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rustedhearts · 8 months

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crush (college!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: academic distraction comes in the form of one tall, handsome brunet named steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the scholar stud masterlist ✶ main masterlist

tags: college!steve, college!reader, fluff, a little cringe sometimes, steve's a cocky douche, smut!! silly ending because i just wanted to finish it.

a/n: why, yes. the notorious college steve has returned for this one day. i hope you enjoy his rebirth.

somewhere in indiana, october 1988. tillman university.

"And that concludes today's class. Folks, don't forget the exam tomorrow, bright and early eight a.m—"

The shuffle of notebooks and folders being swept from plastic desks drowned out the bellow of Professor Brown's instructions as the class scurried to leave. Everyone knew the pub just on the edge of campus was hosting 'Beer Olympics' tonight, and most of your classmates couldn't risk losing out on even one moment in that sticky, wood-paneled bar.

Including the handsome, silky-haired Steve Harrington, who sat in front of you and chewed on his pen for the entire hour of English 231: British Literature. At first, the incessant clicking of teeth against plastic and ink drove you insane.

But once, he whirled around when the cap went flying and landed on your desk, and the smile he passed you seemed sweet and bashful. The rosiness on his cheeks pretty, the hazel of his eyes against the fluorescents dreamy. He started murmuring to you during class discussions, begging for explanations on 'what the hell that Shakespeare guy was talking about.'

Steve Harrington might've shared a love for the stupid and the insane like the rest of the population on Tillman's campus, but he had the good grace to display it such a wonderful way that you didn't even mind.

You shuffled back to your dorm, bundled in a scarf and wool-lined coat, prepared to settle cozily into bed and study for tomorrow's test—your roommate, however, had other ideas.

"I need you to come with me," she whined as you removed your layers and tossed them on the bed. "This is my one chance for James to see how hot I am."

A cackle shot from your mouth, though you softened to pity as your roommate's shoulders drooped. James was her very own Steve: handsome, a year or two her senior, and a complete academic distraction. Her attempts to get his attention have lengthened weeks now, but all to no avail.

"I don't know...I have an exam tomorrow—"

"Oh, God, please," she groaned, falling back on her bed across the room. The springs yipped. "Chaucer is more important than the state of my love life?"

"What is the state of your love life?"

"Dead!"

You bit back a grin, swallowing all amusement when your roommate rolled onto her side and frowned at you. Like a little sister begging to be included, she rounded her eyes and jutted her lip.

"C'mon, please?" she whined. "You can bring your stuff to study, I'm sure there's a quiet corner. They have food, too! Come on, I'll buy you shitty bar wings!"

Eyeing her weepy, desperate eyes and your piles of highlighted notes, you mulled over the options with half-hearted sincerity. You were 95% sure you would ace this exam tomorrow, and the study session was for 'just in case.' Who were you to stand in the way of your roommate's apparent true love?

"And onion rings," you added.

Bouncing into a seated position, your roommate beamed and clapped her hands together sharply. "Anything."

✶ ✶

"Okay, here." Two plastic baskets of sticky barbecue wings and crispy, golden onion rings slid your way across a poorly-cleaned wooden hightop. "Are you good by yourself over here? I saw James by the pool table."

Grinning like a toddler with a treat, you reached for a wing with gentle fingers and nodded. "Yep, I'm perfect. Go get your man!"

Relief flooded her features, all dolled up and sparkly. She popped a quick kiss to your cheek and spun around, sweeping a hand over her hair to tame the frizz.

"Okay, I'm going in."

You watched her trot away in heels she could barely squeeze into with a giggle. She eased her way into a group of people near the pool table, lingering close enough to the blond-haired James without seeming desperate. You'd seen your roommate dizzy-headed around plenty of men before, but James turned her into something else.

The corner she found you was as quiet as a bar corner could be at eight o'clock on the night of a campus-wide event. Purses and backpacks piled in the corner of your booth, potently scented with sweet perfume and cigarette smoke. The lights were low back here, and most of your notes came scanned in the neon blue glow of the Budweiser sign hanging behind your head. Once your eyes adjusted to the hue, and the rowdy buzz of your peers faded away, you honestly found enjoyment in your little corner.

Until—

"Well hello, Oh studious one," a voice bellowed over the noise. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Steve Harrington, handsome, pink-cheeked, and a little bleary-eyed, sauntered toward your table with a beer in hand. He bent over your textbook, elbows creasing the onion skin pages, and flashed you a sideways grin. You thanked the blue lights for concealing the heat in your face.

"I'm quite surprising."

He chuckled, condensation dripping from the amber bottle in hand when he pointed the mouth of it toward the contents of your table. "And you're...reading. At a bar."

You clicked your pen, swiping a lukewarm onion ring from its basket. "I'm studying for our test tomorrow."

Steve lifted his gaze from the book, returning it to your face—his own blank and thoughtless. He's slow to lift the lip of the beer bottle to his mouth, and the swig he takes comes with furrowed brows.

The bottle pops away with a sharp release of suction. "Test?"

Giggling, you slap your hand onto your book. "Are you serious? Professor Brown just told us about it, like, four hours ago."

Steve straightened up, removing himself from your book. A large hand swept over the top of his hair, darkened with dampness from the exertion of Beer Olympic seriousness.

"Ohhh, that test," he snarked. "The test on...."

He trailed so far you worried he'd get lost, and as you tipped your chin down and fixed him with an incredulous look, you had mercy on him. "Chaucer."

Steve blinked again, eyes as glazed over and empty as a doe's. "Who?"

You succumbed to your amusement, a chorus of giggles bubbling over. "You're helpless."

Steve shrugged, cheek meeting his shoulder with an air of coolness. His body tipped sideways, one elbow returning to its place on your wrinkled pages to lean his weight on the table.

"Maybe so."

You took a small bite of your onion ring, which had lost all its crisp, and took your turn to blink blankly. But the boy was patient, knuckles rapping on the table in an offbeat tune as you lingered in the pause. Finally, overcome by his own impatience, Steve set his bottle on the table and slid even closer. You could feel the warmth of his body, exuding alcohol-laced sweat and a back alley cigarette soaked into the dampness of his t-shirt. Black cotton, thinned with sweat, drenched in leathery cologne applied hours ago.

"Maybe...you could help me then," he suggested, tone sauced with boyish charm.

Heat flooded your face like a dam bursting, rushing like a hot-blooded throb. You shifted on the sticky booth, boots clunking together beneath the table. The bits of soggy breading balled in your throat.

"I—" You swallowed, hands gripping the booth beneath you with urgency. "I-t-that could—"

Steve plucked his beer bottle from the table, sliding a step away from the table. His friends crowded around the pool table, where your roommate and her very own version of Steve were pressed against the wall, murmuring in close proximity.

"So, tomorrow?" He took another shuffled step back, a glint in his eye like he already knew his work was done.

He had you.

You swallowed again, tongue darting out to wet your dry mouth. "But...the test will be over by then."

Steve cupped his hand around his ear, eyes squinting as you grew smaller with every step back. "What? I can't—you're so far away! I can't hear you."

Amusement glimmered through, shattering your stunned stupor and bringing you back to life. Another mindless giggle tumbled from your mouth, and Steve savored it as he turned just enough to miss your pretty face.

"See you tomorrow!" he called.

You watched the plain of his broad back make its way into the crowd again, falling into a chorus of hoops and hollers and flushed, sticky bodies. You watched him douse himself in beer from a poorly-crafted beer bong held by a sloppy drunk. You watched him until you felt like a giddy schoolgirl, and did your best to return to your work and wait to take your leave.

And Steve stole glances when he knew you were no longer looking, hoping you'd really show.

✶ ✶

"I can't believe this is happening."

"I'm already nervous enough, please stop saying that."

"I'm sorry!" your roommate shrieked, hands slapping against her cheeks as she watched you fix your hair for the millionth time in the mirror on the floor. "I just...I just can't."

"Okay, but you can tell me if my outfit is good. Is it-is it okay? What does it say to you?"

You hopped to your feet, whirling around to show your carefully crafted outfit. You spent all night holding your roommate's hair back and pondering over your outfit in your head; daydreaming about what Steve would say once he had you in his dorm room, which he slipped by your table with beer-laced instructions to meet him at when the night dwindled down.

Now here you were, clammy palmed and losing your mind. Was this some sort of trick? A dare? Was he playing a joke on you?

“It says: ‘I want Steve Harrington to fuck me.’ But in a very chic, understated way.”

Huffing, you did your best to ignore the swirl in your belly at the thought of Steve mirroring your roommate’s beliefs.

“I’m leaving. You’re no help,” you half-heartedly scolded, swiping your bag on the way toward the door.

But if Steve Harrington wanted to fuck you, you certainly had no objections.

He had a sloppily scrawled sign on his dorm room door declaring it his place of residence (and whoever the hell Eddie Munson was). You swallowed as you brought your knuckles to the wood, smoothing your hair once more as footsteps shuffled behind it. It swung open with a gust of warm, woodsy air. His cologne filled the room like a potent candle, and you took a brief moment to suppress a cough before taking in his smooth, half cocked grin.

“Hey, pretty,” he drawled, leaning against the doorway with crossed arms.

Huffing a laugh, you fiddled with the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “Hi, Steve.”

Steve took a moment to drink you in, tongue inching between his lips to wet it as he shuffled back a step. His hand pushed the door open all the way, revealing a recently-cleaned bedroom adorned with two double-twins and a desk warm with amber lamplight. You immediately knew which posters were his—all sports related and signed.

“Come on in, get comfy.”

You took tiny steps inside, shivering when he breezed by in another whoosh of air to close the door behind you. The heat of his body, lingering close behind as you inspected the room, nipped at that gooey, mushy part of you that ached for him. The same part of you that rendered you a distracted, brainless mess in class when he spoke or flexed that strong arm with a grip around his pen.

“Thirsty?”

Whirling around, you found Steve standing near the desk, watching you with fixed and glinting hazel eyes.

Your face warmed twenty degrees. “Sorry?”

He motioned toward a mini fridge under the desk, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Something to drink?”

You breathed a laugh, swinging your bag off your shoulder. “Oh, um, sure.”

You had to look away when he bent to pull it open, the strain of tendons and cords of muscle in his tan, lean arms enough to make your mouth pool with water. Christ, you were ridiculous. You turned toward the dark, black fabric-clad side of the room where his roommate must’ve lived.

“So, um, the test was pretty easy this morning, but we can still—“

“Look at you. God, you’re so beautiful.”

The cold condensation of a Coke can pressing against your arm was the first to startle you—whirling around with a sharp-edged gasp. Then the sound of his words, rasped behind your ear, bringing goosebumps to your skin. His body, so close you could feel his warmth, smell the mint on his freshly-brushed teeth.

Standing this close, you could feel his breath tickle your cheeks, could see the shiny sheen of spit on his mouth from his tongue.

"W-what?"

Steve just shook his head, a dumfounded wonderment glistening in his eye. "You heard me."

Your jaw slackened, lips parting to utter some stupefied response, mind turning to soupy mush at the sudden proximity. Before you could even attempt some silly, bashful disagreement, Steve collected your chin in his hand. Pinched between gentle fingers, he guided your mouth up to his own until their softness touched.

The Coke can clattered to the ground and rolled toward the desk as his mouth closed over yours. You perked on your toes, fingers curling into fists as they lifted toward his shoulders, broad and firm. You couldn't believe this was happening. You always thought he tossed you looks during class, that he might've lingered a little too long when he walked to his desk just to watch you sit there.

You never imagined it could be true. That Steve Harrington wanted you the way you wanted him.

“You could’ve,” an interruption of kisses stopped you short, the click of spit and lips echoing off cinderblock, “at least…mm, pretended—oh! T-to study.”

“Couldn’t wait,” Steve mumbled against your mouth, teeth scraping your bottom lip, breath hot against your tongue.

Arousal flushed hot in your body, stomach squeezing in time with the fluttered successions of excitement provoked by his roaming hands. They stroked down your arms and toward your waist, slipping through the curves to hold you firmly. Another gasp bled into his open mouth when he tugged you close.

"This is so much better than Chaucer," he breathed, mouth sliding over your lips to your cheek where he pressed a firm and sloppy kiss.

"Mhm," you pipped dazedly, head tipping to follow his affections.

Thighs bumping the edge of the bed, you allowed Steve to guide you onto the black duvet of the mattress behind you. It rumpled with the hurried shuffle of bodies climbing over. Steve tugged you by the calves when you met the pillow, pulling you flat beneath him. He dipped with eager excitement to collect another kiss as your thighs bookended his hips.

"Test was already graded," Steve muttered, nudging your jaw with his nose to move it aside and fit his head in your neck. "Got...mm...eighty-five."

Heaving for air, you ruffled your fingers through the thickness of his hair: soft and slipping between your hands like silk. Blinded by the tingling buzz reverberating through your bones, you could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence aloud. Steve's lips suctioned to the column of your throat, and your body gave a jolt.

"Th-thought you didn't know anything."

Steve chuckled, and the sound grumbled through you like a firework. You gave another jerk, fingers twisting in his hair, hips canting up against the firmness of his jeans.

"M' not stupid," he mumbled into your neck, nipping with gentle teeth at your earlobe. "Just so distracted. Can't stop thinkin' 'bout you behind me."

"Oh, Steve," you scoffed, eyes opening blearily to blink at the tiled ceiling, browned with old water stains. His hair tickled your cheek, cologne bathing you in masculine comfort.

Steve lifted his head, peering down at you with rosy cheeks and swollen lips. "You don't believe me?"

You let your hands fall from his hair, smoothing over the firmness of his shoulders. The stretch of your thighs around him began to burn in the most delicious way, and the tufts of chest hair slipping from his grey t-shirt made you shift on the bed. You wanted him. Like a mad woman, some nymphomaniac, lust-ridden fiend.

"I don't know," you sighed, running a finger down his chest. "Let's just...talk about it later."

Steve watched you a moment, eyes scanning your face with scrutiny. When heat swelled in your flesh, his lips coiled into a grin, eyes alight with amusement.

"Ohhh, I see. Poor little baby just can't wait. Y' want me, pretty girl?"

You bobbed your head fervently, the beginning of a pout even toying with your lips. He rendered you ridiculous and stupid, and later, you might've even felt embarrassed about how easy it was for Steve Harrington to have you whining.

But right now, all you cared about were his hands, big and rough and warm to the touch, taking off your shirt.

"Don't worry, honey," Steve cooed breathlessly, eyes traveling to the newly exposed flesh. "You've got me."

As his hands explored and grabbed at flesh, your own slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, splaying over the soft skin beneath. He was quick to shed himself of the layer, and you did your best to admire the build revealed as he trailed kisses between your breasts. He led them all the way down to your navel, and then over the curve of flesh leading to the waistband of your pants. Steve hooked his fingers in the belt loops and tugged harshly, practically ripping them from your thighs and down over your feet.

He captured his lip between his teeth as he settled between your legs again, fingers pinching and kneading at the flesh like soft dough. "And I've got you. Ain't that right?"

You grew dizzy with your nodding, so petulantly desperate and pleading. Steve grinned at it, index tracing the lace of your underwear with explorative wonderment as he watched your eyes well up. He was certain if he prolonged your pleasure any more, he'd have you weeping.

"Don't cry, honey," he soothed, peeling your panties off by the lace band. "Steve's gotcha."

In the back of your mind, you rolled your eyes and giggled at the ridiculous confidence Steve seemed to think he could get away with—but in reality, you were too busy lifting your hips to meet Steve's fingers, brushing just gently over your core as he undid his belt with the other hand. The buckle clinked and clunked with a toss, clattering to the tile floor somewhere near Steve's side of the room, where your backpack and all its contents spilled in the erotic chaos of Steve's impatience.

When the pair of you were bare, Steve breached the distance—flesh on flesh exuding heat that glistened in a haloed sheen. His mouth worked over yours a while longer, melting you down just a little more into absolutely nothing. Hands coaxing your limbs to release their tensions, your muscles to relax and ease into him. You trusted him more than anything, warmed by his gentle affections. No man had ever been so sweet and slow.

The crinkle of foil came like tv static, muffled and low. And then something larger than his fingers was brushing your core, slipping through the slickness pooling. He rubbed the tip along your most sensitive, delicate spot just enough to have you whimpering and twisting, before sliding into your entrance with slow, meticulous purpose.

Steve groaned as he pushed further, forearms planted on either side of your head. Your thighs quaked against his ribs, hoisted high and holding on tight. You reached for his hair again, desperate for more of him.

"You okay, honey?" Steve mumbled against your cheek, fanning hot breath into your ear.

You shivered at the grumble of his voice rattling through you, nodding once more. "Y-yeah. Keep going, please."

He huffed a chuckle, shifting his hips to push a little deeper and revel in the gasp you shot out.

"Please," he mocked, kissing your damp cheek. "So sweet."

When he sank in completely, you could've sworn you saw the light. A burning sting that had you writhing crawled through your thighs and up your back, settled even deep in your stomach where the thickness of him rested. He nuzzled into your neck with a low grunt of relief, giving you the space of his back to run your fingers down and kiss mindlessly. Steve seemed to be no better, losing himself in the warmth of your body wrapped around him.

"Steve, please."

Your voice stirred him from his hazy, lust-drunk stupor; he quickly readjusted to lift off his arms.

"Shh, shh, 've got you."

Like revving an engine, Steve gave a few short thrusts before settling into a pace of slow, deep humps that came like timed successions. You gasped and groaned with every one, nails biting into the warm, clammy skin of his shoulders. Once he knew you were satisfied and free of discomfort, Steve took his moment to brush your hair out of your face with a heavy, sweeping palm. He peppered kisses all over your face, delicate brushes of his mouth over your eyelids and nose, firmer across your mouth and cheeks.

Who knew Steve Harrington would be so sweet?

“Knew you’d feel so good,” he whined into your ear, pace quickening a bit with eagerness.

“So good,” you parroted, a high pitched and nasally lilt congealing your voice.

But he was just that good.

The room quieted to a blend of slick skin clicking and the bated, hoarse breaths of erotic thrill. You weren’t sure how long it truly went on, but the world just fell away around you. Blackened in a vignette of vision, hazed over with heavenly satisfaction. Your body buzzed in some muffled, distant way—you felt like just a mind in a body, being taken away. It was hard to focus on anything other than Steve, rocking into you and leaving kisses on your neck.

When your hiccuped breath shifted to sharp mewls, clawed from somewhere deep in your chest, Steve reared back and steadied his hands on your hips. He slowed to a glacial pace, watching his own cock prod at the flesh beneath your navel, your own slickness gather at his pelvis. He brought his thumb to your clit, pressing firmly into the delicate nub to focus a gentle, circular massage. You twisted and writhed like a woman enraged with demonic possession, and your grip on his forearms felt like something out of The Exorcist.

But it was all worth it to watch your face balloon with heat, flooding every vein with scorching pleasure until air became nothing but a lifeline. Steve was glad to even press pause on his own pleasure just to see you summit. Your chest trembled with a quaking roar, limbs succumbing to weakness in the daze. Vision clouded with grey static, streaked with a pool of tears.

When you were positively spent, Steve carefully unsheathed, squeezing his fist around his cock with firm pressure and bringing it to hover over your stomach.

“This okay, sweetheart?” he managed to grit out, neck bulging with veins, cheeks growing red.

You could barely nod, swiping your hand through the thin layer of sweat along his arm. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh God—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Warmth splattered across your abdomen, like a gentle flicker of water across your skin. The squelching sound of Steve fucking his fist died down, mirroring the dwindle of moans and groans from the boy himself. He fell forward heavily, catching himself with one hand beside your head. His nose brushed your cheek, catching his breath against the clammy skin.

“Christ,” he heaved, jutting a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “We owe Chaucer a big one.”

Before you could giggle or scoff, the door swung open with a chittering screech. Steve scrambled to grab the comforter and shield your bare, sticky bodies, both your heads snapping toward the doorway as a shaggy-haired boy stomped through: his roommate.

“Harrington, what the fuck?”

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1K notes · View notes

katyswrites · 3 months

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, HEAVY alcohol use, recreational weed use, getting drunk/blacking out, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.7k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 2

You don’t truly decide to go to Steve’s stupid party until the last possible moment. You already know that spending more time with him than necessary is a recipe for disaster. But, you reason, you probably should show your face. It actually does seem like nearly everyone from the campus’ music scene would be there - it would look bad if you didn’t show up. The radio station’s funding is always on the chopping block - half of your job is networking and being friendly with practically everyone on campus to keep it alive.

Still, as you start getting ready, you consider backing out about 50 times. Is Steve actually expecting you to show up? Is it a pity invite? Or, a challenge?

Knowing him, it’s probably the latter.

Throughout the course of getting ready - which mostly involved throwing on some makeup while intermittently feeling like you had nothing to wear every time you looked in your closet full of clothes - you chugged a bottle of wine to help yourself relax. It had been on the door of the fridge, so God knows how long it had been there, but it’s good enough. Then you’re out the door and catching a bus downtown, shivering a bit in the crisp October evening air. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you hop on board, forever thankful that university students get to ride the city’s buses for free.

It’s packed full of other college kids, mostly freshmen undoubtedly on their way to frat parties downtown. You had outgrown that phase after sophomore year, opting for friends’ house parties and going out to bars as you got older. You can’t help but look at them fondly - somehow, despite being peers in all the ways that matter, you feel so far removed from them; the girls in their mini dresses and crop tops, boys carrying six-packs and sporting unbuttoned flannel shirts, loudly packed onto the bus like sardines on their way downtown to make bad decisions.

Hamilton Street is in the heart of the downtown area, where a lot of students live. You hop off the bus with nearly everyone else, droves of kids filling the streets, chugging beers and smoking cigarettes as they make their way to various frat houses. You follow the groups, the other students slowly peeling away until it’s much quieter - it seems like Steve’s place is one of the last ones on the block.

You had purposely left late enough so that you could guarantee you wouldn’t be in the first wave of people to arrive - it was closer to 11 than 10 at this point. The autumn evening air was chilly enough that you’re walking briskly, jacket pulled tightly around your shoulders. You nearly turn around approximately six times between the bus stop and his house - yet, against all odds, you find yourself standing on his front porch.

Like most student rentals, the house is old and a bit rickety - you can hear the din of chatter and music inside. A good sign, you suppose - part of you had been worried he’d purposely given you the wrong address. You wouldn’t put it past him, not when it comes to you.

You take a deep breath, and open the door. The smell of beer, weed, and sweat hits you like a wave. The small living room is hazy with smoke, the house immediately a bit too warm from body heat. A few heads look up as you enter, followed by an uproar of greetings.

Look who decided to show up!

Hey babe!

Everyone hide, mom’s here!

You roll your eyes, laughing.

“I do have fun sometimes, guys.”

“Oh, I know,” a familiar voice says, Eddie lifting himself off of the couch to give you a big hug.

“I was there at that party freshman year when you nearly fell off of Mikayla Hodder’s roof-”

“Shut up,” you say, face flushed with embarrassment at the (fuzzy) memory.

“Can I get you a drink?” the shaggy-haired boy asks.

You nod, following him back through the house towards the kitchen. You shoulder your way through bodies, saying the occasional hello when someone you recognize catches your eye.

Eddie is rooting through the fridge, pulling out a beer and extending it to you. You accept it gratefully, pushing the fridge closed with your hip as he leans against the counter.

“So…I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” Eddie remarks, popping his bottle cap off with an opener screwed into the wall.

“And why’s that?” you ask casually.

“Well… I mean, please tell me you know whose house this is -”

“Of course I do,” you say quickly, taking a swig of beer. “Harrington invited me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Really?”

You nod. “Is that so unbelievable?”

He just shrugs, staring down at his bottle.

“Dunno. I know he’s not exactly your favorite person -”

“Maybe so, but a lot of my friends are here, so… who's to stop me?”

Eddie grins, clinking his drink with yours.

“There you go - I was hoping you’d come out, to be honest. Sometimes I’m worried you don’t let yourself have fun anymore.”

You scoff.

“I - I have fun.”

“You used to. This year, though, you’d been so…”

“So what?” you ask defensively.

Eddie’s face starts to turn a bit red.

“Well - you know - I know you’re stressed and all, managing the station, but… you can be a little…uptight.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not uptight -”

“Look, trust me - I’m saying that with love, as your friend -”

“Yeah, whatever - I can be fun.”

“I know - I’ve been there with you through it all. Just… I’m glad you came. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

You don’t really respond, crossing your arms as you glance around the kitchen a bit.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“No one,” you respond absentmindedly.

Eddie smirks.

“Yeah - okay.”

Steve is nowhere to be found. Perhaps that’s a blessing - it’s busy enough here that you ma be able to avoid having a conversation all night.

It’s around then that Eddie’s bandmate Gareth is stumbling into the kitchen, stopping himself for a moment before breaking into a grin when he sets eyes on you and Eddie.

“Thank God - me and Jeff need someone for pong!”

That’s how you find yourself partnered with Eddie, letting yourself forget about Steve as you play beer pong. You’re a competitive person, and arguably more so when you’re drunk - that’s how you and Eddie kick ass two rounds in a row, leading a fed up Gareth to declare the game totally bogus before storming out to the back porch to smoke with Jeff.

You high-five Eddie on your way back to the kitchen to grab another drink. You’re properly tipsy now, probably on your fourth drink in less than 2 hours. Your tolerance did used to be better than this - maybe Eddie was right, about you not being as fun as you used to.

The kitchen is empty, which you’re thankful for - it’s tiny to begin with, so more than a handful of people makes it feel cramped. You’re a bit hot, working up enough of a sweat during the game that you had shed your jacket already. The refrigerator light is nearly blinding in the dimness of the room, but the cold gives enough of a relief that you bend over and lean into the fridge. You hang there for a moment, sighing. In the distance, you hear the sound of a glass breaking, followed by a series of aw, mans - you decide it’s not your problem to worry about, and stay there another moment. You then root through the fridge for a moment until you find a bottle of something you like.

You slam the door shut and turn to head back towards the rest of the party, only to nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you’re not alone.

Steve Harrington leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and wearing a smirk.

“Jesus - you scared me. Why the fuck are you just standing there like that?”

He shrugs.

“Just enjoying the view, sweetheart.”

You scoff, popping the cap off of your bottle and heading right towards him, hoping he’d move out of the way to let you through. That, of course, is wishful thinking.

“Can I get through?” you ask, bristling as he blocks the doorway.

“You decided to come,” Steve says, looking down at you with a grin.

“Well, you did invite me.”

“I know - I’m glad you actually showed up, though.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you mutter sarcastically, shouldering past him and back towards the living room.

Eddie’s lounging on the couch, eyelids heavy as he passes a joint between himself and Argyle.

“Got enough to share?” you ask, plopping down next to him. He nods, passing it over to you. You take a long hit, letting the smoke settle into your lungs as you sink further into the couch.

“You good?” Eddie asks.

“Mm, yeah. Just want to chill here for a little bit.”

He nods, paying you no mind as he takes a deep inhale. Your eyes follow Steve as he crosses the room and heads out to the front porch with a girl you don’t recognize. You feel your brow furrow, your eyes trained on the front door. It’s not too long after that that you manage to help Eddie finish the joint. You chug your beer, starting to feel lightheaded, the world around you moving a bit more slowly.

You fall into a comfortable crossfaded lull there for a while, with Robin Buckley eventually placing a beer can in the middle of the table and calling for a game of Kings as she shuffles a deck of cards.

You open another beer as she does, sitting forward a bit to half-heartedly play the game. You find yourself getting stuck taking a drink quite a few times, your reflexes slow and your wits not quite about you. A few more people filter in, sitting criss-crossed around the coffee table and pulling cards from the deck and doing what it dictates.

“Six is chicks!” Eddie cries out, flashing his six-of-spades card to the group. You roll your eyes as you take yet another drink, reaching to grab your own card as Eddie sticks his under the can’s pull tab.

You glance at it, and giggle.

“Jack - what’s Jack again?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Robin says, holding up three fingers. Everyone follows suit, and you think for a minute to start it off.

“Okay, um… never have I ever done a drug harder than weed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie asks.

“What do you think it means?”

“Alcohol is technically more powerful of a drug than pot,” Steve pipes up across the table - when did he get here?

“Shut up Harrington, you know what I mean -”

“Yeah, like acid and coke and shit,” Argyle adds.

“Well fuck,” Eddie concedes, putting a finger down.

You laugh, expecting nothing less of him. It goes around the circle for a bit - things ranging from never have I ever broken a bone to never have I ever had a threesome, followed by a series of laughs or groans as people put down fingers and down drinks. You only have one finger left by the time it gets to Steve.

He thinks for a moment, humming to himself as he does - you can’t help but think that there isn’t much he hasn’t done. After a few more seconds pass, he smirks, and locks eyes with Robin.

“Never have I ever hooked up with someone in the vinyl closet at the station.”

“Not fair,” Robin exclaims, smacking Steve on the arm. He laughs as his friend lays into him. She’s blushing, and officially out of the game. She glares daggers at him as she takes a drink.

You can’t help but notice that Steve gets quite a few people with that - Eddie being one of them, caught in a cascade of groans and fingers getting put down. You feel your mouth fall open in disbelief.

“Whoa, wait - is everyone fucking around in the vinyl library?”

Robin stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then laughs.

“Wait, seriously? You didn’t know that?”

You feel your face flush with embarrassment, all eyes on you.

“Well - um, no, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Eddie just grins, and gives you a playful pat on the back.

“You seriously don’t know your own radio station at all, huh?”

“I - I guess I’m not that surprised that someone has, but - all of you?”

“Not all,” Steve chimes in.

“Yeah, wait - how have you not?” Robin asks.

Steve just shrugs. “I don’t know… I have things like, I don’t know - a bed, in my own home, for starters.”

Robin rolls her eyes. You meet Steve’s eyes for a moment, and quickly look away.

You stick the Jack card in the pile under the beer can’s pull-tab - only to hear a pop followed by a hiss.

“Uh oh, Madame President broke the seal!” Eddie declares, pushing it towards you. “Looks like somebody’s got to shotgun it.”

You take it begrudgingly and stare at it for a moment.

“I need to borrow someone’s keys,” you finally say, earning some whoops and hollers from the group. The last thing you vividly remember is popping a hole in the can, and downing the whole beer in a manner of 30 seconds.

******

You blink awake groggily - enough sunlight permeates through the curtains that you know it must be morning. You groan, your mouth dry and tasting distinctly of alcohol. A turn over towards your bedside table makes your stomach feel all wobbly - fuck.

You reach for your alarm clock, squinting at it - nevermind. It’s not morning - more like the afternoon. Well into the afternoon.

A pit of dread settles into your gut - when did you get home? How long were you asleep? You never sleep this late, not even on weekends - a late lie-in for you is 11 AM. You’re definitely in your own bed, which is a positive - still in last night’s clothes, though. How?

You don’t remember much after the game of Kings - though, you were definitely doing shots at some point… with who? You remember being in someone’s car - maybe. Or was it the bus again? If you actually managed getting the bus home while blackout drunk, you’re actually quite proud of yourself. But that somehow doesn’t seem too likely.

You pulled yourself to sit up, only to immediately regret it. Your stomach is now churning like a stormy sea, and your head is starting to throb. You’re an idiot.

You hadn’t gotten drunk like that since your freshman year - it was a rookie mistake. You just hoped you didn’t make a complete idiot out of yourself in front of everyone.

After finally pulling yourself out of bed, you stumble over to your bedroom window and open the curtains. The bright afternoon sunlight hitting your face made you realize what a horrid mistake that was - you’re practically blinded by the light, and your head is properly pounding now. And now…

You barely make it to the bathroom in time, keeling over the toilet to puke up all of last night’s mistakes. The second your knees hit the cold tile floor, you begin coughing everything up, regretting anything and everything you’ve ever done to lead you to this moment. You don’t even hear Nancy approach behind you, not even aware of her presence until you’ve flushed and fall back against the wall, feeling disgusting.

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling, but it feels like a stupid question,” she says, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed.

You glance up at your roommate, feeling so small.

“Ha ha,” you say sarcastically. She offers a hand to help you up, which you accept gratefully. She waits until you’re hunched over the sink, brushing your teeth and gargling water to clean the taste of sick out of your mouth, to speak again.

“So - it was a fun night?” she asks cautiously.

You laugh dryly. “Um, yeah, I guess the night was fun. Right now… not so much.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Nancy coos teasingly. “You’ll be alright - just chill out today, yeah?”

“Mm - yeah, that’s the plan. I think I’m going to take a shower… and lie down for a little.”

Nancy nods. “Yeah, good idea - maybe I can go down to Blockbuster, rent a couple of movies, get some snacks?”

You offer up a small smile. “That’s nice, but you really don’t have to -”

“No seriously, it’s fine, I think they have some new stuff I want to check out anyways. I don’t have plans anyway - let’s just do a girls’ day, maybe get takeout later -”

“Sounds great, Nance. Thanks. Maybe hold off on takeout, for a bit… let me see how all of this feels,” you say, gesturing to your stomach.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll head out - take a nice, long shower, it always helps.”

“Sure thing - and hey, I don’t know who called you, but thanks for coming to get me last night.”

Nancy furrows her brow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I - didn’t you bring me home last night?”

Nancy shakes her head.

“No - no, I was asleep. I think I heard the door open at some point, but I assumed that was just you coming home - you don’t remember?”

You shake your head, properly confused now.

“No - I don’t. I - think maybe I took the bus back then?”

“I thought they stop running those after like 2AM? I didn’t hear you get home until around 3, I think.”

She’s right - then how did you get back?

You bite your lip, thinking for a bit.

“Maybe it was Eddie. I’ll call him and ask.”

Nancy nods. “Alright, yeah. Either way, you got back safe. Sorry about the hangover, though.”

You wave her off. “It’s my own fault - I went too hard last night. I’m just going to try to sleep it off, I guess.”

After Nancy leaves, you take a nice, long shower - you feel utterly disgusting, still in last night’s sweaty clothes and smudged makeup. You let last night’s bad decisions cascade down your skin and into the drain, sighing as the shower semi-revives you.

By the time you’re out and drying off, your stomach has settled a bit more. The headache has only gotten a bit worse, though. You open the medicine cabinet, only to find the bottle of Ibuprofen missing. Did Nancy use it and forget to put it back? You don’t want to go rifling through her room, so you trudge back to your bedroom, praying she can find it when she gets back.

Pulling on a baggy t-shirt and pajama shorts, you reach for the phone on your bedside table - you punch in Eddie’s number, sitting on the edge of your bed as you twirl the cord with your finger. He picks up almost straight away.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie - it’s me.”

“Whoa! She lives!” he cries out, laughing. You wince.

“Can you not yell, please?”

“Uh oh - are you feeling a little… delicate?”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, falling back onto your mattress.

“I’m only teasing -”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen - did I make an idiot out of myself?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Uh - I remember playing Kings… and not a ton after that. I remember little things here and there, but… were we dancing?”

“You were dancing. On the kitchen table, if I remember.”

You groan, letting your head fall into your free hand.

“Oh God -”

“It’s all good, listen - people thought it was fun, I swear.”

“Yeah, if you say so… did I throw up?”

Silence on the other end.

“Oh fuck -”

“Only actually in the toilet, though - well, someone’s Solo cup at one point. Then it was all the bathroom after that, I swear. I really don’t think a lot of people saw that part though, the night was kind of winding down.”

“You swear?”

“Positive. Even I was leaving at that point. Don’t know if you got worse after that, though.”

You sit up suddenly, despite your body’s protests.

“You - what?”

“Listen, I didn’t want to leave you, but Argyle’s buddy Jonathan offered to drive us, and he didn’t want someone who might get sick in his car -”

“But wait, hold on - how did I get home? I thought you got me back -”

“Oh - you really don’t remember, huh?”

“Well - no.”

“Don’t get mad, but -”

“But what?”

“It was Steve. He drove you home.”

You pause, opening your mouth a few times to say something, but not finding the words.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Harrington only had like, two beers all night, so he said he could take you back.”

“I - oh.”

What you wanted to say was, why the fuck would he do that?

“So… yeah. Sorry about that. But, I’m glad you made it back okay.”

“Yeah - mm hm…” you murmur absentmindedly. You hear a shrill beeping sound through the phone, making you wince.

“Sorry - fuck, Gareth set off the fucking fire alarm again. Sorry, I -”

“No, it’s okay. Go deal with that. I just… wanted to make sure you knew I’m alive.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, and you can practically what your friend’s grin through the phone. “Gotta go - drink water, eat some fries, bye -”

Click.

You sit there in silence for a few moments, brow furrowed - Steve? Did you really make a drunk fool of yourself in front of him? You groan - he’ll definitely find a way to use this as leverage. How did he even get you inside? Did you throw up in his car - Christ, you hope not.

Worst of all… now you owe Steve Harrington, of all people.

It’s as you’re making peace with this horrible realization that you finally spot the Ibuprofen - there it is, in plain sight, on your bedside table. The bottle is conveniently right there, somehow, with a glass of water. You hadn’t noticed it in your hungover stupor earlier - when you reach for it, you realize it’s sitting on top of a note with untidy scrawl that reads:

Take some of this - you’re going to need it, sweetheart.

-Harrington

You stare at it dumbfoundedly, then scoff.

Motherfucker.

author's note: I'm back! I took a bit of a hiatus, but I'm back in the swing of writing. I wont lie though... this is barely proofread. So, please be kind. This is a slow burn, so don't expect real smut for a few more chapters. But, let me know your thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed!

240 notes · View notes

ourautumn86 · 1 year

Text

come over.

+18 fem! reader

synopsis; strangely enough, your number one enemy since kindergarten and captain of the basketball club of your college calls you up one night begging you to come over to his dorm room. after knocking on his door, things will take a turn that you would have never expected.

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡ either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3

a/n: i don’t feel too confident about this shot, but i miss y’all and i need to get over my writer’s block. i hope it’s not as much as a disaster as i see it and that you all love it. （ ; ; ）

CW;; cursing, dirty talk, nipple play, bullying and fights, teasing, smut, p in v sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, squirting, spanking, non protected sex (GUYS STDS ARE REAL, WRAP THE DONG UP), cream pie, finger fucking, hair pulling, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms… MINORS DNI!!!

word count;; +5k!

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

You were having a really bad day. Not bad, horrible.

First of all, your alarm didn’t go off for some stupid reason and caused you to 1. getting late to school and 2. getting your teacher to lower your grade just because he’s a goddamn asshole that hates you. Second of all, you’d forgotten your lunch and your wallet, so you were now starving unable to buy anything to eat (thank god your best friend Robin shared with you her sandwich or else you would be dead by now). And third of all…

“And what do we have here?”

Him.

You rolled your eyes, feeling your skin heating up and your insides turning with disgust and anger as you turned around to face the most annoying fucking person you’ve ever met.

“Give it back, Harrington.”

Steve Harrington, the name that would appear on your worst nightmares, the monster under your bed, the last person you’d ever want to live through the end of the world with... Your enmity had been going strong since kindergarten, when he had picked on you for your looks since day one just because. Then, he started to tell his friends and those around you to not go near you or else they’d catch lice. He needed to be on top of you all the time; if there was a race on P.E, he’d make you trip with his foot to get you on your knees and win (leaving you all bloody and injured), if there were presentations to be made in front of the whole class he’d crack up jokes to make everyone laugh at you, giving you quite the public anxiety and if you somewhat got to win him in anything (probably at grades) he’d go nuts and get so pissed that he’d make your life impossible for the next few months by trashing your locker, ‘accidentally’ throwing his drinks all over you, telling the teachers that he saw you cheating…

It only got worse when you found your best friend: Eddie Munson, who was too an outcast. You became inseparable, and since then you two were the ‘freaks’ to the whole high school just because you liked rock and metal songs.

He smirked, taking a look at the poster that you were just about to hang on your university’s ‘news wall’. It was Eddie’s, he was about to go on a tour and had asked you if it would be okay to hang some posters to let everyone know. Through the years, Corrored Coffin had gained fame and a lot of followers.

“The freak is going on a tour?” he scoffed, raising his eyebrows. “Disgusting. He really thinks he’s gonna become a superstar or some shit…”

You fisted your hands, your heart being squished under the nickname that your friend had had to grow up with just because he liked things the others didn’t.

“Don’t call him that.” you said, your eyes straight into his.

“ ‘Freak’?” he teased you, swaying away the poster when you tried and take it back. “What do you want me to call him then? I could call him a girl, because he surely isn’t a man with that hair of his and that stupid makeup he’s always wearing…” he though out loud, when he noticed your furious expression, he simply shrugged. “Just stating facts.” the people around you had gathered to listen to your bickering. It was a daily coincidence now, Harrington being always the one looking for trouble. Some of them laughed at his words… Jerks. Just like him.

“You know what, Harrington? Sure, call him whatever you want.” you said, ripping from his hands the poster. “But I assure you, that you’ll never be not an inch of a man that he is, if you are bright enough to know what I mean by that.” your eyes wondered to his crotch and that made the crowd burst out in laughter. You were filled with proudness when you noticed his jaw tightening and his body going stiff. You were no outcast now, you were popular to be honest, and everybody knew the two of you since Harrington was the basketball team captain and you the cheerleader team captain. It was hell on the games, each of you always fighting each other off. But your teammates had grown so accustomed to it that they just laughed at your little fights. “So go ahead and run your mouth, ‘cause I’m sure yours will never get to places his have never been.” you leaned in. “And hold your tongue, ‘cause Eddie knows how to use his really well.” you whispered inches away from his face, giving him a wink before stapling the poster to the board and leaving him behind with tightened fists and heated cheeks.

It was a big day for you and your team, and you didn’t have time for play dates.

—

“y/n!” your eyes shone when to your ears the familiar sound of your best friend’s voice ringed.

You turned around, with your pompoms in hand and high ponytail, your college’s cheerleader uniform shining due to the lights that lightened the whole basketball court.

“Eds!” you smiled, so bright that almost blinded, running and jumping on your friend’s arms, who easily caught you and squeezed you in a tight hug. “You made it!” you laughed as he twirled you around.

“Of course I made it, it’s your big night after all. Although I still don’t get this basketball and cheering thing…” he left a sweet peck on your cheek. “But look at you all dolled up! Is it for me?” he winked, leaning just the slightest in, enough for him to whisper on your ear.

You laughed, playfully pushing at his chest. “Of course Munson, you know I’m all yours.” you winked back, making him let out a quick laughter.

“I really need to put a ring on you, Mrs. Munson.” he pointed at you as the music that let the public know that the match was about to start started to play through the speakers and he backed off to the stairs to sit and leave you to your cheerleading.

“I’ll be waiting on it, Mr. Munson!” he sent you a flying kiss that only made you giggle and roll your eyes. You loved Eddie, he always found a way to make you laugh and that’s something that you truly appreciated. He was the only one that truly got you.

You turned around to call for your teammates, your smile fading as fast as your eyes bumped against those brown ones that you do well knew at this rate. Harrington looked at you with such a pissed expression… Water bottle tightly clutched in one of his hands, about to burst. He let it fall to the ground along with the towel that stood on his shoulders when his coach called out for him with his whistle, giving Eddie, who was on the first step on your back a death glare as he ran to the center of the court to shake hands with the other team captain.

What the…

“Girls come on!!” you called for the cheerleaders on your team as you still looked at the stiff body of your incarnated hell. What the fuck is wrong with him? “Assume positions!”

Not my problem.

You shrugged it off and started to cheer for your team along with the public that had come to watch the match, most of them students from both colleges. And through all of it, you tried and ignore the harsh eyes that bore holes on the back of your neck, even if your skin felt like being on fire.

…

It was late at night in your dorm room, Robin having left to stay at his girlfriend’s, Nancy, house since it was Friday. You were snacking on some candy and chips as you watch your favorite show, Teen Wolf along with Eddie, who had sneaked to your bedroom, laying in your bed fully covered and with your pjs on. After the game, which you sadly had lost, you had watched as a very infuriated Steve walked out of the court and the gym, not without giving you and Eddie, who was hugging you and congratulating you for your efforts regardless of the result of the match, a pretty harsh glare that clearly said ‘fuck you two.’

Jeez, you didn’t know what has gotten him so riled up that afternoon but you surely hoped for him to go and drown his sorrows somewhere as quietly as possible and leave you alone.

“Hell yeah!” you cheered to the power couple as they shared their first kiss, almost jumping and throwing all your chips around and on your best friend when Isaac and Allison finally shared their first kiss.

“Ugh. Really Allison?! I was expecting better from you.” the curly haired metal head gasped, acting hurt at the ‘betrayal’. He was team Scott. Which was obviously stupid since he now liked Kira.

“What are you talking about?! Scott has moved on, doesn’t she have the right to do so too?” Eddie gave you a side glance as in a ‘no’, but he quickly laughed when you hit your shoulder with a ‘hey!’.

Your attention was completely on the screen when your phone started buzzing on your side table. You took a new bite at your candy as you reached for it, still not focusing on it as you took. the call. It was probably Robin calling to check in.

“Hello?” you talked into the line, waiting for a few seconds for an answer that never came. You checked the screen, ‘Unknown number’ showing on its center. You furrowed your eyebrows “Hello? Who’s this?” Eddie paused the series and rose to sit up on your bed along with you, mouthing a ‘who’s it?’. You simply shrugged and mouthed back a ‘no idea’. The sudden appearance of a sharp and heavy breathing caught you off ward for a couple of seconds before you rolled your eyes.

“Are you serious?” you huffed, thinking it was a stupid phone call. “We're in college, how about we stop playing Scream and start being more matures?” you said, and just as you were about to hang up, a rather familiar voice croaked out:

“y/n."

You froze, your breath hitching as your brain tried to convince himself that you had heard right “Harrington?” you were in shock for a couple of seconds, Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and looked at you in utter disbelief. When the casual anger grew inside you with just the mention of his name appeared you snapped at him. “Do you know what hour it is… No. Why the fuck are you calling me in first place?” you rolled your eyes. For just a couple of hours that you were enjoying yourself with your best friend, of course he had to come and ruin it. He always does and always will.

He was silent for an instant before his voice breaks out in a whimper that makes your stomach flip.

“Please.”

“W…What?” your eyebrows were knitted together so hard it was painful. Eddie just hits you in the arm, silently asking you to tell him what’s going on. You just swatted his hand away and lift a finger to quiet him.

“Please.” he repeated.

“Are you drunk or something? You should-“ you started, but he was quick to cut you off.

“y/n…” that was something different. The way your name fell from his lips in such need, hunger… “Come over. Please come over. I need you so bad…”

“I-“

“y/n, what is it?” Eddie spoke up, and you could hear the tension from the other part of the line rise.

“Fuck. Is Munson there with you?” Harrington affirmed more than asked.

“y/n!” Eddie asked again.

“y/n.” but the voice of Harrington on the other line had you too out of focus. The way you could hear the begging on his tone, the need…

You didn’t know what had gotten over you, but you found yourself quick on your feet to grab your dorm keys.

“Wait for me.”

Eddie stood up as well and watch you hang up and made your way out of your room after putting on a pair of shoes.

“Where are you going?” Eddie inquired, completely and utterly lost. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I think there’s something wrong with Harrington. You can continue with the serie and use my bed, alright?” you quickly muttered, and when you caught him stepping closer and raising his hand to say something and find out whatever the hell was going on, you closed the door on his face.

You made your way over to the guy’s room wing, having been there before to parties and so. And before you knew it, you had knocked on his door. You didn’t have to wait a long time before he appeared on it’s threshold, his normally perfectly combed hair being a mess, shirtless and with only a pair of sweats on. He looked like a mess, with red cheeks, swollen bitten lips, glassed eyes and shaky breathing.

“Harrington, what the hell are you…” a scream almost got ripped out of you at the harsh yank that took place on your arm. Before you knew it you had been pulled inside and smashed against the now closed door of his room, his body towering over yours and his breath caressing your face.

Fuck. You’ve never been this close before.

“You’re driving me insane.” he said, one of his hands cupping your cheek, dark shiny eyes connecting with yours before they’d drift back to your lips. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me all day. Knowing that Munson got to touch you, taste you… Is killing me. And him being in your room? Having you in his arms? Thinking about him just touching you is… Fuck.” you chocked. You didn’t understand. Wasn’t he supposed to hate you? Despise you? Then why…? “I can’t stop imagining him kissing you, holding you…” his thumb pressed over your bottom lip, tugging on it, admiring. “You were supposed to pay attention to me. You were supposed to think about me.” your heart was thumping against your ribs, and you felt like dying when he harshly kissed you. It was fast, and angry. His tongue was quick to push inside your mouth, your teeth clashing and your body being pulled against him. You whimpered, your hands finding his hair as you pulled him closer. You’d never felt that way. How your whole body seemed to combust, the shaking of your limbs, the thumping of your heart…

But what was going on? ‘Pay attention to him’? ‘Think of him’? What was that supposed to mean? Did Harrington always treat you badly to get your attention? To get under your skin one way or another?

You were burning, so badly that he felt like snow.

“Fuck.” he muttered as he pulled away. “Been dreaming of doing that since the first time you yelled at me.” you whimpered when his warm hands took a harsh hold of your waist, pulling you against him close and tight enough for you to feel just how hard he already was on his sweats.

His mouth was back on yours, and your whole world was spinning. His hair on your hands, his gasps against your lips, his musky scent…

“Yeah, that’s right.” he muttered, a little smirk showing in his factions when he noticed your daze and unfocused eyes. “Focus on me. Just me.” he whispered on your ear before his lips latched to your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough to mark you up. You moaned, his hands sneaking inside your pj’s shirt and slowly making its way upwards, towards your chest.

“Fuck, Harrington.” you gasped when his warm hands took your tits, massaging them and rolling your nipples in between his fingers as he pressed a leg in between your legs, making your aching pussy brush against the lean muscle of his thigh.

“Steve.” he corrected. “It’s Steve for you, baby.”

“Steve.” you moaned when he pushed upwards with his leg, helping you ride it.

“That’s right. But you need to say it a little bit louder, hm? Need to let everybody know that it’s me who you are moaning for.” you whimpered at his words, his large hands leaving your chest to take your hips and pick you up to make his way to his king size bed.

You felt almost crushed against the duvet when he pinned you down to it underneath his weight. Almost, ‘cause right at that exact moment, you just wished he could be closer, he could be harsher, smush you against the bed and fuck you senseless ‘till you are nothing more than a babbling mess.

“That’s right.” he smirked when you pulled him closer, choked when his hands where once again pulling your top up slowly. “Fuck. You drive me insane.” he muttered when your chest was fully uncovered. “Fucking beautiful.” you moaned when his mouth left wet kisses on your chest. His tongue circled your nipples as one of his hands made its way to the seam of your pajama pants and panties, which stood completely soaked in arousal.

“Steve.” you cried out when his fingers caressed you from over the lace of your underwear, chuckling at the wetness of them.

“You are so wet for me already, such a good girl…” you almost whimpered, your cheeks blushing at the praise, something that didn’t go unnoticed. “You liked that, hm? Like to be my good little girl?” you nodded, your legs shaking when he finally pushed down your underwear and pjs to touch you. You gasped when his rough and thick fingers pressed against your core, sliding through your folds, pooled in your arousal. “So fucking wet.” he cursed as he circled your clit, making you moan. His touch was electrifying. “Is all of this for me?” you once again nodded. “I need to hear your pretty voice. Speak up for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes… It’s all for you.” you managed to sputter out.

“Mmh…” he hummed happily with the answer, smirking when you let out a loud moan as he pushed his middle finger inside of you, instantly hitting that spongy spot that could make you come over and over again. “Then I guess that if it’s all for me… I could have a taste. Isn’t that right?” your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you suddenly felt his tongue around your clit at the same time as he thrusted his finger in and out of you, slowly enough to have you gripping at his hair and bucking your hips in search of more.

He complied, starting to eat you out like a man starved. And he kind of was, having been craving you for years and years… He craved you, needed you so badly that his composure had plummeted once you’ve told him that Munson had touched you, kissed you, tasted you first… He wanted you. Wanted you to be solely and completely his.

“Ah, Steve, shit…” you were so sensitive. More than usually. Was it because Steve was too good at eating you out or because it was Steve who was eating you out?

“Louder, baby. I need you to be louder for me.” he said before going back to you, his tongue lapping up at your juices and adding another finger. Their thickness made you cry out his name loud enough for the whole floor to hear. You just hoped that there was no teacher doing the check-ins that night or you’d be screwed.

“Steve, I’m… I’m gonna…” your grip tightened on his hair.

“You’re gonna come? Gonna come on my face, hm?” he curved his fingers upwards, relentlessly hitting your g spot over and over again, pulling you closer to your orgasm. “Go ahead, come for me. Let me have it.”

He didn’t need to say it twice. With his tongue back circling your clit, you moaned as you came, harsh, on his tongue, him helping you to extend you climax by thrusting in and out his fingers whilst lapping at your release, drinking everything you had to offer in between moans and hums.

When he let go of you, licking his two fingers clean, you where a flustered mess; with your hair sticking everywhere, red cheeks, swollen lips and glossy eyes. And he wasn’t that different from you, with his chin and red puffy lips shiny with your juices, his cheeks were flushed and his hair a beautiful mess that you had created in between tugs and caresses. He looked beautiful, so beautiful that you couldn’t help dragging him towards you to taste yourself off of his lips, one of your hands finding his aching and swollen cock, that pushed against his sweats in need of release. He groaned in your mouth, pulling from your hair to part ways.

“Steve…” you cried out, your eyes half-lidded with need, your pussy aching for him, for something to fill you to the brim, to stretch you out, break you.

“What is it, hm?” oh but he already knew… “Haven’t you had enough already? I gave you my fingers and my mouth, is that not enough for you? What a needy slut…” you moaned at his harsh tone and degradation, the contrast with the recent praise making your skin burn and your body cry for him. You needed him so badly… So much that you swore you could die. “Want me to fuck you, hm? Want me to make you cum all over my cock? Have you all brainless as I use you? Pump you full of my cum?”

“Yes please Steve, please, I want it.”

“So pretty begging for me, do you want it that bad?” you nodded, squirming under his touch and whimpering when he gave your thigh a harsh slap. “Can’t hear you, beautiful.”

“Yes.” you cried out, loving how harsh he was treating you, loving the idea that he would use you just for his pleasure.

“Then say it. Beg me to fuck you.” another spank.

“Please Steve, I want you to make me cum all over your cock, please, please, please… I need it. I need you.” tears swelled in your eyes as you stuttered.

“Good girl. Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he said with a smirk, quickly shoving his sweats and underwear down his thighs to discard them aside. You almost choked at his size. You couldn’t take that.

Steve’s dick was huge. So thick and large that you knew that he’d tear you apart, stretch you out so good that would leave you sobbing and drooling against his pillow as he fucked into you over and over again.

“Gonna let me fuck you raw? Let me cum inside and fill you up?” he inquired, and you just nodded, too focused on the pink of his head beaded in pre-cum, on the veins of its sides and the brown curls at its pretty base.

“Yes, please, Steve, I want your cum.” you pleaded, and he groaned, once again pinning you underneath him and kissing you feverishly. You parted your legs for him to position himself in between them. You gasped on his mouth when you felt his head play with your cunt, slowly dragging himself up and down in between your slicked folds to lube himself up, teasing you at your entrance, pushing just the slightest against it. You were so fucking wet… More than you had ever been before.

Your nails found his back as he finally, after hearing your pleads and begging, aligned himself and started to push the tip of his cock inside, leaving you breathless at the stretch.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” he hushed you as you whimpered with every inch. “You are gonna do good for me, isn't that right baby? You are gonna take it, gonna take my cock and cum on it over and over again, right?” you nodded, sinking your nails deeper in his skin, deep enough to make him bleed. But Steve didn’t care, ‘cause he was finally making you his, and you were so goddamn tight he was losing his mind.

You were crying of pleasure and due to the overwhelming sensation of his huge cock when he finally had settled himself fully inside, his tip reaching places you’d never dreamed of, his girth stretching your walls so good it was almost painful. Almost.

"Fuck. Look at you. Already crying and I haven't begun to fuck you yet.” you moaned when he started to slowly fuck into you, so deep that you were going crazy. You needed more, so much more. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight and wet.”

“More. Please Steve, more.” you called out for him, your whimpers filling the room more and more as he started to move faster and faster.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fucking take it.” he groaned, lost on how good you felt. He never wanted to leave. Never wanted to stop feeling you this close. “Such a good girl.”

You moaned, your eyes turning white at the pleasure. This was like nothing you had experienced before.

“Tell me, did Munson fucked you this good, huh?” he asked, taking your cheeks with his right hand as he rolled your clit with his left to make you look at him. “Did he make you drool? Made you cry?”

You shook your head, but he wasn’t happy with that.

“Say it. Say that no one’s has fucked you like me. Say it, baby. Use that pretty mouth of yours.”

“No one has ever… ever fucked me like you.” you somehow achieved to say in between moans and gasps.

“That’s right. Look at you, your pussy is taking me so good… Sucking me in as if you don’t want me to leave.”

Suddenly you were in all fours, your chest against the mattress as he pounded inside of you harder and harder, so hard that you could feel him in your cervix, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried out, drooling on his pillow, tears spilling due to how good he was making you feel.

His hands found your hips, pulling you against his hips with every hard thrust, leaving you breathless.

You were a babbling and moaning mess, incapable to form any words, even his name.

“Look at you, so cock drunk you can’t even speak.” he said, and moaned when you clenched around him. “Such a slut.” you whimpered when he gave you a harsh slap on your ass, his eyes focusing on how his dick disappeared in and out of your pussy, which now seemed to be molding around him and just him.

“Steve…” you dragged the ‘s’ as he sped up, fucking you brainless, calling his name over and over again.

He could feel the way you started to clench around him. The wet noises of your juices and his thrusts filled the room with your high pitched moans. You were close. So fucking close…

“Steve, I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna…” your voice was so fucked up due to your screams that you swore you’d have a sore throat tomorrow morning, but you didn’t care.

“That’s alright sweetheart. Why don’t you come all over my dick, hm? Let me see you fall apart.” and you did. You came so hard you saw stars, your ears ringing as you squirted all over his bed sheets. “Fuck, good girl. Good. fucking. girl.” he groaned at the sight and the feeling of your cunt gushing around his whole cock. “I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck you so full of me I’d have you dripping for a week.”

“Yes, please… please, please, Steve…please.” you babbled as you came over and over again, throwing him over the edge with a ‘fuck’ and moaning when you felt him spill inside you, painting your walls in white.

And maybe and just maybe, you stopped hating Steve that much from now on.

‘Cause we all know what they say… From hatred to love there is only one step.

a/n;

i hoped y’all liked this college stevie!! love you!!!!

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<33333

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buckleysbitch · 4 months

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𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 ⊹˚. ♡

reqs are OPEN!

note - reblogs and comments keep this account going! if you like what you read, please don’t hesitate to share ♡

18+ under the cut

𐙚 “babe what did you get for #4”

𐙚 “okay how about #5”

𐙚 definitely majoring in business or communications with a minor in journalism

𐙚 2 am fast food runs

𐙚 including deliriously listening to queen and trying to sing bohemian rhapsody to no avail

𐙚 despite that he has a knack for the guitar

𐙚 learning your favorite songs on guitar and always whipping them out at the most ridiculous times

𐙚 often during high stress study sessions

𐙚 “♫ and if a double decker bus crashes into us ♫”

𐙚 “I SURE HOPE IT DOES STEVE”

𐙚 eventually moving into an apartment together

𐙚 you load laundry, he folds

𐙚 adventures to the local record store

𐙚 never getting up for those 8 ams

𐙚 board game + wine nights with robin and eddie

𐙚 he always insists on pouring your wine for you

𐙚 falling asleep on the couch and floor respectively face first into your homework

𐙚 eventually he wakes up in the middle of the night and groggily carries you to bed and tucks you in

𐙚 his messy hair when his alarm doesn’t go off so he quickly gets ready for classes

𐙚 going to frat parties and giving the good old irish goodbye after an hour

𐙚 dancing with him at parties bye bye bye GRINDING ON HIM AT PARTIES?? i’m deceased

𐙚 poor baby can’t keep his cock in his pants after that and you’ll have to blow him in the car

𐙚 but it’s okay because he was secretly fingering you an hour ago during the smoke sesh

𐙚 will drive you anywhere you please even though you have your own car

𐙚 grocery trips with steve!! i am so unwell

𐙚 you definitely met bumping into each other (literally) in the library, very very cliche and cute

𐙚 he memorized your coffee order insanely quickly and always brings you one to your library dates

𐙚 drunken open mic nights >>>

𐙚 “holy shit dude i swear i saw a ghost over by the law section”

𐙚 “steve….that’s professor higgins…how many coffees have you had?”

𐙚 “….”

𐙚 weed and wine > beer and liquor

𐙚 getting high off your asses together and laughing at book names in the library

𐙚 cleaning you up and cuddling in bed after accidentally having a tad too much to drink

𐙚 a GIANT rock on your finger by senior year <3

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #college!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington brainrot #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut

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wild-lavender-rose-musings · 2 months

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I feel like Steve is not the greatest at encouraging you to do your school work but Eddie, he's determined to help you excel.

"Let's go over these flash cards together."

"Wanna sit in my lap while you work?"

"Of course I'll read through your paper, baby."

He even manages to get Steve involved, who sees how much fun you two are having and feels left out.

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theaawalker · 1 month

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Only Fools Fall in Love | Steddie Imagine

Pairing: Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson Song Inspo: Andrew by Ben Platt Word Count: 2,574 Summary: Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington. Neither of them want to address it for various reasons. They're just two idiots in love. Warnings: angst, slowburn Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

After defeating Vecna and barely escaping the upside down, Steve knew his life was never going to be the same again. He no longer had the pleasure of being blissfully unaware of the darkness that surrounded Hawkins. He knew about the creatures that lurked in the shadows. Knew how powerful they were and the amount of damage they had caused to their little town, how many lives were lost in the mix of creatures that were never supposed to exist.

They were supposed to be fiction, stories told to kids to keep them in their homes at certain times, to scare them into staying safe and not wondering into the forest alone at night. Unfortunately, those things were very real, too real for Steve's liking.

Some days he wished to be one of those dense high school kids who only cared about their reputation and didn't know what was happening in the world around them. He wished to be like the old Steve, the one who only cared about hooking up, parties and Nancy Wheeler. He loved her in a way he never thought he could love; she awakened something in him that he didn't know existed. Then she was ripped out of his life without even the slightest warning, she left him, she didn't love him. She said it was all bullshit. They were bullshit.

He knew now that she was right about it all, they were bullshit. Neither of them were ready or mature enough for a relationship, they were too different, too young and too foolish. Nancy was better with Jonathan, they had bonded over their trauma and Steve was jealous at first, but after seeing that massive smile on her face, he knew that she had exactly who she needed. It stung, seeing them together, they were everywhere he went, and he hated it. So, he went to parties and got piss drunk to forget and occasionally he stopped by that disgusting trailer park to buy from Eddie Munson.

Eddie "The Freak" Munson was the best dealer in town, he always had a fixed supply unlike some of the other idiots who couldn't keep up with the demand. Steve didn't necessarily like Eddie that much, he was too loud, too dramatic, too all over the place and too different. He was what Steve never could be, unapologetically different.

He never apologized for being who he was, he never cared what anyone thought or said about him. In fact, he played into it, he wore the term 'Freak' like a badge of honor and used it to scare off any potential threats. It worked most of the time, while people found him annoying, they never did anything to psychically stop him.

That irritated Steve even more. Eddie got away with being himself. Steve wished he could just exist without the fear of getting judged or trampled on. So, he worked his way up the high school ranks and became King Steve, someone everybody wanted to be or be with. None of it was true though, he was never a king. He was never any of the things they made him out to be, well except a douche. He was definitely a douche.

So now, two years after graduating high school, he had finally accepted that life was never going to be easy for him. He would never get to be his true self in front of everyone, he would never get to show the real Steve to all of Hawkins. He'd probably get beaten up or killed for it to be fair.

"Hey dingus" Robin's voice broke through his train of thought, "stop staring into space, we've got customers to attend to."

He shot her a glare before turning to the customer at the register who was returning some of the tapes she rented. His face softened when he saw the girl staring at him nervously.

"Sorry about that," he stated, "will you be renting anything else today, or just returning?"

The girl shrugged, twirling a piece of her blonde hair around her finger, "I haven't decided yet, I still have to have a look. Any suggestions?"

"Uh... Fire With Fire seems to be a hit right now, it's in the romance section"

"Are you into romance?" She asked in what he assumed was supposed to be a flirty voice.

He shrugged, "not really. I just watch whatever, but I've heard it's a good movie." He turned to Robin and smirked, "Rob and I are actually going to watch it together tonight."

A deep red blush covered the girl's cheeks at the thought of flirting with a taken man, "I'm so sorry, I have no idea."

Steve waved her off, "it's okay, happens to the best of us."

Robin scowled at him as the customer scurried away after deciding that she definitely wasn't going to rent Fire With Fire now. She thanked them and nearly ran out of the store.

"Really Steve. Using me as your repellant. Usually, you manage to get rid of the girls just be being yourself." she teased before going to the back and adding another strike under the 'You Suck' column.

Steve sat on the counter and watched her return from the break room, he wanted to tell her the truth, but he has been struggling to get the words out for the last year. It was scary being open like this, having someone know everything about you was terrifying and he didn't want it to change anything between them. She was his best friend and he loved her. He didn't want this stupid shit to come between them, he didn't want to lose the one person who understood him the best.

Losing Nancy was hard but losing Robin would probably kill him, she was his biggest support and he truly appreciated and cherished their friendship. What started out as a stupid crush on his coworker quickly turned into the most meaningful friendship he has ever had. The possibility of losing that scared him more than the monsters they faced over the last three years.

"Steve. Seriously what's up?" Robin spoke up again, a concerned look on her face, "you've been spacing out all day and you keep getting this look on your face that looks like you want to do something stupid and it's freaking me out. Are you okay? Is it Vecna? Is he still alive? Is it me? Oh god. Did I do something to make you hate me and now you want to quit your job and move away and never see me again. You've probably already packed to leave and now you're trying to think of a way to break it to m–"

"Robin, breathe. God. I'm not going anywhere" he cut her off, "I've just got a lot on my mind, and it doesn't have anything to do with Vecna or the upside down or any of that crazy shit. I'm just trying to figure out a few things."

She nodded "sorry. I got a little carried away."

They shared a laugh before going silent again, a comfortable air settling between them as they got back to work. It was a relatively quiet day in Family Video, so they didn't really do much and soon their shift came to an end and Steve got ready to lock up while Robin waited in his car.

"Hey Harrington, fancy seeing you here" he heard a familiar voice pipe up behind him.

"I work here Eddie" he said flatly.

Eddie tsked, "I'm well aware of that Stevie, I was just being courteous."

"Stevie?" He questioned.

He and Munson became kind of friends after the whole Upside Down incident. Watching Eddie nearly bleed to death made him realize that he came to like Eddie in the short time they spent together. He learnt a lot about the guy while running away from Vecna and the enraged townspeople who believed that Eddie was a satanic murderer.

The stakes were high but somehow Eddie always managed to inject humor into every situation to make it feel a lot less intense. He had a way of making people comfortable around him, of making them feel at ease. It was surprising yet welcomed at the time and watching him so close to death made the entire gang realize how much Eddie Munson truly meant to them.

He was one of them now, a part of the club, a trusted member. So, it wasn't weird for him to be here, speaking to Steve.

"Well Stevie, I figured since we escaped death together and kicked Vecna's tentacle ass we're basically friends now. There's nothing wrong with giving your friend a nickname now is there, Steve? "

Eddie had that wide eyed look on his face, the one that made Steve squirm in place, his stare was always intense. Steve felt as if he was staring into his soul, trying to unravel every dark secret locked up inside of him. Yet the casual smile on his face said the opposite, it contradicted his beady eyes in the best way possible. The perfect balance of intense and soft, which was exactly how Steve would describe Eddie.

He cleared his throat, trying his best to ignore the slight warmth in his cheeks, "uh. Sure. Yeah. Stevie... I like it"

Eddie chuckled at his flustered state, "I actually came by to invite you and Robin to a movie night at my place. Tomorrow at 7, don't be late Harrington."

Steve watched him walk off without waiting for a response, and while he tried to mill over everything Eddie said, he only managed to get stuck on the fact that Eddie referred to him as 'Harrington' again. He wasn't sure why it upset him that much, it was his surname after all, but after being called Stevie, hearing his last name out of Eddie's lips no longer sounded right.

He wanted to be called Stevie. He wanted Eddie to call him Stevie every day, because the way he said it made his stomach do the slightest flip. The way he drawled it out in that raspy voice of his, made it sound so much better than it would sound if anyone else said it. He wanted to be Eddie's Stevie.

That thought stumped him, because he had never thought of another guy like that. He never felt that happy to hear a guy give him a nickname. But to be fair, Eddie Munson wasn't just another guy. He was different. Special.

Tuesday came rolling around and Steve was on edge the entire day, he had hung out with Eddie before, but this somehow felt different. So much so that he was nervous and jittery the entire day and Robin teased him about it at every chance she got.

"It's just a movie, Steve, why are you freaking out?" She questioned, "We hung out with Eddie before, and you always enjoyed it. You know better than anyone else, that he's not what the town makes him out to be."

"I know that, Rob. That's not the issue, it's just different this time and I don't know how to explain it. Like it's been a year since all that crazy shit happened and I'm still adjusting to having Eddie around more."

"Do you not want to hang out with him anymore?" she moved around the store sorting tapes while they spoke.

"No!" he said louder than he meant to. "No... I like hanging out with Eddie, he's fun. It just feels different. I don't know how to explain it."

"Well, you have all the time in the world to figure it out. Now that the world isn't ending anymore you can think about whatever it is you're feeling and deal with it when you're ready."

He nodded; she was right. There was no rush to figure his stupid thoughts out, all he had to do was get through tonight. He was nervous for some reason and kept wondering who would be there, would Eddie have invited Nancy and Jonathan as well?

He didn't know if he wanted an answer to that question right now. Being unaware was a blessing in certain situations.

Steve stepped into Eddie's new trailer and settled down beside Robin, a smile plastered on his face as he turned to Nancy and Jonathan who were squeezed together on a love seat. The government helped clear Eddie's name and gave him and his uncle a brand-new trailer in a more reserved side of town. It was bigger and it was fully furnished so it quickly became their hang out when they wanted to escape reality for a bit.

Steve raised a brow at Robin when Vickie made her way into the trailer after them.

"Did you know she was coming?"

Robin leaned closer and whispered her response, "yeah. I invited her. Hope you don't mind?"

Steve shrugged, "of course I don't mind. I'm glad you finally upped your game, Rob." He teased.

"Shut up. You can't even get a date." She bit back, motioning for him to scoot over so Vickie could squeeze in the seat beside her.

Eddie came back into the room with beers for everyone and a few rolled up joints, he passed the beers around and sat next to Steve.

"Hope you don't mind our medicinal addition, it helps mellow us out a bit" he said to Vickie, a charming smile on his face.

Steve felt a tinge of jealousy shoot up within him when Vickie giggled and told him she didn't mind at all. It was stupid of him to get jealous over something that simple, but he managed to convince himself that he was only pissed because Eddie shouldn't be putting moves on Robin's date.

Eddie noticed the look on Steve's face, his brows all scrunched and the slightest pout to his lips. He looked adorable, like an angry kitten, Eddie wanted to kiss that stupid little pout away.

He always had a slight crush on Steve "The Hair" Harrington. Who didn't? Steve was hot, with his perfect hair, those big brown eyes, that amazingly toned body and that gorgeous smile that he flashed Eddie with whenever Eddie teased him too much. Steve was perfect and Eddie struggled daily to keep his feelings in check. He didn't want their blossoming friendship to fall apart simply because he couldn't keep it in his pants. Plus falling for straight men was a big no in the Munson doctrine so he had to stick to his rules and keep whatever playful banter they had going on extremely platonic.

Although a little teasing never hurt and seeing Steve blush was always worth it, so he leaned forward and whispered, "Is that jealousy I'm detecting? Wipe that pout off your face. Vickie's got nothing on you, big boy."

Steve felt his face heat up and bit back the smile that threatened to pull at his lips. His stomach did an entire back flip at the tone of Eddie's voice. The hairs on his neck stood up as his breath hit his skin. His entire body went rigid as the words big boy slipped out of Eddie's mouth again. This was the first time Eddie had said it since the upside down and somehow it felt more intense now, it felt different.

Eddie Munson would be the death of him and based off the smug smirk on his face, he definitely knew what he was doing.

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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steveslittlefreak · 7 months

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#it’s giving college Steve #like he starts shopping and getting into fashion #and he models for robin’s photography class #she gets good grades and he gets a few dates #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #joe keery

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emsgoodthinkin · 1 year

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thinkin about Steve taking me ina random bedroom at some party

his pretty brown locks constantly falling in his face, the bulge in his jeans before he even pulls his dick out

it’s big in his acid wash jeans.

He just rubs and grinds it into your throbbing cunt/bulge

I know he’d love licking my neck

I wanna pull his soft brown hair

I know he cums loud

He’d be so sweet your body but so needy🥴

almost like an excited puppy

He groans and cums while rubbing your hair like a pretty baby as you’re on your knees feeling it splash onto your face— fuck I know he’s sweet with it. like his cum is painting a portrait. his breathtaking pretty baby whore

I need his cock rn anshskwishsls

#joe keery bulge #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington smut #steve harrington drabble #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #college!steve harrington

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unamused-boss · 4 months

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Mental health check for those that need it!

Read this ya num-nuts! I know at least 75% of y'all are sad!!

Listen I'm typing this out not only for myself but those those that probably need to hear it.

Do not feel worthless because you think you are falling behind in skills, passions, or even school. You aren't falling behind, you are improving in a way that has a few road blocks. It is important to know that your improvement will come with time, and yes it is a pain in the ass cause you want to be good at it now.

Just remember to keep your head in a positive space or at least try. I know none of you know me but I am a huge pessimist; I am trying to break away from this kind of mind set. And currently I am trying to figure out a new way with drawing and with my school.

I know we all have struggles. Some similar and some different but we still have our struggles and need to push past them. Saying this is easier said than done, trust me I know. But the best thing to do right now is to keep going. If you give up you will never see your progress in the long run. You will even make yourself proud.

So I want this post to give you a least a small positive feeling about yourself. Know that your talent and worth is far more than you give yourself credit for...

Take it from some stranger on the internet, you got this!

repost so others can get this message pls, positive vibes for all

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spideystevie · 1 year

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strike-outs

summary: rust colored dirt, old jerseys & game winning strike-outs

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this has been brewing in the depths of my drafts for a hot minute. college!au because i said so. this is my take on baseball!steve who lives and breathes in my head constantly and if you don’t agree then cry about it. just kidding.

MARCH 1987 - GRAND RAPIDS, MI.

It’s an unusually warm day for Michigan in March. The sky’s a vibrant blue with picturesque cottony clouds scattered across. Sun rays warm your cheeks, a welcoming kiss after last week’s frigid cold. You roll up the sleeves of your university crewnecks to feel the sun on your arms.

Music flows through the orange padding of your headphones, walkman clipped to the waist of your jeans. You walk past the baseball field, eyes focusing in on the lone figure standing on the pitcher’s mound. It’d be almost embarrassing to admit that you recognize it to be Steve Harrington almost immediately.

Your feet stall, rooting you in place near the third base dugout as you watch him wind up and throw. The ball hits the ground and ricochets against the fence behind home plate. There’s a ringing of metal as the chain link fence reverberates. The ball rolls back towards home plate, stopping just a foot away from a worn pair of cleats, covered in a rust colored dust.

Davenport might not have been Steve’s first choice but it was the one that put the most distance between him and his father and that was good enough for him. It was also the only school that took a chance on a small town kid with shit grades so Steve really couldn’t complain.

Steve bends to pick the ball up and when he turns to walk back to the mound, he notices you. Your eyes meet just as Let’s Hear It For The Boy starts to play. A heat not induced by the sun creeps across your cheeks. It only worsens when a charming grin lifts his cheeks.

The two of you stare for a beat too long before someone breaks the silence.

“Hey,” he calls, walking towards the fence that separates the two of you. You step closer, pulling your headphones to rest around your neck. Steve catches a few notes of the song before you pause it. The toes of his cleats bump the bottom of the fence, the metal shaking briefly.

Steve pulls his glove off, shoving the ball inside and tucking it under his left arm. His fingers curl around the holes in the fence. You take a step forward, one more and you’d hit the fence too. His smile softens around the edges this close up.

“Hey,” he exhales. His gaze makes you feel warmer than the sun. Your smile is the slightest bit reserved, tucked away just slightly towards your chest.

“Hi,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest. You wonder if you hold yourself tight enough if it’ll suffocate the butterflies swarming your heart.

Things with Steve are new and covered in the sweetness of the early days. Everything is fresh and new, like a springtime blossom. The shock that sparks both your nerves when you’re around each other is not.

You’d been partnered for a project together in sociology in the fall and when the semester ended, you didn’t think you’d see him again aside from passing occasionally on your commutes to class.

And then you walked into your history course this spring and thought you were hallucinating when you spotted him. You thought you’d collapse when he waved you over to sit in the empty seat next to him. You nearly did when he asked you out a week later.

It’d been a couple months of dating exclusively, not even a week since he asked you to be his. And yet, he still hadn’t kissed you. It’s not that he hasn’t tried, it’s that every time his lips brush against yours something has to interrupt the moment. Steve’s determined to change that today.

“Thought you didn’t have practice today,” you muse, blinking at Steve through the fence.

“Coach wants to try me out as pitcher this season. Thought I’d start practicing now,” he shrugs and lets go of the fence, dropping his shoulder to lean against it. The fence bulges towards you. The sunlight catches on a curl of hair sneaking out of his hat. You have to grip your arm to resist reaching out to tuck it behind his ear.

“Look at you, all star,” you tease. Steve’s cheeks flush a soft shade of pink, hardly discernible in the shade that covers his face from the brim of his hat. You shuffle forward until the toes of your converse bump the fence separating you. “You ever pitched before?”

“Little league,” he laughs. The way it bubbles out of him makes you giggle along, the shoulder opposite to his leaning against the fence. He shakes his head. “Once or twice in high school, too.”

You hum, smile still present but eyes rounding into something more serious. “You’ll do great.”

It’s a reassuring hug around Steve’s heart, one that constricts itself around the muscle until it skips a beat. He softens like butter in the sun and he lifts a hand to clutch the fence near your head.

There’s a tenderness in the way he looks at you, in the way his fingers try their best to wrap around yours when you lift your own hand to clutch the fence. You don’t think about all the logistics behind kissing between a hole in a chain link fence, the only things running through your head being finally and a mantra of SteveSteveSteve.

Your chin juts out, tilted up for him to reach and Steve wishes he were on the other side of the fence so he could hold your face in the palm of his hand. He gets a hair's width away from your lips when the sprinkler system kicks on making you jolt back. He really wishes he were on the other side of the fence now.

You try not to look too disappointed as you step back from the fence, though you’re sure you’re not alone in your emotions. Steve looks almost apologetic, his smile sheepish.

“I’ll catch you later?” he offers, stepping back from the fence himself. You nod, reaching up to pull your headphones back over your ears.

“You better, Harrington,” you say, clicking play again on your walkman as you turn on your heel and leave back to your dorm. Steve’s eyes follow you until you disappear from view.

APRIL 1987 - HOME.

The glimpse of warmth you’d felt in March seems to have vanished into a haze. The weather had backpedaled to an early spring cold. If you focused hard enough, you could see wisps of your breath in front of your face when you’d exhale. First home game. Steve’s first game this season as a pitcher.

The cold metal of the bleachers seeps through the denim of your jeans, your knee bouncing anxiously. It’d been a little over a week since your last almost kiss with Steve. With the flurry of late midterms and the opening of baseball season, you hadn’t seen much of Steve outside of your shared morning history class.

He made sure he caught you yesterday. He waited outside the door of your Thursday literature class, already dressed for practice and cutting it close to being late, all just to ask you if you wanted to wear his jersey to the first game of the season. It was worth it when he saw your eyes light up, hands clutching the old jersey to your chest. He’d kissed your cheek before running off.

Sitting in the stands, wearing his last name on your back, you think you can still feel the lingering warmth of his lips against your cheek while you watch him warm up. The slight wind is icy, biting at your nose and leaving it with a burning numbness. You tug the sleeves of your thick long sleeve you’d layered beneath the jersey over your fists.

It’s easy to forget about the near frigid cold when you watch Steve play. It doesn’t hurt that his uniform pants hug him in the best way as he winds up his pitches and runs the bases. You’re not sure how much prouder you can get of Steve, watching him throw strike after strike.

Your team sits at a tie with the visiting team as the ninth inning rolls around. With two outs and bases loaded, the nerves start to eat at you and you can’t begin to imagine the pressure on Steve. You clasp your hands in front of you, thumbs pressed to your lips.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a breath before starting his wind up. He hauls a pitch down the line, exhales when it sinks into the catcher’s mitt and the umpire calls it a strike. He steps forward, glove extended to catch the ball when the catcher tosses it back.

You squeeze your hands together, whispering encouragement under your breath as though he can hear it from your spot in the stands. He winds up and throws, sinking another strike in the catcher’s mitt. You exhale, watching Steve shake out his shoulders as he walks back towards the mound.

“One more, baby, one more,” you mutter under your breath, not caring if the people sitting around you can hear you. Steve pauses at the top and looks towards the stands to find you. When your eyes meet you nod, releasing your clasped hands momentarily to give him a thumbs up. He bites back a smile, dipping his head down towards the ground as he gets ready to pitch.

You feel like everything moves in slow motion the moment he starts his wind up. The ball leaves his fingertips and seems to float down the line. This time, the batter swings and you watch with bated breath as it swings just above the ball and misses it completely. Everything syncs back to normal with the final smack of the ball meeting the glove and the umpire calling the final strike.

Steve’s shoulders visibly droop in relief, his teammates clapping him on the back and cheering as they head towards the dugout to prep for their final turn at bat. His eyes find you, standing in the stands with a grin on your face before he’s ushered into the dugout.

It’s Steve who bats first at the bottom of the ninth, blowing a kiss to you before stepping up to bat. He swings at the first pitch, a satisfying crack sounding when his bat makes contact with the ball, sending it out into far left field. He slides safe into second, bouncing up onto his feet with a smile.

Steve steals third after the first out, daring a glance at you in the stands to send a smile your way and crosses home plate with a grin, securing the first home game win of the season. He can’t even seem to care about the rest of the inning, his main thought being you standing in the crowd wearing his jersey and the proudest smile he’d ever seen.

You wait outside the dugout when the game ends, a giddiness coursing through you. As the team starts to file off the field, you stretch on your toes to find Steve. He comes out last and his eyes immediately find you. He barely has time to drop his bag to the ground before you’re hurling yourself at him.

His arms catch you around your waist while yours wrap around his neck. You press your nose against his neck, only minutely aware of how sweaty he is despite the chill in the air.

“You were amazing out there, all star,” you grin as you settle onto your feet. Your hands rest against the front of his jersey but his hold around your waist stays tight. Steve’s smile is blinding.

“You think so?” his voice is teasing and you roll your eyes but the smile hasn’t left your face. You push against his chest playfully and a laugh bubbles out of Steve.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, sincerity dripping off each word. Something inside Steve’s chest melts down into a thick honey, warming him from the inside out. He doesn’t even think twice before he’s cupping your face in his hands and slotting his lips against yours.

Your eyes close with a muffled sigh, hands sliding up to rest against the sides of Steve’s neck. Your mind is racing with thoughts of finally and SteveSteveSteve. He kisses you soft and tender, like he has all the time in the world. For once there’s no sprinklers, no pesky roommates or annoying teammates. There’s nothing else except the small bubble surrounding the two of you in the frigid cold of early spring.

Steve pulls back for a breath and his lips part to say something. You don’t let him get the chance.

“Shh, one more, I’ve been waiting to do this for weeks,” you pull him back into you, lips molding with his like they were carved from the same stone, missing puzzle pieces fitting back into place. His hands fall to your waist and pull you closer against him. You kiss him with a fervor until it’s more smile than kiss and you have to pull back.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling. A slight gust of wind pushes past but you can’t feel the cold, not after the searing heat that’s covered your skin from the minute his lips touched yours. Steve kisses you once more, sweet and chaste before squeezing your waist and stepping away to grab his bag.

“Celebratory dinner?” he offers, slinging his baseball bag over his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around your shoulders. He pulls his hat off his head and runs a hand through his hair as you walk.

“Maybe after you shower, you’re all gross,” you scrunch your nose at him, mirth twinkles in your eyes. Steve shakes his head and shoves his hat onto yours. You grin, leaning into him as he squeezes your shoulders.

He wonders if it’s too early to be thinking he might be in love with you.

#interrupting my momentary writing hiatus bc of finals season to bring you baseball!steve #the amount of research i did on the weather during 1987 in grand rapids specifically...astonishing.#baseball!steve plagues my mind daily and i needed to share my take with all of you #spending nearly all of your adolescent years on baseball fields supporting your younger brother will do that to ya #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #baseball!steve harrington #baseball!steve x reader #baseball!steve au #college!steve au #📝: a writes!

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rustedhearts · 8 months

Text

misled (college!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: overtaken by irritations with his playboy persona, you distance yourself from steve. but how long can you really stay away?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the scholar stud masterlist ✶ main masterlist

tags: angst-ish; steve’s a whore; general horniness; teasing; smut; frat-party-sex; rough-ish; choking (but not really); once again not edited.

“late at night, body’s yearning. restless night, want to be with you. someone’s playing in the garden, so enticing, he’s sure to take a bite.”

misled, kool & the gang

somewhere in indiana, october 1988. tillman university.

last week...

"So, you fucked me and don't even have the courtesy to call after?"

The students listening across the hall winced at the sound of your voice shrilling through the hall. Peeking through the crack, the rear of Steve Harrington's chestnut tresses, recently conditioned and gleaming in the fluorescents, could be seen standing in front of your door. Behind you, your roommate, Caroline, could be seen hovering a pink nail polish brush over her big toe, too stunned by the confrontation to even move.

"Heh," Steve chuckled, bracing one hand against the doorframe. "I was gonna call, baby."

Chest tight with an air bubble of embarrassment, you glared at him fervently through a pair of thinly rimmed glasses. "Yeah, when?"

Steve, though never usually colored with humiliation, tinged pink. He'd slept with plenty of girls and never called—but with you, it was purely accidental. He meant to call, he honestly did. But then his dad appeared the day and demanded Steve's attention, and off they went to their second home in Connecticut, where he laid down "the law."

"The law" being that this was Steve's year to "get his head on straight," and drop the poli-sci major for pre-med as originally intended.

"I've let you screw around long enough," Mr. Harrington gruffed over a grilled lobster, white chunks buried in his teeth. "It's time to get serious."

"Sweetheart, listen—"

"—I thought I was 'distracting.' I thought you were so obsessed with me that I barely had my bag down before you were humping me like a dog, Harrington," you snipped. "What happened to that?"

The girls across the hall giggled and snickered, and Caroline grimaced into her nail polish bottle. Steve, on the other hand, pushed himself away from the doorframe and crossed his arms. You hadn't meant to be so cruel, the words just came rushing out like a tap on high—and it came out scalding hot.

"You're cute." His tone matched yours, sharp-edged and mean. "I said I was sorry, that not enough?"

You mirrored his stance, arms folded tightly over your baggy t-shirt. "You didn't, actually."

Dropping his arms defeatedly, Steve sighed and tipped against the doorway again. His cruelty fizzled out, overtaken by soft, rounded eyes of hazel brightness.

"Well I am, alright? C'mon, you gonna make me stay out here and beg?"

The shuffling across the hall ceased, the girls taken aback by Steve's murmured words. You, on the other hand, watched him carefully. He was handsome, no doubt, and knew how to turn on the sweetness like a honey drip. But is that all it was—an act? Did he mean all he said in his dorm that night? Or did his reputation precede him, and he just knew how to work you a little too well?

You could feel your edges rounding, melting bit by bit like butter in the heat. You reached for the door, prepared to open it a bit further and ask him inside—but a whizz of long, silky blonde hair flittered by and skirted to a stop. It came with a thin, fair-skinned face and eyes as blue as water. A girl too pretty for Tillman, a girl too pretty to be real.

"Steve?" she gasped, staring at the back of the boy's head with a wide grin. "There you are, I haven't seen you in ages!"

The quiet across the hall quickly morphed to noisy commotion: fumbling, gasping, and a little profanity. The softness quickly hardened like caulk, and you whipped the door halfway shut, flashing Steve a bitter grin. The blonde's hand reached for Steve's arm, turning him to face her and avert his attention.

But the boy's big eyes were only set on you, welled up with pleading. "Honey, wait, it's not what it—"

"See you around, Harrington."

today...

Since that day in the hall, you did everything you could to avoid Steve Harrington.

But it seemed Steve Harrington didn't let up easy.

He was there when you got back from class, waiting for a chance to explain himself. You rushed past him with a speed he couldn't keep up with (and the other girls glared at him with such ferocity that he worried for his safety). He stared at you in class, eyes unabashedly fixated in the rear of his chair, back to the professor until a sharp "Mr. Harrington," startled him back into focus.

But on the fifth day, when all you offered was silence, Steve felt his patience wear thin.

When your familiar scent wafted by on the way out of British Lit, Steve shot his hand out and grabbed you by the arm. You gasped upon impact against the wall, heart racing at the sight of Steve's firm body blocking you in. He felt firmer than before—or maybe you just missed the solidity of those bronzed muscles. Scented overpoweringly of vetiver and amber, coaxing you with that animalistic restlessness that festered in your veins just like last time.

Steve's lip quirked upward, hand pressing flat against the wall beside your head. "How long's this gonna last, sweetheart?"

You could feel yourself slipping into a daze. What harm could dipping your toe in the murky water really do? It certainly looked enticing—with all his bulging muscles, and beautiful plump lips—

No. You had to have some self-respect.

"I’m over you, Steve. Simple as that.”

Steve watched you tip your nose up at him, jut your little chin out and huff. You were good, he’d give you that—enough to keep a calm face beneath his heavy stare. But he could see the way your chest stuttered beneath your shirt, how your nose flared with shallow breaths. You lingered on his mouth a little too long to be over him.

He slid his tongue over his teeth and shrugged, pulling his hand away from your head. “Alright, baby. Whatever you say.”

Steve whirled around and strode down the hall, shoulders pulled back and head held tall. If you wanted to play, he’d play. But he wouldn’t make it easy for you.

✶ ✶

“No Harrington at the door, that’s new,” Caroline snickered as she kicked the door shut behind her.

You glanced at her over your shoulder from your place in the mirror. Makeup bag spilled over the tiled floor, lips sticky with gloss, you were ten minutes deep into a carefully crafted eye look meant for one night only. Alpha Phi were hosting a Halloween party tonight, and you were determined to prove Caroline—and Steve—wrong. You were over him. Totally, 100%, completely over Steve Harrington.

You didn’t even care if he’d be there tonight, which you knew he would. Maybe that’s why you insisted on keeping your dress pulled down so low, skirt hiked high. You wondered what he’d decide to wear. Something tight on his chest, stretched thin across the broadness of his back. Maybe something dark, because dark colors made his eyes brighten and sparkle.

Swallowing, you tossed your eyeliner back into the makeup bag and huffed. “It was about time he got the hint.”

Caroline’s gaze narrowed. “Right. Because you’re over him.”

Straightening your spine, you grinned at the mirror and nodded. Even a heavy, centering breath couldn’t calm the stirring in your stomach. An arousal burrowing deep in your bones.

“Absolutely.”

✶ ✶

He wore a black suit. Somehow, though it covered his limbs completely, it made him look bigger. A tall vision of lean limbs striding through tightly-knit bodies leaking liquored sweat. The music Alpha Phi played seemed to muffle at the sight of his back, heading toward another room where people waited. Waited for him. Just for him, in all his pretty boy glory.

The black clothes on your body stiffened, and you huffed as you plucked at the fabric thinning with dampness. You just got here and you were already pining.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pushing through a group of people at your left to maneuver toward the kitchen.

You wanted to be souped up and fuzzy with alcohol haze in the next twenty minutes, or else you weren’t sure you’d make it. As you scrutinized the drink selections wading in ice buckets on the kitchen counters, a familiar, deep-throated chuckle rumbled somewhere behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling slowly, curling your fingers into fists in time with the swell of breath. You could do this. Steve Harrington was just a boy, and there had been plenty of boys over the years. He wasn't special.

Opening your eyes, you snatched a pumpkin flavored ale from the first bucket and reached for the bottle opener.

"Here, sweetheart, lemme get that for you."

Steve's hand swallowed your own, plucking the opener from your grasp as easily as a toy from a baby. He crowded you, arm brushing your own as he popped the top off the amber bottle of beer with ease. It clattered somewhere on the floor, but Steve seemed uninterested in mess; his eyes settled on you as he held the opened bottle out, sunglasses tucked in the collar of his t-shirt.

You reached for the bottle, but he held it out of reach toward his elbow. Frustration took hold in your throat, lumped like undigested food. And it found home in your stomach, twisting like a thin blade in a mess of guts. You can do this, you reminded yourself. He's just a boy.

"Steve," you huffed, glaring at his chest instead of the sly smirk toying on his handsome mouth.

"What, no thank you?"

Lifting your eyes, you settled a hard, narrowed gaze on his forehead and reached for the bottle again. "Thanks."

Steve shot the bottle up toward the ceiling, held tight in his fist. He was wearing a silver ring on his right ring finger and that slutty, brown leather-banded watch again.

You swallowed, fingers recoiling toward your sides where they twitched with need. Flashes of those long, slender fingers of his skating over your flesh came like waves of heat. Massaging fat, pulling, prodding, spreading, diving into wetness and coming out soaked. How sometime after he dressed you again, when his roommate calmed his frustrated screaming, complaining about washing Steve's "jizz" out of his comforter, Steve's fingers found your bottom lip and traced their softness. How sometime on the walk back to your dorm, he pressed you against the brick wall in the walkway and wrapped them around your jaw to devour your mouth.

"You can't take it, can you?" Steve's voice, graveling lowly with an erotic rasp, snapped you out of your syrup-sticky thoughts.

He was closer now, standing toe-to-toe, gazing at you down the slope of his nose. Your beer bottle still in the air, his other hand dangling emptily near yours, Steve stood at a proximity so near that you could smell the cigarette on his breath. The outline of the pack in his front left pocket was enough to have you squirming. You craned your neck, attempting to release it of strain and tension from a constriction of muscles. Not even the tightest clench of your core could calm the festering heat settling in your body.

"W-what?" you scoffed, head shaking. "Can't take what?"

You lacked the bite of last week's confrontation, and both of you could tell. Steve swooped down a little closer, neck arching to meet your height. His eyes lolled left, then right, then back to your face where they met your mouth like he readied to tell a secret.

"You're all squirmy, darlin'," he mumbled, voice almost slipping away in the music from a stereo in the living room. "You want me. I can tell."

Pressing your teeth together, jaw wired shut, you huffed a breath through your nose and fixed up your chin. "In. Your. Dreams."

Beer abandoned, you whirled around on one foot and stomped toward the way you came. Behind you, Steve straightened his spine and tongued away a grin. Through the opening above the sink, Steve watched you dash toward the stairs, hair flouncing with every rushed stomp. You were insatiable. It would be so much easier for you to give in, but your stubbornness prevented you.

Steve set the open beer down on the counter and headed toward the hall, knowing even he could no longer stomach your hard-headedness. If he had to be the one to give in, then so be it. But watching your ass sway in that little black dress, your breasts rise and fall in quick, shallow successions in that plunging neckline, jeweled with a little, blinged-out blue cross—Christ, his knees felt weak.

He wanted you in his hands, and he wanted it yesterday.

With bounding, leaping steps up the stairs, Steve hurried to place you in the mass of bodies. The music faded, swallowed by distance and the blood rushing in his ears. He threw open doors and ignored screeches of bare, naked surprise from stray couples that couldn't contain their own impatience. When he made it to the bathroom door, he skirted toward the front of a line of girls half-clothed forming against the wall and knocked twice.

"Hey, back of the line," a red-head in a witch hat snapped at him from the front.

Glaring at her, Steve knocked again, incessantly desperate.

"Somebody's in here!" your voice called sweetly from the other side.

Screwing his face up at the girl still huffing and puffing at him, he jiggled the door handle. "It's me, sweetheart, just open the door."

A quiet 'oh, Christ' came through the door, and Steve shuffled back a step as things slammed and clattered on the other side. The witch hat girl crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, and Steve shot her another sharp look before the door flung open. Before you could admonish him with more synthetic, short syllable grievances, Steve breached the gap between your bodies and grabbed your face. Two big hands, slender-fingered and cooled with metallic accessory, scented of cologne and tobacco and Steve, pressing firmly against your cheeks and partially under your jaw.

Steve used this hold to pull you in, mouths attaching and eyes sinking shut. Tongue gliding against yours, searching the crevices of your teeth, sloppy and needy and completely blinded by the tightness in his pants.

"God, get a room already!"

Steve popped away from your mouth with a soft, detaching slurp. You heaved for air, cheeks round with warmth, lips plumped with rushing blood.

His eyes rummaged your face, and when he found nothing but astonished thrill, he slipped his hold to your hand and gave it a little sideways tug. "C'mon."

The stumble to a free bedroom came with a fumbling of clothes and wandering hands. The search for a bed without people already humping on it was fruitless, and so dazed with lust, Steve snapped at a couple with such ferocity that they went skittering out of the room before anyone could protest. And once the door was locked and the bed once-overed for ick, Steve grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back in again.

It was as you were bouncing back on the bed, shuffling to make room for him on the duvet while exploring his mouth with your tongue, that Steve pulled away.

"Mmm...wait, wait..."

Pulling back to sit on his haunches, Steve smoothed his hands over your thighs, teasing them under the hem of your dress—just to keep touching you, stimulating you, keeping you there. Your breath came and went rapidly, body collecting heat in the wait. Your fingers were practically buzzing to touch him again, thighs quaking with anticipation of the burning stretch from his body between them. You were itching for him. Sitting there in all his glory, black fabric and tousled hair.

"I just...I wanna say, baby, I really meant to call you. Honestly, honey, I did."

You sighed, desperation taking a rest at the softness of his voice. Reaching out, you rubbed the pad of your finger over his ring. "Okay—"

"And that girl? I haven't seen her in months—she said so herself! I just...I had a past before you, sweetheart, but that's all it is. Just the past."

A smile swept over your face, small and coy and completely taken by his boyish admission. Sincerity held his eyes with unblinking certainty. You reached up and brushed his hair away from them, thumb sweeping across his cheek.

"Okay, Steve. I believe you."

As though triggered out of some conditioned state, Steve pounced at your forgiveness. His weight toppled down on you, pushing a wheezed giggle from your mouth as he attached his own to your neck. Your amusement trickled straight back into arousal, thighs tightening around his hips as his fingers looped into and tugged down the front of your dress.

"Christ, couldn't take it anymore," he mumbled, wiggling down to smatter kisses across your chest. "Had to...mmm...have you."

Gliding your fingers through his hair, you tipped your head back toward the ceiling and sighed blissfully. “Then have me, Steve.”

The groan Steve expelled against your breasts came with a gust of hot breath, and a rumble that had you gasping and shivering. He nipped at the pudgy flesh once, lolled his tongue over the aggravation to soothe the sting, and pulled back to shed his layers. You hiked your dress around your waist, too busy ogling Steve’s bare abdomen and the thatch of hair at the base of his pelvis, all exposed with every article freed from his body, to bother discarding your own. You weren’t sure you could last much longer.

And as his cock sprung free, fisted with his ringed hand in all its pinken, glistening glory, you became embarrassingly needy—mewling, reaching out and pulling, scraping with your nails, pouting out your lip and welling up with tears.

“Aw, cryin’ again, sweetheart?” Steve cooed, rubbing his thumb through the slick on the head of his cock to smear it as he pulled your thighs over the top of his. “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be waiting long.”

Trembling with anticipation, you shifted and tilted your hips in an attempt to gain friction and release your aching torment. Steve snickered, pushing his hand down firmly against your hip to pin you to the bed. You huffed through your nose, pout deepening. Steve’s eyes flickered up toward your displeasure, and he felt himself softening.

“God, look at you—alright, sweetheart, a little wider. Little wider—there you go, fuck,” Steve rambled, pushing your thighs as far as they could go to make room for his body.

Sweeping his cock through your slickness, he made gentle, delicate massaging glides against your sensitive, throbbing clit before sinking in. The stretch burned and stung, and you pinched your eyes closed with a gasp. But when he sank in to the hilt, settled in deep and snug, the burn fizzled away to a feeling so full that you could only whimper and writhe.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice was soft, a low whisper that tickled over your face.

Peeking them open, you found his face above yours, graced with a handsome smile that softened him like light. Trembling, your fingers approached his face, running down the dampness of his cheek and through the front of his hair. He kissed your wrist as it passed his mouth. His thumb pressed against the underside of your jaw, shifting you a little to the left until you felt the plumpness of a pillow beneath your neck.

“There,” he mumbled, swooping to kiss your head. “Comfy?”

As though satiated just by the fullness of his cock lodged inside you, you breezed with a dreamy sigh and nodded. “Very.”

Steve’s lip twitched into another grin. “Good.”

Running your palm over his bare bicep, freckled with mocha spots and slick with exertion, you hummed. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be gentle. Need you bad.”

A snorted chuckle rumpled from Steve’s throat, and he lifted another hand to cup his palm over the crown of your head. “That so? You need it a lil’ rough, pretty girl?”

Bobbing your head fervently, eyes rounding with delight: “Yeah—yes, please.”

Eyes scanning the surface of your flushed face, Steve took on a look of exasperated hesitation, wrinkling in his brow. "Ooh, I don't know—"

"Please," you yelped, hands tugging at his shoulders.

Steve chuckled, pretending to be moved by your ministrations, falling a little closer to your mouth where he pressed a kiss. "If you insist, honey."

The start to his thrusts were slow. Deep and languid, full of sweeping hips and firm arms. And just as you were about to protest, face screwing up with impatience, Steve located a ferocity that had you wailing. Barreling into you, fingers scrunching in your hair to pull by the root and yank aside, bearing your throat and calling to his teeth. They scraped over and sank into the flesh, bursting blood vessels and burning with vivacity. The bed frame clattered into the wall with a thumping melody, and every thrust inched you a little closer to the headboard.

You reached up to find footing, bracing yourself with two hands around the wooden bars of the headboard. Steve slid his hand from your hair to your neck, fingers pressing gently into the column of your throat. Not squeezing, just holding.

"Kiss me," you rasped, feeling the spark of an approaching climax gather in your nerves, rising to the surface.

Steve's mouth moved to yours like a magnet, latching with full lip and licks of tongue. His thumb pressed gently into your chin, tipping your head up. He followed every angle of it, never stopping the furious pace of his hips, every one coming with a prod of his cock at somewhere with tremulous, visceral surges. When you began to vibrate so badly you could barely hold tight around his hips, Steve pressed his fingers a little further into your skin. Enough to cut the pressure in your air stream, suppressing it to just the slightest wheeze.

And as you fluttered around him, Steve's arms grew weak, wobbling with need as he clenched every muscle he could to hold back. He wanted to cum with you.

He didn't have to hold off long—your vision bursted to white, streaked with tears pulled by a high-pitched shrill. The guttural, animalistic sound, and pure, heavenly delirium on your face had him spiraling—freeing himself from your tightly-clenched walls to spill over your stomach, coating it with sticky warmth. Nonsensical babbles slipped from your swollen mouth, low grunts and moans from Steve's. His fingers uncurled from your throat, the other leaving your hair to smooth it down on his way toward the other side of the bed.

When breath returned to an even symphony, and the room resumed to faded, thumping stereo music, you rolled onto your side and stared at the naked, glistening boy.

"You owe me a date, Harrington."

Steve chuckled breathily, tugging you into his side with a lazy push against your back. In the crook of his arm, he popped a kiss on your head.

"More like two."

544 notes · View notes

callmemana · 1 year

Text

Stranger Things Fanfic: 1

Key: smut -🍓/ fluff -🌼/ angst -🐂/ personal favorite -👓/

Eddie Munson:

Baby, Slow It Down 2 @upsidedownwithsteve 🍓👓 (fwb)

Black Velvet @switchbladedreamz 🍓

Call You Mine Series 2 @queenimmadolla 🍓🌼🐂

Come Again? @honey-flustered 🍓🌼

Cruel Little Vixen Series @honey-flustered 🍓🌼🐂

Days Of The Week Series @munson-trashcan 🍓🌼🐂👓 (hate segs)

Death Of Me Series @munson-trashcan 🍓🌼🐂👓 (sequel to Days Of The Week Series & preg reader)

Fall For You @plentyoffandoms 🌼🐂👓

Freaks, Creeps, & Weirdos 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 @hard-candy-writing 🍓🌼🐂

Friends With Benefits @harrywavycurly 🍓🐂

Gentle Persuasion Series @copycatkillerfics 🍓🌼🐂👓 (rockstar! Eddie)

Glassy Eyes, Hazy Afternoons 2 3 4 5 6 7 @whoahoney 🍓🌼🐂 (anxious stoner reader)

Has He Ever Fucked You Like This? 2 @summerlove-r 🍓👓

In This Together Series @eddiemunsons-girl 🍓🌼🐂

June Baby Series @luveline 🌼🐂👓 (teen single mom)

Listen To The Trees Series @ethereal27cereal 🍓🌼🐂 (college au)

My Girl @jobean12-blog 🍓🌼👓

Never Worked Series @starryeyedmunson 🍓🌼🐂 (Henderson fem reader)

Off Limits Series @loveronlineee 🍓🌼🐂 (Henderson fem reader)

Opposite Ends Series @pxrxcxa 🍓🌼🐂👓 (Henderson sister reader)

Penny Verse Series @queenimmadolla 🍓🌼🐂(teen pregnancy au)

Something I’ve Been Meaning To Say Series @queenimmadolla 🍓🌼🐂

Somethin’ Unholy 2 @upsidedownwithsteve 🍓 (+Steve)

Summer In Hawkins Series @ethereal27cereal 🍓🌼🐂 (plus sized reader)

She Drives Me Crazy @jobean12-blog 🌼🐂👓

Smutty Stocking Stuffers @reysorigins 🍓👓

Take Me On Series @softmetalhead 🍓🌼🐂

The Dungeon Master & The Cheerleader Series 2 @spiderrrling 🍓🌼🐂 (Henderson reader)

The Freak & The Slut 2 3 4 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint 🍓🐂

The Boys Next Door @tastefulstars 🍓👓 (+Steve)

Three Series @loveronlineee 🌼🐂

Wish You Were Here Series @pinkrelish 🍓🌼🐂👓 (gymnastics reader)

When The Rain Starts To Pour Series @eddies-ashtray 🍓🌼🐂

When We Were High 2 @eddiemunsonswhxre 🍓🌼🐂(Henderson reader)

You’re The Reason 2 3 @eddiemunsonswhxre 🍓🌼🐂

Too Long In The Midnight Sea Series @morninglesss 🍓🌼🐂

Steve Harrington:

A Little Mean For Me 2 @upsidedownwithsteve 🍓🌼🐂

Full Of It 2 @upsidedownwithsteve 🍓🌼🐂

In Between The Sheets @myobmaya 🍓👓

Kissing Best Friend Steve @plainemmanem 🌼👓

Punk! Steve @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint 🍓🐂

Somethin’ Unholy 2 @upsidedownwithsteve 🍓(+Eddie)

Sweet On You 2 3 @upsidedownwithsteve 🍓🌼🐂

12 Days Of Christmas Masterlist @familyvideostevie 🍓🌼🐂👓

The Boys Next Door @tastefulstars 🍓👓(+Eddie)

What I Like About You 2 @underoossss 🌼(drummer gf au)

139 notes · View notes

retrodreamgirl · 2 years

Text

social etiquette for a beautiful stranger | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the wonderfully complicated ordeal of your ordinary becoming his special OR the time steve wouldn't go with you to a zombie festival but did read The Feminine Mystique and liked it [wc: 8.6k]

warnings fem!reader, steves pov, pining steve, fluff, slight hurt/comfort college au, friends to lovers, reader is poetic as shit (very me coded so sorry bout it), ft. dustin and robin being the best friends, cruel college girls, slow burn, not really proofed, lmk if i missed anything!

i'm actually incredibly obsessed with this and am begging you all to talk to me abt it (asks, reblogs, replies, ANYTHING) bc i love them and also if you hate it you must hate me bc this reader is so me coded its crazy (that last part is a joke...no it's not)

⤜♡→

In the interest of nostalgia everything remains as it were, traced with the faint dusting of fingertips too fearful of a future unsure. You never knew what it would be like in a room that’s not altogether yours, one that’s nearly taped down the center with an invisible line as if to claim “Don’t touch my stuff and I won’t touch yours.” Your bedding and the pictures plastered to the adjacent white cinderblock not seeming half as interesting as the pale blue Cindy Lauper on the other side of the room.

It’s difficult to catch the moment you surmised your strain of voice and reclusive behavior made you just like everyone else, that is to say, no one at all.

You aren’t the girls two rooms down who nearly exclusively leave their door open, the lip caught on a piece of wood shaped like cheese to stop the hinges so anyone could come in. You’re far too unagreeable to get on with the ones who knock on each other's doors for sport, picking at the knick knacks on their neighbor’s dressers and playfully pocketing the ones they seem most fond of. There never seems to be any conversations in the lounge that catch your attention long enough to have you considering an off the cuff response, sidling up to casually insert yourself between tweed skirts and turtleneck sweaters.

It appears to you as if you’ve been cast out with the ease of cruelty only girls seem to possess at this stage in their life. The one they attribute to the horribly difficult situation of being here, a place characterized by the nebulous flutter of a manicured hand.

But if you were to crawl out of your own skin and materialize as someone of new name and face, if you were to ask “What’s with the girl in room 302?” they would all guide you with a vague cast over their shoulders as if said girl is lurking in the far corner, the one with the uncomfortably wobbly armchair, advising that she’s simply too interesting to bother with.

But as it were you’ve yet to configure the idea of this momentary abandonment of self and you’ve failed to find your way across the room where Robin Buckley leans forward along the fuzzy brown loveseat and whispers this very question to a junior who’s taken pity on her wide eyed uncertainty about the whole thing.

“Too interesting? That doesn’t seem right because I mean wouldn’t you wanna know more about her? I know when I was into…—well anyways I’m just saying has anyone actually tried to talk to her?” The disinterest in the subject is nearly driving Robin to madness.

The urge to pelt Steve with the change from her can of coke is the reason she’s perched on the edge of the sofa, because she’s positive he’d agree with her if he paid a lick of attention where he sits to one side flipping through an outdated Vogue. Especially taking into consideration his secret infatuation that led them to the sleepy lighting in her dorm's lounge area.

“Look.” Robin can tell the girl—she’s only slightly guilty she never bothered to ask her name because certainly if she wanted them to know she would’ve said—wants this conversation to be over but still leans forward intent on her next words. “It’s nothing against her, but haven’t you noticed the way she’s so…obscure?”

“...obscure.” Steve’s paying attention now, bored with the magazine and ready for the pizza Robin promised. He glances around the room then, always on edge when he visits her, like he’s stepped into a world he’s not altogether prepared for. When he finds you in the corner he realizes the topic of conversation is more to his interest than he thought.

“Not in like a bad way but I mean, have you seen her? Even her room is just so involved.”

“You’ve been in her room?” Steve is minutely throttled by a tinge of jealousy, always curious of what lies behind the twin door. Wondering if it’s the same as his own, bed pushed beneath the window and everything else thrown up haphazardly, or if you’re more precise in your decoration.

“No, no I was in Clara’s room but Y/n is her roommate—that’s hardly the point. What I’m saying is she’s very smart and romantic but in that difficult way no one understands.”

The way Steve tilts his head stupidly, ignoring the split ends dangling in his peripheral, is imploring enough for further explanation. He’s not sure whether he should be sheepish or maintain insistence that nothing he’s heard in the past few minutes makes sense.

“You know, like…Sylvia Plath.” The citation is meant to mitigate the addled crease in his forehead, but as far as Steve’s concerned this girl has never seriously read Plath in her life. Not that he has either, but that’s far from the point. “It all sounds pretty and melodramatic but what is she really saying?”

“What is who saying?” A new girl materializes before Steve can think of something smart to say. Her hair is pinned up and she’s wearing a dress the color of a wilted banana.

“We’re talking about Y/n.” Steve wants to say that they aren’t talking about you, rather he had a curiosity that was now nearly as confused as when they’d sat down. Though that would require the intense dissection of an innocent question. One guided by intentions that he couldn’t begin to explain as the effect of an identity hindered by the misguided moral high ground of newly adult teens in the nineteen-eighties.

It would also require their willingness to let him participate in their mind boggling repartee. Neither of which pose themselves as viable options as it stands.

“Oh she’s so smart.” The new girl drops her bag, pushing into Steve’s side when she plops on the couch. “Kathy, isn’t she just so smart?”

“So smart. I’m just too embarrassed I’ll make a fool of myself if I even try.” Kathy giggles, like it’s absurd that anyone could have that effect on her. “Heather talked to her once at the beginning of the year. Tell them, Heather.”

Steve has failed to deduce whether their periodic inflections of voice are a result of unnecessary emphasis or some secret amusement he’s yet to catch onto, but Heather appears overjoyed to have been asked about her run-in with the obscurity taking up residence on the third floor.

“Well it was just a second, but it was at the start of term party one of the frats was throwing. Now that I think about it, I can't even believe she was there.” Not that he would agree, but Steve couldn’t believe it either. The only reason he was there is because he all but dragged Robin so he could scope the place out. “Anyways, I asked her if—”

“She asked her if she’s a virgin!”

“Kathy.”

“Well you did, Heather.”

“Yeah, but it’s just a thing you ask frosh! You make it sound like I was being harsh.”

“No one’s asked me that…” Robin hushes to herself, but both girls crowd her all curious eyes and sly smiles. She burns beneath their perfectly winged liner, attention drawn to the condensation of her can resting on the table.

“Well are you?”

It seems a ritualistic task to stand scrutinized by these upperclassmen. To allow them to dress her down until it becomes impossible to deny them the truth. Steve begins to wonder if it were her fate all along to wander unawares to the uncomfortable sofa, whether this is the moment she either proves herself to be worthy of the attention they’ve so generously showered her with or not.

He knows she doesn’t need them, she has her own friends and her own interests, but he understands her desire to be accepted in this new place. To be regarded as more than a band geek slinging ice cream at Scoops Ahoy or rewinding tapes at Family Video.

“I’m…I only did it once.” She relents, perhaps too easily they both decide afterwards. She’s flustered and unprepared for any string of questioning that might follow, the abundance of words she has constantly balanced at the tip of her tongue either gearing up to be her greatest ally or her worst enemy and Steve only hopes it's the former.

“Sure, that’s all it takes really.” It sounds patronizing but Kathy sobers quickly when she and Heather burst into another fit. “Was he your boyfriend or just convenient? My first time was with my boyfriend but sometimes you just take what you can get.”

“Oh uh…” Steve’s prepared to cut in when Robin seems to shrink into the cushions.

“Kathy, don’t be so crass.” Heather shrieks, rolling her eyes at the question that is somehow more invasive than its precursor according to her. “You’re a good sport. Y/n wouldn’t even answer, outright refused really.”

He can tell Robin feels stupid. Of course you wouldn’t answer, maybe she shouldn’t have either. It’s clear Kathy and Heather are getting more out of her than she’s getting out of them. Steve regrets her bothering in the first place, but stows the impending nausea over time wasted and truths easily spilling over in favor of letting her talk herself out of this.

“You know, I have to go actually. We’re gonna grab pizza and I wanna call my friend before it gets too late. He doesn’t live on campus, too young really. Sometimes he doesn’t answer the phone the first time so I have to make sure I have time to call more than once because I don’t wanna miss him again—”

“Chill! We totally get it, go call your friend. Be sure to tell him about your new friends Heather and Kathy.”

“Smooth.” Steve jests when she tugs him from the sofa. Her shoulders relax and she growls in the direction of his boyish grin releasing him at the threshold.

“Shut it, dingus. I swear you better make me your best man after this shit.”

“What!? You didn’t even get anything out of them!”

“Whatever, pizza’s on you.”

~*~

The next time Steve sees you, you’re lounging by the lake in the center of campus. He takes careful care to consider your position, a healthy distance from the water with the back of your hand resting across your forehead to shade yourself from the afternoon sun. It’s not too pretty out, the trees taking on the shape of almost dead rather than the delightfully golden hue that kicks in mid-September.

This far back he can still see the purple of your knitted turtleneck, tucked into the dark corduroy skirt rising above your mid-thigh to create a tantalizing expanse of bareskin leading to your shiny black oxfords.

He takes a turn, dipping to glance at his blue jeans and the Hawkins High hoodie he probably should’ve left to rot in his closet back home. It seems pointless to change completely, so he shoves the hoodie over his head and wraps it around his waist.

It’s uncharacteristic. The way he strolls over, hands snug in his pockets like he’s just interested in the murky view of the pond and straggling geese enjoying the frigid stillness atop the surface. He doesn’t know if he’ll say anything, completely unprepared to wow you with the impressiveness that only seems to appear in times in need of immediate action.

He’s feet away now, glancing at you every few steps. You’re still unmoving and he wonders if you’re sleeping. If you’ve found the lake to be the only place fit for such things. There’s a book resting in your other hand, thumb nudged between the pages to hold your place.

“The Feminine Mystique.” You sigh, startling Steve into nearly tripping over his own feet. Your voice is so pastel and ethereal that it caresses his ears on its way to settle into his brain, slowly permeating like spilled paint. “Woe to misogyny and all that.”

“Oh, yeah...fuck misogyny.” A cringe follows, his mind conjuring the idea that Robin’s found a new method to tally his defeats already. He stills watching you center yourself on the palm that previously shaded you and lifting the book to regard the teal and creme cover.

“Have you read it?” Steve is startled by your subtle disregard for the invasion of privacy. It’s an emotion furthered by the frayed paperback extended toward him . “Here.”

“But you’re only halfway—”

“S’not as good the second time. I was so put off I got distracted by a bird flying just there, it was watching me too I think.” You shrug, dropping it in the grass when Steve doesn’t immediately take it. Your finger lifts to guide him to a cardinal perched in the nearest tree. You don’t say more, guiding your attention to the lake, neither a dismissal or an invitation so Steve takes the initiative to lower himself, grabbing the book.

“Thanks.” A gust of wind shoves against the pair of you, Steve perfectly clear on why you’re the only person out enjoying the weather. “It’s pretty chilly out here.”

“Well you did take your sweatshirt off before you came over.” You hum, grazing Steve’s hand when you lift yours to tug at the hem of your skirt and he swears he can smell vanilla and chamomile. You don’t allow him time to be embarrassed about it, already onto the next topic. “Wanna go see a movie?”

“A movie?” He reddens, placing the novel aside in favor of rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs.

“They’re having a festival at the theater, ‘Zombies Through the Ages’.” You say ‘Zombies’ like you think it’s a ridiculous concept, but there’s a delighted rise in octave toward the end of the phrase that says otherwise. It’s difficult for Steve to sift through your intentions and settle on anything more than your desire not to sit alone in a darkened theater watching corpses tear into flesh.

“I…well you don’t even know me.” It comes out more accusatory than he intended, and Steve is kicking himself with his ratty sneakers when he sees the way your muscles flatten at the words. You sober rather quickly, standing from the grass and swaying on your feet. Steve untangles himself from the criss-cross that held him so perfectly in place like he had no intention of rearranging the words to shape them into his true meaning.

“Right.”

There’s a moment of silence then and Steve supposes that perhaps both of you are trying to think of something to say. It seems silly to be sitting in the grass, making a fool of himself in front of the only girl he’s really wanted to talk to since Nancy but somehow there’s no other choice.

He’s accidentally framed you in the obscurity with which they’ve all painted you as, because now it seems to have leaked into his brain and taken hold of his speech without his knowledge or consent. It feels bitter and lofty in the back of his throat, especially when he remembers how it felt to be that person to some extent.

He hadn’t noticed it before but you reach to secure an olive green messenger over your shoulder, the straps of faux leather already beginning to peel near the buckle. He watches you reach halfway toward the discarded copy of The Feminine Mystique but retract almost immediately. He wouldn’t blame you if you took it back. There’s a dreamy look in your eyes when you finally manage to find him with them and it’s hard for him not to think about how you’re so pretty.

You’re so pretty and he’s mortified when your lips kissed beneath the cold and injured by his harmful speech attempt the baseless ruse of a thoughtful smile.

“I have to go now, Steve.”

~*~

“I’m an idiot.”

“Well yeah, but it’s not your fault. Are we still on for next weekend? I’m not driving all the way there if you’re just gonna ditch me like last time.”

“First of all don’t say it like you’re the one driving. Second, for the last time, I didn’t ditch you! I’m positive the words ‘Dustin don’t come’ left my mouth about ten times before you showed up anyways.” Steve currently stands with his back against the wall, leg propped up with the payphone tucked against his ear scoffing.

Robin’s still in class for another twenty minutes he waited forty for a phone to clear up after you traipsed off and Dustin isn’t being the least bit sympathetic after he relayed his glaring miscalculation.

Steve wouldn’t know that you pulled yourself from the reality of that moment by imagining it hadn’t happened at all. By pretending that perhaps Steve Harrington was nothing more than a figment of your imagination sent to prepare you for the harrowing realization that you aren’t meant to separate from the unhappiness that clings to you so desperately for a while yet.

“Whatever. Are you seriously panicking? You were nervous, I’m sure she didn’t take it personally. Just apologize.”

“Are you missing the part where she got up and left? I’m pretty sure she took it personally!” He draws the attention of a group of upper class girls known for scrutinizing every little thing. He offers a weak apology, too caught in his own detriment to really feel any remorse.

He wonders when it got like this. The whole thing really.

Constantly curious about everyone around him, yet ignoring it all the same. The choice to keep walking when sniffles echo beneath the doors, questioning his own importance when giggled whispers pass in the halls. The confounded hopefulness when girls who seemed too out of reach offer just a sliver of kindness, some untamed humility to guys like himself. Unsure which ones to trust and which ones to fear.

An unkindness, all of it.

“Steve?”

“What?”

“Were you listening to anything I said, dumbass?”

“Not likely. Forget it, she’s too real for me anyways. Gave me a copy of The Feminine Mystique.” The copy is currently laying atop his desk, right next to the battered copy of Lord of the Rings Dustin gifted him for graduation. He stared helplessly at it for thirty minutes before peeling himself from his desk in search of a phone.

The book smells of faint traces of your perfume and looks almost as if it’s never been read at all. Almost. The laminate coating on the permanent jacket is only slightly creased near the binding and there’s a sticky scuff where it looks like you poorly pulled the price tag from the back. He hadn’t dared open it, too worried to face whatever overwhelming sense of you rests beyond the front cover but the pages are the color of old parchment and he thinks it makes sense it belongs to you.

“I don’t know what that means, but you’re crazy if you think you don’t deserve her. You’re the realest person I know…” He trails, as if considering the strength of the words in relation to every person he’s ever known. He imagines it's fairly simple for Dustin to deduce when considering his social circle for most of his recent adolescent years. “Well you might be tied with Max but that’s not the point really. Do you like her?”

“Dust—”

“Do you like her?” It’s a simple question, and something he hasn’t been able to admit to anyone since the feeling slithered into his chest and coiled around his blood-pumping organ so that it oozed something deeper than the unoxidized thickness. Robin wasn’t an idiot, but even she had to dig to surmise the reason for his frequent insistence they hang in her dorm rather than anywhere else on campus.

“Of course I do.”

“Well that’s really the only thing that matters. So you can either keep whining to me or you can try again and this time don’t say something stupid when she asks you to hang out with her.”

It was easier said than done, the extra mile to see your face again without fruition most days. It seemed as if you’d forgotten the instance altogether and with it any interest in Steve at all. It wasn’t that you lacked the quiet courtesy to offer the tilt of your head or a soft acknowledgement when you crossed paths in the hall, but rather you seemed set not to relinquish to him any attention beyond it.

He’s even stooped to the low of an uncommon interest that’s perhaps more common than he thought, cozying into one of the moth eaten loveseats in your dorm’s lounge and propping the novel you’d given him between his palms. Though he thinks he should be embarrassed it’s the first time he doesn’t feel like he’s performing but rather burrowing further into you and the curiosity of your person. His intention was to wait for you to walk through the lounge, hoping you would notice him in the corner nearest your usual spot, that wobbling armchair. He had no reason to believe he would find investment in the novel and forget about you entirely.

“The Feminine Mystique.” Steve is startled by proximity of your body on the adjacent cushion, glancing toward the corner you most frequent, assuming someone must’ve taken it. It’s completely free. “I seem to have misplaced my copy.”

“Oh…you loaned it to me, remember?” Steve slowly slips a shred of paper through the pages, settling the volume in the space between you, measuring the distance between your thighs.

“Oh, I suppose I did. I must’ve forgotten.”

“Do you want it back?”

“You keep it, it’s not as good the second time I don’t think.” You repeat, digging into your bag to free a leather bound journal and a black ink pen. You open to a blank page and jot something down, lowering the book to your lap and slightly raising it again before speaking. “What do you think of it, this place? Does it give you a burning alive feeling or have you learned to step in the cold places like puddles of water? I think I’ll be burning for a long time yet, but I don’t mind. I think I’ll find an ocean eventually, I’m just too troubled by the waves and the unknown.”

The words are poetic in a way that sounds like you’re serenading him, the blush rising to his cheeks an homage to the rapid cycling where his chest pulses relentlessly beneath his polo. It’s clear you don’t think much of them, pen already scratching at the page again like you’d said nothing at all.

Where Kathy found obscurity Steve finds awe in your speech. A constant string of words he dreams of understanding to their fullest extent because he dreams of understanding you.

“I think in some ways it’s the same as Hawkins but also totally different, so I’m not really sure what to think yet. I miss my friend Dustin, but I’d never tell him that.”

“Hawkins. That’s where you’re from?”

“Yeah, it’s not very big but you’d be surprised how it feels like the biggest place in the world sometimes.”

“That’s good. That you don’t know how you feel about it yet. I only just realized recently how to feel anything at all about such things.” You declare thoughtfully, Steve’s eyes following the way your pen traces the opening of your lips as you speak. “It’s how I found out those cool places exist, before I would just burn completely. Now I’ve taken to taming it periodically.”

“Hey, I’m really sorry about the other day. I was being kind of a jerk but it’s only because I’m not used to people actually wanting to hang out with me. I mean, I met my best friend Robin working at an ice cream shop so she basically had to be around me all the time and the rest of my friends are a bunch of teenagers so—”

“The other day?”

“When you asked me to go to the movies.”

“Ah. Don’t worry, I understand it completely now.” Steve’s not sure what you understand, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from assuaging its hold around his midsection. “You should tell Dustin you miss him, I decided it just now. It might seem like a small thing but to him it could be the whole world and you would never know it.”

“He’s coming to campus next weekend, maybe you could meet him.”

“Maybe. I would like that a lot.”

~*~

The week passes faster than Steve would’ve liked, his newest routine leaving his nights free to spend with you on the comfortably uncomfortable sofa or lounging beside the lake, with blankets and a sweater each at his insistence. He finished The Feminine Mystique (“You were so right, misogyny sucks ass!”) and you dared him to try it a second time, he only made it to the twelfth page.

On the fifth day, it was raining and most of the girls from your building were crowded in the lounge watching Sixteen Candles when the two of you stumbled to the entrance dripping in your raincoats and galoshes.

“Wanna go to my room?” You suggest when neither of you seem interested in the camaraderie of it. “Clara’s gone home for the weekend so she won’t be around if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve’s sure you’ve misinterpreted the funny dangle of his lip half open to one side when you explain yourself but he’s also not certain why you thought you had to or if you just said it. He’s still not good at reading you and he's not sure he ever will be.

“Yeah, that’s cool.” He follows your dreamy gait to the stairs and ignores the way your hand finds gentle security around his wrist, just your pointer and thumb guiding him the rest of the way until you’re both standing before the elusive 302. Your key is dangling beneath the waxy pink of your raincoat, secured by a sturdy chain.

“I’ve always found it easy to forget these little things, especially when I’m never sure I actually want to come back.” You lean forward enough that your waist brushes against Steve’s front, he’s standing at an angle like he’s making sure the key actually goes in. He watches you struggle to trick the lock, endeared by the way your teeth puncture the flesh of your lower lip and your brows furrow. “And certainly I often find myself thinking it’s the room that doesn’t want me.”

“Can I try?” He nudges your arm to the side, chained key dangling from the lock.

“You think you’re stronger than me.” You huff, minutely put out by the suggestion. “Fine. But I do think it’s terribly off putting to say so when I’ve tried my hardest.”

“No, I think you’re very strong.” He shifts so he’s standing in front of the door, your breath fanning against the shell of his ear where you peer over his shoulder. He thinks the lock must be rusted because it’s not as easy as he anticipated, the mechanism taking three sharp jerks of his hand to turn completely. Moving to the side, he allows you to enter the space ahead of him passing you the key with a lopsided grin. “But sometimes your strength isn’t always where you need it to be and it’s okay to ask for help.”

He follows you closely, unprepared for the arrangement of polaroids framing your bed lengthwise. You’ve ordered them by color so they span a rainbow along your wall and when Steve is close enough to make out the actual images he sees that they’re stills from films spanning decades.

Your desk is an arrangement of more books than he’s ever owned sorted neatly within the cubbies. Journals of every color to put to use the impressive collection of stationary arranged neatly on its wooden surface. Your bed is a haven of knitted blankets and patterned throw pillows complete with a well-loved blue puppy and a brown rabbit with accents of pink dotting its nose and ears.

It feels an intimate sort of thing, you allowing him into the place you’ve fashioned as a home away from home. A hideaway from the haunting realization of everything beyond the unreliable door adorned with a chalkboard currently scribbled with hearts around the border.

Steve finds you’ve migrated to the far side of the room, slowly removing your galoshes and placing them against a bare stretch of wall near the closet and he follows suit.

“Did you take all those?” He asks of the photos, flicking a piece of hair from his eyes and passing your extended hand his sopping raincoat.

“Oh yeah,” You have a way of speaking that makes everything seem like it’s the most uninteresting thing in the world. It’s the breathy tone and the way you don’t actually look at him when you say it, always waiting until the last possible moment to find his eyes. “I dated a guy who worked at the theater. I think the nicest thing he ever did for me was let me use one of them after closing to capture stills. It took forever and he broke up with me after.”

“He sounds like a jerk.”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember him much really.” You consider it for a moment, walking to the shelf nestled in the corner. “Sometimes he was there but even when he was he wasn’t…or maybe I wasn’t and I just never knew and he never said. You’ll tell me when I’m not here, right?”

“Of course.” He whispers, satisfied with the way you smile over your shoulder at him, like it was a shy admission, your ability to drift away.

“We should listen to something if you want. You can pick, unless there’s nothing you like, then we can just be quiet.” You motion to the lining of cassettes and Steve hopes your taste is more refined than your roommates if her bubblegum posters are any indication.

You float away, gliding towards your bed and pulling your legs to your chest while he roots through your collection, peeking over his shoulder periodically. It’s innocent the way you rest your head against your kneecaps in your jeans cuffed at the ankle and your pink t-shirt tucked in at the waist.

You’re staring at the downpour beating against your window and Steve finds himself wondering how you manage in a place like this, without even a hint of the antagonistic streak coating the tongues of most of the girls he’s come across.

“Find anything?” You catch him staring and the heat of it builds beneath his collar when he turns back toward the shelf.

“Do you and your roommate get along?” The difference splitting the room is what guides him to the topic, a reminder of the moment Kathy mentioned Clara in passing but never any regard for your relationship either way.

“She’s fine. She doesn’t disregard me like most people anyway.” Steve isn’t quite sure what to say, the thought of you noticing the disparaging way that people consider you is enough to shatter him completely. “I really think she must be glad to get away though.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you be glad to go far away from here?” You fall against your mattress, your arm flailing over the edge displaying a variety of charms and string wrapped around your wrist, your other hand lifting to shield your eyes. It's an exasperation Steve’s not heard from you. “I dream of going away!”

“You can, you know.” Steve pulls a mixed tape from the pile and moves to your radio. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know where quite yet, I still don’t know how I feel about my own dreams but I fear someday they’ll come true. Where do you wanna go, Stevie, perhaps I’ll just hitch a ride.” The nickname is saccharine on your lips and he almost forgets the question, especially when he tucks the tape into your player and the first song is True by Spandau Ballet. You free yourself from your cage of darkness, rising on your elbows with a sardonic smile between helpless laughter. “Oh, this is a love tape! Are you in love with me, Stevie?”

He finds it horribly unpleasant that you expect him to deny it the way he’d deny forgetting to rewind returned tapes when he worked at Family Video. He stalks over to the bed and you hold your hand out to him. He takes it and allows you to pill him to the mattress to sit with his back shoved against the wall. It’s not unwelcome when you take up your previous position, this time your head nestled in his lap with your eyes swallowing him entirely.

“Would that be so bad?”

“Where do you wanna go, Stevie?” He’s grown used to your ability to shift, certain that you’ll cycle back eventually. It’s an admiration to him, your ability to hold off the inevitable until you feel ready to face it. Even the simplest of questions deemed a significant task of dissection.

It doesn’t set him any less teetering on the edge in this instance, but there’s a comfort that finds the anxious pit rolling over in his stomach.

“I don’t know. For the longest time I just wanted to get away from Hawkins, but now that I have I realize I’m not ready to leave all of it behind.”

“The kids?” He can tell you're always fond even if you haven’t met them. He’s usually embarrassed when he slips up, used to his ego being deflated by the ones who built it in the first place. High school “friends” or flings more interested in his money than him. But your hands always settle over his when he starts to trail off and you ask so many questions that he thinks you must know them as well as he does by now.

“Yeah, I’d miss ‘em too much if I just left, ya know?”

“What about your parents? You don’t talk about them.”

“They’re one of the reasons I wanna get away, my dad mostly. He was always a hard ass but it got worse when I didn’t get into college. And when I did get into college he wasn’t proud or anything, just happy I’d be gone.” It wasn’t something he expected to have such a hold over him, the way his parents seemed more delighted he was leaving than happy that he made it. “He’s probably wondering how I even got in.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever told you Steve, so don’t laugh when I say it or you’ll hurt my feelings, but I think you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little mean to say something like that and expect me not to laugh? It’s okay, I know I’m not a genius or anything.” He can see that you mean it and he hopes that you go on if only to trick him into believing it as strongly as you.

“Don’t you know all those things you did were more important than anything you’ve ever thought you should’ve done? It would’ve been so easy for you to go to college and forget Hawkins, forget all of it when you graduated but it wouldn’t have made a difference and you would’ve never known it.”

“You think so?”

“I know it. I know that if you did things the way people think, you wouldn’t have found family and experienced life in a way that some people don’t believe exists.” You’re pleading with him, eyes glistening with something he can’t quite reach. A climactic bridge soaked in devotion now the soundtrack to your sudden speech where it floats from static speakers.

“Maybe that just makes me lucky enough to have been chosen by them.”

“You told me that strength isn’t always in the place we need it most, well intelligence is not always where we think it should be. Your intelligence is the way you manage to shape yourself into such an affection that people don’t realize they’ve been touched by it until they’ve fallen horribly transfixed in a way that doesn’t make much sense but it feels whole. You put so much thought into the way you cherish those kids and I don’t think you even know it really, how important it is that you stayed.”

“Well my dad—”

“Your dad doesn’t know it either, Steve. I think, and it’s a tragic thought but, I think maybe he forgot you a long time ago and now you just can’t trust him because he doesn’t know anything at all.

”It is a tragic thought, but I think you’re right.” Steve is glad there’s music because the silence would’ve been deafening. To have someone find the words to explain the emptiness that filled the length of his childhood in a way not riddled with a false hope for change.

Steve isn’t in charge of his own body when his hand flutters against the skin of your cheek, tracing the softness down to the curve of your chin. It’s pretty to think about calling you his and the ability to feel you in all of your gentle caresses of touch and speech. The song is Groovy Kind of Love Phil Collins when you look up at him with a new determination, almost knocking heads when you sit up and turn towards him.

“We should kiss.” You’ve leaned far enough forward that the subtlest of movements pushes the tips of your noses together.

“I–what?”

“Just to see. You never said if you were in love with me and I think I just might be in love with you so we should kiss…just to make sure.”

Steve is positive he’s always loved you, even when you weren’t more to him than another person existing somewhere without his knowledge, but his hand rests against the warmth of your cheek and he leans in a little further, breathing you in now.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, wondering if you’d been chewing bubblegum before and he hadn’t noticed.

“Sure.” Steve could scream, an agonistic sort of sound when someone knocks on the door just as your lips brush. You’re drawn to the sound and Steve is drawn to the way your eyes widen a half step. “Oh, it must be someone for Clara.”

You stand, pulling at the places where your shirt especially clings and go to open the door. Sure enough, Heather steps through the threshold as soon as it’s wide enough and scans the room like you’re not the reason she’s here. She finds Steve and Phil Collins and suddenly it's all wrong.

“Clara isn’t here, gone home for the weekend.” You inform her, the door still agape in your anticipation of her immediate departure. Steve would love nothing more.

“Oh I know, but she said I could stop by for this new red nail polish she has because absolutely nothing else would do.” The pair of you watch her navigate the other half of the room, sifting through Clara’s things and spending too long in some spots. Steve swallows hard when she looks at him, a glint in her dark eyes. “You’re that freshman’s buddy aren’t you?”

“Robin, yeah.”

“Robin, of course. I wondered why she was asking all those questions about Y/n. You should’ve said you were interested, ‘What’s with the girl on the third floor’ sounds so accusatory.” He doesn’t dare look at you, horrified by the sudden intrusion and no less by the revelation of his transgression. “I’m glad you decided to find out for yourself! Phil Collins is so sweet for these kinds of things and I guess I have my answer now, right?”

“The nail polish is in the drawer in her nightstand. You better just take it or I’ll have to tell her you were going through her things.” It’s strained when you speak, Heather looks at you over her shoulder and struts to the nightstand pulling the translucent bottle free.

“Oh course, I wasn’t snooping, Clara is always rearranging her things. Thanks so much, hun. Have fun!” She slips a wink in Steve’s direction, and he doesn’t miss the extra skip in her step before she disappears leaving everything all wrong.

“You know, I’ve only met her once and I think seeing her again was far too soon for my liking.” He tries to make light of things, but the way you still stand with your body bleeding into your door makes him nervous in a normal way, no comfort to be had in the way you’re thinking. “She doesn’t know when to shut up.”

He speaks mildly, but remorse seeps in by the end.

“I think I’d like to be alone for a while.” You wrinkle your nose like it’s never occurred to you that you might be unsure. It gives Steve a modicum of hope.

“Listen—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m not mad. I just…I like to tame the burning, remember?” He nods and he leaves, not because he wants to but because he thinks it's better than anything he could think of saying. Especially when you couldn’t find it in you to say that you’re upset.

It doesn’t feel fair.

He doesn’t see you at all over the course of the next week and he thinks it’s the worst time of his life. Is positive he understands the burning now.

~*~

“Don’t take it personally, he hasn’t paid any attention to me all week.” Robin assures Dustin, fresh in from his mother’s Volvo. The trio is the same as they always were in their small town, stuffed into a booth talking about everything and nothing. “I think he’s sick.”

“Yeah, lovesick.” Dustin flings a fry across the table, striking Steve in his left eye.

“Hey, you little shit, cut it out!” He flings it right back, missing entirely much to Dustin’s amusement. “Do it again and your ass is grass. It’s a restaurant, not a playground.”

“Come on, dingus, he’s just messing around. You could at least pretend you wanna hang out with us.” Robin shoves a fry into the glob of ketchup on her plate and shoves it in Steve’s face. “You’re being a bummer.”

He is being a bummer, but he can’t help it. Not when you’re supposed to be taking up the empty space beside him, excited and nervous. You’d talked incessantly about finally meeting Dustin, delighted to be introduced to one of his kids. He can imagine the way you two would be going back and forth, Dustin with his scientifically analytical mind and you with your poetic way of thinking. He always thought you’d find common ground in the fantasy of it all, told you you’d love D&D and Dustin would love nothing more than to teach you all about it.

But you’re not here and he wishes it were as easy as blaming Heather for the whole thing, but he knows that on some level it’s his ability to constantly be his biggest liability.

“Sorry, I’m just not in a great mood at the moment.” He relents, shoving the remainder of his burger into his mouth. It’s Friday night and Steve promised to take Dustin to a theater in town, they’re having some festival according to Robin. He doesn’t mind it but would rather a night in like they used to do at home. He flicks the leather band of his watch slurping at his soda. “What time do we need to get to this thing? I’m not getting stuck with a lousy seat just because you think you need to clean out the concessions.”

“What time is it?” Dustin grabs at his arm, ignoring Steve’s hard stare when he clocks the greasy stain smeared along the glass. He considers a moment, a tactful glance to Robin “We can go now, right?”

“Oh yeah, now is perfect I think.” Robin chucks a thin band of cash to the table and nudges Dustin out of the booth.

Steve is too caught by the seamlessness of the whole thing and remains in his seat with his hand already shoved into his pocket. “Wait. Why are you paying? You never pay.”

“I’m being a good friend, thought it might cheer you up a little. Now come on before we're in the front row breaking our necks like a bunch of zombies.”

He’s no more an idiot to Robin’s uncharacteristic chivalry when he spots you meandering outside the theater in a skirt that flows around your knees and a collegiate hoodie. You don’t see them coming and Steve is half content to lower his head and keep walking, but when Robin points you out Dustin bounds over without a second thought.

“Hey!” Dustin calls, but you don’t immediately reply. Your eyes have drifted to a particularly rowdy group of students, Steve hopes they aren’t in the same theater and wonders if you’ve thought the same. He can’t imagine you did, probably something more existential that he’d take in with a kind smile but still tell you if they’re anywhere near your seats he’ll throw a fit. “Hey, Y/n!”

“Oh…Robin, I was wondering if I got the time wrong.” You smile, not entirely acknowledging them yet. You're unsure and that simply won’t do in a group like this, one that thrives on the ability to read each other so perfectly.

“What are you doing out in the cold?” Steve manages, taken aback when you find him so exposed beneath the lights of the theater. It’s only been a week but the loss of you was more potent than he realized, like a missing sense, something that’s horrible to live without.

“Just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?” Dustin offers when Steve seems suddenly short of speech.

“I’m wondering what it would be like if I were the only person in the world. I think I would be perfect, you know. I would be perfect and then I would die, perhaps earlier than I should, and should I die there will be no one left and that’s just fine.”

“That’s deep.” You crack a smile and Steve can tell Dustin is proud of himself.

“You must be Dustin. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too! I’m glad you’re here, Steve has been moping around all night.” Steve knocks Dustin’s signature cap from his mop of curls, the kid goes spirling after it before it becomes a casualty of the masses scaling the sidewalk.

“Don’t be a jerk, Steven, he’s not wrong.” Robin so dutifully sprinkles the last bit, holding her hand outward expectantly. “Give me your wallet, I’ll buy the tickets.”

“What happened to being a good friend?” He challenges, still freeing his wallet from his tight denim jeans.

“Oh, I’m being a very good friend.” Robin snags Dustin by the collar of his shirt and drives him through the entrance with careful consideration for the bodies piled outside the doors. Steve sees you reaching for your wallet and slots his hand over yours.

“I got it.”

“Oh that’s…” You must calculate the way his lips cave because you stop yourself and glance toward the other half of your party. “Have you really been moping? You were so excited for him to come, don’t be dull.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He sulks, pulling you toward one of the towering alcoves where no one is close enough to hear or interrupt. “I need you to be upset with me.”

The concept seems foreign to you, like there’s no reason for such an idea to even transpire in the darkest part of your thoughts. Your fingers bunch in the fabric of your skirt, it’s solid white and Steve is wondering how many you went through before you realized no other color would go.

“Why would I be upset?”

“Because of what Heather said, about me asking around about you.”

“Heather doesn’t know when to shut up.” You mumble, reaching for the hand hanging limply at Steve’s side. “I was never mad about it, I just—I know the things people say about me and what Heather said about knowing the answer…I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted, to use me and then tell everyone.”

“That’s not what I want, please don’t think that. I wanted to know you before I heard all that stupid shit they say.”

“I don’t, I promise.” You extend your pinky, Steve hooks it through his own and brings the connection to rest against his lips. “I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone after what happened. You never came by or anything.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone and I didn’t wanna push.”

“You shouldn’t. Don’t leave me alone.” You manage, rocking on the balls of your feet with your lip between your teeth. Steve is just about to suggest a pact, the kind established with his lips pressed against yours beneath the cover of fluorescence but he’s interrupted by Dustin rounding the corner with his arms thrown wide.

“What the hell!? The movie is about to start and Robin and I made sure to get the best seats so hurry up!” Steve is about to tell him to get lost but you give him a terribly expressive sort of look: don’t be dull.

“We’re coming,” He doesn’t give you space to get too far, taking you by the hand and leading the way through the throngs of people, trying to keep track of Dustin bouncing amongst them.

The seats they found were perfect, right in the center of everything, and when you stole the seat between Steve and Dustin the lights were already lowering. Robin passes along Steve’s wallet and a bucket of popcorn to share, Night of the Living Dead, the first film of your evening slate.

It hits Steve then, with your bodies separated by the thin armrest and the pointless dialog between siblings projected on screen. A moment comes full circle, his earlier rejection taking mercy on his lapse in judgment.

“Didn’t you already see this?” He leans close enough not to disturb anyone enjoying the film. “A few weeks ago you asked me to come.”

“You said ‘no’.” It’s simple really, the way Steve feels in this moment like you were wrong.

Like he’s the dumbest person in the world.

He recalls the photos plastered along your wall, and the way it struck you as odd when he likened you to strangers. You spent hours taking those photos, pondering over the coordination of colors to paint the perfect picture of you. Steve had done nothing more than invade your privacy but in that moment you deemed him worthy of knowing some of the deepest parts of you and he only seems to understand it now.

It’s so much more than a desire not to sit alone in a darkened theater watching corpses tear into flesh. It’s the burning. The feeling of so slowly burning alive and hoping the other person will notice just how much effort goes into that feeling of turning yourself to ashes until you find an ocean to tame it completely. A bonfire waiting for the waves to lick the sand.

“I’m an ocean.”

“What?” Your attention had gone back to the film, the first of many zombies hiking across the screen in search of an unwilling victim.

“We should kiss.”

“Steve, we’re in the middle of a theater and I’m not sure it’s that kind of film.” You think he’s joking until you turn, his eyes focused on you entirely. You lean in, close enough to touch, both of you hoping Heather is as far away from you as possible. You pause, the whole thing feeling fundamental at this stage, but so horribly important all the same. “...just to see?”

“Just to see.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington college au #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things college au

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