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sp0o0kylights · 7 months

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Part One

The drive's short one.

Steve gets out of his car, opening the passenger door for Chrissy and escorting her up to the house, quietly envisioning what Jason would look like if a real monster got him.

What would he say, staring down the crazy, five-starred head, filled with teeth and drool? Would he turn back? Or run?

(Steve swears he doesn't take great pleasure in imagining Carver getting eaten, but he'll admit to taking a little.)

"Chrissy do you have any idea--oh." Mrs. Cunningham startles, grasping her robe at the front as she spots Steve standing next to her daughter.

"Hi Miss Cunningham." He says.

"Hello." She says suspiciously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Steve Harrington, ma'am." He watches as her mother straightens immediately at his name, and sinks right into the ol' Harrington charm, knowing instantly it will work. "I know you were expecting Jason, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to drive Chrissy home."

"Oh, Steve! It's so late I almost didn't recognize you." She titters, suspicion gone. "Your mother and I are on the same charity board."

Of course they were.

"I thought you were dating that nice Nancy girl." She says with a squint that mimics Chrissy's, because even in the midst of a crisis he can't escape the gossip that is Hawkins upper echelon.

"Nance is waiting in the car." Steve lies smoothly. "I just wanted to make sure Chrissy got home safe."

"What happened?" Chrissy's father appears, ushering them both in while blatantly peering around them, eyes sweeping the street before closing the door.

Steve recognizes the move. He's checking for nosy neighbors.

"Jason and I broke up." Chrissy admits.

"What?"

"We..." She falters in front of her parents.

"What happened to Jason?" Her father asks, tuning back in once they're safely away from peering eyes.

"I'm afraid Jason and some of his friends brought beer to the party." Steve steps in to explain.

"Oh Chrissy, it's a high school party. That's no reason to break up with him." Her mother fusses, face flushing in embarrassment. Her eyes dart from her daughter to Steve and back, and Steve knows he needs to start damage control.

If he plays it right he can burn Jason while he's at it.

"He was horrible, mom. Just awful." Chrissy says, but Steve can tell she's shrinking under her mothers gaze.

"He drank quite a lot, Miss Cunningham." With a theatrical wince, Steve turns to face Chrissy's dad, lowers his voice and says "I'm going to have to talk to Coach about it."

He gets the intended response, which is a raised eyebrow. "That bad, huh?"

Steve nods once, painting a pained smile on his face. "He made a real fool of himself tonight, Sir. The basketball team has a reputation to uphold."

"Oh." Mrs. Cunningham says, hand fluttering in front of her face. "I never would have thought…"

"He's normally a good guy. I don't know what got into him." Steve has them both eating out of the palm of his hand, attention neatly off Chrissy and onto the story he's feeding them.

Its worth it to see her shoulders relax.

"I couldn't let him take Chrissy home in the state he was in Sir, and he got very…"

Steve pauses.

Fills his voice with tempered disappointment, channeling his dad. "Belligerent. Said some nasty things."

"Really?" Mr. Cunningham says, with a low whistle, and Steve knows by his tone alone that he's bought in.

Hook, line, sinker.

Steve nods once. "I have to get back to my girlfriend, but Chrissy'" He turns earnestly here, to let her know he's not faking this next bit. "Let me know if Jason bothers you at school. I'll set him straight again if I have to."

"Thank you Steve." Mr. Cunningham says, as Chrissy's mom hustles her daughter towards the kitchen.

Steve shakes his hand, then waves at Crissy as she calls her own thank you over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door and back to his car.

The same one where Nancy very much isn't.

That's a problem for tomorrow Steve.

xXx

Tomorrow Steve gets into an argument with Nancy.

She can't recall that Jonathan took her home, or that he's bullshit, their whole relationship, bullshit--

But she also can't tell him she loves him.

So Steve snaps at her. Storms off.

Play’s more basketball.

It takes less than two hours for him to get mopey and another three for him to spiral into deciding he was wrong somehow.

That's what his mom said all the time anyway, wasn't it? The man's always wrong Steven, and he's the man here so…

He gets flowers, chocolates, and fucking waylaid (by Dustin Henderson with his Grow a Monster) and things go sideways from there.

Train tracks and a junkyard and demodogs make time speed up. An encounter with Billy and a dinner plate causes Steve's recollection of the evening to be fuzzy.

He just knows that in the middle of dodging death, he has the realization that Nance wants to break up with him.

That he should let her.

Even if it hurts, even if he doesn't want to.

She wants to be let go.

So Steve does. He respects her, and when he has a moment after its all over, he tells her to go with Jonathan.

(At least he permanently gets the squirts out if this. Or at least everyone but Mike.

Even if most of them are shitheads and one of them's Hargrove's step sister.

It's--something.

But when Dustin keeps pestering him, demanding Steve drive him all over Hawkins and then drags him to the movies, well.

It might be the best something Steve's had in his life so far. )

xXx

"Oh shit. Is that from Caver?" Eddie asks, popping up near Steve's car like the clown in a jack in the box.

"Carver can't hit for shit. This was Hargrove." Steve replies, attempting an eyeroll before remembering that his entire face is a bruise.

One, giant, never ending bruise.

"I guess his step sister gave him the slip to come hang out with these kids I watch sometimes. I didn't know she wasn't supposed to be there." Steve shrugs, because it's the technical truth.

If you turn it sideways and squint anyway.

"Asshole tried to threaten the kid Max is into by slamming him into a wall and screaming shit, so I stepped in, and--" He waves at his face.

The same one he's already getting looks for.

"I was winning." Steve sighs theatrically. "He broke a plate over my head."

The story seemed to freeze Eddie but he recovers with a quick shake of his head.

"You poor thing." He tuts. "Let me guess--you were more worried about the hair than the wound?"

Eddie's hands flutter like he's going to touch Steve's head but he seems to contain himself at the last minute.

The hospital threatened to buzz it for stitches." Steve says darkly, playing into the bit.

(He had not gone to a hospital.

None of them had.)

"What would our King be without his crown of hair?" Eddie laments, in a falsetto that was half insult half oddly sincere. It was jarring in that it was hard to get a read on, but the more Steve was around the guy the less it seemed malicious and the more it came off as just….goofy.

Eddie Munson, Steve decided, was not a freak.

He was a dorky little weirdo, just like all the other kids Steve now hung out with.

Just older, and with slightly better hair.

"Hey Eddie." Another boy calls out, approaching cautiously.

He's got a leather jacket on, and if Steve thinks hard enough he can sort of conjure up a memory of the guy at Eddie's lunch table, throwing a piece of bread at a pale sophomore decked out in plaid. "You good man?"

"Yeah Jeff, just checkin' in on the Hair here." Eddie sticks a thumb towards Steve, who raises his hand and waves.

The falsetto comes back, somehow higher as the older boy swoons over Steves arm. "Soothing his poor soul after that brute Hargrove almost killed him."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a lot like Bugs Bunny?" Steve asks, the thought leaving his mouth the instant he had it.

(He doesn't care, it's a legitimate question.)

It has the effect of making Munson look downright chuffed. "I have actually, but only by my Uncle."

"Why are you checking in?" Jeff interrupts, before seeming to realize he said it out loud. " Ah, I mean--"

"Oh he didn't tell you?" Steve says, as casually as he can muster. "Eddie claimed me and Chrissy at a party last weekend."

See Munson? Two people could play the weird bit game.

They've attracted more of Eddie's friends now, two more boys in leather jackets edging closer like frightened deer.

(One of which is the aforementioned younger man Jeff threw bread at, and Steve vaguely thinks the guy's name starts with a g.)

"Apparently we're his minions now." Steve tells Jeff in a rather put upon manner.

"It was just you, the fair maiden chose otherwise." Eddie counters dismissively, voice dropping down low.

Steve snorts. Hums a sarcastic; "Like you'd let us choose."

Eddie finally abandons whatever voice that was supposed to be (a villain, Steve thinks, and wonders if it hurts Eddies throat to drop from a false high to a deep low that quickly.) to say:

"Mock me all you like, Harrington, but you can't deny the bit worked."

Steve automatically went for another eye roll, and gets a flash of pain for it. "Who said I was mocking you, you dork? Just stating facts."

Yet again, Eddie reacts weird to the comment. He looks almost bashful for a second, before he recovers, tugging his hair in front of his face as he plays with it.

The bell rings once in warning, and Steve makes a face towards the doors.

"I gotta go, Mrs Clicks out to fail me. See you around, Eddie. Jeff." The way his eyes are bruised up he can't quite make out the face Jeff makes at that, but Steve's pretty sure the guys mouth was open.

"She's a nasty one, my minion, best stay on your toes around her." Eddie calls, and Steve waves a hand in the air to show he heard.

"What just happened?" Jeff asks, far too loudly for how close Steve still is.

It makes him chuckle a bit, even as one of the other guys says something in a far quieter voice that has Munson squawking and flapping his arms like a bird.

The winding little feelings in his chest squeeze his heart, and Steve shakes his head, refusing to be fond of Eddie Munson.

xXx

College rejection letters come in, one after the another.

Steve could have made it into a few schools he's certain, except he hadn't really applied to any.

Not that any college other than Penn Hurst mattered. His dad wanted him to be a legacy, come hell or high water.

Steve's punishment was hand picked by his parents, and he gets the sailor outfit his new minimum wage job requires is supposed to be a part of it--that his dad made him apply because it was the most embarrassing thing he could think to subject Steve too-- but honestly?

It's not that bad.

Not even with Robin, the manager he met yesterday, and who positively, completely and totally, hates Steve’s guts.

He figures he has time to win her over.

All the time in the world, now that demons aren't trying to eat his, or any of the kid's, faces. He can focus on the small things. Build himself back up.

Figure out the person he wants to be, now that he's no longer King Steve.

It’s the thought that kept him from attending any graduation parties. To go felt like backsliding into old habits.

‘If the kids--if it comes back again--’

Getting drunk at night in a random house seemed almost irresponsible.

Particularly not with people Steve has history with, without anyone he really cares about being present. Certainly not Nance and Jonathan, who he wishes he didn’t know are at some end-of-year game night one of Nancy’s friends is hosting.

(Steve can’t think about that for a number of reasons.

When he does--because of course he does-- he makes sure to focus on the weirdness that is Jonathan Byers being someone he cares about, instead of the fact he can’t seem to kill his love for Nancy.

Or that he's horrifically jealous of their relationship.

That the best sleep he had ever had was between them, two nights after the lab, when they crammed themselves into Jonathan's bed because they all couldn't quite believe it was over.

That night had been so incredibly weird, but grouping together felt safer. Smarter.

Better.

Not in a way Steve wants to put into words.

Not in a way he wants to confront at all.)

His parents hadn’t been able to make it home to watch him walk at his graduation--his father landing a last minute meeting with some important person or other.

Faked apologies were given, money transferred, and Steve, not wanting to sit in his too-huge house, had meandered to Family Video.

Tried to forget his father’s cold voice in the background of his mother’s call, loudly announcing he’d have made it a priority to see Steve graduate-- if he’d gotten into Penn Hurst.

Steve just shakes his head. Pushes those thoughts into the back of his head, into the same place all his other weird thoughts live.

The glare he gets from the tall, pimple-ridden guy working the rental counter was expected.

Chrissy Cunningham, was not.

"I thought you’d be at one of the parties.” He tells her, when he turns down the romance aisle and finds her staring blankly at a shelf.

She startles, before recognition flits over her face and a warm smile is directed his way.

“I'm honestly not a fan of parties." She confides in him, hand clutching a tape in her hands."Not those kinds, anyway.”

"More slumber parties, less keg stands your speed?" Steve guessed, blatantly turning his head sideways in order to read the title.

She awards him with a wider smile. "Exactly."

"Chrissy Cunningham. Are you renting Jaws?" He teases, leaning in just a touch.

She flushes, but turns and squares up to him. Steve's delighted to see it.

"Why yes I am. I'll do you one better and even admit it's one of my favorite movies."

Steve grins at her, and sees the way she lights up on response, eyes bright.

This is the Chrissy that Carver had tried to kill. The strength and pure fun that radiates off her enhances the beauty she has to something almost otherworldly.

Steve has seen enough beauty in his life to recognize when it will stay. That Chrissy wil one day be 80 years old, with gray hair and knit sweaters, and she'll still be able to light up a room.

"Like sharks killing people that much huh?” He teases. And it’s easy, slipping into this part of himself around her. The part he’s been trying to get back.

The confidence that he walked with, before monsters crawled out of the ground, and Nancy put a hole in his heart.

"I'll let you in on a secret. ." Chrissy leans in, dropping her voice low enough that Steve has to lean in a bit too to hear. "My favorite character is the shark."

Steve playfully gapes at her, and for the first time in a long time, feels like things will be okay.

He’ll be okay.

He won’t be King Steve. He’s not Nancy's Boyfriend Steve either--but someone else. Himself.

A Steve who exists outside of Hawkins High, outside his family name.

He likes it.

"I told you that was his car. Steve!" A too familiar voice calls and Steve can't mask the despair that hits him as he turns to his (now least) favorite shithead, whose storming through Family Video’s doors.

"Dustin." He identifies, with an edge to his voice he can only pray Chrissy doesn't pick up on. "Other brats. What are you doing?"

Mike stands stubbornly at Dustin's right, Lucas nervous at his left.

Will Byers is situated next to Mike but Steve's not as familiar with him, and has no idea how to interpret the kid.

If he had to guess based on the face he’s being sent, Will’s more nervous then the rest--but equally determined.

(This does not make Steve feel better. It in fact, somewhat convinces them they’ve run headfirst back into trouble.)

"Well we were going to go to Lucas’s, but now, we're bumming a ride from you!"

"I'm busy." He says flatly.

"Ste~eeeve!"

"I didn't know you had a brother." Chrissy says, hand covering her mouth.

Looking back at her, Steve's pretty sure she's trying to physically hold back laughter.

If one could shoot lasers with their eyes, Steve would be nailing Dustin for ruining--whatever it was that was happening here.

"He's a rescue" Steve says flatly. "It’s not working out though. We're planning on returning him to the shelter.”

"Wow Steve." Dustin returns, offended. "First of all, if anyone's rescuing anyone I rescued you, or did you suddenly forget that you show up to family dinner every Thursday at my house like a sad orpha--mmpphh!"

‘Mmpphh’ because Steve had taken several long strides across the store to smack his hand over Dustin's mouth.

"Sorry Chrissy, it would appear the asshole children I am paid to babysit escaped whoever is supposed to be watching them." He shakes Dustins head, in lue of strangling him. “Hit me up later we’ll discuss the shark’s best kills.”

“Will do.” Chrissy says, as Steve begins the process of shoving his four smaller friends out the door. “Drive safe!”

“No you don’t, and you’re gonna prove it by swinging through McDonalds for us.” Dustin sing-songs, swinging himself into the passenger side of the Beemer.

“You assholes owe me, big time.” Steve hisses, as Lucas and Mike instantly begin making kissy faces the second they’re out into the parking lot. "I had plans tonight!"

“Do you have McDonalds money?” Steve asks, only to immediately wince at himself because fuck did he just sound like a soccer mom.

“I have money I took out of my mom’s wallet.” Mike says as he settles into the car with his friends.

“Fine.” Steve sighs in defeat, starting the car.

He determinedly does not ask if the idiots walked here, because there is a suspicious lack of bicycles, if only because he hit his mom quota for the day and Steve refuses to say anything else that might edge out his cool persona.

The one he swears he still has.

Supposedly.

("Does my mom really pay you to watch me?" Dustin asks a while later, when the other brats are distracted. His voice is painfully honest, and softer than it normally is.

"In food, yes." Steve says, because he’s not that much of an asshole--and maybe, because Dustin is truly his only friend right now.

Steve honestly looks forward to those Thursday dinners, helping Ma Henderson and having her fuss over him in a way his parents never had.

In a way no one ever had.

Dustin lands a solid kick to his ankle, making Steve curse. "That's not payment you ass!"

"Ow, God Dustin--"

"Just admit you're my actual friend, you dick!"

"Language! I swear your mom stole you from wolves, you animal--" Steve swatted at him.

Maybe, possibly later, he will go on to admit that yes, Dustin is his friend.

He will even agree to making up a stupid handshake for it.

It involves lightsabers and gore at least, which Steve insists is very cool.)

#BB is coming down to the wire #my date to post is Halloween #bc its me lol #so our regularly scheduled programing will be back shortly #steddissy #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #0o0 fanfics #steve/chrissy/eddie #for those weirdies who kept insisting this was platonic in the tags you can read this part too and be happily delusional about the endgame #its a slowburn #my calling card lmao #this fic was meant to weave around the canon plot until s4 wherein we go off the rails #this is an everyone lives fiiiiic #theyre all equally dorky with crushes #Steve has some Im Just Ken issues #angst

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

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When Mike Wheeler, red faced and still faintly tear stained, asks him how he knew he liked both Steve doesn’t know how to tell him it was his sister.

Before Nancy Wheeler it had only been boys. Before Nancy Wheeler Steve had been sure he was gay and knew well enough to keep it to himself; dating around enough to earn himself a protective reputation. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Marcus Summers, from the baseball team, during freshman year. Steve had gone to every game, and had been forced to make up excuses about schoolwork and his other commitments when asked why he hadn’t tried out for himself. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Tommy Hagan. The summer between seventh and eighth grade had been very kind to Tommy, he was sunkissed and boy next door sweet, Steve had wanted to hold his hand and count the freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been his first love, a boy who only visited one summer, the year Steve turned ten. His name had changed every time they hung out but he’d favored E’s. Eli, Emmett, Elliott, Eric, Excalibur, Excelsior, and once for about an hour Wayne. His hair brushed his chin in pretty brown curls and his big brown eyes were always bright with excitement. He always got storm off mad when any of the other boys they’d played with that summer said he was acting like a girl, E would run off to the woods and Steve would always follow. E always came up with the best games anyway, he didn’t like playing soccer or HORSE or anything else with rules that couldn’t be bent; he preferred imagination games where they were knights or wizards. He didn’t laugh when Steve said he always liked playing house, but never wanted to be the dad because why would he want to be someone who never wanted to spend any time with his kids. E who, while insisting on being called Samwise all day, was his first kiss.

Cause he knows what Mike wants to hear. He’s seen the way Mike and Will have danced around each other since the last portal closed. He’s heard the things Mike has said to and about Will. He’s heard all about the week that Will was in the Upside Down. He’s heard all about the summer of ‘85. He’s heard all about the final off again that seems to officially mark the end of Mike and El romantically. He knows that Mike wants him to say that he’d never even thought about boys before he met Eddie. That there’s just something special about Eddie that makes him want to give up his lady killing ways. That Eddie was different. That it was okay that he was having these scary new thoughts, maybe Will was just an exception.

And Steve doesn’t know how to have that conversation. When he realized he liked both it was a relief, that maybe he could have something normal and wouldn't have to spend his life lying or hiding.

But Eddie was different. Eddie was special. Eddie was probably it for Steve which is scary in a different way that he’s not ready to touch yet -- not when it’s only been three months.

There’s never been another girl since Nancy Wheeler, not really

There will never be another boy after Eddie Munson.

So he tries to help, as best he can. It’s easier with Eddie there, not quite dozing against his shoulder -- the kid’s emergencies always seem to come so late at night these days. “When I was ten, there was a boy whose name kept changing who decided prince charming should get to kiss his faithful knight. And when I was sixteen, your sister-”

Mike’s goodwill diminishes quickly as his sister gets introduced to the conversation.

“Stevie,” Eddie says. It’s not an admonishment for bringing up Nancy. It’s awestruck and watery. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember the first boy I ever loved," that word catches up with him a second later. Remember.

Cause there's Eddie with his riot of brown curls and his Bambi eyes. Eddie, who has explained why soft feminine words chafe against his skin leaving him itchy and anxious. Eddie, who has an Uncle in Hawkins. Eddie who moved to town the summer before he entered high school with a buzzed head and his mother's last name. Eddie who finally settled into an E he liked best.

"Wheeler, here's a tip from me to you," Eddie says, his advice is always better received than Steve's anyway, "if you have to ask you probably already know."

"Straight people don't really spend much time wondering if they aren't really straight," Steve agrees.

They don't rush Mike out the door, a crisis is a crisis and even in the wake of new discoveries Mike deserves to be heard out. Deserves a chance to cry and rage and feel those emotions someplace safe from his Reaganite father -- just as much as Will deserves to have someone who knows what they want come to him, deserves better than experimentation.

They cross the bridge from late into early by the time Mike sets off. The sun is creeping up over the horizon and Mike looks solid, certain; the dawn hints at the man he is growing up to be. Though every instinct of Steve's begs him to drive the kid home, Eddie's soft hand lingering at his hip holds him fast. They wave instead, encouraging Mike to go home and to bed before he does anything; knowing his front bike tire is already pointed toward the Byers-Hopper place.

"The first boy you ever loved, huh, Stevie?" Eddie teases before the door has even managed to click shut.

"And the last, I'm hoping, if I play my cards right."

"You were always pretty good at that. You were the only person that summer who called me by my name, except Wayne."

"It was your name." He knows that's too simple. Knows how hard Eddie has had it, continues to have it. But that summer it had been that simple, Eddie trying on names like shirts each one fitting until they didn't. "For what it's worth, I like Eddie a lot more than Excalibur."

"Oh fuck off, I was going through a fantasy knight phase. Which I know you remember."

"Right a phase, and how much longer is this fantasy 'phase' going to last?"

They're the kind of tired that makes you feel drunk, when Eddie tackles Steve and sends them both to the floor and to giggles. Eddie might not have been his bi awakening, but Steve is pretty fine with him being his everything else.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trans eddie munson #implied byler #steddie fic #my fic #i do worry that sometimes i come across as a nancy hater #which i cant emphasize enough is not the case #nancy is a complicated character and i love her and she and steve are not good for each other #also eddie trying on wayne because wayne was the first adult he told that he wasnt a girl and who handled it well #wayne at the breakfast table like okay then what is your name if its not [redacted] and eddie does not have an answer yet #so wayne says well just tell me when you get up what youre going by #so he decides while playing that day that its wayne #and that lasts exactly as long as it takes for steve to call him that before hes like nope thats weird #eddie is short for edmund but also short for eddie the head #eddie contains multitudes

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stevesbipanic · 1 year

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Steve had to learn everything by himself.

It started with him learning to walk. There were no parents helping him up or waiting across the room with open arms and big smiles. Steve was alone, the nanny outside chain-smoking. Steve's sippy cup was out of reach from where he sat, he cried and cried with no avail, and so he stood. With many trips and bumps and tears and sobs, Steve managed to wobble his way over and get his drink. A milestone learnt alone.

Steve taught himself to read. His teachers were no help, sounding out the words didn't work when the letters didn't stay still. His teachers thought he was lying, being lazy, doing it for attention. Steve had borrowed a book from the school library, it had a picture of a puppy on the front and he really wanted to know the puppy's story. So every night, hidden under the covers, flashlight in hand, Steve taught himself to read. He figured out holding his hand over the words stopped them moving, he could sound them out now. The puppy travelled the world and Steve travelled with him.

Steve taught himself to swim. He was right when he fell in the pool. His mum and dad were out for dinner, they always were. They'd told him to stay away from the pool, they didn't want him making it dirty. Steve's ball had been kicked in, just out of reach. Steve felt himself sinking, he started flailing and thankfully, quickly learnt to push himself upwards. Steve's mother berated him when she saw he'd gotten the couch wet.

Steve taught himself to cook. By the time he was ten his parents were rarely home and he was apparently too old for a sitter. His parents always kept the fridge stocked with ingredients but nothing easy to make. Steve climbed up onto the counter and grabbed his Nonna's old recipe book. Through trial and error and a burnt hand Steve cooked himself spaghetti. He ate alone at the dinner table, but this wasn't new.

Steve taught himself basketball. Tryouts were happening the summer before high school started and his father wanted him to go. He asked his dad to teach him but he was pushed away. Instead he sat in front of the TV watching reruns of old games until he had a general idea of the rules. He practiced on his driveway day and night until he could make almost every shot. Steve made it onto the team, his dad didn't care.

Steve taught himself to fight. He had to. He wasn't very good at teaching himself this skill.

Steve taught himself to drive. His parents gave him a car for his sixteenth but his dad was never around to teach him. He pulled a tin box from under his bed where he kept money from every birthday and Christmas his parents missed. He used his money to buy some lessons. His instructor fell asleep after the third turn. So Steve drove slowly until he was driving smoothly down Main St. Steve passed his driver's test, he needed to if he was ever going to leave Hawkins.

Steve had to learn everything himself. He told Eddie all these stories, wrapped in his arms. The weight of his lost childhood sinking away as his boyfriend ran his fingers through his hair, listening to every word. When he was finished Eddie pressed his lips to Steve's temple and whispered softly to him.

"You didn't have to teach yourself everything sweetheart. You didn't have to learn to care, or to love or to be kind. You may have forgotten them sometimes, but they were all born inside you."

Steve smiled, "Had to know those Eds, had to have those ready for you."

#idk if this is angst or fluff or both #its something #a drabble of a ficlet #ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stranger things season 4

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t-lostinworlds · 5 months

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Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional moment™, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

A/N: hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE H. MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.

"There's no way you can do it."

Right.

That's why.

The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.

This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.

"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.

Not that you could blame her.

You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.

It was what you had always known.

What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.

Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.

All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.

It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.

The comparisons were endless.

"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."

"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."

"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."

"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."

It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each other—impressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.

But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.

The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.

It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.

It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievements—and that included yours and Steve's.

Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.

And it only got worse during high school.

Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circles—even going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins High—down to academics and extracurriculars.

Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.

When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.

It was a constant back and forth.

There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.

And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.

This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.

In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.

You had no idea what she was even implying.

Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.

The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's van—along with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the back—while the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.

Not that you could blame them, either.

And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.

Yet despite the metal head being a fast—albeit slightly reckless—driver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.

Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his van—whatever the hell that meant.

You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.

The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.

It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.

Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.

Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.

It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.

How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?

He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him again—definitely not by accident this time—if you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.

You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.

Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolest—adults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.

Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.

His comment didn't help your nerves.

Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.

But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.

So once again, it was only you and him.

As it always had been.

He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.

It only made you want to do it more.

His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.

But you trained just as much if not more than he had.

The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.

But who wouldn’t get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.

Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.

You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.

"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.

"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"

"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.

"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.

But you weren't chickening out.

Never.

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."

You ignored him.

Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.

You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.

"Listen, you don't have to do—"

"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, one…

You jumped.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

He shouldn't have pressured you like that.

The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.

And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.

But Steve could see how scared you were.

He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.

But, obviously, you didn't listen.

You simply jumped.

You and your stupidly competitive ass.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.

"You two are complete idiots."

"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.

There was no sign of you.

"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."

"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."

"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.

It was nearing a minute.

"Maybe you didn't see her?"

"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.

But he was panicking.

A minute and thirty seconds.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.

Two minutes.

You could never hold your breath any longer than that.

Steve knew because he always won that competition.

And that was in a calm pool.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"

"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and see—"

Steve didn't listen.

He jumped right after you.

The biting cold was awakening.

Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.

He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.

Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.

He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.

Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.

He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.

You were so cold.

"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.

Nothing.

"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"

Still no response.

"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.

His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.

And you weren't breathing.

Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.

"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.

He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.

Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.

"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.

Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.

It was the longest thirty counts in his life.

Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.

But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.

"Steve—"

"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"

He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.

"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."

Thirty chest compressions.

"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."

Five, six, seven—

"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—

"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—

"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thir—

Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.

He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.

"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.

"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.

It was the equivalent to his nickname for you—sweetheart.

Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.

Neither of you simply addressed it.

"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.

"C-Cold," you stammered.

"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.

You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.

"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.

"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.

You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"

You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didn’t care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldn’t give a shit.

As long as you were breathing.

"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I-I'll try," you whispered.

"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."

"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.

"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."

"Right there! They're right over there!"

Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"So are you finally going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.

The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.

Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.

"That you've been in love with her this whole time."

Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.

"I'm not in love with her, Robs."

"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."

"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.

"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."

"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.

Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too late—and it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.

"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expense—she always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.

"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshit—that they were bullshit.

"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?

"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love with…"

Steve blinked.

Well fuck.

"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."

"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."

Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.

He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."

"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.

He shrugged. "I guess we are."

"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."

It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.

"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

The silence that followed only made the tension worse.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Steve immediately felt bad.

"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's just—"

He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.

"Will you come here?"

Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.

"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.

Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.

"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.

"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.

"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."

"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."

"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.

"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."

"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"

"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."

"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.

"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.

It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.

Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.

It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.

The counselors quickly found out that the little menace—whoever she was—decided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.

Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.

"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."

Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."

"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."

"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"

"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.

He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.

"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."

You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."

Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.

The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.

Now, everything was the complete opposite.

A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.

But still, it felt like that first gasp of air—a finally.

"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.

"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."

"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.

"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."

"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."

"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.

You whined.

Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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livwritesstuff · 17 days

Text

Tommy POV, wc: 2890, full version on ao3

Tommy Hagan is not jealous of Eddie Munson.

He’s not.

There’s nothing to be jealous of, in his opinion, and Tommy probably wouldn’t be thinking about him at all if Eddie wasn’t the most publicly well known member of his graduating class – well, he hadn’t actually been in his graduating class, Tommy supposes.

They had been seniors at the same time, though.

If Tommy happened to be jealous of anything – and that’s a big if – it would probably have something to do with the famous thing. Everyone has a small part of them that wants to be famous at least in some capacity, he’s pretty sure, even if Eddie isn’t really, truly famous – not like the red carpet celebrities. He’s a writer. Even the most well known writers never get all that much attention, but Munson has his own Wikipedia page, and that’s more than anybody else from Hawkins, Indiana can say. Hawkins itself barely even has a Wikipedia page, and it’s only because of all the atrocities that happened in town in the mid-eighties.

Tommy hadn’t been around for the end of it all – the earthquake-slash-serial killer situation that never made any sense to him. He remembers his mom calling him at his college dorm when the deaths first started. He remembers her asking, “You went to school with that Munson boy, right? Do you think he could do something like this?”

And Tommy had been twenty and a total moron, so he’d said some dumb shit like, “Yeah, he’s into freaky stuff like that. Somebody should’ve put him on a list ages ago,” even though four years of experience told him that Eddie was all bark, no bite. Tommy hadn’t been surprised at all by the statements that later came out clearing Eddie's name, and by then his parents had already high-tailed it out of Hawkins so it all sort of became irrelevant to him.

Tommy never even returned to Hawkins one single time after he left for college (barring his high school reunion, obviously), and twenty years after graduation, he doesn’t really think about those years all that much.

He doesn’t love the person he’d been in high school. He was whiny and immature and had his priorities all messed up. Most of the memories he has of his teenage years, he looks back at and cringes, feels a whole lot of shame and embarrassment, but also some pride at how much he’s grown over the last twenty years. He also knows he’d been kind of a dick in high school, but that he’s less ashamed of. It’s normal, he knows, for kids to be mean, that it’s a standard response to being untreated kindly in other ways. Like, his dad had been an asshole to him as a kid, always on him about his grades and his smart mouth and how he’d no longer been a standout on any of his sports teams after starting high school, and Tommy had coped with that by poking kids beneath him at school.

It’s just the pecking order of high school. It’s normal.

Even now, when Tommy’s son had dealt with some pricks in the year above him shoving him around, he had come home from school and tormented his little sister for a while – it’s normal, no matter how much his wife had tried to convince him it was something that needed addressing. It’s just kids being kids. They grow out of it eventually, just like Tommy had.

Occasionally he wonders where the kids he’d spent all those years with in the Hawkins public school system had ended up, but these days the internet makes that pretty damn easy to figure out.

He’s learned Tina got married and had kids real young. She still lives in Indiana. Carol, who he’d split up with before heading off to college, lives in Alabama now and she’s got kids and a husband too. Jonathan Byers is a photographer in California – Tommy isn’t into all that art-y crap, so he has no clue if he’s any good, but he definitely recognizes some of the organizations he’s worked for and if that’s any indication, Tommy would wager he’s not too shabby. No wife, though, he noted, so he’d either been right about Byer’s being a queer, or women just found him repulsive (admittedly, Tommy leans more towards the former – he’s a photographer). Tammy Thompson still lives in Tennessee, though it doesn’t seem like she does music anymore (husband, kids, blah blah blah).

If he’s honest, the only person Tommy is actually interested in tracking down is Steve Harrington, and he’s the one person Tommy can’t find a single trace of online. No MySpace, no Facebook, no weird blog thing, nothing.

Vaguely, he wonders if Steve might be dead. A truly massive proportion of Hawkins had died over just a few short years in the mid-eighties. Maybe Harrington was one of them.

Tommy doubts it.

He would have known.

Steve’s parents would have made sure everyone knew if their son had died. Funnily enough, Steve’s mom is actually on Facebook, and pretty actively too, but there’s no sign of Steve anywhere on her page.

He hadn’t even shown up for their high school reunion in the winter of ‘04, which is odd because Tommy had been certain he would.

He doesn’t obsess over it – he really doesn’t. It’s just a thought that pops into his mind every now and then – where the hell is Steve Harrington?

In the late spring of 2007, he gets his answer.

“Tom,” his wife says, “That guy from your high school is on the cover of this magazine.”

He knows without asking for clarity that it’s Munson – no other person makes sense – and when he eventually gets his hands on the magazine, he finds that he’s correct.

Eddie Munson is on the cover of a magazine because, apparently, he published another book.

Truthfully, Tommy already knew that.

It’s his fourth book (which, for the record, Tommy hadn’t known until he knew it because it’s not like he’s keeping tabs on this guy or whatever), and it’s been getting a whole bunch of mainstream attention after a controversial landing on the top of all those book charts Tommy doesn’t follow despite featuring a gay love store amidst all his normal fantasy crap. It sparked a whole debate about banning books and everything (dumb, Tommy knows, because if he learned anything in business school it’s that if you really don’t want something to exist, the best thing you can do is not funnel money and attention into it).

Tommy does, in fact, watch the news so he’d already caught wind of all this – it’s part of the reason he can’t shake the guy – and it’s why Eddie Munson is on the cover of this magazine (because, seriously, nobody gives a shit about writers until it hits the news).

He allows himself a moment to look at the cover, to look at Eddie, who apparently goes by Ed now. Tommy is loath to admit it, but he looks good. His hair is normal and he’s grown into his frame, not all long and lanky and gangly limbs like Tommy remembers from school. He looks well-fed, confident, happy.

He looks good.

Tommy thumbs through the first few pages of the magazine until he reaches Eddie’s interview, and, again, he allows himself to look over the photo of him that takes up nearly three-quarters of the first page even if he has no intention of actually reading the article itself because, again, Eddie looks good (and maybe there’s something about the scruff of facial hair along his jaw that Tommy's eye gets stuck on). Tommy’s allowed to say that men look good when it’s true – it’s 2007, as his wife likes to remind him whenever it’s convenient for her, and if she’s allowed to say that Angelina Jolie looked good in that CIA movie, then Tommy is allowed to say that Eddie Munson looks good here.

When Tommy flips to the next page, he’s met with a photo that stops him in his tracks, has his feet frozen to the floor because –

Jesus Christ, that’s Steve Harrington.

Fuck, okay, so he’s reading this fucking article.

It takes Tommy a long time to get through it, honestly. Eddie comes out in the article, which might be a big deal, might not (and he doesn't care to be enlightened, thanks). He keeps getting distracted by the pictures scattered throughout it.

The pictures of Steve, mostly.

Because, well, if Eddie Munson looks good, Steve…

Steve looks alive.

Tommy didn’t realize it until this exact moment, but Steve had existed in his head for the last two decades as the eighteen-year-old he’d been the last time they were in the same room together. It hadn’t exactly occurred to him that Steve’s been aging this whole time too, just like Tommy has.

It’s undeniable that Steve is older.

His hair is starting to go gray at his temples (it’s the only thing that’s changed about his hair since he’s still styling it the same as he did in high school – because why mess with a good thing, Tommy supposes) and he’s got just the hint of crow's feet around his eyes when he smiles. He’s smiling in all the photos – every damn one – and it has Tommy struck by how unbelievably happy Steve seems. It’s an effect that somehow both takes years off the age Tommy knows he is and shines a light on just how good those years must have been for him.

There’s no solo shots of him like there are for Munson – though according to the article, it's actually Harrington now – and only half the photos are in color. The rest of them – the more candid ones – are smaller and left in black-and-white.

The one that caught Tommy’s eye first – because it was meant to, he’s pretty sure; it takes up half the page – is right in that sweet spot between staged and candid where Steve and Eddie both know that they’re being photographed even though neither of them are actually posing. Eddie is grinning at Steve in a wicked way that still feels familiar to Tommy even two decades since he’d last seen it on him (probably swaggering around the cafeteria like a total jackass – not that Tommy would know anything about that). Steve is grinning right back at him with a smile Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

Or maybe he has, but not on this version of his face, not since Steve was as young as his oldest daughter.

Just as the author of the article said, the photos don’t show the faces of Steve’s children, either leaving them artfully out-of-focus or choosing shots where they’re turned away from the camera, but they’re still present, and it makes the whole spread almost feel like a photo album in a way, like it should be private but instead was published for the whole world to see.

Steve has three of them – kids, Tommy means. He didn’t know that Steve was a family kind of guy. It makes sense though, when he thinks about it. Steve’s parents were kind of a nightmare — present in the worst ways, and absent in the worst ways too (though it hadn’t seemed that way when Tommy was a teenager looking for a failsafe party house). He'd always felt kind of bad for the guy. Like, Tommy's dad had been a total piece of work, but they'd at least been around, and he'd stuck around long enough for them to sort out their issues at least most of the way, and these days he's a pretty kickass grandpa to Tommy's children.

Tommy wonders about Steve's parents now, wonders if they maybe came around like his own parents had, but then he remembers Mrs. Harrington's Facebook page and how there's not a damn trace of her son on there, never mind three grandchildren.

Tommy isn't sure he wants to touch that.

Steve is probably a really good dad, Tommy decides. He’d been kind of that way when they were friends — Steve used to say he wasn’t all that bright, but he always had a freaky sixth sense for reading people, for caring about them in exactly the way they needed.

There's one photo where Steve is managing to holding his youngest daughter — a tiny little baby still — and her bottle in one arm (that's a level-three dad hold, Tommy knows). The bottle is angled in a way that obscures her face, and Steve's other hand is being tugged on by another daughter, this one with a mop of curly brown hair remarkably similar to Eddie's when it was still long.

That's another thing Tommy won't let himself think about, (because he knows if did he'd start wondering if any of those kids were half-Steve).

Anyways, Tommy doesn't need glance to see that Steve wears fatherhood like a favorite sweater.

There’s something about this, about seeing these pictures, about the way Tommy is getting an answer to that question he’s had for years about where his childhood best friend has been all these years, that is making him feel like his ribcage is being split open, bones splintering and shattering as everything vulnerable inside his chest in suddenly out for display.

He probably should feel uncomfortable, right? Like, a guy he’d been seriously close to growing up — sleepovers and gym locker rooms and all that shit — had turned out to be gay. If his own son came home from school saying that his best friend came out or whatever as gay…well, again, it’s 2007, and Tommy doesn’t think his wife would allow him to denounce the friendship entirely, but there certainly wouldn’t be any sleepovers anymore. He thinks that’s pretty reasonable.

What was the likelihood that Steve had been, like, into Tommy?

And that should be an uncomfortable notion too, and in a sense, it kind of is, but not necessarily in the way he would expect.

He just doesn’t understand why all this feels so much like a loss because he knows that he hasn’t really lost anything – not since he got his hands on the magazine, anyways. Steve Harrington hasn’t played any sort of role in Tommy’s life since their final falling out in 1984, and as far as he’s aware, having a falling out with a close friend is pretty much a guaranteed part of growing up. His wife even experienced something similar when her own grade school best friend suddenly stopped answering calls and stopped reaching out after they’d started college – and his wife is basically the nicest person Tommy has ever known, so…it happens to even the best.

It’s just…Steve had always continued to exist in Tommy’s life in a way, even if he wasn't physically present, and maybe Tommy had figured it could be the same for Steve too, that maybe he sometimes wonders where Tommy is, wonders what he’s up to.

This article and these photos makes it pretty fucking clear that Tommy doesn’t even exist in the same galaxy as the life Steve is living.

And that’s not to mention the Eddie fucking Munson of it all.

Tommy had been kind of ignoring the Eddie of it all until he couldn’t ignore it anymore, because he doesn't care about Eddie Munson.

He'd never cared, but he'd spent years seeing the guy's face and his name everywhere, and now it feels like a sick joke, like he's the piece of Steve left in Tommy's life.

If the article is accurate (and he has no reason to believe it isn’t), Steve and Eddie have been together for longer than Tommy has even known his wife. Steve has been with Eddie for longer than Steve was ever friends with Tommy – not by a lot, but still more. That’s a long fucking time, and it’s clear as day on both of their faces that they’re just as in love with each other fourteen years in as they were on day one.

It’s not just Steve, and it’s not just Eddie, and it’s not one more than the other. It’s both of them.

There’s one photo in particular – a small black-and-white one that keeps pulling Tommy’s attention.

It’s another candid shot, taken from a bit of a distance. In it, Steve has Eddie boxed in against the counter in what has to be their kitchen. Eddie is leaning back against the edge of the granite countertop and looking at Steve with something sappy and fond on his face, and Steve’s hands are this close to grabbing Eddie’s waist as he looks at him the exact same way.

It’s shit out of a fairy tale or something, and sure, maybe someone could argue that they’re laying it on thick just for the sake of the magazine or whatever, but Tommy knows Steve Harrington and that look on his face is more real than Tommy had ever seen in all the years he'd known him.

So maybe Tommy has a reason or two (or three or four) to be jealous of Eddie Munson.

#unreliable narrator!tommy hagan my beloved #the ao3 version has the interview btw #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan

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half-oz-eddie · 1 month

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After Max snuck off one day, Steve brings her home right before Neil and Susan return.

Billy gives her and Steve shit about it on the porch, freezing up when Neil's car pulls into the driveway.

He notices the way Neil's normally hard and intimidating stare softens upon seeing Harrington in front of their house.

He greets him, shakes his hand, makes polite small talk with him and invites him in for dinner.

Steve glances over at Billy, noticing how he rolled his eyes and he politely declines.

"I really shouldn't—"

"I insist." Neil goads him, gently pushing him inside and leading him to the table. "Susan's cooking is divine."

Billy groaned. Of course, Steve was the golden boy everyone adored, even his own father. What was so perfect about him anyway?

Billy is imagining he can shoot lasers from his eyes at Steve, and Steve can feel the intention coming from Billy's glares.

He plans to leave early, but Neil offers him dessert, offers him a beer, asks if he wants to stay and watch the game.

Why the fuck's this guy being so nice to Steve?

Because the Harrington name holds so much prestige in Hawkins? Because it can help him get a promotion? What? What the fuck is it? It can't just be because of Steve.

Billy notices that Steve feels really awkward, but he's always been taught to be polite, so he does what any golden boy would do. He stays, he accepts Neil's kindness, he answers questions when asked.

Of course, Neil brings up Mr. Harrington, asking about his company and how it's doing.

His question seems really motivated and Billy's pissed off to the point of no return. He stands, politely excusing himself to his room.

"Don't you wanna watch the game, son?"

Son...?

Who in god's name was he talking to? Not me, Billy assumed.

Why was his voice so soft and his eyes so warm? That wasn't Neil. That wasn't Sir. Billy was afraid of this version of Neil and that warm smile that showed the crow's feet beside his beady, lying eyes.

Billy slowly sat back down next to Steve.

"Billy used to love baseball."

No I didn't.

"He lost interest. He's much better at basketball. Aren't you boys on the same team?"

"Yes, sir, we are." Steve nodded. "He's really good."

Neil laughed. "That's my boy."

What?! Am I in an alternate universe?

When the fever dream of a night ended, Neil told Billy to walk Steve to his car.

"Uh...See you at school?" Steve said uncertainly.

"Yeah." He watched Steve get into his car and walked back into his house.

Neil's warm, fake smile was gone, along with that soft welcoming voice.

It was all a facade, just as he'd assumed.

Neil ordered him to do the dishes, including Steve's. Nothing disgusted him more than cleaning up after Steve.

To make matters worse, this became a constant. Neil was letting Max's nerdy friends come over and Steve would pick them up, then circle back for dinner or a beer with Neil.

Neil would insist on including Billy, bragging about how strong, or how bright Billy was, bringing up the days in California, the very few good ones.

It pissed Billy off, but the nights Steve would come over, there was no shouting, no beatings and Neil was...nice.

Billy started passing notes to Steve at school, inviting him over, especially on Sundays so he didn't have to deal with Neil's bullshit on his day off.

At first, Steve would keep Neil out of Billy's hair, but then, Steve stopped by Billy's room to ask him why he always invited him over if he didn't wanna hang out.

"I thought maybe Neil'd like hanging out with you."

"So you invited me over to keep your dad company? Why don't you just hang out with him?"

"Because we don't get along. He's...he's not always like that." Billy quietly mumbled, hoping Neil didn't suddenly develop super hearing.

"Oh." Steve slowly shut the door. "So that's why you keep inviting me over?"

Billy shrugged.

"Well, Max told Dustin, and Dustin told me that your dad beats the hell out of you, that true?"

Billy's body tightened up and he went dead silent. "The fuck do you care?" He snapped.

"It's not cool." Steve sat on the floor across from Billy. "I don't wanna come here and keep hanging out with your dad. I kinda thought we were hanging out. That's why I would stay."

"You...wanted to hang out with me?" He skeptically narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah. I've been hoping we could get along for a change. I didn't know you were just using me to keep your dad out of your hair."

"I—I didn't think you'd wanna hang out with me. I thought you liked hanging out with Neil."

Steve laughed. "I don't hang out with old people."

"Yeah, you hang out with little kids instead."

"Shut up, I'm their babysitter. Those little shits are always getting into some kind of trouble."

"Whatever. So...d'you wanna like...hang...now?"

Steve nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. That's why I come here in the first place."

"You like Metallica?"

"No."

"Mötley Crüe?"

"Not really."

"Surfing?"

"Eh. Not really any beaches around."

Billy scoffed, shaking his head in disapproval. "The hell do you like?"

Steve pointed to a deck of cards on Billy's dresser. "Know how to play War?"

"Vaguely." Billy shrugged before grabbing the deck and handing it to Steve.

They played a few rounds of cards before they were laughing and shit-talking into the late hours of the night.

Neil didn't disturb them at all.

Dedicating this to @mangywayway since you're always being so kind when I'm feeling down. Tysm ❤️

#neil hargrove tw #abuse tw #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington

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heartbreak-sandwich · 3 months

Note

Hear me out on this one! A cute secret date turn relationship with Billy x fem reader. He doesn’t want people like his dad or Tommy getting in the way with his time with his girlfriend. You can write it however you pls!

Hope you like that idea, thank you 😊

Hiiiii!!! I’m sorry this sat in my inbox for so long!! I’m finally catching up on all of my requests, and this one is so cute! I really appreciate your patience, and I hope you like it! We're feeling fluffy with this one today 💕 | Master List 📖

You weren’t sure what a date with Billy Hargrove would entail. You had heard the rumors about the new King of Hawkins High – how he took a different girl home every week, and his sleek, blue Camaro was permanently parked out at Lover’s Lake. You were shocked that Friday when you were alone in the auditorium running through light cues, and Billy approached you.

“Tommy’s not here,” you called to him as he walked down one of the aisles. Tommy Hagan had been charged with sweeping up the auditorium during the lunch hour for two weeks after playing what he thought was a harmless prank on a freshman on the basketball team, and you were sure Billy had come looking for him.

“Is it just you in here?” His question caught you off guard, but you tried not to let it distract you from your work.

“Yeah. Did you need something?” Billy sat down in the chair next to you, and you finally looked up from your stack of cue sheets to see his signature smirk and cerulean eyes, deep like the ocean. You could smell his spiced aftershave, a hint of cigarette smoke, and the cool aroma of winterfresh gum as he leaned in closer to you.

“I just came to see if you’re free tonight.” Billy smacked his gum as he rested an arm over the back of your chair, awaiting your answer. You froze, unsure if this was a mistake or some kind of cruel joke.

“What for?” You searched his expression for any clues as to what he might be thinking, but it was unchanging.

“To go out,” he answered nonchalantly. Your breath caught in your chest, and crimson heat crept up to your cheeks.

“Like…on a date?” He had to have noticed your blushing and the perplexing look on your face, but he kept his cool completely.

“Of course.” He beamed, his blinding smile causing your stomach to erupt into butterflies.

“With you?!” Billy’s exterior cracked slightly with that question. He looked offended, almost irritated, and he started to fidget with something in his pocket.

“Look, if you don’t want to –”

“No!” You cut him off in a hurry. “No, it’s not that at all. It’s just –” He looked intently into your eyes as you tried to find the right words to explain your bewilderment. “I guess I didn’t think I was really your type.”

Billy chuckled and looked down at his shoes before meeting your eyes once more. “Well, I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me. I’ll pick you up at, say, 8 o’clock?” The voice in your head was screaming don’t do it; you know better, but everything else in your body reacted in the complete opposite fashion.

“Sure,” you agreed softly. Billy smiled once more before standing up from his chair, taking smooth strides toward the auditorium’s exit.

“See you tonight,” he called over his shoulder, never looking back. You heard the door close after him, and all you could do was stare wide-eyed at the wall while you tried to process what had just happened.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course he brought you to some random clearing in the woods. You were sure he was either about to murder you or try to get laid, and you couldn’t decide which one was worse. You assumed a date would occur somewhere conventional, like the movies, a restaurant, or the mall – not here at…an overlook? You tried not to let your apprehension show as Billy shifted his car into park.

“Well, here we are,” he declared, opening the driver’s side door and climbing out of the car into the chill of the starry night. You were surprised again when you heard the passenger door opening just a few seconds later, and he helped you out of your seat, steadying you on the uneven ground.

“Where is here, exactly?”

“I’ll show you; come here. And be careful. There’s a lot to trip over out here in the dark,” he warned. That didn’t make you feel any better about the possibility of being murdered, but you didn’t have much choice but to hold onto his arm as he led you to a guard rail at the top of the overlook.

“Wow,” you murmured. Every single light throughout the town of Hawkins was visible from where the two of you stood, and it was absolutely breathtaking. You had never seen so many shooting stars, and the deep navy sky was littered with sparkling clusters which were usually totally camouflaged under the umbrella of downtown’s streetlamps.

“You like it?” Billy sounded hopeful, like he actually cared whether his choice pleased you, and you nodded. He let out a small sigh of relief, and he slowly took your hand from his arm, interlacing your fingers together. The setting was more romantic than you had expected, and you couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts in the back of your mind that something was still amiss.

What if he had taken you here just so no one would see you together?

What if he was ashamed to be with you?

“Billy?” The anxiety in your voice must have been obvious because you felt him tense up beside you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing at all,” you half lied. “This is amazing. It’s just – are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“What?” The hurt in his tone tugged on your heartstrings. “No…no, why would you think that?” His other hand covered the top of yours, and he turned to face you. You could hardly make out his features in the dim glow of the city lights below you, but you could feel his concern tainting the atmosphere.

“I guess I expected a date to be somewhere more public. And when you took me to a hideout in the mountains, I was worried it was because you didn’t want anyone to know we were together,” you admitted, avoiding his eye contact. His warm hands squeezed yours just a little tighter.

“Hey, look at me,” he soothed. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t want anyone to interrupt us. I wanted to be alone, just the two of us, so we could talk. You know, have real conversations. I’m so tired of my dad, my coaches, Tommy, Troy, and everyone else breathing down my neck, criticizing every decision I make.” Billy cupped the side of your face, grazing your cheek with his thumb. “I don’t want anyone getting in the way of something that could be really, really good for me.”

Your scarlet flush returned at his reassurance. You never would have dreamed Billy could be so gentle, so emotional. But he wanted to be here with you, marveling at this beauty, and it was the start of something wonderful.

“I believe you. I’m sorry for assuming. I’m just not used to things like this,” you whispered. He closed the distance between you so that your noses were touching, and you could feel his breath against your lips – a cool, winterfresh breeze.

“Do you want to be together? Like, as a couple?” Billy almost seemed nervous to ask you, but you were elated, answering him without wasting another second.

“Yes. Of course, yes.” You couldn’t stifle your grin. You felt sunshine in your chest, and you didn’t know what else to say in that moment, but everything felt perfect.

Billy leaned in slowly, his lips connecting with yours in the sweetest of first kisses. Time slowed as the two of you connected, and nothing else mattered while you basked in his warmth, stars showering overhead as the town of Hawkins slipped into a slumber below you.

#thank u sm for the ask!!#ily anon💕#writing request #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x gn!reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove fanfic #this was such a cute request and I LOVED working on it!#I don't get a lot of fluff/sweetness requests as you can probably imagine lmao #still more to come!!

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jonathanbiers · 2 years

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thinkin about steve who used to be a total jock, basketball team, swim team etc but after graduating he wasn’t doing sports anymore and after lovers lake he can’t get in the water without having a panic attack (probably internalized because he feels like he has to be the one who’s Okay™️ all the time) so over time after the world is decidedly not ending anymore he goes a lil soft. maybe he has a lil tummy™️ and that along with the scars makes him pretty self conscious because he’s comparing himself to what he used to be, all smooth and unscarred skin and in good shape.

he stops even trying to go on dates because he can’t relate to any of the pretty airhead girls in hawkins and they certainly wouldn’t be able to understand why he can’t look at his own pool or why he starts shaking when the lights flicker a little bit, and he also knows they would have questions he can’t answer about his scars so there’s no point. might as well resign himself to being alone, at least he’s surrounded by platonic love and that’s enough right?

of course, unbeknownst to steve he and eddie have pretty much been circling each other like courting swans, doing things steve doesn’t even think twice about (like holding hands or running their fingers through the other’s hair or cuddling up to each other during movie night or sleeping on each other during movie night or the fact that they have a movie night with just the two of them at all) because it feels natural, he does those things with robin and it’s totally Capital P Platonic™️ until with eddie it ISN’T and suddenly things are added to that list like kissing and backhugs and hickies and oh shit he and eddie are kind of a thing now??? dating unofficially? boyfriends?

but steve is all too aware that he’s not the jock they tease him about being anymore and maybe gets in his head about the way he “should” look (it’s my headcanon personally that steve was probably a chubby kid or something which is normal but his parents are toxic and constantly bullied him about it until he got into sports and lost the fluff) so he’s worried about what eddie will think and that he won’t be attracted to him so he puts off doing anything past the aforementioned list of things and they probably don’t discuss it outright but eddie picks up on the hesitation and (thinking it’s because steve isn’t comfortable with his sexuality yet) is SO reassuring that they can wait until steve is ready to do anything and it’s at his own pace and he won’t ever pressure him into anything

but the thing is steve IS ready and he wants so bad he’s just gone down this whole spiral of self consciousness that one night when they’ve gone a little past the usual making out that they’re used to and they’re both breathing hard and a little more than desperate for each other, steve finally starts to shed his clothes in front of eddie and yeah maybe the dim lighting helps a little bit but he’s still so nervous that eddie will take one look at him and not be attracted to him at all, or laugh or even be disgusted by him but eddie is just in awe because to him, steve is perfect no matter what he looks like but here’s the kicker: eddie is totally into dad bods.

so here we’ve got steve damn near chewing the skin off his lips in anxiety and eddie is just feeling like a kid on christmas or some shit because between the chest hair and the lil tummy™️ and the constellations of moles and freckles and the scars that he has to match there isn’t a single thing about steve that eddie doesn’t love. and you best believe he tells him out loud immediately, multiple times, between kisses and bites and squeezes that he’s beautiful and perfect and so fucking sexy, he tells him until steve is smiling instead of anxious and he’s not biting his lip out of worry anymore that’s for damn sure

#is this nsfw? i don’t know #*rattling the bars of my enclosure* GIVE ME DAD BOD STEVE NOW #stranger things #steveddie #steddie headcanons #steddie hcs #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie

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space-invading-pigeon · 1 year

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Steve is the Mom Friend™, officially the most reliable member of the Party; it would be Dustin, but Dustin insists that they'd be lost without Steve there to help them. Steve doesn't argue, but he disagrees. He thinks he's too volatile to really be considered for Most Reliable.

For most of his childhood, he was isolated from his peers, who he was Not Allowed To Talk To Because They Aren't Worth A Harrington's Time, Stephen. Steve is young and still wants his parents to love him, so he obeys. He's a good boy, if a little sensitive, and therein lies the problem: he feels so much, and he doesn't have a clue on how to express any of it. He can't process his feelings, they're too big to fit in his body. It overwhelms him easily and makes his throat tight- impossible to speak. His father scolds him when he has these overwhelmed episodes, as if Steve is purposely ruining his off time at home by crying; his mother ignores him if he acts childishly. There isn't really anyone who teaches Steve how to cope with being a human.

Steve remembers that he was always angry. It felt like an itch under his skin, a low but steady humming in his veins that could explode at anything, and even back then, he despised that feeling, scared that it meant he would end up a Bad Person. He'd started getting into fights (the first one he could remember was when he was eight and Keith pushed him to get to the playground faster. Keith got a bloody nose and Steve got detention for a week) and never really stopped. By twelve, his entire school is afraid of him, except for a select few kids: Tommy H, whose dad worked with Steve's dad, Barb Holland, who thought Steve was both a good person and a blockhead, and the new Munson boy, who didn't say much of anything, but especially nothing about the time he caught Steve crying in the woods in April after his parents missed the sixth birthday in a row.

It didn't really get better until high school, when his father demanded suggested he sign up for the basketball team; practice and drills helped diffuse a lot of that stifled anger, and for the first time, Steve feels like he can breathe. He doesn't have to be angry all the time anymore, even if most of his calm is just a lack of energy. That isn't to say the anger is gone; he still gets into fights often, but he manages to tone down the violence and rely more on a sharp tongue and a lazy confidence whenever fighting is brought up.

Cue season one! Steve, at the top of his game, the bloody, undisputed King of Hawkins High, is absolutely head over heels for sweet, shy Nancy Wheeler. He bares his soul to Nancy, who, after hearing what he has to say, promises that she'll be there for him. They're together now, they look after each other. It's everything Steve had ever wanted.

When he finds out about the creepy photos Jonathan took of them at Steve's pool on the night Barb went missing (and I love Jonathan, I really do, but what the hell man), he feels that anger starting to boil over again and panics. He was doing so well! Nancy would help, though, just hearing that find "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington" would cool him off. But it worsens when he tries to sneak in to Nancy's room and Jonathan is SLEEPING in Nancy's bed, half-curled around her. Steve doesn't want to get the cops called on him again, so he goes home.

The next day, it all boils over. He tried to stay calm, really, but it was like using a wine cork to stop a volcano; he stands by while Carol and Tommy spread rumors about Nancy, smirks cruelly while Carol spray paints the slur on the movie theater sign, and does not give an inch when Nancy calls him an ass, tears in her eyes and flanked by Jonathan. He's trying his damnedest to keep his hands to himself, though (his father wasn't happy the last time Steve got arrested, and somehow Steve knew that he wouldn't be happy if it happened again), so he's caught off guard when Jonathan starts throwing punches. (Later, Steve will admit that he doesn't really remember what he'd said to make Jonathan so angry that he'd actually try to fight Steve, but he'll apologize anyway. Jonathan is quick to forgive, and apologizes for starting the fight, as well). Steve's memory gets spotty around this time; he remembers a sharp pain in his head, just above his left ear, and being so dizzy that he struggles not to throw up, but he doesn't remember Jonathan landing any other hits (he has three bruises, two around his sternum and one under his eye, as well as a split lip), and he definitely does not remember running from the police trying to break up the fight.

It takes him a few hours to calm down, but it's largely due to the gap in his memory keeping him confused and panicked; he can't remember what he said, and Jonathan Byers may be a girlfriend-stealer but Steve remembers that he's also the kid who held funerals for the mice caught in the traps behind the school gym. Whatever he said had to have been really, really messed up, and Steve genuinely hates that he gets angry, that it isn't uncommon for him to lose time to his anger, that his first response to anything is always anger. So he goes to apologize.

The loaded gun pointed at his face is somehow the least upsetting part of that night.

During season 2, there's a lot going on. Steve has been working so hard on his anger, on keeping a lid on it and actually processing his emotions (thank you, therapy that Hopper demanded Hawkins Lab provide), but it wasn't enough. Nancy resented him, had actually blamed him for Barb's death, and that bitterness came to a head on Halloween.

Without Nancy, Steve struggled a lot more. He had nothing, no one; he didn't have anyone to tell about his parents' death in early June, and he didn't like talking about his wealth. There was no support system- until Dustin decided that Steve was going to help him. The kid was relentless and demanding and trusted Steve to help him almost immediately. Steve could hardly keep up, but he loved the feeling. And, when they ended up in a junkyard bus surrounded by demon dogs, he had three people depending on him, and suddenly he had a way to channel his anger (Dr. Harris would be so proud when he told her). He had a bat and enough unresolved trauma to rival those people his dad used to talk about with shell shock, and by the gods he was going to use that. He went apeshit on some demodogs, saved the kid's lives, and apparently became a big brother to a genius boy and a little girl that could probably fight God and win. He also got his third concussion when Max's stepbrother threatened to kill Lucas, but the order of events for that night is skewed; he blames the concussion. The doctor Hopper forced him to go to after said that he may never hear out of his left side again.

Season 3 sees Steve with a little family that he built all on his own: there's Will (who's shy but has a smile like sunshine when Steve asks him about anything), Jonathan (who cried when Steve asks if they can be friends and then proceeds to infodump on musicians every time he hears Steve so much as hum in a mildly musical manner), Max (the girl with a keen sense and a quick wit, whose older brother terrifies Steve because that's exactly how he could have turned out had he not gotten help), Lucas (who treated Steve like the big brother he never had and often called him racist for trivial things ["Steve, can we order pizza?" No. "Is it because I'm black?"]) Erica (who just sorta showed up with Lucas on occasion and reminded Steve just how fun it could be to be That Bitch), Mike (who alternated between passive assholery and cartoon-esque assassination attempts), Nancy, shockingly (who sat Steve down soon after the massacre at the hospital and apologized for blaming him for- well, everything. They'd talked for a long time, hashing it out, and by the end of it, Steve felt like he had a friend), Eleven (who comes by every Wednesday and Saturday for homemade waffles and a secret knitting circle), and Dustin (who became like a real little brother in the span of three days and never looked back. Steve vowed to keep Dustin safe with everything in him that night in the tunnels.).

He meets Robin when he gets a job at Starcourt (he may be set for life but Hop had told him that hard work built character, and Hop was the kind of man Steve wanted to become). She's wary of him, at first, especially when she watches him break the ice cream machine in a (now rare) fit of anger after a customer blew up at him for their ice cream melting before they finished it. But then he stammers through an apology and brings her a batch of cookies the next day, and tries to explain that he's better now, really, and Robin decides that he's a good person deep down. Maybe not too deep down, though, because his cookies are the best she's ever had. Besides, watching his face turn cherry red as he hides behind the shelves to spy on the repair guy is the most entertaining thing she's seen all summer, possibly in her life.

("Steve, you're drooling," she warns, and Steve hurriedly checks his chin.

"I'm making sure he doesn't get his hair stuck in the machine!" He tries to defend.

"First, his hair is under that bandanna. Second, Eddie Munson would rather die than ruin his rockstar hair.")

Their ice cream machine breaks six more times before Dustin comes back from camp, and each time Steve is a flustered mess talking to Eddie Munson. To his credit, Eddie only gives Steve a half-fond, amused smile before chatting with him about nothing in particular. After the third time, Eddie starts calling Steve "big boy" and lightly teasing him over the fist-shaped dents in the side of the machine.

Steve fights the Russians in the secret Starcourt base, not because they're coming at him, but because one of them reaches out for Dustin/Erica. The edges of his vision blurs, and distantly he knows that he's experiencing something like his childhood episodes: all his can feel is fire in his soul, burning straight through his body, and he has to get it out, he has to protect his brother-

"Wow, Steve won a fight!" Dustin crows as Steve is coming back to himself, his whole body trembling with leftover rage and no one to take it out on. Steve just clutches Dustin to him and tries to breathe. Dustin allows it for two minutes, then starts to squirm, but Steve doesn't release him until they hear footsteps.

With Dustin and Erica safe, Steve surrenders pretty easily- he needed to save his energy. But then they started the "interrogation," and Robin sounded so scared, and they hurt his hands and there were drugs-

Steve faintly remembers jumping onto a man (so tall and broad that Steve briefly felt like he was just a backpack) and biting him, locking his jaw and clawing like a feral cat. Robin remembers Steve promising to "smack the red right out of you commie assholes" while forcing his way through the tunnels, but she can't be sure if it was real or the drugs they were given. Dustin recalls Steve giggling at the movie they were hiding in, like a dork. Erica will never forget that Steve has a Berserker mode, or that he protected her even though she was in the process of blackmailing him for free ice cream.

In October of '85, Jason Carver catches him in the high school parking lot one night as he waits for Hellfire to get out. Steve denies all memories of what was said between them, but Jason walks away without need for an ambulance, so he counts it as a win.

In December of '85, the day that the kids all get out for Christmas Break, Chrissy Cunningham finds him in the parking lot and they sit for nearly an hour talking about projects for their secret knitting circle with the police chief's daughter. As hellfire let's out, Chrissy leaves, and Steve gets to watch as the older members walk his kids to his car, like awkward little nerdy gentlemen. Eddie always hands them off with a flourish and a wink. ("The children, Your Highness," he would say confidently, his three nerds behind him giving him nervous looks. "Perhaps you'll join us next week, my liege?" Steve pretends to be unamused by his theatrics, but Eddie has an infectious grin and a genuinely happy shine to his eyes.)

Season 4, Steve is definitely on edge, twitchy as they search for Eddie. He's worried for Dustin, who is attracted to trouble and smart enough to drag everyone else into it too, but also for Eddie, who occasionally popped by Family Video to talk with Robin. According to Eddie, he's allowed in the break room and behind the counter because he and Robin are "friends of Dorothy". Steve doesn't even know a Dorothy. (Eddie usually waits until Steve walks away in a flustered, confused huff before whispering to Robin, "Dorothy says: be gay, do crime.")

Eddie held a jagged glass bottle to his neck and Steve didn't feel anything. He wasn't scared for his life like the news promised he would be, nor was he angry like he'd expected he would be. Eddie shuffles around nervously, but the only thing Steve feels is concern for him.

He gets dragged through the Watergate and immediately attacked by those godawful bats- he was almost in the boat, they had to help Max, he would not lose his baby sister, and boom, he's back to fighting. He fends them off with the help of Eddie, Robin, and Nancy, all of whom he is furious with for following him into the Upside Down like idiots.

"Harrington's got her. Don't ya, big boy?" Eddie teased, and Steve felt electricity through his whole being. His face flushed red and he stammered an affirmative, not noticing Robin or Eddie as they grinned at each other. Eddie stuck close the entire time they were in the RV, and if Steve didn't know better, he'd say Eddie was flirting with him. But he did know better, there was no way Eddie was flirting. He was on the run and desperate for human interaction.

Separating for the plan was the hardest thing Steve had ever done. While Dustin was getting ready, Steve pulled Eddie aside. "Please keep him safe. I'll do anything you want, just please, don't let anything happen to him," he begged, desperately clutching Eddie's sleeves. "He's my brother, Eddie, I can't lose him-"

"I promise, Steve," Eddie had interrupted. "I'll guard him with my life."

"Guard him with mine," Steve insisted. Eddie didn't get it at first, but it would hit him later that Steve wanted Eddie to keep them both safe.

Steve would never tell a soul, but he liked confronting Vecna. Armed with chemical weapons, Robin stayed a bit behind, but Nancy emptied round after round into One, and Steve? Steve got to use his bat.

It was exhilarating; as much as he hated his anger problems, he could not deny that it felt good to attack the source of all their problems. His arms grew tired after a while, though, and Vecna seemed distracted, disoriented, so Steve resorted to his usual tactics. He never fought fair: biting, scratching, clawing his way to victory in everyday scuffles, there was no way he'd give up this opportunity.

Something in him twists suddenly. He feels sick to his stomach and scared, but he has no idea why. All he can think about is Eddie and Dustin- he's hurt he's hurt he'shurtheshurtheshurt. So he makes the decision to go back; Nancy and Robin technically have the injured Vecna under control. He runs.

Eddie is being swarmed when he makes it to the trailer. One minute, Steve watches as they descend on his friend(?), and the next, he's supporting an injured Eddie as they hobble together to Wayne Munson's truck, Wayne on Eddie's other side and rambling about "what the hell is going on" so similarly to Hop that Steve feels the hollow sting of loss. Later, as they rest in the living room of Steve's empty house, Dustin tells Steve about what he saw: Eddie, going to the ground, unable to fight them off any longer, hope lost and grief already tearing its claws into Dustin's chest, and then out of nowhere Steve appears, covered in bits of vine and rock. He tells Steve about the enraged roar he could hear from the trailer (ten feet behind Dustin as his hobbling came to a stop) and the nail bat that had yet to leave Steve's hand swinging at each assailant with such a precision that, for a brief moment in the chaos, Dusting could hear the sounds of an orchestra playing a symphony, Steve as their ragged, bloodied maestro. He tells Steve about the wild look in Steve's eyes as he carried a half-conscious Eddie into the trailer, snarling about how stupid and careless Eddie was, and how moronic Dustin was for jumping through a gate the way he did. He tells Steve about the stray demobat that burst through the door, how Steve grabbed it with his bare hands and ripped it in half- Dustin's got stars in his eyes as he relays this, even now, days later.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

This kinda got away from me I'm sorry

I'm still new to people wanting to read what I write so I'm just gonna tag the one person I know was also excited about steve being feral: @amoris-no-smut-allowed

#steddie #stranger things headcanons #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie and steve #the party #let steve go apeshit #feral steve #steve can cook #let steve go feral

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

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I saw this scrolling the social media today and I just needed you to know. My fictional true love Joan the disservice cat definitely needs one.

First, thank you for this.

When I got the notification that you sent me an ask, I was not expecting four of the best images on the internet. I love these cats in their little outfits and I agree, Joan needs this.

I can picture Eddie scrolling through Pinterest, seeing little heavy metal cat outfits, and immediately taking out his credit card despite the fact that Joan has never once enjoyed him putting her in an outfit. In fact, she actively acts like she’s dying every time he does.

So, she never wears them, but…

Joan has grown up observing Ozzy and Ozzy takes care of Steve. So the natural conclusion is that Steve is Baby and he must be looked after.

Joan also has no concept of federal holidays. She just knows that there are days that Steve is not there and days that he is. If he is home on a day he’s not supposed to be than that’s bad. So, he should not be putting on his running shoes.

Since Ozzy is doing nothing to stop him, Joan insist on stepping in.

Steve nudges her out of the way as he slips his foot into his shoe, “Joan, move. You’re going to get stepped on.”

But Joan does not move because she is helping. Steve does not seem deterred so Joan insists on coming with him and if she has to wear a silly little outfit and get put in a torture device (AKA the cat stroller) than so be it.

Steve lets out a little annoyed huff and calls out, “Babe, I’m taking the cat!”

So picture it: Steve in pastel joggers since it’s chilly outside and an old but well maintained Hawkins High Swim Team t-shirt that’s tight across his shoulders. He’s got his pristine white dad shoes and his socks pulled up. Ozzy’s running beside him as he pushes the stroller, and then he’s stopped by a woman a couple blocks over who wants to see the baby.

The baby is, of course, Joan with her little fangs sticking out and her shirt that says Cannibal Corpse.

#You know those posts about dog owners vs cat owners where the dog owner will give you this big description of their pet and cat owners are #like ‘this Linda she’s orange’#that’s Ozzy and Joan about Steve and Eddie #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson #Ozzy the service dog #Joan the disservice cat

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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thinking about camp!steve fighting with hawkins over something petty and they're both horny and pent up bc they haven't had any time alone

"you're gonna regret that, princess"

"oh no, i'm shaking in my boots"

"yeah, you will be shaking by the time I'm done with you"

😳🥵

It wasn’t like either of you had wanted to go in the first place, but Steve’s parents had cornered you both on one of the rare occasions they’d been home.

Mrs Harrington had gasped and air kissed you on both cheeks as you stumbled down their stairs that morning, wide eyed and only dressed in her son's T-shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” you croaked out, mortified. “Steve and I didn’t hear you guys get in last night.”

And so you had to stand, barefoot and clutching at the hem of Steve’s shirt as his mother cooed over their tip to Paris, how the meeting had gone so well, how their flight got in earlier than planned and did you know that the Duncan’s down the road were getting a divorce?

You had just wanted a coffee.

But Steve had eventually stirred enough to hear his mom, launching himself out of bed in a bid to save you. It all went downhill from there, ‘cause his dad appeared, back from his morning run to jab a little meanly at his son's (flat) stomach, telling him he needed to work out more now he wasn’t on the basketball team.

You held Steve’s hand under the table. And then came the real kicker.

“Oh! Before I forget,” Mrs Harrington cried out over her cappuccino. “It’s the family party this weekend. You’ll both be attending, right? Cousin Michael is bringing his fiancé, Steven, so won’t it be nice that you'll be taking a girlfriend this time?”

You stared. “Family party?”

“A whole house full of Harrington’s!” Steve’s dad declared, whisking two eggs into his smoothie. You tried not to grimace. “We rent the old Manor House out by Bloomington for the weekend. You know it, it’s near that silly, little camp you guys waste your time at.”

Your jaw clenched at the same time Steve’s did.

—————

Two days in and you were at your wits end. The rest of Steve’s family was just like his parents. Obnoxious, brash and arrogant, all with a habit of talking about money and business, even over a seven o’clock breakfast. His younger cousins didn’t know how to knock on doors, Aunt Deniese’s toddler liked to throw things at Steve’s hair, his uncle was constantly winking at you and his grandmother kept grabbing you by the arm and asking when you’d be giving her a grandchild.

‘Never, at this rate,’ you’d wanted to yell at her. ‘Seeing as nobody gives us a fucking second alone.’

Steve was almost unbearable. Almost. He’d turned surly and quiet, barely speaking the morning of the trip ‘cause he’d already had an argument about taking his car rather than sitting in the back of his dads. He’d apologised to you over and over the night before, warning you about his family, how they were, how they acted. He’d even told you you could still back out, but you’d kissed away his apologies and told him you weren’t leaving him to the wolves alone.

But the boy turned into a shell of himself at the hands of his relatives. He was prickly and constantly frowning, brow furrowed and he flinched when you tried to soothe it away. You’d have been offended if you hadn’t felt as on edge as you knew he did, constantly awaiting the next backhanded compliment from one of his aunts, a sympathetic expression written on his cousin's faces when you told them your shoes were from Target.

You saw the way Steve looked at you though. Heated in a different way, the best way. Like he was aching to touch you and have you and kiss you without an audience, ‘cause everytime you reached for him, it gave someone in his family an excuse to berate you both.

‘God, Steve. She’s clingy isn’t she?’

‘Can't you two be apart for more than half an hour?’

‘You know, if you want this relationship to survive, you gotta realise that money keeps it together. Where are you working, Steve?’

‘You know he’ll cheat on you right? He’ll be just like his dad.’

It only stopped when dinner was over and the table was cleared by the hired staff, Steve’s dads incoming speech about the family business interrupted by his son grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs to your room.

The bedroom door closed and Steve could breathe again. Just.

You stared at him, chest heaving with half jogging through the too big house, with holding in the anger you wanted to let out over the mahogany tabletop. You were pent up, pulled tight. So was Steve.

Maybe you could fix it. If he’d let you.

“Fuck this weekend,” he was seething, kicking at his suitcase that had remained unpacked on the floor. “Honest to god, this fucking family. Shouldn’t have bothered even coming, knew this shit would happen, always fucking does.”

You kicked off your shoes, enjoying the way they clattered angrily against the hardwood. The noise caught your boyfriend’s attention and he turned, wide eyed. You didn’t say anything as you unzipped your dress, angrily shoving down the straps until it pooled at your feet.

You let out another harsh breath, “yeah?” You agreed with Steve, with everything he said. “Wanna fight about it?”

Steve’s eyes flashed, lips parting, nostrils flaring and you knew that look, you loved that look. He sucked in a breath, knocking over the stupid ceramic horse statue on top of the dresser when he backed into it. He nodded, a determined look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” his voice cracked. “Fuck, yeah, let’s fight about it.”

You grinned, wicked, sliding down the straps of your bra, hands behind your back to snap at the hooks. It joined your dress on the floor. Steve’s head hit the wall with a thud, tipped back, pupils blown wide, panting.

He needed this.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you murmured, “let’s make it better.”

Steve crossed the room in seconds, shirt shed before he reached you, some buttons popping and scattering across the room. He was rough when he kissed you, hands grabbing at your waist, almost bending you backwards when his mouth met yours, tongue sweeping past your lips immediately.

You keened high, uncaring about the other guests, knowing that the dining room was far enough away that they’d probably not hear anyway. So you kissed back just as desperate, hands clutching Steve’s jaw, squeaking when he lifted you without warning, grasping at your thighs that he coaxed around his hips.

Your back hit a wall, photo frames rattling and you felt the click of his teeth against yours when you grinned against each other, chests heaving.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, hands grabbing at the dough of your ass, pushing your thighs apart so he could grind into you, already painfully hard. “Princess.”

He said it like he used to, less softer, a little more mean, teasing and sticky with condescension. It made your toes curl. Made you think about your first kiss in a cabin in the forest, thick, summer heat clawing at your throat along with an undeniable need for the boy. It felt animalistic. Like this did now.

“Wanna fuck me?” You cooed, voice breathy, hands raking through the boy’s hair, nails leaving marks on his shoulders, his back. “Yeah, baby? Wanna fuck me hard? Wanna mark me up and forget about everything else?”

Steve groaned, a messy, dirty noise and he sounded wild. He nodded, nose bumping yours, one hand skating up your bare side until he could catch at your jaw.

“Fuck, yeah I do. Gonna be good for me?” He asked nicely and god, he looked so good. Tanned skin, freckles across his shoulders, lips swollen and slick from your kisses. “Gonna do as you’re told?”

You grinned, kissing sweet at his jaw. “Not in the slightest,” you whispered against his skin.

Satisfied, you let your head fall back against the wall, watching Steve from under your lashes, hands skating across his throat. Steve wanted a fight, after all. He liked the way you pushed back, babe as good as you got, when pressed him into the pillows so you could ride him until he wanted to cry at how good it felt.

He wanted his hair pulled, scratches down his back, your moans in his ear, lavender coloured bruises on his throat, ones that matched yours. He wanted to fuck out the anger like you were the one who caused it.

You never caused it. Ever.

But it was fun to play.

Steve grinned, ecstatic with your answer. His fingers gripped your ass tighter, fingers slipping under the lace there and he spun you both, letting you drop into the bed so you bounced. He reached for his belt buckle, watching you as he stood at the edge of the bed.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” A moment of softness, a gentle hand on your stomach before he pushed you down onto the sheets.

#sorry this got away from me stfdyufd #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #stranger things fic #camp blurb

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smashtbh · 2 years

Text

Your Biggest Fan

Billy Hargrove x M!reader | fem aligned + minors dni!

not my gif!

req: “ Helloo okaay so this might sound really stupid but can i request a 'Billy x male reader' where the reader is a soccer player and his friends/family don't really believe in him so they never come to his games but he starts to see his crush Billy show up, more and more in his games, and after a game he actually goes and congratulates to the reader and its just really fluffy? I know its kinda cheese af so if you don't like it or just don't want to write it just ignore it!!! “ — @russainweed

as a soccer player, this is absolutely not stupid. also, i may have switched it around to billy having a crush on the reader and the reader slowly developing one for billy — but nonetheless i believe it has the same idea you were going for.

Portuguese translation done by the great @neturnn 🫶🏽

CW: swearing, reader is a badass soccer player 🤞🏽, billy isn’t an asshole, reader has unsupportive parents, but he does have an extremely supportive billy.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x M!reader.

he/him pronouns are used to refer to the reader.

a/n: my first request omfg i hope i did you justice ✊🏽

word count: 2k something.

(keep in mind that for the purpose of this fic, billy isn’t a racist piece of shit. thank you!)

“You really aren’t coming?” Y/N asks his mother — who for some goddamn reason — refuses to go to his games. She usually drops him, but she’s being an asshole at the moment.

“No, Y/N. I’m busy.” She replies with the most monotone voice as she stares at the TV.

Y/N huffs a humorless laugh. “You know what? Never mind.” He throws his bag over his shoulders, “Since you’re just sooooo busy, I’m gonna take the car.” He grabs the keys off the wall without waiting for a reply.

He wants to say he’ll be back before 7 but he knows she wouldn’t even notice if he came home at all.

He throws himself into the car, shoving his bag with his equipment on the passenger seat. He sighs and rests his head against the steering wheel for a moment — trying not to punch the window at the thought that nobody will be at his game again. He’s used to it by now, but it would be really nice if someone actually came and watched him play.

He drives onto the road, and blasts the radio. He’s bopping his head to some Metallica as he turns into the school. He parks and he sees some of his teammates waiting with their families before they need to start warming up.

He stays in the car for a second, looking around the crowd and spotting Billy fucking Hargrove. He’s only heard bad things about him — and Y/N is a bit worried as to why he’s there. He really hopes none of his teammates end up getting a black eye by the end of the night.

Y/N gets out, grabbing his bag and heading towards the field. His coach and some teammates are already at the bench, so he greets them accordingly.

“If you want, you can have your family sit over here beside the bench — they can see a lot better over here.” His coach says, gesturing to the area he’s talking about.

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll let ‘em know.” Y/N mumbles as he puts on his cleats. He slides his shin guards into his thick socks and stands up. At this point he’s very close to kicking his coach in the nuts.

He’s not thinking about the fact that no one is there to watch him destroy this other team, he really isn’t. He doesn’t need his asshole of a mom or his useless dad to win the game.

Just as Y/N is getting into his position, he spots Billy again. He’s sitting on the hood of his Camaro, a cigarette in his mouth. He tries not to stare long, but he thinks Billy catches him because he sees a grin take over his face.

The whistle blows, and Y/N gets in the zone. When halftime rolls around, they’re up by 4 — the score being 6 - 2.

The game finishes and Hawkins’ High has won 8 - 2, Y/N scoring 6 of the goals. He talks with his team for a bit, then makes his way to the car.

Before getting in, he sees Billy. Who seems to be looking in his direction with a concentrated face. The weirdest part is, Billy hadn’t moved the whole game. Stayed sat atop his Camaro, and didn’t talk to anyone. Y/N doesn’t stay long though, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads back to his house.

Y/N has another game. That as usual his parents don’t want to go to.

He drives into the school again and parks, waiting in the car. He’s just chilling with the music and air conditioning on for a moment before he hears the familiar booming that is Billy’s Camaro.

Y/N tries to think of a reason as to why Billy would be here again. It doesn’t make any sense, because this really isn’t Billy’s crowd. A basketball game seems more fitting for him — since the soccer games have a quieter crowd, with no parties afterwards.

As Y/N gets out of the car, he realizes that Billy parked a lot closer than he thought he did. Y/N walks past Billy, flashing a small grin. It looks as if Billy was going to wave because he lifts his hand that isn’t holding his cigarette up — but he just moves to scratch at his chest.

While he’s on the field, he feels someone staring. He wants to say that it’s Billy, because god knows no one comes to watch for Y/N — but he really can’t pin point it because of how intense the game is.

But to no one’s surprise, Hawkins wins again. Y/N scoring 5 goals. He’s wiping his sweat as he walks to the car and is startled by a figure leaning against the driver’s side.

“You’re on my car.”

“I know that.”

Y/N sighs, he really doesn’t want any trouble. He’s just tired and he seriously wants to shower. “Look man, I don’t know what you want from me — “

“Who said I wanted anything?” Billy says, pushing himself off the car to walk towards to Y/N. “I just wanted to tell you that — “

“Did Greg do something again? I suggest you take that up with him and not me.” Y/N interrupts, adjusting his bag on his back.

Billy’s a lot closer now and he smiles and — woah this guy is a lot more attractive up close. “I’d understand the attitude if you guys lost, but you made that team eat your dust.”

Did Billy Hargrove just compliment him?

“I don’t think I follow..”

Billy laughs at that. “Didn’t think Mr. MVP would be so humble.” He throws an arm over Y/N’s shoulder, despite how sweaty he must be. “I’m tryna’ say that you killed it out there, dude.”

Y/N has to fight a smile at that. Despite being known at school for playing on the soccer team, nobody’s taken the time to actually go and tell him that he did a good job. “Thanks. Thank you. I tried.”

Billy pats Y/N’s back, moving to walk away. “Keep up the good work.”

“Wait — “ Y/N says without thinking and Billy turns around, “Did you come here for me?” There’s a pause. “Last time you were here you didn’t talk to anyone.”

“You watching me, creep?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

With the field lights glaring down on them, Y/N can see the red tint that comes up to Billy’s face. “Don’t let it get to your head, punk.” He smiles and struts towards his stupid Camaro.

Y/N smiles to himself. Maybe this Billy Hargrove isn’t so bad after all.

The next couple games go by quickly, faceless teams losing — Y/N doesn’t remember much, other than after the games. He and Billy would lean against his car and talk for as long as it takes for the field lights to turn off, leaving them laughing in the dark.

On the night of the championship game, Y/N’s mom drops him instead of having him take the car because she has a late meeting.

Y/N steps out of the car, and just as he does — hears that damn Camaro, he hates to admit that it’s become music to his ears.

Billy pulls into the parking spot while Y/N waits for him to get down. “Mommy dropped you today?” He says jokingly.

Y/N lightly punches his shoulder and hands him his bag to hold. He’s already put on all of his equipment, but he’s worried that it’ll rain tonight — he doesn’t want his bag to get soaked.

“Good luck, hot stuff. Not that you’ll need it.” Billy says and Y/N can’t help but mentally shut down at that for a minute, then he decides to fire back.

“If we win, you gotta drive me home.” Y/N winks, knowing damn well what the outcome of the game is going to be.

Billy laughs and the tips of his ears turn red. “Yeah — sure. Whatever.”

The game is nerve wracking for both teams, but Hawkins’ has the lead in the first half. Y/N sends glances towards Billy, smiling at him every once in a while.

Towards the second half though, the opposing team catches up. The score is 4 - 4, Y/N having made 2 of the goals. There’s about 10 minutes on the clock left, and it starts to rain, hard.

It’s a lot harder to play with the weather like this. The two teams struggle to get the ball under control. Despite this, Y/N is able to dribble the ball. He’s close to the goal and is about to shoot before some dude comes and rams into him — effectively tripping him in the penalty box.

There’s an “ooooo” that is heard through the hard rain and the ref blows the whistle. Y/N gets up, and realizes that it’s time for him to take the penalty kick.

He lines up the ball with the dot, as the goalie bends his knees and gets into his position. The ref tells the team that this is the last play.

Y/N hops up and down for a bit, trying to conjure the energy he needs for this shot. The goalie seems nervous, especially because of the rain, but it’s bad for both of them.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out, a running start, a well calculated kick — and Hawkins’ High are the champs.

The ref blows the whistle and there’s screaming, car horns beeping, and banging from the bleachers. Y/N drowns everything out as his team hoists him up in the air.

A little later, the rain has calmed down. Y/N walks towards the direction of Billy’s car, but nearly shits himself when it isn’t there.

He jogs a little bit to make sure it really isn’t, when suddenly a loud honk came from behind him. “Jesus fuck — “ Y/N turns around and flips the bird aggressively at Billy.

“Where’d you go?” Y/N asks as he opens the passenger side door.

“To find someone.” Billy says nonchalantly. He isn’t as cheery as he normally would be — Y/N thought he would be happy that his team won.

Y/N stares at him. “Who?”

“Number twenty-six.” Billy mumbles around a cigarette, bringing the lighter to his lips. Y/N stares for a bit longer before it clicks.

“You — dude, did you beat him up?” Y/N looks around for the other team, sighing when he sees that they’ve already left. “Falling is part of the game, Billy.”

Billy turns to look at him. “He tackled you.” He takes a long puff from the cigarette. “I just told him to fuck off, I didn’t touch ‘em.”

Y/N groans at that, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need your protection, honey.” He pulls his jersey over his head, dumping it on top of the Camaro.

Billy glances towards him and turns into a tomato. “Did — did you bring extra clothes?”

“No,” Y/N shakes the rain out of his hair, “Just thought I’d go shirtless.”

It looks as if Billy can’t decide whether or not to look in Y/N’s direction. Glancing at him constantly, but also trying to distract himself with the cigarette.

Y/N laughs. “C’mon, take me home.”

The car ride there was energetic. Filled with laughter and praise. “I mean seriously — you should play for a national team or something.”

“I would but uh — my parents don’t care much for my soccer shit.” Y/N stares out the window. “No biggie though, I’m cool with just playing for Hawkins.”

Billy slows the car down a bit, which is surprising considering he’s broken at least 30 street laws in the span of 6 minutes. “You mean, they don’t care for your talent?”

Y/N shrugs. “Nah.” He turns to Billy, “Like I said though, I don’t really care.”

“Is that why I never see them at your games?”

“What?”

“Your parents.”

Y/N stares ahead of them. “Yeah. They’re busy.”

The car goes quiet. Billy’s going 15 in a 30. “You know,” Billy turns to him. “I think that you’re an amazing player and — person.”

“Yeah?” Y/N grins, “You think so?”

Billy slows to a stop. “Y/N, you’re — cool as hell.” Y/N starts laughing. “No — I’m serious, like — you’re the shit.”

Billy turns to him fully. “I’m sorry that your parents are fucking dickheads, and can’t see how talented, amazing, and handsom — awesome, their kid is.”

Y/N sighs a bit. “Thank you, Billy.” He looks out the window once more. “My house is actually right here.”

He opens the door and hops out, cringing at the wet seat. “Sorry — didn’t realize how sweaty I was.”

Billy glances at it and waves a hand. “It’s fine.” He gestures to Y/N’s body, “It was worth the view.”

Y/N laughs and grabs his bag. “You’re adorable, Hargrove.” He closes the door.

The window rolls down, “I’ll see you later, champ.” Billy blows him a kiss, and Y/N catches it and throws it in the trash bin on the lawn.

Billy fakes an offended look and flips him the bird as he speeds off.

Guess Y/N’s got himself a fan.

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