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luveline · 4 months

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kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he takes the step up into the front door. It gets caught on the latch, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside.

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?”

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light.

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat.

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside.

It’s good to be home.

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated.

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone.

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive.

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways.

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves.

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate.

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m twenty minutes away.

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast.

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently.

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in.

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness.

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side.

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.”

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything.

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…” Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?”

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.”

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.”

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?”

“She won’t let me eat.”

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.”

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, of course. What can I do?”

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.”

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for.

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you.

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.”

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.”

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks.

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?”

“Avery’s always nice.”

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.”

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.”

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away.

“You comfortable enough?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.”

“But you had fun, right?”

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.”

“Exhausted?” you ask.

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.”

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.”

“You did not.”

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy).

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.”

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek.

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.”

“Love you, Steve.”

“Love you, too.”

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kassy-munson · 1 month

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this picture lives rent free in my mind

#joe keery #joe keery fandom #joseph david keery #steve harrington fandom #joe keery steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington #joe keery stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things #stranger things season four

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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Hi! I would love to see Steve being really affectionate with shy reader? Maybe at the beginning of their relationship when everything is really „big” for reader? Only if it’s something that you like. Lots of love and thank you! 🩷

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 745 words

Selfishly, Steve has an easier time being brave when you’re so clearly the nervous one.

“So this guy, he wasn’t being a dick or anything,” he says, fingers loosely intertwined with yours as you walk down to the 7-Eleven, “but he just wouldn’t leave Rob alone. Couldn’t take a hint, you know?”

You hum. Your hand starts to slip in his, and you tighten your fingers almost imperceptibly. Steve adjusts, taking your hand more securely in his so it doesn’t happen again. A bit of pink tinges your cheeks that he doubts has much to do with the warm weather.

Steve doesn’t mean to fluster you, but if he waited on you to make the first move there’d be no moving at all. That said, he doesn’t mind flustering you either. You get this sweet, startled look on your face and sometimes you try to hide behind your hair so that he gets to move it away. He sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you, and you press your lips together like he’s done something far more brash.

“What did she do?” you ask.

“She told him we were dating.”

“What?” You laugh, the sound starting up a pleasant buzzing in Steve’s chest. “But she tells everyone else you’re ‘platonic with a capital P’.”

“Exactly!” He shakes his head, grinning at you. You smile back for half a second before your gaze drops to his chest. “He’s gonna find out as soon as he brings it up to literally anyone, and then she’s gonna have to cover her ass all over again. I don’t know why she does this to herself.”

“Maybe she’s panicking,” you muse. “Just, like, saying the first thing she can think of.”

Steve guesses you’d know something about that. The first time he’d tried to ask you out, he’d suggested going to the drive-in and you’d blurted that you didn’t watch movies.

“Maybe,” he says, unable to mask the amusement in his tone (and not trying very hard, if he’s being honest).

You look at him curiously, then shy at whatever you see in his expression. “Oh, I forgot.” You duck away under the guise of digging through your bag. “I got this off my neighbor’s tree today.”

You hold a peach out to him, and Steve thinks he’s going to melt on the spot. His heart feels all heavy and made of mush. “No way.” His voice is soft, reverent. “You stole from your neighbor for me?”

He takes the peach from you, and you immediately turn from his gaze, pretending to adjust your bag over your shoulder. Steve knows you didn’t really forget to tell him earlier; you just hadn’t wanted this display in front of your roommates. It’s cool. He’s fine with adoring you in private.

“I didn’t steal it.” The smile is evident in your voice, and Steve waits until you turn back to shoot you the best one he’s got in return. The pink spreads to your ears. “I asked. They always say they have too many to eat by themselves.”

“Still.” He thinks about mushing a kiss into your temple, but even Steve’s not feeling bold enough for that yet. He settles for wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s sweet, thanks.”

“It was no problem,” you murmur, tilting your head so your hair curtains your face.

Steve is gleeful at this development. He reaches forward with his other hand to brush it out of the way, hooking what he can behind your ear. Your eyes flit to him bashfully. He knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but he can’t help it. It’s just the way his face likes to be around you.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says, then decides to put you out of your misery. “So, what kind of slushee are you gonna get?”

“Mm, dunno,” you reply softly. “You?”

“Blue raspberry every time.” He nods certainly. “Never wavered since I was a kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve tried that one,” you say. “I usually get a coke and cherry mix.”

“You can try mine,” Steve offers.

“You don’t mind if I sip from your straw?”

“I mean, I was thinking you could just kiss me to taste it,” he says. And fine, now he might be stirring the pot a little bit. It’s worth it when you put your face in your hands. Steve squeezes you tighter against his side, affectionate. “But that works too, yeah.”

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader[4.7K] a little oneshot looking into the relationship that follows from ISITTGG. just smut, my dudes 18+

Steve Harrington was throwing gummy bears at your bedroom window.

It was barely dusk, the sun just setting, that pretty kind of twilight light settling over the town in a blue-pink glow. The grass below your window was still too long, flowers still in bloom despite the way summer was leaving and September had begun. It smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the air outside was clean like chlorine, like freshly cut grass and the crisp like the beginning of fall. It wasn't as warm as it had been, but when you braced your hand on the sill and looked down to the space between your house and the Harrington’s, your boyfriend was standing there in just a short sleeved t-shirt.

His jeans had a rip in the knee and his hair was wild, no doubt from driving around town with the car windows rolled right down, Eddie and Jonathan fighting over riding shotgun and the radio station. His cheeks were flushed, like he’d been going too fast, like he’d seen Chief Hopper’s flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror, laughed and gave him a chase.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’d been too eager to get back to you.

He grinned at the sight of you, head tilted back, the crawling ivy that trailed over the bricks of his house brushing his hair. He had more freckles than ever from the summer passed, a dust of them over his nose, the leftover line from a scratch on his right brow from when Eddie dared him to land an ollie after a keg party.

Steve couldn’t skateboard.

“There she is,” the boy called out. He leaned against the wall, ivy and honeysuckle staining his white t-shirt. “Did you get prettier?”

You snorted, an unattractive noise that only made Steve grin wider. You leaned out the window a little further, pyjama shirt getting pulled by the wind. “You saw me four hours ago, Harrington.”

Steve squinted up at you, a half smile, a half shrug, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek. He looked like trouble, some kind of James Dean daydream. “Point still stands, princess. You gonna let me in?”

You rolled your eyes like it was all too much effort, even though your heart was bursting against your ribcage and the thought of Steve sneaking in through the garden gate to see you, standing in wait at your front door so he could slip up the stairs behind you. He was leaning against the bricks when you met him round the front, cheeks hot when he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to one, ‘cause your parents were in the kitchen making pasta and drinking red wine, greeting the boy warmly and throwing half serious threats up the staircase about keeping your bedroom door open.

You ignored them, closing it behind Steve as he wandered into your room, throwing himself onto your bed like he always did. The window was still open, curtains catching in the breeze, the soft static of your record player singing something he didn’t recognise. You watched the boy stretch out across your sheets, sneakers toed off over the edge and hitting the floor with a thud as he grinned at you. Steve had been yours for a month now, best friends for a decade longer but the sight of him against your pillows still made your inside somersault. It was a giddy feeling, when he coaxed you closer, sitting up so you could stand between his legs, denim jeans scratching at the outside of your bare thighs and he hummed when you wound your arms around his shoulders, fingertips playing with the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands found the backs of your legs, the soft skin just under the curve of your ass and he nosed at your sternum, grinning when he realised you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night,” he murmured softly, lips grazing the cotton of your sleep shirt - his shirt. “Too soft, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, the kind that made your feature scrunch up, cheeks warm and aching with that new kind of happiness that you hoped would never get old. “The softest,” you declared. “You were supposed to be having fun with the guys.”

Steve craned his neck back, face tilted up to you and the last of the sunlight that came through the corner of the window. It turned one eye lighter than the other, honey and whisky, his lashes casting shadows over one sunset coloured cheek. “I did, until Eddie tried to start a fight with Carver. Again.” His fingers pinched softly at the fat of your ass, making you squeak. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a kiss, huh?”

You pulled at his hair in retaliation, smirking when he only grunted in response. You ducked down a little to meet him, nose bumping his, loving the way his eyes found your lips, focused on your mouth. “He can ask nicely, for a start.”

You shrieked when you were hauled against the boy, laughter caught in your throat as Steve threw himself and you back onto the mattress, both of you landing clumsily amongst the pillows, on top of each other. He had you pinned before you could get your bearings, legs on either side of your hips as he grinned down at you victorious. He leaned in, crowding you, the smell of his cologne, smoke that you hoped was Eddie’s and not his, all around you. He was part of you now. Steve clung to your bed, he stayed in your sheets, left a part of himself behind on your pillows.

“Please, princess,” he whispered against your lips.

It was easy to give in, easier than trying to pretend you wouldn’t have kissed him without politeness. It was a sticky, soft thing. The sweetest kind of kiss, the kind that came from being so happy that you were finally able to put your lips to his. He tasted like vanilla, like cherry coke and Steve. It was the easiest thing in the world to let him tug you into him , his smile pressed against your own mouth, as he hummed, falling onto the mattress again and pulling you onto his lap.

You petted at his hair, pushing the mess of it away from his forehead so you could sit some kisses there too, grinning when he squeezed at your waist, the soft of your hips. “You hungry?” You asked quietly, enjoying the warmth of him underneath you, like he’d brought the sun home with him. “Have you had food?”

Steve shook his head, hair brushing your cheek as he tried to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, nosing at the collar of your shirt so he could kiss at your throat. “Had some cereal, at like, ten,” he mumbled.

“Steven,” you admonished, “s’almost nine at night.”

“Mmm, call me that again, s’hot,” Steve teased.

You shoved at the boy’s shoulder, rolling your eyes and hiding your smile even though Steve was grinning. You eased off him, lying next to him on the bed instead. Your gaze met his, so close you could count those new freckles. “I could make you somethin’. Grilled cheese? You gotta eat, babe.”

It was lighthearted the way Steve pulled one of your legs over his hip, palm climbing up your bare thigh, so big his fingers were curling round to the inside, close to grazing your cunt. He kissed a line over your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck until you squirmed. His voice was salacious, only half joking when he said:

“Oh my god,” he groaned dramatically. “That sounds better than head right now.”

It wasn’t out of the blue, that kind of talk, not really. Your sex life with Steve was still new, experimental in the best way. It had been almost five weeks of learning about each other in a way that you’d never gotten to before, working out how the other liked to be kissed, touched, teased. There’d been hurried make outs in the back of his car, on your living room sofa before your parents came home, quick touches and messy grinding on his bed before you had to return to your own.

And when the time allowed it, when Steve got you to himself for hours on end, he kissed you until your jaw ached, until his lips were as pink as yours, working you up with his fingers until he could slide his cock inside of you and press you into the mattress. It was all new, shiny and glittery, warm bodies in the beds you used to make pillow forts out of, his cologne on your sheets, your perfume on his sweaters you stole. You shared bottles of sunscreen, swam in the backyard pools when the day turned to night and it felt like you were floating between stars, leftover barbeque smoke in the air as your legs touched Steve’s under the water.

It was a summer of sex and chlorine on skin, taking late night drives to the seven eleven in the next town over, icee’s for dinner, throwing gummy worms into the boy’s open mouth until he pulled you into his back seat and you could taste the sugar on his tongue. Steve was yours now, and god, your boy was summer incarnate.

But he hadn’t done that. Not yet.

You squirmed, feeling that too hot flush creeping up over your chest and neck. You rolled to the side, lying on your back so you could squint at the ceiling and try to work out how to make a joke out of it. You laughed, a little weakly, half shrugging and refusing to meet his gaze when the boy leaned up on his elbow to look down at you.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t know.”

Steve stared at you, one corner of his lips quirking up like he thought you were telling him a joke. When you didn’t laugh, he wrinkled his brow. “What?”

You didn’t feel embarrassed per say, in fact, you were reminded of a time - years and years ago - when you and the boy were trapped in a cupboard, standing too close to each other in the dark as you whispered about the people you’d kissed, the things you’d been to shy to do.

“What?” you shrugged, unaffected by Steve's bewildered stare. “So no one’s gone down on me, it’s not a big deal.” You tried hard not to sound defensive but Steve must’ve picked up on it anyway.

“No, no,” Steve reassured, leaning in closer to dot a kiss to your cheek, another on your forehead for extra reassurance. “It’s not a big deal at all, babe. I just, I just thought - I assumed - you know. An ex would’ve offered, or something.”

You took the hem of the boy’s shirt in between your fingers for something to do, your gaze lowered when you shrugged again. “I mean, I don’t think a girl’s pleasure was at the forefront of most seventeen year old boys minds - or eighteen - and then, I don’t know, Chris--”

Steve made a face at the mention of the other boy.

“--he tried once, kind of, I think and, I guess it was okay? He didn’t really do it for long? But maybe I just took--”

“Did you come?”

You snorted, unable to help it and Steve grinned. Any chance to one up Chris Maxwell, no matter how long it had been since he’d had to watch you go on dates with him, Steve would take happily. “No, I didn’t get the chance to enjoy myself. It felt weird, and honestly, he was too busy trying to get a condom out at the same time.”

“What an asshole,” Steve groaned and he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, your jaw.

“You’ve always thought he was an asshole, Steven.”

“Point still stands,” Steve scoffed and he pulled back, staring down at you with a sudden intensity. He worked his way between your thighs. “You trust me, right?”

You nodded. Of course you trusted Steve. You’d know him longer than you hadn’t. He’d already seen you naked, shit, he’d been inside of you. But there was something so incredibly new about the way he was lying between your legs, your knees by his shoulders as he pressed what was supposed to be a calming kiss to the inside of one. Instead, your heart jumped. It rattled inside of your ribcage, threatening to break the bones there.

“Can I try?”

You were speechless, blinking at the boy as you tried to imagine what it would feel like to have his mouth on a new part of you. His tongue, his lips, kissing over your cunt. You were suddenly burning.

“You don’t have to say yes, if you don’t want to, babe,” Steve murmured, sensing your hesitation. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.” Another kiss, this time a little higher in the inside of your thigh. “But I promise I’ll try to make you feel real good.”

“I know,” you whispered, hands fisting your sheets in anticipation. “I just— you wanna do this, right? Like this isn’t just ‘cause no one’s ever done it to me properly before?” You hated how unsure you sounded and you felt yourself go hot when Steve raised his brows at you.

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Steve laughed, not meanly, not at you. He moved closer, kissing a line up the inside of your leg until his shoulders were pressed underneath your thighs and god— his face was so close to the soft cotton of your pyjama shorts. “Babe. Baby, you’ve no idea how much I wanna do this. Just, relax for me, yeah?”

You looked down at Steve as he shuffled between your spread legs, curling his arms around the tops of your thighs so he could pull them apart a little further, making more room for himself. He looked up, his hair falling over his forehead, into his brown eyes. “Ready?”

You nodded, whispering a small, shy, excited ‘yeah,’ before Steve grinned up at you. You let yourself fall back onto the mattress. Eyes on the ceiling, body electric.

You expected your sleep shorts to be rolled down your hips, over your legs and thrown to the floor. But instead, Steve leaned in to kiss over them, the thin cotton not doing much to dull the feel of his mouth over your cunt. You jumped, gasping, head lifting back up and off of the bed to see Steve smile, his pink, full lips pushed into a pout as he kissed over your covered folds. He hummed, nose pushed to you in a way that made the fabric cling to you, damp seeping through already.

“Good?” Steve asked quietly, hiding his smile at your soft noises of agreement. “You like that?”

It was maddening, the soft lilt of his voice, teasing, gentle, earnest all at once. You wanted to cry out when he let his tongue drag over you, sleep shorts getting more and more wet as they stuck to the lines of you, your cunt almost visible through the damp fabric. Steve pushed his thumbs into the crease of your thighs, soothed you back down a little as he kissed your knee. “Your parents are downstairs, babe, you gotta keep quiet, yeah?”

His words made you spin, too dizzy to comprehend that you did actually need to shut the fuck up. But it hadn’t felt like this when Chris had made an attempt, a thirty second appearance between your thighs in the back of his car before he got too impatient and demanded you ride him. So you whined a little desperately and gasped at Steve’s touch, wondering when your boyfriend was going to put you out of your misery and take your shorts off.

But Steve ducked back down to kiss over you again, proper, open mouthed kissed against the folds of your pussy, his tongue sneaking out every now and then to bump against your covered clit and you were wriggling in his hands, head thrown back, vision hazy because you forgot to blink, lips parted in a quiet moan. You felt fingers at the band of your shorts then, warm and sure and you lifted your bum up in anticipation. But instead of being pulled down your legs, Steve tugged up.

Cheeks hot with a strange type of embarrassment, you gasped out, realising that the thin cotton of your tiny shorts were now tucked between your folds, a firm pressure on your clit that had you reeling. You couldn’t fathom what you must’ve looked like, but when you gazed back down at Steve, glassy eyed and panting, Steve was staring at your pussy like a man starved.

His own eyes were heavy lidded, dark and heated, his lips parting at the sight of you. Steve pulled up again, just slightly, groaning low when the fabric slipped further between your folds. He can see the outline of everything, the soaked patch that’s clinging to your entrance, the bump of your clit under pink cotton. He reaches out to trace it with a fingertip, swearing when you jerk forward, wanting more. He pulls you into him, hands grabbing at your thighs so he can push his face back between them and he licks a flat, slow stripe over your cunt.

You can’t help but arch up, biting down on the meat of one of your hands while the other finds Steve’s hair, fingers twining through the strands and pulling, hard. The boy moans at that, something you already knew he liked too much but it sends his own hips rocking into the bed, chasing any friction he can get, letting you know he’s enjoying this as much as you are. And once your underwear is soaked through, you’re fuzzy, feeling drunk and ready to beg for him to take them off but Steve is one step ahead of you, tapping your ass so you’ll plant your feet on the mattress and lift your hips for him.

You do it immediately, muffling a whine as he has to peel your wet underwear from between your folds, dragging them down your legs before settling back between them, kissing over the soft of your stomach as he pushes the hem of your too big shirt up your ribs. “Let me see you, princess, lemme see those pretty tits.”

The breeze from the evening came through the still open window but you were more than sure the goosebumps on your skin came from Steve’s words, his rough, wrecked sounding voice. You obeyed, pulling the fabric of your shirt up until it rested under your chin. “Steve, please, I really need—”

Another kiss, just below your belly button, another, climbing up your ribcage and the boy hushed you. “S’alright, I know, I know.” He swiped two fingers through you, feeling how warm and slick you were for him. “Shit, baby, wanna really feel me, yeah?”

You nodded, a furious movement that made Steve grin. You settled back on your elbows this time, legs open for the boy, eager to watch. “Please, yeah. Fuck, it’s— Steve, please.”

Steve didn’t hesitate, pressing himself down onto the mattress as he spread you with two thumbs, groaning at the way you glistened in the last of the lowlight, your bedroom turning seven shades of blue as evening rolled in. He could hear sprinklers turn on outside, the faint hum of your parents television from downstairs, the way your breathing picked up when he blew over your clit, pink and swollen for him and his touch.

“So pretty, baby,” he praised, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Don’t tell you that enough, huh?”

You scrunched your face at the praise, cheeks burning, your bare chest rising and falling faster and faster and faster. “You tell me that all the time.”

Steve laughed softly, ducking his head down to kiss you, a chaste peck in the dirtiest of ways, lips sliding over your cunt, still spread for him. You gasped, head falling back for a second, clenching down on nothing and you knew Steve would see, you knew Steve was watching. You heard him exhale roughly.

“Talkin’ about her, princess.” Steve hummed, licked over his lips to chase your taste and dipped down again to drag his tongue oh so fucking slowly from your entrance to your clit. “Yeah? Talkin’ about how pretty this pussy is.”

The compliment made you pull Steve’s hair harder, hips wiggling as you groaned, eyes falling shut when the boy huffed out a soft laugh and pulled you closer, nose bumping against your clit as he pressed his tongue into you, slick, wet noises filling the room and making your breath hitch. Up and down, up and down, up and down, Steve licked you like a popsicle, humming when your hips twitched, pushing his lips around your clit and sucking gently, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before he went back to kissing all you all over.

It was messy, wet, Steve’s lips and chin shining with you, his eyes fluttering shut every time he dragged his tongue through your folds, his hips rocking down into the mattress as he tried to ease the pressure in his jeans. He was harder than he’d ever been.

“Steve,” you whispered, your voice broken and cracking at the pleasure. “Steve, please, I’m so close.”

The boy murmured softly against your skin, a thing you were sure was supposed to soothe you but you just arched against his mouth instead. He pulled back, just slightly, smiling when you cried out, hushing you with wide eyes. “Princess, hey, hey, baby,” he kissed the crease of your thigh, licked the wet there that made your skin shine, growling at the taste. “You gotta stay quiet, yeah? Keep quiet baby and I’ll make you come, I promise.”

You nodded, doe eyed as you stared down your body at him, barely keeping yourself up on your elbows, legs quivering as Steve pushed them further apart. “Lie back for me, yeah? That’s it, good girl. M’gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, princess, tell me what you need.”

Steve sounded reverent, kissing over your stomach and the small thatch of curls before licking into your folds again, pressing his lips to your clit. “Fingers,” you gasped out, clenching your comforter in each hand. Your knuckles were white. “Please, fingers please.”

Steve didn’t even respond with words, he just sucked his middle and pointer into his mouth and pushed them into you, groaning at how easy they slid in. The feeling of being so suddenly full made your head fall back, huffs of air escaping from your lips and making the ceiling fuzzy, it was glittering. The stars didn’t seem to stay outside anymore.

“Pull your legs up, baby, c’mon, open up for me,” Steve rasped, pushing your legs up with his shoulders until you got the hint and pressed your knees to your chest, letting them fall open even further until you were sure you were going to die from the way you were so exposed for him.

But Steve whined, a needy desperate noise and you felt the mattress dip and lift as he jumped himself into the bed, chasing his own release as he gave you yours. “Oh, good girl, baby, that’s so good. That’s it, yeah? Can get my fingers nice ‘n’ deep, huh?” He proved his point by rubbing the tips of his digits in small circles, pressing into the spot you could never reach.

It made your legs shake, toes curling and you were able to gasp out, “mouth, use your mouth, please,” just as you felt yourself getting pulled into the mattress, a hook in your tummy that was getting warmer and heavier, a buzzing in your ears like white static and Steve’s tongue was almost lazy as it dragged over you clit, soft and slow and languid. You felt every bit of it, cunt fluttering around the base of his fingers, sucking him in until Steve swore into you, lips parting around your pussy in a messy, wet kiss and he sucked hard when your back arched, legs falling, feet hitting the mattress, ass lifting up and into his face. You pushed yourself against his mouth, uninhibited, eyes squeezed shut and your hands fumbling for a pillow, an old stuffed teddy, anything to bite into to stifle your cries.

“Shit, princess, so fuckin’ hot, Christ, that’s it,” Steve groaned, pupils blow wide as he stared up at you. “Touch those tits for me, baby, play w’them, yeah.”

The boy’s hands grabbed at your thighs as you obeyed, fingertips biting into the soft skin, pulling you into him, groaning almost too loud when you moved against his tongue, hips rolling as you came. You felt it everywhere, a slow roll into an orgasm that shattered, sending you reeling, unwound, undone. There was glitter behind your eyelids, stars, a new planet.

You bit down into the corner of your cushion, soft, muffled noises caught between your teeth and you felt something wet slip from one eye, a tear that rolled over your cheek and onto the baby blue pillow case. You twitched, whining as you tried to pull away, overstimulated, easing yourself back onto the bed and trying to catch your breath.

Steve ran his wide hands over your thighs, up and down, up and down, one pressing to the soft of your tummy as he soothed you. “Shh, princess, I know.” He kissed over your clit, cooing when you jerked underneath him. “Sorry, sorry, s’okay, just lemme—” he cut himself off to lick over you, soft, slow drags of his tongue that avoided that overly sensitive bump at the top of your cunt.

You sighed prettily, soft moans as your eyes closed again, sucking in deep breaths as Steve cleaned you up, licking away everything you gave him, kissing sweetly over your folds before easing your legs from his shoulders. You lay spent, eyes closed and cheeks warm as the boy crawled his way back over you, dotting kisses over your ribs, the curve of your breast, grinning as you whined when he grazed his teeth over a nipple. You clung to Steve as he burrowed into you, nosing at your neck and humming, letting you grab at his hair and drag his mouth to yours.

This kiss was as languid and hot as it was when he kissed you elsewhere, his tongue licking over yours, the taste of yourself making you whine. You could feel Steve smiling, lips still pressed to yours, his nose against your cheek. He leaned back, just slightly, one hand pushing your hair from your damp forehead, grinning wide at the sight of your glassy eyes.

“You okay?” He asked softly, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.

You mumbled something Steve couldn't make out and clung a little tighter, pulling the boy down until he was pressed against your chest and you could hide your face in his neck.

“That good?” Steve tried to tease but he couldn’t help but sound sincere, you were still trembling, doing your best to burrow into him.

“Insane,” you said into the cotton of his shirt, lips pressed to his shoulder. “Stupid good, yeah. Fuck.” You were whimpering a little, voice soft and half asleep sounding and it made Steve beam. You wriggled against him, the breeze from the window seeming cooler now that Steve wasn’t working you up and your thigh brushed against a damp patch against his crotch. “Did you come?”

There was no judgement behind your answer, just quiet awe. You smiled when Steve scoffed, nodding as he leaned in to peck at your lips again. “Uh, ‘course I did. How could I not? You were grinding all over me like some kinda wet dream, princess shit—”

“Steve,” you whined, a little embarrassed as the high wore off, cheeks too hot when Steve laughed. You crawled over him, thighs straddling his lap. Your shirt - Steve’s shirt - fell back down, pooling your waist and covering you back up. Steve pouted, hands diving underneath anyway, fingers spanning over your thighs. You raised a brow. “You still hungry?”

Steve smirked, squeezing at your legs, revelling in the warmth he could still feel from between them. “Oh, she’s got jokes now, huh?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington one shot

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louloulemons-posts · 8 months

Text

Touchy-Feeley

Steve Harrington X Reader

Summary : Steve’s always touching you, but it’s totally platonic right?

Word count : 1.5k

Warnings : not proofread, pure fluff, idiots in love, pining, petnames, kisses, don’t think there’s any use of Y/N or descriptors of physical features, this was written at 4am lol.

A/N : This is my first fic for Steve! I can’t believe it’s taken me this long, but I saw a tiktok and it inspired this. I hope you enjoy it 🤍

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You and Steve had been best friends for a while now, becoming even closer after everything with the Russians at the mall went down.

You’d met through Robin, she’d dragged you into the back of Scoops begging for you help to figure out the code they’d heard.

Well that ended up in you, Robin, two kids called Dustin and Erica and strangely, king Steve Harrington.

You weren’t his biggest fan in highschool, seeing the way he treated people. People like you and Robin. That night changed everything, the way he kept all of you safe, eventhough he didn’t really know you.

After that you’d become friends, not as close as him and Robin or yourself and her, but friends no the less.

There was something else you’d learned about Steve during this time. He was someone who loved physical touch.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Walking into Family Video you waved over to Robin, “Hey.”

“Hey! Please tell me you bro-” Sliding her lunch across the counter she clasped her hands.

“I love you so much, did you know that?”

“Mhm. I’m using your discount, just so you know,” you spoke and walked away down the aisles to look for a movie or two.

Zoned out whilst you read the back of a case, you jumped when you felt arms wrap around you. “Sorry babe I did call you, but you must’ve not heard me.”

“Hi Steve.”

“Watcha thinking of getting?” he asked, now resting his head on your shoulder. “Not sure, this sounds interesting. It’s called Labyrinth.”

“It’s only been put back out today, it’s meant to be really good.” You hummed in acknowledgement. “Hey maybe we could watch it together?” he suggested.

Tapping your fingers on his hands that were linked around you, “Sure sounds good.”

“Great.”

He let go, but took your hand instantly, pulling you towards the counter. Rubbing his thumb against yours. Things like this had become normal to you now, it was stranger when he didn’t touch you.

Taking the VHS from you, he put it through, putting in his details so you’d get a discount. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Shush. I’ll be watching it too.”

He then pulled out his wallet and put a dollar in the till. “Steve!” you scolded.

“Shush!” Rolling your eyes playfully, you took the movie from him.

“When do you get off?” you asked.

“Like 5, gotta drop Robs home.”

“Do you wanna come over at 6:30 then? Or is that not enough time?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll bring some snacks.”

“Great, I’ll see you later then.” Giving one last squeeze to your hand, he smiled, “See you.”

Shouting goodbye to Robin, you waved as you headed out. The shorter haired girl appeared in the doorway. Fork in her mouth she mumbled, “You’re so in love with her.”

“Shut up!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The door knocked just after 6:30, quickly answering it, you smiled. Steve dressed in a yellow sweater, a bag in hand. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you smiled, letting him come in.

“So I brought candy and popcorn, and I thought we could get a pizza?” he said, as he placed the food on your kitchen counter.

“Sounds great. My mom and dad are at some reunion thing so we don’t have to share,” you laughed.

He smiled at that, you laugh. It was the most beautiful sound, making butterflies erupt in his stomach.

He knew you were going to be a big part of his life as soon as he lay his eyes on you. He didn’t think it would be in this way. He was scared of getting hurt in all honesty.

After everything that happened with Nancy, he was happy to be playboy King Steve for a while. But then he saw you smile at Robin as she teased him and Dustin in Pig-Latin and knew it was something more.

“Steve,” you voice snapped him back to reality, “lost you for a second there, you okay?” Your eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Sorry, so do you want to order the pizza now and then watch the movie?” he asked.

You let out a laugh, “That’s what I just asked you, silly boy,” you smiled, shaking your head. “Tell you what, you take the snacks into the living room and I’ll call.”

He nodded, pecking your cheek as he walked past you. He didn’t notice how your cheeks flushed when he did. They always did. He had that affect on you.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

With pizzas half eaten and movie playing, Steve spoke, “Come here,” he said, opening his arms up to you.

You grinned as you leaned into him, arms wrapping around you. “I missed you,” he mumbled into your hair.

“Steve you saw me this morning.”

“Too long!” he groaned.

“Well you’ve got me now,” you said, leaning up to leave a soft peck on the his jaw.

He shivered slightly at the feeling. Your eyes went back to movie, head resting on Steves chest, hearing his heart beat.

He could only hope it wasn’t too loud. He felt like it might explode, the way you kissed him could’ve killed him.

He whispered your name, “Yeah Stevie?” Now that, that could kill him. “Did you ever think we’d end up like this? Me and you?”

“Honestly, no. Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined myself having a pizza and movie night with King Steve.”

He let out a noise of dislike at the name, “I don’t wanna be like that again.”

“You won’t be. Don’t think me or Robs would let you, or Dustin.”

“Yeah I’m stuck with the nerds now.” Letting out a scoff you pushed up off him, “You’re calling me a nerd?” your eyes were wide, in mock offence.

“Well … yeah a bit.”

“How rude! How am I a nerd?”

“Well you’re the biggest book worm I have ever met, you’re great at all school subjects-”

“Am not!”

“Are too. You love sci-fi, you’re fluent in Pig-Latin out of all things, the list goes on and on babe.”

“You’re horrible to me, you know that?”

“Ah yes, the guy who brought you this movie.”

“Using your discount!”

“How horrible, and got you pizza and snacks.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” you said, moving over to the over end of the couch.

“Hey come back!” he laughed, pulling on your ankle.

“No! I’m clearly too nerdy to sit next to the great King Steve,” you huffed, trying to pull out of his grip.

“I’m not King Steve.”

“Who are you then?”

“Just Steve.”

“Just Steve?”

“Mhm, and you’re just you. My favourite nerdy person ever.” You rolled your eyes. “That’s it, I come over. Give you wonderful company, feed you and you call me King Steve and roll your eyes at me.”

He got closer to you, “You called me a nerd!”

“And am I wrong?”

“I … Well if I’m a nerd you are too!”

“No!”

“Steve your best friend is a 14 year old genius.”

“Rude. Also you’re my best friend and so is Robin.”

“So a child nerd, a band nerd and a just me nerd?”

“Exactly!”

“Wow.”

He was now next to you again. “Forgive me,” he said, giving you puppy dog eyes. “Stop it!” You laughed at his pouty face.

“Not until you forgive me, I’ll do anything,” he said, wrapping his arms around you once more. “Please forgive me. You’re my favourite nerd.”

“Let me go!”

“Not until you forgive me.” He squeezed you as you tried to wriggle away. Pulling and pushing him, you were on the end of the couch and almost out of his grip.

That was until you fell on the ground, Steve following after. “Jesus are you okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned, pushing up off you.

Unable to answer as you fell into a fit of giggles, “You’re crazy,” he smiled fondly, leaning over you.

Calming yourself you met his eyes, matching his soft smile. He heart thumped against his chest, while your tummy did somersaults.

Leaning down slowly, as to give you time to stop him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

Soon enough his soft lips met yours, moving together, as if they were made for each other. Your hand went to the base of his neck, playing with the hairs there.

Smiling into the kiss, Steve pulled back, giving you a few more soft pecks. “I wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t think you liked me like that.”

“Steve have you ever seen me let someone touch me the way you do? Even Robs?”

He tried to recount a time, there’d been one occasion he’d seen Robin hug you and you not squeal pushing her away. The night at Starcourt.

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh. I’m not a touchy-feely person. But for you, I am. I love it.”

“I love it too.”

“Then don’t stop, hold my hand, hug me, kiss me.” He lent down to do just that.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

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rustedhearts · 5 months

Text

santa baby (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: a private christmas lavishly celebrated in the bedroom of hollywood’s new favorite ‘it’ couple.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ christmas carols ✶ main masterlist

tags: fluff; some christmas smut; steve is so rich.

lovely adorable dividers by @chechelia

"santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me. been an awful good girl, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

—santa baby, eartha kitt

malibu, california, december 1993

"And then Nike wants a photoshoot for their new shoe collection. They're requesting you as their face...but, I don't know, the deal is—"

"Angel, grab my lighter, please?"

You stood from your leather swivel chair, pushing it away from the conference table to head toward Steve's gym bag near the door. You pulled his lighter from the front pocket and handed it over to him, just as he slipped a Marlboro between his lips.

"Thanks, honey," he mumbled, reaching out to rub your thigh as you sat back down.

"As I was saying: Nike is offering a quarter mil for the deal, but I think we can squeeze more out of 'em. If they want to make a contract deal with you, we're gonna need more—"

"Who says I want a contract deal with Nike?" Steve interrupted gruffly.

You adjusted the necklace on your chest—a gorgeous golden locket from your first Christmas with Steve. You polished it regularly and kept it in its velvet case when not in use. But it was rare that it wasn't in use.

The meeting had been going on for two hours at this point. You were tired, bored, and already positive Christmas was going to be spent at a photoshoot for Nike in L.A. Your parents called last weekend and asked if they should set a place for you at the dinner table for Christmas—but just like Thanksgiving, you told her it was "unlikely."

And just like Thanksgiving, it broke your heart to hear her sigh.

"You'd be an idiot not to take it, Harrington, c'mon,” Mikey huffed.

Steve slid a glass ashtray closer to his side of the table and tapped his cigarette over the litter. "What d' you think, baby?"

You were still in a daze, fiddling with your necklace and checking the state of your manicured nails. Steve tapped your thigh to break you out of it.

Looking up, you glanced at Mikey quickly—noting his eye roll—before shrugging at Steve. "Oh, um...I don't know."

Huffing, Mikey held out his hand to silence you, and you tried not to burn at the dismissal. "Yeah, Steve, look—"

"You might wanna lower that hand if you wanna keep it, Mike," Steve cooly grumbled, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"Look, Steve, I think it's a good business decision. This is literally my job, man, but you gotta let me do it."

Steve hummed, inhaling through his teeth. When he exhaled, a stream of grey smoke furled from his nose.

"I'll think 'bout it."

He made quick work of stamping out his cigarette, pushing away from the table in his chair as it sizzled out. He pulled your chair out next, holding an empty palm upended for your waiting hand. You slid your fingers in the open space and flashed a small smile, grateful for his comfort in your obvious lack of it.

"Wait, guys—Steve, we're not done!" Mikey called after the pair of you as Steve made a path for the door.

Winding his arm around your shoulders, Steve pulled you in close by the crook of his elbow to plant a kiss on your head. "Ready to go home, angel?"

"Mhm."

Throwing a sly grin over his shoulder, Steve shrugged. "Looks like we’re done, Santorini."

Wrapped in a pair of pink silk pajamas, you lathered smooth vanilla cream over your feet, massaging the soreness from five-inch heels as Steve huffed and puffed over the bedroom carpet with every pushup. He counted under his breath between grunts, face screwed up with exertion. The muscles of his back flexed and tightened with every decline.

"I know—forty-five—you're—forty-six—watchin' me."

Cheeks swelling with warmth, you smiled down at your hands as you smoothed the rest of the lotion in. "Whatever."

Four pushups later, Steve hopped up from the floor and adjusted the front of his boxers, bulging with a distracting amount of fullness. The blue light of the television screen cast a sheen over the end of the bed spread, and Steve crawled over it to flop next to you. You let yourself smile again, reaching out to brush a clump of soft, shampooed hair out of his eyes.

"What's a' matter?" he mumbled into the mattress, cheek squished.

You shook your head, placing the lotion on the nightstand. "Nothing—"

"Don't lie."

A sigh shuttered through you. Fingers approached his hair again, delicately swooping and sweeping through—more a comfort for you than him, though he melted into the mattress.

“It’s silly…I just wish we could spend Christmas together.”

“We are,” Steve replied.

“You know what I mean. Without Mikey and Big, and random endorsement guys, or a million fans screaming and taking pictures. Just us. Like it used to be.” Your voice was smaller than you wanted.

You didn’t realize how sad the prospect of a Christmas spent with strangers and money-hungry people made you. You turned your eyes toward the television as a commercial for Campbell’s soup came on.

Steve stirred on the bed, bringing his cheek to rest on your bare thigh. He kissed it, greedy for the bare, clean flesh scented of bubble bath and shaving cream. His teeth scraped the tender space of your inner thigh and you squeaked.

“I know,” he muttered, pressing another gentle kiss.

A moment of silence passed between you. The television buzzed with muffled chatter and the bright, blaring colors of holiday advertisements. Steve rubbed a rough hand over your soft skin, and you leaned back into the silky pillows against the headboard as you massaged his hair.

“I know what will cheer you up.” Steve tapped your thigh twice before sliding off the bed.

Tucking your legs in, you watched him disappear through the french doors of the closet you shared. He rummaged for a few moments—the roll of drawers opening and closing—before reappearing with a gilded shopping bag stuffed with tissue paper. It was far too neat for Steve’s heavy hands, but the thought of him asking a clerk for gift wrap made you smile.

“For me?” You pressed your hand to your chest and grinned coyly.

Steve placed it on the bed before you. “Well, open it and see.”

“It’s not Christmas ye—“

Steve placed his hands on his hips and fixed you with an arched brow. You plucked the tissue paper from the bag with a giggle. The paper revealed a black shoe box in the bottom of the bag, and once retrieved and placed in your lap, you removed the lid and came to a pair of mint green Mary Jane pumps.

“Oh, Steve,” you cooed, picking one up. It was sleek and gorgeous. “They’re beautiful.”

Steve kept his bottom lip firmly between his teeth to hide his smile. But seeing the warmth that gathered on your face, the brightness in your eyes—Steve wanted nothing more than to keep you this happy for as long as he could.

“Y’ like ‘em?”

“Love them, Stevie. Thank you.” Cradling the shoe close to your chest, you looked up to smile at Steve—but caught the back of him rushing into the closet again.

“Steve? Where are you going?”

“Hang on!”

Paper rustling followed Steve’s wobble as he reappeared with an armful of bags and boxes, some wrapped with velvet bows and others bare. You pressed up to your knees and watched him place them near the small, slim Christmas tree in the corner of your bedroom by the window. He huffed once all were dropped on the floor.

You crawled the length of the bed and peeked over the edge toward the tree. “Those are…all for me?”

Steve always spoiled you, especially on holidays and anniversaries, but this was a new extreme. Maybe it was the few months spent apart earlier this year that made him want to adore you more. A newfound appreciation for you and your love, and a new desire to express it the best he knew how.

“Yeah,” Steve scoffed, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “C’mon, open ‘em.”

“But what about Christmas?”

Steve scratched at the nape of his neck, sighing. The sourness of his expression made you drop back on your heels. He stepped over your presents to come near the end of the bed, hands bracing your cheeks.

“Would you hate me if we celebrated early? Because…you’re right, baby, we won’t be able to spend it alone. Mikey wants me to do all these shoots and stupid shit, and I have trainin’ and shit—“

“Okay,” you interrupted, throwing a sweet smile up his way. “As long as I get you all to myself right now.”

Steve pulled you up, the heel of his palms tucked under your jaw. His mouth devoured yours, tongue and teeth and warm lips. "M' all yours, angel."

When your lips were buzzing and numb from his mouth, Steve hoisted you off the bed and spun you around. Giggles subsided, you took in the array of colors near the tree.

"Well, if it's Christmas then you need your presents, too," you told him, and you scampered off toward the guest room down the hall before he could object.

You returned with your own bags and boxes for Steve—and though you felt terrible that there were half as many, you knew Steve would be just as happy with a sparkly red bow on your ass as his only gift.

And in the true spirit of Christmas, you slipped to the kitchen and concocted an array of lavish snacks and treats meant for the holiday specifically. Wine, champagne, cheeses, expensive French chocolates, cured meats, and you even splurged on a little caviar. Well. Steve did.

You made your own little Christmas in the comfort of your bedroom, clad in a pair of tiny silk pajamas that Steve kept tugging at. You fed him chocolates and licked the remnants from the corner of his mouth, and he wound his fingers in the back of your hair and pulled tight when he just couldn't help it anymore.

"Mm...Steve...let go," you giggled, smushed against his mouth by his iron hold.

Steve chased after your lips with a playful nip. "Nah, I want you...right here." He peppered more firm kisses between words.

Kisses that tasted like rich dark chocolate and bright, bubbly champagne.

"But I want you...oh!...to open some presents, too."

Steve groaned from his place in your neck, nuzzling and licking. "Just a little longer."

You wound your fingers in his hair and laughed, allowing yourself to be pulled into his lap. He tugged you down against him and latched onto your throat. Groans and whines muffled the transatlantic accents of the old Hollywood movie on the tv behind you. Steve’s bulge was stiffening against the satin bow of your pajamas.

“Steve,” you whined. “C’mon, open your g-gifts.”

Steve lifted off your neck with a wet pop, leaving a ring of saliva and swollen tooth marks in his leave.

He rubbed his thumb over the sore patch of flesh and raised his head to catch your eyes. “Fine.”

He kept you planted firmly in his lap as he tore the wrappings and ribbon off various boxes and bags, kissing your cheek and neck and mouth as his own version of gratitude with every one. You wrapped the Ralph Lauren tie around his neck and let it hang loosely, spritzed the cologne on his chest and kissed the seasoned skin, and even stuck a silver bow on the top of his head.

"Thank you, angel," Steve murmured with another gentle kiss. "But you know what my favorite gift is?"

You quirked a brow and slipped your arms over his shoulders. "What's that?"

Steve took the shiny bow from his head and placed it in his palm. You watched as he brought it behind you, a grin toying on your lips while you waited for it to touch your own head. Instead, a resounding smack echoed through the room, and a sting gathered in your ass. Steve smacked the bow on with a heavy hand, and you jolted upright in his lap with a gasp. Grabbing a handful of flesh, Steve gave it a jiggle and grinned sideways.

“You.”

Surging forward, you planted a sticky kiss on his mouth. Steve, unable to contain himself, pushed to his knees and hoisted you with him. Soon, you were splayed flat on the mess of wrapping paper and ribbon, a pair of rough hands working the buttons on your silk. Your fingers dragged through his hair as he tugged your little shorts down, writhing and whimpering as his hot breath fanned new patches of skin.

He drew a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, causing your fingers to twist tightly in his hair as your core clenched. His tongue circled your navel, causing you to giggle and twist away, tickled by his hot breath and wet appendage. Steve chuckled at your reaction, wide hands bracing your waist.

He dipped down to place himself between your legs, but you tightened your hands in his hair and tugged him up. Steve furrowed his brows, crawling up toward your face.

“What’s wrong—“

“Nothing, nothing,” you panted, clawing at his firm, muscular chest. “Just want you. Want you now, please, Steve.”

Amusement lightened his features once more, brow quirking up. “Aw,” he chuckled. “You just can’t wait, huh, baby? You need me that bad?”

“Uh-huh! Please, please—“

Steve kissed your babbling mouth, pulling his boxers down. “Shh. It is Christmas, angel. It’d be naughty of me to make you wait.”

You giggled breathily as he hooked your legs over his hips. “R-right. Like that’s ever stopped y—oh!”

Steve pressed until his pelvis pressed against yours, elbows crinkling a bag beside your head as he hovered. His palm cupped over the crown of your head, leveling your gazes.

“It can stop me now, too, honey,” he muttered. “S’ you better be good, hmm?”

“‘M good,” you mumbled, head bobbing up and down. Your thighs were already quaking. “‘M always good.”

Steve gently kissed your mouth again. Another at the corner where your mouth creased, so gentle and sweet.

“Yeah you are,” he whispered.

But enough talking. Steve wanted to devour you, and he snatched at your hands to slide them over your head as his hips began to move. Fingers intertwined and clutching tight, you held on with all your might as he fed pleasure in and out. You did nothing to silence your whines and cries, and he grunted into your neck in time. He was slow and languid, deeper and deeper every time he came back.

“Kiss me, kiss me, please,” you huffed with need.

Steve slid his mouth across your cheek and latched onto your own. You sighed against his lips with relief. Moans echoed into each other’s mouths, refusing to release the other as his thrusts grew frantic.

When he spilled into you, he gasped sharply against your cheek. You shuddered and writhed as warmth flooded you, and stroked his hair lazily when he fell down.

“Christ,” he groaned, cheek squished against your chest. “Fuckin’ Christmas angel.”

You giggled breathily and kissed his temple. “I think that was all you, handsome.”

Steve snickered, nipping at your breast and causing you to squeal. “I’ll take that. C’mon, flip over. Wanna play with you a ‘lil more.”

“Steve,” you laughed, and he lifted up to frown.

“Come on, angel, it’s Christmas,” he huffed.

“Only if I get to wear some of my new stuff.”

Steve immediately sat back, wiping sweat from his head. “Fuck yeah, baby. C’mon, go, go.”

He smacked at your ass as you crawled toward your new lingerie piled near the tree, and you fell into a mess of giggles as you collected them.

You scampered into the bathroom, and Steve chuckled to himself when he heard all your giggling. He snatched the bottle of champagne from the floor and poured another glass, easing back on his elbow to watch the door for your appearance. He grabbed the Polaroid from the bench at the end of the bed and pulled it open, aiming for the door.

When you appeared, the flash shuttered through the room like a white snap. Steve tossed the Polaroid toward the mess of gifts beside him and grinned as you twirled.

“Look beautiful, baby. C’mere, lemme get a better look.”

You crawled your way over in a ruffled mint green teddy and matching panties, and Steve snapped another photo of your arched back.

An early Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #boxer!steve #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader

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pricelessemotion · 11 months

Text

Never really over | S.H.

summary: [4.2k] you and steve fall apart, then fall back together.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: so much angst, best friends to exes to lovers, language, gratuitous taylor swift references

a/n: exes to lovers is one of my fave tropes so i hope i did it justice! reader is vaguely asian-coded by accident (though there shouldn’t be any direct references to r's appearance!) lmao happy AAPI heritage month to all my fellow asians

masterlist

The day after your breakup, Steve shows up at your house with a bag of takeout and a six-pack. He kicks off his shoes at the front door while you’re in the kitchen, already grabbing napkins and chopsticks. The light on the floral rice cooker on the counter just turned from cooking to keep warm. Steve is nothing, if not right on time.

To most people, the situation would seem peculiar. But you and Steve were best friends before your break up and you had promised that you would stay best friends after it.

You settle in on opposite sides of the worn-down loveseat, a rerun of Golden Girls playing on the television. You’re just about to ask him if he remembered to get extra sauce for the chow mein when Steve, seemingly anticipating your question, silently hands you a small cylindrical container.

The night goes on as it usually would, with Steve lamenting Keith’s tyranny and Dustin’s antics. He helps you clean up when you’re done, scooping the leftover rice into a Tupperware container saying I gotta get myself one of these, it’s so convenient! He even does the dishes, washing while you dry, never commenting on the fact that you have a perfectly good dishwasher that you never use.

Once he’s standing in the entryway, shoes back on and keys in hand, he instinctively leans in for a chaste kiss goodbye.

You flinch, turning your cheek at the last second. The moment becomes a sobering reminder as to why you decided to break up in the first place. Instinct over time starts to feel like routine. Routine over time starts to feel like a chore. Another thing that you have to cross off your to-do list.

For a while, it was grounding. It felt good to be normal. Normal felt like warmth, like coming in out of the freezing cold and cozying up next to a blazing fire. But you knew from experience that the cold always comes back. As the days drew darker, the once roaring hearth settled into a pile of ashes. Being grounded can feel like being tied down. It’s only natural to want to break free.

You didn’t realize freedom would feel like this.

“Right.” Steve huffs out awkwardly, swinging his car keys around his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shuffles out the door while you offer a weak goodbye. You know you’re letting the cold in by watching him as he gets into his car. You do it anyway.

–

Steve and Dustin have taken to visiting you while you’re on shift at the coffee shop. You’re not sure why. The arcade next door seems much more fitted to their shared interests, but they still come and visit you all the same. Usually, when you come upon them, they’re standing on the other side of the till having a whispered conversation that dies the moment they notice you’re there.

“A latte for me, and hot cocoa for the kid.” Steve says, ruffling the younger boy's hair.

“I’m fourteen!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Maturity. Did you want a coffee? I’m sure our girl over here has some great recommendations.”

Dustin only grumbles in response, muttering insults under his breath. Steve refuses your offer to comp their drinks, paying and dropping his change in the tip jar.

You set both drinks down on the counter when they’re done. One is a simple steaming cup. The other is piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles, decorated with a tiny plastic snowman left over from the holidays.

“Thank you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter. “Y’know, you’re my most favorite barista in the whole world.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only barista you know, but you’re welcome.”

“So, would you be interested in movie night tomorrow?”

“Wow, let me think.” You feign contemplation, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I have a meeting with some venture capitalists but I might be able to squeeze you in.”

“It’s a date.”

“So… you guys are back together?” Dustin darts a confused glance between the both of you, his irises going back and forth as if watching a ping-pong match.

“No!” You and Steve both blurt out at the same time. Then you both take a moment to look at each other as if to say, I know why I said no but why are you saying no?

Is it really over?

Dustin, as observant and tactless as ever, gives off a little shrug. You mutter something about needing to go to the back to do inventory. As you’re walking away, you hear Steve say something that sounds a lot like Nice going, doofus!

–

Dustin answers the door when you ring the bell. Steve’s house has the usual suspects for movie night. Max and El are cuddled up together on the floor, practically laying on top of each other. Robin and Nancy are on the loveseat to the left, so wrapped up in each other that they barely even register your arrival. You presume that the sounds coming from the kitchen are Mike, Will, and Lucas, no doubt making one too many bowls of popcorn in the microwave.

Steve is sitting, his arm draped over the back of the couch. Before, there would’ve been no questions as to where you would sit. The empty couch cushion practically had your name on it. You would’ve already bounded across the room and snuggled up to the boy that felt like home.

You search the room for another option, but come up empty. Unless you want to pointedly avoid sitting next to him by crashing on the floor with the kids, which would undoubtedly draw attention to the very thing you want to ignore.

Taking a seat next to Steve, you toe the line between platonic distance and romantic distance.

“What’s on tonight?” You ask no one in particular.

“The Princess Bride.” Lucas replies, coming from the kitchen with a bowl of fresh popcorn.

He barely gets a chance to put it down before the three other boys tumble onto the floor and begin shoveling the savory snack into their mouths. Max and El whine about their lack of civility, yelling at them for having spilled popcorn on the floor before the movie has even started.

“Ah, that’s my favorite!”

“I know.” Steve finally speaks up beside you.

“We’ve only seen it like a million times.” Max says, rolling her eyes and resting her head on El’s shoulder.

“Hey! Little shits who eat my food and use me as a taxi service don’t get to complain about my movie choices.”

“Whatever, Steve.” The redhead remarks, with an unmistakable fondness in her voice.

You settle into your seat. The January cold has seeped into the house and, despite the heating being on full blast, you’re freezing. Steve notices, tugging the comforter in his lap over your frame, enveloping you in a warmth you didn’t realize you missed so much. You murmur a quiet thank you that you’re almost sure goes unheard until he turns, giving you a small smile before returning his attention to the screen.

In order to properly share the blanket, you have to scoot in even closer. You tell yourself that it’s a perfectly reasonable platonic distance, that you used to do this all the time before you were dating. If Steve is experiencing even a fraction of your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking ahead, paying far too much attention to the film. The palm that would usually come to rest upon your shoulder stays gripping the back of the couch.

Sometime after Buttercup and Wesley enter the forbidden forest, you fall asleep.

It’s hard to make out anything through the dense fog. The trees around you loom large, foliage so lush and thick that it blocks out the sky, making it unclear if it’s day or night. The only light source comes from an oil lamp.

The lamp casts a shadow over the face of the person holding it, emphasizing his strong brow and straight nose. You go to move toward Steve, but you can’t. You’re stuck. Ankle deep in sand, coarse and with the consistency of molasses, that slowly creeps up higher and higher. It takes you a moment to realize; the sand isn’t getting higher, you’re getting lower.

You’re sinking.

Desperately, you begin grasping at anything and everything that might get you out. It’s futile. The more you move, the further you fall. You’re waist-deep now. Steve is still standing there, stone-faced, oil lamp flickering. He turns, walking into the fog and taking the light with him.

You open your mouth, wanting to scream. Needing to scream. But only one word echoes throughout. It does nothing to stop Steve’s retreating figure.

Stay.

“Hey,” Steve is tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. “Wake up.”

The fog dissipates. Feeling slowly returns to your limbs. The first thing you realize is that you fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder. The second thing you realize is that, due to your impromptu nap, the distance between the two of you is practically nonexistent. You recoil, sliding yourself as far away from him as you can. Steve flinches at the sudden movement.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and comforting, like a childhood blanket that you can’t sleep without. “It seemed like you were having a bad dream.”

You blink your eyes furiously, trying to shake the sinking feeling that has settled deep into your stomach.

“Where is everyone?” You ask, avoiding his question. The once lively living room is now empty. Remnants of movie night surround you in the form of stray pieces of popcorn and a nearly empty tub of Red Vines.

“They all went home about twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed so comfortable. I didn’t wanna wake you.” He shrugs, saying the next words gently. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Before, you would tell him yes. You always talked to Steve about your nightmares. Most of the time he was there to witness them firsthand, waking up to your shouting and thrashing. Some nights, he would be able to coax you back to sleep with soothing words and tender touches. Other nights, he would stay up with you for hours, talking about nothing. The next day, the deep bags etched under his eyes would serve as another reminder of just how tiring you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wipe the corner of your mouth, cringing at the slight dampness you find there. Great. Not only did you fall asleep on Steve but you also drooled on him. “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

Leaping from the couch, you get to the foyer in record time. Your shoes are already halfway on before Steve appears, standing in between you and the door.

“You don’t have to. You know the guest room is always made up for you if you want it.” He bargains.

“I— I have to go. I’m sorry. Goodnight Steve.”

“Please, you’re tired. At least let me drive you.” He’s practically pleading, already moving to grab his car keys.

“Just let me go, Steve!” Your outburst echoes throughout the empty house.

Steve takes a step back away from you. “I’m sorry.”

Regret washes over you like a tidal wave. You can feel yourself being ripped under the current. You curse yourself, not for drowning, but for dragging Steve down with you.

“No, don’t apologize. Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—”

“Have to go?” He supplies.

He sounds dejected like this is another battle with you that he’s already resigned himself to losing. You fumble through another apology, another goodbye.

You don’t dare to look behind you as you make your way to your car. It isn’t until you’re halfway down your street that you spare a glance at your rear-view mirror. Steve is still standing there, the door wide open.

You don’t know why you keep having dreams where you ask Steve to stay.

You’re the one who is always leaving.

—

“She was totally flirting with you!” You scream whisper, keeping in mind that the diner is mostly empty aside from the loyal patrons that come in every weekday for a hearty serving of beef and potatoes.

Steve showed up to the coffee shop today, sans Dustin, asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat after your shift. You obliged, hoping to make up for your outburst from the other night. He still hasn’t mentioned it. For your sake, you hope that he won’t.

“No, she wasn’t.” You thought Steve’s obliviousness when it came to romance only extended to you. Apparently, you were wrong because he was completely ignoring the way that the waitress was batting her eyelashes at him.

“Yes, she was!” You take a fry from the basket and Steve pushes his strawberry milkshake toward you, already knowing that you were going to subject him to the gross combination and he might as well get it over with. “Y’know, if you wanted to ask her out you could. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back. Anyways, isn’t it weird, having your ex-girlfriend be your wingman?”

“I’m still your best friend. Besides, you totally helped me out with Brandon so I just thought I’d return the favor.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, causing you to furrow your brow at him. Despite having loved him for a long time and having known him for even longer, his inability to read a room knows no bounds.

“Last week at Family Video?” You utter the words with slow precision, but recognition fails to make its way across Steve’s face. “Brandon Clayborn asked you for horror movie recommendations and you sent him to me.”

“And he asked you out?” Steve gapes at you from over the rim of his milkshake. The idea of grabbing the glass and slogging the pink confection at him crosses your mind, but instead, you clench your fists at your side.

“Is that so unbelievable?” At your response, Steve’s brows pinch together. He toys with the wrapping paper of his straw, folding it over and over again.

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh.” Steve finally stops fiddling with the piece of paper. It’s shredded to pieces in a pile in front of him. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the bulging leather wallet. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, Steve slides out of the booth and walks up to the counter. The giggles of the waitress can be heard throughout the diner. You turn toward the window so that you don’t have to see her scrawl her number on the receipt, and you catch your muddled reflection. You don’t know if you look like you’ve seen a ghost or if you’ve become one.

–

Due to unforeseen circumstances, your second date with Brandon had to be rescheduled. A literal rain check. He’d sputtered out numerous apologies over the crackling phone line, saying how the picnic he had planned didn’t account for a torrential downpour. You promised him that it was fine, that you didn’t even wanna leave the house in this weather. You didn’t think anyone would want to leave the house in this weather, which is why you grew shocked at the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Then you promptly remember that this is Hawkins and that anyone or anything could be behind that door. Grabbing the old wooden bat you keep under the couch for emergencies, you inch toward the door. The frantic ringing of the bell matches the beat of your heart. Peering through the peephole, you sigh in both relief and frustration before flinging the door open.

“Are you insane?!” You practically scream at the soaking wet boy. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Steve stands in the threshold, shaking his head like a dog would to get all the water out. You flinch as the droplets inevitably fall on you. The fine mist and wind that he’s brought in with him chill you to the bone.

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

“How did you even manage to get this wet in the twenty feet from the street to the porch?” You ask, peering behind him to look for the familiar maroon vehicle. It isn’t there.

“I walked here.”

You balk at him. Sure, Steve has been known to act recklessly from time to time, but never without reason. Instead of taking the time to berate him for being so stupid, you take one look at the soggy shivering boy and shut the door, turning on your heel towards your bedroom. You don’t need to look behind you to know that he’s following you.

“C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes.”

You rummage through your drawers, managing to find a t-shirt and sweatpants that you had stolen from him long ago. Now is as good a time as any to give it back, right? Stuffing the items in your arm, you thrust them into Steve’s hands and direct him to the bathroom. He doesn’t need direction. He knows the floorplan of your house just like he knows you–all too well.

While Steve is in the bathroom, you go to shut the drawers that you had left open in the rush to find him something to wear. The bottom drawer has always had a problem, getting stuck at the most inopportune moments. Lifting it just a little, you slam the drawer back into place which causes the contents on top of your dresser to shake with the force. The silver picture frame falls on its face and you go to place it right side up.

It’s a photograph of the two of you from last summer. Robin had pointed the camera at you and at the very last second Steve grabbed you and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal in delight. The memory stings. You almost want to put it face down again so that you don’t have to be reminded of what once was. Instead, you’re interrupted by the sound of a lock turning and quiet footfalls on carpeted floors.

The moment Steve steps into your bedroom, you’re drenched in nostalgia. It’s been months since you’ve seen him like this–standing in his pajamas in your bedroom. It’s moments like this that are the hardest. The ones where you can feel how everything and nothing has changed. It feels like relief and restriction.

You realize you’re still standing in front of the dresser and go to sit on your bed. You need to put space between you and Steve. He has this insane gravitational pull and you know that if you stay around him like this for too long, you’ll end up back in his orbit.

He steps cautiously around the room like he’s afraid of stepping on a landmine. One wrong move and everything could blow up. Standing in front of the dresser, he takes the dreaded picture frame into his hands. He’s still using a towel to dry his hair when he finally speaks.

“It’s a good picture.” He says, simply. The pads of his thumbs wipe away the layer of dust that coats your sunbleached faces.

“It is.” You manage to choke out. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He places the picture frame back down on the dresser. It’s perfectly angled towards you. The ghost of your smiling face taunting you in your own bedroom.

“It’s funny, y’know?” Steve lets out a mirthless laugh.

“What is?”

“We broke up and the only person I wanna talk about it with is you.”

All of the air has been sucked out of the room. Steve has always been good at taking your breath away.

“I mean, I get it. I get why we broke up. I do.” He lets out a deep breath before continuing on, not giving you a chance to interrupt. “Except, I don’t. I can’t wrap my head around how one day we were fine and the next day we weren’t. I know that I’m not good enough for you–I’ve always known that. I guess I just wanna know when you finally figured it out.”

His words make you ache. A tightness blooms in your chest and spreads all the way down your arms to your trembling fingertips. You want so badly to reach out to him. He’s on the other side of the room but he might as well be on the other side of the world. You don’t know how to bridge the ravine that you’ve put between the two of you. You know for him you’d make the leap, uncaring of the abyss below. The thought scares you so much that your fists tangle in your bedsheets, hoping for something to keep you from falling back in.

“The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you weren’t good enough for me. You’ve always been good enough, Steve.”

You can tell from the shake of his head that he doesn’t believe you.

“I thought that maybe you just needed a little space, a little time. Then I have to watch you go on dates and move on like it’s easy. Like the fact that we’re not together anymore doesn’t eat you up inside.”

“It’s not easy! It’s killing me!” Tears collect in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I don’t know why I can’t just be happy with you. I want to be happy with you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Steve begs, his question punctuated by a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning.

You found solace in the eye of the storm. Once the storm passed, you didn’t know what to do with the wreckage. Calm didn’t provide comfort. Instead, it only reminded you that there was likely another storm to come. Steve has always been better at picking up the pieces and patching things up. You didn’t want to become just another thing he had to fix. So, you pushed him away.

He still came back.

This time he brought the storm with him.

“I’m afraid that the minute I actually enjoy everything, it’ll all get taken away from me.” You confess, roughly wiping away your tears.

Steve crosses the room and kneels in front of you. His hair is still slightly damp, a stray strand hanging in front of his forehead. You brush it out of the way and he catches your wrist, placing a kiss in the palm of your hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. He says it like a promise. You wish the words were tangible, that you could close your fist around them and hold them close. “Tell me what I can do to fix it.”

The words simultaneously endear and exasperate you. Here is this boy who loves you, sitting in front of you telling you to let him love you. Here you are, about to tell him that he can’t.

“What if you can’t fix it, Steve? What if I’m unfixable?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes both of your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Then I’ll still love you anyway.”

Steve looks up and the clouds part. You’ve been so caught up in your doom and gloom, that you’d forgotten what it felt like to see the light of day. You lean down, closing your eyes, pressing your forehead to his.

“Why?” The question comes out watery and wanting.

“I can’t help it.” He breathes out.

You understand the feeling.

You bridge the gap, uncaring of the abyss that lies below. You’d fall through eternity if it meant you got to do it with him. His lips feel exactly like you remember them–like home. He kisses soft and slow, hands anchored at your hips as if to prevent you from floating away. When you break apart, both of you gasping for air, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. It fades away as soon as you lean back on the bed, pulling at his sleeves and dragging him with you.

The night is composed of soft apologies and even softer sighs, accompanied by the din of rain against the roof. It isn’t until far into the night that the storm finally subsides, leaving the pavement to glow in the morning sun.

Waking up next to Steve is a revelation. You don’t know how you ever survived without it. He’s all sleepy smiles and tired eyes, drowsily pulling you closer to him. Resting your head on his chest, you’re soothed by the rhythmic thump of his beating heart.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to walk in the rain just to say that you wanna get back together. You’re so dramatic.” You joke, hoping that it isn’t too soon to start poking fun.

His chest rumbles with laughter, the reverberations quelling your fears.

“In my defense, it wasn’t raining when I started walking.” He says, voice still thick with sleep. “Besides, you love it.”

You smile contentedly to yourself, not offering up a response besides a hum of agreement. He’s right. You do love him. Rain or shine.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

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thewulf · 5 months

Text

Adorably Clueless || Steve Harrington

Summary: Request - So everyone rags on Steve for being stupid right so here’s the idea the reader who is pretty smart acts clueless about a lot of things and asks Steve for help because they don’t like the way the others jokingly call him stupid all the time... Read Rest Here

A/N: We’re pretending Robin and Steve are friends their senior year of high school, everything is moved up a year. Dustin and co are in eighth grade and reader/Steve/Robin/Nancy are seniors. K thanks <3Thank you for the request @loving-and-dreaming

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Y/N

Word Count: 3.5k +

“Can I have a ride to school?” Dustin asked as you slid into the seat next to him running a bit behind this morning. You’d taken a little extra time to make sure you looked a little bit nicer than normal. Steve was around. He was always around. And you’d be lying if you didn’t say you had a little crush on him. You and every girl in Hawkins that was.

You quirked your eyes up to him while pouring the remaining orange juice into your glass, “No Harrington this morning?” Asking inquisitively. Steve had been picking Dustin up early the last few days throwing you out of your normal rhythm with the middle schooler.

He shook his head quickly, “No, we finished that project.” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rolling your eyes, you put the bacon and eggs your mom had made up onto your plate in a hurry, “Yeah, sure. Not like I have to go anywhere else.” You snickered knowing Dustin had to walk down the hill to the middle school, you couldn’t be bothered to drop him off then park.

Your mom sighed gathering the attention of both you and your brother, “I’m glad you’re driving him again, Y/N.” She smiled at you giving your hand a pat.

You frowned almost immediately at that comment, “Why? Steve’s perfectly fine at driving him.”

She gave you a tight-lipped smile knowing how you were. You weren’t going to back down from a fight, you never did, “Well, you know what they say.” She chuckled looking at Dustin who simply gave her the same look of confusion.

Shaking your head quickly you deadpanned at her, “I actually don’t mom. Enlighten me, will you?” You snapped back feeling all the irritation bubbling to the surface. Of course, you knew what they said about Steve. He was dumb. He was irresponsible. He would never get out of Hawkins. Blah blah blah. You might’ve believed that in the past but no longer was that the case. After you saw how he treated your younger brother you saw him in an entirely new light. Steve was kind. Steve was sweet. Steve was beyond thoughtful. You were crushing hard on the boy. And you’d done a pretty damn good job at hiding it. Right up until now. You were definitely giving it away now. Dustin’s eyes burning into the side of your head told you so.

She gave another quick, nervous laugh before clearing Dustin’s plate, “He’s just trouble sweetheart.”

“Typical.” You grumbled feeling annoyed as hell by your mother’s dismissal of the sweet man you’d observed over the last few months.

Dustin looked over at you giving you a curious look. You were usually mouthy with your parents but never pushed it too far. This was pushing it beyond what he was used to. And for Steve? He thought that was odd. Especially for you. He’d learned almost everything from you. You were analytical. Smart. Only spoke up when you knew you were right. Why were you defending Steve Harrington so boldly?

“What’s that honey?” She asked turning back to the two of you.

“You of all people shouldn’t believe the gossip. Thought you told us not to judge a book by its cover mother?” Refusing to look at either of them you decided on staring at the plate in front of you.

Her nervous smile gave it all away, “Sure. Now, off you go. Don’t want to be late to school now do we kids?”

You frowned annoyed as hell by the utter dismissal of the conversation. Oh, so typical. Rolling your eyes, you stood not even attempting to clear your plate, “Come on Dusty. We’ve got some learning to do.” You didn’t wait before grabbing your backpack and keys and walking out the front door without so much as a goodbye. Dustin followed quickly yelling a goodbye leaving a very quiet house for a very mouthy woman to deal with.

When Dustin jumped into the passenger seat of your old sedan you looked over at him. He was giving you the weirdest look. Studying you, “What?” You asked deciding to do your seatbelt instead of looking at him. You couldn’t look at him. No, that’d actually give you away.

“What was that about?” He asked not deciding to hold it back.

“What was what about?” You played dumb. It was so much easier. So, so much easier than explaining a stupid little crush that’d go absolutely nowhere.

He shook his head leaning back into the seat, “Steve? You’ve never mentioned his name before. Now you’re yelling at mom over breakfast about him? Thanks for that by the way.” He smiled knowing you’d always have his back.

You shrugged while backing out of the driveway, “I don’t know… You like him. He fills a gap I can’t fill. So why shouldn’t I defend him?” Trying to play it off you were thankful you had a reason to keep your eyes forward and on the road.

He nodded his head not fully believing you as his eyes narrowed in on you, observing you, “Sure, Y/N. That’s all.”

You nod quickly not daring to look over at your overly observant brother. Weren’t boys supposed to be clueless? Why was every single one of them clueless except Dustin? Of course, your brother wasn’t defective like a majority of the male population, “Yup. That’s all Dustin.”

The rest of the ride was nearly silent as Dustin sat there staring at you. He wasn’t going to give it up and neither were you. So, silence it was. When you parked the car in the lot you turned to him, “Not a word is mentioned of this morning to him. Do you need a ride home?”

Dustin smirked. The little fucker smirked. He unbuckled his seat belt and gave you the biggest grin, “Can’t guarantee that and nope. Steve is driving me home. We’re doing some investigating after school.”

You shook your head, “For once. Keep your big mouth shut. What are you even investigating? It’s Hawkins.” Giving him a curious glance, you stepped out of the worn-down vehicle trying not to be too late to class.

He jumped out of the car mimicking your actions, “Again, can’t guarantee that dear sister. And exactly. It’s Hawkins, there’s lots to investigate.” He grabbed his backpack before turning off to head down towards the middle school, “I’ll be back late, let mom know.” He waved knowing it was best to not give you the last word. Whatever. You’d cover for him like you always did. Steve was good for him. Just like Mike, Lucas and Will. It was never lost on you how you were always a touch jealous of your younger brothers ability to make true friendships. You’d only had one true friend. Thankfully, she was in most of your classes. You’d have gone insane have to deal with this whole high school thing alone.

As Steve got to know Dustin more you got to know him a little better too. It got under your skin how everybody so casually called him dumb or stupid. He was neither. He just played a part. A part you were easily able to see behind. He was his true authentic self around your brother, at your house. You’d caught him talking nerdy with your brother and asking questions somebody dumb would never. Steve was a master at his craft. An illusionist who needed to be the center of attention. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure that part of him out. For that you’d have to have a real-life conversation. One you often shied away from. Little did you know Steve was determined to get that conversation out of you, Dustin’s far too shy older sister. The girl he’d been crushing on since his split with Nancy.

He knew he was a goner the first time he really saw the real you. You were arguing with your mom, something he’d learned was commonplace in your household. He was amazed by your ability to express your words. You so flawlessly got your point across in a way he’d never seen. You were in his classes, but he’d never really seen you before. You were beautiful. Especially once your younger brother talked you up without even realizing it. He’d started to fall for you without even having a proper conversation. He wasn’t going to give up though. He wasn’t planning on going to Dustin, but he was starting to run through all his options. Every time he tried to dive in a little bit deeper you gave him that deer in headlights look. A look of knowing he was pushing the boundaries a little too hard. He’d back off. But then he got absolutely nowhere with you. Until you started coming to him for little things. You’d ask him a math question, one you’d obviously know the answer too, but one you knew he knew the answer to as well. Something to boost his confidence. For even you knew he heard the snide remarks about his intelligence. He was human too.

In English you’d ask him a silly grammar rule. In Phys Ed you asked him how to correctly shoot the basketball even though you’d been taught a thousand times over by Dustin and his know-it-all friends. In Spanish you’d ask him a simple question, beaming with pride when he answered back correctly. Little by little you tried to help him in the smallest of ways.

He was doomed, doomed from your sweetness. You’d taken his heart without the simplest of clues to doing so. He was trying to give you all the signs, the signs that showed he was incredibly interested in everything you had to offer. But you were clueless. Absolutely clueless to it all. For as smart as you are you were oblivious to him right in front of you. If he couldn’t figure it out soon he’d have to go to Dustin to get to you. He’d gotten the sense that only Dustin could talk some reason into you.

You’d been a pro at avoiding Steve at school that day. He hadn’t a clue as to why you were being so elusive. You were far too aware of your feelings to even try and approach a semi-normal conversation with the man. Avoiding him was your best option.

“You’re acting weird Y/N.” Kelly, your best friend, said as she spotted your eyes darting the cafeteria at lunch, “Been acting weird all day.”

“No, I haven’t Kel.” Speaking back in an instant you turned your full attention back to her.

A smirk that was eerily similar to Dustin’s danced on her lips as she watched you. Everybody seemed keen on your actions today, “In fact, you’ve been acting a little off ever since a certain Harrington has become friends with your very own brother. Peculiar.”

You rolled your eyes rather dramatically at your friend, “Look at you, jumping to conclusions.”

“You’ve been avoiding him all day Y/N.” She said matter of factly.

Shaking your head, “No…”

“You literally made Mandy trade seats with you in Chemistry today. I don’t want to hear it.” She cut you off.

“You’re annoying.” You sighed.

“And you’re being avoidant. The usual hey?” She grinned knowing she had you there. This was totally your style.

“Whatever Kelly.” Looking away your eyes went wide seeing Steve and his very own best friend, Robin, walking your way, “Gotta go talk to Mrs. Pace about my grade. I’ll see you later?” You stood quickly and ran off before she could even reply. When you turned back you saw the three of them conversing, talking about who knows what. You. They were talking about you.

When you heard the front door open and close you’d assumed Dustin was alone. Your parents were out for a dinner date with another couple they’d been friends for years with. Being miserably bored you were thrilled when you’d heard him come home. Having somebody to annoy made you far too giddy.

“There you are!” Yelling from the top of the stairs you skidded to a complete stop seeing not only your brother but his much taller and much more handsome friend standing in the kitchen with him.

All too pleased with himself he gave you a head nod, “Y/N. Steve’s going to stay for dinner.” He didn’t ask, he stated.

“Sure, I’ll just be up in my room…”

He cut you off grabbing at your arm, “No, I know you haven’t eaten. Sit.” He sounded weirdly like your father.

“I already…” You tried but again he cut you off.

“No, you haven’t. The plate is untouched. Your water is still at the table. Sit.” He pointed to your usual chair. He had you there. He was too damn observant. Only Dustin.

You glared at him but sat down next to Steve who looked all too happy to be sitting there with the two of you. Not even you could lie, he was damn adorable sitting there kicking his feet watching the two siblings bicker back and forth.

Dustin set down two plates in front of you and Steve, “I just remembered. I was supposed to call Mike at 7! We’re supposed to be doing Mr. Ryan’s homework.” He rambled before running off upstairs.

“Dustin?” You called feeling a growing irritation for your meddling younger brother. The little shit just left you to fend for yourself with Steve fucking Harrington? What the fuck?

“Kids a trip.” Steve smiled over at you hoping it’d calm your nerves a bit. He knew you were nervous for some reason. He was anything but intimidating, or so he thought.

Your face broke into a grin knowing his motives. He was a trip, that one was for sure, “You could say that again.” Defeated, you grabbed at your fork knowing you couldn’t really just leave him sitting in your kitchen. Dustin would quite literally kick your ass if you did that.

He nodded his head in agreement, “Your brother is pretty great too. Never thought I’d enjoy spending so much time with a literal kid.” He snickered knowing the optics of the situation were less than stellar.

Finally, you looked at him. And Jesus, was he stunning. It wasn’t fair. He was so damn attractive and then he was so damn kind? Dustin was setting you up, “He get it from somewhere.” You agreed with him while nodding your head.

Steve’s smile grew even wider as he let out a hearty laugh, “He told me you were funny.”

Eyebrows raised you replied, “He did?”

“Yup.” He scooted a tad closer to you. All too thrilled you were finally entertaining a conversation with him, “He says a lot of good things about you.”

Without even realizing it you bit your lip slightly. A little habit Steve had noticed in school as he watched you a bit closer this year. It happened when you were thinking. When your mind was reeling, “Dusty’s the sweetest younger brother. I’m lucky.”

“Well, he’s got a pretty great older sister he watches all the time.” Steve said so casually you weren’t positive if you were hearing

Your eyes snapped back over to his suddenly very aware of why you avoided these conversations. Your cheeks were absolutely ablaze feeling like you could cook an egg off your face it was so hot, “

He smirked, “What? No comeback? He says your infamous for those. And I’d tend to agree. You schooled Mr. Clark the other day.”

Biting back a smile you rolled your eyes, “Dustin has a lot of opinions about me, hmm?”

He leaned forward feeling brazen, “You’re right. Enough about him. More about you.” His chair scooted just a bit closer. He was bold, you gave him that.

“Me?” Your face had to be as red as a tomato now.

“You heard me.”

Trying to be just a bit brave you continued, “Well, what about me?”

His chair inched ever so much closer. Your heart was racing at an uncomfortable pace as he opened his mouth, “Tell me something about you sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? Sweetheart. Damn, that made your already racing heart explode, “What do you wanna know?” It was a whisper. God, you were pathetic. He made you pathetic. A pathetic bumbling mess, “I hate chicken nuggets. I think they’re disgusting.” You said the first thing that came to your thoughtless mind.

He didn’t give you any time to be embarrassed though. He let out a snort before full on laughing, “Chicken nuggets? Really?”

You nodded quickly defending yourself, “I just… I just don’t think chicken should come that way. Not natural.”

He snickered shaking his head but moving his chair even closer. He was almost on top of you now. Surly, he could hear your racing heart, “You’re a trip too, Henderson.”

“Hopefully you mean that in a good way.”

His smile should’ve given you the hint. But you were clueless. Absolutely clueless, “In the best way.”

The two of you were so into the moment you didn’t hear the younger version of you walk down the stairs. To be fair, it had been twenty minutes. He’d just been sitting in his room bored to death and couldn’t take it anymore. So, he walked down the steps. When he walked into the kitchen he’d expected to find the two of you bickering. Just like he and Steve did. But he found the opposite. The two of you… enamored with each other?

He couldn’t hide the small smile creeping up on his lips. He’d all but gotten a confession out of Steve that he liked you. And he wasn’t dumb, you liked him. So, this was meant to happen, right? Plus, if the two of you were together then Steve would be over all the time. A win, win.

But he was bored, your love could blossom another time, “What’d I miss?” He spoke up. You nearly jumped from your seat. Steve scooted away in a hurry.

“Dustin!” You whisper shouted, startled by his sudden presence.

“Son of a…” Steve muttered while glaring at the younger boy.

Dustin gave him a devious smirk, “What was that Steve?”

“He likes you; you know.” Robin set her bag down next to yours on the ground. She plopped down in the seat next to you in the wide-open library.

You looked up from the homework you were working on, “Hmm?”

“Steve. He likes you. Hard.”

Shaking your head, you decided on giving her your full attention, “No, no he doesn’t. I think I’d notice if he liked me.”

She snorted lightly, “You’re adorable. Adorably clueless. He likes you Henderson.”

“Then he’ll tell me himself.” You said so assuredly you weren’t expecting her reply.

“You’re right. He will.” And before you could reply Robin was off as soon as she had sat down.

Before you could focus back on your homework and ignore the weird interaction with the girl you’d come to adore from afar somebody else was in the seat she had just occupied.

When you looked up and spotted him your weak little heart started racing once more, “Steve, what’re you doing here?”

“Here to tell you something.” He smiled leaning back in the chair.

Robin? Robin was written all over this. He couldn’t actually like you. It was more of a thing to say to get her to shut the hell up. But now… now Steve might actually admit something.

“What’s that?”

He kept quiet until you looked up at him. He smiled gently at you. Trying his darndest not to freak you out, “That I like you.”

“You like me?” You asked back so quickly he was sure you hadn’t really processed it.

“Yes,” He nodded quickly, “I like you. A lot.”

“Me?”

He grabbed at your hand, “You.”

“You’re sure?” You couldn’t believe him. No. Not until he confirmed it at least twenty times.

“Positive.” He gave your hand a squeeze trying his best to keep you grounded in reality. Not stuck in that pretty little head of yours.

“Oh.” You’d finally processed his words. He liked you. Damn, he liked you?

“Hopefully that’s a good, oh.” He mirrored your words from earlier on in the week.

A small smile came to your lips, “Yeah, it is… but…” You paused not sure how to ask the question that was itching at the back of your head.

“But?”

“But you’ve never seemed interested.”

He let out a quiet laugh, “Robin was right, you are adorably clueless.”

You gave him a fake pout, “Hey now.”

He shook his head, “I didn’t say it wasn’t cute. It’s adorable. You’re adorable sweetheart.” He grabbed at your other hand, holding both of your much smaller hands in his.

“Hey Steve?” You said after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

“I like you too. I like you a lot.” You bobbed your head up and down.

“Tell me then, what do you say? We’ve got a problem and I’ve got a solution. I’m taking you out Friday evening. On a proper date.” Steve proposed looking all too hopefully at you.

You grinned, “I think that sounds like a great plan.”

He let out a small sigh of relief, “Finally, it’s a date my dear.”

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atinylittlepain · 3 months

Text

Warm

college!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

Steve gets flustered in an art museum. She kind of likes it.

18+ smut, normal hairy female bodies, steve is kind of a perv in the best way, smut duh, and verrryyyyyy sweet, also robin and eddie being good roommates

note: the painting that Andy and Steve look at is called l'origine du monde by Gustave Corbet and you can check it out here. This fic is for bush (not the president) and bush only, thanks.

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Steve is a good guy, right? Right. Respectful, respectable, two percent in his cheerios in the morning, light wash denim and clean sneakers, and he flosses two times a day, clean bill at every dentist appointment and he shows it, curls half a smile when he holds the door open for girls on campus, all ease, all-American and alright. Studying business, and of course he is, though his parents don’t know about the women’s studies minor he picked up all because of a flushed little crush on a professor that never amounted to anything, coupled with Robin strong-arming him into taking a few more classes with her. But that’s okay, he likes the classes, and he likes the classmates.

“Do you need a partner?”

“Hmm? Oh, I was just going to work alone actually.” Big scarf tucked up around her neck and a big coat wrapped up around her and she barely even glances at him down the slope of her nose, already refocusing on the painting in front of her. But he’s a good guy, right? Right. A real team player, tilting his head, and letting his hair fall into his face, a little shy, a little smile. She glances at him, unimpressed hook of her brow and her eyelashes lifting up over the rims of her glasses. Her name is Andy, he knows, though they haven’t spoken, at least not directly. She’s been known to correct him in class however, her hand raising after his, quick and cutting. He maybe, kinda, sorta likes that.

“I think we’re supposed to, you know, discuss what we’re looking at with each other for the VHS thing.”

“VTS.”

“What?”

“It’s called VTS. Visual thinking strategies. Are you sure you want to discuss this painting with me?”

“I’m game if you are.” She smiles, and he’s already thinking about which of her palms he’d like to write his number on. But when he finally looks at the painting, he finds himself to be a lot less concerned with his phone number.

“So, Steve, what’s the first thing you notice about this painting?”

“Um, well, I–”

“Is it too much for you?” Heat is prickling in a bloom up his neck, her smile sharp as her eyes flit between him and the painting, the painting that he really should have looked at before approaching her.

“No, no, it’s not too much. It’s– appreciation of the female form, right?” He’s not sure where to look any more, a strange kaleidoscope with how quickly his eyes are darting between scraps of the painting and her face. A freckle under her eye, and then swaths of cream and pink brush strokes and then the hitch in her cheek where her smile curves and then, and then.

“Hair.” His voice pitches and cracks somewhere in the word, turning one syllable into two like a hiccup. She laughs a clipped sound.

“Hair?”

“Around her– around her–”

“Around her cunt?” Something hot tightens in his chest, maybe shame, though shame doesn’t feel good like this does. He feels foolish, the quick whip of his head around like he’s worried they’re going to get caught, though for what he isn’t sure. Likewise, he has no clue what’s causing this devastating fluster, this feathering of heat. Whatever it is, it’s making it very hard to look at her, though the way his gaze has fixed on the painting doesn’t feel much better either. He’s never heard a woman use that word before. Actually, scratch that, he’s pretty sure he’s never heard anyone use that word before, not in Hawkins, at least, not corn fed and halfway bible bred, at least. It sets something slick shimmering inside of him, something warm that’s making it hard to think.

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m not, I’m just appreciating the work.”

“L’origine du monde.”

“What was that?”

“That’s the name of the painting. Origin of the world.”

“Well, that, uh, I guess that tracks.”

“It’s a shame, don’t you think?” When he does finally look at her again, she’s smiling, all ease, all cool, and him anything but, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm into his hip.

“What’s a shame?” She sighs, a long sound, letting her neck roll to the side so her cheek scrunches into the plush of her scarf, a wistful look.

“The current trends. Looking like prepubescent girls. No hips, bald vaginas, everything so… sterile.” She speaks with a bluntness that winds him, if he’s being honest, her expression schooled, and maybe a little disillusioned, brow pinched and mouth pulling down in a grimace.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Yeah, well, you have a cock. Makes things a little simpler, doesn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, do you always talk like this?” He says it just a little too loud, a little too breathless, heads turning in the gallery around them, and he thinks he might regret even trying with this girl. Should’ve stuck with the tried and true, that blonde girl that wears sticky sweet lip gloss and smiles at him from across the room during lectures. But this girl, with her arched brow and her twitching smile and the dark flicker of nail polish when she smooths the throat of her scarf. This girl has his number, and not in the way he’d like her to.

“What do you prefer, Steve? Do you like a girl with a smooth shave?”

“Well I think that, um, a woman’s body is her own choice.” And it has to be the dumbest string of words he’s ever said, breathed out on two static exhales, a garbled parroting of what he’s learned in these classes, right? Well, sort of.

“How progressive of you.”

“But the painting is really, you know, it’s, um, it feels warm?” Not sure where that came from, another fresh flood of heat rising and buoying up into his cheeks. Though her expression seems to soften, her smirk falling into something lighter. Maybe, maybe, he got one right.

“Yeah, I think I get what you mean. There’s a softness to it that’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But also a strength, a frankness to it.”

“Yes, yeah.” That sick swirl of shame but not shame is receding, and only leaving a nice sort of haze in its place, his head lolling a little, eyes raking over the painting, the catch of light, the soft rounding of a body at rest, slumped and plush and kind of perfect, he thinks. Although he’s pretty sure Andy would correct him for perfect, perfect not being the point, because perfect is oppressive, right? Right. Fuck perfect, he thinks, this is something better than perfect. And maybe she is too.

“Steve?” Her hand on his arm, purple nail polish and a close-lipped smile snapping him back into his body, hmm? And her smile spreads, and the warmth does too, and she’s saying something about the prof calling them back together and he’s mmhmm-ing on the heels of her brown leather boots. And she sits next to him when they get back on the bus, Robin giving him a stink eye that breezes right over the top of his head as she passes down the aisle because he’s a little busy trying to take discreet inhales through his nose of whatever perfume Andy wears, spice and strong and warm, that same warm.

And it isn’t his number that gets jotted onto her palm, but her address that she scrawls onto the soft inside of his wrist, right over the catch and jump of his pulse, because she has invited him over for a drink tonight to continue our conversation from earlier.

Robin doesn’t even have a chance to snit at him for leaving her stranded to the back of the bus because he’s already shuffling her along by the crooked wing of his elbow, hands tucked down deep in his jacket pockets, snow starting to flit and fall from the gray hang of sky.

“I need your help.”

“You have a date.”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s a date. She was like, rubbing your wrist. That’s a date.”

“I need your help.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Because Andy is not light washed denim and polo shirts and two percent milk. He’s seen her in the campus coffee shop, she takes soy, sometimes almond, for the record. So when they get back to their apartment, the smell of electric heat washing over them and curling in their lungs, they don’t go to Steve’s closet, they go to Robin’s.

Robin’s first pull is a turtleneck. He scoffs.

“What? Turtleneck dudes are definitely that chick’s type. Are you kidding me right now?” And when he assures her that he is, in fact, not kidding her right now, Robin starts to rummage again, eventually coming back out with a t-shirt for a band that Steve only knows because he has asked Robin to turn their music down on several occasions. And before he can say anything Robin is please hold-ing him and shouting down the hall for Eddie.

“What?”

“Steve has a date with a cool girl.”

“Cool girl, what cool girl?”

“Soc major, with the boots.”A little flurry of activity, socked feet slipping down the hall and Eddie hanging off the doorframe of his room, Steve not able to get a word in edgewise between their rapid fire volley.

“No, really? Little different for you, man, isn’t it?”

“I–”

“We need your closet, excuse us.” Robin on the warpath and Eddie grinning big, and Steve somewhere in the middle.

“How’d this happen?”

“She–”

“They were talking about art.” Robin reappearing with a long-sleeved thermal gripped in her other hand, eyebrows waggling.

“Steven? Our Steven? Talking about art? Well, well, well.” If he just had time he’d say something back to Eddie about how he got kicked out of the art museum last weekend for making quacking noises every time the security guard took a step, but Robin is already ushering him back down the hall, into his room this time, shoving the bundle of clothes into his chest and slamming the door shut on her way out.

Eddie is anemic and tends to eat breakfast when the sun is going down, and Robin is Robin, so it’s a tight fit getting the thermal on, followed by the t-shirt. But looking in the mirror, he thinks he likes it, gives an experimental and not at all vain flex of his arms that makes the sleeves of the tshirt roll back up toward the round of his shoulders and yeah, he likes that. And when he steps out of his room, Robin and Eddie already hovering and humming their approval, that warmth starts to build and bloom all over again.

And the rest is a little hazy from there. Robin offers him two refrigerator-chilled potstickers from last night’s dinner, something about fuel for your evening, Stevening, while Eddie pours himself a bowl of corn pops and prattles about something he learned in his music theory class, dissonance and skipped beats, and Steve can understand the feeling. And then they’re both kicking him out with an all too solemn godspeed, soldier. Eddie even salutes him.

Andy lives on the opposite side of campus in a cropping of apartments in a building that looks kind of like a castle, old brownstone and wrought iron. She buzzes him up, opens the door in a thin turtleneck and jeans, her head tilting and her lip pouting, just a little.

“Where’d the polo shirt go?”

“I changed.” Excellent, he thinks, how astute of him. She smiles.

“I can see. I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Bikini Kill fan though.” He’s trying to focus on her as she leads him deeper into her apartment, though his eyes still wander. Old wood flooring that’s barely visible underneath the thick swaths of patterned rugs. A crushed velvet, lime green sofa sitting in front of a fireplace that’s packed full with books. The kitchen is tucked into a corner, a little patch of black and white linoleum, old appliances. She’s pouring wine at the counter with her foot pressed into her other calf in a sort of shortened tree pose, and she’s asking him if he likes red, and he nods, all the while thinking to himself that he hasn’t consumed enough wine that doesn’t come in boxes to really care what color it is.

They sit down on the lime green sofa, her arm draped over the back of it, fingers tipped toward him. And he’s trying not to be such a dweeb about it, really, he’s not, but it only takes a few bashful glances to know that she very much is not wearing a bra. And he likes that, likes that a lot. Likes the soft curve and fold of her stomach with the way she’s turned toward him, the stretch of her jeans at her hips, her thighs, and his mouth goes dry around a gulp of wine when he starts to think about that painting again, and he starts to think about her, and he starts to think about her and the painting together. He starts to wonder, to wonder, to wonder what similarities he might find between the two.

There’s conversation, quiet and meandering and murmuring, their mouths staining dark and rosy from the wine, bodies turning warm and pliant and inching closer, closer, closer. And it all starts to melt, empty glasses set aside and her hand slipping into the back of his hair and she’s going to be the one in control, isn’t she? Fine by him, lax and languid in her hands, letting her tilt his face toward her. The first kiss is surprisingly sweet, just a peck to the corner of his mouth that makes him breathe hard through his nose in a petty huff of anticipation. She grins, lets the next one take its time, a little deeper, a little more heat, open mouth against open mouth, and he groans when her tongue slips behind his teeth.

This would be enough, he thinks. This time, at least. Her settling into his lap, little pants of breath between the wet snap of lips and spit and tongues. His hands squeeze at her thighs, coaxing a skittering sound from her throat when he reaches back and cups her ass, fingers splayed and pressing petulant. He’s going to feel her fingers in his scalp for a few days, the little hurts, little pulls. The next time she pulls away she presses her hand into his chest to keep him at bay, even as he tilts his chin up, feeling young in his eagerness as she smiles wide-eyed at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Both of them whispering, and when they both realize they don’t know why they’re whispering, both of them giggling, getting away with something when she pulls him up off the couch and into her bedroom.

“Why is this shirt so tight?” She huffs it out with the tshirt halfway rucked up his torso, his hair falling in his face as he curls over trying to help her get it off, both of them breathing out a laugh when the fabric finally is up and over and off of him.

“Oh baby, your hair.” He likes baby, baby feels good, feels like another warm bloom in his chest, his smile turning sheepish when she reaches both hands into his hair, shaking it out at the roots before smoothing it back for him. He chases after her hand, manages to press a kiss to her palm before she’s reaching for the hem of his, Eddie’s, thermal. It comes off easier, quieter, her eyes softening as she takes in his bare chest, catching him off guard when she ducks her head down to press a kiss to the dip that connects the lines of his collar bone, there and gone, little sweetness, little warmth as she steps back and grins.

“Do you wanna lay down for me?” Not even a thought, just ligament and muscle moving, some sort of game dancing between their eyes as he settles back on his elbows against the dark fabric of her duvet. He watches the fine flicker of her fingers make deft work of the buttons of her jeans. An absent-minded thing, the heel of his palm pressed to the ache, to the heat. He’s already hard, already smearing warm against the front of his boxers watching her step out of her jeans.

“Oh fuck, honey.” A little pained, the sweet prickle of agony, of being right. A vision somewhere between obscenity and divinity, he thinks, though that would be playing into the madonna-whore complex their professor was lecturing about last week. He doesn’t care, doesn’t care about much of anything except continuing to look at Andy, the soft divot at her waist where her white cotton thong settles against the soft curve of skin, and the dark bloom of curls along the sides of the material where her thighs touch. He was right, and now he’s doomed.

She smiles, finger hooking in the hem of her shirt and pulling it up just a little, exposing the sweet dip and swell of her stomach, and suddenly he’s not so interested in just laying back any more. Greedy, he feels the slick, desperate curl of it in his gut. Greedy when he shuffles up onto his knees and crawls to the end of the bed. Greedy when his hands curl at the fat of her hips and he pulls her in closer so he can press the open heat of his mouth just above her navel, soft and warm and he wants more of it, of her. She sighs, a long, languid sound that he wants to hear more of, dipping his head down to mouth at the jut of her hip, dampening the fabric slung taut there.

Limbs tangled with limbs, some of it graceless, awkward, some of it perfect motion. She lays out like a painting, like the painting, for him, her turtleneck curled up around her sternum so he can palm a handful of her breast, settling down between her thighs and wasting no time in dragging his tongue through her cunt.

She wasn’t wrong about the trends. Hairless bodies, smooth bodies, flinchingly pristine bodies. And that’s fine, he thinks, been with plenty of bodies like that, made his body like that for a while too. But he likes this, likes her, the sense and sate of it, the scent of it, even if it makes him a pervert, lapping at her while he curls two fingers inside her. And somewhere in the simpering sear of it, his hips have started to jerk and stutter into the mattress beneath him, picking up a stilted speed when she starts to moan, clipped sounds and his name and he wants it and he wants it and he wants it so bad. She comes with a long sigh that cracks high into a whine, her thighs tensing and slackening around his face. And he feels a warmth of his own, relief of his own, though the reality of what he did turns him sheepish, pressing a bashful smile into the swell of her inner thigh.

“Did you?” Her words crackle breathless with her grin, peering down at him from behind her forearm and he can barely look at her, turning his face back into her skin, letting his teeth graze there a little mean.

“Maybe, shut up.” Her laugh bursts and bubbles up, her head tossed back, eyes crinkled shut as he crawls up and up and up, not evening minding the uncomfortable cooling in his jeans when he presses a sloppy kiss to her mouth, turning her laugh into a satisfied hum.

“Hmm, kinda feminist of you coming in your jeans just from eating me out.” Speechless, and he kind of likes it, huffing out a breathless laugh as he watches the cartoonish jump of her eyebrows. He presses a kiss between them, sweet and simple, warm all over when he pulls back to find her smiling at him.

“I like you, a lot.” That whispering thing again, a little shy, a little young, and a little uncertain. But there’s no need for it, not when she tilts her chin up and presses a kiss to his cheek, the round of it, the warmth of it.

“I like you too, Steve.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington au

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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

Text

Never Gone

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 3.8k

TW: S4 Stranger Things triggers, drams, blood, injuries, migraines, Swearing

A/N: Based off of this request. I had a lot of fun writing this request! Thank you so much for asking me to write it. I haven't written Steve in a hot minute, so that was really nice to revisit him <3

When Steve heard that you had headaches, he almost didn't think anything of it---keyword is almost.

You had always been one to get migraines, and this was exactly that time of month anyways. First of the month, migraine. It was like clock work.

Which was ironic to you considering it felt like ticking was nonstop in your head the past week.

Luckily for you, it was a Saturday, and you could stay in bed. You hadn't been scheduled at the library, and your dad was running around, chauffeuring your sister, so the house was empty and you could die slowly in your bed from your headache.

Steve didn't even knock, he just slid the window up, and crawled through to your bed.

"Hey gorgeous."

You hummed a response as he took his shoes off and slid into your bed. He was dressed in his yellow sweater and sweatpants. He knew he was coming over to lay in bed with you all day, and nothing else.

When he wrapped his arms around you, you moved in closer to him, your face against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was calming---sometimes it felt like it was melting the headache away.

"How's your head baby?" His voice was soft and low, as he ran his hand up and down your back.

"Feels like it's pulsing my brains out of my ears, so nothing new."

He placed his lips on your forehead.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, listening to one another's heartbeats, just enjoying each other's company.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“How’s Max doing?” You whispered to him.

He tensed up a little bit. It’s not that he wasn’t thinking about the red headed girl down in the Wheeler’s basement, it’s just that you didn’t exactly know what was going on with the kids he ‘babysat’, and he didn’t want you to find out either.

“She’s–uh, She’s been better. She’s still, uh, sick. Really bad head…..” His voice trailed off as he stared down at you.

You gently called his name as he trailed off into thought.

His eyes widened as his heart started to beat a little faster. This was just your usual monthly migraine right? You always got these—there was nothing out of the ordinary….right? Were you hearing ticking? Were you having nightmares? What if you—-

“Steve?”

His eyes were wide, and you could feel how shallow his breathing was. “Hey–hey, I’m sorry I brought her up.”

He shook his head and looked down at you. “How’s your headache?”

You shrugged and slid your hand up to cup his cheek. Your thumb ran gently across his face, looking into his eyes to see if you could find anything wrong.

“I wish you’d stop ignoring me and answer.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and paused. “Steve I did…”

“No.” He huffed and pulled away. “All you did was shrug. That’s not a real answer.”

“Steve.”

He sat up and moved away from the bed. “I shouldn’t have come here today. I have so much shit do today other than to sit in bed with you while you bitch and moan about your head.”

Steve had shocked you into silence as your eyes began to well with tears.

“Oh great. And now you’re crying. Did you ever realize how fucking annoying it is to constantly have to cheer you up all the time. Don’t you think I have other things going on in my life that need me more than you do when you’re sobbing about fucking anything.”

“What the actual fuck steve.”

Steve was sliding on his shoes. “You know what, y/n? I don’t need this bullshit. I don’t need your bullshit.”

“Wait—”

“No Y/n. Wake up.”

You froze and frowned. “What?”

“Y/N!”

Your eyes shot open and you were suddenly back to your position where you had been previously, laying down, tucked securely in Steve Harrington’s loving embrace.

“I–” You went to speak but you noticed Steve’s eyes were suddenly filled with that worry from before, but there was something else starting to cloud over—fear.

“What did you see?”

“What?”

“What. Did. You. See.”

“Fucking pushy harrington.” You grumbled as you pulled away slightly.

“Y/n…”

Your eyes rolled as you looked up at him. “It was just a daydream Steve. A bad one. W—We were, uh, arguing.”

“About?”

You shook your head. “Nothing Steve, really. Just something stupid my brain made up.”

“I–.” Steve bit his lip and sat up. “I need to make a call real quick.” He was out of your bed before you realized what was happening, and was suddenly across the room at your desk where your phone was. He picked it up and quickly dialed a number. All the while, you were sitting up on your elbows, watching him. Your headache was not going away which wasn’t uncommon, but rarely did they stay this bad for this long.

Steve was muttering into the phone, clutching it really tightly. Every now and again, he’d look over at you. You’d furrow your brow and he would seem to get even more worried than before. You had caught some of the words, like Max and No Absolutely Not, no I’m serious Dustin it’s not happening.

You were beyond confused as to why Steve was talking to the kid he babysat, or why he even called him in the first place, but all you knew was that your head hurt, and Steve, who was usually your rock, was getting all jumpy and acting really fucking weird.

Once he hung up the phone he gave you a sheepish smile. “So, uh…”

“What’s going on Steve?”

“We’re taking a field trip.”

You snorted laid back down, not entertaining this anymore.

“I’m serious Y/n.”

“I think you’re delusional but okay.”

“Please.”

You sat up once more and looked at him. Something about the concern he felt about your little maladaptive daydream, made you slightly worried about your headache. But he loved you, and if it would make him feel better about it, you’d humor his worry.

“Fine. But we’re stopping by the diner and we’re getting food and shakes before we go where we’re going because I want something to eat.”

“Okay but, we really don’t—”

“No Steve. That’s my final offer. Either I get my milkshake, or I’m staying in this bed.”

He huffed from across the room, but walked over and sat down next to you on the bed, taking your hand. “Fine. If it will get you out of bed.” He was feigning annoyance, but you could see the mild relief in his eyes at you agreeing to indulge his anxieties, with little to know explanation from him.

—-------------------------------------------------------

“Seriously Steve?”

“Please, just…”

“Just what? You bring me to the Wheeler’s basement, filled with a bunch of children, including your ex-girlfriend and my former best friend, all the while knowing I have a raging migraine happening, and then you expect me to not ask any questions.”

“Well–”

“No Steve. Seriously. Then you go and try to tell me that you’re going out with a really weird group of people, no offense guys.” You didn’t even glance at the group staring at you both. “To go what…traversing into the woods to look for someone who has serial killer allegations, and you want me to come with you, with not a single explanation as to why.”

“He’s not a serial killer–” Dustin tried to cut in but you shot him a glare.

“If you heard me Henderson, I said allegations. Might want to turn on those listening ears.” You turned back to Steve. “Tell me what’s going on, or I’m just going home Steve. I’m seriously not in the mood to deal with this.”

Steve was just looking at you, alongside the rest of the group. This felt so out of character for you to be so openly bitchy in front of people, and you had never had an issue with Nancy before. You’ve actually always really liked Nancy so why now?

“Y/N. Please…”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Drive me home or I’m walking.”

“You can’t be serious right now.”

You didn’t even dignify that with a response, you just turned around and walked right up the stairs. Steve, who was just as exasperated as you, looked between his friends and they all were unsure what to do. It’s not like they wanted to drag someone else into their messy world, but they didn’t want you to die just like the rest of those poor high schoolers.

When they all heard the front door slam shut, Steve jumped at the sound and then quickly ran up the stairs and followed.

Y/n

You could hear as Steve called your name, but you kept on walking. You were so in your own world, you completely missed where you were walking. You fell and hit the ground hard. When you looked at your hands, they were covered in dirt and grime, which was unexpected for Mr. Wheeler’s lawn, but you didn’t think anything of it until you looked back up and the sky was red. You heard your name again but it wasn’t Steve’s voice, it was grovelley and at least four octaves deeper. Yet you still called out for Steve anyway, hoping he might be there.

Why would he chase after you? He doesn't care about you.

You looked up at the..thing…in front of you and shook your head, trying to escape whatever hellscape your mind conjured up.

But the voice wouldn’t leave you alone. It said your name again, and you got up off the ground, taking off. You didn’t dare to look behind you as you ran through this wasteland. Your heart was beating irregularly fast and you went and hid behind a building, trying not to breathe heavily as tears slid down your cheeks. When you looked around you realized you were close to Steve’s neighborhood. It was some sort of fucked up version of Hawkins.

You really think I can’t find you Y/n?

You whipped around, coming face to face with one of the grossest things you could possibly imagine. It was like all of his flesh had been burned off and the skin that grew back, grew back like vines, twisting flesh and muscle. His eyes were the scariest part, since they looked right at you, as if you were a piece of meat.

You slowly backed away from whatever this thing was, but your heel caught the curb, and down you went—landing hard on back, your head hitting the ground. There was definitely going to be bruising afterwards. You landed on your wrist, causing you to scream out in pain.

Whenever you were little and had sleepovers with your friends, your favorite game was “Never Have I Ever”. It’s not that you were boring, you actually enjoyed showing off how much you had done as you got older. But your starter was always “Never have I ever broken a bone”. Not anymore.

The crack was audible.

“Y/n!”

Your eyes opened and you were on the ground in front of the Wheeler’s—your wrist bruised, and head pounding. Steve was crouched in front of you, one of his hands on your cheeks and nothing but pure fear in his eyes.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, yanking you into his chest and holding you tightly. He felt you start to shake as you silently cried into his shirt, overwhelmed by the pain you felt and by what you had seen.

“Shit shit shit.” Steve’s hand was fisted in your shirt and his hand in your hair.

Your head was on his shoulder, and as you opened your eyes, you made eye contact with Max. Her walkman was in her hands, as if she was ready to shove it at someone. Max didn’t look like everyone else in the group, she seemed sadder, more resigned. Something you felt you could resonate with.

You couldn;t see them, but you knew the group of kids on the other side of Steve were whispering to one another. Dustin cleared his throat.

“Why don’t we go back inside, yeah? We need to look at her wrist.”

Steve muttered something in agreement, and pulled back slightly, both hands still holding onto you. “Are you okay?”

“My wrist.” you whispered, flinching just thinking about it. You decided you’d tell Steve about what you saw later. Right now, you really wanted to wrap your wrist up, and lay down.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Steve, you've got to be joking.”

Usually when Steve would huff out of frustration, you’d find it cute and endearing, but right now you found it annoying.

“Why would I lie to you about this?”

“I-I don’t know but I think you’re hanging out with kids too much—no offense.”

The kids muttered various forms of protest and agreements, but it was Robin who spoke up next.

“You have no idea how much I wish he was lying—like when I first found out it was in a secret russian base and I honestly didn’t even know what was happening and then we got tortured and—all that to say–it’s real.”

“Is this the shit Eddie was telling me about? The new strain or whatever, that ‘hits different’. Are you giving kids drugs Steve?”

Steve let out a groan and dragged a hand down his face. “I can’t.”

You crossed your arms, which was a bit more difficult considering your arm was wrapped up tightly with gauze, and fitted in one of Mike’s old wrist braces. “You have to hear yourselves right? Think about it from my point of view. You’re telling me you're friends with this…girl, who has telekinetic powers, and that's the reason that Byers kid went missing, and then you’ve fought different otherworldly monsters each year since? And now, you’re fighting this Veneca, Vatican, whatever bullshit guy, who is actually murdering people and the town drug dealer is taking the fall for it?”

Everyone in the basement was silent.

“She’s got a point, we sound fucking crazy.” Max was the first to speak up.

“Language.” Steve muttered. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you the whole time you’ve been down here. He was watching you as if you’d disappear.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You all sound crazy.”

Steve looked over at Robin, and they had one of those really annoying silent conversations. You looked between the two, trying to figure out whatever they were thinking.

Just then, Robin got up from her seat. “Alright kids, let’s head upstairs for a moment. Give these two some time to figure this shit out. “

The collective of children groaned, but Nancy helped to corral them, giving you a sympathetic smile as she went up the stairs behind the gaggle, closing the door softly.

Steve had moved to sit down next to you, pulling you down so your head was in his lap. And before you could make a snarky comment about it, his hand was in your hair, playing with it, but also massaging your head. His other arm rests across your stomach with his hand on your hip, rubbing his thumb up and down soothingly.

The two of you stayed like this for a couple of minutes: you were destressing, and him reassuring himself that you were alive and in front of him. He was humming your favorite song under his breath, causing you to smile a bit.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’s true.”

“I want to believe you Steve but…”

He sighed and nodded. “Remember last summer?”

You closed your eyes and nodded slightly, images of Steve’s face and body flashed across your mind. His entire face was bruised, and his torso…you didn’t like to think about it. You draped your arm across his and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “How could I forget Steve. You looked like you were beaten to death.”

“It was from the Russians Dustin was talking about.”

You frowned and looked up at him. “Steve….”

“Look, you don’t have to think it’s real, you can call me fucking crazy for all I care, but I really just need you to trust me—humor me if you have to. But I can’t….I can’t lose you y/n. So please just…indulge me and….”

“Does it really mean this much to you?”

Steve nodded. “Please.”

“Alright baby. What do you need me to do? “

_____________________________________________________

You didn’t see Steve for the next forty-eight hours, and it worried the shit out of you.

You were not one to believe in all that bullshit story Dustin and the others were trying to tell you about, but you knew something was wrong since Steve had literally disappeared.

You were still having headaches, but you listened to your favorite song over and over and over again, as much as you could. Luckily for you, you had a few blank cassette tapes, and a new stereo that held up to four cassettes. So you loaded your favorite song on a loop onto three of them, and then your favorite album onto the fourth, to add some variety. And you had been playing those on repeat for the past two days, just like Steve had told you to. When he didn’t show up the next day like he promised, you grabbed your walkman and your stereo, and drove over to Steve’s house, just to find it empty.

So you stayed there for the next twenty four hours, and that’s when the earthquake hit. It was terrifying, waking up and watching as everything went crashing to the ground. All you could do was think about your parents, think about Steve.

It wasn’t until eleven pm when you heard the front door open. You had been sitting on the couch, wrapped up in one of Steve’s sweaters, near the fireplace since the power had gone out because of the earthquake. He looked up at you, and you swore you could commit murder at the sight of him.

“Oh my god Steve. What the fuck happened to you.” You were by his side before he could even respond. Your fingers gently flit around his face, taking in all of the scraps, and then moving to his neck, where you could see the angry red skin flowering with bruises underneath.

Steve loved you for so many reasons, but right now, he loved you the most for not asking questions. You didn’t ask him about the weird combat outfit. You didn’t ask him why he was covered in dirt. You didn’t ask him why his neck looked like barbed wire had been around it, and you didn’t ask about the fact that he was limping.

You just slowly cupped his face in your hands, and kissed him softly. There wasn't any sort of push to make this kiss more than it was. It was just simply to tell him you love him. A reminder he’s with you.

“Can you make it up the stairs?”

He nodded and you took his hand, taking into account how bruised and scraped up his hands were.

“I was so worried about you. They kept finding bodies and then….the…”

He nodded, still not speaking. If he opened his mouth he would start sobbing, and never stop, and he didn’t want to burden you with that just yet.

You opened the bathroom door in his parents room, and walked him inside. You both were smart enough to make him take his shoes off before making your way upstairs, one less thing to clean up. But you made him sit on the toilet, as you slowly took a look at his injuries in a better light. You slowly helped him out of his jacket, noticing that it took a lot more effort than usual, since he was wincing, and even hissed out in pain during one particularly sharp movement.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Harrington, I’m seriously not in the mood for how you downplay everything.”

He bit his lip and shook his head. “I’ll be in bed in a few minutes. Why don’t you go get ready.”

You raked your eyes over him, not enjoying the sheer amount of blood splatter on his clothes and shook your head. “No I’m—”

“Please.”

When his voice cracked, you caved. You leaned over and kissed his forehead. “If you need me for anything Steve, and I mean anything ... .Please call for me.”

He nodded and took your hand in his. “I’ll be five minutes max I swear.”

You whispered an okay to him before you left him alone in the bathroom, heading back downstairs. You grabbed the bottle of vodka from the cabinet along with some of the cranberry juice Steve had bought you at the beginning of the week, and then a bag of his favorite chips, and headed back upstairs. You had a gut feeling he hadn’t eaten in a while, and that he was in a lot of pain.

Ten minutes later, he appeared in the doorway. You were in his bed, under the covers, head resting against his pillows, softly in sleep.

He tried to quietly get into bed without waking you up—he failed. Not because he was loud, but because you always knew when he got into bed next to you.

“Sorry sweetheart.” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You shook your head and went to curl up in his chest, but he shifted slightly and adjusted your hands so they weren’t touching his stomach. You decided to continue to hold in your questions once he had gotten some sleep.

“How’s your headache?”

“It’s gone.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder. “You need some sleep Stevie.”

“I–..” He closed his eyes and licked his lips. “I was so worried I was going to lose you today.”

“Steve…”

He shook his head, and you let him finish. “And then…I thought…I was going to die without ever telling you just how much I fucking love you.”

Tears filled your eyes immediately. “Steve. I–”

He kissed your lips softly, not letting you get your words out. You could taste your tears in the kiss, but then you realized you werent the one crying. You felt a sob wrack his body, and you immediately kissed him back with more force, more love.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead on his. Whatever he had just endured, whatever he was going to tell you about when you both woke up, was an issue for later. Right now, all you had to do was hold him in your arms, and be so grateful that you could.

But while Steve fell asleep, you just played with his hair, staying up for the second night in a row. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was that creature, looming over you and laughing. The clock still ticking in the back of your mind. You could hear his laughter as he told you to give up.

#x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington x reader one shot #steve harrington x reader drabble #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x y/n #Steve harrington x y/n angst

257 notes · View notes

megxplryxb · 7 months

Text

Let Me Show You…

King!Steve x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Fingering (F receiving)

Minors DNI - 18+

The school bell had gone a little over ten minutes ago, the seat beside yours still currently empty but you knew it wouldn’t be for much longer. Steve “The Hair” Harrington was always late to class, no apologies, no excuses, he’d just waltz in when he felt like it, taking his seat with a shit eating grin on his face. You’d been placed beside the “King” of Hawkins High at the back of the class, being forced to switch with Tommy Hagan two weeks ago when Mrs Click decided the two trouble makers were distracting each other and the rest of the students from their work and although you hated to admit it, sitting beside “King Steve” wasn’t so bad, he was extremely easy on the eyes after all.

Steve had always been flirty with you, especially since you had joined the cheer squad, cheering him and his teammates on while they played Basketball but he’d stepped up his game since being seated beside you in Click’s class. You’d done well to spurn his advances so far, knowing he’d been hanging out with Nancy Wheeler recently but that hadn’t stopped him from sweet talking you every chance he got.

The class had just started watching Romeo and Juliet when Tommy and Steve finally barged through the door, laughing loudly, earning a scowl from Mrs Click as they walked toward their seats in the darkness. “Mr Harrington, Mr Hagan, so nice of you to finally join us.” She said sarcastically as Tommy muttered something crude under his breath while Steve had already locked eyes with you, ignoring everyone else around him. “Hey princess, did you miss me?” He smirked, taking his seat as you tried to hide the smile that was forming on your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself Harrington.” You replied, flicking your hair as he slouched into the chair, placing his backpack on the floor. You could smell the cigarettes on his breath while he tried to mask it with mint chewing gum but somehow the scent was still intoxicating because it was coming from him. Fuck, how was that possible?

As the rest of the class continued to watch the movie in silence, you could feel Steve’s eyes on you, admiring your new dress, ogling your sun kissed legs, moving up your body until they reached your cleavage. He wasn’t even trying to hide his lust for you.

“Wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.” You tease, turning your head towards him confidently. Steve locks eye with you then, smirking as he leans closer to you.

“I think I’d rather the real thing, princess.” He admits as you clench your thighs, hoping he didn’t notice the effect he had on you.

You shake your head, trying to focus on the movie but you’ve got Steve’s full attention now and he knows he’s got you flustered already.

“C’mon sweetheart, I’m serious. When are you gonna let me take you out, huh?” He whispers.

“I can’t imagine Nancy would be too happy with you taking me out.” You reply, keeping your eyes on the screen at the top of the class.

“Who says she has to know? S’not like we’re exclusive anyway.” Steve shrugs carelessly.

“Oh really?” Your eyes widen with interest as he leans closer to you

“Yeah, really.”

“Hmm, even so, I think I’m busy.” You respond, faking a frown at the boy beside you as he presses his tongue to his cheek.

Steve can’t help but grin at your stubbornness, it’s a complete turn on for him and he can already feel his jeans tighten. He knows he can have any girl he wants at any time, but right now, he only wants you.

“That’s really too bad princess.” He sighs, pushing your pen off of the table and onto the floor with his elbow.

“And why is that?” You question raising a brow as he begins to lower his hand to the ground to pick up your pen but instead, you feel his fingers on your ankle, lightly running up the back of your leg before they move to the front of your knee and stop at the top of your thigh.

“Cause I think we both know I could give you the time of your life, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear as your breath hitches, cheeks immediately heating up.

You knew Steve was cocky, he’d proved it on more than one occasion but feeling you up in the middle of class? Shit, even you didn’t think he had the balls to do that.

“Steve, what if someone…”

“No one’s gonna see me do anything, honey. No one’s even paying attention to us, so why don’t you just sit back, relax and open those pretty legs for me yeah?” He squeezes your thigh as you nod a yes before giving him the access he so badly desired.

You do your best to hold back a small moan as Steve casually sneaks his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your white lace panties as he looks straight to the top of the class, pretending to be focused on the movie. He closes his eyes for a split second, licking his lips as he feels the heat radiating from your core.

“Shit princess, can already feel how wet you are. S’that all from me, huh?” He questions but you’re unable to answer, unable to think. He hooks one finger into your underwear, pulling the soaked piece of fabric to the side before teasing your folds.

“Steve….” You groan, trying to remember to breathe as he smiles at you, almost teasingly.

“S’ok honey, m’gonna give you what you want.” He mutters, resting his chin on your shoulder as he slides his middle finger between your folds, gathering your slick before putting the slightest bit of pressure on your clit.

“Ohmygod..” You whimper, shutting your eyes as he circles your little bundle of nerves.

“So fuckin’ wet for me.” He whispers, revelling in the way you’re trying not to make a sound.

“Did you think about this, honey? About me touching you? You did, didn’t you? Dirty girl, my dirty fuckin’ girl” Steve groans proudly, finally pushing a finger inside your cunt and then another.

You bite your lip trying to hide a desperate moan as he moves his fingers achingly slow inside you. His dick throbs with how tight you feel and his brain almost turns to mush when he thinks about how his cock would feel buried deep in you.

“Steve please…”

“Please what, honey? What do you need, tell me?” He requests, his nose and chin moving up the side of your neck and jaw, pepping quick, teasing kisses along the way. You shut your eyes again in utter bliss once you’ve confirmed that no one has caught on to your little escapade at the back of the room.

“Fuck, I need….Need you to go faster.” You beg, your mouth making an “o” shape as he starts to quicken the pace inside you, immediately giving you what you want. “That feel better, huh? This what you needed?” He smirks, pumping his fingers harder and faster.

“Mhmm.” You reply, looking down at the tent in Steve’s jeans, mouth watering at the sight when you see him palming at himself, trying to get a hint of relief.

“Steve you’re ha..”

“I know honey, this is what you do to me. Fuck I get hard just looking at you. Get so distracted by you in your little cheerleading outfit, just wanna take you into the locker room and fuck you senseless after every game.” He admits as your thighs clench around his hand, feeling a familiar knot in your stomach. Steve wasn’t lying, he’d jerked himself off on more than one occasion after a game in the locker room shower, unable to wait until he got home, needing to release himself after watching you cheer. Hearing you yell his name sent lightening bolts straight to his cock and he could just imagine how you’d sound saying his name in the throws of passion.

“Oh god…I’m close.”

“Yeah? You like the idea of me fucking you honey? Like the idea of my cock filling you up? Could have you screaming my name.” Steve teases as your eyes begin to water. He knows your close, knows you’re barely hanging on to your senses, it isn’t his first rodeo after all. He can feel you tightening around him, his fingers completely soaked and you’re both thankful for the noise coming from the tv to cover the squelching sounds coming from your pussy.

“Steve, I’m gonna cum.” You whine, grabbing at his wrist while he rubs a thumb over your clit.

“That’s my good girl, you gonna cum all over my fingers? Gonna make a fucking mess, yeah? Come on princess, let go for me, I’ve got you, s’ok.” He says, grabbing your face lightly, begging you to look at him as you reach your climax, gushing all over his fingers.

“Holy shit, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve says, placing his forehead on yours, letting out a heavy breath as he slips his fingers out of your panties, placing the fabric back over your overly sensitive core as you try to fix yourself.

“That was amazing.” You sigh, trying to catch your breath, still comprehending what just happened when the bell rings, signalling the end of the class and you both jump apart before Mrs Click turns the lights back on.

Steve is the first of you to stand up, trying to hide his erection with a math book as pull your dress back down over your thighs. He doesn’t move until you give him the go ahead, letting him know you’re good.

“Guess I’ll see you around, princess.” He says, smiling at you as he begins to walk away, not expecting you to pull him back, guiding him towards the nearest restrooms. Steve just follows you in awe, mesmerised by the cheeky grin on your face.

“Wait, what are you…..”

“Can’t a girl repay the favour?” You smile sweetly as Steve nods in approval, swallowing hard. “Fuck yeah, she can.”

“Harrington! You coming man?” Tommy shouts over to where you were both standing, shaking his head when he sees the two of you giggling, hands all over each other as you lead him to the bathroom.

“Oh he’s coming alright.” You grin, dragging Steve into nearest cubicle, locking the door behind you before unzipping his pants.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #king steve #steve the hair harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #joe keery #steve harrington fandom #steve x reader #steve harrington one shot #kinktober #stranger things 4

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luveline · 6 months

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kisses before dinner —the harrington family gets ready for a dinner party. mom!reader, 3k

"...and I told mommy she needed my help but your mom doesn't like listening to me anymore," Steve says, eyebrows pulled together, "because of that one time I told her the side of the refrigerator was supposed to feel warm and it broke. But I'm usually right."

Wren blinks at him dopily where she lies in the dip of his thighs. Steve has his knees up, back flat on the couch and head propped by a pink fluffy heart pillow from Bethie's bed to speak to her face to face.

"I promise you'll understand when you're older. I'm a genius." He strokes her little forehead. Steve's youngest daughter is too baby to look like anybody, but he's starting to think she looks like him anyway. "And now mom has to run the washing machine again when we were already super duper busy."

"Shut up!" you yell from the kitchen.

Bethie giggles from the same place, seemingly, raising her voice to join in, "Yeah, daddy! Shut up!"

"That's so not nice." Steve shakes his head at Wren in dramatic disbelief. She smiles at him. "Isn't that mean? Don't you think that's sick?"

"You're being a know-it-all again!" you continue. "And we'd be less busy if you were helping me!"

"I'm sick of helping," Steve says conversationally. "I help all day long."

Wren gurgles and lifts one of her hands toward him. Steve holds it in his, rubbing at her palm with a gentle thumb. She totally gets what he's saying, agrees with him no doubt, breathing out heavily as Steve gives her hand a wave up and down.

"Steve," you say, dropping the angry act to pull him in, "please, sweetheart, I really do need your help."

"How am I supposed to say no to that?" Steve whispers. "Does she guilt trip you that way?"

Wren doesn't giggle, but the breathy, happy sound she makes as he crunches forward to kiss her forehead is close enough to make Steve laugh himself. He moves her carefully into the curve of his arm and stands, wishing he could stretch, exhausted by another long week but undeniably happy. "Let's go see what they want," he murmurs to Wren.

You and Bethie are in the kitchen by the stove. She's wearing oven mitts too big for her, and you're crouched behind her offering steady instructions. "Don't touch the sides, my love. Only the baking tray. If it feels warm and you're not happy, tell me, and I'll take it straight away." You wear your own oven gloves.

"I can do it," Beth insists, squaring her features.

Beth takes the baking tray and its cookies into her hands, walking with short steps to the counter, where she slides the tray up high. You lean over her to make sure it's settled before closing the oven and dashing a kiss into her cheek. "Well done, gorgeous girl," you say, scratching lightly at her shoulder as she preens under the praise. "One day you'll be making cookies all by yourself."

"But not for a while?" she asks, startled.

You kiss her again. "Not for a long, long time."

"Did you need my help or my approval?" Steve asks, his hand making a small thump with each pat he taps into Wren's back. "A taste tester, right?"

"I need you to find your other daughters. I have no idea where they are," you say with a rueful smile.

"Okay." Steve has carried babies. He's carried them for years, tiny ones and ones too big to need it, carried nonetheless. But something about Wren in all her newness makes him nervous. He hates carrying her up and down the stairs, too aware of the times he's missed a step or tripped up. "Can you take her?"

"Yes!" Bethie says, running to her unofficial chair at the dining table and holding out her mitted arms as she sits.

You nod at him and take the seat next to her. Steve hands Wren over into her sister's waiting hold, more than confident you're still there to take over if things get overwhelming. Wren looks comically large in Bethie's lap.

"I have her, dad." Beth leans down to touch her nose to Wren's. "Hi, Wren. Hello, hello," she says softly.

Steve gives your cheek a swift but loving stroke and leaves in search of the other kids. He can hear Dove in her room talking to herself in make believe, but Avery, the oldest, isn't with her, nor is she in her bedroom. Steve knocks on the bathroom door.

"Are you in there, Ave?"

No answer. Steve raises his voice. "I'm coming in."

He peeks inside slowly but she's not there. Eyebrows raised, Steve asks, "Avery, where are you?" Nothing. "Avery Harrington, don't make me worry! Please."

He lets his head drift to one side, listening for an answer. Avery rarely gets told off and she hates it; she'd jump to tell him where she was if she were up here.

Or so he thinks. Just as he's taking the stairs again to look for her someplace he must have missed, he hears sniffling coming from the master bedroom.

Idiot, he thinks, relief taking tight hold. He doesn't like not knowing where the girls are. He should've checked your room to begin with.

"Ave?" he says, opening his bedroom door. "You in here?"

"I'm here, dad," she says, peering up from the space between the top of the bed and his nightstand, kneeling on the carpeted floor.

"What are you doing down there? We gotta get ready for Aunt Robin's party."

Her cheeks shine in the slice of light from the open door. Steve closes it behind him and flicks on the big light, rounding the end of the bed to help her up. He hooks his hands under her arms and pulls her into his chest, bed springs creaking as their joined weight lands.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, cuddling her to his front. "What's wrong? Why didn't you come and find me? You can't stay here crying all by yourself, that's not cool. How am I supposed to make it better if I don't know what's wrong?"

"Dove bit me."

Steve gasps. "Again?"

"On my hand, dad." She holds up her wrist. "It hurts."

He presses his cheek to the top of her head, taking her arm tenderly to analyse the bite. It's a nasty thing, not bleeding but cruel and stark. "I'm sorry," he says.

"You said I can't be mean–"

"No, you can't–"

"But it was really mean."

"I know," he murmurs, "but I just don't… we can't be mean to Dove when she bites because she doesn't know it's wrong, okay? She doesn't remember. She knows it's the wrong thing to do, but by the time I tell her she doesn't know what she did." What Steve means is that the first time Dove bit Avery, Avery reacted on impulse and slapped her sister in the stomach. There isn't a bridge yet to connect to Dove why she might have received such a thing (though Steve teaches all the girls that hitting is never okay no matter what), so Dove just thought she was being hit. It was a very tense half hour of tears.

Steve rubs Avery's back as she starts to cry in earnest. "I will tell her not to bite you, honey. I swear, I won't let her be mean to you. I'll tell her until she understands."

He's been trying to teach Dove not to bite, but saying 'no' doesn't seem to do anything. Positive incentives don't last, and taking her toys wouldn't make much sense, because again, she doesn't get it.

"You know," Steve says, wiping her cheeks tenderly, "I'll tell her again and again and again until she stops, and it'll work, because it worked with you."

"What?"

"You used to bite me sometimes, but you used to bite mom all the time."

Avery looks at him in horror. "I did?"

He puts her down onto her feet and takes her hand. He'd like to tell her this story while sitting down, but Robin's house beckons and time is running short. "Mom would come home from work and you'd be very happy to see her, but she would ask you what you did today and where we went and you'd bite her."

He peeks into Dove's room and finds her missing. Downstairs, you say, "No! No, no, babe!" and he assumes she's been found.

"Why would I do that?"

Steve holds her hand buoyed between them as he descends the stairs. "We decided it was because you missed her. When your Dove's age you don't know how to say that. You don't even know what that is. I'm a thousand years old and I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time. So mom stopped hugging you after work for a bit until you calmed down."

"But I don't go to work, dad. Why did Dove bite me?"

"What were you doing?"

"We were playing with Mr Scruffles and the care bears and she just bit me for no reason!"

Steve stops at the bottom of the stairs. "Were you being a bossy boots?"

Avery glares at him. "I just told her to stop taking Funshine bear."

"Well," Steve says, smiling at her in apology, "maybe, next time, you can come and tell me, and then I'll tell her to stop taking Funshine bear, and then when she wants to bite someone she bites me instead of you. That could work, yeah?" He would much prefer it.

Steve takes Avery to the kitchen, where you've transferred Wren into her bassinet while Bethie eats a cookie, her cheeks messy with chocolate, and Dove languishes in your arms, small hands touching your hair curiously.

"Dove, will you look at this?" he asks, showing her Avery's bite mark. "You see that, honey? That's what you did when you bit your sister. We don't bite."

You gasp. "No!" you say, stern but far from cruel. "We don't bite. We only bite when we want to eat something."

Dove frowns.

"When you bite," Steve says, trying to appeal to her smarts. It'll stick eventually. "You give Avery an owie. That's why we can't bite, okay?"

Dove can tell she's being chided even if she doesn't totally get why. "No," she says unhappily.

"Can you say sorry to Avery?" you ask, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze. "Say, I'm sorry, Avery."

"Sorry, Ave'y," she mumbles.

Avery can't glare for long. She doesn't hold a grudge, not like her dad. "It's okay. You didn't mean to."

You beam at Avery like she's hung the moon. "You're so nice, my big girl. Can I have a look at your wrist? Did that hurt?"

Her mother's concern draws fresh tears. You swap children, and Dove quickly forgets what happened as Avery cries in little sniffles on the countertop. Steve brims with a familiar brand of pride as you comfort her, kissing and offering treats to help her feel better. I picked the right one might be applicable, only Steve didn't choose you so much as he happened upon you one day like a miracle, and then begged to keep you. Luckily for him, you've always been very agreeable on that front.

(As in, you love him more than can be said in any one language.)

"What are you upto?" Steve asks Bethie.

She shows him her food-covered hands. He nods like this is awesome, but in reality chocolate stains her t-shirt and she's going to have to change before they leave. Dove rams herself against his leg and looks up with her eyes widened.

"What?" he asks.

"Um…"

"What do you want?" he asks, softer. She starts to frown again. Steve bends. "Drink? Crackers?" No dice. "What about some pear slices?"

Dove loves pears more than anything, the sticky, sugary sliced kind from the can. Her frown disappears and she walks off, thankful to be understood. Steve's just grateful he wasn't bitten.

"What else did you need?" Steve asks, winding around you where you're cleaning Avery's cheeks. A damp washcloth drips down your arm.

"More time. Have any?"

"Wren's bag is done, bottles done, Bethie's dinner." He whispers the last part. Bethie is a picky eater and she grows pickier with time, and Robin knows this, but she's not a parent (as sweet and caring as she might be for the girls). Only something you or Steve have made is something Bethie will deign to eat, and she's insecure about it despite having no reason to be. "Beth needs a new top. Your blouse needs to go in the dryer, and I can't find my nice pants. Avery?"

"I don't need anything."

"You sure? You have Mr Scruffles?"

She wraps her arms around your neck. "Just want a hug."

"Then I guess I'm busy while daddy does all my chores," you tease Steve lightly, your touch similarly soft where it tracks up and down Avery's arm. "I'm sorry Dove bit you again. It's not fair. Not fair at all. Maybe we should only have you playing downstairs until me and dad figure it out, okay? I don't want her to keep taking bits of you."

Steve clears the checklist. Not to brag or anything, but he's a pro. You both are. Life is hectic as always and you knew getting out the door would be a process, so you planned accordingly, and you arrive at Robin's with time to spare, though Dove smells strongly of sugary pears and Bethie's new shirt has fingerprints on the back.

"Hi, crew!" Robin greets. "It's my favourite Harringtons!"

"We're your only Harringtons."

"That's not true, I went to college with a Harrington." Robin ushers the girls inside. They want one thing and one thing alone —hugs. Dove is the most insistent, dropping your hand to offer Robin her arms. She picks the small girl up and smiles at her with a monumental amount of love. Robin doesn't have favourites but Dove demands it, sometimes. Avery says, "Hello, Aunt Robin," and hugs her stomach, while Bethie puts her arm behind Avery and hugs them both.

Steve's arm shakes. "Any chance I can get through? This is a really heavy baby."

"Hi," Robin says, ignoring him without guilt. "You guys are the best part about having a best friend."

Steve logs that one for later revenge and eases around the mass of bodies to take Wren into the living room. "Holy fuck," he says, "I thought you weren't coming?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I wanted to see the girls. It has nothing to do with you."

They hug and pat each other on the back, and then Eddie drops to his knees in front of Wren's car seat to smile at her. "I love her so much. Can I have this one? Y'already have so many."

"No you absolutely cannot. Where's Dustin?"

"They're all in the backyard. Mora's teaching them how to make grass flutes, or something."

"How'd you get out of that?"

Eddie shrugs. "She doesn't like me. Doesn't make any sense, goth and metal are like brothers."

"Is she goth? I thought we settled on hippie who wears dark clothing."

"You guys are such losers!" Robin says, like a tree adorned in girl-shaped ornaments. "Don't bitch about Mora."

"Don't swear in front of my kids!"

You, having taken off your shoes and coat, unlike Steve, shimmy around the table. "He said 'fucking bitch' in front of Bethie the other day," you gossip, sitting by your friend's side. Eddie gives you a quick hug. You're undoubtedly his favourite Harrington.

"He's a disgusting man who shouldn't have kids."

You gasp and elbow him. "How dare you."

"Can we go play with Stinky?" Avery asks Robin.

Robin puts Dove down, short hair flying every which way, "If you can find him. But be nice, okay? He's agitated today. Mora says it's something about the supermoon."

Avery laughs and Dove races to follow her sister up the stairs. "Ave, remember what I said, okay?" Steve calls after her. "Come and tell me if she's being bad! And no going in the bathroom!"

Bethie remains, oddly. Though it's obvious why she's stayed the longer she lingers, her gaze flickering between you and Eddie.

He holds his arms out. "Hello, Beth. You want a bro hug?"

Bethie laughs and meanders into his waiting arms, where he pat-pat-pats her back like he did to Steve, eliciting a wave of happy giggles. "You've gotten so big again!" Eddie says, moving her away kindly. "Woah!"

"I'm glad people have stopped saying that to me," you joke.

Steve's delighted, laughing loud and sudden, and you're always pleased to have made him laugh, practically collapsing in his direction. He pulls at you until you're arm's reach.

"What does that mean, Eddie?" Bethie whispers.

Eddie pulls her into his lap. "It means your mom is happy about baby Wren being born."

"I'm really happy too."

"I bet you are! Your dad told me you're like his little helper, is that true?"

Steve turns into your cheek. A quick stolen moment before he kisses under your ear and pulls away. "Wow," he says, smiling at you, "could we, like, actually have a conversation right now? A full one?"

You beam. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Steve could happily talk about everything and nothing with you. Before bed you guys are usually tired but excited enough to be alone together that you'll talk about the colour of the new dish soap or Avery's broken pinky nail. "Seen any good movies lately?"

You give him the look. He practically invented it, that sticky, gooey eyed love as you murmur, "Mm, no. Don't think so. How about you?"

He leans in for a kiss.

"Yikes," Eddie says, covering a giggling Bethie's eyes with his hands. "Robin, house rules, please!"

Steve drops his arms heavily over your shoulders for a warm hug. "He's just jealous," he whispers.

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kassy-munson · 4 months

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im not crying you are -

#joe keery #joe keery fargo #joe keery fandom #gator tillman joe keery #joe keery characters #joe keery djo #joe keery steve harrington #joe keery stranger things #joseph david keery #fargo gator #gator tillman #steve stranger things #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Text

Busybody

summary: when Steve notices your anxiety spiraling out of control, he finds his own way to help

cw: anxiety

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’d woken up with some busybody in your chest that you can’t get rid of.

It feels like you’ve had three cups of coffee despite your four hours of sleep. You’d all but jolted awake, pre-panicked about something that you haven’t identified yet. Something you have to be forgetting, or not assigning enough importance to, surely. And the way you figure it, if your body’s going to freak out at you about being idle, you may as well appease it and hop to.

By the time Steve cracks an eyelid, you’re thinking about what to make for lunch. Heart never having left your throat, you’ve cleaned the kitchen, baked a blackberry cobbler, tried to read a few pages of your book before giving up for fidgetiness, reorganized your portion of the bathroom cabinet, and begun a grocery list for the week.

“Morning,” he yawns, leaning against the counter. He’s looking endearingly rumpled, a faint red line on his face from a crease in his pillowcase and his hair pressed flat on the one side. You smile at him as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Smells like fire in here.”

“Morning! I made a cobbler,” you explain, not mentioning the burnt first attempt that’s smelled up his kitchen despite you opening all the windows. “Do you want some bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast?”

Steve blinks, eyebrows rising slightly. “Uh, sure. You gonna make me some?”

“Mhm.” You’re already taking the eggs out of the fridge. “Scrambled?”

“Yeah. Thanks, babe.”

“No problem.” You grin, happy to be of use as you whisk his eggs with a fork, turning on two burners of the stove to preheat as you do. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” he yawns. “Well, pretty good. Woke up a couple times this morning, but you were already gone. Been up for a while?”

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

Steve nods, frowning. “Sorry, honey. You didn’t get much chance to sleep the night before, either, right?”

You hum, bacon sizzling when it hits the pan. You put the toast down in the toaster, hoping you’ve timed it right so it’ll still be warm when everything else is done. “Oh, do you want orange juice?”

“Sure, but I can grab it.” He moves for the cabinet, but you nudge in front of him, too restless to stop moving while everything heats on the stove.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” You shoot him a smile as you grab a cup. Steve returns it, but muddled.

“So between last night and the one before, how many hours have you gotten?”

You shrug. “Not sure.” Nine, give or take. “But I don’t feel tired.”

“Well, that’s good,” he says slowly, watching as you fill the cup with orange juice before hustling back to the stove, flitting between tasks at something approaching light speed.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” you go on, flipping the bacon, “do you want to do some Christmas shopping today? I mean, I know you said you’re not thinking about it yet, but it can’t hurt to get a jump on things.”

Steve yawns again, stretching his back. “Yeah, that sounds okay. Not sure I’d know what to get anyone.”

You nod a few times. “Maybe you’ll know it when you see it.” Flip the bacon onto a plate, add more pepper to the eggs, put the bacon’s pan in the sink, turn off that burner on the stove—the toaster goes off, and you nearly hit your head on the ceiling. You jump straight up.

“Oh.” You press a hand to your chest, laughter tripping off your tongue. Your blood thrums excitedly, like it’s finally found the outlet it's been looking for all morning. “God, that scared me.”

“I could tell,” Steve says, eyebrows at his hairline and smiling faintly. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah, good.” Your heartbeat has become more noticeable all of a sudden, a hollow ache behind your breastbone. “I’m almost done, just a sec.”

“No rush, honey. Thanks for making me breakfast. It looks great.”

“Of course, no problem.” You plate up the rest and spin to find Steve already there, his hand the only thing stopping you from nearly flinging the dish into the wall surprisedly.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, taking the plate from you and setting it on the counter. He brings his arms around your shoulders, and you wrap yours around him too, an automatic response. Steve sighs, his ribs expanding and contracting with the force of it, and you copy him mockingly.

“Still tired, baby?”

“A little,” he admits. “Though I can’t really complain, considering how little sleep you’ve gotten.”

You make to pull out of the hug, but Steve tightens his grip on you, palm pressing into the midpoint of your upper back. You give in, a willing captive.

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “I’m sorry you’re tired.”

Steve hums, taking another big breath. “I’m good.” A pause. “Okay, you can tell me if I’m crazy, but it does smell like something’s burning in here, right?”

“Burnt,” you admit. “I left a blackberry cobbler in the oven a bit too long. The one in the fridge is a re-do.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I think the smell’s clearing out anyway. Right?”

You sniff experimentally at the air. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Yeah?” he sniffs too.

You inhale more fully, only detecting the faint remains of smokiness under the newer scent of bacon grease.

“I’ve never had blackberry cobbler,” he says, palm beginning to coast slowly between your shoulder blades while his other arm stays firmly around your waist. “What’s it taste like?”

You perk up. “Wanna try some now?”

“No—I wouldn’t want to ruin this breakfast you’ve made me. Describe it to me.”

It’s an odd request, but nothing you can’t manage for him. You think back, letting your tongue conjure up the memory of the last time you had it. “Well, the blackberries aren’t tangy by the time they’ve been cooked,” you tell him. Steve hums, hand solid and steady on your upper back. “And this recipe is really sweet. The dough is kind of like sugar cookie dough.”

“Sounds good,” he says appreciatively. “Hey, do you think you can smell it?”

“From inside the fridge?” You take your head from his shoulder to give Steve an odd look.

“Sure, just give it a try.” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. You wrinkle your brow, sniffing tentatively. Steve opens his eyes as if to check you’re doing it, and it’s the worry in his look that gives him away. Your bemusement gives way to fondness as you take a long breath in, filling your lungs and holding the air inside you for a few moments before emptying them. You know what he’s doing, but you’re letting him anyway.

“Mmm, don’t think I can,” you tell him wryly.

“No?” Steve’s smile is sheepish, well aware you’re onto him. “Do you think we should find three things you can touch, just for fun?”

You roll your eyes at him, but inhale again as you hug him tightly. Some of the pain in your chest eases. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“What for?” he asks, hand resuming its route between your shoulder blades. “Hey listen, I’m all about your Christmas shopping idea, but do you wanna try taking a hot shower first? It might help you relax.”

“That’s a good idea,” you admit, peeling away from him. He lets you this time, albeit reluctantly. “Your breakfast is going to get cold.”

Steve looks at it as though just remembering it’s there. “Right, thanks. Sit with me while I eat? You could have some of that tea you like.”

You smile at him, taking a mug and your herbal tea down from the cabinet. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”

“You’ve got to stop thanking me, I haven’t done a thing all morning.”

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