crappymixtape

[crappymixtape]

over the garden gate • part one

PART I • PART II • PART III ❝ the summer where your obnoxious next door neighbor's facade comes crumbling down and you're the one there to catch him • 18+ | ( 1.6k – little bit of king!steve, brother's best friend, mostly angst & a dash of fluff, enemies -> idiots in love, steve x reader )

O V E R T H E G A R D E N G A T E • P A R T O N E 🎶 white teeth, ryan beatty

Summer was your escape. A chance to be yourself. Someone beyond the Ugly Duckling™ and Annoying Little Sister™ titles your brother had so lovingly given you at the age of 5. You thought you should’ve outgrown it by now, thought by the end of freshman year of college, you could get past some stupid nickname, but it stuck, no matter how hard you tried to shake it.

Your brother’s friends were all in on it, teased you and called you stupid baby names every time they were over playing video games or throwing parties while your parents were out of town. Your house was one of the only two houses in all of Hawkins to have a pool. The other one was at your brother’s best friend’s house, and the worst part?

He lived right next door.

Steve Harrington.

King Steve Harrington. The Hair Harrington. Steve Harrington who parted the sea of students in the hallway on his way to class. Steve Harrington the resident romancer of Hawkins, but you didn’t fall for it.

Not after seeing the way he played every single girl at every single party ever thrown at your house.

Not after hearing the way he talked about people behind the door to your brother’s room.

And definitely not after last summer.

A crystalized moment living in your mind. One that betrayed you. One where you looked too long as he pulled himself from your pool, muscles tensing under sunlit beads of water, wet hair messy across his forehead, spiked lashes encircling honey brown eyes and a lopsided smile that made your stomach flip over.

But it didn’t matter now. You had just finished your freshman year at college in Indianapolis and when your parents said they’d be out of town visiting your aunt for a couple of weeks, your brother took advantage of it. Snuck off to the woods with the rest of his idiot friends. Wanting to spend their days shooting cans off fence posts and nights drinking cheap beer and howling at the moon. It was a no brainer: offer to housesit and stay in the empty house with nothing to do other than live in the pool and read books.

What could possibly go wrong?

☼ DAY ONE

Stretched out on one of the pool loungers, you had draped your arm over your face, your chest rising and falling in steady, even breaths. You’d been out there since after dinner, letting the last of the sun’s rays kiss your freckled skin before sinking below the horizon. It was long gone now, crickets and frogs singing their evening serenade just beyond the fence, but heat still clung to everything. The metal frame of your lounger, the patio, the tiles lining the pool, the tops of your thighs and the crown of your head.

A paperback copy of Lolita sat at your feet, pages earmarked, worn cover fluttering in the wind from your notes and re-reading. An empty glass of fresh squeezed lemonade was tucked just under your lounger, ice melting in the heat, drops of condensation slipping down the sides.

Maybe you’d have dozed off, settled somewhere between sleep and consciousness only to wake up to the stars, but a dog barked from a few yards over and you started, eyes flying open at the sound. Waiting a few seconds, you settled when it didn’t bark again and moved to lay back down, but a clatter behind you pulled you straight up again.

“What the hell–”

“Shh!”

Turning to look over your shoulder you watched as Steve Harrington landed just behind your lounger in the grass, a finger pressed to his lips, hair wild and eyes pleading you to listen to him.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing in my–”

“Just shh!” he repeated as the slider door at the back of his house wrenched open roughly against the frame.

“STEVEN! STEVEN MICHAEL HARRINGTON, I KNOW YOU’RE OUT HERE!”

Your obnoxious neighbor crouched silently, knees bent and eyes squeezed shut with his hands pressed into the lawn.

“God dammit–Carol, I swear to Christ, if I come home after this trip and he’s still here? I’m kicking his ass out on the street.”

“You can’t say that, he’s your son–”

“I wouldn’t care if he was the fucking Dalai Lama, he needs to get a real job and get the hell out of my house.”

Your stomach fizzed with a muddied mixture of empathy and uncertainty as you heard the slider door slam shut, but when you glanced back to look at Steve all you found were his finger imprints in the grass.

☼ DAY THREE

In the span of half a week, you’d managed to blow through all of your suits, most of them now in the wash. The only one left was a bright tangerine number you’d found at the mall with your friends. It was a little more strappy, covered less skin that you liked, but when you were alone like this you didn’t feel as self conscious. It made you look at the dips and curves of your body in a different light, made you appreciate your form and the way the ties dug in a little at your hips, and when you crawled out of the pool to dry in the sun you grinned a little, feeling a bit like the girl from Fast Times. You could be sexy too.

Grabbing your book from the lounger, you sat on the edge flipping through the pages trying to figure out where you left off when a click at the gate drew your gaze.

“Shit,” hissed through the wooden slats and your eyes narrowed at the sound.

“Who’s there?” you accused, and the rattling stopped.

“Uh–dammit–it’s, uh, me. You know. Steve.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, eyes still fixed on his shoes at the bottom of the gate. “Steve, Steve, Steve…nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Ugh, c’mon. Please? Can I just sit back here for like–an hour, tops. No more than that, I promise!”

His voice edged on desperation as your eyes tracked the tiny beads of water slipping down your calves onto the patio.

“What’s in it for me?” you called back, surprised that you’d decided to humor him.

“Oh–right–well–” he stuttered, brain racing to catch up with your question, “I’ll…mow your lawn for the week! And…clean your pool! Your parents are outta town right?”

You put your book down and stood from the lounger, walking slowly toward the gate.

“Yeah, so’s my brother. Why aren’t you with him?”

Silence settled over the gate between you and you watched as his sneakers shuffled just under the gap.

“Didn’t get invited,” he muttered quietly and your brows lifted in surprise.

Didn’t get invited? Since when?

“Why not?” you asked, apprehensive, curious, waiting for him to flip a switch and turn into the douchebag you knew all too well.

“I, uh…I guess we all kinda drifted apart over a difference in hobbies–er–interests,” he fumbled, and you could see him running his hands through his hair between the gaps in the boards, stressed. “Whatever, I just don’t drink that much anymore. Or smoke. Or…any of that shit.”

The wall you’d built between yourself and your brother and all of his stupid friends started to soften, slipping like a sandcastle in the slow grate of an incoming tide. Steve Harrington not drinking or smoking?

“Mow my lawn and clean the pool,” you countered, leaning into the gate, “Until my parents get back–”

“Deal!” he agreed so quickly he cut into your words and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

“Jeez, Harrington,” you teased, lifting the latch on the gate and letting it swing open, “What’d you do? Murder someone?”

But the moment he laid eyes on you, he couldn’t speak. Words didn’t make sense. Lost in the haze you’d put him in. That tangerine bikini, your wet hair and the way it stuck to your shoulders, the tiny little beads of water that gathered at the dip of your top.

Of course he played along with your brother and their friends, made up stupid nicknames and teased you, called you Ugly Duckling, but that felt like a thousand years ago. Standing there now, he wished he hadn’t gone along with it.

“Harrington,” you repeated a little quieter, cheeks bright pink from the look on his face.

“What–I mean–murder? No. No murdering here–I just–my dad’s pissed at me. You know how he gets, and so I–y’know–need somewhere to be for a little before he leaves for his trip and–”

“Harrington,” this time chastising, “Just get back here.”

“Okay. Yeah. Yeah, thanks–thank you,” he nodded, hands jammed into his pockets, eyes glued to the ground, sneakers shuffling through the grass and hair stuck up at the ends.

The gate clicked shut behind him, and suddenly you felt every bit of skin not covered by your suit, like it was burning despite the hundreds of layers of sunscreen you’d put on.

“So, I’m gonna go change,” you asserted, trying your best to sound casual, confident, as you walked across the patio, and the sound of your voice pulled Steve’s gaze up from where he’d plopped down on your lounger, your book in his hand. He quickly put it down.

“Oh–sure. You don’t have to be out here with me if you don’t want–”

“I do,” you admitted, and his expression softened in surprise.

“You do?”

“Well, yeah. Someone has to make sure you don’t drown,” you snarked, trying to push yourself back from your crumbling wall, and it pulled a grin from him.

“I was a lifeguard at the pool every summer since I turned 16, genius,” he countered, and you blushed again.

“Whatever. Different pool, different dangers,” you stuttered before disappearing as quick as you could into the house.

[ 📝 NOTE: THIS IS PART ONE OF A ??? PART SERIES, POTENTIAL BLURBS MAY COME AT A LATER DATE ;) ]

crappymixtape™ ��� steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

okay but wait i have to write this after my taurus post, fuuuuuuck

i am absolutely losing my shit over the anon deux moi post abt joe keery being good in bed so expect like 80,000 smut blurbs tonight

[crappymixtape]

call collect

you and your best friend ( and coworker ) steve go to cincinnati for a big client presentation, but delays at the airport keep you there longer than expected — when your boyfriend calls and steve catches him fucking up, who will you choose? | *18+ TW: cheating, language (  3.8k, hurt / comfort, angst, smut, little fluff, best friends, steve x you, steve x reader )

C A L L C O L L E C T 🎵 over-the-ocean call, lizzy mcalpine

The sound of rain hammering the roof overhead was almost deafening. Like the static scratch of a TV without an antennae. The shitty little motel was less than ideal, but with all the delays at the airport, there was no way you were going to get out of there before morning.

When your boss asked you and Steve to fly to Cincinnati to present without him, it’d been a big deal for both of you; the fact that he trusted you enough to be with the client solo meant you were stepping into the next phase of your career, and Steve was too.

Once you’d reached your rooms, you allowed yourselves to finally be proud. Despite the stress of the day, you had just accomplished something huge.

“Did you see the look on the CEOs face after you presented that last slide??” Steve asked, shit-eating grin on his face as he dumped your bags on the floor of the room.

“He ate it up,” you grinned right back, cheeks pinking up a little at the attention.

“Hell yeah he did. You were incredible! Seriously, congratulations.”

The way he looked at you then conjured heat between your ribs. Proud, impressed, and maybe a flicker of adoration. It was a feeling you experienced more and more with Steve, one you knew was supposed to come from your boyfriend…but didn’t.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and shattered the tension pulled taut between you.

“Oh–er–go ahead! I should call, Robs,” Steve stuttered, backing into his room.

“Right, yeah,” your composure was just as scattered, clearing a spot on your bed and fumbling your cell. “Hey, babe! I’m good. No, no, it got delayed,” you glanced through the door at Steve, watching as he dug around in his messenger bag, muscles pulling and flexing as he took things out.

“Are you there?” came through the receiver.

“What?” Right. Your boyfriend. “Uh–it’s okay,” you murmured into the receiver, “Sheets are a little scratchy.”

You gave him a run down of the presentation, told him not to pick you up like you’d arranged, and that Steve was checking if Robin could be available when you landed in the morning.

When the low hum of your friend’s voice filtered through the adjoining door between your rooms, you leaned forward on the edge of your bed to see Steve’s socked-feet kicking just above the carpeted floor.

“Yeah, he’s on with Robin right now, so don’t worry about it. I know you have to be to that interview by eight,” you reassured, hand smoothing over the old, wooly blanket on top of your bed. “Let me know how it goes. You too. Love you, g’night.”

Steve was still talking to Robin when you hung up, so you got up and took stock of your room.

The motel had vacancies, unsurprisingly, and was able to get you a couple of spots connected by a locking, adjoining door. You said it wasn’t necessary for the two rooms to be linked, but when you clocked the creepy janitor loitering near the ice machine you were thankful for it.

There was a mini fridge tucked into the entertainment system, squealing like it was on it’s last legs, and the wall unit next to the bed seemed to be stuck in AC mode, blowing cold air into an already freezing room. You pressed your fingers against the buttons, clicking OFF once, twice, three times.

Click. Click, click. Click, click, click!

“Piece of shit,” you kicked a foot into the bottom of it just as Steve knocked on your wall.

“Hey, everything okay in here?” he asked, mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Oh, you know. Quality is their middle name here at the Cinci Suites,” came out overly sarcastic. “Sorry,” you apologized through a sigh, “I’m tired.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve commiserated, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Damn, your room’s just as cold as mine is. Did you get a hold of Ian?” he asked, still lingering in the space between.

His hair was disheveled, sticking up in odd places after running his hands through it nonstop at the airport an hour ago, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d undone the top three buttons on his dress shirt, open low enough you could see the thick thatch of hair sitting just underneath, and the thin silver chain that settled across his collarbone. Realizing you were staring, you dropped your gaze down to your nails, picking at the chipped polish.

“Yeah! Yep. I told him Robin’s going to pick us up instead, so he can make that interview.”

“Cool, Robs said she’ll be there, I’ll call her when we land.”

“Great!”

“Yep.”

Quiet stretched between you then, Steve still loitering half in your space, half in his, and a shiver ran down your spine at the cold, but more at the way Steve looked. Even when he was stressed out and tired, he managed to look good.

“Er–anyway. You go do your thing, I’m gonna veg out and watch the rest of this movie,” Steve cracked first, thumbing over his shoulder at the TV in his room. Someone shouted, Marty! from the screen just before a crack of lightning hit a clocktower in the background.

“Thank you,” you said, biting at the inside of your cheek. “Even if this place sucks, it’s better than the airport floor.” You gave him a small smile, taking a few steps toward him and the bathroom. A shower would fix everything. The cold, your aching feet, the heat swelling in your chest and Steve.

“Oh, hey. Don’t mention it,” he held his hands up, it’s nothing, and then pointed his chin at the closet. “Let me know how the robes are,” he joked.

You snorted, “Already looked. Mine’s got a hole in the back. Not promising.”

“Damn,” he chuckled, “Alright, holler when you’re out and we can look over client feedback.”

“Hey–” you added, “–if Ian calls again, will you answer it?”

“For sure, can do.”

Murmuring your thanks, you slipped into the bathroom, flicked on the light and fan, turned on the shower, and filled the room with steam.

~*~*~*~

Steve knew you and your boyfriend, Ian, had been rocky at best lately, especially after you’d caught him texting your best friend, Carol, last month. Ian promised it was just texts, nothing else, and told you how sorry he was, how grateful he was to have you in his life, that he’d never do it again, but Steve didn’t believe him.

Ian had a reputation around Hawkins, especially back in high school, and Steve knew he hadn’t been a saint either, but at least he never cheated on anyone. He hated seeing you stressed out and anxious. The thought of your boyfriend cheating on you always lingering in the back of your mind. You couldn’t ever, truly relax and Steve thought, knew, you deserved better. Better than that shitbag.

The shower in the other room turned on and it pulled Steve’s gaze from where he was sprawled out on his bed. He was glad you were able to take a minute to decompress, especially after the airport chaos, but when he caught your feet moving under the door his thoughts wandered.

He pictured you standing in the steam. Water spilling over your figure. The way it would run down the slope of your neck, the dip in your collarbone, the plush of your waist. Imagined the soft curve of your cupid’s bow lifting at the edges, tilting in a smile, teasing him from behind the door. Thought of the sweet sounds he’d pull from you, his lips pressed to the hollow behind your ear, the long sweep of your lashes and how they’d kiss the tops of your cheeks as he–

“Shit,” he muttered.

Shoving a pillow into his lap over his hard on, Steve tried to focus on how gross it was that Marty McFly’s mom wanted to bang him, but a ring from the other room sounded and he looked through the doorway again.

“Got a phone call!” he hollered, voice cracking. The shower was off, but you hadn’t come out yet. When your phone kept ringing, he stood from his bed and put one foot into your room. “Your phone’s ringing!” he said again, but you didn’t reply over the rumble of the fan. “Ahh, coming, coming,” he shuffled across your room and grabbed your phone from the bedside table, arm over his half-hard boner.

Ian Griffiths stared up at him. He scowled, but remembered his promise to answer. Swiping a finger over the green bar, he put your cell to his ear.

“Hey–”

“Carol baby,” Ian’s voice cut Steve off, a low purr, “I’m free until tomorrow morning. Their flight got delayed, so it’s just enough time. Can I still come to your place?”

“What the fuck–” Steve held the phone out, then jammed it back to his ear, “–I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“Oh, shit–hey, man! Uh–I was just calling to see–”

“No, no, no–cut the bullshit,” Steve growled, “You fucked up and called the wrong number, man.”

“Dude. Please don’t say anything. It’ll be just between us guys, right?” Ian pushed, desperate, huffing a nervous chuckle, “You know how it goes, can’t control our manly urges.”

“Can’t control–Jesus Christ. I’m definitely going to say something and you’re definitely an absolute asshole. Don’t call again.”

“Wait–please, don’t–I can explain–”

Steve hit the red, End Call, button and threw the phone onto your bed, tangling his hands in his hair. His heart hammered against his ribcage, hard enough to crack it, face burning at what had just happened.

Your boyfriend was cheating on you, again, but this time he dialed you instead of his booty call and–

“God dammit, piece of shit,” he gritted between his teeth, tongue jammed in his cheek as he struggled to keep his anger in check.

“Steve?”

Sucking in a breath, he whipped around to see you standing in the doorway of your bathroom, a pair of grey sweats hanging on your hips and hair wet against your tank top.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, chest tight at the look on his face.

That look. The one that flashed between frustration, anger, and something softer, sadder, I’m sorry.

“Uh…” he bit his lips between his teeth, hands propped on his hips, debating. “No, actually,” he decided, “Everything’s not okay.”

Taking a step into the room, you could feel the familiar, awful creeping of pins and needles down your arms, breaths growing shallower and shallower.

“What happened,” you half-whispered, more statement than question, already anticipating his answer as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Ian called while you were in the bathroom,” Steve started, staying where he was to give you room. He held your gaze and you watched as his lips curved down, the warm, hazel of his eyes shifting softer. “But he misdialed…he meant to call Carol.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes and your vision blurred, your already defeated frame leaning heavy against the wall as you let his words hit you like a sucker punch. Steve’s hand twitched and he took half a step toward you, wanting nothing more than to just gather you up in his arms and hold you, but he hesitated. Didn’t want to be too much. Didn’t want to overstep.

You tipped your gaze up to the ceiling, not wanting to see Steve or the way you knew he was looking at you, tears streaming freely down your cheeks now.

“Son of a bitch,” you huffed, throat tight, “I knew it, I don’t know why I trusted him, so stupid–”

“Hey, hey, hey–you’re not stupid,” Steve interjected, taking those two steps now and grabbing your hand in his, determined to not let that douchebag get the better of you. “He’s the stupid one, yeah? You gotta cut yourself a break.”

Holding your breath, you were trying not to come apart at the seams, but you felt yourself crack the second Steve’s palm pressed into yours.

“God–” you exhaled through a half-sob, “–am I not good enough?”

“Don’t say that,” came out quick as a reflex, “You’re perfect.” His cheeks burned at his admission, unable to hold back any longer, “That’s his fault for not realizing how lucky he is. If I were him I’d tell you that every single day. D’you know that?”

Tears cut paths over and down the apples of your cheeks, the salt lingering at the corner of your mouth, and Steve lifted a hand to your face. Gently, he brushed his thumb across your skin, wiping your tears away, his palm resting soft along the line of your jaw.

“He doesn’t get to make you feel like this,” he insisted, brows knitted together in a mixture of anger and agony at the way this asshole could bring you down, “Doesn’t get to define your worth.” Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted it up so he could look into your eyes, so you knew how serious he was. “You deserve everything,” he half-whispered, shaking his head in disbelief, expression pained, begging you to believe him because how could you think you weren’t worth the world?

“Steve,” you choked out, throat still tight, your best friend blurred and swimming through your saltwater tears. “You don’t have to fix things, s’not your fault.”

“I want to,” he murmured and it made the ache in your chest cry out in pain.

Maybe it was the way Ian had cracked your heart in two or maybe it was the discomfort of Steve putting it back together, but when you melted into him, he wrapped you up without a second thought.

~*~*~*~

He let you cry in his arms, the soft fabric of his old Hawkins Athletics shirt soaking up your tears, threading his fingers through your hair slow and gentle, soothing. His voice low and reassuring in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay, I got you.”

When you finally came up for air, eyes puffy and red, he looked down at you, took you in, searched for any lingering signs of hurt or pain.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a half-hearted laugh, wet from crying, and he shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I got your shirt all wet,” you groaned, running your hand over your tear stains, and heat flickered in your chest when he flexed under your touch.

“S’okay,” came out of him. Quieter than before, a low grate, and it pulled your gaze up.

“Steve?” you whispered.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Can I…I want to be honest with you,” you said and he held his breath, heart thrumming in his ears.

“You can always be honest with me.”

You were trembling now, the words on your tongue burning, and Steve’s hold on you tightened, “It’s okay, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” you cut him off, squeezing your eyes shut in focus, “It’s just…hard.” Pulling in a deep breath you opened them again and looked up into his eyes, warm, honeyed amber. Whiskey and melted caramel. “Steve, I–I can’t stop thinking about you. Even before all this…” you breathed and it blew his pupils wide, his racing heart stopping altogether at your confession.

“Me?” he gaped, shocked, and the blush on your cheeks deepened, the heat searing across your skin.

“Oh my god–I–” you stuttered, “I’m sorry–so inappropriate–I don’t know what I was thinking–I’m so sorry–”

But you didn’t get a chance to finish your apology.

Dipping down, Steve swallowed the rest of your words in a kiss that had been simmering under the surface from the moment you met.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your arms looping around his neck to pull him even closer and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your mouth and you opened to him, letting him taste you, grazing your teeth over his bottom lip as you pulled away and making his fingers press into the plush of your waist.

“Holy shit,” fell out of him, breathless, chest heaving and brows pinched together in an effort to try and hold himself together. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to–”

“–me too,” you cut in, and kissed him again, and this time it was loaded.

The point where your lips pressed together was electric, kissing like it was the end of the world, devouring each other like you’d been starved, hands everywhere all at once, touching, grabbing, pressing, feeling.

Your fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up over his head and flipping his long, brown hair into a mess. He sucked in a sharp breath at the pads of your fingers trailing over his bare chest, and for a split second you froze.

“Should I stop–”

“No, no, it’s okay, just your hands are cold, s’okay,” he rambled through a shaky laugh that died in his throat when you took his hand to slip it under your sleep shirt.

Even though you were the one setting the pace, you still gasped at the feeling of hand on your stomach, and his lips parted at the sound, so pretty, so soft, your eyes locked on one another.

“I want you to touch me,” you whispered and he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Anything. Tell me what you want. Whatever you want.”

“Here,” you murmured, dragging his hand down your body and pressing it between your legs, “Please.”

Please.

“Christ,” he choked out, wrecked and he hadn’t even started yet. “Okay, you tell me if you need to stop. You’re in the driver’s seat.”

Pulling at your shirt, you ducked out of it and tossed it to the floor, bra long gone from your shower, and Steve swallowed thick. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and jaw ticking as he bit down on the sight of you.

“So perfect–god, you’re perfect–he’s such an idiot,” he babbled, only stopping when you took his hands in yours to ease your sweats down your legs together.

When they hit the floor, you were standing there in front of him for the first time without anything shielding you from his gaze and your heart raced in your chest. Wings against your ribs, a bird caught in a cage, laying yourself bare and trusting him to not let you fall.

He slowly closed the gap between you and took your hands in his, pulling you into him, closer, closer, closer, “I’ll give you everything,” he promised, your chests pressed together, skin to skin with only his sweats in the way. Dropping your hands, he looped his palms under the curves of your ass and lifted you with ease, eyes still locked on yours, wrapping your legs around his torso and walking you to bed.

Gently, he set you on the edge of the mattress, hands running over the tops of your thighs as he slowly knelt down between your legs.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, “Gotta tell me.”

You nodded, words failing you at how perfect he looked between your thighs, at the firm press of his fingers on your skin.

Soothing circles across your knees with his thumbs, he eased your legs open and leaned forward, eyes still watching yours and growing rock hard at the way your chest rose and fell with quick breaths.

His mouth parted, tongue darting out to chase across his lower lip before gently pulling you into him, his breath warming over your skin. Just watching him had you soaked and he didn’t look away once as he licked a stripe flat and firm through your slick.

“Steve–” you gasped and he paused, lips shiny from you.

“Tell me,” he said again, and you lifted a hand to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back into you.

He loosed a groan at your confidence, your silent order, the hum of it vibrating through you and coaxing out a moan of your own. He worked you with reverence, your body his temple to worship, a slow, tantalizing heat that he stoked with his mouth. He shook his head slowly back and forth, lapping at your folds, his nose teasingly nudging against your clit.

“Feels s–so good–” you gasped.

“It does?”

“Y–yeah, go faster–faster, Steve,” you asked through hitched breaths, your eyes fluttering closed as you fell back against the sheets.

“Like this?” he asked, tongue flicking a blur across your clit, and the sound you made was the only answer he needed to keep going.

Pulling away from your cunt, he sucked a kiss against your thigh, leaving a pretty lilac mark to find in the morning as his fingers pressed at your entrance. Gaze flicking up to watch you, you okay? He slowly slipped a finger into you and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. Flattening the palm of his free hand against your stomach, he eased another finger in and set a slow, agonizing pace.

In, out. In, out.

“So fucking beautiful like this,” he praised, words warm against your skin as his mouth closed over your clit again, and you cried out. His fingers moved faster then, thrusting in time with his tongue while your hands fisted in the sheets, your knees squeezing him between your legs.

“Steve–I’m gonna–I’m close,” you whimpered.

“I got you–let go, honey, I got you,” he promised as you gasped for breath.

“Please, Steve,” you were practically begging now. It made him put his mouth back over you one last time, sucking at your clit, pushing you over the edge and making you cry out as you came on his fingers.

Your hips bucked up into him and he swallowed your thrusts, his fingers working you through it and easing you down, soothing through the overstimulation. When you finally slowed, legs shaking around his head, you looked down as he pulled his fingers from you and placed them against his lips.

“You deserve the world,” he said, crawling up the bed to lean over you, his arms bracketing you in against the sheets, “Can I give it to you?”

His eyes searched yours and you felt yourself getting lost in the way he looked at you. At the way he saw you, the way he really listened.

“Yes,” you whispered, pushing up on your elbows to press your lips to his, still shiny with your slick, and he kissed you back.

“Want to give you everything,” he promised, and with every fibre of your being

you trusted him.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

call collect

you and your best friend ( and coworker ) steve go to cincinnati for a big client presentation, but delays at the airport keep you there longer than expected — when your boyfriend calls and steve catches him fucking up, who will you choose? | *18+ TW: cheating, language (  3.8k, hurt / comfort, angst, smut, little fluff, best friends, steve x you, steve x reader )

C A L L C O L L E C T 🎵 over-the-ocean call, lizzy mcalpine

The sound of rain hammering the roof overhead was almost deafening. Like the static scratch of a TV without an antennae. The shitty little motel was less than ideal, but with all the delays at the airport, there was no way you were going to get out of there before morning.

When your boss asked you and Steve to fly to Cincinnati to present without him, it’d been a big deal for both of you; the fact that he trusted you enough to be with the client solo meant you were stepping into the next phase of your career, and Steve was too.

Once you’d reached your rooms, you allowed yourselves to finally be proud. Despite the stress of the day, you had just accomplished something huge.

“Did you see the look on the CEOs face after you presented that last slide??” Steve asked, shit-eating grin on his face as he dumped your bags on the floor of the room.

“He ate it up,” you grinned right back, cheeks pinking up a little at the attention.

“Hell yeah he did. You were incredible! Seriously, congratulations.”

The way he looked at you then conjured heat between your ribs. Proud, impressed, and maybe a flicker of adoration. It was a feeling you experienced more and more with Steve, one you knew was supposed to come from your boyfriend…but didn’t.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and shattered the tension pulled taut between you.

“Oh–er–go ahead! I should call, Robs,” Steve stuttered, backing into his room.

“Right, yeah,” your composure was just as scattered, clearing a spot on your bed and fumbling your cell. “Hey, babe! I’m good. No, no, it got delayed,” you glanced through the door at Steve, watching as he dug around in his messenger bag, muscles pulling and flexing as he took things out.

“Are you there?” came through the receiver.

“What?” Right. Your boyfriend. “Uh–it’s okay,” you murmured into the receiver, “Sheets are a little scratchy.”

You gave him a run down of the presentation, told him not to pick you up like you’d arranged, and that Steve was checking if Robin could be available when you landed in the morning.

When the low hum of your friend’s voice filtered through the adjoining door between your rooms, you leaned forward on the edge of your bed to see Steve’s socked-feet kicking just above the carpeted floor.

“Yeah, he’s on with Robin right now, so don’t worry about it. I know you have to be to that interview by eight,” you reassured, hand smoothing over the old, wooly blanket on top of your bed. “Let me know how it goes. You too. Love you, g’night.”

Steve was still talking to Robin when you hung up, so you got up and took stock of your room.

The motel had vacancies, unsurprisingly, and was able to get you a couple of spots connected by a locking, adjoining door. You said it wasn’t necessary for the two rooms to be linked, but when you clocked the creepy janitor loitering near the ice machine you were thankful for it.

There was a mini fridge tucked into the entertainment system, squealing like it was on it’s last legs, and the wall unit next to the bed seemed to be stuck in AC mode, blowing cold air into an already freezing room. You pressed your fingers against the buttons, clicking OFF once, twice, three times.

Click. Click, click. Click, click, click!

“Piece of shit,” you kicked a foot into the bottom of it just as Steve knocked on your wall.

“Hey, everything okay in here?” he asked, mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Oh, you know. Quality is their middle name here at the Cinci Suites,” came out overly sarcastic. “Sorry,” you apologized through a sigh, “I’m tired.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve commiserated, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Damn, your room’s just as cold as mine is. Did you get a hold of Ian?” he asked, still lingering in the space between.

His hair was disheveled, sticking up in odd places after running his hands through it nonstop at the airport an hour ago, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d undone the top three buttons on his dress shirt, open low enough you could see the thick thatch of hair sitting just underneath, and the thin silver chain that settled across his collarbone. Realizing you were staring, you dropped your gaze down to your nails, picking at the chipped polish.

“Yeah! Yep. I told him Robin’s going to pick us up instead, so he can make that interview.”

“Cool, Robs said she’ll be there, I’ll call her when we land.”

“Great!”

“Yep.”

Quiet stretched between you then, Steve still loitering half in your space, half in his, and a shiver ran down your spine at the cold, but more at the way Steve looked. Even when he was stressed out and tired, he managed to look good.

“Er–anyway. You go do your thing, I’m gonna veg out and watch the rest of this movie,” Steve cracked first, thumbing over his shoulder at the TV in his room. Someone shouted, Marty! from the screen just before a crack of lightning hit a clocktower in the background.

“Thank you,” you said, biting at the inside of your cheek. “Even if this place sucks, it’s better than the airport floor.” You gave him a small smile, taking a few steps toward him and the bathroom. A shower would fix everything. The cold, your aching feet, the heat swelling in your chest and Steve.

“Oh, hey. Don’t mention it,” he held his hands up, it’s nothing, and then pointed his chin at the closet. “Let me know how the robes are,” he joked.

You snorted, “Already looked. Mine’s got a hole in the back. Not promising.”

“Damn,” he chuckled, “Alright, holler when you’re out and we can look over client feedback.”

“Hey–” you added, “–if Ian calls again, will you answer it?”

“For sure, can do.”

Murmuring your thanks, you slipped into the bathroom, flicked on the light and fan, turned on the shower, and filled the room with steam.

~*~*~*~

Steve knew you and your boyfriend, Ian, had been rocky at best lately, especially after you’d caught him texting your best friend, Carol, last month. Ian promised it was just texts, nothing else, and told you how sorry he was, how grateful he was to have you in his life, that he’d never do it again, but Steve didn’t believe him.

Ian had a reputation around Hawkins, especially back in high school, and Steve knew he hadn’t been a saint either, but at least he never cheated on anyone. He hated seeing you stressed out and anxious. The thought of your boyfriend cheating on you always lingering in the back of your mind. You couldn’t ever, truly relax and Steve thought, knew, you deserved better. Better than that shitbag.

The shower in the other room turned on and it pulled Steve’s gaze from where he was sprawled out on his bed. He was glad you were able to take a minute to decompress, especially after the airport chaos, but when he caught your feet moving under the door his thoughts wandered.

He pictured you standing in the steam. Water spilling over your figure. The way it would run down the slope of your neck, the dip in your collarbone, the plush of your waist. Imagined the soft curve of your cupid’s bow lifting at the edges, tilting in a smile, teasing him from behind the door. Thought of the sweet sounds he’d pull from you, his lips pressed to the hollow behind your ear, the long sweep of your lashes and how they’d kiss the tops of your cheeks as he–

“Shit,” he muttered.

Shoving a pillow into his lap over his hard on, Steve tried to focus on how gross it was that Marty McFly’s mom wanted to bang him, but a ring from the other room sounded and he looked through the doorway again.

“Got a phone call!” he hollered, voice cracking. The shower was off, but you hadn’t come out yet. When your phone kept ringing, he stood from his bed and put one foot into your room. “Your phone’s ringing!” he said again, but you didn’t reply over the rumble of the fan. “Ahh, coming, coming,” he shuffled across your room and grabbed your phone from the bedside table, arm over his half-hard boner.

Ian Griffiths stared up at him. He scowled, but remembered his promise to answer. Swiping a finger over the green bar, he put your cell to his ear.

“Hey–”

“Carol baby,” Ian’s voice cut Steve off, a low purr, “I’m free until tomorrow morning. Their flight got delayed, so it’s just enough time. Can I still come to your place?”

“What the fuck–” Steve held the phone out, then jammed it back to his ear, “–I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“Oh, shit–hey, man! Uh–I was just calling to see–”

“No, no, no–cut the bullshit,” Steve growled, “You fucked up and called the wrong number, man.”

“Dude. Please don’t say anything. It’ll be just between us guys, right?” Ian pushed, desperate, huffing a nervous chuckle, “You know how it goes, can’t control our manly urges.”

“Can’t control–Jesus Christ. I’m definitely going to say something and you’re definitely an absolute asshole. Don’t call again.”

“Wait–please, don’t–I can explain–”

Steve hit the red, End Call, button and threw the phone onto your bed, tangling his hands in his hair. His heart hammered against his ribcage, hard enough to crack it, face burning at what had just happened.

Your boyfriend was cheating on you, again, but this time he dialed you instead of his booty call and–

“God dammit, piece of shit,” he gritted between his teeth, tongue jammed in his cheek as he struggled to keep his anger in check.

“Steve?”

Sucking in a breath, he whipped around to see you standing in the doorway of your bathroom, a pair of grey sweats hanging on your hips and hair wet against your tank top.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, chest tight at the look on his face.

That look. The one that flashed between frustration, anger, and something softer, sadder, I’m sorry.

“Uh…” he bit his lips between his teeth, hands propped on his hips, debating. “No, actually,” he decided, “Everything’s not okay.”

Taking a step into the room, you could feel the familiar, awful creeping of pins and needles down your arms, breaths growing shallower and shallower.

“What happened,” you half-whispered, more statement than question, already anticipating his answer as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Ian called while you were in the bathroom,” Steve started, staying where he was to give you room. He held your gaze and you watched as his lips curved down, the warm, hazel of his eyes shifting softer. “But he misdialed…he meant to call Carol.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes and your vision blurred, your already defeated frame leaning heavy against the wall as you let his words hit you like a sucker punch. Steve’s hand twitched and he took half a step toward you, wanting nothing more than to just gather you up in his arms and hold you, but he hesitated. Didn’t want to be too much. Didn’t want to overstep.

You tipped your gaze up to the ceiling, not wanting to see Steve or the way you knew he was looking at you, tears streaming freely down your cheeks now.

“Son of a bitch,” you huffed, throat tight, “I knew it, I don’t know why I trusted him, so stupid–”

“Hey, hey, hey–you’re not stupid,” Steve interjected, taking those two steps now and grabbing your hand in his, determined to not let that douchebag get the better of you. “He’s the stupid one, yeah? You gotta cut yourself a break.”

Holding your breath, you were trying not to come apart at the seams, but you felt yourself crack the second Steve’s palm pressed into yours.

“God–” you exhaled through a half-sob, “–am I not good enough?”

“Don’t say that,” came out quick as a reflex, “You’re perfect.” His cheeks burned at his admission, unable to hold back any longer, “That’s his fault for not realizing how lucky he is. If I were him I’d tell you that every single day. D’you know that?”

Tears cut paths over and down the apples of your cheeks, the salt lingering at the corner of your mouth, and Steve lifted a hand to your face. Gently, he brushed his thumb across your skin, wiping your tears away, his palm resting soft along the line of your jaw.

“He doesn’t get to make you feel like this,” he insisted, brows knitted together in a mixture of anger and agony at the way this asshole could bring you down, “Doesn’t get to define your worth.” Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted it up so he could look into your eyes, so you knew how serious he was. “You deserve everything,” he half-whispered, shaking his head in disbelief, expression pained, begging you to believe him because how could you think you weren’t worth the world?

“Steve,” you choked out, throat still tight, your best friend blurred and swimming through your saltwater tears. “You don’t have to fix things, s’not your fault.”

“I want to,” he murmured and it made the ache in your chest cry out in pain.

Maybe it was the way Ian had cracked your heart in two or maybe it was the discomfort of Steve putting it back together, but when you melted into him, he wrapped you up without a second thought.

~*~*~*~

He let you cry in his arms, the soft fabric of his old Hawkins Athletics shirt soaking up your tears, threading his fingers through your hair slow and gentle, soothing. His voice low and reassuring in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay, I got you.”

When you finally came up for air, eyes puffy and red, he looked down at you, took you in, searched for any lingering signs of hurt or pain.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a half-hearted laugh, wet from crying, and he shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I got your shirt all wet,” you groaned, running your hand over your tear stains, and heat flickered in your chest when he flexed under your touch.

“S’okay,” came out of him. Quieter than before, a low grate, and it pulled your gaze up.

“Steve?” you whispered.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Can I…I want to be honest with you,” you said and he held his breath, heart thrumming in his ears.

“You can always be honest with me.”

You were trembling now, the words on your tongue burning, and Steve’s hold on you tightened, “It’s okay, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” you cut him off, squeezing your eyes shut in focus, “It’s just…hard.” Pulling in a deep breath you opened them again and looked up into his eyes, warm, honeyed amber. Whiskey and melted caramel. “Steve, I–I can’t stop thinking about you. Even before all this…” you breathed and it blew his pupils wide, his racing heart stopping altogether at your confession.

“Me?” he gaped, shocked, and the blush on your cheeks deepened, the heat searing across your skin.

“Oh my god–I–” you stuttered, “I’m sorry–so inappropriate–I don’t know what I was thinking–I’m so sorry–”

But you didn’t get a chance to finish your apology.

Dipping down, Steve swallowed the rest of your words in a kiss that had been simmering under the surface from the moment you met.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your arms looping around his neck to pull him even closer and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your mouth and you opened to him, letting him taste you, grazing your teeth over his bottom lip as you pulled away and making his fingers press into the plush of your waist.

“Holy shit,” fell out of him, breathless, chest heaving and brows pinched together in an effort to try and hold himself together. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to–”

“–me too,” you cut in, and kissed him again, and this time it was loaded.

The point where your lips pressed together was electric, kissing like it was the end of the world, devouring each other like you’d been starved, hands everywhere all at once, touching, grabbing, pressing, feeling.

Your fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up over his head and flipping his long, brown hair into a mess. He sucked in a sharp breath at the pads of your fingers trailing over his bare chest, and for a split second you froze.

“Should I stop–”

“No, no, it’s okay, just your hands are cold, s’okay,” he rambled through a shaky laugh that died in his throat when you took his hand to slip it under your sleep shirt.

Even though you were the one setting the pace, you still gasped at the feeling of hand on your stomach, and his lips parted at the sound, so pretty, so soft, your eyes locked on one another.

“I want you to touch me,” you whispered and he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Anything. Tell me what you want. Whatever you want.”

“Here,” you murmured, dragging his hand down your body and pressing it between your legs, “Please.”

Please.

“Christ,” he choked out, wrecked and he hadn’t even started yet. “Okay, you tell me if you need to stop. You’re in the driver’s seat.”

Pulling at your shirt, you ducked out of it and tossed it to the floor, bra long gone from your shower, and Steve swallowed thick. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and jaw ticking as he bit down on the sight of you.

“So perfect–god, you’re perfect–he’s such an idiot,” he babbled, only stopping when you took his hands in yours to ease your sweats down your legs together.

When they hit the floor, you were standing there in front of him for the first time without anything shielding you from his gaze and your heart raced in your chest. Wings against your ribs, a bird caught in a cage, laying yourself bare and trusting him to not let you fall.

He slowly closed the gap between you and took your hands in his, pulling you into him, closer, closer, closer, “I’ll give you everything,” he promised, your chests pressed together, skin to skin with only his sweats in the way. Dropping your hands, he looped his palms under the curves of your ass and lifted you with ease, eyes still locked on yours, wrapping your legs around his torso and walking you to bed.

Gently, he set you on the edge of the mattress, hands running over the tops of your thighs as he slowly knelt down between your legs.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, “Gotta tell me.”

You nodded, words failing you at how perfect he looked between your thighs, at the firm press of his fingers on your skin.

Soothing circles across your knees with his thumbs, he eased your legs open and leaned forward, eyes still watching yours and growing rock hard at the way your chest rose and fell with quick breaths.

His mouth parted, tongue darting out to chase across his lower lip before gently pulling you into him, his breath warming over your skin. Just watching him had you soaked and he didn’t look away once as he licked a stripe flat and firm through your slick.

“Steve–” you gasped and he paused, lips shiny from you.

“Tell me,” he said again, and you lifted a hand to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back into you.

He loosed a groan at your confidence, your silent order, the hum of it vibrating through you and coaxing out a moan of your own. He worked you with reverence, your body his temple to worship, a slow, tantalizing heat that he stoked with his mouth. He shook his head slowly back and forth, lapping at your folds, his nose teasingly nudging against your clit.

“Feels s–so good–” you gasped.

“It does?”

“Y–yeah, go faster–faster, Steve,” you asked through hitched breaths, your eyes fluttering closed as you fell back against the sheets.

“Like this?” he asked, tongue flicking a blur across your clit, and the sound you made was the only answer he needed to keep going.

Pulling away from your cunt, he sucked a kiss against your thigh, leaving a pretty lilac mark to find in the morning as his fingers pressed at your entrance. Gaze flicking up to watch you, you okay? He slowly slipped a finger into you and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. Flattening the palm of his free hand against your stomach, he eased another finger in and set a slow, agonizing pace.

In, out. In, out.

“So fucking beautiful like this,” he praised, words warm against your skin as his mouth closed over your clit again, and you cried out. His fingers moved faster then, thrusting in time with his tongue while your hands fisted in the sheets, your knees squeezing him between your legs.

“Steve–I’m gonna–I’m close,” you whimpered.

“I got you–let go, honey, I got you,” he promised as you gasped for breath.

“Please, Steve,” you were practically begging now. It made him put his mouth back over you one last time, sucking at your clit, pushing you over the edge and making you cry out as you came on his fingers.

Your hips bucked up into him and he swallowed your thrusts, his fingers working you through it and easing you down, soothing through the overstimulation. When you finally slowed, legs shaking around his head, you looked down as he pulled his fingers from you and placed them against his lips.

“You deserve the world,” he said, crawling up the bed to lean over you, his arms bracketing you in against the sheets, “Can I give it to you?”

His eyes searched yours and you felt yourself getting lost in the way he looked at you. At the way he saw you, the way he really listened.

“Yes,” you whispered, pushing up on your elbows to press your lips to his, still shiny with your slick, and he kissed you back.

“Want to give you everything,” he promised, and with every fibre of your being

you trusted him.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

life's simple pleasures

just thoughts about joe and how he'd be as a taurus in love, how he treats you, how he's grounded and loves every tiny little detail of life, and never wants to leave your side – ( 431 words – smut, sprinkle of fluff, friends with benefits to something more? joe keery x you, joe keery x reader )

L I F E ' S S I M P L E P L E A S U R E S 🎶 charlie's garden, djo

i can't stop thinking about how joe is a taurus.

Taurus, the second sign of the zodiac, is known for its practical, sensual, and grounded nature. Individuals born under this sign (approximately April 20 - May 20) are often described as hardworking, loyal, and reliable, but can also be perceived as stubborn and possessive.

how he'd be so cozy and just wanna snuggle on the couch together under a pile of blankets, kissing at your neck, pressing his lips to the palm of your hand, running his fingers through your hair, the blunt of his nails scratching at your scalp.

the way his kisses turn warmer, hotter, needy, pulling moans from your lips and wanting more, more, more. his big hands wrapping under the crooks of your knees to ease them open, the flat of his tongue as he laps you up, praises you for how good you are, wants you to finish first and knows just how to make you come on his fingers in under two minutes.

lazy summer days laying in the park together on a blanket as he twirls the stem of a daisy between his fingers, tells you to look up and wonders at how the sunlight reaches between the long, crooked branches of the trees, whispers about how small it all makes him feel, how lucky he is, how beautiful things are.

he always makes sure he's got a first aid kit in the car on road trips, puts you on his AAA membership, insists you take his battery bank just in case your phone gets low.

whenever he's got a gig or working on a new album, he's laser-focused. you poke your head into his studio in the wee hours of the morning to give him a fresh cup of coffee and he thanks you with soft, peppered kisses to your forehead.

thank you, baby. always taking such good care of me, baby.

but he doesn't hesitate to drop everything when you need him. if you get sick, he's got you propped up in bed with extra pillows, warm tea, homemade soup in the crockpot, and your favorite blanket. he reads to you when your eyelids get heavy, the low hum of his voice lulling you to sleep.

you love him despite his stubbornness. the way he reloads the dishwasher the way he wants to, insists he's not hungry even though he's been working on a script in his studio all day, tells you he's not tired in the wee hours of the morning only for you to find him asleep on his desk when you walk by with your bowl of cereal.

he wraps his arm around you, holds you tight to his side when you're out with friends, tangles his fingers with yours and stares down anyone who even looks in your direction. turns all doe-eyed and gooey when interviewers ask about you on the red carpet, and he tugs you in for a kiss on camera, wants everyone to know it's crystal clear that you're his his his.

and he's yours. yours.

yours.

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[crappymixtape]

notes on a bench

on your walk to work at the bookstore in hawkins, you usually sit for a minute to read in the park, but this time you get to your bench and find a scrap of note paper in your spot – so starts your correspondence with one S.H., his missing name tag, and one cancelled late fee | ( handwritten notes, kinda fluffy, teasing, strangers to friends to ?, steve x you, steve x reader – maybe i'll do a part two on this and write it out... )

N O T E S O N A B E N C H 🎵 unposted letters, liang lawrence

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

idk, man. sometimes you watch the opening of the S5 teaser a million times and change your entire tumblr theme cos the steve brain rot has you in such a fucking chokehold. that nose, that hair, that watch, those lips, the furrowed brow – honey, i'm ready to die.

[crappymixtape]

throwback to when i wrote this angsty piece, reminded me of it when the ST 5 teaser dropped todayyyy 🔥

this is how it ends

You went with everyone to kill Vecna, into the Upside Down, and you knew the risks, but none of you thought it would go this far – will you get to tell Steve how you really feel before it's too late? | (  2.8k, LOTS of angst, trauma, mentions of blood and violence, fluff, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

T H I S I S H O W I T E N D S 🎶 prospekt’s march, coldplay

Everyone dies.

You know that. We all know that. But you didn’t think it’d be like this. Didn’t think it would happen so soon. There was still so much to do, but then again maybe you’d done enough.

You’d done what you were supposed to at the Creel house, had lit Vecna’s ass on fire. Nancy dealing him the final blow with her sawed off shot gun, but when you’d all gone down to see, he wasn’t there. The only sign left was a burnt and smoking outline in the lawn and then the ticking had started.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Four chimes. Four deaths.

And then the ground had opened up, torn and ripped and swallowing everything into the burning, hungry, vine-thick gashes.

Not dead.

“We gotta get outta here! Get back to Eddie’s!”

Steve grabbed your hand and pulled you out the front door as soon as the shaking had stopped, racing after Nancy and Robin as they took the stairs by twos. You could hear the howling and baying of dark creatures in the distance as you ran through the Upside Down, lungs sucking in the air that was still thick with ash, suffocating, and all you wanted was out.

When Eddie’s trailer came into view you felt relief starting to wash over you.

Please let us get out.

You don’t know how your legs were still carrying you, but you pushed them even harder.

Please let us get out.

Nancy and Robin got to the door first, fighting against all the wire and mesh to try and get inside. “It’s us, Jesus! Open up!” Robin fisted the fence in her hands and shook it hard.

Afraid of what was trying to get through Dustin and Eddie didn’t open the door right away, but after hearing Robin’s voice they fumbled with the locks and makeshift enclosures finally yanking it open. You could hear them yelling as you and Steve sprinted after them across the road into Eddie’s yard.

“Dustin, Eddie, go! Go!”

“What happened??”

“I dunno, he’s gotta be hurt or something, we lit his ass on fire, but he’s not dead. We gotta get outta here.”

“Max.”

“I know, I know. C’mon, Steve!” Robin practically pleaded out the door at the two of you as you ran up on the trailer.

“Christ, we’re coming! C’mon, babe, you next,” Steve scrambled up the steps and moved to take your hand, but when he turned around you weren’t where you should’ve been at his side. Brows knitting together in confusion, his chest tightened with panic, and then he looked up.

You don’t know how or why it’d happened, but it did. You had been so close. Eddie’s trailer was right there. The gate was right there. All you had to do was crawl through it, but instead you were still out in the ash. Out in the thick, suffocating air with a demobat wrapping its tail around your throat and squeezing so tightly little pinpoints of light pressed against your vision.

You saw the look of horror on Steve’s face as he realized what was happening and the scream that came from him was enough to bring tears to your eyes. Were you going to die? Because that’s how Steve was acting and you weren’t ready to die, you weren’t ready to go. There were things left unsaid and the regret gnawing at the pit of your stomach felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

Steve!

You thought you were yelling, but nothing was coming out. Only strangled words dying in your throat as the demobat squeezed impossibly tighter. It flapped its wings and pulled so hard you felt your feet lift from the ground before everything tipped sideways and you slammed into the rough ground. You were dizzy with the lack of air as you fought against the panic that was now spreading like a fire within you. Fingers scrambling, your hands tried to pull at the bat, nails scraping against the desiccated creature’s skin, but it was useless. It was too tight. Too strong.

Everyone dies.

A soft, dark shroud started to close in at the edges of your vision, wrapping you tightly in its warmth and you felt yourself slowing. Suffocating. Your arms and legs moving like you were stuck in molasses and it felt like eons since you’d taken in a breath. You would’ve killed for one right now, even one filled with ash, but it didn’t come. Blinking slow you watched as forks of red lightning cracked the sky in two above you.

Please let us get out.

But as the demobat tail constricted around your neck again you started to accept the fact that maybe you wouldn’t. Tears streamed down your cheeks. Washing away the soot and dirt and mud that had gathered there. You wondered at the warm feeling spreading through you and the power it had to take away the pain that had been screaming at your neck.

Your eyes were getting heavy, but you didn’t want to close them, not yet. Where was Steve? Even if you weren’t going to make it, please, all you wanted was to hold his hand. See his face. The deep brown of his eyes, long dark lashes as they swept across his cheeks, the secret little constellations of freckles and moles that dotted the line of his jaw and down his neck and shoulders. Your Steve.

I love you, you thought and you wished you could’ve told him, but it was getting harder to keep your eyes open and when they finally closed you didn’t think you would open them again.

“God dammit, die! Fucking die!”

Steve was a mess as he sprinted back across the lawn and into the fray of demobats. He would’ve gotten to you sooner, but the swarm was thick and with Dustin on the other side there were only four of them able to fight now. Swinging his heavy axe through the air he was a blur, cutting down the dark creatures like it was nothing, the thought of losing you pushing him to keep going.

Robin, Nancy and Eddie didn’t hesitate to follow after in a frenzy, helping to keep them off of Steve. Off of you as you squirmed on the ground, but there were a lot and it was taking too long.

“Steve, there’s too many of them!” Nancy yelled, tears welling up in her eyes, but Steve refused to hear what she was trying to tell them.

“I can do it!” he yelled back, cutting through four more in one swing as he saw your eyes flutter closed. “No! Don’t go, not yet, please not yet!”

“Shit, shit, shit. Robin! Nancy!” Eddie followed close behind, trying to give Steve coverage as he reached you. “He’s got it, he’s got it!”

With a guttural sound, almost animalistic, Steve cut down the demobat that was cinched tight around your neck, cleaving it in half, and as its tail went limp he scooped you up into his arms.

“Sweetheart? Baby. Please, baby,” he was begging you, pleading you to stay with him, but you weren’t breathing and he felt tears coming on. “C’mon, stay with me, stay with me,” he sobbed, putting you back on the ground, lifeguard instincts flinging themselves forward as he started CPR.

One, two, three. Breathe.

One, two, three. Breathe.

“Babe, please,” his tears were falling onto your cheeks, your lashes, your nose as he continued compressions, gave you the very life from his lungs.

“Steve, we have to get out of here!” Nancy shot off the last of her shells and threw a look at Robin and Eddie.

Everyone dies.

“Stevie boy, I don’t know how much longer we’re gonna last!” Eddie called out to him, not even trying to cover the desperation in his voice, but he didn’t have to ask again as Steve gathered you up in his arms and lifted you both off the ground.

“I got a heartbeat!” Steve wanted nothing more than to just hold you close to him, to be still for just a minute, but he had to get you out.

“Shit, okay! Let’s go. Go!” Eddie turned and shoved Nancy and Robin back toward the trailer as the bats twisted in a cyclone, preparing their final assault, but somehow it never came.

Whether higher power or miracle, as Robin says, you all made it back through the gate to the other side, but when you all landed it wasn’t the happy reunion you’d imagined.

“We gotta to go to the hospital, Steve. We can’t fix this,” Dustin’s voice sounded far away as Steve heard him talking in the back of Eddie’s van.

“Steve?” this time it was Nancy. Putting a hand on his shoulder she squeezed and took his chin in her other hand, turning his face to look at her, “This is beyond us.”

He wanted to be strong for you, wanted to tell you everything would be alright, but as he watched your chest rising and falling in short, stuttered breaths he knew Nancy was right. Squeezing his eyes shut tight he pulled you into him, wrapped his arms around you and told Eddie to go to the hospital.

Everything was a blur as the van pulled too fast into the ER parking lot. So many people, so many bodies.

“Get this one in right away on a vent! Lacerations on the neck and multiple wounds to the torso!” a team of first responders surrounded Steve as soon as he lifted you from the van, shoving an oxygen mask onto your face.

“Sir, we’ve got it,” one of them said, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Sir, please, we don’t have time for this!” and one of the nurses pulled you from his arms, Robin having to wrap her arms around Steve’s as he tried to grab after you.

“Wait, please! Let me go! Please let me go too!” and Steve fell apart as he watched them carry you into the hospital. There were no gurneys left. The sea of other people that had been hurt in the wake of Vecna’s assault on the earth was overwhelming.

“Steve, you did everything you could,” Robin’s voice cracked as she tried to reassure him and he collapsed into her, sobs wracking his body.

“I’m gonna go ask what room,” Eddie’s voice was thick as he tried to hold back his own cries, trying to find something to keep him going, to keep the adrenaline from leaving, but it was hard. It was too much.

Too much for all of you. The heavy weight you’d carried all this time. The deaths. The horrors. The injuries. The blood the sweat the tears the heartache. All culminated in the ground ripping open and swallowing you into the bowels of hell.

Everyone dies.

“Lucas? Oh my god–”

“Lucas! Is she–”

“Max?? Oh shit, Max!”

And that was it, no one could do it anymore, no one could hold it together. Lucas, bloodied and broken was carrying Max, just like Steve had carried you, and when Steve saw the same pleading look in the younger boy’s eyes he felt everything unravelling.

Please let us get out.

“Multiple broken bones here! Tachy as well! Get her in a room now!” a first responder snatched Max from Lucas as he fell to his knees, sobs shaking him as he buried his face in his hands.

“Max! Max don’t go! Save her, please save her!” Lucas cried out as Nancy rushed forward to envelope him in her arms and she started to cry too. And then Eddie. And Robin. And finally Steve and they all held onto each other like it was all they had left. And it was in a way. But this couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be the end. Not like this.

Beep, beep, beep.

Mechanical sounds cut through the deepest sleep you’d ever had. Was it sleep? Or had you died?

Beep, beep, beep.

Your eyelids felt so heavy and your brows knitted together as you put all your energy into opening them. It took everything you had to do it, but slowly the world swam into focus, unconscious melting away into conscious.

You felt something hooked up to your arm, felt a mask covering your nose and mouth, felt a monitor squeezing your finger. A painting of fruit on the wall. Windows covered with slatted blinds. A clipboard at your feet. The hospital.

“Steve?” came out weak, but you found your voice and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

Everyone dies.

But not you. Not like that.

And then a warm, steady hand pressed into yours and the painted fruit disappeared behind the sweetest thing you’d ever laid your tired eyes on. A long sweep of lashes, deep brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips, and my god that smile. Even when it was pushed beyond exhaustion, sad, and weary, it still lit your heart on fire.

“Baby? Jesus, baby you’re awake. I–I thought I’d lost you, I thought I’d lost you,” he buried his head into your side, crying softly in relief, and let your blanket soak up his tears as his hands tightly squeezed yours.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” you teased weakly, trying to smile, but your throat tightened with a sob of your own.

Lifting his head he pulled a hand away from yours to gently tuck your flyaways behind your ear. “Shit,” he laughed, voice wobbling as he cried, “You’re telling me.” His brows were knitted together, disbelieving of what he was seeing, fingers tracing the line of your brow, down your cheek, the soft curve of your chin. “You were really gone,” he said barely above a whisper.

Squeezing your eyes closed you felt yourself fighting a losing battle with your own emotions and tears silently fell from between your lashes.

“I tried to say it,” you confessed through your tears, “But I–”

“Oh, sweetheart. Say what?”

Lifting your arms they shook with the effort, but Steve leaned up to hold you fast, hold you steady, and you smiled despite your crying. “I love you, Steve Harrington.”

And god the look on his face then. He bit his lips in between his teeth, fighting back the sob that was pushing its way into his chest, and shook his head. He sucked in a breath and leaned down to press his forehead against yours and whispered, “I love you too.”

“You’re awake??” Dustin’s voice jolted both of your eyes open and Steve sat straight up, hastily wiping his arm across his face at his tears, and fixed the younger boy with a look.

“Christ, Henderson," his voice was crackly from crying, "It’s a hospital. People are healing.” Still Steve. Still the babysitter.

“Max is too!” Dustin didn’t listen and plowed through Steve’s protests, “Holy shit, you had us all worried. Like, really worried.”

“Wait, Max is awake?” Steve didn’t even bother to try and mask the surprise and relief in his voice.

“Yeah, well no, but yes. She’s breathing and vital signs are all perfect, but–“

“But what?” you asked, afraid of the answer.

“She’s in a coma. The doctors don’t know when—if—she’ll wake up.”

Silence gripped the three of you tightly and you felt a knot in your stomach take hold.

“She didn’t have a heartbeat for over a minute,” Dustin said quietly and you looked down at your hands, at Steve’s fingers tangled up with yours and couldn’t help the guilt blooming in your chest.

“But she’s still here, and so are you,” Steve recovered quickly, trying to reassure you, trying to find the light in the dark and you looked up to meet his eyes.

“She’s just next door when you feel up to it,” Dustin said, giving your arm a soft squeeze. “Buddy, if you need anything too let me know,” he clapped his hand to Steve’s shoulder and smiled a small toothy smile before going back out into the hallway, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

You sat in the quiet for a moment, Steve still holding your hands, and everything hit you like a ton of bricks.

Please let us get out.

“Take this thing off,” you grumbled, anger and grief and frustration overwhelming you as you untangled the oxygen mask from your ears, yanking it down over your chin.

“Babe–”

“I’m fine!” your throat tightened, tears welling up against your lashes as you pushed yourself up to sit, taking Steve’s face in your hands. “I love you. I love you, Steve Harrington and I’ll say it until your name doesn’t make sense anymore,” you choked out. And then you pulled him into you and pressed a kiss to his lips, a kiss that said a thousand I love yous, made one hundred promises to never leave again.

“I love you, too” he whispered against you and the way he caught your lips between his said a thousand I love yous, the same silent promises, I'll never leave you again.

Everyone dies.

But not today.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[crappymixtape]

plus one

your roommate, steve, has a wedding to go to, but he doesn't have anyone to go with him, so you go as his date – he asks you to dance and that's when it hits you...could you be more than just a plus one? | (  2.7k, banter, fluff, grumpy x sunshine, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

P L U S O N E 🎵 sophisticated lady, taft jordan

It was supposed to be easy. A simple solution to an annoying problem: Steve needed a plus one to his best friend’s wedding, and his roommate, you, were definitely, 100% available. The only thing was that you were a total skeptic who didn’t believe in true love, and liked dancing even less than you liked forced small talk.

“C’mon, what d’you have to lose?”

Leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom, Steve absentmindedly picked at a loose thread along the bottom hem of his shirt. His chestnut locks tumbling over his forehead, still mussed from sleep, the tank top stretching across his chest showing off his bare shoulders and all the new moles and freckles that summer had gifted him.

You pushed a sigh through your nose, trying your best to ignore him as you swiped mascara across your lashes.

“I have my dignity,” you said flatly to his reflection in the mirror, his brown eyes turned amber in the early morning sun.

“Please,” he whined, “Listen, I’ll set you up. You know? So you can do your thing. Be your wingman–er–whatever.”

“My wingman?” you asked, brow quirked, your skepticism pushing Steve off the doorframe.

“Fine. Anti-wingman?” His eyes flickered playfully, teasing, and you turned away from the mirror to look at him in real life.

“You know I hate weddings,” you protested, lips firmed in a line.

“But there’s free food, and booze, and–” Steve’s brow furrowed in thought, “–and I’ll do your laundry and the dishes for a week.”

“You seriously don’t have anyone else to ask?”

The silence that followed told you he didn’t.

You sighed. “Two weeks.”

“Two?”

“Alright, you have fun,” you replied dismissively, turning around to lean over the bathroom sink again.

“Okay, okay–two weeks.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his in the mirror again, his expression edging on desperate.

“Two weeks,” you echoed. “Also, you’re the worst.”

“And you’re a menace.”

“Get out of my bathroom, Steve,” you quipped, pinning your hair back. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

“You’re never late.”

Nudging his knee into the crook of yours, he made you buckle, grabbing at the lip of the counter so you wouldn’t fall.

“Shit–Steve!” you swatted at him, and he dodged it with a laugh.

“See you at five!”

Summer weddings were all the same: big, bright peonies, light, gauzy fabrics, and wood circles under everything. The ceremony was always under a flower arch, the groomsman always wore brown chelseas and grey suits, and the bride always cried halfway through her ‘handwritten’ vows.

“So sweet,” Steve whispered, elbow gently bumping into yours, and you shook your head.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that speech on Pinterest.”

“Hey.”

“What? I could’ve done better than that, and I don’t even have anyone to write them about.”

Fixing you with a look, Steve clicked his tongue just as the officiant announced the newlyweds.

“Let’s go, Robs and Nance!” he cheered, pushing a whistle between his fingers while you clapped begrudgingly next to him.

The last time you’d been to a wedding was four years ago when your brother married his now ex-wife, and everyone saw how that turned out. Still, you had the bridesmaids’ dress, but when you tried to squeeze into it, it didn’t fit anymore. Grumbling, you’d dug around in your closet for something, anything, that wouldn’t have you sweating before the ceremony had even started, until something bright caught your eye.

Shoved at the very back of your closet was a light, floor-length, skinny-strapped, peachy colored sundress that dipped down to the small of your back. It still had the tags on it, but when you tugged it over your head, the reflection looking back at you in the mirror was pleasantly unfamiliar. Someone softer, not so sharp around the edges, and with an easy confidence. Even though you didn’t recognize her, you wondered for a minute if maybe this version of you could exist.

When you’d walked out into the living room to show Steve, you couldn’t help noticing how his sunkissed cheeks had gone warm and rosy.

“Wow–er–I mean–you look really nice.”

He stumbled over his words, the lack of teasing catching you off guard, and you left the house in Steve’s BMW with a foreign kind of tension between you. Air pulled taut like it was before a thunderstorm, thick with words unsaid until you pulled up to the venue and picked up your usual charade of banter.

Just friends.

“While we let the brides have a minute to themselves, please make your way over to the reception!” the officiant announced through squealing feedback on the mic, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ll see name cards have been placed at each table – find your name and a drink, and we’ll see you soon!”

Piano notes picked up, joined by a brassy trumpet, and smooth bass guitar thrums that wove through the late-afternoon heat. A haze had settled over the wide expanse of lawn dotted with tables and chairs, dappled in the rays of sun that crept between a stretching canopy of ash and oak branches. A very classy affair in a ‘rustic’ setting that you were sure had been orchestrated by an overpaid coordinator determined to avoid a bridezilla moment.

“This is nice,” Steve hummed at your side as you queued for a drink at the bar.

“Nicer after I get a drink,” you joked back at him, and it earned you a long side-eye.

“C’mon. It’s not that bad.”

Dropping your gaze to her feet, you pushed a sigh from your lungs, picking at the new manicure on your fingers.

“Let’s have fun,” Steve murmured, bumping the toe of his boot into your espadrille. “When do we ever get to let loose for a minute? You’re always working, and I’m always being obnoxious.”

You snorted a laugh and looked up at him, “I don’t know if you’re always obnoxious.”

He grinned, “Well, then I’ll have to double my efforts. Let me get you a drink.” Sticking his arm out, you looped yours into the crook of his elbow.

When he tugged you into his side for a brief second, you found herself wrapped up in the tart scent of neroli, fresh laundry, his woodsy aftershave, and the coconut sunscreen you’d made him put on right before you got out of the car. Your gaze drifted down, noticing how he absentmindedly smoothed his fingers over the bump of your knuckles, and your cheeks warmed at the sensation, your body hyperaware of every single touch point between you. The loop of your arms, his fingers on your hand, the crisp fabric of his button-down on your bare skin, the hem of his sleeve as it stretched across his bicep.

“You in there?”

You sucked in a gasp and blinked up at Steve.

“What?”

“What would you like to drink?” he asked through a chuckle.

“Oh–uh–rosé would be great, thank you.”

Steve’s mouth tugged up at the corner as he gave you that boyish, lopsided grin. “Great,” he said, turning back to the bartender. “One rosé and one whiskey, neat, please.”

“Actually, I’m gonna go find the bathroom. Meet you back at the table?” you said through an uncharacteristically weak smile.

His brows pinched together, You okay? But nodded at you anyway. “Sounds good.”

As soon as you turned away from him, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, hands gathering up fistfuls of the long fabric of your dress. “He’s your roommate. Your super fucking annoying roommate who leaves trash all over the apartment. God–” you shook her head at yourself, “–get it together, you idiot.”

When you came out of the tiny, but ‘bougie’ bathroom trailer, the reception was fully underway. Guests milled around the lush, green lawn, drinks in hand, laughter growing by the minute as they imbibed in the waning, late-afternoon heat. An ocean breeze had decided to pick up as the sun crept further down the horizon, its rays splaying out and washing everything in gold.

Weaving your way through the crowd, you looked for Steve in the buzz of conversation and occasional exclamation of recognition – Haven’t seen you in forever! – But it was harder to see now as the strings of bistro lights looped around the property, casting shadows to dance across the lawn.

“I love your dress!” A hand reached out to touch the soft fabric of your outfit.

“Oh,” you stuttered, startled, "Yeah–thanks. Thank you.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Uh–I can’t remember. Maybe somewhere down off Melrose?”

“Well, it’s perfect. Bet your boyfriend loves it too,” the woman grinned, nodding just to her left where you finally spotted Steve talking to a man with navy suspenders and horn-rimmed glasses.

An awkward laugh caught in your throat, “He’s actually not my–”

“Vicki?? Sorry, hon. One sec–Vicki, oh my god! You look amazing!”

The woman pushed past you, completely abandoning your conversation to gather up what was apparently a long-lost friend in a giant hug.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you mumbled to yourself, walking over to Steve until you were within earshot of his conversation.

“Isn’t that your roommate, Harrington?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah it is.”

You stopped at the mention of your name, watching as Steve talked with this friend of his. Now that you could see them better, you recognized him. You couldn’t remember his name, but knew he tried to get lunch or coffee with Steve every couple of weeks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with her hair down. Doesn’t she work in design?” the friend asked, and your cheeks flushed pink. Your hair was thick and a lot of work, of course, you never wore it down.

“She’s a producer for Valley Film, they just finished up a short for some director out of San Diego.”

“Oh shit, that’s cool.”

Unsure of how much longer you could linger that close to them without looking weird, you shifted on her feet, uncomfortable at your eavesdropping, but what Steve said next froze you in place.

“They’re starting to get some awards buzz, so she’s been super busy; everyone wants to work with her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s one of the most talented producers on the West Coast. I’m really proud of her.”

I’m really proud of her.

Your eyes flicked away from the band to look at Steve to see he was looking back, the smile on his face one you hadn’t seen before. Fond, sweet, and something else.

Something warmer.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab a bite. Catch you in a bit,” Steve excused himself and moved around his friend, heading straight for the charcuterie board table – and you.

The tension that had stretched between you before reappeared; had it ever left? And as Steve walked across the lawn, you became acutely aware of him.

Steve.

Your roommate.

Your best friend.

All of his little idiosyncrasies.

The way his fingers twisted at the silver band on his thumb when he was bored, the little crinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he was really smiling, the low rumble in his chest when he knew he shouldn’t be laughing, but did anyway.

His voice and the way it sounded wrapped around her name.

“Hey, you.”

Your stomach flipped over, caught, “Hi.”

His smile softened, tinged at the edges with what was maybe the same anticipation that had reached up and grabbed hold of you.

Lifting a hand to your face, Steve tucked a flyaway behind your ear, dashing what little confidence you had left with a single touch.

“Who’s that?” you asked, anything to scramble back to ‘normal’ as he shot a glance over his shoulder.

“Eddie? Oh, we roomed together in college.”

“Right.” Eddie. “Just catching up?”

“Yeah. Talking about you, actually.”

Your pulse fluttered against your neck; so much for back to normal.

“Me?” you huffed an awkward laugh, grabbing a couple of grapes from the appetizer table and shoving them into your mouth. “You tell him you’re on the hook to do my laundry for two weeks? Sucker.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “That’d blow my cover,” he shot you a lopsided grin. “No, Eds, I definitely didn’t bribe my plus one.”

Soft drums picked up on the other side of the room as the band started playing opening notes for a new song, and Steve glanced down at you, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey, would you want to dance with me–”

“–is this a date?”

Your questions blurred together, asked simultaneously, cutting both of you short, and Steve’s face flushed up to his ears.

“Steve…” you said, quieter than usual, hesitant.

You watched as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, a look on his face you’d never seen before. A muddled mixture of guilt, curiosity, and something else. Something that swam through your bloodstream, slow and warm.

“I mean, you’re my date to the wedding?” he joked weakly, but the way you were looking at him had his half-facade cracking and falling away. Loosing a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, tongue jammed into his cheek like he did when he was thinking through things. “We’ve been roommates for…”

“Two years,” you said, filling in the gap he’d left behind.

Glancing up, Steve’s eyes met yours, all brown sugar and burnt caramel in the low light.

“And friends since…?”

“Fourth grade,” you finished, lips tugging up at the corners in a small smile.

“You’re my best friend,” he confessed, voice low like a secret, his words planting themselves between your ribs like wildflowers; bright little things that brushed at your insides, hummingbird wings against your chest, pushing you to be brave.

“Mine too,” you realized, then gently teased, “Except when you leave your half-empty ramen cups on the coffee table.”

Steve huffed a guilty laugh, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, then sobered, “I was hoping maybe if you came with me it’d–I dunno–show you that we’re good together. You know. Like…more than just friends.”

More than just friends.

More than just your obnoxious roommate.

Your friend.

Your best friend.

The one who picked you up from work when your car broke down. The one who remembered how much you hated celebrating your birthday and stayed home to binge-watch old horror movies with you instead. The one who told his friends how proud he was of you. Told you you were beautiful with your hair up, and humored your jaded attitude, and pushed you to try new things. Things you learned to love, not because they were new, but because he was there.

“Good together,” you echoed softly, lifting your gaze to meet his brown eyes, warm and hazy like whiskey, long lashes fanning out across his cheeks.

“What d’you think?” he asked tentatively.

“I think I’m grumpy and you’re…you’re like sunshine,” you said through a small grin, “How’s that work?”

Steve laughed, a low, warm thing that turned your insides to goo.

“You keep my feet on the ground, and I remind you it’s okay to have a little fun sometimes,” he assessed, solving the last piece of the equation for you.

“I like fun,” you pushed, grin growing, and he gave it right back.

“You do,” he mused, tangling his fingers up with yours. “Is dancing considered fun?”

“Only at weddings.”

“Well, I don’t know if you know,” he teased, “But we’re at a wedding.”

“We are?” you played along.

“Mmhm, and there’s a dance floor right over there,” he pointed with his free hand.

“What a coincidence.”

He lifted his brows at you, Come with me? And it made you put your hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wooden platform as he stepped up to the dancefloor.

You took one of his hands and pressed it to your waist, warm and wide at the plush of your hip, and started moving you both in time with the smooth notes coming from the band.

“Not my fault if I step on your toes, by the way. I’m shit at dancing,” you confessed, voice small, a little playful, and a lot vulnerable, and it made him smile.

“Worth it.”

The soft sounds coming from the piano wrapped around you, and Steve pulled you a little closer, your head gently resting against his chest. His heartbeat thudded in your ear, warm and steady, and you smiled into his shirt, content to stay just like this.

His more-than-friend.

The grumpy to his sunshine.

His plus one.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

in prep for the stevie fic i'm ( hopefully ) finishing today – eddie and reader at a wedding and he helps her get over her ex 😛😍

EDIT -> stevie fic posted here!!

faking it • part one

you have to go to a wedding dateless now thanks to your ex, but somehow you make a new friend and he makes you forget all about what’s-his-face ( eddie x reader, strangers -> friends / kinda lovers )

F A K I N G I T •  P A R T O N E

🎶 you're so, milk

“Shit,” you hissed at the reflection of yourself in the mirror, pale peachy fabric of your dress wrinkling in all the wrong places. It didn’t fit at home like it did at the store and you had exactly one hour before you had to be at the venue.

Quickly rummaging through your closet you searched for something, anything else that would work. Short black mini, no. Bright red sundress, no. Horrible, weird, green bridesmaid dress from the last wedding, absolutely not.

Groaning you kept flipping through hangers one after the other, lump in your throat growing, anxiety slipping around you tightly, so damn frustrated and angry and wanting to just crawl under your covers and eat ice cream.

Maybe you’d be fine if shit hadn’t hit the fan a few weeks prior. A few weeks before your best friend’s wedding. Maybe it’d be okay if your now ex-boyfriend hadn’t been a complete asshole. Maybe going to an event with everyone from high school would suck less if you weren’t going alone now, but you weren’t going to let him ruin it. You wanted to be there for your friend, had to be there for her, and then suddenly your eyes landed on it.

A pretty yellow thing. Like buttercups and the color of the sky as the sun rose in the wee hours of the morning and when you slipped into it you felt yourself come back. Felt the lump in your throat soften, a small smile pulling up at the corners of your lips.

You looked good and dammit you were going to have a good time.

Heels were a guarantee you’d fall within the first five minutes of arriving and you certainly weren’t trying to impress anyone, so you grabbed your Chucks out from under your bed, touched up your mascara and hurried out the door with your gift under your arm.

It was a perfect day, not too hot, not too cold, and the venue was gorgeous. Nestled in the forest outside of Hawkins, there were little tables and a dance floor and a beautiful arch draped with flowers and greenery, ready for the bride and groom to say ‘I Do’ and you lingered for a bit by the gift table, taking it all in.

People were milling around, talking and catching up and you tried your best to look interested in the vases at the end of each row of chairs. Picked at the burlap covering the guestbook table. Wandered off a little further than everyone else so that maybe you could avoid questions.

“Where’s your man?”

“You gonna be up there next?”

“He better not wait too much longer to ask!”

It worked for a little while until you heard the conversation grow louder near the bar. A few gasps, a couple of whoops, whispers. It pulled your gaze and when you looked up you thought you were going to be sick.

Your ex.

With Penny Arnold on his arm.

Fussing over him and straightening his tie and pressing kisses to his cheek and clasping his hand in hers as she gushed to the people who’d greeted them.

“Penny, you look incredible!”

“Oh my god, your dress is gorgeous!”

“I didn’t know you two were seeing each other!”

Your heart hammered in your chest, panic squeezing you tight, breaths falling quick and stuttered from your lips and you had to leave.

Despite being out in the middle of nowhere, the forest felt like it was closing in around you as you dug in your purse for your keys until the sound system scratched with a voice.

“Hello, all! If everyone can please be seated, Steve and the beautiful bride are ready to get started. You’ll find your name on your chair, so get settled and don’t be shy! Make a new friend on this wonderful day of celebrating love!”

Your stomach lurched. Too late. Everyone would notice. And did you really want to miss this? Your best friend’s wedding? Taking in a deep breath you tried to slow your heart rate, tried to calm down. It was going to be okay. Just get through the ceremony and then you could go.

Ducking your head you quickly glanced at each of the seats, eyes scanning the assigned seating and praying to god that they’d remembered to move you away from him, your ex.

Please, please, please.

Your heart was racing as you walked along the rows of chairs, eyes frantically searching for your name. They had to have moved you and finally you found it near the back on the end. The perfect hiding spot out of view behind a bunch of other people and when you saw E. Munson next to you instead of J. Carver you let out a breath of relief, not realizing you’d been holding it.

“So, new friends, huh?”

A voice over your shoulder made you jump a bit and you turned quickly, coming face-to-face with someone very much not dressed for a wedding.

He was tall and a little lanky with long brown curls and even longer lashes. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Wide and warm and friendly. Dimples pinching into his cheeks and eyes all brown sugar and cinnamon and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he rubbed at the back of his neck, looking over at you through the long sweep of his lashes and you felt yourself melt.

“S’alright,” you tried to recover, tucking a stray lock of hair out of your face, smile pulling at your lips when you finally took in his outfit. Black jeans, black boots, and a black t-shirt with a tuxedo printed on the front, “Nice suit,” you teased, smile growing a bit.

“Oh, this old thing? Yeah, had to get it dry cleaned. Was pretty wrinkly,” he played along and your smile shifted into a grin. He was funny.

“What’s the E stand for?”

“Edward,” he said, all mock-finery. Poking fun at prim and proper as he pretended to adjust the tie printed on his shirt, smirking as he jammed his hands into pockets. “Joking, please don’t call me that,” he said with a small laugh and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth, cheeks hurting from smiling so much already. “It’s Eddie. Or Eds. Or Munson I guess, if I get into trouble. I smoked in my van on the way over, but might need to sneak off later–” he winked at you conspiratorially and your stomach flipped over, “–not gonna rat me out, are you?”

“Oh god, no,” fell out too quickly and you felt a blush creep across your cheeks. “I mean–secret’s safe with me,” and you twisted your fingers over your lips and threw away an invisible key.

“Knew you were a good one,” his grin softened, reaching down to pick up your name cards from both chairs. “We’re probably gonna get yelled at if we don’t sit down. Carol Harrington seems sweet, but seriously. Don’t fuck with her,” his expression shifted quite serious and your eyes grew wide as you quickly took your seat.

“Really? She looks so nice,” you stole a glance up toward the front at Steve’s parents, his mom already holding a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes.

“Oh yeah. Been chased outta her pool more than few times,” Eddie shook his head and sat next to you, kicking his feet up on the chair ahead of him. You caught the scent of leather and patchouli, a little skunky like weed and something softer. Maybe rosemary or lavender and it made your cheeks warm again.

“Note to self, don’t mess with Carol,” you quietly teased as the guests settled and Eddie shot you another grin.

“Exactly,” he whispered back and for a split second Eddie gave you the gift of not thinking about your ex, not even once, and it felt really, really nice.

The ceremony was gorgeous of course. Everyone laughed when Dustin came down the aisle as flower girl, somehow perfectly scattering his little basket of flower petals. Steve cried a little bit when he read his vows, but all the while with a big smile on his face and your friend was beautiful. Stunning. So happy and in love as she and Steve walked past you after the ceremony, and while you wanted to leave, avoid your ex and get out of there, you knew you couldn’t. Not now.

This? Right now? Was for your friend and, more importantly, you had to figure out how in the hell you were gonna make it through the rest of the damn night.

“Heard they got ice cream instead of a cake.”

“What?” your eyes flicked up to see your new friend, tuxedo shirt on full display and that wide warm smile turning your insides to goo.

“My money’s on Harrington playing it safe and not smearing it all over her face, what d’you think?” he asked, smile shifting mischievous, dimples pinched into his cheeks and the way you grinned back made you feel like an idiot.

All of a sudden the rest of the evening didn’t feel so daunting.

“How much money?” you teased and he took on a thoughtful expression, eyes crinkling at the corners as he hummed.

“Don’t make a habit of taking money from nice girls, but–” he winked and your heart stuttered in your chest, “–ten bucks? And loser has to take a shot.”

You stuck a hand out. Lips firmed into a line. Trying to be serious and trying to play along but you weren’t good at holding it like Eddie was and had to drop your gaze so your smile wouldn’t give you away. “Deal,” you half-laughed.

But then his hand was taking yours, squeezed tight, rough callouses on his fingers brushing across the back of your hand and you felt your cheeks warm. Swallowed against the way your heart leapt and when he let go an ache bloomed in your chest.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, still grinning at you, “I’ll take a shot in solidarity.”

Your mouth fell open, mock offense, music filling the space around you as the bar opened up, “Think you know Steve that well?”

Eddie huffed, pushed air through pursed lips and shook his head, curls bouncing with the movement, “Oh yeah, without a doubt.”

“Okay, hot shot,” you teased, “Hope you like tequila.”

“Ah, shit. I really thought you’d be more the whiskey type–“

“–always tequila. Espolòn, blanco,” another voice cut in and the sound filled you with dread.

Pulled at your insides and threatened to drag you down into the floor. Made your arms feel like they were full of lead and every tiny bit of relief Eddie had poured into you emptied out like water through a sieve.

Your ex.

“Who’s your date?” Jason asked you, appraising Eddie all aloof and unsatisfied as he fingered the bright gold cuff link on the sleeve of his suit jacket.

You choked on your words, felt them die in your throat as you tried to put yourself back together and stand up for yourself, but then Eddie’s hand was at your waist. Tugging you in close and holding you tight to him as he gave Jason a certified shit-eating grin. All show and bravado and confidence.

“Eddie,” he said simply, tone assertive enough to make Jason’s brows lift ever so slightly and he chuckled under his breath.

“Interesting choice of outfit, Eddie,” Jason dumped emphasis on the other man’s name, eyes shifting sharper, sucked on his teeth and turned back to you. “Hope you enjoy yourselves,” he sneered, propping up a fake smile as he flicked his gaze back to Eddie, “But careful with this one, Ed. She can be a little…messy.”

Your face burned, heart pounding against your rib cage, anxiety gripping you like a vice as his words hit you like truck.

A mess.

A fucking mess.

“You’re embarrassing me! Crying at a party, Christ.”

“Embarrassing you?? Jesus, Jason. What d’you want me to do? Go give her a hug and say, ‘Oh my god, Penny. Hope my boyfriend was a good fuck!’?”

“That’s not the point, I–”

“Not the point–I literally just caught you, my boyfriend, pants down in the bathroom with someone else. And it’s not even the first time!”

“You drink too much, blow everything out of proportion and get on my ass about shit and–”

“Wha— I do it, it’s overreacting, but if you do it it’s ‘just a little fun.’”

“I’m done with this. It’s obvious you can’t handle me. You’re a fucking mess.”

A mess.

“Ah,” Eddie clicked his tongue and pulled you even closer. “We’re all a little messy, man,” and then he leaned in toward Jason, “I’d say you hide it well, but the fuck-you look on your face really gives it away.”

The color drained from Jason’s face, mouth hung open and scrambling for a come back, but he wasn’t quick enough and instead made a strangled sound of departure before turning and walking away.

Eddie’s expression softened and you felt him press his hand to your waist, silently reassuring, and he dropped his gaze down to look at you. “You okay?” he asked gently, big brown eyes searching yours, the wide expanse of his hand warm and steady and holding you together.

“Shit,” you cursed quietly, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to not let it get to you. To tell yourself it didn’t matter anymore and that there was a reason he was your ex and he and Penny deserved each other and–

“Here,” Eddie took your hand and pressed it to his chest. Placed it over the cracked and faded carnation printed on his shirt. Pushed gently at your hip and started up slow steps in time with the song playing through the speakers. Smiled at you soft and sweet and chased Jason’s words from your mind. “Hm?” he hummed in question, brows quirking up a little, “Better?”

You huffed a small laugh and looked down at your feet. Black Chucks. Black boots. Slivers of skin peeking through the rips in Eddie’s faded black jeans. Your buttercup yellow dress a flash of color you wouldn’t normally wear, but it felt nice right now. Just like Eddie’s hand felt nice on your waist.

Pulling your gaze back up to him you tried a smile. “Better,” you admitted, lifting your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “Where did you even come from, Eddie Munson?” you asked, a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment, searching those big, brown eyes of his and Eddie’s smile widened.

“Forest Hills Trailer Park, baby,” he grinned, giving you another little wink before sobering a bit, fingers shifting lightly on your waist, “Nah. I dunno. Who cares about where you came from. You gotta decide where you wanna be.”

Where you wanna be.

Where did you want to be? Quite frankly the last three weeks had you second-guessing everything you’d wanted. Had you feeling like someone had put your life in a blender and spat it back out all over the floor.

A mess.

Jason had wanted to stay in Hawkins. Took the assistant Basketball coach job at the high school and so you stayed too. Tried to open your own boutique. Tried to save up for a place of your own and wanted so badly to put the pieces of this future together, but it was like putting a square peg in a round hole.

Yes, you’d loved him, why else would you have stayed? But as each little argument unraveled you felt yourself growing further and further apart. The tiny voice at the back of your mind screaming at you to leave this shitty little town. Go to the city and open your studio there. Explore and get away from all of this and be who you really wanted to be.

And even though you still felt like your heart was in a million little pieces there was this guy. This sweet, funny, smart ass, witty-as-hell guy standing up for you and dancing with you and smiling at you and somehow helping put your heart back together.

“Where d’you wanna be?” you finally asked him, hand still pressed to his shoulder as he turned you around the dance floor.

“Hm,” he mused quietly, mulling things over, a small pinch between his brows appearing as he thought. “Philly? Chicago? Hell, anywhere but here,” he finally said, his non-decision making him chuckle a little as he looked back down at you. Eyes warm and hazy like whiskey, lashes fanning out across his cheeks.

God, you were pretty. And funny. And quick on your feet and shit he felt like an idiot before he even opened his mouth.

“Hey, listen. You wouldn’t wanna–” he started, but then shook his head, “–nah. Shit. Forget it.”

“No, now you have to tell me!” you insisted, pausing mid-dance, and Eddie could feel the heat creeping across his cheeks and up to his ears.

“It’s dumb, you wouldn’t want to–”

“–try me,” you cut in, grabbed his hand again and it pulled the corner of his mouth up into a lopsided smile.

“D’you wanna get outta here?” he asked, your insistence making him feel a little braver, a little bolder, and it lit a fire in your chest.

Biting your lips between your teeth against a smile you nodded at him, feeling silly, feeling excited, his hesitations all but gone at the look on your face.

“Seriously?” he asked, just to make sure, and it pulled a laugh from you.

“Only if it’s to that shitty diner off the highway,” you teased a little and it made him grin, dimples pinching at his cheeks, his brown eyes glinting with just a tiny bit of mischief and it made your stomach flip over.

“Deal,” he agreed, grin still playing on his lips and when he took your hand and led you back out down the gravel path and away from the party you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so light.

crappymixtape™ • eddie munson masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[crappymixtape]

substack

started a substack in preparation for the query trenches – if anyone wants a link to subscribe, hit me up ✌🏼 love you! and i've got more stevie for you...coming this afternoon 👀 keeeeep an eye!!

[crappymixtape]

hey, friends! seeing a bunch of new faces popping up in my notifs and wanted to share my nav — it’s mostly steve ( with a sprinkle of eddie and tyler owens ) — m’still kinda on hiatus with my book, but writing now and again! either way, thank you for reading about my idiots in love, and i’m so glad you’re here :] 🫶🏼

navigation

❝ masterlist /↭/ ao3 /↭/ guidelines /↭/ about /↭/ playlists /↭/ fic recs /↭/ kofi /↭/ tarot reading ❞

🪐 among the stars; part I • part II • part III ( steve x alien!reader ) 18+ 👊 stand on my own ( mechanic!steve x you ) 🌘 because of you; part I • part II • part III • part VI • part V, epilogue ( steve x you – request! ) 18+ 🌾 tangled; part I • part II ( flynn rider!steve x you ) 🌪 hang on tight, baby; part I • part II • part III ( tyler owens x you ) 18+ ☀️ summer blurb party ( CLOSED — ask box full ) 18+ breathe you in • baby let me in • sweet like summer • come a little closer

WORKS IN PROGRESS

🌾 tangled – flynn rider!steve x you ( a rapunzel au ) 🔑 room 142 – steve x you 🖥 we fell in love on the internet – steve x you – series

WHO YOU SHOULD READ

there are so many incredible writers on here! i'll add more to this list, but for now this is who i read on the regular ♥️

☀ @inkluvs ☀ @fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat ☀ @carolmunson ☀ @abibliophobiaa ☀ @dukesmebby ☀ @finalgirleddiemunson ☀ @curseofaphrodite ☀ @softharrington ☀ @starrystevie ☀ @acourtofsnakes ☀ @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis ☀ @a-dealwith-god ☀ @keeryshousee ☀ @lofaewrites ☀ @wroteclassicaly ☀ @katyswrites ☀ @schoopsahoy ☀ @andvys ☀ @chestylarouxx ☀ @supernovafics ☀ @superblysubpar ☀ @sswwmmpptthhnngg ☀ @harrywavycurly ☀ @thyme-in-a-bubble ☀ @lovebugism ☀ @sailor-steve-blog ☀ @sattlersquarry ☀ @plainemmanem ☀ @skullrock ☀

@curiositydooropened ☀ @luveline ☀ @stvharrngton ☀ @loveshotzz ☀ @forever-rogue ☀ @forevermoreharrington ☀ @livingintheupsidedown ☀ @annab-nana ☀ @familyvideostevie ☀ @theemporium ☀ @1986harrington ☀ @lucasnclair ☀ @roanniom ☀ @upsidedownwithsteve ☀ @stevebabey ☀ @starryeyedstories ☀ @kimmyiewrites ☀ @softharrington ☀ @hollandweather ☀ @palmtreesx3 ☀ @stevesbabysittingservice ☀ @princessdave ☀ @sweetsweetjellybean ☀ @fettuccin-e ☀ @honeymunson ☀ @usedtobecooler ☀ @aloneinthehellfire ☀ @poguemunson ☀ @myobmaya ☀ @reputationmunson ☀ @sincerelyyoursg ☀ @harringtons-cupid ☀ @spinmewriteround

THE RULES

🚫 no hate speech, no -isms of any kind, and no harassment will be tolerated here – take part in any of it ( even once ) and you'll get blocked 💋 some of my content is 18+ ( marked as such ) so please be aware when reading 🔄  please reblog and / or comment on my work when you like it! it makes all the difference and helps me know what to write more of! 🤖 i do not consent for any of my work to be fed into AI or used for AI-generated work – all writing here on this page is my intellectual property and anyone stealing work will be pursued with legal action.

[crappymixtape]

god damn book update:

this shit WILL get published — OVER MY DEAD BODY I WILL BE A PUBLISHED AUTHOR!! 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

[crappymixtape]

shortest stevie smut i’ve written, but damn it’s 🔥🔥🔥

tell me when

steve’s had a type for more than a while, all soft and cute and nancy wheeler and not you, but you’re around each other all the time lately it feels like, have been with each other before and in the heat of the moment it slips out – you ask him to be a little rough with it and it surprises steve how much he wants to please you… *18+ only | ( 431 words – smut, sprinkle of fluff, friends with benefits to something more? steve x you, steve x reader )

T E L L M E W H E N 🎶 the feels, labrinth

The first time you told Steve to pull your hair it blew his pupils wide. Made his breath catch in his throat as he swallowed hard against the nerves that had flickered and caught fire in his chest.

You weren’t like the other girls.

Please, Steve.

Weren’t precious.

I’m okay.

You were soft sometimes, but other times – most times – you weren’t.

I’ll tell you when.

And the feeling it gave him was unlike anything else. The feeling he got when he pulled moans from you. When your hand flew up to hold onto his bicep for dear life. When you trusted him with what you really wanted. Your words planted in his chest and blooming between his ribs and making him feel electric. Making him feel like you held the entire universe and all the galaxies and stars in your hands and all he could do was look on in awe.

The soft slope of your neck. The dip of your hips. The curve of your body fitted perfectly against his. The way your fingers traced lines across his skin and set his heart on fire and brought him to his knees. The way you met his gaze, swam in his eyes all liquid amber and burnt caramel, didn’t shy away and held him there suspended between you and ecstasy.

Harder, Steve.

Your wish was his command. The words as they fell from your lips the very ritual he would follow, whatever it took to wrap his arms around you and pull you over the edge. Whatever it took to feel the sharp of your nails pressing half moons among the constellations of freckles and moles on his back.

Anything to hear your breath hitch in your throat.

Oh, god, Steve.

Anything to make your legs wrap tighter around his torso.

Don’t stop, Steve.

Anything to hear you say his name over and over and over until you couldn’t say it anymore and your voice shifted needy. Pulled those soft, sweet sounds from you and pushed them into something warmer. Something hotter and so desperate for release that when you both finally snapped, wrapped and wound so tightly against one another you could barely breathe. He didn't want anyone else.

Only you.

So good, Steve.

Only you and all of your unknowns.

Make me feel so good.

Only you and everything that came with uncovering this braver world of bearing it all. Unafraid and brightly bound and unapologetically you and the way your hair felt soft in his hand as he pulled and made you see heaven.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

c'mon, baby, light my fire

you're in your best friend steve's garage, watching him change the oil on his BMW, when he reminds you it's movie night with the gang, but you don't feel up to it because your boyfriend just dumped you – he says you spend too much time with steve – and maybe he's right | (  2.4k, angst, banter, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

C ' M O N, B A B Y, L I G H T M Y F I R E 🎵 right here waiting for you, richard marx

It was impossible.

Being friends with Steve.

Because he opened the car door for you. Because he walked you home from the Wheeler’s when it got dark. Because he knew how to pull giggles from you on the couch when he squeezed at your thighs and teased a smile out of you, telling you how that guy wasn’t worth your tears.

Because he’d hold your hand when the movie was too scary and because every single laugh he gave you was like treasure. Glittering and gold and precious and–

“Hey, Princess, toss me that towel, will ya?”

Steve’s head appeared out from under the hood of his BMW, grease smudged across his forehead under the curl of hair that had fallen into his eyes. He refused to get his oil changed at the shop, learned how to do it himself in high school to save money, but mostly to show his dad he wasn’t afraid of a little hard work.

You were sitting on the work bench, wood rough under your thighs, your own forehead dewy from the summer heat. Grabbing the ripped-up scrap of fabric, you balled it up and threw it toward Steve’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” he caught it without looking, then dipped back under the hood. “Almost done here.”

“M’not in a rush,” you insisted and he peeked back out to give you a grin.

“You’re not?”

You quirked a brow at his question, “Should I be?”

“It’s movie night,” he reminded before disappearing again.

“Don’t think I’ll make it.”

You tried your best to sound casual, but the grunt that came from under the hood told you he didn’t buy it. His feet shuffled under the car as he grunted again and you pictured him muscling the oil cap back on tight.

He’d have to excuse you, but hanging out with everyone pretending to be fine three days after your boyfriend, your ex boyfriend, broke up with you didn’t sound like fun.

“Won’t make it, huh?” he asked through another noise of effort.

“Nope.”

Finally, Steve’s grease-stained fingers curled over the hood and he slowly lowered it to mid-chest, the sleeves of his ratty, old white t-shirt straining against his biceps.

“It’s not a scary one,” he offered, honey colored eyes flicking up to meet yours and the weight of his gaze made you glance away, suddenly interested in the cracks spidering across the garage floor.

“Can’t. I’m busy.”

The hood of his BMW slammed shut and the sound pulled your gaze back up to see Steve still looking at you.

“He call you again?”

Heat swept over your cheeks in a rush, but you forced yourself to not look away this time.

“Maybe.”

Swiping the back of his arm across his forehead, he tucked the towel in the back pocket of his Levi’s, tongue jammed into cheek – a move you knew meant he was struggling to keep himself in check.

“What’d he say this time?” he asked, tone accusatory as he shuffled around the garage picking up his tools and throwing away the empty oil can.

Your chest tightened, throat threatening to close around the words you were trying to force out.

What’d he say this time?

Steve knew the whole story. Knew your ex had cheated on you twice with Tammy Thompson last year, but sweet talked you back into it. Stood you up on your birthday this year, but told you he’d make it up to you. Forgot your anniversary last month, but swore he hadn’t meant to then broke up with you three days later.

The only thing Steve didn’t know was the real reason he broke up with you, was him.

Steve.

“Nothing new,” you lied, jumping down from the work bench, fingers picking at the chipped polish on your nails; a nervous habit.

Steve stopped what he was doing, oil funnel in one hand and the other pushing at the hair in his eyes. “How long have we known each other?”

“Fourth grade.”

He hummed at your reply and closed the gap between you, free hand closing around your fingers. “Long enough to know when you’re lying.”

The sudden feeling of his callouses pressed to your skin pulled your gaze up to look at him, your eyes meeting his, warm and honeyed. You swallowed the heat blooming in your chest and held his look.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Leaning around you, he placed the funnel on the work bench and rested his hand on his hip, the other still holding yours.

“He’s an asshole and he’s not good enough for you.”

The heat in your chest flirted with something else then, a muddied mixture of frustration and want, anger and adoration.

“No one is,” came out sharper than you’d meant it and Steve let your hand go.

“Whoa–” his brows pinched together, lips curved down in a frown, “–where’d that come from?”

Holding your breath, you hoped maybe it would choke out the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

Don’t do it.

Don’t ruin it.

But Steve clocked your shift and something darker flashed in his eyes, “Did he hurt you?”

“God, Steve–” you sighed, exasperated, “No.”

“Then what?” he pushed and you cracked.

“You! It’s you!”

Quickly, you clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late. Steve’s expression softened; hurt, confused.

“Me?”

“He said he can’t be with me because I’m always here.”

“Here?” Steve echoed, feeling a little dumb and a lot lost.

“With you.”

“Well–of course you’re with me–we’re best friends. Best friends can’t hang out?” he protested, tone shifting, offended.

“Not like this,” you waved a hand in the tiny gap between you and he shook his head.

“Like what? I really don’t understand–”

“He’s right,” you cut in, “We’re together, all the time, but…”

“But what?” Steve asked, features softening, apprehensive.

“But I don’t think you want to be best friends.”

The heat across your cheeks hit Steve now, red all the way up to his ears, and his mouth dropped open.

“Don’t want to–wait–you think I don’t want to be friends?” he stammered, scrambling to gather up all the pieces of him you’d just managed to scatter across the garage with one sentence.

“You always tell me: no one’s good enough, he’s not good enough and–” A sigh pushed through your lips, “No one’s good enough for me…except you, I just think you’re scared to admit it.”

Steve swallowed thick, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, caught, and you watched the wheels in his head spin in a panic.

“Me, scared?” he scoffed, “I’m not scared. What do I have to be scared about? That doesn’t even make sense. You don’t know–”

“–Steve.”

Grabbing at his grease-stained hand again, you pushed yourself to be brave, tangling your fingers with his, and he froze. Eyes locked with yours. Afraid to move.

Reaching up, you tucked loose chestnut curls behind his ear.

“Be honest,” you started quietly and when he gave you small sound of acknowledgement you pressed on, “You want more than friends.”

Steve blinked down at you, the long sweep of his lashes brushing at the tops of his cheeks.

“You want us to be more than friends,” you said again, hoping and praying you were right.

Flicking his gaze up to the ceiling, Steve pulled in and let out a deep breath, eyes closing for a second. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and then looked back down at you, corners of his mouth still tugged down in a half-frown.

“I just–shit. Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he murmured.

His hand squeezed at yours, and something unraveled deep in the pit of your stomach. A knot of feelings and confessions and admissions untangling in the dark, stretching up, up, up toward the light. Seeds of care and devotion and longing planted all those years ago, finally watered and placed out in the sun.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, the last bits of fear clinging at the end of your question, and his frown tipped up a little.

“I didn’t want to ruin it or–or make you feel like you had to. Right? Like…everyone always expects the childhood best friends to get together, but what if I held you back? Or–or made you feel like you had to? I just…I guess I wanted to protect you.” He shook his head, “Pretty shit at it though.”

You snorted a laugh and put your hand to the line of his jaw, thumb soothing over the twin moles dotted there.

“Very shit.”

Steve laughed too, a low rumble you felt through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the heat that crackled between you, sobered you both.

“Um,” Steve choked out, clearing his throat, “Can I–I mean–would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“Please?” you half-whispered, half-begged, and the soft lilt of your voice set fire to the feelings he’d kept locked away all those years.

Dipping down quickly, Steve cupped your face in his hands, wide and warm, and pressed his lips to yours. It was hesitant and slow at first, curious and wary, but then your tongue flicked out to chase across the seam of his lips and it pulled a strangled sound from him.

One of his hands slipped around the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head just right to deepen the kiss and you opened to him. Let him lick into you, tasting you, and it was sweet and warm, like popsicles and summer.

Easing his fingers from your hair, he hooked both hands under the curve of your ass and lifted you back up onto the work bench, your mouths not separating for even one second.

“Steve,” you breathed into him and he nipped at your bottom lip, swallowing the moan you made for him.

“What, anything, tell me,” he babbled, slotting himself between your bare legs, your shorts riding up your thighs.

“You’re a really good kisser,” you tried to tease, but then he grinned against your lips.

“Know what else I’m really good at?” he asked, hands grabbing at your hips, all confidence – a taste of King Steve – and it settled heat in your belly.

“Have a few ideas,” you gasped, his hands sliding up and over your thighs.

“Wanna guess?”

“Stop teasing me.”

“Or what?”

You pulled away for a second, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, “Or I’ll make you wait.”

Lips pinched in a pout, he blinked down at you, “M’not good at waiting.”

You shook your head at him.

“Greedy,” he murmured and you nodded with a small smile.

“Just want you, Steve.”

The corners of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided grin, “Say that again.”

“I want you, Steve Harrington,” you said, cheeks flush and smile gone, feeling like a school girl with a stupid crush, and he loved every second of it.

“Want you too, baby,” he pressed his lips to yours again, teeth clicking together at the force, and it pulled laughs from both of you, but then your breathed hitched in your throat and it sobered you both.

Steve’s hand slid up under your shirt, palming at your ribs, hardening at the way you tensed under him. His fingers trailed down, fumbling with the button on your shorts to pop it open, and the gasp he pulled from you was almost enough to finish him right there on the spot.

“What d’you need, baby–tell me–whatever you want, wanna give it to you,” he rambled, your hands at his belt making his brain go fuzzy.

“You, this,” came out of you stilted, fingers undoing his zipper so you could feel his length through the fabric of his boxers.

“Jesus Christ–baby,” he choked, “Slow–slower.”

His hands tugged at your shorts and you pressed your heels into the shelf at your feet, helping him slide them down to your knees.

“I can’t,” you gasped and he shook his head, me either, running his nose up your neck, asking for more access, and you gave it to him.

Steve set you on fire, filled you with heat, like sun on your skin as he dragged lazy, open-mouthed kisses under your jaw, along your collarbone, at the hollow of your neck. Looping your fingers under the elastic of his boxers, you tugged, setting him free between your legs and letting him press against the soft, damp, lilac fabric of your panties. When he felt what he was doing to you, it pulled a groan from him.

“Baby.”

“Need you, Steve,” you practically begged, and he wasn’t about to make you wait.

“I know, I know,” he babbled, “Get these out of the way.” After guiding your hand to your panties, you did as you were told while he hooked your legs around his waist. “Got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he whispered at the shell of your ear, gently easing himself inside you, and the pressure had your arms squeezing around his neck.

“Steve,” you whined as he bottomed out.

“Shh, I got you,” he promised, setting a slow pace, in out, in out.

The height of the work bench was absolute, fucking magic with your ass just barely hanging off the edge and giving him perfect access to you. You squeezed at him everywhere, arms, legs, cock, and it pushed him to go faster.

Soon he was pulling sounds from your lips that were practically pornographic, the slap of skin on skin filling the garage, both of you panting at the effort; huh, huh, huh!

“S’close, Steve,” you whimpered, head falling back at how good he was making you feel.

“C’mon, honey–come for me, baby,” he breathed into you, hands squeezing at your thighs, hips thrusting into your yours, fucking you closer and closer to climax until finally you peaked and clenched around him, throwing you both over the edge.

Steve’s movements grew frantic as his rhythm snapped and broke, thrusts uneven and slowing as he eased you both back down.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, forehead dewy with sweat as you still held tight to him for dear life, labored laughs escaping you both. “Guess you’re shit at waiting too, huh?” he teased and you nipped at his shoulder, “Hey!”

“Didn’t say I was patient, Harrington,” you grinned.

And he grinned back, “S’one of my favorite things about you.”

It was impossible.

Being friends with Steve.

But more than friends was easy. Effortless.

More than friends with Steve

was everything.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[crappymixtape]

Happy birthday queen 🖤👑

THIS IS SO LATE BUUUUT THANK YOU BABE <3333 I LUH YOU!

[crappymixtape]

Hi, I just wanted to tell you that I discovered your steve fics yesterday and they are so wonderful ✨

I can't describe what makes them this great (everything) but I want you to know that I love them 💫

bestie, omg, thank you so much 😩 i've been struggling lately to write fics because i'm in the middle of trying to publish a book, but this makes me want to write more steve!! i'm so glad you love him <3 more to come bb – ily!!