#steve harrington hurt/comfort
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(i'm still) watching you—harringrove microfic
my first attempt at harringrove and probably totally weird like my usual shit, so… yeah, nervous. but I love prompts/challenges too much to resist… Pls be kind 🙂
WC: 914. For @harringrovemicrofic prompt, green (I also got a passing mention of Jason Carver in for the additional prompt.)
CW: None. Tags: angst, pining, chronic illness (Fibro/Chronic fatigue), enemies to lovers, h/c, no Upside Down AU, slightly soft Billy? Rating: M.
…
Steve hated sitting in the stands watching the Tigers win without him.
Hargrove rained all over the hoop, right until the full-time whistle ripped through Steve’s skull. Simultaneously, Billy ripped his vest off—shouting, thudding his chest, scanning the crowd.
His crazily soft-blue eyes rested on Steve. That smug grin faltered, and Steve’s heart gave a crazy little squeeze.
Billy’s attention snapped away. His teammates carried him on a lap of victory, and Steve shaded his eyes. Too fucking much. Since he’d got sick, the doctors had droned on about Steve having to pace himself. Today, that’d been a bust—all for the torture of watching Hargrove play.
Even though Steve hated him.
And he’d chew on that image of shirtless Billy for goddamn weeks.
“Stop bawling, Harrington.” Steve startled, squinted into the suddenly too-bright light. Tommy H waggled a stuffed tiger in front of his nose: “You can be team mascot. This one’s got even less backbone than you.”
“Jesus, I’m gonna punch your stupid face in!”
Steve pushed himself up. Despite his dumb threat, it took all his strength to stumble away. Halfway to the exit, he collapsed onto a seat, slumping forward with his head in his hands. The crowd stomped by, sending shockwaves through his aching bones. Nobody offered to help. Probably figured he’d bite their heads off…
A hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay?” asked Billy.
WTF? Steve flinched away. Up close, he couldn’t handle those stupidly long lashes and gorgeous eyes. “M’fine.”
“Want a ride?”
“You leaving already?” Steve gawked at Billy’s pecs. “Guess there’s only so much showboating even your fat ego can take.”
Billy arched his brow. “I’m sick of this shit. Your ex-teammates are fucking losers, you know that?”
Uh… Yeah?
“Whatever, dude. I’m leaving with Nance.” Steve had just spotted her with freshman golden-boy, Jason Carver, scribbling madly in her notebook.
“She’s writing an essay on that asshole. Couldn’t bag me. Seriously, I need space. Figured you might too.”
Space with me? “Jesus, you still never stop talking! You hate me. What’s your game?”
Billy shrugged. “I don’t hate you, man. It genuinely sucks you had to be benched. Don’t have to believe me, but I actually miss you.”
Miss humiliating me? Miss me rubbing my ass against you while you shoved me around!?! Guess I enjoyed touching you as much as I hated you. I mean, uh, I STILL hate you…
“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Hargrove.”
“Not offering fucking sympathy.”
Steve’s heart repeated that crazy squeeze. He’d grabbed the hem of Billy’s green shorts before he knew it.
Don’t leave. I honestly can’t get up without help right now. Won’t ask for help, either.
Billy harrumphed vaguely, casually offered a hand. Steve clasped it—since when did he dig slippery palms?—let Billy draw him up and sling an arm around him. Even with Billy’s help, the effort of walking consumed Steve completely till he sank into the Camaro.
Billy winked at him from the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, I’ll go gentle.”
“Jesus, I’m not gonna break.”
“You wanna go home?”
Yeah, I totally should. “No fucking way. Anywhere but this dump.”
With minimal wheelspin, Billy tore from the school grounds. He didn’t play loud music. They didn’t talk much either. Seemed Billy did occasionally shut up. Only Steve fizzing nerves—WTF AM I DOING?—kept him awake until Billy slammed to a halt.
Steve blinked. “Where are we?”
“One of the few places in this shithole that’s not a shithole.” Billy hurried around and helped Steve from the car.
“I’m not a fucking princess,” Steve bitched.
“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”
“Screw you.” Steve’s glare melted into a laugh that he almost felt.
They’d arrived somewhere in the hills, which smelled of spring grasses. Steve slipped from Billy’s warm grasp—not without a dumbass pang—lay flat on the soft turf. Beyond the trickle of a stream, it was so quiet, he dozed almost instantly.
Then, through the blur of his lashes, he spotted Billy stripping his shorts. Christ, that ass!
Billy headed for the stream. His smirk was as mind-blowing as his body. “I skipped showers.”
“Fucking show-boater.” Steve snickered.
He watched Billy wade thigh deep, splash sparkling droplets over that lick-able, lithely muscled torso. He wished he could watch this a billion times over, ached to join Billy, then his eyelids grew too heavy, his fatigue winning, and… Shit!
Deep inside, something snapped. He slung an arm across his face and cried, drifted, then cried again, shamelessly sniffling. A brush against his arm stirred him. Billy lay stretched beside him, towel around his waist, chin rested on a fist.
“Tears are cathartic, huh?”
Steve rolled to full-on sneer at Billy. Ended up fixed on Billy’s lush mouth, fretting his own lower lip. “Quit mocking me.”
“I’m not. Tears help. Apart from when they’re too damn painful. You don’t have to say which those are.”
Billy reached out, as if to push hair from Steve’s damp eyes, then hesitated. Steve grabbed Billy’s fingers, like he’d grabbed for his shorts. He barely breathed. He clasped Billy’s stream-chilled knuckles to his own burning face, like his life depended on it.
“Meant what I said about missing you,” murmured Billy, as Steve drowned in those adoring eyes. “None of those dicks are half-decent rivals. It sucks we never got a chance to work through that tension and…"
This is a dream, right?
Billy’s fingers slid up through Steve’s hair, gently drawing him closer, and they tumbled into a kiss.
#harringrovemicrofic3#harringrove microfic#harringrovemicrofic#harringrove#harringrove ficlet#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington whump#steve harrington hc#steve harrington#billy hargrove#billy x steve#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#i can't believe there's not a tag for bitchy steve harrington#no upside down au
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it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3
The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.
Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.
Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.
Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.
His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.
He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.
The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.
Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.
No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.
Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.
So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?
He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.
Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.
Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.
Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.
They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.
So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.
With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.
—
One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.
And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.
Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.
Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.
Oh, and it’s raining.
The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.
The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.
Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.
“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.
“Did you walk to work today?”
Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.
“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.
“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”
Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.
“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”
It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.
Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.
“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”
“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”
Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—
“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.
Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.
“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”
A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”
The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.
—
Five o’clock comes around too soon.
The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.
He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?
The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.
Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.
Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.
There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.
He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.
Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.
“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.
The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.
“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”
Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.
“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.
They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.
But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.
The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—
And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”
Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.
“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.
Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.
Something metallic jingles behind him.
Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.
Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.
He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.
Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”
Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.
“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”
Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.
“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”
“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.
Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.
“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.
“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.
“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”
“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”
“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”
Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.
But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.
“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”
It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.
By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.
He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.
“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”
There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.
“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”
Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”
Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.
“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.
It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.
“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”
He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”
Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.
“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.
Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.
The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.
“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.
“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.
“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”
He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.
“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.
His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.
Eddie squeaks— then melts.
It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.
When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.
They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.
Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.
(He does not.)
#get it OUTTA MY SIGHT#god this ate up too many hours for the final product#resisting the urge to boo my own work#ruby writes steddie#steddie#steve x eddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfiction#steddie ficlet#hurt/comfort#technically it is tehe#steddie hurt/comfort#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve harrington hurt/comfort#uhhhhhh that's all folks.#i just need a boost im having a week and its friggin. monday#okie byeeeeee
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Heyy:)💞could I request something in which reader is a virgin and she’s afraid of her first time and like unsure if she feels ‘ready’ for it but also doesn’t want to come of as prude and the character you’re writing for just comforts her and tells her it’s fine🌞Any character you’re writing for would be fine!!:))) have a great dayyy🫶
Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!
cw: smut mdni, oral (fem recieving), virgin reader
Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 958 words
Steve’s hands are strong and warm on your waist, dipping lower. You roll your hips against his, and the sound that emerges from him is half-moan, half-laugh. He kisses you dizzy.
“Can I take these off?” he asks, tugging at your back pocket.
“Yeah,” you say without thinking.
You trust Steve. You haven’t been dating long, but you can tell he’s a good guy. He has a tendency to act overconfident and then backtrack immediately, which he says he’s working on. He’s genuine when it counts. Nice to you in all the ways that matter.
It’s not until your jeans hit the floor, where Steve’s shirt already lies, that you start to think about the implications of losing those bits of clothing. Whether or not you want them.
Steve grabs big handfuls of your ass, your flesh pudging between his fingers. He flips you over.
You giggle at the suddenness of it, and he drinks in the sound happily, lips curving over yours. You press kiss after kiss after kiss into his mouth, giddy and lost in him. After a while, he dips his head to move his attentions to your neck. Your breaths become gaspy, head tilting sideways to grant him better access as your eyes flutter closed.
You don’t even notice his hand moving until his fingers wiggle under the waistband of your panties.
You go still. Then try to relax again. Try to embrace it. His fingers slide over your folds, already slicked, while his thumb searches for your clit. He finds it, circling tantalizingly. You try to get lost again. It’s not hard. Soon you’re panting, tangling your hand in Steve’s hair as his mouth sponges over your pulse. He slips one thick finger into you, then two. Scissoring.
You try to make your voice sound casual as can be.
“What’re you doing?”
“Opening you up.” The words are mumbled against your skin, matter-of-fact. “M’gonna get you ready, don’t worry.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
“Whoa, hey,” Steve laughs. “Relax for me. You okay?”
You hesitate, and his fingers still inside you, thumb slowing on your clit.
“Hey.” He sits up, looking down at you. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m not sure if—if I want—”
“Oh, oh my god.” He slips his fingers out, wiping his hand on his sheets. His other hand twitches like it wants to touch your face, but he stops it before it gets there, setting it on the bed beside your head. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume…anything.”
“No, you’re good.” You try to laugh it off. “I’m being dumb. We can keep going.”
You tip your chin upward, kissing him. Steve doesn’t take the cue.
“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” he says, sitting up a bit more, putting more distance between you. You lie back on the mattress and fight the urge to cover your face with your hands. “If you don’t feel like it, that’s cool.”
You rub your lips together. They’re still tingling. “It’s not that I don’t feel like it,” you try to explain. “It’s just that I’m not sure…I don’t know if I’m ready.” You cringe. “It feels stupid to say it.”
Steve’s eyebrows twitch together. “Ready for…?”
You give him a deadpan look, and his expression clears.
“Oh. Whoa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
You shrug. “I didn’t tell you.”
“Yeah…” He seems a bit shell-shocked. “Why did you say we could keep going? Do you want to?”
Your eyes fall thoughtlessly to where Steve’s hand rests just below your navel, your underwear a soppy mess behind it. “I don’t know,” you admit.
Steve nods like he understands, though he still looks confused. “Well, we shouldn’t do anything unless you know for sure.”
You look at him, guilt like concrete clogging your insides. “Really? You don’t think I should just get it over with?”
“What?” His face screws up. “No. Honey,” —He’s never called you that before. You melt a little— “you should want to have sex. If you’re not sure, you’re not sure. That’s fine.” You search in his tone for any hint of sarcasm or bitterness but come up empty. His hand drifts over to your hip, running the length of it. “You’re not asking because you think I want to, are you?”
It’s a silly, hypocritical stab of hurt, but it hurts nonetheless. “You don’t?”
“No, I do,” Steve says hastily. “Obviously I do. Just, that’s not a good enough reason for you to do it. And I don’t want you to get it over with, that’s for sure.”
He says the last bit wryly, glancing away from your face like he’s barely restraining an eye-roll, and you laugh. He looks back at you, grinning. Pleasantly surprised.
“I mean, it wouldn’t really reflect on you if I was getting it over with,” you say, but Steve scoffs.
“Fuck yeah it would. Sex with me should be magical, babe,” he tells you, kissing your chin firmly. “Sparks flying and butterflies and all that. The whole fireworks show.”
“Oh, you’re selling it now.”
“Not,” he does roll his eyes this time, kissing the corner of your mouth, “my intent. You tell me when you feel ready, and then I’ll start advertising, but until then don’t worry about it.” He catches your eye, and his are searching even as he raises his eyebrows playfully. “I can still give you the fireworks show other ways, if you want me to.”
You blink. “Really?”
Steve blinks harder. “Yeah! Jesus, your expectations of me are so low. Give me a little credit.” He presses kisses to your mouth, your chin, trailing down your throat, his blessed hand making its way back towards your heat. “Just sit tight, let me get you warmed up again.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x self insert#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington smut#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one shot#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fan#stranger things x reader
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it’s crazy what you’ll do for a friend
Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (afab, one gendered term, but otherwise neutral)
WC: 4.5k
Summary: After a long, awful day, you can’t even relax when your go-to stress reliever falls apart, too. Steve, being the good friend he is, offers to help you out.
CW/Tags: hurt/comfort, language, masturbation, FWB, inexperienced reader, soft teasing, oral sex (f receiving)
A/N: I left this open ended, so if you’d like another part please let me know! part two - it felt like love & drugs is up now! title is from daddy issues - the neighbourhood. hope y’all enjoy <3
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It’s raining. Of course it’s raining. How cliche it is for the sky to pour out on one of the roughest days you had in awhile.
Just your luck, you left your umbrella at home. Your car’s in the shop, you missed the bus, leaving you to pull your jacket over your head awkwardly as you try making it home as quickly as possible.
But why would that work out? Nothing else has worked out in your favor today, why not add some more misery as a truck speeds by into a puddle, sending a wave of filthy water splashing onto you. If you weren’t drenched from the rain yet, you’re certainly a drowned rat now.
Somehow, you manage to keep composure and suppress your frustrated yelling; stomping on through the rain, which is now raining sideways— Are you fucking kidding me? — you count the blocks ahead until you’re back home. Two. Just two more blocks. Sure, they’re city blocks, so they stretch farther than the ones you grew up with in your childhood neighborhood, but you got this.
Thankfully, your bad luck decided to give you a breather, allowing you to make the rest of the trip home on foot without further frustration.
Walking down the quiet hallway of your apartment complex, you can feel and hear the squish of water in your shoes as you make your way to your front door. You can’t be bothered to care about the amount of rainwater you must be trudging in.
You’re crossing your fingers in hopes that no one's home, so you can cry and scream in peace; as you unlock the door, your wish is immediately denied.
“God dammit,” You murmur under your breath, stare narrowing at the lights on throughout the apartment. Sounds echo out from the TV, and you hope they’re loud enough to cover the door closing. You kick your shoes off, sighing in relief the overwhelming, squishy sensation on your feet is gone. You begin to shuffle down the hallway to your room, but, of course, you’re spotted.
“Hey! How was your— oh.” Steve’s peering over the couch, smile dropping like a ton of bricks when he sees how miserable you look. “What the hell happened?” He pushes himself over the back of the couch, hurrying over to you, and you throw your hand up in a stop gesture.
“Don’t even come near me, I’m straight up bad luck today.” You grumble, hoping if you joke about it you’ll feel better, but tears of anger just build up instead. “Also, I’m covered in water from god knows where, so you really do not want to be near me right now.”
Steve cautiously comes closer anyway, arms’ length, but still too close for your liking right now, so you step back. He wants to ask if you’re okay, but he knows the answer to that.
Then he realizes you walked home. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve picked you up.” And honestly, you wish you thought to call him. You were just so overwhelmed with how badly today was spiraling, the last thing on your mind was reaching out to your roommate for a ride.
Too exhausted to explain that, you give a weak shrug. “I need to be alone for a bit, okay?”
Steve’s features twist into concern, wanting to help however he can, but he holds himself back; the best way to help is to give you space right now. With a nod and a sigh, he reminds you, “Just, uh, lemme know if you need something.”
You start making your way to your room again, murmuring “Thanks, Steve.” While your mind was elsewhere, you miss the way Steve watches as you head in your room and slam your door, causing him to wince.
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An hour or so after you got home, you lay on your bed in your robe, not bothering to change into pajamas after showering just yet; you were just content you’d be relaxing the rest of the night.
And what better way to relax than getting yourself off after such a terrible day?
Opening the drawer of your nightstand, you grab your vibrator, focusing on the sounds outside your door. Whatever movie Steve had on seemed loud enough that you could hear the dialogue float down the hall. It was also loud enough where you could get away with breathy moans and small whimpers, so that was good enough for you to continue.
With a flick of a switch, your wand- a much cheaper, smaller version of the original- buzzes to life. Eagerly, you untie your robe and let it fall open, teasing along down your body with the vibrator before reaching where you needed it most.
Instantly, your hips bucked as the wand brushes up ever so slightly against your clit, jaw falling as your eyes flutter shut; the pent up tension from the day already begins to leave your body as pleasure consumes your thoughts.
“Oh, fuck,” You murmur, hushed enough that Steve can’t hear you in the other room. With one hand, you toy and tease your core as slick coats your folds, while the other comes back to your chest, pinching and pulling lightly at your nipple.
Effortlessly, your mind wanders to Steve touching you; this is normal lately, but you don’t have feelings for him. Not really. If anything, you just think he’s attractive, but you wouldn’t want anything with commitments. That’s assuming he feels the same way, which you’re certain he doesn’t, and that’s totally cool.
Who doesn’t think about their roommates when they touch themselves, anyway?
In your mind, Steve’s hands are where yours are, nothing wild, just imagining how caring and gentle his touch would be. You’ve also thought before about how rough he could be, too. Nothing wrong with fantasizing about either, right?
Sometimes when you come close to finishing quickly, you edge or overstimulate yourself. You could feel the high within reach, toes curling as your back arches as you imagine him praising you with a typical “good girl”, encouraging you to keep going, to keep the toy against you after you cum. Brows knitting together, your mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape, breaths shallow while you’re needy for release.
You’re right there, just on the edge— The wand buzzes to a halt without warning. Your eyes fly open, pulling the toy back to your view as your chest heaves, orgasm fading away. Desperate, you flick the switch a few times, hoping it’d turn on again, but nothing happens.
“No, no, no,” You can feel the tension build up again, rageful tears ready to burst in record time. Normally, you’d just be annoyed by your vibrator dying just before you climax, but after today, this is the final straw. As you dump the batteries out, you wonder when the last time you changed them was. You can’t remember. Figures.
Batteries. We have some in the junk drawer of the kitchen. You’re quick to tie your robe closed before darting down the hall. The movie’s still playing as you pass the living room, but Steve’s in the kitchen. Oh, come the fuck on.
Ignoring him as he searches the fridge for a snack, you round the island counter, making a beeline for the junk drawer. Yanking it open, Steve spins around, looking perplexed.
“What’s up?”
“Not now, Steve.” You feel bad, but you’re desperate to get off. You were so fucking close, and that high is long gone now, but you just need to quiet your mind before the stress gets to you again. You’re tearing the drawer apart, pulling out old pens and half used notepads, rubber bands, a broken bottle opener- seriously? - spare string light bulbs, bookmarks, a pack of candy corn— who the fuck put this here? Ew.
Focused, you don’t notice Steve slide next to you, leaning against the counter. “What are you looking for?”
“Batteries. We had some, didn’t we? I swear we still had some left from that old pack.” You’re frantic, voice picking up speed and pitch the longer you fight off the tears. “We usually keep ‘em in this drawer right?”
“Oh, I used the last few for my Walkman, I’m sorry. I’ll grab some more tomorrow—”
That shouldn’t be a big deal, but right now it’s the biggest deal in the world. “You what?”
“… I… used them?” Steve’s slightly afraid to answer, but still completely confused as to why you’re so wound up. His eyes flicker down to your fists, fingernails digging into your palms as they ball up, trying to keep your anger at bay. “Bu- but I can go get more! I’ll go right now.” He’s rushing for his raincoat and shoes, but guilt floods through you.
“Steve, don’t do that, it’s still pouring out.” You sigh, fists loosening up before you tug your robe closed tighter. “You don’t have to, I can— fuck. I can go tonight, it’s not a big deal.” The thought of getting dressed again and braving the storm makes you wonder just how desperate you are to get off. How pathetic.
Steve pauses in the doorway, hanging his coat back up. “It seems like a pretty big deal to you. What’s going on?” He makes his way back to you, and you’re pouting, arms crossed while you look away, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you’ve been trying so damn hard to keep the dam of tears from breaking.
“It’s— god, it’s so fucking stupid. I’m just overwhelmed by how terrible today was. Like, every fucking thing had to go wrong, and this is so dumb, who gets upset over batteries?! Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?” You don’t mean to start rambling, but once it starts, you can’t stop it. “Work was a nightmare, my car’s still getting worked on, this rain is horrible and my umbrella was here. Being soaked in street water has me grossed out still, and now that I’m home, I can’t even relax, all because of… batteries? Oh my god.”
Saying it all out loud helps a little, but it also makes you realize how deep today got under your skin. You leave out the part about not being able to cum, but that’s not something you want to admit to.
“That… sounds really overwhelming.” Steve gives empathy, but he’s not sure what else to say beyond that. So, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want me to run out and get batteries?”
“Uh, no it’s totally fine, Steve. That’s sweet of you, but I’ll be okay.”
“Let me know if you change your mind, okay?” He leaves the offer open, and curiosity gets the best of him. “What did you need them for anyway?”
Your eyes widen, not expecting him to ask. “It’s silly,” trying to shrug it off, Steve, meaning well, persists.
“Hey, whatever it was, it’s okay to be upset about. You had a rough day. M’sorry I used the last few batteries.”
“Steve, it’s okay, really. I’m sorry I got upset, it’s not even the batteries, it’s— it’s nothing some sleep can’t fix.” Shaking your head, you brush it off, embarrassed you let something so meaningless work you up.
“I’m sure there’s something around here we can swap the batteries out so you can use them now, and we can replace them tomorrow.” He starts looking around the kitchen for something battery powered to steal the source form. “What kind were th— ”
He’s too sweet, he won’t let this go unless I tell him.
“Steve, don’t.”
“But if it helps you feel better— ”
“Steve, stop. Please.”
“Why?”
It comes out in an unintended outburst, “Because it was for my vibrator! Happy?” Your eyes finally meet his, and the heat rising to your face feels unbearable alongside the embarrassment. “I was— I wanted to blow off some steam, okay? It died while I was… y’know…And I can get myself off with my hand sometimes, but it’s not the same as toys or someone else’s actions. So… yeah.”
A rosy blush creeps along Steve’s face, enough to reach the tips of his ears; you know this never happens unless he’s embarrassed, or caught off guard, and right now, it’s both.
“Oh. I- shit, I’m sorry for- you didn’t have to tell me.”
“You and I both know you’d still be looking for damn batteries if I didn’t say something.” You murmur, looking at the floor as you lean against the counter. “I appreciate that you care, Steve, but this isn’t something you can really help with. Unless you’ve got a vibrator of your own you don’t mind sharing.” The last part’s a joke, but Steve clears his throat, looking away.
An awkward silence falls between the two of you, one that’s quiet enough that you can hear the buzzing of the lights overhead, and the whirr of the VCR rewinding whatever tape he had in, finally at its end.
“I… don’t, but I could still help… if you want.” Steve’s rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You think you misheard him, so you keep quiet, and he takes that as rejection. “But- okay, that was really dumb of me to offer. We can just forget about what I said.”
Glancing at him from where he stands, across from you, leaning against the island counter, he finally looks your way, afraid to say the wrong thing. You tilt your head, daring to ask, “You mean it?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Steve chews on his bottom lip anxiously.
Your mind goes blank, thinking about his hands on you the way you fantasize, answering with a raspy, pathetic, “Please?” Pushing off the counter, you start to close the gap between the two of you, but Steve meets you halfway, backing you up into your original spot.
“What… What’s off limits?” He has to slow his breathing intentionally, already getting turned on. He’s always wondered what you sound like when someone else plays with you, and he can’t believe he’s about to find out.
“Nothin’.” You answer casually, and Steve opens his mouth to say something, but only silence comes out. You smirk, “What’d you think I was gonna say?”
He shrugs, “Thought you didn’t have much experience, that's all.”
“I mean… I don’t. Not really. I get too nervous to let most guys near me, you know that. The rest’s all my imagination, unfortunately.” You admit bashfully.
Steve’s hands grab your hips, nudging you onto the counter. “You’re not nervous with me, are you? Be honest.”
“I- I mean kinda… but not in that way!” You’re rushing to clarify, hands up and waving away any doubt. “I’m just a little nervous, ‘cause you’re my friend. And my roommate. Oh my god, is this gonna make things weird?”
Steve chuckles while shaking his head, “Won’t be weird to me. Friends can fuck around too, y’know.” His voice drops low, hands on your thighs. You push yourself against the cabinets as he parts your legs, stepping between them. He looks down, noticing your exposed skin high on your thigh where your robe falls open. “If it’ll be weird to you, though, we can stop.”
Eyes wide, you shake your head furiously. “Not weird. Absolutely not… maybe a little. But not weird in a bad way.” Steve laughs, one hand sliding higher up your thigh, pushing the material away, exposing your skin.
Tugging the plushy material’s edge, barely covering your bottom half at this point, he asks, ”You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?”
“No… I was kinda worried about something else other than clothes.” You playfully roll your eyes, and Steve pinches your thigh.
“Smartass.”
“You asked, Stevie.”
Traveling higher, his hand gently holds the side of your face, thumb sweeping along your cheek gently. “You tell me if you don’t like something, or if you want to stop. Got it?”
“Mhm, I got it,” Your voice is small, but clear while you watch Steve’s gaze flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“Can I kiss you?”
You answer by closing the gap, kissing Steve softly, lips working in tandem with a slow pace. It’s sweet, even when he parts your lips with his tongue; slow kisses like these always make you squirm, enjoying them but greedy for more.
When Steve pulls back, there’s a thin thread of spit connecting his lips to yours, breaking once he smirks. He kisses along your jawline, down your neck, taking his time between sucking softly and kissing slowly, almost too slow for your liking. His hands fly to your thighs, holding them in place from squirming.
Pulling back to look at you, he asks, “Do you get like this when you touch yourself?” You shake your in response.
“Well, no, this is different than just thinking about you—” You clamp your mouth shut, pursing your lips as your eyes widen. Steve’s smirk breaks into a cocky grin.
“You’re thinking of me while you get off?” His words are laced with a hint of an unnecessary ego boost. “That’s cute.”
“Sh- shut up,” Your breath shudders as he’s back onto your skin, sucking and kissing along your collarbone while slipping the robe off of your shoulders. The cool air along your exposed chest hardens your nipples, and Steve immediately leans down to latch onto the pebbled flesh; his tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, earning the tiniest squeak of a moan.
“Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself,” Steve murmurs against the swell of your breast, kissing lazily across your chest to switch sides, repeating his motions.
“Um… oh,” You’re arching your back, pushing your chest into Steve’s face. He keeps a pattern of sucking, biting, licking, and it makes you dizzy. His arm snakes around your side to your back, holding you steady. “I told you wh- what I think about.”
“No, tell me what you think about me doing to you,” Steve clarifies, fingers toying with the nipple he’s not kissing, pinching and rubbing soft, slow circles. A whine leaves your lips, hands tangling into his hair. “Jesus, you’re all hot and bothered just from this?”
“Uh-huh,” You rasp, unaware of how your hips roll forward, the ache between your legs only growing. “And I, um, I dunno.”
“Yes you do, don’t be shy,” Steve’s back to eye level with you, noses touching ever so slightly. Huskily, he asks, “What makes you cum when you think about us?” His hands are agonizingly slow as he starts opening the remainder of your robe, eyes meeting yours to make sure you’re still okay with this. You give a nod as your breath hitches, core clenching around nothing as you hear him whisper “Fuck.” under his breath, eyes taking in every inch of you.
“What?” You’re not self conscious, but you’re very aware this is the first time he’s seeing you completely exposed. Something about that forces your arms to cross over your chest as your legs close, but his firm grip is back on your thighs, pushing them apart.
“You’re so fucking pretty.” Steve’s words grow muffled as he kisses you, again, refusing to rush things, but you can tell he’s a little needier than the first kiss. You whimper into his mouth, hips grinding yourself against nothing, desperate for friction. He pulls back to watch you writhe, smirking. “C’mon, tell me, babe. Nothing’s gonna happen if you keep those dirty thoughts to yourself.”
Fuck it.
“I th- think about you teasing me slowly, like you’re doing now, making me wet a- and fucked out before you even really touch me.”
Steve’s biting back a groan while hands travel along your sides, fingertips grazing your skin softly as he reaches your hips, digging his fingers into the plush of your curves. “What else?”
“I like thinking about how, um,” You’re caught off guard by his hands moving closer to your cunt, resting on your thighs as his thumbs rubbing circles into them. He’s dragging it out, enjoying the way your breath shudders and you squeeze your eyes shut to focus. “How good your fingers would feel on me, in me, and how you- you’re— ” you stop yourself, feeling overwhelmed.
“I’m… what?” Steve’s fingers again inch closer to your heat, causing an airy whimper to escape you.
You rush it out, hoping it’ll dull embarrassment for you, “I think a lot about how you’d look between my legs.” Looking away from him makes it a tad easier to continue. “Thinking ‘bout how good your mouth would feel on me, but it’s hard to think about sometimes, ‘cause it’s not like I- I’ve got anything to base it on.”
Steve freezes, “Has no one gone down on you before?” You’re looking anywhere but at him, until he grabs your chin, gently pulling your attention his way. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Like, I bet it feels good, but yeah, no one’s done it before.” You’re reluctantly admitting, biting your lip anxiously. Steve presses his thumb on your bottom lip, softly pulling it from between your teeth.
“Can I change that for you?”
“Oh… I— you want to?”
“Wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to,” He reminds you. “No pressure, though.”
Enthusiastically, you nod, starting to push off the counter, but Steve again holds you in place. “Shouldn’t we do this somewhere else?”
As Steve drops to his knees, he hooks his arms under your legs, tugging you closer to the edge. He chuckles at your question. “We can do this anywhere you want.” He’s at the perfect level to reach you from here, licking his lips at the sight of your glistening cunt already.
“Yeah, but like, people eat here.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” He’s kissing up your leg, laughing against your skin as you roll your eyes.
“Steve, that was the corniest thing you— oh, fuck.” He presses the softest kiss to your folds, glancing up to make sure you’re okay. From that small action alone, you shiver. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder before licking a slow, broad stripe up your cunt. You moan loudly, throwing your head back at the new sensation, but you slam your head into the cabinet. “Ow!”
Steve can’t help laughing against your skin; one hand of yours cards through his hair, tugging, while the other holds the back of your head. “Stop laughing— f- fuck.”
“You good? Should we stop?” He asks, leaning away from your core as he glances up at you, making sure you’re alright.
“No, don’t, please don’t,” You babble, pushing him by the back of his head to come closer. Steve takes the hint, picking up where he left off. His tongue swirls and flicks at your clit, making your legs twitch. Once he starts sucking on it, your eyes roll back and you keen while your leg over his shoulder hooks him as close as possible to you.
“Someone’s greedy,” He teases before he buries himself back into you, sucking your clit again before tongue fucking you, making a mess from your arousal and his spit, pooling onto the counter beneath you. Steve slips a finger into you, curling it just right. You buck against him, and you swear he murmurs something like, “Taking me so well, honey.”
“Steve, I- I don’t wanna cum yet, m’so close.” You plead, and that’s something he hasn’t heard before. He’s used to his partner begging to cum, but this is new.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want it to be over so soon,” You whine, grinding against his face and fingers. Steve hums into you, vibrations sending you closer to the edge. “But it feels s- so good.”
Speaking before he can think, Steve is quick to assure you, “This can happen again, y’know.” He’s sucking your clit, rougher this time, and you can’t see much past the tears building in your eyes from how intense the pleasure is.
“Will it?” You’re panting, legs tensing up around Steve’s head. He slips another finger into you. “Fuck!”
“As long as you’re ‘kay with it,'' an obscene slurp follows his response. “Christ, you taste so good.”
“Uh- huh— ” A strangled moan leaves your lips, fingers curling around his locks before pulling roughly, while Steve doesn’t let up on his ministrations. Something within you snaps, and you’re gone.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes back, keeping your gaze on Steve who returns his to you, while somewhere between a sigh and a whiny moan, you’re crying out for him as heat floods your entire being. “Steve! Fuck!” He doesn’t stop until you physically begin pushing yourself away from him, overstimulated.
“So good, baby. M’so proud of you.” He murmurs into your thigh before standing back up. He leans in towards you, both hands cradling your face, but he stops. “You okay if I kiss you again?” You’re unsure if he asks because he’s worried to overstep a boundary or because his lips are soaked with your release. Either way you nod, tugging him closer by his shirt as you ball the fabric up in your fist.
The two of you are noisy as you whimper into him, and he grunts when your tongue slips past his lips, tasting yourself in the process. You can only kiss him for so long before you need to pull back to catch your breath as you come down. Your eyes are heavy with the blissful exhaustion only found after an orgasm, while the dopiest smile graces your features. Steve can’t help smiling, too, resting his forehead against yours.
“Please tell me that was better than the vibrator,” He’s joking, but secretly hoping it was better than the bliss a toy could give you.
“Uh-huh.” You shudder out as your legs twitch, laughing at the sudden movement. It’s meant to be a joke, but Steve can’t help the way his cock twitches when you say, “You wanna be my new toy? I’ll throw that thing out so fast.” Eyes flicking down to his bulge, you notice the dark spot on his grey sweats, swallowing a moan. “You, uh, you want me to— ”
“Huh? Oh,” Steve looks down, blushing at his mess. “Nah, kinda too late to worry about it now.” He laughs it off but as he locks eyes with you again, he follows it up with, “… Unless that’s an offer for another time.”
This entire time, you’ve been shoving your feelings aside, the ones you thought were just based on superficial attraction, but his comment makes your stomach flip. “Yeah… yeah it is,” You try playing it off cool. “Hey, Stevie?”
Steve’s already grabbing a hand towel to clean you up with, touch gentle and slow. “What’s up, babe?” The pet name gives you butterflies.
“Thank you,” it feels silly to thank him for such a lewd act, but your mind is completely over how your day fell apart. “That… that felt really fucking good.”
Steve smiles warmly at you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. Awkwardly, he responds with, “What are friends for?” You push aside how the comment stings your heart a little. Just friends. That’s it, and that’s okay.
… it is okay, right?
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington smut#steve harrington hurt/comfort#my fics#it’s crazy what you’ll do for a friend
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buddy; steve harrington x f!reader
s.harrington x f.reader
a little blurb i wrote quickly about reader ditching the mushy nicknames they both love. no warnings, but blog is 18+ and special thanks to the loveliest girl ever, autumn, for entertaining this idea w me @lilacletter word count: 1k
The idea sprang into your brain through a conversation with Robin over frozen yogurt, a mountain of toppings on each of your treats.
“The way you two fawn each other is weird!” Robin scolded, shoving her plastic spoon in her bowl.
“What! How?” You laughed, wiping a bit of vanilla from the corner of your lips.
Rolling her eyes, she huffed, “Baby? Sweetheart? Love? Don’t even get me started on darling or mama-And yes! I did hear when he called you mama and it made me gag. Use something less gross.”
Her tangent made your cheeks warm, covering your face in embarrassment. The names were cavity levels of sweet, both of you loved them, but it was silly to consider how often you indulged in them.
So sitting on your blue sofa, you watched TV with the volume a bit higher than you wanted it to be, too lazy to stand and turn it down.
“Hey buddy, can you turn it down please?” You asked from the mountain of blankets as he walked into the room.
“Yeah- Wait what?” He froze, finger on the sound, pushing down for a few notches.
“Thank you.” You replied, ignoring his question and just relieved you could watch Family Ties in peace.
Your warm smile made his own question fade, figuring he misheard you, and moving on with what he was walking towards. Which he forgot, so he went into the kitchen.
It would be an hour or so later when you were getting ready to hang out with friends, standing in the bathroom and applying some concealer when it would happen again. The wand glided over your skin, gently patting it with your fingertips as he walked in behind you.
A hand firm on your waist to solidify his balance and keep you in place, he went over your head to reach your medicine cabinet, taking the pot of hair cream you bought him for Christmas.
At your side, he opened it and began applying it to his hair which was now scattered with shades of blonde due to the brutal summers of Indiana. After he finished, he wiped his hands on the towel hanging on the rack, turning around to put his cream back.
“You look so pretty.” He gawked, kissing your temple before looking at your concentrated face in the mirror as you applied mascara. The words made your heart flutter, a small ache in your tummy that could only be brought on by emotions from another person.
Recalling Robin’s words, you smiled, “Thanks, pal.”
A nearly disgusted look went onto his face, not remembering the last time someone called him a pal. But you looked unphased, so he assured himself it was a bit of a tease, settling for squeezing your hip assuringly and walking out of the confined space.
However, the ride to Eddie’s new apartment was seamless with listening to Wham on the radio, stopping for candy, and walking in his front door with that and the movies in hand. Nancy and Robin were already there, and Jonathan and Argyle were ditching this week's movie night to go on a small road trip to buy certain plants in another state.
The pizza man had delivered dinner as you all sat on pillows on the living room floor, napkins and paper plates in hand.
“Thanks, dude.” You quipped, taking a bite of the pizza your boyfriend had just set on your plate.
Eddie’s loud cackle broke Steve’s distressed look into a more agitated one, Nancy smirking to herself as Robin joined the laughter.
“Harrington, how did you get friend-zoned by your own girlfriend!” Eddie barked, grabbing his own stomach. The use of ‘dude’ wouldn’t have caused such a fuss if they weren’t already aware of how overtly affectionate you two were in terms of endearment.
“I’m not in the friend zone, you asshole! There’s nothing wrong with being friends with a woman- But we’re not friends- Wait! No! She is, but we have se- She is my best friend and girlfriend!”
Cutting off his rambling, you patted his shoulder, “I know what you mean, man.” You placed a kiss on his forehead, but that didn’t erase what you called him.
Swallowing his pride, he pouted through the rest of movie night, even when you cuddled up next to him sweetly. Physically, your public displays of affection weren’t too egregious, so the normalcy felt pleasant.
As the night came to a close, both of you now in pajamas, the frustration had dissipated. Beneath the sheets, you curled and waited for Steve to turn off the light before joining you. Walking over while scratching his belly, he joined you, shuffling to be closer to your body.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He whispered, kissing your nose, followed by your forehead.
Putting a kiss on his collarbone, “Goodnight, buddy.”
What you didn’t expect was his foghorn whine, dramatic as he sat up, yanking you with him, all to just hover over you with your wrists in his hands. It was embarrassingly easy how quickly he could overpower you like this, but this was probably due to how you didn’t fight back.
Giggling with girlish lit, you looked up at him, “What?”
The creases between his brows doubled as the scowl on his lips grew, pressing his face to your cheek as you shrieked.
“Stop calling me buddy!” He complained, resting his weight on top of you, “Or any of those other names either! Why do you hate me!”
“Stevie, I don’t hate you!” You cooed, nudging his head up with your cheek until he looked at you, “Robin mentioned how gooey our names are and I wanted to try to switch things up.”
Scoffing, he rolled his eyes, “Of course, Buckley had something to do with this.”
Slinking your hands free, you cupped his cheeks and kissed his lips. There was something so enticing about his skin that you were convinced you were reliant on it.
“I love you, baby.” You murmured, his sigh of relief audible as he deflated to his side, pulling you in close to his chest.
“I love you too,” He began, speaking into your hair, “don’t call me dude like that again though or I will lose my mind. Absolutely bonkers. I will fight Robin at work-”
“Okay, sweetheart.” You cut him off, kissing his chest as it rises and falls.
“Much better.”
thank u for reading! check out my other fics in my masterlist :)
#elora writes#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington thoughts#steve harrington x you#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington moodboard#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington x reader#stranger things#steve stranger things#scheduled
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all of the moments that led me to you.
warning: steve's black eye (nothing new), violence, mentions of blood, a fight between steve x billy
pairing: steve x reader, light billy x reader (not really, this isn't a love triangle lol)
words: 4.5k+
summary: the title speaks for itself -- a series of moments with steve harrington
an: i was going to post everything as one fic but i kind of hit writer's block in the middle of year 1985 so i'll post this for now instead and hopefully gain some inspiration to continue :)
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yr. 1984
i. the first meeting ft. dustin henderson
the words “code red” hitting your ears every five seconds, the stomping of feet running around the house, the back door opening and closing several times - babysitting is weird. not one kid is ever the same, some are easy-going, others can be a real pain in the ass.
you hoped you got an easy kid today. one that just stays in front of the television, binging on crackers and occasionally asking for your help. obviously, you were wrong.
if it wasn’t for the fact that it pays well while simultaneously allowing you to do some of your own studies and looking good on your college resume, you wouldn’t even be here.
but you are here. seated inside the henderson household.
“hey y/n, can you please drive me to my friend mike’s house?,” dustin runs into the living room, an exasperated expression on his face, interrupting your reading.
“are you okay?” you ask, worried about the kid you just met when his mother called an hour ago trailing on about how she saw your babysitting flyer some time back. and even though she knew that she had to book a date at least two days beforehand, she still asked if you could watch over her son.
“just for today” she said, as she needed to look for her missing cat. her promise of double pay, convincing you to accept her request.
“i’m fine, i just really need you to drive me to mike’s,” dustin says hurriedly, eyes hopeful that you wouldn’t ask anymore questions.
“why?” you ask and the boy’s shoulder slumps, doing his best to not roll his eyes at your persistence. he’s obviously not used to asking for permission.
“i uhm forgot my book there and i really, really need it to study for my exam tomorrow,” he sends you a toothy grin, trying to convince you that that was all there is to it. you’re no fool. you notice the slight change in his voice, his fingers anxiously playing with his pockets, right leg slightly bouncing up and down - indications that he’s lying.
“you know your mom’s not paying for my gas, right?” you reason, not wanting to give in to his request and hoping you could just have a calm afternoon.
dustin sighs, his smile disappearing, “fine. i’ll just go behind your back and bike there and if i end up missing or in a ditch somewhere then it’ll be your fault,” he counters, personality quickly switching from the boy who said “please.”
you sat there, flabbergasted, “are you…blackmailing me right now?” an eyebrow raising, you couldn’t believe how diabolical the curly headed boy is.
“i’m not blackmailing you. i’m simply telling you what's going to happen if you don’t drive me,” he smiles, an almost devilish smile, tone hardening with every word and you truly do not know whether you’re terrified or impressed.
letting out a quiet chuckle, you shake your head, “alright, c’mon kid,” you say, grabbing your car keys off the table, “but we’re going back as soon as you get it.”
——
you should’ve known not to trust him, finding yourself hurriedly getting into the back seat of the car of the last person you ever expected to interact with - steve harrington.
pushing his forgotten red roses towards the other end of the car, you take your seat in the middle.
“wh-what are you doing?” dustin turns from the passenger seat, facing you as steve takes in your presence, eyes on his rearview mirror, a confused expression evident on his face.
“y/n l/n?,” he questions, finally remembering where he has seen you before, “you’re in nancy’s grade?,” he asks, more a question for himself than you.
you nod, “steve harrington,” acknowledging his presence for the first time.
“why are you with dustin?” he wonders. he didn’t know much about you. only that you and nancy were sometimes studying in the library together. she’s told him before that you always get the top grades in class and she wanted to be around more motivated people like you.
“i’m his babysitter and i’m coming with,” you simply answer his question, keeping the explanation short. it’s weird enough that you were inside the car of hawkin high’s famous “king.”
“since when did you have a babysitter dude,” steve reverts his attention back to dustin.
“i'll explain later,” dustin reassures him quickly before turning back to you, “and uhm, you don’t have to come, i have steve now,” he points to the guy in the driver seat like you don’t see him.
from what you’ve heard about steve, you’re not sure you trust leaving the young boy with him. he’s known for being notorious, having bad company and overall, just a guy with the money, the looks and the popularity that somehow has every girl wanting him and every boy wanting to be him. you’re not sure how that guy can be trusted with kids.
subconsciously, you eye steve suspiciously, causing him to put two hands up in surrender “hey, i have no idea what’s happening either,” he defends, shrugging nonchalantly.
snapping out of your daze, you focused your attention back on dustin, “look dustin, steve isn’t the one being paid to watch you right now,” you start to explain.
“hold on, you’re getting paid for this?” the older boy interrupted.
you ignore him, attention still on dustin, “if something were to happen to you, your mom would be looking for me. i’m responsible for you kid, i-,”
“fine! there’s no time,” he cuts you off, obviously in a rush.
“you can come, just,” dustin contemplates, already regretting the words that slipped from his lips, “just don’t blame me for getting you into this thing.”
at that, steve snaps back to reality, “wait, wait, wait, if this ‘thing’ is about ‘that’ then she definitely can NOT come,” steve declared, his voice laced with a seriousness you didn’t think he could have.
“well, are you going to drag her out of the car so she doesn’t find out about this thing?,” the younger boy replies, a sarcastic tone evident on his lips.
“guys, i can hear you,” you piped in, eyes going back and forth between the two boys, having absolutely no clue what they’re referring to.
“dustin, im not joking ok!,” steve ignores you, “we can’t tell people about this,” a serious expression appearing on his face, one you’ve never seen on him before, “we’ll get in trouble, you know that. besides, we shouldn’t involve anyone else into this anyway!,” he protested.
he didn’t sound like the steve you would hear about at school. he sounded responsible, protective. he sounded like…a babysitter.
“i know that steve, that’s why i told her to leave!,” dustin shouted.
“well, she’s clearly still sitting in the backseat of my car!,” steve’s voice raises with every syllable.
“can someone just explain what’s happening?” you try butting in, rolling your eyes, completely fading into the background as they continue their bickering.
“i don’t see YOU trying to do anything about it!,” dustin throws the argument back to steve, his patience on thin ice.
“she’s YOUR babysitter!,” steve points out yet again, ears turning red, veins popping and finally pushing the young boys’ limit.
“fuCK!, we don’t have time for this steve, we really have to go NOW!” dustin shouts, losing his temper.
steve, ready to reprimand him, before you decide you’ve had enough.
the series of “thing” and “this” has your mind spinning and your curiosity getting the best of you.
“SHUT UP!” gaining the two boys’ attention, their bodies turning towards you, “both of you. shut. up.” you enunciate, loud and clear.
“i promise i won’t blame you…or you,” glancing at the two boys, “for whatever the hell this thing is…just put your seatbelts on and drive,” ending their argument as you sat behind the passenger seat, clicking your own seatbelt into place.
steve gives up, letting out a sigh, “fuck it,” before finally stepping on the gas.
ii. the babysitters and an angry billy hargrove
you should have never picked up mrs. henderson’s call and you definitely shouldn’t have agreed to babysitting. what was the point of having your own terms and conditions when you didn’t even follow them yourself?
you should, however, have listened to steve and dustin when they told you to leave.
the day isn’t even over yet and you’re already questioning everything you knew. in a span of a couple of hours, you have been introduced to a world you couldn’t even imagine. having to pinch yourself a couple of times to make sure you weren’t just dreaming.
everything was strange.
you’ve spent the whole afternoon dropping meat, trying to bait something called a demogorgon. met steve’s spiked bat. got questioned regarding your relationship with billy hargrove from his very own red headed step-sister. came face to face with the said demogorgon, who, by the way, had demogorgon friends and were actually a pack of demodogs. almost died in a junkyard. walked in the dark woods just to end up in a creepy laboratory. felt the awkward tension between steve, nancy and jonathan. understood why will byers was called the zombie boy. stood behind steve while holding a random kitchen knife you grabbed from the byers’ kitchen — and to top it all off, encountered a little girl who flung the finally, very dead demogorgon through the window then unlocked the front door, all using only her mind.
in conclusion, monsters and superpowers aren’t just a thing people read in their comic books.
“how are you holding up?” steve breaks you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping to his voice.
everyone else has left, leaving you the only two teenagers to act as the adults once again.
the strangest thing of all of this was somehow, steve harrington went from being the popular jock to a guy whose simple presence can provide you comfort. everything you knew about him has changed.
it’s amazing what shared trauma could do.
you shoot him a small smile, “well, i definitely wasn’t expecting all this,” you look around the mess around you, “to be a part of that thing” you refer back to the boys’ banter, trying to keep the energy light despite everything that happened.
he gives you a sheepish smile, almost like he was sorry, regretting that he allowed you to be a part of this.
“it’s not your fault. i chose to come,” you say, reading his thoughts and putting an end to them.
“where did you put the demogorgon?” you continue, changing the subject, reassuring him that you were ok. at least, as much as anyone could be ok in this situation.
“we stuffed it in the fridge,” he shakes his head, arms crossing, like he couldn't believe it himself, “‘for science’ dustin said,” steve quotes the younger boy with a grin.
“right, of course, all the important things,” you chuckled, matching his grin as the two of you continued to clean the broken fragments that have scattered around the house.
you thought it was over, that you could all just wait for everything else to unfold in peace but after a few minutes of silence, the kids were back on their feet, ready to "get off the bench.” you’re not sure how steve has the energy to continue arguing with them when you’re completely exhausted.
the sound of an engine brings a silence to the house, max running towards the blinds recognizing the car that has made an appearance in the driveway, “shit, it’s billy, he can’t see me,” she says frantically, eyes meeting yours, a silent call for help.
“i got it, just hide,” you hushly ordered, quickly making your way to the front porch. steve tried pulling you back but you were out the door before anyone could protest, resulting in him looking through the peephole.
billy’s momentarily confused expression at your arrival wasn’t lost on you and if you were in his shoes you’d probably have the same one on, “hey sweetheart, what are you doing here?,” his husky voice taking up space in the cold, night air.
standing a couple steps away from him, his hand immediately finds a spot on your waist, pulling you closer. you placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between the two of you, aware of the audience you have, “i’m babysitting a kid, his friend lives here,” you explain, smiling sweetly at him, hoping that he won’t suspect anything and leave as soon as he came.
“have you seen my sister?” he asks breathily, face inching closer and closer to yours, a smirk on his lips. if it was any other day, you would have enjoyed his attention, maybe even be up for some fun. right now though, you just want him as far from max as possible.
“no, why would she be here?,” feigning innocence, you hope he believes your lie.
“she’s been hanging out with a couple of kids here, a bunch of bad influences,” he huffed, eyes quickly glancing around you before pulling you even closer.
“i haven’t seen her, she’s probably at the arcade, have you checked?,” you hope he doesn’t hear the shakiness in your voice.
“you know what i like about you sweetheart?,” he muttered, placing a harsh kiss below your ear, his grip on your waist starting to dig into your skin. you know he has caught you.
“you can’t lie for shit,” pulling you away from him, gaze darkening, he howled with laughter as you followed his line of vision, seeing four kids peeking through the window — one, with very bright red hair.
frustrated curses slip from your lips as you shoot them an angry glance before billy grabs your wrist, dragging you right behind him as he pounded on the door, coming face to face with steve.
“harrington, am i dreaming or is that you?,” he mocks, his hold on your wrist tightening.
“yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants,” steve rolls his eyes, hands on his hips like a disappointed mother.
steve notices you wince under billy’s hold, “let her go man,” he orders, taking a step towards the wider boy.
billy focuses his attention back on you, for a second you see a feeling of betrayal flash through his eyes but that was quickly replaced with a snarled expression, like he was completely disgusted with the thought of you.
“is there a reason why you both are here alone?” his dark voice causes goosebumps to rise throughout your body.
you’ve heard of how violent he can be but until right now, he has never shown that side to you.
“what are you saying?,” you almost couldn’t recognize him anymore, breath hitching in your throat.
“are you fucking him behind my back, sweetheart?,” billy’s voice grew menacing, “you know i don’t like to share,” he continued accusing you, his free hand coming in contact with your neck, forcing you to look at him.
“dude, no. we’re babysitting,” steve answers for you and motioning towards the kids like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“you’re hurting her,” he emphasized, “just let her go,” gently stepping closer, steve has his arms slowly reaching for you, hands up, a signal that he comes in peace.
steve hopes billy will focus his attention on him instead, just wanting to get you out of there. he feels responsible for your safety and well-being.
“gladly…” billy shot him an evil smirk, “you can’t trust bitches anyways right, harrington?,” he scowled, violently throwing you against the wall.
your head makes a direct impact with the concrete, causing you to fall to the ground, a whimper slipping through your lips. you hear the kids' screams and a punch being thrown as you feel your vision slipping between darkness and light.
you make out dustin running towards you and grabbing your hand, trying to get you to sit up. a couple of unsuccessful tries, he pleads “i’ll come back okay, just stay alive,” as he makes his way back to his friends.
the proceeding events were all a blur and it felt like you were watching it through static television. one moment you can hear victorious cheers. the next moment, you hear something break and steve is suddenly lying on the floor a couple feet away from you, bloody faced and barely breathing. billy continuously throws his punches and the kids scream in fear. you try to get up but your body betrays you, only allowing you to reach out your arm towards the brown haired boy.
somehow, the sound of the punches halted and billy fell to the ground. a sigh of relief escapes from your lips while the slow rise and fall of steve harrington’s chest becomes the last thing you see as you completely fade into the darkness.
—
the next time you open your eyes is to another set of screams, waking you up from your much needed slumber, if you can even call it that. you ignore the pounding in your head as you try to regain your vision. the first thing you feel are the strong arms in front of you, acting as your seatbelt, as you try to piece it all together.
a couple minutes of confusion later, you finally recognize what’s happening, joining steve in full babysitter mode. the yelling of “no’s!,” and “stop the car’s!,” filling the tiny vehicle.
“great, now they’re both awake!, i told you we should have just left them!,” mike cursed dustin annoyingly.
“we were not going to leave them there, mike!,” dustin retorted, “c’mon guys i promised you’ll be cool, okay? just calm. down,” he softly ordered, like he was the babysitter and you two were his children.
you scoff, “dustin, don’t fucking tell me to calm down!,” somehow fearing for your life now more than ever.
“everyone just shut up, i’m trying to focus!,” max yells as lucas yells the directions in her ear.
max makes a harsh turn causing a chorus of screams to rise. your hand immediately clutching around steve’s arm, face burrowing in his neck, seeking for protection, afraid of the crash that luckily never came.
you’re not even too sure what happened the rest of the night but somehow you all made it out unscathed, besides the fact that you and steve are probably suffering matching concussions.
iii. the heart-to-heart
in the tiny bathroom of the byer’s house, you find yourself standing in between steve harrington’s legs. his body feels familiar now, especially after you seeked comfort in each other in the dark tunnel, the two of you thinking it would be your last breaths. in some way, the miracle happened and the screeching demogorgons ran straight past the two of you, like you weren’t even there.
you remember looking up at his golden, brown eyes. being that close to him, you noticed how beautiful they actually are and finally understood how he has charmed every girl at school.
‘i guess it wouldn’t have been too bad dying in steve harrington’s arms.’ you thought to yourself.
brushing those thoughts away, you bask in the moment of solitude within the commotion that is taking place behind the bathroom door. everyone reunited here, checking up on each other.
“does it hurt?” you ask him as you gently pat the alcohol covered cotton pad around his eye, cleaning up the bits of red that have stained them.
he slightly winces, hoping you didn’t notice, “i’m fine, this isn’t my first rodeo,” he assures, sending you a wink before completely regretting the tiny action, a frown briskly replacing his smile, causing small chuckles to slip between your lips.
“you know, you should really stop getting into fights, i could’ve sworn you had a black eye just a year ago,” you remember it like it was yesterday - steve harrington walking the halls of hawkins high without his two minions for the first time, looking like he had fallen off his throne as the hushed whispers grew louder until they finally made its way throughout the school in a matter of minutes.
you could tell he wasn’t at all the person he was trying to be and for a second, you saw yourself in him. you wanted to get to know that steve. the steve that may understand you. but that second didn’t last long.
“so you were watchin me?” he teases, a smirk on his lips resulting in a playful shove and an eye roll from you.
gently grabbing his chin, you stare straight into his eyes, “of course i was. you’re steve harrington,” you remind him, “everyone watches you,” stating the facts before letting go and going back to removing all the dried up blood from his pretty face.
he clears his throat, shrugging his shoulders, playing it cool, “yeah, i guess you’re right,” he says dumbfoundedly, making you laugh.
“you’re ridiculous,” you quietly comment, a smile still on your lips. steve focuses on your light touches, trying not to wince every time you get near his open wounds. you notice his knuckles going white, gripping the toilet seat he was sitting on and ever so gently, hurried your actions.
“there, all clean,” you softly declare as you slip from his space, turning around and putting all mrs. byer’s first aid kit back into place. he quietly thanks you, leaning his head back a bit to rest, his eyes shutting for a second.
“thanks, by the way,” you break the silence “for protecting me earlier… with billy and all the upside down things,” you explain, looking at steve through the mirror. he nods, not entirely sure he’s deserving of your gratitude. you protected him as much as he protected you.
“is he always that violent with you?” steve asks, an eyebrow going up.
you immediately shake your head, “no, he’s never laid a hand on me, i don’t know what came over him,” you say honestly.
“why billy hargrove?” he asks, causing you to pause your actions, paying attention to him.
“what do you mean?” you reply, turning around to face him once again, your back against the tiny kitchen sink.
“well, you didn’t leave dustin alone even though you just started babysitting him today, you care about having seatbelts on, you immediately covered up for max and just now, you took care of me when you should be taking care of yourself,” he points out, “you’re responsible and kind and you care and, well, billy is just a huge dick,” he finished, a hand flailing in the air as you stare at him, stunned at his observations.
you compose your thoughts for a while, not at all ready to have a heart to heart with steve harrington in a bathroom.
instead, you throw the question back at him, “why nancy wheeler?”
“you cannot possibly be comparing billy to nancy,” he replies quickly, a disapproving tone laced in his voice.
“i’m not,” you say defensively, “i’m just saying, she hurt you too but you’re still with her, you-”
“i-i don’t know if we’re actually still together,” he sadly replies, cutting you off, eyes dropping to the floor and you think back to the woods earlier that night — nancy emerging with jonathan right by her side.
“but you still love her,” you continue, “even though she’s hurt you, you still love her,” you finish, trying to make a point.
“so, you’re in love with billy?” he concludes.
you scoff, wanting to say yes and finally drop the subject but the mere thought of agreeing with that sentence makes you visibly wince.
“god no, i’ve been on a couple dates with the guy, it’s far from love,” earning an even more confused steve to face you.
“i don’t know if it’s because i got my brains punched out or i really am just dumb but i completely lost you there,” he admit, a tiny smile on his lips and all you could do is sigh.
heart to heart talk it is.
“you’re not dumb, i just-” taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself.
“we all have our own reasons why were with someone,” you begin, “i’m just so tired of the perfect good girl image that has been imposed on me, it's like people just see me as that and nothing else,” as soon as you start, the dam breaks, flowing.
you find yourself entrusting your deepest thoughts to him, “i can’t be fun because good girls aren’t supposed to be, i go to parties and people are confused that i'm there. you know, i even joined the cheerleading team so people can see me as something more? but all that does is fuel the assumption that i can do everything and still get shit done...that im not capable of mistakes and bad decisions. that i’ll turn out to be something great when really i’m just so damn scared all the time,” your voice breaks but before he could comment, you cleared your throat and continued.
“i guess being with him makes people finally see me out of my stereotype” you confess, waiting for him to say something. the silence becomes overbearing and you feel completely vulnerable under his gaze.
“oh,” steve responds, before bursting into laughter and you feel like a complete idiot, eyebrows shifting downward. god, you’re so ready to dramatically walk out of this bathroom and slam the door against his face but before you could do that, he notices.
“hey wait,” he says, gently grabbing your arm, asking you to stay as he arranges his thoughts.
“i’m sorry, i’m just relieved that you’re not actually in love with him because you deserve a lot better than billy hargrove,” he says charmingly, his cool facade still on display.
“i know,” you agree, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes, “is that all?” you ask, still annoyed.
“yeah,” steve starts, “i-no,” you give him time. you know that he’s having a war in his mind right now, the same one you just had.
he avoids your gaze, thinking to himself, until finally, he puts his defenses down, “i understand you,” he confesses.
“if it makes you feel better, it’s not at all greener on this side, i wished people looked at me less, i wish i didn’t have to go to all these parties just for people to respect me,” steve rattled on, feeling the weight fall off his shoulders with every word that falls off his lips, his facade disappearing bit by bit.
“i completely gave up on school because everyone has already expected me to fail and i started to believe them…it’s tiring having to pretend i’m this ‘king’ steve,” he quotes, “when really i am spiraling and have no fucking clue what i even want in life...i’ll probably just end up having a stupid job i hate and being as bitter as my father,” he sadly chuckles.
“i’m just as scared as you,” he ends with a small smile, eyes meeting yours. he feels lighter after having said it all out loud for the first time and he can’t quite comprehend how he feels so safe sharing his saddest truths with you.
but as you cast him a kind smile, the words “fuck stereotypes,” making its way to his ears, he can’t help but be thankful for the spilled truths and ajar doors.
steve mirrors your expression and you’re glad you finally got to meet him. not “playboy” steve harrington and definitely not steve “the king” harrington.
just steve.
-
next: yr. 1985 (to be written)
an: a lil bridgerton reference there hehe ... thank you for reading! let me know if you're interested in reading the other moments i had planned :)
feel free to inspire me by dropping your thoughts, comments, suggestions, etc. here <3
#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington imagine#stranger things x reader#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x reader angst#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington hurt/comfort#dustin henderson#billy hargove imagine#billy hargove x reader#billy hargrove x reader angst#stranger things#stranger things x y/n
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can I request a hurt/comfort with steve, where maybe the reader gets hurt in the upside-down and he is taking care of her? you are one of my favorite steve blogs!
I love a good old hurt comfort!!! And this time though r is hurt Steve is getting comfort cause that boy sure blames himself for no apparent reason. You’re so sweet thank you! It means the world to me you like the stories I write for y’all💖 I hope you like this! 1k.
••••
“I can’t lose her!”
Steve’s scream still echoes at the back of your mind, fuzzy and distant but it’s still there. The panic, the pain, the anger, they’re all there burned in your brain. You were in a dizzy state, half present and half gone after your last trip to the upside down had left you with a pierced leg and a bleeding wound. Vecna was gone which is all that mattered, yet instead of celebrating Steve hovered over you making a makeshift tourniquet for your leg with his belt – Nancy and Robin trying their best to calm him down. That's when he snapped, voice raw and cracking with emotion; it was clear he didn't mean to, but if you were in his shoes you're sure you'd have done the same. You wanted to reassure him, tell him you were fine, but things were hazy after that.
Steve's quiet now, lying down on his bed next to you.
His torso is bandaged just like your leg; his wounds clean and treated, yours got ten stitches covered with two layers of gauze and clear medical tape. He's done nothing but look after you since you got back, making sure you had everything you needed, driving you to his place and helping you get upstairs. He even washed your hair, gentle and caring and careful, pretending he's alright when you know he isn't. His hands still shake no matter how much you hold onto them, you can tell he's holding back tears from the way he clears his throat before speaking. Yet he only wants to take care of you.
"You should try to get some rest." Steve says, one hand gentle on your cheek as his thumb rubs softly at your skin. "It's late."
You glance sideways at him, his face is golden in the glow of the nightstand lamp. Hair almost dry from his shower earlier, eyes red-rimmed, a soft grin that's holding everything back. You know this boy the same way he knows you. "I can't sleep lying on my back." You whisper over a frown.
"We can figure it out." Steve's smile is a fraction more genuine this time, always happy to help you. "Here, let me sit up."
It takes some minutes but Steve rearranges the pillows and helps you sit up, mindful of your injured leg. He lies back against the headboard with you slumped sideways against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and patched up leg extended in front of you. It's not the most comfortable position but it's better than before, especially now that you have your arms around Steve.
"I'm not hurting you?" You ask quietly, closing your eyes at Steve's touch rubbing up and down your arm.
"No," You feel Steve shake his head. "I like this better."
You snuggle closer to him, wanting to be as much as possible as someone who thought would lose the other only hours ago. Steve hums and kisses your temple which makes you look up at him. When you see the tears he's holding back, you break.
"I'm so sorry Stevie." You mumble through an aching throat. "I didn't mean to get hurt and scare you like that."
Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't have to say sorry."
"I wanted to tell you I would be okay, reassure you that I would be." Your words are rushed through your tears, lips pulling downwards with sorrow. "It all happened so fast."
Steve's arms go around you and pull you closer, his shoulder shaking as he cries into your hair. You'd squeeze him tight in return if he wasn't injured, so you settle for kissing the middle of his chest as you cry with him. The idea of the roles being reversed makes your blood freeze with panic. "I thought I was going to lose you." Steve confesses, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."
"You'll never lose me." You pull pack to look at him in the eyes, red and full of tears just like yours. "I will always fight to stay by your side, Steve. I can't even imagine being without you; if I can keep you from going through that, you know I will. Just like I know you'd fight too."
Steve closes his eyes and nods, "Every time."
You grab his face in both your hands. "I love you, so much."
He looks calmer when he opens his eyes, still shaken but better than before. "I love you too."
"Tell me what you need?" You ask in a whisper, wiping the last of his tears away and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please, if I can make it better I'd like to."
"I just need you." Steve brings you towards his chest again with his arms around your waist. "This is all I need."
You look up at him and smile when you see some of that previous fear melt away from his face. Your beautiful boy slowly becoming himself again. "I can give you a kiss too. I don't think we've ever gone this long without kissing you know."
"Tell me about it." Steve's smile appears then, before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.
masterlist
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x fem!reader
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Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.
Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington
‖ summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.
‖ tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.
‖ word count: 2.1k
The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.
A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.
So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.
No such luck.
You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”
“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”
Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.
Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.
Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–
“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.
“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”
“I… I’ve been sick.”
“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.
Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”
“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”
“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”
“No!”
Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”
While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”
There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.
If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–
“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”
“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.
“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”
The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.
Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.
This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–
As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness.
Because they pity you.
“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.
“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”
Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”
“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”
Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”
“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.
“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.
“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. “Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”
Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”
A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”
“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”
“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”
“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.
“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.
What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–
“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”
“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.
But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.
“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”
“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”
You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”
Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”
Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them. “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”
I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–
“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”
You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”
Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.
Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–
Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.
“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”
A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.
“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”
“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”
You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.
Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”
-
now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day
four walls closing in from months spent inside them
there is too much grief packed into this small place
packed into this bed with unchanged sheets
packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken
and no one has ever been here
not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs
they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space
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thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.
#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington fluff#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson comfort#eddie munson fluff#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#steddie x you#steddie x reader#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#myos ideas#myo4munson#myo4harrington
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hi!! i love your writing! could you possibly do a blurb with bf!steve with a sensitive reader? like maybe her friends made her feel left out or she gets embarrassed easily and steve is just there for her?
hiii tysm baby!!! hope u like it <333 | 0.7k of little angst to fluff! r feels left out after being with friends
It’s not often you feel this way.
You’d been at the diner for lunch with some friends, and it turned out to be kind of awful. You’d been the one to sit in the spare chair pulled up to the end of the booth, which was fine until it wasn’t.
First it was the split off conversations that you hadn’t been a part of, then the inside jokes, the laughs that surrounded you while you had to force one out to fit in. It only got worse.
Now, you’re parked in Steve’s driveway because you’d planned on spending the night, but you haven’t been able to get out of your car. Your overnight bag sits in the passenger seat, tears streaming down your cheeks.
You feel like a total idiot, crying over something like this, but it’s gotten under your skin. Your forehead falls against your steering wheel and you flinch when your horn goes off.
It’s Steve’s cue to head outside.
He’d seen your car pull up, he always does. It’s pathetic the way he loves you. The way he waits for you to come over every time you leave.
Usually, you’d climb out of the car right away, carrying your bag on your shoulder and walking through the door because it’s only ever you and Steve at his house anyways. A grin on your face, a hug to greet him.
Today’s different. Today, he waits five, ten minutes and you’re still in your car. And then he hears the horn and he knows something’s wrong. He knows you, he’s been with you long enough to know when something’s off.
He jogs up to the driver’s side of your car, peers into the window and finds you, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, shoulders shaking a little. He taps on the window with a single knuckle.
Your head jerks up at the sound, and when you see Steve you wipe at your damp cheeks with your palms before rolling the window down.
“Hi, Steve. I was just heading in.”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
You should’ve known he’d ask. Always the worrier, never getting anything past him.
“It’s silly. I’m okay.”
“You’ve been crying. That’s not silly.” He pulls your door open, rolls your window up for you, and holds a hand out towards you. “Come on, talk to me.”
You sniffle, wipe your cheek on your shoulder, place your hand in his. Your fingers entwine with his easily, the way they always do, falling into place.
“Okay.” You let Steve tug you up, let him carry your bag for you.
Before you know it, he’s got you on his couch, sitting sideways so you’re facing each other, legs overlapping, Steve’s hand on your knee.
“What happened?” He asks.
“I don’t know.” You shrug, and Steve’s not convinced, so you continue. “Lunch sucked. I’m dumb, but it was like I wasn’t even there, you know?”
His hand squeezes your leg, Steve-shaped indents in your skin. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“It’s stupid. I just felt like it didn’t even matter that I was there.” Your eyes well up all over again. “I could’ve gotten up and left and nobody would say anything.”
“They’re the stupid ones for making you feel like this, okay?” The hand that isn’t on your leg wipes away the tear that slips down the slope of your cheek, thumb gentle over your skin. “You’re incredible, the best ever. Pretty, too.”
“Steeeve.”
“I’m serious. This is why you should just be with me all of the time.”
You know he’s joking, but Steve would be happy to spend every second of every day with you. That’s not a joke. But his words are enough to make you smile, a small one, but he still feels like he’s won something.
“Thank you, Steve.”
He shuffles so that he’s laying in your lap, head on your thigh, hair flopping over his forehead. You’re quick to run your fingers through it, grinning down at the way his eyes flutter at your touch.
“So, how many boyfriend points do I win?”
You giggle, “a thousand.”
“That many?” He grabs your wrist, tugging one of your hands from his hair and bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm.
He gets endless points from you. Best boyfriend ever.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington story#steve harrington request#steve harrington requests#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington hurt/comfort#stevie blurbs#steve stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things steve#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#stranger things x reader#stranger things
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okay yes spot the difference but also PLS SPARE HIM HES BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH
#steve harrington#whump steve harrington#steddie#steddie brainrot#joe keery#steve the babysitter#stranger things#fruity four#steve x eddie#steve harrington/eddie munson#steve harrington comfort character#st4#stranger things 4#st4 volume 2#steve harrington needs therapy#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steddie angst#steve harrington angst#steve harrington kin
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blue christmas (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)
summary: it's christmas time, and your boyfriend's traveling the country kicking ass. will he make it home in time—or will you be spending christmas alone?
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
✶ the king of the ring (1989)
✶ christmas carols
✶ main masterlist
tags: christmas!; descriptors for libby's friends but of course, not libby; kinda hurt/comfort (she's just a sad girl!); fluff; alcohol consumption; nothing major.
"i'll have a blue christmas without you. i'll be so blue just thinking about you. decorations of red on a green christmas tree, won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me."
— blue christmas, elvis presley
hawkins, indiana. december 1989.
“I can’t believe you won’t be here.”
The ribboned rubber of the telephone cord curled around your finger. You pouted at the flowered fabric of your bedspread, imagining Steve in a little Christmas sweater he’d never wear—but he’d be here. Cozy, warm, big and bulky under layers of cable-knit.
Christmas was in three days, and your boyfriend wouldn’t even be here.
“I know, angel,” Steve sighed through the phone. “‘m sorry. I wish I could."
And he does. It's your first holiday season together—your first winter full of fluffy white snow, and cold afternoons that make you want to curl up and sleep the days away. It was the season of love and affection; the time of the year meant for nuzzling noses and burying in coats for warmth.
You imagined so many times what the holiday season would look like if Steve were here to stroll through the town square holding your mittened hand. He'd come up for weekends—twice since the beginning of November—but it was never long enough. He'd get in Friday night, and have to leave Sunday morning. You never got to sleep in and feign domestic bliss, tangled in his sheets in the white, early light.
Too many times, Steve kissed your head in a half sleep and whispered his goodbye; a note on his pillow where his head was supposed to be.
Angel,
I'll miss you more than ever.
—Steve
"Me too," you mumbled, pout evident in the huff and puff of your quiet words. You let your chin fall to your arm propped on the edge of your bed, glaring ahead at your wallpaper.
The house fogged with warmth from a home-cooked meal roasting in the oven downstairs. Your mother had a jazzy Christmas tune pipping from the stereo on the counter. Your father—last you checked forty minutes ago—was reading the paper in his armchair beneath the yellow lamplight of the living room. Your brother was somewhere up the street getting into trouble with his friends, driven to boredom without school to keep them busy. You had a Christmas party to attend tomorrow night, and you still hadn't picked an outfit, or wrapped your Secret Santa gift.
"Baby," Steve sighed. "C'mon, don't...don't make me feel bad."
You rolled onto your back. "I'm not, I'm not...I'm sorry."
Commotion clattered behind Steve—hotel doors opening and closing, voices muttering. The bed springs squeaked with his shifting. Your chest ached and squeezed with what you already knew was coming.
"I gotta go, angel...I'll call you later, alright? Be good f' me?"
You pinched your eyes shut, willing the stinging to stop. You nodded without words a moment, and then heard the buzz of his waiting. "Okay...love you."
"Love you too, baby. Bye."
"Blue Christmas" spun on Lisa's turn table in the sunken den of her parent's basement living room. Still stuck in 1975 and decorated by her mother for the sole purpose of hosting cocktail parties, it was the perfect place for Lisa to hold her first "adult" holiday party: pink shag carpet, silver-tinseled Christmas tree, pastel wrapping and perfect bows, and geometric decor of diamonds and stars on the wood-paneled wall.
Lisa, Holly, Tammy (and even yourself) dressed in their best getups, hair and makeup perfected for Polaroids. They already snapped enough to cover the end table, and in every single one, your smile never met your eyes. You were too concerned with ruining Lisa's highly-anticipated party to be a drag, but the lack of Steve really weighed on you.
"Oh, honey," Holly sighed, padding her way over to you. She flopped onto the sofa beside you, arm wrapped around your shoulders. "You miss him real bad, huh?"
You sighed, head falling onto her arm. "That obvious?"
She sipped her (fourth) cocktail—something red and fruity and rimmed with crushed candy cane. "You haven't spoken a word in thirty minutes. It was just a hunch."
"I thought he'd at least...try to be here. I mean, he doesn't have a fight until next week. He could fly back and forth—but maybe that's...not right of me to ask that."
Holly hummed, setting her coupe glass on the Polaroid table. She turned to you, blonde hair neatly curled and pinned on either side, and pursed her glossy mouth.
"It's not too much to ask, hun. If he wanted to be here, he'd be here. He said he loves you, then he wouldn't miss your first Christmas together."
You peered at her, wondering if this were true. From their place near the tree, arranging gifts and flicking through Elvis albums, Lisa and Tammy looked up.
"Oh, that's not true!" Tammy squawked. "He's just busy. They're talkin' about him all the way in New York now."
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, stomach twisting. "They are?"
If Steve were truly gaining popularity across the east coast, you had more than just a missed Christmas to worry about. You sensed its arrival—his fame and popularity. Steve was up and coming, and he had an aggression not many fighters had these days. He had the drive, the passion, the determination. You saw it all in his eyes. You knew he wouldn't stop until he was the best, and he wasn't afraid to make the sacrifices necessary to be just that.
And maybe it was selfish of you to want him all to yourself—but you've never felt this way about anyone before. Steve was everything.
"Oh, Libby," Lisa cooed, hurriedly rushing your way. Tammy followed, and soon they were all surrounding you, perched on the sofa and the coffee table.
"It'll be okay! He loves you, it's so obvious. You just have to realize...maybe his career will always come first. You just have to find a way to be okay with that," Lisa offered meekly.
You nodded, but only because your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. The girls glanced at each other momentarily, and then Holly stood in a flash of sparkly, bubblegum pink and glitter.
"Well, to hell with Steve! Let's get drunk and open presents."
The glasses drained themselves, really. The records spun and scratched, the pretty, gilded wrapping paper shred to pieces, and the girls in the den soon became nothing but giggling messes. When you got bored of the music, you turned to the television, turning the knob until you reached a fuzzy, pixelated picture of It's A Wonderful Life, though the static-y voices fell on deaf ears.
"Oh, it's darling, Libby, really," Holly gushed, holding up the pink satin slip you gifted her for Christmas.
Holly was easiest to shop for—she'd be pleased with anything pink, soft, and fancy.
"I'm glad you—hic!—like it. And I love my book, Tammy. It's so beautiful."
The book, a cloth-bound classic, was wine-colored and gorgeous. It was so pretty you didn't even want to put it on the shelf. It would sit on your dresser for a little while to look at.
Lisa gave Tammy a pair of red Mary Janes, and Holly gave Lisa a new set of hot rollers. The remains of the wrapping paper sat in bits and pieces around you on the carpet, and you had to shoo away Lisa's cocker spaniel, Lady, before she ate it all. She trudged into your lap, shedding soft hair over your dress as you stroked her long, floppy ears, watching the pink-flushed faces of your friends through the glowing white light of the Christmas tree.
Despite Steve's absence, you were happy. You had your friends.
The giggles faded when the doorbell rang through the house. Lisa waved it off, peering up the steps of the den toward the first floor. "Probably just a caroler. Ignore it."
But the doorbell rang again. Lisa huffed, and Tammy and Holly giggled as she fumbled up the steps. In her absence, they turned to you, all gushing over each other's presents and asking after more cocktails. They kissed at Lady in your lap and tossed popcorn at her waiting mouth, and you fell in line with the amusement until Lisa's socked feet came flapping into the room.
"Libby, Steve's here."
You weren't sure you heard her right. The giggles dwindled again, and your hand stilled over Lady's head in a half-stroke. Your heart was in your mouth, pulsing dumbly.
"W-what?"
Lisa, out of breath and wide-eyed, had her hands on her hips with an ecstatic smile. "He's here. Steve, he's here—he's waiting outside."
"Well, for God's sake, Lisa, why didn't you invite him in?" Tammy chimed in.
Lisa shot her a glare. "He said he'd wait outside for her! Probably heard your cackling and got too scared to come in."
Holly soothed your friend's sting with a half-hug around Tammy's shoulders, but you were still numb. You carefully scooped Lady up and placed her on the floor, away from the wrapping paper. You pushed to your feet, smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You put your book on the sofa, and turned to your friends still on the floor.
"Do I...do I look alright?"
"Gorgeous, babe," Holly beamed. "Let me just..."
She stood, reaching up to fix your hair. She fluffed it, poofed it, found your purse on a hook near the door and spritzed your perfume at the crown of your head, and under your ears. She handed you your lipgloss and a mirror, and when you were content with the pink-eyed doeness of your appearance, you stepped toward the stairs.
"Go, go!" Lisa ushered you, giving you a nudge.
You steadied yourself on the wall, steps careful and cautious. Those drinks made you a little woozy, but nothing felt as fuzzy as the thought of Steve waiting for you in the snow. He came all the way here, for you. Your cheeks warmed at the very thought. Your stomach crawled its way up to your throat.
You made your way through the house, taking one last glance in the nearest mirror, before pulling open the door.
A cold rush immediately burst into the house, but any thought of shivering fled your mind at the sight of Steve looming before your eyes. Brown leather coat, black sweater, Levi jeans tight at the hips and loose at the calves. He had his hands cupped around his mouth, blowing hot, white air into his palms—but at the sound of your steps, at the scent of you, he stopped.
All you could do, for just a moment, was stare. Three long weeks since you last saw him—those perfect, round hazel eyes, those high, rosy cheeks. The tip of his nose was wind-nipped pink, the tops of his ears blown red. He smelled like vetiver and leather cologne, and he looked beautiful.
"Oh, Steve."
You crashed into his chest, arms wound tight around his stomach. He enveloped you in his own, holding you as close as he could; and the warmth of him immediately melded with yours. You buried your nose into his chest and hummed, eyes pinched shut just to hold onto this. This moment, this scene, this feeling of him so close after so long apart. You didn't want to let go.
"Merry Christmas, angel," he whispered, and then his mouth sat atop your head, pressing it into a kiss.
When the cold got unbearable, you pulled Steve inside. Fingers intertwined and cheeks sore with grinning, you skipped your way back down to the den where your friends feigned innocence despite their heaving breaths.
"Well look who's here," Holly cooed, watching you tug Steve down the steps.
You giggled, tipping into his side, one foot coming to kick up giddily. You felt like a schoolgirl with her very first crush. That's how love should always be, right?
"Steve, you know everyone. This is Lisa, Holly, and Tammy. Girls, this is Steve."
Your friends waggled their fingers in bashful little waves, and Steve lifted a wide palm in hello. You could smell the Marlboros on his coat, see the outline of a new pack in the front of his pocket. His hands were starting to warm up against your own.
"And this is Lady," you cooed, watching the cocker spaniel sniff at Steve's boots.
You dipped down and scooped her up, bringing her up against your chest to wave a tiny paw at Steve. He cracked a sideways smile, reaching out to scratch at her chin. You let her scamper back over toward the girls by the tree, and turned to Steve with your fingers looped together behind your back.
You could barely contain the giddy glee flooding through your body. Steve noticed. He nicked you under the chin with a gentle knuckle, and another small kiss placed on your sticky mouth.
"You girls been drinkin'?" he gruffed, thumb pressing on your bottom lip.
You shrugged. "A little. It's Christmas, Steve."
He hummed, eyeing the dazzled, feminine setup of the room. A mess of pretty paper, tinsel knocked astray, empty coupe glasses and picked-at pigs-in-a-blanket and bowls of snacks, a dog sniffing around for scraps and attention—harmless, he decided. Maybe even sweet.
As if waiting for his approval, and recognizing the submission, Steve turned back to you with a small smile. "Okay."
You took him by the hand again, tugging him toward the tree. "Come on."
But Steve paused, tugging you with just the resistance of his solid stance, snapping back like a rubber-band.
"Wait, honey..." You turned to him, and he reached into the lining of his coat. "Got somethin' for you."
He pulled out a slim, black velvet box. You pressed your lips into a smile and huddled close.
"But, Steve...yours is at home—"
"—shh. Just open it."
You were acutely aware of your friends craning to see over your shoulder from their place on the floor, petting mindlessly at Lady and munching at shortbread. But in this moment, it was just you and Steve. And he watched you intently once he handed over the box, gnawing at his own lip. God, he wanted a smoke. He just wanted you to love it.
You pushed the box open, hinges snapping back to reveal a navy blue satin lining, and a gorgeous golden locket strung inside. An "S" sat etched on the center of an intricately engraved heart, adorned with swirling roses on a delicate chain.
"Oh, Steve." It was all you seemed to be able to say today.
"D' you like it?" he asked, voice edged with worry.
You fingered at the locket, feeling the cool metal. "I love it, Steve. It's gorgeous."
He exhaled. "Good. Lemme put it on."
With fingers too big for such delicate things, he plucked the necklace from its box and pulled the clasp open. You spun around, moving your hair out of the way for his hands. With your back to him, you could properly convey your excitement to your friends, who mirrored your beaming grin with equal delight.
The locket rested perfectly in the center of your chest, and once clasped, you felt it against your skin with your palm.
"Thank you, Steve. I love it so much."
Steve, hands braced on your shoulders, tipped his head and kissed your cheek. "Anything, angel. It's all yours."
Lisa snapped the head of a gingerbread-man cookie off with her teeth, and Holly cooed. Tammy busied herself with the dog.
But you had a band of butterflies in your stomach and a drum line in your chest, and you turned to look up at Steve with nothing but adoration.
"Look inside." He nudged his nose toward the locket again.
Wedging a nail between the hinges, you popped the heart open. A crudely-cut picture of yourself and Steve—so minuscule it would be difficult to discern from a blob if you hadn't recognized the very moment captured in time—sat in a black and white fashion in the heart.
Another smile at Steve, loving and sweet. "Who knew you were so romantic, Steve Harrington?"
He tucked his bruised fists into his coat pockets and shrugged. "I try."
Steve had hours before he had to leave and a plane ticket burning a hole in his back pocket—but it was Christmas, and he'd do anything, even blow off his coach and a team full of people, if it meant seeing your pretty face.
"Merry Christmas, angel."
The softest of kisses shared between warm mouths. Strawberry-cigarette smooches were what life was all about.
"Merry Christmas, Steve."
#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington au#steve the hair harrington#stranger things fic#stranger things au#steve stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#boxer!steve
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Steddie microfic: I got you
Steve loves it when Eddie rubs his chest.
Written for the December @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pine,’ 508 words. Originally inspired by the ‘pining’ idea, then it evolved and some extra pine turned up elsewhere!
Rating: T. CW: A couple of sexual references. Tags: shameless hurt/comfort, sickfic, fluff.
***
Their first winter, Eddie got sick. Then Steve got sicker. He took to their bed with a cough that scoured his lungs, rattled his ribs. When Eddie arrived, Steve buried his damp face in the pillow. “I’m all gross. G-go away.”
“Sorry, Babe.” Eddie rolled Steve over, fingers skittering soothingly across his brow. “Kinda guilty here. You scored my germs.”
“Always g-got chest infections as a kid.” Steve shivered. “Ask my m-mom.”
“She won’t talk to me, remember?”
“Ugh. Why are my f-family shitheads?” The pang of irritation proved too much. Steve’s next breath jammed in his lungs. A coughing fit consumed him. Eddie helped him sit, rubbed his back till the worst passed. Then Eddie removed his rings—huh?—pulled the covers over them, and spooned Steve from behind.
His warm hand slid under Steve’s t-shirt. He rubbed Steve’s chest, so gently Steve hardly noticed at first.
“I gotcha, Sweetheart. I gothcha.”
Steve’s shuddering breaths fell in sync with Eddie’s caresses, beneath which painfully taut sinews softened. Steve’s chest still burned, his breaths wheezy, but…
…Eddie’s touch got him, somewhere so deep it almost choked him again.
It became a regular thing, in sickness and health. Eddie’s guitar-string callused strokes across Steve’s chest—sometimes firm, sometimes soft—set Steve sighing, groaning, purring like a cat. He even adored the cool slide of Eddie’s rings, especially when they snagged in his hair.
One day, afterward, he littered Eddie’s agile fingers with kisses. “Wanna marry your hands.”
Eddie quirked a brow: “You got a mighty fine chest, Babe.”
Steve grinned, sent his own hands south on a far dirtier mission.
Next winter, Eddie scored a touring gig with a band who’d lost their guitarist. Steve missed him like crazy, ignored that tell-tale tickle in his throat, and went to work—peddling hotdogs in the snow. Eddie called daily around 3am, always losing track of time. Steve mainlined cough medicine and pretended so hard:
“I don’t miss your mess, man. I cleaned the shit out of this place—totally reeks of Pine-Sol.”
“Haha. Miss you too, Stevie.”
“Riiight. If you blow the drummer, I’ll repave the drive with your vinyl collection.”
Steve got sicker. The pine stench of the stupid polish caught on his chest. He coughed himself raw. That night, Eddie didn’t call.
Or, Steve didn’t hear.
When he woke, he tried to sit. Flopped back down. He was shivering, out of water, and coughed till tears streaked his face and blood spattered his hand. Scared now... He drifted, never quite sleeping, coughing less, instead struggling to drag whistling breaths. His bones ached. His head ached worse. Freakin’ terrified…
A gentle touch revived him: “Babe?”
He blinked. Eddie?
“You didn’t answer last night. Caught the first flight home.” Seriously? “Do I need to take you to ER?”
“No,” wheezed Steve.
“Don’t be macho, dude.”
“Need c-cuddle.” That ‘not macho’ enough, Honeypie?
Steve was too sick for decisions, so let Eddie make them. Much later, when Eddie slid into bed behind him and rested a warm hand on his chest, he knew he was mending already.
***
Thank you for reading :) Also posted on my AO3 here
#steddiemicroficdecember#steve harrington whump#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#eddie x steve#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steddiemicrofic#steddie
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steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3
“Steven, this is ridiculous.”
Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.
It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.
She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.
But Steve? Steve is not.
It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.
It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.
Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.
So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.
Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.
He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.
Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.
She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.
She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.
She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.
She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.
Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.
She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.
He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.
The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.
“Mom—”
“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.
“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”
She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.
“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.
“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”
“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.
The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.
Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.
She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.
“Why are you here, Mom?”
There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.
“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”
Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.
She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.
Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.
“And to leave the house in such a state?”
Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.
There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.
“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.
“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.
It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.
Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.
Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.
“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”
Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.
“I’m not coming with you.”
The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”
He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.
It makes him stand a little straighter.
“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”
Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.
“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”
“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.
“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”
It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.
“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”
In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.
She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.
He’s shaking, she realises.
Her heart twists painfully in her chest.
Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”
Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.
Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.
“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”
“Steven—”
“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."
A beat.
"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”
Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.
She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.
“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”
There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.
“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”
“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.
“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”
His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.
“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”
And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.
Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.
Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.
The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.
If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.
Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.
He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.
“Steve…” She breathes softly.
He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.
Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.
She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.
She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.
If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.
“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.
Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.
“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.
Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.
She thinks of what Steve had said.
“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.
“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”
Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.
“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”
It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.
“I’ve never told anyone that before.”
Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.
“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.
Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.
Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.
“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”
“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.
Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.
She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.
“You alright?”
Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.
Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.
“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”
Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”
#everybody say it with me now: OOF#the writing of this episode is so good and i simply cannot resist the brainworms when it fits too well#i love making them hurt so they can comfort each other <3#robin remains to this day the only one who knows the truth about that scar#stobin my beloved#ruby writes steve & robin#... new tag used shlay#steve & robin#steve harrington#robin buckley#stobin#platonic stobin#platonic soulmates#stobin ficlet#stobin drabble#i love these besties w all my freaking bones#idk tell me how i did. or dont. but please#steve harrington has bad parents#steve harrington whump#steve harrington hurt/comfort#platonic with a capital p
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Steve Harrington!! We love him!!
I’d love to request established relationship fem!reader passing out. I just know Steve would be so loving and caring🫶🏼
Thanks for requesting babe! He is so loving and caring...in his own way <3
cw: reader passes out, mention of skipping meals
Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
“Hey, hey!” Steve taps your face frantically, tone accusatory as if you’ll wake up if you know you’re in trouble. “Y/n, come on.”
You’ve been working in the garden all afternoon. After weeks of complaining about the pests that had been eating your tomatoes, you’d finally found a free day to plant marigolds to keep them away. Steve thought he’d win Boyfriend of the Year by making a pitcher of lemonade for you, but when he’d called you and you’d turned around, you no sooner stood up than you went back down.
“Babe, hey.” Your eyes move behind your eyelids, and he looses a breath, patting your cheek a couple more times until they peel open.
You look frighteningly out of it, eyes squinty and unfocussed as they move over your surroundings before settling on Steve.
“What?” you ask, like he’s woken you up for no good reason.
“You okay?” He shuffles closer to you on the ground. He feels heart-twistingly guilty about not being quick enough to catch you, but thankfully you’d crumpled to the side, onto the soft grass, so he’s hoping you haven’t hurt yourself too badly. Still, he can’t move you until he knows for sure. At his question, you only blink sluggishly. “Hey,” he tries again, urgent. “Does anything hurt?”
“I don’t…” Your face scrunches confusedly. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, okay.” That’s good enough for Steve. He slides a careful hand under your head, feeling for blood or bumps. When he doesn’t find any, he brings it into his lap, grabbing the cup he’d set on the ground after running to you. “Here, have—have some lemonade.”
Miraculously, there’s still some liquid that hasn’t sloshed out. Your first sip is tentative, but you drink greedily after that, a thin rivulet missing the corner of your mouth and running down your cheek. Steve swipes it away before it can drip off your chin, bringing his hand to your forehead to cover your eyes from the sun.
“Jesus, babe, are you trying to kill me? What happened?”
“M’not sure.” Your voice comes out a bit clearer as you lower the cup, eyes blinking open further now that you’re not squinting against the light. “I just got really hot, all of a sudden. Did I pass out?”
“Yeah.” Steve tries to position his head so it’s blocking the sun, using his hand to brush dirt and grass from the side of your face. “You fell pretty hard, honey.”
“Sorry.”
A funny little laugh startles out of him. “Yeah, you fucking should be.” Steve shakes his head, squishing your cheek meanly with his thumb, both of you sticky with sugar and soil. “You scared the shit out of me, idiot. Are you sure you’re not hurting anywhere?”
You frown. “My head sort of hurts.”
Steve’s blood runs cold. “Yeah?” he asks, already probing at the side that had hit the ground with panicky, perhaps less-than-gentle fingers.
“Mm, but just, like, a headache,” you say, discomfort evident in your tone. “It’s not bad.”
Steve finds that to be of little consolation. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” he says, helping you sit up before wrapping an arm under your shoulders to support you as you walk. You seem perfectly capable, now, almost back to normal if a little disoriented, but he’s not taking any chances.
He sets you onto the couch and you all but dissolve into the cushions, pressing your face to the cool pillow while he goes to get more lemonade from the kitchen. He detours to grab some painkillers too. (Those might be a bad idea if whatever’s going on with you turns out to be serious, but he can’t think past making you feel better right now. If painkillers do that, fuck everything else.) You take them both gratefully, sitting up again to gulp down the contents of the cup. Steve presses the back of his hand to your sweaty forehead. It doesn't seem hot enough outside for heatstroke, but you never know. Thankfully, you seem normal, though you lean into his cool touch with an adorable little sigh.
“I’m gonna make you something to eat,” he tells you, taking your cup for a refill. “PB and J sound okay?”
“Yes, please.” Your voice follows him into the kitchen, and he relaxes a bit at the far more familiar sound of it, less waver in your tone. Maybe the drink and air conditioning are doing you good. “Sorry, Stevie, I don’t know what happened.”
“Have you been drinking water?” he asks, getting a plate down from your cabinets and setting the bread on it.
“Yeah,” you sound confused. A bit defensive, too. “I brought a water bottle out with me, I’ve been drinking from it the whole time.”
That’s true, Steve had seen it sitting upright in the grass next to you. “Maybe one water bottle wasn’t enough,” he suggests. “You were out there for a while.”
“It’s not that hot out,” you argue, but you sound unsure.
He huffs though he doesn’t disagree, slathering the jelly side of your sandwich thicker, the way you like it. “What’d you have for lunch?”
There’s a pause. “A banana.”
“No, you had that for breakfast. I was there.” He finishes with your sandwich, putting his supplies back where they came from. “I meant what’d you have for lunch?”
You’re quiet, and when Steve turns the corner with your PB&J, you’re already looking over at him, your expression sheepish.
His next exhale is huffy with exasperation. “Oh, you asshole,” he says, even as relief floods through him. At least this, he knows what to do about. “You are trying to kill me!”
“I’m sorry, I forgot!” Your voice pitches as he stalks closer, almost laughing when he dumps your plate unceremoniously in your lap. “I really just forgot, Stevie, I would never try to kill you.”
“You’re just trying to make me go gray in my prime, is that it?” He shakes his head, but your smile has always been contagious, and his lips start to curve against his will. “Just eat your sandwich.”
You take a bite obediently, humming in satisfaction. “This is really good, baby. Thank you.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ll bet it is.”
“Steve?”
He grunts.
“Could I have a kiss, please?”
He looks over, and you’re giving him the eyes. Those sweet, never-did-nothing-to-nobody, beautiful eyes. And, well, he’s hopeless for them.
“Yeah, fine.” He leans over, still careful as he sets a hand on your face to tilt you towards him. You taste of sweetness, lemonade and strawberry jam and your cherry chapstick. Steve samples it once, twice, three times, before drawing back. “I’m gonna cut you up some fruit, okay?” he says softly, thumb sweeping across your cheek. “Stay put.”
“You’re such a mom,” you tease as he starts back towards the kitchen.
“Keep talking like that,” he threatens, “and I’ll cut off kisses completely.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x self insert#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington angst#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one shot#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fandom
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Whatever; Steve Harrington 🌓
summary: they say you’ll meet every person in your life twice. the second time you meet steve, you’re in college, and he’s very different from what you remember.
word count: 3.2K
warnings: fem!r, mentions + content of previous bullying, ex-bully!steve, alcohol consumption, some unresolved emotions, angst, hurt/comfort
a/n: i swear im alive i’m just stupidly busy. hope y’all like this one xxx
You circled back to Steve so quickly that a lick of embarrassment flamed at your cheeks, but really, you couldn’t have stopped it. His presence was fascinating, and like a passerby can’t look away from a car accident, you couldn’t resist inspecting Steve.
The house was very dark and humid, crowded with people that went to your university, and people who didn’t. Steve, for example, who had appeared—now for a second time—seemingly out of nowhere. Two weeks ago you’d spotted him at a party across town that a scene band threw, but he’d disappeared before you could talk to him. Tonight, he wasn’t so lucky.
To your relief, he received your sudden presence very gracefully, almost sheepishly. He was bowing his head and his broad shoulders shrunk together carefully. You wanted to say something very bold, something to grab his attention like fancy meeting you here, but the totality of your unfamiliarity made you hesitate.
“Where’ve you been?” you shouted instead, hugging your chest to feign casualness. It sounded, you realized, like you were inquiring as to where he’d been five minutes ago, not indefinitely post-graduation. Steve didn’t seem to mind.
“Hawkins,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “You?”
“Hawkins?” you repeated, ignoring his courtesy. “That’s not like you.” In truth, you probably knew very little about what would be like him and what would not, so you tacked on, “Not to be presumptuous or anything, sorry.”
In school, you and Steve saw very much of each other yet spoke next to never. In the spring of your sophomore year, Tommy Hagan’s father made him walk about the neighborhood and offer to mow lawns for money—something about growing hair on his chest, forming a sense of responsibility—and your mother had just broken her wrist, so she gave him a five dollar bill every Saturday for three months to help out. Tommy was awful at it, and he loathed you, and when you returned to school in September he’d dragged Carol and Steve with him into his loathing.
One day, you couldn’t recall what date—or even what month—but you remembered the three of them had come to find you after classes were done after you’d stayed late. You missed a question on some test, or there was something about a project, whatever. You knew it was late because the halls were empty, and your recollection of that relied heavily on the memory of Carol’s chilling laugh echoing down them, which you never forgot.
“God, Tommy, you’re sadistic.”
They prowled closer, just around the bend. Tommy and Carol were chortling and you could imagine them hanging all over each other the way that they often did. Steve cut in abrasively, something frenetic in his tone.
“I’m telling you, she’s not here, man.”
Steve’s voice bounced down the corridor and sounded back, like radar pinging around and around, detecting movement.
“Relax, Harrington, what’s the rush?”
“Rachel’s waitin’ on me, that’s what,” Steve replied. “And I still gotta drop you two assholes off.”
“Your gal-pal can wait, Steve,” Carol sneered, and you thought her voice was edged with something sharper than exasperation. “Besides, this’ll be fun.”
They turned the corner, and you realized then that it was likely you they were looking for, and it was suddenly too late to turn and hide. You froze, bag heavy on your shoulder and damp starting to form on your brow.
“Ah-ha! Just the girl we wanted to see,” Tommy sang, his voice already lilting meanly. You took a step back, wondering if they’d really chase you if you bolted. Carol had heeled boots on, and you were certain Tommy and Steve wouldn’t hunt down a girl no matter how twisted they were. A guy, sure, but you?
It didn’t matter, because you didn’t run, which you could only blame on yourself and your tendency to petrify under pressure. Anything you chose seemed the worst option, which made the logical solution to do nothing.
“She looks about ready to run,” Carol peered as they came closer, which was very astute for her, all things considered.
“Yeah, maybe.” Tommy grinned. “You wanna play, goodie-two-shoes? Me ‘n Steve’ll give you a head start.”
In retrospect, the roles of Tommy and Carol and Steve, and even you, are played by their fully grown versions. Of course you all looked very young, sounded very young—being fifteen at the time—but it all comes back as if it happened yesterday. It’s warped by everything that happened after.
“Yeah, why don’t you just get it over with, save us all a little time?” Steve picked, his expression almost bored.
You pressed your lips together. Carol stepped behind you, prodding at your bag, and you recoiled, backing closer to the lockers.
“Nah, she’s too chicken-shit,” she hissed, and then ripped your bag from your arms. When you lunged for her, Tommy pushed you back into the metal wall of lockers, and your shoulder blade landed hard on a dial-lock.
“Jesus H Christ, Tommy,” Steve laughed awkwardly, “could you have pushed her any harder?”
“Whatever, man,” Tommy waved him off, watching as Carol dug through your satchel. “You’re soft.”
Steve’s features tightened then, all of a sudden like a switch had been flipped. He took his hand out of his hair and strode over to Carol, taking your bag and emptying its contents onto the linoleum. Notebooks and pens, highlighters and, embarrassingly, a heap of pads, all washed over the floor. Carol had your journal in her hands and Steve took that too, discarding it with everything else.
“I’m fuckin’ tired of this shit,” he muttered, “let’s go.”
“Boo,” Carol complained, “what a wet blanket.”
“Yeah, why don’t you stay here with the teachers’ pet,” Tommy gibed, gesturing at you, “since you both love being L-A-M-E.”
He spelled the word out, holding a backwards L on his forehead that Carol copied.
“Yeah, and who’s gonna drive you home, Tommy?” Steve challenged. Tommy clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes petulantly. Carol’s hip popped as she dropped her hand, lips smacking. “That's what I thought.”
Steve brushed past them then, properly regal and entitled, and they followed him begrudgingly, swapping resentful glances until you couldn’t see them anymore.
In the minutes it took to gather your things back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the cloudy thought that Steve dumping your bag felt like a mercy. In the company of many rabider dogs, his offense was almost magnanimous, and, despite it being your things, felt more targeted at Tommy and Carol than at you. On your way home you decided that that was stupid, and that you were likely feeding into a fantasy that would eventually hurt you.
It wasn’t until after graduation that you realized they were bullying you. At the time it obviously hadn’t felt friendly, but you’d been so fictile then that you assumed most of the blame. When your mind changed, the word bullying alone felt too childish to bear, so you decided it was fine and that you were over it.
Standing before you at the party, Steve was folded in on himself. The memory juxtaposed so coarsely against how he looked now.
“Not like me?” he repeated.
“I just mean,” you continued, “I would’ve thought you’d go to school. Here in Chicago, maybe. I don't know. Indi, at the least.”
He shook his head, cradling his damp beer can closer.
“Yeah, well, I'm not smart like you,” he answered. “I didn’t really get accepted anywhere.”
Steve’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but he didn’t look all that dejected. You were sure that was the nicest thing he’d ever said to you, and the added element of self-depreciation threw you off-kilter.
“You still talk with Carol and Tommy and stuff?” It wasn’t much of a question, but Steve looked profoundly confused.
“What? No, I um—“ He licked his lips, looking down. “They ditched me when Hargrove came into town. You don’t remember?”
“Oh,” you said. “No, I must’ve missed that.”
“Yeah, that’s uh. S’ probably for the best. You shouldn’t have been caught up with us anyways.” It sounded like an apology, though not direct enough for you to accept in any way.
“Well it’s not like I never saw Tommy H. and Carol again,” you said, admittedly sour. “I figured you were off with Nancy or whatever. Where is she anyways?”
“Nancy?” You nodded. Shrugging, Steve said, “I wouldn’t know. We broke up in 1984.”
“Oh,” you jolted , “sorry about that.”
“Nah, don’t be.” He looked very sorry about it himself, like he was still wishing it away.
“Well, I am. I always thought you two would get married or something. She seemed like she knew how to keep you in line.”
Steve smiled softly, vaguely.
“Yeah, Nancy’s like that.”
His sentence ended there and didn’t pick back up, and you felt terribly anxious about what to say next. As often as you denied it, you did want to see people from school again, if only to show them they didn’t win. You wanted to happen upon Steve The Hair Harrington, or Tommy H. or Carol Perkins or anyone at all just to affirm that, yes, you were doing significantly better than they expected you to. You wore shoes with heels and makeup and you were just like them, only you could writhe in shameless glory because you were never a prick.
“So what do you do? No school?”
Steve leaned closer then, apprehensive as he brought his mouth to your ear.
“D’you wanna talk outside?” He asked, and then pulled back to gauge your expression. “I can’t hear very well,” he explained, some level of shame coloring him. You nodded tolerantly, following him out to the porch.
It was clear and cold in the Chicago suburbs, like a freshly opened bottle of coke, and you could see Orion’s Belt. You had on a white leather jacket that kept you just warm enough.
“You seem to like it better here,” Steve observed. Your earlier question stood forgotten from the journey outside.
“In a way,” you agreed.
“People are nicer?”
You pinched your brows thoughtfully.
“I wouldn’t say nicer, no.” Fiddling with your jewelry, you looked at the sky. “People have been rude to me here before, but it’s…it isn’t like Hawkins.” You swallowed a freezing breath, wondering if Steve was really standing next to you. “I can leave at any time if it gets to be too much. Or, like, tell them to fuck off if I wanted to. In high school I just had to sit there and take it, and then come back the next day for more.”
Blowing out a stiff laugh, you looked back to Steve. His eyes were downcast, face crumpled, and it looked like he would eat his own mouth before he said a word in response. It was painfully silent, so silent that the wind and your racing heart played a spoilt song together at Steve’s inattentive audience.
Your face felt warm with humiliation. Conversation had grown on you, or so you thought, enough that you wouldn’t become carried away into overzealous speeches to people who didn’t care. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning.
“Do you like Chicago?” You asked Steve, and it turned brittle in the air, like a wisp of ash from a fire.
“I’m so sorry,” his aggrieved response came, and it carved your chest open to hear, in a way. It was something you imagined, a moment you craved, a fantasy you knew would never occur. Now that it had, you felt a million miles away, like he’d said some magic word and hypnotized you, stealing your present mind and leaving you cavernous and vulnerable.
“It’s really okay, Steve,” you said hoarsely. “We were kids, and you were as stuck as I was.”
“I was not,” he sternly denied.
“Sure you were,” you insisted, “it was eat or be eaten. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be picked on.”
“Because I would have died from being unliked,” he retorted sarcastically. You gave him a look as if to say that’s not fair, but you knew he was right. It would have been a different kind of unlike for him. If he’d forfeited his social standing, all of the cruelty and indifference he got would have been directly his decision, and his courage would have been gratifying enough to sustain him.
“Well,” you stammered persistently, “I still think you’re okay. I forgive you.”
“Look, I’m—“ Steve huffed, scrubbing at his hair anxiously. “I’m not trying to fish for compliments. Really. I just have this terrible feeling that you convinced yourself that it’s okay, what all happened in school. But it’s not okay. It’s not.”
He looked into your eyes hotly, a wild turn to his features, and you felt oddly nauseous. You looked at your shoes to avoid his stare, slim heeled boots that all the pretty girls wore in school, and you wondered how you’d feel about those girls if you’d never slipped them on, never had a guy take you home because you looked so good in them.
“What do you want me to do, then?” you asked.
Steve was silent for a moment.
“Whatever you feel,” he replied, “what I want is besides the point.”
“Not to me,” you mumbled, and then regretted it instantly. You pulled your jacket tight around you and shivered, said: “I don’t know what to do.”
A tear tracked hot and shameful down your cheek, dancing with the porch light and the stars and Steve’s eyes. You felt like the whole world was watching you flounder and choke like a fish on a dock. You sucked in, and air stole down your throat in three distinct parts, stuttering and painful.
Steve reached for you then, taking your arm into his grip and crushing you to his chest. Through teary eyes you could spy into the house where the party still thundered. It looked shockingly vibrant and warm inside, a world away from your moment with Steve on the frigid veranda. He was holding your head gently and rubbing at your back, and you could only think of how much you’d been craving this. How you’d yearned over intellectual conversations and counseling sessions for something as real as this moment, here, with Steve. He knew you better than anyone inside, anyone in Chicago, even, and you could not fathom how that had happened.
Pressing into him, you sniffled pitifully and hid your face.
“Sorry for crying,” you said, “I really didn’t want to.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Steve said, for the second time that night. You liked the way he said it, with a soft sternness that left no room for argument. He even went on further to say: “It’s okay if you want to cry some more.”
You rubbed his sleek jacket between your fingers and looked at him.
“You won’t tell anyone?”
Steve laughed, and you knew then that he wouldn’t, like you knew he wasn’t laughing at your expense.
“Who am I gonna tell?” he asked genuinely. You thought about it.
“Tommy or…” Steve shook his head. “No, right, you said that.”
You pretended to think some more, but you had nothing. You said, “I don’t know,” and then expected Steve to give you a name, like you were playing a guessing game and you’d lost. Instead, he drew his arms tighter around your shoulders, so that your chin was trapped on his chest as you looked up at him.
“I won’t tell a soul if that’s what you want,” he admitted, a shiny frond of his hair escaping the fray to sway between you two. “I think I’d do whatever you asked, actually.”
He seemed very affronted by that fact, as if he was only discovering it as he told you, right then.
“Would you—” You licked your lips. Looked at Steve’s. Asked: “Would you kiss me?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “‘course.”
He kissed you then, acerbic ale transferring from his lips to yours. The stray hair caught between your foreheads, doing what your noses could not and flattening. Steve’s hands held you firmly, at the back of your neck and on your upper arm, and it made you shudder. He was kissing you dizzy—not nearly the first you’d ever had, but certainly the first that felt worthwhile, the first that felt good and right and deserved.
As you pulled away shyly, Steve kept his eyes closed, his jaw working and his breath uneven.
“Steve?” you called.
“Hm?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Steve hummed negatively, tapping his forehead back onto yours and finally blinking his eyes open.
“No, sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be sorry.” You smiled, and Steve grinned knowingly, like he could tell he’d be hearing that a hundred times a week from then on. You asked him what he was thinking and he fiddled with your jacket collar nervously.
“Just about you. In Chicago and everything. Where that puts us.” Steve scrunched his face in a sort of wince like that might upset you. “I mean, not that there has to be an us at all—if that’s not what you want, or if I’m getting ahead of myself.”
He says the last bit like a question, like a request. Like: Please say I’m not getting ahead of myself?
“No, I wouldn’t say you are,” you assured him. “I didn’t even think about the distance. Does it bother you?”
“Yeah,” Steve said without hesitation, but a small abashed smile played on his lips. “But I meant what I said, whatever you say goes. Whatever you want me to do.”
You looked him over, from the tallest strand of his styled hair down to where your chests met, taking in his moles and the fibers of his shirt.
“Do you have anyone at home that you’d miss?” you asked, and Steve’s face said everything, even as he shook his head stubbornly.
“Baby, whatever you want. Ask me to move up and I will.”
Smiling, you kissed him curiously, the feeling so novel and thrilling. His responding squeeze on your arm shot through you to your very center.
“I still have my family in Hawkins,” you told him dazedly. “I go home every holiday. We can visit. And it’s only a year and half before I graduate, and then we can figure something new out.”
Steve smiled dryly, perhaps anticipating a different answer, but ultimately you knew it’d be best not to rush anything. You were content, all of the excitement and adrenaline seeping from your body and making you feel soft around the edges. You shivered a touch, and Steve rocked you both to and fro.
“Do you wanna go back inside,” he asked, his mouth on your hairline. You shook your head, stuffing your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder.
“Can we stay here just a little longer?” you pleaded.
“‘Course we can,” Steve granted, soothing his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want.”
+
thank u for reading xx
masterlist
#stranger things#steve harrington#reqs open#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fic#steve harrington x reader fanfic#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington angst#steve harrington imagine#king steve#steve the hair harrington#kisses
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date night: alpha!steve harrington x omega!reader
summary: finally scoring a date, things go smoothly until you present, and only one alpha knows.
word count: 2.8k
authors note: hii so i wrote this like two months ago and tried wrapping it up to have it posted, but i enjoy this au so please request some expansion requests :)
warnings: a/b/o dynamics, smut 18+
The pungent smell of fryer grease sifted through the air of Benny’s, a mountain of food divided into a few plates as you sat with Robin, who was in the midst of discussing her most recent ‘study date’ with Vickie.
“Get this! We’re sitting there, talking about chemistry, and bam!” Robin exaggerates, voice lowering in fear of someone overhearing, “She looked at me and kissed me!”
You gasp, smacking her shoulder with the back of your hand, a french fry between your thumb and index finger.
The couple had kissed a few times now, but the excitement remained as you knew how badly your friend pined over the redhead.
“We just need to find you someone now.” She teased, taking a bite of her grilled cheese as a string of orange came from between the bread.
“I’m determined to get laid by the end of this month,” You proclaimed, giving yourself around 30 days, “I want to experience it because when or if I present, I want to be somewhat prepared.”
Presenting was a concern for your age group, freshly out of high school, as everyone awaited to discover if they would become an alpha or omega. There had been a few start to show, including your best friend, Steve.
His presentation was expected, his father a well-known alpha in town, and the traits of one showed early. He was fiercely protective of those he cared about, known to be more than good in the sheets, and strong. Having grown up with him, you saw it happen in real time, making it even stranger when you realized how attractive he became.
Still, Robin supported you on your journey, but worried for your safety. Over analyzing any recollection you shared of a man flirting with you, deciding he was a murderer or ugly, or both.
In her bedroom, you stood in a loose blouse, tucked into a jean skirt and a matching jacket. Applying another layer of lipstick, you fretted over your appearance as you waited for the clock to strike 6:30, and for your date to pick you up here.
“Steve is coming over.” Robin mentioned, sipping on her water bottle, sitting cross-legged on her bed.
“Okay,” You reply, “We just need him gone by the time Devin comes.”
Steve was a great best friend, but he could be a real pain in the ass. He had been scaring any potential boyfriend away since middle school, deeming them not good enough or them being too intimidated by him as he faked a macho persona.
For the plan to work, he couldn’t know. He would go on a tangent about how you didn’t have to have sex just to do it. That was true, but it was hard to listen to a guy who had numerous sexual partners preach it.
The front door swung open as if on cue as you and Robin went to the living room, Steve kicking off his shoes. He began his rant about work, Family Video making him lose hair from stress and children yanking on his hair.
You paid attention, but kept an extra eye on the clock, noticing the hands nearing 6:30. Cursing Steve’s tangent for not letting him leave sooner, you swallowed your anxieties, peaking to make sure a car wasn’t outside. As inconspicuously as possible, you stood and went to grab your heels from Robin’s room.
Toeing quietly, you were hoping to go unnoticed, but Steve decided to be aware for one of the first times tonight. “Where are you going? You’re dressed up.”
Shrugging, you leaned against the wooden door, “Just out for the night, a friend is picking me up.”
A terrible liar, you thought of something that wasn’t completely fictional, however, they both could tell. The sight of headlights caught your attention, standing straighter, “Okay, bye!”
Robin rushed to the front door to stick her head out as you walked away, “Wrap it before you tap it!”
Embarrassment crawling up your neck, you flicked her off behind your back, opened the car door, and stepped in.
“What!” Steve gasped, startling Robin as she shut the door and who hadn’t expected him to follow her or hear him. Thankfully, the car had pulled away, leaving a confused man with a bit too much heat in his cheeks at his best friend to get some.
“I’m just kidding, Harrington. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Robin snarled, shoulder-bumping him as she went back to her couch.
The date was fine, Devin was a kid you’d gone to school with since diapers. He had boyish features, cheeks a bit chubby with dimples, and was always polite. He had asked you to hang out a few days prior, agreeing on tonight.
Curls in your stomach that you attributed to nerves hadn’t vanished, even as you both mutually realized midway through your walk in the park that things were platonic.
Heat simmered within you, discarding your jacket and feeling beads of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. It wasn’t hot outside, even as you walked around and chatted.
“Are you okay? I don’t mean to sound rude, you don’t look well.” Devin questioned, a hand on your shoulder as your legs began to wobble.
Nausea flooded you before dissipating, wavering emotions as you tried to make sense of what was wrong.
Through the nerves, you kept thinking of Steve. How he would let his fingers trail against your lower back in hugs, kiss your head when leaving, and put his hand in front of your body when he hit the brakes too hard while driving.
“I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling tears threaten through. As you made that statement, you felt the surge between your legs, knowing you had presented.
It couldn’t be happening now. Not with someone you didn’t know well. Not when you hadn’t been able to score a boyfriend first. Not now.
“I think I need to go home, I’m so sorry-” You began, huffing as streaks of mascara fell down your warm cheeks.
Assuring you it was okay, Devin drove you home, even stopping to get you a snack to make your stomach feel at ease. While it didn’t help, you appreciated the thoughtful gesture and thanked him as he waited for you to get securely in your apartment.
The space went from chilly to scorching, removing any amount of clothes you could besides a pair of boyshorts. Your mind raced with confusion as your nipples became hard, feeling a chill, but like a fire on ice.
Anxieties without category hit you, curling in a ball as you cried, sitting on your floor. It felt pathetic, but no stream of thought was strong enough to withstand the hormones.
Time slipped by as you tried regulating your breathing, applying slight pressure on your clothed core. A shrill ring came from your black phone, lifting the handle and pressing it to your ear.
“You were not supposed to answer!” Robin grumbled, already giving the heads up that she’d call to see if you were getting some, that no answer would be her answer. You had forgotten this rule, her tone making you bring in a fresh set of tears.
On the other end, Robin sat in her room with Steve walking in, not staying in the living room as she had asked. Her priorities were averted to the cry on the other side of the phone.
“Wait, what happened? Why are you crying? What happened with Devin?” Robin frantically questioned, Steve glancing over with furrowed brows as Robin had never stated who she was speaking with.
“Devin? From junior year math class? That was the friend?” Steve grimaced, toying with nicknacks in his friend’s bedroom, earning a finger on the lips to quiet him down.
“I presented,” You whispered, “I’m so scared and uncomfortable and overwhelmed! What alpha do you know, I don’t care who it is anymore.”
Though you would probably care later, the clouded judgment had you aching for any form of reprieve from the pain.
“Fuck, I don’t know!” Robin squeaked, not wanting to reveal your status to Steve for fear of your embarrassment, but she contemplated. The gears of her brain turned as she questioned his overprotectiveness, the way he was quick to frustration when discovering you were on a date.
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, Y/N. I promise.” She concluded, hanging up and grabbing her yearbook.
The faces of former students made her ill, but word got around about presentations, and she hoped that seeing their faces would make her recollect.
“What the hell’s going on? Do I need to go fight Devin?” Steve eyed his friend, an unnerving worry in his stomach.
Biting her lip, she debated internally, “She needs help.”
“What is looking at that going to do?” Steve gawked, used to his friend’s antics, but still astounded when they acted erratically.
“I’m trying to remember who’s an alpha.”
“Why would you need to know who became an alpha-”
As the words left, his mouth ran dry, and he gulped while looking at Robin. She slowly looked up, watching the dark iris’ before her enlargen.
“Steve-” Robin began, the corner of a page between her two fingers.
The stern look on his face was withholding a multitude of emotions, ones she couldn’t quite make out. She made the judgment call that maybe Steve was your best bet.
“She’s at her place.”
That was all that needed to be said before Steve ran out her front door and into his car. He had driven your route a million times, but never this fast.
His blood pumped with nerves and excitement. He had spent his ruts alone, a fist full of himself with the occasional tears of frustration as he tried to alleviate his knot. But now you had presented as an omega.
Refraining from palming his crotch, he watched your streetlights come into view, throwing his car into park. The dark hallways were typically concerning, but your door was practically glowing within his mind.
He growled at the smell in the air, catching his attention more the closer he got. Gripping the door handle, it was unlocked, thankful no one else had noticed the compromising position.
Choking on his own breath, he fumbled with the lock behind him and trekked down the dim hallway. The protectiveness he already felt was consuming, his palms sweating as he made his way closer.
The door swung open too quickly as the handle slipped from his grasp, seeing you flinch from your curled position on the floor.
As if you were nothing, he lifted you from your armpits, making you stand in front of him. Eyes blazing, he looked pointedly as he undid his belt.
“Your door.” He stated, voice wavering with stability.
Furrowing your brows, you looked up at him, “What?”
His shirt was shrugged off, tossing it to the ground as your eyes drifted to his broad chest, whimpering at the sight to his delight.
“It was unlocked, don’t you ever fucking do that again.” He gritted pushing his jeans off, cupping your cheek with one hand and leaning forward so the back of your knees touched your bed.
His nose had skimmed against yours, breath fanning against your cheeks as you drank in every pheromone he perpetrated. Breath quickening, every thought coming to your head was vulgar, eyes softening in need.
“I won’t.” You whimpered, yelping as your back hit the wrinkled sheets, and his chest soon pressed against your bare one.
“I mean it, don’t ever do that again, you could’ve gotten hurt.” He gripped your chin in his grasp, looking down at you as your clothed centers touched.
The brief touch made you wail, your body suddenly aware of what was to come. Equally as impatient, he grabbed one side of your underwear and ripped it. Repeating the act on the opposing side, the shreds of fabric were now a relic of the you before this moment.
Palming himself, looking down at your frame as a predator and prey, he growled.
“How bad do you want it?” He egged on, ripping his own boxers off and onto the floor.
“Please, Steve, please.” You whined, watching as his cock bobbed. Blushing profusely pink, your mouth watered at it and your chest began to burn with greed.
He seemed far too composed, the performance of himself he was forced to obtain through most of his teen years floating to the top. However, his soft spot was you. It always had been and both of your fresh senses were sensing the discomfort in both of you.
“Alpha, please.”
That was all it took for his body to be pressed to yours and his lips to meet yours for the first time.
Grunts and gasps came from you both as the underside of his cock rubbed against your folds, too consumed with how he tasted and how you smelled.
“Keep that door locked, do you understand?” He gritted, fisting himself in his own grasp, his first thrust in synchronizing with your nod.
A pained cry rose from your lungs, tears already streaming down your cheeks, his lips kissing where the beads were.
Desperation reeked from you both as you grabbed at one another, needing any form of solidification that the other was there.
Steve found comfort in your warmth, trying his best to soothe your discomfort with affection. Kissing on your neck or rubbing your clit, the latter making you shriek from sensitivity.
“My omega now,” He sighed, balls reaching the curve of your ass as he settled against you, “my girl. Always have been.”
“Always yours, alpha, always Steve.” You trembled, the veins of his length stimulating every ridge within yourself. His brown hair crowned around his face, only able to see him in your state of need.
Though you were the one presenting, Steve felt the same wave of emotions he felt during his first rut, but now even more with another person. His person. The one who knew him since he had gaps in his front teeth, since he had graduated, and every minute moment before and after.
“Fuck, I love you.” He blurted out, feeling his own bashfulness creep up his neck.
To his relief, you began to be more overcome with emotion, agreeing. Each thrust hit your spongy spot inside you, convincing you more and more he was the only one who could make you feel this way.
“I love you too,” You revealed, locking his lips between yours briefly, “M’sorry I didn’t ask for you first, I was nervous.”
Your words were sweeter than honey, but the implication that someone else almost came to your aid burned him deeply. His hands pushed up your thighs, your knees coming up as he fucked you deeper than you could comprehend.
“Devin asked me out and I just wanted a boyfriend, but I didn’t want him, I swear-” You cried, unknowingly provoking more possessiveness.
“Honey, please, it’s okay.” He gritted, clenching sheets in his shaking hands, suppressing the urge to flick his hips quicker.
“I wanted you, alpha, please.” You sighed, stroking his cheek and hair, anywhere you could touch, “I’m so happy, I’m sorry, thank you-”
“Don’t worry, I would’ve found you anyway. You’re my girl, my omega.” He assured, gulping down the emotions he felt when you looked into his eyes.
His words appeared to have a larger effect than any physical reimbursement could do for you as your fingers clenched within his hair.
Your cry as you came made his hormones go into a flurry. He could feel your uneasiness being thrown into release. It was as if your chests opened in tandem, reaching out and moving in sync as he finished inside you.
White noise filled both of your ears as Steve’s body hovered over yours with much of his weight on top of you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his chest, shoving your face against the crook of his neck.
Pumping himself within you until sensitivity took over, he gasped at how you clenched around him. His stature shook as he knotted, a hand going to your hip to keep in place, chest heaving to regain a steady tempo.
“Thank you.” You whimpered, hugging his chest closer to your front, an embrace he matched. Pressing a kiss on the side of your forehead, he trailed down to your ear with pecks and bites.
Rolling to his back, he pulled you to his chest, rubbing your back after you tried sitting up.
“Just relax, honey.” He cooed, the exhaustion already hitting you both, stilling your hips from causing you both more frustration in the compromising position.
“I want to make you knot again.” You whine beneath your breath, trying to sit up again, ignoring the pain shooting through your body at his swelling.
“Easy tiger,” He chuckles, biting his lip to stop his own need, “we’ve got time.”
tagging mutuals :)
@andvys @lilacletter @corrodedcorpses @munsonsreputation @berryfairy444 @poppy-metal @lesservillain @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint
#elora writes#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington thoughts#steve harrington x you#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington moodboard#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington hurt/comfort#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington x reader#stranger things#steve stranger things#alpha!steve harrington#a/o/b#a/b/o dynamics#a/b/o au#a/b/o verse#a/b/o#a/b/o fic
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