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The challenge to find you a pet name had started at the beginning of the summer. Spending most of your free time with The Party, it had been inevitable that yours and Steve’s relationship would be the topic of conversation. Not the newest relationship, but still the freshest for Dustin Henderson to focus on.
Dustin had been the one to broach the subject. “You don’t have a nickname for your girlfriend?” He asks of Steve, raising a single, judgmental eyebrow.
“It’s not something we’ve thought about,” You interject, shutting down the youngster’s argument quickly.
“I understand that,” Dustin counters, “But how do you not have a pet name for each other?”
Steve huffs, dropping an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his touch, relishing the feel of Steve pressed against you. Momentarily, Steve forgets the argument with Dustin, smiling down at you indulgently before dropping a kiss to the top of your head.
The moment isn’t missed by Dustin. “See!” He all but screams, “How can you act like that with each other and not have pet names!?”
“Alright!” Steve exclaims, “If I find a pet name (Y/N) likes, will you drop it?”
Dustin crosses his arms, looking entirely self-satisfied as he nods his head. “I’ll even stop pestering you.”
It was with the promise in those words that the challenge began.
One:
The challenge begins the very next morning. Steve lounges on your bed; an arm covering his eyes dramatically as he curses Dustin’s very existence. “Why couldn’t he accept that we aren’t the couple to have pet names for each other?” He asks.
“I don’t know,” You concede, settling down on the bed next to him where Steve immediately reaches for your hand, tangling your fingers together.
“What would you prefer?” Steve asks, removing his arm from his eyes to get a better look at you in the strong morning light.
“Babe?” You suggest, “I don’t mind being called ‘babe’.”
Steve shakes his head; tendrils of the long locks falling into his eyes as he frowns. “It’s too… common,” He argues, “You deserve something better.”
“You’re sweet,” You coo.
“I’ll think of something,” Steve promises, “It’ll be the best nickname you’ll have ever had.”
“I have no doubt about it,” You laugh, “But I have something for you to do first.”
“What’s that?”
“Kiss me, Harrington,” You smile, pulling him in by the hem of his thin cotton t-shirt.
Two:
It had become a weekly tradition to take The Party to the 24-hour diner situated just outside of Hawkins. They looked forward to it every week; the wait staff having already memorised their orders from the menu.
“Same as usual?” Loretta, the waitress, calls from behind the counter the moment she spies Steve and you walk through the door.
“Yes please, Loretta,” You answer, smiling at the aged waitress before sliding into a booth next to Steve. His hand automatically lands on your thigh; warmth spreading through your chest at the feel of his skin on yours.
Chatter is constant with the youngsters; laughter and arguing part of the parcel as you all wait for the food to be placed in front of you. Steve’s presence is solid next to you; warmth rolling off him in waves as you shift a little closer to him. He doesn’t bring attention to the shift, but the smile on his face grows larger and the hand on your thigh squeezes just once.
The voices around you begin to fade to a buzz; you can just make out Mike’s arguing with Lucas, but the words soon fade to nothing as you focus on something else, on nothing else.
“Darling?” Steve calls, bringing you out of your reverie. Blinking twice, you gaze up at Steve as he stares down at you in mild concern. “Where did you go just now?” He asks, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone and along your jawline.
“I just zoned out,” You murmur, settling his nerves. “You called me ‘darling’”
“I did,” Steve comments, “Do you like?”
“Am I being picky if I say no?” You ask, frowning.
Steve shakes his head. “Of course not. It’s your pet name, you’ve got to like hearing it.”
“I don’t think I like ‘darling,” You murmur.
“That’s fine,” Steve states, smiling lovingly at you.
“I love you,” You mouth, watching the happiness shine in his eyes as The Party studiously ignore the both of you, focusing intently on their own food.
“I love you too,” Steve replies, mouthing the words to you before offering you a fry from his plate.
‘Darling’ wouldn’t be the right nickname for you, but he would always be your love.
Three:
If you had to choose a place on Earth to be your favourite, it would have to be wrapped in Steve’s arms. It’s cliché, it’s romantic, it’s what nearly every girl in Hawkins High wished for, but it was true.
He had a way of making you feel safe; of making you feel loved with such a simple touch. It was hard to leave them when you k new that you would be needed at work in less than an hour.
“Are you coming over later? It’s date night for my parents, and my sister is at a sleepover,” You ask, tucking a stray piece of Steve’s hair behind his ear.
“If you want me to, Sugarpie.”
“Sugarpie?”
“What?” Steve smiles, “You don’t like that one?”
You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. “Not really.”
“But you’re as sweet as sugar,” He argues, a silly smile breaking across his face.
Snorting, you roll your eyes, stepping out of the warmth of Steve’s arms. He pouts as his arms drop to the side, empty now that you are no longer in them. You grin at the brunette, patting his arm consolingly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, but right now I’ve got to get to work and so have you.”
Steve groans, letting his head fall back dramatically. “I won’t stop until I find the perfect nickname for you.”
“I know you won’t, Harrington. Let me know when you find it,” are your parting words, dropping a swift kiss to his lips before leaving the lovesick young man behind.
Four:
“Good morning, Honey Bunch,” Steve greets, hands already reaching for you from where he leans against the passenger side door of his car. Sunglasses covering his eyes, he looks every bit the King of Hawkins High. Your heart races the closer you get to him; a smile lights up his face and you’re certain your heart fails to beat again. He truly didn’t know the effect he had on you.
“Are you a fan of The Temptations?” You question in greeting, a wry smile curling at your lips.
Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“Sugar Pie Honey Bunch,” You sing, curling your arms around Steve’s waist, “You know that I love you, I can’t help myself, I love you and nobody else.”
It takes a moment for Steve to reply; the melodic chime of your voice combined with the sweet words sang to him makes his brain stop working. He blinks down at you: once, twice, three times.
“Steve,” You call, caressing his cheek with your hand, bringing him back to the present. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” He coughs, clearing the lump from his throat, “Spectacular. Amazing. I didn’t expect to meet an angel this morning, so forgive me for needing recovery time.”
“You’re nothing but a flirt and a flatterer, Harrington,” You exclaim, smiling up at the young man who had so readily taken your heart.
A quick kiss is pressed to your lips. “But I’m your flirt and flatterer,” Steve whispers, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that promises the morning to be an exceptionally good one.
By the time, Steve pulls away, you’re dizzy and breathless and Steve looks exceptionally proud of himself.
Tapping your hip, Steve signals for you to move away so he can open the car door. You slide in effortlessly, dropping your bag between your feet and buckling up. Steve slides in behind the wheel; looking like he belongs there with his sunglasses settled back onto the bridge of his nose.
“What are you looking at?” He asks, feeling your gaze on his face.
“Nothing,” You shrug absently, “Just you.”
“Anyway,” Steve begins, a faint blush painting his cheeks as he starts the engine with a twist of the key, “Honey Bunch?”
“Try again, Casanova,” You comment happily, mind already flitting back to the earlier kiss, wondering very briefly about all the other nicknames at his disposal.
Five:
It had been your whimpers that woke him up; the sheer fear leaving your lips as you thrash about in bed next to him. It had been a while since your last nightmare; weeks to be exact, them taking a break when Steve began sleeping next to you at night.
Steve turns on the lamp quickly, knowing you wouldn’t want to be greeted with dark the moment you leave the hellscape you’re currently experiencing. The room is lit in a dim, warm light that Steve knows you would find comforting. It only takes seconds for him to return his attention to you.
“Sweetheart,” Steve whisper-shouts, shaking your shoulder, “Wake up for me. Let me see your eyes.”
His voice breaks through the terror and crushing fear sweeping through your body. Blinking open your eyes, you find yourself crushed to Steve’s body in the dim light of your bedroom.
In the wake of your nightmare, Steve must have gathered you to him, sitting you in his lap as he tried his best to wake you. It’s in this position that you stay, wrapped around each other as if the very thought of detangling would cause more pain than it was worth.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You shake your head; refusing to relive the nightmare. “Memories of last summer,” You murmur, knowing that Steve would understand.
He does. He crushes you tighter to his body; his strong arms wrapped like a vice as if the very limbs themselves could keep the horrors from last summer from coming back to haunt you. “I’m sorry,” He whispers, pushing your damp hair back from your face, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that, sweetheart.”
“Neither should you,” You argue quietly, pressing your cheek to his clothed shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of sandalwood and honeysuckle.
Steve doesn’t answer; had been involved for far longer before you had shown up. Your relationship had forged after dealing with the Demodogs; the horrors seen and dealt with meaning that you turned to him for comfort and answers – the two of you falling for each other along the way.
“I like being your sweetheart,” You murmur into his chest, fisting your hand in the thin material of his t-shirt as you change the subject.
“Then we have a winner,” Steve whispers, his lips close to your ear. “You’re my sweetheart.”
Warmth spreads through your chest at the prospect of being Steve’s sweetheart for an eternity. His arms hold onto you tightly; his calm breathing being the way for you to slow your own. The idea of being Steve’s sweetheart is enough to chase away the terror previously plaguing you; it’s enough for you to find safety in his arms, blinking sleepily before falling back asleep once more.
Steve closes his eyes, breathing in the lavender of your conditioner before letting himself succumb to sleep himself. As the blankets settle over you both, Steve has enough time to whisper, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”