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ladymercury8 · 2 years

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A Vintage Love | Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington used to be your best-friend. Then he broke your heart. Then he became your kid brother's babysitter? And now you're chasing giant cat-eating lizards around Hawkins together. [3.5k]

Warnings: S2 SPOILERS! Enemies-ish to lovers. Cursing. Way too many Star Wars references.

Credits to 10 Things I Hate About You for one minor spiel.

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“Y/N!!!” Dustin yelled, fist repeatedly slamming on your bedroom door, the hinges painfully squeaking for mercy.

You sighed, pushing your headphones off and slinging them around your neck. Subtly slamming your hand against your desk before getting up, you flung the door open with a harsh, “What, doofus?! You’ll break my door down, again!”

Yet your expression and confidence faltered when you saw Steve Harrington next to him. Your childhood best friend (until he became a popular dick), your longtime crush, and your baby brother’s… babysitter?

He was wearing a wrinkled gray jacket over a navy shirt, a pair of tight light-blue jeans hugging his muscular legs – because, holy shit, he was a man, not the scraggly teenager you used to tackle.

And Steve’s heart strings tugged at seeing you after so long. The same, beautiful face. The same eyes. The same nerdy fashion style from before: an Indiana Jones shirt underneath a light vest.

❃❃❃❃❃

You and Steve had grown up together. ‘Glued by the hip’, one could say. Every waking moment was spent in the other’s presence. Walking to school. Sitting next to each other in class. Going to the movies. Lazing at his pool. Rollerblading.

It was a special bond. An affectionate one, filled with hand holding and sun-kissed cheeks; playful shoving and name-calling.

Until one fated day: the start of high school.

With teenage hormones raging, testosterone flooding every ounce of his body, reaching every receptive gland, Steve Harrington wanted recognition.

He wanted, for once in his life, to be noticed – if not by his parents, why not his generation. He wanted a name for himself, a title.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about all that. You were content with what you had, eager to join the reputed Hellfire Club, disregarding whatever labels would be stuck on to you.

And Steve was content, too. He adored you.

But he wanted more. And life bears sacrifices.

He made it perfectly clear on that first day of school, during lunch. You walked up to him, a tray in your hands and a grin on your dimpled face, only to be sneered at by Tommy and Carol.

The most painful expression beset your features as you retreated: pure heartbreak. He saw the way your hands shook when you dropped your tray on an empty table, the liquid pooling in your eyes as you bolted off.

Steve’s chest physically ached. He felt nauseous, overwhelmed. Like his body was fighting against him, trying to stop him from making a big mistake.

He ran after you. But when he heard your cries echoing from the girl’s bathroom, he felt a stake being driven through his heart. A stake made of your devastation. Piercing his taut flesh, cutting every artery and vein, rupturing the sack of cardiac muscle, dislodging itself through his back.

And so he panicked. And so he ran away.

For years, Steve had regretted losing you – losing you for some overrated popularity bullshit, primitive constructs that matter so much to insecure teenagers. And the remorse only hit harder whenever he saw you strolling the school hallways alone, or being pushed against a locker for wearing Star Wars merchandise.

If only he could turn back time.

❃❃❃❃❃

You looked expectantly at Dustin, one hand on your hip.

“There’s a baby demogorgon roaming around Hawkins, his face opened up and he ate Mews, Steve and I are gonna hunt him down, and we need your help,” Dustin rambled. Steve watched in quiet amusement at the expressions flying across your face in rapid succession: confusion, disbelief, grief.

“You’re our only hope,” Dustin added, knowing the reference would win you over.

You knew about the Upside-Down. You had helped search for Will, and then Dustin told you about everything that went down: demogorgons and other dimensions and a bald child named Eleven.

“Mews?” You whimpered out. Dustin nodded solemnly, lips pressed together. You exhaled a sigh, pressing your hand to your temple before shouting, “Son of a bitch, the fuck are you waiting for then! Let’s go! I’ll meet you in the car.” You ushered them out with your hands, at the last minute grabbing Dustin by the collar of his shirt, pulling him so that you could whisper in his ear.

“The fuck is Steve Harrington doing here?” You hissed, teeth clenched.

“I thought you two were friends,” Dustin shrugged.

“Past tense, brother dear.”

“Look, I issued a code red, alright?” Dustin gestured to his headgear. “And nobody else was available. He was my last resort.”

You gently rolled your eyes, slapping him lightly against the head, muttering a short “gimme a sec.”

You pulled on some more decent clothing: jeans, loose sweater, jacket, Nike sneakers. The bangles on your wrist jiggled, blue and green and purple like all the lightsabers of the rainbow; headphones slung around your neck.

You sprinted to the car, jumping in the back. Steve tried to forced Dustin to move, to let you have shotgun, rambling about getting some more humility and learning some manners – all to no avail.

Steve’s eyes hadn’t left you since he saw you locking the door to your house, tracing you longingly, knowingly. He knew your gait better than his own. Recognized the sneakers on your feet, the same pair you bought years ago, creased and muddy. The chain around your neck that you slept with.

“You sure you don’t want shotgun?” Steve looked in the rearview mirror at you.

“I’m good,” you smiled softly, leaning back, feet on the console. Your nose instantly scrunched up in disgust, “Jesus, Steve, it stinks. You hiding a body back here?”

The boy chuckled, scratching his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know it, Henderson.”

“It’s bait,” Dustin explained, though you were perfectly content with the banter. “And stop flirting, it’s disgusting.”

“Necrophilia, too, Harrington?” You picked up some bent and damaged roses haphazardly discarded on the back seat, continuing to egg him on much to Dustin’s dismay. A rumble of a laugh bloomed from Steve’s throat.

He really missed you.

Though you didn’t speak another word during the ride, opting to stare out the window and play with the soft rose petals while Dustin rambled on and on, Steve couldn’t keep his gaze off you. He shot fleeting glances at the mirror every few seconds, just to make sure you were still there. That he wasn’t dreaming of a vintage love.

And he suddenly thought the roses suited you much better than Nancy.

❃❃❃❃❃

You walked ahead of the boys, can in your left hand, flinging bits of meat around you with your right, headphones tightly clasped over your ears.

Behind you, the boys were having a quiet conversation that you didn’t even notice, too distracted and deafened by the music blasting in your ears.

“All right, so let me get this straight,” Steve started, confounded, chucking scraps of raw meat around, “You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl… who you just met?”

“All right, that’s grossly oversimplifying things,” Dustin defended.

“I mean, why would a girl like some nasty slug anyway?” Steve scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“An interdimensional slug?” Dustin grinned. “Because it’s awesome!”

“Well, even if she thought it was cool, which she didn’t, I… I just… I don’t know. I just feel like you’re trying way too hard.”

Dustin looked at the ground, the hint of a frown on his eyebrows. “Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?”

“It’s not about the hair, man. The key with girls is just… just acting like you don’t care.” Steve’s eyes were fixated in front of him on the tracks, on his surroundings, absentmindedly chucking meat.

“Even if you do?” Dustin asked, minor bafflement in his tone.

“Yeah, exactly,” Steve nodded. “It drives them nuts.”

“Then what?”

“You just wait until, uh… until you feel it.” Steve nudged Dustin with his elbow.

“Feel what?”

“It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh…” Steve squinted in thought, “electricity, you know?”

Dustin nodded. This was, after all, his area of expertise. “Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Steve shook his head, hair bouncing. “Like a- like a- like a sexual electricity.”

“Oh.”

“You feel that,” Steve pointed a finger, “and then you make your move.”

“So that’s when you kiss her?”

“No, woah, woah, woah! Slow down, Romeo.”

“Sorry.”

“Sure, OK, some girls, yeah, they want you to be aggressive. You know, strong, hot and heavy, like a… I don’t know, a lion.”

“Mhmmm.”

“But others, you gotta be slow, you gotta be stealthy, like a… like a ninja.”

“What type is Y/N?”

“What?!” Steve stopped dead in his tracks, turning to Dustin.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Dustin asked nonchalantly, a blend of sheepish and confident.

“And what makes you say that, Henderson?” Steve squinted at the boy, a pink dust sprinkling on his cheeks.

“I don’t know. I just remember when I was young. You came over all the time. And you always stared at her. And you were always chasing her,” Dustin counted off on his fingers.

Steve gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, feelings that never truly vanished suddenly resurfacing like a tsunami wave.

Dustin’s lips curved into an ‘o’ shape, understanding hitting him, “so that’s why you two stopped hanging out. Making her think that you don’t care. I got ya-”

“No, no. Y/N/N’s different,” Steve interrupted. “Ignoring her doesn’t win her over, that’s not why- that was my mist- She’s different than other girls.”

“Yeah, she seems pretty special, I guess.” The only image in Dustin’s head being that one Halloween when you dressed up as Chewbacca and forced him to be an ewok.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Steve affirmed, gaze resting on your figure. The light swaying of your hips and shoulders as you danced to a tune only you could hear. But damn, when did you get so curvy? And hot?

“But this girl’s special, too, you know,” Dustin added, talking about a whole different type of ‘special.’ “It’s just, like, something about her.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Hey, hey, hey.” Steve paused, arm extended.

“What?” Dustin halted at his side.

“You’re not falling in love with this girl, are you?” Steve’s eyes bore into Dustin, stern and serious.

“Uh, no. No.” Dustin shook his head vehemently.

“Come on, you two!” You yelled, turning around and seeing them a dozen feet away from you, huddled together. “Otherwise we’ll be lizard feed soon!”

Steve waved in assent and recognition, continuing to walk, still talking to Dustin, “OK, good… Don’t.”

“I won’t.”

“She’s only gonna break your heart, and you’re way too young for that shit.” Eyes glossed over. A visceral pain emerging.

A solemn expression grew on Dustin’s face, which Steve adroitly noticed. His heart softened. He remembered the same expression on your face.

“Fabergé,” Steve spoke into the silence.

“What?”

Steve pointed to his hair. “It’s Fabergé Organics. Use the shampoo and conditioner, and when your hair’s damp- it’s not wet, OK? When it’s damp…”

“Damp.”

“You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray,” Steve shyly finished.

“Farah Fawcett spray?” Dustin chortled.

“Yeah, Farah Fawcett. You tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass. You’re dead, Henderson. Do you understand?”

“Yup.”

“OK.”

The two continued walking, flinging meat.

“Farah Fawcett, really?” Dustin questioned. “Y/N uses that.”

“I mean, they’re both hot.”

Dustin shot Steve a slightly disgusted yet bemused look.

❃❃❃❃❃

The three of you emerged from the thick of the woods into an abandoned field, a few broken down vehicles scattered about including a bus. You placed the headphones around your neck, scanning your surroundings.

Having donned his sunglasses, Steve nodded while looking around. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, this will do. This will do just fine. Good call, dude.”

Dustin beamed, and you ruffled his curls before a shrill voice called out: “I said medium-well!”

It was Lucas, and next to him a red-haired young girl.

“Who’s that?” You asked, and when Dustin scowled Steve instantly understood.

Extending your hand in greeting, you quickly acquainted yourself with Max Mayfield, more commonly known as Mad Max. A few jokes later, you already liked her, and the two of you instantly got to work, collecting scraps of metal and piling them around the bus, creating a fortification. After watching you discreetly, Steve joined in. Dustin and Lucas, on the other hand, were crouched behind some car, bickering in whispers.

Strolling past, Steve hit the car with a metal chair. “Hey! Dickheads! How come the only ones helping me out are Y/N/N and this random girl? We lose light in 40 minutes. Let’s go. Let’s go, I said!”

“Alright, asshole! God!” Dustin huffed out, simultaneous with Lucas’, “OK! Stupid!”

You all started throwing metal sheets onto a pile, piling it along the bus, rolling barrels, spreading gasoline around. You couldn’t help but revel in the sight of Steve: sweaty, rubbing his forehead with his sleeve, muscles bulging against the cloth of his clothes, jeans increasingly tighter.

You strolled over to a distant hedge to search for more scraps, and at watching you walk off Dustin nudged Steve with his elbow, gesturing with his head to follow you. For all his nagging, your little shithead of a brother happened to be quite protective over you. Steve pretended to roll his eyes, but like a lovesick puppy jogged over, muttering, “alright, alright.”

“Shit,” he heard you hiss. You were crouched down, examining a trail of blood seeping from your hand.

“Hey, you alright?” Steve acknowledged the way you tensed up at his voice, breath freezing in your lungs before that gorgeous smile of yours returned, albeit subdued.

“Sharp,” you pointed to a discarded car door.

“Here, let me.” Steve unzipped his jacket, untucking his shirt and ripping a piece off, despite your vehement protests. He crouched down next to you, head low as he wrapped your hand gently. Small mumbles of “sorry” when you winced at his applied pressure to tie it off. The linger of his hand on yours, the minor sweep of his thumb over your knuckles, like a caress.

“Thanks,” you said. A silence grew. You sat on the little mound of hill, turned towards the setting sun. Steve followed, a slight distance away from you.

After a moment: “Her name’s Max, by the way.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, head turning to you, eyes meeting for the first time.

“Random girl. She’s called Max.”

“Oh, right, right.” Steve nodded, looking into the distance, squinting at the sun. Where were his sunglasses now that he needed them?

“How have you been doing?” You asked timidly, bending your knees in front of your chest and hugging them.

“Aside from chasing giant lizards, you mean?” You giggled, and Steve’s ears marveled at the music. “Yeah, not exactly how I planned to spend my week.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though.” You smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly, bangles sliding down towards your elbow.

Steve wanted to say so much: I’m sorry I ever left, I’m not that thrilled about putting you in danger, I’m an oblivious and selfish prick. But Dustin’s shouting for you to return stopped him. Steve stuck out a calloused hand, helping you up. Despite his support, you still managed to trip on a scattered pebble, falling into his chest.

“Easy,” Steve hummed. Your perfume was intoxicating. Your hair tickled his neck. “You always were clumsy, Henderson.”

“Guilty as charged,” you pushed off, surprised at the firmness of Steve’s chest. That wasn’t what middle-school-Steve felt like.

The pair of you walked into the bus. A golden sun setting behind you. A dark and scary night rising.

While Lucas was on the roof, serving as lookout with binoculars glued to his eyes, the rest of you were in the body of the bus. Max on the back seat; Dustin pacing around; you and Steve side by side on the floor. He kept flicking his lighter, an unbearable waiting tension. Palpable, hard on your chest.

“So, you really fought one of these things before?” Max broke the crisp silence.

Steve nodded.

“And you’re, like, totally 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“Shit. Don’t be an idiot, OK?” Dustin spoke, annoyed. “It wasn’t a bear. Why are you even here if you don’t believe us? Just go home.”

“Dustin!” You scolded, shooting him a shocked look, eyes wide.

Max was, naturally, taken aback. “Geesh, someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?” She crawled up the ladder, next to Lucas.

“The hell has gotten into you?” You asked him, kicking his shin with your shoe.

“Steve told me to show Max that I don’t care,” he shrugged.

“You what?!” You turned to Steve.

Steve stuttered, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, “I-I-I just.”

“That’s the advice you gave him?” You scoffed.

“I’ll be over there… somewhere,” Dustin squeezed away to the front of the trailer, peeking out of the metal holes.

“So that’s your tactic, is it? Is that why you left me, too?” Fury and sorrow taking control of your brain, your actions. You were a puppet in your mind’s hands. “This whole time, were you just pretending that you didn’t care, or did you actually not give a fuck? Because it sure as hell felt like the latter.”

“No, no, no, that’s not-”

“All I ever wanted, Steve, was for you to see me,” you confessed, whispering into the cold night air, unaware of your actions. Tears welled in your eyes, all you could see was blurry redness. Your voice choked up, suffocating.

Steve was silent for a moment. But he caught your words. They didn’t float off. They didn’t ricochet back. They were caught, embraced, and reciprocated: “I never laid eyes off of you.”

Startled, you turned to him, breath catching in your throat.

“Y/N/N, listen to me,” Steve grabbed your hands in his, gentler with the wounded one, searching for your eyes which expertly avoided his. “I made a mistake. A big mistake. Which I- I can’t take back. And I’m sorry. Alright?” You started to pull your hands away, but he gripped them tighter. “I know that means bullshit but I- look, you didn’t deserve any of it, OK? And the advice? It’s shit advice. Cause you’re not like other girls. You’re special. And I’m a blind dumbass. And I care fo- screw it, I love you… too damn much.”

Chest huffing, jaw trembling, the odd tear falling down your cheek, Steve’s calloused thumb rubbing it away before it could slide over the bump of your cheekbone. You finally brought your eyes to his - his dark brown forests of sincerity and pain.

“I love you, too, Steve Harrington,” you voiced. “I always have. But I also hate you.” Your jaw trembled. “I hate everything about you: the way your hair is always so goddamn perfect, the way you make me laugh… and the fact that you broke my heart.”

He went to interrupt you, but you placed your finger against his lips. “A-and most of all, Harrington, I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not at all. After everything, not even a little bit.”

You moved your finger away. It felt like a weight had fallen off your chest, but had somehow latched itself to your foot, pulling you down into an endless chasm. Fat tears cascading down your cheeks. Drowning you.

Until Steve cut the silence.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

You swallowed, eyelashes wet, emotions rampaging. The adrenaline of confessions erupting.

“Then do it.”

In one swift movement Steve cupped your neck, pulling you against him. You were on your knees, practically straddling him, palms flat against his firm chest. His lips desperately found yours, years of sorrow and loneliness forcefully emerging.

His fingers dug into your skin, your nails latched onto the fabric of his jacket. Neither of you wanted to lose the other. To let go even for a second. For fear that the other would fall into the void, travel to another galaxy, get lost in the vacuum of space.

Pulling away, you brought your forehead to Steve’s, eyes locked together, panting breaths hitting each other. His fingers traced your hairline, the contours of your face, your neck. His jacket bunched in your tight fists.

“Don’t you ever leave me again. I swear on my mother, I’ll kill you, Harrington,” you spoke under your breath, stance not faltering.

Steve flashed his lopsided grin, “If I do, I’ll hand you the gun before going.”

“It’ll probably be your nail-bat,” you giggled, scanning his face. The curve of his nose, the moles scattered like raindrops, the waves of hair.

His expression turned serious, nose bumping against your own as he whispered against your lips: “I won’t. I promise. I love you.”

“I know,” you couldn’t help from saying.

“Ahhh! My eyes!” Dustin yelled from the front, shielding his face with his arms. “Son of a bitch, Steve!”

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Thanks for reading! x