#myo4harrington

[myosotisa]

Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

‖  summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.

‖  word count: 2.1k

The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.

A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.

So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.

No such luck.

You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”

“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”

Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.

Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.

Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–

“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”

“I… I’ve been sick.”

“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”

“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”

“No!”

Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”

While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”

There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.

If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–

“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”

“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.

“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”

The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.

Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.

This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–

As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness. 

Because they pity you.

“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.

“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”

Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”

“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”

“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.

“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.

“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. ��Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”

Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”

A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”

“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”

“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”

“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.

“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.

What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–

“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”

“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.

But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.

“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”

“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”

Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”

Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them.  “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”

I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–

“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”

You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”

Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.

Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–

Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.

“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”

A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.

“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”

“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”

You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.

Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”

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now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day four walls closing in from months spent inside them there is too much grief packed into this small place packed into this bed with unchanged sheets packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken and no one has ever been here not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space

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thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.

[myosotisa]

Steve makes sure that whenever he knows you're showing up to a practice, they're playing shirts and skins. and he is always the skins captain ;)

rugby player!steve harrington send tweet

[myosotisa]

Take a Seat - s.h.

ǁ  summary: What exactly did you think was going to happen when you let King Steve into your bedroom?

ǁ  tags: smutty blurb, afab!reader, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart and baby. King Steve is the King Tease.

ǁ  word count: 900

"Hey sweetheart?"

You barely look up from where you're pouring over the textbook on your desk. "Hmm?"

There's a small shuffle from your friend Steve adjusting on your bed, most likely to face you. "Can I ask you something?"

Glancing back at him with your eyebrows drawn together, you catch a glimpse of his impish smile that he's attempted to make look sweet before you return to your book. "Sure?"

"Can I fuck you into your mattress?"

The world spins from how fast you twist toward him, hand gripping the back of your chair tightly as all the blood rushes to your head. "Excuse me?!"

A lazy smile tilts his mouth, eyes shining with mischief as he repeats with slow pauses for effect, "Can I… fuck you… into your mattress?"

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you struggle to force out words. "I heard you the first time, I was just giving you a chance to say something else."

"Come on," he leans back onto his palms, thighs spreading with his socks firmly on the floor. The traitorous part of your brain he's awakened looks at the space between his thighs, at the empty seat of his denim covered lap and thinks that's a perfect spot for me. "Like you've never thought about it?"

"I…" Eyes drying from staring at him in shock, you manually force a few blinks as you swallow hard. "This feels like a trick question."

"I bet you have," he says in a sigh, adjusting on the bed with what seems like a very intentional thrust of his hips upward. He adjusts to hold most of his weight on one hand, the other making a little walk up toward where your blanket meets your pillow. "I bet you've laid right here on these sheets… Hand tucked into your pretty little panties and whimpered my name."

The visual has your gut twisting, warmth spreading from between your thighs and outwards. Your face is burning hot as your eyes flick from his hand to his face to his lap and back again. "I don't – I don't understand what's happening right now."

Steve has never, ever shown any interest in you. While you've only been friends for a little while, he was known for his conquests around school. Everyone knew how they went. When he approached you, entirely friendly, asking for a study partner, you'd known it didn't fit his pattern. This wasn't how he came onto the other girls at school.

"What's not to get?" He asks teasingly, the tips of his thick fingers hooking on the top of your blanket just to shift it down a few inches. "It'd be fun."

And while the visual part of your brain talks directly to the throb of feeling in your clit explaining just how fun it would be, your thinking brain is still fighting tooth and nail against something you hadn't considered a possibility anymore.

"Why are you doing this, Steve?" I'm not your type, your mind tacks on. This feels like some kind of cruel joke, it warns.

"Because, baby," he's shifting again, upper body pressing forward as he rests either palm on his spread knees, "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

Brain coming to a grinding halt from its anxious frenzy, all that remains is a cycling repeat of his statement and the reactionary shiver it sent down your spine. “Your… food?” 

This seems to make him huff a laugh, shaking his head. For such a smart girl, it made his dick twitch in his pants at how easy it is to throw you off balance, how quick you're going dumb for him. “Yes, sweetheart. Now are you going to let me keep playing? Or should I leave you alone with that wet spot that’s already on your panties?”

Your head ducks down in alarm, thinking you’re exposed to him in some way, only to see your pants still perfectly in place. When you look back up to retort, the cheeky grin on his face informs you that your reaction told him everything he needed to know. “You! I’m not!”

Taking a deep breath, shoulders rising and then falling lower than they were before as you try to release some of the sudden tension in your body. "How would we even...?"

The sudden shyness, your nervous hesitation, makes his cock throb again, one of his hands instinctively pressing down on the growing tent in his tight jeans. It nearly makes him groan at how heavily your eyes track the movement before quickly looking away with an almost inaudible squeak. “Don’t worry your big brain about it. Just come over here and let me show you.”

The way you stare at him for just a little too long, looking like a deer in headlights, makes him think maybe he came about this the wrong way. Maybe you’ll bolt like a scared rabbit. But then you silently push yourself to stand and take a few hesitant steps toward him, not quite entering the space between his spread thighs.

That Harrington charm comes through his encouraging smile, his voice a cooing murmur when he says, “Good girl.” Your thighs press together subconsciously and he delights in the new reaction. “Now take a seat,” he insists with a pat to the inside of one of his thighs. “I’ve got a spot right here with your name on it.”

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thanks for reading! please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it :)

[myosotisa]

Steve needing comfort angst ?

ah yes, the best. someone give this boy a hug!!!!!!

Running Late

ǁ  summary: Steve is late picking you up after work and fears the worst from you when he does show up.

ǁ  tags: hurt/comfort, established relationship. gender neutral, no pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are honey and sweetheart for reader. Steve has anxiety, description of symptoms similar to an anxiety attack, comfort for the man.

ǁ  word count: 2.1k

Your boyfriend Steve had picked you up after work every day since the two of you had started dating 6 months ago.

He insisted it wasn’t a big deal – it was on his way home from his own job and it also meant he got to see you everyday, which he always insisted was the highlight of his day. You didn’t really enjoy walking home, and you did enjoy getting to look at Steve Harrington, so it seemed like a win-win.

You didn’t really think too much into it until tonight.

After your shift ended, you did the same thing you always did: you cleaned up a bit, clocked out, and pushed your way out of the back door and into the night air. When you looked over to where Steve was normally parked, leaning on his hood with his thick arms crossed over his chest, you only saw empty space.

Shrugging it off, you stepped to the side to lean back against the brick wall and wait. He’d never been late before but there was a first time for everything. Who isn’t late sometimes?

You waited an hour.

During that time, you’d stepped inside to try to call his house (no answer) and Family Video (wasn’t there). One of your coworkers had walked past and asked if you needed a ride home, but you were still positive Steve was coming to get you, so you waved him off. He wasn’t the type to just forget. Maybe he’d lost track of time or, god forbid, he got in some sort of accident.

You’d been considering just walking home and trying to call him again later when his maroon BMW comes careening into the parking lot.

It skids until the wheels lock up a safe distance away from the building, and by extension you, and has barely come to a full stop before the driver’s side door is rocketing open and a severely distressed Steve is jumping out.

“Honey! Hey, I’m…” He rounds the car toward you in a jog, voice raspy from being out of breath. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I can’t believe – wait, how late am I?” He flips his watch toward his face, squinting behind his wire rim glasses to try to read the time in the dark before they grow wide and flick back to you. “Oh my god, I didn’t – I’m so sorry – Sweetheart, I swear…”

He isn’t even able to finish a thought before the next one starts as his breathing only seems to start coming through faster, chest rising and falling visibly with the force of his inhales. When he reaches his hands out toward you, there’s a noticeable tremble in them and that, along with the flush of red crawling up his chest, clues you in that something is really not right.

“Steve, hey,” you step into his space, bypassing his outstretched hands and placing one of yours on his jaw and the other on his chest. “It’s okay, it’s really fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” he murmurs, the space between his eyebrows folding into a sharp pinch. The next inhale he takes is choked, getting trapped in the bulk of his chest. “I’m so, so sorry. I… There’s no excuse, really, honest to god, there isn’t, I’m so sorry.”

Growing more concerned by the second, you step closer to try to ground him with your presence. You’ve seen Steve in moments like these before, when his anxiety feels like a python constricting around his chest, but it never gets any easier to watch. Especially not as his eyes start to water at the corners and the tremble of his hands infects the rest of him in a subtle shake.

“Hey, baby,” the petname, one that normally calms him down, produces a sharp inhale this time, like it was the wrong thing to say. “Why don’t you come sit in the backseat with me? Is that okay?” Your tone is slightly placating and you wish it wasn’t, but you’re at a bit of a loss for the best way to navigate this situation. Especially since you have little to no idea of what is causing his panic.

His eyes squeeze shut as the rest of his muscles go stiff, the tears that were collecting in the corners of his eyes falling swiftly down his reddened cheeks. Though it looks like it pains him, he gives a stunted nod and allows you to lead him back over to his car. You open the rear passenger side door and look over at him – he looks so lost and scared like this, 2 things you’re not used to your boyfriend being. But you’re here for it either way and motion for him to go in first, waiting for him to settle in the middle of the back before you slide in after him and shut the door behind you both.

The seal of the door makes the ambient noise of the outside fall away, leaving only the hum of the AC coming from the still running BMW. While you had worried it would feel too cramped for him at first, he had later explained to you that he didn’t find it cramped. It felt contained, which helped his panic when it came.

Twisting in your seat, you face him with a hand on his forearm. He stares straight forward, focusing far off. “I’m gonna sit in your lap, is that okay?” He doesn’t answer, just opens his arms and adjusts his legs to give you room to hop on. With the sedan’s low ceiling, it takes a bit of maneuvering, but you manage to crawl over to straddle his lap: knees by his hips, ass on his thighs, and hands resting on his chest. Almost instinctively, his arms wrap around you and pull you in to press along the entire front of his body.

Tucking your forehead against the side of his neck, you let him adjust as needed until he stills with his arms looped over your back. Like this, you’re effectively a warm, weighted blanket for him. A living, breathing one that grounds him to reality and gives him something to focus on. You make your breathing as obvious as you can, giving him a chance to try to mimic it, and listen to his heart rate slowly begin to lower with your ear pressed to his chest.

While the tension comes and goes in the silence between you for a little while, you know the worst of it has passed when his hands start to move. From stationary, they move into a subtle stroke along your curved spine from your position. Small at first, but gradually growing in length and firmness as he calms down further. You don’t want to push it, don’t want to move too soon, don’t want to cause him more upset, so you allow yourself to melt further into him with the soft touches and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, Steve heaves a deep breath that comes much easier and fuller than those previous. It’s accompanied by a low hum that you feel more than hear from your place against his chest. His hands skate down to rest on your hips, giving a soft squeeze, before he murmurs, “Hey honey.”

With that, you slowly withdraw from your spot and straighten as much as you can, putting a few inches between your faces. His face is ruddy and his cheeks are damp, like he spent a lot of your hidden time crying, and you offer a sad smile through the stab of pain the sight causes you. “Hi handsome,” you hum back, tension easing when his mouth tilts in a shy smile. “You come here often?”

“Too often,” he replies with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. His hands slide further – from your hips to resting on the tops of your thighs. When he speaks next it’s rough and broken at the edges. “I’m sorry.”

Quick to react, you use your hands to cup both sides of his jaw, forcing him to keep eye contact with you to try to ebb any possibility of a second attack. “No sorries, no more.” You lean in to press a soft kiss to his pouting lips, pulling away just enough to press your forehead to his. “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad, I’m not upset. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

His mouth presses into a tight line, jaw muscle rolling with tension as he clenches his teeth together. “I told Lucas I would drive him home after his game at the school tonight,” he explains through a sigh, eyes closed gently. “They went into overtime and he was out in the game, not even on the bench like he normally is, and I was just so excited for him. I completely lost track of time.”

“That’s okay, Steve,” you press your forehead a bit tighter before relaxing again. “That’s great for Lucas and I’m glad you had fun watching. It happens, losing track of time. Everyone does it once in awhile.” He heaves another shaky breath, the exhale ghosting warm over the lower half of your face from the proximity. “Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

You leave it up to him with no judgement. Sometimes he will say no, he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. But you always want to give him the option to talk about it right then when it’s fresh on his mind.

“I, uh… I thought you’d be mad.” He admits quietly, sounding ashamed. “Maybe not even mad but just… Disappointed?” 

Your expression cracks, sadness filling you, but you wait to make sure you don’t end up interrupting. You’d learned your lesson that if you tried to make it too much back and forth, he would get distracted and lose his train of thought.

“I guess I was worried that being late would make you feel like you can’t trust me anymore. That I’m unreliable. And if I’m unreliable, then maybe you won’t want me to give you rides anymore. And if I don’t drive you home from work anymore then…” He pauses, the continuous train of thought reaching its conclusion that he hadn’t anticipated at the beginning. “If I stop being useful, you won���t want me around anymore.”

“Oh, baby…” You can’t help but sigh, heart twisting in pain for the boy in front of you. “I don’t spend time with you because you’re ‘useful’. I’m not dating you because of the things you do for me or something like that. I like you because you’re you, Steve Harrington.” His eyes open when you say his full name, a bit watery behind the now smudged lenses. “You’re kind and loving and brave and genuine. Not to mention, kind of a stud muffin.”

He huffs a small, wet laugh at that, bringing little smiles to both of your faces. The sadness in his eyes begins to shift, steadily growing into awe and adoration the longer he looks at you. “You could never pick me up from work again and I would still be just as stupid crazy for you as I am right now, swear to god.”

“Oh yeah?” He sniffles slightly, clearing his throat as he tries to regain some footing. “How stupid crazy are we talking here? Because I think I might be a little bit deeper,” he teases, hands squeezing the meat of your thighs as his smile slowly grows.

“How about this,” you lean in to press one more quick kiss to his pink lips before you pull back to look at him head on. “How about we agree that I’m crazy for you and you’re stupid for me and we’re even in our prospective fields?”

“Prospective fields?” His head shakes with his shoulders when he chuckles again, the warmth of his smile once again meeting his bright eyes. “You’re kind of a nerd, you know that right?”

“Yup!” You answer happily, “That’s why I’m the crazy one and you’re the stupid one.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” comes his mocking reply, eyes rolling heavily. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, because you’re trouble.”

Fingers trailing down from his jaw to rest on the front of his chest, you aren’t able to bite back your cheeky grin. “I thought you liked that about me.”

With a grin that mirrors your own, his hands make an opposite trail, going from your thighs, brushing over the flesh of your ass before gripping tight on your hips again. “I do. I like everything about you actually.”

Flustered suddenly by the flattery, you hide your sudden shyness by leaning back in and wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a hug. He returns the embrace, leaving the two of you closer to how you had been when you first got in the car.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair, fingers once again brushing up and down your spine. “For everything.”

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[myosotisa]

deep end - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

‖ summary: You and the gang have a pool day and some bad memories come up.

‖ tags: angst, hurt with very little comfort, post season 4, everyone lives (but that don't mean they ain't got trauma lmao), no y/n, no pronouns, reader is referred to as "honey". depictions of PTSD, anxiety/panic attacks. tw for fear of drowning. past tense? present tense? the fic is tense, that's for sure.

‖ word count: 2k

Today, May 6th, 1986, was a good day.

Up until very recently, most of the days had not been good at all. Spring break had done a number on all of you – nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks. Some worse than others.

But today was a good day.

At least, until it wasn't.

Summer sun had invaded Hawkins and left everyone sweating and seeking shade after even a few minutes outside. AC blasted indoors and opened windows begged for a breeze to come through and bring some solace from the heat. The community pool was packed shoulder to shoulder and nearly impossible to get into – but that was fine.

Because Steve Harrington had his own pool.

Eddie, Lucas, Dustin, and Max were all already in the suburban backyard by the time you showed up with Robin. Steve had joined the other boys in the shallow end to start up a game of chicken – Dustin on Steve’s shoulders and Lucas on Eddie’s. Max sat on the pool’s edge with the water up to her shins, not able to get in further with the cast still on her right arm, and rolled her eyes as her friends tumbled over and into the water just to get back up again.

Robin went to go and sit by Max while you let yourself into the Harrington home, a container of drinks destined for the fridge just inside. By the time you had them chilling and pushed back out into the oppressive heat, Steve had pulled himself out of my pool to wait for you.

“Hi honey,” he said with a sticky sweet smile, ducking in to press a kiss to your cheek and dripping water on your cover-up.

“Hey handsome,” was your easy reply, Steve's smile lighting up further at the compliment. You called him handsome all the time and he still reacted like he'd never heard it before.

“Harrington, come on!”

His smile fell slightly as he rolled his eyes, shrugging at you before jogging back over to the pool.

You were just about to pull out your book and set up on one of the deck chairs when Nancy and Mike pushed through the fence gate.

More happy greetings, a hug from Nancy, and some chatting about the things she'd brought with her. Mike stripped off his shirt and shoes before walking over to the pool steps beside Max, submerging to his chest as he watched the others continue their game.

Robin came over and helped you and Nancy blow up the 3 inner tubes she had brought – Robin having to rescue you both with her superior musicians lungs. She quickly claimed the green dinosaur float, falling into it in the water as Dustin and Mike started to squabble over what kind of dinosaur it was supposed to be.

While you had originally grabbed the unicorn float, with it's pink hair and blue horn, you were quick to notice the longing glances from Nancy and offered a trade. She never would've ended up asking for it – she thought it was too childish to actually want the unicorn float – but you didn't miss the giddy grin on her face as she traded with you and settled into the pool a lot more gracefully than Robin.

So, with your strawberry frosted donut float and book in hand, you laid out on the sticky plastic and began to roast beneath the summer sun.

You and Nancy both had paperbacks cracked open while Robin seemed content to attempt a nap beneath her shades. Max busied herself by using a foot to gently push your floats around like a slow and lazy game of bumper cars. Mike finally succumbed to peer pressure and joined in with the boys playing with a volleyball toward the deep end and everything was good.

Everyone was smiling and laughing. Warm and lazy with the heat of a good, summer day.

Focused on a particularly intense chapter, you hardly noticed someone approaching your float until a wet chin draped itself over your arm.

Steve was looking at you with that lovesick smile again, his hair wet and pushed back as his tan skin glowed beneath the golden rays. “Enjoying your book?”

“I am, thank you very much.” But still, you placed it down on your stomach and turned your attention to your pretty boyfriend. “Are you having a good day?”

“Might have a couple bruises tomorrow, but not a big deal.” He hooks a wet arm over the side of your float, anchoring himself to you, and the skin along your thigh breaks out in goosebumps from the sudden brush of water.

“Steve, that's cold!”

He barely conceals a laugh, grin growing wider, before he tilts further toward you. “What, this?”

Was the only warning you got before he shook his head out like a dog, water flying from the ends of his hair and sprinkling all over you.

You nearly squealed, shoving him off and shouting about him getting your book wet, even though the smile on your face betrayed you.

After a few minutes of insisting it was funny as you fake pouted, and then Steve giving you some pathetic puppy dog eyes, you accepted his half hearted apology and settled again – one hand intertwined with Steve's as he held onto your float.

“Nance seems fine,” he said quietly, bringing your attention to the brunette. You had told him earlier you were worried about today, about bringing her back to the pool she spent two years barely able to look at, but she seemed perfectly at ease on her unicorn float. Just slowly turning page after page as she continued through the fantasy romance novel you’d lent her last week.

“Yeah,” you agreed, exhaling a relieved sigh, “I'm glad. She deserves it, y'know? We all do.”

Steve's hand squeezed yours, bringing your attention back to him on your other side. “You're the best, you know that, right?”

Not expecting the compliment, you got slightly flustered with the praise. “No, that's you,” you joked with a light flick to the tip of his nose.

He released your hand in mock offense, pushing your float slightly away as he put on a dramatic frown. He inhaled to reply, mouth parting, before he suddenly disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

The next few moments played out in slow motion.

In reality, Lucas and Eddie dove under the water to sneak up behind Steve – each of them grabbing an ankle and tugging him under as a practical joke.

To Steve, his heart stopped.

His chest constricted as his heart rate doubled, eyes squeezing shut as the panic gripped him tight and he waited to be pulled through the gate and thrown out on the other side.

Water filled his mouth from his half completed inhale as he was dragged under – his eyes widening and immediately beginning to burn from the chlorine.

But he wasn't in the pool anymore. It was dark; so, so dark and cold. He couldn't see anything through the murky water as he sunk lower and lower. The vice around his ankle held tight as he gave a kick, continuing to pull him back down to hell again.

To you, the world flipped on its side.

The last thing you saw before Steve went under was a flash of panic in his wide, brown eyes. Just like that night, on the boat. When he got dragged down and didn't come back up again.

“Steve?!” Your call is shrill, very quickly panicked as your adrenaline surged and your body tensed for a fight. It gets the attention of the rest of the group but you don't notice – eyes hyper focused on the spot he was before he disappeared.

In reality, you could glance down and see him in the clear water, just barely a foot below the surface. But you're not there in the Harrington’s pool. You're on a boat at Lover’s Lake and the man of your dreams just disappeared into the murky depths below.

“Steve?!” You scream again, rolling off your float and into the cool water, just like you had that night. I have to go after him, I have to get to him.

You vaguely register someone calling your name but you’re diving under, eyes burning instantly as you continue to look at Steve.

Eddie and Lucas have let him go now after sensing some sort of commotion from above, but Steve isn't moving. He isn't trying to swim up, though he is slowly ascending toward the surface. He's completely frozen there in the water, curled in on himself defensively.

You grab him and he grabs you in response, his nails digging into your bicep painfully as his eyes shoot open again. He doesn't even seem to realize its you before the two of you break the surface again.

Steve gasps for air – choking slightly on the water that was still in his mouth – and then starts to cough as he grabs tightly to you with both hands.

Your heart is pounding against your ribs like a hummingbird as your eyes rapidly scan him for the battered bruising across his throat, the blood coming from his mouth. “Steve? Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

Robin is by your side an instant later, her head and shoulders still dry as she comes around the side to place a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder while he coughs out chlorinated water.

Steve gives a stuttered nod as the coughing stops and he's able to take another deep breath in, his grip on you loosening to not be so painful as he closes his eyes. His inhales are coming through quickly, his eyebrows drawn together tight like he's in pain.

Your tunnel vision begins to scope out and you catch sight of Lucas and Eddie looking pained and apologetic in your periphery. They're both treading water in the deep end as you turn on them, anxiety and panic filtering out quickly into rage.

“What the fuck is your problem, huh?!” You snap, causing both of them to jump. Lucas's eyes are wide as saucers and Eddie looks like he's half tempted to book it just from the look on your face. “What the fuck kind of trick was that?! Maybe I should pull a gun on you, Lucas, just for fun. Or maybe, Eddie, I'll loop a rope around your neck for a few minutes and see how the fuck you like being reminded of almost dying!”

Both of them wince, drawing back from your outrage, which only makes you want to advance.

“H-honey,” Steve stutters beside you, half scolding and half terrified as he tries to put on a brave face. “It was just a joke.”

You turn your wild eyes back on him, body still reeling in fight or flight mode, as you realize his hands are trembling and the wetness to his eyes isn't from the pool at all. While you could easily continue to scream at them (which, when you're in a rational headspace again, you will feel guilty for), you focus in on Steve.

“Come on, let's go get you dried off, okay?” You offer much quieter, hovering close to him to try to keep you both grounded. He gives another shaky nod and lets you lead him over to the steps and out of the pool.

No one in the group says a word as you wrap him in a towel and then drape one over your own shoulders before sitting both of you down on one of the deck chairs. He continues to tremble slightly beside you as you tuck yourself tightly to his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you try to comfort him (and yourself).

We’re safe here. We’re okay. We’re going to be fine.

Everyone else watches silently as your paperback continues to collect water until it sinks down to the bottom of the deep end.

It was a good day. Until it wasn't.

-

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-

[myosotisa]

he bundled you all up, pulled the blankets so tight you couldn't move just so you both could giggle and then kissed all over your face because you couldn't get away from him in your blanket burrito

during the days he's keeping you company in the house and Jenny is out being a little snow bunny, he lets his scruff grow out (you told him he looks like he belongs in the woods with more scruff and he asked if he could pull off lumberjacking).

he goes all Mr. Mom and cooks and bakes tons - making comfort food dinners and holiday treats. you have no idea where he's getting all these ingredients and he admits to taking the four wheel drive out to the grocery store almost every morning before you wake up (he goes when you're asleep so he doesn't have to miss a second of you being awake).

really late on Christmas night, after Jenny got too tipsy on red wine and dragged her beau to bed, he admits he bought you a little something. you protest that he didn't have to do that and that he was more than generous by paying for your way to come on this trip. he won't take no for an answer.

it's a wrist watch, understated but beautiful. it looks expensive. you tell him it's way too much and you can't accept it, though it's beautiful. he's already taking it out of the case and starting to wrap it around your wrist.

"I can't give you all the time I'd like to, so I hope this... That's what I wanted to say, I guess. I wish I could give you more time. Time... together. But, at least this way, you can take a little bit of me with you everyday. If you'd let me be selfish... I want you to have that."

And maybe you suck the soul out of him for it, y'know how it goes.

okay I went overboard again but I have been thinking about him ALL DAY. keeping me sane rn fr fr

I won’t lie to you, Christmas makes me think of Colors!steve.

[myosotisa]

there are bones in my closet - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

‖  summary: You can't control what your scars have done to you, but you can control what you're going to do about it and who you're going to trust with them.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort, post season 4 volume 2. contains content referring to anxiety, depression, ptsd, unresolved trauma, and their symptoms. you comforting Steve and Steve comforting you. written all in one sitting and unedited, so sorry if there are mistakes. i'll go back and fix them at some point.

‖  word count: 3.8k

You both had scars; seen and unseen.

Some of his were physical. Puckered pink and tight scar tissue on either side of his torso, a smaller section on one shoulder. A straight, light line of discoloration across his throat. The special glasses he had to wear and the pills he had to take to keep the migraines at bay.

The rest were less obvious. A tensing of his shoulders whenever something flew by him and he wasn’t expecting it, even if it was as small as a bee. White knuckle grips, and sometimes a full body flinch, at the crack of thunder or flash of lightning. An uneasy feeling that led to irritability when he had to go outside while it was foggy. Wide, panicked eyes when he woke up in the middle of the night with a scream in his throat. His protective nature morphed, shifted, grew into something that could sometimes feel stifling. The anxiety that accompanied the fear behind the protection.

When you first got closer to Steve Harrington, it was easy for you to tell he had ghosts following him wherever he went. You knew because you had them too.

A tendency to jump or freeze at a loud noise or when someone raised their voice. Hints of subtle pain hiding behind your eyes around the holidays, your birthday, when people talked about their family and you forced a smile. How you could go from the life of the party, talking and laughing and helping everyone, and start to go quiet so quickly, sometimes entirely without warning. The way it wasn’t unusual for you to disappear for days at a time, no one knowing you were simply buried in your covers and unable to emerge. And sometimes, even when you were right next to him, right next to anyone, you would still feel so far away.

Steve was haunted by things that had long since died and you were too.

The first time you saw the signs in him was early April 1986.

You’d barely known him then. Both of you had known of each other in school but that was pretty much it – orbited different planets in the same solar system. When you met him again, or for the first time really, at the donation drive at the high school, he wasn’t at all what you remembered. King Steve was wearing a little name tag and folding shirts, pants, towels, and anything else set before him and then organizing it into piles just like one of your colleagues had asked him to.

Although pretty busy trying to wrangle a few other volunteers who seemed to have bitten off more than they could chew when it came to washing the bedding on the cots lining the gym, you couldn’t help but catch glimpses of him. How he had a heated but whispered argument with Robin Buckley from a year behind you, and then smiled like a proud father as she made peanut butter sandwiches. Turned into an absolute mother hen when a curly haired brunette walked by him with a limp, leaving his station to usher him over to a set of chairs and gave him what looked like a finger wag before ruffling the boy's curls. He only went back to folding when an older man, who you recognized as one of the people staying here, came and sat down next to the boy, waving Steve off with a shaky hand.

A few other preteens came by and talked to him, the only one you recognized being Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother Mike. He spoke with all of them with what could only be described as fond annoyance – like how you would talk to a younger sibling or a best friend. It intrigued you, for lack of a better word. An earthquake had shattered Hawkins and here was Steve Harrington: folding an endless number of fabrics that just kept growing, greeting anyone who tried to talk to him with a charming smile, and looking out for a select group of what appeared to be his friends.

After a particularly long conversation with two local moms, you noticed it. The smile was more forced, his responses less enthusiastic, shoulders rolling forward and eyes closing with a deep breath when he thought no one was looking at him.

He looked exhausted. The kind of tired sleeping can’t fix.

When another local came and chatted him up, carrying most of the conversation as Steve replied politely, and then clapped him on the back – he choked. A tightening of his chest, his neck, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a few coughs. The man looked worried, asking him if he was okay, if he had hurt him. Then brown eyes blinked open wide again and flickered around wildly. His shoulders started to fall and rise faster, a flush creeping up his neck.

Your bleeding heart cracked a bit more as you stepped inbetween the man and him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” you glanced back at the man, who gave a hesitant shrug before making an escape, and you returned to the wild eyes of Steve. “Volunteer coordinator here, do you think you could come help me with something?”

There was water collecting in the corners of his eyes as they glanced from you to the room like he was looking for a way to escape. His voice was slightly hoarse when he tried to respond, “I… I, uh-”

Lightly pressing the tips of your fingers to the clenched fist of his hand, you lowered your voice as quietly as you could. “Just come with me.”

His eyes squeezed shut, a single errant tear sliding down his pink cheek, before he gave a stunted nod.

You could feel eyes on your back as you walked with him off of the floor and into the swinging door of the kitchen.

Struggling with the weight, you pulled open the heavy metal door to the walk in fridge and motioned him inside. He didn’t question it as he stepped in and you followed behind him.

The space was small but not claustrophobic, large wire shelves on either side as the heavy door softly closed behind you. Eyes searching, you landed on a long plank of what looked like frozen pork ribs.

“Hold this please,” was the only thing you said as you thrust it into his hands. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion but he took the slab, the ice cold object ending up nestled into his chest. Perfect. “Thanks, now just wait here a minute,” you inched past him, both of you having to rotate in order for you to get past without touching each other, “I have to grab one more thing.”

You didn’t. You didn’t need the ribs either. But you opened up the faded white ice chest in the back of the walk in and started digging through it, looking for nothing. Your companion didn’t say a word in the enclosed space, but you could tell the cold was doing its job as his breathing started to slow down. After pretending to dig for another few minutes, you stood up straight again and let the lid fall closed before hopping up to sit on top of it.

Steve was standing there dutifully and holding the frozen meat close to him just as you’d asked. The flush rising up from his chest had been replaced with pink nose and cheeks from the cold, dry air, and his chest rose and fell at a more reasonable rate. The panic in his eyes had abated and the tears blinked away as his head slightly swiveled to look around the metal container you both were in.

“You can put the meat down now if you want.”

He startled a bit, gaze returning to you having not realized you were sitting there watching him. “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t actually need your help,” you offered plainly, motioning to the pork he was basically hugging. “The cold helps the panic go away.”

His head drops to look over the plastic bundle in his arms. “The…? No, I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to explain.”

A few moments passed as Steve’s grip on the meat shifted before he set it back on the shelf you had taken it from. Now free, his arms crossed over his chest and he shifted on his feet slightly. You took your own few moments to slow down, to breathe. To let the cold air recover you as much as it could before you had to go back out there.

Go back to grieving widows and broken families and people suddenly without homes or possessions. People crying, screaming, trying to make sense of something senseless. Some looking out for ways to help, some desperately seeking help no one could reasonably provide. You would keep going until your heart bled dry and then just a little farther, just to go back to your empty apartment and do it again the next day.

But it was what you could do. It was something you could do. A way you could help.

Rescuing Steve Harrington from having a panic attack in a crowded school gym was a way you could help even when you felt like you were falling apart at the seams.

His voice is gentle when he asks, “how did you know…?”

That he was panicking? That the cold would help? That he needed help?

“Guess when you know what it feels like, you know what it looks like.”

He seems to quietly consider your answer as he quietly considers you. Eyes searching, posture guarded, energy unsettled. You want to show a kind smile, open palms, telling him sweet words that will settle him, do the job that you’re supposed to be doing here.

But you’re so exhausted. The kind of tired sleeping can’t fix. And you just need a few more minutes before you put the act back on.

Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to have found it, because his arms fell from his chest, one lowering to rest on his hip as he leaned the opposite shoulder against the shelf beside him.

“Do you, uh, have any other tips and tricks?” He hesitantly asks, his gaze locked on your dirty sneakers.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The first time he saw yours was early June 1986.

The two of you had spent a steadily increasing amount of time together as he continued to volunteer to help at the makeshift shelter and you continued coordinating. When it was possible, the two of you would end up on a station together and you’d get a few more clues into what exactly were the skeletons in Steve’s closet. Hushed conversations about a friend in the hospital, about a friend they’d lost, about one they’d gotten back. Stories like you heard every single time you worked, but these felt different. The more you watched, the more you saw the string that tied all of them together. How it wasn’t just Steve looking out for his people, but them looking out for him and each other too.

A group of people that made no sense to be together but bonded in a way that couldn’t have happened peacefully.

Sometimes he would be talking to one of them – one of the preteens, or Robin, or Nancy Wheeler, or Jonathan Byers, or Joyce Byers, or the newly revived Sheriff Hopper – and would nervously glance your way like they didn’t want you to hear. You pretended not to.

If you could have stopped listening, you would have. But you heard and processed everything around you whether you wanted to or not.

Regardless of some of the strange things that floated into your ears, you never said a word about it. Never talked about the scar on his neck, or the scars on his sides you had gotten peeks at when he reached for something up high. Never asked why sometimes his whole body would start to react as if he was in a life or death situation, never questioned what triggered those moments. Never mentioned that when you weren’t working together, you could feel his eyes on you like a hawk, like you were one of the people he looked out for now too.

Never admitted how terrified that made you.

In return, he never asked why you would suddenly disappear for an hour and re-emerge with frozen fingers. Never pressed when you told him you were fine even though you couldn’t say it convincingly. Never forced you to talk when you fell silent or made you feel like you had to act a certain way or fulfill a certain need for him.

He just needed someone. Someone who knew, but didn’t know. Who saw the weight, saw the string that wound tight to him and his friends, saw when the mask started to crack and needed to be whisked away from prying eyes, and didn’t ask to know anymore than that.

You needed someone too. Someone who knew, but didn’t know. Who could see past the performance, see when the shadows drew in tighter and started to choke you, see that you were trying so fucking hard all the time. You needed someone who would understand that you were going to fight tooth and nail against the idea of needing someone – a trapped animal lashing out at anyone who tried to get close because they didn’t know if they were going to set it free or make the killing blow.

You didn’t know Steve could be that person until he proved it.

The day had started off shit. You’d woken up in a haze and debated if this was one of the days that would make you bury your head in the sand and wait for the storm to pass. Your first mistake was deciding to get up and go back to work anyway.

Your second mistake was putting Butter Handy Andy on dish washing duty.

You’d been talking to Vickie McAdams about the supplies you all had available for making dinner tonight when a huge crash came from inside the kitchen. Completely unprepared for a sudden noise that loud, you couldn’t hold in the yelp, couldn’t mask the way your entire body tensed, couldn’t help the way you immediately stopped in the middle of your sentence. Frozen, heart stuttering an uneven rhythm in your chest, the contents of your stomach kicking up, and people were staring. People were staring. Everyone was looking at you and thinking there was something wrong with you and you’re weak and broken.

Sweet, sweet Vickie, with a concerned furrow to her brow and a calm smile, asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

It took 75% of what you had left to put the act back on.

“Yup, just spooked me a little.” You laughed and then she laughed and then it felt like you had saved it, fooled them, protected yourself. It felt like the eyes were off of you.

Well, all except 2.

Your third mistake was stepping in between two men who had started an argument by the missing persons board.

Already running on fumes, you really should’ve thrown in the towel an hour ago. But giving up wasn’t a skill of yours and all that awaited you at home was silence and skeletons, so you kept the engine running. The disagreement had started quietly but quickly escalated into a screaming match in front of everyone in the room. Having forgotten yourself, gotten lost in the role you were playing as a coordinator and a leader, you’d immediately approached and tried to talk them down. Neither paid any attention to you and more people were starting to gather, either to watch or concerned they needed to do something. A baby nearby started to wail and the murmur of the gathering people grew and all the noise continued to grow into a tidal wave that rushed in your ears.

One of the men raised a fist like he was going to throw a punch. You rocketed forward, putting yourself between them with your hands out to try to stop him. And you did – the forward motion of his fist stopped. But then his other hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt near the collar and he tossed you away like you were nothing. You stumbled and then fell, gasping out in pain and shock as your tailbone made contact with the shiny, wooden floor.

The crowd descended then; pulling the two men apart before either of them could come to harm. People rushed for you, throwing out questions of ‘are you hurt?’, ‘what were you thinking?’, ‘are you okay?’ as hands you didn’t know forced you back to your feet. There were so many eyes and so many questions and so many hands and everyone was so close and everything was so loud and you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t move and you couldn’t talk.

You ran.

Pushed your way through the small circle of near strangers that had formed around you and settled into a run toward the swinging kitchen door. Through the door, past where Andy was still dropping pots and pans into soapy water without a care in the world, past the walk in fridge, and out the back doors. The sun was setting but the air was still hot and humid and choking you as you kept fucking running. You didn’t know if anyone followed you, you didn’t even try to look. You just listened to the frantic beat of your heart that told you to keep going or else it would be the end of you.

Your feet carried you to a familiar place that you hadn’t seen in a few years. You ran out of breath and had to stop just as you reached the bleachers along the mile track behind the school. They were coated in shades of orange, making the dusty track beyond them look even older as the sun carried down toward the horizon.

Despite your lungs and legs not being able to run any further, you were still thrumming with adrenaline, muscles tensed, chest tight, heart and mind racing out of control. You couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get back in control.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder and you swung.

Steve Harrington dodged your fist like a man who had taken more than his fair share of punches.

“Woah, hey, just me,” he offered calmly, hands coming up in a surrender gesture. The wire rim glasses were a recent addition, only a month or so old. You’d overheard one of his friends joke that maybe if he had taken one less knock to the noggin he wouldn’t need them. Hurt eyes or not, they flickered over you, caught sight of the heaving of your chest, the blood shot eyes, how you panted out between your teeth and arched your back like a cornered animal.

You certainly sounded a bit like one as you barked, “What the fuck do you want, Steve?”

He instinctively stepped back at the venom in your tone, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His mouth opened, closed, opened, and said nothing. The fear in his eyes quickly abated and then his expression fell. Not into one of pity or worry, like you normally expected. No, Steve looked at you like someone who knew, but didn’t know. Someone who understood. And it broke you.

Denim covered knees hit dust as you fell on them hard enough to hurt. You didn’t feel it, the physical pain, too distracted by the agony of your bleeding heart cracking your chest wide open. A sob tore from your throat as you buried your face into your sweaty hands and shook with the force of your tears. Gasping in a few sharp gulps of air as the cries continued to force themselves out of your mouth.

Firm, warm arms circled your shoulders and forced you off your knees and onto your ass and thigh, legs off to one side as your upper body made contact with a solid chest. His grip around you was tight, almost bone crushing, and despite the way you thought it would trigger you more, it was grounding. Something solid, something real, something physical while everything else felt like sand running right through your fingers. Despite the unexpected comfort offered, your sobs continued.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, barely audible due to your crying. “You’re safe.”

The word ‘safe’ made your bleeding heart shatter into pieces, another sharp wail leaving you as your nails started to dig into the skin of your face. Almost like he knew, Steve momentarily released one of his arms to force your hands away from your face and press them into his chest, encouraging your fingers to fist in his shirt instead. You obliged subconsciously, hands twisting in his loose t-shirt as you pressed your eyes into his shoulder instead. Satisfied, he returned both arms to his tight circle that held you pressed to him.

You don’t know how long you both sat there on the track behind Hawkins High School. Long enough for the automatic lights to flick on over the field and the sunset to dip into golden reds and purples as night crept closer. Long enough for your ass to fall asleep and for your crying to stop and for your breathing to return to normal and then even longer than that.

He didn’t pull away until you did, and even then it was with reluctance.

Making eye contact for the first time, you didn’t think before the words tumbled out of you. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like his shirt wasn’t damp with your tears and he hadn’t followed you out here while you ran like your life depended on it.

Wanting to argue that you had plenty to be sorry for, instead you shifted gears to the part of you that desperately wanted to give some kind of excuse or a reason to what had just occurred. “I swear, I normally don’t-”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted you with a kind smile, one hand giving your knee a soft squeeze before returning to his own lap. “You don’t have to explain.”

The shattered bits of your heart that lay in the wasteland of your chest thumped once, twice.

“Thank you,” it came out of you as barely a whisper.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, eyes warm and gentle. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

Thumped once, twice beneath the fear.

“I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

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thanks for reading!! if you liked it, please give it a reblog and leave a comment, as they make my day <3

[myosotisa]

Steve Harrington would give the best hugs. Like big bear hugs. Solid, tight, borderline bone crushing. If you ask him for a hug, he's delivering on the best hug he could possibly give. And there are two kinds of hugs:

The first has strong arms tucking under yours, wrapping tight around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder or tucking his face into your neck. Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him down to you. A hug that makes you feel surrounded and held and pressed tight to every inch of him possible. It's a tight hug that makes you feel safe, and he's so warm and he smells like expensive cologne and sunshine.

The second is more gentle. Just as tight and just as comforting, but more intimate. One arm wrapped around your shoulder with a hand on your upper back, the other hand lightly on the back of your head, pressing your face into his chest or neck. Your arms wrapped around his waist this time, molding yourself to the front of him. His cheek against your temple or his chin resting on the top of your head. A kiss pressed to your hairline. A hug that tells you everything is gonna be okay, Steve's got you, he's right here.

[myosotisa]

Steve, trying to flirt: I could pick you up, y'know. 😏

Reader, unimpressed: And I could make you moan like a girl.

Steve: (completely unable to speak) 😳🥴

[myosotisa]

I see your

#god why can't steve have traits that make him seem like he'd tie someone up

and raise you Steve is a service top that would do anything to make you feel good -- anything to make you feel better than you've ever felt with anyone else. and if you say tying you up is what it takes, then okay, he's going all in.

you mention it offhandedly one time and he surprises you with a taste, using one of his ties to keep your wrists together. he watches and can see how your eyes glaze over, how you pull against them to try to touch him and beg him over and over for what you want. how him taking that control makes you lose control.

so now he's researching different types of bondage, different positions, etc. I personally think he'd get into shibari -- his boy scout looking ass getting all interested in the different folds and knots. he can take his time, worship your body as he loves over every inch while criss crossing your torso and pinning your arms behind your back with the soft rope. and the marks it leaves behind when he takes it off?? (chefs kiss)

sure, handcuffs work in a pinch when you beg him to take control away from you. but there's just something about getting to wrap you up like a present just for him, and how you melt into begging for him before he can even finish his knots. he likes to feel powerful, to make you feel better than anyone ever has, and he'll do whatever it takes to be the best you'll ever have.

anyway my bad I'll go back to horny jail

No but fr. I’d let him cuff me if he wishes, wrists below my knees. Anything. Just to be completely ruined by him

wrists to ankles 😳🫢✋🏻 makes happy chittering noises

[myosotisa]

Steve Harrington reacting to an unconventional introduction to your shy cat 😺

‖ pre-face: you have been dating for a couple of weeks and he has yet to meet your cat. he knows you have one but has accepted that they will hide whenever he comes over, and doesn't want to push it and force them out of hiding. tonight is the first time he is sleeping over at your place.

‖ Eddie's Version

Whatever higher being that chose to sculpt Steve Harrington out of the finest marble into the shape of a Roman God with constellations of moles and freckles painted across his skin should really be providing you financial compensation for the hazard it poses to your health.

Part of you is convinced you've already slipped off into a dream when he dips back into your bedroom with two glasses of water in hand. He's shirtless, because of course he is, and you shamelessly allow your eyes to trail from the tuff of curly hair on his chest and down to where a similarly shaded happy trail dips into the waistband of his low-hung sweatpants.

"Hand delivery of a nice, cold glass of water to the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he holds one of the glasses toward you, the other lifting to his lips as you take it. You are once again distracted by the strong muscle of his bicep as it curls the glass toward his mouth, the rhythmic rise and fall of his Adams apple while he drinks, and the sheen of moisture on his pink lips as he lowers the glass with an overdone sigh of contentment.

You are absolutely floored with the desire to eat him alive.

But truly, someone should make him pay for the crimes against humanity that is his existence when he looks this fucking good. And you have just the thing in mind.

"Hey baby?" You call sweetly, putting a soft whine on the edge of the 'y' just to make his ears turn pink when he looks down at you tucked under the blankets on your bed.

"Yes honey?" He answers just as sweetly despite the way the blush travels from his ears and across his strong cheekbones, how weak he is for you evident in his dopey smile.

"I think I heard something under the bed," you tell him with an exaggerated pout, bringing your blankets up to your chin just to ratchet up the pathetic effect. "Could you check it for me, please?"

His head tilts with a playful smile, looking entirely too amused at your request. "Of course I can. What good is a big, strong boyfriend if you can't ask him to check for monsters under your bed?"

And you don't miss the way he flexes his arms when he says that he's big and strong, eyebrows wiggling at you in a tease. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, dipping back to lean against your headboard as you sigh, "I'm already swooning. You're so brave."

"Anything for my girl," he replies with a wink, hiking up the legs of his sweatpants as he drops into a kneel, and half of you is concerned the stitches will snap from how it stretches around the firmness of his thigh.

Bastard.

"Let's see here..." He ducks his head to look underneath the bedframe, a smile still in place as he anticipates finding nothing there. Your anticipation is much greater as you await the inevitable discover of what waits beneath.

He inhales in what looks to be a preparation to speak when it cuts off with a surprised yelp, falling backwards onto his ass as his wide eyes stare at the shadows beneath your bed. Your giggles are instantaneous, watching in absolute joy as he turns bright red from chest to scalp at the same time your cat goes scurrying out the door.

"Baby!" He admonishes in a whine, lips drooping in a frown. "You made me scare them!"

You crawl over to the edge of the bed closest to where he is still leaning on his hands on the floor, knees bent haphazardly. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist the opportunity."

And while there is a certain gleam to his eye that lets you know he's not actually mad, his pout remains as he turns over onto his hands and knees to look back under the bed for them.

"They already ran away, Steve," you inform him with a pitying smile, "off into the great wide apartment." He's back on his feet and out the door again before you can say another word. "Steve? Baby? Where are you going?"

"I have to find them so I can apologize," he calls back to you, flicking on lights as he goes through the apartment. "I don't want them to be even more scared of me than they already are."

Your heart burns with warmth at the intention, your boyfriend's bleeding heart striking you like a cupid's arrow through the chest. You hop off the bed and trail after him, peeking around the corner to see him flat on the ground of your living room to look beneath the couch.

"I don't think you're going to find them," you warn with nothing but adoration as you approach him.

"I will look all night if I have to."

And so you spend the better part of an hour trailing your handsome boyfriend around your apartment as he searches every nook and cranny for the scared feline, getting more and more upset as the time ticks on.

When he finally discovers them, tucked behind the washing machine, he keeps a safe distance as he coos and murmurs apologies to the creature in the shadows.

"Your mom is so mean to us, isn't she buddy? So cruel to play a joke like that on us. It's a good thing she's so pretty and funny and kind or else I would whisk you away to my place where you could hide and rest to your hearts content and never be disturbed."

And while your shy cat shows little to no reaction to his reassurances, you basically melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks of the floorboards as he talks sweetly and respectfully to your faithful and skittish pet.

[myosotisa]

Hmmm you know, I’m always down for that you’re in a new relationship, just been recently going out, and it’s that first time with a new partner. Can be awkward, can be fluffy, who knows? The world is your oyster. 😏🩷 also love you immensely

your brain is so big and i chose to make it funny. love you so much Luna!!!

3rd Times the Charm

ǁ summary: The 2 times you and Steve tried to have sex for the first time and the 1 time it actually happened.

ǁ tags: mentions of blood and injury (not graphic), mention of needles/stitches, fem!reader

ǁ word count: 1.5k

The first time you and Steve tried to ‘consummate’ your relationship did not go as intended. You’d planned it in advance – a nice dinner followed by a romantic and cheesy walk in the park. The ending was set for your place because you had a bigger bed and your roommate was supposed to be gone.

Key word: supposed to be.

The two of you had gotten distracted in the hallway. Steve had one hand on your hip, the other on your jaw, and was pressing you flat against the wall with his body as he sucked your lower lip into his mouth just to watch it pop back into place again. You both knew what the plan was and the anticipation to finally fuck your boyfriend of 3 months had been building the entire night.

If the denim erection pressing into your hip was any indicator, then Steve was just as excited as you were.

After some careful coaxing both by your breathless murmurs and your fingers twisting in his hair, you were able to convince him to let you go long enough for you to get your keys out and unlock the door. Although, you really only got halfway through doing so before he was pressing up against you from behind, wide palms settled on either hip, and his mouth teasing at the skin on the side of your neck.

The two of you stumbled into the apartment together, his arms wrapped tight around you as he used his foot to kick the door closed. It only took another scarce few moments before he had you pressed against another wall, this time with your back still to his front, and his hands wandering from the fronts of your upper thighs all the way up to cupping them under your tits. Each graze of his warm palms lit you aflame, forehead pressed to the drywall as you closed your eyes and tried to regain some composure despite Steve intentionally trying to drive you into a frenzy.

That was when the two of you heard the first sob.

As it turns out, the one night you and Steve had planned to have sex for the first time ended up being the very same night your roommate got dumped. The two of you peeked around the corner into the living room, fully disheveled and panting, to the sight of her curled into a ball on the couch. She was completely inconsolable and the moment she saw you, she was begging for a hug and someone to talk to.

There was nothing you could do to weasel your way out of this situation to go try to hook up – not when she was crying face down in your lap with Kelly Clarkson playing on the loudspeaker. And Steve, absolute god tier boyfriend that he is, ran his fingers through your hair to settle it, pressed a kiss to your temple, and shared an understanding smile with you before asking your roommate what kind of ice cream she wanted from the convenience store on the corner. He returned no more than 15 minutes later with a spread fit for a heartbroken young adult and with multiple RedBox DVDs that the 3 of you watched into the night before you all fell asleep on the couch in a mountain of blankets and pillows.

The second time you and Steve tried to “consummate” your relationship went even worse. The idea of ‘Sex sent me to the ER’ is all fun and games until it happens to you.

It was very spur of the moment at a party – one of your mutual friends had planned this huge celebration at their parents fancy lake house. The two of you had gotten suited and lotioned up, drove the hour out of town to the property, and spent the entire afternoon roasting in the sun on jet skis and getting thrown off inner tubes behind a speedboat.

You’d had your eyes on Steve for hours and you were completely unapologetic about it. He was wearing a pair of navy swim trunks, a white linen shirt that was fully unbuttoned to show off his chest hair and golden skin, a pair of aviators perched on his nose, and with his hair sunkissed and windblown.

He’d taken over driving the speedboat with a beer in his hand and the steering wheel in the other, gunning it across the lake and throwing people off their rafts into the water with absolute joy and taunting yells across the wide open spaces. It looked like he was born for this, like this was him in his element, and you had actually never been more attracted to him than you were under that May sunshine.

When the sun set, a bonfire was lit and the speakers came out. Snacks and drinks, alcohol and non, were flowing steadily as people alternated between sitting by the fire and talking, pushing each other into the lake or the pool, and a few people even started dancing down by the water. You were all sunburnt and lazy with the first heat of the summer, heavy and slow with relaxation. And honestly… Horny as hell.

The two of you had stumbled into a shed on the property with greedy hands on warm skin and in slowly drying hair. His mouth was ravenous as it trailed from your own to the salty span of your neck and down to suck bruises into the sensitive skin on your chest. He’d pulled back after a few minutes, chest heaving beneath his open shirt and pupils blown wide as he looked you over. Told you he wanted you more than anything but was worried about your first time being in a fucking shed. You, completely drunk on him and not caring about anything else, informed him you didn’t give a damn and you needed him inside you like yesterday.

The grin that lit up his face was brighter than the summer sun of the day.

It was all blooming feelings and barely contained moans until he knelt down to give you some well overdue attention between your thighs. He had trailed kisses down your stomach as he dropped down without looking before you heard him suddenly hiss out through his teeth at the same time something shifted beside you and he fell away. Still slightly dazed, it took you a few moments too long to realize he had fallen onto his ass and was gently cradling his shin because it was now quickly pouring blood.

He’d knelt down and sliced his calf on a gardening tool in the shed. A blade that, after pulling out a flashlight, you confirmed was covered in rust.

The two of you spent the next 4.5 hours in the emergency room – earning Steve a tetanus shot and 2 other injections as well as 10 stitches and a prescription for antibiotics. As soon as you both confirmed that he wasn’t going to lose his leg or something, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sun and fun had lightened your minds and made something like having to go to the ER because Steve tried to eat you out in a shed feel like a story to tell, and nothing worse than that.

While it probably could have happened sooner, you and Steve finally got your chance the day after Steve’s stitches were removed. He’d shown up to your apartment early on a Saturday with a packet of baked goods for breakfast and a cup of your favorite from the corner store. All completely unprompted and he insisted it was just because he wanted to do something nice for you after your week at work.

The two of you had a slow and comfortable breakfast on your balcony as the morning sun rose higher in the sky. The moment you were both finished eating, you’d wasted no time in climbing into his lap and making up for lost time.

It was slow and thorough; each of you taking your sweet time in learning what made the other tick and shiver. It was hours between your sheets in the late hours of the morning with all the time in the world to explore each other.

And, while it was well worth the wait, you certainly had a lot of time to make up for.

-

-

-

[myosotisa]

Take a Seat: Extended Edition - s.h.

ǁ  summary: What exactly did you think was going to happen when you let King Steve into your bedroom? (Now with full smut!)

ǁ  tags: smut. not plot just dirt. mean!dom Steve with demeaning praise, pinching, dirty talk, fingering f receiving, implied size kink (i know his dick is big), protected p in v, spanking. dubcon photo taken at the end. afab!reader, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, good girl, dirty slut. King Steve is the King Tease. And a perv. not a happy ending but not a bad ending? about what you'd expect, really.

ǁ  a/n: the girlies ask and i answer. tagged everyone who interacted with the first blurb at the bottom. the first 900 words are the same. never ask me for anything ever again /s

ǁ  word count: 4k

"Hey sweetheart?"

You barely look up from where you're pouring over the textbook on your desk. "Hmm?"

There's a small shuffle from your friend Steve adjusting on your bed, most likely to face you. "Can I ask you something?"

Glancing back at him with your eyebrows drawn together, you catch a glimpse of his impish smile that he's attempted to make look sweet before you return to your book. "Sure?"

"Can I fuck you into your mattress?"

The world spins from how fast you twist toward him, hand gripping the back of your chair tightly as all the blood rushes to your head. "Excuse me?!"

A lazy smile tilts his mouth, eyes shining with mischief as he repeats with slow pauses for effect, "Can I… fuck you… into your mattress?"

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you struggle to force out words. "I heard you the first time, I was just giving you a chance to say something else."

"Come on," he leans back onto his palms, thighs spreading with his socks firmly on the floor. The traitorous part of your brain he's awakened looks at the space between his thighs, at the empty seat of his denim covered lap and thinks that's a perfect spot for me. "Like you've never thought about it?"

"I…" Eyes drying from staring at him in shock, you manually force a few blinks as you swallow hard. "This feels like a trick question."

"I bet you have," he says in a sigh, adjusting on the bed with what seems like a very intentional thrust of his hips upward. He adjusts to hold most of his weight on one hand, the other making a little walk up toward where your blanket meets your pillow. "I bet you've laid right here on these sheets… Hand tucked into your pretty little panties and whimpered my name."

The visual has your gut twisting, warmth spreading from between your thighs and outwards. Your face is burning hot as your eyes flick from his hand to his face to his lap and back again. "I don't – I don't understand what's happening right now."

Steve has never, ever shown any interest in you. While you've only been friends for a little while, he was known for his conquests around school. Everyone knew how they went. When he approached you, entirely friendly, asking for a study partner, you'd known it didn't fit his pattern. This wasn't how he came onto the other girls at school.

"What's not to get?" He asks teasingly, the tips of his thick fingers hooking on the top of your blanket just to shift it down a few inches. "It'd be fun."

And while the visual part of your brain talks directly to the throb of feeling in your clit explaining just how fun it would be, your thinking brain is still fighting tooth and nail against something you hadn't considered a possibility anymore.

"Why are you doing this, Steve?" I'm not your type, your mind tacks on. This feels like some kind of cruel joke, it warns.

"Because, baby," he's shifting again, upper body pressing forward as he rests either palm on his spread knees, "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

Brain coming to a grinding halt from its anxious frenzy, all that remains is a cycling repeat of his statement and the reactionary shiver it sent down your spine. “Your… food?” 

This seems to make him huff a laugh, shaking his head. For such a smart girl, it made his dick twitch in his pants at how easy it is to throw you off balance, how quick you're going dumb for him. “Yes, sweetheart. Now are you going to let me keep playing? Or should I leave you alone with that wet spot that’s already on your panties?”

Your head ducks down in alarm, thinking you’re exposed to him in some way, only to see your pants still perfectly in place. When you look back up to retort, the cheeky grin on his face informs you that your reaction told him everything he needed to know. “You– I’m not!”

Taking a deep breath, shoulders rising and then falling lower than they were before as you try to release some of the sudden tension in your body. "How would we even...?"

The sudden shyness, your nervous hesitation, makes his cock throb again, one of his hands instinctively pressing down on the growing tent in his tight jeans. It nearly makes him groan at how heavily your eyes track the movement before quickly looking away with an almost inaudible squeak. “Don’t worry your big brain about it. Just come over here and let me show you.”

The way you stare at him for just a little too long, looking like a deer in headlights, makes him think maybe he came about this the wrong way. Maybe you’ll bolt like a scared rabbit. But then you silently push yourself to stand and take a few hesitant steps toward him, not quite entering the space between his spread thighs.

That Harrington charm comes through his encouraging smile, his voice a cooing murmur when he says, “Good girl.” Your thighs press together subconsciously and he delights in the new reaction. “Now take a seat,” he insists with a pat to the inside of one of his thighs. “I’ve got a spot right here with your name on it.”

It is with less grace than you had hoped when you bring your knees to either side of his hips, sitting down closer to his knees and lightly placing your hands on his shoulders. Keeping a small distance between your chests, a bit of safety. He tsks softly, tongue clicking behind his teeth as he shakes his head like he's disappointed.

Burning hot palms land on your waist and yank you forward without warning – pulling you flush against him, tits to chest and the continuously hardening bump in his lap pressing against you. You gasp at the sudden movement and the press of something solid between your legs, hands turning to a death grip on his shoulders. "There, that's better. Isn't that better?"

The way he asks is condescending and you hate that it just makes you drip more onto your underwear. Feeling like your tongue is caught in your mouth, you answer with a nod. His eyes narrow slightly right before he gives you a sharp pinch on your side, his other hand holding you in place when you instinctually try to jerk away from it. "Words, sweetheart. Need to hear you."

"Yes!" The answer comes out embarrassingly quickly, making your face grow even hotter and his grin grow even bigger. "Yes, that's better."

"Good," his voice drops in pitch as his hands skate down from your waist to your knees, just to start to slowly drag up your covered thighs. What I wouldn't give to be in a skirt right now. "Where was I?" Fingers press firmly into your skin, a shiver rocking you as your thighs try to twitch together, unable to in his lap. 

"Oh, right," if you didn't know any better, you'd say his smile is malicious. "I was playing with my new toy."

New toy. Another shudder rolls down your spine as your clit starts to throb between your legs. You shouldn't be turned on by this, you should be telling him off, kicking him out. But it's like his eyes and words have you hypnotized – completely pliable in his big hands. Ready and wanting to do whatever he might ask of you.

And he knows it too. Is relishing in it, even. How he lets his tongue sneak out to lick at his lower lip and then you're staring at his mouth, not even aware of it. How your eyes are wide as saucers when he starts to lean in, closer and closer, until the tip of his strong nose nudges yours.

Your breath catches in your chest, holding and holding as you wait, eyes begging. He just smiles again, eyelids heavy as he nudges your nose one more time with his before veering off without warning and pressing his plush lips to your jaw. Once, twice, and down until he reaches a spot below your ear and nips with his teeth to hear you gasp again.

Just like the other girls told you. King Steve doesn't kiss on the mouth.

"So sensitive, baby." He parts his lips in a wet kiss along your jugular, sucking softly before pulling off – blowing cool air across the wet skin to make you tremble on his lap again. "Anybody ever touch you like this?"

"O–once or twice," you reply as you tip your chin up and to the left to give him more space to work with. He hums in approval and gives you a few more kisses and nips in reward.

You hadn't even realized you had started a slow roll to rub your cunt along the zipper of his jeans until his hands grip your hips to pull you down harder. A small moan tumbles out before you can stop it and he huffs a laugh against your skin.

"Now that's just precious." Blood parts in the middle – half rushing up to your face and the other half sinking down to the increasingly present throbbing below. He presses your hips down at the same time his twitch up, the hard length of him beneath denim catching on your clit deliciously, triggering another embarrassing noise. "Fuck, sweetheart. I bet I could make you cum just like this."

It is with great shame you admit to yourself that he probably could.

"But I made you a promise, didn't I?" He pulls back so he can see your dilated pupils. "What was it again?" He pretends to think while encouraging you in your drag against him, making it hard for you to answer.

"You… you asked if you could fuck me," you inhale a sharp breath at a particularly good nudge against your clit. "Into my mattress."

"That's right, good girl." A whimper sounds behind your closed lips and his face gets even more smug. "I don't remember you giving me an answer to that question, sweetheart."

"Is, uh… is me climbing into your lap not answer enough?"

Another mean pinch, to your outer thigh this time. "Don't get smart. Ask me nicely or I'll leave you wet and empty right now."

"No!" It comes out a bit panicked, not putting it past him to do just that. "Please don't go."

He hums again, a placated noise, and goes back to manipulating the flesh of your thighs while he looks at you expectantly.

"Will you…" It feels like acid on your tongue but you're growing more desperate by the minute. "Will you please fuck me?"

"Aww," he coos, smiling syrupy sweet. "That's cute, but I think you can do better than that."

Bastard.

More acid burns your throat as you swallow what remains of your pride, squeezing your eyes closed tight for a few moments as you prepare yourself. “Steve,” it comes out with a little bit of a whine, eyes opening wide and wet to look into his. “Please, will you… Will you fuck me? Want you so bad – want you to stretch me out, please.”

A sound rumbles in his chest that sounds somewhere between a groan and a growl, his hands tightening to an almost uncomfortable stretch on your thighs. “Still could be better, but I’m feeling in a giving mood.” A sharp tap to the side of your ass makes you squeak in surprise, “Up, up. On your feet.”

You do as he asks without question, climbing off his lap and back to the mercy of your nervous knees. “Strip down, then hands and knees on the bed.”

“What?!” Your arms come up to cross over your chest, already feeling exposed just by the order.

He’s pulling his shirt off, giving you an eyefull of his wide shoulders and chest as he tosses it back towards your desk. “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart. You won’t like the consequences.”

So you rapidly strip off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the ground below you until you’re naked as the day you were born, weight shifting from one foot to the other in an attempt to calm your nerves.

Steve’s jeans and underwear hit his ankles – long, thick cock bobbing free, heavy enough to hang down even with how hard he is. He wraps his fist around the base, only making the size of it seem more intimidating in comparison, and strokes it lazily when he catches you looking. Sounding annoyed and tipping his head toward your bed, he says, “Knees, bed, go.”

Scrambling onto the bed to his amusement, you perch yourself on your hands and knees, ass facing him with your hot, wet pussy on full display. “Now that’s a pretty picture,” his voice is low again, almost pleased as the bed dips behind you with his weight. You keep your eyes forward on your pillows, so much blood rushing to your face that it’s making you dizzy. A firm hand grips your hip at the same time a pair of fingers parts your lips – a strangled and surprised moan leaving you as you try to jerk away from the sudden stimulation, his hold on your hip keeping you against his fingers. “Surprised, baby? What, did you think I wasn’t going to touch you?”

His amused mocking has you burning with embarrassment, the fact that you can feel each cruel word directly in your clit only making you hotter. “N–no, I was hoping you w–would.”

“Hoping? Oh, you poor thing,” he coos again, thick fingers skating up and down your slit, just barely brushing your clit on each pass. “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?”

And he pushes his middle finger inside you without warning, pressing into the knuckle as you squeak out and tense up. “Nuh-uh, gotta relax,” his hand leaves your hip to tap at your presented ass again. “Your only job right now is to sit there and take what I give you, understand?”

You nod with a whimper caught in your throat, allowing your head to hang down. Another sharp pinch on the stretch of skin between your ass and thigh, hard enough on a sensitive place to make you cry out. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes! Yes, I u–understand. All I do is…” Something between a sigh and a moan interrupts you as he starts to drag his finger in and out of your tight heat. “Take what you give me.”

“Mmm, good girl. Gotta stretch you out. So tight – I think my cock might rip you right in half, baby.”

I wish you would, the traitorous part of your brain supplies.

Steve takes his time – paying very little attention to your needy clit as he adds a second finger and then a third. Withdrawing slightly whenever you press back for more, making sure you know that he is the one setting the pace and you do not get to change that. Three fingers knuckle deep in your tight hole is a stretch, bordering on painful, but it quickly turns to pleasure when he starts to hook his fingers down to rub against the spot inside you that has your toes curling and noises pouring out of you.

“Is this what you thought about, baby?” His voice pulls you out of it again, brain struggling to catch up and understand what he’s asking. “When you touched your pretty pussy and thought of me? Did you picture it like this?” Right now, you can’t remember, but you can’t imagine this being your fantasy, so you shake your head, thighs starting to tremble slightly.

“No, course not. Sweet thing like you probably dreamed about doing it missionary – looking into each other's eyes.” His thumb finally makes contact with your clit, your back arching and voice rising in pitch as you moan. “That what you want? Want me to make love to you?”

“N–no,” you stutter, struggling to get the words out over the way your body starts to tense, wanting to cum more than anything. “Wanted… Wanted you to fuck me, use me.”

A moan leaves him this time, shifting forward to grind his throbbing cock against your ass. “Really? You want to be my fucktoy, sweetheart? A little warm, wet fleshlight for my cock?”

The pressure in you mounts, higher and higher, almost there as you cry out, “Yes! Yes, want that, please!”

“Jesus Christ,” his fingers promptly leave you, taking you off the edge with them so abruptly it has tears coming to your eyes as you whine. You look back at him for the first time since you mounted the bed, eyebrows tipped up in pained pleasure, as you try to figure out why he stopped.

He’s propped on his knees behind you, hair ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it, eyes trained between your legs as he rolls a condom onto his painfully red cock. Feeling a burst of confidence, you lower down onto your elbows, arching your back further and presenting yourself to him more. He groans like you’re hurting him, eyes widening as he looks from your face to your swollen pussy.

“Keep doing shit like that,” he laughs out, nudging your knees further apart as he starts to run the tip of cock through your folds, “and I might have to keep you.”

Keep you, keep you, keep you, plays on a loop inside your head as he inches inside, muscles protesting against the size of him even after all the time spent stretching you out. He presses about a quarter of the way in before pausing, muttering a, “Shit,” under his breath as he paws at the curve of your ass. You try to breathe through the ache, focusing on the way he grips your flesh and not at how his cock feels like it’s tearing you up from the inside.

In a slow roll, he pulls out an inch and presses in two, being nicer and more deliberate with feeding you his length than you anticipated. You can feel your own slick dripping out each time he shifts, making a sticky mess of your inner thighs and the curly hair at the base of his cock. When he bottoms out, he pulls back a touch and pushes back in hard, another high pitched noise leaving your parted lips when he just stays there.

“You–you’re so deep, Steve, fuck…”

He laughs breathlessly, squeezing at your flesh harder. “And you’ve got a perfect pussy, baby. So tight and wet and taking me so well.” His hips grind against yours, a dirty roll that has his cock adjusting to sit even deeper. “Letting me rearrange your guts like a good girl.”

Your shame is long gone now, eyebrows tipping up in pleasure as you fist your fingers in the sheets and cry back, “Wanna be good, wanna be your good girl, Steve.”

His cock jumps inside you, making both of you groan, and he grips both of your hips hard when he starts to pull out before thrusting back in. You don’t stay surprised by his slow start for long, his pace rapidly increasing in strength and speed by the second until he's forcing your ass back against his hips with a dirty slap of skin on skin.

“This better?” He asks, breathless as he pounds into you over and over. “This what you wanted?”

“Yeah! Yes, yes,” you babble, fists twisting in the sheets as your muscles start to tense up again. “So good, so, so good.”

A sharp smack hits your ass, another cry leaving your throat as you clench down around him. “Oh fuck,” he groans, “you like that shit too?” You nod, hair mussing against the sheets as you press your ass back like you’re asking for more.

“I thought you were such a good girl, a sweet girl,” he coos. “Thought I was gonna corrupt you.” He laughs, slapping your ass hard again as your moan. “But here you are, begging to be my fleshlight and gushing around my cock when I spank you. That good girl act was to hide that you’re just a dirty little slut, huh?”

You’re lost in it, pressure mounting as you start to inch closer and closer to your previously ruined orgasm. He smacks you again, harder this time, as he orders, “Come on, can’t be that dumb on my cock yet, answer me.”

“Yes! I’m a dirty slut – just for you, just for your cock.”

He moans, louder than he has so far, and one of his hands reaches forward to your shoulders, pushing you down further into the mattress. You drop, tits and cheek pressed to the sheets as he starts to pick up his pace again. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You whimper, cunt clenching down as your mouth hangs open. “Fuck yes, please, want you to cum, want to cum with you, please!”

“Yeah?” He leans further over you, happy trail rubbing against your lower back as he wraps his arm around to inch toward your clit underneath. “You gonna be a good girl and milk my cock?”

His fingertips are just too far, so close but still not there, and you’re so desperate, you’re begging, “Please, pleaseplease, gonna milk your cock, want every drop, please just let me cum.”

He laughs again, voice going hoarse, as he finally makes contact with your clit. Collects some of the slick that continues to coat you both and uses it to start making sharp and dirty figure 8’s across your throbbing clit. “Come on then, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

And it’s like your body responds directly to his command – back bowing and all your muscles clenching down as the pressure in your hips releases, hot white endorphins flooding your system as you moan and thank him and tremble. He’s not far behind, the hot grip of your cunt getting even tighter and sending him over the edge as he jerkily fucks into you a few more times, ropes of cum emptying into the end of the condom and soaking the head of his cock in warmth.

You’re still panting and shaking when he pulls out with a groan, a whine leaving your throat at the sudden emptiness while your knees slide out from under you to lay flat against the bed. Limp against the sheets, sweaty and boneless, completely blissed out to the point you don’t even know or care what Steve is doing.

A sudden flash brings you back to reality, pushing up on your palms and whipping your head around to see Steve, fully dressed, and holding a polaroid camera in his hands that is now slowly printing out a picture. You feel all the blood rushing to your face again, legs pressing together stickily as you come back into how exposed you currently are. “Did you just…?”

“A little souvenir,” he promises with a smirk, pulling it out of the camera and looking over the slowly developing photograph. Where did he even get the camera? “Just for me, no one will know.”

Fucked dumb and still trying to recover, you just nod, turning over slightly and pulling your blanket with you to cover yourself slightly. You watch as he slips the polaroid into his back pocket and steps over to pluck your soiled underwear out of your discarded jeans, tucking that into his pocket too. “Thanks for a good time, sweetheart. Much better than I thought it'd be.”

Your mouth opens to ask but closes quickly. King Steve has always been a one and done guy, but he said… he might keep you. Will he actually?

Before you can decide whether you want to ask or not, he flashes you a sharp grin and says, “I’ll make sure to let you know if I’m ever in need of a fleshlight to play with.” A pointed glance up and down your barely covered form and then he winks, wiggling his fingers in a little wave and leaving you alone in your room.

Your ever traitorous brain hopes that he’ll call you again soon even though you know that he probably, really won’t.

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[myosotisa]

scoops steve is a mood so can I request scoops steve??

you absolutely can, my friend!! here is some jealous!Reader with some Scoops Ahoy Steve

New and Different

ǁ summary: You visit your boyfriend at work for the first time and catch him talking with an old classmate. Your envy takes over.

ǁ tags: implied fem!reader, jealousy, happy ending, fluffy, content warning for scoops ahoy shorts because they are simply too much

ǁ word count: 1.8k

One of the problems with Steve working at Scoops Ahoy is that stupid little outfit he has to wear every day.

The two of you had only been dating a few weeks when you decided to visit him at work for the first time. You’d seen the outfit before, of course, but only in the privacy of your own home where it felt like all the thigh on display was completely for your own enjoyment. Seeing him wearing it in public leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you are reluctant to acknowledge is a burning pit of jealousy.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite customer,” his smile is absolutely radiant in the bright overheads of the shop the moment he sees you. “To what do I owe the pleasure of getting to see such a babe during my work day?”

“That depends,” no one is waiting to order so you walk right up to the counter, hands pressed to the vinyl as you lean in toward him, “how many free samples are you allowed to give out?”

He laughs, shaking his head at you as the corners of his eyes crinkle in joy. “For you? I’d sample every flavor.”

The sentiment makes your heart warm as it thumps in your chest. A bit shy, you ask, “Even though you hate people asking for a ton of samples?”

“What can I say?” His head tilts to the side, a lazy smile tilting his mouth. “I’m a sucker for a pretty face.”

It’s your turn to laugh, blood rushing to your face in embarrassment. “Okay, smooth operator, why don’t you–”

“God, will you two STOP.” Robin pushes her way out of the swinging doors to your left with a dramatic flourish, hands in the air as she gives you her most exasperated look yet. “We get it, you’re in puppy love, you’re making us all sick with your shit.”

Steve rolls his eyes, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest as he leans a hip against the counter to tilt toward her. “You’re just jealous you’re sad and alone.”

“Wow, dingus, that really hurts,” she retorts in a total monotone, “how will I ever recover from being attacked like this?”

“Sorry Robin,” you offer to try and limit their bickering, an apologetic smile flashed her way. She seems to appreciate the gesture at the very least as she goes to grab what she came to the front for before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Steve is quick to offer you an apology on her behalf that you insist you don’t need and the two of you go back to awkwardly flirting while he puts together a two scoop bowl of ice cream for you. He has a break in 15 minutes or so, encouraging you to take a seat so he can join you when he is able to relinquish his post.

Having no plans this afternoon, you’re quick to agree, settling into a booth on the left hand wall with a view of your pretty boyfriend behind the Scoops Ahoy counter.

Unfortunately, you are not the only one vying for a view of your pretty boyfriend behind the Scoops Ahoy counter.

Honestly, you don’t even remember her name. Someone from high school that had never said two words to you but probably was an attendee at all of Steve’s parties in his big, empty house on the edge of town. He’d told you recently that people from high school hadn’t treated him very kindly since he started working at the mall – after his falling out with Tommy, his breakup with Nancy, and his failure to get into college, he had changed a lot. So you can see the apprehension he is trying to hide as she approaches the counter and he greets her.

He looks utterly delighted when she not only remembers him, but also seems happy to see him. Acting like old friends catching up and not just 2 people who were acquaintances catching up barely 2 months after graduating in the same class. He’s all bright smiles as he takes her order and they keep talking and you really, really want to be happy for him. You should be happy that he is finally interacting with someone who knew him at King Steve and isn’t being rude or dismissive of him now. That is what a girlfriend should want for her boyfriend.

But she is laughing too brightly and airly. Her hair is twisted around her finger and she looks way more popular – and therefore more attractive – than you. She’s watching him too closely, her gaze shifting down to his ass and thighs in his stupid little shorts when he turns around. And when he hands her the waffle cone she ordered, her fingers linger a little too long on his. Plus, you bet she doodled her phone number with a little heart next to it on her receipt when she slid it back to him. Bitch.

Okay, wait. Hold on there. The little green monster of envy that you try to hide deep in your gut very quickly took the reins of your thoughts for a few moments there. You trust Steve and you know he would never do anything to encourage someone flirting with him or do anything to betray you like that. He probably has no idea she was flirting/checking him out and he doesn’t even look twice when she struts out of the store and calls back to Robin that he’s taking his break.

Which doesn’t leave you nearly enough time to try to recover from your jealousy and the shame that accompanies it before he’s sliding into the booth across from you.

“Hey honey, is this seat taken?” He asks, like a loser, even though he is already sitting in it.

Clearing your throat in an attempt to fully reset yourself, you offer your best attempt at a flirty retort. “Actually, I was saving it for my boyfriend.”

And there’s that lovesick smile again, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink as he runs a hand through his hat-hair. “Well isn’t he a lucky guy?” You hum an agreement before returning your attention to your almost entirely uneaten ice cream that has been steadily melting in front of you since he handed it to you 15 minutes ago. “You’ve barely eaten a bite, did you end up not liking what you picked? Because I can go and grab something else–”

He’s halfway out of his seat again when you hold out a hand to stop him. “No, no, it’s good. Totally fine. I just got distracted, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” Falling back to sit, he takes your outstretched hand in his own and rubs his thumb back and forth over your knuckles. “What was so distracting that you let award winning Scoops Ahoy brand ice cream melt?” He can barely say it with a serious face, and he makes sure to draw out the word distracting like he knows the answer. And he’s probably assuming you were distracted looking at him, which, in a way, you technically were. Just not in the way that he thinks.

“That girl who was just in here,” his eyebrows raise, pink lips forming a small ���o’ in surprise, obviously having not anticipated this topic of conversation, “I don’t remember her name, but she went to school with us, right?”

“Yeah, Anna Jakobi. She said she was doing some shopping for some party on Saturday at Carla’s, asked if I wanted to go.”

It feels like your heart drops into your stomach. “Are you going to go?”

His eyebrows draw together on his forehead, obviously confused. “No? I work in the afternoon and then we are going to see a movie with Dustin before he leaves for camp. That’s still the plan, right?”

Although slightly relieved, you still don’t feel entirely settled. “That was the plan but if you’d rather go to this party at Carla’s then you can, I won’t stop you–”

“Hey.” You return to making eye contact with him, not realizing you’d been avoiding doing so for the last few minutes. He looks confused and concerned, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Did I do something wrong? It kinda feels like you’re mad at me.”

“No!” You try to assure him, way too quickly to sound normal, as you bring your other hand up to rub at your forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, you’re perfect, I promise.”

“Then what’s bothering you?”

How are you going to get out of this one?

After taking a few moments to try to find an excuse, you settle on: “I just know you’ve been kinda bummed about losing some of the people you talked to in high school as friends so it sounds like a good opportunity to, I dunno… Reconnect with some of them.”

He chuckles again, a small smile returning. “I don’t really know if I would call a lot of those people my ‘friends’. But you’re right, I was pretty bummed.” A long exhale leaves his nose, his eyes falling to watch his thumb as it continues its gentle glide across your knuckles. “Still, I would much rather spend time with you and Dustin than go to some party.”

You want to believe it. You really do. But the jealousy had linked hands with your insecurity and muddled everything up. “You’d probably have a lot more fun with them,” and you follow it up with an awkward laugh. If only you could bring those words back into your mouth and swallow them so they were never heard from again.

“No way,” he shakes his head, honey shaded eyes returning to yours with a certainty that makes you feel all warm inside, “nothing’s more fun than spending time with my girl.”

The ice melts further, your posture visibly relaxing at the term of endearment as you layer your other hand on top of his. He looks relieved at the smile that returns to you before you see an idea visibly click behind his gaze. “Wait, were you jealous? About me talking to Anna?”

The way you quickly squeak out a “No” makes your case in no way convincing.

And where you’re expecting disgust or anger or maybe pity, you find none. If anything, he looks delighted at this discovery. “You were jealous. That’s why you sat here that whole time without eating any of your ice cream.”

Embarrassment piles on top of your shame, your mood plummeting. “Don’t be mean, Steve.”

He just shrugs, his delighted expression never falling. “I don’t know, honey. It’s kind of a turn on.”

It’s your turn to be shocked, sitting up straighter as you blink your widened eyes rapidly. “What?”

“You seeing me talking to a girl and getting all possessive over me? That’s hot, actually.”

Your heart is absolutely hammering in your chest as you mirror the smile on his face. “Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” he confirms a little too enthusiastically, grabbing the attention of someone walking in before you both duck your heads and giggle when they look away. “You can get possessive over me all you want, babe. I’m yours and you’re mine. My girl.”

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[myosotisa]

Try Again - s.h.

Chapter 1 ǁ King of Hearts

ǁ  summary: Steve finally scrapes together enough funds and the courage to leave Hawkins behind so he can join Robin in Chicago. One of the first people she introduces him to is you and the aftermath includes a warning that he has heard before (and won't listen to. Again).

ǁ tags: hurt/comfort, angst (with a happy ending not in this chapter). strangers to friends to lovers. set in 1990 Chicago. hurt and slowly healing!Reader and hopeless romantic!Steve. afab!reader, she/her pronouns used, no y/n. this is the only part in the series from Steve's POV.

‖  word count: 2.5k

ǁ series masterlist ǁ next part (coming soon) ǁ

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re hopeless?”

Steve flopped back onto Robin’s couch with a groan, tossing his forearm over his eyes to hide his embarrassment. “If by lately you mean an hour ago, then yeah.”

From her arm chair beside the couch, a bag of popcorn steadily being shoved into her mouth as she watched on amused, she continued, “Then allow me to once again remind you that you are completely hopeless. And this is not the girl you wanna get your heart broken over next.”

Robin had introduced the two of you for the first time tonight – you being her classmate at community college for the last 2 years and him being the best friend who had finally saved up enough to leave Hawkins and be her roommate. She’d anticipated this happening, because you were cute and he was Steve, but she hadn’t quite expected the severity of his sudden heart eyes and awkward complimenting toward you after just a few short hours.

He lowered his arm so he could prop himself up on his elbows to look her in the eye. “She’s already in a relationship, isn’t she?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’ for effect, another handful of popcorn prepared. “The exact opposite actually.”

The skin between his brows folded over itself as he tilted his head, confused. “What? What does that mean?”

She held up a finger for him to wait, finishing her absurdly large mouthful before swallowing to answer. “I mean that in the entire time I’ve known her, she has never mentioned dating or being in a relationship or talking to anyone, guy or girl. And she might just be private or something but she also fucking hates rom coms and rolls her eyes at couples on campus, so I don’t think it’s just being shy.”

Flopping back down with a groan, he threw his arms out wide and almost knocked his glass off the coffee table. “Who hates rom coms?” He asked, like the idea in and of itself was absurd.

She shrugged, reaching for her drink on the coffee table as a few kernels fell off her lap and onto the ground. “Maybe she’s a nun or something, I don’t know. Just… Don’t even think about it, okay? It’s not gonna happen.”

If only it was that easy.

Having missed his best friend and also being new to town, Steve was then involved in almost every plan Robin made, which more often than not also included you. The two of you had become easy friends – not close by any means but fully capable of joking around and talking whenever Robin was late or off somewhere else.

And while he had tried to take Robin’s advice and not let his budding crush bloom, he still found himself more attracted to you by the day. You were smart and witty with a sharp mouth that sometimes spoke before your brain caught up and left you embarrassed and scrambling to recover. Not to mention cute and kind, with a bright smile and a loud laugh that made his heart thump painfully in his chest.

Also so, so funny – he swore it was easier for you to make him laugh than anyone he had ever known (besides Robin), even when he was in the worst of moods. It was clear as day that humor was the primary aspect of your relationship with his best friend. The two of you ended up sending yourselves into hysterics on a daily basis; digging into jokes and ripping back and forth until you were both rolling around in tears.

But there were definitely things that he noticed that made Robin’s theory seem plausible. How you groaned and complained whenever anyone wanted to watch a romance movie, sometimes even got up and left the room when an action movie had a big couple kissing moment. You never talked about anything related to dating or sex but would listen politely and attentively when someone else brought it up. Whenever one of your mutual friends asked for dating advice from the group, yours was always thoughtful and realistic – sometimes to the point of pessimism.

He couldn’t help but be curious – not even specifically because of his own hidden feelings toward you, but just generally to learn more about you. He’d heard before about people who just had no interest at all in romance or sex, and maybe you were one of those people. Or maybe you just wanted to focus on school or something like that. He didn’t want to judge. He just wanted to know.

His first opportunity to ask came a few weeks later. You, him, and Robin were in a booth at your favored late night diner. Robin had called an Emergency French Fry meeting – so the three of you ordered a variety of fried foods to share across the table and some milkshakes as you both listened to Robin recounting her date.

She was still quite new to the act – having gained enough confidence in this new place to try to ask girls out when she felt safe to – but it still didn’t happen super often. And tonight’s date had gone really, really well for her. Rose was a bit more brave now that she knew Robin also liked girls and had pulled out all the stops; holding her hand as they walked down the boardwalk and putting an arm around her on the Ferris Wheel. Stuff Robin still struggled with the confidence to do and was fucking ecstatic that it was finally happening to her.

You showed nothing but excitement for Robin, listening to her go over the evening in detail and asking thoughtful questions, offering insight when Robin asked for it. Steve mostly listened, only adding comments whenever Robin looked at him for input, spending his time watching and trying to keep up. It had become one of his favorite pastimes – especially when the two of you started to talk so fast and so animated that he could barely make heads or tails of any of it.

It was cute. How you both could talk at the speed of sound and skip over half your sentences and still completely understand what the other was saying. It made him so happy for Robin to have a friend like you, which also made you that much more endearing to him.

He only noticed a slight difference in your demeanor when Robin borderline squealed over the fact that Rose had kissed her at the end of the night with a little bit too much detail. You smiled and nodded and explained again how happy you were for her – but your eyes looked sad. Your smile didn't quite reach them.

When Robin complained about needing to go to the bathroom and departed in a whirlwind, silence fell. Your hands were clasped around the base of your milkshake glass, skin brushing the heavy condensation that had collected on the table as you stared at the melting dessert. There was still that same look in your eye as you appeared to be lost in thought. If he didn’t know any better, it almost looked like you wanted to cry but wouldn’t allow yourself to.

Clearing his throat a bit awkwardly, your eyes blinked back into focus and flicked up to meet his. Took a moment to grit his teeth as he considered if he was really about to stick his foot in his mouth and ask this. Decided to do it anyway. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off but… Do you have a crush on Robin or something?”

You sat straight up in near alarm, eyes widening at him. “No! No, I’m not–” You adjusted nervously in your seat, fingers tightening around your glass for a moment. “No, I don’t.”

Not sure how to take your vehement denial, he added on, “It’s okay if you do, I don’t judge,” you looked about ready to inject again but he kept going. “You just looked kind of sad when she was talking about the end of her date so…”

Your expression fell, eyes closing as you forced a deep breath. “It’s nothing like that, I swear. It’s just…”

And he thought you actually were about to tell him something, anything about the whole thing. Finally shed some light to (hopefully) end his weird preoccupation with the idea. But before you could open your mouth again, Robin was falling back into the booth beside him with a happy sigh and more thoughts on the date she had come up with while in the bathroom. You attempted to give her your full attention again, only every once in a while glancing back over at Steve nervously before flicking back.

You were quick to make your escape that night after Robin declared your meeting adjourned – not giving him a single second to potentially bring the topic up again, to his disappointment. Robin gave him a pointed look as you hurried off that asked ‘what did you do?’ to which he just shrugged and directed her back toward his car to go home.

There were a few other things over the next few weeks that just made him more confused. There were sometimes he could swear you were flirting with him, more than you flirted with your average friend. Ending up in his personal space in a crowd, walking beside him on the sidewalk, turning everything you possibly could into a competition between the two of you, laughing louder at his jokes than was probably warranted. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

One time he’d been invited over to your apartment (with Robin), taking in everything he could to try to learn more about you. He’d made a teasing comment of, “For someone who doesn’t like romance movies, you sure do have a lot of romance books.” You’d spent the next hour wildly alternating between annoyed, embarrassed, and something that looked like fear.

While teasing was about 75% of your interactions together, he’d learned that teasing about that specific topic wasn’t something that went well with you.

Overall, he learned a lot about you. Not just your strange behavior when it came to the topics of romance, but the little things. Like your usual order at the diner and your favorite drinks. The arcade machine you spent the most time at and your most repeated mixtape from your car, plus your favorite song on it. How your eyes lit up when you saw a dog being walked or a cat lounging in a window. That your closet was mostly monotone and heavy on black, and seeing you wearing a color was a rare day. That you went to school at the community college full time while also working full time but somehow always still had plenty of time to be with your friends or help someone out.

He was surprised to find you noticed things about him too – ordering him a drink to be ready when he showed up after you, asking how something had gone at his new job. Things that people normally wouldn’t have remembered, much less cared about. And you weren’t just asking to be nice. You actually, really wanted to know about his normal day to day.

It really didn’t make it easy for him to pretend he wasn’t in way too deep on his feelings for you.

On a cold August night, after a group of you had spent the night in a pinball competition that the two of you got absurdly competitive about (despite both being painfully average at pinball), he offered to walk you home. He’d driven to the bar-cade with Robin but she was still cheering on her now-girlfriend Rose when you explained you were planning to leave for the night, so he had time to walk you home and be back in time to drive her. Fully having expected you to say no, to brush off that it wasn’t that far and you didn’t want him to have to walk back, he was delightfully surprised when you agreed.

The two of you had started out side by side, your arms wrapped tight to keep in the warmth of your light jacket and his hands tucked into his pockets. Without warning, he said, “Hold on, switch with me,” with a light hand on your shoulder. Noticed how you instinctively stiffened at the small moment of contact, not moving as he pulled away his hand and walked around to be in between you and the street.

“Oh,” was your soft reply, realizing that was why he wanted to switch, why he had touched you. You got moving again, unconsciously inching close enough for your shoulders to brush as your walk continued. It took another minute or two to shake off the unexpected interaction, but then the two of you settled into another easy conversation that led you all the way to your apartment.

Unlocking the door and propping it open, you surprised him by turning and leaning back against the door frame. “Thank you, Steve. For walking me home.”

His smile was easy, a bit crooked as he waved off your thanks. “It’s no problem. Anytime, you know that.”

“Yeah,” you offered softly, almost in a sigh. “Yeah, I do.”

And really, he couldn’t help himself. Here you were, leaning back against your door frame right in front of him, just the two of you, after a really fun night. The warm overhead light of the hallway made it look like you were almost glowing as you smiled at him in a way that gave him butterflies. He glanced down at your lips, struck with how much he wished he could kiss you, before he even realized what he was doing.

Your expression turned pained, almost to the point of a wince as you averted eye contact. Softly, almost a whisper, you begged him, “Please don’t look at me like that.”

Caught red handed, flushing all the way up to his ears, he faked ignorance by asking, “Like what?”

“Like you want to kiss me.”

When your eyes met his, they were sad again. Like you wanted to cry but you wouldn’t allow yourself to. And maybe he was a little bit of a lovesick fool when he whispered, “Would that really be such a bad thing?”

You huffed a humorless laugh, eyes closing as you took another deep breath like you needed to center yourself. When you looked up at him again, it was with a certain self-deprecating humor that you told him, “You, Steve Harrington, are Prince Charming. And I… I would never be your fairytale ending.”

He didn’t even have time to process what you might have meant before you murmured goodnight and shut the door in his face.

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[myosotisa]

falling down - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

‖  summary: Running out of a night out with friends having an anxiety attack, your friend Steve comes looking for you. After spending some time talking together, he makes sure you get home safe.

‖ tags: hurt/comfort, description of an anxiety/panic attack, discussions of issues opening up and being vulnerable. overall just comfort and real talking to each other. gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no physical description given. reader is nicknamed 'Ace', one use of sweetheart, no use of Y/N.

‖  word count: 3.8k

The full body freeze. Face buzzing, fingers going numb. Everything is too loud, too bright, too much. You’re floating and you’re drowning and you’re fading into nothing all at once. All you know is you have to get out and it has to be now.

You’re not completely aware of yourself as you back away from the arcade machine and feel your feet travel towards the exit. No one pays you any mind, all wrapped up in their own little worlds, until you’re almost out the door.

"Ace?" It's Robin's voice, slightly slurred with alcohol and confusion. "Where are you going?"

You plaster on a smile as you throw a look over your shoulder, towards where Robin is leaning on the bar in front of Argyle, who also now has his attention on you.

"Just going out to get some air." It sounds too normal, there is no way your voice should still sound that stable, no way you can cover it that well. You push out the door before either of them can reply.

It's dark out now, the light posts around the little outdoor mall glowing in the humid night. It feels suffocating and you pull at the collar of your shirt without even thinking about it. Even out here everything feels so constricting, so wrong. Your feet carry you away from the bar and south.

You don't remember getting to the edge of the concrete overhang, but it’s quieter here. Calmer. You recognize your body is probably drawing you to the park, to safety and quiet and solitude – but you pull back, wrapping your arms tight around your middle almost as if you were trying to physically hold yourself together. Hold your spirit in your body and keep yourself from floating away. A shiver wracks your body as a cold breeze rolls across the half empty parking lot to your right. It feels human, feels grounding. Like your body is really there and can really feel. And though it’s uncomfortable, it’s also calming.

You lean your forearms on top of a concrete half wall that makes a slight break between the mall and the parking lot. Trying to breathe in and out. Trying to chase away the panic and the fear and the pain. Let it out into the night air. But it just grabs on tighter. Digs its claws in and tightens its grip around your chest. Constricts around you like a python until it feels like your eyes are going to pop right out of their sockets. You fight the urge to lose your dinner by digging your nails into your sides as a shiver-sob wracks your frame from your place on the floor. When did you end up sitting on the sidewalk?

“Ace?” A voice breaks through the haze but you can’t move, can’t respond, can’t process whether this person is looking to help or harm. “Hey, are you out here?” The voice is getting closer and you are both terrified to be found like this and terrified to be left alone here. You hear the soft tap of shoe soles on the tile inlay you passed on the way here and then, “Sweetheart? Ace!” They’re running toward you but you can’t look, can’t breathe, can’t stop shaking.

Large, warm hands hover over the tops of your shoulders and then pull back. “Ace, can you look at me? Are you hurt?” Steve kneels on the floor beside you, his voice slightly pitchy in alarm. You can’t meet his eyes but manage to shake your head no, both to being able to look and being hurt. He tries to ask you something else but you can’t hear it over the blood suddenly rushing through your ears.

“Can I touch you?” He asks again, his voice cutting through the lull this time, so respectful and kind as always. You want to tell him yes, of course, please hold me and tell me it's going to be okay and make the pain stop. But you can’t say anything at all. He hesitates in your orbit after not getting an answer so you just grab at the front of his shirt, basically throwing yourself onto him as he gets knocked back onto his ass.

He’s frozen for a moment in shock but then wraps his arms around you tight, one arm around your mid back and the other reaches a hand into your hair, cradling your head from where it’s buried in his shoulder. You don't even have the energy to question the situation or your actions or where you are or what time it is. All you can do is hold on tight to Steve like he’s the only thing keeping you on Earth and cry your eyes out into his burgundy crew neck. He rests the side of his head on the top of yours, rubbing your back and whispering into your ear. Telling you, “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. You’re going to be alright. Just breathe for me.” The reassurances wash over you like rain, the flames fading and the smoke clearing. The grip around your chest loosening.

It takes some time before your breathing starts to even out. You try to flex your numb fingers from where they are still stiffly fisted in his shirt. He continues rubbing his hand up and down your spine. “That’s it, you’re doing great, Ace.” His voice is soft and comforting, gentle, and you can feel even more of the tension leaving your body as you sink further into him.

You sit there in silence for another few minutes while he just holds you. You try to match his breathing as you rest your forehead against the side of his neck. You feel so small like this, so fragile. But strangely… safe.

Steve pulls away first, leaving you mourning the loss of his warmth. You are still close enough that your legs can touch but he obviously wants to look at you and talk. You just stare down at your hands in your lap, unable to meet his eyes.

“Are you okay? Well, I know you’re not okay but…” He rubs the back of his neck as he draws one leg up so he can rest his elbow on it. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes,” your voice is small and more hoarse than you thought it would be. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sure.” He pauses then, picking up a stone to roll between his fingers in a cycle that seems to be an effort to delay his questioning. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You close your eyes with a sigh, not ready for the questioning part of being found out like this. He immediately backtracks when he clocks it. “You don’t need to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. I’m just… I’m worried.” When you don't move or react, he continues softly. “Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

That seems like a safer question, one you can answer. “Not as much as it used to.” Your eyes open then, finally glancing over to him. The warm lighting from overhead gives him a golden glow, even more so than usual. He looks tired and concerned, eyebrows drawn together on his forehead. His wire rimmed glasses are smudged, probably from you basically jumping him on the sidewalk, and there’s some dirt on the knees of his light wash jeans. “I’m sorry.”

His head falls to the side like a confused puppy. “For what?”

“For this,” you gesture vaguely around you both. “For losing it like that.”

“You don’t need to apologize at all. It’s okay. You know I’ve struggled with my fair share of ‘losing it’ out here.” You look away again, over toward the park that continues to draw you in. Try to ignore the voice in your head immediately telling you to feel guilty for putting him through this. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

The question hits you like a slice across your heart; a warm, painful feeling blooming in your chest. You want to. Holy hell, do you want to tell him everything. But it feels like steel wool in your throat. Like letting any of it out would coat you both in blood and gore. “I… I don’t know.” Is all you can say.

He seems to understand. “Okay.” And you expect him to leave. You expect him to get up and head back to the bar with his friends. But he doesn’t. He stays right there, his knee touching yours as he looks out over the parking lot. He seems content to just sit there in silence with you and it pulls at that bloom in your chest until it feels ready to burst.

“How did you know?” You want to know, feel like you need to know how he found you. How he knew you needed help.

“Before I went to the pool room with Eddie, it seemed like you had pulled away. In your head, at least.” It’s your turn to watch him as he looks out into nothing. “I’ve noticed that happens with you sometimes. Like you’re suddenly on a different planet far away from here.” His knee twitches a bit closer to yours, almost like his body is testing to see if you’re still there. “I don’t think anyone else notices, in case your brain went there. No one has ever said anything at least.” He jumped to reassurance quickly, his tone changing fast. When you don't outwardly react, he clears his throat like a vocal reset before continuing. “When I got back, you were gone. I asked Rob if she had seen you and she said you left in a rush.” He glances back over nervously. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Another tear falls and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “Well, thank you. You score another point on the leaderboard of the ‘thoughtful friend’ competition.” You try to throw some humor in it to mask the scratchiness in your voice, to put up some of the walls again.

His eyes meet yours again and it's like he can see right through you. See everything you’re trying to hide, everything you’re thinking. Like those walls you’re trying to put back up might as well be tissue paper for how well they keep him out. “Do you want to go back to the bar?”

You know you should, you should want to go back to your friends. It’s Friday night and you all normally hang out for at least another few hours around the back rooms. But you’re just so tired, so drained. You couldn’t put the mask back up enough to be comfortable there. You shake your head, bringing your arms up to hold your elbows.

“Me neither,” he agrees. You glance at him surprised and he gives a small, mischievous smile. “There are only so many times I can play games of pool with Eddie before I need a break.”

A snort huffs out of your nose then, which seems to relax him when his smile lifts a bit more casually. His shoulders lower from their tense position as he leans back against the concrete wall. “So what do you want to do? Do you want to go home?” You shake your head again. You know Robin won’t be coming home tonight and the apartment you share with her feels too empty, too dark, too far away when she’s gone. You need a little more time away from it.

“Do you want to be alone?” He offers, and you can’t place how he feels about the question when he asks it.

You should. You should pull away from him, deal with this on your own. Resist the urge to open up to him, to rely on him. It’s too dangerous. But the idea of being by yourself right now sounds like a recipe for disaster. “No,” you admit softly, “I don’t.”

His head dips a bit in acknowledgment. Then he moves to stand with a small groan, dusting off his pants before offering his hand to you. “Come on.”

You take it without thinking, letting him pull you to your feet. “Where are we going?” You try not to let yourself be disappointed when he lets your hands drop.

“I’m going to go sit on the swings,” he puts his hands into the pocket of his jeans as he steps around you toward the park. “Will you come with me?” He turns back to watch you and you might just be projecting, but his face shows thinly veiled hope that you’ll say yes. That you’ll go with him. It almost makes your heart beat double time in your chest.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You answer, smiling softly. He mirrors it, leaning his head to motion you ahead. You step up and fall into pace as you walk side by side over to the playground in the center of the small center of greenery.

The glow of the street lights fade, leaving you in shadows and moonlight as you make your way around the concrete paths and toward the grass beyond. When your shoe touches down on the carpet of green instead of the hard concrete, it feels like another bit of weight off your shoulders.

“Watch your step,” he warns, instinctively taking your hand as he points out a few tripping hazards hidden in the dirt. You try to ignore how the action makes your cheeks feel warm and focus on not sending you both tumbling to the floor.

When you cross over the plastic dividers setting the playground apart from the rest of the park, Steve directs you both to the rusty swing set facing the parking lot. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s still holding your hand and you’re not about to let go. Not when you can’t remember the last time someone has just held you because they wanted to.

The breeze through the trees beyond the playground is so peaceful at night, so serene. He drops your hand when you reach the swings, large hand wrapping around one of the chains as he sits down on the plastic dip.

“Don’t fall off,” he says, a teasing grin on his face as he waves you toward the swing next to him. You roll your eyes and mutter something that was probably super witty in response but still make a genuine effort not to fall backwards as you settle into the firm plastic seat.

The only sound is the wind rustling leaves and the slightly creak of the chains over your head as you both look out over the parking lot beyond. The moon is just short of full and every once in a while you catch a tail light peeking through the cars. Neither of you make a sound for a while as you both swing lightly back and forth.

"You're pretty mysterious, y'know that?" Steve says after a long pause.

Your head whips toward him, feeling and looking confused. "Who? Me?"

He chuckles softly as he taps the side of his shoe against your calf. “Yes, you.” Unsure, you wait to see if he’ll continue. “I’ve always kinda been good with people. Let it get to my head for a while there, as you know. Got a couple knocks in the noggin’ that helped fix that.” He tries to laugh it off, but you don’t join him. After clearing his throat awkwardly, he continues. “People around here… It’s pretty easy to figure most of ‘em out. What they want and all that. Not that I’m saying they’re all simple or something,” he rushes to add, before tipping his head in your direction with a sideways smile. “Well, I guess some of them are.”

You crack a smile in return, looking down to where your shoe brushes through the dirt below as you move back and forth. “My point is, with enough time, you can get a pretty solid read on pretty much anyone.”

“I could see that,” you agree softly, “you seem like a pretty good judge of character.”

He snorts. "I wouldn't go that far." He studies you for a moment longer before looking back out over the cars. "Everytime I think I'm close to figuring you out, I find out something else about you that throws me for a loop." He doesn't sound frustrated as he explains, more fascinated. You try not to think about it too hard.

"Well, it's hard to solve a puzzle when you don't have all the pieces."

He sighs out through his nose. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Silence falls again. But it's not an uncomfortable silence; it's not awkward or tense. It just is. And coming to that realization kicks your nerves up again. You don’t realize you’re picking at your hands until Steve places a warm palm on top of yours.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks as he removes his hand, shifting slightly away so he can turn more towards you, holding the position of the swing with his feet in the dirt.

"You make me nervous sometimes." You admit without thinking. His eyes widen as he wraps both hands around the chains on either side of him.

"I make you nervous?" He says it like he doesn't believe it. When you just nod to reply, he questions further. "Why do I make you nervous?"

You start to rub the pads of your thumbs together, a way to self soothe without picking. "You're really easy to talk to."

His smile is warm and disabling. "Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

"It is! It's just…" How the hell can you explain this without sounding crazy? "I don't really like to talk about myself." His smile fades, expression falling serious and attentive. "It's hard for me, I guess. To open up. To trust people?" You break eye contact, looking back to the dirt for safety. "But with you, it's like I have to hold myself back from spilling my whole life story." It’s your turn to try to laugh it off, and it comes out strained.

"Why do you have to hold yourself back?" Your eyes close instinctively. Leave it to him to ask the most difficult question possible.

"It… scares me. To think about opening up like that. What it would mean, what it would do."

He hums thoughtfully, which leads you to open your eyes and look over. "Scares you to be vulnerable?" He asks, like he's trying to understand what you’re telling him. You just nod again, caught between wanting to look at him and wanting to look anywhere else. "Well, you never have to tell me anything. But, if you ever want to, I'm here."

You lock eyes again. It seems like he’s trying to tell you something with that look, something important. But maybe you’re just imagining things in the dark.

"Will you drive me home?" You ask carefully.

He nods without hesitation, standing and offering you his hand again. "Happy to."

The drive back to your apartment is quiet. The radio is playing some Top 40 station on low volume, the windows down to let the night air roll in. You have your forearm hanging out the window, waving your fingers through the air as you go. Feeling a bit more at peace than before. It’s too soon that you’re pulling into your complex and pulling into one of the empty spots next to your building. The moment your car door shuts behind you, one of the cats that live in the complex runs up to greet you.

"Hey buddy," Steve grins as he drops to one knee to greet the feline. The cat, who everyone in your complex calls Cal, immediately starts to rub back and forth along his shin. "Yeah, yeah I missed you too, Cal."

You look down on them with a soft smile. Try to avoid thinking about this being a permanent fixture in your life. Him taking you home and experiencing little moments like this with you.

"Come on Cal,” the cat immediately gives a chirp when he hears you, leaving Steve to scamper to your feet. “Let’s get you some food, huh?”

The cat immediately breaks into meows at the mention of food, taking off in a leisurely stroll toward the stairwell. He waits on the second stair, looking back at you like are you coming?

Steve walks with you up the stairs and over to your door, but remains outside as you open up a can of wet food and set it outside for Cal. You consider inviting him in. You want him to stay, want to be around him. But more than that, you want to sleep.

"Will you be safe driving home this late?" He glances over toward the nearly empty roads beyond.

"Yeah, I've done it loads of times." He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Will you be alright?"

You fight the cringe of remembering your episode from earlier. "Yeah, I'll be alright." You try to give him a reassuring smile. "Call me when you get home safe?"

"Can do." He agrees with a mock salute, leaning over to run his hand along Cal’s back one more time before turning to go.

You step past the door jam again, leaning on the door frame to watch as he slowly walks back toward the stairwell. "Goodnight Steve."

Cast in the warm overhead lighting of the outdoor hallway, his small smile makes your heart flip in your chest. "Goodnight Ace." He gives a half wave before shuffling down the steps with his hands in his pockets. You wait in the doorway until he's out of sight then glance down to see the food dish empty and Cal long gone. Picking it up and taking it inside to wash, you take your time getting ready for bed so you can be near the phone for when it rings.

When it does, you pick it up too quickly. You exchange quick greetings and Steve explains he got home safe and is calling just like you asked. His voice is deeper now, a bit more rumbly over the phone, as the exhaustion from the long week and the night of socializing starts to set in. Reluctant to keep him too long, you thank him again for driving you home and he repeats it’s no problem, he’d do it anytime. “I’ll see you on Sunday?” He asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

You hang up and crawl into bed with a weary body but a settled soul.

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