#Steve Harrington drabble
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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.
Chapter fourteen ⭐︎ Somewhere in these eyes, I'm on your side.
Warnings: fluff, lots and lots fluff, just a teeny tiny bit of angst, just a bunch of tooth rooting sweetness
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: On a rainy Thursday, something shifts between you and Steve, something you can not see yet, while Steve gets lost in a glimpse of the future he could feel on this day.
Word count: 9k+
Author's note: @hellfire--cult thank you for helping me as always, roe. especially with the last bit, you're the bestest ♡ Steve's shower scene was fully written by her so give her some loveeee
Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter
♡
The rain paddles against your windows softly, the sun is hidden behind the heavy dark clouds, and the light wind rustles the trees outside. You didn’t close the blinds last night, but it doesn’t matter anyways, it’s dark and gloomy outside.
The soft covers touch your bare skin, the smell of cologne is heavy in the air, along with the smell of sex that still lingers after the previous night.
The weight of his arm keeps you in place, keeps you close, he is making your heart flutter in this early morning hour already.
He is facing you, just as you are facing him. His palm rests on your lower back, his legs tangled with yours underneath the sheets. He pulls you closer when you try to move, tightening his hold on you, but he is still so fast asleep. His lashes look so much longer when his eyes are closed, his features are completely relaxed, he is breathing softly, his heart beats against your palm as you keep your hand close to it.
You eye the moles on his skin and the scars on his body.
Your hands always itch to touch him, to graze his skin with the tips of your fingers, and you can do so when he’s fast asleep and unaware of your loving touches.
You raise your hand up to his face, pushing away the curl that hangs loosely over his forehead. Your touch is light as a feather as you trace the bridge of his nose, and his cheek, before you return your hand back to his chest, freezing when a sigh falls from his lips and he stirs in his sleep, pulling you tighter against him in the process before he sinks deeper into the pillows, eyes still shut and heart still beating softly.
You breathe out and relax when he continues sleeping deeply.
You don’t want to get caught admiring him, and touching him like this, when only a few days ago, you feared that you would lose him after Eddie confronted you both.
You cried yourself to sleep that night.
His words cut deep, and the fear of losing him added to the hurt. You weren’t ready to lose this, you weren’t ready to lose him, and you thought that you were so very close to it until he showed up the next morning, and asked if things would stay the same between you and him now that someone found out.
The weight that stayed on your shoulders nearly crushed you, but he took it off you, and without realizing that he did, he took some of your worries too, just not the pain, and the mark he left on your heart with a few simple words. But it didn’t matter, because kissing him and feeling his touch again, was all that mattered, to know that it wasn’t over just yet… that mattered.
You can hide the sadness and the pain when he holds you like this, you can even forget about it… momentarily.
You forgot about it last night, when he kissed your neck and he marked your skin, when he unraveled you with his tongue and the touch of his hands, when he split you open and kissed you like you were his, when he looked into your eyes and he held your wrist as the tips of his fingers touched your palm, like he wanted to entwine them with yours and feel you closer and closer as you were chest to chest and his lips moved with yours like none have ever did before.
Shivers run down your spine, and butterflies dance in your stomach when the sound of his voice calling out your name echoes in your mind.
You might not be the one for him. And you know that there might be others, but you don’t even want to let your mind go there, just the mere thought of it, fills you with nausea. He keeps coming back to you, that’s what matters the most to you. You know that you can give him so much more than anyone else ever could. If only he let you. If only there was a chance.
You nearly jump from the bed when the ringing of the doorbell pulls you out of your thoughts, and it echoes through the quiet house.
Your eyes widen, and your heart starts pounding as panic settles deep in your chest. You stare at Steve, who is peacefully asleep, still.
You flinch at the second ringing.
“Fuck,” you whisper when you remember the burgundy car in your driveway. There is no reason for Steve to be at your place so early in the morning. There is no believable explanation either, what will you say to whoever it is on the other side of the door?
If this is one of your friends, you are screwed, so screwed.
You know, as a matter of fact, that it isn’t Eddie – he wouldn’t show up this early unless it was an emergency, and even then, he’d be in your room by now.
“Steve,” you whisper, trying to shake him awake, but he only grumbles in his sleep and hides his face further into the pillows.
You sigh.
You push his arm off and escape his embrace. You throw the covers off, and jump up from your bed, standing in only your underwear for a moment as you search for your clothes, you reach for his shirt instead and throw it on, before you rush out of the room, trying to fix your messy hair as you run down the stairs.
You don’t have much time to come up with lies and excuses as to why Steve’s car is in your driveway, whoever it is on the other side of the door, is getting a little impatient.
“I’m coming,” you grumble and unlock the front door before you rip it open, holding your breath.
“Finally!”
You sigh out in relief, rolling your eyes at your own panic. You step aside and open the door a little wider.
“What took you so long?” Your sister murmurs as she steps inside and brushes past you. She is carrying a bag in one hand and the bright pink baby carrier your baby niece is currently sleeping in.
All your annoyance leaves your body right this second, your eyes soften and a smile appears on your face.
“Hello to you too, Twinkie.”
She rolls her eyes at your nickname but pulls you in for a side hug after dropping the bag on the ground.
“Give me her,” you smile as you take the carrier from her arm, and carry it into the living room, smiling as you eye the little features of the baby girl. You put the carrier down on the couch. “Hi Francine,” you whisper, gently tapping her tiny nose. “She’s so big already!”
Your sister laughs as she follows you into the living room after kicking off her shoes, “you’ve seen her last week, I don’t think she grew much.”
“She kind of did,” you whisper, taking Francine’s tiny hand. “They grow so fast.”
Your sister walks over to the window, peeking outside, she clears her throat, “do I wanna know whose car that is?”
You glance over your shoulder and swallow nervously.
You’re glad that her memory is awful.
Everyone knows who is driving the burgundy BMW, and your sister still lived in Hawkins when he got it. She should know who it belongs to.
Her lips curl into a smirk, and she wiggles her brows, “casual hook up, or… is it something serious?”
You know that she has been waiting for this day.
It is something serious, to you.
It is something serious when he holds you closely and kisses you softly, when his eyes soften and his lips curl into a smile at the sight of you.
It is something serious when your heart flutters every time his knuckles brush against yours.
It is something serious when you fall asleep in his arms and wake up in the very same spot.
It is something serious when you keep falling and falling with no end in sight.
Will you ever stop falling in love with him?
Will there ever be a moment where your feelings and your love will stop at one level, or will you continue falling harder every passing moment?
Your sister raises her eyebrows, lips curling into an even bigger smile, when she notices the flustered look on your face, the dreamy look in your eyes.
“Something serious, huh?”
You blink.
Staring at her, with your cheeks now feeling warm… way too warm, you shake your head quickly.
“N-No.”
You curse inwardly, for giving yourself away so easily with your stuttering and your blushing. That’s not how you ever reacted before when she mentioned any of your hookups.
She grins at you, wiggling her eyebrows, “mhm sure, Daisy.”
You roll your eyes at her teasing glances, but the nickname makes you smile.
Out of all the flowers, your mom loved Daisies the most, she would put the dainty flowers in your braids, and behind your ear whenever you were out in the garden. You would pick them for her and make little bouquets to surprise her with.
She always called you her little Daisy.
Your sister picked up on that nickname, though she used it to mock you at first when she went through a weird phase of hating flowers – which is really ironic considering the flower shop she ended up working at when she moved to the city.
She could’ve given you another nickname, something silly – something like the name you gave to her, but she spared you, luckily.
“Shut up, Twinkie,” you mumble, as you look back at your niece, who is beginning to stir in her sleep, her long lashes fluttering as small noises escape her mouth. “As happy as I am to see this little bean, why are you here at uh,” you pause, turning your head to look at the clock on the wall, “ten in the morning?” You ask.
She makes her way over to you, a sweet smile appearing on her face, as she gives you her best puppy eyes.
“I was hoping that you could look after Francine?” She asks, still smiling. “Lisa is getting married soon, and she asked me to go wedding dress shopping with her, I can’t take her, we’ll probably be out all day, and I can’t wait for Ethan to get home, his shift won’t end before–”
“It’s fine, I’ll look after her,” you interrupt her, despite the slight nervousness that rises up in you.
You have no experience with babies at all, you have given her the bottle, you even changed her diaper, but your sister was around, and you didn’t spend the whole day alone with her.
She sighs in relief, she puts her hand on your shoulder, “oh thank you!”
“Don’t mention it, I’d never say no to hanging out with my favorite girl.”
“You need to spend more time with her anyways, you coming once a week isn’t enough!”
You frown at your sister, “you’re the one who moved away!”
She waves her hand at you, walking around the couch, she walks over to the carrier, “she always does that little scrunch with her nose before she wakes up.”
You smile, watching as she leans in to place a gentle kiss to her daughter’s cheek.
“Okay,” she whispers, pulling back to look at you, “I put everything into the bag, diapers, bottles, formula, a change of clothes in case her diapers leak, and uh… pacifiers. And uh, you know if she cries just lie down with her and put her on your chest, she loves cuddles.”
You nod, “yeah, I know, I haven’t forgotten. I got this.”
“Yeah you do, Daisy. And if you need help, just call Eddie–”
“Are you kidding?” You laugh, shaking your head as amusement flashes in your eyes.
Eddie and Max were there, the last time your sister showed up with her husband and little Francine.
While the redhead was rather excited to hold the little girl, Eddie felt too afraid to even touch her, and he nearly gagged when Max chased him with a dirty diaper.
“He looked at her like he was scared of her!”
Your sister laughs, “yeah, right. Okay, so not Eddie then, I’m sure Max would love to help though, or maybe someone else – but I’ll get going now, I promise, I’ll make it up to you, you got this, Daisy.” She smiles, ruffling your hair, she leans down to look at her daughter one more time, “bye bug, I’ll see you soon,” she whispers and squeezes her tiny foot before she steps away. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, see you later, Twinkie.”
The moment the front door is slammed shut, you let out a long sigh, and throw your head back against the pillows on your couch. You bring your hand up to your face and pinch the bridge of your nose.
You are still tired, and it seems as though Steve is still sleeping soundly.
You want nothing more than to return back to bed and sink into your pillows again.
You definitely won’t get any sleep now, but you still get up and slowly lift the baby carrier, hoping that the movement won’t wake her up. You try to be careful as you make your way out of the living room and up the stairs.
When you walk into your room, you find Steve now laying on his stomach, his face buried in your pillow. The sheets are low on his body, his whole back is exposed.
The tiny cooing sounds from inside the carrier, cause your lips to curl into a big smile. You place it down on your carpet, and kneel down, giggling when you’re met by her big eyes. She starts wiggling around when she sees you.
“Hi little angel,” you whisper, and lean closer to unfasten the safety belts, before you lift her up from the carrier, placing your right hand behind her head, you pull her into your chest, her hand instantly reaches for your hair, clasping her tiny fingers around it, she makes you laugh when she starts pulling it, making happy noises while she does so.
You sit down on your bed, and lift your legs up, scooting back until you’re resting against the pillows behind you. You pull the covers over your lower body.
A small squeal leaves her mouth.
“Shh, someone’s sleeping,” you whisper, tapping her little nose, glancing at Steve who is starting to stir in his sleep.
You place her on your lap, and giggle at the cuteness as she stretches her little legs out. “That’s a cute onesie,” you whisper, rubbing her belly, “I bet you picked that yourself didn’t you? Pink is a pretty color on you, princess.”
She babbles and wiggles around as she stares at you with her big eyes.
Your voice, and the small coos pull Steve out of his deep sleep, his mind is still in a haze, his eyes still closed.
“Da da da.”
Your giggle follows the tiny voice.
Steve scrunches his brows together, gripping the pillow underneath him, he slowly opens his eyes and looks at your side of the bed, his lips part and his eyes widen completely, something in his chest stirs strongly as he stares at the sight in front of him.
He is still sleeping.
He is still dreaming.
A smile is resting on your face, eyes lightened up as you entertain the little baby girl on your lap, a pink bow around her head, big eyes resembling your own as she stares at you with a smile on her face, her hair color is the same as yours.
Steve swallows the lump that grew in his throat, warmth settles in his chest, surrounding his heart and filling it with something, with adoration.
His eyes soften when you lean down to kiss her forehead, squishing her tiny cheeks.
“You’re the prettiest girl, Francis,” you whisper, using her nickname.
His lips curl into a smile, despite the confusion that still lingers in his features.
This is surely one of his dreams, he is convinced of it, why else would he wake up beside you, and a baby who looks like you?
But when you turn to face him, and the little girl follows your movement, looking at him with wide eyes, he isn’t so sure anymore.
He blinks, watching as you reach for Francis’s little arm, waving her tiny hand at him, “say hi Steve.”
The little girl babbles even louder, making a grabby hand at him.
Steve smiles at her, raising his hand up, he waves at her.
You can’t help but laugh at the lost and confused look on his face, his brows are pulled together, his lips parted as he looks between you and your niece.
He turns around on his back, and pushes himself so he’s leaning against your headboard, adjusting the cover, he pulls it up higher. He looks around the room, before his eyes return to the two of you, he runs his fingers through his messy hair, eyes flickering back and forth.
Your lips tug into a smirk, you can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing right now.
You look at him, as you pull your niece closer, holding her up, you press her against your chest, “can you believe that we made a baby overnight?”
You almost burst into laughter when his brown eyes widened with pure shock, and he choked a little.
He blinks, shaking his head, “I know I just woke up, and I’m still sleepy… but… I still kind of remember biology.”
Francine makes another grabby hand at him, “ma ma.”
“I dunno, but I’m pretty sure she just called you mama.”
Steve’s cheeks heat up, and he turns away from you, looking around your room again before his eyes catch the picture on your nightstand, the one of you and your sister. Oh.
“Ah… Your niece,” Steve murmurs as he looks back at the two of you.
“Good morning, Harrington,” you giggle. Francine copies your giggle, and Steve can’t help but smile. “Oh you like that name, huh? It’s funny isn’t it? Harrington.” Her little eyes crinkle, and she starts babbling with a laugh. Steve keeps her eyes on her, smiling at the little girl.
“That’s Francine,” you smile, introducing your niece to him.
Steve lifts his hand up, waving his fingers at her, “hi Francine, I’m Steve.”
She squirms in your arms, making happy noises as she blinks at him. Steve chuckles, he scoots closer to you, and he lifts his hand, and touches her tiny one. Francine wraps her hand around his finger, gripping it tightly, making his smile even bigger.
“Is your sister here?” He asks, without looking away from the little girl.
You shake your head, “no, she asked me to babysit today. So uh… I’ll be busy with my girl here today.”
The urge to stay here with you, and this cute little mini you, feels so strong.
“Want me to help?” Steve asks.
You’re a little stunned by his question, and can only stare in surprise.
“Huh?”
“I mean, I don’t mind staying to help,” Steve shrugs, glancing at you for a second before he gives his attention back to Francine, who stares at him in awe.
The thought of spending a whole day with Steve, taking care of a baby with him, sounds like heaven.
The only reason why he’s ever even around you without the group is because of sex, and that only. You don’t meet up just to watch movies, cook together or anything else, you only meet up for one thing, that’s all.
The fact that he is willing to just spend time with you, without expecting anything to happen baffles you a little.
“I-I… Do you really want to stay?”
He nods.
“Not much of a choice, to be honest,” he murmurs with a fond smile on his face as he gestures to your niece who is still holding his finger tightly.
“O-Okay,” you whisper, shakily as nervousness and excitement rise up in you.
“She’s so adorable,” Steve whispers, chuckling when Francine babbles at him, “she looks like you.”
You smile before you realize what he just said, and heat rushes to your cheeks.
She’s so adorable, she looks like you.
“I-I uh,” you stutter, trying to keep your cool, “so you’re gonna stay then?”
“Yeah, I’d love to hang out with Blondie and mini Blondie over here,” he chuckles as he taps her nose.
Your heart could burst right then and there, your cheeks feeling incredibly hot the longer you sit here and stare at him.
“Cool,” you say with a small voice as you suddenly feel the need to escape for a moment, “would you mind looking after her for a moment then? I wanna take a quick shower or else I’ll walk around looking like a bum all day.”
Steve turns to look at you, he takes in the sight of your messy hair, and the shirt on your body, only now noticing that it’s his. His insides tingle, and his lips curl into a smile.
You look like a cute bum. He almost blurts out, but bites his tongue.
“Sure, go ahead, me and Francine are just gonna hang out, right?”
She squeals in response, making jumpy movements.
You both laugh at her.
You lay her down beside him, and tickle her belly, giggling when she starts kicking her feet, “alright, I’ll be right back, angel.”
Steve doesn’t even notice how big his smile is, how soft his eyes are as he stares at you, how warm the feeling in his chest is.
“She might roll over on her belly, and if she gets a little fuzzy just pick her up, she loves snuggles. I’m gonna be quick.”
Steve scoots closer to Francine, leaning his elbow on the pillow, he rests his head against his palm, and glances at you, “it’s fine, take your time, I’m just gonna chat with her.”
Francine is still kicking her feet and waving around with her little arms.
“Oh yeah, she’s very talkative,” you giggle, and get up from the bed, you walk over to your dresser and pick out some clothes to change into. As much as you would love to wear his shirt all day, he needs it himself – although, you wouldn’t mind him walking around shirtless.
Once you get everything you need, you turn back to take a look at them, and you nearly melt into a puddle when you see the way she is still clutching his finger, kicking her legs and babbling something to him, while he watches her with a smile on his face.
“O-Okay, I’ll be right back.”
You leave the room in a haste, but Steve doesn’t even notice, too busy staring at little Francine. He adores the resemblance of you, and the color of her eyes that matches yours, she truly looks like you.
Steve can’t remember the last time he saw or even held a baby, he’s not sure if he ever even held one. He was ten when one of his cousins was born, but he didn’t care to hold him back then.
Francine keeps making a grabby hand at him, while she tugs at his finger, starting to get fuzzy after a few minutes pass without your presence in the room.
He sits up straighter and pulls the blanket up higher, he reaches for one of your throw pillows and places it on his lap.
“Alright Francine,” Steve whispers, he takes a deep breath and furrows his brows in concentration as he carefully lifts her up, supporting her head with his palm, he pulls her closer and lays her down on the soft pillow.
She coos and starts blowing bubbles, making Steve laugh.
“Oh, you’re so adorable,” he smiles, pulling her a little closer, “did you pick that bow today?” He asks, eying the headband around her little head.
She makes a few grunting noises, though looking at him with a happy look on her face.
“Your auntie loves those bows too, she puts some in her ponytails sometimes,” Steve says, talking to her as though he will get more than just a few babbles from her. “I bet you’re gonna steal them from her someday–”
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrt
Steve’s face pales at the sound, his eyes widen.
The noise that came from her diapers sounded more than just air.
“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before his eyes widen further at the curse word that just left his lips, “I shouldn’t have said that, shit– I mean, I’m sorry, please forget what I just said,” he rambles, as though she understood a single thing that he said.
Francine babbles, kicking her feet into his stomach with a happy squeal.
“Um,” he panics, looking around the room, “Blondie!?”
“What Steve!?” You call from the bathroom, “it’s been five minutes!”
“I uh–” He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he furrows his brows, “code red…?”
You nearly laugh at his choice of words, you only ever used code red in the upside down, for the real emergencies.
You can already guess what happened, and it only makes your amusement grow bigger. You quickly put your clothes on, and brush your hair before you make your way out of the bathroom and back to them.
“Okay, I’m here,” you announce, placing his shirt that you stole earlier on your bed, you walk over to his side, and take a seat beside him, “that was the quickest shower of my life.”
He gets a whiff of your vanilla body wash, of the mint from your toothpaste, and the smell of perfume that lingers in your hair, making his chest flutter.
“She uh– I think she needs a diaper change.”
“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s what you’re panicking about?”
Steve glares at you.
“You wanted to help,” you shrug as you get up again, making your way out of the room again to get the bag with Francine’s stuff. “You gotta learn how to change diapers, Harrington!”
Steve huffs nervously, “no big deal right?” He whispers to Francine.
“Da da da.”
“Yeah,” Steve laughs, “right.”
You come back into the room, and put the bag on the ground, picking out new diapers, wet wipes, baby powder and the spare onesie, along with the thin baby towel that you spread out on your mattress.
“Alright, Lego head,” you raise your eyebrows at him, “do you wanna practice for your future nuggets or are you scared of baby poop?”
He snorts, shaking his head at you.
“No, I’m not scared of baby poop.”
You walk over to them both and lean down before him, you pick Francine up, and scrunch your face up, “yeah, you really need a diaper change, angel.”
Steve watches as you carry her over to the other side, placing her down on the towel you spread out. You undo the buttons of her onesie, smiling at the little girl.
“Well, come on,” you giggle at him, “it’s an experience you gotta make, Steve.”
Steve takes a deep breath, he throws the pillow off his lap and removes the cover. He gets up from the bed, standing there in his boxers for a moment, until his eyes find the sweatpants he discarded last night, he quickly throws them on, along with the shirt you wore earlier.
“Alright,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, he walks up beside you, “just tell me what to do.”
You chuckle at his nervousness, you place your hand on his shoulder, “don’t worry, if Max was able to do it, you can do it too.”
A breathy laugh falls from his lips.
You guide him, giving him a little step by step of what to do.
You watch the way his brows knit together, and the way he is nodding to himself as he follows your words.
He doesn’t even look disgusted when the smell hits him, he only chuckles at the way Francine continues babbling happily.
“She’s a happy baby, isn’t she?”
You nod, smiling down at your niece, “yes she is.”
You hand him the new diapers and the baby powder, before you put the used wipes into the dirty diaper, roll it up carefully and throw it into the trash in your bathroom before you return to your room.
“How old is she?”
“She’s gonna be three months old tomorrow,” you say, smiling as you step up beside him again.
Steve raises his eyebrows at Francine, “oh, you’re gonna be a big girl tomorrow?” He jokes as he tickles her belly, making her laugh.
The smile on your face widens, the feeling in your chest growing stronger and brighter.
Her small giggles, and the fond smile that rests in his tired features spark something deep inside of you, a warming and comforting feeling appears as you watch him take care of her with careful and slow movements.
“Is that okay?” He asks you, gesturing to the diapers he put on her, “or is it too tight?”
You lean closer to him and check the pressure, “no, that’s perfect, Steve.”
“It is?” He asks, surprised.
You nod, and start to put her onesie back on, “yeah, I don’t even know what you panicked about, you’ve done a better job than me, I didn’t know what I was doing the first time,” you laugh. “You did good, Lego head.”
A dimpled grin appears on his face, despite the redness in his cheeks.
“I-I think caring for a bunch of kids that turned into teens turned me into a natural, even babies. I mean, Dustin counts as a baby, doesn’t he?” He jokes, watching the way your eyes crinkle and your lips spread before you burst into giggles.
Francine watches you with big eyes before she copies your giggles like before.
Steve’s eyes light up, as he watches you both.
The warmth in his chest spreads, as happiness rises up in him.
After adjusting her clothes and the bow on her head, you pick her up into your arms, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
You don’t even notice just how soft the look in his eyes, how the ghost of a smile now lingers on his lips, as he stares at the both of you in awe, watching the way Francine buries her face in the crook of your neck, and you keep a gentle hand on the back of her head.
“Do you want some breakfast? I can make you something after I give this princess her bottle, I think she’s getting tired again.”
Steve’s heart thumps strongly in his chest, he can’t deny the emotions of adoration in him as he looks at you with the baby on your arm.
“I can make you a breakfast sandwich or anything else you want.”
Steve blinks.
“Uh, you don’t have to make anything for me, Blondie. I can make you something though.”
You shake your head, “no, you’re my guest, I’ll make you breakfast, and you can feed her if you want.”
“Okay,” he says with a sigh, nodding his head, “I’ll make you lunch or dinner though.”
“Oh, are you gonna woo me with your cooking skills now?” You giggle.
He looks down with a smile, “I promised I would, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
Francine clasps her fingers around your hair again, pulling it stronger than before, making you wince a little.
“Okay, okay, someone’s getting a little grumpy now. I’m gonna go make her the bottle.”
“I’ll be right there with you, I’m just gonna go brush my teeth real quick,” Steve gestures to your bathroom, “do you need me to carry the bag down?”
“No, it’s fine, it’s not heavy,” you say as you step towards him, “but can you help me put it on my shoulder?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He grabs the bag and steps towards you, putting the strap around your shoulder. His eyes soften yet again, when he sees you looking down at your niece, smiling as she blinks at you with her big eyes.
Steve doesn’t even notice that his hand still lingers on your shoulder, or that he’s rubbing your back, he is too in awe of the two of you, and that feeling stays with him, even when you leave the room and go downstairs, even when he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face, he stares at his reflection in the mirror, and he can’t even unsee the happiness and the relaxation in his features, but he decides to pay no mind to it.
When he joins you downstairs, he finds you in the kitchen, finishing up on Francine’s bottle, you’re shaking it, while whispering something to her as you’re still holding her in your arm, still.
Steve doesn’t know what it is, but the sight before him, makes him freeze in his spot.
As you stand there in your kitchen, with a smile on your lips, and a look of adoration in your eyes, you’re cooing at your niece, giggling every time she babbles something at you, he realizes something.
You are comfortable, right now.
You’re in your home, away from the eyes of strangers, hidden from the world that you have only shown one side of yourself to, your walls are down, you are just yourself, and there is no shame behind your eyes, because all your attention goes to someone you adore and love, and don’t feel the need to hide from.
Your eyes shine brightly, your features are relaxed in a way they have never been before, and your smile is so genuine, so real.
You’re talking to her with a small and gentle voice, you hold her tightly against your chest – and you… god you look so beautiful like this.
You look so beautiful with a baby in your arms.
Warmth spreads across his whole body, he likes the sight in front of him, he likes it so much that it should scare him, but it doesn’t.
“There he is, Francis,” you smile, glancing at Steve, you don’t even notice how frozen in place he is, how heaven struck he looks, “are you ready to give her the bottle?”
Steve blinks, snapping out of his mind, he nods at you with a blush on his cheeks.
You brush past him, and gesture for him to follow you into the living room, after you grab the cloth from the counter.
You place the bottle on the coffee table, and wait for him to take a seat on the couch.
“Alright, you gotta tell me what to do,” Steve says nervously, as he sits down, “I’ve never done this before.”
“Don’t be nervous, you got this,” you assure him.
You step between his legs, and lean down to place Francine into his arms.
Without needing to be told, he cradles the back of her head, as he gently pulls her into his arms, a smile spreading on his lips when her big eyes look into his.
“Okay,” you whisper and put the cloth under her chin, adjusting it over her clothes in case a little accident might happen.
“Am I holding her correctly?” Steve asks, looking up at you.
The side of her face is nuzzled into his chest, the back of her head resting in the crook of his arm. You didn’t even need to guide him, he truly is a natural.
“Yeah,” you smile, “you’re doing great.”
You hand him the bottle, and sit down beside him.
“Did you test the temperature?” Steve asks, and you almost want to laugh at his question.
“Yeah Steve, I did.”
He nods at you.
With a chuckle, you pull your feet up onto the sofa and sit on your knees, turning your body towards them.
“Okay, now gently place the teat into her mouth and slowly tilt the bottle, she will do the rest.”
He furrows his brows, poking his tongue through his lips, he focuses on your niece as he follows your words.
You watch him closely, how soft and concentrated his eyes are, how careful his movements are, how small she looks in his arms, how sweet the sight of them is.
Francine raises her little arm, and places her tiny hand on the bottle as she starts sucking on the teat, small noises falling from her.
“Oh my god,” Steve whispers, the biggest smile you have ever seen, now glowing in his features as he looks at her in awe, “she’s the cutest little bean.”
“Yeah, she is,” you smile and tilt your head as you watch them, the fluttering feeling in your chest sparking.
Her eyelashes flutter, her big eyes still staring into his.
“I’m gonna cry, Blondie,” Steve murmurs, adoring the little human in his arms. “She's so tiny and adorable.”
You move closer and reach for the corner of the cloth, wiping away the bit of milk that rolls down her chin.
“You’re gonna have one of those someday too.”
Steve smiles at your words, nodding as he whispers “hopefully.”
But he doesn’t notice the way your own smile falls, the way your eyes sadden for a moment, the way you look down and blink away the feelings you don’t want him to see. And he doesn’t realize how quiet you get, he is too distracted by Francine and the thoughts in his head, the pictures of a future he longs for so badly.
Only when the bottle is empty and he removes it, does he turn back to you, but still too blinded by his mind to see the look in your eyes. You take the bottle from his hand, and place it back on the coffee table.
“You gotta hold her against your chest now,” you tell him and remove the cloth from her body, you place it on his chest instead, “and gently pat her back so she can burp.”
You guide him again, helping him hold her correctly as he places her against his chest, he puts his hand on her back, and starts patting gently.
“Is that good?”
“Yeah,” you whisper and scoot closer to him, you reach for her tiny hand, caressing it as you watch her with a smile on your face, “she’s tired.”
“Yeah, pooping must’ve been really exhausting,” Steve jokes, making you giggle.
“Yeah, totally–”
A loud burp falls from her mouth.
“Oh that was a big one,” Steve chuckles as he stops patting her, “you did good, bug.”
“She didn’t even spit, she usually does a little, wow you really do have magical hands,” you chuckle, and remove the cloth from his shoulder.
“Told you, I’m a natural,” he smiles proudly.
You roll your eyes playfully.
“Do you want me to take her now?” You ask.
He shakes his head at you, “can I hold her for a while?”
Confusion flashes in your eyes. You know how badly he needs his coffee in the mornings, it’s one of the first things he does after he wakes up, going into the kitchen to brew his beloved morning coffee. He didn’t even take a single sip yet, but he doesn’t seem to mind, he is too in awe of the baby on his chest.
Realization replaces the look in your eyes – he is entering a baby fever trance, with your niece nonetheless. It makes your smile reappear, that’s how you feel too, every time you get to spend time with her.
“Of course,” you whisper, as your gaze softens.
Francine’s eyelashes flutter, her blinking getting slower and lesser.
“She’s gonna pass out though, you should sit back a little so she can lay on you.”
He nods at your words, placing one hand on her back and the other under her bum, he lays back slowly, his lips twitching into a small smile when he sees her already falling asleep. She scrunches up her nose as she nuzzles her face into his chest, making you both laugh when she suddenly throws her hand up, managing to catch onto a strand of his hair.
She wiggles around for a moment, before her eyes start falling shut.
“And she’s out,” Steve whispers, chuckling to himself. “I wish I could fall asleep this fast.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Her cheek is squished against him, she’s breathing softly now, her hand falling from his hair and onto his shoulder, her little headband beginning to slip off.
You reach out to take it off her head slowly, and lean in to place a soft kiss on her forehead, unaware of the fond smile on Steve’s lips, or the feelings that rush through him because of you.
“I’m gonna go make some coffee and breakfast now,” you mumble as you pull away, and get up from the couch, grabbing the bottle and the cloth.
Steve’s eyes follow you as you walk over to the TV stand, and grab the remote, handing it to him, “you can watch something if you want, it won’t disturb her, she’s a heavy sleeper.”
“I’m good, I’ll watch her for now,” he whispers.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” you say, and give him a smile before you leave the room.
A genuine smile.
You smiled at him before, countless of times actually, but he could never tell what was real and what wasn’t, what was genuine and what was forced or just sarcastic. But this, this was a real smile, and there was no second meaning behind it. You just smiled at him, naturally. It makes him feel… happy, and as he looks down at the little girl that has your features, he realizes something.
The feeling in his chest was never for nothing, it was never false or misleading.
It was just as real as the smile you blessed him with.
Suddenly, everything before him doesn't seem as dull and colorless as it did all these past months and even years, something sparks before his eyes and he can see again, he can feel something besides the never ending gnawing in his chest and the restlessness in his bones, the fears that nestled deep into his soul. He finally sees something other than the darkened clouds and the red lights that keep flashing before his eyes.
A light that keeps peeking through every once in a while is on the verge of breaking through, making the walls around him rattle as the foundation starts to crumble, one brick at a time starts falling into an abyss.
A future lays before his eyes, calling out to him and waiting to be grasped, an echo, a whisper, a glimpse of what could be if things were only different.
For the rest of the day, Steve feels as though he had fallen into a pleasant dream, a world where it’s only you and him, a little girl that made him realize just how badly he wants to have a family of his own – he already knew that he wanted it, but he pictured the wrong person by his side, a person he no longer even wanted.
He was blinded by old feelings, and the wish to have something real again, when it never even was to begin with.
The feelings that are sparking in him now, feel so different from anything that he had ever felt before, and he only opens his eyes to them more and more as the day passes, and he sees a side of you that he had never seen before.
He sees with how much love and gentleness you treat your niece, he sees the way your eyes hold nothing but adoration for the girl that you would do anything for.
He hears how soft your voice can get.
He feels how soft your touch can be when you once again hand her to him.
And his heart beats so strongly, so fastly in his chest when a giggle falls from your lips after Francine pouts when you take her away from him again, only to be forced to place her back into his arms when she almost starts crying.
Steve adores her, and he adores you – a little more as every second of this day passes.
The thing that pushes him nearer towards the finish line of realization, is this very moment in front of him.
Your niece fell asleep on his chest yet again, you are sitting right next to him, with your head on his shoulder and your eyes glued on her, your finger tracing her little features. The urge to pull you closer and hold you feels so strong to the point that his fingers start itching.
“I’m sorry I didn’t cook dinner for you,” he whispers.
You look at him through your lashes, the corner of your lip twitching as your eyes flicker to his lips for a brief moment.
The only light in the room now coming from the TV, the volume set on the lowest. The rain is still falling, even as the night nears.
“It’s okay, Francis didn’t let you,” you giggle softly, not knowing that the sound makes his heart flutter. “Besides, the pizza was really good.”
“Yeah, it was,” he whispers.
He notices how tired you look, how the sleepiness is beginning to set into your features now too.
“Look at her tiny nose,” you whisper as you look back at her, “and those little hands.”
Something in the way you hold her hand and whisper so adoringly about her, makes him long for you even more – but not in a way he had felt before, no, this is different, this is so very serious.
Steve lifts his arm as a blush creeps up to his cheeks, he wraps his arm around you, and pulls you closer, “come here,” he whispers into your hair, “there’s space for two Blondies on my chest.”
He doesn’t know what kind of emotions he can trigger in you, with such simple words.
He doesn’t know that you have been dying to feel this.
You lay your head on his chest, and he can’t help but smile at the sigh that falls from your lips. You put your arm around Francine, and snuggle against him, and you stay like that, for a while at least, until Steve allows his feelings to take the lead.
He adjusts the blanket over Francine before he pulls you even closer, and he buries his fingers in your hair, allowing himself to play with it like he only ever does when you’re fast asleep and unaware of his soft touches or the glances that fall upon your skin.
He would feel joy if he knew about the emotions that linger inside of you.
“You will be an amazing dad to your little nuggets someday, Steve,” you say in a whisper, it’s almost too quiet for him to hear, “and a good husband too.”
The shakiness in your voice and the sadness goes by unnoticed by him, he is too stunned by your words.
If he could see inside your head, he would know how much sadness there is, how the dark clouds always reside, how you don’t see a future for yourself because you know that he won’t be in it, and without him, what will you have? What will you be? A wilting rose, left behind to die. You are barely holding on now, but you are still here, because he is still keeping you alive. Your life is in his hands.
Steve takes a deep breath, he opens his mouth to whisper to you, only to see you fast asleep now too, your cheek squished against his chest just like Francine’s is.
He breathes out, lips curling into a smile as he stops playing with your hair.
“You will be amazing too, Blondie,” he whispers.
A girlfriend. A wife. A mother.
Whatever you choose to be, whoever you will bless with your love, they are going to be so lucky to have you.
And before he can even realize where his thoughts are taking him, a frown nestles into his features. The thought that he will become a memory to you, makes him feel uneasy. The thought that someone will step into your life, and take away what you both have, fills him with gray-ish sadness once again. The image of someone putting a ring on your finger and getting to be the one to lift the veil and kiss you on the altar openly, in front of everybody, and without needing to hide, spreads the darkness in him, yet again.
He looks down at you, at the way you look so comfortable in his embrace, while your soft hand stays on the girl’s back, he admires you, and he feels no shame to do so, not even when he lifts his hand to brush your hair out of your face.
But his time with you is cut short when the front door unlocks and opens, and footsteps echo in the hallway, a moment later.
He turns his face away from you, when your sister steps into the living room, freezing in her steps when she sees him.
Steve swallows the lump in his throat, giving her a tight lipped smile, he raises his hand to wave at her, “hi…”
She furrows her brows as she takes in the sight of you three, her lips pulling into a confused smile. She takes her denim jacket off and walks further into the room, her lips curling into a big smile when she takes a look at her girl.
But then her eyes fall back on him, and suddenly, her lips part in surprise.
“Hi…Oh– you, hang on,” she mumbles, tilting her head before her eyes widen, “Steve Harrington?”
Steve doesn’t know what to think of the look on her face, or the stunned tone in her voice.
He met her before, at the hospital when she came to visit you, but he didn’t talk to her, and her reaction makes him wonder if you have mentioned him before.
“Yeah… that’s uh… that’s me.”
The silence that follows is almost too loud, he can see the way she looks between you both, back and forth, as her brows stay furrowed.
She points a finger between you both, “so uh… you’re her boyfriend?”
Steve hesitates, and he glances down at you, bitterness lays on his tongue when he utters the next words, “uh… no… no, I’m not.” Sadly, he thinks.
And when he registers the words that popped into his head out of nowhere, he suddenly wants nothing more than to escape this situation, fearing his own feelings again.
“I-I should go now.”
“Oh, you’re not staying another night?” She asks, a somewhat smug tone in her voice as she looks at you.
He would love to, but it’s better to go now. It’s not safe to stay, not for his heart.
“No, I have to work tomorrow.”
“Ah,” she nods and walks over to the three of you, “I’ll take her now,” she whispers, and carefully picks her daughter up. The little girl stirs in her sleep, grunting quietly but not opening her eyes just yet.
“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Steve chuckles as he watches the way Francine relaxes into her mother’s arms.
“She really is,” your sister laughs, and walks over to the armchair, taking a seat before she looks back up at Steve, “kind of like Daisy when she’s relaxed,” she nudges her chin towards you.
A smile appears on his face, and he looks down at you, his arm is still wrapped around you, and he already dreads the feeling of having to let you go.
“Yeah,” he whispers, taking a long look at you, before he decides to get up.
A sigh leaves his lips, and he slowly slips away from you, replacing his chest with a pillow for your head, his eyes soften when you scrunch your nose up just the way your niece did earlier. He adjusts the blanket over you, fighting the urge to leave a kiss on your forehead before he steps away.
Your sister eyes him closely, watching how he treats you with so much care.
When Steve steps away, and looks away from you, glancing at your sister, heat rushes to his cheeks when he sees the way she looks between you both, a smug look lingering in her eyes, a small but teasing smile on her face.
He wants to run.
“Okay uh,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck before he points his finger at the hallway, “I’m gonna go.”
“Okay,” she nods, “thanks for helping with Francine.”
He waves his hand, a smile now reappearing on his face as he looks at the baby girl, already missing the feeling of holding her.
“No need to thank me, I loved spending time with these two,” he chuckles, pointing between you and your niece. “But uh, I’m gonna head out.”
“Alright,” she smiles at him.
He takes one last look at you before he turns around and makes his way out of the living room, he puts his Nike’s on, and grabs the car keys he threw on the counter, last night.
“Bye, Twinkie.”
“Bye…” She mumbles with furrowed brows, confused at the name he just called her by.
The front door shuts quietly, yet loud enough to wake you up. With a flinch, you open your eyes, and look around the room, feeling a little disoriented. You look to your side, the empty spot beside you, making you frown.
“Your boyfriend left,” your sister's voice sounds through the room.
You turn to her, finding her in the armchair she always loved so much. A smug look is resting on her lips.
“Shut up,” you mumble, glaring at her.
She laughs at you, and leans back, getting comfortable in her seat.
“Spill. Now.”
-
The hot water rolls down Steve’s skin, the smell of shampoo surrounds him as he washes his hair.
His eyes are closed, but a smile rests on his lips, as images of all the things that happened today replay in his mind.
The fluttering in his chest hasn’t stopped at all, everything you did, everything you said, every single touch of yours has seemingly turned him into a hopeless teenager again – only, he isn’t one anymore, and the feelings inside of him, go much deeper than the ones of a seventeen year old boy.
And no matter how much he tries to deny them, he just can’t, because it becomes less and less possible to pretend that they aren’t there.
Today, they shined through so brightly, when he saw how soft and gentle you could be, when he saw the sides of you that you never wanted to show. He saw something he never thought was even there. And it causes awful feelings to rise up in him, when he comes to the realization that all these years, you were only protecting yourself from the hurt in this world, and you did so by putting up a front and giving people the wrong pictures of yourself.
You were mean and rough to those you didn’t trust, and he was one of them, maybe he still is, but he saw you today.
When you greeted him this morning, with your niece in your arms.
When you kissed her little forehead, and held her in your sweet embrace.
When you taught him to bottle feed her.
When you admired her with him, and traced her little features with your finger and a loving smile on your face.
When you told him how great of a husband he would be someday, and an amazing dad to his nuggets.
Wait… you said nuggets, plural. He never told you he wanted kids, so how did you know? How did you even know he would love to call his children that particular word? Was it intuition? Was it a coincidence?
His eyebrows knit together with complete and utter confusion as the water just keeps running over his head, and the realization hits him like a ton of bricks.
The RV. His conversation with Nancy. Him telling Nancy he wants to be someone’s husband and have six nuggets. Him pouring his desires out, thinking that everyone else in the vehicle was sound asleep.
But you weren’t.
Fuck, you weren’t asleep. You heard him. You heard him talking to Nancy, and you– you think that he wants those things with her still. He should clarify it, shouldn’t he? He wants to tell you that it was the dread of the world ending talking for him. He wants to explain himself to you–
Explain himself? Why? You probably wouldn’t care who he has kids with, or who he marries. You would simply give him a thumbs up and a confused look on your face. But– He feels his stomach contracting with nerves, nerves he knows all too well. He doesn’t need to explain anything to you. He doesn’t need to clarify anything.
But, he doesn’t want you to think he wants that family with Nancy Wheeler.
He really doesn’t.
And he is terrified that he doesn’t want you to misunderstand.
Absolutely fucking terrified.
And then, the realization, the surprise and the nerves turn into absolute guilt. He had also said a few things about you. Nancy told him that it’s sad you had to be included this way into the party, into their problems, but that you looked strong and determined after going into the upside down just one time.
And he replied with how much he desired you wouldn’t have gotten involved at all. It sounded harsh, it sounded vile and venomous… And it was intended that way, or at least that’s what he thought.
Now, he realizes that he didn’t want you involved so you wouldn’t go through danger, but you did, you went through so much pain and suffering. Nancy was right, you were strong, and you didn’t second guess your actions when it meant saving someone.
“Shit–” He jumped a bit when he felt the water turn cold, not realizing for how long he had been in his head, thinking, running through his thoughts and memories. He turned the water off and shook his head to get the excess of it out of his hair.
He got out of the shower and grabbed a towel, a white one that had the smudge of a lipstick stain that never got off. Your lipstick.
And just that mere stain made his heart jump and miss one beat, two beats, maybe three. Fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He really wants you to know he doesn’t mean what he said in the RV.
To both of those things.
Especially the one about Nancy.
“Fuck me.”
♡
tagging friends and mutuals
@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @sherrylyn628 @munson-mjstan @maroon-cardigan @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @ibellcipem @corrodedcorpses @agirlwholovesrockstars
#dwoht -- chapter fourteen#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington series#stranger things angst
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Missing my zombie!steve husband 🫶🏻
quiet day at the camp… hope something bad isn’t brewing… zombie apocalypse au <3 fem, 2k
Steve loves the sound of the river, but he only allows himself a moment to lay down on the riverbank during laundry hours.
You stand knee deep in the water with your pants and sleeves rolled up, the corrugated metal of an old shed roof that’s been repurposed into a washing board held to your chest. It was pointless to roll your sleeves up, you’re soaked to the bone, even your hair, but the summer sun keeps you warm.
“Don’t get too hot!” you call.
“I’m fine,” he says, unwilling to shout.
“He’s fine!” Robin shouts from beside him. “Numbskull.”
Steve stares at you, locking you in, so to speak, the nice shape of your hip and stomach, the mess of your wet hair. Tonight, he’ll help you fix it, but there’s no rush and no hurry to dry off while the sun is out, and the fences are up. He turns onto his stomach. Grass tickles his cheeks.
“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks quietly.
“Fine. Can you tell me if she needs help?”
“Sure.” He listens to the sounds of her moving, likely pulling the slim lengths of her legs against her chest to hug herself, the tan leaves of a book spread out just in front of her.
Steve could really go for a cigarette. You swapped the last box you found for toothpaste, isn’t that how it always goes? You and Robin found a cheat code in the apocalypse, nicotine with a capital ‘N’. You swap Arctic chewable for socks without holes and boxes of Marlboro’s for the bathroom essentials. Everybody wants them, and you’re great at finding them. Steve never thought he’d crave a cigarette again considering he wasn’t addicted, having smoked for a couple of months in high school to feel cool with his friends, stopping when his mom asked him to. He doesn’t remember why. She’d asked, and he’d listened, as he used to do. Swim team, cross country, basketball, lifeguard training, mowing the lawn, not upsetting his father, taking out the trash, vacuuming, no drinking and driving; task after task after task. Some of it was easy. He liked doing the dishes, and he loved taking care of his mom even if she didn’t feel the same.
Not that it matters now. Does it matter now? He’s never gonna see her again. She’s a memory. She’s a bad memory, most of the time.
The more he reflects on it, he decides. She was a bit shitty, but she’s his mom, and she’s likely gone, so he’ll try to remember the cookies they made together and the way she’d smile at him after she tied his shoelaces before school. And also the mean fucking bitch she’d turn into when she drank two glasses of wine.
“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks.
“That’s the wrong soap,” you say from the river. Your voice floats over the breeze.
“Fuck off, soap is soap,” Eddie says, your not-so-new friend, Steve’s sworn enemy.
“I’m just saying,” you laugh. “Look, I’ll wash, you rinse.”
“I’m thinking about that time,” Steve begins, holding his hand out toward her, open but not expectant, “when my mom and dad came home early from his business trip in Missouri and found us sleeping together.”
“I’d never heard your dad laugh before,” Robin says.
“My mom really didn’t like you after that.” He smiles as she takes his hand. They were a lot more touchy, pre-apocalypse. He misses that sometimes.
“I don’t even think she thought we were dating.”
“She was disgusted.”
“She said we were being weird teenagers.”
“I guess we were. I never had a friend like you before so maybe I can’t blame her,” he says. He has something special with you, you’re a best friend because you’re half of his heart, but Robin was his first proper best friend, and remains it. “I missed you a lot when we were stuck in Indiana. There were a ton of times where shit would go wrong and I would get mad at you because I knew you’d know how to fix it, but you weren’t there.”
“You’d get mad at me?” Robin asks, squeezing his hand. “You jerk. Be mad at yourself.”
“Can you wait for me next time?” he asks.
Robin’s quiet, then she laughs, “I’m nodding but you can’t see.”
He wonders how she’s feeling. He admits to not doing that much in the past. Not that he didn’t think about how he made others feel, he was always worrying about that after Nancy, but he can’t say he thought of it in the moment. Steve forces himself to sit up and offer his arms for a hug, which Robin gladly accepts, her frazzled laugh on his neck as he pats her back.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“You know Y/N says I’m possessive?”
Robin leans away, fingers curled around his elbow. “You’re fighting?”
“No, just. She says I’m possessive, that I get mad about, you know, my people.”
“Right. Isn’t everybody?”
“I never thought I did. I’m not, like, too proud most of the time.”
“Steve, this is super introspective,” she says, frowning, smiling, a weird expression somewhere melding in the middle of happy and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you’re not.” She laughs shrilly. “I woke up the other day and cried and then ten minutes later I felt fine. I’m far from okay.”
Steve glances past Robin’s head to watch you in the river. You’re sitting down amongst the stones. It really isn’t too deep, water to your ribcage washing suds down to Munson, who’s smiling at you kindly, not smarmy or flirting, just smiling.
“Why did you cry?” he asks quietly.
“I missed my cousin, I think.”
Steve curls his arm behind her head and encourages her in for a fiercer hug.
“Think we should probably go help them,” she mumbles.
He takes it for the brush off that it is; sincerity is too much to take, sometimes. If she wants to be evasive about it that’s okay, she already took the leap and admitted to getting upset.
“I cried thinking about Y/N’s hands the other day,” he says.
“Steve.” Robin rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t even know what to tell you.”
“What? I’m trying to show you I’m pathetic so you don’t feel bad.”
“I know you’re pathetic, and I don’t feel bad.” She climbs off of the ground and brushes broken grass off of her legs. Steve climbs up next to her, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re mucho pathetic. It’s kind of crazy.”
“I think I might try and drown him,” he says conversationally.
“Why now?”
“Why do you think?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, nearly pitching forward on the wet bank closer to the river.
You and Eddie look up as they approach from different spots of the water. Your smile at seeing him winds him for the thousandth time, just so happy to see him, so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do for a few seconds. “Hey, honey,” he says, “can I help?”
“Now you wanna help?” you ask, gesturing to your soaked front.
You’re messing with him, and he doesn’t care anyways, you can talk to him like crap if you want to. He shuffles down from the mud of the riverbank and into the water, cold and wet like a shock against his ankles, softer as it climbs to his knees. You’re sitting where it’s more shallow, opposed to Eddie on his knees and almost drowning further down. He puts his hand on your wet shoulder and kneels down in the water beside you. “Wanna hug?” you tease.
Steve hugs you. Doesn’t care that you’re soaking or that the water is freezing against his crown jewels, though he shivers by your ear, prompting your laugh like bubbles in his own. “It’s cold,” he says.
“Freezing!”
Not to be a freak, but he can feel your chest pressed to him, and he knows you get achy in the cold. He wraps his arms doubly behind your back and rubs at your sides. “How much laundry’s left?” he asks. “We’re gonna get hypothermia. Again.”
“You didn’t get hypothermia,” you remind him, folding into his space. “Steve… is everything okay?”
“Do I look mopey today? Robin just asked me the same thing.”
“You don’t look mopey, but you’re being touchy. You’re cuddling.”
“How am I not supposed to cuddle you, dummy? I’m keeping you warm enough to function right now. Without me you’d be an ice cube floating down the river.” He leans back to hold your face in one hand, your cheek under his thumb, water racing down his wrists and your neck.
You push against his hand gently with your cheek.
“Sorry,” he says.
“What for?”
For lots of things. “I didn’t realise how cold the water was. I would’ve come to help you.”
“It’s fine. I scrub everything and then Eddie catches it. We’ve only lost one pair of underwear,” you say. “The river’s like a long washing machine.”
“How much do you have left?” he asks.
“Nothing. I was just about to get out.”
“Couldn’t have told me that before I came to get you?”
“No,” you say, lifting your chin. Not challenging, but close. It’s an offer, Steve decides, kiss me or don’t kiss me. You don’t seem to realise he doesn’t decide, he needs you. If you always wanted to kiss him, you’d always be kissing, all the time, everywhere.
Steve gives you a quick peck. “Come on, let’s go set up the line.”
You somehow, together, make your way back to the tents without freezing to death after throwing your clothes on a drying line between trees. It’s warm enough that stripping down to your skivvies is mildly pleasant (away from the eyes of the other campers). You get dressed in the softest clothes you own upon Steve’s insistence, sweatpants and a dark hoodie, three pairs of socks and the tent door left open, before he lays you down on the sleeping bag, and settles between your legs, his full weight bearing down on you, his face nestled in the damp crook of your neck.
“I couldn’t kiss you the right way,” he confesses.
“Why?” You pull mildly at the ends of his hair.
“‘Cos I always want more than one kiss.”
“That’s a strangely romantic way to say you wanted to make out with me,” you whisper.
“It’s not like that,” he insists, even though he does want to, and he did in the river, and he does all the time.
“You’re getting kinda heavy, Steve,” you mumble.
“What?”
“It’s a good thing.”
“How dare you.”
“We got sorta frail for a bit.” You wrap an arm around his head, tip of your nose to his forehead.
“Yeah. Lucky we’re in camp Eddie now,” Steve says.
“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” you murmur, so close to sleeping Steve can tell. You just need a feeling of security to nudge you over the edge.
“Lucky we’re together.” He climbs off of you slowly so as not to rouse you too much, kissing your slack cheek as he settles on your shoulder. “You and me. I don’t care where we are.”
He ends up falling asleep not long after you, lulled by the rhythm of your light snore.
#steve zombie!au#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
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being so desperate for steve harrington’s cock that even as you’re wailing and your chest is shuddering with needy breaths, you’re begging him to keep going.
“no, no— don’t stop, don’t stop, please steve,” gasping wetly and sobbing into his shoulder as he’s trying to pull out, doesn’t wanna hurt you, “please. it’s gotta fit, need you to fit in me, please don’t stop—“
“you’re killing me.” steve’s voice is strained, sounds just as desperate as you do, grips the base of his dick as he tries yet again to pull out only to have the vice grip of your thighs around his waist pulling him back in, “shit, fuck. don’t wanna hurt you and here you go… almost like you’re wantin’ it to hurt.”
you mouth hot against his mole flecked skin, tongue grazing over flushed, burning hot flesh, “you feel me opening for you, right?” you mumble, desperate and almost pathetic, “brand me with it. let me feel you for days. don’t care if it hurts, want you to hurt me.”
steve grunts low, sound akin to a growl as he bullies himself in an extra inch, almost like he can’t physically stop himself, and you’re shaking like a leaf under him. clinging onto him with sharp nails, hips swivelling to adjust to the intrusion, a sob ripping from your chest.
the hand wrapped around the base of his length brushes over your puffy opening as they meet, and steve shudders visibly as the backs of his fingers come into contact with the sopping wet heat of your pussy.
“you’re so desperate, god,” steve’s voice is barely above a murmur, free hand loosely wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you out of your hiding spot in his shoulder.
the eye contact, fingers buried deep in your hair is almost enough to have you tapping out. he stares at you with an intensity that almost makes you feel sick, body flushed hot with a new level of primal desire. you keen into him, neck arching as he pulls lightly at your tresses.
“baby. you look so pretty. begging for me to wreck you like this.” he speaks like he’s in awe, honey flecked eyes swirling with lust and want. he pushes in a bit further, relishes at the sickly sweet moan that he punches out of you, “louder, baby. want to hear every noise you make when i take you apart.”
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington smut#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington x you#steve harrington drabble#mine#my fanfic#x reader
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that guy ⊹ steve harrington
summary: After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him… | 2.6k words
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
The moment Steve steps through the glass doors of the diner, you wonder, for about the millionth time that month alone, what is it that you've done so wrong to deserve this kind of punishment.
It's Friday night, and on Friday nights, Steve Harrington goes on dates. It's just like clockwork, really: he meets a pretty girl, thinks she's the one, takes her out on a date, realizes quickly enough that she isn't quite what he was looking for, then comes here after having dropped her back home to sulk with you, in the diner that your family runs, still clad in the outfit he'd chosen especially for his failed date.
To be honest, he never looks sad, per se — more like disappointed. Frustrated, maybe.
You watch as he weaves around tables occupied by laughing friends, past booths filled with couples sharing desserts, then slides into a seat in front of you at the bar. Steve sits down with an exhausted sigh, ruffling up his hair before shooting you a tired smile.
"Hi."
You don't look up from where you're polishing the counter. "Bad date again?"
"Not even close. She talked about horses non-stop."
A quiet laugh slips past your lips despite yourself, and finally, you tear your gaze off the dark wooden surface of the counter to look up at him; he's got this pleased little smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the way they always do whenever he succeeds at making you laugh, even if just a little.
How are you supposed to keep acting like nothing's wrong when he looks at you like that?
You clear your throat awkwardly and make yourself busy stacking clean glasses next to the coffee machine.
"So...not the one, I take it?"
Steve leans forward against the counter and props his head up with his hand, sighing deeply.
"I'm starting to think she won't ever show up," he says quietly, running his other hand through his hair. You chance another glance at him and note how genuinely worried he looks. It breaks your heart almost as much as it annoys you. "What is it that's wrong with me, huh? I just don't get it."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
"You don't need to be nice to me. We've been friends since forever, remember?"
The word 'friends' makes you wince a little bit inside, but you hide the reaction behind a neutral frown. "Do you think there's something wrong with me? Because I haven't found the one yet either, you know."
Steve's expression softens as he looks at you, and once again you feel that horrible twinge in your stomach that you wish would just stop already.
"It's different. I mean—you're not actively trying to find someone." He reaches out to pull one of the half-melted mints out from the glass bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth with a shrug. "I go out looking for her and she just doesn't come. If she even exists, that is."
"She does."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I wouldn't hold my breath. God, why am I such an idiot, y'know?" Steve slumps over the counter with a groan, burying his face into his crossed arms. "My love life is a trainwreck."
"At least you have one."
He glances up at you curiously and lifts an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it. Do you want some pie?"
You're not about to tell him what you've only admitted to yourself mere months ago — that you're actually hopelessly, madly, stupidly in love with him, and that you have been ever since the two of you were just dumb kids racing around your parents' diner.
What makes it even worse is that you had no idea your feelings went that deep until Steve started going on these dates of his again. Before then, everything was normal — you met up every weekend and binged on candy, watched bad movies on your couch, drove around town together blasting The Clash on his BMW's speakers...it was good.
Until it wasn't.
"Wait, c'mon, you can't just leave me hanging like that," Steve presses. He shifts a little on his stool to better face you, then gestures at you with his hands. "You've clearly got something you wanna say, so, like—hit me. Lay it on me."
"Nothing. I'm just saying...at least you're trying, you know," you say carefully, measuring each word before speaking them. "And at least you're the one doing the rejecting. Could be worse."
Steve's eyebrows rise high up on his forehead and he looks at you incredulously. "Whoa, wait—are you trying to tell me you've been rejected?"
You busy yourself by filling two tall glasses with soda, then slide one to his side of the counter and keep the other for yourself. "Uh...kind of, yeah. But it's fine."
"But who the hell would even do that?" he blurts out. There's anger in his voice all of a sudden, a defensive fire in his eyes that makes you feel as if someone has punched you in the gut. "To you? You're like, the nicest person on the planet, and super pretty to boot. That's just—that's crazy!"
Your heart gives a violent little jump in your chest. He thinks you're pretty. Steve Harrington thinks you're pretty.
Pretty as a friend, you correct yourself immediately, and sigh as you sip your drink. Of course, it's nothing more than that — just meaningless words spoken in a moment of unthinking kindness.
"Seriously, who?" he presses on. "Give me a name. I'll fight him."
"You mean like you fought Jonathan Byers?" you smile behind your glass, looking at him from over its rim.
Steve looks embarrassed at the memory and drops his gaze for a second or two before meeting your eyes again with a playful little smile of his own. "Different situation, okay, but that's not the point. So? Who's the guy?"
"You...don't know him," you hedge.
"It's Hawkins. I know the stray cats here by name."
"Fine, well, even if you did know him, it doesn't matter. He didn't reject me, exactly...not really."
Steve frowns a little. "Okay, you're gonna have to start making sense now. This is hurting my head."
The funny thing is, he actually looks confused, as if he can't possibly fathom the idea of someone rejecting you. It's sweet, really — way too sweet for your liking, especially when you know fully well he doesn't see you in the way you'd want him to.
You lower your gaze to avoid his and instead focus on drawing random shapes on the counter with your index finger, where tiny droplets of condensation from your glass have pooled up on the dark wood. "I mean, I never really told him how I felt. Not directly. It just…never happened."
"Oh. Well, then how do you even know if he feels the same way?" he asks you, looking rather doubtful.
You steal another glance at him and almost regret it instantly. His eyes are trained on your face, patient and attentive like you're the only thing worth watching in the world. It makes you feel horribly small and selfish and guilty, because after all, what right do you have to want him when he so clearly wants someone else?
You feel like you could cry. You might, if you don't distract yourself with something fast enough.
"I just know. Do you want some pie? I'll go get you some pie."
Without waiting for a response, you rush off to the kitchen even though there's plenty of pies sitting on the display counter at the bar, and you make a beeline straight for the back exit.
The alley behind the diner is blissfully empty as usual, just a lonely dumpster and a handful of sad-looking shrubs and weeds peeking out from under the concrete.
No, you aren't going to cry.
This is stupid.
You press your back against the rough brick wall of the diner and breathe in deep the warm night air, then exhale slowly as you count to ten in your head.
When the door opens behind you and the diner's familiar chatter and clatter of cutlery spill into the alley, you wince, mentally cursing yourself for being so goddamn weak. You should have known better.
You don't have to look up to know that it's him.
"Are you hiding from me?" Steve's voice comes, quiet and curious and maybe just a little bit hurt, even.
"I got...suddenly nauseous," you explain weakly, still refusing to look up and meet his eyes.
There's a long stretch of silence, and you feel Steve move closer to you until he's leaning against the wall by your side. You finally look up and find him smiling, this gentle, amused little thing that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.
"You look just fine to me."
You stare up at the sky, head against the wall. "I thought I was gonna throw up."
He's still watching you, you can tell; you're keenly aware of his eyes on you, so much so that your skin prickles at the attention. "No, you didn't."
"No, I didn't," you admit with a sigh, and turn your head to finally look at him. He's got this little half-smile on his lips, the very same one you fell for years ago, and you curse yourself silently for never learning how to let him go. Really let him go.
"Hey. Listen. You don't have to tell me, okay?" Steve says gently, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face and tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on the edge of your jaw for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to wonder whether he knows what he's doing to you.
You don't dare to move. You're afraid of breaking whatever spell has seemingly come over him.
"I should've never asked. That was selfish."
"Forget it," you say.
He's standing close now, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to be able to look up at him properly. There's a strange kind of tension in his eyes, something dark and unsure and tentative, and his gaze darts down to your lips just the slightest bit.
You're fairly sure you're just seeing what you want to see, your foolish heart playing tricks on you. But you panic nonetheless, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if he moves any closer, he'll realize the truth — that you're a liar and a coward, that you've been harboring these feelings of yours for him for years.
"I should—I should go. Back inside," you mutter, pointing vaguely at the door with your thumb. "In there."
"Sure, yeah. Okay. In there," he echoes, not making a single move to leave. "Not out here."
"Yup. Exactly. In there."
"So you said."
"Yep."
The wall of the diner is digging into your spine uncomfortably, and your mouth is dry, and your knees feel weak, and your stomach is doing somersaults, and the longer he stares at you with those eyes of his the more you feel like you're burning from the inside out and—
He's not moving. All he does is look at you, really look at you, as if it's the first time he's really looked, as if he's seeing something that wasn't there before.
"Okay, so—"
You try to push past him towards the door, but Steve grabs your arm, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets go as soon as you look up at him, lifting his hand in front of him in an apologetic gesture.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," he says. He swallows hard and rubs his palm on the front of his jeans, a nervous little habit you think he's always had. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the carefully gelled strands, and it's probably the first time you've ever seen him look so flustered.
He laughs nervously and gestures at the ground with his hands as he speaks. "Look, this is just—this is just crazy, okay, but I think I, uh, maybe sort of realized something."
You blink at him, not quite certain you're hearing him correctly.
"Realized what?" you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.
Steve clears his throat and nods at you, seemingly pleased that you've finally spoken. "Yeah, well, this is stupid, but you know how you're always telling me to listen to my gut?"
"You're not making a whole lot of sense right now, Steve."
"Just bear with me for a sec, okay? This is like, totally new to me." He holds his palms up, and you notice his hands are shaking a little. "I just need a minute, alright?"
He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, then shoots you an apologetic look.
"Sorry, this is just...really weird," he confesses. "Weirdly real."
"You're freaking me out," you tell him, but Steve only smiles at you.
"Maybe I should just show you. Because, I mean, what if I'm wrong? That'd be terrible, obviously."
"Steve."
"Yeah, I know, but hear me out, okay?" he says quickly, and takes another step closer. You stand your ground this time, if only because you don't trust yourself to actually move without your legs giving out. "So, look. Here's the thing. You're, like—you're one of the most important people in my life. You've been there for me when nobody else was, and I...you mean a lot to me."
"Steve—"
"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."
He takes another step forward until he's crowding you against the wall, hand coming to rest next to your head on the brick. He's close, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne and shampoo and laundry detergent, and if you were to lean in even the slightest bit, your faces would bump.
Steve is a little out of breath, his lips parted ever so slightly. And he's still looking at you with that strange, searching expression of his.
"Is this okay?" he whispers.
"I don't—what?"
Your voice catches in your throat. There's no room for doubt in his eyes now, not even the tiniest, slightest sliver of uncertainty left.
"This," Steve murmurs.
He tilts his head to the side a little and leans in until you're sure your noses are touching, and you feel your eyes slip closed in anticipation.
"Is this okay?" he repeats in a whisper. "Please tell me I'm not crazy."
"I think I am."
His lips brush yours. It feels like an accident, doesn't last long enough to be anything but a dream. You can still taste the faint, sweet trace of sugar and mint on your tongue when he pulls away, though.
"Just to be clear," Steve whispers, his fingers brushing lightly over the skin of your neck, tracing invisible lines that make you shiver, "am I the guy from earlier? The one you like?"
You don't have it in you to deny it anymore.
"Yes. It's you."
A wide grin breaks out across his face, and suddenly he's everywhere; he cups your face in his hands, pressing eager, fervent kisses along the line of your jaw, trailing hot and open-mouthed down the side of your neck.
You giggle helplessly, grabbing Steve by his collar to pull him away from you and up to your eye level. He's breathing just as heavily as you are, his hair messy and his eyes bright.
"How do you do this to me, huh?" he pants, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You just—you just completely knock me out."
A pleasant little thrill rushes up your spine at that.
"Oh yeah?"
"Completely."
You kiss him this time.
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve x you#steve x reader#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one-shot#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington headcanon#steve harrington headcanons#steve harrington hcs#steve harrington hc#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington dialogue#steve harrington fluff
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18+
When your best-friend Steve Harrington asks you to hold his fleshlight for him.
It wasn’t really something that either of you planned on happening. But then it just did. Steve had been pent up from work all day from typical annoying patrons, smart mouthed jocks from the high school, that were freshmen when he was a senior (tenfold karma, Harrington), and Keith’s particular way of criticizing his every move out of some form of nerdy revenge. You could count on one hand the times that Steve had to bail out of your two person movie nights on Fridays (Saturdays were for dates and Sundays were for hanging with the rest of the parties and running kids around), and tonight happened to be one of those occurrences. Usually, it would be for self-care or whatever reason he needed to spend alone, but when he’d barely shed his leather jacket upon entering his house, dusting snow off of his boots — he was about to crawl out of his skin by the time his massive palm was wrapped around the receiver, thumb strangled by its cord.
He was… off? And seconds after he’d cancelled without much reason, the line went dead. You wanted to give him space, especially because he usually called back to tell you goodnight. But after being unable to sit still and finish a generous portion of the large pepperoni pizza you’d ordered the two of you, you were grabbing your keys for the journey over to his place.
~*~
It didn’t take but five minutes before you reached Steve’s house, pulling in behind his familiar car. You dangle the copy - made spare from your pointer finger, trekking your way up to the door and letting yourself in, wiping at your wind-whipped, wet eyes. You know he’s not on the first floor, its entirety dark and a little cool. So you toss your coat and keys onto the small table beside the entryway, kicking off your boots to join his on the cheesy welcome mat, and you make your way to the second floor landing to his bedroom. Seeing a buttery glow spill out from the crack in his doorway, you’d proceeded, only to be met with a sight that only appeared in your late night fantasies… and pretty much your every waking thought.
Steve is facing his mattress, sheets tousled and clothing pooled beside him, stood on the left side of his bed, naked and glistening in the perspiration of teasing, observing his massive length as he edges himself, moving the toy slowly over his cock. You know what it is, you’ve seen it in magazines and stores, in some porn. A fleshlight, they call it. Your brain goes through a million thoughts at a couple seconds to spare.
Why doesn’t he have someone here to do this with? He can get a date?
Is he okay? Obviously he’s very okay.
Holy fuck… he’s big.
Holy fuck… he’s beautiful.
A little more than usual, waiting on the summer sun to tan his freckle and mole spattered skin. His hair has grown longer, curling at the nape, his shoulder blades and biceps defined from a regular regime. And that ass, the way it flexes and is perfectly plump, connecting to those hairy thighs and big feet, his own toes curling when he twists, a wet squelch coming from the faux cunt. There’s beautiful chestnut curls scattered across him sternum and connecting to a trail that surrounds his base and those full, heavy, balls. That cock… thick, barely able to be pushed back into the toy, his fingers having to peel back its soft pink layers to help ease the slick way, decorated in a vein that matches the one running along his forearm
And you must make some sort of noise, because your lips part to let in a gasp of air, causing his body to twist in a sudden defensive stance, clenching the toy so tight with a ‘caught’ pose. You go to move and the door spills open completely, slamming back into his dresser and shaking old sports trophies. You’re panting, seeking out the words to apologize, Steve is wincing from how hard he still is, attempting to cover his modesty. But the air shifts in the room and you gain a boldness, a restlessness that won’t be satiated, nor a conscience satisfied if you don’t ask.
“Can I help you?” A customer service line from working at Scoops with him. But it comes naturally.
Steve, biting his lip, disheveled — he nods. And it’s happening. A tickling ease, a line crossed.
“C’mhere.” He’s waving with his opposite hand. His ribcage expands as he gulps in lungfuls of air.
You’re at his side shortly, shyly. “W-what do you need me to do?”
His spare hand pushes back through his hair, amber gaze gone to a midnight sky, teeth milky white, defined jawline covered in stubble, and a perfect nose. His voice is raspy when he lets you know what he needs.
“Go get on my bed, lay back for me. Please?”
A fucking gentleman.
All of your clothes feel too tight, smothering you as you lay back on his bed, his pillow immediately invading you. Your hands are unsure of where to go, but he approaches slowly, kneeling his way into kneeling by your feet. “I’m gonna… Can I use this between your legs, honey? You don’t have to do anything, just let me do all the work.” He motions to the toy and you want nothing more, suddenly offered the world.
It’s your turn to say it now. “C’mhere.”
He’s using that enriched tendon covered forearm to prop himself up beside of your head, slotting right between your knees, his remaining hand wrapped so tightly around the toy that his skin is pulled taunt over his knuckles. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, releases it, licks it, and then he’s asking, “Can I?”
“Go. Do what you need to do. I’m right here, Steve.”
If you thought the toy was loud before, the sound of him working his lengthy girth through its walls right in front of you now — it’s surround sound. You’re watching, unable to help it, bones threaten to be dusted to ash from how hard your heart is ramming beneath your breastbone.
“Wanted to come over, but it’s been a shit week, an even shitter day. And I just needed to —“
“— Release some tension, right? I get it, I do it too. I have a cock that goes… I —“ you stop your horny rambling, face feeling too much warmed.
Steve’s face scrunches, teeth gritting, and he twists the toy until slowing it almost completely. “Tell me what you do. You fuck yourself with it, right? When everything is too much and not enough? Fuck, honey.”
He doesn’t verbalize, but you don’t either, simply accept the toy and hold it against your denim covered cunt, leaving Steve’s hands free to hold on either side of you, his nose nudging yours as he leans down — here, present. You copy his earlier motions, using the toy to glide along his length as he thrusts into it with a new focussed vigor. “That’s it. You feel so good, honey. Workin’ me so right.”
“I’m soaking — fucking — wet for you, Steve. Just so you know.”
His hips stutter and his nose finds its way into your eyelashes, cheek pressing into your own. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum into this thing, and I want —“
“— You want what, Steve?” You hold your breath.
He answers without fear or pause. “You.”
// Eat me paragraph //
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whining and crying while steve fucks you into the mattress that you’re gonna make a mess and he’s like “fuck- it’s okay, daddy will clean it up, don’t worry” in between grunts. so then you stop caring that your cunt is a sopping mess and your dripping all over yourself and the bed. so then he cleans you up and the bed afterwards because he’s daddy 🥰
f u c k
steve harrington is such a daddy.
he makes you feel so fucking good and i always headcannon steve and his gf to have dacryphilia involved in their sex life, so it’s perfect that stevie’s angel is such a crybaby!
steve loves how teary eyed you get when he’s fucking you into the mattress, how whiny and pouty and subby you get for him, so dumb on his cock at times that the only thing you can moan and mumble is “daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy” and it drives steve crazy …….
especially once he figures out just how much you love to be smothered, completely crushed, absolutely smushed under his weight— you’ll wrap your legs around his waist and pull him on top of you with little “no, no, no”’s if he pulls the slightest bit of his weight off of you, starting to cry and grabbing at his shoulders and arms desperately to pull him back, begging him to pin you down, to press closer *drools*
but one thing about steve is that he likes it messy — spit, drool, cum, def lots of cum play, all of it — loves it when he’s fucking you so deep and so hard you go quiet and limp and start drooling… loves leaving bite marks and hickeys all over you, marking you up everywhere he can no matter how visible it is afterwards because he knows you wear his marks with such obvious pride just like he does yours… loves to lick you all over, especially on your neck and tits just to see the full body shivers going down your spine… loves it when your cunt is messy with a mix of both yours and his cum that he keeps fucking deeper into you, pretty much fucking overflowing your pussy so much it starts to spill out of you and all over the bed, all over his thighs, down your ass, making the most lewd wet noises… *sighs*
and at first you get so. fucking. embarrassed. you’re making such a mess and you can’t stop it, your eyes go teary and wide with humiliation and “‘m sorry, stevie, sorry, it just feels s’good” and you try to move away from him in a haste, all upset at being a bad girl and making a mess when your perfect daddy is just trying to make you feel good, to spoil you, and you immediately think of getting up to clean up the bed for him so maybe he won’t be upset and you can be his good girl again but as if he was reading your mind he stops you, won’t let you pull away, stays inside you, and grips your chin to make you look at him
“you’re okay, angel, it’s okay. make a mess, show me how good it feels, daddy will clean it up later, you’re still my good girl”
so you get all flustered and pouty and you furrow your brows that cute way you do that steve loves when you’re trying to be all serious and whisper a little “promise?” because you can’t handle not being his good girl and steve is losing his mind, there’s no way he didn’t dream you up “promise, my angel, you’re daddy’s perfect girl, love it when you’re messy for me” i- 😵💫
#steve inbox!#fairy writes#steve harrington (harmo’s version)#daddy!steve harrington#soft dom!steve harrington#boyfriend!steve harrington#desperate!steve harrington#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x shy!reader#steve x you#steve x reader#stranger things imagine#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington fic#steve harrington headcanon#steve harrington hc#steve harrington smut
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader
[3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before?
“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you.
You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”
There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.
“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”
“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”
The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly.
“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”
You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.
You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”
You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette.
Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown.
Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”
You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing.
“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”
“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”
“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”
Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend.
“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”
You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something.
You wondered if he’d find it.
“Not everyone?” You whispered.
“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”
Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be.
“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”
Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact.
The silence was too loud now.
“I could show you, if you wanted.”
Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes.
He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”
The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not.
“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”
You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air.
“Show me.”
You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour.
He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle.
He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls.
A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out.
You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him.
He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.
Dizzy. You felt dizzy.
“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer.
You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough.
“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?”
You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too.
“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”
“Wait.”
Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”
“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”
You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”
Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again.
I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason.
He simply pressed his lips to yours.
It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own.
He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar.
You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper.
After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”
“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”
You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—”
Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own.
He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning.
“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”
Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”
“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”
“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”
Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position.
“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”
‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”
You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”
Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin.
“Kiss me.”
So you did.
You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own.
It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise.
“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak.
“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”
He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else.
“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower.
You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you.
“Yeah?” Was all you asked.
“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”
You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours.
“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question.
Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control.
You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch.
You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder.
And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home.
You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed.
You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before.
Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans.
And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.
“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington drabble
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i can't talk to you when i'm like this
steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: [2.1K]
warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)
summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.
You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.
Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.
He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.
“Why are you making it such a big deal?”
His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.
He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.
Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.
“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”
Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.
This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.
He knows he messed up.
It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.
It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.
You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.
Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.
“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.
The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.
The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.
“B-baby… I’m so sorry.”
The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’
All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.
He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.
Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.
“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.
There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.
No one gets it… but Steve does.
“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.
The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.
“I’m fine, Steve!”
Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.
He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.
“Baby,”
Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”
He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.
Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.
It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.
You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.
One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.
“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.
Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.
He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.
Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.
You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.
You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.
“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.
He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.
Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.
“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,
Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.
But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.
“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.
But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”
You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.
You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.
“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.
“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”
You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”
Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.
Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.
“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.
It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.
“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.
“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.
When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.
“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”
“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“
He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”
Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.
Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.
It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.
“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.
His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.
“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.
Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”
“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.
He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.
His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.
“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.
His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.
“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”
He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.
“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”
Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.
The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.
It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.
But Steve gives you everything and so much more.
A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.
When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.
He’s everything you could have asked for and more.
You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.
“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.
He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.
That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.
His love.
“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.
You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”
“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.
You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.
“I know, I love you too.”
💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌
a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!
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Eddie is gushing about Steve to Robin and he mentions how it's so fucking metal the way he never shies away from danger. Like, quite the opposite, he literally jumps right into it without a second thought!
And suddenly Robin remembers how Steve wanted to be tortured by the actual real Russian secret service if it meant that his then friendly coworker who he never saw outside of Scoops would be at least a little bit safer. And she notices for the first time how Steve always makes sure that everyone is safe before he leaves a dangerous place - how he makes sure to always be the last one - and she thinks fuck.
(She feels so fucking bad. He is her best friend. Her soulmate. The person who knows her best and vice-versa. How has she never noticed this before?!)
They start paying closer attention to him, then. Neither like what they see. Steve's eyebags grow bigger with every day that passes. He doesn't eat a lot. He can never say no to others, no matter how much it inconveniences him. And when Robin and Eddie gush about what an awesome person he is, he gets an uncomfortable expression on his face and denies it. Robin had never noticed how most their interactions were self-deprecating jokes until now, either.
They need to stage an intervention.
The next time Steve walks through the doors of Family Video, Robin and Eddie are ready. They lay down all the facts and propose a simple deal: either go talk to a professional, or they will explain everything to the rest of the party and they will force him to talk to a professional. It will end the same way no matter what he chooses, might as well take the path with least resistance.
The only thing that sounds worse than paying a stranger to talk about his feelings is to be forced to talk about them to his friends, so he agrees.
He doesn't think it will make a difference, at first. It's not like he is allowed to talk about monsters and other dimensions.
The first session is awkward. But Robin and Eddie always look at him with such worried and expectant looks and he cannot bear to burden them in any way, so he starts opening up more. He can't talk about the time he almost got eaten by Demogorgons in a secret supernatural underground tunnelsystem, but he can talk about the time Billie almost beat him to death. He can't talk about the secret Russian operation beneath the mall, but he can talk about almost dying in the "mall fire". (His memories of his time there are all scrambled because of the drugs, anyway. It is more about the 'near-death' thing and never being able to feel safe, which he can talk about)
He doesn't mean to talk about his interpersonal relationships at first. But then his therapist cautiously asks him about his parents, and before he knows it he is spilling beans he didn't even know needed to be spilled. He talks about how he only seems to be friends with people who went through traumatic experiences with him, and what does that say about him? He talks about when he first realized that other kids are not left behind by their parents for months at a time. He finally starts unpacking the whole Nancy situation and realizes, wow, turns out he isn't nearly as over the whole thing as he'd hoped. (There are a lot of tears).
He seamlessly fills session after session, and at first he doesn't think that it makes much of a difference. Until the kids meet him after he is exhausted from a double shift at Family Video and beg him to drive them somewhere or other, and he can say no and not give in without fearing that they will cast him aside.
(Robin and Eddie are smug when they also notice the changes, but Steve supposes they have earned it this one time.)
#steve looking at an oceans worth of issues:#“oh man i sure hope i have enough problems to justify paying a professional”#and then has the audacity to act surprised when he doe#pen.#stranger things#steve harrington#robin buckley#eddie munson#stobin#steddie#stranger things drabble#steve harrington drabble#stobin drabble#steddie drabble
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tomato faced
a/n: I told you guys I came up with an abundant amount of shy reader smut the other day
warnings: Steve Harrington x shy!reader, smut, fingering, dirty talk
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist
Quite literally curled up in his lap, Steve’s fingers were buried so deep within you that the root of his palm nuzzled against the plump of your clit. With your flushed face smooched against the rapid pulse clear on his neck, you felt him chuckle beneath you, “you’re adorable,” not slowing down his digits pace one bit, drawing out even more embarrassingly lewd wet noises with every motion.
“Stop it,” you whined, not wanting him to tease you any further than the cruel amount he already had been, as you clung to his t-shirt, wrinkling it with your heated grip.
“No, you are,” he pestered on as your thighs shook, squeezing his strong forearm as he played with your sobbing cunt, “getting all tomato faced on me just because your pussy’s crying out for me. Don’t you hear that?” he purposely angled his fingers, enriching the reverberations of the sloppy result of your desire, “hear how much she wants me, huh? Can’t even imagine what colour you’ll turn once I’m finally balls deep in you… purple maybe?”
“You’re not being funny,” you smiled shyly, thankful that he couldn’t see it.
“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” his warm laughter vibrated in his chest as he rocked his fingers more vigorously inside of you, making you croak out a needy moan, your face burying even deeper as your limps debated on whether or not they should cling onto him further or if they should just flail around his pistoling pace, “that’s what I thought,” he chuckled, pressing his lips against your hairline as your hands flexed mercilessly against the cotton of his shirt, “you sure you don’t wanna take that pretty little face out of hiding and peek down at how pretty you are for me?” he asked softly through his everlasting teasing air, not giving up as you managed a small shake of your head, “what if we just sit in front of the mirror together, huh? Give you a real good view of what it looks like when I get to stretch you out so fucking perfectly?”
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#steve harrington smut#stranger things smut#steve harrington x reader#stranger things imagine#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n smut#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington hc#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington x female reader smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington blurb
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It's just us | S.H.
Warnings: 18+, angst, cheating (reader and Steve get cheated on by their partners), heartbreak, betrayal, enemies to lovers, King!Steve, smut, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, r and Steve are both over the age of 18, mentions of reader having nipple piercings
Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: You and Steve hated each other from the first moment you met but when you get betrayed by the people you love the most, all you have is each other.
Word count: 8k+
Author's note: I was really fucking close to making this an Eddie fic or at least a Steddie fic cause Eddie Munson owns me but this one is for my Steve girlies and for the ones who asked me to write for him before so here ya go. And I'm back to focusing on my one and only
stranger things masterlist
part two (steddie x reader)
-
There was one person that you hated more than anything, Steve Harrington. From the first moment you have laid your eyes on him, you just couldn’t stand him. You hated his cocky and arrogant personality, his perfect reputation, how sure of himself he always was. You hated King Steve, you hated the way he looked at you, you hated the way he used every opportunity to piss you off, he said things that he knew would get under your skin.
He hated you too, he hated how loved you were, he hated how popular you were. Both of you rivaled each other, he was the captain of the basketball team and you were the head cheerleader. In a perfect world, you would be together and people would call you a dream couple but instead you two hated each other’s guts.
You threw nasty words at each other, bickering every time you were around each other. You avoided him as much as he avoided you and for a while it worked until he started dating your best friend, Nancy.
Over were the peaceful lunch breaks at the cafeteria where you would only sit with her and your boyfriend. Steve started tagging along with her, greeting you with cocky grins and mocking waves whenever he would sit down opposite of you.
Not only were you forced to spend every lunch break with him, you also had to tolerate him during movie nights, parties and even worse, double dates.
You hated him more and more.
You thought that your boyfriend would take your side, joining in on the Steve Harrington hate train but oddly enough, they became friends.
Months went by and you had hoped that Nancy would realize what a douchebag King Steve is, leave his ass in the dust and find another boyfriend but she seemed happy and he did too.
Nancy and Steve were happy.
Jonathan and Steve got along.
Everyone got along, except for you and him. You hated him but god, you grew to love the fights and the bickering, you found entertainment in them. You loved pissing him off, loved teasing him, loved throwing mean words at him even when you knew that he would do the same and say something hurtful in return.
Yes, Steve Harrington got under your skin but you got under his too. It was clear, the way his cheeks turned red and his eyes flashed with anger, he would clench his jaw and his fists before he’d turn away from you.
“Tina is throwing a party this friday, are we going?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend and your best friend.
“Of course, we’re going,” Steve says.
You rolled your eyes as you turned to look at him, “I wasn’t talking to you, Harrington.”
Jonathan sighs, mumbling your name in annoyance.
You ignored him, continuing to look into hazel eyes with a challenging look on your face.
“Bitch,” Steve mumbles.
“Steve!” Nancy exclaims, turning towards her boyfriend with wide eyes, “that wasn’t nice.”
“Aw,” he shrugs, throwing his arm around her shoulder, he turns back to you, giving you a small smirk, “I’m sorry, queen y/n.”
You scrunch your face up in annoyance, he knows you hate when people call you that.
Rolling your eyes, you reach for the fries on your boyfriend’s plate, throwing some at the man in front of you, “shut up, asshole.”
He dodges the fries, laughing when they hit some kid behind him.
“Are you gonna wear one of those ugly leather jackets again?” He asks you, “they make you look cheap, y/n.”
A laugh falls from your lips, you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, “at least I don’t let my mom buy my clothes,” you say as your eyes trail down his shirt, “seriously, have you ever stepped foot inside a store yourself? Your mommy still dresses you up like you’re some innocent little virgin.”
His smile falls and he scoffs at you, “I’m not a virgin.”
“I know, you’re a whore in virgin’s clothes.”
He raises his eyebrows at you, “seriously?” He snorts, “you wanna call me a whore now?”
You are both so caught up in each other, you don’t notice the stolen glances between your boyfriend and his girlfriend, the longing gazes, the forbidden touches between the table as they reach for the other’s hand.
If you paid more attention, you would have noticed it a long time ago already but you were focused on other things.
Jonathan was a loving and sweet boyfriend, you had no reason not to trust him.
If you would’ve just known..
“Are we gonna go to the movies tonight?” You ask as you finally turn away from Steve and look at your boyfriend, smiling at him, you’re unable to see the guilt in his eyes.
He blinks, coughing nervously.
Nancy looks down at her food tray, pushing around the salad she hasn’t touched, her cheeks are red, her brows are furrowed.
You don’t notice how weird they are both being but Steve does, it is something he hasn’t noticed before but feels like it’s always been there, the tension in Jonathan’s shoulders, the distant look in his eyes, the furrowed brows as he looks down at you.
“Uh, shit, I-I no, I forgot to tell you, I’m taking Will to the record store tonight and he asked for a movie night,” he explains.
Steve expects you to frown at his words, sigh sadly and mumble a quiet ‘oh’ but instead your eyes light up and you grab Jonathan’s shoulder, “oh! Can I come with you?” You ask excitedly. Steve might not know much about you except for the very obvious things but he knows how much you love spending time with Will.
“We just wanna have a boys night, next time, alright?”
Now your smile falls, only for just a second but Steve sees it, he sees the disappointment in your eyes, the one you quickly mask with a pretentious smile, “oh that’s fine, umm I hope you’re going to have lots of fun,” you say, leaning in to kiss his cheek, he gives you a smile, one that doesn’t even reach his eyes. You lay your head on his shoulder, linking your arm with him.
A weird feeling settles in the pit of Steve’s stomach, he leans back and stares at the man in front of him, he sees the way his eyes meet Nancy’s blue ones, it just for a split second but he sees it.
A few months ago, he wouldn’t question it. He never had a problem with their friendship, Jonathan was her friend before he became her boyfriend and you never had a problem with their friendship either, you trusted them.
Maybe you shouldn’t have.
Steve doesn’t know why but he can’t shake the feeling that something is off, that things have been off for a long time now. He tells himself that he is overthinking things, that he lets his anxious thoughts get the best of him but they had only gotten worse when Nancy canceled their date after he had dropped her off at home, he was excited to take her out, he had it all planned, he would take her to dinner and movies and afterwards they’d watch the stars at lovers lake but instead he was left in the cold after she told him that she couldn’t go out with him because she had to help Mike with his homework. Mike, who was here at Benny’s diner with Will, Dustin and Lucas.
“What the fuck,” he mumbles as he stands there, staring at them with a dumbfound expression on his face.
Mike was clearly not in need of help for his homework and Will didn’t seem to have plans for a movie night any time soon. Someone drove them here but it wasn’t Jonathan, no, it was Eddie Munson who jumped into the empty seat next to Dustin as he held some book in his hand.
Slowly he started piecing everything together and as he thought of all the times Nancy had canceled their dates at the same time as Jonathan had canceled yours, his stomach dropped. Those weird looks both of them shared earlier today just added to his worry.
He forgot about the order he had placed and rushed out of the diner, ignoring the waitress who called for him when she held the bag and a drink in her hand. His mind was running wild as the worst scenarios rushed through his thoughts.
He doesn’t even remember how he got into the car or how he drove all the way to the Wheeler’s house. His heart was racing and his hands were clenched into fists, he was nervous and the anger inside of him was already building up.
He had suspicions but he didn’t want to dwell on them, not yet. But when he climbed up the wall to his girlfriend’s window, hoping to find her studying or listening to music, he didn’t find her doing any of those things. Instead, he caught her having sex with your boyfriend.
He grips the wall tighter when he almost loses his footing. He can’t even stop the gasp from escaping as his eyes widen.
His girlfriend is having sex with your boyfriend.
Nancy is fucking Jonathan, Nancy who is your best friend.
He stares in shock, frozen in place and with a broken heart he stares at them. Jonathan’s hands are on her waist, gripping her tightly as she bounces on his cock. She bites her lip to stay quiet.
The bile rises in his throat, he feels sick, he feels betrayed and angry.
He turns away and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before he jumps down into the grass. He almost throws up into Karen’s beloved flowers but he holds himself together, at least for now.
Tears brim in his eyes, he doesn’t understand.
Why would she do this to him?
Why would she hurt him like this?
Why would she cheat on him?
Why would she do this to you?
You have always been her best friend, you grew up together, your mom’s are best friends. You have always been by her side, you have done everything for her. You could’ve chosen other friends, you could’ve been friends with other popular girls like Chrissy Cunningham but no, you stayed friends with Nancy.
And Jonathan… Now, Steve had become friends with him when he started dating her and thought that Jonathan was actually a pretty decent guy but before that, he had always wondered why you even gave him the time of your day. You are the popular and annoyingly happy cheerleader and he is just, well, he is Jonathan. The boring freak. But then again, rumor has it that you have always liked to associate with men who weren’t anywhere near your league and apparently you liked to fuck freaks, that’s something that Steve could never believe. You were a good girl, you had that innocence in your eyes that told him that rumors were just rumors.
For some time, Steve thought that you were playing a prank on Jonathan, that you dated him for a bet but when a year had passed and you still looked at him with those stupid heart eyes, he knew you were serious about him.
Now he feels like throwing up, he isn’t just angry for himself, he is also angry for you. If the betrayal hurt him so much, what would it do to you?
The moment he steps into his bathroom, he drops to his knees and pukes his lunch out.
God, he has never felt this sick in his life before. How will he ever move on from this?
He loves her with all his heart but he is so incredibly angry and hurt. He spends the rest of the night crying, unable to catch a moment of peace. He stares at the ceiling as he lays in his lonely bed, tears stream down his face as his mind replays the horrible things he had seen.
What should he do?
Should he confront them? Should he break up with her? Should he make a scene and humiliate them in front of the whole school? No, he is not like that and he wouldn’t do this to you.
He doesn’t know what to do. So he pretends that everything is fine.
He takes a shower, styles his hair and picks out an outfit that you won’t tease him for. He drinks his coffee and then he picks up Nancy but the moment he lays his eyes on her and she gives him that cheerful smile and kiss on the lips, he feels himself growing sick again. How could she pretend that nothing happened? How could she kiss him like this when her lips touched his last night?
The anger diminished a little only to rush back even more intensely when he was forced to greet Jonathan at school. God, he wants to punch him so hard, he has to restrain himself from doing so. Especially when he lays eyes on you. A big smile is resting on your face, your eyes are shining with happiness, your perfect ponytail is bouncing as you rush through the hallways with your pretty little cheerleader uniform. You wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s waist and lay your head on his back, “hi babe, I missed you so much last night.”
“I missed you too, y/n,” Jonathan says as he smiles, placing his hand over yours.
Steve grows hatred for the man and for his girlfriend when he feels her squeezing his hand.
He can’t even stop the scoff before it falls from his lips, causing all three of you to look at him in confusion.
“Is everything okay?” Nancy asks, feigning concern.
He nods.
You raise your eyebrows at him, a cocky smirk tugging at your lips, “ooh, did someone had a rough night?”
Yes and you’d be having one too if you knew that your boyfriend was buried in my girlfriend last night, Steve thinks to himself.
He doesn’t say anything, instead he shuts his locker and turns away from the three of you, “I gotta go to class,” he mumbles without giving Nancy a goodbye kiss or Jonathan a pat on the back the way he always does. He bumps into someone, not bothering to apologize, he grumpily mutters something under his breath.
“Who pissed in his coffee this morning?” You chuckle, missing the way Nancy and Jonathan looked at each other.
“I- he probably got into a fight with his dad again,” Nancy says, shrugging nervously.
You step away from Jonathan, walking towards your best friend, you take her hand in yours, “is everything alright between the two of you?”
She blinks, looking over your shoulder and back to you, she nods, “y-yeah, totally,” she smiles, shaking her head.
“Okay, good,” you smile, squeezing her hand, “but I’m always here for you and you can talk to me, okay?”
She looks down, nodding at your words, “yeah, I know.”
“Alright, well, I think we should go shopping after school, I need some new party outfits.”
“Oh, I-I can’t, y/n. I already have an outfit and I was supposed to look after Holly today.”
You frown at her words, a sad look flashes in her eyes.
“You are a busy girl, Nancy Wheeler.”
-
Steve was being weird, well, he was always being weird but something about him today was just off. Not only did he pay no mind to you, he also ignored Jonathan and Nancy.
No comments were thrown your way today, no mean words, no remarks, he didn’t tease you or even glare at you. Nothing. You saw him talking to Robin Buckley when you were on your way to the bathroom. He looked like was on the verge of tears and the girl comforted him with a hand on his shoulder and words you couldn’t make out.
Seeing him like this makes you feel weird, you don’t really care about him but you care about your friend and there’s clearly something going on between them and you are certain about that when you sit down beside Jonathan in the cafeteria. Just like yesterday, you sit across from Steve but instead of meeting his teasing eyes, you meet his angry ones, though you feel that the anger isn’t directed at you but at someone else.
You try to ignore him and the way his gaze seems to be getting more and more intense. He watches you and Jonathan, a frown deep in his features as he watches how your boyfriend kisses you like nothing ever happened.
You don’t know.
You don’t know what he is doing behind your back.
You don’t know that he is hurting you, that he is cheating on you with your best friend.
How long have they been going behind your backs?
Has this been happening when you were all together at parties? When you went to the lakehouse his dad owns? God, he could scream and expose their disgusting secrets to the whole school.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Nancy asks as she puts her hand on Steve’s thigh. He tenses up, clenching his jaw as he turns to look at her.
“No, I’m not hungry, Nancy.”
Your eyes flash with surprise, the tone in his voice was filled with anger.
She looks taken aback, furrowing her brows at her boyfriend’s behavior, “you barely touched your food–”
“I said I’m not hungry!” He snaps at her.
Before any of you can even react, he gets up and storms out of the cafeteria, not caring about the prying eyes of the other students.
You frown at his behavior, growing angry when you see the tears in Nancy’s eyes.
“That asshole,” you mumble, getting up, you follow him out, ignoring Jonathan’s and Nancy’s calls.
You slam the doors to the hallway open, rushing towards him with anger in your bones.
“Steve!”
He keeps walking, ignoring you.
“Hey!”
He abruptly turns around, throwing his hands up, he sighs, “what!?”
“What?” You scoff, “what the fuck was that? Why are you being so mean?”
He laughs at your words, closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.
“She didn’t do anything to you, Steve.”
“If only you knew.”
Something about the way he said it and looked at you, sent shivers down your spine.
Instead of the usual hatred and anger you see in his eyes, you find empathy in them. Why? It makes you nervous.
“W-What do you mean?” You ask.
Steve knows that you won’t believe him, you gotta see it with your own eyes, you don’t deserve this. You love Jonathan, you have always been good to him. You deserve better and he knows he does too.
“Steve,” you mumble, “what do you mean?”
You have got to know. You’re a smart girl, you should’ve noticed the way your best friend and boyfriend behaved around you, the way they looked at each other, the way they touched each other.
Right now, he doesn’t hate you, he just feels sorry for you.
“Go to Nancy’s house this afternoon.”
“No, she– Steve!”
He walks away before giving you an explanation, leaving you standing there like a fool.
What is this about?
Usually, you would never listen to him, you wouldn’t do what he had told you to do. You wouldn’t go to Nancy’s house if you didn’t have your own suspicions already, the ones that made you feel sick for the longest time.
His seriousness and his anger is what made you feel scared.
He wasn’t mean to you today, he didn’t even glare at you, that’s how you knew that something was very off.
So you listened to him, you went to Nancy’s house. You didn’t want to but on the way home from the mall, you drove by her house and found Jonathan’s car in the driveway.
Nothing weird about it right? They are friends, they are allowed to be friends.
Yet, you can’t shake that awful feeling that something horrible is about to happen. So you park the car and make your way inside her house, using the spare key that she gave you years ago.
The house is empty, Karen isn’t there and neither is Ted. Holly and Mike are nowhere to be seen. You don’t call out for Nancy the way you usually would. With a nervous sigh, you grip the keys tighter in your hand and climb up the stairs.
You hear music coming from her room, The Cure. Nancy doesn’t listen to The Cure but your boyfriend does. You hear the noises, you hear them.
With a shaky hand, you open the door and as you lay eyes on the two of them, your heart drops and a gasp falls from your lips as you raise your hand to cup your mouth.
There he is, your boyfriend, shoving his tongue down your best friend’s throat. Both of them are half naked, her chest is covered in hickeys already, his hair is a mess, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths as she moves her hand into his pants.
“What the fuck?”
They jump apart when they hear your voice, staring at each other like deers caught in headlights before they look at you.
Her blue eyes widen as do his.
No longer do their cheeks glow red, instead they look pale when they see you standing there with tears in your eyes and anger on your face.
“Fuck– y/n!” He scrambles to his feet, trying to find his shirt.
Nancy looks away from you, crossing her arms over her chest, she suddenly feels too ashamed to meet your eyes.
“You are fucking disgusting,” you mumble angrily, ignoring the heartbreak in your chest or the feeling of your throat getting tighter. The tears begin to spill and you look between them in shock.
Jonathan takes a step towards you.
“Don’t come anywhere near me, Byers. We’re fucking over!”
His eyes widen, his lips part as he tries to speak but no words leave his mouth.
“And you, fuck you, Nancy.”
You don’t care to look back at them, rushing out of the house as quickly as you came. You wipe away the angry tears, biting down on your quivering lip as you get back in your car.
You knew it. You’re no fool. You knew it. You just made yourself believe that you didn’t but deep down you always knew. Who were you trying to fool? It was so clear.
Can you even feel heartbroken? You set yourself up for it when you started dating the guy who always saw her.
-
Maybe Steve should’ve told you, maybe he shouldn’t have told you to go to her place, maybe he should’ve protected you from seeing that. But did he have a choice? You hate him, you wouldn’t have believed him, you would’ve scoffed at him and laughed in his face.
But still, he should’ve told you.
He shouldn’t have let you see that.
Now he feels guilty for it, despite the ache in his chest and the betrayal he still tries to deal with, he feels guilty for not telling you.
You are pretending to be fine when you’re not.
You didn’t come to school on Wednesday, Thursday or today but here you are at Tina’s party, dressed in the skimpiest outfit you could find, throwing back one drink after the other, yet you don’t seem to be getting drunk but it’s only as he notices you pouring yourself coke instead of alcohol that he realizes you aren’t here to get drunk.
You are here because you don’t want to be alone, just like him. He had a feeling that you would come, that was another reason why he came.
The loud music is hurting his ears and the whiskey is starting to give him a headache. He places his drink on a small table. Running his hand through his messy hair, he pushes past a group of girls who begin to whisper behind his back. Nancy’s and Jonathan’s name falling from their lips. He decides to ignore it.
His focus is on something else, you. You’re standing by the punch with Heather Holloway, giggling about something she had whispered in your ear.
Should he talk to you?
You down the rest of your drink and place the cup on the counter, gesturing to the stairs as you leave your friend. He decides to follow you and calls your name.
You turn around, smile disappearing from your face when your eyes lock with his, an eye roll and a scoff is all he gets.
He rolls his eyes too, what else did he expect, a hug?
“Can we talk?” He has to yell for you to understand him.
You only shake your head and continue your way up the stairs.
“Please?”
Once you stop in front of a door, you turn around and look up at him, “no.” You slam the door in his face, causing him to sigh.
He leans against the wall, deciding to wait for you.
What does he even want to say to you? Does he even want to say anything to you?
When you walk back out, he doesn’t even give you a chance, he takes your hand in his, ignoring your protests or your light slap to his back.
“Let go of me, Harrington!”
“Nope,” he mumbles as he pulls you into an empty and dark room, he pushes against the wall before he turns to close and lock the door, leaving you in complete darkness.
“What the hell do you want from me?”
Steve frowns.
“Shit, hold on,” he mumbles, “I can’t find the light switch.”
“Seriously?”
You can hear him moving around, cursing under his breath. Maybe it would’ve been funny under different circumstances, if you were locked in a room with someone other than King Steve.
“Got it,” he mumbles as he turns on the lights.
Your arms are crossed and a frown is on your face, lips set in a pout.
“I uh– I heard you broke up with Jonathan?”
You squint your eyes, “that’s what you wanna talk about? What the fuck do you really want?”
“I should’ve told you, I shouldn’t have sent you there,” he admits in guilt, giving you a sad look.
You scoff at his words, rolling your eyes, “yeah right, you want me to believe that, Steve?”
“It’s the truth, I’m very sorry,” he says, “about everything. You don’t deserve this, they’re fucking assholes for doing– for you know–”
“For cheating on us?”
He glances at you and for the first time he sees something other than hatred, empathy, you feel for him just like he feels for you but it’s obvious that you still don’t like him.
“I-I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you,” he mumbles, “she’s been your best friend since you were kids and he–”
“Fuck them both,” you mumble, rolling your eyes.
You are in denial about your feelings, pretending to be fine so you don’t have to confront your pain. He can see it in your eyes though, the pain they left behind.
“When did you find out?” You ask.
“The day before you did. I went to the diner and saw Will and Mike there and I knew that they both lied, I went to her house and.. yeah.” He can’t bring himself to say it, he doesn’t have to. You know it.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He looks confused almost, shaking his head slightly, “you wouldn’t have believed me?”
“You expect me to believe that that’s the reason why you didn’t just tell me?”
“That is the reason!”
You walk closer to him as tears well up in your eyes, “fuck you, Steve Harrington! Fuck you. You sent me there to taunt me! I know you caught them and you wanted me to catch them too, you wanted me to feel what you felt, you wanted me to suffer, you’re a fucking dick, Steve! I hate you!”
His eyes flash with anger, he scoffs at you, clenching his jaw.
“Go on, let it all out.” He nods.
He might not know as well as your friends do but he can tell that you were pushing the pain back, you refused to cry over a man who cheated on you and over a best friend who betrayed you in the most hurtful way.
You are dealing with your emotions by using him as a punching bag and he doesn’t like it, so he decides to do something else.
“Y-You are such a–” He cuts you off by grabbing your cheeks and smashing his lips against yours, he kisses you roughly.
Your eyes widen and you squeal in surprise.
What the fuck?
Steve Harrington is kissing you.
He is kissing you and you fucking like it. Your life couldn’t have been more of a mess. First your boyfriend cheats on you with your best friend that he dated and now he is kissing you. He is supposed to hate you, he is supposed to be horrible to you but instead he is kissing you in a way you have never been kissed before.
Fuck it.
His lips tastes like cheery coke and he smells so fucking good.
You throw your arms around his shoulders and close your eyes as you kiss him back. He moans against you, the sound shoots straight to your core. You move your hand into his hair, gripping it and pulling his perfectly styled hair.
His hands slide down to your waist and he pushes you further into the room without breaking the kiss that grows heavier by the second. He grabs your ass, squeezing it tightly with his large hands, earning a moan from you. Steve smirks against your lips as he presses himself against you.
“S-Steve,” you whimper as you break the kiss, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask the man you are supposed to hate.
He presses another kiss to your lips before he pulls away, staring at you with his hazel eyes that hold both pain and anger, “why do they get to have all the fun?”
You swallow nervously, you hate him, you hate him so much and yet you find yourself longing for him, for his touch, for his lips.
He leans in again but you push him back weakly.
“No,” you whisper, “I hate you.”
“Yeah?” He rasps against your lips, “feeling’s mutual, honey. That’s okay, we don’t have to like each other, right?”
You blink, shrugging, your eyes flicker down to his lips, “I-I guess not.”
“You can mark me up, show her who fucked me,” he tells you as he pushes you down onto the soft bed, playing with the hem of your skirt, “you can let your anger out on me, I don’t mind.”
“You really wanna fuck me?” You ask as you chase after his lips, kissing them almost a little too softly.
“Fuck yes, I do,” he murmurs as he latches his lips onto your neck, spreading your legs so he can settle in between them, “I wanna rip your skimpy little clothes off, make you scream my name.”
His lips are soft yet rough as he marks your neck, he sucks and bites on your skin, squeezing your waist tightly with his hands as he grinds his clothed dick against your aching cunt.
“What makes you think that I’ll scream your name?” You ask, closing your eyes and furrowing your brows as you moan at the feeling of him. God, you can already tell that he is big.
“You will moan my name.”
“I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he says in a way that sends shivers down your spine, your pussy clenches around nothing.
“Do it then because he never could.”
A smirk grows on his face.
“You wanna fuck me to get back at him?” You ask, “do it then.”
Before you know it, he rips your top off, throwing it over his shoulder before your bra joins it on the floor. Lust fills his eyes and his cheeks flush red when he sees your nipple piercings, “holy fuck,” he mumbles, staring at you with a dumbfound expression as he grabs your boobs, touching your sensitive nipples with his fingers, “shit… the good little cheerleader has her nipples pierced?”
You look up at him with a pleading look in your eyes, moaning as he continues to roll your nipples. You grab his hand, bringing it up to your face, you wrap your lips around his thumb and begin to suck on it.
His eyes widen yet again, pants growing tighter as his cock hardens in his tight jeans.
“Fuck, you’re a little freak aren’t you?” He smirks darkly, “Byers couldn’t handle all of that, huh? Guess he wasn’t the freak after all, it was you.”
He really couldn’t. It was only ever lazy sex with him, sloppy blowjobs and making love. You didn’t want to make love, you wanted to be fucked like a whore.
You shake your head at him and spread your legs, letting your skirt slide up.
“Shut up and fuck me before I find someone else.”
“Shit,” he mumbles as his eyes fall on your lacy red underwear, your already soaked underwear, it makes his dick twitch in his pants.
“You shut up, princess. I’m not letting anyone fuck you, you’re mine tonight.”
He drops to his knees in front of you, grabbing your ankles, he slides his hand up to your thigh, teasing you by rubbing your clit over your panties.
“Look at you, your panties are soaked,” he teases, smirking at the way you bite your lip to stop the moans from falling. He grabs the thin material, ripping it off and throwing it on the ground.
Your eyes widen and you lean on your elbows, staring at him with a disapproving look on your face. The panties that you had bought a few days ago are now on the floor, ripped apart.
“Steve–”
“Yeah, Yeah,” he rolls his eyes as he places your legs over his shoulders, “I’ll buy you new ones.”
He presses a teasing kiss on your clit, smirking when you whine at his action.
“You’re so fucking wet, honey. Is that all for me? I thought you hated me.”
“God, fucking shut up and d–” He cuts you off, gripping your hips tighter, he licks up stripe up your pussy, moaning at your taste, “you shut up,” he mumbles before he buries his face in your cunt. Nudging his nose against your aching clit as he slips his tongue inside of you.
“Oh my god,” you whimper as you slap your hand over your mouth, not wanting to give the satisfaction that he is making you moan.
He grunts against you, sliding his hand up your body, he cups your boob and tugs at your nipple, earning a gasp from you.
“Steve!”
“Hand off your mouth, y/n,” he says, glaring at you with dark eyes, “let me hear your moans.”
You roll your eyes and put your hand down.
“Good girl.” He mumbles, eyes twinkling with mischief when he sees your flustered expression, he feels you clench around his fingers as he pushes two inside of you, “fuck, you’re tight, how am I gonna fit inside of you?”
His words cause you to roll your eyes again, he will never stop being cocky.
Moans and whimpers echo through the room when he begins to eat you out, switching his fingers with his tongue as he grabs your ass and holds you even tighter than before when you begin to squirm beneath him.
You reach down, gripping his hair and pulling at it.
“F-Fuck, Steve….” You whine. Tears blur your vision, your muscles tense and your back arches in pleasure, “d-don’t stop, Steve, please don’t stop,” you breathe as you feel his tongue on your clit again and his fingers back in your pussy.
He moans against you, mumbling praises you cannot focus on.
King Steve is eating your pussy like his life is depending on it and he moans like a slut while doing so. Palming himself as he tastes you on his tongue and listens to you falling apart for him.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as you hold his hair tighter, “please, I’m so close.”
“Yeah? You wanna cum for me? Do it, honey, do it.”
You let go, pushing away all the thoughts that are telling you how wrong this is, you cum hard and he moans and continues to lick you, his eyes roll back, he enjoys every fucking second of this.
“I haven’t even fucked you and your legs are already shaking.”
You open your eyes to look at him, your chest rises up and down heavily, sweat coating your forehead already, you swallow, pushing yourself up, you get on your hands and knees and crawl towards him, watching as he takes his shirt off. You grab him by his belt and pull him in.
You look up at him through hooded eyes, your hair is a mess, your skin is hot, you’re half naked, the only item left on you is your skimpy little skirt, he wants to fuck you while you are wearing it.
“Can I suck your cock?” You ask, sliding your hand up his body, “I love sucking cock.”
His eyes widen and he almost chokes on his spit, how can you look at him so innocently and speak such filthy words?
“I-I… huh?”
Nancy was different, sure she sucked him off but she didn’t really seem to be excited to do it, you though? You want it, for your own pleasure.
“You love sucking cocks?”
The look on his face almost makes you giggle, almost.
“Mhmm.”
“How many cocks have you sucked before?” He asks in curiosity.
You unbuckle his belt slowly, eying all the moles on his skin, his chest hair, his toned arms, the growing mustache. Steve is hot. Has he always been this hot?
“Take your pants off, Steve.”
“Answer the question first and then I’ll take them off.”
You roll your eyes.
“Before Jonathan? Just two.”
“Oh, who was it?”
“Take your pants off and I’ll tell you.”
He takes them off instantly, kicking his shoes off and throwing his pants somewhere.
“Well the first guy… you don’t know him, I met him when I went to visit a friend in Chicago,” you shrug.
He raises his brows, nodding, “the second guy?”
A smirk grows on your face, you lick your lips and place your hand on his dick, rubbing your palm over his boxers. He shudders, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he moans.
“Eddie Munson.”
His eyes widen at your admission, lips parting in surprise, “w-what? Eddie Munson, th-the f–”
“Yes, Eddie Munson!” You snap, not letting him finish the sentence. “I sucked him off in the bathroom after lunch break, Jason Carver was being mean to him and I felt bad for him.”
“So you cheered him up by sucking his dick?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he's jealous.
“Yeah, I mean who wouldn’t want to get his dick sucked by the head cheerleader?” You giggle, “he really liked it, came back for more.”
“And then what?”
You lean closer and kiss his hip bone and his stomach, trailing your lips up to his chest until you're kneeling on the bed in front of him, placing your hand on his chest and your lips on his neck, you kiss his neck the way he did to you earlier.
“He fucked me in his van, in the bathroom at school, in the janitor’s closet, behind the bleachers, he fucked me hard.”
Steve moans, he feels your cold piercing against his skin, his hand slide down to your waist.
“I bet you can’t fuck me the way he fucked me.” You mumble as you lean back down again, tugging at his boxers, you slide them down his legs and you gasp. His cock slaps against his stomach, pre cum leaking from his tip.
“Oh.” Is all you manage to say as you stare at his cock. Suddenly you look intimidated, your cheeks heat up and your eyes widen, “t-that’s not gonna fit.”
Steve chuckles darkly, gripping your jaw, he caresses your cheek, “oh, we’ll make it fit, honey.”
“You still wanna suck it?” He asks.
You nod, whining when he puts his hand on your head, guiding you towards him.
“It’s all yours.”
You wrap your much smaller hand around his dick, stroking him a few times before you begin to tease him with your tongue, swirling it around the tip, you close your eyes and enjoy the sound of his moans.
“O-Oh fuck,” he murmurs. Gripping your hair tightly, he looks down at you, watching as you take more of him, his cock disappearing in your mouth, inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat.
“Jesus fuck….”
“Mhmmm,” you moan around him, hollowing your cheeks as you begin to suck him off.
“Shit, stop…” He whines, tugging at your hair, “I’m not gonna last if you do that, I-I need to cum inside of you.”
You don’t listen to him, instead you continue to suck him off eagerly, moaning and whimpering in pleasure, you arch your back, cupping his balls–
“Fuck!” He whimpers, basically shoving you off of him, “you little slut, I said I’m not gonna last.”
You pout at him, “but I want to taste you too.”
He stares at you bewildered. What the fuck? He never thought you would be like this but god, does he love it.
“Later,” he says as he pushes you down and crawls on top of you, cupping your cheeks, his nose brushes against yours, “taste yourself instead,” he smirks before he kisses you again.
The kiss is nothing near soft, it’s rough and needy. Your teeth clash, your tongues meet and you both moan and groan desperately. He pushes your skirt up higher, wrapping your legs around his waist, he takes his aching cock in his hand, sliding it between your slick folds, causing you both to moan.
“Please, please… Fuck me, Steve. Make me feel something, please.”
You beg and you plead, you arch your back and you pull him closer. He looks at you, truly looks at you for the first time. You’re beautiful, pretty, cute. You’re cute, even as you lay there looking up at him like a needy whore. He furrows his brows, watching the way your lips part, your pretty eyes staring into his, your soft hand touches his shoulder.
What is he doing?
What has he been doing all this time?
“I got you, fuck, I got you.”
He concentrates on you, on the look on your face as he pushes inside of you for the very first time.
You whine and you bit your lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. You raise your head, looking down, you watch how his cock disappears in your pussy. Tears spring to your eyes as he stretches you open.
“Poor baby, can’t take my big cock huh?” He teases with a smirk on his face that quickly falls again when you clench around him, causing him to stop moving, “f-fuck.”
“Keep moving, Steve, please.”
He leans down, burying his face in your neck, he finally pushes all the way in. He says your name so filthily, it only makes you clench around him again.
He curses at you as he begins to move, pushing himself back up again, he places both his hands beside you.
“Pound my pussy, Steve, ruin me.”
He smirks at your words and pulls out, looking down to see his glistening cock pushing back into your tight hole again. It makes his stomach flutter.
“Such a good fucking pussy.”
“Mhmm, you’re big, biggest cock I've ever had.”
He only gives you a cocky grin in return. He knows he’s big.
He grabs your boobs roughly and finally, he begins to fuck you like you wanted him too.
“Ah– Steve, fuck… don’t stop!”
He begins to pound your pussy in the most disrespectful way possible, squelching noises and your whines echo through the room. He watches your fucked out expression, he watches the way your pretty face scrunches up in pleasure, the way your screw your eyes shut. All you can do is moan and whimper and all he can do is stare at you in awe.
He presses his hand on your lower stomach, pushing down on it, “you feel me, baby?” He asks, kissing your lips, “you feel my cock inside of you?”
You nod, whimpering pathetically.
You feel him, you feel him everywhere. His cock is splitting you open so perfectly, fucking you in a way only a man can.
“Byers is a fucking idiot, stupid boy doesn’t know how to handle a woman,” he grunts as he thrusts into your roughly, “he’s fucking missing out. Shit baby, you’ve got the most perfect little pussy, so fucking tight and wet for me.”
“S-Steve…”
“I’m gonna fucking cum inside of you, gonna breed that little pussy and make you mine, gonna fill you up with my cum, over and over again until you’re f-fucking pregnant, gonna show those fuckers what they missed.”
“P-Please,” you moan.
“You’d like that huh? You’d love to get pregnant by the guy you hate?”
“Mhmm,” you whine, you reach for his hands, dragging them up to your neck, “choke me, daddy.”
His eyes widen and he fucking whimpers, his dick is throbbing inside of you and you know he is close.
“God, you’re fucking filthy,” he grunts, wrapping his hands around your throat, “call me that again.”
“Daddy.”
He fucks you harder, rougher, faster and deeper. He wants you, he needs you. He is desperate for you.
You put your hands around his wrists, looking up at him through the tears, “harder.”
He gives you what you want, keeping his eyes locked with yours. You move your hips, meeting his thrusts. Tears stream down your face and you can no longer hold the sobs in.
“Cum inside of me, Steve.”
Your walls flutter around him and his hold on you tightens, “y-you want me to cum inside of you–”
“Please, I need it!”
His hips stutter and he can no longer hold back, he slams his lips against yours, moving one hand down, his fingers graze your sensitive nipples for a moment, he touches your stomach, your hips and then his fingertips find your clit, rubbing fast circles on it. He listens to the way your moans grow high pitched as you cum around him.
“I’m cumming, f-fuck,” he murmurs against your lips as he spills inside of you, coating your walls with his seed.
You both whimper in pleasure. He continues to thrust in and out of you slowly, for a moment and then he slumps against you, letting go of your throat and letting his face fall against your chest, his throbbing cock still inside of you.
You both need a moment to calm down from this.
Surprisingly, Steve doesn’t push off of you and pretend like nothing happened. He just continues to lay there, on your chest, tracing your skin with his rough hands.
And you, you play with his hair, not a single thought of your ex boyfriend or your best friend. All you think about is Steve. How good he made you feel, how pretty he looked when he ate your pussy, how he kissed you, how he smells.
“I think you almost fucked the hate I have for you out of me.”
He snorts at you, “wow, very romantic.”
“Oh we’re being romantic now?”
He looks up at you, “I mean, I’m still inside of you and you are playing with my hair so yeah.”
“Shut up,” you roll your eyes but are unable to fight the smile off your face.
He grins, “no one ever called me daddy.”
“Someone else will call you daddy in 9 months if you don’t get me the morning after pill.”
You almost expect him to grow pale but instead he laughs nervously.
“Babies can’t talk, honey.”
“Huh?”
“You said in 9 months, are you telling me newborns can speak now?”
“I was joking!” You mumble.
“Mhmm, sure you were,” he chuckles.
For a moment, the room is filled with silence. All you hear is the sound of the music from the party, the laughter and the loud voices. The smell of sex lingers in the room, the smell of him lingers on you.
“You know what? I think we should’ve done that a long time ago,” Steve admits, “in fact I think we should do it again.”
You smirk at him, “to get back at them or because you just wanna be called daddy again?”
For a moment, his face grows serious and he finds himself staring at you longingly, “I just wanna do it again, not to get back at them, fuck them.”
“Let’s do it then,” you whisper, “but take me home first.”
“Yes ma’am.”
A week ago, you would’ve laughed if someone told you that this would happen. That you would break up with your cheating boyfriend, lose a best friend you had known since childhood and fuck the man you hated half of your life.
Yet here you are, letting Steve Harrington help you get dressed, letting him steal kisses, letting him slap your ass on the way out.
You walked into his room hating him and you walked out of here, well, hating him a little less.
You both got betrayed by people you loved, deeply. You lost them but at least you had found each other.
In a perfect world you would be together.
Maybe this can be a perfect world after all.
-
tagging some faves @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @aftermidnightwriting
#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fic#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington imagine#stranger things smut#stranger things angst#stranger things imagines#stranger things imagine
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(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧
Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡
cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago.
A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch.
“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you.
“I wanna see Max.”
“She has to be here somewhere.”
That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest.
Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here.
Steve frowns at you worriedly.
“Who died?” asks a new voice.
You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers.
“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips.
“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”
“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes.
“Is it awful?” you ask.
“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult.
“Who’s throwing up?” you ask.
“Dustin. He’s outside.”
Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.”
He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes.
“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.
You school your impression. “Like what?”
“Like you like him.”
You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?”
She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?”
“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings.
“Looks like something. Are you dating?”
“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.”
“He was touching you a lot.”
“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely.
“Ew,” Max says with a laugh.
“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s—
“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder.
You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug.
“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly.
Oh, boy, you think.
As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.
From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy.
Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet.
“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.”
“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.
“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.”
“Steve.”
“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.”
“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty.
“What?” he asks.
His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles
You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.”
“Are you okay?”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.”
“I sounded weird?”
“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.”
You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it.
“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do.
“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.”
Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice.
“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.”
You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something.
After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie?
“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged.
You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews.
“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way.
He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused.
“You were in the way of the light.”
“That what it was?”
“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself.
“You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?”
Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks.
“It’s good.”
“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.”
He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you.
Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise!
You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this.
You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing.
He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs.
You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek.
Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.
The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen.
A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say.
“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“I really like you, Steve.”
He stares at you. “…But?”
“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.”
“I thought…” And of course he did.
“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.”
He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.”
“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes.
“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious.
“Yeah.”
Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.”
“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”
“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.”
“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.”
“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks.
“I like you too!” he says loudly.
A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?”
You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again.
“You okay?” he asks tightly.
“I’m sorry.”
He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?”
You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.”
He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?”
You nod vehemently.
Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”
—♡—
The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm.
A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.
“I think I might melt.”
“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you.
“You can be my parasol.”
“Your what?”
“It’s a sun umbrella.”
“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up.
You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.
He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.”
If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay.
“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur.
He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?”
“That’s perfect.”
“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly.
“No… I’m thinking.”
“Nothing good ever comes of that.”
“I have something I want to talk to you about.”
“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight.
“It’s a question.”
He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world.
“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.”
“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”
He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.”
“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.”
His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start.
“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem.
“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur.
His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it.
You tip your head aside to catch your breath.
“Better late than never,” you joke.
Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#stranger things#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington drabble
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steve harrington has you pinned between his chest and the steering wheel, large tan hands engulfing the globes of your ass as you rock against each other, panting heavily into each others mouths.
tongues slide rough, lips slippery wet as you rut together between too many layers of clothes, the thick outline of his cock nestled perfectly in the folds of your pussy. it’s hot, sweaty, the air inside the beemer dampening as you grind against each other like teenagers.
steve makes the most heavenly, dirty noises as he bullies his tongue into your mouth, grunting and moaning like he’s desperate to slide in deeper. he makes no move to strip you off, taking his time with making you fall apart from nothing more than kissing and rutting, primal and full of desire.
your nails dig roughly into his bicep, other hand gripping for his strong neck — he’s leaking in his jeans, you feel it wet and cooler than your own releases. cock jumping uncontrollably like he’s getting off on just your mouth against his own and nothing more.
the light smacking sounds of your mouths against each others, mixed noises of pleasure, have you mewling against him, grinding down harder, desperate for more friction on your clit, “please, baby. need you to fuck me now, yeah?”
he barely lets you move away to talk, teeth biting and pulling at your bottom lip, a desperate whine escaping him. those bambi eyes open, wide and blown with lust, “jus’ a little longer?” he begs, chasing your lips, “got me so fuckin’ hard, honey. look what you’re doing to me.”
you slide back just enough to see the dark, spreading wet patch on the front of his levis, and your whole body flushes hot. to know steve harrington gets off so quickly on just kissing and heavy petting, lights something new in your gut.
steve follows your wide eyes, hips bucking up of their own accord, “see? gonna make me cum with those pretty lips.”
and, well, wasn’t that a mission you wanted to accomplish?
#steve harrington fic#steve harrington smut#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington drabble#my fanfic#mine#x reader
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heyy if ur taking requests could u maybe do like bestfriends steve + reader where steve, eddie, nancy and robin have to pick up reader from a party and she’s like REAL drunk and just idk super clingy w steve and doesn’t wanna not be touching him. maybe eddie, nancy and robin all make fun of him for it but they acc find it rly cute.
thank you for your request! ♥♥♥ | 2.2k words
"Stevie!"
You collide into him suddenly, nearly knocking him back a step or two with the force of your momentum; there's a smile on Steve's face when you look up at him through eyes that are more than a little hazy with inebriation. You're drunk. Probably way past drunk, if the way the world won't seem to hold still is anything to go by, but you don't care. There are other things vying for your attention—like how warm he feels against you, how safe he makes you feel, how pretty he looks from up close...
"Whoa," Steve says as you lean even further into him and loop your arms around his waist in a tight hug. "How much did you have to drink, exactly?"
He doesn't mean it in a mean way, which is why you grin up at him from where you've got your cheek pressed firmly to his chest. You can feel his heart beating under the palm of your hand now, a steady and calming rhythm that soothes something inside of you.
"Dunno," you reply, grinning stupidly when you catch sight of maybe three copies of Eddie Munson standing off to Steve's left; all of them have identical amused looks on their faces. "Might've had, like, a couple..."
Steve sighs deeply, though there's no exasperation or disappointment to be found in his expression when he tilts your face upwards to look you over properly. You just beam dopily at him, because he's so pretty right now you don't know what else to do.
"Dude," Eddie speaks up, drawing Steve's gaze away from you while your own attention goes back to pressing yourself even more snugly into him, "she is totally sloshed."
You frown, shaking your head in fervent disagreement.
"Am not!"
"Sure you aren't, sweetheart," Eddie agrees placidly, but you get the impression he doesn't really mean it.
Before you can point this out, however, the blurry shape of Robin Buckley steps forward. The room is dark with flashing strobe lights and smoky with incense and cigarette smoke, but you'd recognize her voice anywhere.
"Who let you drink this much?" Robin asks as she lifts a hand up to brush some hair back from your forehead.
It's oddly soothing and so you lean into the contact with a happy hum. Robin and the others laugh — but then again, it sounds kinder than mean, the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you find something unexpectedly endearing, and so you don't mind as much as you maybe should.
"Nobody," you mumble as you press your face into the side of Steve's neck and take a deep breath in; his scent is the same as always, earthy and warm with an underlying hint of that stupid spray he likes to use sometimes. "I'm here alone. 'Cause Steve here blew me off for you guys, but that's okay," you say, even though, to be fair, it sort of isn't true — he didn't blow you off.
"Hey," Steve starts, sounding half-indignant and half-apologetic all at once. He's got an arm around your shoulder now, supporting you and keeping you upright, which makes you want to tangle yourself up in him completely. "You didn't tell me you wanted me to come hang out with you tonight!"
You sigh mournfully against his skin, feeling wistful all of a sudden. It's true. You hadn't told him. That was partially due to the fact that you had been trying to prove to yourself that you weren't so desperately and helplessly infatuated with him that you needed his presence constantly, but that plan had obviously backfired on you spectacularly.
"No," you mutter unhappily as Steve moves the two of you towards a nearby couch. "But I missed you. Don't wanna miss you."
Nancy, Robin, and Eddie, who are watching the two of you with expressions of varying degrees of amusement, exchange looks. Steve pretends not to notice, probably because he knows he won't like what they have to say if he hears it, and instead guides you down onto the cushions next to him. "You're drunk."
"You're pretty," you reply without hesitation, even though you're very clearly changing the subject. "It's unfair, y'know?"
You hear Robin snort, followed by a quiet thud like someone's just been slapped on the arm, and you know it's her who laughed, and that it must have been Nancy who'd shut her up. You don't know where Eddie is; you're not even sure when he wandered off, to be honest. You're too focused on Steve and the way his face looks under the colorful flashing lights.
"Oh yeah?" he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely at your comment. His eyes are bright with laughter when you meet his gaze and nod confidently. "How do I get 'unfair', exactly?"
"'S all in the face," you say matter-of-factly, your own fingers trailing down his cheek in an almost absentminded gesture. "Kinda makes it hard to think about anything else sometimes, if I'm being real here. Like, it's not really fair, 'cause then what are we supposed to talk about? Oh, oh—and then there's your hair!"
"My hair?"
Robin wheezes somewhere behind you, which would have made you giggle if you were still paying attention to the people in the room besides Steve, but you're not.
"Mmhmm," you hum, your eyes running over the soft brown locks on top of his head. "Love it. Wanna touch it all the time. Y'see, Steve? You see? This is why it's not fair at all. And, and—" you trail off here for dramatic effect, squinting at him theatrically before leaning closer with your hand cupped to the side of your mouth, as if you're about to share something private. "—the way you make my insides feel? So, so unfair. Totally your fault, buddy."
"Wha-" Steve croaks out, looking alarmed and caught off guard by your drunken confession. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh," you regain your serious tone, frowning at him in a somewhat bemused manner when he continues to gape at you. "Not 'sposed to tell you. S'not the rules."
Eddie barks out a laugh somewhere off to your left, but Steve ignores him. "Rules?"
"Yeah, 's against the rules, dummy," you say, like he should've already known that. "Gotta follow the rules! Duh. Steve."
"Yeah, Steve, duh," Robin pipes up, earning herself a glare from Steve as well as a smirk from Eddie. "Oops, sorry. Please, continue."
"Can I touch your hair? Like, please, 'cause I might die if I don't, 'kay? If that's okay. Gotta test the theory. Just a little bit, though." You can tell by his expression that he wants to laugh, and that he's also mildly worried that you've lost your mind. "Please?"
Robin, Eddie and Nancy have their hands clapped over their mouths to contain their laughter. You're too drunk to notice, but Steve narrows his eyes at them in warning. "Yes," he says. "Just—yeah, go ahead."
With a little noise of excitement, you reach out to card your fingers through his hair. He smells really good — like clean laundry and fresh pine trees — and the feel of his hair in your palm is exactly what you had imagined, though you're loathe to pull your hand away now that you've felt it.
Steve goes unnaturally still as you press your face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a move he should have expected but didn't, and you sigh happily when the scent of his cologne hits you full force. He's like a living, breathing, cuddly teddy bear, you think, a combination of warmth, softness, and comfort all rolled up in one gorgeous, handsome, unobtainable package.
"You're warm," you mumble, feeling like you could fall asleep right now. "So, so warm. 'S like you've got a space heater in your chest, 'n that's like, so awesome."
He blinks a few times, momentarily speechless as he tries to come to terms with the fact that you are, in fact, drunk enough to be saying whatever the hell comes to your mind. "Uh, thanks?"
"Smell nice too," you murmur, hugging him tighter to you. "Like, wow. Love your hair, like, love love."
His cheeks are burning hot now, his heart beating erratically in his chest when he notices Eddie staring at the two of you with a knowing gleam in his eye. "That's—thank you, but, hey, come on now," Steve says, his voice faltering a little. "Let's get you home, okay?"
"I don't wanna."
"Don't you wanna sleep in your bed?"
You pause, considering his words, and eventually concede that, yes, your bed does sound lovely right about now, so you give him a brief nod in response. "I guess, but can you come too?"
He chokes on air, but manages to play it off by clearing his throat. "What—to your bed? No!"
"Why not?"
Steve shifts a little under your intense, alcohol-addled scrutiny; he feels strangely guilty, as though he's letting you down by saying no. "Because you're drunk?" he says, feeling flustered and unreasonably nervous all of a sudden.
You scrunch up your face in a pout. "Oh, that's a dumb reason."
Steve chuckles and you sigh happily again, because you love his laugh and everything else about him, and he seems to realize this, given the way his expression softens. "Come on, you drunkard. Let's go home," he says gently, tugging on your arm in an attempt to get you to stand.
You resist at first, shaking your head stubbornly as you hold onto him. "Can't. My legs don't work anymore. They're all wobbly."
Steve closes his eyes for a moment, huffs out a soft laugh, and you can't help but grin up at him. He's so pretty that, like, how is that even allowed? How can you be around him and not spontaneously combust or something?
"Well, what if I carried you?"
"Like a princess?"
Steve looks at you with an expression you can't decipher — it's halfway between incredulous and endeared, and it makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.
"How romantic," Nancy observes.
"So long as she doesn't throw up on him," Eddie adds, nodding sagely in agreement.
"Oh, I hope she does," Robin says, with a devious smile, "he'd deserve it for being such a coward."
"I'm...right here, guys, and I can still hear you." Steve finally says, throwing them a scathing look that only makes them laugh. "If you're not going to be helpful, you can wait in the car."
"As if," Eddie counters.
Steve opens his mouth to tell him where exactly he can stick his opinions, when you grab the front of his shirt and drag him closer.
"Steve," you say, the smile falling from your face as a sudden thought occurs to you. "Are you mad at me? Because I can go home by myself. That's okay."
"Hey, no," he replies softly, "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Not ever."
"'Sweetheart'? Really?" Eddie mutters to Nancy, who elbows him in the ribs when he doesn't lower his voice in time. "Ow, okay, okay—just saying. Don't want them to keep dancing around each other forever, is all."
"I'm not dancing," you tell him, completely unaware of Eddie's snickering, "I don't have any shoes on, Eddie. Wouldn't be able to dance without shoes on. Silly."
"My bad," Eddie says, his lips twitching with badly concealed laughter, "forgive me."
Steve scowls at him before turning his attention back to you, his face so close to yours that you can momentarily feel the tickle of his breath against your skin. "Okay, come on," he says, "up we go."
And then, in one swift movement, he slides his arm under your knees and scoops you up into his arms. You let out a squeak of surprise and automatically wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.
"Oh, oh, oh," you say excitedly, "you really are gonna carry me."
"Told you so." Steve adjusts his grip on you and makes his way towards the exit. "Are you good? Am I hurting you?"
You shake your head slowly, grinning as you stare at him from a whole new angle. "No," you tell him, feeling much more awake than you were moments before. "This is...this is like, actually kinda cool."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you repeat, smiling shyly back at him. "Feel like a real life Cinderella now. Whoa, you're, like, super strong."
"Yeah, Stevie, you're 'super strong.'" Eddie teases, waggling his eyebrows when Steve sends him a quick glare. "Aw, don't look at me like that. It's cute. The two of you."
Nancy doesn't tease like Robin and Eddie do. She walks behind Steve, making sure to stay a couple steps behind to give the two of you some privacy. Even so, when you look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's listening, she gives you a wink and a small thumbs-up that makes you smile.
The parking lot is filled with teenagers all wandering aimlessly in groups, so it takes Steve a while to navigate his way through the crowd. By the time he finds the spot where he parked his BMW, you've grown drowsy enough to rest your head on his shoulder.
Eddie immediately pops open the door to the backseat, slapping it a few times as he looks over at Steve and grins. "Hurry it up, lover boy," he drawls out, "she looks half-asleep already."
"She's fine," Steve shoots back, frowning in annoyance when Eddie and Robin both pretend to yawn exaggeratedly, "shut up. I hate you guys."
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve x you#steve x reader#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one-shot#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington headcanon#steve harrington headcanons#steve harrington hcs#steve harrington hc#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington dialogue#steve harrington fluff
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Steve stumbling over asking you out, so Robin gives him a push to try and get you to closer, to give Steve that extra shove... Except she pushes her bestie a bit too hard, and Steve ends up face first in your titties. Needless to say asking you out is not going as ‘king Steve’ planned. Although Steve and Robin are equally mortified over what just happened
The last thing you're expecting when you hear a half-hearted call of 'Watch out!' is a man's face in your chest. But that's exactly what you get, and it looks like neither he nor the girl who had warned you had expected it either.
"Holy shit!" The girl - you recognize her from band, Robin, you think? - gasps, and you mentally echo her sentiment while the man stumbles backwards trying to regain his balance. The top you're wearing at tonight's party is especially low-cut, and you'd felt every inch of his skin against your flushed chest. He doesn't end up catching his footing, falling backwards onto his ass on the floor instead.
Once you've got a clear look at his face, you process that it's none other than Steve Harrington. You're surprised he's at this party, you've heard they aren't really his thing anymore. He looks entirely defeated, face beet-red and shoulders tense as he peers warily up at you.
"I'm so sorry," Robin gushes, "I pushed him, and- I mean, I didn't mean for him to hit you, 'specially not nose-to-tits!"
Steve groans at her crude wording, "Shut up, Robin."
"I'm sorry," She repeats in earnest, ignoring her friend's pleas, "Um you're not- are you, like, hurt or anything?"
"Yeah, I speared 'em with my nose," Steve snaps, shoving at her thigh where he's slumped beside her legs on the floor, "Just shut up, Robin!"
"It's fine," You put an end to their squabbling, extending a hand towards Steve to help him off of the ground. You're not quite prepared for how bulky he is; perhaps he's still got his basketball physique, and when he takes it like a lifeline to pull himself up, you tip forward on your shaky legs right into his own chest.
You're trying to pull back before you've even made contact with his- shit, his surprisingly firm chest, but you still manage to face-plant slightly. There's a soft noise from Robin, then his hands come up to grab your shoulders and straighten you out.
"Sorry," You flush, mortified, "Uh- I'm a little drunk. Lost my balance, I guess."
"S'fine," Steve murmurs, looking a little bit like he might be sick, which isn't very reassuring. But his hands are still firmly planted on your shoulders, and you swear he's holding you closer than he needs to be.
"Well, now you're even," Robin concludes, slapping each of you on the back so that you jerk towards each other, if only a few measly inches, "I'm going to the bathroom, so if either of you wanna motorboat each other on purpose this time, you're free to do so."
This time, two voices call out, "Shut up, Robin!"
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Steve leaning in real close to you, whispering a command.
“Just help me a little, honey. Gonna do some adjusting, go a little deeper. Can you handle me?”
You’re nodding, watching as his big and meaty palm jostles the flesh of your thigh into it, his fingertips scraping the back of your knee. He pushes your leg into a bend, before pressing it to your chest, squishing the fat of your breast, and he is putting his full weight down on your calve. His cock immediately presses in deeper, causing tears to gather at your lash line. Everything is sopping wet, overflowing, achey, and so damned warm. His thumb finds your cheekbone, pushing in.
“There we go. That’s a good girl. Wish you could feel how amazing your pussy is, honey. It’s my favorite place to be, you know that?”
And as he rocks inside of you, nose nudging your own, he doesn’t break eye contact one time.
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