Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

This fic is written and read like a poem. The metaphors and words used to describe love and longing, I was mesmerized. I love Eddie being protective but also (somewhat) welcoming of Steve’s interest in Punchy. The whole movie marathon scene was 🤩. I can’t stop thinking about this fic. Absolutely loved it, thank you for writing it 🫶🫶🫶

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

Yup!!! Love this couple already 🤩🫶🫶

Jungkook

𝓘 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾 (say it back)

-> [Masterlist]

He's the introvert tall guy dressed in black who always picks you up from work, makes sure you drink enough water, and that you stay out of trouble. In a way, some might think it must be tiring to have a partner that's just so different than yourself- but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Tags/Warnings: Girly!Reader, Introvert!Jungkook, non-idol AU, opposites attract AU?, established relationship, Angst, Major Fluff, some drama, Slice of Life (like Good Girl AU for example), mc is kook's biggest simp, kook is kind of overwhelmed by her love sometimes, but it's fine they both cute

━━━━━━━━━━.~°♡°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

■ Longer Parts | □ Drabbles | ◇ Drabble Requests | ? Character Asks | ○ Trivia/Background Info

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Teaser

◇/■ How did they meet & who asked who out first? [FLUFF]

◇ First misunderstanding [angst, fluff]

◇ Jungkook lashing out at MC [Angst!]

◇ Finding a petname for MC [Fluff]

◇ Who initiated their first time? [Very slight angst, Fluff, SFW]

◇ "Why do you never say it back?" [Mild Angst, Fluff]

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this was written beautifully 🫶🫶

Promise? to Leave the Window Cracked Open

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 14,379 warnings: mentions of cancer (minor details of aftermath of treatments), minor character death, implied smut summary: Dealing with his father's presistance that he become a perfect son and being told he can't be "just friends" with girls, Steve has to learn the hard way that being popular is not what it's cut out to be. Growing up is a lot harder than it looks. a/n: i'm not *entirely* happy with this piece but my friend told me to post it anyway. so here you all go!!!

The red brick house at the corner of Dearborn Street had gone through many inhabitants. There was the weird Gibson family whose grandfather lived with them, occasionally he stood on the front porch in nothing but his house shoes. Then there were the Weirs. Their kids always came to school smelling of salami. Finally, there was the Lyons. The small town life did not set well with Mrs. Lyon, forcing her husband to sell the home after two months of living there, leaving the red brick house up for sale once again.  

One day when Steve Harrington was in the back of his father’s car, playing with two green army men, he noticed the large SOLD covering the for sale sign that had been up there for exactly seven months and three days. The next day, there was a car parked outside, boxes in the driveway, and a woman yelling at two children running in the freshly mowed grass. 

A week later, while his dad was at work, his mom drove them to the red brick house. She knocked on the door, a casserole in her hand, looking down at her son, straightening the collar of his shirt.

A woman with a bright smile answered the door, greeting the two enthusiastically. 

The two women began to talk and five minutes turned into ten. 

They weren’t paying attention so he wandered off into the yard, noticing a few toys strewn about. The summer sun beamed down on the back of his head as he hopped on the stepping stones next to the rose bushes. 

His ears perked up when he heard shouting around the corner of the house. 

He looked behind him, his mother still in deep conversation. Curiosity built inside of him, peeking around the corner he saw a younger boy covered in mud, looking up at the side of the house. Steve followed his gaze, catching the sight of a girl leaning out a window, holding a wooden sword that was pointed towards the boy. “The treasure is mine.” The girl proclaimed.

“Come on, Y/n. I wanna play something else.” The boy complained, kicking up some of the mud at his feet. There was a water hose laying a few feet away from him. 

The girl, Y/n, sighed. “Please, Aaron. Mom made her peach cobbler tonight and I’ll let you have my slice if you play.” 

“That doesn’t matter. You hate peach cobbler.” He crossed his arms. Steve could see her pucker her lip and bat her eyes. Aaron groaned, holding up a sword himself, unenthusiastically. “Come down and fight me you coward. The jeweled crown will be mine.” 

“Arrrggh!” Steve watched in bewilderment as Y/n stepped out of the window and onto the ledge, climbing down on the lattice panel that was covered in dead vines. Steve gasped when the small girl misplaced her foot, causing her to fall on the ground. She landed with a thud. 

He was amazed she didn’t cry or scream. 

He remembered two days ago when he had stepped on one of his toy race cars and cried for twenty minutes, maybe longer if his dad had not come home. 

The girl looked up, locking eyes with Steve. She smiled at him, revealing her two front teeth that were missing, quickly pushing her body up and pointing the sword in his direction. “What do we have here?” 

Steve cowered behind the corner, his cheeks were red, too shy to answer. 

“Another pirate looking for the crown, eh? Looks like you have no weapon but that stick by yer foot.” Y/n pointed to a long thick stick that had fallen off the oak tree next to her house.

Steve stepped where they could see him. “M-my mom will be upset if I get mud on my shirt.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Pirates don’t listen to their mommies.” 

Her brother spoke up. “Mom did tell us not to get dirty before-” 

“Shut up.” She scrunched her nose up, examining Steve up and down. His hair was short and slicked back. His teeth were too big for his mouth. A few freckles were scattered on his face. “What’s yer name, matey?” 

“S-Steve.” 

“Pirate Steve?” Aaron laughed.

Y/n nudged him to be quiet. “That’s a lame pirate name, but it will do. When you’ve been sailing the seas as long as I have, you’ll come up with something better. Now, Pirate Steve, you will have to fight us both to the death if yer want the treasure.” The two siblings held up their weapons higher, mutually deciding to team up to fight the strange boy in their yard. Y/n took the first step toward him, her brother close behind. Finally, the tip of her sword was only inches away from his chest. 

Steve noticed the dried up mud caking her cheek, but she didn’t seem to care. 

Steve looked down at the stick, then looked back up at the siblings, then over to where his mom once stood. She had gone inside once the two mothers saw their children were talking.

Y/n leaned her head closer to him, breaking character. “Promise to not get mud on you.” She held out her pinky, and he hesitantly took it, watching with wide eyes when she kissed her thumb, telling him that’s what seals it. So, Steve also kissed his thumb. “Have any last words?” She asked, pointing the sword at his neck. 

Without a beat, Steve picked up the stick, swinging it against hers. The three of them chased each other in the yard, yelling, giggling, and clanking the wooden objects against one another. When finally, Steve had softly tapped Y/n on the side of her stomach with the sword, declaring he had killed her. She did not accept the defeat, arguing that Steve had cheated. When Steve wouldn’t let her continue on, she balled up her fist with one hand and shoved him with the other, so hard he fell backwards in the mud. 

Soon, the three kids were talking over one another in the kitchen of Y/n’s house, trying to explain to their mothers what had happened. It was clear that Steve’s mom was irritated that her son’s shirt was dirty, but still put a fake smile on, claiming kids will be kids. Then she grabbed the ten-year-old’s hand, said goodbye, and took them back home. 

Two days later, Y/n and her mother had shown up to the Harrington household. Steve was forced to come downstairs and stand in the doorway so the toothless girl could apologize. It was obvious she wasn’t that sorry, but when she revealed a wooden sword from behind her back, telling him that he could come play pirates with her anytime, a toothy grin spread across his face. 

That afternoon she also promised her window would be cracked open for him to call her to come down and play. 

Although Steve and Y/n had outgrown playing pirates together, the pair never seemed to separate. Their families thought maybe it would have been Steve and Aaron that ended up childhood best friends, but Y/n’s mom sometimes would have to beg them to include him in the things the two older kids did. 

The evening before the first day of middle school, Steve had convinced his parents to let him go over to Y/n’s, promising to be home before dark.

The bike ride was only fifteen minutes, plenty of time to see his best friend before their big day. 

Two years had gone by since he first met Y/n. Their yard was decorated differently. Her mother had exchanged roses for petunias, hydrangeas, and lilies. There was now a tire swing on the big oak tree. Aaron used to make Steve push him so hard that he went so high that he almost wrapped around the big branch. 

Steve got off his bike, setting it in the lawn, walking past the front door and over to the side of the house. He smiled when he saw the window cracked open slightly, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac drifting out. 

Her parents had accepted the fact Steve had no intentions of using the front door, never surprised to see him in her room if they opened the bedroom door. They would just ask if he wanted anything to drink, and he would always ask for a Dr. Pepper. No one in the household drank Dr. Peppers, but they always had a case just for him. 

Steve climbed up the lattice panel, the old vines had been ripped off. When he got a view of the inside of her room, he expected to see her reading or painting her toenails. Instead, she was in front of her dresser, throwing clothes behind her, groaning loudly. A messy room wasn’t shocking, Y/n was always getting in trouble for never cleaning it. But the sight Steve was looking at was horrific. “Are you rearranging?” Steve asked, sliding the window up, crawling through. 

Y/n didn’t seem phased that he had shown up unannounced. “What are you wearing tomorrow?” 

“I dunno.” He answered, smiling because there was already a Dr. Pepper can on her desk. 

“I forget. Your mommy still dresses you.” She teased him.

She loved to poke fun on how much of a momma’s boy he was. “Why are you worried about clothes?” 

She let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s the first day of middle school.” 

“So? It’s no different than fifth grade.” Steve shrugged, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper. 

“To you! I spent the night at Tammy Thompson’s last night. Tina is a B cup now and Carol had her first kiss at summer camp.” The girl pulled out a pair of shorts, sighing when she saw the tag. 

“That stuff doesn’t matter, Y/n.” He downed the rest of the drink, belching loudly. He started to giggle, but quickly stopped when Y/n gave him a disapproving look. He frowned. She always laughed when he burped. 

“No girl is gonna kiss you if you do gross things like that.” Y/n put a hand on her hip. 

Steve still didn’t understand why his friend was making a big deal about clothes, other girls, or kissing. Why did any of it matter if they had one another? “I could be your first kiss.” Maybe if they kissed then maybe she would stop worrying about it. 

Y/n’s expression didn’t falter. It was like she hadn’t heard him. “Very funny, Steve. Kissing you would be gross.” 

When Steve had rode his bike back home— after finally convincing Y/n to wear the dress his mom had bought her for her birthday— he kept thinking about how she had reacted to the idea of kissing him. 

What made him gross? 

He was one of the cleanest boys at school. He took a bath every night, and his mom started making him wear deodorant. His hair was nice and neat. He didn’t eat his boogers like Tommy Hagan or ate dirt like Reed Booker. He’s never even had lice before. 

Had she even thought about it before? Did she lay awake thinking what if she and Steve kissed? Is that when she came to the conclusion kissing him would be gross? 

He couldn’t even sleep properly that night, tossing and turning, irritated that Y/n decided to make these thoughts appear in his head. 

It was so stupid. He didn’t even think about kissing girls until now.

Then it seemed like seventh grade came in a blink of an eye. Steve’s dad was getting harsher about grades and what Steve’s plans were for extracurriculars. “A good Harrington boy is well-rounded, who doesn’t run around and play pretend.” He would tell him at dinner, whenever he wasn’t away on business trips. He had recently been promoted at work, making him less and less available to stay home. When he was home, he was always sitting in his office, smoking a cigarette, yelling on the phone. 

But one good thing about seventh grade was that he had changed. It seemed like he had gone to sleep one night and woke up the next day two feet taller. His clothes were too small and sometimes he found himself tripping over his new long legs. 

Girls were starting to put letters in his locker, and sometimes he caught them giggling on the other side of the gym during PE, watching him play basketball. He would blush when the other boys would nudge him, pointing out which girls they thought were cute. His attention would then turn to Y/n, standing in a corner by herself jump roping, obviously annoyed that the other girls were gawking at him.

Steve didn’t understand that she had no friends except for him. All the girls pretended to be friends with her and then they would ask about Steve. Steve this. Steve that. Quite honestly, she was sick and tired of them always talking about her friend. There wasn’t anything even spectacular about him. He still had too large teeth for his face and he always burped or gave her wet willies. When Y/n fed them the answers they wanted, they’d never speak to her again. She never told him that was the main reason she stopped going over to Tammy’s slumber parties. 

Steve on the other hand, didn’t mind the attention. His new popularity with the girls changed his social status with the guys as well. Soon, he was roped in with Tommy Hagan and spent his lunch period, sneaking off in the woods by the school to smoke cigarettes with one other boy, Carter Adams. 

One particular chilly day, Tommy shushed them when he heard giggling coming from their spot. They all hid behind the wall that bordered the school, peering over to see two high schoolers making out against a tree. 

Steve immediately felt uncomfortable, whispering they should probably go, but Tommy grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him back. “Ten bucks says he’ll grab her tit.” Tommy told the boys. 

“Ten bucks he’ll grab her ass.” Carter challenged. 

“What about you Harrington?” Tommy asked, looking at him with a smirk. “Tits or ass?” 

Steve shrugged, glancing nervously back at the school, praying a teacher would catch them so he could get out of the situation. “I dunno.” 

“Have you even kissed a girl before?” It had been known that Tommy had kissed lots of girls. 

Steve looked at the ground, shaking his head, regretting telling the truth when Tommy and Carter laughed quietly. “What about your girlfriend?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

Carter poked his side. “He’s talkin’ ‘bout that girl you’re always with. Have you kissed her?” 

“Y/n? She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends.” Steve answered. 

The two boys next to him exchanged a knowing look, trying to hold in another fit of laughter. “Boys and girls cannot just be friends, Harrington.” 

Steve furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand why it was so wrong to be friends with her. She wasn’t mean. Except the other day she did smack him upside the head because he put his armpit in her face. He understood he had it coming. 

He should have told the boys he didn’t care what body part the high schooler grabbed. But he knew if he didn’t say anything, they’d stop wanting to hang out with him. He peeked back over the wall to see the couple again. “Tits.” 

A part of him regretted participating in the bet, mostly because he had lost ten bucks, but also because it seemed to be the rite of passage to be personally invited to Tommy’s girls and boys party the next Friday. 

Steve was nervous. He had only been to birthday parties with parents watching their children closely as they swam in the pool or played on the swing sets at the park. This was different. 

Tommy’s parents were out of town, his big brother in charge and Tommy gave him two months worth of allowance to buy everyone beers and keep quiet. 

He kept looking over at Y/n, who was walking next to him, pulling down the uncomfortable itchy yellow dress she decided to wear. “Did you really have to wear that? You look like Big Bird.” Steve poked the puffy sleeve, warranting a slap from her. 

“Shut up, or I’m going home.” She warned him. 

“You can’t because you promised.”

Steve had climbed through her window, begging her to come with him. He had to lie to her that Tommy wanted her to come. She still wasn’t convinced, but agreed nevertheless. 

“Maybe fun for you. You’re cool in their eyes.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. 

“Once they get to know you they’ll see how cool you are too. Listen, we’ll stay an hour tops and if you are ready to leave, we’ll go. I promise.” He stopped walking, looking at the white house that belonged to Tommy. He stuck out his pinky towards the girl. 

She gave him an unimpressed look. His attempt to pull the pinky swear trick they used to do three years ago was a cheap gimmick on his part, knowing she was a sucker for nostalgia. She tried her best not to break, but when he leaned forward, looking at her with his wide brown eyes and toothy grin made her roll her eyes, sighing in defeat. She wrapped her pinky around his and they both brought their thumbs to their lips, locking the promise in place. 

Tommy’s brother was the one who answered the door, leading them to the door of the basement. 

Y/n scrunched her nose up when the smell of cigarettes and beer greeted them at the top of the stairs. Steve decided to ignore it, walking down the creaking wooden steps. When Tommy saw him, he immediately jumped up from an old battered brown couch, announcing the arrival to everyone in the room. He tilted his head slightly, frowning when he saw trailing behind Steve. He quickly wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him to the side away from the girl. “I told you not to bring her, Harrington. The girls here are gonna think you two are a thing.” 

Steve looked over at Y/n. She was looking over at a group of girls huddled in a corner, looking between her and him, whispering. “Tommy, give her a chance. She’s cool and really funny when you get to know her.” 

The lanky boy whose breath already smelled like beer and cigarettes sighed, agreeing to let her stay. He then turned around, clasping his hands together dramatically, announcing it was time to play truth or dare. Steve felt his heart drop in his chest, looking over at Y/n who seemed to still be observing the room and the people that filled the space up. She always did that before interacting with anyone, studying them quickly in her mind.

He was about to tell Tommy he didn’t feel good and had to go home, but was shocked to see Y/n confidently walk towards the circle forming on the floor, plopping down next to a boy he didn’t recognize. Steve gulped, deciding to sit between Carter and Tina. 

The rules were simple, either tell the truth or do the dare and if anyone chickened out, they had to take a drink. 

Secrets were spilled, kisses were exchanged, someone was dared to lick the bottom of Carter’s foot, but no one was chicken enough to take the first sip. The longer Steve sat on the cold concrete floor of the basement, the longer it felt sticky, hot, and damp. The air was almost suffocating as he anticipated his name to be drawn out of Christopher Smith’s baseball cap. When his name finally did get drawn, it took him a moment to process when Carol had said it. 

He knew Tommy would give him shit if he said ’truth’ but he was afraid of what Carol might ask him to do. “D-dare.” 

Carol smirked, sharing a look with Tommy. “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” It dawned on him that this party had been a set up the entire time. Tommy was throwing Steve into the lion’s den, forcing him to finally catch up with the rest of the grade and kiss someone. But Steve had never thought about anyone in the room like that before. Sure Heather Holloway was cute, but once in second grade she threw up on his new pair of shoes. He could still smell the fish sticks burning in his nostrils. 

Then there was Beth Johnson, she wore braces and was always wiping dripping saliva off her chin. No way. 

Carol was pretty, but Tommy had a crush on her.

Which meant the only two girls left were Tina and Y/n. 

He tried to see how Y/n felt, maybe she would give him the face that said “Kiss me Steve!” But there was no sign whatsoever of what she wanted him to do. He remembered a year ago when he had suggested being each other’s first kiss, but she was revolted by the idea, telling him kissing him would be gross. He remembered from then on, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss her. 

Carol had said he had to kiss the prettiest girl in the room. To him, Y/n was by far prettier than any of them. The longer he looked at her, the more he began to admire her features. Her puffy cheeks, her nose, the way her eyes gleamed from the bright yellow dress she wore. The other girls in the room looked so dull compared to her. 

He debated the consequence of taking a sip of the beer to get out of it. 

The choice was so simple and easy to him, but he was confused. Y/n was his best friend, he couldn’t think of her like that. He most definitely couldn’t kiss her either. 

So instead of crawling across the circle to kiss her, he turned and gave Tina a quick peck on the lips. 

The basement erupted in hoots and hollers, making Steve blush. 

It was Steve’s turn to pick a name. When he reached in the hat, he frowned, realizing there was only one piece of paper left– Y/n. Her face was still stoic. “Y/n, truth or dare?” He asked her, mind buzzing with what he should say. 

He should have known she would pick dare, never backing away from a challenge. However, a few minutes passed by, struggling to come up with anything. He looked at Carol for help, who immediately accepted. “Write down the name of the one person you want to kiss in this room, then put a blindfold on and wait for them in the closet.” She pointed to the closet that went under the stairs. 

Y/n didn’t hesitate once, scribbling a name on a piece of paper that was handed to her, standing up to give it to Carol who then put a bandana over her eyes and walked her to the closet. Steve watched her disappear inside, almost immediately Carol put a hand over her mouth when she shut the door. “Where’s Rosie?”

It had happened all so fast. Tommy had gone upstairs, bringing back his pet beagle. Steve was confused, until Carol and the other girls let Rosie lick their hands. Tommy started towards the closet door. Steve jumped forward, blocking his way. “What are you doing?” 

“Giving her a kiss to remember.” He tried to step around him, but Steve stepped back in front of him. Tommy scowled, narrowing his eyes. “Always knew you were a pussy, Harrington.” 

Steve swallowed, feeling like he was drowning in thick molasses. “No, I was just volunteering.” He stuck out his arms. 

Tommy smirked, looking back at the others. 

Everything seemed to go slow, Rosie being put in his arms, the closet door creaking open, taking heavy steps inside. Even when they closed the door, his back hitting against it, darkness enveloping the room, Rosie whimpering, he was still able to see Y/n in the bright yellow dress. Like the sun. 

She tilted her head up, the black bandana covering her eyes. Steve walked closer to her, taking in the smell of mothballs, dust, and copper. When he crouched down, the closet scent faded away. Y/n’s sweet honeysuckle fragrance and mint toothpaste overtook it. 

He knew what Tommy and the others wanted him to do. But being this close to her, led him to put the dog down who immediately found a place in her lap. She giggled when Rosie licked her hand repeatedly. 

Steve reached out, putting his hand on her shoulder, letting the tulle of the puffy sleeve scratch against his fingers. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” He almost wanted to laugh at how bored she sounded. 

He should tell her what was going on, that an hour had passed and it was time to go. When they got back to her house, they could laugh about how ridiculous seventh grade was. Maybe they should have never hung up their wooden swords and eye patches. He didn’t want to grow up and do the things that Tommy Hagan did. 

However, she licked her lips and he realized from the way his tummy flipped and breath hitched in his throat, he couldn’t stop from growing up.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips on hers, tender and saccharine. 

He pulled back, smiling, lifting the blindfold up, catching her eyes with his. 

“You’re not Tommy.” Y/n’s eyebrows creased.

Steve didn’t understand why she looked disappointed. 

He didn’t have time to ask because the door swung open. The two quickly shot up, eyes wide like kids who had their hands in the cookie jar. Rosie barked, running out of the closet. “Wait a minute… did you two kiss?” Carol snickered. 

Steve saw the piece of paper in the blonde’s hand, suddenly remembering that Y/n was asked to write down who she wanted to kiss, making out the cursive ‘T’ in her neat handwriting. 

She wanted to kiss Tommy. Not him. 

He clenched his jaw, balling up his fist as they laughed at them, ignoring the look on her face, silently asking if he was going to say something. “Me? Kiss her?” He scoffed. 

He noticed the way Y/n’s mouth fell open, shocked he had said that. 

“Rosie took one sniff of Y/n’s dog breath and cried. I wasn’t gonna take a chance.” He instantly regretted the words leaving his mouth when he saw his friend clench her jaw, eyes glossy as she fought the tears forming. 

Someone made a comment about being able to smell her breath from across the room, and soon the others chided in, all laughing at the made up lie that Steve couldn’t take back. 

Y/n had stormed past him, exiting the closet. The others started making barking noises as she ran up the stairs, bending over in laughter when they heard the front door slam shut. 

Later that night, Steve had to retrieve his bike back from Y/n’s, having left it there so they could walk to the party together. He had worked on his apology on the walk back from Tommy’s, even picking zinnias out of The Wheeler’s garden for her. But when he walked over to her window he felt his mouth go dry. 

Her light was on, but the window was sealed shut and the bubblegum pink curtains were closed. 

The next week, Y/n didn’t come to school. 

Steve tried to go over to her house and apologize, and every day her window was shut. He even knocked on the front door, her mom telling him Y/n wasn’t feeling good or wasn’t home. Which he knew was a lie, because one day he saw her peeking through the blinds in the living room. 

When she did come to school, kids barked at her in the hallway until the principal sat everyone in the gymnasium to speak about bullying and if any of the teachers caught them making dog noises at any student, they would be suspended for a week. The principal tried to keep Y/n’s name out of it, but everyone was looking at her, knowing. 

Two days later was when Y/n finally acknowledged him. 

He was alone at his locker, cramming answers for a quiz he was about to take for math. His locker slammed shut. He jumped up, locking eyes with her. She looked like she had just been crying, eyes red and puffy, shoving a box against his chest. “Tell your friends they’re so funny.” Steve looked down to see the contents. There was a toothbrush, cheap toothpaste, and a dog bone tied in a red bow. 

He gulped, not sure what to say to her, the rehearsed apology slipping from his mind. When he noticed Carter lingering by, pretending to tie his shoes, Steve felt himself speaking before thinking. “Maybe next time we should get you a shock collar.”

He took note how her face fell, the little bit of glitter in her eyes flickered out. Whatever little bit of hope she had left for him to fix everything, vanished. As she walked away, head hanging low, Steve realized this wasn’t like the time she pushed him in the mud. He wouldn’t be able to show up to her door with a wooden sword and she would forgive him. 

That night he rode his bike down her street three times before he finally walked to the side of her house. 

The window was still shut. 

As the seasons changed, Steve would check every day if it would be open. But it never was. 

Finally, there came the day when he stopped checking.

–

Hawkins High felt intimidating when Steve’s mom pulled to the front, tears in her eyes because her baby boy was growing up on her. He kept begging her to calm down. If his friends saw her reacting like that, they would give him shit. He allowed her to give a kiss on his cheek, before hurriedly grabbing his blue book bag and climbing out of the car. He saw Tommy and Carter hanging over by the railing, scanning the crowd of high schoolers, greeting them both with fist bumps. 

“Who knew high school was full of babes?” Carter nodded at a redhead walking into the school. “Is that Becky? Jesus, look at the rack on her.” Tommy laughed, closing the boy’s mouth, making a comment about him drooling. 

Steve observed the lawn, taking in the sounds of kids chattering amongst themselves, basking in the sun, trying to get the last few moments of summer into their systems. He then stopped, staring at a girl whose back was facing them, wearing a pair of Levi’s. “Shit.” He said out loud. 

“Looks like Harrington has scouted his first victim. Damn, what a sweet ass.” Tommy exclaimed. 

“Don’t let Carol hear you say that.” Carter chuckled. 

“What? You don’t think I know she’s looking at other dudes? This is why we work out, because we respect and trust one another.” Tommy explained. It was true, they always made comments about other people in front of each other, but neither of them got jealous. In fact, Steve swore they got hornier, knowing that there was nothing to worry about. “Why don’t you go over there, lover boy?” 

Steve turned to face them again, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno. What if she’s ugly? Like her face covered in warts or something.” 

“Just go, and if she’s ugly, tell her Carter wants to take her out on a date.” Tommy slapped his hand on Steve’s back, pushing him to walk over there.

“Wait, why me?” Carter asked. 

“‘Cause even the ugliest girl wouldn’t want to go on a date with you.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, their arguing voices drifting away as he walked closer to the girl with the sweet ass. She was talking to another girl he didn’t recognize. He coughed, but neither of the girls heard him. He took a deep breath and tapped her on the shoulder. 

He felt the world freeze around him when she twisted her body to face him. His jaw fell, and her beaming smile turned sour. It was Y/n. 

Everything about her was different. Her face, her hair… her body. He swallowed, hard. He knew if he turned around, Tommy and Carter would be bent over in laughter. He was unsure what to say or do, except gawk at her. 

“Something I can do for you, Harrington?” She was the first to speak, and her voice had changed too. It was calm and soothing, but he could hear the tone of hostility. 

“I er… hi.” He wanted to hit himself in the head for sounding pathetic. 

“Really? You haven’t talked to me in over a year and you start with, ‘Hi?’”  She raised an eyebrow, eyes burning into his skin, waiting for him to answer. Instead, he stood there stupidly. “Oh, am I not standing in the right area? Sorry, I couldn’t find the dog park.” She turned to her friend, telling her they were leaving. She turned her head, “Nice outfit, Harrington. Did your mommy pick it out?” 

He watched her walk away and he could see Tommy and Carter covering their mouths so they wouldn’t burst into laughter. Steve walked back over to them, hitting Tommy’s stomach. “Shut up.” 

If Steve hadn’t gotten the picture he and Y/n were no longer friends, he had gotten it now. 

–

If there was one thing Steve loved most about his home was the swimming pool in the backyard. The house itself was way too big for the family of three, and recently, it’s just been him around. He hated to admit the loneliness creeping around the corners of the rooms, following him around. 

Whenever he was bored, but still wanted to be alone, he walked outside and got in the pool. Today, however, he had invited Tommy and Carol over. They, of course, took the liberty of inviting TIna. Steve didn’t mind, more nervous than anything. Last year she had gotten prettier, no longer wearing pigtails or clothes that didn’t fit. 

He also enjoyed kissing her. 

Steve had kissed a lot of girls since the eighth grade. Now it was the summer before sophomore year, and a week before his sixteenth birthday. Him and Tina had been on a few dates, always ending up making out, tongues, salvia, heavy breathing and touching each other in places they shouldn’t. 

The blonde was sitting between his legs, laying her head on his chest, placing soft kisses on his jaw. Tommy and Carol were on the lawn chair next to theirs. Tommy was rubbing Carol’s shoulders, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, listening to Carol ramble on about her uptight step-mom. “Did you find someone to get us some beers?” She asked Steve, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t answering, his lips locked on Tina’s. 

She hit him with a towel, forcing him to break away from Tina, lips red and wet, giving Carol an annoyed expression. She repeated her question. “Yeah, they’re in the kitchen.” He tried to go back to kissing Tina, but Carol asked her to come with her, making the girl slip off the chair and follow the brunette back into the cool house. He watched the way her hips swayed side to side in her blue bikini bottom. 

“Jesus dude. When are you gonna man up and fuck her?” Tommy asked once the girls walked inside. 

Steve licked his lips, staring at a water bug as it skidded across the surface of the clear pool water. “We’re not even anything serious, yet.” That was always his excuse. Like the girl before Tina and the girl before her, they were never official enough to sleep with. Tommy and Carol always gave him shit for it, having done it since the beginning of freshman year. 

The growing popularity in high school was overwhelming, girls coming up to him and saying their friend thought he was cute, landing a varsity spot his freshman year, being invited to upperclassman parties. A lot had changed for him.

His hair was thicker, his teeth were no longer big, his legs were longer, his shoulders broader and arms stronger. Last Christmas his grandmother made a sweater that ended up ripping because she didn’t realize how big he was. 

He hated to admit that although the attention was staggering, he enjoyed it. In fact, he no longer blushed when girls would express their interest in him like he did in PE. Instead he would smirk, flirt, and occasionally, if he thought the girl was cute, he would give his number to them. 

Tommy scoffed, “It’s just sex. It doesn’t have to be serious.” 

Steve wanted to tell Tommy that it wasn’t just sex. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it. Oh god, no not at all. There was an embarrassing amount of wet dreams, or uncomfortable hard-ons in class that proved otherwise. But it was nerve wracking to think about being so young and stripping down to show the most vulnerable parts of yourself to somebody. 

Then there were the expectations. What if it wasn’t good? What if he wasn’t good? 

Steve was about to give Tommy an answer until the large gate to the pool opened. The boys turned their heads. 

Y/n was pushing it open with her back, then closing it with her foot. When she turned around, she stopped in her tracks realizing they were staring at her, holding a rectangular glass platter covered with tin foil. “Um, your mom called my mom and mentioned you were by yourself. She was worried about you being fed. No one answered the door and I… well I don’t know why I came back here.” 

Steve knew exactly why, especially when her eyes flickered to the second flower pot by the back door, the flower pot that always had the spare key underneath. 

Steve sighed, pushing himself up off the pool chair to help the girl into the house. When he opened the door to the sun room, Tina and Carol were coming out holding beers, giving each other a look when they noticed Y/n was behind Steve. 

He motioned for her to go in, closing the door quickly when he heard Carol say, “Since when did Steve get a dog?” 

It was silent between them as she walked in front of him to the kitchen. Although they didn’t speak, or hung out, their families still had dinner every now and then. His mother may redecorate when she’s bored but it was nearly impossible for Y/n to forget how to get around the Harrington household. 

She set the dish on the kitchen island, running the back of her hand over her forehead, wiping off the beaded sweat from the blazing summer sun. “Mom is trying out a new recipe. M’sorry if it’s not any good.” 

“It’s okay. Tell her I said thank you.” Steve shifted uncomfortably, his bare feet stinging the cold linoleum. Y/n’s eyes were anywhere but on him, trying to ignore the fact he was shirtless and wearing only his swim trunks. “How’s Aaron doing?” 

She shrugged. “Has his good and bad days. Yesterday he couldn’t stop throwing up.”

“Cancer sounds like an asshole.” He joked, earning a small smile from her. 

The two of them were still far from being friends, but the second semester of freshman year they were partnered together for biology and now Y/n would actually have a conversation with him without scowling. 

“How are you doing? With everything going on, I mean.” He asked her. 

Something flashed across her face that told him she hadn't been asked that. “Alright, I guess.” 

“You wanna stay? We have beers. Tommy and Carol aren’t that bad anymore. Tina’s cool too.” He could tell by the way she bit her lip and nostrils flared, she wasn’t going to stay. 

“Preheat the oven at 350º and reheat it for ten minutes.” She left the room, making her way to the front door so she could avoid walking in the back again. 

He joined the group outside again, Tommy and Carol wading in the pool, Tina laying on her stomach soaking up the sun. If this was seventh or even eighth grade, they would have interrogated him about Y/n showing up unannounced. But they never brought it up, at least not in the way they used to. 

“How is it possible for someone’s ass to get even sweeter?” Tommy gave a cheeky grin when Carol splashed him. 

Steve sat on the edge of the chair Tina was on, rubbing her back, slick of tanning oil. 

“Why don’t you ask Reed? Tammy told me the other day they did it in the back of his dad’s car. Chief Hopper was the one who caught them.” Tina said.

Steve furrowed his brows.

It was no secret some of the boys at school started to find interest in Y/n, the rumor of her having dog breath had been set aflame when she allegedly sucked face with Connie Phillips at a party the beginning of freshman year. 

“Can’t believe she lost her virginity before you, Harrington.” Carol sniggered. 

He felt the heat on his cheeks rise. 

It was odd to talk about her in such a way. He knew they were older, grown out of their awkward bodies. He knew they weren’t friends anymore. He knew he shouldn’t care what she’s doing or who she’s hanging out with.

So why did he feel his chest tighten?

–

Steve had never lost someone before. Any funeral he had gone to was as a visitor. Sometimes he would get asked how he knew the family, he’d look up at his mom, because he had no idea. 

He didn’t know the pain of having a loved one ripped away suddenly from your life, having to adjust and adapt to a life without them. 

He guessed that’s why it was hard to understand Nancy. He loved her, but in reality, he didn’t understand the things she had gone through.

He realized that when he looked her in the eyes at the Halloween party, and he finally saw her for the first time in their entire relationship. She didn’t love him— she couldn’t. She resented him. 

He sat outside on the sidewalk of Tina’s house, cigarette in his hand, recalling his entire time with the eldest Wheeler. Anytime they were intimate, it was like she disappeared inside of herself, and it wasn’t until now that Steve realized it only reminded her of Barb. How they creeped up the steps of his house to his room, giggling and carefree while Barb was killed. 

How the hell was he supposed to know Barb would be dragged to another world by a monster? 

Shit, he thought to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Not only was the first long-term relationship he had ever been in was over, but school wasn’t any better. Tommy and him stopped being friends last year. The new kid, Billy Hargrove, was now Hawkin’s High golden boy. He wasn’t anything special anymore. 

He felt like the failure his father always said he’d be. 

“I should have known you’d dress as Risky Business.”

Steve snapped his head towards the mysterious voice. He felt his stomach dip. Y/n was standing behind him, a beer in her hand, and a smirk on her face, wearing a Wonder Woman costume. He watched her walk over, plopping right next to him on the sidewalk. 

“Your girl was fucked up.” It was a statement. He wondered if she knew about the argument in the bathroom. He wondered if it was her way of comforting him, telling him Nancy was drunk and they would be fine tomorrow. 

But Steve knew there was no going back to the way things were before. 

“It’s whatever.” He mumbled, resting his arms on his knees, flicking the butt of his cigarette he wasn’t hungry for anymore. 

Her costume was shiny, gleaming underneath the streetlight softly glowing above them. “Still sucks. I could tell you were really into her. You somewhat stopped being a dickbag.” 

A corner of Steve’s mouth turned upwards. He had wondered how she really felt about him. 

She had to grow up, watching him go from the boy who played pirates, the boy who still slept with a baby blanket until he was eleven, the boy who attended tea parties willingly, the boy who was disgusted by the idea of kissing girls. She had to grow up, watching him become something the opposite of everything he once was. Cruel, self-obsessed, and seemingly heartless. 

Although he was different, nothing could change what he had done to her what seemed forever ago in that damp basement closet. That’s the Steve Harrington she knew. 

But he didn’t know anything about her. Was her favorite color still lilac? Did she leave the window cracked open for the boys she’s been with? 

“Do you think you could take me home? This party is kind of lame.” She asked, taking one last sip of her drink, tossing the can into the yard. 

It made Steve chuckle, past Y/n would have been angry if she caught someone littering. 

The car ride was mostly silent, besides the soft crackling of the radio. One point, Y/n reached over and grabbed the Ray Bans hanging off his shirt, putting them on, resting her head on the window. 

“You going to college?” She asked him. 

Steve felt his body tense, thinking back on the evenings his dad forced him to send applications to every possible school in the United States. If it weren’t for his mom, Steve would have probably been shipped off to military school by now. “Hoping to. You?” 

“Just got my acceptance letter from UCLA.” He was envious of the proud tone of voice she had; nevertheless, he was happy for her. 

He pulled into the familiar driveway, but she didn’t rush out of the car once he put it in park. There were a few trick-or-treaters walking through the lawn from getting enough tooth rotting candy that would make a dentist cry. “I miss trick-or-treating.” She sighed. 

Steve agreed. 

There was a beat.

“Wanna come up?” 

His jaw slacked, chestnut eyes drooped, brows creased. Did he hear her correctly? She didn’t say anything else, getting out of the car, sauntering inside her house. He could see her greet her mom in a hug through the frosted glass on the door. He waited until he saw her bedroom light turn on when he turned off the engine of his BMW, getting out. She still had his sunglasses, that was the only reason he would go in. At least, that’s what he told himself as he crossed the yard to the side of the house. 

He turned the corner, stopping when he was greeted by her brother, Aaron, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. 

He looked Steve up and down. “Harrington.” He was skinny, face sunken in. Usually he wore a cap to cover the lack of hair on his head, but tonight he wore a pirate hat, almost making Steve laugh. 

“Should you be smoking?” Steve asked him. 

Aaron looked up above him, smiling knowingly. “Should you be sneaking through my sister’s window? Neighbors might get the wrong idea.” 

Steve wanted to answer, but Y/n voice interrupted him. “Aaron, if you don’t piss off I’ll tell mom you’re smoking again.” 

“I’ll tell mom you’re sneaking boys in again.” He challenged. 

“You’re the one dying, she doesn’t care what I do.” 

Aaron gave her an unimpressed look, smashing the cigarette into the wall, flicking it to the ground, mumbling insults. He set a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Careful, I hear she bites.” 

Steve swallowed. He had always been embarrassed when he thought that Y/n probably told her family what he did to her. He always assumed when her mom stopped inviting him to go to Indiana Adventures– an amusement park outside of Indianapolis– or when her father gave him a narrowed eye look if he walked into the room. But now, Aaron confirmed it. 

Steve looked up at the window, wide open. Just for him. He climbed up the lattice panel, remembering where to avoid because the wood was weak. Although now, he had to be careful because vines had grown back, that would be morifying if his foot got stuck. 

Fortunately, he successfully slipped inside the room with a smooth landing. 

Y/n’s room was different from the last time he had been in there. The walls were still white, small holes from nails and chipped paint. There were now posters from her favorite bands and the Karate Kid. There were a few trophies and medals from academic meets and debate club. Pictures decorated her bookshelf. He smiled at the one of her frowning the summer her mom forced her to join gymnastics. 

Y/n, now changed into an oversized shirt and shorts, was rummaging through her dresser. Finally, she pulled out a jewelry box, opening it up and taking out a blunt. Without a word, she walked over to the window seal, plopping down criss crossed. Steve just stared at her stupidly, watching her light the blunt and inhaling it, tilting her head when she noticed his uneasiness. “Have you never smoked before?” 

“I have.” He joined her, crossing his legs as well, giving a small thank you when she handed the blunt to him. 

The two sat there, listening to crickets chirping, the doorbell ringing, kids yelling excitedly down the street. It smelled like banana bread and pine. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve blurted out. He felt like he was a balloon airing up for years, the needle finally closed in on him, forcing him to burst. 

She made a face, knowing what he meant. “I get it. I probably would have done the same to you. Remember me at the beginning of sixth grade?” 

“No you wouldn’t have.” Steve said sternly. “You would have never done that to me. Not to anyone. You realized quicker than I did that some people are full of bullshit.” 

By now the blunt had been passed between them so long that it was only a nub. She put it out in a glass bowl, setting it to the side. “Then why did you tell them that? What was so bad with them knowing you kissed me?” Her tone was soft and sad. He imagined her staying up late at night, wondering what was wrong with her all because her friend had rather made up an outrageous lie than admit he had kissed her. 

Steve ran his hands over his face. “No one was supposed to even kiss you. They were going to make the dog lick you, and I just couldn’t do it. But then when you looked disappointed that it was me and not Tommy… anyway, it’s stupid.”

Y/n didn’t look at him, instead her eyes were focused outside the window. “I didn’t want to kiss Tommy. I mean, not really.” 

“Not really?”  

“I wanted to kiss you.” 

There was a beat. 

“Oh.” He felt like he was back in that closet, heart thumping and mind racing. So long he had questioned what was wrong with him that made her not want to kiss him. His eyes fell on hers and his mouth parted. He couldn’t help that they wandered over to her lips. 

She noticed.

“You wanna kiss me right now?” This time she was looking at him, eyebrows raised, part of her mouth upturned. 

Steve licked his lips, swallowing when she leaned forward, placing a hand on his thigh. Her face was close enough he could lean down and close the gap between them. It was an easy task. However, he sighed and looked down at the floor. She took the message, leaning back and taking her hand off of him. “If this was a year ago. I would with no hesitation. But I can’t. Not like this. I love Nancy and I…  just can’t.” It was hard for him to explain that even though she was pretty, things were different than before. He was different. 

He realized tonight, he never needed a wooden sword to apologize to her. It seemed like she had forgiven him a long time ago. 

But maybe he needed to apologize to his younger self too. Putting so much pressure on the young boy with too big teeth to grow up faster than he really wanted. It was uncomfortable, outgrowing his old self, becoming the version of himself that he always envisioned. 

Maybe that’s another reason he didn’t kiss her. 

He’s rushed so many things before he could properly think about the consequences or after math. 

He needed to learn how to be a friend to her again. 

–

Since junior year, Steve had always dreamed about being crowned prom king. That would be the moment he knew he made a mark in high school. 

Yet, when they announced his name and set the plastic crown they probably got at the party store on his head, slightly messing up his styled hair, he didn’t feel satisfied. He looked out onto the dimly lit gymnasium streamed with cheap decorations, sweaty bodies, and the spiked punch with cheap tequila. 

His date, Betty Simpson, had ditched him the first ten minutes they had arrived, somewhere in the crowd with her friends, only finding him whenever a slow song came on. 

There was only thirty minutes left of the dance, people already treading out to get ready for the after party at Tammy’s house. He stood to the side, watching everyone jump or sway to the music. Some people came up and patted him on the back to congratulate him, something he did to the prom king before him. 

“There you are.” A pair of hands wrapped around his arms. “I think I’m going to catch a ride with Billy to Tammy’s. Is that okay?” Betty asked. He could smell the hint of alcohol from her breath. His eyes flickered over to the exit of the gym, a couple of girls were standing by the long haired boy, whispering to one another as they watched him. Billy had a smug look on his face, waving tauntingly. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve shrugged the girl off his arm, thinking about how he wasted his entire night bringing her. He bet Billy wouldn’t have taken her to Enzo’s or would have even bought dessert like Steve did. 

Betty didn’t notice the irritated expression on his face, happily telling him goodbye, picking up her dress and running towards her friends. 

Steve walked over and sat down on a chair, dropping his head and taking the crown off. Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time came on, he glanced at the couples dragging their dates to dance, sighing. “The prom king shouldn’t be moping around.” The familiar voice of Y/n made him look over, straightening in his seat. He had seen her earlier, it wasn’t that hard to point her out in the yellow dress she wore, outshining everyone in the room. Sometimes he’d tune out Betty talking his ear off, and just stare at her. Admiring how pretty she was. 

He wouldn’t say things had gone back to the way they were between them, but they’ve made progress the past seven months, hanging out, having movie nights again, talking at dinners with their families. 

“You know, you made a pinky promise to dance with me at prom.” She didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing his hand, pulling him up, dragging him towards the group of people. Y/n took the crown and placed it back on his head, smiling, settling his hands on her waist before placing hers on his shoulders. “Why do you look so sad?” 

Steve motioned his head over to a couple. Y/n looked, “Ah.” It was Nancy and Jonathan, looking ever so in love. Although he had given up pining over her and letting her go from his thoughts, he still sometimes felt that pang of hurt whenever he saw moments like that. “Well, she can’t say she danced with the prom king, can she?” 

Steve managed to smile. “Is that why you wanted to dance with me?” 

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you caught me. Wanted to tell my kids someday that I danced with the prom king in high school.” The sarcasm was thick, but it still made him chuckle. Her face softened. “Also, like I said. You promised me.” 

“Do you remember every pinky promise we made?” He noticed that his hands had relaxed, mindlessly thumbing the fabric of her dress. He may have even slightly pulled her in closer. 

“Only the important ones.” She shrugged, clasping her hands around his neck. “A lot of the broken ones.” She mumbled, looking at their feet. 

“Can I make a new promise to you?” Steve asked her, bringing her chin up so she would look at him again. “My promise to you is if I ever lose you again, I will do anything to make sure to find you.” To her, the promise was at surface level than what he meant. Steve had gone through a lot the past couple of years, and although she knew about it, saw it first hand herself, she had no clue how terrified he was that he’d never get a chance to say how much he missed her all these years apart. How much he missed the silly pinky promises. How much he missed hearing her laugh. How much he missed crawling through her window and opening a cold Dr. Pepper that she set on her desk for him. 

He held up his pinky in front of her, smirking. 

She shook her head, her smile betraying her. She wrapped her pinky around his, neither of them forgetting to kiss their thumbs to secure the promise. Normally, they would drop their hands and go on about their business. However, their eyes stayed locked on one another, pinkies still clasped together, lips parted, a tingling sensation moved from his pinky through his hand up his arm to his chest, his heart beating fast. “Wanna get out of here?”

The clatter of bowling pins and cigarette smoke greeted Steve and Y/n when they walked into the bowling alley, still dressed in their prom attire. They replaced their dress shoes and high heels for uncomfortable smelly used bowling shoes. A large cherry slush was shared between them, slurping, sticking their tongues out occasionally like they did as kids, comparing whose tongue was redder. 

“How is it possible to get worse at bowling since middle school?” Y/n laughed, climbing triumphantly into his car after undeniably beating him. “Don’t say ‘cause the suit. I wore this dress and still kicked your ass.” 

Steve threw his white suit jacket in the back seat of his BMW, visibly pouting at the loss. “Whatever, next time I’ll prove to you that it is the suit.” He pointed his finger at her before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Oh, next time?” She tilted her head, giving him a ‘yeah right’ look. 

He nodded ferociously. “Yep. How about next Friday?” His brown eyes flickered towards her. 

She rested her elbow on the center console, setting her head in her hand. “Did you just ask me on a date, Harrington?” She moved the crown on his head from leaning over. 

“No.” He said, maybe a little too quickly. His brows creased, recollecting what he had just said, trying to figure out what words specifically made it sound like he was asking her on a date.  “Henderson will be there and probably the other dorks.” 

She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Really shouldn’t call them dorks.”

“I find it offensive you would think me, Steve Harrington, would take a girl bowling on the first date.” He looked at her with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think you take girls bowling on the first date,” She replied. “I think you take them to your bedroom.”  

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, Big Bird. That hurt a little.”

He saw the way she looked down, fidgeting her fingers, a bashful look on her face. “Shut up.” 

“What? I think you make a cute Big Bird.” He poked her cheek. 

She opened her mouth to say something. However, loud sirens and lights rolled into earshot and eyesight, quickly passing Steve’s car. Y/n grabbed his hand, panicked breathing coming out of her as the emergency cars were still moving in the direction she prayed they wouldn’t. It felt like slow motion, stopping in the street in front of her house because the driveway was crowded with vehicles, blinding lights flashed as they ran inside. 

Steve watched as Y/n’s mother engulfed her daughter in a hug, rubbing her back, telling her how much she loved her.

They waited twenty minutes in the living room for the paramedics to come downstairs, assuring the family everything was okay. 

Y/n had been sitting on the couch with Steve, holding his hand the entire time. It was because she was scared, he told himself. 

She asked him to come up with her to see Aaron. Knowing she didn’t want to be alone, he agreed. 

Aaron’s room had changed too since they were kids. It still looked like a teenager’s bedroom, decorated in posters and pictures, but in the corner there was a hospital bed with beeping monitors. He remembered the day Y/n was upset that he had to be put on bed rest, because he no longer wanted to do treatments. Although she claimed she came to terms with her brother’s numbered days, Steve could tell by the way she picked her fingernails, or jumped whenever she was called to the office, she really hadn’t. 

Aaron weakly smiled when they entered. “Look, I’m E.T. now.” He held his finger up that was covered with a heartbeat monitor, moving it creepily towards his sister. “E.T. phone home.” His horrible impression made the three of them laugh. Y/n sat at edge, grabbing his hand. “Harrington, you’re prom king.” 

Steve touched the cheap crown on his head that he had forgotten about. No wonder they were giving him odd looks downstairs. “Yeah.” 

“Y/n was pissed you didn’t ask her to prom. Ow!” Aaron took his hand away, rubbing it after she had squeezed him ‘accidentally’ too hard. 

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving her a smug look. “Was she?” 

“Oh yeah. Now that I’m quite literally on my deathbed. I have so many secrets about Y/n I can share. Once I found her diary. Every page was always Steve this and Steve that. ‘Dear diary, I cannot stop thinking about that kiss-” Y/n’s hand found its way over his mouth. 

“If you don’t shut up now, I’m going to start unplugging shit.” She took her hand off of him, placing it back in her lap, avoiding the look that Steve was giving her. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Always wanted to be prom king. The ladies were obsessed with me in middle school.” 

Aaron grinned, fidgeting with a loose thread on the bed sheet. “Because they thought you were dying.”

“I am.” 

Steve had always wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling. He once asked his mom why they never had any other kids. His father had interjected the conversation. “If we weren’t so worried about how you turn out, maybe we'd have time to have another kid.” He guessed that’s why he had taken such a liking to Henderson. A kid he once never thought twice about and now if someone even looked at him funny, he’d kick their ass. 

Steve looked down, a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, bending down to pick up the familiar wooden object. Memories of laughing, falling in the mud, swinging too high on the tire swing, flooded his mind. He looked over at two of them, still bantering. “Hey, how about some fresh air?” 

The spring air was cool, a light fog casted down the street of Dearborn, the lawn was damp and muggy from the rain yesterday, Y/n’s mom’s lilies had just bloomed. Steve held the wooden sword firmly in his hands. Aaron sat in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket and a knitted toboggan on his head. He was opposite of Steve, holding Y/n’s sword, while she held the handles of the wheelchair to push him since he was too weak to do it himself. 

It took their mom a lot of convincing to allow Aaron to come outside, but even she couldn’t stop smiling ear to ear when Steve carried the boy down the stairs and outside. He even caught a nod of approval from her dad.  

“Aye, we meet again to fight one last time for the jeweled crown. If yer want it, you have to kill me first.” Steve spun the crown on his pointer finger. 

“Pirate Steve-”

“It’s now Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington, matey.” 

Y/n snorted, but didn’t say anything. 

“Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington. That crown will be mine!” He motioned for Y/n to start pushing, holding the sword out, charging towards the dark locked boy. 

It was like a messy dance as Steve ran in circles while Y/n and Aaron chased him. Occasionally the wooden swords would clatter against one another, Steve careful not to hit too hard. His shoes and the bottom of his trousers had mud and dirt splattered on the slick black. He would get an earful when he got home, but he didn’t care. 

Finally, Steve put himself in the position for Aaron to hit his waist, signaling he had been defeated. Y/n had been giggling the entire time, and it only got louder as Steve dramatically coughed. He took the crown off his head, placing it on Aaron’s over the toboggan. “You won it fair and square.” 

Aaron’s expression changed, quickly shaking his head. “Steve, I’m not taking your crown.” 

Steve smiled tenderly, “You didn’t take it. I’m giving it to you.” His eyes flickered to Y/n. Her head was tilted slightly and a toothy grin was painted on her face. 

He couldn’t help it, his feet started going towards her. When she saw the mischievous look in his eyes, she held a hand up, grabbing the bottom of her yellow dress, running away from him. She squealed when he easily caught up with her, grabbing her waist, her feet twisting underneath forcing her to the ground, pulling him down with her. He could feel her belly rumble against his own, laughing, smile beaming in the soft glow of moonlight. She had a spec of mud on her face, Steve brushed it off with his knuckles, chuckling because he had made it worse. 

“Did you mean it when you said I was cute?” She asked him in a low whisper so that Aaron couldn’t hear. 

He felt his own voice go down. “Of course I did.” 

She hummed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Promise?” 

A breath of air hitched in his throat. His jaw slacked and eyes widened. She gave him an innocent smile, eyelashes fluttering when she blinked. 

Their noses bumped when he leaned down, connecting their lips. His stomach felt like it was doing flips as he drowned himself in her. He could taste the cherry slush that still lingered on her lips. He could feel the longing desire as her fingers touched the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper. 

This was his promise. 

“Guys? It’s awfully quiet back there. Did you kill one another?” Aaron asked, trying to look behind him. 

The two broke apart, sharing a giggle and a secret that only the two of them would know. 

–

Steve had never had a girl cry in front of him. He could always tell if they were about to or if they were sad, but never did they cry. He had always thought maybe they were too embarrassed, not wanting him to see their red puffy eyes or snot running nose. He had shrugged it off until he dated Nancy. 

He realized that none of them were flustered. They never trusted him enough to see that side of them. None of them felt safe enough. 

So when he laid in Y/n’s bed, holding her shaking body, her tears staining his polo, he was unsure what to do. 

It had been a week since her brother’s funeral.  Since then, he had seen a few tears fall when she thought no one was looking, but would always wipe them off and smile if he said something. 

It wasn’t until he had snuck in her window— her parents now disapproved of this since they assumed more might be happening between them, rightfully so. 

They were laying in her bed, his hand on her stomach, she was playing with his fingers. Until all of a sudden, she burst into tears. 

At first, he thought he might have said or done something wrong. All he knew what to do was pull her even closer, allowing her face into his chest, assuring her it was okay whenever she cried out an apology. There was no reason to apologize, he told her. She was allowed to be sad. She was allowed to cry. He would be there for her, always, even if he didn’t completely understand how she felt, even if she didn’t want him to be. 

The room fell silent besides her quiet sniffling. 

She turned over, making Steve believe she was ready to be alone. He slipped out of the bed, walking over to the window to put on his shoes. Y/n turned her body, watching him with creased brows. “Where are you going?” 

Steve looked up. “Thought maybe you wanted to be alone.” 

She shook her head, biting her lip. “Please stay.” 

Steve took his shoes back off, closed the window, and crawled back on the bed next to her, flushing his chest to her back and holding her tightly, never wanting to let go. 

—

Y/n had always hated peaches. Even the smell of them made her gag. Whenever the school served them and a tiny drop of peach juice touched her food, she wouldn’t eat it. Finally, her mom started packing her daughter’s lunches to prevent any further peach contamination.

So when the boy came up to the counter at Scoops Ahoy, smirking, asking about the pretty girl in the booth reading a book and what Steve thought her favorite ice cream flavor was. Steve couldn’t help but smile wide once he handed the guy a double scoop of Peaches and Cream flavored ice cream.

When the ice cream was offered to her, she smiled and gave a thank you. 

After he left, Y/n narrowed her eyes on Steve. She stood up and walked up to the counter. “Why did you do that?” 

Steve acted clueless. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She scoffed, holding the ice cream cone that was already melting and running down her fingers. “There’s other ways to make it known you’re jealous than making me come in contact with my mortal enemy.” 

His face pinched up. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Oh, so you won’t care if I call him?” She showed a piece of paper that Steve didn’t see earlier when he was watching them. 

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Let’s not go that far. I mean, did you see that unibrow?” He pointed to the space between his brows, grimacing. He then leaned on the counter with his elbows.

“Well, at least he’s man enough to ask me out on a date.” Her voice had raised, earning looks from some of the customers sitting down. 

Robin, his co-worker who had made a silent oath to make any second working with him miserable, pretended to come outside and check the toppings. 

This was ridiculous, he thought. He didn’t realize it was a big deal to play a harmless prank. Besides, Y/n was way out of his league. No, he was not jealous because there was nothing to be jealous of. If she was implying that he hadn’t asked her out because he was a wimp, she was wrong. Completely wrong. 

What was the point of starting something with her if in a couple of months she’d be across the country in California? He’s seen the posters of those surfers in her bedroom. That’s all he could imagine, her pathetically splashing around in a yellow bikini and a tanned, long hair blond saving her, complimenting how beautiful she looked and that yellow was definitely her color. He would stare at all her supple curves and her boobs and her sweet ass— Jesus what was he even thinking? 

She was his friend. 

A friend he’s kissed. 

A friend that he had only gotten back recently, and he was too selfish to let her go. 

Y/n wasn’t pleased with his lack of words. She pursed her lips, took the ice cream cone, smeared it on his dark mop of hair, and then pivoted on her heels to storm out of the ice cream shop. 

Steve poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, nodding to himself. He probably deserved it. 

He turned to look at Robin, seeing her smile for the first time since he started working there. “Dude, you kind of suck.” 

He muttered something about her getting off at his misery as he scooped the broken cone and melted ice cream off his head, trying not to think about how it screwed up his hair routine for the week. 

“So, why isn’t she your girlfriend? She comes and sits in here nearly every day.” Robin never took interest in his personal affairs, so why now? 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Buckley, but it’s complicated.” He used a rag to clean the counter off. 

She hummed, going back into the breakroom, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and a group of familiar looking teenagers. 

Steve couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning, uncomfortable because his hair was still damp from the shower he took. “Screw it.” 

When he got to Y/n’s house, he didn’t even care that her bedroom lights were off and the window was closed. He still climbed the lattice panel, knocking loudly on the glass. He was relieved when he saw a dim glow appear through the curtains which snapped open. Y/n’s face had no expression whatsoever, her eyes were half-closed and pajamas were rustled against her body. Nevertheless, she unlocked the window and opened it. “It’s two in the morning.” 

She still let him crawl through, shutting it when he stepped further into the room. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“So you came over to wake me up instead? Did the ice cream freeze your brain cells?” She poked his forehead, giggling a little at her joke. 

“No. I came over to talk to you.” His serious tone made her wake up completely. He took a deep breath, already overwhelmed. “You’re my best friend, Y/n.” 

“Sure it isn’t Dustin?” She joked, sitting down at the edge of her bed. 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. Why was she being so difficult? “Can you just let me talk?” 

Her jaw slacked, surprised at the mini outburst. “Losing you as my best friend was one of the worst things that happened to me. I became a douchebag and didn’t care about anything or anyone. Now, I’m scared that you’re going to leave for California and you’ll realize I’m just a nobody still stuck in this shit hole because I realized too late high school doesn’t matter.” 

Y/n eyes softened. “This is all about me going to UCLA?” She asked, disbelief laced in her words. He only shrugged, avoiding her sympathetic look. “Steve.” 

He still wouldn’t look at her. She sighed and stood up to walk over to him. “Steve.” She said again, softly, placing her hand tenderly on his face. His hooded eyes found hers, warm and sweet. “I made the decision to go to Indiana State.” 

“What? Why?” 

“To be closer to my parents. I don’t want to be across the country worrying about them all the time.” She paused looking down bashfully then back up at him, thumbing the collar of his sleep shirt, batting her eyes. “I also wanted to be closer to the boy I like.” 

Steve felt his heart beat fast. “Indiana State is about an hour and a half drive from here.” 

She began to pepper kisses against his jaw. “I could come down on weekends or somebody could come see me.” 

Steve felt selfish that he was more than happy with her decision to stay in Indiana. He should be jumping up and down, celebrating, but something was gnawing on his mind, like a tiny ant he couldn’t get rid of. 

—

Never did Steve think he’d be in a bathroom, coming down from the biggest drugged high of his life, with his co-worker Robin. Granted, they had just escaped Russians who had beaten his face so badly his eye was nearly swollen shut, but never did he think he’d be sharing the most vulnerable parts to someone that he barely knew. 

Yet, there he sat, back against the cold tiles of the freshly cleaned restroom, the scent of cleaning chemicals burning his nostrils. 

“Are you in love with Y/n?” Robin’s raspy voice was soft, but the question felt like it had echoed against the stalls, ringing in his ears. 

His chest tightened and he swallowed hard. “I dunno. I’ve never thought about it.” 

“Why are boys such idiots?” Robin said, mostly to herself. “She’s your girlfriend, dude.”

“Yeah, and we’ve only been dating less than a month.” 

She let out a long exasperated sigh. “You’ve known her longer than a month.”

Steve looked at the multicolor tiles below him as his hand cradled the toilet which was defaced in his vomit and blood. Steve might have lied. He had thought about Y/n beyond just liking her. 

He slid under the bathroom stall. “I’m scared.” He admitted. “I’m scared that I’ll tell her and she’ll look at me the same way Nancy did. With that blank look because she never felt that way and never will.” 

“Y/n isn’t Nancy.” Steve had to agree with her. Maybe that’s why he dived so fast into the relationship with Nancy. She was the opposite of Y/n. She didn’t remind him every single day that he was lost without his best friend. 

“You just wouldn’t understand.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. 

She let out a breathy laugh. “You really don’t know a thing about me, Steve.” 

He glanced at her, noticing the way she was chewing on her lip and how she was slightly pulling her hair, staring at the toilet paper holder next to him. He was still astonished that this day had brought them closer. A girl he would have never hung out with in high school. Maybe because he was afraid Tommy would have made fun of him or maybe it would’ve hurt his chances to be prom king. 

He knew it was all bullshit. 

He was different now, and Robin must have seen it too, because she told him a secret that she had never told anyone, letting him know she did understand. He couldn’t tell her how his high school self would react to the news of her being a lesbian, but it didn’t matter because that person didn’t exist anymore. 

So, four weeks later, when Steve still had a fading bruise under his eye, and a healing cut under his lip that would surely leave a scar, he still couldn’t get that ant from gnawing his brain. 

Not even when his lips were meshed with Y/n’s. His back against her headboard as she straddled his lap, fingers tangled in his hair.

 It was a heated kiss, heavy breathing, tongues sliding against each other. Y/n took his lip between her teeth, forcing a guttural moan out of him, his hands slid down her back to her ass, gently squeezing, smiling when he felt the sliver of flesh peeking through her shorts. 

Y/n’s hands wandered from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, her fingers hooked his belt loops, pulling his waist up against her.

She tasted sweet like the vanilla cookies his mom used to make for him. She still smelled like honeysuckle along with a hint of his cologne. It was like he was walking in an apple orchard. He didn’t believe in a God, but Jesus, she felt like an angel. 

He scattered kisses along her neck, finding her sensitive spot that made her let out an angelic sound which drove him crazy. 

He felt her slowly mess with his belt, unbuckling it. However, when her thumb unbuttoned his jeans, Steve quickly pulled her hands away, leaning back, chest heaving. 

“Steve.” She whined. 

He cursed the ant ruining his life. All he wanted to do was explore every inch of her. This wasn’t the first time they’ve been close, and this wasn’t the first time Steve, regrettably, stopped anything from going further. She sighed, wiping the wetness on her lips, crawling off him and the bed. He closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/n…”

“Don’t. It’s fine.” She started to mess with her stereo. 

“I’m sorry.” He continued, putting his belt back on and then throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. 

“Am I not attractive?” She asked him, spinning around, her nose flared. “Do you not find me desirable?” 

Steve shook his head. “Christ, Y/n. You have no idea how bad I want you.” He wasn’t going to say out loud he’s wanted her for a pathetically long time. 

“Then what’s wrong? I’m… dumbfounded that Steve Harrington is saying no to sex.” One hand was up in the air. Maybe she thought it would help her figure out what his deal was. 

There was a moment of silence except for the radio crackling. 

Steve had had enough of the ant. 

“You should go to California.”

Y/n’s expression changed, trying to process what he had just said. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because I’d be a fool if I didn’t.” He got up from the bed and walked over to her. 

She shook her head, pushing past him. “I already made up my mind. I’m staying.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve told you! I want to be closer to home. I want to be closer to you.” She proclaimed. 

“Because you want to or you think you have to?” He didn’t want to raise his voice, but it was hard not to. She muttered something about him being unbelievable, plopping down on the window seal.

The sunset was bleeding through her curtains, illuminating all of her features. “I know you’ll be content with going to Indiana State but you won’t be happy. You don’t talk about it like you did UCLA.” 

She ducked her head but he could see the tears spilling from her eyes. He took long strides over to her, squatting down, looking up at her, cradling her face. “I can’t just leave my parents, not after Aaron.” 

“They’ll be okay, Y/n. I’ll come over every week and have dinner with them to make sure they’re okay.” His offer was serious. He’d move in if he had to. 

“But what about you, Steve? I don’t want to leave you.” She sobbed. “I love you.” 

Steve felt a lump in his throat. His stomach flipped and heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Tears ran down his cheek. He used to think he would have to beg someone to say those words to him. Beg them to love him. But there Y/n sat, his best friend, who loved him unconditionally. This made letting go of her even harder. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve loved you an excruciatingly long time. I’ve been in love with you since you wore that yellow Big Bird dress with the puffy sleeves. I’ve been in love with you since I kissed you in the closet. And I love you too damn much to not let you go to California.” 

She laughed and sniffled her nose. “You’re so cheesy.” 

He choked on his own laughter, pushing down another lump forming in his throat. She gave him a sad look, nodding slightly. “Okay, I’ll go.” She ran her fingers through his hair, already missing him. “What will you do while I’m gone?” 

He smiled, running his thumb over her lips. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” 

“Promise?” She whispered, putting her pinky up. 

“Promise.” He took it and kissed his thumb exactly like they’ve done before since they were ten-years old. 

He then tenderly placed his lips on hers, standing up,  bringing her up with him by grabbing the back of her thighs, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. Steve carried Y/n back to her bed, laying her softly down. 

He made so many promises to her with each kiss and touch. He promised he would call her and write to her. He promised to never forget her favorite song or color. He promised he would never forget the way the color yellow complimented her skin. He promised he would never forget how much she hates peaches. He promised he would never forget the way she made sweet noises or how she moaned his name when she hit her high. 

Most importantly, he promised he would never stop checking if her window was cracked open.

---

so excited to see how this continues 😁🫶 I loved it!

You Belong With Me | Eddie Munson

pairing: Modern!Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie is hung up on Chrissy Cunningham, but there's someone who's available that would love to be his.

warnings: none

word count: 2.6k

a/n: Taylor really has me in a chokehold with this song!

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie Munson is not known for his ways with the ladies. He leaves that to Harrington, but he can’t deny the fact that he’s got his eyes set on one girl in particular, and wishes it were him and not Harrington who could get the girls. Sadly that’s not the case plus she’s already dating someone, the captain of the basketball team, Jason Carver. Eddie knows he’ll probably never have a chance with her but that doesn’t stop him from sneaking into the games to watch her cheer.

And you are with him every step of the way, even if it does hurt you to see him this way. You’ve been in love with Eddie since you met him. He was the first person to talk to you at school, and he even lived a few trailers down from you so it made the friendship easy. You and he were basically glued at the hip.

So when he told you about his feeling for Chrissy Cunningham a few years ago you were hurt but put on a good face and tried to be supportive. There were a few times when Eddie would think he had a chance with her; only for her to not even bat an eye in his direction. It hurt him, though he wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone but you.

You’ve kept your feelings for him bottled up and hidden in the dark corner of your heart, knowing they’ll probably live there until you die. That’s what made tonight so fucking hard. He’s on your bed, lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Chrissy had bumped into him today on her way to class, like the literal chest-to-chest, books, and papers falling everywhere type of bump.

Eddie claims it was just out of a movie. He was quick to help her pick them up and when he handed them back to her their hands touched for a split second. No more than .5 seconds to be exact. And of course, being his best friend he had to tell you about it immediately.

So now he’s here telling you all the details about it, again. Both of you are sitting on your bed, your legs draped over Eddie’s chest. You’ve been flipping through a random magazine your mom kept in the living room just nodding and “mhmm”ing ever since her name came out of his mouth. It’s not like you hated Chrissy, she was a nice girl. You just hated the fact that she took up more of Eddie’s mind than you did. She always has.

“The way her eyes sparkled under the lights it was, Jesus Christ, it was like magic,” You held back the urge to roll your eyes at his comment, “Then when she thanked me and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, dude I swear I almost fell out then and there. Hearing her talk directly to me, I almost got a boner.”

“Gross dude!” You shove him in the side with your foot, “I do not want to hear about your boners for Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Y’can’t deny love, babe,” The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, “And I do love her.”

“Even though you’ve barely spoken two words to her since you met, yeah right.”

Eddie sits up on his elbows to look at you, “It’s true sweetheart, I’m in love. I’ll get her soon, you just wait and see.” He lies back down bringing his hands behind his head, his muscles flexing in the process. You stare at him, the way he’s so relaxed with you, so at ease. It’s always been this way and you wouldn’t change it for the world, you just wish he was thinking about you at the moment.

“Alright whatever,” You close the magazine, throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of your desk, “It’s late and I’m getting tired. I’mma take a shower then head to bed. You staying over?” You remove your legs from Eddie’s chest, he doesn’t even hear you, being too lost in thought.

“Hello? Earth to Eddie. You there?” You wave your hand in front of his face, snapping to get his attention.

“Huh?” He looks over at you, slightly confused on how you’re now on the other side of him.

“I said I’m gonna take a shower then head to bed, you gonna stay or no?”

“Oh uh nah, I gotta check in with Wayne. Make sure he hasn’t set the trailer on fire and all,” He gets up from the bed, pulling his jacket and shoes on before heading out your bedroom.

“Alright, well see you tomorrow then,” You walk him to the front door, leaning against the kitchen counter as he checks his phone, “7am?”

“Like always,” He winks at you before heading out. You stand there for a moment looking at the place he just was. Wondering how someone like him would ever pine for a girl like Chrissy.

You shake the thoughts from your head then go take a shower, hoping to wash away the thoughts of Eddie and both of your clearly one sided loves.

---

“Oh come on, no way dude,” Mike is yelling at Dustin about some weird sci-fi movie.

“I’m telling you Aliens is way better than Back To The Future! If you can’t see that then you have terrible taste in movies,” You laugh at the boys argument and look over at Eddie, who’s flipping through one of his D&D books. Probably planning for the next campaign.

You get up and walk over to him standing behind his seat. You lean over his shoulder to see what he’s writing, “Wha’cha doin’ over here?”

“Just trying to figure out what these idiots are gonna fight next. I need them to level up after this but nothing I find will give them enough XP,” He’s talking to himself mostly but you listen closely trying to help, even with your minimal knowledge of the game, “And I don’t wanna give them one hella over powered monster because I mean they’re good at the game and all, but they’d get absolutely pummeled trying to deal with a fucking high ass level monster.”

“Well what if you split them up,” You reach over him to point at his notebook, “Half the group can fight this one,” You point at one of the monsters written on Eddie’s notebook page, “Maybe make some traps and chests they can find to upgrade gear and get potions and shit, then the others could fight this one, but make it their choice to split up so they don’t suspect anything”

You point between the two monsters marked in Eddie's book, “That way they only have to split the XP between those groups, not the entire party. Granting more XP per player and they’ll be prepared for the boss fight afterward.”

You look over at him as he thinks about what you just said, “You know that just might work,” He leans forwards and starts frantically writing in the book, “Shit! That’s awesome, I could kiss you rn!”

You blush at his words, wishing he’d make them true. You lean back a little to hide your rapidly heating face from Eddie, but still standing behind him as you watch him work. It’s always been a thing you love, seeing how involved in D&D he got. The way he would just block out the entire world to focus on his campaigns. It was mesmerizing to watch.

There were very few things that could break his concentration; you, the idiot possé (Eddie’s nickname for the Hellfire Club, one he only uses with you around and of course) and Chrissy. It’s like Eddie was a search dog, always looking for her. Even if he was in deep with whatever was in front of him, he’d drop it and look at her, just like right now.

Chrissy was walking into the cafeteria linked up to Jason, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. You roll your eyes at their PDA, wishing they would just can it til the entire school wasn’t in the room with them. In .2 seconds Eddie’s head shoots up to look at her. The way his eyes light up and dilate pains you because you know it’ll only hurt him later when she rejects him.

He sits back in the chair, almost crushing your fingers before you retract them from the back. The pair walk across the lunch room, straight to their regualr spot with the rest of the stuck up rich bitches at the school.

You’ve never understood how Eddie fell in love with Chrissy. Sure he’s told you plenty of times it’s just that you never understood why he liked her. Yes she was beautiful, and popular, and rich, but she was the complete opposite of Eddie. She never wore black clothes, unless it was a fucking mini skirt. She didn’t listen to Ozzy, or Dio or even Sabbath, nor would she like it if she did. And finally she didn’t like D&D!

You on the other hand, were his perfect match. You weren’t popular, or conventionally beautiful and sure as hell weren’t rich. Come on as if a rich person would choose to live in a trailer park, and then there was the music taste. You loved Sabbath, Ozzy and Dio, you even listened to Def Leppard when you were with Eddie, because you know how much he loved them.

You’ve spent the last 8 years slowly becoming the girl of his dreams, not on purpose it’s just how you are, only for him to fall for the complete opposite of that. Pretending it doesn’t hurt is getting harder and harder everyday. But you’d rather keep it a secret than get rejected by the one person who you really trust.

---

A few days later, on Friday, you’re sitting on your bed reading a book when Eddie comes rushing into the trailer, not even bothering to knock, like always.

“Come to the basketball game with me.” It’s not a question, more of a demand. You normally would but after these past couple of days you just weren’t up for seeing him drool over Chrissy some more.

“No thanks. I’m good right here,” You say without even looking up from the book in your hands.

“Oh come on, please? It’ll be fun,” He walks closer to you, taking your book and tossing it to the side, “I promise.”

“No. Eddie-” You were now getting dragged from your warm bed by him.

“Come on please! It’ll only be for a little bit. Just a quick pop in and pop out. Not that big of a deal,” He had your wrists in a death grip, “We can smoke afterwards, and you won’t even have to pay me for it.”

“I don’t pay for it anyways,” You mumble under your breath. You’re getting more annoyed with him asking now.

“True but-”

“But nothing Eddie,” You look him dead in the eyes, “I don’t want to go to the stupid basketball game just so that you can drool over Chrissy Fucking Cunningham! You can go,” You rip your hands away from him, “But leave me out of it!”

He looks stunned that you just spoke to him that way. You two have fought in the past but it was always solved with the promise of a smoke after whatever stupid thing you were arguing about. He’d never seen you this mad before.

Eddie’s been talking about Chrissy all week and you’ve had enough. After their little run in you just couldn’t take his obsession anymore, everytime he’d start to talk about her you’d change the subject.

“Okay then,” You can hear the pain and betrayal in his voice, “Fine. Stay here see if I care,” Then he leaves. He didn’t even say goodbye, he just left.

You knew you came off harsh but you’re tired of seeing the man you love fawn over someone who barely knows he exists.

You flop back onto your bed and curl into your blankets. You hate being mean, especially to Eddie, but you really weren’t in the mood to see him drooling over Chrissy. You never were, you were typically better at hiding it though. Which only made this worse.

Eddie stomps to his van, slamming the door when he gets inside. What the hell was that about?! She never acts this way. Maybe shes on her period or something. Eddie didn’t feel like thinking about this anymore so he starts his car and speeds off towards the high school.

You lay there in your bed, trying to figure out a way to apologize to Eddie later on, you don’t wanna just leave things here, you love him too much and you can’t fathom the thought of him being mad at you over something this small. 

You think about all the possible things Eddie loves when you hear a knock on your front door. You climb out of bed and throw a blanket around yourself. You walk slowly to the door, worried it might be Eddie coming back to yell at you or something. You open the door and come face to face with your mom.

“Mom wha-”

“Left my key card, I can’t seem to do anything right this morning,” She walks over to the couch and starts rummaging through the cushions to find her card, “Is Eddie here? I didn’t see his van outside.”

You lean up against the counter, watching your mother search frantically, “No he just left, we sorta got into a fight and then he stormed out.”

Your mom pops up from behind the couch, “Wait what? But y’all never fight. What happened?”

You sigh and start picking at your fingers, a nervous habit you have, “Well he wants to go to the basketball game tonight but I’m just not feeling up to it but when I told him it came off a little harsh.”

Your mom stops her search by the couch and moves towards her bedroom, flinging blankets and pillows all over the room, “Well maybe just tell him that you didn’t mean for it to come out so strongly, but you just don’t feel up for these basketball games anymore!” She yells from her room “But remember you gotta do what feels right I mean- OH YES!!” Your mom rushes out of her bedroom, key card in hand.

“I would if he didn’t seem so pissed at me because of it. I mean I love Eddie, but this obsession with Chrissy is just too much.”

“Wait. This is about a girl?”

Your face drops at the realization of your words. You’re mom knows that you and Eddie aren’t dating but she’s always thought that maybe there was a chance at some point, this just opens up a new problem.

“Maybe…”

“Oh sweetie,” Your mom walks over to you and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Eddie and you have been best friends forever, don’t let a girl come between that.”

You nod at her words, “I know. I know, it’s just he’s so obsessed with her and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m gonna give you some advice that I was given, girlfriends and boyfriends come and go but this,” She motions between you and the direction of Eddie’s trailer, “This is forever. You can’t let this crush get in the way of that, got it?”

“Got it,” Your mom pulls you into a hug, squeezing tightly, “Did you steal that advice from Friends?”

“Maybe but it fits. Now I’ve gotta get back to work, be back later,” Kissing the top of your head and grabbing her things your mom heads out the door, “I love you!”

You smile at yourself as you head back to your room. Maybe your mom was right, maybe you should just stick this through until either he gets rejected and gives up or somehow finally gets Chrissy. You look at your phone on the nightstand, knowing what you need to do next.

---

I would've read your love letters every single night - S.H

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Steve falls for a girl he's only ever written to 

A/n: pen pals, friends to lovers, Steve calls reader ‘angel’

Warnings: 18+, strong language, kissing 

Word count: 2.9k

October, 1988

It started in the summer, with a misplaced letter that Steve had to respond to. It was on his doorstep, with no phone number, neatly written for someone else, someone who was not him. So he wrote back, nicely informing the person that they had the wrong address and then she wrote back thanking him for being so kind and then his pen was suddenly in his hand again, writing. 

Over two months later it was normal for him to get letters from her, they were meant for him now, they weren’t delivered wrong, they were always in the right place, right on his door stop. Soft white envelopes with the prettiest handwriting he had ever seen, that smelt like pink flowers he couldn't recall the name of but he would know if he smelt them. 

Steve had made one or three jokes about her, the girl he was writing to because of some little mistake, being an angel, because half the time he was unsure if she really existed, just like angels. 

He was desperate to get home, to recount his day on pen and paper, to write down all the jokes Robin told or how there was one customer who spent hours behind the red curtains and how Steve had seen a little white kitten on his drive home that she would've just adored. So he did just that, he wrote down everything he thought she would like to hear, in much messier handwriting, with a few spelling mistakes, not that she ever minded. 

And a letter came back because it always did. 

Dear Steve, 

I think timing someone when they're hiding out behind the curtain is completely reasonable, especially if behind it is exactly what you would find behind a red curtain in a video store, then yes, I think you should time them next time. Just as your letter came I was coming back from a walk through town and I saw a kitten and it reminded me of you, i thought that was silly but seeing you did the same definitely saved me from feeling stupid, it reminded me of that story you told me about your neighbours cat attacking you, though I doubt a cat would attack without its own reasons, you may only be telling one side of the story with that one. I’m sure it was very cute though, the one you saw, it may have been a sign of luck, or peace or something good coming your way. (Don’t make fun of me I know you don’t bother with that stuff but still.) 

I wanted to tell you that I got the job at the florist so your help with the application must have been what did it, I’m starting to think you’re good luck, or you’re just far too sweet to me, either way, thank you.

She always ended her letter with a heart, drawn quickly at the end of her words, it was a little thing he hoped she only did for him. It wasn’t fair but Steve wanted to be the only one she wrote to, he didn't know many twenty one year olds who kept pen pals so with luck, he was starting to sound like her, he was the only one. 

He kept all her letters in the top drawer of his desk. If it took a while for her to write he liked to read over them, first thing in the morning or right before bed, occasionally a little drunk around three in the morning too. He had favourites, this one would be one because she had called him sweet and that was a direct hit on his heart. 

He brushed his fingertips over the word, over the paper, hating and loving at the same time that she had touched it too. He didn't know her, well he did but he wouldn’t know her if he saw her walking through Hawkins, however it didn’t matter, he was sure she was pretty, he was sure she was perfect. Whatever she looked like, Steve had a lingering crush on her, that gave no signs of going away. 

He had his pen ticking back and forth in his hand, like he used to do when he put off doing his homework in school. There was something that caught his eyes on his desk, a picture, from the spring, of him, Robin and then Nancy and Jonathan home from college, in Mrs Byers garden. He liked that picture but he still found himself ripping it straight down the middle and cutting himself off. 

Dear angel, 

I’ll bring a stopwatch tomorrow. And for your information I have been nothing but nice to that cat. I've even petted it a few times when it’s been sitting on my car, I think I even called it a pretty boy once so whatever issues it has with me are one-sided. I can see you taking that side though, it's a grey fluffy thing, like a big mothball, that would adore you much more then me if you ever met it and I’m sorry sweet girl but I don’t think white kittens are signs for anything, but I would never make fun of you, if I ever did I think I would die on the spot, you can’t be creul to an angel without paying the price I’m sure I read that somewhere. 

I’m glad you got the job but I know I had nothing to do with it, you could’ve gotten it on sweetness alone, you belong in a flower shop, (I’m not even going to try and spell whatever it’s really called) that’s why they gave you the job.

P.s I’ve put a picture of me in the envelope, I’m not expecting one back or anything I just wanted you to have a picture of me, like soldiers did in the war, they did that right? 

She hated that her shoes were on her bed but she was so desperate to read Steve’s letter, taking the time to untie her laces was completely out of the question, and how else was a girl supposed to read a letter from a boy she liked then laying on bed with her feet kicked up.

The picture he had given her fell from the envelope, it was clearly ripped and Steve was clearly sunkissed in it, the weather must've started warming up where he was just like it did where she was and he had caught the sun. He had pretty freckles dotted everywhere, the sweetest of smiles, pretty blonde highlights in his hair and-

In all her dizziness, in reading his words twice over, she always did that, in her daydream of having him call her angel again and again she hadn't even placed him. Steve wasn't just sweet, kind Steve who never left her letters unread, who helped her with whatever she needed, who called her names that made her stomach flip, he was Steve Harrington. 

King Steve, Hawkins it boy, Steve who she sometimes saw buying handfuls of popcorn and candy with his friends on a friday night. Which made Robin, Robin Buckley, Eddie was Eddie Munson, Nancy was- her head was a mess. Too caught up on falling she hadn't realised who he was. 

She didn't answer the letter, she couldn't. 

Sometimes he just didn't hear from her for a little while. He guessed sometimes she didn't hear from him for a while too, but he wondered if she waited so anxiously at the window like he did. He wondered if she felt this tightness he felt in his chest when he didn't get to read her words. 

He walked to work just to get his mind off of her, and the horrible feeling that sending the picture had pushed her away, they had a nice first name basis thing going that felt delicate to him and now he feared he had dropped them and watched them shatter into a rug he couldn’t pick them up from. He felt this uncomfortable tightness in his chest, like his body was telling him he had done something wrong. Because, fuck, did he miss her. 

A sweetness filled the air on his way home, the florist's doors wide open, open to catch people as they passed on the street. Considering Hawkins only had one flower store they didn't need to bother. And for the first time since Steve was seven years old and obsessed with daisies he wanted to go in. 

Flowers were her thing. And he would take any little part of her he could get, he decided two steps from walking in that if on the rest of his walk home, he saw that kitten again, he would write to her first. 

Everything around him was red and orange, he felt like he was drowning in cinnamon and cold fall mornings but he guessed that was just because of the time of year, he wondered what spring would be like. 

There wasn’t really anyone inside, just an older man, no doubt buying some roses for his wife, standing as the young girl behind the counter tied them prettily and smiled at him, making light conversations in ways that would make how Steve was with costumes look awful. 

Pink hyacinths. That was what the letters were coaxed in, he glanced but couldn’t find any, even though he was sure that was what was softening the air now, pretty stem cut hyacinths. He would’ve brought them if he could only find them.  

“And some lavender for luck.”

Steve’s heart thumped in his throat, he had heard that before, lavender being lucky, not that he agreed but she had made it sound right so he supposed- the hyacinths weren't in the florists, it wasn’t in season for them to be, but they were in the perfume she wore. The girl behind the counter and the girl from his letters. 

He walked out with a headache unknowing if it was the overwhelming flowers or just because he had seen the girl-, no, his girl. 

Dear Steve, 

I’m so sorry for taking so long to write back, but you’re right, they did send letters and pictures, normally they would take a picture of the people they loved with them, I’m sure lots of young men took pictures of there girl and then left them one of them, it’s all terribly sad if you think about it too much but its romantic too. Your picture was very sweet, I put it on my bedside table, beside your letters, it just made sense to put it there. I hope you don't mind me not sending one back, I think I'm still just too nervous, especially now I've seen just how handsome you are, I don't want to make you overconfident so i'll leave it at that. I don’t think you could ever be cruel Steve, not in my eyes.

Dear angel, 

Don’t be sorry, I was just worried about you that's all, I think I worry about you a lot when the post is late or you’re just busy, I hope that’s okay, that I worry about you. I’m glad you kept the picture, it was one of my favourites, I kind of hated tearing it but I wanted you to have it more, please don’t call me handsome again, I don’t think my heart could take it, the back of my neck started burning up when I read your words. I take it back, please call me handsome over and over again. I have an update on the person behind the red curtain, they came back three times since you last wrote, I also had a run in with the neighbour's cat, it hissed at me the other morning for walking past it. I might buy treats to win it over, let me know what you think it might like. 

You’re right too, I would never be cruel to you, (thank you for not saying anything about the spelling mistake), I would never be anything be kind to you, good to you, fuck, sorry, my hands moving faster then my head is, I hope works going okay, I’m sure you fit right in. 

She had read Steve’s latest letter a number of times, more times then she could count, his handwriting seemed to deteriorate as he wrote, it was much messier then she was used to but she liked that. She liked how he wrote what came to his head the second it did because it made her feel special to know that when he wrote to her it was with some kind of need. No matter how small, the scribbled writing made her feel dizzy and lightheaded. 

It kept her warm somehow, to picture his words, even in the pouring rain. Even in the middle of Hawkin’s where all the pavements had holes that made dirty water splash against her legs every time a car passed. 

A truck went past, over the speed limit too and that did catch her attention. It pulled her from her daydreaming and back to the path she was walking, to her soaked jeans and her muddy shoes. To Steve, standing what could only have been six or seven steps away, his jeans just as damp and his hair soaked through. 

She looked at him because she thought she could get away with it but he knew. Somehow he knew it was her and all she could was turn her back on him and hope he forgot the entire thing but even through the bad weather she could hear him coming after her. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Steve reached out for her arm, a careful touch as he caught the sleeve of her sweater, pulling at the wool in the rain would only stretch it but that wasn’t too important right now. 

His eyes were softer then she imagined, she had seen the boy she wrote to as soft and sweet but Steve Harrington couldn’t be soft, his reputation was enough for her to know that. But then he was looking at her, down at her really, and she felt she couldn't walk away even if she wanted to. 

“I’m sorry-” “I’m sorry-” She didn’t know what he was apologising for but she didn't know what she was for either. 

Steve hadn’t let go yet, he didn’t think he could, his thumb pressed the white wool of her sweater, it was wet and cold but nothing had ever felt so sweet to touch before. She smiled at the ground, a bashfulness in her eyes that made the lines of his smile burn like a papercut. 

He didn’t take his eyes off her, he had seen her twice now and he knew he didn’t ever want to take his eyes off her. He had been so right to call her an angel, the thought that the night after he first saw her, pretty pictures of her behind the counter playing through his mind as his lost sleep over how perfect she was to him. 

He swallowed nothing, his throat moving and her eyes following along his neck, his tongue moved before he had the chance to think, just like his hand would. Because if he thought about the soft little way her lips parted he would’ve fainted right there on the sidewalk. 

“Sorry about the letters, being so-, illegible.” He laughed to himself, eyes casting to the floor for a second, waiting for the teasing to come. Not knowing her in person protected him a little, his bad spelling and his messy handwriting, his incorrect use of words, it didn't matter when it wasn't face to face but now he was praying the girl in front of him didn't think he was an idiot. 

“They were fine, more than fine.” She spoke softer than he imagined, a little more nervous then how he read her letters but it was okay because he was nervous too. 

Fine had never sounded so sweet before. A word had never meant so much to him and he couldn’t help but relax his shoulders, the strain in the back of his neck now gone as let her sleeve go. 

“Yours were much prettier to read.” He liked the look on her face a little too much. He liked how fucking pretty she looked when she was praised, Steve would’ve confessed how much he adored even just the scent of her letters or the way she wrote her s, just to see that look. 

“I like your handwriting.” She pinched her brows together, like she was wondering how someone couldn’t.

And she was because his handwriting made her feel special, it made her bite her lip and kick her feet, it made her cheeks burn when he cursed or called her angel, it made her know which letters were from him just from seeing the envelope sitting on the dining room table- she couldn’t think, Steve Harrington was kissing her.

His hand was on her waist, his fingers too close to her hip, digging in her flesh through her clothes and he was kissing her and she was kissing him because nothing had felt so right before. He was soft and sweet but full of need too as her lungs began to ache and his lips moved against hers. 

He muttered something, something that had him grinning and her smiling shyly, “You can’t put that in an envelope.”

sign me up!! Cant wait to read more. I am loving the chemistry 🫶🫶

deal with the devil: chapter three

eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

fic summary: you want to piss off your parents. eddie wants to pass his classes. so you make a deal with each other: he’ll date you, you’ll tutor him, and you’ll both end the year happy. the catch? no falling in love. slow burn romance, enemies to friends to lovers, fake dating, don’t fall in love. fic takes place in 1984-85. inspired by 18 by anarbor.

chapter summary: you and eddie get ready for the party. once you get there, you enjoy yourselves -- maybe a little too much -- then come home to break the news to your parents.

warnings: this series in 18+, minors dni! afab reader. reader is 18 with an august birthday, eddie is 19. reader is mean and eddie is mean right back. reader has a controlling father. nsfw. masturbation (m, not explicit but heavily suggestive), grinding, hickeys, some sexually suggestive language. mentions of drug use. reader gets injured trying to do eddie's hair, but no blood. mentions of a twisted ankle and vomit. mentions of eddie being poor.

a/n: finally! enjoy <3

taglist: @boo22sstuff@stevieharringtonswife@feminist-mina-harker@josephquinnlover0@stydia-4-ever@babeyglo@sidthedollface2@dont-get-upset@daleyeahson@munsonswrld@faggotinie@mysticalavenuecheesecake@junggoku@yeehawbitchs @mopeymopeymouse @ashh22 @katie-tibo @aysheashea@peachteastudiess@meadow20@disaster-in-waiting@marymunsonloves@dont-bother-me-please@all-will-be-well-love @imtryingahh @n0x-m0rtis@siriusly-rem-writes@foodpills@likeficsinthewnd @nadixm@spookycreepycookie @hiscrimsonangel @anabitchskywalker @adequate-superstar @kissylovie @@kaitebugg03 @@tlclick73 @munsonsuccubus @neobanguniverse @vintagehellfire @mysticalcookieslimecrossant @eddiesguitarskills @taccobelle @eddiesprincess86 @hallison67 @anxietymonstress @metalhead-succubus @cherry-333 @siriuslysmoking @lolalanaie @soanxiousimcalm @baileythebaddy @javsan @@glossiepjm @gracieluvthemoon @@kellzlib @blue-eyed-lion @starrch1ld @zoeymunson @tayfs-blog1 @unnoticeableparadox @alexa4040 @hargrovesswifee @that-gay-snail @psychicfanpoetry @ebonybloom

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chapter three: the party

You'd never seen so many mugs in your life. Or walls so yellow from the nicotine air, a car so old and rusted on the lawn, or such a heinous amount of ballcaps. Ever.

As if reading your mind -- or maybe your twisted expression -- Eddie tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and turned to you with a shrug.

"Hey, you were the one who wanted to come here."

"Yeah, but I was expecting a house. You know, with a foundation instead of wheels?"

Eddie shucked his vest and jacket, then hung them over a kitchen chair. "You have no idea how expensive a house is, do you?"

It was your turn to shrug. You tossed your bag onto the couch and crossed your arms.

"Okay, show me your closet."

Eddie gestured for you to follow him down a short hall. You tried not to frown when you entered his bedroom. A hand-painted canvas poster for Corroded Coffin overwhelmed the room, second to the unmade bed at the centre. Clothes, cassette tapes, and soda cans were strewn across all surfaces -- including the floor. You had to tiptoe over and around them.

"This is where the magic happens," Eddie told you with a chuckle. Despite the terrible joke, he had a cocky grin on his face.

You wrinkled your nose and picked up a tiny figurine -- a little knight. "I'm sure you show your hand a very good time."

Eddie scowled and folded his arms over his chest. "Just pick some clothes so we can get going."

You set the figurine down and picked your way to his dresser. The top drawer contained shirts.

"Do you own anything that doesn't have a band name on it?" you asked after a moment rummaging through his collection.

"Plain black or plain white, with stains. Down at the bottom."

The black one had a hole in the collar, and he hadn't lied about the stains on the white one; some kind of tomato sauce, by the colour of it. You held them up.

"Why don't you throw these out, if you can't wear them in public?"

"First, if I wear my vest, I can hide the stains on the white one. Second, that black one is fine. Third, I can't afford to just toss my clothes and buy new ones, Princess."

He spat the last word. Right. No more comments about money. You stuffed the shirts back into the depths and finally picked out a Black Sabbath shirt -- not the one with the devil baby on it, like Eddie asked, but the one with the grim reaper staring over a pentacle with candles. You threw it over to him. Eddie caught it, then reached over his head to pull his Hellfire shirt off.

"Whoa!" you squeaked, covering your eyes. "Wait until I leave."

"Aw, she's shy." Eddie smirked and whipped the shirt off. He was pale, less gangly than you'd expected. There were bits of black ink over his heart, but you tore your eyes away too soon to make out what it was.

"Glad to see you're so comfortable around me," you muttered. You shut the first drawer and moved onto the second, searching for a decent pair of jeans.

"You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"

"Yeah, and you're laying it on very thick. Where did that kiss come from?"

"What kiss?"

You fought not to frown. He'd forgotten already? "This morning, when you came in. Late."

"I said I was sorry, and I bought you candy. And now I'm even stripping for you." He put the shirt on then undid his belt, swaying his hips in a terrible attempt at being seductive. Even he knew how awful it was; he was snickering as he whipped the belt from its loops and threw it onto the bed.

"Oh, wonderful, I get to see your pasty nipples and two chest hairs."

"Um, there's three, actually."

"Please don't take off your pants until I find you another pair. I don't want to see your hairy man thighs."

Eddie snorted. "Man thighs," he mumbled, grinning. "And anyway, as for the kiss, I figured it'd really seal the deal. Y'know, make it believable? And judging by all the jealous looks I got from basically every guy I encountered today, I'd say it worked."

You smiled as you fished out a pair of dark, flared jeans that looked like they'd hug his ass just right. You let him keep his little skull hanky, as a reward for waiting until you turned around to finish changing.

"Please tell me you have boots or something. Docs? Chucks?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, put them on. What about a hairbrush?"

Eddie met your gaze with wide, almost fearful eyes.

"Why?"

"Because there's no way I'm going to that party with someone with knots in their hair. You look like a five-year-old girl who refuses to let her mom brush her hair."

"If you brush it, you'll break the brush."

"Is that so?"

It was. You and Eddie crowded into the little bathroom, Eddie with a brush in one hand and a comb in the other, you with bobby pins in your mouth, one hand wrangling his hair -- why was there so much of it? How? -- and the other spreading an elastic, the last one having snapped under pressure.

"You're gonna tear my scalp off," Eddie whined as you wet your hands in the sink to try and tame the frizz.

"Stop being a baby. You're lucky I'm not using hair gel."

"What are you doing, anyway?"

You spat out the bobby pins onto the counter. "Putting it into a low ponytail, so that when we dance I don't end up puking up a hairball."

"You plan on getting that close, huh?"

"Never danced with a girl, Edward?" You grit your teeth, twisting the hair tie around his thick hair. "Yes, I plan on getting that close to you. You want an extra pair of underwear to soak up the jizz or something?"

Eddie hooted. "I don't think I've ever heard you talk like that."

"That's because your hair is making me lose my mind. Aha!"

You stepped back, his hair finally in a decent, low pony. It only lasted for a second before the elastic snapped. Your eyes squeezed shut out of instinct, but it was too late. You felt a harsh stinging just under your left eye, and clapped a hand over it.

"Fuck!" you squealed. "Fucking fuck!"

Hot tears sprang to your eyes, eager to wash out the irritant that wasn't there. Had you cut your eyeball? The thought made your stomach turn.

Eddie's hands were on your waist. He lifted you without effort and placed you on the corner of the counter.

"Okay, you're okay, just take your hand away." His fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled a little. You let him take your hand from your eye, which was still screwed shut. "You gotta open your eyes for me, baby. C'mon, can you do that?"

"I-If I open my eyes, m-my m-mascara's gonna run."

You heard Eddie tear some toilet paper off the roll. A moment later, he touched a folded edge under your injured eye, then handed you another folded piece for the other. You placed it blindly.

"Okay, open."

You blinked, a couple of tears falling. Your injured eye tried to stay shut.

When your vision cleared, you could see Eddie peering down at you. He tenderly wiped your eye, taking care to dab at your lashes. The paper came back smeared with black.

"Well, it didn't hit your eye. It hit right under it and left a little mark."

"A mark?" You turned to look in the mirror. It was less than an inch long, but there it was right on the edge of your cheekbone. It was already fading.

He met your gaze in the reflection. "Maybe this is a sign we should give up and just go to the party. If you still want to go, that is."

You sniffled, forcing your tears back. "Please. Back during freshman year I twisted my ankle in the middle of a cheer routine, but I waited until the routine was finished and I'd gotten back to the locker room to tell anyone I was hurt. I can handle a little sting."

Before Eddie could say anything, you hopped down from the sink. "Go grab your stash and let's go."

\

Eddie had been right: rich kids loved drugs. He didn't have any hard stuff -- no coke, no meth, no heroin. But he had pot, shrooms, ketamine, and plenty of painkillers. Your bank account would feel it, after you made up for his new discount for your friends, but it was worth it. As long as he provided the goods and didn't ogle any of the girls, they'd accept him. They were too high to care.

Which meant they could swallow their snickers and snide comments while he held your hips and pulled your ass up against his crotch, lips on your neck, both of you smothered by the people surrounding you.

"Keep your hands right there," you warned when his slender fingers snuck through the belt loops of your pants. Nobody else could hear you under the thudding base.

"Is that what your boyfriend would do? Hm?" He nudged at the shell of your ear with his nose. "I'm just trying to play the part."

You rolled your eyes but plastered on a smile. "Just keep kissing my neck."

"Oh, is that what feels good?"

You could feel the smirk on his lips. You reached up behind you, sliding your fingers through his hair. Maybe it was a good thing that the hair elastics broke. You tugged, hard, when you felt his teeth sink into your flesh.

"Edward! Don't leave a hickey."

"Daddy wouldn't like that, would he?" He chuckled when your grip loosened. "That's what I thought. Let me mark you up, so he and everyone else'll know who you belong to."

"Easy there," you murmured, out of breath. Maybe you were getting tired.

Eddie sucked a bruise onto your throat. Then another, just a few inches away. You shut your eyes, pretending to enjoy it for onlookers. Letting the moment envelop you. The heat of everyone dancing around you. The stench of smoke and weed and alcohol and perfume. His cologne. His strong hands on your hips. His hard on rubbing against your ass. His mouth, the pinch of his teeth opposed to the gentle heat of his tongue and he soothed the skin he just sucked.

"Should we go upstairs?" he asked, voice low despite the fact that nobody else could hear you.

"We've been dating for one day. I don't want them calling me a slut."

"How are you a slut if you only sleep with me? Unless you've roped other guys into this scheme of yours." He squeezed your hips -- possessively? He really knew how to sell it.

You opened your eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I thought you wanted a bad boy, Princess. Bad boys don't date good girls. And if they do, they don't stay good for very long."

You couldn't argue with that. And you weren't loving being surrounded by a bunch of sweaty teens grinding against each other. You took his hand and dragged him upstairs to the primary, which had its own bathroom attached. You locked the door and immediately went to the ensuite, where you checked your makeup. You had marks all up and down your throat. You smirked. Your dad was gonna hate it.

"This room is the size of my whole trailer," you heard him mutter in astonishment.

"It's a waste of space. I hear Sarah's parents don't even sleep together anymore. Her dad's always going on business trips and her mom likes the pool boy, if she's awake and not wasted."

"Yikes."

"Agreed." You reapplied your gloss, plumped your lips, and walked back out. Eddie stood there, looking around, an obvious tent in his pants. "Jesus, can't you think about old ugly ladies or dead puppies or something?"

"'Scuse me?"

You pointed at his crotch. "To get rid of that. If you walk out hard as a rock they'll think we didn't do anything."

"The old ladies and dead puppies trick never worked for me."

"You get off on that kind of stuff?"

"I'm not that much of a freak. No, just... doesn't stop anything."

You pointed over your shoulder to the ensuite. "Go on, then. Take care of it."

Splotches of pink coloured Eddie's cheeks. "You want me to...?"

"Masturbate, Edward, you can say it. I'll stay here and mess up the sheets. I won't listen or peek, I promise."

"Aw, and here I thought I'd put on a show for you." Eddie stepped around you.

"Just be quick," you said as he shut the door. "N-Not too quick, though!"

"Obviously." His voice was muffled by the door.

Quiet settled over the room, despite the thrum of people and music outside. You ruffled up the sheets, tearing the coverlet off, throwing it back on. You moved the pillows around.

"... Fuck..."

You stiffened. His voice was hoarse, heavy with desire. You swallowed hard and continued to mess up the bed. But not... so loudly that you couldn't hear him. Your whole body heated up at the very thought. No, you weren't listening to him. Much. But your last boyfriend -- the only one you'd had, and had kept secret from your parents -- had just grunted and groaned when he came. No lead-up, no moans, no --

"Oh... shit..."

No that. You strained to listen to his breath picking up its pace. The bathroom was blessedly empty, which made even the softest sounds echoed. Wait, blessedly? No, this was weird. You weren't supposed to be listening to this.

"Oh, God..." His breath hitched, and you had to squeeze your thighs together the relieve the ache.

The ache that you had ignored ever since you'd felt him brush up against you downstairs. Since he'd squeezed your hips and sucked at your neck.

You heard the rush of water as he ran the sink for about thirty seconds. Then the door opened. You busied yourself finishing up your little creation.

"What do you think?" you asked, immediately turning the topic away from the one in your head.

"The sheets are a little too clean, but it's the best we can do."

"Ew."

You turned in time to see Eddie shrug his shoulders. His cheeks were still a little pink from... exertion. You turned away and grabbed your clutch.

"Okay, are we done here?"

"I mean, it's been ten minutes. I kind of want to make a better impression than that."

"Fine. Fifteen. Then you're taking me home."

Eddie gave a "whatever you say" nod and slumped back onto the bed, ruining it a little more.

You spent the next five minutes re-reapplying your lip gloss. You'd bitten it off without realizing.

\

Eddie had refused to drink more than one beer so he'd be sober enough to drive. By the time he pulled up to your driveway, it was five minutes past midnight. The porch and living room lights were on. You grinned.

"Good, they're up. You wanna walk me to the door?"

"I don't think so." He took out a cigarette and lit it. "I don't meet the parents after the first date."

"But you sleep with the girl."

"Of course. Come on, lean closer, let's get the smell of smoke on you. Then you can break who dropped you home to him."

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" you laughed, leaning closer as he said.

Eddie blew the smoke around you, careful not to get it directly in your face. "I mean, I've dated girls who used me to piss off their parents before. They just neglected to tell me that was their plan."

"What?"

"Yeah, so I'm kind of used to this whole song and dance. At least you're honest with me."

You nodded, but you couldn't help feeling a little bad for Eddie. You'd hate to get into a relationship, maybe even get invested, only for the person to say that they didn't actually like you and were just using you. But the resigned way in which Eddie had told you about it... It was almost as if he was used to it.

Once Eddie was finished smoking, he tossed the butt out the window and rolled it back up.

"Turn a little for me. Into the light." Eddie touched your jaw, pushing you to the right angle so that your cheek was in the lamplight. "Okay, looks like the mark's faded."

"Why do you care so much?"

"I want your dad to think I'm a badass, not someone who beats up women." He let go of your jaw. "See you Monday?"

"Sunday, actually. We're going to start your lessons."

Eddie groaned and let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. "I hate school. Why're you making me do it on Sunday?"

"Because we have a worksheet due on Monday."

"We do?"

Oh, God. This was going to take a lot of work. You undid your seatbelt and opened the door. A chilly breeze wafted in.

"Wait," Eddie said, and shrugged out of his jacket. He handed it over to you. "Here, I got another at home. Might not be fashionable or whatever, but your parents will hate it."

You took it and tossed it over your shoulders. It smelled like smoke and cologne. And he'd been wearing it when he'd -- You shook the thought from your head as you shut the car door and walked up the driveway. Eddie waited until you'd shut the front door behind you before he drove off.

"What time do you call this?" You dad's voice came from the living room, where he and your mother were sitting up in their pajamas.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. "Twelve oh-eight. Which is pretty good, considering the party is still going on."

Your dad gawped at you, mouth open, ready to tear into you for that attitude. But your mother spoke first.

"Whose jacket is that?"

You pulled it a little closer around you. "Eddie's."

Your dad narrowed his eyes. "Eddie? Eddie who?"

You took a deep breath. This was going to work -- there's no way it couldn't. You were just worried about just how angry they would be. You exhaled.

"Eddie Munson. My boyfriend."

---