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calisto00-2 · 2 years ago

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Tell Me You Love Me

Pairings; Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Words; 3,177

Warnings; S M U T (18+ only), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), language, established relationship, fluff, angst but the kind of angst with a happy ending, ya know?

Summary; A heated argument leaves you standing alone when Steve slams the door behind him. You're not certain when he'll be back but you're determined to remind him just how much you truly love him when he does.

A/N: *slaps the roof of this fic* Ooooof, you can fit so much into this bad boy... we got angst, we got smut, and then to wrap it all up in a bow? We got tooth rotting fluff. Steve just really wants and needs love in this one, okay? And who are we to deny him?

This was requested by @harringtonforhire (thanks so much for requesting!) and this one kind of took on a mind of its own. I had plans for how I wanted it to go down but this is where we ended up sooo hope you enjoy!

{ read on ao3 } | { masterlist }

Moving in together was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be fun. Up until this point, you had been convinced that every adult ever was full of shit when they gave you that knowing look and said, “moving in together is the real test, that’s when you find out how truly compatible you are.” No, it was you and Steve against the world—that’s what the two of you had said anyway—just you and him in your ridiculously small one bedroom apartment drinking and laughing and curling up on the couch to watch movies, eating absolutely terrible food because neither of you knows how to cook, and spending each evening making love because he was yours and you were his.

So how did you end up here?

The fights hadn’t started right away. For awhile, months even, it was true, paradisiacal bliss. But maybe the one bedroom apartment was too cramped or Steve was frustrated because Family Video wasn’t paying much or you were always stressed trying to balance a job and school. Regardless of whatever contributing factors may or may not be in place, none of them prepared you for the full screaming match that occurred or the words that should have never been said or the slamming of the door as he left.

Steve had come home in a sour mood, barely speaking, and then spent the next hour sulking around the apartment. You had been in the kitchen trying to sort out dinner and as soon as the front door had opened, you could feel the tension crackling in the air. He was acting like a child, that was your first thought, as he wondered from room to room mumbling under his breath and avoiding your concerned gaze.

“Steve,” you snapped, pulling him out of his mind and back to reality. “Can you just talk to me?”

“Nothing to talk about.” He shrugs, then departs the room as if that was going to clear everything up.

You gape, watching his retreating form as he exits back into the living room. A seething anger begins building inside of you as you follow closely behind, refusing to let this be your entire evening. In retrospect, you should have just let it go; let him sulk around for a bit and sleep it off, he’d be fine in the morning. But this wasn’t the first fight of the week and you were beyond annoyed by this point.

“Steve,” you say again, crossing into the living room and staring at your boyfriend who has now deposited himself on the couch, eyes focused on the tv. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” His eyes remain on the tv.

“This,” you emphasize, waving your hands around wildly. “You come home in a bad mood and you instantly push me away.”

His eyes snap over to you. “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Then what the fuck do you call it, Steve?” You inhale deeply, trying desperately to quell the anger bubbling up inside of you. “You won’t tell me what’s wrong, you won’t talk to me. I mean, is it me? Am I the problem, am I not doing enough?”

“No.” He sighs, doesn’t elaborate.

He turns his attention back to the tv and you scoff, a biting sound if you’ve ever heard one. You move further into the room and place yourself directly in front of the tv, effectively blocking his view. His jaw tenses and his eyes grow hard.

Good.

“Stop ignoring me! You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to come home and be in a shitty mood all the fucking time. You don’t get to push me away, Steve!”

“Push you away?” He scoffs, pulling himself to his feet. “I’m the one pushing you away? No, you’ve got that backwards, honey, I’ve been fighting for your attention for weeks now. I come home once, maybe twice, in a bad mood and suddenly I’m the bad guy? No, no fucking way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant for weeks now. You’re rarely ever home and when you are, you’re always tired, you never want to talk. I mean, let’s be realistic for a second here, when’s the last time we had sex?”

“Oh my God,” you breathe, a sardonic laugh flowing from your lips. “Is that what this is about? Because I haven’t fucked you lately? I have a job, Steve, and school!”

“But I only have a job, right? Because I couldn’t pull the grades to get into a good school, any school.”

“Don’t,” you warn, “you know that shit doesn’t matter to me.”

“So, what? You’re the only one who gets to be in a tired, shitty mood from time to time because you have a job and school?” He laughs, a bitter and unkind sound. “But me, I should be fine, right? Because I only have my simple minded, ridiculously low paying job which I hate by the way but nowhere else is hiring right now so I’m stuck taking extra shifts and working longer hours just so I can provide for you, for us.”

“No one told you that you had to do that,” you yell, “I didn’t even know you were taking extra shifts because you never told me you were going to because you don’t talk to me anymore!”

“Oh my God,” he says, rubbing his hands across his face. “This is such bullshit!”

“Yeah? Well, I think you’re bullshit, Steve.”

He flinches, hard. All the anger seems to immediately drain from his body as he downturns his gaze to the floor. You stare back, unwavering, refusing to bend. In hindsight, you’re not proud of it.

He nods once, sniffs lightly and then whispers, “Yeah.”

And then he’s snagging his keys off the coffee table and marching towards the door. You almost call out to him, but you don’t. You almost run over to catch him by the arm, beg him to stay, to talk, but you don’t. It feels as if the moment stretches on forever in slow motion, giving you more than enough time to stop him from leaving… but you don’t. Then he’s out the door and slamming it so hard, it rattles the pictures adorning the walls.

You stand stock still watching the door, waiting for him to come back inside. He doesn’t. You wait in that exact same spot for another ten minutes, waiting. He doesn’t come back. You take a shuddering breath and slowly begin turning off all of the lights as you make your way back to the bedroom. He still doesn’t show. You fight the tears threatening to spill as you curl up into a ball wishing he was right there next to you, pulling you into his space, wrapping his arms tightly around you. But he’s not.

He stays gone all night.

==========

Steve still isn’t home when you awake the next morning and by the time noon rolls around, you figure it’s time to finally crawl yourself out of bed. You’re sure he’s at work anyway, giving Robin an earful of everything that had happened. The thought makes your heart ache. You’ve already skipped your morning classes and while you successfully managed to pull yourself out of bed, you end up dropping back down onto the couch to sulk there instead. Fuck being productive.

By the time six o’clock rolls around, you’re pretty positive he’s not coming home again until you hear keys jingling in the lock and quicker than you can process, you’re on your feet, breath stifled in your lungs. The door opens way too slowly for your liking but then he’s there, in his normal Steve Harrington glory that still makes you weak in the knees. He looks exhausted—his hair is an absolute disaster and his eyes are red rimmed, from lack of sleep or crying, you can’t be sure. But then those eyes are trained on you and it’s as if you’ve forgotten how to function entirely.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“I, uh, I just came by to grab some things and then I’ll be out of your way so no need to worry, okay?” He brushes past you, heading for the bedroom. “I won’t be long.”

“Steve,” you begin, following closely behind, willing the sob to keep itself from bursting forth. “You don’t have to go. I don’t want you to go.”

He doesn’t respond, only keeps his back turned to you as he begins rifling through the drawers. You approach him slowly, reaching out to rest your hands against his back. He stiffens at your touch but doesn’t move away. You take that as a slight win, a go ahead and you run your hands softly up over his shoulders and then back down to wrap firmly around his waist. You press yourself flush against his back, head resting between his shoulders.

“Please don’t go,” you implore, voice catching as tears leak from your eyes. “I was upset, angry but I didn’t mean it, baby, I didn’t mean it. I love you so much, please stay with me.”

He sighs but then he’s loosening your grip so he can turn in your arms. He wraps his own tightly around you and that’s when the dam breaks and the sob you’ve been holding back breaks free. He rubs his hands soothingly over your back, soft shh’s and it’s okay, I’m here’s falling from his lips. It’s just like Steve to comfort you even though you’re the one who hurt him—you squeeze him tighter against you.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “It’s okay, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You unhook your grasp from around his back and let your hands trail up over his chest before you cup his face in your hands, keeping him looking at you. You couldn’t bear it if he looked away now.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m so so sorry and I understand if you can never forgive me—”

“—Baby, I forgave you the second I got into my car and drove out of here last night. I just, I think we both needed some space after what happened, after what was said, you know?”

You nod, your bottom lip quivering softly. He brushes his thumb softly over your lips, eyes searching your own for any hint that your apologies may not run as deeply as you claim.

“Do you—,” he stops, clears his throat, eyes blinking rapidly, “do you really think I’m bullshit?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No and I can’t believe I said that. I shouldn’t have said that, I’ve never meant anything less. You’re not bullshit, Steve, you are perfect, you are everything and I love you so goddamn much it hurts sometimes.”

“Say it again,” he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face, ��tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Steve, I love you so much.”

He chokes on a sob and then his lips are on yours, forceful and insistent, and it steals all the breath from your lungs. You tangle your fingers in the ends of his hair as one arm snakes around your waist and the other cups your cheek. He begins walking you backwards toward the bed, lips kissing every inch of your face.

“Again. Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Then your back is hitting the bed and he’s hovering over you. You stare at each other then, taking one another in as it feels like days have passed when in reality, it’s only been a handful of hours. His lips continue their path from your lips to your jaw down to your neck as his hand snakes up underneath your shirt, thumb running against the underside of your breast before he’s rolling a nipple between his fingers. You arch up into his touch, a gasp falling from your lips.

Your hands are roaming all over his body as his lips and fingers continue their ministrations and without waiting, you untuck his polo from his jeans and forcibly rip it up and over his head. You toss it haphazardly to some far corner of the room before you’re running your fingers up his stomach and through his chest hair. He kisses you again, harder, and you readjust your position to spread your legs, slotting him completely between them. You can feel the firm press of his cock against your thigh and you whimper softly at the friction, wanting him closer, needing him closer now.

“Steve, please,” you whisper against his lips, “I want it. I want you.”

“Tell me what you want.” His fingers cascade down your skin, pushing your panties to the side to slide two fingers through your slick folds. “Tell me, baby, what do you want?”

“You, all of you, inside me.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” He pushes those same two fingers deep into your dripping pussy, pumping them in and out at a torturously slow pace.

You moan loudly at the intrusion, rolling your hips against him but you shake your head, fingers already scratching down his torso to begin unbuckling his belt.

“No?” He purrs, tongue flicking against the shell of your ear. “Well then you gotta tell me, baby. I can’t give it to you unless you tell me.”

You hastily finish unbuckling his belt and unfastening his jeans then you’re shoving your hand down to wrap around his hard cock. He hisses at the contact. “This,” you whisper, eyes staring deeply into his own. “This is what I want. I want your cock buried so hard and so deeply inside of me that I can feel you for days after it’s over.” His jaw drops open slightly. “Then, when the sensation starts to fade, I want you to fuck me again but harder until I can’t think straight, until I can’t remember anything but you. Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, a teasing smirk adorning his face. “I love when you get hot for me.”

“I’m always hot for you, Steve Harrington, don’t you ever forget that.”

Your hands scramble alongside his own in an attempt to shove his jeans down his hips, just enough to free his cock. His eyes lock onto your own, a single breath passing between the two of you, and then he’s pushing himself fully inside. You moan loudly at the feeling of being so completely full. Wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, you grip the back of his neck and bring him down for another heated kiss. His hips roll gently against your own, allowing you to take him slow and steady but oh so deep.

His hands come down to the hem of your shirt, shoving it roughly up your body and then off of your head. You arch your back, pushing your heated skin against him and melding your lips with his own once again. His fingers twine together with yours tightly as he pushes your hands up above your head, holding you gently but firmly in place. The stretch feels divine and every deep thrust punches the air from your lungs.

“Steve, fuck,” you breathe.

His thrusts are slow, precise, methodical but that familiar coil begins winding tightly in your belly and you know you aren’t going to last much longer. You tighten your legs and roll your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust for thrust.

“That’s it, angel,” he grunts, lips against your ear, breath hot on your neck. He releases your hands, one of his own diving into your hair while the other hitches your leg higher on his waist. “I’ve got you, let go.”

Everything is heightened. His thrusts feel harder, his touch seems hotter, his eyes look brighter. Your fingernails rake down his shoulders before you grasp firmly onto his neck for purchase as the pressure builds and builds and he takes you higher and higher. Steve drops his forehead onto yours, eyes alight as he holds your gaze… and then you’re falling fast and hard into the waves of pure ecstasy. A cracked moan falls from your lips, your back arches, and he releases your leg to wrap his arm fully around you, holding you closer than before, working you through your high.

You come down slowly, breathing deeply and he’s thrusting harder, faster chasing his own release. You brush his damp hair out of his face, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. A choked moan tumbles from his lips and then he’s ducking his head into the crook of your shoulder, moaning softly, thrusts becoming erratic. You press your lips against the side of his face, leaving gentle kisses anywhere that you can.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur, wrapping yourself tighter around him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Steve thrusts one, two, three more times and then a broken sob emits from him as he crushes you completely against his body, finally finding his own release. A moment passes, you both breathing deeply from this unexpected excursion, and then he’s lifting his head to meet your gaze. A soft, sweet smile plays at the corner of his lips and you bring your fingers up to wipe a fallen tear from his eye.

“Are you okay?” You ask, trepidation winding itself around your heart.

“Never better,” he muses, “sorry, I think my emotions got the best of me there.”

You breathe a laugh as he rolls off to lay next to you. You turn on your side, resting your head on his chest and twisting your fingers with his own. His arm comes up around you, pulling you flush against his side, fingers tracing patterns into the skin of your arm.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head up to look at his face.

He’s staring wide eyed at the ceiling, breathing deeply. You furrow your brow in confusion and pull yourself up to be able to look down at him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

His eyes flit to yours, softening immeasurably. He cups your cheek in his hand, thumb brushing against your cheekbone. You smile, turning your head to kiss his palm.

“I know you’re probably getting tired of hearing me ask this but could you, could you tell me again?” He flushes deeply, a dusty pink blooming across his chest and up his neck. “Please tell me you love me again.”

You grin, leaning down to peck his lips with your own. “I love you, Steve Harrington. Mind, body, heart, and soul. With every single fiber of my being. I am yours.”

“And I’m yours, every part of me,” he says, “God, I love you so much. I’m so sorry, baby.”

You shush him gently, feeling the emotions building up inside of him like waves on the ocean. “Let’s not talk about it right now, okay? Let’s just be, you and me.”

“Okay,” he whispers and then softer, “again?”

You giggle. “I love you, Steve.”

He sighs, elated. “I love you.”

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