#steve harrington comfort
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i can't talk to you when i'm like this
steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: [2.1K]
warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)
summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.
You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.
Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.
He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.
“Why are you making it such a big deal?”
His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.
He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.
Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.
“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”
Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.
This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.
He knows he messed up.
It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.
It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.
You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.
Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.
“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.
The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.
The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.
“B-baby… I’m so sorry.”
The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’
All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.
He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.
Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.
“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.
There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.
No one gets it… but Steve does.
“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.
The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.
“I’m fine, Steve!”
Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.
He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.
“Baby,”
Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”
He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.
Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.
It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.
You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.
One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.
“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.
Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.
He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.
Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.
You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.
You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.
“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.
He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.
Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.
“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,
Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.
But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.
“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.
But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”
You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.
You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.
“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.
“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”
You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”
Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.
Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.
“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.
It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.
“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.
“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.
When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.
“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”
“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“
He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”
Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.
Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.
It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.
“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.
His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.
“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.
Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”
“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.
He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.
His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.
“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.
His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.
“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”
He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.
“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”
Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.
The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.
It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.
But Steve gives you everything and so much more.
A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.
When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.
He’s everything you could have asked for and more.
You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.
“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.
He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.
That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.
His love.
“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.
You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”
“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.
You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.
“I know, I love you too.”
💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌
a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!
taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3
#munsonsreputation#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#stranger things#stranger things imagine#steve stranger things#steve x y/n#steve x reader#stranger things imagines#stranger things x reader
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Love Comes In Threes | Steve Harrington
Summary: Steve Harrington loves you, he just can't say it. [2k]
Fluff, comfort, slight angst, emotionally/verbally constipated Steve
♡
The last time Steve Harrington said I love you to someone she ripped out his heart and left with the boy she told him not to worry about.
He doesn’t remember the last time he said it to his parents, only that he stopped trying after he kept getting the dial tone in response to his feelings.
So you weren’t exactly surprised or upset when he kissed you instead of saying it back 6 months into your relationship.
_
The first time you said I love you to Steve it was a stormy evening. The both of you agreed to take things slow, wounds from the past still open and healing. But he just looked so handsome that night with his hair tousled in a perfect mess, red creeping on his cheeks from the cold air as the both of you raced towards his car trying to protect yourselves from the rain. He turned the heat on as he took your hands in his in an effort to warm you up. You tried to hold it in, you swear you did, but the love you had for him weighed down on you like an anchor and you thought if you didn’t tell him that second you were going to drown in your own feelings.
“I love you,” you had whispered as he continued rubbing his fingers over yours. He paused his actions, shyly looking up. The red on his cheeks could no longer be blamed on the cold because now he was feeling as the sun was glowing warm in his heart.
“You sure?” he asked you. Instead of answering you kissed him, hoping your lips would act as a spout and pour how you felt directly into him.
You knew that like you, Steve had been hurt in the past so when he pulled you in for another kiss instead of saying it back you never questioned him.
_
But that was a year ago.
Almost two years into the relationship and Steve still hasn’t said I love you back. Every time he hears it fall from your lips, he’ll just give your hand a squeeze and carry on. You want to think it isn’t a big deal. You try to convince yourself that the L word isn’t necessary in your relationship, not when you share a home, a bed, secrets, and, hopefully, a family in the future. But no matter how hard you try to ignore your feelings it still leaves you disappointed when you see couples everywhere throw the three words around like they’re playing catch. It’s an endless cycle of disappointment for not hearing it, guilt for questioning the love Steve has for you, and frustration for why it mattered so much.
“As someone who Steve previously loved, do you think he actually loves me or is he just… settling?”
Your question makes Nancy freeze, the book she was previously trying to shove back in the shelf falls with a loud thud. She throws an apologetic smile at the librarian who shakes her head in disapproval.
“What are you even talking about?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I brought it up. But I was just thinking, Steve loved you Nance. He told you he loved you. It’s been years and people still remember how broken he was after you left. Like if I left would he be just as sad or would he be okay.”
“Are you planning on leaving Steve?” Nancy stutters out.
“Well no…definitely no. It just makes me wonder if people can see that Steve loves me or if they think of me as the passerby keeping him from you while you were the one that got away. Whenever I tell someone I’m dating Steve all I ever hear is good on him for moving on, poor thing was a wreck after Nancy Wheeler left.”
Nancy picks up her stack of books as she leads you to the front desk, “Look what Steve and I had was over before we both even realized it was over. He loves you, I think… I think he loves you more than he could’ve ever loved me. And why do you even care what people think? These are the same people who think Robin is a sinner and that my parents are happily married.”
You roll your eyes in affection as you help her with her books. “I guess you’re right…” you trail off as your eye catches a magazine. In big bold letters you read 100 Different Signs Your Man Loves You.
“Oh please you can’t be serious.”
You give her a sheepish smile as you check out your rental and head back home.
_
The magazine was utter trash. It had nothing, but surface value declarations that did nothing to soothe your worries. You stopped reading after sign 8 when it said Ladies if your man compliments your cooking, then it means he’s thinking about locking it down! Because remember a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!
Your Steve wasn’t like this. Your Steve was the kind of guy who knew you were having a bad day before you even had the chance to tell him. Your Steve was the kind of guy who would willingly wake up early and go out into snow just to heat up your car so you won’t have to drive in the cold.
You sigh as you toss the magazine in the back of the car making a mental note to drop it off at the library on your way to pick up Robin for your girls day.
You honk twice in front of Vickie’s house before Robin comes bolting down the driveway, shoes in hand and trying to wrestle her jacket on. She gives you a wave before climbing in and greeting you with a tight hug.
“I see your sleepover went well,” you tease.
Before she can tease back Vickie knocks on the window prompting Robin to roll it down.
“Hi, Vickie” you smirk up at her, eyes darting to the purple bruise under her ear that she poorly tried to conceal with makeup.
She waves shyly, “Robin… I forgot to say,” she looks at you nervously, “Nevermind, just I’ll see you tomorrow.” She quickly kisses Robin’s cheek and scurries back inside.
“So… what was that whole thing with Vickie about?” you try to ease in.
Robin bumps her head on the window when you pull into a parking spot, “Oh Vickie? She’s still nervous about saying the L word publicly so that’s what she was doing.”
“At least she’s saying it privately,” you huff under your breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing, I was just asking how she says it in public if she isn’t comfortable?”
“You know the cheek kisses she gave, that was it.”
You quickly put the shirt you’re holding back on the rack before looking at Robin confused. “What do you mean, is that your guys’ secret language?”
Robin laughs, pulling up a skirt to herself. “No silly, haven’t you ever heard the saying love comes in threes. When you touch someone three consecutive times it’s the equivalent of I. Love. You. Hence three cheek kisses equal an I love you.”
“That’s so cute,” you squeal, squeezing her arm and testing it out for yourself.
She squeezes back instantly, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it, considering Steve’s the one that introduced me to it.”
Your steps falter behind her. “Hang on, Steve? My Steve, told you that?”
“Yeah, he said his Nana used to do it when they were kids or something like that. Told me before I told Vickie I loved her. Do you think this skirt is cute or should I save my money for a Madonna tape?”
Robin keeps rambling as you stay in place, your thoughts spiraling. Her confession makes you think about every single time Steve’s ever touched you. Every morning before you part ways how he pecks your lips once, twice, and a little longer the third time. How he squeezes your waist three times when he walks past you to get his favorite mug. How he reaches for your thigh, hand, anything he can get ahold of just to get three squeezes in. How he taps your arm in his sleep, again always in threes. You would stay up trying to figure out what song his taps represent before eventually drifting off yourself.
This whole time you were waiting for Steve to verbally express his love when he was doing it quietly in his own way, more often than you ever did.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a tear slowly drip down your neck.
“Hey what’s wrong are you okay?” Robin asks frantically. She drops her bags, hands squeezing your arms and eyes darting around for any signs of danger.
You nod through your tears, “I’m okay, can we just go. I have to get home, I know it’s crazy but…”
Robin nods, grabbing your arm and leading you to the exit.
_
The car ride back home is quiet, Robin didn’t even whisper a goodbye when she left simply settling with a quick peck to your forehead and soft smile.
Your thoughts feel overwhelming like everything is going a mile a minute when you think about Steve. You think about your first date, your second, and your third and so on. How Steve ended every night with three of something.
Your body is on autopilot as you make your way through the front door. Keys tossed in the bowl, coat hung up, and shoes thrown off.
“Hey baby, you alright? Robin called asking if you were okay.” A concerned Steve comes into your vision, he quickly wipes his hands on the kitchen towel before flinging it over his shoulder and kissing you. Once, twice, and thrice.
Your hard stare makes him nervous, he’s never seen you like this before. “Honey,” he whispers out.
You take a deep breath in, “You never said I love you to me, not after I said it first, not even when you asked me to move in.” You pause trying to compose yourself while Steve avoids your gaze. “This whole time I thought you didn’t love me like you should, that you loved me, but you weren’t in love with me.”
Steve lifts his head up, baffled, he goes to argue until you lift your hand up signaling him to wait.
“Robin told me something about how love comes in threes, today. How three taps, or any kind of touch in rapid succession three times is the equivalent of an I love you,” he finally meets your gaze as you slowly walk over to him, tugging on his waist to hold him as close as possible. “You told me you loved me on our first date, you told me the night we had our first kiss, you told me on our anniversary. And you tell me everyday. I don’t think there’s an hour that goes by without you telling me.”
Steve pulls you into his chest before gently lifting your head and kissing you three times. You giggle at the not-so-secret-anymore gesture. “I’m trying. I really am trying hard to say it, but I do. I really do. I want you to know how important you are, but I’m also scared. So I guess this was my way of saying it, reminding myself that when I do eventually say the words… you won’t leave.”
“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry for not seeing your love. For not understanding that even though you love me quietly you love me the most. Your love is in the tiny but grand gestures that I take for granted, but would miss deeply if I didn’t have it. I don’t need the words anymore Steve, I just need you because you love me more than I ever thought was possible and that’s enough. You’re enough.”
He squeezes your shoulder three times before whispering the words you’ve always wanted to hear from him.
They say love comes in threes and your love with Steve may be quiet, but it’s everywhere.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x afab!reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington imagine#stranger things#st4 spoilers#steve harrington angst#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington fic recs#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington fic rec#steve harrington masterlist#steve harrington my beloved#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington rec#steve harrington recs#steve harrington smut#steve harrington spoilers#steve harrington series#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem!reader#simon-writes#simon-writes-steve#sh
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hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!
HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!
wc: 1.4K
notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!
Steve is one attentive boyfriend.
It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.
He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.
So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?
It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?
You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.
“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.
The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.
The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.
"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"
You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"
"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"
"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.
"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"
Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.
"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.
"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."
The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.
Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"
You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.
By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.
Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.
Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.
Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.
"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.
"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"
The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.
"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."
He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.
"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.
"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.
"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."
The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”
He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”
You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.
“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.
“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
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#tysm for the ask!#stevemath#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington writing#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington comfort#serpentwithatardis#aster replies
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just friends (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)
summary: you and steve have been just friends for years now. but how long can you convince everyone you're 'just friends' before it becomes a lie?
or steve harrington is your super hot roommate and everyone thinks it's stupid you guys aren't dating yet.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
✶ the library
tags: roommate!steve, kinda shitty boyfriend!eddie, pining, fluff, angst, casual dominance from our casual dominance king steve, honestly going to try so hard not to make this a series but you know me.
a/n: i've wanted to write roommate!steve for so ages. you can thank a much-needed new girl binge and my tendency to take my frustration out on my mop for this.
The bass-heavy bump of music came at Steve full force before he even stepped out of the elevator. He paused, staring down the door of your shared apartment knowing that the sight that would welcome him would not be pretty.
In the kitchen, you were hunched over the handle of a mop, furiously dragging it over a sliver of tile. Teeth gritted together, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair disheveled and pulled away from your face, a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt rolled up to the shoulders—you were a mess.
You were sad.
"Uh-oh." Steve stepped into the room, calling over the booming music. "What happened?"
You jumped a little, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment on Saturday nights. Steve almost always spent weekend nights at the bar down the street hitting on girls too sweet for him. You usually had until at least 11:30 to do whatever you wanted before some random girl came scampering in, clinging to Steve and giggling as they fumbled to his room.
But he was home early. And no matter how long you'd lived together, or how well he knew you, you still hated being seen like this.
So, you never took your eyes off the mop, scrubbing away a sauce stain on the tile.
"Nothing." You shrugged, flicking wisps of hair out of your eyes.
Steve watched you whirl around to drag the mop toward the bucket again. You stabbed it into the soapy water with a vengeance, nose scrunching with every slosh and splash. Steve leaned against the doorway and quirked a brow.
"Yeah? You're playing your sad music, though."
Your sad music consisted of a handful of hard rock records that most people would consider music for a dive bar—but you only ever played it when you were staving off tears. The louder you played it, the more upset you were.
Steve knew you a little too well.
This comment went ignored as you slapped the mop back on the floor and continued an angered scrubbing. Steve sighed, scratching at his temple. Most of the time, it was best to leave you alone. Sometimes, you needed to talk it out. It took a little coaxing—a pizza and a cold glass of Coke with a straw usually did the trick—but eventually, you'd spill.
And Steve would fix it.
Calm you down, help you figure it out, offer some advice. He gave pretty good advice for someone still struggling to get his own shit figured out.
Steve could tell from the way the song went unsung, the way you huffed every time the mop head flipped, the way you started stomping your foot when you found a stale French fry under the stove—you needed him to step in.
Pushing off the wall, Steve crossed the room and placed his hand over yours on the mop handle.
"Hey. Hey, come on."
You struggled at first, scowling at him as you tugged on the handle. "Stop it."
He sighed again. He was always sighing at you like a disappointed teacher.
"Hey." A little firmer this time, accompanied by a sharp snatch of the handle from your grasp into his. When you dropped your hands and obliged, the furrow of his brow relaxed. "Thank you. Now, why don't you go take a shower. The house is clean enough."
You frowned, wiping at the sweat on your head. "I just—"
Steve pressed his hand flat into the small of your back, steering you toward the door. "Seriously, honey, it's fine. You do stink, though."
That made your lip twitch—a semblance of a smile—with an amused little huff. You took a step toward the door, slippered feet scuffing. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve standing where you left him, still holding the mop.
He waved you off. "Go on. Take a nap, too.”
You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Steve."
He watched you shuffle away, shoulders slumped and eyes down as you went. He propped the mop against the kitchen counter and shook his head at the mess of cleaning supplies on the table.
When he heard the bathroom door clamp shut and the hiss of the shower head turn on, Steve rushed the front door again.
He opened it a smidge, enough to fit his head in and smile sweetly at the girl waiting in the hall picking at her nails. She perked up, stepping toward the door eagerly.
"Hey," Steve cooed, voice dripping with honey. "I'm so sorry, my roommate got sick all over. I think s-he needs to go to the doctor, so...would you mind if we raincheck?"
The girl—Sarah, as he would recall later on—broke into a concerned pout, clasping her hands over her chest. "Oh my god, that's terrible! You're so sweet taking care of him."
Steve chuckled, a breezy smile on his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for understanding."
She tipped her head, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "Of course. Call me when he's feeling better?"
Steve nodded, knowing the phone number in his back pocket would dissolve in the washer in a week, and he had no intention of ever calling her to begin with.
"Yeah, for sure. Night."
"Goodnight."
He waited until the elevator dinged, watching the doors close on her grinning face, before pulling back into the apartment and locking the door. He blew a sigh out of his cheeks, head shaking as he headed toward the hall.
The shower had stopped, and he could hear the soft, wet patters of your feet behind the door when he leaned against the wall beside it. He knocked two knuckles gently into the wood.
"Honey?" he called. "Need anything? Wanna order a pizza?"
He waited, adjusting the hem of his shirt to spread out a wrinkle in the fabric. He knew what the answer would be, but he couldn't always be so obvious. He had to pretend that he didn't know you like the back of his hand, because everyone started telling him how weird it was.
"You've lived with this girl for two years and haven't boned? You're either gay or dumb as a box of fuckin' rocks," is what Max told him when they met for lunch a few months ago.
Everyone said the same thing. His sister, who teased him at birthday parties and summer barbecues that you were always his date for. Sabrina did everything in her power to push the two of you closer together at family events, ensuring your seats were always paired and your activities were always coupled up.
"You look at her like a dog with a bone," she teased last Fourth of July.
But Steve only shook his head, glancing your way where you were helping his mother decorate cupcakes. You were dating some guy in IT at the time. Total fucking nerd. He made you pay for most of the dates.
"Nah...we're just friends. She's got a boyfriend."
We're just friends was probably Steve's most popular sentence in the English language since the day he met you. A pair of college graduates who had no clue what the hell they were supposed to do with their lives, roommate-matched by the apartment complex and so content with each other that you just kept renewing the lease.
When you finally replied to his question, your voice came like a small, pipping whisper behind the door. "Yeah...but with mushrooms this time?"
This time, as if you didn't order a mushroom and sausage pizza every time. Steve smiled, pushing off the wall.
"Okay—"
"And—"
"And sausage, I know. I'll call 'em."
"Okay."
While Steve called the pizza place a few blocks over, you clutched a towel to your chest and padded to your room. You pulled on the softest items you owned and sat on the end of your bed. A long day of cleaning certainly tired you out, but that wasn't what ailed you.
It was the fight with your boyfriend last night at the bar, when he yelled at you for laughing at Steve's jokes even though you always did. He thought you were too close, too "chummy" to be just friends.
Unbeknownst to Steve, we're just friends was one of your most common phrases, too. You should've had it engraved on your forehead at this point.
"Hey." Two knuckles on your door this time before it skittered open. Steve popped his head in and grinned at you. "Wearin' my favorite sweatpants? Must be feelin' better."
You glanced down at the black sweatpants on your legs, snickering softly. Steve thought they hugged your ass perfectly, and loved the way they flared at the calves. The logo right on your left ass cheek was especially beautiful.
When you opted to leave that soft noise as your reply, Steve stepped into the room. He flopped beside you on the bed, springs squeaking shrilly.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.
You shook your head down at your lap, rubbing at your eye. You hated crying, and so far today you'd been doing well swallowing them down. Steve had only seen you cry once, and you avoided him for three days after.
Something about vulnerability made you cower.
"Okay...wanna watch a movie?"
You sighed, shifting a little away from him. Steve clocked it with a brow-furrowed frown.
"Steve...you don't have to make me feel better. I'm fine."
His lips parted to reply—most likely in protest—but the door chittered on its hinges once more with the small butted head of your tuxedo cat, Ted.
Steve immediately stood and scooped Ted up, turning to bring him to the bed. He scratched under his chin and brought forth a low humming purr immediately.
Not even cats could resist that pretty boy charm.
"Well, I reckon this lil guy will do a better job of cheerin' you up," Steve cooed, plopping Ted beside you.
A quiet giggle slipped from your mouth as you reached to swoop his tail. "Reckon?"
Steve shrugged, a sheepish grin on his mouth. "Just came out. I turn Southern in a crisis, darlin'."
He was just trying to make you laugh now, and he couldn't help but mirror the sound when it proved effective. Though, it also proved temporary. You soon settled on your side, tugging Ted to your chest with a fading smile.
Steve ran his fingers through his hair, gathering a chunk of it at the top to pull. A stress tick. You tried not to feel guilty for causing it.
"Well...alright." Steve shuffled backward toward the door. "Pizza in fifteen."
You nodded into the pillow. "Okay. Thanks."
Steve lingered a beat too long, eyeing your balled up form on the bed before slipping into the hall. You'd been sad plenty times over the years: breakups, let-downs, missed jobs.
But the guy you were dating now...you really seemed to like him. He was over all the time, practically living here at one point. Steve didn't really understand what you saw in the guy—Eddie. Steve scoffed to himself, head shaking. Stupid name.
You met Eddie at the auto shop where he worked. He gave you a discount on your oil change, and his tire talk was so smooth that you went on a date two days later. Six months later, and things still seemed to be going smoothly despite the pair of you having very little in common.
Usually, you dated harmless little nerdy guys. Steve actually laughed in the face of a five foot eight finance bro who threatened to "hurt him real bad" if he got in the way of your relationship. You dumped him that night, and the pair of you still laugh about it to this day.
But Eddie was...different. Sleeves of dark ink and a chainlink on his belt. A handful of chunky silver rings and another one in his nose. He always clinked in with a nod Steve's way and a hand on your ass, and it seemed that every time he kissed you in front of Steve, he looked him right in the eye while he did it.
Steve didn't like how small you made yourself around Eddie, and he didn't like how much Eddie seemed to enjoy it.
For everyone's sake, he hoped it wasn't Eddie that made you sad. For once, he wasn't sure he'd win that fight.
✶ ✶
There were many things about your behavior that night that concerned Steve.
Number 1: You only ate three pieces of pizza, and he got one small mushroom-sausage with extra cheese just for you.
Number 2: You didn't let Ted in when he scratched at your door, and Steve had to bring him to his own room for bed.
But worst of all.
Number 3: You didn't say goodnight.
So, Steve went to bed with Ted curled at his feet and a lump in his throat. Whatever you were upset about was bad, he could just tell; and everything in him was itching to make it better. He had this terrible, stupid ache to make life easy for you, and it never really went away.
He opened all your jars, refilled all your water bottles, made sure your phone was charged when he saw the little red bar. He bought more of your favorite snacks when he saw them running low, picked up things that "felt like you" when he saw them at the store. You had an abundance of miscellaneous yellow items sitting on your windowsill because you told him it was your favorite color two years ago.
In Steve's eyes, everything yellow in the world belonged to you.
Steve stirred in a half sleep for hours, kicking at his covers and offering murmured apologies to a miffed Ted who meowed at him. His concerns, however, came to a head when the sound of muffled shouting startled him completely awake.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tapped the screen, rubbing his eyes clear to read the 1:15. He wondered which couple in the building was fighting this late. His bet was on Jax and Monica in 1F who were always on the outs.
"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? I see the way he looks at you!"
But that was Eddie's voice.
"I don't understand where this is coming from."
And that was yours.
Steve shot up, fumbling for his glasses in their case somewhere in his nightstand drawer. He shoved them over his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed.
"I'm tired of competing with your fucking roommate."
"You don't—you aren't! Eddie, please, you know we're just friends."
"Spare me. You're a shitty liar. Hey! C'mere, I'm not done talkin'."
Oh, hell no. Pants abandoned, Steve swung his door open with banging force and rushed into the hall.
He found the pair of you in the entryway, Eddie's hand around your arm and your cheeks soaked with tears. You still had your pajamas on, and those little yellow slippers Steve bought for you last Christmas.
Both heads turned when Steve hurried into the room, tailed by a confused Ted butting at his leg.
Eddie huffed, motioning toward Steve. "Oh, great, of course you're here."
Steve braced his hands on his hips, glaring at the raven-haired man. "I live here, dick-wad. Remove your hand."
Eddie ignored him, still wringing your arm out. You cast your eyes away from Steve, ashamed by the state he found you in.
"You live up my girlfriend's ass, Harrington. And I'm kinda tired of you being there all the fucking time."
"Remove. Your. Hand."
"Stop," you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks though it wouldn't do much to hide the pink rims of your eyes. "Eddie, he's my friend."
"If he's gonna be your friend, then we're done."
You gaped up at him, more hot tears bubbling over and stinging your eyes. "W-what? Eddie, that's—"
Eddie shrugged, smug and uncaring. "You heard me."
Steve's eyes moved your way, and he could only stomach the absolute heartbreak on your face for a split second before he was stepping forward.
"Alright," he barked, and then he was shoving the arm Eddie was holding you with. "Let her go, Aerosmith, and get the fuck out."
Eddie let you go, but spun sharply to face Steve. You weren't sure whose glare was more frightening.
Eddie stepped until he was toe-to-toe with your roommate. "You like fuckin' another man's girl? You like my sloppy seconds, you pussy bit—"
Steve might not have been much of a fighter, certainly didn't fare well with a man who lifted cars for a living—but he certainly excelled at being discrete.
Which is how he got a right hook in before Eddie could fight back. Which is also how Eddie ended up on the ground, and unable to stand again for a few moments.
"Jesus, Steve," you scolded, peering down at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “You knocked him out!”
Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the buzzing pain in his knuckles as he swept them through his hair and motioned toward Eddie.
“Hm? Nah, honey, he’s just…he’s takin’ a nap.”
Though still numbed by shock and worry, you couldn’t help the amused snort that rippled through you. Steve’s lip quirked, and he glanced at Eddie when he groaned on the floor.
“Um, well…let’s get you up, bud. Yeah, you’re okay, c’mon.” Steve began talking to Eddie like a child, cooing as he helped him to his feet by the arm.
And maybe he wasn’t nice about walking him to the elevator, watching him crumble to the floor as the doors closed. Maybe the shiner swelling on Eddie’s cheek filled Steve with incredulous joy.
But he swallowed all of it down when he returned to the apartment and found you standing right where he left you. If you were ashamed of your tears this time, it didn’t show. You grew inconsolable, and Steve had no other thought in mind that didn’t involve picking you up and taking you back to bed.
So he did just that, letting you soak his bare chest with tears as he went. When he sat you on the bed, he tipped your head up by the chin and wiped your cheeks.
“He’s not comin’ back tonight, sweetheart, it’s okay.”
Sniffling, you let him dry your tears and pull strands of hair from the sticky residue. “He thinks we were cheating. I t-tried to tell him…that we’re just friends.”
You deflated with a hiccuped sigh, and Steve’s smile was full of pity and pain. He rubbed his thumbs into your cheeks, nodding his agreement.
“Yeah. Just friends, honey.”
Your eyes fluttered with exhaustion, and Steve swallowed thickly. He pinched the edge of your pillow to pull it down, and gently coaxed you down by the shoulders. He pulled the covers up to your chin and plucked Ted from the ground to join you on the bed.
“He ain’t worth your tears, honey. Get some sleep.”
Sniffling again, you nodded quietly. Steve flashed another smile, and stepped back toward the door. As he reached for the light switch, he glanced over his shoulder to find your eyes again.
“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.
He shut the light off so you wouldn’t see the way he closed his eyes, like it pained him to hear you with another cry in your throat.
“Goodnight, honey.”
Steve sat awake until 6 a.m waiting for Eddie to come to his senses and return for vengeance. But he never came. In some way, Steve knew that would hurt you even more.
So in the morning when you woke, he greeted you with a handful of sunshine yellow daffodils and your favorite coffee. A soft kiss on the head and a scratch at Ted’s chin on his way out.
“Gonna meet up with a friend today. Call me if you need me, ‘kay?”
He went home with the first girl he met at the bar that day just to get you out of his head, and lied about it when he came home.
Just friends. Yeah, right.
#rolly!#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington au#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington one shot#roommate!steve harrington
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kiss it better
steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 3,176
warnings: swearing, sick fic (sorta), steve not taking care of himself, anxiety, stress, mental breakdown?, best friends to lovers deal (let me know if i missed something)
a/n: hi! it’s been awhile. i’m sorry about that. this has been a very slow process for me. my mental health is shit, and that’s probably obvious. i hope it hasn’t seeped into this too much, but it probably will with the next few things i write. i apologize for taking so long to post, for disappearing, for not really making this the blog it once was. but i’m not the same person i was then. so we’ll see where this goes. i hope you enjoy this one a little. i love you.
————
The shrill sound of a phone ringing scares you awake, eyes flying open, heart pounding so aggressively you fear for a split second that it might burst.
You sit up quickly, enough so that you make yourself dizzy trying to get your bearings. You roll onto your side, and reach blindly across the edge of your nightstand, grabbing for the green plastic that’s shaking with the force of which it’s ringing.
You almost fall out of bed, just managing to catch yourself as you bring the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
Your voice comes out weak, thick with sleep and the longing for more rest. It startles you and makes you clear your throat.
“Hey, it’s me.”
The voice on the other line is even weaker than your own. It’s quiet.
“Steve?”
Your eyes find the alarm clock on your dresser, bright red letters telling you it’s just after one in the morning. You might be half-asleep, but you’re conscious enough that your heart rate picks up, registering that this isn’t when your best friend normally calls.
You hear him breathe, along with some shuffling. He’s nodding his head, but realizes you can’t see.
“Yeah. Listen,” he drags a shaking hand down his face. “I’m sorry to call so late.”
“Hey, it’s okay. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
He goes quiet for a moment, but you wait patiently for him to continue. He must be trying to get something out, and you don’t want to pressure him, or cause him stress in any way.
Steve huffs, frustrated with himself.
“I-I’ve got an insane headache, and we’re out of goddamn medicine. My parents were here, and my mom was hungover and I guess she must’ve emptied us out, but it hurts too bad to drive, and…” He trails off, breathing heavily.
His pause lends you a moment to process, and you decide to speak up. If his head is killing him, you know finding the energy to speak to you, let alone call, has to be draining. You wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already is.
“Stevie?” you start, happy to hear a small hum that encourages you to go on. He registers what you’ve called him, something you don’t call him often, and his chest aches. “I’ve got some I can bring you. I think all the drugstores nearby are closed.”
You swing your legs out from under the covers, pushing yourself off the mattress. Pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you pull on the pair of sweats slung over the end of your bed, trying not to bust your ass as you hop into them.
“Is anything else hurting you?” you ask, gently as can be.
“Honestly?” he responds. “I think I’m sick. I can’t be sick, can I?”
You stand upright once again, taking the phone firmly in your hand.
“I think even King Steve can get sick from time to time. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
————
Steve’s not sure you understand him. He can’t be sick. He’s got shit to do. He has a shift tomorrow, and he’s pretty sure Dustin needs a ride one day this week because Claudia is on a “girls trip.” He has to keep working on his college essay, because he’d told you he was almost done, but really he isn’t.
Steve doesn’t have the time to be sick. And he can’t have you ruining your own schedule to come and babysit him. He’s supposed to be the babysitter. Not the charge.
He should be able to take care of himself, but of course, the one time his parents come home they clean out his mediocre supply of medicine. Something he’s always stocked up on, given his tendency to get the shit beat out of him, or the nasty string of tension headaches that just won’t quit.
And his head is killing him. He has his palms pressed to his temples, trying (and failing) to dull the ache. There aren’t any lights on in the kitchen, where he’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the cabinets.
He’s trying not to move too much either, because he’s dizzy. This probably has to do with the fact that he skipped dinner, feeling too nauseous to eat. Now that Steve is hungry, he fears he won’t be able to get up and fix anything.
Maybe you’ll be able to help, he thinks. But that voice is quick with a counter argument. No. I need to do it.
He perks up at the sound of the front door opening. “Steve?” you call out, careful not to slam the door or yell too loud. It’s also why you hadn’t rung the doorbell.
Steve raps his knuckles softly against the countertop, hoping it’ll be enough to clue you in. He can’t bring himself to shout right now. You follow the sound, taking the few steps toward the kitchen.
When your eyes lock on his figure, see the way the heels of his hands press into his eyes, you realize how young he looks. He almost looks small, legs pulled up to his chest, big, lanky body compacted as much as possible. He looks vulnerable. You’re sure he hates that.
“Hi, Steve,” you say, keeping your voice low.
He looks up at you, and his face splits into a sweet grin. He’s happy that you’re here, even if that voice is screaming at him, wanting to punish him for asking for help.
“Hey, honey.” You smile back at him, and his heart rate picks up. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful you are, and then you’re standing in front of him, snatching every last breath from his lungs.
You set your bag down beside him and reach out, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He feels a little warm, but not feverishly so.
You move away from him, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. You fill it up with water and crouch at his side. Steve takes the glass from you, head resting against the cabinet to watch as you grab him some medicine. You hand him a few pills, and he takes them quickly. If he doesn’t get this headache calmed down soon, he thinks he might just die.
Steve keeps drinking the water you gave him, and you push his hair back again, watching the way it curls around his ears.
He drinks about half of the water before he pauses, taking a deep breath. He looks at you then. It’s mostly dark in the kitchen, but the lamp on the table by the front door is on, so you’re a little backlit from it. Not to mention the moonlight seeping in from the window above the sink.
You look gorgeous. And you came over to take care of him. You got up, at one in the morning, and drove to his house, just because he asked you to. Hell, he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t gotten the words out. But you’d known. You’d known exactly what he was trying to ask, and you’d offered your help with no qualms.
Steve’s nose starts to sting, and that pressure from behind his eyes—it starts to release. Before he knows it, his vision is getting cloudy, and he’s crying. He can’t be crying, can he?
You carefully remove the glass from his hand and move in between his spread knees.
“Steve, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m gonna take top notch care of you.”
“I know you are,” he says, voice breaking. “But I should be able to do it myself. I always do it myself.” He presses his hands against his face, but you catch his wrists and gently pull them away.
You hold your arms out, and Steve practically falls into you. He buries his face in your neck. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the cotton of your sleep shirt. You smell like soap, that fancy conditioner you use.
One of your hands finds the base of his neck, nails scratching gently over his scalp, thumb dragging over the top of his spine. Your other rubs soothingly up and down his back.
“But the thing is, Stevie, you don’t have to.”
He’s not a loud crier. But he is sort of panicky, breaths coming quick and short, chest heaving against your own. “I know you’ve always had to do a lot by yourself, but you can ask for help, and you don’t have to punish yourself for it, either.”
You feel him nod against your collarbone. His hands are fisting the back of your shirt. Eventually, he pulls away, but keeps his eyes closed. He tries to keep his head turned from your gaze.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He does, albeit reluctantly. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, lashes clumped together and lips parted where he tries to suck in a good deep breath.
You reach up, fingers gently sweeping away the remainder of the tears on his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his forehead. You’ve never done that before.
Steve recognizes that you’ve never done it before, even if it’s sort of fuzzy. Sure, he’s kissed the back of your hand and you’ve reciprocated, but he’s usually the one to initiate physical affection. You’re too shy most often, even if you ache to do it.
Fuck, he wishes he were a little more coherent right now.
“Can you stand for me? It’s late, and I think you need to rest.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Now that he’s thinking about it, getting in bed sounds so nice.
You stand first, and watch as Steve pushes off the floor, gripping the countertop on the way up to steady himself.
“Come on. The stairs are gonna be a pain.”
He reaches out for you, and you let him take your arm. He pads out to the staircase, and you watch each precarious step he takes, hoping he won’t get too woozy and trip.
By the time he finally makes it up there, he’s wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face between your shoulder blades. You soften beneath his hold.
You walk slowly towards his bedroom, and he waddles behind you. You push the door open. “M’kay, Steve. Wanna change clothes and hop into bed?”
He pulls off of you and grabs hold of his dresser. “I’m not givin’ you a free show.”
You snort. “I’ll go get some more water and be right back.”
His grin fades. “Please be fast.” He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to leave him.
“Steve, I’m practically The Flash.”
He laughs, pulling a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the drawer. Usually he’d sleep in less, but with you here he feels he should keep his modesty.
When you return, he takes the water from you, drinking it faster than he probably should. Steve feels like he’s had the shit beat out of him, and for once—he hasn’t.
You’d sat down on the edge of the bed, not noticing the way he’s staring at you. You look up when he sets the glass down. He drags both hands down his face.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
He exhales. “I want you to stay here with me, but I don’t want you to get sick. The idea of you being on the couch, which is like, miles away, is driving me insane.”
“Steve?”
“Huh?”
“Can’t I just sleep on the futon?”
His eyes move towards the other side of his room where said piece of furniture is pressed against the wall. He’d bought it when group sleepovers became a thing after all they’d dealt with. Jesus, his brain really isn’t working.
“Oh. Yeah, honey. Just don’t want you to go far.”
You lean forward and push his hair back from his forehead. You’ll need to remember to take his temperature come morning.
“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I promise. Not until you’re all better.”
————
When Steve wakes up, you’re not there. He starts to panic, thinking maybe he’d been too much, maybe he’d shown you a side of himself he shouldn’t have, that maybe you left.
But you return to his room just as he’s about to start looking for you. There’s a thermometer in your hand.
“Morning, sleepy boy. Are you coherent enough for me to check your temperature? Or no?”
He yanks the covers off of himself, and his shirt has ridden up. You catch a sliver of tummy before he sits up fully, and you miss it the second it’s gone.
“Hit me, I can take it.”
You roll your eyes but stick the thermometer under his tongue when he opens his mouth. When you pull it away, you’re happy to see he hasn’t got a fever. He was warm last night when you kissed his forehead, but you’re thinking it was from stress or just overheating.
“No fever. What’s buggin’ you today, Stevie?”
He flops onto his back, and his shirt rides up again. You mentally slap yourself for being so enamored by it. All your brain can compute is tummy. Steve’s tummy. “My head still, and my stomach. I feel like I haven’t slept in four years.”
His words snap you out of your reverie. “Four years? That’s incredible. When’s the last time you ate something?”
Steve stares at you for a moment, though it looks as if there isn’t a single thought behind his eyes. “Yesterday…morning. I think. Yeah, I had a banana.”
You stare back, rather appalled at his statement. “Steve.”
“Hm?”
“All you’ve had to eat in the past twenty four hours is a banana?”
“Yep.”
“Jesus christ. Get your ass up and come with me.”
Steve doesn’t move. Rather he watches you move, right out the door and towards the top of the stairs. You pause and turn around, crossing your arms.
He huffs. And then he slides down the side of the bed like a child before crawling up and following you to the kitchen.
Over the course of the next few hours, you manage to get Steve to eat, shower, and go for a short walk, weather permitting and all. He’s looking astronomically better than he did last night.
Steve sits opposite you on the couch, his socked feet in your lap. “What do you think my deal is?”
You rub your hand over his calf. “I think you just had a little bug. Or maybe you let yourself get too stressed out and your body couldn’t take it.”
He blinks. “Is that…that's not a thing? Is it?”
“When’s the last time you gave yourself a fuckin’ break, Steve? When you just took a day for yourself rather than worrying about who needs to go where, or if you’ll have to cover a shift? You have to take care of yourself, or this is the kind of shit that happens.”
“Being overwhelmed about your parents, not eating, worrying about that application, all of that is fucking with you. That headache was probably a stress headache. They’re killer. I want you to be healthy and comfortable, Steve.”
You exhale, and close your eyes. When you open them, Steve has sat up, scooting towards you on your end of the couch.
He might still be tired, but he can’t believe this. He can’t believe you. No one has ever worried for him in this way.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.
He barely even registers your words, too busy memorizing every line on your face. You look so fucking beautiful. It almost makes him angry.
“I’m thinkin’ about how bad I want to kiss you.”
Your face starts to burn. You shove his shoulder. He looks at the place where you’d pushed, quirking a brow, but grinning nonetheless.
“What?”
“Steve, you can’t say shit like that.”
“How come?”
“Because we’re friends.”
“Best friends.”
“Well yeah, but best friends don’t say that to one another.”
His grin widens. He looks more awake than he has this entire time.
“Oh, but you haven’t said it.”
You blink. “Huh?”
Steve gets his voice up that little bit higher, doing a cheap imitation of you. “‘Best friends don’t say that to one another.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but that implies you want a kiss too, doesn’t it?”
You drag your hands down your face and flop back against the arm of the couch.
“So you gonna say it, or what?” He’s shifted, and you can feel him hovering over you, but you refuse to move your hands.
“Of course I’m thinking about kissing you, Steve.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes, locking with his own. “But you’ve got cooties.”
Steve rolls his eyes before he backs up and yanks on your ankle so that you’re flat against the couch.
“You did not just lecture me about self-care just to tell me I have cooties. I didn’t even have a fever.”
“I didn’t even have a fever,” you mock, lowering your voice in what is quite possibly the worst impression of him you could do.
He’s quick about it. Almost stealthy, not that you’d ever boost his ego by telling him so. But his fingers are reaching for your sides, the tips dancing over your shirt, that tiny sliver of hip showing where it’s ridden up.
Steve is practically drunk off of your laugh. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and when he goes for your neck, when you tilt your head and trap his fingers between your cheek and shoulder, he thinks he could die.
You and your laugh. The fact that you drove over at one in the fucking morning, without even thinking about it, just because you care. That you stayed the night, listened to his pitiful thoughts, took care of him…it’s too much.
Never in his life did he think he’d find someone like you. Someone who makes him feel like he matters. You’d made him realize how smart he is, how capable. That he could do things for himself and not just to please his dickhead father.
You have made him whole.
He lets up when you start breathing extra heavily, only to tickle the underside of your foot before he quits, just to piss you off. You kick him in the side.
“I think a kiss from my very favorite person might be the best form of self-care there is, honey.”
You sit up. “Wow. King Steve really never died.” He raises his hands like he might tickle you again, but you catch them before he can do any damage. “Okay, sorry!”
Before he can register it, you’ve leaned in and pressed your lips to his. When he does realize, he lets out a surprised hum, and you can feel that smartass smirk forming on his face.
When you pull away, he whines.
“All better?”
Steve falls back against the couch, pulling you with him just to get that laugh out of you again.
“I’m healed.”
————
please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33
#savannah’s fics#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x female reader#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington sick fic#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington fluff
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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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Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.
Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington
‖ summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.
‖ tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.
‖ word count: 2.1k
The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.
A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.
So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.
No such luck.
You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”
“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”
Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.
Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.
Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–
“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.
“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”
“I… I’ve been sick.”
“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.
Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”
“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”
“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”
“No!”
Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”
While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”
There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.
If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–
“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”
“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.
“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”
The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.
Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.
This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–
As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness.
Because they pity you.
“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.
“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”
Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”
“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”
Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”
“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.
“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.
“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. “Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”
Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”
A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”
“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”
“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”
“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.
“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.
What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–
“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”
“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.
But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.
“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”
“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”
You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”
Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”
Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them. “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”
I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–
“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”
You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”
Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.
Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–
Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.
“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”
A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.
“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”
“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”
You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.
Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”
-
now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day
four walls closing in from months spent inside them
there is too much grief packed into this small place
packed into this bed with unchanged sheets
packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken
and no one has ever been here
not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs
they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space
-
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thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.
#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington fluff#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson comfort#eddie munson fluff#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#steddie x you#steddie x reader#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#myos ideas#myo4munson#myo4harrington
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more than friends - a steve harrington imagine
summary: a real fluffy imagine after writing angst for the past few, best friends turns to lovers. Reader is teased about their close relationship with Steve by a jocky asshole, so Steve decides to do something about his feelings. both are obviously pining for each other but just don’t know how to do something about it!!
word count: 3.3k
warnings: really cringe asshole male talk about female character (inappropriate sexual remarks) & swearing.
thanks @urfriendlywriter for the friends to lovers confession prompt!!! <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Alrighty class, notes for the biological study are on the blackboard, you have the full hour to complete this. I expect everyone to have the practical experiment done, and their write up started by the bell. Am I clear with that?” Mrs Peters stands with her hands on top of her blooming belly, slightly leaning against the desk with her hip.
The class grumble a response and Mrs Peters smiles, nodding. “I’ll float until my ankles hurt,” She starts, hinting to her swollen pregnancy ankles and gets a murmur of laughter in response, “Off you go!”
The equipment is already lain out for you and your lab partner, Brad. He stands awfully close to you as you sort through the different brightly coloured flowers scattering your table. You have a feeling you’ll end up doing all the work, with Brad copying everything down in the last ten minutes.
“Jheez.” Brad whistles under his breath as the class volume raises to the sound of students discussing their impending flower dissections. “Wonder who the lucky bastard is that gets a ride on her.” You turn to face him, your insides screaming with utter disgust, he motions his head to Mrs Peters and slides his eyebrows up and down.
“You’re disgusting.” You say to the white peony that you’ve set out for your first dissection. Brad hears, and just laughs to you. He takes that as a joke, as a compliment, and it disgusts you even more. “Can you start to take the petals off those,” your eyes flit to the five other flowers laid out in a neat, colourful row, “and make notes on their type of pollination?” A tinge of annoyance already lacing your voice.
“Their type’ah what now?” He sits picking the petals off roughly, not following any of Mrs Peters prior instructions, and that fills you with rage. As someone who excels in school and wants to do well, your lab partner pairing feels like someone, somewhere, wants to torture you. You realise that it’s going to be easier, and less painful, if you just do it. Just crack on with the lab practical and let Brad sit there and sniff the pretty petals. “Can you get high on this stuff?” He says, his nose dotted with a tiny bit of pollen from where he dug it into the centre of the flower.
You widen your eyes and nod enthusiastically, “High as a kite.” You confirm, sarcastically, and his eyes glow back at you. Jesus...
Time passes and you’re in your element, investigating stigmas and anthers up close under the microscope, adding to your quick diagrams of each part with brief, but helpful, notes. Ones that Brad will no doubt copy from in due course. He’s sitting, like an impatient child, folding and tearing the petals he picked off earlier. The only time he’s made an effort so far is when Mrs Peters made her rounds and he came to stand by you and ‘make notes’ on your observations, only to sit back down again and scribble in the margin of his notebook when she slunk back away.
“Harrington shown you a good time yet, huh?” Brad’s voice breaks the silence between the two of you and your cheeks flush a deep red as you squint through the lens of the microscope. A thick glob of saliva forms under your tongue which you swiftly swallow back. “Come on, we’re in biology... can we not discuss things like that?”
You lift your head from the lens and look at him. His face is expectant, expectant of your response, hoping for a bite back, and he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. Your cheeks are still firing up, your vision goes slightly blurry for a short while as white-hot anger burns up inside you. After glaring at him for some time, you return to your position at the microscope.
Before you could realise, he’s bumping your arm with his and leaning down to speak to you, not even the beautifully intricate flower beneath you is giving you any sanity. “If he’s too much of a pussy to do it, let me show you what a good time is really like.” He’s so close you can feel his breath warm your ear and send shivers down your spine, feeling like it’s hitting every vertebrate on the way down.
“Steve and I are just friends.” The more uninterested you seem, the more likely he is to give up on his pursuit and just shut the fuck up. Or so you’re hoping.
He scoffs, “Pfft.” His tongue creeps from his mouth and licks his bottom lip, “Friends with benefits? C’mon. I ain’t stupid.” He goes quiet then you feel a soft tickle forming down your spine, Brad’s finger. Then, his breath back in your ear, “Bet he doesn’t know your sweet spots.”
You shoot back from Brad, holding your hands up, like you’ve been scolded with a hot iron, “Okay. That’s it.” You charge from your station down to the front where Mrs Peters sits, grading papers. “Mrs Peters.” You say, quietly now that you’re down here, not wanting anyone to hear your conversation. In your hands, your fingers tremble slightly with the adrenaline of the conversation you just had. “I would like to request a change of lab partner.” Your voice comes out strong and confident but your face paints a different picture. “Please.”
Mrs Peters looks behind you, at your now half empty desk, and to Brad who sits and moves stems and petals around the table into a phallic shape. He grabs the attention of the pair in front, who seem displeased at the childish distraction. She raises her brows in his direction, when he meets her glare, his cheeks flush a light pink, and he rearranges the flowers into the muddle they were before.
“Say no more, sweet pea.” She says with an exasperated sigh, shuffling papers to pull out her seating plan. You look over as she pulls a pencil from her pot and pats her lip with the eraser. “Eleanor’s in need of a partner.” She says, tracing over the spare seat on her plan, “That sound good?” Mrs Peter’s kind eyes meet your own and she offers you a sincere smile.
“That would be great.” Your heart leaps with relief.
“Finish up there for today, you can move on Monday. He can stay with me.” As you make your way back to your desk, Mrs Peters calls out from hers. “Brad Norton.” The class falls silent, her usual sing-song voice has turned cold, stern. “I don’t recall asking you to make penises with your pretty little flowers. You can stay and do your lab work, tho-rough-ly,” she sounds out each syllable in the word, the veins in her neck protruding with distaste at her student, “with me in detention.”
The classroom remains quiet as you find your seat and complete your notes. “Bitch.” Is muttered venomously from next to you and you’re unsure if it’s directed at you or Mrs Peters, but you’re past caring.
✦ ✦ ✦
On Friday nights, you and Steve like to walk from school to the diner which flickers welcomingly in the dark winter light as you approach. As usual, you take to your table which is located in the corner of the diner. It is cosy. You love coming here, especially with Steve. It’s a time that you can spend together, just the two of you, have a burger, have a milkshake, and just catch up on the week. You adore your Friday nights with Steve.
Now, you’re leaning against the comfy backing of the squishy diner chair, the fabric crinkling awkwardly as you get yourself comfortable. You’ve both cleared your plates, smears of ketchup and dustings of salt lie in remnant of what was two full plates of burgers and fries. Gluttonously, as your stomach feels heavy with the greasy food that you adore, you continue to gulp your milkshake.
“I heard Brad Norton got a detention today in bio.” Steve finishes dragging his last fry through a dreg of ketchup before placing it into his mouth, laughing at the new conversation topic. You simply roll your eyes and let the milkshake freeze your back teeth before swallowing.
“He’s an asshole.” You retort, swirling your straw around in the thick, creamy drink. Your eyes stay fixed on the pink substance in your glass, watching the small particles of ice slowly melt the more you stir. “I’ve switched partners, finally. I asked Mrs Peters to move.”
“Really?”
You nod, your brows furrowing. “Uh, yeah. I don’t fancy sitting and getting creepy back strokes from him for the rest of the year.”
Steve sits back against the seat, “He did what?” A surge of jealousy, and anger flits through him and you can see it flash across his eyes, a change so subtle you feel proud you noticed. He knows that would’ve made you uncomfortable and he knows where Brad usually goes on a Friday night, he runs over the possibility of going there and beating the shit out of him, but quickly decides that would be a terrible idea. “Is that what he got his detention for? Being a creep?”
You laugh slightly, “Close.” You take another gulp of milkshake. “He was making dicks out of the flowers.” You realise you’re talking to your milkshake and not to Steve, he’s noticed too and realises there’s more to this story than you’re letting on. He knows you too well.
“You sure that’s all he did?” He knows not to push things with you, but the feeling is bubbling up inside of him.
You toy with the idea for a moment. Tell Steve, let Steve get angry and potentially make your favourite night of the week awkward? Or, don’t tell Steve, enjoy each other’s company and go from there?
You’ve both been close to sharing your feelings with each other on multiple occasions, sat in this very booth. The diner must have an aura that allows you to become content with your feelings with one another, almost becoming more than friends. The diner is where you’ve shared feelings, ranted about shitty weeks, shitty dates; cried into milkshakes over the clear downfall of Hawkins. But it’s also where you’ve brushed hands as you reach for napkins, letting your fingertips linger a little longer than is necessary. It’s where you’ve held eye contact as you talk about things that interest you, the other listening with intent adoration. His eyes glisten as he listens to you discuss another biological theory that you love talking about with him, his lips curling as he listens intently and marvels at your passion and drive for science. You return the active listening as he discusses the trips to the Upside Down, watch little pieces of him break apart as he cracks open his memories of things he tries so hard to supress, but keep creeping back into his consciousness.
So, with all that in mind, you decide to tell him. “He quizzed me on whether you show me a good time.” You blurt out, placing your milkshake down and folding your arms onto the table. “said he would show me a good time, said he knew my sweet spots. Basically, he spent the lesson trying to get into my pants.”
His face is a picture of disgust, his eyebrows furrowing so deep you think they’ll knit together. “I promise you; he is one of a kind.” He holds his hands up in defence, “We are not all sex crazed lunatics who like making people feel uncomfortable.” His features soften and he looks over to you, taking in your features as he likes to here. They look softer in the glow of the luminous light that hangs above their window, the streetlights casting a yellow tinge into the corner where you sit tucked away. “I’m sorry he made you feel like that.” His voice is sincere.
You shake it off with a whip of a hand, “Shall we get out of here?”
He nods, leaving the money on the table. “Come back to mine? We can watch a movie.”
As you stand to straighten yourself up, you smile back at him warmly, nodding gently at his offer.
✦ ✦ ✦
Warm waves of air circulate out of the heater placed by your feet as you sit in Steve’s basement on the couch, watching a new film Steve rented out. You haven’t really been paying attention, you’ve been more interested in gradually moving your limbs inch by inch closer to Steve’s, your breath hitching as you feel him doing the same. Soon enough, you’re sat with your arms pressed against one another and your leg is resting comfortably against his.
“Can’t stop thinking about what that asshole said to you.” His voice sounds weird after not talking for so long, the only sound being the grumbling heater and the soundtrack of the film playing out in front of you.
You rub his arm gently, sighing, “Stop thinking about it Steve, he’s not worth it.”
“No, I know.” He’s quiet for a while again, the flickers of vibrant colours on the screen lighting up his features and your eyes travel around them all. He feels your eyes on him and leans to pause the TV, the sudden cut of sound making the room feel too quiet. Your breathing slows, waiting for him to start the conversation again. Sheepishly, you slowly pull your hand from his arm, suddenly feeling awkward having left it there for so long. He turns his body so he’s facing you and you scoot back a touch, propping your arm up on the back of the couch and leaning your head against your palm.
“Penny for your thoughts?” You probe delicately, you can tell he has something whirlpooling in his mind.
He shakes his head, smiling coyly. “Just thinking.”
“About...” Your hands tumble over one another, hinting for him to go on.
“You.” His bluntness makes your stomach squeeze tight, as if you’ve just dropped from one of those free-fall rides at the amusement park. His face remains unchanged, his eyes studying yours. “Thinking about you.”
Slowly, you take a deep breath in. Unaware you were holding it in the first place. “Why me?” Annoyingly, your voice comes out as quiet as the hum of the heater, almost inaudible to someone who wasn’t trained in on the conversation. Suddenly the room feels warm, and you realise this could be the time to have the conversation you’ve been longing to have.
“’Cause I think about you all the time.”
You’d hoped all this time that he does just that.
And he does, he thinks of you when you aren’t there, when he’s lonely, when he feels sad, when he lies awake at night wishing he could turn over and feel the warmth of your skin against this. Wishing he could spend the night with you in a blur of heavy breathing, lustful kisses and soft moans. Wishing he could tell you how much you mean to him afterwards, holding you close whilst you both catch your breath and settle into the sheets in a dream-like state. He’s realising now how close he is to having all of this. To having you. If you want him, that is.
“I know you feel what I feel.” His voice is low and his hand travels to rest just in between the two of you, like he wanted to commit to holding you but got scared half-way and changed his mind.
A speckle of heat rests on your cheeks. “What is it that you feel?” Again, your voice is quiet, and you feel the pulse thick and fast, the heat rising up your neck from your chest.
He clears his throat. “I know we both enjoy the time we spend together, as friends. But I don’t wanna be just friends anymore.” Silence settles over the pair of you, but you know that he’s not done yet, so you wait patiently for him to continue. “You make me feel so comfortable and you always know how to cheer me up, when to give me space, when to distract me from whatever’s going on...”
Hairs on the back of your neck prickle as the tingling sensation of adrenaline courses through your body. He continues, “I hate the fact that even assholes like Brad know there is something between us.” He sighs softly but carries on, “The fact that we haven’t even done as much as discussed how we feel, yet he’s happy to make degrading sexual comments to you about us.”
You nod along in agreement. “I know.” Suddenly, your whole body feels drawn to him and you slide back along the couch, shuffling down into his side and placing your head in the crook of his neck, resting your arm over his stomach. This feels right, you think to yourself happily. “I love spending time with you, too. I have loved growing close to you these past few months and I-”
He lets his arm fall around your shoulders and he cuts you off, “Wait.” He insists as you feel his other hand come to rest gently against your neck, his thumb resting lightly against your jaw. “Look at me when you say it.” With his hand still resting on your neck, he gradually guides your face up so that it’s inches away from his own. His eyes travelling lazily over your features he’s grown to know so well before locking in with your own.
Inside your chest, your heart is hammering wildly. Never have you been this close. Never this intimate. “I want to be with you, Steve.” You quietly admit, although it’s not much of a shocker. A smile forms on his lips, which have now moved ever so close to your own. Impatient and running on adrenaline, you close the gap between the pair of you and bring your lips together. His hand stays firmly on your neck, his fingertips gradually gripping the hair at the nape of your neck as your fist grasps his t-shirt as the kiss intensifies.
The months of longing are finally coming to a head here and now as you are both desperate for each other. Not just in a sexual longing, but an emotional and physical intimacy longing, too. You can feel yourself getting lulled further into the kiss as his tongue searches for your own.
After a few moments have passed, you both pull away gently, chests slightly heaving as you both work to catch some of your breath back. You rest your forehead against his and brush your nose past his, moving back to give him a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “What do you say then?” You can see the happiness radiating across his face, the creases by his eyes and the soft pink glow gives it all away. His thumb traces across your cheek, “You wanna give us a shot?” He says.
Nodding, you reflect the same happiness glow that Steven is portraying. “I wanna give us the best shot.”
Satisfied, he takes his hand back from your face and you feel how hot your cheek has been under his touch. He holds you close to him as he reaches back down to play the movie. A couple minutes later, he clears his throat. “And, if ‘Brad’” He uses air-quotes around his name, “Or any of his asshole friends wanna make any comments to you again, I’ll drop those motherfuckers.” He point blank says as his eyes follow along with the scene playing out in the movie before you.
The sudden threat from Steve brings a laugh out from you and it fills the room. Your shoulders shake as your laugh intensifies; he gestures his hands towards the TV. “Hey, do you mind keeping it down? Trying to watch a movie here.” He tuts and shakes his head playfully before resting it on top of your own, tracing his fingertips over your arm so that tiny goosebumps raise on your skin. A couple of minutes later, you find your breathing rising and falling at the same time as Steve’s, your eyes fall softly closed as you’re lulled into a light sleep, cocooned under the blankets and Steve’s arms.
#masterlist#stranger things prompts#stranger things preferences#stranger things imagine#stranger things imagines#stranger things blurbs#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x fem reader#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfic
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steve is the best with you. always. he always makes sure that you feel comfortable around his big gang of friends, even though they all love you, sometimes is a little overwhelming. so you swiftly excuse yourself to steves room, lying on the bed with your shoes off. curling into a ball with his duvet. it smells like him, like it should. a soft hint of baby soap (the regulars are too harsh on his skin) and musky vanilla. you smile clutching the duvet. steve is downstairs laughing about something eddie said. you love when he is happy and careless, drinking beer and making you cute vodka cocktails. with a silly smile and entombed by his smell, you fall asleep. steve comes to check on you a while later, to see if you want something or company or nothing. when he spots you on his bed, steve melts. he gently puts a pillow under your head, with a small hum of protest from you. he takes his shoes off, his sweater and belt too, before molding his body against yours, pulling on another blanket for him. is automatic, the way you turn to face him, rubbing your cheeks on his chest, sighing softly. he kisses your forehead and you finish wrapping yourself on him. steve chuckles lightly, trying to tilt your chin so he can kiss you. frowning, you keep you head tucked against his chest, always a little stubborn. steve smiles and end up leaving a crown of kisses on your hair, before he too falls asleep with a silly smile and entombed by your arms.
#steve harrington#joe keery#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x you#steve harrington blurb#cerise writing#heart eyes for this man that aint real#stevie-blurb#stevie blurb#cerise writings
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✮⋆｡°✩⋆˙ a christmas miracle
a 'when i kissed the teacher' spinoff.
summary: you and steve were in a weird situation. you weren't actively trying to get pregnant, but you weren't exactly being safe either. so, how will steve react when he opens his final christmas present?
warnings: dad!steve. mom!reader. fem!reader. afab!reader. 90s!au. mentions and allusions to sex. mentions of pregnancy. pet names. kissing. tons of crying. alena being too young to understand pregnancy (kinda cute tho). alena being a cutie pie as always. some worries over steve's reaction. but mostly fluff and comfort!! [1.9k].
author's note: hi everyone!! i am back!! my first semester of uni is finally over, so i can get back to fic writing a little more! i couldn't neglect my happy family like this, so i've tackled a pregnancy fic! i've never been pregnant, but i do wish to be in my life, so all of my research has been for my own benefit and utilised in this fic. if i'm inaccurate in any parts, please let me know for the benefit of the readers and myself!! ♡
It was hard not announcing the news to Steve. Having to attend your first scan without him was heartbreaking, but the look upon the nurse’s face after you told her you were going to wrap up the ultrasound photo, along with a card saying “Merry Christmas Daddy” and a pair of small, cream, woolen socks, just confirmed your decision was the right one.
You and Steve were in a sort of weird situation. You had stopped using protection, but weren’t in a position were you were actively trying to get pregnant. You agreed that any time from now was an okay time for the two of you to have a child, but also weren’t bothered if the pregnancy tests came back negative.
But, a little Christmas miracle decided to form inside of you, the test showing two lines on December 11th, 1999.
Steve and Alena had gone grocery shopping for an hour, the perfect opportunity for you to wrap Steve’s gift.
Rolling out the wrapping paper, you placed a grey, fluffy blanket in the centre, before laying on top the Christmas card which read:
Hi Daddy.
I’m six weeks old today!
I can’t wait to meet you soon! I’m planning to enter the world on August 20th, 2000.
My mom is keeping me very safe right now as I grow, but I’ll still be listening out for you from inside my home.
See you in nine months.
Love, your future child <3
And as you were about to place the ultrasound photo next to the cream baby socks you previous put underneath the card, your eyes started welling with tears once more.
Was it the hormones? Maybe. But, something in you felt this was all natural. You were growing a human life inside of you, one that has half of your DNA and the other half the love of your life’s. That was something to bask in the intense emotion of.
With everything laid out neatly, you reached over for the sellotape, folding over the edges and carefully sticking them in place.
Wrapping the gift in a pretty cream bow, matching the socks inside, and adding a label reading “To my darling Stevie,” you added it to the pile of increasing gifts in the corner of yours and Steve’s bedroom.
Now, just a week to go until he gets his surprise.
You cradle your stomach, despite the size not increasing at all yet, and whisper to your unborn child “A week and he’ll know, my love. Your beautiful existence will be known.”
“Mom! Dad! Wake up! Wake up!”
You are awoken by the sound of your bouncing ten-year-old, aggressively rocking your fiancé as he groans loudly, his eyes adjusting to the light peaking through the window.
“Mornin’ pumpkin,” he murmurs, you opening up one eye as Alena’s full set of brand-new adult teeth smile right at you.
“And what are you doing up so early, missy?” you ask, the clock on the bedside table next to Steve shining a bright 6:00 in the morning, illuminating the room in a red glow.
“Mom” she drags out, rolling her eyes playfully, “You know what day it is!”
You tap your chin lightly, playing along with the joke, “Hmm… I feel as if I may need a reminder.”
“It’s Christmas Mom! And I may or may not have seen all the presents you left underneath the tree…” her vocal pitch increases, looking away in a guilty look as Steve reaches up and pulls her down into his body, the girl screaming as he ruffles her hair.
“Did someone be naughty and peak underneath the tree?” he grits through his teeth, Alena shouting in a reply, “I didn’t mean to, I promise! I saw it on the way to your room!”
You begin to tickle her sides as Steve holds her in place against his chest, making the girl scream in delight loudly, “Is someone now on Santa’s naughty list?”
“Mom…” she pouts her lips, a grumpy expression adorning her face as you sigh sadly, “I know sweet cheeks, you don’t believe in him anymore.”
“I’m sorry…”
You hold out your arms as you wrap her in a warm hug, “Don’t be sorry, baby. I knew you would realise eventually. You’re getting too old!”
She gasps and looks into your eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, “I am not old! You and Dad are old.”
You start giggling in shock as Steve just opens his mouth wide, “You better watch yourself, pumpkin.”
“Yeah,” you hold up a finger in warning, before pointing it over to Steve, “Dad doesn’t like being reminded he’s in his mid-thirties.”
And now it is Steve’s turn to attack you, but instead with aggressive kisses, littering them up your neck and across your face lightly, Alena now old enough to understand the playful love between the two of you. “You’re almost thirty as well, you know.”
“Two more years to go, babe. I’m still in my prime development decade,” you smirk at him.
And it wasn’t just you who was developing.
A loud gasp can be heard along with the shredding of paper as Alena holds up her latest gift, “You actually got me it?”
For such a small gadget, the Barbie Digital Camera cost you $70, the most expensive gift yet, but maybe not the one which will cause the biggest reaction.
“Of course I did! It’s the one thing you kept pointing at in the magazine!”
She giggles with a bright smile, “Thank you! Thank you!”
She launches herself at you, the motherly instinct in you clutching onto your stomach to protect your unborn child, hoping Steve didn’t notice the movement. The surprise would be known in the next half an hour.
“And after you’ve taken your photos, we can connect it to Dad’s computer and see it come to life! How cool is that?”
“Can I take it to school?” she asks, clutching the box in her hands.
“I assume you can! But, just ask Mrs. Critchley before you take it in, okay?”
“Okay!” she smiles, plopping herself back down on the carpet to open the rest of her gifts.
Your hands began to sweat. Alena was all done opening her presents, patiently waiting for you and Steve to unwrap yours.
Steve let you attend to your gifts first. Everything from a brand-new necklace designed with a rose quartz, matching your engagement ring, to the latest Nokia phone, you were thankful for everything he had bought you, praising him with many gentle kisses and warm hugs.
Now, it was Steve’s turn. You specifically told him to leave one present until last, leading him to give you an eyebrow raise and a shrug before simply agreeing, used to your weirdness by now. You got him everything from a new cologne to a new pair of Nike shoes, the soles of his old pair wearing thin from how much he was working over the Christmas holidays.
But, after one final kiss, it was finally time.
“Can I open this now?” Steve jokes, the nerves deeply settling in your stomach. You don’t even know why you were worried, you had stopped using protection in mutual agreement, knowing kids could be a possibility from that result. There was just a voice in your head trying to convince you an awful reaction would occur.
“Uh, yeah… Yeah, you can.”
“Hey,” he puts an arm on your shoulder, “Why are you so nervous?”
You lightly chuckle, “You’ll find out once you open the gift.”
Even after all of these years, Steve still wasn’t the smartest. Verbal cues were not his strong suit, but my God could he read body language like a champ.
He gives you a confused look before unwrapping the cream-coloured bow, delicately tearing apart the paper as his eyes immediately notice the ultrasound scan.
He may be oblivious, but he isn’t that oblivious. He has one very similar in his bedside table drawer of his sweet ten-year-old daughter sat next to him.
The tears form at his eyes before he can even recognise them. Small sniffles enter the atmosphere as his hazel eyes make contact with you, “Are you serious?”
And the tears follow suit for you, nodding frantically as he leans across the floor to collect you in his arms, crying into your shoulder.
“How far along?” he mumbles into your shoulder, tears dripping onto the red fabric of your dress.
“Read the card and you’ll find out.”
Steve was too drawn into the ultrasound scan to even notice the card you had gotten him. Releasing from the hug, he keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back, picking up the card and carefully opening it, reading the words you had written, the tears increasing as he noticed it was from the perspective of his baby.
“Wha— How? When did you get this done?” he stutters out, still in complete shock of the entire moment.
“Pregnancy test has been in the bathroom trash can for two weeks. I was scared you were going to notice it for a while, but then I remembered it’s you, and you don’t notice anything,” you giggle, Steve not even bothered by the joking insult, too caught up in his own emotions, “And two Thursday’s ago, I didn’t go to work. Went to the hospital and got the scan, and just hung around Starcourt until the time I would normally come home.”
“Well, you fooled me,” he chuckles, leaning in for a kiss which you gladly accept, cupping his cheeks as you smile into it.
“I love you so much, beautiful girl. And I love the baby who is growing inside of you. You’re so strong. Your body is so strong. I just— I can’t wait. I can’t wait to meet them.”
His hand had migrated down to your stomach, gently cradling the unborn child inside of you.
Alena had finally looked up from her Etch-a-Sketch, noticing the tears falling down both yours and Steve’s cheeks, your hands holding tightly onto each side of his head as your foreheads were leant against each other, kneeling on the soft carpet of the living room.
“Mom? Dad? Why are you crying?”
Steve turns around to face his daughter, you looking softly into her eyes, “Because Mom is having a baby, sweetie.”
Steve passes her the ultrasound scan, her face scrunching up in confusion as she points at it, “Why is it just a black blob?”
Steve begins laughing as his head falls onto your shoulder, sweetly rubbing up and down the sides of your waist.
“Because when a baby is first made, it starts out as a black blob and then grows into the full size baby we all know and love,” you explain gently to her.
“Hmm…” she takes in, before asking her next question, “But how did it get there?”
Your eyes widen as Steve’s hands stop on your waist, refusing to lift his head and look at his daughter.
You smile through the awkwardness, remembering that her sex education lessons would start in a matter of months, “You’ll find out soon, baby.”
thank you ever so much for reading!! do you guys want any more pregnancy related fics? i really want to do some research into post-partum for myself, so do you want me to skip straight to that, or tackle other things like morning sickness, gender reveal, baby shower, stuff like that? feel free to let me know!! ♡
taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 @frostandflamesfanfic @tlclick73 @steveshairspray @superlegend216
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#dad!steve harrington#dad!steve harrington x mom!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x afab!reader#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington series#stranger things#eds6ngel
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steve harrington x fem!reader ; fluff/comfort(?)
tw: mentions of food, reader doesn’t want to eat and is struggling a bit with self image, bad writing (sorry), pretty self indulgent
“you have to eat something, honey,” he insists.
“i’m not hungry steve,” you insist back.
steve noticed how you’ve been reluctant to eat lately. at first it was you turning down snacks he’d offer, then you started eating a meal a day.
today though, you haven’t had anything to eat and it was already nighttime. to say he was worried was definitely an understatement.
“babe, you haven’t eaten anything all day! that’s not good for you, you know that,” you try to not roll your eyes, but aren’t very successful. “look, if you at least eat a toast i’ll leave you alone, i promise.”
“steve, i’m not hungry. i’m not not eating because i don’t want to, i’m just not hungry,” tears well up in your eyes. you weren’t lying, not entirely anyway.
you’d looked in the mirror the other day and weren’t that pleased with your body, which made your appetite vanish. you’d tried to eat something for your own good, but the thought of food made you feel uneasy, guilty even. and the fact that you’d been having a lot of snacks and food the past week didn’t make it any easier. it was like your own body was punishing you for eating so much to the point of forbidding you to have some food.
a heavy sigh escapes his lips, followed by his hand pushing his hair back. steve leans over the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “i’m not letting you go to sleep without eating something first.”
“stevie-“
“y/n, please. just a toast, okay? so i can feel at peace knowing you have something in your system. what do you say?” and he has the audacity of using those stupid puppy eyes to convince you. what an asshole.
a good thirty seconds pass when you finally cave in. “i hate you,” and that smile, god, it makes you want to eat all of the toasts in the whole fucking galaxy if it means seeing him grin like that for the rest of your life.
“and i love you. i’ll even put on lots of that butter you like, baby. just sit there and let me be your cook for the night, yeah?” he kisses your head and starts working on your little meal. you watch him move around the kitchen, his arm flexing when he reaches up to the cabinet for a plate, his tongue sticking out when he spreads the butter on the toast; it makes you feel loved and cared for. “here you go. one golden, buttery toast for the prettiest girl in the whole world,” the boy smiles, pearly whites in full display for you.
“i’m still mad at you,” it was a lie, both of you are fully aware of it.
“i can handle that. now eat,” after staring at it, you finally take a bite of the toasted bread in front of you. the taste of melted butter makes you feel better instantly. you practically inhale the toast without noticing. it definitely wakes up your appetite. “good job, baby.”
“oh god, im so hungry now,” you say with a whine.
“well, you’re in luck because your favorite chef in the whole world will be very happy to feed you,” and he does. he prepares something small. not much to not scare you, but enough to feed you properly. you eat his food with content hums here and there and he watches you with satisfaction. “you know, you shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to eat. it’s your body trying to keep you alive,” he comments once you’ve finished your food, pushing a hair strand behind your ear.
“i know… i just- i feel gross about it sometimes, having to eat. i know i shouldn’t feel guilty, but i can’t help it,” steve, the sweetheart he is, pulls you to his chest and leaves a kiss at the top of your head.
“i know, honey. i’m sorry,” he starts swaying side to side, your ear right by his heart. his heartbeat calms yours. “it makes me really sad to see you struggle with that, but i will always be here to remind you that it’s completely normal and okay to feel hungry and eat. maybe eating together can help. i love watching you eat” you look up at him; he looks down at you, both melting at the love in each others’ gaze.
“you’re really weird, but i really love you, you know?”
“mhmm, i love you more”.
a/n: i get a lot of these little episodes and my best friend is the one who reminds me it’s just my body doing its job and that i shouldn’t feel guilty for being hungry or eating. i know it’s not easy dealing with it, but if you go through this too and ever need someone to talk to, i’m here for you<3 remember you’re perfect just the way you are!
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x you#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington fic#stranger things blurb#stevie harrington#steve harrington being the best boyfriend ever#yuni writes#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington comfort
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Booksmart | Steve Harrington
Summary: Steve Harrington’s head may be full of air, but his heart is full of love. [4.4k]
Fluff, comfort, slight angst, insecure Steve
♡
Steve Harrington isn’t a genius. He barely passed his classes in high school, couldn’t get into college, and can barely keep his minimum wage job. He’s been belittled by his parents too many times to care about their opinion and he knows compared to his friends he isn’t as clever or witty, but he’s okay with it - at least he thinks he is. It might sting when Robin and Eddie tease him for being too slow or when Dustin sighs in frustration because he can’t keep up, but the ache dissipates when they look at him in adoration.
He blames his failing love life on his lack of intelligence. Although girls find his himbo-ness endearing, his relationships never last long. Most of the dates he goes on end up as dirty hookups in the backseat of his car and on the off chance a girl stays longer than a month he can slowly see the irritation replace the endearment in her eyes. He was just something to do during the inbetween phase of graduation and moving out of Hawkins, a trophy to conquer - to finally have slept with the previously known King. He used to be okay with that at the beginning, he got his needs met while girls crossed him off their list, but over time he craved more. He saw how Nancy looked at Jonathan, how Joyce laughed with Hopper, and how Robin blushed around Vickie. He was desperate for that feeling of being wanted and loved.
Even though he's surrounded by people who love and accept him as he is, he can't help but wonder if things would’ve been different if he was just a little smarter.
_
“Robin I’m telling you she started speaking a different language halfway through dinner,” Steve grumbles as he’s shelving the horror section.
Robin rolls her eyes at him, “Just because you don’t understand the words she’s using doesn’t mean she was speaking a different language, Steven. I don’t even think she knows anything but English.
Steve sighs under his breath.
He had gone on another date last night, but didn’t even make it past the appetizers before he made up an emergency and left. The night started off great, the Indiana summer evening had a cool breeze, he opened the door for her, and was rewarded with a kiss on his cheek when he presented her with flowers. Valerie had been nice, beautiful, and smart - maybe a little too smart for Steve. Don’t get him wrong, Steve loves strong, smart, and capable women. He loved hearing Valerie speak about physics and graphing linear equations, he loved learning about what interested her, but as the night went on he could see the light in her eyes fading as he kept asking her questions. The final straw had been when he told her he hasn’t read a book since high school and she laughed lightly before saying “you really are only a pretty face.”
“Maybe, I’m just destined to be alone, or like a back up plan for girls who come back to Hawkins after giving up on their big city dreams.”
Robin sighs and gives him a reassuring pat, “Steve, you’re a good man. You’ll find your one, trust me on this.”
Before he can say more the bell jingles as a gust of hot air is let in. Steve groans as he spots Dustin’s mop of curly hair and hears the chatter of 6 other teens. He holds the door open with his arm as he sees Lucas struggling with Max’s wheelchair.
“You guys can’t keep coming in here, Robin and I actually have work to do you know.��
“We wanted to pick a movie for movie night,” Max says.
He sighs softly as he meets her eyes. Steve’s always had a soft spot for Max ever since they’ve met and it’s only gotten softer since then, everyone knows this, but the kids tend to take advantage of this and use Max to get their way.
“Alright two movies max and no rated r ones.”
As he hears the bell jingle again he starts his greeting in a monotone voice, “Welcome to Family Video, my name is St—” he chokes.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask softly.
He’s still coughing and panting slightly as he tries to give you a reassuring nod. Robin makes her way to the front to hand Steve some water and finish introductions.
“What he means to say is his name is Steve and I’m Robin. You can come get us if you have any questions.”
You nod politely, finally tearing your gaze away from Steve as you start browsing through the racks. Steve, however, can’t seem to stop looking at you. He’s seen a lot of beautiful women in his life, but none of them held a candle to you. Everything about you was just perfect to him and he didn’t even know you yet. His eyes repeatedly traced the slope of your nose, down to your plush lips, and back to your furrowed eyebrows as you read the back of a tape.
You lift your head up and he blushes as you make eye contact.
“Do you have any recommendations for sci-fi, I just moved to town and need something to keep me from getting bored?” you ask shyly.
“Err- We have a sci-fi section over there” Steve points to the rack behind him where the kids are gathered and quietly arguing over which movie to pick.
You speak as you make your way over, “Yeah, but do you have any recommendations for me? I feel like I’ve seen all the good ones already.”
Steve's face falls as he tries to come up with an answer.
“Have you seen Star Wars?” Dustin speaks up
Max and El groan loudly as you shake your head.
“I tend to stay away from franchises, but what’s it about?”
Before Dustin can answer, Mike beats him to it, “It’s about galactic adventures of these characters, it’s pretty cool.”
“We were planning on watching it tonight, we always have movie nights at Steve’s on Friday. You should join us!” Dustin exclaims as he tries to shoot Steve a sly wink.
Your eyes grow wide at the sudden invitation as Steve rests his head in his hands too embarrassed to speak.
“Is that alright with you, Steve?” You ask kindly.
Steve’s breath hitches as he hears you say his name, he slowly meets your gaze as he gives you a slight nod trying to avoid choking on air again.
Robin smirks at Steve as she hands you a post-it, “Here’s Steve’s address. Movie starts at 7 and bring as many snacks as you’d like!”
You grab the post-it and shoot everyone a small wave “I’ll see you guys then!”
Steve feels like he can finally breathe after he hears the soft slam of the door behind you.
_
“I can’t believe you would do that, just invite a stranger to my home like that,” Steve groans as he fixes his hair, again, in the hallway mirror. He glances down at his polo debating if he should change his shirt for the fourth time.
“Steve, she agreed to come while seeing you in a Family Video vest, I don’t think your outfit is what you should be worried about,” Jonathan teases him as he passes him a coke.
Steve shoots him a sarcastic smile before checking his watch. It’s 7:02, you should’ve shown up 2 minutes ago and he’s a nervous wreck. He sees your headlights before anyone else does and trips over Will’s backpack as he waits to open the door on the very first knock.
“Sorry I’m late, the petit fours took longer than expected.” You smile at him holding out a large container filled with small cakes.
He gives you a confused look too embarrassed to ask what petit fours are, so instead he takes the container and waves you in.
“What brings you to Hawkins?” Eddie asks.
“I actually came here for work, Hawkins laboratory needed another scientist to look at all the crazy stuff that’s happened here.”
Everyone basks in the uncomfortable silence as you mention the lab before Nancy speaks up, “You work as a scientist? You seem pretty young.”
You hesitate slightly, folding your hands in your lap, “I am young, but I graduated college at 16 and recently got my PhD and my advisor recommended me for this job, so here I am.”
Steve’s heart falls to his stomach, you were a genius, a child prodigy of some sort and you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age. There was no way you would even be slightly interested in him, but part of him was willing to take that risk - be okay with whatever you spared him because it was better than not having you in his life at all.
The movie is ignored as everyone pays more attention to you and your genius-ness. He hears voices all at once but all he can focus on is yours. The way your laugh ends in a higher pitch than it starts in, the way you softly reassure Nancy that college isn’t hard, but his favorite is when you say his name when you ask for his opinion on the theories the kids present to you. It makes him feel important like you care about what he has to say and you value his thoughts just as much as you would anyone else’s.
Steve might’ve only met you today, but he was already enamored. You might’ve knowingly opened the door only to Family Video, but you also unknowingly opened the door to his heart and started to fill every corner of it with you.
_
Steve doesn’t think he’s read this much in his entire existence as he has this month.
The first thing he did the morning after movie night was go to the library and check out as many books as he could about everything that sounded smart. He’s inhaled almost every book on poetry (specifically Shakespeare), astrophysics and European history. You’ve come to every movie night since the first one and you try your best to visit Family Video after work just to chat with Steve and Robin. He was slowly falling in love with you and he wasn’t going to let his dumb brain be the reason he lost you. He forcefully read every book from cover to cover, prying his eyes open with the memory of your impressed smile anytime he fell asleep. He’s made countless flashcards and pesters Robin to quiz them during their shift.
After two months of revising and memorizing he thinks he finally finds the courage to ask you out. You’re the last one to leave tonight, helping Steve clean up after everyone either left or claimed a spare room.
Steve’s hands are clammy as he ties the trash bag into a pretty bow, “I was wondering if… I mean you don’t have to… but umm, like if you wanted to go out. With me, I mean.”
Your eyes trace his face as you clench the empty red vines wrapper, “You mean like a date?”
Steve nods, unsure of your reaction. Part of him hopes you’ll say no and put him out of his misery, so he can finally stop learning, but a bigger part of him hopes you’ll give him a chance.
Your lips upturn in a shy smile as you fiddle your thumbs, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. What did you have in mind?”
“How about next Friday, we ditch the losers and have our movie night? I’ll pick you up at 7 and we can catch a movie?”
You respond with a quick kiss on his cheek as you grab your purse and head out. Steve rests his head on the back of the door as he pumps his fist in the air and tries his hardest to not wake Robin and Eddie with his cheering.
_
You’re nervous as you pace in front of your door. Steve makes you nervous, but you don’t hate the feeling. You’ve never felt this way about a boy before, boys always had a competition with you, a majority of your dates ended up with the two of you trying to up each other with accomplishments, but with Steve everything is different. Even though the facts he tells are wrong, it was still endearing to watch him try.
You’re broken out of your thoughts with a knock on your door. You smooth down your dress and look in the mirror once more before swinging the door open. Steve stands there in all his glory, hair perfectly done, snug jeans, and a bouquet of flowers covering his stupidly handsome face.
“These are for you,” he pushes the bouquet towards you with a surprise force that you have to step back to avoid them pressing into your nose.
“Thanks Steve, they’re beautiful.” You set them down gently at the nearby table mentally making a note to find a vase after you come back home.
He opens his car door for you, waiting until you’re settled in before jogging back to his side. “There’s a French movie playing tonight, I think it’s about Marie - Annette, you know the queen who liked cake?”
You giggle quietly but opt to ignore his mistake because he just looked too fucking cute with furrowed eyebrows and a nervous smile.
“And after the movie I was thinking we can stop by somewhere for a late night snack?”
You nod excitedly eager to finally spend time with him far away from the eyes of your prying friends, “I didn’t know you knew French?”
“Uh, yeah.”
The movie was… boring and bland. Steve didn’t understand anything happening so instead spent the entire time admiring you, the furrow of your eyebrows, the tilt of your head, and the gentle bite of your lip. He remembered you mentioning to Robin that you were fluent in French, so thought a foreign film would be a good idea for a first date, but now he regrets his choice especially since you spent the drive to the diner asking him questions about the movie. Questions he didn’t know the answer to. Steve has charmed his way through life, but he wasn’t sure how much longer his charm would last with you, he had an inkling that sooner or later you would be able to see through his facade and you would see him as a disappointment.
_
You had a hunch that Steve was lying about knowing French and your hunch was confirmed when his shoulders tensed as the ticket guy told him the movie didn’t have English subtitles. He played it off with a laugh and a wave of his hand, but you could tell it made him nervous. You thought the movie was alright, but your favorite part was feeling Steve’s eyes on you. You try to be mindful when asking him questions, keeping them vague and more about opinions rather than asking him questions that have a right or wrong answer. He responds as vaguely as possible, gauging your reaction to see if you’re pleased with his answer or if he needs to backtrack and fix his opinion.
Your conversation at the diner starts to get more personal as you ask each other about your likes and dislikes. You learn that Steve broke his arm learning to ride a bike, his favorite color is green, and he’s always wanted a dog. Everything you learn about Steve just makes you like him even more and the potential of falling in love with him makes you giddy with happiness. Your hands brush occasionally as you walk back to his car. He bites his lip hesitating to grab your hand as he peeks at you from the corner of his eye. You make the decision for the both of you and take a hold of his hand swinging both your arms as he blushes.
“You’re really cute Steve Harrington,” you say as you force him to face you before gently pushing your lips to his.
_
You spend every free time you have with Steve now. It’s been a month since your first date and since then you’ve gone out plenty of times and if you’re not physically together then you’re talking for hours on the phone. Steve’s able to open up to you more than he has to anyone else and it’s only been a few months of knowing you but he knows he’s in love, yet he can’t ask you to be his girlfriend. He does everything a boyfriend should do, calling you during breaks, kissing your bad days away, and hugging you just right when you’re on the verge of tears, but he still can’t find the courage to ask you to be his, officially.
You express your concern to Nancy and Robin at an impromptu girls night, thrown together after a rough week for all of you.
“I just don’t know why he won’t ask me, I always want to ask him myself before I see him, but then I lose my nerve. Maybe he doesn’t even like me like that and I’m just reading into things,” you whine as you smear a homemade face mask on Robin's face.
“Trust me, Steve is a goner for you,” Nancy replies as she squints to make sure her brushes on the nail polish perfectly.
“Nance is right, Steve is in love with you, but you just make him nervous.”
“I don’t understand why though, how do I make him nervous when he’s Steve Harrington,” you sigh dreamily.
Nancy and Robin giggle as they see the childish frown on your face. You push your face into a pillow whining into it like a petulant child.
Nancy rubs your back gently, “Look it’s not my place to say, but Steve isn’t the smartest tool academically. And you’re this child prodigy and that makes him nervous.”
Robin nods in agreement, “Yeah, you do know he spent months reading all sorts of books just to impress you right? He isn’t actually as smart as he pretends to be. He just memorizes a bunch of stuff the days leading up to your date.”
You huff in annoyance, “Yeah, I knew that on our first date when he took me to that French film. But I don’t love him because he can tell me facts about the mesozoic era. I love him because he’s him.”
Nancy and Robin share a knowing look.
“You love him?” Robin whispers.
“What?”
“You just said you love him,” Nancy clarifies.
You breathe in deeply before letting it out, the weight of what you said finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”
Both girls squeal as they pull you into a hug, face masks and nail polish quickly forgotten.
You fall asleep that night knowing the next time you see Steve you’ll tell him. Tell him how much you love him and how he means to you.
_
Unfortunately for you and Steve, you aren’t able to spend any time alone lately. Work is crazy for the both of you and any time you have off it’s spent with the group. While you love spending time with your friends, you’re dying for a second alone with Steve. A second that only you both can cherish when you finally tell him how you feel.
You’re hoping you can finally catch a moment alone with Steve at the summer bonfire by Lover’s Lake. Almost every young adult in Hawkins comes out of hiding for this annual bonfire, usually thrown by college kids as a final hurrah before summer break is officially over. You hung out with Nancy and Robin for a while and meet some new people, but you’re aren’t able to find the one person you want to see. You finally spot him parking his car and hurriedly shoving his family video vest in the trunk, but before you call out to him you’re blocked by a freckled boy wearing a smug smile.
“Well if it isn’t the new genius of Hawkins,” the boy teases, voice filled with malice.
You smile politely, “I’m sorry you’re–”
“I’m Hagan. Tommy Hagan, surprised Steve hasn’t mentioned me considering we used to be the best of friends before he became a loser.”
You’ve heard about Tommy, mostly through passing from Nancy and Jonathan and based on Steve’s disgruntled face every time his name was mentioned, you decided Tommy Hagan wasn’t worth your time.
“How can I help you?” You ask in a monotone voice to show how disinterested you are.
Before Tommy can start you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist and lips brush against the side of your head. You turn to see Steve’s grimace at Tommy before his eyes soften landing on you.
“Hi hon,” he whispers gently, his left arm moving from caressing your hip to soothing the ache in your shoulder.
“Hey baby.” For a second it’s just the two of you lost in each other’s eyes, you wonder if everyone else can see how lovesick you are for Steve. Before you can whisk him away for yourself Tommy interrupts again.
“Damn, Harrington. Didn’t think I’d see you go all soft again after what Wheeler did to you.”
You rolled your eyes at the mention of Nancy. It’s been years, both Steve and Nancy were over it, being happy for each other and supporting each other as friends. Yet everyone still brought it up because they had no other dirt on Steve.
“Didn’t know you were home for the summer Tommy,” Steve replies ready to end the conversation with his former friend.
At this point you see Jonathan and Eddie glancing from their spot near the fire. Both of them looking at Steve, silently asking him if he needed them. Steve shakes his head at them and squeezes your shoulder readying to lead you away.
“Yeah, summer is the only time I have off now. Between college and my internship. It’s hard out there man, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?” Tommy smirks knowingly as he pushes Steve’s buttons. He knows college has always been a sore spot for Steve especially since he was still stuck working at Family Video.
Steve grunts in response hoping his disinterest is enough to stray Tommy away from the both of you, but with Steve’s luck Tommy turns his attention to you.
“Surprised he can keep up with a genius like you sweetheart.”
You wrinkled your nose in disgust, the term of endearment turning sour coming from a mouth other than Steve’s.
Tommy continues to go on, swaying from the few too many drinks he’s had. “Did he tell you he barely passed high school? His dad complained to mine about how much of a disappointment he turned out to be. Can’t even get a job at his dad’s firm with the brain he has.”
Steve loosens his grip around your shoulder, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
“You’re telling me your girl hasn’t caught on to the kind of screw up you are Harrington? You sure she’s a genius, or maybe you found someone that aligns with your IQ.”
At this point everyone is watching the words fly out of Tommy’s mouth, some snickering others shooting Steve looks of pity. Tommy Hagan is ripping him to shreds in front of everyone and yet all he can focus on is you. A look of disappointment mixed with frustration glazing over your otherwise sweet disposition. He sees his friends pushing their way through the crowd but before they could defend him he hears your honey like voice calling out for Tommy.
“What university did you say you go to, Tommy?” you ask sweetly.
“Indiana University of Business,” he smirks behind his beer.
“And I’m assuming your daddy paid for it? Cause you sure as hell didn’t get into school by your merit, considering you spent most of high school with your head so far up people’s asses that you couldn’t get enough oxygen to your brain. Hence, why you and your stupid ass are still playing into high school politics at your grown ass age.”
The smugness on Tommy’s face disappears.
“And what do you want to do with your future Tommy? Join daddy’s business? Turn out exactly like him? Cause last I heard he spends more time with his new family than he does with you. Maybe he finally got a child he actually loves.”
You knew it was a low blow, bringing up Tommy’s family issues, but you couldn’t care less. After everything he said to Steve, he had it coming and you only wish you were around in high school so you could’ve put him in his place earlier.
You heard a low whistle from Eddie, “Well guess the shows over folks. And looks like we have a clear winner.”
People start clearing out going back to mind their own business and you grab Steve’s arm leading him far away from Tommy’s frozen stance.
“Guess the secret’s out,” Steve mumbles.
“Huh?”
“Now you know I’m not really smart, so..” he trails off.
You smile, arms twisting around his waist pulling him close. “You know, I’ve met a lot of smart people in my life, but don't you dare, even for a second take Tommy’s words to heart. Because I know you, and I know that you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met.”
Steve pinches your chin, holding your gaze before whispering out a shy “yeah?”
You hear the insecurity laced in his voice as you nod fervently. “I kinda figured you weren’t as smart as you let on from our first date, but I said yes because even though you aren’t a brainiac you have a heart of gold. I see the way you take care of the kids, how you take care of your friends. And I love how you take care of me. I love you and everything about you, Steve Harrington.”
Steve blushes, his cheeks turn a rosy hue as he grabs your waist pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so sweet you think you’ll get a toothache.
“You really love me?”
“I really do.”
Steve presses another kiss before murmuring out an I love you against your lips.
Yeah, Steve Harrington is stupid. Stupidly in love with you.
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touché.
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 2.4K
notes: inspired by this ask, got just a bit carried away and... well here we are lmao. rlly enjoyed writing this one, hope u guys like it!
tags: best friends to lovers, confessions, difficult feelings, comfort, steve being worried he's hurt you, normal sized font below!
lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!
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Steve has been your friend for as long as you can remember.
The two of you have always been close, being childhood friends and remaining so even when your high school friend groups could not have been more different. You’d seen Steve through all his phases, some better than others, and he was seeing you through one of yours.
One of the worse ones, apparently.
Truth be told, you had a crush on Steve. It was a recent development, and though you love him, you really, really do, you don’t know if you want to ruin what you have right now.
Things became especially hard when he’d talk about the unsuccessful dates he went on. It was always the same, how they’d pretend to be interested in what he was talking about, how they were all shallow and just wanted a piece of “King Steve”, how he tried showing people he wasn’t that guy anymore… And every time you told him he’d find that special someone. That they weren’t worth his time, that he deserved someone better.
He agreed. He did deserve someone better.
Someone like you.
But you’d been so distant lately. You blamed it on work, saying your boss had been giving you all the late shifts and that by the time you were home, all you wanted to do was sleep. You barely had time to hang out with him or Robin anymore, and it was concerning him greatly.
He tried to call you, ask you if you wanted to hang out, but you either didn’t pick up or had an excuse ready, which was so unlike you.
So he simply took matters into his own hands.
Which lead to him standing in front of your apartment door, holding a bag of snacks and a tape for an impromptu movie night. Just like you used to. Before you started acting so… Weird.
He raises his hand to knock, but stops himself right before his knuckles connect with the hardwood of your front door. What if this is a bad idea? What if you were giving all the signs to just stay away?
He doesn’t know what he did wrong, he wishes he could ask, but he’s afraid the truth will hurt more than just believing he can still make it work. Make the two of you work. In whatever way you want, as long as you’re still there with him. He’d cancel every date with whatever Heidi or Tiffany came his way, just for a single hangout with you.
And he decides that that makes it worth it.
So he knocks. And he waits, longer than usual. He raises his hand to knock again, but stops himself once he hears the familiar shuffle of your socked feet against the carpet of your apartment floor.
He doesn’t mean to sound rude, but the sight of you does seem to reflect your recent state of mind. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is messy and you’re wearing one of his old shirts and a pair of sweats. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he’s just surprised you didn’t opt for your usual cute pj’s.
“Steve?” Your voice sounds a bit coarse, and it makes him even more concerned than he already was. You, sweet, pretty, so put together and always there for him you, was really going through it. And that really breaks his heart.
So he drops the bag of snacks onto the ground, not caring about the contents inside for the time being. Instead, he envelops you in his arms, holding you so tight you’d think he was scared you might disappear if he didn’t.
He was.
You tense up entirely, not daring to move even a single muscle. A minute ago you were crying your eyes out about a guy you shouldn’t date, you couldn’t date, and now, as if called by some sort of higher being, he’s at your doorstep.
And now he’s hugging you like both your lives depend on it. And you don’t know how to react.
Slowly, your limbs move and wrap around him, your head leaning on his shoulder. Familiarity creeps back into your mind. The contrast of his soft sweater and his rough denim jacket. The scent of his body wash, fresh yet soothing. The tickle of his hair against your cheek.
It’s everything you needed. And suddenly, it’s also way too much.
Your eyes fill with tears at how much you’ve missed this. How much you’ve missed him. How tragic it is that you let your own jealousy and reservations pull you away from your favourite person in the whole wide world.
Steve feels you tremble slightly as you start sobbing softly onto his shoulder. All he can do right now is comfort you, lord knows you need it. His large, warm hand soothingly rubs your back, his head leaning down to press a soft kiss onto the crown of your head. He hates to hear you cry. You look so pretty when you do, but it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there before to help you out. That you wouldn’t let him.
After a moment or two he moves his hands and cups your face, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs to rid them of your tears. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen you in a while, or he just always believes so, but he thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world in that moment.
“Geez peach, how long has it been since someone hugged you huh?” He teases, but it’s not mocking. It's filled with care and concern.
The nickname brings an, albeit slightly reluctant, smile to your face. A feeling of pride swells in his chest at the sight of you not being able to withstand his charm.
“I don’t know… I don’t know what came over me, I just— I’ve been closing myself off and, and I didn’t expect you here and—“
“But why?”
His question catches you off guard. Truth be told, you were only halfway there with processing your feelings, with “getting over him”, and now he’s asking you questions you don’t even really know the answers to.
Or, well— you do. You just don’t want to admit them.
That you’re in love with your best friend.
“Can we… Can we talk about this inside maybe?”
Steve freezes for a moment, before realising that you’re very much still situated in the doorway of your apartment.
“Oh! Yeah, of course, sorry I just—“ a not so subtle blush starts to creep up his face, “I missed you, I guess. I don’t know what came over me.”
You turn, both to go inside and to hide the smile that appears on your face when hearing those words. He missed you. Missed you so much he came to your apartment, unannounced, holding your favourite snacks and nearly leaping into your arms when you opened the door. That’s got to count for something.
Maybe admitting to it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
The two of you sit on your couch together. The same couch you have movie nights on, the same couch he sleeps on when he doesn’t want to go home after a party, and the same couch he lays on while complaining to you about Lauren, Sarah, whoever’s turn it was that week.
The air is different now. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, just— strange. You both know there is something to be said, but neither of you know who should say it first. You were never good at breaking the ice.
"It was really nice of you to stop by--"
"I'm really sorry if I did something--"
The two of you speak at the same time, staring at each other for a moment before breaking out in a burst of giggles. It felt like the first time you laughed like that, since... Well, since you last saw him. He had this way of cheering you up no matter what. Seriously, you're sure the world could be on fire, and Steve would still find a way to make you smile. It's like air to him.
"Sorry, uhm," you smile a little awkwardly, clasping your hands together. "You go first."
"Right," He gives the same thin lipped smile back, reclining back onto the old couch he once helped move into your apartment. It's strange, he was here so much, it felt like it was his already. He usually felt more relaxed here than at his own place. Your presence definitely helped.
"I was just, worried, really worried, that I did something wrong, and you just wouldn't tell me. Which is weird, you know, you not talking? Like at all?"
You scoff, a sort of unamused laugh as you hear him out. There's that unabashed humor you missed again. "Go on."
"It's just like-- you tell me everything. You tell me about your shitty ex boyfriend, the stupid customers at your job, how you can't stand how your mom always comments on how you dress, and how your dad is somehow always working, and-- and it's just not like that right now." He pauses, both to catch his breath and to stop himself from rambling on too much. So that's how Robin feels all the time...
"And like, either the thing you don't want to talk about is just that bad, or I've really fucked up your trust. Either way, I'm-- I'm here. And I want to be, seriously."
You don't really know what to say. Not only are you surprised he remembers all the things you've complained about, but that he thinks this is his fault. You've made him feel like you don't trust him.
'Oh Steve.'
"Oh Steve..."
'I love you.'
"It's not your fault, it's just--"
'I love you.'
"My mind doesn't know what it wants right now, and-- and I wouldn't even know where to begin to explain, and--"
'And I love you.'
You sigh deeply, trying to suppress the voice in your head that's practically screaming at you to tell him those words. It feels like an ache, just climbing up your throat, begging to be said, to be heard, to be accepted and returned. And you just can't take that risk.
But it's worse to lose your best friend over a lack of trust, than over a misplaced love confession.
Your eyes slide shut, and you bring your hands up to rub over your face, groaning loudly.
"Is it really that bad?"
"Yes." You say, muffled behind your hands.
"Come on," he shuffles over, hands coming up to pry your own away from your face, "let's see that pretty face."
"Steeeeve, seriously," you start giggling, trying to pull away from him. You lean back against the armrest of the couch, his frame caging you in between it and himself. "I can't."
"I know you can, come on," he finally gets your hands off, holding them in his own, and you're pleasantly surprised by how close he is. His face is cheeky, excited in anticipation of whatever deep secret he's about to hear from you.
"I--" you nearly choke on your words, quite literally getting lost in those brown eyes of his for a moment or two. "Steve, I," you gulp, "I think I'm in love with you."
A pause rests between you two as he lets your words sink in. A painful, excruciating silence. He blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth is slightly agape, and you can nearly hear the wheels turning in his mind.
"You think?"
"Steve!" You think of knocking him off the couch in that moment. To your surprise, he simply chuckles in return.
"Took you longer to figure out than me, that's for sure." His nose scrunches up slightly, and if you weren't so busy experiencing emotional turmoil, you'd point out how cute it is.
"I'm sorry?" Your eyebrows raise. "You knew I was in love with you?"
"No!" He chuckles again. "That I'm in love with you."
Another pause. This one, less painful. More so comedic.
"Oh. I don't know if that makes this more or less awkward."
"Me neither."
"But... Then why all the dates? You know, with all those girls you always complained about?" You shuffle back to sit upright, but the close distance between you two remains the same.
"I don't know, why all the sudden avoidance? Why the ignored calls?"
"Alright, alright. Touché." You chuckle, leaning your head back. "So... What happens now?"
He leans back as well, positioning himself besides you in the exact same way. His pinky is just touching yours where his hand rests, and that alone sends shivers over your whole body.
"I think we just... Do whatever we always did. But now we can also do what we really wanted to do as well."
You scoff out a short laugh. "Oh yeah? Like what?"
He turns his head to look at you. "I could think of a few things."
"Really?"
"Mhm." You can see every freckle from how close he is, every twinkle in his gorgeous brown eyes, every crease in his face from that stupidly pretty smile.
"Care to share?" You resist the urge to grin.
"Well," he leans in even closer, lips brushing gently over your own as he speaks, "if you insist."
His lips slot perfectly against yours. Like they were meant to fit perfectly together.
Like it was always meant to be like this.
His hand moves to cradle your jaw as you move closer to him, frame leaning into his own. His other hand comes up to rest on your waist, a touch you've only silently enjoyed before. His lips move so delicately against your own, the kiss blooming a feeling inside the two of you that now, you've finally grown to accept.
It's hard to pull away, but eventually, you do. Your foreheads lean together, and Steve is the first to open his eyes and speak up.
"You wanna know something funny?"
"Always."
"I've wanted to do that for ages already."
"Yeah, well," you peck his lips again, "you got a lot of years to catch up on then."
"You're right," he leans in once more, this time with more confidence, "better get started now."
tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚
@palmtreesx3 @inkluvs
#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader#stevemath#aster writes stranger things#steve harrington fan fiction#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x best friend#steve harrington friends to lovers
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Maybe an insecure!reader with Steve? She’s never taken her shirt off while sleeping or during more intimate activities and Steve’s confused why because he thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on?
Request by anon.
Minors shoo. Sweet Steve. Fluff.
❤️
You cuddle into Steve. It's late at night and it's been a long stressful day, all you want is to lay with Steve for a little while and just forget all of your stress.
Steve is tender and sweet as he kisses you, pulls you closer and his hands slide up your shirt. Immediately you tense, you weren't the most confident in your body and always left your t shirt on during intimate activities.
"Hey what's wrong honey?" he strokes your cheek and you rest your head on his chest.
"I...I guess I'm just feeling a little insecure" he runs his hand up and down your back in a soothing motion.
"That's why you never take your shirt off? Oh sweetheart, you never have to feel insecure with me. I love you so much, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life"
Tears pool in your eyes and you kiss Steve, trail soft kisses over the moles on his neck and tangle your hand in his hair. He smiles against your lips and pulls away to kiss your forehead.
"Really?" You ask. He's been with so many women and it stuns you that he thinks this. You do wish you were more confident and you had been building up your confidence bit by bit but it was a slow process.
Steve was wonderful in helping you build your confidence up but it was also something you had to do on your own.
Still when he looked at you this way, like you were heaven sent and with absolute love in his eyes, it was wonderful.
"I love you Steve" he smiles and gently wipes your tears away. You press a kiss to his lips and pull your shirt up. Steve's eyes soften and he pulls you closer to him.
"Are you sure honey? We can do this when you're sure you're ready" you rest your hand on his cheek and nod, he removes your shirt and his eyes fill with adoration.
"You're amazing. You're beautiful. I love you honey" he kisses you and lays you back on the bed. He shows you how much he loves you all night long.
💌💞
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x you#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington x y/n
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all the time
steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 7,206
warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)
a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.
————
The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages.
You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening.
You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl.
You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor.
You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”
“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”
You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious.
“No shit.”
Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”
“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word.
Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about.
She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care.
Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely.
None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be.
“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here.
“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”
You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”
“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”
You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids.
“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”
“Mom, are you out of your mind?”
She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table.
“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim.
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.”
You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!”
“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.
You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?
When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?”
Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now.
“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”
You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”
When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event.
“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door.
In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother.
You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers.
Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t.
Steve. As your boyfriend?
That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night.
————
“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?”
The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine.
You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation.
Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”
You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.
“Steve’s not working today, is he?”
Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked.
“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”
Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”
“Robin, what?”
She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid.
“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”
You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you.
“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”
“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”
She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.”
You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?
A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that.
Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think.
Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder.
Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face.
“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”
Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together.
“Good luck! I love you!”
You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.
————
You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that.
Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.
There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”
Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”
He grins. “Yes ma'am.”
And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit.
Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything.
You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.
“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”
He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”
“You know how my sister is getting married?”
He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”
You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue.
“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”
Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”
You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”
You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass.
You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”
“I’ll do it.”
Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead.
“What?”
“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”
“Steve, are you sure?”
He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this.
“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”
You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him.
“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”
You let go of him and start to walk away.
Steve chuckles. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”
He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.
“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”
You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”
“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.”
You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”
“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile.
“Only yanking your chain, dearest.”
He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck.
You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you.
But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made.
————
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”
Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator.
“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.
“No. It’s not.”
“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”
Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”
Your knee starts to bounce.
The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards.
Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous.
“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.
Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”
“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”
You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.”
Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you.
“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”
Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name.
You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before.
“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”
“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?”
You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation.
“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”
You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit.
“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you.
“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”
“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her.
She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”
Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”
Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”
“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”
“I mean—yeah.”
Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.
“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”
This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”
He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.
You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more.
You nod your head at him.
“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.”
She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again.
“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”
Steve face palms. “Robin.”
“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”
Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”
He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it.
————
“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy.
You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that.
“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”
Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.
“Fancy,” you say, smirking.
He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”
You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye.
You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories.
“They all fit okay?” you question.
He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to.
You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him.
After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look.
You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress.
“I think that looks nice, yeah?”
You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is.
“I like it a lot, Harrington.”
He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand.
“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.
He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his.
“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”
“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty.
He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own.
“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?”
You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one.
“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”
Steve’s hands run up and down your back.
“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.
————
Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue.
You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party.
He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.
Not that you’re any better than he is.
His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand.
The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress.
“Steve?”
“Hm?”
“Did you have that? Just lying around?”
He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you.
It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are.
“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”
Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.
The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint.
For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him.
When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all.
You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him.
“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.
“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors.
“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”
You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out.
Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”
Knew.
The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend.
You’re fucked.
“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”
He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead.
He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words.
“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”
A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it.
“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”
You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable.
“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”
“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin.
You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”
He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can.
“You look pretty too, you know.”
Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”
Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way. “Let’s do this, yeah?”
You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”
————
“So, how’d the two of you meet?”
You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know.
“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”
Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her.
“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”
Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action.
“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before.
Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here.
He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even.
“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”
You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying.
Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest.
One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed.
“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”
Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?
“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”
The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”
You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?”
Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her.
Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”
Baby.
Steve called you ‘baby.’
You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you.
“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”
You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same.
When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you.
“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.
“Escaping the mob.”
“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”
You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”
She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had.
You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up.
“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.”
“C’mon, Steve.”
He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out.
————
“Sweetheart? You comin’?”
You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here.
You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping.
“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”
Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”
“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”
He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”
Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat.
You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”
He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter.
“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels.
“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”
There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.
“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”
You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share.
“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”
You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win.
Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks.
He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling.
When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you.
“Damn.”
You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can.
You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are.
“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later.
“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled.
“If you’re good.”
————
“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.
“What?”
You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.
“When did this love confession take place?”
“That’s not what it was—”
“Just tell me when, dingus!”
“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”
“Shit!”
Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks.
“I owe Dustin twenty.”
“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.
“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.”
Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?
Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!”
You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter.
“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”
She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”
“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”
“Yes?”
“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”
“No. Nononono—”
You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening.
“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs.
You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”
He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.”
“So quit whining.”
“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”
You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him.
“Was that mean?”
“Not at all.”
You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Mean and a tease. Wow.”
You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”
He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin.
“Damn right.”
————
please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33
tagging: @clovermunson
#savannah’s fics#steve harringtion#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fic#steve harrington x female reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#robin buckley#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington comfort
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Oooo what abt a cozy holiday fic w steve & shy reader snuggling under blankets w hot cocoa🥹
hiii thank u for this request!! here’s some sweet steve fluff with r after a tough day at work <3 | 0.6k
Steve Harrington has become your comfort person, which, if someone had told you that in high school, you would’ve never believed.
Now, however, he’s different, letting his goodness shine through. You’re not sure how you got lucky enough to land him, but after a run-in at the grocery store, a first date (and many more), you get to call him your boyfriend.
Dating has never been the easiest for you, with your shyness that hasn’t faded much over the years, but Steve was patient, following your lead while also encouraging you to open up.
So, months of dating, and you’re only ever happy to see him, the nerves dissipated with the first ‘I love you,’ that he spoke.
“Stevie?” You call, stepping into the Harrington home, your spare key in hand.
“In here, honey!” He calls, his voice filtering out of the living room.
Even just the sound of it has you relaxing a little, setting your things down and walking over to him.
In the living room, you find that the couch has been covered with cozy blankets and pillows, a Christmas movie paused at the opening credits on the TV, and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sit on the coffee table.
“Hi,” he says, taking the few steps over to you as you look around. “I thought we could do a holiday movie night. What do you think?”
Your heart squeezes, and after the day you’ve had, your eyes well up a little, too. You surge forward and wrap your arms around his middle, cheek pressed to his shirt. “Thank you.”
Steve hugs you back easily, a reflex at this point, an arm around your shoulders, stroking your back gently, a hand pressed to your head to keep you close. He thinks about when you used to be too afraid to initiate anything, and feels immensely thankful that you’d trusted him enough to get to where you are now.
“I was hoping you’d like it, but I didn’t think it’d be this much,” he says, chin resting on the top of your head. “You alright, honey?”
You sniffle once, nodding against him. “Bad work day. The holidays are so busy, and I was out front all day. Just tired.”
You’ve always preferred to be in the back, doing stock or cleaning things up, because it’s so much easier. No awkward conversation you’ll stress over later, no second-guessing every word you say to strangers.
Steve knows that, so he dips to press a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry, honey. I know it can be overwhelming. Let me help you feel better, yeah?”
“Thank you, Stevie.”
You let him lead you to the couch, where he sits right next to you, an arm swung over your shoulders. Before you know it, he’s got you bundled up in blankets and tugged close to his side.
He presses play on the remote, letting the Christmas movie and its festive soundtrack start to play. “Comfy?” He checks.
“Mhm. The comfiest.”
“Perfect,” he kisses your head again. “You just tell me when you want some hot chocolate, I’ll pass it to you.”
“I can get it myself, you know.”
“Yeah, but I like taking care of you.”
You shake your head with a small smile, the stress of your work day melting away, the awkward encounters long forgotten.
Eventually, about halfway through the movie, Steve realizes that you’d fallen asleep, cheek on his shoulder, hand holding onto his arm. He focuses on your steady breathing, on your face completely soft and relaxed, and he can’t help but smile.
Steve thinks that this Christmas and every other one to come, the only gift he’ll ever need is you.
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