#steve harrington blurbs
Text
— fall into pieces
pairing: steve harrington x f!reader
summary: steve comes in his pants from eating you out. that's the plot. (wc: 1.3k+)
warnings: smut without plot basically, or*l (f!receiving), praises, steve cums in his pants, soft smut!, steve is attentive, MINORS DNI.
author's note: not proof-read. this is dumb and doesnt make sense bc i wrote it in 20 mins bc i desperately needed to get out of my stupid slump sooo just pls support me in my shitty writing era thank you.
pleaseeee reblog to support me. ty!! mwah.
Steve loves eating pussy.
Scratch that, Steve just loves eating you out.
Because let's face it, before you, he didn't really care that much about the other girl's pleasure, or he just wasn't really that keen on eating pussy.... that was until you came along.
He didn't know what it was, that had him hooked on you this much, how much he enjoyed tasting you like a man possessed when it came to eating you out.
You taught him how fucking pleasurable eating pussy was, and it unironically changed him.
Once he realized how much it mattered to him to make you cum, he decided to make it his mission. Make a mental note of how you responded when he did anything.
He studied the noises you made when his fingers lightly traced your inner thighs, the shaky breaths you gave him as you silently pleaded, begged for more.
He started picking up on the way your body gave into him, slowly at first, and then all at his mercy. Padded thumb circling around your clit, velvety lips puffing a huff of cold air, making you whine while he wore that cocky smirk, hook, line, and sinker.
He just didn't realize how much it got him off to see you like this, to taste you fully, not until now.
"Such a gorgeous fuckin' pussy," he hummed, pressing upwards, just a little bit, reveling in the way your back arched for him. Once he finally got you prepped, smearing your juices all over, earning more sounds from you, then he pushed a finger inside of your soft walls, drawling the sweetest sounds.
"God, s'fuckin soaked, honey, all f'me?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, lips turning into a mocking pout, earning nothing but incoherent babble from you. He adds another finger, drumming his fingers inside of that sweet spot, turning you into gooey mess, his cock twitching in his pants.
Only when you pathetically murmur out a "S-steve!" that he finally kisses you all over, tongue licking up a flat stripe up your cunt, making your brain short-circuit.
"Y'like that, sweetheart?" He hums, and you nod all dumb, making him chuckle in that arrogant tone, yet you can't even argue.
He is that good.
The tip of his nose brushes against your clit, "ride my face, honey," he murmurs, but it's more like an order, that perfect chocolatey gaze so full of lust that you can feel yourself clench, nothing but a little "okay" coming out of your glossy lips.
And he groans at your fucked out face, you look so perfect. Spread out in front of him, glistening with arousal, head thrown back, plushy lips slightly open with your uncontrollable moans.
He buries his face in your cunt before you can beg him to, teasing with kitten licks before sucking your clit into his mouth, you cry out in all glory, thighs squeezing his head, hands crushing the sheets beneath the two of you in need.
His cock twitches at the sound, caged beneath his boxers the more you grind against his tongue, and he fucking smirks at you, watching your face twist the second he slips his index fingers inside of you, words roll out of your tongue as nothing but disordered sounds.
His cold fingers curl inside of you, making you arch your back against him, you want to beg for more, but you can barely speak.
And of fucking course, he can tell, his devilish smirk growing wider before his padded thumb circles around your clit, the tip of his tongue keeping the rhythm.
His cock feels stiff, so fucking stiff that it feels uncomfortable, wanting, needing to feel your walls, to be inside of you, watch the way his huge cock stretches you fully.
"S-steve!" He knows that tone all too well, singing for him, the sweet sounds of your whimpers, letting him know that you are close to the edge, and he doesn't hesitate to add another finger.
"Doin' so good for me, sweetheart, you close, huh?" He mocks all knowingly, tongue sucking your clit while his fingers circle around it, it's all the stimulation you need and more, body going frail with how attending he is.
You give a slight nod, body flushed with lust, cunt clenching around him, "Use me," he begs, desperate, needing to see how heavenly you sound when you come around him, the prettiest face you wear.
"Use me to get yourself off, baby." The words sound filthier with his whiney tone, you know he's close too, just by eating you out. And it makes you want that sweet release so much more, chasing it eagerly.
His tongue picks up his movements, fingertips rubbing your clit with vigor, and you ride his face in all glory, chasing that little taste of heaven.
You don't know if it's the "Good girl," praise he offers, his fast-paced fingers on your swollen buds, or that celestial tongue of his sucking on your clit, but you lose it all. "Oh, f-fuck!" You moan out, every control of your body, gone.
Going to pieces when he makes you cum, your taste flooding his senses, overtaking him as well. It's all he wants, worship you, taste you on his tongue, watch your face contort over and over again.
That's the routine normally, but now it makes him realize how much more he enjoys this, having you spread apart in front of him, pussy fluttering around his tongue and fingers, and that's all it takes to have him leak all over, hips grinding into nothing but the sheets, cumming in his boxers, groans leaving his mouth.
It takes you a minute to register it all, barely able to catch your breath. "Steve, d-did you-" You looked down at his boxers, all warm and wet.
"S-shit, baby, I'm sorry, I just-" He mumbled, almost embarrassed, words jumbled together, blushing furiously.
God, that was so fucking hot.
He avoided your gaze, looking down on the mess he made, warm load spread all over his boxers, sure to leave a stain. Sticky and embarrassing him. "You just looked so fuckin' hot and tasted so good-"
"Steve," You interrupted him, his attention all on you, gaze so sweet that he can't avoid it. "What are you apologizing for that was so fucking hot," you blurted out, eyes blown wide with lust all over again.
"W-what?"
"Baby, you cumming your pants from eating me out just made you ten times hotter." You groaned all whiney, leaning in closer to him.
"Do you need me to take care of you now, Stevie?" You asked, tone sultry, and your doe-eyed gaze, dangerous, making his cock stiffen in record-breaking seconds.
"Keep talkin' to me like that and I'll cum in my pants once again, baby," he teased with a whine, lips still curled into a grin, making you giggle with your head thrown back.
"C'mere," you grabbed him by his shirt, kissing him roughly, teeths clashing and lust filling the room again as you tasted yourself all over his tongue.
Eager to make him fall into pieces again.
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington drabbles#steve harrington blurbs
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heyyy, how are you?? i love your work so much!!!
i was wondering if you could write something about steve having a crush on r, but when they are together he gest shy and quiet and r misunderstands that and thinks he doesn't like her like everyone is telling her he is ???
im sorry if its confusing, english is not my first language,, anywayy feel free to change anything !!! ❤️
hi baby thank you so much!!! i’m so sorry this has been in my asks since september but i hope u enjoy all the same :,) i finally wrote something!!! yay!!! | 0.7k teeny tiny angst and fluff!!
You’re pretty sure Steve Harrington doesn’t like you. That’s what you tell Robin when you see her at the Family Video counter, alone for once. She bursts out laughing.
“I’m being serious!”
Before Robin responds, Steve walks out of the back room, grinning that grin you wish you didn’t love so much, his hair a little messy, like he didn’t have enough time to style it this morning the way he usually does.
He’s looking at Robin when he says: “what’s so funny?”
“I bet you’d love to know, dingus.” She nods at you and shrugs, “it’s girl stuff.”
It’s only then that he notices you’re there, his eyes flicking over your face quickly, his head ripping in a small nod. You might not have noticed it if you weren’t looking right at him already.
“Oh, right.” He smiles again, tight-lipped this time. “Hey.”
“Hi, Steve.”
“Hey,” he says again.
Yeah, you’re pretty sure Steve Harrington doesn’t like you, because this is what happens whenever you’re around. He goes quiet, awkward, where others have always found him outgoing and kind.
You suppose it only makes things worse when you want him to like you so bad. If only as a friend, even.
“Um, I was just grabbing…” You flounder before picking up a random movie by the front desk, “this.”
“Right,” he scratches the back of his neck as he says it.
Meanwhile Robin’s head is turning to look between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You widen your eyes at her and she gets the signal, scanning your movie and letting you head out with it when she knows you’ll be returning it before even opening the case.
“You’re such an idiot,” she says to Steve as the door shuts behind you, the bell jingling with your departure.
“Robin-”
“No! You are, Steve. Listen, you know I love you, but she thinks you don’t like her. At all!”
Now, Steve knows that he acts like an absolute dork wherever you’re concerned, but he never wanted you to think that. Never. If anything, he likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone before, and it terrifies him.
Any ounce of the confidence that’s left over from his ‘King Steve’ era seems to evaporate, and the words just don’t come the way they should. But fuck, he didn’t want to hurt you. He’d never want to hurt you.
“Shit,” he runs a hand through his hair, uncaring about how it might look for once.
“Yeah, shit.” Robin nudges her shoulder against his, “she’s still in her car, by the way. Just saying.”
Steve nods, muttering some kind of encouragement for himself under his breath. He pushes his way out the door, picking up his pace to a jog when he hears you start your car.
The knock on your window startles you, surprises you when you look over to find Steve standing out there, the sun a halo around his figure, his Family Video vest just a little crooked.
You shut your car off and roll your window down, squinting up at him, “Steve? Everything okay?”
“I do like you.”
“What?”
His chest is rising and falling quickly, his eyes wide and something like worry looming in them. “I do like you.”
“Steve, did Robin put you up to this? ‘Cause you don’t have to-”
“She didn’t. I promise she didn’t,” he leans down a little, his hands resting on your door. “She told me you thought I didn’t like you and I couldn’t let you leave still thinking that. I like you. A lot.”
You blink up at him, mouth opening and closing, trying to figure out what to say. For so long, you’d been convinced that he wasn’t a fan of yours, and here he is, sincerity written all over his face.
“You never talk to me, I thought-”
“I know. I know and I’m sorry.” Steve hangs his head for a second, inhaling once before looking at you again. “The truth is I, uh, have a crush on you. Probably more than a crush, and I didn’t know what to do with it so I acted like a fucking idiot.”
“You have a crush on me?”
“Yeah, I do. Kind of a big one.”
You can’t fight the smile on your face at that. “I have a crush on you too, Steve.”
It’s the first time you make Steve Harrington blush, the first genuine smile of his that you earn. And it won’t be the last.
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Stevie who’s so confident, so in love and sure of the love you share, but also who goes beet red when he finds out you’re a virgin and when you ask him to be your first I’m ❤️❤️❤️❤️
not exactly smut, but this blog is still 18+ so mdni pls! <3
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“Steve?”
Your boyfriend, your sweet, kind, caring and normally oh-so-confident boyfriend, is oddly silently. Worryingly silently, considering what you’ve just told him. Sure, it’s a lot to take in, finding out that your partner is a virgin, but you know Steve’s heard worse things, and silence is the last reaction you’d expected from him. Though it doesn’t fit with what you know of Steve, you begin to worry that, somehow, this is a dealbreaker for him, “Sorry, I know that’s a lot, so if you don’t wan—“
Before you can follow that rabbit hole too far down, Steve shakes his head vehemently and finally says, somewhat shyly, “Sorry, I just… y-you want me to be your first?”
That’s not at all what you were expecting. He says it like he’s not sure he heard you correctly, eyes wide, cheeks turning a soft pink under your gaze. It’s your turn to become shy, and you feel like you’re on fire as you tilt your head to one side, cheek pressing into your shoulder in a futile attempt to ease the burn, “Well, I mean, yeah. I-if you want. ’S just, I trust you, I love you, and I know you’d care enough to make me feel good, and—“
Steve cuts off your rambling with a small, incredulous laugh laced with adoration, “Baby, ‘if I want��? You— you’re kidding, right? I… I would be honored. The fact that you’d trust me with that? I’d do anything to make you feel good, we’ll go however slow you want, I just— I love you, you know that?”
Steve’s cheeks flush even darker with his admission, a deep red crawling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his neck, underneath moles begging to be kissed. It’s not that he’s ever doubted your relationship, your love, not like he has in the past, but to be trusted with something like this… Fuck.
“I love you, honey,” he says again, a smile creeping onto his face, long fingers wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face, “Whatever you want, I want it, too.”
“I love you,” you repeat, leaning forward until your lips brush over his lightly, not quite a kiss, “What if… what if I want it now?”
Steve groans, a sound from deep within his chest as he lunges forward, pushing you into the pillows behind your body until he’s hovering over you, “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#sorry it's not smut </3#workign on it i prommy !!!!#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington smut#kit writes#anon#kit answers#steve thots#steve harrington blurbs
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HIII JUST SAW UR LAST POST AND I WANTED TO REQUEST A BLURB >:3 <333 AND U WAS WONDERING IF I COULD GET A SUB READER X STEVE WHERE HE JUST WORSHIPS READERS PUSSY AND TITS AND JUST PRAISING HER 😫😫😫 LOVE UR WRITING BTW TEHE🤭 💗💗💗💗
Steve Harrington worships you. Steve Harrington x reader. Smut. Blurb.
tyty for your praise, angel! 🥹 I hope you enjoy!!
“Is that so?” Steve coos in response to your moans, his voice travelling through your body sending goosebumps down your chest and thighs. His tongue circling your sensitive nipple, his hand pinching the other in earnest. Twiddling with your pink buds with both hands, Steve’s mouth finds your neck. “Your so fucking pretty baby. So pretty for me.”
He sucks on the sweet spot between your collarbones and neck, nipping at it softly, grinding his teeth at the skin. “I can’t wait to taste you sweet girl.” Stevie grabs your cheeks and pulls you into his lips, his tongue massaging yours, fighting in the battle of who is more dominant, you lose. His tongue takes control and you curse under your breath as he bites your bottom lip before breaking the kiss.
He takes a handful of your breasts with both of his big calloused hands, before moving down to the warmth between your thighs. His tongue finds your clit almost immediately, licking a stripe from your folds up to it. He revels in your instant reaction to his touch, your thighs desperately trying to close but his body stands firmly in the way. He smirks, “sensitive are we?” Mumbling into your pussy, taking your clit into his mouth.
His lips tightening around you before he sucks softly. Teasingly kissing around your cunt, he nipples at your inner thighs playfully. “Wanna stay here forever.” He teases, nuzzling his face into your pussy, his nose nudging against your clit whilst his tongue explores your hole, kitty-licking inside. It’s sensitive and pleasurable all at once, he worships your body like it’s the last time he’ll ever be lucky enough to touch you.
Stevie’s tongue circles your clit repeatedly, his hands find yours and your fingers intertwine. Drumming your heels into the bed and bucking your hips up into him, he licks up and down your sensitive bud. Overwhelmed in pleasure, the sounds you make are borderline pornographic as the knot in your stomach begins to untie.
“Oh you’re so good for me angel.” As he speaks, your nails begin to leave crescent moon shapes into his palms, you moan his name and it only encourages him more. Taking your clit into his mouth once more and sucking like his life depended on it, the heat was too much to handle.
“That’s it baby, cum for me.” Steve grunts into your pussy, his tongue continuing to work its magic. Your orgasm hit you and your hips rut up again. He doesn’t stop touching you, licking your core endlessly. Letting you feel the full effects of the aftershocks. You writhe around under the grip he has on your hips, not letting go of his girl.
“Good fucking girl.”
#stranger things#mine#steve harrington#stranger things au#steve harrington au#steve harrington imagine#steve x y/n#steve x you#steve x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x fem!reader#Steve Harrington blurb#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x y/n smut#Steve Harrington x female reader#Steve Harrington blurbs#blurb#smut#Steve Harrington smut blurb#king steve#bi steve harrington#x female reader#requests#x reader#stevie harrington#steve harrington fic
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aaaand for candy cane, how about the cold prompt from the first list with loml steve 🫶🫶 congrats again on 6k mal! u deserve every but and more ily
anna my angel thank u sm!! i love you lots mwah xx
prompt: sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.
steve harrington x fem!reader
“You look cold.”
You pull your gaze from the horizon, where the sun’s just dipped below the long stretch of ocean ahead of you. Steve’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and one hand cupping the opposite elbow. He’s frowning at you.
“Oh, hi, Steve,” you say, smiling up at him. He’s super tall. And super handsome. “I’m not cold.”
You kind of are. But you don’t want him to worry about you. He’d probably make the kids pack up just so he can take you somewhere warm, and they’re having the time of their lives playing volleyball on the beach right now. You’ve never heard Max laugh so much, and Dustin hasn’t complained about sand in his shoes once. You don’t want to ruin the fun just because you forgot to bring a sweater.
Steve hums in a disbelieving sort of way. You’ve got no escape as he sits down next to you on the log your perched on, stretches his legs out next to yours, and holds out his hands.
“Give me your hands?” He says, palms facing up.
Reluctantly, you put your hands on top of his. His skin is shockingly warm against your cold hands.
“Woah,” Steve says, eyebrows shooting up into his hair. He frowns at you as his thumbs push into the backs of your hands. “What are you, a snowman? You’re cold as ice, honey.”
Honey? You sit there dumbfounded for a moment. Meanwhile, Steve is sandwiching your hands between both of his in an attempt to warm you up, you suppose. It’s working, though you’re pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with his body heat, and everything to do with that fact that you have a schoolgirl crush on him and he’s really, really close right now.
“I’m fine,” you finally manage, a bit strained. It’s hard to think when he’s holding your hands in his, let alone talk.
Steve just frowns at you, disbelieving. “You should’ve said something sooner, babe,” he says. “Here, do you want my jacket?”
“No, Steve, that’s—“
But he’s already releasing you to shed his jacket, sliding it off his arms with ease to reveal a tight polo underneath. The material hugs his biceps, stretches across his lean chest. You’re so busy staring at his arms you forget to protest as he carefully places his jacket over your shoulders.
You’re instantly engulfed in a bubble of warmth. His jacket is a light material but it’s soft on the inside and much, much warmer than your thin t-shirt. Not to mention it smells so much like him it’s almost dizzying.
“There you go,” he’s saying, smoothing the material over your shoulders with his palms. His touching sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. “Is that any better?”
“I— yeah. Yeah, Steve, thank you,” you stammer. Your heart pitter-patters in your chest. The jacket is nice but his kindness alone is enough to warm you through. “Thanks.”
Steve smiles at you. He doesn’t seem to notice your flustered state, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it.
“No problem,” Steve says, grinning boyishly. He rubs your shoulder one last time before drawing away. “Couldn’t let a pretty girl like you freeze to death.”
You spend the rest of your time at the beach hot as a flame.
#★ mal writes!#mal’s 6k!#6k celly blurbs#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington drabbles#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#stranger things x y/n#stranger things fanfiction
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Steve Harrington reacting to an unconventional introduction to your shy cat 😺
‖ pre-face: you have been dating for a couple of weeks and he has yet to meet your cat. he knows you have one but has accepted that they will hide whenever he comes over, and doesn't want to push it and force them out of hiding. tonight is the first time he is sleeping over at your place.
‖ Eddie's Version
Whatever higher being that chose to sculpt Steve Harrington out of the finest marble into the shape of a Roman God with constellations of moles and freckles painted across his skin should really be providing you financial compensation for the hazard it poses to your health.
Part of you is convinced you've already slipped off into a dream when he dips back into your bedroom with two glasses of water in hand. He's shirtless, because of course he is, and you shamelessly allow your eyes to trail from the tuff of curly hair on his chest and down to where a similarly shaded happy trail dips into the waistband of his low-hung sweatpants.
"Hand delivery of a nice, cold glass of water to the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he holds one of the glasses toward you, the other lifting to his lips as you take it. You are once again distracted by the strong muscle of his bicep as it curls the glass toward his mouth, the rhythmic rise and fall of his Adams apple while he drinks, and the sheen of moisture on his pink lips as he lowers the glass with an overdone sigh of contentment.
You are absolutely floored with the desire to eat him alive.
But truly, someone should make him pay for the crimes against humanity that is his existence when he looks this fucking good. And you have just the thing in mind.
"Hey baby?" You call sweetly, putting a soft whine on the edge of the 'y' just to make his ears turn pink when he looks down at you tucked under the blankets on your bed.
"Yes honey?" He answers just as sweetly despite the way the blush travels from his ears and across his strong cheekbones, how weak he is for you evident in his dopey smile.
"I think I heard something under the bed," you tell him with an exaggerated pout, bringing your blankets up to your chin just to ratchet up the pathetic effect. "Could you check it for me, please?"
His head tilts with a playful smile, looking entirely too amused at your request. "Of course I can. What good is a big, strong boyfriend if you can't ask him to check for monsters under your bed?"
And you don't miss the way he flexes his arms when he says that he's big and strong, eyebrows wiggling at you in a tease. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, dipping back to lean against your headboard as you sigh, "I'm already swooning. You're so brave."
"Anything for my girl," he replies with a wink, hiking up the legs of his sweatpants as he drops into a kneel, and half of you is concerned the stitches will snap from how it stretches around the firmness of his thigh.
Bastard.
"Let's see here..." He ducks his head to look underneath the bedframe, a smile still in place as he anticipates finding nothing there. Your anticipation is much greater as you await the inevitable discover of what waits beneath.
He inhales in what looks to be a preparation to speak when it cuts off with a surprised yelp, falling backwards onto his ass as his wide eyes stare at the shadows beneath your bed. Your giggles are instantaneous, watching in absolute joy as he turns bright red from chest to scalp at the same time your cat goes scurrying out the door.
"Baby!" He admonishes in a whine, lips drooping in a frown. "You made me scare them!"
You crawl over to the edge of the bed closest to where he is still leaning on his hands on the floor, knees bent haphazardly. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist the opportunity."
And while there is a certain gleam to his eye that lets you know he's not actually mad, his pout remains as he turns over onto his hands and knees to look back under the bed for them.
"They already ran away, Steve," you inform him with a pitying smile, "off into the great wide apartment." He's back on his feet and out the door again before you can say another word. "Steve? Baby? Where are you going?"
"I have to find them so I can apologize," he calls back to you, flicking on lights as he goes through the apartment. "I don't want them to be even more scared of me than they already are."
Your heart burns with warmth at the intention, your boyfriend's bleeding heart striking you like a cupid's arrow through the chest. You hop off the bed and trail after him, peeking around the corner to see him flat on the ground of your living room to look beneath the couch.
"I don't think you're going to find them," you warn with nothing but adoration as you approach him.
"I will look all night if I have to."
And so you spend the better part of an hour trailing your handsome boyfriend around your apartment as he searches every nook and cranny for the scared feline, getting more and more upset as the time ticks on.
When he finally discovers them, tucked behind the washing machine, he keeps a safe distance as he coos and murmurs apologies to the creature in the shadows.
"Your mom is so mean to us, isn't she buddy? So cruel to play a joke like that on us. It's a good thing she's so pretty and funny and kind or else I would whisk you away to my place where you could hide and rest to your hearts content and never be disturbed."
And while your shy cat shows little to no reaction to his reassurances, you basically melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks of the floorboards as he talks sweetly and respectfully to your faithful and skittish pet.
#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#myos ideas#myo4harrington
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Happy By The Poolside
pairing: steve harrington x afab!reader
summary: while they wait for the annual pool party to start, steve knows exactly how to keep his lover happy by the poolside ☼♡
word count: 1,477
warnings: MINORS DNI (18+ CONTENT) oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, semi-public sex (sex by the pool), nicknames (baby, sweetheart), edancy appearance because i said so, allusions to steve jerkin it in the bathroom, no pronouns or reader descriptors used other than reader wearing a bikini, color coded speaker tags!
genre: fluffy, established relationship smut ♡
extra notes: did y'all really think i'd let fourth of july go by without slutty 'i <3 swimming' steve?
beta read by: @lcvingprentjss (love u sm)
masterlist | location smut prompts | ask box
it was hot. it was oh so hot. but it wasn't the 80° heat that had you feeling that way. no, what had you feeling that way was a certain brunette boy in big sunglasses and loose-hanging shorts.
you all but stared as steve emerged from the pool, blue swim trunks settled low on his waist, accentuating the trail of hair on his lower belly and the dips of his adonis belt. you practically drooled as he shook out his wet hair, beads of water flying about and landing in various spots on the concrete and your chaise.
he reached for the towel that he'd tossed at the end of the chair, a few loose droplets of of water falling onto your feet as he did so. you'd been happy right where you were, enjoying a magazine as the sun rays beat down on your body, fingers crossed that you'd have a tan after this, not a nasty case of sunburn. steve had been pouting half the morning, trying to get you in the pool with him, but you hadn't budged, saying you were happy by the poolside, waiting until the rest of your friends had arrived for the pool party.
still, even an hour after you'd sat down on the chaise, he wasn't letting up. "baby," he said, somehow managing to make the term sound conspiratorial, "are you sure you don't want to join me?"
you shook your head, putting this month's edition of cosmo to the side and taking off your sunglasses to meet his gaze. "everyone should be here soon. then you'll have plenty of time with me in the pool. it's not like dustin would ever let me miss the annual chicken fight."
he chuckled at your statement, but took your hand in both of his and gave you that look, the one he always gave you when he was determined to get you to do whatever he wanted. "come on, baby. please?" his bottom lip puckered out like a child in a candy store. "just for a few minutes?"
"nope," you answered, putting your sunglasses back on as the sun moved further overhead. "i only have so much time today to start on my tan. besides, they'll be here any minute."
in protest, steve pulled you up from the chair and tugged you toward the pool. "come on, at least dip your toes in."
you supposed you couldn't argue with his compromise. he walked around to the steps, slowly submerging himself in the pool once again, while you sank onto the concrete, dipping your feet into the contrastingly cool water. you chuckled as steve went limber, letting the small waves of water carry him through the pool. "you're missing out," he stated, like it was an absolute fact.
"i'm perfectly fine right here, my little fish," you teased. you kicked your feet softly in the water, watching as tiny ripples floated to join the bigger ones that carried steve. from this new angle, the sun was hidden behind his neighbors' trees, prompting you to place your sunglasses to the side and get a better look at steve: the once dark blue shorts now a beautiful cerulean, just a tad darker than the water he floated on, his normal wavy tufts now a sea of dark curls, the way his skin practically sparkled in the sliver of sunlight that wasn't hidden behind his neighbors' sugar maples. you watched as beads of water slid down his stomach, dragging along every crevice and line of his abs. you'd be lying if you said the sight didn't have you turned on.
steve must've noticed the way you'd been staring, forcing himself upright again and wading through the water toward you. unbeknownst to you, that little red bikini you had on was doing a number on him, his inner monologue and thoughts being driven by his little head at this point. he made his way over to you, placing a delicate kiss on your leg, looking up at you through water-matted eyelashes. "baby," he said, his tone teasing this time.
"hmm?" you hummed in response, afraid your voice would betray you if you said anything more.
his eyes flicked between your eyes and the place where your thighs squeezed together. you needed him, and you both knew it. "you okay?"
you managed to nod, the friction between your legs not at all aiding the want that had taken over your body. "i'm good," you said sheepishly, a blush creeping up your skin.
"are you sure? because," he paused, placing his giant palm on your knee and pulling your legs apart. he smirked at the wet spot he'd unknowingly created on your bathing suit. "you seem like you could use some help over here," he finished, his hand making its way up to your thigh.
the logical part of your brain managed to take over for a moment. "steve, people will be here any minute," you protested, despite the irrationally horny side of your brain that was currently fistfighting the logical side.
"then i'd better be quick," he said, his hands inching toward your bikini bottoms.
he left a space of availability in the air for any more protests you might have. after all, even though you were in a very established relationship, consent was always key. but you made no more argumentative comments, only approving moans and the occasional, "please," as he pulled your bathing suit down.
his lips met your clit with soft licks at first, giving you time to respond with just how hard and fast you needed it. your hands met his hair, tangling in the wet curls as you pulled him closer to you, letting out a soft moan as he suckled your bud.
he pulled your bikini bottoms all the way off, setting them aside on the concrete before meeting your pussy once again. your legs wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you again. his damp hair settled on the sides of your thighs, sending a shiver up your spine.
his tongue worked itself in heavenly figure eights around your core, while one of his hands met your entrance. he toyed at your hole with his fingertip, waiting for some kind of approval to continue.
you gave him exactly that, letting out a whine that sounded like an attempt to say, "please, stevie," but was nearly incoherent. he slipped one finger inside you, the sensation absolutely intoxicating.
he left a series of open-mouthed kisses on your clit, his digit continuing to bury itself inside you. he moaned at the taste, and the vibration had you inching closer to your release. your fingers curled into his hair while your toes curled into his back as his finger reached that sweet spot deep inside you.
the logical part of your brain took over once more as you spared a quick glance at your watch. "steve, they're gonna be here any second," you said through moans, hands pulling so hard at his hair that you were surprised you hadn't ripped it out yet.
"patience, baby, patience," he reminded you, immediately diving back into your cunt. his finger was accompanied by a second, his thrusts only becoming faster and deeper with every flex of the digits. your eyes had started to roll back and your toes had started to curl even harder. you were close, oh so close, and you both knew it.
the familiar rumble of eddie's truck trumpeted from what sounded like a few houses down. "steeeeve," you let out, ever so close to your orgasm.
his fingers drove impossibly deeper into your cunt, his mouth only parting from you to say, "cum for me, sweetheart."
as if on cue, your orgasm rippled throughout your body, pain and pleasure taking over all of your senses. a moan escaped your lips at the last possible second as the truck turned off outside the fence.
steve left one last open-mouthed kiss on your core before rushing to pull your bottoms back on. "you let them in while i go, uh, fix something in the bathroom."
you giggled, watching as steve padded toward the back door. surprisingly, you managed to compose yourself between the fifteen feet that lied between the pool and the gate, a smile making its way onto your lips as you let your friends in. "hey, guys," you greeted, moving to let the trio in.
mike entered first, while eddie and nancy stepped in behind him, eddie's arm tossed around his girl's shoulders. "you okay?" nancy asked, seemingly having noticed your wobbly legs.
"i'm fine," you answered. "just stood up a little too fast. got a little lightheaded."
steve chuckled as he closed the glass door behind him, making his way inside the house and heading toward the bathroom. if you thought that was lightheaded, just you wait until the after party…
-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads
#imagine#imagines#blurb#blurbs#one shot#one shots#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington one shots#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington smut#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#stranger things imagine#stranger things imagines#stranger things blurb#stranger things blurbs#stranger things one shot#stranger things one shots#stranger things fluff#stranger things smut#fanfiction#hornyhornyhimbos
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Luna my love, may I ask for Steve and Trembling 💕
18+ oral; f! receiving (2K Words).
This part had happened before. The slow, languid kisses. Lips, tongues and teeth, ebbing and flowing like waves on the shore. A new couple learning what their partner enjoyed. Learning what sounds meant they liked what the other was doing, what sounds meant to change things up, quicken the tempo, slow down.
Steve’s fingers roamed your sides. The flimsy material of your summer dress pushed up and off ages ago now. Each caress like a gentle breeze spilling in through those gently parted windows of your apartment bedroom. Tucked away from the world, away from peering gazes, away from everyone else. In here, there was only this. Only you two, tangled together as close as two might be.
New as your relationship was, you’d only ventured one another like this. Hands over and under clothes. Fingers curled inside into that place no one has ever reached before, and yours curled around him, dragging praises and curses out of the man. But you hadn’t wandered further.
At least, not until tonight. Not until drive-in movies. Cola tinged tongues twining over a packet of Twizzlers. Where sinfully sweet kisses turned into wandering hands and breathy gasps, before a flashlight had illuminated the back of the BMW and you both were nearly kicked out by an attendant when you’d both maybe gotten a little too carried away.
You’d pulled out of the grassy lot laughing. Cheeks burning from how hard you smiled—how hard you always smiled with him. The boy with his beautiful features, huge heart, and arms that felt more and more like home after every date.
Normally you’d find it alarming how quickly you liked the boy, but Steve Harrington was different. Sunshine in his soul and kindness personified. Sure, he had his frustrated streak when it came to the gaggle of teens who’d jokingly referred to him as ‘Mom’ the first time you’d met them all, but it was bolstered by a love that ran so deeply for them you knew it had been forged in fire.
Which was how you found yourself in your present situation now. Bellies full after rushing to the diner post drive-in movie escape, plate of cheesy fries shared between you, and cheesier smiles on both your faces. In the car you’d felt free and bold, had dragged your fingers along his cock. Squeezed. Watched his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel, watched his slow inhales and exhales, relished in the way he choked your name and kicked the car up into a faster speed. And then he’d been on you from the moment you slipped into your apartment, key jimmying the lock shut, your back flush against the door and his mouth igniting you and setting you ablaze like a live wire.
Your mouth now rounded in a sigh, his fingers curled around your back, toying with the band of your bra. His shirt on the floor, your dress beside his, the lacy underwear you wore pressed against the heft of his thigh deliciously in a way that made you crave more, his cock resting hard and heavy somewhere against your hip. Dizzying. Maddeningly so, hot and syrupy, in the way he kissed you. Presses of pressure and peals of pleasure.
“Can I?” His words were a rasp.
Another kiss is pressed to the space between your breasts. Feather soft, sickly sweet. Your nodded consent has him unhooking the back, your bra tossed into the growing heap on the floor, arm coming to rest over your naked chest.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed, rubbing a gentle circle into the inside of your wrist draped over yourself. Kissed your forehead where it wrinkled, as if he’d sensed the nervousness welling in your belly. “You’re so beautiful. You know that, right?”
You’d heard those words before. From other partners, sure. But with Steve, you truly believed them. Tucked his words of affection away into the depths of your heart, little secrets meant only for you two. The man who’d stepped into your life on a whim, after Eddie Munson had introduced you two after a concert for Corroded Coffin. Figured you’d be a match made in heaven. And he’d been right, a truth you can see now staring back at you, reflected in those hazel eyes boring into your soul.
“Thank you, Steve,” you said back, letting your hand fall away, letting your head fall back into the plush pillows beneath as he whispered praises into your skin, hot tongue licking across flesh, laving over your chest. Then lower, and lower still. Trailing across your sternum, kissing along the soft of your stomach. Nipping at your hips until you giggled, until you glanced down at him, his body half off the bed, brushing gentle kisses to the insides of your thighs, his intent dropping like lead into your stomach.
“Oh, you don’t…I mean…no one really—”
His head peered up from between your thighs, paused in his ministrations along your skin. You barely had a moment to speak before he was crawling up by your face again, one elbow pressed into the mattress beside your head, the over curled over your cheek, his nose nudging yours sweetly. “Has no one…?”
Hating the way your cheeks burned from embarrassment, you tucked your face into his collarbone, his bare chest flush against yours, one of his arms curled around your shoulders to keep you nestled close. As his fingers traced comforting lines into your skin, you finally replied, but it came out muffled against his skin.
His chest leaped with his laughter. “Baby, were those even words?”
“Maybe,” you mumbled, nuzzling his skin with your forehead. “But if you must know…no, no one has…done that. Don’t laugh. I feel like you’re judging me right now.”
He froze at that. Body stiffened beneath yours, leaning back just enough so you could catch the downturn of his lips. The way those hazel eyes darkened a bit, still hazy in his lust, but tinged with another emotion you couldn’t quite place a name to.
“Not judging you,” he promised, tipping your chin up to kiss your lips gently. “Just all the idiots who came before.”
“Oh,” you squeaked out, trying to hide again, but he cupped your cheeks in his palms.
“You are so beautiful. Every inch of you. Do you trust me?” he asked, forehead resting against yours.
“I do.”
He unraveled himself from your arms. Arms still bracketing your head as you finally laid back against the bed beneath him, his flush against yours, one thigh between yours. Heart racketing in your chest, you closed your eyes, smiling to yourself as the man leaned down and kissed you once more before making his way back down your body.
A kiss on your collar bone. The curve of your breast. A teasing lip against the skin there that had your sides jolting, his laughter lyrical in your ears. Another to your abdomen, the curve of your hip. Fingers pressing into the swell of your hips, adoring the flesh of your thighs as he parted them to make room for himself between them. Every nerve ending felt alive. The swift rise and fall of your chest apparent as he reached the hemline of your panties, finger rubbing a slow circle over your clothed clit that had you turning your head into your pillow to muffle your moan.
“Sweetheart,” he said, pulling you from your wayward thoughts. Your distracted thoughts, hyper aware of every inch of you about to be on display for the boy.
You lifted yourself up onto your elbows, grinning widely as he leaned up and claimed your mouth with his.
“I love—” another kiss, “every damn sound you make—” another kiss against the curve of your throat this time, making your head fuzzy, “it’s just us here, okay? No need to hold back with me, baby.”
It was enough to calm your nerves. Heart still hammering away, but the reminder of his words ruled out. Pushing the pillow away, you sighed as his careful fingers toyed with the little bow on the front of your underwear, head tipping up enough to watch the way he slowly, so slowly, pulled them down your thighs and dropped them onto the ground beside him.
Like this he could drop his knees down onto the floor and pull you against him, and he did, dragging one of your thighs over his shoulder in the process. Kissed the inside of an ankle and grinned as you shuddered bodily in his arms, before skimming up higher and higher, leaving scorching marks in his dangerous wake.
“Oh, honey,” he sighed, and to your ears it sounded like a plea—or a prayer. Thick fingers glided through your slick, dragging a familiar path from your center to your clit, watching your reactions. The curl of your toes, the way your heels dug into his shoulders, the pinch of your eyes flush against your cheeks. This, with him, you knew. “Wanna kiss you here. You’re so pretty. Can I?”
As soon as you nod, you finally understand why your friends had raved about this after one too many drinks during girl’s nights. The way Steve’s fingers are replaced by his tongue. Warm and wet, parting you for him. Curling over that part of you that has your back arching up off the mattress, fingers clenching in messy locks of hair on his head, cheeks heating when you realize you might have pulled a little too hard.
“Pull harder,” he reassured, as if he knew. And it’s enough to have you brave enough to do so, chest heaving, whimpering beneath him, hips writhing against the place where he worships between parted thighs.
Steve was always handsome. Had been that first night at the bar, draped over the table, arms on display. Wearing those too-tight jeans that always left little to the imagination and a shirt stretched over a broad chest and wide shoulders. But like this? One hand curled around your legs, his other joining his tongue and sliding two fingers into you, fingertips turning white against your flesh where he clutched at your skin to keep you spread for him, doing things you’d never dreamed of, plucking moans from you like one would play an instrument? Diabolical.
“Steve, I’m gonna—”
You’d never before. Not like this. This dizzying free fall. The sudden snap, and then the white flash behind your eyes as you cried his name into your bedroom. As he continued to pump his fingers into you through it, whispering words of adoration into your skin.
And then he was kissing you, arm curling around the back of your head, your taste lingering on the tongue that glided over your own. “Good?” he asked.
“Good?” You laughed against his shoulder, incredulous. “Pretty sure I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
“Is that so?” He smirked.
“Don’t get too big a head now,” you teased, your hips rocking up into his, drawing a groan out of his throat.
“Yeah?”
“Never been so sure.”
Before long, you’d shoved down his boxers and he flashed a bright smile as you rolled over him, still trembling thighs on either side of his hips, a little breathless but feeling brazen. A packet was pulled from a bedside drawer and Steve hurriedly readied himself, asking if you were ready. To which you nodded, kissing his lips, fingers twining through his against your bedspread.
Then finally, that kiss turning into a breathless gasp as you sank down onto him, heart full.
——
——
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i’m thinking about steve in a warm sweater that rides up when he lifts his arms <3 the way his soft tummy would peak out !!! and his happy trail would show !!! let him be a slut in a sweater !!!
#munsonify#steve harrington#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x you#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington headcanons#steve harrington headcanon
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Thinking about Steve who takes his time with you in bed, relentlessly teasing you to the point where it's almost unbearable. He's sliding his thick cock between your folds, coating his length in the wetness of your arousal. Rubbing the head of his cock over your sensitive clit, smearing it with a bead of sticky pre-cum. He slides himself into you, but only just the tip, before he's pulling back out again and going back to sliding himself between your pussy. He's smirking down at you from underneath his mess of hair, your whimpering sounds only spurring him on to tease you even further.
"Look at you, Honey...You're so wet for me...Looks like you need it real bad, dont'cha Sweet Thing..."
#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington#Stranger things#Steve Harrington x Reader blurbs#Steve Harrington blurbs
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small bites set list
just some blurbies/drabbles that didn't have a home
they're all 18+
cheating on eddie with steve
cheating on your boyfriend with eddie
abandoned spanking blurb
bouncer!steve ask sent to @loveshotzz based off whattaman
soft!dom eddie spanking you
switch!eddie teasing you on his lap
eddie mocking your moans
blowing steve in the pool house
watching the twilight zone with eddie
mean-ish exbf!eddie waits for you at the bar
you and steve attend a wedding
original ptsd steve blurb
meeting eddie at the laundromat
mean!eddie doesn't let you touch
riding eddie until you can't anymore for @newlips
fuckboy!eddie steals you from your man at a party w/ @newlips
hooking up with your bf steve and kas!eddie
coming home to eddie tired from work
you're hot and pregnant at the laundromat with eddie
newer:
coffe and doughnuts at the laundromat
'do you love me?'
'can't sleep?'
body blanket
og laundromat blurbie
snarky eddie or steve watching you pack a la @superblysubpar
modern eddie at the laundromat
soft eddie reassures sad gf
you're sick and eddie helps care for you
older!eddie and reader go to a haunted house - for @chechelia
older!eddie and reader at the fair - for @chechelia
sound tech older eddie
#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson blurbs#eddie munson#eddie munson drabble#steve harrington#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington drabble#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#strangers things fan fiction#stranger things
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thigh-riding with steve. bc i can’t stop thinking about him and he’s the cutest and i luv him okay bye <3
warnings: thigh riding. dom!steve kinda? kinda degrading, kinda praises, nicknames and allll that <3
MINORS DNI!!!!!!
you hated, scratch that, loathed, when steve had to work over hours. strapped to his desk, head not even getting up from whatever paper work he had that week.
especially, when you were this desperate and horny, just needing a sweet release, needing his cock inside of you, stretching you out fully. yet, he barely paid any attention to you, all you got from him was yes and no answers and a few grunts, making you huff.
so when you begged him to let you ride his thigh while he was doing his work, you never expected a yes, and a low groan of “c’mere.” as he pulls you omto his lap, and you’re quick to straddle his thigh.
“you’re being the biggest fuckin’ brat right now, sweetheart, and i’m not in the mood, so get yourself off and shut up, yea?” you nod swiftly, and your hands are quick to wrap around the nape of his hair, your head lulling to the croon of his neck while you quietly grind yourself on his thigh, whimpers muffled as he doesn’t pay any mind to you.
and of course you’re not wearing any panties under your thight skirt, just to get him riled up more, and he can feel your wetness soaking his sweatpants, making him let out quiet grunts. he tries to ignore it, but his cock stirs at how desperate and pathetic your mewls are, and how good you look straddling his thigh, your warmth covering him.
his cock aches in his boxers, and he knows he can’t focus any longer because you’re so fucking perfect like this and judging by the way you keep slowing down he knows you can’t even get yourself off without him.
“look at you,” he coos, his rough hands wrapping around you, “poor baby… can’t even get yourself off, can you?” he mocks with a slight huff, and you’re quick to nod, doe-eyed gaze begging for more from him.
“you need me to make you cum, isn’t that right?” he hums, pushing his leg up into you as you’re quick to clench around his thick thighs.
with a bruising hold on your hips, he guides you back and forth, his knee jerking up in rhythm to create the perfect amount of friction and pressure on your clit that has you pathetically whining for him.
the quiet “stevie!” that leaves your lips making him moan, bulge pressing tighter against his uncomfortable boxers. he knows you’re close, and he wants nothing more than to give his pretty girl what she wants, what she needs.
“you gonna cum for me honey, hmm?” he grunts, pressing his knee harder into you, making you cry out as you nod frantically. “jesus fuckin’ christ, look at you, cryin’ out, fuckin’ my thigh… such a desperate slut for me aren’t ya, baby?” his smirk grows wider, cockier.
“p—please stevie,” is all you can manage to let out, tear-streaked eyes begging for some release, making him pout.
“go ahead, honey. cum for me. make a mess on my thighs,” he growls into your ear, leaving wet kisses all over the shell of your neck, his flexed thigh rubbing more and more into your clit, and that sweet, sweet spot, making you let out a loud moan of his mame.
pleasure washes over you so quickly that your body feels limb, back arching, and your cunt pulsates around his leg, making a mess on his thigh, all filthy and making him proud.
“such a good girl f’me, now lay down on the desk and let me clean you up, honey.”
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington drabbles
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maybe this christmas time
pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader
summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.
word count: 9.5k
warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!
a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.
And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.
That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.
“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.
“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.
“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.
He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.
It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.
But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.
“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”
“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”
“Not likely.”
“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”
You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.
That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.
Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.
“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.
“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”
“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”
“At least you look cute!”
You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.
Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.
He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.
And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’
Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.
To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.
There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.
So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.
You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.
“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”
Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.
“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”
He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.
Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.
“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.
“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”
You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.
“Rudolph’s a loser.”
“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”
“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”
“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”
The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.
So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.
“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”
You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.
“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”
He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.
Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.
He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.
“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope!”
-
Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.
Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.
The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.
You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)
Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.
“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.
Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.
“Don’t have one.”
“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”
“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”
“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”
“How did you-”
“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”
“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”
Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.
Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”
“No, I guess not.”
“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”
“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”
You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.
“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”
He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”
Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.
Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.
It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”
Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.
He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.
Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.
“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”
“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”
Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.
So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”
“Wait, really?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”
“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.
“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”
Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.
Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.
-
In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.
You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.
He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.
And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.
“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”
The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.
“What is it?” You ask her.
“Can you do it with me?”
You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”
Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.
It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.
“Say cheese,” he says.
The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.
Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’
“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”
You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.
You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.
From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.
And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”
“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”
Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.
You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.
Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.
“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.
“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”
Sunshine. That’s new.
“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”
Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.
You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.
Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.
He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.
At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.
“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”
“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”
“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”
“Absolutely not.”
While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.
“Steeeve.”
“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”
“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.
“I’ll get back to you on that one.”
That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.
That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.
“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”
“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”
You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”
“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”
“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”
“Well in that case…”
You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.
Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.
-
Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.
It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).
“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.
“Um… yeah. Why?”
“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”
“I thought you had a list.”
“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”
“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
“So I’m thinking we go skating-”
“Nope.”
“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”
“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”
“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”
“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”
“Deal.”
And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.
Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.
He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.
Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.
His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.
“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”
“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.
He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.
Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”
“I feel like you’re lying to make me feel better.”
“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”
He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.
“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”
“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.
The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.
There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.
Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.
You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.
You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.
Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.
“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”
“You make it sound like it’s easy.”
“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”
“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”
“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”
He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.
Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.
He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.
You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”
“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.
When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.
“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”
This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.
He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.
Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.
“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Super sure.”
You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”
On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.
“You okay, sunshine?”
The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.
Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.
And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.
-
Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.
It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.
Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.
Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.
All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.
This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.
He wishes he didn’t.
“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.
“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”
“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”
“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”
Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.
“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.
This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.
“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Right.”
“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”
And just like that, she hung up.
Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.
At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.
So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.
The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.
You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.
Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.
With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.
Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”
You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”
“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.
Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.
“Um,” you start, voice small.
“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”
Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.
You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.
“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.
“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”
Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.
Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.
He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.
“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”
You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.
It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”
“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.
“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”
“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”
Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.
“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”
“Oh.”
His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.
“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”
One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.
“I’m sorry, Steve.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”
You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.
“I’m gonna change that,” you say.
“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.
-
Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.
So, you did.
You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.
There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.
You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.
“Steve? What are you doing here?”
He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”
You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.
“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”
He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.
“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”
“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”
“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”
“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”
“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”
You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.
When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”
“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”
Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.
You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.
There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.
You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.
“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.
“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”
“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”
You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.
“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.
“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”
“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”
“Whatever you say, Steve.”
“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”
You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”
Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.
“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.
Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.
“You’re done for, Harrington.”
He only laughs, bright and quick.
Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.
By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.
“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”
“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.
“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”
Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.
His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.
“Sprinkle,” he says.
You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.
And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.
Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.
It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.
He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.
You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.
And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.
When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.
Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.
And that’s that.
-
December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.
You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.
He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.
But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.
Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.
“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”
“Cheese!”
The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.
If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.
Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.
It’s all because of you.
Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.
You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.
The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”
“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”
You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”
“No, they are not.”
Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.
“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”
“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”
My doses of sunshine.
You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.
That one makes you break character, “really?”
“Really.”
Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.
You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.
“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.
He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.
It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.
You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.
It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.
You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.
He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.
Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.
You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.
“Really?”
“Open it, please.”
You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.
“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.
“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”
“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”
He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.
You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.
“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.
You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.
He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.
Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.
He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.
“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sunshine.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”
“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”
Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.
“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”
As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.
Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.
‘Make next Christmas just as good.’
Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington story#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington request#steve harrington requests#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington christmas#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington stranger things#steve stranger things#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#steve x reader#stranger things steve#stranger things x y/n#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you
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good morning, indeed
steve joins you in the shower before work, and you have a feeling you'll be running a bit late | just a lil somethin for my first fic here! i hope y'all enjoy -- feel free to send me your soft n spicy steve thoughts hehe. & shoutout to @hungharrington everyone say thank u jay. | 1.1k afab!reader, shower sex, fingering, mentions of a blow job. 18+!!! mdni!!!!
Steve is a menace. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he gets in the shower after you’ve already started. And you know, too. Still, you lean back into him after the initial shock of his touch surprises you. Big hands spread across your waist, pressing into the softness of your hips and tummy. Your back presses into his front, the hair on his chest scratching against your skin lightly as he leans forward to hook his chin over your shoulder. He hums quietly, voice still raspy with sleep, lips ghosting over your cheek as he murmurs, “Hi, honey.” A soft kiss presses to your cheekbone.
“Stevie,” you reply softly, half in greeting, half in warning. You’re trying to get ready for work, and now that he’s joined you, there’s a good chance you’ll be late.
His lips move from your cheek to your jaw, and then just underneath your ear, nose nudging against your neck. He knows just what to do to turn you into putty under his touch, and sure enough, your eyes flutter closed, lips parting as you sigh in bliss. You can feel his smile against your skin before he bites down gently, sucking at your pulse point just hard enough to leave a bruise. You’re definitely going to be late if you let him continue, so you try again to get his attention, “Steve, I have to… oh— I have to g-get ready for work… Don’t have much time…”
“We can be quick,” he replies without missing a beat, one warm palm sliding up your wet torso to cup your breast, the other creeping in the opposite direction, pinky daring to brush out across your hip bone.
He’ll stop if you want him to, no questions asked. But you’d already been admiring him in bed this morning before you had to get up, and now that he’s touching you, you’re not sure you’ll make it through the day if he stops. You gasp as his thumb brushes over your nipple before pinching, another nip to your neck before he places a delicate kiss there. You tip your head back to glance at Steve the best you can, and you take in his wet, slicked back hair, the water beading in his eyelashes, and nod eagerly, “Okay. Quick, though…”
“Quick,” he agrees again, wasting no time in pushing further down to cup your cunt with his hand. Two fingers drag up your center, collecting some of your slick before pressing into your clit, rubbing in slow circles. Your breath hitches, and you know he’s smirking again; you can hear it as he asks, “Yeah? Right there?”
One of your hands grasps at his forearm that’s pressing against your hips and you nod quickly, “Please.”
He knows what you’re asking, and while he’s not going to make you wait long, he teases you a bit more, circling your clit a few more times before his fingers dip back down to your entrance. Then, just before you can ask again, two of his fingers ease into your cunt. Steve groans as his fingers push in knuckle-deep, voice low as he murmurs, “Fuck, honey, you’re so wet f’me.”
“Steve, I— ah!” Your words catch in your throat, a gasp forcing its way out as his fingers scissor apart to spread you open, the hand on your chest pinching your nipple again. Your fingers dig into his arm, clutching him so tightly that you’re sure you’re going to leave behind small crescent shapes embedded into his skin from your nails. If it bothers him, he doesn’t say anything as he fucks you with his fingers, a slow drag in and out of your cunt, scalding kisses pressing to the crook of your neck and down your shoulder.
The heel of his palm rubs against your clit every time his fingers push in deep in a way that drives you insane. And when his fingers curl, brushing against the spot inside you that makes you see stars, you can’t help the moan you let out. The sound echoes off the shower's tall walls, and if you weren’t so lost in Steve, you might feel embarrassed.
“Can feel you clenching around me, baby. Gonna come for me? Can’t have you late for work…” Steve is still sounding smug, but he’s a bit breathless. You can feel him against your bum as he holds you against him, hard cock pressing into you. He unabashedly grinds into you, letting out a low groan of his own.
It’s enough to send you over the edge, overwhelmed with his hands seemingly everywhere, the shower's warm water still falling against your face. The hand not clutching his arm flies out, reaching for something to grab onto, but you have to settle for the slippery shower wall. You don’t have enough wherewithal to warn Steve, but he knows you like the back of his hand, and tightens his arm around your waist to keep you upright as you come on his fingers with a series of expletives and a strangled moan of his name.
“There you go, honey,” Steve murmurs, soft kisses trailing to your cheek, fingers not stilling until you squirm away, overstimulated. His hold on you finally loosens and he places his hands on your hips, gently turning you around until your back is against the shower wall. He gives you a cheeky grin and asks, “Feelin’ good?”
You let out a breathless laugh and nod, even though he knows your answer. Your legs still feel a bit like jelly, so you reach up and hook one arm around his neck, the other hand pushing wet hair out of his eyes. And just before you lean up and give him the first proper kiss of the day, you reply, “Well, good morning, I guess.”
His kiss is eager, hands dropping to your ass and squeezing as he pulls you into him. He’s still so hard against your hip, and you’re already going to be late, so you figure there’s no harm in returning the favor, “Your turn, Stevie.”
“You, ah— you don’t have to, baby. D-don’t want you late for work,” he stutters as your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly.
“Already late, might as well make it worth it,” you grin, pecking his lips one last time before you sink to your knees in front of him.
Your lips press to his hipbone, and Steve already feels like a mess as your thumb swipes out over the tip of his cock. He sighs, fingers weaving into your hair, “Good morning, indeed.”
--
#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x afab!reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader smut#steve smut#steve harrington blurbs#kit writes
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Steve Harrington and “I wish we could live together already.”
here you go love <3
warnings: not proofread
❀ masterlist ❀
"stevie," you called affectionately while looking at him with his graduation cap on crooked. with a few steps forward, you were able to reach up and fix it. "there. that's better."
"so?" he started, taking a couple of steps back for you to get the full view. "how do i look?"
"educated," you responded shortly, the proud grin on your face expanding slowly. "hot too."
he hummed as he grasped your body to pull it closer to his. leaning down, his lips brushed yours as did his tassel on your cheek which tickled it. you giggled against his lips and the sound of it made steve's heart flutter.
"i wish we could live together already so i could hear your laugh all the time," steve softly spoke to you, his face mere inches from yours.
since steve's high school graduation was coming up fast, there were a lot more conversations about the future. he'd gotten into a local college and was going to be working at the family video by the arcade with your good friend, robin buckley. he'd be near while you completed your last year of high school. it'd suck not to see him in the halls like you've grown used to, but he wasn't far.
in a year after you graduate high school and get into a good college, you and steve planned to look into getting a small apartment together. he would save up whatever he made from family video and your parents agreed to pay the first few months of rent if you kept your grades up this year. the thought of living together was exciting for both of you and lately, it was all you could think of.
your hands cupped his cheeks while you kept your eyes locked on his. "i can't wait to wake up to you every morning."
"my hair is a mess every morning," steve complained as you playfully rolled your eyes.
"maybe, but you look ten times cuter in the morning. your cheeks are a little puffier and a bit more red. you're warmer and more cuddly. also, it doesn't hurt that you are typically shirtless in the morning too," you told him, watching the grin spread on his face.
steve pulled you in again, his lips kissing you this time with more passion and fervor. your hand reached up to run your fingers through his hair and knocked his graduation cap to the ground. he started to walk you backward to his bed. when your calves hit his mattress, you fell back, steve's body following yours.
"i love you so much," he breathed out. "you know that, right?"
"you never let me forget it."
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Sex, Love, and Other Crazy Ideas - s.h.
ǁ summary: Steve has always felt like he loves too much. Sometimes it scares him. But it doesn't scare you.
ǁ tags: smut. plot with descriptions of smut. kinda dark!Steve?? obsessive thoughts, possessive behavior, unhealthy attachment, but it's consenual. you accidentally cut your finger, so blood is mentioned. oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, hickies galore, body worship, a small amount of bloodplay. no pronouns, no y/n, afab!reader, nickname for you is sweetheart. I... have no reasonable explanation for this. I don't even know what to say. Happy Sunday I guess
ǁ word count: 1.6k
The intensity of love had always been overwhelming to Steve Harrington.
They say love can make you do crazy things. Like throwing yourself in front of someone to protect them. Like a spouse doing something they dislike every day because they know their partner appreciates it. Like a mom suddenly finding the strength to move a car to save her child.
Love made Steve a protective, caring, possessive man.
Most of it was shown through his actions. Acting as a chauffeur for Robin and all the teens he "babysits." Going out of his way to help someone, especially if they are having a bad day. Planning small events for the people he is closest to, so they can all get together and have a good time.
But when you came along, it felt different.
You were kind, selfless, understanding. Compassionate and empathetic, sometimes to your own detriment. At first you actively resisted Steve's desire to wait on you hand and foot, but had learned to accept that it killed him to reject the affection. You told him time and time again that he didn't have to do all these things for you, that you just loved him for who he was. He told you that was just how he showed he loved you too.
Sometimes the intensity of his love for you turned sour. He had a jealous streak – could be paranoid about the intentions of people he didn't know that were with you. He never forced you away from people or kept you from events. Just kept a watchful eye and a mental note, sometimes sought reassurance that you were his and only his, and made sure no one ever got even close to hurting you.
He bought you a little necklace with his initials. Was nervous as hell to give it to you, worried about what you might think. But you were delighted, ecstatic even, and had started to wear it everyday. Even talked about getting him a chain or a bracelet that had your initials on it too.
That night he'd made you come you over and over again until you passed out from exhaustion. Had fucked you into sweet oblivion. And the whole time, that necklace slid across your skin. The only thing you wore. That little piece of metal that said you were his.
He'd fidget it with it sometimes – fixing the chain so the clasp was behind your neck, rubbing the S between the tips of his fingers absentmindedly when you sat in his lap. You thought it was cute. Enjoyed the feeling of being his and how proud he was to be yours.
Sometimes the intensity of his love for you overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than to keep you in his bed forever, 24/7 spent with your skin on his. Wrapped up tight in his arms, or your thighs trembling as they pressed into his ears, or his cock buried deep in your warm, wet, perfect pussy until the end of time.
It wasn't a realistic thing to want, of course. But a man could dream.
And he dreamed often. Fucking you until you passed out every night you would let him. Waking up from a dream about you that had him sliding under the sheets, parting your beautiful thighs, and worshipping you awake. Begging you to let him taste you, sometimes on his fucking knees, steady and loving hands squeezing at your waist and hips as he pleaded.
You hardly ever denied him. Tried your hardest to take care of him in return, even when he insisted he wanted nothing more than to make you feel good.
After too many times having to go out into the world with a mosaic of bruises along both sides of your throat, you'd had to put some boundaries up. No hickies in visible places. He'd whined and tried to bargain but you were steadfast.
Fine. He'd litter you with little loving bruises in spots only he would be able to see. Scarlet paintings along your thighs, your collarbones, your tits.
One night, he'd already been sucking and biting bruises into your skin for what felt like hours. Determined to turn your skin into a constellation of pink, red, and purple with his mouth. A devotee that wanted nothing more than to worship every inch of you.
He was hyper focused on a spot on your chest – drawing the skin between his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue. Over and over as blood drew closer to the surface, warming as the blood vessels popped and the mark bloomed.
It was like he could feel your heart beating beneath his lips, like maybe if he used his teeth in just the right way, he could break the surface of your skin. Free some of the blood from your veins, the very life force of your being, and consume it until the wound stops bleeding.
He didn't want to hurt you. No, never wanted to hurt you. But the idea of consuming you, of possessing you so thoroughly, made it seem like a little bit of pain might not be so bad.
It was not an urge he ever acted on. Scared of scaring you, scared of what it meant that he wanted to do that. But he just couldn't help it. He loved you so much that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. It was like he wanted to live beside you at every moment, live inside you. He wanted to crawl under your skin and stay there permanently, or maybe have you crawl under his instead.
The need to possess you entirely sometimes made him act without thinking.
He heard a surprised gasp from the kitchen, followed by a pained hiss. It took mere moments to reach your side, ready to protect you, to make sure you were safe. The kitchen knife was abandoned on the cutting board, your hand cradled to your chest.
"Lemme see, sweetheart," he held out his loving hands with concern. You gingerly showed him the wound – a clean slice on the tip of your index finger. Not too deep, nothing too dangerous, but enough that it was steadily leaking blood on your skin. "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay?"
And you nodded, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom, standing dutifully by as he procured the first aid kit from beneath the sink. He gently took your hand in his own, marveled at the feeling of your skin on his, at the difference in your hands. Still enough to distract him after all this time.
But you were in pain, maybe even a little scared, and he had to focus.
After warning you that it might sting a little, he carefully cleaned the wound, cooing apologies and murmuring how good you were doing as you winced and tried not to pull away from it. Once he was satisfied, he went to retrieve a bandage but was stopped short when he turned back to look at you.
You were looking up at him with reverence, with comfort, with love. Like he was all you wanted and more. Like he was the only one who you trusted to make you feel better, like he was the only one who could heal you.
His breathing hitched in his chest. You were looking up at him with pleading, devoted, wide eyes, your cut had started to bleed just a little bit again in his hands, and he was struck with the overwhelming urge to swallow you whole.
To consume you – body and soul.
He didn't think before he brought your hurt finger up to his lips. At first he pressed a gentle kiss to the wound, loving and apologetic for the pain you had endured. When you melted into a sweet, syrupy smile, and when he licked at his lips and tasted just a touch of iron, he took the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucked.
You gasped, eyes wide and lips parted. He held your finger there, gently, and searched your face for some sign of concern or maybe even disgust. Surprise was there, plain as day, but nothing that looked negative. You didn't pull away, didn't move, barely breathed.
Experimentally, he laved his tongue over the wound. Bursts of metallic blood spreading across his taste buds as he did so. And he thought maybe he was hearing things when you whimpered.
When you made that noise again, his cock throbbed so hard in his jeans he thought he might've spontaneously came in his pants.
And while you had questions, and he had just a little bit of shame circling in his thoughts, it didn't matter right now. Not as he let your finger fall from his mouth, lifted you up onto the edge of the bathroom counter, and fell to his knees between your thighs like a man possessed.
In the following hours, dinner long forgotten, he took you apart thread by thread. Made your body shiver, shake, and seize. Praised you, lovingly degraded you, claimed you, pleaded for you to scream his name. Filled you to the brim with his cum, used his fingers to fuck it back into you until he was ready to go again. Which never took long, not with how you looked up at him like he hung the moon and stars in the sky.
That night, he broke his record for the amount of orgasms he had given you in a single day. And still held you as you passed out in his arms and felt an itch beneath his skin that begged for more.
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thanks for reading! please reblog and leave a comment if you liked it, they mean the world to me <3
and yes, I will be bringing this up in therapy tomorrow
#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#dark!steve harrington#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#steve harrington oneshot#myos ideas#myo4harrington
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