#Steve Harrington x gender neutral reader

[dearest-nell]

morning person

s. harrington x reader, 2.8k

summary: a snapshot into the morning routine of steve harrington, now that the two of you have moved in together includes: established steve x reader, domestic fluff, steve is a busybody. warnings: literally none except i am still incapable of proofreading properly

a/n: honestly if anyone has any requests i would love to hear them, or just want to chat about this show that has ruined my life, because i'm spiralling into obsession over here.

People who complain about mornings have obviously never spent one waking up beside Steve Harrington, this you’re sure of. Because if they had, then they would know there was nothing in the world so deliciously saccharine than that drowsy, softened look on his face as he blinks the sleep away from mingling eyelashes, his lips curving upwards into a dreamy sort of smile. This isn’t even the first time he has awoken this morning. 

Steve Harrington is a morning person – an early riser, a dawn greeter, a restless child on christmas day. His body clock is set as the sun begins to kiss the horizon, his eyes blinking open into a dark, cool bedroom. New. This bedroom is new. He is still getting used to it, this apartment, a dingy one bedroom located just a few blocks from the rougher side of town. It’s a far cry from the mansion he used to live in, small and outdated and a little worse for wear, if he were to say so himself, but it’s home. It’s home because it’s his, and it’s home because it’s yours. You rent it together, bills strung haphazardly from paychecks of jobs you’d both rather live without. Steve doesn’t mind that he still works at the video store, not when it lights up the lamp on his bedside, or cooks the pasta on your shitty gas top that flickers every so often. He needs to call the service guy, now that he thinks about it, but it’s too early to matter. 

He can feel the heat of your body pressed in beside him, curled in on yourself, face buried into the pillow now folding creases into your skin, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You have never been a morning person, he learned rather early on. You’re delirious, and grumpy, and still so beautiful despite the glare in your eyes when he used to wake you, and now, he knows to let you sleep. His impatience to rouse you, to kiss you and touch you is an urge he’s learned to swallow, so he pauses for a moment simply to stare, to smile to himself at the way you mumble in your dreams. 

He has the time, he thinks, considering it’s still dark out, and his shift at the store is not due for half a morning away, so he lets himself linger, tucked into the warmth of bedsheets as he works up the courage to leave it. He knows he needs to, that he’ll feel better if he does, that the routine always pays off even if it means parting from you. The air will be chilly outside, but he needs the cold to clear his head. His morning run is his time, after all. It gives him the solitude to consider, to plan, to unwind. 

He slips from the bed, careful footsteps walking a still unfamiliar path through the bedroom, boxes stacked against a near wall still unpacked from the move. His sneakers are in the wardrobe, well placed for a quick pick up, though he hasn’t accounted for his discarded shirt rippled right in his path. He trips, stumbling slightly, cursing himself as the thud that resounds as heavy feet meet the floorboards. He turns with a cringe, hearing you stir, though you do not rise as you wriggle deeper into yellow linens, disappearing beneath the comforter. 

He’s quick to dress, not wanting to risk another incident and the wrath of your disturbed sleep, slipping out into the living room to tie his shoes, still half asleep and blinking blearily. Despite its flaws, he likes this apartment more than he thought possible. There’s a passthrough between the kitchen and the living room that lets him talk to you as he cooks, you hanging over the bench to smile at him, pressing kisses into his shoulder when he dares to come too close. There’s a strange nook that sits in the wall by the door, one that now holds your keys and bumble bee umbrella, though neither of you are too sure why it was built in the first place. There’s a flat expanse outside the bathroom window that you want to build a flower box into, though Steve is yet to determine how, since neither of you are particularly good at D.I.Y. He loves this second hand couch Eddie found on the curb, loves the strange, abstract art piece Will designed for you both as a housewarming, loves the ceramic clown that Robin stole from an overpriced giftshop to hide in one of your moving boxes, now settled in the bookshelf beside an array of half read novels between you. 

He’s building a life here with you, and Steve is trying his best to remind himself of it every chance he get. There will be Christmases spent in these walls, games night drinks spilled on this carpet, and so many I love you kisses pressed to smiling cheeks beside that front door – he hardly knows how to contain the excitement for it all, even as he ties his laces. 

The morning is colder than he expected, but Steve has never been one to check the weather even now, even after he caught a cold from a raining run one morning, taking himself straight to work rather than home to you to shower. He figure’s he’ll wing it, deal with the consequences as they come, and enjoy the way you dote on him as he whines and groans in his flu like delirium days later. Cold, but not raining, he knows he’ll be fine this time. 

He’s been planning out this new jogging route as he goes, still learning the maps and turns of each new lane. He’d never been to this part of town much before the move, but he’s starting to acclimate one run at a time. It’s not too far from Hawkins, after all. It still feels like a familiar place, but it’s closer to the community college to save you the travel time. Steve’s a visual learner, after all. It gives him the roadmap that he’ll need to plan out his week. He’s taking himself the long way just to jot down the layout; the farmers market, the hardware store, the cafe with the good coffee. He waves to the people he passes by, few and far between, trying to appear friendly. He doesn’t know yet the culture of this community, but he’s eager to make a good impression. He recognises the old man who runs the news agency, stops to chat as they talk about the community centre. Steve’s agreed to volunteer for the refurbishment, he’s hoping it’ll help you both settle in, and you’ve promised to bake up your best batch of pastries to feed the hungry husbands as they work. Steve’s not yet a husband, but he’s planning on changing that in due time. 

The sun mingling with the clouds by the time he departs again, his pace quickening through midtown suburbia to take him home. The paperboy is tossing rolls at the doors, barely breaking on his bike as he passes house after house. Steve moves onto the road to avoid any collisions, shaking his head as the teen wheels off past a corner. He hasn’t even thought about his week yet, he realises, and his pace drops in consideration. There’s a stocktake coming up at work that will take more energy than he has to give, his parents are due over for dinner later in the week (he’s hoping they’ll cancel), and Robin has booked him tickets to some kind of gig that he’s certain he’ll hate. He mentally notes the checklist – things to buy, things to do, things to clean – now able to see his lot clearly without the buzz of a busy world around him. His days run smoother this way, alone, soles beating against the pavement. It starts him on the right foot. 

He’s out of breath when he arrives back on your block, panting heavily without the grace of a water bottle. He knows he should have brought one, but there’s no point stewing on it now. His thighs ache as he climbs the staircase, three flights of stairs his least favourite part of coming home. He can’t imagine hauling groceries up this stairwell is going to be an enjoyable weekly endeavour, but for the price of rent, he’s willing to make the effort, even with a slightly busted knee. 

He’s a little louder than he wants to be as he eases open the lock, slipping into a slightly brighter apartment than when he left. He doesn’t think you’re awake, but he takes pause to slow himself down, turning into the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Steve clicks on the faucet, hanging his head below the tap to let the cool water run directly into his mouth. He lacks grace as he guzzles down half a litre, droplets trickling down his cheeks and chin into unclean dishes from the night before. There’s urgency, he decides, in this drink. No type for a cup, no time to pause. He pulls away gasping, wiping a cupful of water across his sweat slicken face, unable to suck enough breath into his lungs. He leans back against the benchtop, eyes pressed skyward to focus on slowing himself down, letting his heart rate drop back to a blissful pace. 

He knows he should shower, but more than anything, he’s aching to get back between the sheets with you. It’s funny how he still misses you when you’re not within reach, even for an hour, even when he knows you’re still wrapped up tight in the comforts of his bed. It feels wrong to love a person this much, like he shouldn’t be made to feel so much, so deeply, every passing minute of every passing day. But he does. He knows he’s not the first to feel such a love, but he thinks he might be the only one regardless, because no one else has you. He thinks it’s strange that everyone in the world isn’t aching to be by your side, that hearts all over the town aren’t skipping beats at the wideness of your smile, the curve of your shoulder, the tickle of your laugh. This love must be special, then, because how else can he be the only one so enamoured by you. 

He forces himself into the shower, the water not yet warm even as he sinks his head beneath the stuttering stream. The pipes are old, though a cold shower bothers him far less than it bothers you. He’ll be out quicker this way. He is less thorough in his cleaning than he thinks he ought to be, scrubbing furiously at his body with the loofah you bought him, scraping sweat and red streaks into a now fading tan. He’s seeing the sun less these days in the dead of autumn, but he’ll make it up later. Right now, all he is focused on is climbing back into his bed, his skin stained with a citrus scent embedded into the new soap you had bought. It’s not his usual brand, but he thinks he likes the change anyways. It reminds him of summer picnics with you, fingers digging into orange peels, juices dribbling down his fingers until he tears out slices one by one. The scent lingers, filled with your orange flavoured kisses and sun streaked highlights burning into his mind, and yes, he thinks, the change isn’t so bad. 

He shuts off the tap, yanking his towel from the rack to pat himself dry, hair shaking out like a puppy dog with rambunctious excitement to be on his way. He doesn’t bother to redress, dropping the towel to the floor without focus, padding back towards your bedroom. You’re exactly how he left you, though a little more illuminated in the morning light. You’ve wiggled out of the blanket again, one foot kicked out to the side to regulate your body temperature, one hand reaching out towards his side of the bed. You reach for him in your sleep sometimes, and he hates the idea of not being there for you when you do. 

He clambers into bed his eagerness betraying his stealth, expert hands lifting your arm up for him to slide under, hanging it securely over his waist as he settles into the warm dip of the mattress. Your body responds instinctively, rolling into him with a groan, still not quite awake, though he can tell you’re not so far off. He runs fingers through your hair, trying to stave off your inevitable waking for as long as he can manage. Your alarm isn’t due for another hour, and he wants every second before that  spent just like this.

He doesn’t mean to fall back asleep, but sleep takes him anyways, his eyes blinking shut under the hypnotic pattern of your breathing beside him. He’ll wake up again groggier now, but there is nothing to be done to change it. He tugs you in closer, rougher in his sleep, his neediness permeating his unconscious mind until you’re pressed square against him. The movement spurs you awake, slowly and unintentionally, though it takes you a moment to understand why. 

There he is, your man, your darling boy, mouth hanging open with quiet, rumbling snores, arms wrapped around you in a protective lock. He’s never looked more beautiful, even with your eyes out of focus, one closed and pressed into the fabric of your pillowcase. You can smell the soap, feel the softness of his now cleansed skin beneath your curious fingertips, and you know he’s already been out of bed. He tries his best not to fall back asleep, but your smile curves wider to be blessed to see it. There’s a jealousy in you, after all, that he gets to watch you sleep so often. Times like these are rare, when you awaken first, and you’re greedy in your enjoyment of them. You’d take a picture if you thought you could reach the camera, but the moment would spoil, you were sure. You commit it to memory instead, every dip and curve and freckle and hair burned into your head until it’s all you can see. You want his face to be a fading image that blinks to life behind every close of your eyes, an after image repeating itself well into the day when you’re far away from him. 

He is so lovely, and you are so in love. 

The alarm breaks the two of you out of your reverie, your body jolting at the surprise of it. Steve is slower to start this time, groaning a drunken sort of sound as you slam your hand down on the rattling clock. His arm tightens around you, dragging you until your body is half wedged under his own, your giggles drowning out into muffled chuckles as your face burrows into the crook of his neck. 

“I fell back asleep.” He mutters, closing his eyes with a sigh. 

“I know.” You coo back, adjusting the curve of your back to a more comfortable position, tangling legs between his own until you’re thoroughly wrapped. 

“You sound awake.” He mumbles back, squeezing at your waist with unmasked affection. “Were you up?” 

“Yeah.” It’s an airy sort of confession, made to match the tender strokes of fingers reaching to scrape lovingly at his scalp. “Just watchin’ you sleep.” 

“Perv.” He teases, kissing at your hair, mouth hungry and missing your skin entirely. He lights up as you giggle, his head lifting with heavy blinks to gaze down at you, hair pressed upwards into a lopsided mess. You do your best to pat it down for him. “You like what you see?” 

You crook your head to the side, focusing your gaze in a tender expression. “Something like that.” His brow arches curiously, leaving you to laugh again. “I love you, you moron.” 

His smile widens, head dropping to nuzzle his nose roughly into your cheek, lips catching on your jaw every so often with exaggerated noises of enthusiasm. “Love you too, baby.” 

There is silence for a minute, nothing but his lips dragging affection across the planes of your cheek, his hands wandering underneath the fold of your bedshirt to press fingertips into fading stretch marks across your hips. You’re worried he’ll fall asleep again, and you know you don’t have the heart today to wake him a second time. 

“You want breakfast? I can make jam on toast?” 

He hums a happy sound, though does nothing to release his grip on you. “Yeah, okay. Gonna have to escape me, though. Can’t make my arm move.” 

He pretends to try and shuffle his grip, putting on a little show with a pout when his hold does not dislodge. You roll your eyes, brushing the pad of your thumb against his brow bone. 

“Five more minutes, then.” 

Steve was back asleep within three.

[hungharrington]

So I um I found an amazing video and now I’m plagued by thoughts of sitting on Steve’s bed, him between your legs with his back to your chest, and giving him the sweetest loveliest softest handjob ever, scratching his tummy hairs and peppering kisses all over his neck

nonnie did i or did i not tell u i was coming back for this ask? and i came back with a hunger -- sort of sub!steve, 1.5k, everything the ask describes, as always MDNI this entire blog is 18+! enjoy <3

Steve doesn’t think anyone has ever asked to take care of him before.

He’s had plenty of partners in bed, sure. He’s rife with enough experience that honestly he thinks it would take a really strange request to throw him off his game. But you had— when you asked, “Can I just take care of you tonight?” 

He hadn’t even been entirely sure what you had meant, pulling back from the steamy make-out with you on his lap— the usual late night rendezvous. 

But still, he gave a slow and earnest nod, a soft ‘sure, honey’ and let you rearrange the two of you til you were leaning back on the headboard and he was leaning back against you. Your thighs on either side of him, your arms looped around his middle. Like a little spoon. Steve secretly adores it. 

“Y’know I can’t exactly do much in this position,” Steve chuckles, pretending to have his reservations, even if he’s already eager to see what you mean by taking care of him. Your arms are around his waist, warm, your fingers tucking up his shirt to begin to work it upwards.

“Mm,” you hum, hoisting it higher and Steve moves forward, letting it get tugged off and over his head. Cool air flushes down his chest. “Dunno if you’re grasping the idea of letting me take care of you if you’re worrying bout that.” 

The shirt flutters to the ground, forgotten, as your hands explore to freshly exposed skin. Steve sighs sweetly as you trace softly across his tummy, nails dragging lightly as your near his thighs. His cock is already perking up. It’s been interested since earlier, you in his lap and your tongue in his mouth, and it doesn’t take many more lingering touches for it to reach proper attention. 

“No one ever taken care of you before, baby?” You ask, lips scraping his ear. Your breath is warm and your voice is low— but the kiss you give beneath his ear is hot and wet. You suckle at the skin, not even a nip of teeth. Desire pools low in Steve’s gut, a simmering heat. 

One of your hands moves over his boxers and gives his bulge a gentle rub, making Steve rumble out a soft moan. Your other hand rubs soothing down his thigh. 

Steve shakes his head to answer no to your question. His eyes fight to stay open, torn between wanting to watching your wandering hands or turning to kiss you but your persistent kisses on his neck give him little choice. He shifts his hips. 

“Not- not like this,” Steve admits, breath a little short already. His tummy tenses when your hand drags back up over it, just a soft scratch of nails. His cock aches harder. He wishes you would touch it, wishes you would reach your hand in, all hot, soft and wet and tug it in that perfectly teasing way he knows you can. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hips shifting upward again. You smile at his impatience. 

“Can we take these off?” You ask, pinching the ruffled elastic of his boxers. Steve nods fervently, hips shifting up to let you slide them down so he can kick them off. His chest feels warm, flushed beneath the hair and another groan tumbles out when you finally curl your fingers around his cock. “Fuck,” he pants as you pump tantalizing slow. “Fuck, feels so good, honey,” 

A hunger for the feeling grows in his stomach, gnawing for more bliss. Steve lets his head tips back, resting against your shoulder and you take advantage of it in an instant; kisses upon kisses up his neck. It’s messy, lips wet with spit as you scrape your teeth down, right as your rub over the slit of his cock— Steve twitches, a jagged whine pushing past his lips. He pants a little heavier. 

Pausing for a moment, you pull your hand back to your mouth and let yourself drool over it— sticky saliva covering your fingers. This time, when you grip his cock, Steve gasps loudly. Slick, hot, sounds reverberate in the room as you jerk him, hand twisting perfectly. Still slow, still gentle. 

Your mouth find his earlobe, teeth nibbling a little mean, your hand not stopping— and Steve moans a little louder, like he can’t help it. His cock gives a little dribble of precum, tummy all tensed up again. 

“See? S’nice to be taken care of,” You murmur softly. You thumb his slit again, delighting in the spurt his cock gives, then dive down to cup his balls. Your other hand strokes along his thigh lovingly, nails drawing lines as you rake them back up to his v-line. 

Steve shivers, shuddering sweet whines escaping him. He’s so unbearably hard for you- especially as you rub his balls so perfectly, your hand dragging back up his cock and then back down, a mind-melting cycle. It’s so much, it’s not even close to enough, it’s, it’s— 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers loudly. His eyes have finally crushed closed, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly beside you. His gut is burning with heat, pleasure filling every limb. It feels good. He wants to writhe against you, wants to fuck your fist, wants you to keep teasing him just like you’re doing. 

“Oh god, oh fuck- f-fuck,” His words are getting more pathetic by the minute, barely fully formed, drenched in a whimpering tone. “Please, don’t… don’t tease, no- ah,” 

It’s not even teasing, you just aren’t rubbing him hot and fast like usual. Your movements are slow, doused in adoration — your core feels sticky, burning hot from watching Steve get all worked up in your arms. 

“M’not teasing you,” you say, fondling his balls and rubbing your palm against them in a circular motion, building his lust. Steve’s tense body and punched out breathes contradict your words. He’s so whiny. It’s a pity no one’s ever taken care of him before — though your stomach pinches hotly to know only you get to see him this way. 

“Just taking care of you,” you sigh, grip tightening as you pull it back up his cock, giving the smallest jerk. Steve warbles out a throaty whimper, egged on by your roaming touch along his thighs. He feels molten hot, tummy already all clenched up, his cock just leaking all over your hand. Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body, back starting to arch up. 

“Hone- aw, fuckfuckfuck, yes, just there, please, honey,” he pleads, voice starting to sound wrecked and feeble. God, he sounds pathetic; he only sounds like this when he's been fucking you for a good while. But a few minutes of the right touch? Reduces to a whiny mess in your hands. 

“So pretty,” you whisper and Steve can’t tell if you mean him or his dribbling cock, all pink and twitching in your hand. He can’t even feel the fabric gripped between his own fingers— can’t feel anything except your palm right around the head of his cock, teasing it lightly. It’s torture, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s— 

“Please!” The word bursts out of Steve, desperate, swallowed immediately by a moan. He fights to get his next words out as your hand returns to his heavy balls, caressing them soft and slow again. It’s not fucking enough. His pleas fall out all whimpery, “Take— take care of me, please, wanna cum, I wanna- I wanna—“ 

It’s the magic words. You grip his cock properly, your whole hand curling around him for the first time that night and you set a fast pace- lewd, squelching sounds echo in the bedroom. Steve keens forward, a soft cry coming from him as his pleasure turns into a blaze in his stomach. “Oh my god, oh god- yes, fuck—“ 

Your free hand moves to his tummy, scratching down to thatch of hair at the base of his cock and Steve can’t help it, he cums, hard. He turns his head, hides it in your neck and releases a whimpery sort of wail. His chest heaves as his pretty cock spurts out his hot pearly cum — coating your hand enough to ride him through it, your hand never stopping. 

“That’s it, so good,” You coo at him. Your sweet words carry him through it, your pace slowing as his body starts to twitch back against yours. His cock gives a few final dribbles of cum and you rub your thumb over his slit, spreading it. Steve whimpers loudly. “Mm, there we go.” 

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Steve feels wrung out, feels spent, feels like he had his brain melted out his ears — like he could just nap against you now and be happy forever. Your soft kiss against his cheek has him opening his eyes, pulling back enough to look at your face. 

“Good?” You ask, though he knows you can tell just how fucking good it was. “Good to be taken care of?” 

Steve nods with a loving hum, a hefty exhale rushing out his lungs and he lets his face huddle back into your neck, eyes slipping shut. He’ll move in a minute- maybe when he can feel his thighs again. 

[strangerstilinski]

𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

summary: steve is plagued by bad dreams. one night, he needs a little help finding his way back. [3.8k]

content warnings: roommate!steve, hurt/comfort, night terrors/ptsd, panic attack?, copious amounts of pining, could actually be either canon compliant or au depending on how you want to interpret his nightmares, this was mostly just an excuse to write sad cuddles with stevie

a/n: no, this most certainly has not been sitting in my drafts for the last 9 months. what are you talking ab-? ok, yeah, it definitely has. but i finally got my shit together! everybody cheer! [p.s. mar ily to the actual ends of the earth thank u for proofing this for me]

as always, please reblog if you enjoy! xx (if you're feelin really crazy, you could even say smth nice)

dividers by @strangergraphics

It's a knock against your bedroom door that wakes you. A quiet rap of knuckles on wood so soft that you nearly fall back asleep after convincing yourself you must've dreamt the noise entirely— until it sounds again.

A soft grumble of confusion escapes you as you push your weight onto your forearm to sit up in bed, using the knuckles of one hand to rub sleep from your eyes and squinting toward your bedroom door in confusion; fighting to focus the way that the faint light coming in through your bedroom window illuminates the hallway through the crack in the door. The familiarity of the shadowy figure slowly solidifies under your hazy gaze.

“Steve?” You call out in question, voice a little hoarse from disuse.

“Yeah.”

His voice is quiet on the other side of the door, the sound more of a breathy exhale than a word, really. You run your fingers through sleep-mussed hair as you try to focus on the clock on the bedside table. Your brain can barely comprehend the early hour, even as the clock clicks quietly, the last number flipping as one minute gives way to the next. It takes a few seconds, but your eyes begin to adjust to the dark rather quickly and it's with newly awakened attention that you turn toward the door again.

“You can come in.” You call out softly, your words slightly less scratchy with sleep now that your drowsiness has begun to bleed away and the quiet night around you comes more and more into focus.

The door creaks open a little further after a moment and you find Steve there in the dark. His chest is heaving, his lungs expanding and deflating rapidly beneath his ribs. The sound of his quick breaths is loud in the silence, bare feet shuffling against the hardwood in the hallway as he continues to stand just outside the door.

You wait, but he makes no move to enter. He looks so meek like this. His sharper edges have been softened and shrunken by the weight of his anxiety. The threadbare tshirt that's stretched across his shoulders hangs loose around his neck. You can see the crooked line of scattered moles you love so much decorating the line of his throat and eventually disappearing beneath the fabric, though the cotton sags enough to reveal a bit of the hair below his collarbones.

It all makes him appear smaller, somehow. Like a man so much younger than he is. Like a boy standing in the dark outside of his parent's bedroom, patiently awaiting comfort.

“Sorry. For wakin' you up.” Steve manages quietly, his words clipped.

The full-blown panic attack he'd been on the brink of moments before in the privacy of his own bedroom had receded, but just barely. The world around him still shifted in and out of focus, a buzzing sort of white noise filling his ears like cotton.

He glances up at you— Where you've pushed up onto your elbow to squint at him in the dark, your face baring the faint imprint of creases from your pillowcase. Steve spares a fleeting thought to how lovely you look like this, sleep-induced wrinkles on your cheeks and heavy lidded eyes. But he's only granted a moment to admire the sight before the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears forces his gaze to drop to the floorboards again.

With difficulty, he swallows past the lump lodged in his throat, pinching his eyes shut for a moment when a discarded pair of jeans on your bedroom floor look just a bit too much like a thick, crawling vine making its way toward him in the dark.

“No! No, it's okay,” You're reassuring him in a rush, “What's wrong?”

“I, uh.. I-I need your help.” His admission comes out a little like it causes him physical pain to say it out loud. His fingers shake as they comb through the sweaty hair that's flopped down over his forehead in sleep, pushing it back from his face, though a few stubborn strands immediately break free and curl over his brow again.

“Okay,” You readjust yourself on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit up a little straighter, crossing your legs beneath the blankets while you watch him in confusion, “Y'can come in.” You repeat softly.

“I just-” Steve pants, voice hoarse with the way his labored breaths have dried out his throat, “I-”

“Steve?” Your skin has begun to prickle with that itch that tells you something isn't right, but lingering drowsiness fogs your brain just enough that the severity of it hasn't quite sunken in.

His gaze flicks once again to the rumpled pile of denim on your bedroom floor, one pant-leg outstretched in his direction, and the longer he keeps his eyes trained on it, the more the shape of it melts into the dark vines from his nightmare. He blinks, just once, and he swears the thing fucking moves. He thinks it might be crawling its way across the scuffed floorboards, toward him-

Steve's panicked breathing picks up, and your own heart ticks a little faster with worry. You watch as Steve's hand meets the trim around your doorway, his long fingers curling tight around the wood as he tries to steady his wobbly legs.

He makes an awful sound, like he's suffocating. He's nearly gasping for air, choking on the words as he pushes them out, “I- I can't-”

The blankets that cover your lap have already been tossed haphazardly to the side as you stumble from the bed in a rush. You're reaching out for him even as your mind struggles to comprehend what's wrong — why it is that he seems to be panicking.

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” You soothe as gently as you can manage, doing your best to push your own anxieties down to focus on the man in front of you. “Steve-”

His cheeks are warm beneath your palms as your hands find either side of his face, thumbs dragging soft over the apples of his cheeks while your fingertips tangle lightly in the tufts of hair that curl out from behind his ears. The ragged breaths rushing past his lips fall over your face when you guide his gaze up from the floor to meet your own, his dry lips parted and quivering with every exhale.

“It's okay, you're okay.” Your words don't come out nearly as firm as you want, one of your hands leaving his cheek to drag over his sweaty forehead. 

Your fingertips smooth over the furrowed line of his eyebrow before falling back to his cheek and finally settling over the column of his throat. His racing pulse thumps soft against your hand, a barely-there fluttering like a hummingbird's wings flapping beneath his skin.

Steve reaches up. His sweaty palm grips your wrist so tight it aches while his head tips a little farther into your touch. He lets out a shaky breath once he makes it just one small step through the doorway.

“What is it? What d'you need my help with?” You ask, voice a little airy with concern.

His chest continues to rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths, and with the help of the soft glow of the streetlight outside your window, you manage to catch the longing glance that he casts to the bed behind you. You're quick to guide him toward it, back peddling until you feel the cushion of the mattress against the backs of your thighs. You settle into the rumpled blankets again and tug at Steve's hand until he has little choice but to climb in after you.

“What is it? What's wrong?” You ask, words whisper-soft.

It takes a moment before his breathing has calmed enough for him to respond, the clock on the bedside table clicking quietly once more as one minute flips to the next, the sound of Steve's ragged inhales and shaky exhales drowning out the silence of the night.

“I, uh. God, it sounds so stupid now, but I-I had this dream,” Steve starts slowly. His trembling fingers prompt you to tighten your grip on the large hand still cradled in your own as he continues, “It was- Fuck, I just- It was a bad one and I-” A harsh breath is forced past his lips, “Feel like I'm still dreaming.. Even now, I feel like.. Like everything's about to flip on its side n' then the nightmare'll take over-”

Your heart cracks at the wobble in his voice, and you can't help but reach up to smooth some of the bedhead back from his face once again, “You're not, though. You're awake,” You promise softly, “You're with me, you're safe.”

“Well, to be fair, you'd probably say that in my dream too, though, right?” Steve points out with a weak laugh, muscles in his jaw tense as he gives a self-deprecating shake of his head.

The dim light pouring in from outside catches the sharp line of his jaw, casts a pretty glow over his long lashes when his downcast eyes focus on the mess of blankets surrounding the two of you. In any normal situation, you'd be ecstatic to have Steve in your bed. But tonight, in the presence of his distress, that elation is decidedly overcome by something more akin to sorrow.

“Yeah, I guess I probably would,” You laugh quietly, though it's a joyless sounding thing, “What can I do then? How can I help?”

“I dunno, I just- I.. Didn't wanna be alone, I guess.” His voice is quiet, embarrassed maybe, and it only makes that urge to pull him into your arms that much stronger.

“You never have to be alone.” You tell him. And you mean it.

“Right,” Steve nods once, adam's apple bobbing in his throat when he swallows, “Thanks.”

You want to help. God, you ache to help — but you have no idea where to start.

“How.. How do you usually bring yourself back after you wake up? When you are alone?”

“Sometimes I, uh, I count my fingers-” His voice is scratchy as he speaks.

He brings one of his hands in the narrow space between you with a small, playful waggle of his fingers. But both of your gazes fall to the slight tremble of his hand, and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“-I read somewhere once, 'm pretty sure, that if you're dreaming, the number of fingers? On your hand? It'll be off.” His words come out choppy, unsure. Like he's expecting you to misunderstand him.

“Off.. Like, you'll have twelve fingers or something?” You clarify carefully.

“More or less.” He shrugs like it doesn't mean much, but you know it does. “It's stupid. And I'm probably not even remembering it right-”

“It's not stupid,” You insist, continuing only a moment later when he only frowns in response, “You are not stupid, Steve Harrington.”

Steve laughs weakly, the sound dejected and harsh, “That's a first.” He jokes.

Now's not the time to get into it, not really, but his words make your stomach twist with a pained emotion you can't quite name. You find yourself needing to reassure him just once more, even if he might not believe you.

“I mean it.”

He doesn't respond to that, though his eyes shine a little at his waterline. The silence that follows feels heavy enough to smother you both. Another click sounds from your alarm clock, seemingly louder now, though you know its volume is the same as it always is.

“You.. Y're warm,” Steve whispers after a moment, tongue poking out to wet his dry lips before his eyes flick up to meet your own, “That helps, y'know? Because there's no warm or cold in.. in dreams.”

You squeeze his hand once before pushing up onto your knees and turning to prop a couple of pillows up against the headboard. You lean back into the cushion when you're done and urge him to lay with you with a small wave of your hand.

Steve only hesitates for a second before he follows your silent command, crawling forward as you fall back with a sense of familiarity. The two of you move a bit like there's a tether connecting you to one another. It's easy. Like it could just be a ordinary Thursday night, settling onto the sofa in the living room for the newest episode of Night Court. The simple normalcy of it has a shaky sigh tumbling past his lips when his head finally meets your chest, and he all-but melts into your side.

“How's this? Okay?” You ask cautiously. When Steve nods, lightly-stubbled cheek scraping against your shirt, you wrap an arm around him and take both of his hands into your smaller ones, “D'you wanna count with me?”

“Please.” Steve's response comes so quiet, so vulnerable.

You've never seen him like this. You're flooded with the overwhelming urge to protect him, to shield him away from every bad dream he's ever had, and every one that threatens to haunt him in the future. He avoids your gaze though his face is upturned toward your own, his chin dipped into his chest so he can focus on the way your joined hands fit together.

It's slow going. You fold Steve's fingers down one at a time, the two of you counting them off together beneath whispered breaths. 

He audibly sighs in relief when you finish his first hand with five fingers, and his breaths truly begin to even out as you carefully curl your palm around his knuckles and fold down finger number ten on his other hand. 

The moment you finish, Steve is grabbing one of your wrists in a gentle grip, his thumbs smoothing over your soft skin before he starts to count off the fingers on your hand as well, silently this time. He continues to calm, though it's a gradual thing. The once rapid heaving of his chest slows imperceptibly. His body relaxes more heavily into your own.

His whispered counting comes to a stop when he reaches your last finger, but he doesn't release you. You allow your free hand to card through his hair all the while, combing delicately through the silky strands, damp as they may be. Your fingertips rub over his scalp softly while he continues to toy with the fingers of your opposite hand.

“You okay?” You murmur in question after a few minutes have clicked by in the silence.

“Yeah.. Yeah, 'm fine.” Steve admits quietly, and he almost means it. He's comfortable here, in your arms — far more comfortable than he thinks he has any right to be. He narrows his eyes as he focuses determinedly on the smooth length of your fingers beneath his own, “Sorry. I just- I mean, Jesus Christ, 's fucking humiliating-”

“Would you.. Do you want to talk about the dream?” You interrupt carefully.

Steve doesn't say anything for a moment, and you're about to reassure him that doesn't need to tell you anything, but he speaks before you can.

“Usually, it's these.. Well, they're kinda bats.. But also not..?” He chuckles darkly, squeezing your hand once before loosening his grip and unfolding your fist.

He begins straightening your fingers one at a time, his thumb stroking soft along the inside of each one as he continues, “Tonight it was the vines. Sometimes.. Sometimes it's this.. This giant thing. Made up of blood and flesh, but in all the wrong ways. 'n there're these face-less, alien-looking...” He pauses like he's debating the final word, “'s just.. It's kid shit, y'know? Or, maybe horror movie shit. Just.. Monsters.”

“It doesn't sound like kid shit. It's.. It sounds terrifying. Honestly.” You acknowledge when he falls silent, your fingers still combing gently through his hair. “The bats..?” You repeat, leaving the word open in question.

“The bats..” Steve swallows, no longer counting your fingers but merely stroking the length of them idly as he speaks, “They're huge. Like, the size of a fuckin' hawk. But they've also got, like, four tails? N' I dunno if bats even have tails, normally. But they just- Just tear into you 'til you either bleed out or wake up.”

The motion of your hand running through his hair stutters, but just for a moment, “Jesus,” You pause for only a second before you have to ask, “And the vines?”

“They're.. Damn, what's the word? Sentient, kind of?” He explains in a soft rasp, “And strong as all hell. If they get ahold of you, you're not gettin away, y'know? They wrap around your limbs and you're stuck. They- they wrap around your neck and you can't fuckin' breathe.”

The air seems to catch in his chest at just the memory. A small hitch in his purposefully steady breathing that has you readjusting on the mattress to press yourself that much harder into his warmth.

“I'm sorry-” Your chin presses into the crown of his hair for a moment.

The gesture is meant to comfort him, and you hope it does, even as your nose fills with the scent of his expensive shampoo and a delicious, sleepy scent that's entirely Steve. It makes your stomach swoop familiarly, though you try to push the feeling down. 

“-That all sounds awful.” 

He swallows thickly before continuing in a quiet voice, “And it's not just me, y'know? More often than not it's the people I care about. It's Robin, or the kids, or Nance and Jonathan. It's-” 

His voice grows hoarse with emotion before he cuts off to lick at his lips, head tipping back. His wide, earnest gaze flicks up to you, his eyebrows pinched with something pained. 

“Sometimes it's you, and that's- Fuck, 's worse. So much worse than when it's just me. Christ, it's fucking scary. Having to watch any of you dying.. Bleeding out, right in front of me — and there's nothing I can do, I can only watch-”

“I know it doesn't feel like it, but they're just dreams, Steve,” You whisper carefully, “That's all they are. They can't hurt us, any of us.. And they can't hurt you.”

He nods once after giving your words a moment to sink in, stubble on his chin scratching softly against the cotton of your shirt. You ache to say more, to find the right words to magically make it all better, but you know there's no articulation that will serve as such an all-healing balm. Even if there was, he's gone this long without someone to placate him with empty, pitying promises, and the absolute last thing you want is to make him feel any smaller than he already does.

Silence falls over the room again like a weighted blanket, a contented sort of quiet that you're both grateful for. 

The rumble of a lone car cuts through the night, headlights colliding with shadows against the far wall. The glow reflects on the window as the car comes and goes, and for just a brief moment, you get a clear view of the twin beauty marks on his cheek — You have to rein in the all-encompassing urge to drag your thumb over them.

Now's not the time.

But you do wonder what it might be like, to share a bed with Steve under more normal circumstances. What it would feel like to wake in the late hours of the night and have his head resting on the pillow beside your own. For your sheets to hold that musky, sleep-riddled scent that lingers on his skin now.

You watch Steve's full lashes flutter as he blinks, his unfocussed gaze trained on the way your fingers curl and straighten under his own ministrations, bending them this way and that as his thumb presses into the meat of your palm. Your tongue has gone heavy in your mouth with the words you long to say:

I want you.

I love you.

I'll protect you.

You push them down, tough as they are to swallow, and instead break the silence as gently as you can, “You know, you can always come in here after a bad dream. Even if it's not as bad as tonight. If this helps, then I want you to.. I don't want you to worry about waking me up or-”

“Thanks, I- Yeah, maybe.” Steve murmurs noncommittally.

“Steve,” You speak sternly. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you carefully tip his head back, his chin jutting up as he's forced to look at you. “I mean it. You're more than just my roommate. We- We're friends. I care about you. I don't mind.”

Steve swallows, hesitates. His adam's apple bobs before he nods his head in your hold slowly, “Okay.” He says finally, a weight that he didn't realize was even there suddenly lifts from his shoulders.

You allow yourself to drag your thumb lovingly over the long line of his brow, just once. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips, “Then it's settled.”

The wonky streetlight outside your window flickers for a moment-

You probably wouldn't have even paid the momentary darkness a second thought if not for the way Steve stiffens suddenly. The flickering only lasts a second or two before it re-settles into that same dim stream of light that always illuminates your bedroom at night, but Steve lets out an audible breath of relief when it does.

Neither of you mention it, but the shakiness of that gust of air when it pushed past his lips is nearly enough to break your heart.

You watch the way his jaw flexes, your gaze drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck covered only by the long, curling ends of his hair. You can almost make out his jumping pulse at the hollow of his throat, the dark shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly as Steve forces the too-quick beat of his heart to slow once again.

You're about to ask him if he's okay, but Steve must feel it coming, because he manages to speak first.

“You should get back to sleep.” He says softly.

He releases your hand to prop himself up on an elbow, a small gap of space growing between you that feels so much larger than it is.

Your hand slips from the hair at the back of Steve's head, but you manage to grab ahold of his bicep.

“Do you wanna stay?” You find yourself asking.

“Y'sure?” Steve asks in surprise, “I mean, you.. really don't mind if I stay?” He questions cautiously, golden eyes wide and entirely too pretty, looking a little like even after all this, he can't quite believe you'd let him stick around any longer than necessary.

In lieu of responding, you slip further underneath the blankets. You roll onto your back and open your arms — a silent beckoning for him to join you.

Steve huffs a soft breath through his nose, a relieved sounding thing. The walls that he was rushing to put back up just a moment before crumble in an instant, the stiff set of his shoulders falling slack as well. He drops his head down onto the pillow beside you before draping an arm around your waist to drag you back against his chest.

You're lulled back to sleep by the soft puffs of breath he lets out against your neck and the warm weight of his body wrapped around you.

The last thing you'd ever wish for is for Steve to suffer, but you can't help finding yourself somewhat looking forward to the next time he'll crawl into bed with you — Regardless of the circumstances.

You're more than happy to be his rock.

[pixiexdusts-world]

Incorrect Quote

Dustin: Is this your plan B?

Y/n: Technically, this is plan P.

Dustin: Plan P? Is there a plan M?

Y/n: Yes, but I marry Steve in plan M.

Steve : I like plan M.

[stevebabey]

question on my lips

kia ora my loves, i'm stuck with writers block on another piece and this is hopefully the cure <3 its all sweetness as usual [established relationship + fluff + 2k words] mucho mwahs as ALWAYS <3!

Steve’s in a bad mood.

Which might be very fair considering the state of the weather outside. Flurries of snow batter against the windows and a hair-raising chill leaks into the panes, painting them in condensation. It’s cold. You don’t want to be caught outside on a night like tonight.

But, somewhere across town, there’s a reservation under Steve’s name that is being wasted. At a pretty restaurant, with 2 too many forks for your taste — but Steve had insisted. Even put on a suit.

And even though Steve has told you he prefers the quieter nights in with just the two of you, he seems quite… miffed that you can’t go anymore.

Maybe not quite a bad mood but… well, it’s a hell of a pout he’s wearing.

Amber drenches the wall of the room, lit by your bedside table lamps — a cozy cocoon that feels worlds away from the blizzard coming down outside. You’re actually quite excited; there’s seldom a comfort like being in Steve’s arms when it’s cold like this. Tangled together in your bed, letting his perpetually blazing heart heat the both of you.

But… he’s still pouting. You’re both unwinding a bit, taking off what you’d managed to put on before the weather took a turn for the worse — but Steve’s stuck, hands in his pockets. He seems to be fumbling with something.

His silence worries you more. Maybe you hadn’t realised how actually upset he was that your plans were cancelled.

He had been mentioning it all week, all month actually- since he’d first made the booking. Some claim that you’d love the food and he loved any occasion to see you all dressed up and drool-worthy— (“Not that that’s not all the time, babe.”)

“Steve?” You say. His head jumps up, hands in his pockets going still. “C’mon, come to bed.”

He softens at your coaxing words. Like the very sound of them, the sweet nature of your words, melts his hardened edges. He nods, tugging off his tie and beginning to work on his belt.

In the meantime, you creep into the bed. It smells like a smattering of something sweet that you know to be Steve’s hairspray, fabric softener, and maybe what you think love might smell like if it had a scent. You sink into it lovingly. Warm. Safe.

Your eyes find him instinctively. Watching, observing, drinking in the sight of your lover soothes you like nothing else. Love spools messily in your chest, like a knotted ball of yarn strewn through your ribs. It aches sweetly. Steve catches you as he’s pulling a pair of sweatpants up his calf.

“You’re staring,” He states plainly, but he’s smiling a bit, lips turned up in the corners. He jumps, hiking his pants up over his hips, and wanders closer.

You nod, hair scrunching against the pillow. Your voice comes out a bit muffled when you speak. “That a crime?”

Steve grins this time. He pushes the covers back, kneeling on the mattress beside you — pausing to push back the hair covering your eyes. He smiles down at you, eyes fond. “If it is, lock me up, baby.”

He pauses, thumb drifting over cheekbone lightly. “I could look at ya all day.”

Something delightful purrs behind your ribs, warm and all-encompassing. Where you would’ve once hidden your face away, this time you just let your glee wash over your face — and let Steve see every second of it. You’re happy. Steve makes you happy.

Steve gives an awed exhale and flops, bouncing down on the mattress beside you. He works the duvet around, bundling up as best he can before his hands begin to search for you. Traversing across the sheets, seeking, til they meet skin. He hums happily. Pulls you into his chest and lets you figure out how you want to wrap around him, like unkempt ivy. He’s warm, as always.

You’re not even trying to sleep yet, either of you, just having a moment huddled up in each other's embrace. The wind whirls loudly outside. You wonder what you’d be doing if your plans had gone through.

“M’sorry,” you say into his chest. It rises and falls with his breath, soothing and constant. “That we couldn’t do dinner. Y’seemed really excited.”

Steve makes a little noise, saying that he agrees. For a moment, your words hang in the air and then he clears his throat, pulling you closer.

“S’okay, not like you can control the weather.” He murmurs his reply. He pulls back to peer down at you with suspicious eyes, a tease on his tongue. “Can you? Because as your boyfriend, I should totally know that, and considering what we’ve seen—“

“Shut up,” you giggle. You poke him in the ribs because you can’t think of a good jibe back.

“Shutting up,” Steve says, before snuggling back closer. There’s another moment of quiet. The window rattles in the absence of words. Steve sighs.

“Just…” He starts. You can already tell he’s got his thinking face on, a little furrow between his brows. “Had some good plans for tonight, is all. Not a big deal.”

“A plan within a plan,” you muse thoughtfully. Steve chuckles. “How layered this night could of been!”

“And instead, you just have to have this, huh?” Steve murmurs, dejection creeping into his voice. Your heart twists. He must’ve planned a lot just to watch it go down the drain.

You pull back from his embrace and catch his eyes, searching his face. Disappointment lingers in his expression and it pushes a pout onto your lips.

“Well, is there anything we can do? That was like your plans?” You ask.

Steve breaks into a grin, giving a chuckle — but a glint in his eyes says he’s grinning for another reason. He stares at you lovingly, eyes dragging up and down your face as he seemingly thinks of his answer. He shakes his head.

“Nuh uh. Nothing we can do tonight.” He says, a tad forlorn. His hand on your back sketches a soft stroke up your spine. You shiver in a good way and Steve speaks again, eyes searching somewhere behind you, imagining something. “Well, not— not the way I want to do this.”

There’s a long pause. At the same moment a soft realisation blooms in your chest and on your face, Steve seems to realise he’s said too much. His eyes widen, the apples of his cheeks turning scarlet.

“Were you gonna—?”

You push back from him, suddenly sitting up in the bed. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, risking bruising the inside of your ribs with each resounding thud. You don’t even mind because… because…

Steve sits up too, wide-eyed expression still on his face. He looks flushed, taken off guard — he clearly hadn’t meant to tell you today. Well, he had meant to tell you today but he wanted to ask you at dinner, on one knee, and then the storm—

“You were gonna ask?” You squeak. A smile wobbles on your face as you try to rein in your reaction, even as joy floods every nerve. “Tonight?”

Steve seems unsure of the right way to answer. “Yes,” He stammers. Then crushes his eyes closed, dropping his eyes closed to curse. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed— I had it all planned! This isn’t—“

Steve pushes his palms into his eyes for a moment, dragging his hands down his face. You feel a pang of remorse for ruining your own surprise but it’s completely overshadowed by the rampant happiness. You can’t help yourself for what you say next.

“Yes.”

Steve blinks. “What?” A grin grows on his face, like your own is contagious even as he shakes his head. “I haven’t even asked you yet!”

He’s laughing, a glorious sound, and so are you. You're so full of love you feel stuffed like you’ve just eaten, it fills every crevice of your body. You nod. You think your teeth might be aching with how sweet the boy before you is— pouting and giving away his own surprises.

“I know,” you breathe. “But if- when you do, it’s a yes.”

And you’ve known it before. You have known it long before tonight that yours and Steve’s futures are knitted together so intricately that where one goes, the other follows. Still, knowing it and saying it— the difference steals your breath. You feel like a teenage fool again, back to the first time Steve ever asked you, ‘Be mine?’

Steve sinks into the pillows, deflating into them with a blinding grin. Like he hadn’t been sure up until right then. He giggles. Another awed sound, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“Okay,” he breathes. You sink down too, curling up into him. His warmth feels burning hot now as he pulls you back into his arms, the same as he had a minute ago; this time, you swear your hearts are an inch closer.

“I gotta come up with a whole new plan now, don’t I?” Steve asks, eyes shining as he peers down at you.

You laugh a little bit, delirious, and shake your head. Gathering courage, even as your stomach twists up in the best way.

“Nope. You can… you can ask now, if you really want.”

You hope your voice betrays everything you mean; that he could ask anywhere and you would say still say yes. That it didn’t need to be somewhere fancy, didn’t need to be a big spectacle, he didn’t even need to get on one knee and you would still say yes.

Steve stares down at you, drinking in the sincerity of your expression and he softens impossibly more. Smile lines you adore get scrunched up as he gives a shuddering breathy laugh, punched out of him by his own enormous affection. Christ, he loves you.

His hand raises, cupping your jaw sweetly and he tugs you closer to meet him in the middle. You come home to him, lips meeting lips as he kisses you deeply and maddeningly. There are a thousand sentiments in his kiss, I want to marry you and I love you among them.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against your own. His hand on your jaw rubs soothing, fingers tucking some stray hair behind your ear.

“Got a plan.” He murmurs, a wickedly handsome smile on his face as he taps his temple.

You’ll have to wait, it seems. You think you can stretch your patience a little longer, especially for this. Your cheeks are beginning to ache from your smile.

Another quiet moment. Then, your eyes light up with the recollection of an earlier memory. They skirt across the room and land on their target, Steve’s crumpled pair of slacks on the ground. You recall his fumbling with his hand deep in his pocket.

Steve follows your eye-line and the moment he spots what you’re looking his head whips back.

Steve fixes you with a stern look, a warning that says don’t. You move an inch, more to tease than anything — you don’t want to see anything til he’s the one giving it to you — but you don’t get very far anyway.

“Oh no, you don’t—” Steve’s arms around your middle tighten, pulling you closer as you pretend to reach off into the distance.

He shifts you easily, setting you down into the pillows and then squishing himself atop you. You let out a strange noise, a surprised yelp as Steve lightly crushes you beneath him, a slightly maniacal grin on his pretty mouth. His hair is a mess, cheeks still glowing, and he looks utterly in love.

You wiggle a bit, seeing if you can free a limb. Maybe to pretend to escape, maybe to dig your fingers in and hold him closer. Either way, it’s fruitless.

Somehow, you’re not all the mad with the situation; squished lovingly beneath your hunk of a boyfriend so you don’t go scampering around searching for a- for your engagement ring.

“Can I at least get a kiss?” You ask, knowing he’ll say yes. If there’s one thing, it’s that Steve never denies you a kiss if you ask. His eyes look a tad misty as he looks down at you so so fondly, eyes drawing down to your lips.

He doesn’t disappoint.

[bettysupremacy]

please please feed into my obsession with lovesick, heart eyes, deadly smitten, will trip over nothing just by looking at you, steve. he knows he’s hot. trust me he knows. but he also doesn’t even notice the girls that will come to family video and check out anything just to talk to king steve. he can’t even care because he’s so so antsy to go home and literally be YOUR housewife. he just is like a dog in human form, a golden retriever, he wants so badly to love and please!!

This is so so true, and I think we need to spread more lovesick Steve agenda. Thank you for the request ml!!<3

A girl stands in family video, nearly ready to check out a copy of A Christmas Story. It sits on the counter, waiting for her to pick it up again, for her to hand it to Robin so she can ask Would you like a bag with that?

This is normal. That is, when it’s not June.

Robin rolls her eyes. It’s pathetic, really. She has no doubt the girl hasn’t even looked at the movie in front of her, tempted to ask “Christmas in July early?” But she won’t. Instead she’ll watch. Even if that’s a little mean.

Steve bounces on his heal. He clocked out ten minutes ago, and normally that means he would’ve been gone nine minutes ago, but you were picking him up today. And oh did he miss you.

It was heavy pounding heartache in his chest. He hadn’t seen you in a week, schedules clashing meanly, and he’s just about had enough. Enough of the turmoil that resides in his belly when he thinks of missing you.

His heart nearly bursts when you walk through the door.

He maneuvers around the counter swiftly, past Robins annoyance, past the girl with the Christmas movie, who he still hasn’t noticed. Scooping you up into a hug, he sighs into the crevice of your neck. The warm air tickles you and you giggle loudly. It’s the sweetest thing he’s heard in a week.

“Stevie, baby, it’s been a week.”

“Tell me about it.” Always with the dramatics. He gripes at the way you laugh. “You’re so mean to me.”

You gasp. “Get away you jerk.”

“Please don’t push me away, I love you.” His large hands fumble for your arms.

“Get away, I’m serious, you smell like VCR tapes.” You giggle again, palm to his cheek.

He stops, gaping. “I do not.”

Your chest aches in the most pleased way, thrilled to see him. “Yes, you do.”

Feeling sticky with love, you take a moment to look at Steve, brushing hair out of his pretty eyes. His face something funny. Pleased, but funny.

“They don’t even have a smell, dweeb” He flicks your shoulder.

“Oh, yes they do.” You nod solemnly, “and it’s all over you.”

“Shut up.” He laughs, pulling you in. His smile so close your head feels a little dizzy. “Gimme a kiss.”

“Ok, VCR boy.”

He ignores the nickname, the kiss too important to lose. You feel his grin against your lips.

Robin looks to the girl still standing hopelessly at the register. “Good choice.”

The girl deflates, walking out the door, indifferent to the movie she leaves on the counter.

Steve looks up for the first time. “What’s her problem?”

[bcyhoods]

could I please request steve and shy!reader and her first time staying the night at his place? lots of timid cuddling and just overall sweetness? I loved your first steeb drabble!

ohemgee yay i’m so glad you liked it!! thank u for for such a cute req, i hope i did it justice🫡 | 1k fluff, gn!reader

You were going crazy, without a doubt. You’ve already finished showering, but you’ve been locked away in his bathroom for 15 minutes. The pep talk you’re giving yourself in the foggy mirror does nothing to calm flutter in your stomach.

“Everything okay, honey?” You hear Steve call from down the corridor.

“Yes—Yeah, I’m okay!” The words are rushed and clumsy as the nickname runs through your head on repeat. And while you’re about to sleep in his room for the first time, it’s too domestic for your racing heart. You hope he doesn’t notice.

Giving yourself one final nod of scarce confidence, you pull open the door and softly let it close behind you. You’re practically walking on the balls of your feet so as not to make any noise.

When you peek into his room, you see the plain of Steve’s back facing toward you. You let your gaze shamelessly trace through the freckles and moles that grace his skin, then to the muscles that tense in his biceps as he fluffs one of his pillows. He’s mumbling to himself as he punches and pulls at the cushion.

Once you push past the door, he turns like he’s a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He’s doe eyed with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Hey, there you are,” he sings with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” You timidly wave with a smile just as sweet.

“I was getting worried,” he starts as he meets you by the door, “Started to think you fell in or something.” Steve laughs it off, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrows that threatens to expose his nerves.

Because while you were in the bathroom, Steve had been giving himself his own encouraging speech. One which also fell quite short, but he was better at concealing it. At least he thinks he is.

Your clammy hand reaches for his, a reassuring effort to soothe both your worries. “No search party necessary. I’m still standing,” you reply softly. He releases a hefty exhale — a mixture of a shaky laugh and a sigh of relief — and gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll be right back. You can sleep on either side, I don’t mind.”

He’s quick to jog out, leaving you to roam every inch of his bedroom.

You’ve been in Steve’s room countless times before, you probably have every trinket and frame committed to memory. But every detail has somehow become more intimate since the last time you’ve visited. Every knick knack is a window into Steve Harrington’s being and by tomorrow morning, you’d become even more familiar. The thought only further warms your chest once your eyes land on an old love note you’d given him, preserved in a framed picture of you right on his bedside table.

By the time he returns, you’re already under the covers with a cheesy smile and patting the empty space next to you.

He uses some sort of excuse so that he can keep a dim nightlight on: Just so you can see everything in case you need to get up in the middle of the night. And Steve Harrington doesn’t have a secret aversion to the dark.

No, Steve Harrington is a romantic, and he just really wants to see your pretty face.

“Are you okay?” He whispers as he settles beside you. He moves to bring the blanket up to your chin and traces the underside of your jaw with his knuckle.

“Yes, I’m okay, Stevie.” You giggle at his concerned expression and reach up to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow before you convince yourself not to.

“Good. Good…just checking.”

And though you’re both laying face to face, sharing the same sheets, he’s entirely too far away for your liking. All you would have to do is extend your arms just a few inches until they reach his shoulders. But really, it’s a few inches too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again lowly, noting the pensive expression on your face.

Your stomach flips and your hand flies to pick at the skin of your lips. Now, you would just need to ask. But it’s so difficult when he’s staring right at you, practically oozing adoration. Now there’s a knot in your mouth where your tongue should be.

“Steve?”

He hums. The knot tightens.

“You don’t have to, but…can you, um—would you want to…” you trail off as the rest of your question dissipates.

“Do you…do you want me to hold you?” He finishes for you. He’s already moving to sit up before you can say ‘please,’ eager to wrap you up in his embrace.

You sit up the slightest bit so that he’s able to slither his arm underneath your head. He’s laying on his back while you’re curled into his side. You rest on his bicep, legs tangled with his own and an arm around his middle as you play with the fingers of his other hand.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” You turn slightly so that you’re peering up at his face, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s an awkward angle and you know it’s going to result in a dull ache in your neck, but you can’t be bothered to care with his lips so close.

“No, no,” he’s quick to rush out, “This feels nice. I like this.”

It’s not until you see his wide smile that you notice the ache in your cheeks thanks to your matching expression. Without giving it a second thought, you push yourself up to kiss him, eliciting a sigh from the boy. It’s lazy, and it doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before you’re drawing back to hide your burning face in his chest.

He pauses to gather his bearings and gives you a kiss to the top of your head. “If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, please.”

[creamecafe]

reading <character's name> x reader fanfics even though you haven't seen the show or movie they're are in >>>>>

[buckys-little-belle]

Sippy Cup

Steve Harrington x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Reader drinks juice, spills, sippy cup use

Notes - I lost the request that this is based on, it’s something along the lines of “Steve Harrington with a reader who always spills juice so he buys them a sippy cup”. The request was so much cuter I just can’t find it I’m so sorry :,( This is shorttttt

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

Juice was Y/n's favourite drink, and the only drink they'd take without fuss. But it was also the drink that was the hardest to clean up. The sticky sugary mess always coating the wooden floors, or sometimes even whole books and toys.

Y/n didn't mean to spill, it's hard to keep juice in a cup! Especially when playing!

Steve didn't mind cleaning up the mess, but it was getting to the point where he feared for his mother's prized white sofa and his father's fancy coffee table books.

So he brought Y/n to the mall for a shopping trip. "Which one do you want, Bub?" He asked, standing behind them as they scanned the shelves of sippy cups.

"Is a lo' of colours." Y/n mumbled, overwhelmed by just how many colours the little cups came in. "Is hard to pick!" They stressed, lifting and dropping their hands in frustration.

"It is a lot of colours." Steve crouched down, one hand wrapped around Y/n's waist, the other tapping his chin as he too scanned the shelves. "Why don't we get a few?" He asked, picking up a couple colours he knew Y/n liked and placing them in the cart.

"Tha's too much!" They stressed, trying to take the cups back, but Steve stopped them.

"It's not too much." He laughed, holding the cups out of Y/n's desperate reach. "Let me spoil my Bubba, huh?" He teased, patting their head and taking the cart to the checkout section.

Y/n had been worried it would be weird that they were buying these cups at a store meant for kids, but Steve had been buying little things like blankets, cute plates, and toys here for months now.

He told the ladies at the checkout that he was a babysitter, it was only a half lie, and they gave him a points account, which he had used many times to get discounts on things. It was worth it after all. He had money to spend, and why not spend it on his Bub?

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

Spills became non-existent at the Harrington house.

Juice no longer coated the floor, books, toys, and furniture. And Y/n enjoyed having fun little juice cups, always picking the colour of the cup based off of their outfit. Blue for blue days, pink for pink days, green for green days, it all worked out.

[writethrough]

Fill In the Cracks

(Steve Harrington x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: There's no way someone like Steve would love you. It's only a matter of time before he forgets you.

Warnings: Self-deprecation, feelings of unworthiness, angst to fluff, language

Word Count: 2016

A/N: In celebration of 500+ followers, here is my Steve fic you voted on! Admitted, this is not the original one I had in mind, but one I thought of this idea, I couldn't stop. I hope you enjoy it! And thank you to those who have supported my writing. I'm truly blown away by your kindness.

Watching Steve flirt with every woman who enters Family Video may kill you. Not because he sucks at it—god, he’s such a dork, all faux suave and big eyes. You don’t know how any woman could turn him down. You fluster just from witnessing it.

No, you’ll end up six feet under because he never flirts with you.

It’s pathetic how you crave his attention when nothing will ever happen between you.

Still, you wait for the moments when his eyes turn to you. The ones where he throws you a smile or pulls you in for a hug. He’s always so warm…

He has this unbelievable ability to make you feel safe. And you can’t recall a time that's ever happened.

But it doesn’t matter how you feel.

Steve will never give you the looks you want. Or the flirty smiles. Or the relationship he’s constantly seeking out.

You’re only you.

“I should really get a new sign,” Robin sighs loudly, shaking you from your thoughts. “The board would already be full.”

You’re thankful she’s distracted with teasing Steve, or else she may notice how you zoned out while she was talking.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Steve says. “I suck.”

You try to give him the best sympathetic smile you can muster, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.

His head tilts slightly, but Robin pushes the cart toward him before he can say anything.

“It’s your turn to stock. There are some new tapes in the back,” she says.

He rolls his eyes but takes the cart without complaint and walks to the back room.

Robin leans her elbows on the counter and raises an eyebrow.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask.

“You just had to watch that.” She gestures to where Steve had stood. “Granted, it was bad. I’m sure it wasn’t fun.”

“I don’t get what you’re talking about, Robin.” Surely she doesn’t know…does she?

“I’m talking about your massive crush on a certain employee here,” she says. “And I’m not talking about Keith or me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “How did…How did you know?”

“You looked like a kicked puppy when he started talking.” Her tone is gentle as she levels you with a look.

You fiddle with your fingers. “It’s not like it matters.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

You meet her gaze, and she really has no idea what you’re talking about.

“How I feel,” you whisper. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it matters.” She matches your volume. “If you like him, you should tell him.”

You shook your head. “And embarrass me? Make everything weird between us? No.”

“That’s assuming he doesn’t feel the same,” she says.

“He just got done flirting with another woman. In what world does that mean he likes me back.” There’s a slight tingle in your nose, and you blink a few times before the tears can come.

“Maybe he’s thinking the same as you are: he doesn't want to make things awkward.” Her tone is reassuring and hopeful. Her heart is in the right place, but you know better.

“C’mon, Robin, it’s not like I’m anything special.” You say it as if it’s obvious. “I’m not the type of person guys give a second look, let alone love. I’m just…I’m just here.”

Her brow furrows. “What do you mean you’re ‘just here?’” She doesn’t give you room to respond. “You’re my best friend! Do you think anyone else could put up with me?”

“What about Steve?” You raise an eyebrow in challenge.

“Steve is Steve. But you are my ride or die.” She levels you with a look. “Don’t give me any of that ‘I’m unlovable’ crap. You are the kindest, most considerate person I know! You literally fight monsters and have saved every one of our asses—multiple times!”

You open your mouth, but she’s on a roll.

“And as for those guys you’re referring to—fucking dumbasses. If they can’t realize how amazing you are, then fuck’em. Well…not really. But you know what I mean!”

You feel a little awkward that you caused her to say all that, but mostly, you’re touched. And your feet are carrying you over to her before you can register what’s happening.

You pull her into a hug, holding back tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” she says, wrapping you in her arms. Like the action alone will convince you of her words.

You both slowly separate, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“We all love you. You’re important to us. And if you ever need reminding, tell me, okay?” she asks.

You nod. “Okay.”

—

Steve’s chest hurts.

He heard everything.

He’s in the back, ready to come out with more videos to stack when he hears you talking to Robin.

And all he wants to do is burst out and make you realize how wrong you are.

How could you think you’re forgettable?

How could you think you’re unlovable?

Especially when he’s right here? When he’s completely gone for you?

He wants to kick himself for flirting with that girl and everyone before her. He should have just told you how he feels.

He nods along to Robin’s reassurances, urging his agreement to somehow ease your mind.

He has to do something.

You deserve the world. You deserve to know how much he values you—how much you mean to him. That he returns your feelings.

Just the thought of being with you sends his heart skyrocketing. He would think he’s dreaming if it weren’t for how you spoke about yourself.

After your conversation ends, he waits ten minutes before emerging from the back.

He throws you a smile, your words still echoing in his head. And as he shelves tapes, he decides it’s finally time he tells you.

—

You hang around Family Video until Steve clocks out. Tonight’s your weekly pizza and movies. And despite your little confession with Robin, you’ll never rob yourself of alone time with Steve.

You watched two movies and ate half of the pizza when you took a break to stretch your legs.

Steve sets up in front of the sink, and you grab a dish towel without a word. An additional part of your ritual.

You can tell by the way he moves something’s bothering him. He’s been off all night.

In these quiet moments, you know you’ll get an honest answer.

“Do you need to talk about something?” you ask, drying the first plate.

He doesn’t glance at you or indicates he even heard you. Just scrubs the nonexistent sauce from the dish.

You run the towel over the plate again, so you’re not standing there looking at him, so you’re not pressuring him to tell you.

He hesitates a second before he speaks.

“I heard you earlier,” he says, washing the dish in his hand. “With Robin.”

You freeze mid-swipe, your conversation flashing through your head. Then continue just so your hands are doing something.

“...And?”

He wouldn’t bring it up if he didn’t want to fight you on it. You know him too well. Steve is sweet, too sweet for his own good sometimes. You never wanted him to know your feelings.

“...Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as gently as ever. He could’ve been settling your fears. 

He could’ve been telling you he loves you for years.

You shrug as if you don’t know, putting the plate away.

He sighs when you don’t elaborate.

“You aren’t forgettable.” He turns to you. “You could never be.”

You let out a humorless laugh through your nose. “Tell that to my friends from kindergarten. Or elementary school. Or maybe the ones from middle—”

“I will never forget you. I don’t care about those dickheads you called friends. It’s their loss.” His jaw clenches. “You matter to all of us.” You matter to me.

You don’t let his words penetrate. You can’t because once you do, he's bound to leave. So, you swing the hammer and embed another nail in the wall.

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” you whisper, eyes closed, waiting.

You can hear his hands form fists, his teeth grind, and you want to hide. Away from his anger, his disappointment.

But when he speaks, his tone isn’t angry. It’s soft, disbelieving…

…heartbroken.

“I don't get why you think you’re so hard to love.”

You swallow, still avoiding his gaze. If you look at him, your floodgates will break.

“Because I am,” you whisper. And you can’t help how refreshing your honesty is. It’s addicting. “Who in their right mind would love me?”

What sorry, self-sabotaging, blind person will ever love someone as flawed as you? How could anyone see any value in all your cracks and chips?

Broken things are thrown away. Love doesn’t come to something past its prime.

“I do,” he says. “I do. Everyday.”

Your brow furrows, mind coming to a screeching halt.

He can’t be serious.

He’s reassuring you. Saying he loves you as a friend. Nothing more.

Because Steve Harrington can do better. So, how could he love you?

“I’ve loved you for a long time now. And it’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He swallows, unnerved by your silence.

He waits, knowing he may have ruined the best thing that’s happened to him. But he had to tell you. You have to know that you’re everything to him.

You finally, finally meet his eyes. They’re watering, and he wants to take you in his arms and protect you. But the last thing he wants is to scare you, to push himself on you if you don’t feel the same. 

“Do you…Do you mean it?” you whisper, desperation clear in your tone. You're too fragile to care.

“Of course I mean it.” He steps toward you. “I’ve meant it for the past two years.”

Your eyes widen. “Years?” You barely get it out.

He nods. “Just waiting for you to realize.” He can feel the energy shifting. You’re out of your head. “Didn’t know I’d have to spell it out for you.” He huffs good-naturedly

You breathe out a laugh of disbelief. “Of course, you’d have to spell it out! How the hell was I supposed to know you love me?”

All those girls come to both of your minds. It makes him sick.

“I’m a coward,” he says.

You tilt your head as if to say, “No, you’re not.”

He only shrugs, a fond smile on his face. “You always tease me and ask if I have my eye on someone. And I’ve never lied to you.”

“You also never asked anyone o—“ You slowly realize what he means. “Me?”

He nods. “You.”

You're silent long enough that it makes him nervous. But all you can think about is how much time you’ve wasted not being with him in the way you want.

“So there you go, not unlovable.” He rocks on the balls of his feet.

And it’s that nervousness that makes you realize you have yet to respond.

“I love you, too, Steve.” And once again, honesty is addicting.

“Really?” He grins, all big and bright.

You nod, a shy smile on your face. “Really. I’d have to be crazy not to.”

He carefully takes your hands, dragging his thumbs over your knuckles, memorizing your softness.

“So I love you. You love me. Is it safe to say you’re officially mine?” He bites his lip. You want to pull it free.

“I think so,” you tease. “Unless you want to wait another two years.”

He shakes his head frantically, though the smile is still there. “No, no, definitely not.” He clears his throat. “So…can I kiss you now?”

He’s already leaning in, too eager to care if he’s coming off too excited.

You hum softly, meeting him halfway.

It’s everything you imagined it would be. Soft and warm, a minty sweetness from that spray Steve keeps in his pocket, and gentle. As he always is with you—like you’ll shatter if he presses too hard. But you want to break this time because he will help put everything back together.

Taglist: @bookshelf-dust, @steph-speaks

If you'd like to be added to any tag lists, please message me or comment with the character you'd like to be updated on.

[hungharrington]

personally i struggle with emotional vulnerability so im not really an “I love you” person? the words get stuck and feel unnatural

BUT READER GIVINF STEVE A HANDJOB N THE FEELING STRIKES HER. she just rests her chin on his shoulder and does a cheesy movie-esque love stare up at him, all you know how much i love you right? love you sooo much stevie. you’re perfect and make me feel so safe, so loved, love you so much for all of that. love you love you love you love you whispered in time with the movement of her hand. leaving little sucky pecks on the chubs of his cheeks. acting as if nothings new when it’s all done, idk if he’d point blank ask or imply but just a “:] hmm? oh, i dunno what you mean stevie :]”

BABEY this was such a 10/10 request like…. the way i sent this to at least 3 different moots when i got it…. ur brain…. so have some subby!steve & as always it’s so in love MDNI this entire blog is 18+, i know the request is for a fem!reader but i’ve kept it gn!reader, 1.1k words, enjoy! <3

You don’t think there’s a prettier sight than how Steve looks when you have your fingers wrapped around his cock.

Cheeks bright flushed pink, eyes screwed up, his chest rising and falling quickly, the muscles beneath his tummy clenching and rippling as you move your hand up and down as fast as you please. 

He’s making those sweet noises you just adore so much — little low moans, each breath laced with a keen that you know will turn into a whimper when he gets closer to the edge. All of his noises go straight between your thighs but right now isn’t about you. It’s about Steve.

The couch cushions press into your legs as you shift, rearranging to be closer to him. You hook your chin over his shoulder, you spare hand creeping up his back, slow and soothingly. The wet sounds of his dripping cock sound fucking heavenly, doused in his soft quiet moans, as you curl your fingers into his hair. Raking them through, your thighs press tighter together when Steve lets out a particularly loud moan. 

“Mm, feeling good, Stevie?” You talk lowly, so close you know he can hear you. You press a kiss into his shoulder, nuzzling your nose along down to his collarbone, your hand fucking his cock a little bit faster. Steve keens, fighting to keep his hips still, trying to be good. His hands clench into fists at his sides. 

He’d had such a day and you had offered to take care of him and Steve just wants to be good for you. 

He nods quickly to answer your question, creasing his eyes open to meet yours and you feel his cock twitch at the sight of your adoring gaze on him— chin on his shoulder, hand gliding his cock so perfectly, dropping another kiss on the exposed skin of his shoulder. 

“Yes, fuck, yes— your hand is always so good, baby.” Steve pants lightly, eyes still fixed on you. They drop to your lips and you don’t deny him, pushing up and leaning in to kiss him. He’s messy with it, not quite the usual practice he has and when you thumb over his slit, Steve groans into your mouth. He breaks the kiss, a high whine escaping his mouth, hips jumping up to meet your hand. 

His forehead drops, leaning against yours and you lean in again, your next kiss on his cheek. 

“Good, y’so good baby. You know how I love you, right?” You murmur, nearly cooing, right as you scrape your fingers through his hair again. Steve shudders beneath you, his eyes cinched shut but a whimper still slips from his throat, loud and high. You speed up your hand, the squelching of it getting louder and louder. 

“Shit,” Steve curses, peeking his eyes open. “Y’can’t say tha- that right now or— ah— I’m gonna cum in a minute.” 

“Love you soooo much, Stevie,” you continue like you haven’t heard him, twisting your hand in that torturous way while your other hand strokes down the nape of his neck, your touch soft with love. Steve gasps loudly, his hips bucking again and all his moans melt into soft whimpers. You kiss his cheek again, nuzzling your nose against his as your adoring words pour out. 

“You’re perfect f’me, you know?” You whisper, your thumb teasing his tip again. Steve whines, his chest heaving with his whimpering heavy breaths. You can see his hands flexing, forming and reforming fists over and over. “You make me feel so safe, so loved, Stevie, love you so much for that.” 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. He sounds so wrecked for you, voice all raspy from his moans. “Fuck, honey- you can’t just— nghm—“ 

“Love you,” you whisper lovingly, your hand twisting into his hair again and tugging lightly. You speed up your hand tugging his heavy cock, heat bubbling in your tummy at how it leaks all over your hand, the head of it flushed bright pink. You kiss his cheek again sloppily. 

“Love you, love you, love you so much,” You say, drinking in his fucked out expression— brown eyes hidden away, pink lips parted in a whine, his blush standing out against his tan skin. Steve trembles against you, breathing jagged. 

“You can’t—“ He whines softly. “I’m gonna— oh fuck, baby—“

“You can.” You hush him sweetly, another kiss to his shoulder. “C’mon, you can, Stevie. Wanna see you cum f’me, baby, wanna see you cum while I tell you how much I love you, yeah?” 

Steve heaves a deep stuttering breath, his hands finally moving from his sides to grip at your shirt— his fingers twist in and he tugs you impossibly closer. His face turns to hide in your neck as his whimpers start to catch, hips bucking up uncontrollably into your fist. Sweet whiney noises pour into your skin as his orgasm builds up and up — you sweep your hand along the back of his neck again and say it again, a low loving whisper of “I love you,” and Steve breaks. 

His whine is so noisy as the first stream of cum dribbles from his cock and when you don’t slow your pace, you feel his lips part and his teeth sink into your shoulder lightly. He whimpers pathetically, his top half turned to cling to you while you work all his hot cum from his cock, painting your hand and his thighs with it. 

“Mm, so good, love you Stevie, love how well you did for me,” Your murmurs tide Steve over until his soft whines of pleasure turn to whimpers of overstimulation and you finally release his cock. Your hand moves to thigh instead, giving a soft rub as you try to coax his face out. 

“That was big, huh? You came a lot.” Your gaze wanders to his cum-streaked thighs and you can’t help the tiny giggle that titters out of you — it’s enough to get Steve to lift his face. He’s so pink still that it makes you want to coo at him. He looks only a smidge embarrassed, more blissed out than anything. 

“I told you,” He huffs breathlessly, a lazy smile on his face as his head lolls back to rest against the couch. “You can’t say that and expect me not to…” 

He gestures wordlessly to his crotch and you laugh a little, snuggling back up to him. You kiss his neck, nosing up to kiss his jaw and Steve waits patiently, humming happily when you reach his lips. 

You pull back with a teasing smile, “I know but I don’t expect it to keep working every time.” 

Steve waves a hand, eyes slipping closed as his lazy grin spreads. “Mmhmm, liar. You know what it does to me.” 

His words are lovingly, like he loves that you know what he loves. You kiss his cheek once more. 

“Yeah, I do,” you admit gleefully. “And I love it nearly as much as I love you.” 

Steve’s dick gives a soft twitch against his thighs and he groans, face screwing up for a second. “Don’t,” he warns. He opens his eyes to glare at you but there’s no heat. You grin and kiss him again. 

[strangerstilinski]

!! making steve cum just from licking and sucking at the skin at the very bottom of his tummy and his soft hairy thighs !!

he starts off with his normal pleas for you to ‘please. pretty please touch my cock, honey’ his grip is bruising where his hands are clinging tight to your own while you hold his hips. as he gets closer and closer to his peak his words devolve into these guttural sounds that you can hardly even make out, but make your tummy twist all the same. intelligible moans and gasps and the most intoxicating choked little grunts. he nearly doesn't think he'll survive past the sharp ache of arousal pooling in his balls while you leisurely suck pretty little hickies into his skin. but he does survive. eventually it crest over into something entirely all-consuming, and that's when he really breaks. he's got sweat dripping down the length of his neck and tickling at the base of his throat, his chest hair damp and shining with it. his leaking cock kicking up against his tummy with every biting kiss you leave to his skin. the sounds leaving his mouth have surpassed pornographic. garbled praises giving way to wanton moans. and when your mouth trails down to the space where his thigh meets his heavy balls, you give the gentlest of sucks to the soft skin and your nose just barely nudges the base of his cock and he's cumming with a cry. hips bucking and cock twitching as his spend shoots onto his freckled abdomen, the pearly liquid spilling out over the rapidly darkening red splotches from your mouth. and he cums so much, so hard, that a few drops manage to catch all the way up where his chest hair curls over his collarbones

[darlingsfandom]

Steve is literally so much bigger and stronger than you and he can pick you up in any way, anywhere even with one arm

"Alright! That's enough out of you." Steve was over your attitude. You've been in a mood since you woke up that morning. Steve yanked you onto your feet making you yelp. He grabbed you by your hips and threw you over his shoulder without a second down.

"Put me down you ass!" Your feet were swinging back and forth while you hit him on the back as he carried you up the stairs. Once you two were in the bedroom, Steve tossed you onto the mattress with ease. You hugged loudly as he stood there with a raised eyebrow.

"You've had quiet the attitude today and I want to know why you're being such a little brat." Steve crossed his arms as you rolled your eyes at him.

"Bite me Harrington." You snapped. Before you could even gather a second thought steve had you flipped over onto your stomach and ass in the air. Your body jolted forward as he struck your ass with a hard spanking that made you whine.

"Don't think you're getting off easy tonight honey. Brats don't get it easy." He gave you another hard smack on the ass before he grabbed the rope from out of the secret box. You were big time fucked now.

[bookshelf-dust]

how people can change

steve harrington x gn!byers!reader

word count: 4,427

warnings: swearing, like one use of y/n, mentions of season one steve's bullshit, mentions of death, enemies to friends to more type beat

a/n: my very first *full* steve fic. look at us. who woulda thought? not me. i've been working on this since february. don't look at me, i know. i know. but i think i've gotten some sort of hold on how i'd like to write steve. some of the dialogue (season 2) isn’t mine. (also the title is a lyric from strange by celeste!) let me know what you think, okay? i love you. steve loves you. don't tell me if it's bad.

————

November 1984

The door slams behind you with a deafening thud, and you take the extra five seconds to lock it. You know, that action no one else in your family seems to be capable of performing. 

The house is quiet, and you step over the map of Hawkins sprawling over the hardwoods, careful not to damage Will’s work.

Your keys clang against the table, knocking into your mother’s ashtray. It’s dead quiet again, and you freeze at a subtle interruption in the silence. There’s a muffled sound coming from somewhere else in your home, and frankly you’ve had enough of everything the last couple of days. Which is why Joyce sent you home to get some sleep, to clear your head. 

There’s no denying that you have a soft spot for Will. He’s always been your buddy. And you love Jonathan, you do, and he’s got this sick ability to know what you’re thinking or feeling before you do, but he doesn’t need your protection like Will does. 

Will is your best friend. And he’s got one hell of a support system with you, Jonathan and your mom behind him. He deserves the world. You’ve always thought that. 

You quickly infer that it’s a walkie making the sound, based on the staticky crackle, the slightly muffled voice of whoever’s trying to get through from the other side.

Yours is off—you know it is—so it has to be Will’s. Jonathan was too good for a walkie-talkie.

You step down the hallway, pushing your younger brother’s bedroom door the rest of the way open. You scan the small area for it, listening.

“Code red! This is a code red! I repeat, this is a good red! Shit, is anyone there?”

You snatch up the device, extending the antenna.

“Dustin? Is that you?”

“Jesus christ! Where have you been?” Dustin exclaims, and you swear you can hear someone else interfering with his words.

“Sorry! I wasn’t home. What’s wrong?” You sit on the edge of Will’s bed. It’s so much comfier than yours. 

“It’s Dart! He’s, he’s just…you know what? It’s a long story. Where are you right now?”

This time you definitely hear another voice, and maybe even music.

“Dart? You kept him, right? I fucking knew it, Henderson! You’re so not a good liar.”

“That’s for sure.” You can’t place the voice, not over the walkie and over Dustin’s rambling, but you do catch that and it’s enough to leave you curious. 

The boy starts to argue back, but you cut him off. “Dustin, who are you with?”

“Uh,” he coughs, “Well you see, um…Steve Harrington. I’m with Steve Harrington.”

Dustin gets a severe eye roll from said partner-in-crime, but he brushes it off. 

“What?” You’re so confused. How did that even happen?

“I know! But everyone’s been MIA!”

“Oh my god,” you say, and Dustin can practically see you face-palming.

“Look,” he shoves a handful of rogue curls back under the brim of his hat. “Can you just meet up with us? The old junkyard?”

You push off of Will’s bed, and start walking through the house again, retrieving your things. So much for a nap or eating anything other than hospital Jell-O. What are you gonna say? Fuck no? 

“Yeah, yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank god,” Dustin breathes. “See you then. Over.”

You make sure to check the batteries in Will’s walkie before you go, and then you’re back in your car again, backing out just as aggressively as your mother (something you said you’d never do). 

————

“Yeah, Farrah Fawcett. You tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass you’re dead, Henderson. Do you understand?” 

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

Dustin goes quiet for a minute, watching each step he takes. The train tracks are old, and there are one too many loose nails for his liking. “So what’s Y/N got against you, man?”

Steve adjusts one of the gloves he’s wearing, trying not to think about the fact that he’s gonna smell like raw meat for who knows how long. “Uh, I don’t know, exactly. Never really talked to them before. But I’d assume it’s the–”

“The assholery?” Dustin interrupts. 

“Dude.”

“What? It’s true.”

“No, yeah, you’re right.” 

Dustin catches the slip in Steve’s attitude almost immediately. “Hey, they’re good, okay? I don’t think you’re a total dick, if that means anything. You’re trying and that’s what matters, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, we will. Thanks, Henderson.”

Dustin gives Steve a winning smile. This kid could rule the world, he thinks. 

“Anytime,” Harrington. He lifts his hand up, awaiting a fist bump that Steve returns without a second thought. 

————

You wander down the trail of raw meat you’ve found, not bothering to even question what's happening or where the meat came from. Frankly, you don’t really want to know. 

At the end of your path, you catch a glimpse of familiar curls, even if they are crushed under the red brim of a hat. 

“Dustin?”

The boy practically gives himself whiplash turning around to face you. 

“Holy shit, I’m so glad you’re here. It’ll be nice to have someone older than me who’s not a total pain in the ass.”

“Hey, I heard that.” 

The voice pulls your attention away from Dustin. When you look up, Steve Harrington is walking out of the biggest vehicle in this abandoned lot: a school bus. He’s wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing the ends of his sleeves up.

Dustin looks at you. “You guys have to be acquaintances at the least, right?”

You nod at him, feeling your face burn. If there’s a word for a less-than-acquaintance, you don’t know it. But that’s probably where your relationship with this boy lies. King Steve isn’t really someone you just miss. 

But yeah, you know him. You know he’s a dick. 

“Hi.” Steve pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and crosses his arms. 

“Hi.”

You only look at him for a moment before your eyes are back on Dustin. The younger boy notices the tension radiating from you, and honestly, he gets it. Steve Harrington wasn’t exactly the person he’d planned on spending his day with, but here he was. Desperate times call for desperate measures or whatever.

“So what are we doing?” You ask.

Dustin puts his thumbs underneath the straps of his backpack, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little. “It’s a long story. Best if we talk while we work.”

You roll your eyes at him, but follow the thirteen-year-old wherever he wants to go. You’re not sure you could deny Dustin Henderson anything. 

————

You watch as Max, a young girl you’ve just met, stomps up the steps of the ladder you’ve rigged inside the mess of a bus that you’re camped out in. 

Your chest aches because what Dustin just said to her was rude, it was rude, and you can’t believe the two of them. You sit, arms crossed and leg shaking up and down, glaring at Steve.

You find it hard to believe that after everything you’ve learned tonight, about Dart, about Mews—which you’re never going to get over because you only visit Dustin’s house for his cat, never him—that this is what they’re doing now.

“That’s good,” Steve says. “Just show her you don’t care.” 

Dustin is pacing, hands deep in his pockets. “I don’t,” he breathes.

Steve winks. Watching the two of them is like watching a tennis match. You don’t even like tennis.

“Why are you winking, Steve?” 

You drag your hand down your face, sick of hearing this stupid ass conversation. When Dustin sits, the constant clink of metal where Steve keeps flicking his lighter open over and over starts to give you a headache. 

“Fuck, Steve, would you quit it already?” 

He scoffs, snapping the lid to his Zippo closed harder than he had been before. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re pissing me off, that’s my problem.”

Steve’s brow furrows. He doesn’t really understand the sudden need for aggression. 

“Is this really the time for you to be yelling at me?”

“Is this really the time for you to be a dick?”

Dustin jerks the antenna on his walkie down, clearly sick of the two of you. “Would you children stop bickering? This is a life or death situation we have going on here.”

“I’d prefer death,” you proclaim. 

Dustin glares at you. “I can arrange that if you’d really rather die, than act civil for one evening.”

“I think all of the civility,” you gesture vaguely with your hands, “went out the window when you asked me to come help fight demo-dogs.”

Steve snorts at your words, and you glare at him, an “oh, is that funny?” look on your face. 

Dustin rearranges the hat on his head, stuffing his curls underneath it once again. “Alright. I’m gonna go check on our status, you two…work shit out, okay?”

“Dude,” Steve starts, “I’m older than you. I don’t have to listen to your instructions.” He gestures vaguely with his hands.

Dustin flips him off, and that’s the only response Steve receives, leaving the two of you alone in the bus.

You remain quiet, hoping that if you do you might just disappear or dissolve into the cracked leather of the seat you're sitting on. Then there really wouldn’t be any form of confrontation.

Steve starts flipping the lid to his Zippo open and shut repeatedly again, but this time it doesn’t annoy you. In fact, it gives you something to focus on, and you know that if you had one you’d be doing the same exact thing. 

You wonder if he’s nervous. Or just bored. 

Your knee begins to bounce when you realize that he’s looking at you, that he’s stopped messing with the lighter. But you refuse to look back, staring instead at the way the moonlight glints off of the metal in between his fingers. 

“So what’s your problem with me?”

The way Steve says those words is so unlike the way he’s spoken the rest of the day, the way he’s behaved with Dustin, that you feel a pang in your chest. 

He sounds like he used to. 

“Did you even hear that? How conceded you just sounded? Like it’s funny that I might have a problem with you, king Steve?”

Obviously the use of his nickname hits a nerve. He shoves the lighter back into his pocket and sits up, tucking his hands under his knees. 

“Would you just cut the shit and tell me what your problem is then?”

You sit up, matching his stance. There’s a part of you that wants to piss him off. You ache for it. 

“You’re a dick, that’s my problem.”

Steve scoffs. 

“That’s it? Like I don’t already know that?”

You roll your eyes, oblivious to the fact that all three of the younger kids you’re with have their heads hung over the escape latch in the top of the bus, listening eagerly. 

“You think I’m just gonna put up with you, Harrington? I’m sorry, did you forget the slut shaming you and your shitty friends did publicly last fall? Because I sure as hell didn’t. I didn’t forget that you walk around like you fucking own the entirety of Hawkins because you’re swimming in daddy’s money. I didn’t forget that your girlfriend took my best friend away from me.”

You stop, and Steve just looks at you. You realize how heavy you’re breathing and subconsciously watch the steady movement of his chest, trying to match the pace and calm down. You hadn’t meant to get worked up like that. But sometimes…sometimes shit just happens. 

Steve sighs. Honestly he feels a little sick. And he could argue with you some more, say that you don’t know what you’re talking about, that that’s the past, that he’s getting better. But that feels shallow. It feels meaningless. Because he knows it’s true. That in worrying about only himself or getting the girl or impressing whoever, he hurt loads more people than he realized. 

It’s such bullshit, he thinks. This life he’s been living.

“You know, I’ve gotten plenty of earfuls about my actions from Dustin, I promise you that much. He can be very mean.” 

You snort, considering there’s absolutely no denying that. “He’s a smart kid.” 

Steve nods. He’s trying to think of a way to respond. He’s not good with words. 

“Look, I-I know I’m a dick, okay?” he starts. You decide to be brave and look at him. He seems to like that. The eye contact. It’s like it lets him know you’re paying attention. He doesn’t get a lot of that, not away from school. 

“The thing with Nancy,” he gestures with his hands, looking away from you and at the wall of the bus, like it hurts him to talk about or something. “I don’t know. My solution to not getting what I wanted was apparently to take it out on her. Tommy H. proposed the idea, and I didn’t stop it.”

“You know I cleaned it off, right?” he continues. 

You uncross your arms and sit up, criss crossing your legs instead. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I broadcasted the information across Hawkins. Tommy and Carol don’t even know.”

Oh. The fact that they didn’t know tells you that he did it without needed recognition. He did it because he wanted to.

“I just—she saw it. And then there was the whole thing…”

You start to grin before you catch yourself, but he sees it. 

“It’s okay, you can laugh. I got the shit beat out of me.”

“You deserved it.”

He can’t argue with that. He won’t argue with it. “You’re right. I did. I said and did a lot that day that I regret.”

You nod, and then you’re both just looking at one another. It’s quiet out here, the same quiet you get at home, where you can hear the crickets, where you know there will be lightning bugs in the warmer months, free to roam uninterrupted by human activity. 

Steve pushes his hair from his forehead, and though he sees you track the movement of his hand, he doesn’t point it out.

“What did you mean about your friend?”

If you’re being honest with yourself, you hadn’t intended for that to come out, but being in such close proximity to Steve in this moment had just made everything spill out. 

You try to wave him off. “That was a whole thing. I didn’t mean to spill my guts like that.”

“No, it’s okay, I want to know. If you want to tell me, that is.”

You nod, chewing at your thumb nail now. Steve has the urge to reach forward and pull it free so you won’t hurt yourself, but he doesn’t. Instead he stays still and quiet, watching you contemplate a while. 

Eventually he decides to keep going. 

“I’m trying, you know,” he tells you. You look up and it gives him that little push to continue speaking. “To be better. I know you think I’m a total dick, and you’re not wrong, I know that, but I really am trying to be better. To be a good influence on those little shits.” He quirks his head upwards where he knows all three of his charges are eavesdropping, without a doubt. 

You take a second and look at him. Really look at him. He seems to carry himself differently, though it’s not something you’d notice if you weren’t looking. He’s not dressed like his mommy picked out his outfit. He looks messy. The mess draws you in. 

“I believe you. And I-I know I shouldn’t stereotype you, but it’s just—”

“I am a walking stereotype,” Steve grins. So do you.

“Yeah. I guess so. But I believe that you’re working on it. I suppose some people don’t remain assholes forever.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, though a little distracted. You still haven’t told you what you meant, but that’s not what’s really bugging him. 

There’s this pull inside him. This longing for a friend. A real friend. Not someone he knows just because their dads were up each other's asses, or someone he just sits with at lunch because they’re of the same status quo. 

And he just feels so alone right now. What with Nancy, this girl he thought he was in love with and everything, but clearly she doesn’t feel the same. What’s he even supposed to do with that? Did he ever actually know anything about her? 

It doesn’t matter. 

What matters is that he’s sitting here with you, hanging out with thirteen-year-olds and hiding from creatures Steve’s brain can’t even begin to decipher. 

“Barb,” you say. Steve panicked a little internally at the mention of her name, considering. But he keeps his eyes on you, focused on each word that leaves your mouth. “She was my best friend, in middle school that is.”

He nods. Oh. Oh. 

“We were still close when we got to high school, had a little group and everything, right? And even though high school kinda fucks everything up, I didn’t want to believe that would happen to our little partnership, you know?” 

He nods again, trying his best to pay attention. He’s trying harder than he ever has in school. He probably shouldn’t ever say that out loud.

“Anyways, she was my best friend. She was all I knew, and then we got to lovely Hawkins High, and she met Nancy. Nancy and I never really clicked, even when we tried. I guess it’s because I’ve always thought she was a pretentious bitch—sorry, Steve—but I don’t know. We just fell apart after that.”

“So Barb had Nancy and I had…no one. And the way my brain saw it was Nancy took my best friend from me, and then Nancy started seeing you, and so I saw those two from across the cafeteria, lounging with the popular kids. With you. And then she died.”

Steve is looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. Like he’s in awe of you. And it’s not anything negative. It’s warm. Understanding. Like something you’ve said has straightened something out in his brain, sorted something he couldn’t figure out on his own. 

“S-so it was like we took her from you, in a way?” he asks. 

“Yeah. And you didn’t. God, you didn’t. But it just felt like this…” you trail off, searching for the right words.

“Domino effect?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Exactly. And it’s not your fault, not at all. But I guess I already saw you as some dickish rich kid and that gave me another reason to stay the fuck away from you. And now that I’m saying it out loud I realize how awful it sounds because people change, you know?”

“No, I get it. I’ve been an asshole, and I’m sure I still am—Dustin can attest to that—but there are rich assholes that don’t change or probably won’t ever change. I know a few of them.”

You go quiet again. Steve doesn’t want you to stop talking. He’s starting to think he likes the sound of your voice. 

“It’s good that you’re changing, Steve. I’m sorry I said you were such a dick.”

A breathy laugh leaves his throat. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m sorry for…everything.”

“Maybe we can make a truce or something. Start over. It’s not like we really know each other that well anyhow.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s cool. Whatever you want.” He means that. He thinks he’d do whatever you wanted him to. 

“Okay. Maybe we can just try and figure it out.”

“I’d like that,” Steve says. He stops himself from proclaiming that he wants to try and fix this with you. Because you’re listening to him. You’re not mad. He doesn’t want you to disappear on him after this. 

You give him a small smile and he swears he might cry. Not that that feeling lasts. 

“Hey!” Dustin is leaning down into the bus, hands clasped together. “I’m so glad we’ve got this handled, but we’ve got a code red, so let’s get this show on the road, yeah?”

————

June 1985

The door to the back room swings open, a frazzled boy rushing in. You drop your candy wrapper on the table, and Robin keeps talking about the girl that you missed coming in this morning. She was “such a babe.”  

“Hello?” Steve stands in front of the both of you, hands on his hips. You have to fight back a laugh. 

Your eyes find Steve’s immediately, and you swear they soften, but maybe you’re imagining it. You nudge Robin’s leg where your foot is propped up on one of the supports under her chair. 

She stops flailing and looks up, seeing Steve’s hand raised where he’d been about to snap to get her attention. She quirks a brow. “Don’t you snap at me, Harrington! This is important shit.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Could you two come and help me? I’m dying out here!”

It’s one of the hottest days of the year, and Scoops has had a line since it opened at ten. 

You look at your watch. “My shift doesn’t start for…fifteen minutes.” He rolls his eyes at you, though the gesture is void of any malice it could possibly hold. 

“Yeah, well this is supposed to be my break, so get out there, Buckley!”

She stands, though she’s pouting. “Come on.”

“You took the job,” he says, shoving her through the door. Robin gives him a look that you can’t see, but you can practically feel it from across the small room. 

Steve lets out an exaggerated sigh, ripping off the hat he’s been wearing and throwing it on the table in front of you. 

You watch him rummage through a bag before he emerges from its depths with a banana and throws himself down in the chair across from you, lifting your leg up from where you’d moved it to occupy the seat Robin had abandoned. His hand is warm on the bare skin of your calf, and he shifts the chair some, laying your leg across both of his. 

“Steve.”

“Huh?” He peels the banana, aggressively fast actually, and rips off a chunk, popping it into his mouth. 

“Why do you have a banana?” 

He meets your eyes. “Snack, duh.” He chews, and then gestures at the closed window. “Been working up a sweat out there I think I deserve a break.”

You grin at him, and he feels like he might hit the floor. 

“Want some?” Steve pulls off a chunk and holds it out to you. 

“Did you wash your hands?”

He gasps, mid-chew, and forces himself to swallow. “D-did I—yes, I washed my hands, mom, I’m not four.”

“Eh,” Robin’s voice breaks your little bubble. She’s pulled the window open–that way she can eavesdrop– propping herself up on her elbows. 

That makes you laugh, and when you smile your cheek is full of banana and Steve swears something is breaking inside of him. 

“Gang up on me then why don’t you,” he says, handing you the last piece he’s got left. He tosses the peel in the trash, “what do you want anyhow, Robin?” 

“Your break is up, and her shift has started. Let’s get to slinging ice cream, shitheads!”

You wipe your hands on your shorts and hop up. Steve doesn’t move, just looks at you. 

“C’mon, Steven. It’ll be lunch sooner than later.”

He grins. His eyes look tired and you wonder if he slept any last night. He told you once recently that he doesn’t always sleep well, that sometimes he has to listen to tapes in order to keep his head from being so busy, to keep the thoughts from being so loud. 

Steve has told you a lot since last fall. There’s a significant bit more that you know that’s more than what he’s given Robin, but you know he’ll let her in. He just needs the time. 

Though sometimes you think he might be giving you everything. The parts of himself he’s never shown anyone else. Because you’ve been such a good listener, and Steve’s never really had that before. 

He wishes he had the balls to tell you more. But he can’t fuck it up this time. Not with you. You’re too good.

Steve is your best friend now. You know that. He knows it.

If yourself from a year ago could see you now, she’d probably knock your fucking teeth in. But he’s just so much more than you thought. You’re not sure you’ll ever forgive yourself for not thinking there could be more in him, though he’s told you not to be upset. You’ve told him the same when he berates himself for not having paid you more attention in school.

It’s the past. You can’t live there. And today, you’re scooping ice cream for pre-sticky kids, for shitty pay, but it doesn’t matter because you have him. You have Robin. 

You stick out your hand, and Steve takes it without a second thought. His palm engulfs yours, skin warm and a little calloused. 

“We can watch whatever you want tonight.”

He squeezes your hand. You and Robin are supposed to have a sleepover with him tonight. He suggested he sleep in a guest room and you two have his bed, but Robin said she needs to be cuddled. You said you’re not letting him sleep anywhere but his bed. 

“I thought you wanted to watch Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

“I always wanna watch that. But you can pick first, Stevie.”

Stevie. His stomach flips at that. You don’t let it out often, but when you do it’s like Steve might just die right there. 

He straightens, deal clearly made, and you pull him up–not that you need to. 

You push through the door with him, and immediately regret it. It’s like the soccer moms can smell your fear, and you know it. 

“Breathe,” Steve says. “Dustin’s here.”

He is. The entire party. That you can deal with. 

You think you could deal with an absurd line and angry mothers for the rest of your life if it meant assembling Dustin and Lucas’ weird orders. Even if you have to endure Will’s questioning looks and his pleas that you bring some ice cream home. If you have to listen to Robin’s word vomit.

If it meant spending time with Steve, you’d do it. 

God, how shit changes.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[vilentia]

Favorite Place to Be

Steve Harrington x reader

Steve Harrington couldn't believe his luck. He had fallen head over heels in love with you, and he couldn't be happier. You had been spending a lot of time together lately, and every moment with you was pure bliss.

As Steve invited you over to his place, he couldn't wait to spend some quality time with you. As soon as you arrived, he greeted you with a warm smile and led you to his bedroom. As you both sat down on the bed, Steve couldn't help but feel his heart rate increase with anticipation.

As you lay side by side, Steve felt a sense of contentment wash over him. He looked over at you and couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and safety in your arms. He wrapped his arms around you, and you snuggled closer to him. Steve loved the feeling of your body next to his, and he felt like he could stay there forever.

As you both looked into each other's eyes, Steve felt like he was lost in a world of his own. He couldn't help but stare into your eyes, and he loved the way you looked back at him. There was a sense of understanding and comfort between you both that made Steve feel like he could tell you anything.

As Steve wrapped his arms around you, he felt a sense of security that he had never felt before. He loved the way you fit into his embrace, and he couldn't help but feel grateful for having you in his life. Steve felt like he could stay there forever, lost in your gaze and wrapped in your arms.

Steve looked down at you and smiled. "You know, I could spend all day just like this," he said.

You smiled back at him. "Me too. This is my favorite place to be."

Steve kissed you on the forehead. "I'm glad," he said. "I love having you here with me."

As you both lay there, Steve listened intently, savoring every word that you said. He loved the sound of your voice and the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something that excited you. Steve knew that you were the kind of person who always looked for the best in others, and he admired that about you.

As you shared your thoughts and feelings with him, Steve felt a sense of intimacy that he had never experienced before. He felt honored that you trusted him enough to share your innermost thoughts and feelings with him. Steve knew that he could be completely himself around you, and he loved that feeling of freedom and comfort.

You both laughed and joked, and Steve couldn't help but feel grateful for having such an amazing person in his life. He was amazed by your wit and humor, and he loved the way you could always make him smile. Steve knew that life could be tough sometimes, but with you by his side, he felt like he could conquer anything.

As you both talked and shared your stories, Steve felt his heart swell with love and affection for you. He knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, sharing all of the ups and downs that life had to offer. In that moment, Steve felt like the luckiest person in the world to have you by his side.

The sun was setting, and the room was filled with a warm orange glow. Steve held you close, and you both watched as the sky turned from orange to pink to purple.

"This is so beautiful," you said, looking up at Steve.

"It is," he agreed. "But you know what's even more beautiful?"

"What?" you asked.

"You," he said, with a grin.

You laughed and playfully hit him on the arm. "Stop it, you're making me blush."

"I'm serious," Steve said, pulling you in for a kiss. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you said, smiling at him.

As the night grew darker, you both drifted off to sleep, still in each other's embrace. It was a moment that Steve would cherish forever, and he knew that he was lucky to have you in his life.

[bcyhoods]

prompt: [ glass ] sender and receiver are separated by glass. sender draws a heart on the glass with their finger for receiver to see

with steeb harrington 🤞🙄🤭🤨

i may or may not have sent this to myself! …i guess you’ll never know! this really is just to help jumpstart my creativity, so it’s ruff beware <3 | 1.2k fluff, gn!reader

“That was cruel, I hope you know.”

You stifle a giggle as you roll over to set aside the novel that you’d been reading aloud beside him.

You think he’s talking about the book. And he is, partially. But he can’t help the way that he yearns for your presence as soon as you move away without a warning. You’d so rudely ripped away the warmth that he’d selfishly been holding onto for the past hour — warmth that made him believe he’d only ever known to be cold. And yet, he can’t be entirely upset. Once he sees your mischievous grin from where you stand next to your bed, the grouchiness dissipates.

“I have to leave it on a cliffhanger! Otherwise you’d have no reason to come back,” you jest and poke lamely at his chest.

The multicolored quilt you’d been sharing was still draped over his figure, one arm extending out to reach for you. His hair was unruly and stuck out every which way after raking your fingers through the brunette tufts for so long. The dim light of your lamp highlighted the dusty pink color that spread across his cheeks.

You thought he was practically half asleep, but the joke made his brows pinch. Suddenly, he looks wide awake as he sits up to slide closer to you.

“That’s not true,” he grumbles with a scoff, throwing his legs over the side of the mattress and grabbing your hips. Something equally mischievous shines in his eyes. “I can think of a few other reasons.”

He pulls you into him, quick enough to have you tripping over your own feet and crashing against him. The force is almost enough to send you both back onto the bed and it sends a rush of heat up your neck. The kisses that he leaves against the exposed skin of your shoulder certainly don’t help, either.

In an effort to hide your embarrassment, you joke again, “That’s so cheesy, Steve.”

“What? No, it’s not!”

You shush him and quickly glance back at your closed bedroom door. He chuckles and beams up at you, letting his hands run along your sides.

“If you wanna hear something cheesy, though, I have a bunch more up my sleeve.” His voice is hushed and low, emphasized with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow. “Maybe I should stay over so you can hear them.”

“Tempting. I’m not sure my parents would appreciate seeing you in my bed in the morning as much as I would,” you respond just as quietly, sparing another glance over your shoulder. He sighs at your apprehension and gently pushes you a bit away from him before standing.

His fingers dance lightly from where they rest on your waist, up your arms, and across your collarbone until they’re cradling your jaw. The touch leaves goosebumps in their wake, and when he sees you shiver, his boyish smile gets wider. He’s leaning into you and crowding your space with his eyes stuck on your lips. Just when he’s close enough for you to close the gap, he swerves instead to kiss the sweet spot just under your ear.

“Who says they have to know? I can be quiet. Can you?”

“Steve,” you warn as you lightly press your hands to his chest. Really, you’re all bark and no bite, there’s not even a little bit of edge. Steve is more than aware. Even if he wasn’t already looking at you, he would still be able to hear your smile in the way you sing his name.

He feigns innocence, lifting his hands from your face. “What?”

There’s a beat where you’re both quiet, staring right back at the other with grins that bring a welcomed ache in your cheeks. It makes your nose crinkle and makes your eyes widen and brighten. And it makes a delighted snort and giggle erupt from the pair of you before you can contain it.

That familiar burn in your face makes you hide in his shoulder and he laughs when he throws his arms around to embrace you. Your hands glide from where they’re trapped between your bodies to wrap around his back and hold him closer. Maybe if you hold him tight enough, time will stop.

Steve seems to think the same thing. His face is smooshed against the side of your head and his eyes flutter closed.

A minute passes before you muster up enough strength to pull your head away just enough to look at him. That giddy feeling is back the instant your eyes meet. The way that he shamelessly drinks in every feature of your face makes your stomach dip. You bite your lip to keep your smile at bay.

“You’re coming by again tomorrow?”

“Well, yeah.” His hand moves under your jaw, thumb pulling your lip from where you’ve held it prisoner. “I have to know how the book ends now.”

As if to soothe the punishment your bottom lip has endured, he kisses you with a softness that sends you into a tizzy. The same softness that extends to his hands as they cup your face and caress your cheek, like you’re so delicate that you might break.

You respond just as gently, letting his touch and cologne overwhelm you until the need grows in the pit of your stomach. Your hands grip onto his jumper to pull you closer, pressing your lips a little rougher against his, more sure. He sighs against your lips, and though it was a welcome change of pace, he exhibits some self-restraint. His lips part from yours, just barely, foreheads still pressed together.

“You’re making it really hard for me to leave,” he murmurs, lips still a featherlight touch against your own.

“Sorry,” you whisper in return, even though you don’t mean it.

He shakes his head with a soft laugh. He kisses you again, something quick and chaste before he’s pulling you into his chest again. The uninterrupted times the two of you get to spend together are so few and far between that he’s learned to be greedy with your touch. Not a second to waste.

Steve trudges to the window with you close behind him, pinkies interlocked until he’s climbing out and helping you pull it shut. The yellow street lamp just behind him creates a halo, illuminating the worsening pink of his nose and cheeks due to the cool November night. Before he walks back to his car, he gets an idea that makes his face light up.

He cups his hands around his mouth and moves in closer until he’s pressing against the glass. Right as he makes contact with the window, he huffs a breath to create a small circle of fog. He looks at you before drawing a heart right in the middle with his index finger. A sense of pride fills his chest and makes his heart beat faster when he sees you laugh.

Walking backward, he points at you and winks, like something out of a ridiculous rom-com. And though you’re rolling your eyes, a mere second later you playfully blow him a kiss.

He makes a show of it. Looking up into the sky, jogging backward, and jumping up to catch it, he almost stumbles into the bushes that separates your lawn from the neighbor’s. He puts his fist to his chest and holds it there, mouthing I love you. It’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You mouth it back nonetheless.