your face and nudged your shoulder into Steve’s, a solid and warm comfort. “My aunt said I looked like my gran. Not my mom, she always said I looked when my gran when she was young.”

Steve let his knee knock against yours, smiled at you a little wistfully, glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. “Oh yeah?” He said, “your gran must’ve been real pretty then, huh?”

You scoffed, burned with embarrassment, but more than a little pleased with his words and you were quiet and insincere when you mumbled, “shut up.”

He knew you didn’t mean, Steve could see the pink on your cheeks and the shin in your eyes but you were hiding your smile and he decided it was a very pretty look on you. Pleased, maybe even a little overwhelmed by him. 

“Do you miss home?” You asked him, breaking the quiet that settled over you both for a minute or two. You were both staring out at the water, the reflections of the blue mountains in the lake. “Your friends?”

Steve shrugged, smiled a little sad like you had done and let his fingers run over the grass, searching for stones to skip across the shore. 

“I think,” Steve replied, “that if this trip has caught me anythin’, it’s that I don’t think I really had a home, y’know? A house, sure, a real nice house too.”

He found a stone, threw it into the lake and you both watched it splash and sink. The skies were darker, clouds rolling down the canyons, settling in the skies above you, dark and heavy.  

“But I miss my friends,” Steve nodded, staring at his hands. “Miss them a lot, yeah.”

“D’you wish they were here?” You asked, “Robin? Eddie, Dustin?”

“Sometimes?” Steve squinted at you, like he wasn’t really sure of his answer, like he felt guilty if he said otherwise. “We’re always with each other- and I love that, I love them. They’re my family, y’know?”  

“But we’ve been through a lot together and sometimes it’s too much, and I just… I just-”

You sighed, nodding as if he’d already said the word you were both thinking. “Need to breath?”

Steve laughed, a little humourless, a little relieved and he nodded, thankful for the way you seemed to know what he wanted to say, what he needed to hear. 

“Yeah, that,” the boy agreed. “But, hey, I’ve got you with me, right? And you’ve got me.”

You smiled at that, because the boy’s words lifted at the end, a little more lightness and warmth returning to him, despite the way the wind had picked up, pulling more of those dark clouds closer. You wrapped your arms around you, leaned closer into Steve’s side. 

You didn’t look at him when you next spoke, felt like you couldn’t because god, you felt painfully shy, like a teenager with her first crush, like you were talking to that boy next door who seemed too pretty to be real. 

“We’re friends?”  

Steve looked at you then, turning and holding in a little noise at the realisation of how close you both were, shoulder to shoulder, noses only inches apart. He was looking at you that way again, like he had in the kitchen, with fireworks in the sky. Maybe you were looking at him the same way too. 

His grin was achingly soft and he cleared his throat, nervous, nodded and tried his best not to look at your lips, the way the corner of them tilted upwards in a shy smile. You wondered if he’d crack a joke, if he’d say something stupid.

But he didn’t. Steve just gave a little half shrug, tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and tried to hide his blush. But he kept gazing at you, nodded and said, “yeah, sweetheart, yeah… we’re friends.”

It was lovely the way he said it, like you’d both earned the title. Like travelling through four states had been enough time for him to be able to look at you and realise you were no longer a stranger. Steve knew your favourite colour, your favourite animal, your favourite movie. He knew how you liked your coffee and that you preferred the right side of the bed. 

It warmed you to realise that you knew the same. You knew that his hair was a wonderful riot in the morning, that he hated apple juice, that he always mumbled to himself when he was trying to figure out a problem.

You hadn’t realised you’d been staring, or that Steve had been staring right back, still too close, his hair tickling your cheek when the wind lifted at it. 

And then, rain. 

A lot of it, loud and fat, huge droplets that hammered down with a dull roar, soaked you both to the skin almost immediately. You both jumped with a yelp, a few choice curse words and a shocked laugh that sounded more like a gasp. The sky had turned darker than ever, a moody violet that blended with the canyons, madee your little slice of the world turn into a glittering snow globe that held nothing but inky colours and the roll of thunder.

It was freezing, a stark contrast to the July weather that you’d experienced in every state; humid air, hot sun and cloudless skies. You couldn’t see one patch of blue above. But Steve was in front of you, grinning, laughing, grabbing at your cold hand and dragging you back to the car. You were sodden, the boy's sweater a water logged weight on your shoulders and it hung too low, dragged cold and wet at your knees and holy shit, it was comically heavy.

You tried to lift at it, yelped when it clung to your dress and brought that up your thighs with it and Steve tried not to look, tips of his ear tinged pink as he unlocked the car door and turned back to you, motioning to help.

His hands grabbed the hem, a sharp burst of laughter leaving his lips as you squeaked and together, you both tried to wrestle the sweater off of you. It came off with a slow drag, a heavy thud as it hit the roof of the car and you were unsteady on your feet, knocking into Steve so he had to catch you, hands gentle around your wrists so you didn’t fall into him.

The rain was so loud, you could hardly hear the way his laughter faded into purposeful breaths. The roar of it all matched your heartbeat, a constant thudthudthud that rattled your insides. 

Steve was really close. 

His hair was soaked, curling at the ends, dripping water down his cheeks, drops of it caught on his lashes, spilling over his cupid's bow. He looked unfairly pretty, like a painting, a watercolour that was all muted tones, trapped sunlight behind a glass frame. 

Steve was staring again, unabashed, unashamed, but fuck, so were you. You watched him lick the rain from his lips, tracked the movement with a gaze that felt too greedy, too wanton. 

You heard him say your name, a hardly there sound underneath a roll of thunder and suddenly it didn’t matter that you were both soaked to the bone, that you were freezing in a wet sundress. Steve’s t-shirt was almost translucent and the lake looked angier than when you’d both arrived, like it was tired of waiting for something to happen.

Something. Anything. 

Then, it was like a dam burst.

“Can- can I kiss you?” Steve called out, an almost yell to be heard over the din, his cheeks flushed, his eyes so unsure and god, fuck, shit-

You nodded, licked at your own lips, tasted rain water and leftover peach ice tea, watched Steve’s face light up like the sun had come back and then as he moved in, head bending down to yours, your hands shot out, grabbed at his shoulders and you shouted, “wait!”

Steve froze, eyes wide, panicked, rain still pouring over him and you shook your head, stumbled over your words until you got them right, and shit, you had to lean in close so he could hear you. Thunder rumbled above, echoed around the canyons and it felt like your chest vibrated with it.

You held onto the boy, felt the heat of him through his wet shirt, the soaked flannel that drooped open on either side of his chest. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart beat, if you could see the thumpthumpthump of it under his clothes.

You had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer and rainstorms and Steve. 

“I wanna- shit, can I? Can I kiss you this time?” You were wide eyed and breathing too hard, fingers curling around his shoulders, pushing onto your toes like you were waiting for it. “I wanna kiss you this time.”

You sounded braver at the end. Resolute. Determined. 

Steve thought you’d never looked prettier. He laughed, a bright burst, his gaze trained down on yours and he nodded, so sure, his own hands finding your waist and his fingers dug into your sides, made 

fistfuls of your sundress and then and then and then-

When Steve first kissed you over a week ago, it was with confidence that only tequila could bring. 

This was different. It was sweet, it was lovely and then it was more.

Your lips slid over Steves easily, both of you wet with rain, tasting like a storm. It was easy to push yourself into him, to let him catch you and hold your weight. It was a pretty give and take, slow and soft presses of your mouth to his and then your tongue licked into his mouth and you felt his groan, a whisper under the roar of the world around you, but fucking christ, you felt him vibrate against your chest, a rumble that seemed too good to be true.

But Steve opened his mouth for you, let you lick in and slid your tongue over his and you couldn’t help the way you surged up, onto your tiptoes and into him, pushing the boy against the doors of the car and that was it.

His hands were everywhere, stuttering over your sides, over your wet sundress, scratching at wet skin, damp cotton, swallowing the little gasps that you gave him. And your hands were in his hair, pulling and tugging, almost a little mean but the boy kept moaning for you, whispering your name into your own mouth like he was telling you a whole other secret. 

Your noses were pressed to each other's cheeks, teeth dragging over swollen bottom lips, panting into open mouths, hands pressed to dips and valleys, lines of muscles, the pretty slope of each other's jaw. The rain didn’t matter, not anymore, or the cold. Nothing really did.

Because Steve tasted the same way he looked, like he’d swallowed summer and held the sun inside of him.

Neither of you stopped until lightning struck. 

Soo obsessed

we'll be okay (s.h)

summary: after risking your life for steve, he gives you a lecture and a heart-to-heart

warnings: mentions of death & physical injury, swearing

i wrote this and re-wrote this a thousand times and i need to post it before i try and do it again. enjoy.

-jazz

Bats.

Bats literally fucking everywhere.

That was the last thing you’d remembered before passing out. There had been screaming – maybe yours, probably some of your friends as well – and then reality had escaped you. Dying in the Upside Down had felt like an unavoidable truth for a little while now but even when you’d been staring death in the face, it still came as a surprise. It felt a little sad that you’d survived demogorgons and demodogs and quite literally everything up to this point, only to fall short at the bats. In your defence, not much thinking had gone into your actions. You’d seen them coming towards Steve and that was all you needed to throw yourself in front of them. Perhaps your mum had been right in saying that you didn’t think right when you were around Harrington. In all fairness, she’d probably been talking more in the sense of homework and high school finals but the same logic applied.

So, yeah. Death. Cool. Unavoidable, unfortunately. And at least you died protecting the man you loved – which might have been a blessing in disguise, because you had no doubt in your mind that he would have killed you for doing so.

That became clear the moment you woke up. Maybe death was a little more avoidable than you’d thought; despite your near-mortal wounds and pounding headache, you were alive. Your reality had cut from the red skies of the Upside Down to the bright lights of Steve’s bedroom in seconds. You had no idea how long it had actually been – long enough for him to get out, clearly. Unless, of course, this was heaven…but based on the pain you were in, you sincerely hoped it wasn’t.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, as he threw aside his book and crossed the room. His hands were on you almost immediately, holding the back of your neck to support your futile attempts at lifting your head. “No sudden moves, baby. You’re still weak.”

“That’s a word for a it,” you murmured. “I thought I died.”

Steve didn’t respond; he kept moving, jaw clenched, hands desperately pulling his jumper further over your shoulders, running ever-so-gently over your bandages, checking that every piece of you was still there. It was almost as though he were scared that part of you had been left in the Upside Down. Part of him certainly had been, or it had at the very least died there the moment he thought you had.

He was tense – stiff jaw, stiff hands, stiff back. Not relaxed and smiley like the Steve knew. He had the weight of the world of his shoulders, and it was though he were scared to let the slump, just in case it felt off. Came crashing down and smashed to pieces, everything that he was juggling falling to the floor. Things were a little more in perspective for him now after your near-death experience.

“Steve?” you pushed. You reached out and grabbed his hands, pulling them away from your torso. “You’re being uncharacteristically quiet and I hate it.”

“Words are not my strong suit right now,” he admitted. Steve took a seat beside you and crossed his legs, gently reaching out a hand to take yours. “They haven’t been over the last few days.”

“Talk to me?” you asked. “I know when you’re holding stuff in. You get this look on your face and then it all comes out in word vomit, remember?”

He gave you a sideways glance, smiling slightly.

“C’mon, Harrington,” you quietly returned the smile. “Word vomit on me. Word vomit all over me.”

“I love you,” Steve replied. “But I also hated you just a little for throwing yourself in front of those bats. The entire time you’ve been out I’ve been building up this massive lecture in my head about it and then you actually woke up and…nothing else matters, actually. The only thing I care about is that you’re here and you’re awake.”

“You can give me that lecture if you want,” you gave his hand a light squeeze. “Just let me ask you one thing, Steve. If the tables had been turned, how much thought you would have given it before throwing yourself in front of them to save me?”

“Absolutely none ­– oh,” he paused for a moment. “That’s different, though.”

“Why?”

“Because if I die, then I don’t have to live without you?” he said – despite it being an attempt at reasoning, he posed it more like a question. His logic was questionable at best, but you did understand.

“Riiiiight,” you rolled your eyes. “Steve, think about it: I did what I had to do to protect you in the same way you would for me. I don’t want to live without you anymore than you want to live without me, even if you’re a pain in the fucking ass.”

“You’re not always a walk in the park either, honey.”

“Thanks, babe.”

Steve gave you another smile. “I guess we’re in the kind of relationship where we would die to protect each other, huh?”

“That’s probably the main take away from this, yeah,” you replied.

“I’m always juggling a thousand things at once. I got a lotta balls in the air, you know?” he continued. “Sometimes I’m worried I’m gonna drop one of my metaphorical balls. And in the moment where I thought you died, they all came crashing to the ground.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he affirmed. “It’s like…my balls don’t matter unless you’re here.”

“Steve-”

“- yeah, I heard it!” he groaned. “What I’m saying is…very few things in my life have a purpose without you. So please, try not to die.”

“I’ll do my best,” you gave him a smile. “Now, d’you think you could help me change these bandages? These ones are a bit…bloody.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Steve crossed the room and produced a first aid kit – you probably should have gone to hospital but there was no way in hell for you to explain your injuries. That meant that Nancy and Robin had tended to your wounds; the stitches were a little wonky and they didn’t have strong enough pain killers on hand to really help, but their efforts hadn’t been in vain. Admittedly, Steve had been a little useless in that moment – he was completely fucking numb, only able to watch in disbelief as they tried to help you. He wanted to kick himself for it, but at least he could help you now.

Softly pulling up your arms, he lifted the fabric of your hoodie (his hoodie) and began to unwind the bandages. He saw the wounds then, deep and jagged and still swollen and bumpy from the bats and the stitches. It was almost like he could physically feel the pain in his own side – it looked awful. And it had all been for him.

“Shit,” Steve murmured.

“Hey, Steve, c’mon,” you softly said. You reached out a hand and brushed it over where his lay on your side, giving it a squeeze. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You’re not fine.”

“But I will be!” you shot back. “It’s been what…I don’t even know how many days, but presumably not many. It doesn’t matter how I got the wounds; it just matters that they’ll heal.”

“It does matter, honey,” his voice was still quiet. “Because you did this all for me and that is not okay.”

“Are you honestly telling me that you wouldn’t let yourself get a little hurt for me?” you said.

“You know I would,” he murmured. “I’d get mortally wounded and grotesquely disfigured for you.”

“There we go then.”

Steve didn’t say anything else; he instead replaced your bandages and then climbed into bed beside you. His movements were still gentle and restrained, erring on the side of caution as he moulded his body around yours – one arm on your good side, pulling you as close to him as possible, a large hand guarding your head as he kept it tucked into his shoulder. It was close as the two of you could physically get without actually being the same person and in that moment, it was exactly what he needed. You might have been the one who was physically ailed but he emotionally, Steve felt like he’d been attacked by every demo-piece-of-shit the Upside Down had to offer.

You let out a tiny sigh, snuggling closer to him as you drifted off. It was in that moment that Steve realised only one thing mattered: you were going to be okay and so was he.   

tags: @karasong

We Tried The World CH3.

THE MASTERLIST WICHITA, KANSAS, 789 MILES FROM HOME. 

Kansas greeted you with a sign that told you that you and Steve were now entering the sunflower state. But the fields on either side of you were flat and green, patches of brown mud and a forgotten barn or two. 

You’d left The Ozarks early, both of you sitting in the front of the car, gazing at the lake with the engine idling like you were silently saying goodbye. 

It had taken a little over two hours to leave Missouri, to pass over that invisible state line that separated you from Kansas. It was nine in the morning, the skies blue, summer still blazing and the car smelled like coffee and the iced tea you’d both ordered to go from a diner on the side of the road, lemon and honey and espresso in the air. 

You drove for another forty minutes before you saw them. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you when you eventually did spot them, the sign really did give you fair warning. But they seemed to come out of nowhere, the pastures and paddocks filled with dried out grass and sleepy animals turned into rows and rows and rows of towering flowers, golden yellow, all taller than you. 

Sunflowers for miles. The sight made you gasp, made you jump in your seat and throw yourself on the edge, seatbelt strained and your hands curled around the side of the open window. Your smile was contagious, pure elation that Steve laughed at and he was grinning just like you. 

You didn’t ask him to stop, you didn’t have to. Steve took one look at your face and then he was pulling off into the dirt at the side of the road, dust kicking up behind you. You were both clambering out of the car and into the sun, the heat, the smell of pollen and fields and farmland assaulting your senses but god, you really didn’t care. 

You didn’t think about it when you grabbed Steve’s hand, and he didn’t pull away at your touch either. He let you drag him into the flowers, morning dew soaking your bare legs and arms, painting your sundress in splotches of water. Steve trailed behind you, still grinning, hands still joined, bright yellow petals brushing against his hair, his cheeks. 

You walked until you couldn’t see the road, until you could only see the sky, the flowers and Steve.  

You only let go of the boy’s hand to brush your fingers over the petals instead, big, green leaves and fallen seeds that crunched underfoot. It became a game, a bag rendition of hide and seek, a catch me if you can, because the flowers didn’t offer that much cover and you decided really quickly that you wanted Steve to catch you. 

So you tripped a little clumsily through the fields, Steve only ever a few feet behind, laughing, face bathed in sunlight and yellow toned shadows, sunflower petals in his hair. 

He grabbed at your wrists when you let him get close enough, listened to the way you laughed at his touch until he got brave enough to put his hands on your waist, pulling you back towards him, his palms big and warm through the cotton material of your dress. 

It felt like another world, another time, it felt like this was a boy you could fall in love with. But then you remembered what this was, this escape, this adventure without a plan and you tried not to think about how nice Steve’s chest felt against your back when he tugged you into him. 

It had been a week since you’d left Hawkins and you were already spending too much time looking at the boy with the messy hair. He had more freckles now, his skin more tanned, his clothes a little comfier, less fitted than when you’d left.

It felt like you were watching him fall into himself. 

It had been hard not to think about the things you did when you’d spent the last few nights pressed against him in the back of the car. The moon shifting across the surface of the lake, the reflections dancing across the two of you in the dark. 

Everything had been good, everything had been sweet, nice, easy. And then two hundred and twenty something miles from Wichita, Steve’s car got a flat tire and everything fell apart for a few hours. 

It felt like reality then, less like a dream, like an adventure that couldn’t disappoint and you started to wonder then if this was the right choice. Because it was a Friday evening and if you’d been home, you would’ve been working until eight at the bookstore, walking home to your aunt to have meatloaf and then some ice cream on the sofa in front of the tv. 

That was your reality, it wasn't exciting but it never changed. You were both tired, hungry, too hot, the Kansas air sticky and heavy - and Steve was looking at you like this might have all been one big mistake

Or maybe your mind was just playing tricks on you. Either way, your stomach churned. 

Steve was already grumbling when the car rolled to a stop on the hard shoulder, kicking up dust as he went, curses filling the car and you groaned. The morning had shifted to late afternoon, lunch missed in favour of hitting the next stop earlier than nightfall. Your stomach growled, your head was aching and your legs felt dead from sitting for so long.

You winced when Steve’s door slammed, the boy pacing the length of the car as he stared at the punctured wheel in defeat. You leaned over the console, squinted out into the open window and the setting sun, the whole world golden. 

“D’you have a spare?”

Steve shook his head and swiped a hand over his face. He looked tired, a little bedraggled, just like you felt. The stretch of road had nothing on it, fields and fields on either side, a lone horse on a small slope, a sign that was sunbleached and cracked, one that told you that you were pretty far away from the next town.

You pulled out the map, pushed yourself out of the car into the heat that the sun was leaving behind and Steve wasn’t even paying attention as you spread the folded paper across the hood. You traced the lines of the road, hoped and prayed there would be a pay phone somewhere nearby. There had to be, right?

You threw the map back onto your seat, walked around the car and pulled yourself onto the trunk, the heat from the sun making it warm under your bare legs. You tucked your dress between your knees, frowned when you looked at Steve and saw the pucker between his brows, the way he was chewing at his lip. 

“So, what now?” You asked, “do we just start walking?”

Steve huffed, at you or the situation, you weren’t overly sure but the sound was impatient and it irked you more than it should’ve. 

“Walk where?” Steve held his arms out, gesturing to the wide, flat land around you both. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

You rolled your eyes at the obvious, pushing off of the car to stand by the boy, head tilted as you inspected the wheel. There was a nail embedded in the rubber, the silver head of it glinting mockingly in the sunlight. 

“Well, d’you have a better idea?” 

Steve kicked at the loose gravel on the road, scuffed up the front of his sneaker and shrugged again. His hair was a riot from the way he’d been tugging at it and you moved out of his way as he went back to pacing. The sun was getting lower, hazy on the horizon, a deep orange and it was setting the world on fire. It’d be dark soon. 

“I’m not leaving my car,” Steve grunted. “One of us will have to stay.”

You startled at his words, turning back to face him as you shook your head furiously. “What?” you barked out, too sharp. “I’m not staying here on my own!”

Steve sighed again and it set your teeth on edge. He rubbed at his eyes, tired, sore, hungry. He mumbled your name and it sounded like he was fed up with you already. 

“And if you think I’m walking off into the backass of nowhere by myself, you’ve got another thing coming, Harrington.”

“I didn’t- Jesus Christ - I didn’t ask you to!” Steve exclaimed, hands slamming onto the roof of the car. “And stop yelling, my head is fucking killing me.”

Maybe it was ‘cause you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, way before the sunflower fields. Maybe it was because you hadn’t had a good night sleep since the motel in Illinois, maybe it was the way Steve still hadn’t mentioned how he kissed you on the Fourth of July. 

It could’ve been the heat, the ache in your back, the throbbing in your forehead. 

Regardless of the reason, you snapped, your own hands coming to land on the roof of the BMW across from the boy. You stared at each other over the car, lips set in frowns, brows drawn tight. 

“I’m not fucking yelling!” you yelled. “I’m not feeling all that hot either, Steve, so don’t get on at me like this is my fault.”

The boy scoffed, eyes narrowed, elbows pressed to the roof. “And what? It’s mine? Like I meant to drive over a fuckin’ nail?”

You rolled your own eyes, the heat of the sun, the warmth in the air and Steve’s annoyance making you feel too hot. Your dress stuck to your thighs, to the lines of your collarbones and you suddenly felt trapped. 

You were in the middle of fucking nowhere, Kansas, with a boy you kissed once at a party. What the fuck where you doing? The sunflower field felt like days ago, weeks even. 

“Sure Steve, that’s exactly what I said.” The tension in your voice was palpable and you hated that the feeling of annoyance was joined by the hot prick of tears at the corners of your eyes. 

Maybe Steve caught the way you looked, maybe he saw the wetness at your lash line or maybe he just felt bad, but he softened almost instantly, a drop of his shoulders, a hand scrubbed over his face. 

It was getting darker and neither of you said anything. The silence was as loud as the night itself and both of you sighed and leaned on different parts of the car. The boy didn’t ask you to go, to walk until you found a pay phone or a gas station and he didn't leave you either. 

It wasn’t an apology on either of your parts but it felt like enough. The tension eased when the sun went down and Steve pulled himself onto the hood beside you, close enough to where you sat with crossed legs that you could feel the warmth coming off of him. 

The moon was out, the sky was black but the night was still so warm. It smelled sweet, like flowers and sunscreen and Steve, and god, you were tired. Maybe Steve was too, because he was suddenly leaning closer and his shoulder bumped yours and didn’t move away. You didn’t chance a look at him but you lay your head on his shoulder all the same, holding in a sigh of relief when he didn’t pull away. 

“What’s your favourite animal?” Steve asked you and it made your heart skip a beat, because it sounded like ‘I’m sorry.’

“Sharks,” you told him, eyes closing at the feel of him solid underneath you. You pressed your cheek to his shoulder, the tip of your nose close to brushing his neck. “What’s yours?” ‘I’m sorry too.’

But Steve snorted before he answered, shoulders jerking in amusement and you felt rather than saw the way he was peering down at you. You were smiling and you were so sure that he was too, even behind closed eyes, you could feel it, sense it. It changed the air, the mood, the way you felt and you wondered if you’d be okay as long as Steve Harrington kept looking at you like that.

“Sharks?” he asked, quiet laughter colouring his words. He sounded so much prettier than when he was yelling. “Why?”

You shrugged, still sleepy, still with closed eyes and you rubbed your cheek against the soft of his shirt on instinct. You felt him tense for just a second when your face pushed itself into his neck, a soft huff of breath kissing the skin there. But then he was pushing against you more, letting you curl in as much as you wanted, seeking out your touch as much as you were his. 

“I d’know,” you mumbled, “I like Jaws.”

He snorted again, thoroughly amused and he seemed your explaination good enough. 

“I think I gotta say dogs,” Steve told you. “Which is pretty boring.”

You smiled, “s’not boring. What kind of dog?”

The boy lay his head on yours, his cheek pressed to your hair and suddenly the world seemed so still. Had you been arguing? Did you almost have a fight? Did you yell? You couldn’t remember. 

“Golden retriever,” he said and you hummed in agreement. “My parents never let me have a pet, not even a damn fish. I always wanted a dog.”

The silence ticked over, comfortable if not a little sad because Steve’s brow was furrowed at the thought of his parents and the people he’d left behind. But something was itching at your throat,  a question desperate to be asked and when you felt it coming over your tongue, weighted with emotion, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Hey Steve?” You didn’t pause long enough for him to answer, but he moved from where he leaned against you, turned to gaze down at you, brows raised. “Why’d you kiss me that night?”

That night. A week ago, an age ago. A whole different state, a whole different time. You didn’t feel like the same person anymore but you still remembered the way Steve kissed you, like you were the answer to something he was too scared to ask. 

The silence stretched until an owl called out from somewhere above, a haunting noise that made your chest crack. But maybe that was just the way Steve was looking at you, wide eyed and panicked, like maybe he’d hoped you’d forgotten, like maybe he’d hoped he’d never have to talk about it. 

He murmured your name, swiped at his face and sighed. 

God, it hurt more than it should’ve. The rejection from this boy you were only starting to know, it stung like sunburn, a harsh nip that travelled over your bones and Jesus, you felt stupid. 

You scoffed, laughing at yourself rather than Steve and you slid off the front of the car, away from the boy’s warmth and if he reached out to try and catch at your wrist, you barely felt it. 

“Forget it,” you told him, the earlier feelings of exhaustion and ache creeping back over your body. Your headache had dulled but your temples were buzzing again - but that could’ve just been the embarrassment heating at your face. 

Steve said your name again, a little more insistent this time but he sounded as tired as you felt. “Hey, no, wait…”

He was moving too, pushing off of the car and walking after you. You hadn’t gone far, just a couple of feet away from him and the BMW with some shitty hope that the air over there would be less stifling. 

It wasn’t. 

“Are we just supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?” you asked him, arms crossed over your front like they could protect you from his answer. ‘Cause you had a feeling you knew what it was by the way he was looking at you, eyes sad, lips parted, brow furrowed. “Which is, you know, fine,” you lied. “I just thought I’d ask.”

And then headlights were blinding you both and Steve never gave you your answer. 

A family had pulled up in a Winnebago, four friendly faces that were eager to help, assisting with a puncture kit and some bottles of water. They didn’t notice the tension between you and Steve whilst the older man worked on the wheel, his wife talking about Wichita and sunflowers and the bobcat they’d seen running across the road from forest to forest. 

You felt Steve’s eyes on you as you chatted quietly to the two little girls, their hair in pigtails, blonde and curling at the end. You let them fiddle with the gold rings on your fingers, admiring each design with sweet, quiet voices. 

And when the wheel was fixed and you’d said your thanks, Steve opened the passenger door for you and looked at you a little sadly. Neither of you spoke as he drove you both to Wichita, the town sleepy and quiet as you rolled in during the early morning hours. 

It was still louder than the Ozarks, an electrical buzz coming from the streetlights, the stars lost in their glow. It was louder than the silence from inside of the car, muted music coming from the bars you passed every now and then, a bus that rumbled past you both at sets of traffic lights. 

Steve found a motel with little issue, a tall building off of Central Avenue that had a red neon sign that coloured you both crimson in the parking lot. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, turning the engine off with his gaze on you and you hatred the way the embarrassment you felt still lingered on your skin. His stare felt hot. 

“This okay?” he asked, quiet, as if not to startle you. 

You only nodded, already halfway out of the car before he could follow and when you got to the reception desk and the woman asked you how many rooms, you were the first to speak. 

“Two, please,” you told her, already pulling cash out of your bag to pay for your half. 

You felt the boy at your back, chest brushing against you as he leaned in, a hand on the desk, caging you between it and his body. He was staring at the two sets of keys the receptionist placed in front of you, his voice low and at your ear. 

His lips brushed the shell of it when he spoke.

“I thought you didn’t like sleeping alone,” the statement seemed so much more salacious than it should’ve been. But you both seemed to remember the nights by the lake, tangled together. “I mean, in a room. On your own,” Steve clarified, cheeks warm. 

You shrugged, paying the lady and grabbing your keys, leaving Steve fumbling with his bag before he snagged his own set and followed. It didn't matter that the rooms were side by side, only separated by a thin wall. It still felt too far and suddenly you were cursing your own stubbornness because fucking hell, you really didn’t want to sleep alone in a room in the middle of fucking Kansas.

Home seemed really far away without Steve. 

He must’ve sensed your hesitation though, because he paused with his hand on the door knob, looking at you with those same sad, brown eyes. He leaned against the green door, a sickly shade of olive that didn’t match the yellow walls. 

“You gonna be alright?” Steve asked. He licked his lips, nervous, dragging a hand through his hair. “Can we talk? About what you asked m-”

But you shook your head, the thoughts inside of it rattling and making it hurt. You wanted to say sorry. Sorry for asking, sorry for acting so childish about it, sorry that you were sad. But you opened the door and kicked in your bag, lifting a hand in a weak wave.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you told the boy. “Night, Harrington.”

—————

You did not see the boy in the morning. 

You couldn’t wait that long. Not out of excitement, nor impatience, no. It might’ve been a little regret but you watched the way the clock on the nightstand clicked over to three o’clock and you were horribly aware of how alone you were. 

In a strange city. In a stranger motel, and god, there were footsteps from above and you could hear a couple arguing out in the street. Didn’t Ted Bundy stay in a motel like this?

It’s why you were standing at Steve’s door in bare feet and a too big Hawkins High shirt, your arms folded over your chest as you stared at the number ‘162’ painted on the wood. 

It took you a while to knock. But the hallway light flickered and somebody from the floor above yelled out and suddenly you were that concerned about waking Steve up. 

He answered like he’d already been awake, the door handle turning quickly and the light inside of his room was so much softer and warmer than the harsh overheads that lined the hallway. He seemed surprised to see you, despite knowing there wouldn’t really be anyone else knocking on his door in the middle of the night. But his eyes widened at the sight of you, hair mussed, legs bare, the thin fabric of your shirt making it obvious you weren’t wearing a bra. 

He swallowed, met your gaze with the same softness you’d last seen in the sunflower fields and stood aside, letting you in. The door squeaked when he shut in and his bed was messy, the pillows askew, the sheets hanging off like he’d been tossing and turning the same way you had. 

“Can’t sleep?” Steve broke the silence first and you shook your head, standing in the middle of his room a little awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

You suddenly felt very naked, more than aware of your bare legs and cotton underwear that was hidden by your shirt. 

“M’fine,” you lied, because you weren’t - not really. You’d felt lonely in your room, an overwhelming sense of feeling lost and you hated it. It scratched at your skin and made you think about the back of the car at the side of the lake. 

Your back had hurt every morning and you watched Steve crack his neck when he woke up and stretched out, but neither of you ever complained about sleeping curled into each other. 

And one morning, when the sun was barely rising, you’d woken up with a yawn and watched the rise and fall of Steve’s chest under where your cheek lay. It had taken you a while to notice, but when you shifted, you’d felt it. 

His hand curled around the hem of your sweater, clinging tight, like he needed to know you were close even in sleep. 

Maybe Steve knew you better than you thought by now, maybe it was just incredibly obvious but the boy smiled a little, still kinda sad, almost a little amused and he sat back down on the edge of the mattress. 

“You’re not fine.”

You shrugged. 

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asked softly. You didn’t answer, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Me neither. It’s too loud, I can’t-”

He paused, eyes on the ugly patterned carpet. He sounded like he was about to admit something he wasn’t ready to. 

“I can’t get comfy,” he finished. 

You toed the carpet, pushed your heel into the thin scratch of it and nodded. “Neither can I.”

He knew why you were here, of course he did. Steve wasn’t stupid and you weren’t subtle. So he nodded too, pushed himself backwards onto the bed and rearranged the pillows more appropriately. The window was open to let in some cooler air and the breeze ruffled his hair, a pretty mess from trying to sleep. 

His eyes seemed darker than before when they found yours and he pulled back the sheets, tilted his head at the space beside him. 

“You gettin’ in?”

There was a considerable amount more space beside the boy than there had been in the back of the car. But the bed was no more than a twin, the mattress not made for two people but that didn’t stop you from walking across the room to Steve. The mattress dipped under your weight, knees pushed into the sheets as you climbed in, movements slow as if this was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. 

Maybe it wasn’t. 

Steve couldn’t move over for you, his frame already in line with the edge and when you finally lay down next to him, he turned into you, lying on his side so the length of him curled around the dips and curves of you. He fit perfectly behind, his chest to your back and you could feel the way his hand lay stagnant between you both, like he didn’t know what to do with it. 

You didn’t come to him for a cuddle, or god, anything more. His presence was enough, the solid wall of warmth near you exactly what you needed. Your eyelids were already drooping, lips parting slack as your breathing evened out and just before sleep completely took you, you felt the boy yawn and curl into you a little more, the bridge of his nose pushed into your hair. 

It was nice. It was enough. It was what you hadn’t realised you needed. 

But when morning came, the heat of the sun was back, the room was empty and Steve was gone. 

Maybe that was an exaggeration. His bag was still there, sitting by the desk. But his shoes were gone and the wallet and keys he’d thrown on the nightstand were too. 

You sat in the bed, bleary eyed and the morning sun hazy through the sheer curtains, letting into too much light and heat for - you turned, checking the digital clock that was still glowing green - half past seven. 

Panic surged through you, just for a second, maybe a minute. Because surely the boy wouldn’t leave you? Why would he leave his bag? Unless it was to throw you off? Maybe he’d emptied it and left, still annoyed by your question, your yelling at the side of the road in the middle of fucking nowhere and fucking Christ, you were alone in Kansas with no idea wh-

The metallic click of a lock being turned made you jump and face the door. It swung open, squeaking in protest and Steve cursed under his breath at the sound, closing it gently before it could slam, two takeaway coffee cups balanced in one hand, a paper bag swinging on the same wrist. 

Steve. 

Fuck. Steve. 

If he saw the worry in your eyes give way to relief, he didn’t mention it. He cleared his throat, cheeks pink as he took in the way you were sitting in the mess of the bed. His bed. The sheets rumpled at your waist, the pillow you’d shared that smelled his shampoo and your perfume. 

He held up a plastic cup, see through and filled with ice and creamy mocha coloured liquid. 

“I got breakfast,” he told you with a smile, “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon.”

You could hear his apology between words, hidden underneath the smell of caffeine and the giant fruit pastries he was pulling from the bag. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you.’

“Thank you,” you said, hands already grabbing for the iced coffee he was passing you. Extra ice, two sugars, just like you ordered yourself. “Is it warm already?”

Steve nodded, sitting down at the end of the bed and he was further than he was last night but still so close and you could feel the summer radiating off of him, the sun that had already etched itself into his skin. His shirt was threadbare, thin and a pale green, his jeans rolled at the cuffs so he could get as much fresh air as possible. 

“Like an oven,” he told you mournfully, mouth already full of raspberries and flakey pastry. “I miss the lake.“

You hummed in agreement, taking a long drag from your cup, closing your eyes in delight at the sweetness. “I know, a pool would be nice.”

—————

That’s how you found yourself and Steve standing in front of a chain link fence, the smell of chlorine in the air. The outdoor pool was empty, the fence locked and the sign on the front said closed for maintenance.  

“Well there goes that idea,” you sighed, clutching woefully at the towel you’d snuck out of the motel room. 

The sun was beaming, relentless without any clouds in the sky and your sunscreen was still sticky, coconut and aloe that Steve had rubbed into the parts of your back you couldn’t reach, both of you hot in the face. 

There wasn’t much else in the area, the shops lazy, the streets quiet, people spending their Saturday indoors to escape the July heat. So Steve grinned and threw his bag over the fence, making the chain rattle when he started to climb. 

“What’re you doing?” You hissed, staring at him wide eyed. You scanned the length of the sidewalk, half expecting to see the flash of police cars, the wail of a siren. “Steve!”

You heard the boy laugh as he dropped to the other side, grinning, bright eyed and full of trouble. He looked at the pool, the glittering water, the way the blue of it bounced off of the white walls of the locked changing rooms. He lifted his chin at you, smirking, baiting.

“C’mon.” He said it like a dare.

You groaned but followed, eyes nervous as they scanned the street as you climbed. You weren't usually one to bend the rules, and breaking and entering wasn’t on your to do list for that day either. But Steve was already stripping off, his clothes left at the side of the pool edge as he jumped in, swim shorts already on.

You squealed at the hit of cool water on your legs, jumping the rest of the way onto the sun warmed concrete, and in a manic burst of adrenaline, you wrestled out of your dress, revealing your bikini and bare skin. You launched yourself in after the boy, hearing him laugh before you plunged underneath the surface. 

The water was cool, almost cold and it felt lovely against your skin. The smell of chlorine mixed with your sunscreen, the leftover smell of Steve’s cologne that clung to your hair after sleeping so close the night before. He looked at you like he was kinda proud, like you jumping in after him made him so happy. 

The day went like that, uninterrupted, no arrests, clear skies and a whole pool just for the two of you. 

Everything was blue and warm, the water, the sky, the navy shadows, the buildings cast across the concrete. And when the afternoon waned and clouds rolled in, they were indigo too. 

But nothing was as pretty as the way Steve had been looking at you, brown eyes just as warm as the sun. It had been peaceful, the way you’d swam laps around each other, talking quietly and laughing, the night before forgotten about. You only wanted to remember the sunflowers, the way his hand had found your own amongst the yellow petals, the endless fields. 

It’s like the argument hadn’t happened, it was like you’d never asked him that question. And if you pretended hard enough, you could forget the silence that followed it. You both went back to playing stupid, and maybe, just maybe, it was better that way.

Or so you thought. 

You were stretched on the pool edge when the clock above the closed snack stand told you it was almost six o’clock. Your legs kicked lazy circles in the water, your arms stretched out behind you, palms pushed to the sun warmed tiles. Steve was in the middle of the pool, messy hair and tanned skin amongst the bright blue and he was looking at you again.

It was a gaze you couldn’t decipher and you realised that’s how Steve was looking at you too, like you were a puzzle, a question he didn’t know the answer to. Or like he was too nervous to say it.

But then there was a small splash, ripples around your calves and then Steve was there, holding onto the pool wall by your side, shoulders brushing your thighs, everything bare skinned, suntanned and wet.

You swallowed hard. 

“Hey,” he smiled, soft and almost a little shy. “Tell me a secret.”

You grinned, looked down at the boy with his damp hair and wide smile, new freckles on his cheeks that weren’t there before his day spent under the sun. You kicked out a leg, watched the water splash and glitter under the glow of the sky, dusk settling over the town. It was still quiet and you swore, you could hear your heartbeat.

Maybe Steve could too.

“A secret?” you asked and he hummed, knowing you were stalling. “I dunno, I don’t think I have anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

You laughed, watching the way Steve’s hand curled around your ankle, tugging playfully, threatening to pull you back in with him if you didn’t spill. So you wriggled out of his grasp and gave in, sighing dramatically before telling him:

“When I was six, I tried to smuggle a possum into the house.” You were deadly serious, straight faced when you said it. 

Steve stared. And then a grin split his lips, laughter spilling over you like the sun and he tilted his head to look up at you, shaking his head. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you popped the p, your own laughter colouring your tone. 

“Why?” Steve huffed, his humour infectious, his hand on the edge of the pool moving closer to your leg and everything was light and easy and god, he was looking at you in such a lovely way. 

“I really wanted a pet,” you grinned when Steve snorted, your shoulders shaking with the way you laughed. 

“How did you even catch it?”

You shrugged, properly giggling, and Steve’s eyes were bright, shining with amusement because god, you were something else, he thought. 

“Christ, you’re trouble,” Steve mused, lips twisted in a smile, pool water clinging to his lashes. You were sure he’d called you that before, and it made your stomach dip and tumble, because he said it like a compliment. 

“Your turn,” you told the boy, when you’d both calmed down enough, cheeks sore from sunburn and smiling. “Are you gonna tell me a secret, Steve?”

He liked the way you said his name, he decided. Like you took the time to let it fall from your lips, like you liked saying it. 

He was almost between your legs now, up to his shoulders in cool water, floating in the space between your calves, staring up at you like you were the sun. Maybe he was feeling reckless, maybe he was just feeling brave. It could’ve been the way he thought you looked so fucking pretty with your messy hair and flushed cheeks, drops of water sliding down your skin, casting tiny rainbows over your arms and stomach.  

Maybe he just couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“That night, at the party?” Steve murmured, his hand brushing your ankle underneath the surface. “I kissed you ‘cause I really wanted to. ‘Cause I’d wanted to for a long time.”

Your lips parted in surprise. 

“Used to have the biggest crush on you,” he was pink in the cheeks at his admittance, nose scrunched like he was a shy school boy all over again. “All through middle school, even sophomore year.”

You didn’t say anything. 

Steve let himself fall backward, slow and soft into the water, swimming away a little, eyes still on you. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, made it stick up a little messy and shrugged at you as if he didn’t know what else to say. 

You ducked your chin at his gaze, suddenly feeling the most shy you’d ever felt in front of the boy. 

“Yeah?” you asked to the water, staring at the shimmer on the surface, at the way the setting sun made the pool turn a deep lavender. 

“Yeah,” you heard the boy say. 

You didn’t have the courage to ask him if still harboured that same crush, if it came back when he kissed you, if kissing you felt as good as he’d maybe imagined it. 

So you took his secret like you took all of them, with a smile and a silent promise to hold onto it, clasped tight to your chest like it was your own.  

Maybe this one was. 

We Tried The World CH2.

THE MASTERLIST THE OZARKS, MISSOURI, 602 MILES FROM HOME.

You woke up early the next day to the shrill, digital beep of the cheap motel alarm clock and Steve’s bare chest. 

The day had hardly started, the morning bringing in a new kind of heat, an immediate warmth that only grew stronger when Steve pushed open the sage green curtains and let in the sun. It was already unforgiving, the blue sky hazy in the early morning hour, still tinged with the leftover colours from the sunrise. 

You were both quiet as you moved around each other, comfortable but barely awake, last night’s secrets lingering in the air between you. There was the smell of coffee and toast coming in from under the motel door, Steve’s mint body wash riding on the steam from the bathroom after his shower and you were so very aware of the sound of his pyjama shorts hitting the tiles behind the privacy of the thin door.

His bruise was beginning to fade a little, turning shades of green instead, still mottled around his brow bone. After his admittance, you wanted to run your fingers over it, kiss it better, tell him that he didn’t deserve a father like that, that any man who could that to their son wasn’t really a father at all.

Instead, you turned to let him dress, facing the wall with warm cheeks because the boy had come out of the bathroom with wet skin and a towel around his waist, murmuring shly about forgetting his clothes. Steve tapped your shoulder once he was dressed, the same worn jeans from yesterday and a shirt that was yellow and white stripes.

His hair was still a little damp, messy across his eyes and he had a flush to his skin from the hot shower, the sun from yesterday. Steve Harrington looked like summer, bruises and all, and he quirked a brow at you as he headed for the motel door, asking:

“Coming?”

You crossed the Mississippi River with coffee in takeaway cups that burned your hands, a too big cinnamon roll that you shared with Steve, holding it between you both as he tore chunks off of it with his free hand whilst he drove. 

The roads out of Illinois were just as long and empty as the way in, more green fields and farms, the smell of sunscreen, coffee and Steve trapped in the warm car with you. The Champ Clark Bridge took you into Louisiana, a small town with too many tobacco shops and roads that were a little uneven. Steve drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the open window to catch some fresh air, the music low, the day just starting. 

Small towns rolled by like dollhouses, wooden framed homes and too big trucks in their driveways, green and gold pastures in between, blues skies above and muddy ponds on the sides of roads. Four hours in and lunch time had passed, stomachs rumbled and the day was getting too hot, so Steve rolled into a small parking lot, a tiny supermarket next to a dentist's office and an off-licence that was opened earlier than it should’ve been. 

There was something so entirely domestic about the whole thing as you pushed a shopping cart around the aisles, Steve by your side, shoulder’s brushing, a hand on the cart to help you steer. You both loaded it up with snacks, stuff for sandwiches, a hummus dip that the boy wrinkled his nose at and when you got to the candy aisle, you argued with him until he relented and grudgingly put the extra two bags of red vines back on the shelf. 

It felt familiar, like a scene from a movie, from a book you’d once read. Like something you should’ve done before now, with a friend at your side, a lover, a partner. It made your chest ache with a nostalgia for something you’d never had and suddenly you were overcome to know this boy a little bit better, to make him your friend, your something.

Steve Harrington deserved to be known as more than the boy from Maple Street. 

“Hey,” you said, turning to Steve as you both lingered by the freezers, hoping to catch some cool air before walking back out into the Missouri heat. “What’s your favourite colour?”

You thought, for just a second, that the boy was going to laugh at you. But then Steve’s confused face smoothed out into a smile and he titled his head to appraise you, taking his time to think about your sudden question seriously.

“Yellow,” he said after some consideration, “but not like highlighter yellow, more like sunshine yellow, like when it starts to set and it goes all golden, y’know?”

You grinned, nodding, suddenly feeling so shy and Steve was blushing, cheeks a pretty pink as he coughed and waved a hand to you in return. “What about, uh, what about you?”

“Green, I think,” you mused, eyes set on the cart as you pushed it, wheels rattling, Steve just behind you. “Like forest green, a deep shade.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, and the surprise in his voice made you stop and turn. 

“Oh?”

“Well,” Steve started, moving into your space for a second as a family passed by with an overflowing cart and two screaming kids. His hands were on your waist for just a second, but the skin he touched burned for so much longer. “I guess I thought you were gonna say blue, like the ocean? Carmel, y’know?”

It made you smile, the way he mentioned the town, your destination, some sort of shared goal. Like the ultimate show of the new found friendship. And you nodded again, understanding but you shrugged your shoulders, head tilted to him as you both started to walk again.

“I’ve never seen it, remember?” 

Steve clicked his tongue and grabbed some bottles of water, throwing them into the cart. “Right.”

“But hey, maybe I’ll change my answer when I do.”

You gave Steve another smile then, all soft and warm, and he nodded, smiling back. Unbeknownst to you, the boy decided there and then that he wanted to give you every ocean you wanted. He’d flood the world to keep making you smile at him like that.

----------

The world got a little less flat as you drove further towards The Ozarks, the land around the roads lifting into small rock faces, dipping and rolling into green hills, valley’s of trees, raised land that was painted in red clay. Steve kept the windows down, the smell of pine and hot asphalt flying in with the unmistakable smell of fresh water, that clean, light feel in the air that made your stomach flutter.

And then the boy was rolling off of the highway, down winding roads that were smaller and less busy, framed with green and trees and startling blue skies. You couldn’t see a cloud above you and it made your chest thump, like something special was about to happen. 

Water came into view when Steve took a sharp corner, the flash of navy blue between trees and road signs and you gasped, you actually gasped. The sound made Steve grin, no, beam,  and he was driving a little faster, laughing when you did. He drove you over Bagnell Dam, the lake closer than ever, shimmering like something out of a movie, the sun dancing off of the surface until it hurt to look at it for too long.

The roads got smaller as they took you both through tiny towns and then patches of land, water on the edges and houses bigger than Steve’s scattered between bridges and beaches. Summer homes on the lake gave way to fish shacks and run down diners, a Taco Bell that Steve groaned at appreciatively but kept driving. Everything turned green and blue, trees and the sky, lakes turning bigger after every winding turn. 

You passed summer camps and small marinas, docks lined with boats, leftover oars on the grass edges and then the road turned to gravel and dirt. Steve drove you into the forest and you would’ve cracked a joke if you weren’t perched restlessly on the edge of your seat, belt pulled tight across your chest as you desperately searched for that patch of sparkling blue through the woods. 

You passed signs for lodges and campgrounds, wooden a-frames that had the smell of smoke lingering around them, burgers and something else that smelled sweet. Creeks broke between the shrubs and everything around you got a little wilder, but Steve kept driving, only grinning when you looked at him, puzzled. He took you through more trees, cedar and pine and oak and finally, eventually, the forest broke out into a clearing.

Sand and dirt lined the edges of the lake, that dazzling blue that made your eyes hurt, your chest swell, perfectly framed by tall, tall trees, flat rocks in the water that looked like makeshift floats. There wasn’t anyone else around and when Steve cut the engine, you could only hear birds, the soft buzz of a cricket or two nearby.

“Did you know this was here?” you whispered to the boy, already knowing the answer. The map was tucked into the front of your sketchbook, so far unused.

“Nah,” Steve murmured back, both of you too scared to disrupt the peace. “Someone just told me that I should always take the scenic route.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, flushing at hearing your own words parroted back to you. But it seemed so worth it. You both clambered out of the car together, into the heat and the sun, the slight breeze that came off of the lake and you couldn’t get over the sight of the lake before you, blue stretching for miles, the wooden huts and boats in the distance seeming toy sized. 

Your head felt empty for the first time in years. 

The quiet felt like a pillow, like someone had pulled a soft blanket around you and this part of the world. Your footsteps were even cushioned by fallen pine needles, the soft scrape of your shoes against the forest floor hardly heard. 

But then Steve took a step forward and then another, and another and all of a sudden, he was running towards the watersedge, shedding his shirt as he went and letting out a whoop. 

You laughed, taken aback at his sudden outburst, snorted when he tripped over his jeans that he was trying to climb out of, his shoes tangling in the denim as he toed them off at the same time. You burned, turning to stare at a tree trunk when you realised too late that the boy was only left in black boxers, the cotton tight and cut around the muscles of his thighs. 

There was a splash, silence, a burst of water on the surface along with a gasp and then:

“You’re not gonna leave me hangin’, are you?”

You turned back, eyes a little wide at the sight of Steve a little ways out from the waters edge, arms circling the surface. His hair was a mess, soaked and darker than it was supposed to be, dripping water into his eyes, across his cheeks.

He glittered like the lake, like the sun was made just for him and god, he was grinning at you like this was the best day of his life. Maybe it was. Maybe it was yours too. 

You shuffled your feet, nervous, hands hovering at the waistband of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and you tried your best to seem calm, collected. Fucking normal. “Hey, turn ‘round, would you?”

Steve obliged without any comment and you were greeted to the sight of his bare back, all strong lines of muscle, broad shoulders, tanned skin, a collection of freckles that you wanted to play join the dots with. You swore again, feeling stupid, feeling like you were sixteen and without overthinking it, you shucked off your clothes and left them in a patch of grass on top of your shoes.

Your underwear didn’t match, ‘cause Jesus, when did it ever? You were a clash of red and baby blue, tiny dots printed over a bra that turned scarlet in the water and you dove straight in, head under to avoid Steve’s gaze, just for a few seconds more.

You broke the surface a few feet away from him, gasping a little at the chill of the water as you slicked your hair back from your eyes. Steve was already watching, a small smile on his face. The world seemed to go quiet as you both tread water, staring at each other in the sun, like you were both waiting for something to happen.

It felt a little magic, floating out in the lake like that, under the sun, the cool water lapping at way too much bare skin. It left you exposed, like Steve could see right through you, the beam of sunshine you were swimming in left you translucent.

Maybe he could see your secrets like this, maybe you could see his. Maybe that’s why you dunked your head under the water to escape his gentle stare, swimming through the sun that broke though the surface, hands out in front of you like you could swim all the way to California.

It was a little later when Steve joined you on one of those flat rocks, the smooth surface of it big enough for both of you to stretch out on. It was warmed by the sun, drying you both on in little time and you lay there, your head by his toes and vice versa, until the sun started to dip and turn your little patch of world golden.

The heat lingered, like it always did in July, making the air sticky and sweet. Neither of you had been back to the car since you’d jumped out of it hours before and you have a fleeting image of the inside being overtaken by bugs, maybe a rogue squirrel, both windows still down. 

“Hey,” Steve said, nudging a knee to yours and interrupting your thoughts. “What’s your favourite movie?” 

You grinned, sudden and like you couldn’t help it, ‘cause the question made you feel like maybe Steve wanted to be your friend the way you wanted to be his. Like he was trying to work you out too.

You kept your eyes closed as you hummed, thinking his question over. You felt him fidget next to you, bare legs brushing your own in a way that felt deliberate. He felt warm like the sun, like the summer.

“Uh, The Princess Bride,” you told him, smiling to the sky. You heard him laugh softly, a little harder when you nudged at his shoulder with your toes and you sat up, leaning on your elbows. “What’s so funny?”

Steve peered up at you from behind messy hair, the strands a little wild from the lake. He was smiling, not unkind, eyes honey and soft. He patted at your knee in what you thought was meant to be a reassuring way but it set your heart thumping, blood racing full throttle and you hoped you could blame the heat on your cheeks on the sun.

“I’m not, sorry, I am,” he was grinning still, dimples on show, “it’s just that’s my friend Max’s favourite movie too. Except she won’t admit it ‘cause she likes everyone to think she’s tough.”

Steve sat up, mirroring your pose. “Even though she’s like, one of the most badass people I know.” He sniffed, looking off to the water. “Kinda miss her, all of them.”

You smiled, heart softening at his admission. Steve had made it clear that he wasn’t too concerned about leaving his parents behind as he jumped over state lines with you, but you hadn’t really thought to ask about his friends. It was hard to miss them around Hawkins, a mismatched bunch of kids and almost adults, a squadron of bikes and the crackle of walkie talkies following them wherever they went.

It was even more difficult to miss the way some of the kids looked at Steve, like a brother, like a lifeline. You cleared your throat, garnered his attention and twisted your lips in a sad display of sympathy for him. But he merely shook his head and smiled back.

“S’fine,” he told you, “I’m gonna call Robin soon, check in with them all. Make sure they haven’t killed each other.”

You snorted and nodded like you knew what he meant. You didn’t not really, because the ache of missing someone the way Steve missed his friends was foriegn to you. You spoke to Robin, sure, had even turned down a few invitations to a movie night you were sure was held at Steve’s house. But you’d always felt like you were intruding on something that didn’t belong to you.

So instead of telling him that you had no one to call, no one back ‘home’, you tapped your foot into his bare hip and set him with a questioning gaze.

“What’s your favourite movie, then?” You grinned, teasing, “Top Gun, right? No, no, wait, Die Hard?”

Steve rolled his eyes at you, good natured in the way he scoffed and leaned back into the lake to splash water on you. He smirked at your squeal, huffed out a laugh when you pushed at him and shook his head. 

“No, actually, you presumptuous ass,” he licked his lips, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s Stand By Me.”

There was something about his choice that made you pause. That found-family feeling, the sense of leaving home and going on an adventure. You gazed at him, still smiling, knowing that your grin was softening on your lips, a sense of warmth and understanding washing over you.

But it seemed too heavy to talk about, to ask if he felt the same way as the characters in the movie. Did he feel scared of growing up like Gordie? Did he wanna run away from it all like Chris?

So you hummed a noise of approval, looked out to the sun that was setting over the lake, turning the sky shades of peach and red. “That’s, uh, that’s a good movie.”

It was over a dinner of turkey sandwiches and chips that you both decided that it was too late to drive back out to a town in order to find a motel. The day had quickly turned to evening, twilight making the forest look a little magic, the lake inky, the forest floor lit up with the yellow green glow of fireflies.

You stood by Steve’s side when he popped the trunk, faces set in matching expressions of concern when he managed to source his one pillow he’d taken from home, a bundle of crushed clothes and a blanket from underneath an old gym bag.

He held up his finds with a wary smile. “You can take the back, I’ll stretch out in the front.”

It seemed silly, the idea of his tall frame in one of the front seats. No matter how far back they reclined, you knew it wasn’t going to be a comfortable night for him. For either of you, probably. Which is why you wanted the ground to swallow you whole when you said:

“Just sleep in the back with me.”

The slow hoot of an owl was the only sound for a second or two. It seemed a little mocking, taunting, as if a tumbleweed should’ve rolled by your feet at the same time. But then Steve was scratching at the back of his neck, looking at you through his lashes. He didn’t say anything when he shrugged a hoodie on, the air finally dropping temperature now that the moon was in place of the sun.

You held your breath when he opened the back door, threw in the pillow and blanket and gestured to the back bench with a wave of his hand. He seemed nervous, a little shy but he cleared his throat and told you, “ladies first.”

The forest was even quieter at night, the dots of light from summer homes and camp sites a blur in the distance across the shore, and when Steve slid in behind you and shut the car door, it was fucking silent.

He followed your lead when you tugged off your shoes and dumped them in the front seat and there was a breath or two when no one said anything. But then the boy was shuffling around with the blanket, his shoulder brushing your own. 

“How’d you wanna do this?”

You looked around, body burning as you stupidly realised there wasn’t that much room in the back either. Of course there wasn’t, it was a fucking car. A shiny BMW that hardly had any leg space but the leather of the seat was cool against your sunwarmed skin and you swallowed hard, turning to face the boy. 

“Uh, I don’t know.” Another awkward cough, a flinch when his hand met your bare thigh by accident.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, god, it’s fine, I-,” you waved a dismissive hand, grabbed the boy’s pillow and shoved it at him. God, it smelled like Steve. “Here.”

“No, no, you take it, m’fine.” 

Steve was not fine, his head angled awkwardly against the hard wood of the door, neck crooked, eyes narrowed in discomfort. 

“Jesus, Harrington,” you huffed, pushing the pillow under the boy’s head. “It’s yours.”

After a few more minutes of tense fumbling, hands pushing up against places they weren’t supposed to touch, you were a tangle of feet and legs, forearms pushed to ribs, the blanket a mess between you both. Tiredness made everything more difficult, patience wearing thin and the croak of one lone frog was making Steve’s eye twitch.

“Okay, right!” he didn’t yell, not really, but his sudden outburst in the small space made you jump and he looked apologetic as he lay himself back against the door, pillow fluffed underneath him. He seemed to take a second to gather himself, or maybe it was courage? “C’mere.”

He waved a hand at you, patted his chest like you were supposed to know what he meant and when you simply stared at him, still perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat, he curled a hand around your arm and tugged gently.

Steve didn’t stop until you got the hint and slid down the leather with him. It was a close squeeze for both of you to fit on the seats and your face was burning when he coaxed your knee between his own, legs slotting between legs and there was nowhere to put your head apart from on his chest. 

You were practically on top of him.

Fucking Christ, you were practically on top of him. 

The sounds of both you and Steve’s slow breaths mixed in with the noises of the forest, the night. Neither of you moved, not an inch, the tension making your shoulders hurt. But then Steve shifted just slightly, and you slipped further into his side, his arm coming round to rest across your back, keeping you on the seat and by default, holding you closer to him.

Your cheek was pressed to his hoodie, to his chest, breathing in Steve’s cologne, the mint body wash he’d used at the motel in Illinois just that morning. You’d only left Hawkins three days ago and now you were pressed against Steve Harrington in the back of his car like a pair of teenagers after a first date.

It took some time but you let yourself relax, body melting to Steve’s, bones lazy, sleep tugging at you, the sun and warmth from the day making you more tired than you have even realised. The boy’s breathing evened out underneath you, chest falling soft under your cheek and he mumbled sleepily when you turned and pushed your nose into his hoodie, curling into him in a way that you didn’t dare do when you were more awake.

You both slept like that through the night, no room to toss and turn. Steve kept hold of you, making sure you didn’t slip from the bench, the blanket shared between you both like it was the most natural thing in the world. At some point, Steve’s head grew heavy and he nodded to the side, shifting from his pillow to lean his cheek against your hair, lips breathing out soft puffs of air.

He stayed like that until dawn broke, when the sun and the sound of the world waking up stirred you both. Neither of you said anything as you untangled yourselves, stretching out arms and legs, rubbing at stiff necks as the lake and the inside of the car glowed pink.

The sky was lilac when Steve went to the trunk, pulled out some bottles of water and a few cereal bars, shuffling across the grass to join you at the edge of the lake. You ate breakfast shoulder to shoulder, suddenly not as shy as you’d been before when it came to touching.

It was in the burst of blue sky, that first proper shine of light from the sun that made the day seem new, that Steve turned to you and asked, “wanna tell me a secret?”

It seemed unfair to pull out something heavy like the last time you decided to swap something no one else knew. You didn’t want to sully the morning, the warmth of the sun over your skin. Steve’s eyes looked like honey in the light, pretty and soft and you wanted to keep that.

So with a small smile, somewhat self-deprecating, you told him, “I headbutted the first guy I kissed.”

Something told you that the boy wasn’t expecting that kind of secret, because he choked on his water, spraying his jeans with drops of it as he tried to quieten his laugh. When he looked at you, his eyes were sparkling, full of surprise and warmth. 

“You what?” he gasped, wiping at his lips and chin with the back of his hand.

“It was an accident!” you exclaimed, indignant. “I didn’t mean to, it was all just really bad timing and like, sheer lack of experience.”

Steve stared at you until you cracked, lips pursing to hide your grin before you were laughing with him, the sounds of both of you mixing with bird calls, the water that lapped at the toes of your shoes.

“God,” he muttered, brushing his hair back from his face. “You’re trouble.” There was something about the way he said that that sounded like a compliment, like an affection. It made you warm.

“Your turn, Harrington,” you whispered, shoulder nudging him, your cereal bar forgotten in your hand. Who needed breakfast when a pretty boy was sharing secrets with you?

He decided to keep with the theme you noted, but he didn’t seem all that embarrassed when he told you, “I didn’t have my first kiss until I was sixteen.”

You tried not to let your surprise show, you didn’t want to be rude. But it still seemed like it was apparent on your face because Steve took in your wide eyed stare and parted lips with a shrug and smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“But you were King Steve,” you mock gasped, laughing when he scoffed and flipped you off.

“Let’s just say I made up for lost time,” he told you lowly, and it shouldn’t have been as hot as he made it, but he was looking at you from the side of his eyes, from beneath thick, dark lashes. 

“Who was it?” you enquired, far too invested in knowing everything you could about this boy. “Your first kiss?”

Steve sighed, maybe a little wistfully, stretching his legs out across the dirt and sand as he leaned back onto his hands. “This girl that used to live on my street,” he told you, squinting at the sun. “She only lived there for the summer, I think her dad was in the army or something - she was called Ruby. She let me take her to the movies one night after I got my licence. Kissed me in the back row ‘cause I was too chicken shit to make the first move.” 

You grinned, feeling a little warm from the heat of the sun and the boy beside you and you couldn’t help but think of the fourth of July, the kitchen, the kiss.

“Are you still?”

You remembered the way the boy had moved into you, all smooth and full of confidence, smelling like smoke and boy, tasting like alcohol and bad ideas. You’d liked the way he’d cupped your chin, held you with finger and thumb and moved you the way he wanted you. Steve was all soft lips and firm touches, it was hard to forget.

“Still what?” he asked you, brows furrowed, puzzled. 

He’d looked a little dazed, you recalled, when he’d pulled back from you, just enough that his nose bumped yours and you could still feel his fingers ghosting over your jawline. It’d been so nice having him so close, a kiss in a stranger’s kitchen from a not so stranger, a boy you wished you knew better.

“Still chicken shit?”

Steve bit his lip at your words, maybe to hide his surprise, maybe to hide his grin. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t let on about remembering the same kiss that you thought about too much. But he scrunched his nose and shrugged all lazy, as if to say, ‘maybe we’ll find out.’

—————

You spent the next few days at the lake with the boy, neither of you ever very far from the other. It stayed quiet, the little spot that Steve had picked, just the two of you and the car, the lake, the sun, the stars and the trees. 

When it got too hot, you shed your clothes, dipped back into the water with less shyness, almost daring Steve to look at all the bare skin you put on show. You liked it when he joined you, legs brushing under the water, the sun bouncing off the surface, reflecting rainbows onto both of your faces. 

You liked it even better when he watched, shirtless and on the shore, sometimes sitting on the hood of the car, stretched out with his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, eyes hidden like he could get away with staring. You always felt his gaze, warm on you like the summer, a boy full of sunshine who was never far away. 

And when it got colder at night, Steve lit fires, small things that burned on pine needles and twigs, bright flames that sent smoke to the sky and seeped into your clothes, your skin. You could still smell it on Steve when he let you clamber over him when it was time to sleep, the two of you curled in the backseat of the BMW, like you’d been having sleepovers together for years and years. 

It was dizzying the way your head fit on his chest, cheek pressed to his collarbone, the mess of your hair tucked under his chin. Hands stayed safe, away from bare skin but there was a crackle in the air every time you moved into each other, bathed in darkness, chests tight with what ifs and remember when we kissed?

It went like that for the next day or two, a peaceful harmony between you, Steve and your part of the Ozarks. Something lingering, something unsaid, but it felt nice, it felt new, it felt like the beginning. 

“What’re you drawing?”

Steve flung himself down on the grass across from you, sprawled out lazy in the patch of sun, letting it light him up in shades of gold and honey. You were crossed legged and barely dressed, unbuttoned shorts and a red bikini top you’d finally pulled from the depths of your bag. 

Your pen stalled on the page, your hand covering the barely there lines as you tried to pretend your heart wasn’t hammering. 

“Nothing,” you told him and you hated that you sounded like a petulant child, a little shy, a little scared of Steve seeing the ink on the paper. 

“Is it me again?” He grinned, knowingly. His fingers threaded through the long grass, plucking a stem of a wildflower, a pretty violet thing with butter soft petals. The boy held it out to you, placed it on the page of your sketchbook like an offering. “Can I see? Please?”

You groaned, cheeks hot, chest flushed, but you didn’t protest when Steve curled his hand around your wrist and pulled gently. Your hand fell away with his, the pen trapped between your fingers as the black outline of Steve’s face appeared. You’d started when he’d been sitting on a rock in the lake, shorts wet, hair damp and messy, falling into his eyes. 

You could feel his gaze on you, even as you stared at the grass by your knee, body feeling too heavy with the weight of his attention. 

“S’really good,” he told you with a hushed voice, “no bruises?”

You glanced back at him at that, eyes flirting over the lines of his face, the skin at the corner of his eye, the high of his cheekbone. The marks were fading, barely there unless you stared, unless you caught him under the bright afternoon sun. 

You shook your head, smiling. “Almost all gone.”

He seemed to like that, knowing that whatever was left with his father had disappeared, like the lake and the sun had washed it away. There was still a small cut on his lip though, thinner than ever and no longer angry looking. A paper cut split on his skin, nothing more. But he licked at it, whether he meant to or not, eyes darkening like he was remembering. 

“Hey,” you nudged your bare foot to his thigh. “What’s your favourite song?”

It was a distraction, Steve knew that, one he was thankful for ‘cause he smiled and let his body fall back into the grass, his head dangerously close to laying in your lap. Your fingers itched to comb through his still damp hair, the strands around his forehead messy and untamed. It suited him, like the new tan on his skin, the freckles on his nose earned from a full afternoon in the water.

“Right now?” He asked you, lips pursed as he thought. “Probably ‘This Must Be The Place.’ You know it?”

“Talking Heads, right?” You asked him, and he smiled when he nodded. He hummed the opening bars, his voice a little rougher than the usual soft tune but it was just as nice, just as sweet. 

An ironic choice you’d thought, singing the lyrics in your head, the very first line a stark contrast to where you and Steve were sitting now. 

“Home is where I wanna be, pick me up and turn me ‘round.”

Steve must’ve known what you were thinking, cause he sang it, voice hushed, scratchy, eyes on yours with a sick smile on his lips. You huffed out a laugh, put your pen back to paper and wondered if he’d stay still enough for you to draw him like this. 

“Where’s home?” You asked him, way too nonchalant, a coy smile on your face as you started to sketch out the strong arm he’d thrown behind his head. 

“Are you drawing me again?” He answered instead, but he was still smiling, eyes closed, the sun on his bare chest and his face, more violet flowers clutched between his fingers. 

“Maybe.” Steve hummed at your lie, a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “Stay still,” you ordered. 

He whispered your name when you were sketching out the dip in his Cupid’s bow, eyes fluttering, just to see if you were listening. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You didn’t know why that made your stomach tumble, something inside of you dipping, rolling in nervousness. You swallowed, kept your eyes on your paper and said, “sure.”

“How old were you when your mom left?”

It should’ve been a punch to the gut, a slap to the face that left you with whiplash and the awful ache of having to remember the day your mom didn’t come back for you. 

But Steve said it so softly, the sun turning his brown eyes into caramel as he looked at you from a line of thick lashes. He didn’t sugarcoat it, he didn’t apologise. He just looked at you with such genuine interest, a soft need to know about that part of you. It made your heart thump for a different reason. 

“Um,” you tilted your head, recalling that time, remembering how small you were, barely to your aunt's knees. You were clumsy, all grabby hands and eyes that never seemed to stop tearing up. “Three I think, almost four.” 

You scratched the nib of your pen to the paper, scored in the shadows underneath the boy’s jaw and your eyes flicked to him once, twice, memorising the cluster of freckles there. He was staring right back, gaze still soft, lips a little parted but he didn’t say anything, he just let you keep talking. 

“She wasn’t good, you know? Not bad. Just… not made to be a mom, I think. She was young, all alone ‘cause my dad left before I was born.”

You sighed, dragged the ink across to make the slope of Steve’s nose, strong lines on the sun soaked page. “We lived somewhere in Virginia, I don’t even know what town, isn’t that sad?” The question was rhetorical, because you didn’t pause to let Steve answer. 

“She didn’t do drugs or anything, nothing bad bad. I think she drank a lot though, left me with a neighbour on the weekends and I just remember always crying. All the time. Must’ve been a headache to take care of,” you laughed, humourless. “That’s what my aunt told me anyway, I was such a whiny baby. She told us she’d come back and don’t think either of us believed her but… it was nice to pretend for a while.”

Steve’s hand fell from where it rested in his chest, laying in the grass and the flowers, close to your ankle. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, maybe curl them around your leg, a little bit of comfort. But he wasn’t brave enough, not yet. 

“Have you seen her since?” Steve asked quietly, barely heard over the rush of the breeze across the lake, through the trees that sat behind you both. 

You shook your head, kept your glassy eyes on the paper and kept drawing. 

“Nah. She called once on my birthday, my seventh, I’m sure.” You shrugged, uncaring. “I didn’t even know who it was at first, I didn't recognise her voice. But I remember my aunt yelling at her after she sent me into the garden, tellin’ her that it wasn’t fair.”

The tips of Steve’s fingers touched your ankle then, just when your first tear rolled down off your cheek and onto the paper on your lap. It was soft, a gentle push of his pads to the bone, barely there warmth but it made you sniff. 

You huffed, lips twisting as you watched the inky shadows on Steve’s neck blur and smudge but you just shrugged. “It’s fine, I knew she wasn’t coming back for me. Even then.”

And then - with a finality that told the boy you were done talking about it - you dropped your book into the grass and stretched yourself out alongside him. 

You lay on your tummy, flowers pressed beneath your skin, sun warming your back and your head pillowed on folded arms. Your gaze met Steve’s and he smiled, warm and soft and a little sad. He mirrored you, head tilted to the side, resting on the arm he’d thrown behind his head, the tips of your noses not all that far away. 

“Why did your dad hit you?”

If you weren’t already looking at him, you wouldn’t have caught the way Steve shrugged. He hadn’t told anyone, not really. Robin knew, Eddie knew. The kids were scared to ask, old enough now that they saw through his lies. No one had outright said the words so he’d never really had to confirm it. 

It felt more freeing than he thought it would’ve been. “Why?” you didn’t mean to sound as angry as you did, your voice coming out a little biting, frustration and upset colouring your tone. “Why’d he do that?”

Steve sighed, eyes downcast and he didn’t answer, not for a second or five. He picked more wildflowers, let the petals fall onto the slope of your back, greens, whites and lavenders dotting along your spine. They settled in the dip above your shorts and the feeling made you smile, it made you feel warmer than the sun did. 

And then:

“My dad doesn’t like me,” Steve told you, his gaze carefully focused on the flowers on your skin. “Doesn’t like who I am, who I wanna be, the way I turned out.”

God, that hurt. It hurt to hear, to listen to the way Steve sounded, tired and burnt out. 

“He wanted me on the basketball team, so I did. Tried out and tried hard, made captain. Swim team, too, worked at the pool at the weekends. But then my grades weren’t good enough.” The boy scoffed, let his hand pick up a petal that was tumbling down to the denim of your shorts and he dropped it again, watching it roll down your shoulders. 

“So I quit swimming, tried even harder. Got a tutor, got my marks up, managed to graduate without throwing myself off of the water tower.”  

Steve sniffed and tilted his chin up to the sun, eyes clenched shut and jaw jutted. He looked like a Greek god, bathed in gold, too bright, like the boy who flew too close to the sun and fell from the clouds. 

Fuck. 

You wanted to catch him. 

“Still wasn’t enough.” Steve told you with a grin that had the same sharp edges it did in the diner that first morning. “You should’ve seen him when I told him I didn’t wanna go to college. M’surprised he didn’t sock me then.”

“What about your mom?” You whispered, eyes frozen on Steve, the outline of his features, strong jaw, strong nose, full lips, all backlit by the sun bouncing off of the lake. 

“She does what he says, agrees with him, stays quiet, walks away.” Steve frowned at the last part, like he was remembering something that hurt. “She’s never home, never really was. Neither of them were. Business, y’know? The same one I told my dad I wasn’t interested in that night.”

The boy cracked an eye, golden honey staring back at you, holding less sadness than you expected. 

“Was the last straw for daddy dearest,” he snorted. “God forbid Michael Harrington’s son works at Family fuckin’ Video. He had me against the fridge before I could blink. Knew it was comin’ though, y’know? Like the way you know a storm is rolling in?”

You nodded. 

“Figured I’d just get in the car and drive,” he whispered, looking at the sky, the white clouds that floated by. “Drive and try and find something that might feel like home.”

Your lip twitched at that, such a sweet sentiment off the back of a cruel story. 

“Have you found it yet?”

The boy turned to you, gazed straight at you for almost a little too long, a little too soft before he looked back to the trees overhead, the blue above that. He shrugged, closed his eyes and smiled. 

“Maybe.”

Marrying Steve Harrington

A/N: Because I am thoroughly convinced that this could happen. Spot the references if you can!

Ever since the gates of Hell had opened, and the Upside Down had come spilling into your dimension, it had become a never ending battle for the survival of Hawkins.

It became more imperative than ever to look out for each other. From supply runs to skirmishes, you were rushing back and forth, pulled apart constantly. But you couldn’t rest, couldn’t afford to, not when everyone you loved was in danger.

But through all of that, there was one constant in your life: Steve Harrington. Out of all the crazy things that happened to you, falling in love with him was something you never expected. You’d developed feelings for him when he fought the demodogs to protect Max, Lucas, and Dustin. You’d fallen in love with him over a summer of ice cream and Russian messages. And you’d made things official in the first battle against Vecna.

Both of you craved the chance to build a life together, both to make a less crappy life than the one that you were both constantly thrown into. When he’d confided in you about his wish for family road trips with his six nuggets, you told him about your own dreams of being a mother, falling in love with a husband who saw you as his equal. His soft brown eyes had been on you when he asked if you wanted to have that life with him. Your ‘yes’ could not come fast enough.

But another question was swirling in your head, one that you couldn’t get rid off as you watched Steve embrace Dustin on one side. Erica was on his other side, squished in between the two of you. He had grumbled every time he adjusted his position, but he did it with the utmost care, trying not to jostle the kids. His kids. Your kids.

“Will you marry me?” you blurted out.

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