stevesgother

[stevesgother]

thinking abt perhaps writing a small smutty bonus chapter for Dress since y'all loved the series sm

[stevesgother]

Vows - S.H

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

WC: 939

Warnings: swearing, toxic relationship dynamics, PTSD, anxiety/depression, alcohol consumption, drugs, hurt no comfort, angst

AN: this is NOT a happy fic. A little self indulgent / a way of processing my own past abusive relationships, and growing up in a household w/ DV. i wanted to explore a timeline where Steve doesn’t get a grip on the trauma he endured, and how he lets it consume him and his marriage.

The alarm clock on your bedside table reads 4:02 AM in flashes of blinking red by the time you feel the dip in the mattress caused by your husband crawling into the bed beside you. What used to be a warm, enveloping presence has since been replaced with a raw, calloused and whisky smelling one. He doesn’t wrap a muscular arm around your waist, he doesn’t place a tender kiss on your shoulder and whisper softly to you ‘Goodnight, love’ – he simply exhales a gravely sigh and drifts into a fitful sleep.

The memories – the trauma – that he thought might soften with the passage of time had grown ugly, sharp edges like jagged knives; shattered shards of glass. Nights and most days are spent drinking, you can’t even remember what his kiss used to taste like without the harsh sting of alcohol burning the back of his tongue. Perhaps they tasted like a drive-in movie; or lying shoulder to shoulder in tall grass – right on the cusp of a sweltering Hawkins summer. On the nights you miss him the most, your chin tucked into your knees while you hide behind a pounding door, you try to summon it all back. You miss him more than you remember him.

When it’s not Jim Beam, it’s Valium. Xanax. Klonopin. Those ugly, piss-colored pill bottles can be found in every crevice of your home. You loathe even the sight of them, recalling how Steve never actually wanted to take them in the first place. Now, you claw desperately at the proverbial rabbit hole you’re in. Dirt under your fingernails, no rocks or vines for purchase, while your husband rots in front of your very eyes. For years, you’ve waited for him to be himself again. Today, when you finally peel yourself out of your shared bed, you know he never will be.

As you’re sorting out the overdue electric and gas bills on your dirty kitchen table, you hear him finally start to stir. You work 50 hours a week, sometimes more. Steve collects a monthly disability check that promptly gets spent on booze. You’re shocked an eviction notice hasn’t been nailed to your front door yet.

“There’s coffee,” you say with a forced lightness and a tight lipped smile. It’s a coin toss every morning how we will respond to you, indicating how the rest of the day will go. Today, he grumbles and trudges his way over to the ancient coffee machine. Any optimism for a peaceful day is saturated with dread. More and more lately, you can’t shake that feeling.

“Why’re you opening my mail?” he asks accusingly as he sits in the chair across from you.

“Because, Steve. We’re 2 months late on the damn gas bill, they’re going to shut us off.” you sigh, having no energy for the incoming argument you know in your gut is about to ensue. “Do you want to have heat?”

“Do not start already,” he glares pointedly at you as he snatches the mail from your shaky hands. “How many times do I have to tell you I've got it?”

“Because you’re the one that works, right?” you mumble as you stand to leave the table, and you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. A heavy palm lands on the table behind you, making you jump. Stale coffee sloshes over Steve’s mug, the one that reads in a dainty cursive font ‘Mr.’. The matching mug to your ‘Mrs.’. A wedding gift, you can’t remember anymore from who.

“Goddamnit, why do you always gotta be so fucking smart?” he points a calloused finger at you. He’s standing now, almost toe to toe. The way he towers over you used to be intimidating, now you sometimes wish he'd just hit you and get it over with.

“You know what? I won’t touch your fucking mail anymore, Steve. I’ll let the heat get shut off. I’ll let you get evicted from this fucking shithole. It won’t matter, because I won’t be here to fuckin’ see it.” you spit and he cages you against the wall with a strong arm when you attempt to storm away.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Get out of my way!” you shout and shove at his chest. When he finally moves, you all but run to your bedroom and pull out the suitcase you used on your honeymoon to pack your clothes. You hear an indistinct shout, and the telltale sound of ceramic shattering against drywall.

‘Do you, take Steven David Harrington, to be your lawfully wedded husband,’

Your shoving of clothes becomes faster as your adrenaline starts to rise. 

“Baby c’mon, where are you going?” He’s standing in the doorway, sounding exasperated. Of all the times you’ve threatened to leave, never have you actually followed through.

“I’m leaving, Steve,”

‘To have and to hold, from this day forward,’

“You’re not leavin’. C’mon, can’t we talk about this? Please–” he takes several strides forward in an attempt to grasp you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!’ you shout as you feel his hands breach your shoulders and you shake him off just as quickly.

“So all this just means nothing to you then, huh? You’re throwing it all away for what? Over some damn bills?!” He yanks the suitcase away from you on the plush on your comforter.

‘For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer,’

“No, Steve,”

‘In sickness, and in health,’

“I’m leaving because you’re fucking killing yourself,” you shout with a sob, “You’re killing me.”

‘Until death do you part’

“You don’t mean that,”

‘I do.’

“I do.”

[stevesgother]

what kind of fics do y'all want?

i have a few angsty ones in the works, i could keep practicing my smut writing skills lmao

i have too many ideas and its lowkey paralyzing me, so let me know if theres anything specific you'd like to see :)

[stevesgother]

The 4th - S.H

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI NSFW, cursing, drinking, characters are all of age, takes place after the events of ST3, slight exhibitionism only bc they’re technically outside, it’s that slightly awkward but endearing sex you have when you fuck someone you like for the first time. It's realistic. Sue me.

AN: first time writing smut, i'm so nervous. fast times au?? If you squint?? the last half isn't proofread bc i simply cannot bring myself to read my own smut

‘American Woman’ by The Guess Who blares loudly from a twin pair of Hitachi speakers stationed on Steve Harrington’s back deck. On the hottest day of the year, The Party had decided to congregate at the only non-public pool they had unlimited access to.

To his relief, Steve had been assigned to grill duty again. The cherry red bikini you had sauntered through his sliding glass door wearing was starting to seriously inconvenience him. He had his Ray Bans on, albeit low on the bridge of his nose, to disguise where his gaze had been lingering all afternoon; the large propane grill hiding his lower half.

Lounging poolside on your towel, you hear before you feel a large ‘SPLASH’, and suddenly you’re soaked head to toe in overly chlorinated pool water.

“Ugh! Henderson!” you scold as you stand to replace your now drenched towel. The cheeky boy looks up at you from where he floats in the pool and mouths a half-hearted ‘Sorry’. 

“Steve! Would you happen to have an extra towel?” you shout to him as you hold up your ruined one, shooting him a deadpan expression. “Yeah, ‘course,” he sets down the grill tongs and awkwardly shuffles his way inside, keeping his back to you. Weird, you think.

Steve caught one look at you, hair wet and dripping, water beading down your neck and disappearing among the curve of your breasts; nipples taught from the sudden shock of cold water and visible through the fabric of your swimsuit, and he was grateful for the reprieve inside would offer him.

After close to 15 minutes of no Steve and more importantly, no towel, you decide to venture into the spacious house yourself. “Steve! – Oh!-” you startle as you run chest to chest into him, both turning a corner. “You scared me,” you say with a hand to your racing heart, “I was just wondering where you went,” you chuckle awkwardly.

“Yeah no, sorry, I just uh- got distracted,” he says, avoiding contact and handing you the fresh linen. You glance down, and notice the slight tent in his maybe too-tight swim trunks. You feel the heat of a rosy blush crawl up your cheeks, and a sudden flip of your stomach. Were you really the reason why he was acting so strange? That felt incredibly presumptuous of you.

“Well um…” you trail off, trying to keep your cool, “thanks. For the towel, I mean.” Steve had never made you feel so bashful and uncertain before. Something about the newly exposed skin and the salty smell of sweat mixed musk that radiates off of him from this proximity making your mind short circuit.

 –

When the cookout had dwindled down to just the adults and the sun dipped just below the trees, a joint had started to be passed around your small circle. “Well, we should probably head home,” Nancy announces in her usual demure tone, grabbing Jonathan’s hand helping him to stand. A chorus of goodbyes echo throughout the group, eventually leaving just you, Steve, Robin and Eddie.

An exaggerated yawn escapes Robin as she declares she’s exhausted and needs Eddie to drive her home in his rinky dink van.

“C’mon man! I just rolled this joi-”

Robin cuts him off with a harsh clear of her throat and an even harsher jab to his ribs.

“I. Really think. We. Should. Go.” She punctuates each word with a forced smile. Why was everyone acting so fucking odd today? You try to send her a panicked glance, fearing the potential awkwardness of being left here alone with Steve.

Being best friends with both of you, she was well aware of the searing crushes the two of you had on each other. This barbeque was her opportunity to light a fire under your asses to do something about it.

“That’s okay, Rob. Go home if you’re tired.” Always the gentleman. Right now you could kick him for it. If Robin notices your glaring, she doesn’t acknowledge it as she rises to her feet and heads toward the gate leading to the driveway.

“Bye losers!” She waggles her fingers at you as they make their exit, sending you a subtle wink that sets your cheeks ablaze. You now know without a doubt that this was intentional.

A hand on your knee as he says, “I can walk you home if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. We can finish the joint at least,” you smile timidly at him. Free weed wasn’t easy to come by these days, what was the harm in staying just a little longer?

–

2 hours later, you’re lying shoulder to shoulder on the rough concrete surrounding the Harrington’s pool. The joint had been snuffed out on the ground between you an hour ago, but with your thoughts dulled like this it was becoming increasingly easy to bask in the space you two had created for each other. The desire to turn heel and run with your other friends had long fizzled out.

“Hey, what was up with you today?” you ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “You just seemed really off,”

He looks suddenly nervous, “Oh I uh– I don’t know. Julys’ always a weird month for me, I guess,” he lies, carding a hand through his hair.

Taking the hand that’s not in his hair in your own, you ask, “Are you doing okay?” When he turns his head to meet you, your sincerity makes him blush - neck to ears. Your faces are closer than he thought they would be. He can count every eyelash from this proximity.

“Yeah– you know what,” He clears his throat, “I’m actually really warm,” he sits up clumsily as he pulls his shirt over his head by the collar, ruffling his hair and exposing the constellation of freckles and moles he has spattering the skin on his toned back.

“Okay–” You go to stand with him but he’s already dove into the pool. When he breaches the surface, he shakes his hair out like a dog and grins at you. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the dark patch of hair covering his chest. You’re starting to feel that warmth he had been complaining of.

“You gonna come in? Or just stand there and gawk?” He laughs as he floats over to you.

So you peel your shirt off and watch him stare intently as you unbutton your shorts, letting them drop to your feet. A less than elegant swan dive and you’re disappearing under the artificially blue water. The sudden coolness of it shocks you, sobering you up a bit.

You’re much more graceful than the boy when it’s your turn to come up for air, gently pushing back the hair that sticks to your face. He swims over to you unsuspectingly, then in the next breath and with a mischievous grin he lifts your body over his shoulder and essentially bodyslams you back under the surface.

More than the gesture itself, what shocks you the most is the warm expanse of his broad shoulders caressing you. You both emerge laughing, “Asshole!” you swat at his chest playfully.

When the laughter dies and fizzles out into an anxious energy, the air is filled with a sort of anticipation. The two of you are bobbing in the pool, faces no more than an inch apart.

“You have got to stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, breathlessly.

Just then he surges forward and presses his lips firmly to yours. The kiss is close-mouthed and chaste at first, giving you a chance to pull away. When you don’t take the opportunity, he deepens it. Your wet hands move to hold his face, breaching the water with a small splashing sound and his strong arms hug you at the waist, bringing you impossible closer. Pressed up against him like this you can feel all of him. The scratch of curls on his chest, the bulge of his biceps around your middle, the hard length of him pressed against your thigh.

Gasping into the kiss, you give him the opening he needs to lick hotly into your mouth, eliciting a breathy moan from your chest that sends Steve reeling. He starts to slowly kick his legs, swimming to push your back up against a vinyl clad wall.

Your lips move to lick the vein that runs down his neck, then up to a spot just below his ear. He groans when you take his earlobe gently into your mouth. Grasping your cheek in his hand, he forces your face out of the refuge his neck had provided from his intense gaze.

“Can I touch you?” He shudders when he speaks, having dreamt about this exact moment for years. Your response is an enthusiastic nod and another searing kiss to his lips - plush and pink and made for your own.

Steve’s knee moves to rest bookended between your thighs, keeping you open for him. In the water, he can’t feel how pathetically wet you are beneath your bright red bikini bottoms. You’re thankful for that, but even so, the whine that you release when his swift fingers push aside the fabric and start slowly massaging your clit is enough to give you away.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens, leaving small crescent shapes in his perfect skin. “Oh!-- God, keep doing that,” you pant.

“You like that, baby?” Steve tries to sound suave. Mr. Confident. King Steve. Honestly, he’s terrified. He has half a mind to stop and ask you to pinch him, not entirely convinced this is even real. But the sweet, sweet sounds you’re making are enough to persuade him otherwise.

“Yes! Ah– please, don’t stop,” you beg, even though you don’t have to. Steve’s positive he would do just about anything you asked of him right now. You have the sudden urge to return the favor, reaching down between your two bodies and palming him through his swim trunks.

“Oh -- my God, don’t,” he warns, the sheepish smile on his face signals to you that he’s not actually uncomfortable, “I’ll come in my pants like a damn teenager,” he gives an embarrassed chuckle.

Growing desperate for more, you say, “I want you to fuck me.” with an impossible finality. It makes Steve’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Wh-what?” He needs to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Steve. I need you to fuck me. Now.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you begin to press open-mouth kisses to his neck again.

“Oh my God,” The boy sounds absolutely wrecked already, barely able to contain himself. His hands fumble blindly for the ties on your bikini bottoms and he pulls when he finds them. Unwrapping you like his very own Christmas present.

You pull his trunks down and over his hips, just enough to fish his red and swollen cock out, careful to not let them fall to the bottom of the pool lest someone have to dive and retrieve them. You line him up hurriedly with your entrance, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Are you sure about this?” His brows furrow in that way they always do, when he's unsure. He has a crinkle above his nose.

“Yes” you half moan before getting a look at his face, “Wait, are you?”

“Yes! Yes– of course. I just– want you to be sure,” He kisses you softly after he asks

It’s so tender, you feel so safe with him like this. You fear you might be falling in love.

“I promise, I’m su–Oh!” he slides into you without warning, nearly knocking the breath out of you. He lets out a guttural groan into the space where your shoulder meets your neck as he starts to keep a steady rhythm.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants into your open mouth, “i’ve wanted this for so long,”

His words have you keening. He wraps his broad arms fully around you now, hugging you close as he pistons his hips into you. Repeatedly hitting that spot inside your walls where you need him the most.

“Oh, Steve!” you moan loudly, no longer concerned about the neighbors hearing you. The pool water begins to form waves from Steve’s thrusting and splash up onto the concrete beside your head.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” you can feel his hips stuttering slightly.

“Steve!” He whines directly into your ear when you say it, you never would’ve thought he’d be so vocal.

“Touch yourself baby, I’m close,”

You do as you’re asked and start to keep a frenzied pace on your sensitive bud. Having both kinds of stimulation, mixed with Steve’s sweet praise, is sending you closer and closer to your edge.

As you reach your high, Steve can feel your warm pussy clench around him, making him hurtle towards his orgasm with you.

With a strangled cry, “fuck- I'm cumming,” You finish together as hips slow and he rides out his orgasm with you. His body curls in on itself and he trembles slightly. You run a warm, soft hand through his hair and down his back, soothing him through the intensity of it.

“Shit- my parents are going to kill me,” he laughs and kisses you again.

Maybe you did like swimming. Just a little bit.

tags: @daisy-munson, @megxplryxb

[stevesgother]

Take It Off - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.4k

Warnings - THIS CHAPTER IS 18+ MDNI, ONE use of Y/N (pls give me a break it was essential to the plot), swearing, drinking, angst

AN - the 3rd and final part to the Dress mini series! I’ve never written anything smutty or remotely spicy so I hope this doesn’t read as awkward as it felt to write. i appreciate all the support on my first fics i’ve ever written. love , emma <3

Now

New Years Eve

1987

The Harrington residence had always been the go-to for ragers in high school. Devoid of parents, unlocked liquor cabinets and plenty of unoccupied bedrooms for steamy teenage rendezvous’; but this party would be different. Smaller and more intimate.

Nancy was helping you unload the groceries you had bought for the party tonight when she noticed a shift in your demeanor, you seemed on edge. It took her an entire year to stop staring daggers at you in public, making group settings tense. Nancy knew that Steve had the hots for you. As a matter of fact, it seemed like everyone knew, everyone except you. It was in his lingering touches and the longing glances. She had always known.

Now, the tension between you had withered and snapped like nothing more than a frayed rope pulled too taut. She wasn’t your best friend, and you weren’t hers; but there was a mutual respect. There was civility. She had Jonathan now, and they were happy.

“Do you think it’ll be awkward?” you ask, scared to know her answer.

Then

December 1987

The sun was shining through the windows in thick, golden beams that highlighted the slope of Steve’s cheekbones and the moles that dotted down his neck and disappeared below the collar of his t-shirt. Little specks of dust float through the air, illuminated by the light seeping through the curtains.

You take a moment to admire how ethereal he looks like this. You’re a tangle of limbs when you look down; even in your subconscious you long to be close to him. A sudden melancholy washes over you as you realize this would likely be the last time you ever wake in this position. Nose to nose, his arm strewn haphazardly across your middle.

He must sense your staring because slowly, he starts to peel open his eyes. It takes him exactly 4 seconds to realize he is in fact, not dreaming, and has accidentally enveloped you in his sleep. 

“Oh--” he startles groggily as he hurriedly pushes himself away from your side of the bed. “I’m sorry, I- I must’ve-” you want to protest at the lack of warmth his absence brings.

“No, you’re okay! I didn’t notice. Honest.” he looks skeptical; afraid that he might’ve crossed a line he can’t uncross. You reach a hand toward him, “Steve, it’s alright. You kept me warm actually,” you chuckle, “it’s freezing in here.”

He nods, clumsily stumbling out of bed and the tangle of sheets you two had found yourselves in. Too late, he realizes his rather compromising position. More specifically, the state of his dick directly after waking up.

“Oh my God!” you shout, moving quickly to cover your eyes and turning your entire upper body away from him. You already knew Steve was…well endowed. Girls love to talk, and those tight, light wash Levi’s don’t leave a lot up to the imagination; but now, with it literally staring you in the face, there’s not a doubt in your mind that that your best friend is absolutely hung.

“Ah! Jesus-” he grabs one of the sheets off the bed to cover his lower half. You realize just how hot you feel in contrast to the chilly air of the cabin. 

“Okay you can uh,” he trails off, “turn around.”

When you face him, Steve’s tomato red with a blush that reaches all the way from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Still not daring to make eye contact with him, “Jeez, Harrington. You got a permit for that thing?” A poor, ill-timed attempt at a joke, but he chuckles nonetheless.

“Sorry I- uh forgot I went to bed without pants on,” he smiles sheepishly, “I’m gonna hop in the shower before we leave.” You reply with a two-finger salute, finding the loose threads of the sheets suddenly very interesting as he disappears behind the bathroom door.

The drive home was awkward to say the least. Eddie, Robin and Vickie all sensing the tension, but knowing better than to bring it up in front of you. When you arrive back in Hawkins, Steve drops everyone off at their respective homes, saving you for last.

“Thanks again for offering to drive,” you move to open the door but are interrupted by Steve, “Here, let me help with your bags. I’ll walk you to the door.”

You don’t fight him as he takes every bag from you, not even allowing you to carry your own purse. He stands on your porch with you, clammy hands shoved tightly into his pockets, for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“I’d better…you know, get going,” you nod in the direction of your house. “Yeah, yeah okay,” he pulls you into a warm bear hug; his specialty. The gesture feels different. An air of bashfulness radiating from both of you. When you pull away, he has an indistinguishable look in his eyes as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His gaze flits quickly from your eyes, to your lips, and back again.

You fear that he might kiss you. That he might change everything. That you might let him.

Clearing your throat abruptly, it seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in and he looks just as startled as you do, taking a step back.

“Alright! Bye Steve! Love you!” you rush out as you practically shove your bags inside your foyer and slam the door. As you lean against it, you hear a muttered ‘shit’ as he makes his way back to his car.

Now

New Years Eve

1987

Despite the party being relatively small, just your friend group and a few friends of friends, the house was lively with music and laughter. On the television inside Steve’s entertainment center was the CBS broadcast of the New Years Eve ball drop in New York City.

A game of ‘spin the bottle’ was being played on the floor of the living room. “For old time’s sake!’ Eddie had claimed. You were skeptical, but a boy in the group whose name might have been James, had caught your eye earlier in the night. You thought maybe this could be it. After years of pointless or just downright awful dates, maybe this would be the ‘meet-cute’ you’d been waiting for.

��Little Lies’ by Fleetwood Mac was playing distantly from the speakers in the kitchen, and then it was finally your turn to spin. You glance up at James before you take your turn, watching him throw a smirk in your direction. What you can’t see, is Steve in your peripheral glaring daggers at him. He’d watched him flirt with you all night, whether you’d realized it or not. It had completely soured his mood, and edged him to pick a fight even if he knew it wouldn’t be fair.

You give the empty coke bottle on the carpet a tentative spin, making it clear who you're aiming for; and when it lands on James, no one’s surprised. Slowly, you rise onto your knees and crawl forward with your hands, just far enough for you to reach out to him. The vodka in your stomach makes you brave as you reach for his face with both hands, and kiss him deeply. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint gum when he licks into your mouth, earning the two of you wolf whistles and hollers from your surrounding circle of friends.

When the adolescent game is abandoned, your friends opting for one that gets them drunk faster, you decide to sit out for a round. Steve had been muddling around the kitchen for the past 30 minutes, pretending to clean up nonexistent solo cups and dishes.

‘Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies’

“Hey,” you say lightheartedly as you sit down on one of the stools surrounding the island. If Steve heard you, he didn’t acknowledge your presence.

“So, are you two together?” he still doesn’t bother turning to look at you when he asks.

“What?”

He finally looks at you, expression is unreadable, “You and fuckin’ Bruce Springsteen over there. Are you together?”

What? Dude no-- I barely know him,”

“Sure looked like you knew him with his damn tongue down your throat.” he spits, turning back to the nearly empty garbage bag he had been pretending to throw things in to busy his hands.

He could count on one hand the amount of times you two had genuinely argued, and the heat crawling the back of his neck was starting to feel an awful lot like guilt.

“I’m sorry, what the hell is your problem?” you spit back at him, getting defensive now.

He glares at you, long and hard, “Nothing just-- nevermind. Forget it,”

What's that saying? ‘Loose lips sink ships’? You think what might sink this ship is you, and too much alcohol.

“No. You do not get to do that,” your words slur together ever so slightly, alcohol churning in your stomach, “that’s not fair.” Tears prick the corners of your eye, your voice wobbling at the end of your sentence. It practically tears him in two.

Before he can get a word in edgewise, you’re vomiting a drunken confession. One you swore you’d never make, on the basis that it could change everything you and Steve worked so hard to build.

“God forbid I get to be happy right? That after years! Fucking years, Steve, of pining after you, that someone might like me! That someone might give me the goddamn time of day. That I might love someone who isn’t you!”

“What?” The sincerity and the slight quiver in his tone is almost enough to completely extinguish your anger. If you were fire, Steve was water. He was your Achilles Heel.

The realization of what you just confessed hits you a second too late, and even though you’re practically shouting, you have no one's attention except for Steve’s. Swiping your drink off the granite countertop you storm through the sliding glass door that leads to the Harringtons’ spacious backyard, deciding you need some air. Need to be anywhere except in that stifling kitchen with Steve.

“Wait no– please,” you hear Steve call after you. You don’t stop, you don’t turn around. Beelining for the gate that leads to the driveway, and then to the road. The January air was frigid; it gnawed and bit harshly at your exposed skin but you didn’t care. You just needed to be home.

You could hear Steve’s heavy footfall not far behind you, he was jogging to keep up. Not a chance that he was letting you walk home alone. Someday the world will end, and it will feel just like this does. You spin around to face him, cheeks stained with black streaks of mascara and nose bright red from the cold.

“Y/N!” He sounded desperate calling after you. He felt desperate. Standing there in the middle of his empty, suburban street – Steve felt terribly, consumingly desperate.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Steve strides towards you with a determination you’ve never seen in him. Before you can blink, his warm hands are grasping both sides of your face and his lips are crashing into yours with a passion that only comes from longing. A fervor that only comes from pining and anticipation.

When he pulls away he looks frightened; like he had come to his senses. Before he can start to ramble apologies, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back with the same ferocity he met you with moments ago.

He stumbles back with you, only separating for measly gasps of air between kisses and suddenly you feel the cool metal of his BMW against your exposed back. Strong arms cage you in as he fumbles with the door to the backseat. You don’t hesitate to climb in after him when he finally manages it open.

Straddling him on soft leather, your thighs bracketed each of his. His lips move south as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of your neck, to just below your ear, to your collarbones.

His hands travel slowly up your thighs, and just before breaching the hem on your dress he pants, “Is this okay?” You relish in how wrecked he sounds already, barely having touched you yet. You respond with a breathy ‘yes’.

His nimble fingers find the zipper of your dress in a blissful sense of deja vu. This time though, there’s an eagerness in his touch. A need to map every inch of your skin like he’s committing it to memory.

He slows for a moment, like you both remembered the situation you’ve found yourselves in. His usual hazel eyes have darkened to a deep brown that sucks you in; their very own gravitational pull. He pulls the sleeves of your dress slowly down your shoulders and glances up in a silent ask before letting the fabric fall the rest of the way; exposing your breasts. Just as his eyes are raking over your newly exposed skin – as if he has a sixth sense for being cockblocked – he reverses his action; making an effort to cover you before you hear a ‘tap tap tap’ on the fogged window. 

Behind the glass is a blurry picture of Robin and Eddie. To say they look smug is an understatement.

“Fucking finally,” Eddie says, exasperated. You try to hide from your embarrassment in the crook of Steve’s neck, like a kid having been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Robin sends you a poorly concealed wink as she elbows Eddie’s ribs – even more poorly concealed.

“C’mon. You owe me ten bucks,” you hear her mumble as the pair saunter away from the BMW, leaving you and Steve back to your ‘nefarious activities’ as Robin would say.

You try to protest at Steve rezipping your dress but he cuts you off before your complaints, “I’m not having sex with you for the first time in my car,” he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“If you insist,” teasing him a little, you poke his chest, “Bruce Springsteen,”

“Not funny,” he tries to deadpan, but the smirk permanently on his lips gives him away, “You know I'm way more of a Tom Cruise.”

[stevesgother]

thinking abt being at a cookout at the harrington house, you tell everyone you're going inside to change and when you come out in this lowcut, bright cherry red swimsuit, steve's on one of the pool loungers. american woman by the guess who is blasting and he's gawking at you from behind those slutty little ray bans he wears. you dive into the water and resurface, water beads on your lashes, down your nose, your neck and disappears behind the neckline of your suit as you hoist yourself back over the ledge. steve has to excuse himself to take care of the tent action occurring in his trunks.

lmk if yall want a full fic about this

[stevesgother]

thanks for the tag bestie @skeltn <3

no pressure tag (don't have a ton of mutuals yet :) ) @existentially-blonde

how does pinterest see you?

thank you to the lovely @moonlight-prose for the tag! 😘🖤

Search each topic and post the first picture you find:

sport

hobby

animal

instrument

song lyrics

famous painting

no pressure tags: @itsmeatballworld @fluffyprettykitty @zloshy @katcoquette @joelsgoldrush

[stevesgother]

Power's Out

My hand slipped this morning. This is for @sweetsweetjellybean because her power's out and she deserves it.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Wordcount: 1442

Warnings: making out, Eddie Munson is a cock-block

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Third day of Spring and you were wrapped under a comforter and three quilts. Your feet were shoved into wool socks and tucked under you for warmth. Your poor fingers only escaped the blankets to earn you a sip of water or to turn the page on the steamy novel you’d been reading.

Luckily Snowmageddon provided ample lighting when your windows were open, sun cascading in rays off the snow.

You snuggled in tighter, brow furrowed at the main character bickering with her love interest, when you were startled by a knock at the front door.

You glanced down at the tangle you’d trapped yourself in, and then back up at the door when the wrap of knuckles grew more frantic.

“Alright,” you heaved yourself from the couch. “I’m coming.”

You slouched to the door, wearing the comforter like monk’s robes. Peering through the peephole, you found a set of broad shoulders and a mess of dark hair.

The door opened with a burst of frigid air, and Steve grinned, holding up a to- go box. His legs bounced from the cold, canvas tennis shoes dipped dark wet from the snow. “Pizza delivery.”

You stepped aside to let him in, a familiar grumble matching the flip in your stomach when you saw who had arrived.

The pizza smelled amazing, and most importantly warm.

“Power’s on about two miles from here.” Steve explained, stripping out of his shoes and jacket before carrying your lunch to the kitchen to serve on plates.

“Lucky bastards.” You grumbled, peeling a cheesy slice from the grease- stained box before he had a chance to dirty another plate. He offered you one and you waved it away, taking a large moan-inducing bite.

Steve tucked his head, and you noticed the reddening of his ears as a smile split his features. “That good, huh?”

“So fucking good,” you nodded, mouth full.

His smile was shy, sweet, and he leaned against the counter across from you, ankles crossed. “I’m glad.”

He looked tall like this, in your kitchen, long limbed. His hands dwarfed the pizza slice as he careful dipped his head forward for a bite. You hadn’t remembered him looking so... big the last time he was here.

Well, that’s a lie.

You felt your face warm, tucking into another bite, forcing your eyes away from his hands and the curve of his throat as he swallowed.

The last time he’d been here, you’d had power, though you hadn’t used it. Stumbling in from a St. Paddy’s celebration, with matching top hats and shamrocks painted over your tits on your T-shirt. Steve nearly tripped backing over your couch, and you crawled on top of him to pull a Kelly green sweater over his head. He tasted of whisky and beef, and he moaned into your mouth as his large hands palmed beneath shamrocks and tangled themselves into your hair.

You coughed to clear your throat, too big of a bite taking up space in your cheek like a chipmunk.

“Cups?” Steve gestured at a cupboard near the sink.

You nodded, mopped grease from the corner of your mouth and wiped crumbs on the leg of your pajama pants.

You blinked and glanced down at your attire. You were an adult woman, and why you owned a pair of pajama pants with cows jumping over the moon, you’d never know. But you made a mental note to burn them after this. At least your hoodie qualified your alma mater.

Steve filled two glasses from the sink and offered you one before taking a large gulp from his own.

Without the buzz from the refrigerator, the house was painfully silent. So much so that your ears began to ring as you sipped your water and washed down the rest of your slice.

Steve set his glass on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. His ankles uncrossed so he could slide a socked foot to yours. “So other than a power outage, how’ve you been?”

“Good, yeah, good.” You stammered, but your face reflected the smile growing on his.

“Good.”

He’d rested closer to you, just a step away, and if you were brave enough, you’d cross the little linoleum tile and curl your hand around his tricep.

You cleared your throat again, smiled. “How about you?”

He grinned at that, uncrossed his arms. They were longer than yours, and he was brave enough to loop gentle fingers around your wrists. “I’ve been really good.” His thumbs brushed circles into your forearms, and he tugged you ever- so-closer.

“That’s good,” you replied, a little breathless.

He hummed, face tilting to just meet yours. His amber eyes begged for permission, and one large hand came to meet your throat. His thumb continued its ministrations on your job. “I’m even better now.”

You hummed in agreement, falling into the warmth of him, sturdy and propped against the counter. The comforter fell from your shoulders, and a shiver wracked through you at the whoosh of cold air it offered.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all week.” He confessed, thumb and forefinger idling at the earring in your ear lobe.

You leaned into his touch, fingers grasping at the forest green sweater covering a broad chest. “So kiss me then.”

His lips were softer than you remembered, the frantic removal of clothing the weekend before only allowed room for teeth and tongues and moans. Now was less frantic, sweeter, the press of his mouth to yours as one hand tucked around your waist to hold you even closer. God, he was blissfully warm.

When he pulled away, you found yourself not wanting it to end, and you chased his lips until his muffled moan entered your mouth. Then, you were like jelly, pliable under his fingertips.

A sturdy hand tangled into the hair at the base of your neck, and he opened your mouth with his tongue. His other hand pressed you tighter between his thighs, against the bulge in his jeans.

“This okay?” He breathed, but you caught his lips again in your response. You trailed one hand down his chest to meet the tent of his pants.

He moaned louder into your mouth, tugging at your hair to expose your throat to him. He curled over you, pressing sweet, damp kisses to your pulse points, fist balling around the fabric of your hoodie.

Your free hand found his hair.

“We should slow down,” Steve’s voice was strained, rough against your sternum, but he made no move to stop. “Want to take you on a date.”

“You can after.”

You gasped as he adjusted, wedging his thigh between your legs and rolling your hips against the rough denim. You murmured his name and coaxed his mouth back to yours.

Warm hands found bare skin beneath your sweatshirt. They fanned the expanse of your back and rib cage, held you tight, safe.

He kissed you slow and sweet, like he had, releasing your lower lip with a pop to stare down at you. He was smiling, pupils blown. His hair stuck up at odd angles.

“I’m serious.” He said, and the tenderness of his gaze made you squirm. You fought to wipe the grin off your own cheeks.

“Me too.”

Then came the pounding at the front door.

Steve released you, both of you clutching at the countertop in surprise.

You held one finger in apology, frowned, and crossed the living room for the front door.

When you leaned forward to look out the peep hole, the pounding started again, followed by a familiar voice. “It’s fucking cold out here, will you just let me in?!”

You glanced back at Steve, who waited patiently by the kitchen with a large frown furrowing his brow.

With a sigh, you opened the door to find Eddie Munson with a large to-go bag of Chinese food. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and he lumbered past you without saying hello, a waft of black leather and snow.

“Did you know the power’s on like two miles from here?” He unwrapped the scarf from his neck and toed out of heavy leather boots.

You coughed and scratched at the back of your neck as you watched the exchange between house guests when Eddie finally looked up to find Steve waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Eddie’s lips quirked up into that wolfish grin, shaking damp hair from his eyes. “Well, I’ll be dammed, Harrington. Isn’t this a surprise?”

With a sigh, you closed the front door and rested your forehead against the frigid metal. This was going to be a long day.

---

Hope your power comes back and you have a better day, Jelly, my dear xoxoxo

[stevesgother]

send requests!

i'm finishing up my first series right now, and after that i'm gonna want to just work on little one shots and drabbles

here are the prompts I'll be using :) i think it's okay to use that? idk i'm still new to the website in this sense.

thanks <3

[stevesgother]

Dress (Finished!)

Summary - You and Steve have been toeing the line between friendship and something more for years. Here are 2 times he sees you in a dress that fits you like skin, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Dress

I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

Take it off

[stevesgother]

I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :) 

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.” 

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself. 

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’. 

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

-

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color. 

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

- 

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

-

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to. 

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time. 

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

-

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?”  It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

[stevesgother]

I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :) 

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.” 

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself. 

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’. 

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

-

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color. 

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

- 

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

-

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to. 

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time. 

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

-

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?”  It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

[stevesgother]

steve harrington is so wham! coded

argue with the wall

[stevesgother]

realistically i know this would never happen because the duffers are very detail oriented about the time period accuracy of the soundtrack, BUT what i would not give for a montage or scene of some sort to I Know The End by phoebe...i would pay real united states dollars. that song is so st coded.

[stevesgother]

Dress - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.5k

Summary - 2 times Steve Harrington has lost his mind seeing you in a dress that fits you like skin, and the one time he does something about it.

Contains - best friends to lovers, mutual pining, reader is pathetically in love, loosely based off of ‘Dress’ by Taylor Swift. Or maybe heavily based lol

Warnings - steve & reader ARE 18 in this, they just haven’t graduated yet, drinking, vomit. As always, let me know if I missed anything

AN - THIS IS PART 1 OF A WIP. second fic…ever! also my first mini series! i was gonna make it all one fic but i figured it would be easier to digest this way. enjoy :)

Senior Prom - May 1985

Michael Cooper. That’s who was waiting for you downstairs in your foyer, sweet talking your parents while he waited to escort you to your final high school dance. He wasn’t your first choice for your senior prom, hardly even your second; but he was respectable enough for you to be seen on his arm for one night.

Taking one last look at yourself in your vanity mirror, you smoothed your hands down the front of your dress. It was a beautiful baby pink ball gown with lace trim and puffy sleeves. Before you can think better of it, before you can feel guilty for it, you imagine Steve’s reaction when he sees you tonight.

Steve Harrington. Your best friend since diapers. Your mothers grew up together, so naturally when they found out they were pregnant at nearly the exact same time, it only made sense that they would orchestrate your friendship immediately.

As it turns out, not much orchestrating would be required. The second your little baby brains could comprehend what it meant to love another person, the rest was history. Wherever you went, Steve went too. You’re not sure when your feelings for him started to change. The usual calm that washed over you whenever you were in his presence one day seemed to transform into something different. You felt nervous, like someone had released a net of butterflies into your stomach.

You clear your head with a harsh shake and grab your clutch off the bed, making your way downstairs. Michael is waiting for you with a green corsage in a shiny translucent box. ‘That's Sweet,’ you think, “if only it matched my dress.’ 

–

Upon arriving at the gym, the first thing you do, consciously or not, is scan the room for your best friend. You spot him quickly, his perfectly manicured hair and well-pressed suit making him hard to miss. Even harder to miss is the gorgeous, curly haired brunette resting her head on his shoulder.

Nancy Wheeler.

They’ve been together for over a year at this point, even joining your close knit circle of friends. Despite this, you can’t help the nagging sense of jealousy stabbing at your chest, making your face heat up. You tell yourself it’s the humidity inside the gymnasium, and not the fact that you’d give anything to be in her position. You quickly abandon your date and try not to feel guilty for it, making your way over to the happy couple.

“Steve!” You call as you come further into their line of sight.

“Hey you!” Steve stands and gives you a tight hug. “Hey!’ you greet, returning the embrace. He can’t help the way his eyes quickly travel down the expanse of you, noticing the shape this dress gives your body. He prays to any listening God that his girlfriend didn’t notice, that you didn’t notice. “Hey Nance.” You address her with a polite smile. She gives you a hug without warning. Another thing that irks you about Nancy Wheeler: that girl is impossible to hate. You have every reason to despise her, and yet you can’t. She’s kind, funny, strong-willed and beautiful. She’s so ‘girl next door’, she’s so…not you. Occasionally you’ve wondered if it’s a front, that she can’t possibly be that perfect.

“Where’s Michael?” She asks inquisitively; like she genuinely cares where your douchebag date has run off to. A quick scan of the room reveals he’s already talking up another girl by the photobooth. There’s not one part of you that gives a shit. “We were just thinking about grabbing some food, wanna come with?” Steve nods his head toward the various appetizers they have set up on tables decorated with gaudy tinsel and tablecloths. “Yeah, why not?”, you smile and it doesn’t reach your eyes.

–

An hour and 2 cups of spiked punch later, ‘Heaven’ by Bryan Adams starts to play and you feel like you might hurl. Nancy’s face quickly lights up and she gives her date a knowing look, “Steve! Let's dance! Please??”. She’s immediately pulling him away from the table where you’ve been watching them flirt all night. Her delicate hand resting on his bicep, his large one finding a home on her thigh. He sends you a sympathetic look as he rises; sorry that he has to leave you there, sorry that you won’t be slow dancing with anyone tonight. He has no idea.

Your date is long gone. The two of you going together was a ticket inside and nothing more.

The air in the gym is suffocating and frankly smells of sweaty basketball shorts, so you decide to make your way outside for some fresh air. The romantic serenade of Bryan Adams’ voice is nothing more than a quiet lullaby as you lean against the brick wall of your high school.

You hear him before you see him. “Hey stranger,” the open door momentarily lets the humidity escape and you feel it wash over your skin. “you alright?” he asks with a half smile.

“Yeah just,” you say looking around, “getting some air is all,” returning the expression. He imitates you and decides to lean on the wall, a little too close for comfort. You’re all but slapped across the face with his scent. Cinnamon, a no doubt expensive musky cologne, and sweat. You can feel him looking at you, so you decide to meet his gaze; praying that he can’t see the crimson shade of red creeping up your neck and cheeks simply from standing next to him. You feel so pathetic at times like these. 

“Nance found a couple of her girlfriends, figured it’d be a good time for a smoke.” He pulls a cigarette out of his suit jacket pocket, and lights it. His hand cupped to cover the breeze.

“Those’ll kill ya, you know?” you smirk, knowing. You’ve always teased him for his bad habits, especially this one. “Yeah well,” he says in an inhale, “now’s as good a’ time as any, right?”

He grins at you, smug. It sends you reeling and you hope your thundering heartbeat doesn’t give you away. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

After a few minutes of silence, he stomps his cigarette out on the pavement and turns to fully face you. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His words steal the breath from your lungs and your breath hitches in your throat.  Steve’s complimented you before, thousands of times. So why does this feel like you’ve just been slammed into a wall of concrete?

“Steve…”

You feel like he’s getting closer. You’ve definitely had too much to drink.

Before you can stop yourself or even comprehend what’s happening, you vomit all the contents of your stomach directly onto Steve’s perfectly polished loafers. He yelps, most in surprise, slightly in horror. Despite that undeniable foulness of the situation, his hands immediately move to hold your hair back, just in case you aren’t, well, finished. 

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started crying. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You’re okay,” he soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” He starts to lead you to his car in the parking lot, leaving you here alone not an option for him. “What about Nancy?” you sob, “I’ll come back and get her, honey. Don’t worry.” Honey. You almost puke again.

Once he settles you into the passenger seat of his pristine BMW, you watch as he toes off his shoes and throws them in the garbage. When he slides into the driver's seat and turns on the ignition, he turns and brings a palm up to cradle your jaw. “Guess I’m gonna have to keep an eye on ya next time,” he chuckles, “can’t handle your mildly spiked punch.” You groan, but give a breathy chuckle of your own, “Just drive, Harrington.”

When you arrive home, you breathe a sigh of relief at the lack of your family car in the driveway. Your mother would certainly pitch a fit if she saw you like this - mascara streaked down your face, an obnoxious yellow stain down the front of your once flawless dress. Steve leads you upstairs with a hand on the small of your back, and a palm cradling your elbow. You know you’re not drunk, and you’re almost positive that wasn’t the reason you spilled your guts. But the alternative to just letting Steve take care of you would be admitting that you love him, that you’re in love with him.

You don’t bother taking your makeup off, Steve just helps you change into an old t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. “Lights on or off?” He asks as he pulls the covers up and over you, “Off, please.” he gives you a little two-finger salute, “you got it.” Just as he’s reaching underneath your lamp shade you whisper, “Steve?” he looks, “yeah trouble?” “I’m sorry for ruining your night…and throwing up on your shoes.” you give a sheepish look. Even though he would have every right to be, you know he’s not mad at you.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head,”the shoes we can discuss at a later date,” he shoots you a wink, making sure you know he’s only teasing.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Without another word he closes the bedroom door, bathing you in darkness. Just before you succumb to sleep, you’re filled with dread at the thought that you’re gonna remember this in the morning.

Cheers to senior year.

[stevesgother]

Masterlist

Steve Harrington -

One Shots -

Savior Complex

The 4th 18+

Vows 18+

Mini Series -

Dress 18+

Thoughts/ blurbs

cookout at steve's 18+

[stevesgother]

can y'all let me know how The Fuck to post pictures side by side when i'm uploading a fic ? i just uploaded "beautiful and worth the mess" and the fucking pictures uploaded vertically