#steve harrington reader insert

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

[dearest-nell]

reality.

s. harrington x reader, 3.2k

summary: steve has fallen in love with his best friend without even realising, and now there's nothing left for him to do but continue to fall. friends to lovers, steve is pathetically in love, gender neutral!reader, mentions of drinking.

a/n: literally can't think about anything else but this little romantic idiot loverman, so here we are. unproofread, sorry!

Steve was not sure when it was that this all became real to him. Time seemed to blur together in flashes of colour and memory. There were so many days with you, so many moments that had changed his life or altered his very being. How many moments could he name that might have been the one to shift delicate sands between you? Your friendship spanned years – wonderful years filled with the warmth of summer sun soaking into your skin on the beach of Lovers Lake, sweaters shared so often between the both of you that even the woollen fabric could not decide who it smelled most like. 

He remembered movie nights in the dimness of Hawkins theatre, half empty rows of midnight screenings where your horrified cries over every slasher could be muffled by his shoulder, his arm around your waist, tucking you safely away from every fright around. You were the only person who slept in his bed just to talk, to stay up all night whispering dreams and hopes and secrets. You were full of his secrets, after all, sworn to protect and sworn to keep. He wanted to keep you more than anything else in the world. 

Steve couldn’t pinpoint the moment his deep, unwavering affection for you had become something new, something so tenderly romantic that even he himself had been shocked by. He had been in love before, sure, but not like this. Steve Harrington had never considered himself capable of loving another person quite so much. It was greedy, and selfish, and selfless, and all consuming, and so peacefully quiet that he was sure nothing else might ever settle him quite so nicely. 

The attraction had always been there, after all. You were ethereal, otherworldly, angelic in a way that Steve was sure no one had ever been before. It didn’t matter what anyone else had said, you were the most beautiful creature to ever grace his life. Even as friends, he knew it. He’d watched you swim in the chlorine mess of his pool clad in nothing but your underwear, leaving Steve swallowing thickly around the unshiftable lump in his throat that seemed to appear just for you. He’d run his hands across your sides in the deep blue of the night, memorising the curve of your hip with trembling hands that ached to hold you tighter. He’d been lost in your eyes so often that sometimes the colour of them was printed on the inside of his eyelids, haunting his dreams with visions of your smile - your hand in his. 

He couldn’t name the moment it changed, but he could name the moment he knew. It was an ordinary night by anyone's standards; the kids, now graduating, had rented a VHS of some film he likely should  have known the name of. He thought the actors had looked familiar, maybe recognised the hit song on the soundtrack, but the rest seemed a blur to him. He’d been half exhausted from a day at work as it was, and you had promised to take him home early if his social battery began to dwindle. It was incentive enough for him to try, though about 35 minutes into the film, Steve had felt that wave of exhaustion slip over him. He wanted his own bed, wanted the silence and dark of his shitty apartment to swallow him whole. He’d moved to whisper to you, hand squeezing your knee beside him only to discover your quiet, even breaths as his only response. Your head rested so fittingly on his shoulder, one curve perfectly slotted into the other, a soft place for you to land. It wasn’t often that you fell asleep during movies, but Steve knew you were just as exhausted as he was from an even longer work week. 

Steve did not look back towards the dingy, yellow hazed television screen even once after he’d spotted you. He was fixated on the gentle peace that had settled across your features, brow line soft, unmarred by worries of the day. He wondered what you were dreaming about, what thoughts and wishes filled your imaginings tonight, and whether he would get to hear about them once you’d woken. It was one thought that had shaken him, though. One that made him stop to think, that lost him to his surroundings entirely, consumed by questions. 

Are you dreaming about me, too? 

The overwhelming sense of hope was what had alarmed him, hope that perhaps you wanted him, wanted him with you even in your dreams – wanted him just as badly as he seemed to want you. How had he not noticed before? How had he not understood that every moment without you just felt like another moment spent trying to get back to you. 

Oh god, it was love. There was nothing else to call it. It was love of a friend and so much more. It was love of a person that Steve hoped never to face life again without. It was a desperation to keep you close that left a tightness in his chest, unmoving and unshakable. There was restraint enough in him that kept him from waking you just to pull you tighter, suddenly so aware of this need that had shadowed so closely at his heels all this time. 

He stayed the entire film just so you could sleep right there on his shoulder, undisturbed and so entirely loved. 

How he managed to keep it to himself after that was beyond all understanding. Steve didn’t keep secrets, or at least not his own, not from you. How exciting it was to be falling in love like this, and yet all he could think about was how horrific it was that you were none the wiser. Hadn’t you felt it too? That shift between you? It was all he could think about, and it left him twitchy, nervous and bumbling, ungraceful compared to his usual charismatic charm. Though you smiled at him like you always did, watching him as if he were still your most favourite person in all the world, and Steve had never felt more alive. 

It was why here, now, all he could do was watch you. Weeks later, still pining, still so incredibly in love with you, he was helpless but to stand by your side, drink in his hand idly sipped just to give him some kind of distractive reprieve, the taste of whisky heavy on his tongue as you watched the band before you. The lights were luminous, flashes of blue and yellow and white swallowing you in their glow, your body swaying contentedly to the rhythm of music he had half forgotten to listen to. He’d been excited to see this band weeks ago, and now all he could do was stare at you. 

You’d dressed up; hair styled, body wrapped in fabrics that Steve wanted to run his fingers through. There was glitter on your cheeks that glinted in the neon lights, and if Steve had not seen the cheap packaging himself, then he might have considered it the mark of an angel gracing your skin. 

Steve had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. 

How he had gotten away with such blatant staring was a mystery, and he chalked it up to the masses of people pressing in closer and closer together as the night went on. No one was watching him, so no one was watching him watch you. 

As if triggered by some divine intervention, you turned to smile at him, yelling something about how great the band was, the sound muffled by the buzz of electronics and minute long guitar solos. He nodded back dumbly, his own smile a perfect mirror of your own, a free hand running through his now sweat slick locks. 

“So good.” Was all he could yell back, trying to peel his gaze away from your own, his own personal boulder up the hill; an unwinnable battle. 

His staring paid off, at least, when he caught the way the masses seemed to close in around you. Your view was more and more obstructed with every new beat, bodies taller and far less considerate than the two of yours huddling in tighter. He watched as the perception crossed your mind and on pure instinct, Steve was pulling you into him, slotting your body into place right before his own. He was wrapped around you like a protective barrier, arm hooked loosely around your waist, hand gripping possessively at your hip, his drink knocked clean out of his hand as the man by his side threw his arms up to the music. He tried not to glare, not for the loss of his drink, but for the way it so easily could have come tumbling down on you. The drink seemed like the least of your worries though. Steve offered you an apologetic grimace only to be met with another of your smiles, the warmth of your regard smoothing out the roughest edges of his trepidations. 

Your hand slipped into his, eliciting the softest of sighs from Steve to feel your comforting touch, and he felt his body relax as you pulled his other arm snuggly around you too, your entire body now encased in the safety of his hold. Somehow he knew that you had done this for him, that snuggling yourself in deeper like this was to ease his worries, not your own. He was here protecting you, and somehow here you were, still soothing him without so much as a thought. He wished he understood how you knew him so well, how you seemed to know intrinsically what he needed. It felt foolish to hope that maybe it was for the very same reason that he knew you so well. Maybe this is just how friends are. 

This did not feel like friendship, though, not with you pressed so tightly against him, bodies swaying as one to the steady rhythm of the melody around you. Your arms were crossed around yourself, hands gripping onto his forearms as if you could hold him right back. You were holding him, he realised. Holding him as best as you could from the position you were in. You had relaxed entirely into him, head resting back against his shoulder, movements languid and comfortable in his arms, fingers tracing secret scribbles into the goose-prickled flesh of his skin, so reactive to even the smallest of your touches. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, couldn’t decide where to look or what to say or how to breathe, even. Breathe, Steve, breathe. 

“Are you comfy?” You called out, head angling up to catch a glimpse of his expression. Your palm flattened out comfortingly against his arm, and Steve tried not to melt under the tenderness of it. 

He nodded, dipping down to speak a little more closely, using the volume of the room as his excuse to allow his lips so close to the plush curve of your cheek. “‘m comfy. Is this okay?” 

He squeezed his arms around you once, twice, to emphasise his concern. You inched your face higher, views of one another now more clear as the space between you dissipated, your noses bumping clumsily against one another as the crowd continued to shift around you.

“Yeah, thanks.” If he didn’t know you half as well as he did, Steve might have missed the way your eyes seemed to widen at him, mouth parting imperceptibly as if you were about to continue, words dissolving right at the buzzer. 

His brow lifted curiously, nose nudging yours with purpose to ease the words from you. The look you gave in turn was enough to steal the very breath from his lungs, his chest constricting with the nerves that such intensity always seemed to summon in him. You looked pained, somehow, and Steve didn’t miss the way your arms seemed to tighten around his own, leaving his hands to squeeze at your sides reassuringly, one slipping its way to cup at your jaw. The wide of his palm engulfed your cheek, his rough, calloused, fingers stroking soothing circles into the curve of your skin, holding your gaze to him. 

“What’s wrong?” He mouthed, not wishing to raise his voice when you were pressed so closely to him. He was preparing to pull you away at a moment's notice, to flee the crowd and tuck you somewhere safe in some dark corner of the room to catch your breath. He knew something was wrong, could feel the weight of some unspoken thought pressing down on you. He’d steal it if he could, take it on as his own so you could smile again. It had only been a minute and he was already aching to see it once more. 

It all seemed to move in slow motion for him – time slowed to a standstill as the room seemed to fade away. There wasn’t anyone here but you, but him, standing here in this crowded empty space, looking at no one but each other. He watched you tug your lip between your teeth, one moment of contemplation that had him second guessing everything before you moved, lifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach him, his arms tightening again to keep you steady. 

Your eyes flickered, shifting nervously between his eyes and his lips, and Steve felt his own part as the surprise of your boldness hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him and this was your way of showing it. He could see the way you tried to inch closer, watching through hooded eyes as you evaluated his reaction, drifting somewhere between closer and further with every breath. 

No one could blame him for his eagerness, not really. Not when you were looking at him like it would kill you not to kiss him, not when he felt so entirely needed, so entirely worthy of this moment. He brushed his hand at your cheek, nudging forward slowly, his eyes imploring as he watched, waited to know that this was really what you wanted. 

You just smiled up at him, and Steve might have died right there to know that he was the reason why. 

Steve’s focused remained heavily on his movements, head lost somewhere in the necessity that he needed to kiss you right. He felt like his very happiness relied on it – like he would die right here, right now, if you did not know just how much he wanted you. Needed you. 

He moved unhurriedly, lips tracing so softly against your own that he thought he might be dreaming. There was no conceivable way that a person could be so delicate in his hold, so plush and divine and perfect. It was a moment out of time, kissing you like this amongst the ever constricting crowds, the violent noise of a band crescendoing around you all the while. 

And you were kissing him too. 

He could taste it in your touch, the eagerness, the way you tried to reach further, twisting in his arms to fit closer to him. He wished he could swallow his grin, helplessly amused by that gentle desperation in you – how could he not smile over the neediness in your touch? You tried to speed up the kiss, to grip him tighter, one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, the other tugging him down by his hair. 

His groan was involuntary, and his purchase at your face was all he had to usher you, slow fingers coaxing you back into a relaxed state, pulling himself back to look at you with desperate eyes. 

He had no words, nothing that he could say that could convey the meaning of this moment, nor the depths of his feelings for it. He could see that glaze in your eyes, feel the way you swayed on the tips of your toes as your balance betrayed you. He didn’t mind – it was his excuse to tug you all the closer, setting the pace once more as his lips slotted against your own. 

He felt your sigh rather than heard it, could feel the way your muscles relaxed under the press of his hand at your back. It was a sick sort of pleasure that flooded him, pride taking over to know that he had this effect – this power over you. If only you knew how much more you had over him, how he’d do almost anything you could ask of him just to keep you here. 

A knock from a burly looking man was what it took to break the kiss, and Steve might have been thankful had he not almost dropped the two of you in a brief lapse of balance, his head turning venomously to glare at the man who Steve certainly could not take in a fight. He might really have gotten his ass kicked there and then over his petulance, a child raging over his favourite treat being ripped from his hands. Was it so much for him to want this moment to be perfect? He wanted 5 minutes to enjoy it, to kiss you senseless, to solidify that this would not be the only time  to do so. 

Thank god for you, really, to remind him that he was still in the moment. Your hands at his face tugged him away from his anger, focusing his attention back on you, your own amused smile soothing away that spike of rage that had stolen his attention so briefly. You dipped up, pecking his lips so suddenly that all he could do was stare. He felt like an idiot, and maybe it was because he was one. He was a fool in love, and perhaps now you were starting to see it. 

“Lets go.” You urged, thumbs circling at his cheeks, the adrenaline in his body dissipating into something peaceful at the tenderness of your touch. 

He nodded dumbly, not a moment wasted considering anything else in the room but you. Who could have possibly cared that the show was only half finished, that neither of you had heard your favourite songs yet, that you had been dying to try the specialty cocktail of the night that was plastered across posters behind the bar, when Steve could be the one to take you home? Fuck literally anything else here because your hand was easing its way into his own, and his cheeks were sure to ache at the strain of his smile on his face as he shouldered his way through the crowd, parting bodies to ease the two of you through the masses, and nothing could have been more important to him in that moment, or any other moment to come, than you. 

Forget it all, because Steve was going to kiss you again as soon as the night air broke around the two of you, and by the way you clung so tightly to the back of him, he’d never been so assured that you were just as pleased by the notion as he was. 

Steve could not remember the moment his feelings for you had become real to him, but he’d never forget the moment yours had.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

pillow talk

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

wc: 1K

warnings: this is post activities, so its safe. just sweet sweet fluff

summary: post sex discussions

A/N: used the prompt sweet after sex by @jasminesfury *not proofread, i’m confusing myself so badly looking at one specific sentence*

masterlist / steve harrington

the sun was setting. orange and yellow hues sparkled through the windows that the curtains let peek through. the room was quiet, the only noises coming from the shared breathing and the rustling of the bedding. the room felt hot with the door closed and the previous activity that had you and steve just laying in bed with the sheets up to your naked, sweaty chests.

steve rolled over and changed from laying on his back to his stomach, staring at his ceiling while adjusted his body so his head lay on your stomach. he had one leg in and the other out, your right leg in between. steve managed to wiggle an arm under your back as his free hand drew whatever came to mind onto your sticky belly.

a tilt to your head as it lay on the pillow, a lovesick smile tugging the seams of your lips. a hand fell on steve’s head and you began running the digits through his thick head of brown hair with a few lighter parts popping out from his time in the sun. nails scratching at his scalp to pull vibrating groans or fingers twirling strands of ruly hair around.

steve rubbed his open palm over your waist and down to your thighs before trailing up again. his wonderful lips plant wet, open-mouth kisses over your stomach and the imperfections scattered over your lower half. his nose would glide over your belly button before setting his chin just above it to peer at your with lidded eyes.

“yes, handsome?” you hummed as you pushed hair behind his ear.

“i love you.”

three words, eight letters.

the two of you have said them for years. at first just surface level meaning, friendly-familia meaning, something you say in passing to your parents as you leave the house in a hurry or friends when they do a favor for you. but eventually, the words held a different meaning for the two of you. it would be lingering touches and eye contact maintained longer that was acceptable. staring at steve’s side profile as he talked, letting your thoughts run away from you with imaginary scenarios before shaking them away and landing back to reality.

and now the words held all those meanings, silver bands wrapped around ring fingers showing the world.

“i love you too, stevie.” thumb straightening his left brow into place.

steve rubbed his thumb up and down at your hip bone. more kisses pressed to your stomach, some quick and open, some more lingering, and some with heat as he gave little bites at the skin. you would giggle or squirm, a moan pulled from your throat when the feel of his lips felt tantalizing. fingers would curl and pull steve’s hair in response, you would feel the smile as he continued his loving assault.

“you know,” lingering kisses to your lower stomach, “i can’t wait to have kids with you.”

“oh, yeah?” top teeth biting into your bottom lip to stop a smile.

steve stopped the kisses (much to your disappointment) to once again rest his chin on your stomach. it was slightly discomforting but you didn’t push him away.

“yeah. i know you don’t want many if we were to have our own. so i want an older girl so she can help keep her younger brother in line.”

you let your index finger run down the slope of steve’s nose bridge, “how long have you been thinking about this?”

the quick dart of steve’s eyes piqued your interest. he only did that when he was embarrassed by the information he was about to lay out. you didn't push him, just observed him as you waited.

you felt steve’s voice but didn’t hear it. he spoke his words into your skin and it took you a moment before you realized he said anything. you asked him to repeat it politely.

he cleared his throat. “since our third date.”

“why our third date? if this was a romance anything, you would’ve said our first date.” you weren’t criticizing, just curious. you just remember it as a fun roller rink date.

your simple question sparked a twinkle in steve’s pupils. “i know what you're thinking.” “what am i thinking?”

“that it was just a roller rink date. why is that so special to start thinking about kids? right?” a shrug was your answer. steve continued his version of the story.

“okay. well, i was getting us food and you stayed in our booth. after i placed our order i leaned against the wall so i could continue to watch you-“ “stalker.”

steve tickled at your sides, breaking you into fits of laughs and tears before you conceded. “anyway. i was staring at you, my mind just constantly saying, “you got your girl”. and then you stood up and walked to a claw game. i was gonna rush over so i could impress you, but stopped when i saw you crouch down and start talking to a little boy. then you started to play the game and after many, many, many-“ you shoved his shoulder and the both of you chuckled, “many tries. you got the boy a stuffed animal. and in his excitement, he hugged you. and just seeing the way you froze before holding him tightly with your eyes closed…”

steve trailed off and you could feel the tears wishing to fall. hands grabbing for steve’s cheeks and giving a slight tug to signal him to climb up your body. his hands sat by the sides of your chest as you planted kiss after kiss over his face. a kiss to the side of his lip and you move his head back.

“here’s a potential plan. we wait another year or two, getting more marriage on the plate and getting used to our grown-up jobs. and then from there, we could start having a bit more carefree sex and just… see what happens. what d’you think?”

steve’s eyes went side to side then to your lips and back to your eyes. “i say…” he leaned closer, lips ghosting each other as he whispered, “that’s a good plan, honey.” and he kissed you until you couldn’t remember your name, only steve’s.

-

[blckbrrybasket]

2. “Give and Take”

Steve Harrington x Afab!Reader

꒰Squirting + Edging꒱ - 664

• no she/her pronouns used, mentions of sexual exploring, protected sex, Steve losing the plot

kinktober m.list

Steve was always sweet during sex. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing! At his core he was a lover boy and he’d know it from how many times you played ‘Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy’ and stared at him with a knowing grin. He knew. And he thought you enjoyed it as much as him, you did! You would be lying if you said the sex was bad. With his experience and the sheer size of his dick it was never bad, just a little vanilla and recently you had expressed that to him.

Obviously he immediately launched into an hour long conversation of how to spice it up and if there was anything you’d like him to do. The two of you had settled on some things you could do, adventuring a bit. It had been going well, it always was great with Steve. Things changed, however, after one night at the bar you two had barely been able to get through the door before pulling each other's clothes off. 

Steve had been blinded by jealousy when a guy approached you. If he had listened he would have been able to understand that you had shot him down instantly, instead he had ignored the conversation and settled for edging the two of you for nearly an hour. After the first ten minutes he had lost sight of why he was jealous in the first place. The next twenty minutes he was slowly losing himself to the rhythm. And now?

Well now he was just addicted to the feeling of your soaked cunt wrapped around him. It was torture, but it felt so, so good. He didn’t have the ability to decide when to finally let go, only giving deep and slow thrusts the way he knew. It wasn’t enough though, and he knew it, your clit being swollen and neglected. “S..Steve, please.” Steve finally opened his eyes, looking down at you.

His hand cradled the back of your calf, holding it above his hip. “What is it?” Steve all but choked out, sliding all the way back in with a squelch. “Make me come.” He nodded in a daze at your request. Steve folded up the leg he held, pressing it up as he leaned over your body.

After a second he switched rhythm, pounding into you sloppily. Your arousal coated in a ring around the base of his cock, frothing on his pubes from the force of his thrusts. Steve grunted, veins in his neck straining with the effort. He was coated in sweat, hovering above you so his body wouldn’t slide over yours and cause him to lose his footing. 

“Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck!” Steve panted. Your cries were music to his ears when he bent down, pressing his forehead to yours. Each thrust sent your body jostling up and down on his mattress. “So close!“ You sobbed, Steve huffed in response. He doubled down, wiry hair catching on your clit with the new angle. “Almost there,” he warned, hand sliding down to press firmly against your stomach.

Your teeth sunk into his shoulder causing him to groan. His hips moved forward particularly hard in response, a spray of liquid suddenly squirting out of you onto him and the sheets under you. Steve choked on a pathetic sound, spilling inside of the condom finally as you mewled under him. His hips jerked out of pure desperation as he slowed down, sucking down gulps of air to steady himself at the overwhelming pleasure.

Steve’s body swayed, head fuzzy when he slowly straightened up to steady himself. His hairy thighs shook as he slowly pulled out of your abused pussy, careful not to wait too long, staring at the wet sheen on the bed. “Jesus Christ,” Steve sighed in awe, wide eyes looking up at yours. A proud smile spread across his face and he leaned down to press kisses all over your face, chuckling at your tired laughter. “There you go honey.”

tags: @babybatlover, @starrgurl46, @wowzers-07, @nenukkjhj, @morgan0lw21, @kinokomoonshine, @slut4ddn, @adventures-of-impala

[magical-reid]

Braids and Confessions

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 29 “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want.”

Summary: After a dangerous encounter, Steve offers to help you with your hair, leading to an unexpected moment of vulnerability and closeness between the two of you. As he braids your hair, Steve confesses his deeper feelings, and the two of you share a life-changing kiss.

The rain outside pelted softly against the windows, the rhythmic drumming muted by the thick tension in the room. Steve leaned against the edge of his kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you from a distance. You were seated on his couch, legs curled up beneath you, trying—and failing—to tie your hair back into something remotely manageable.

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this,” Steve finally said, his voice edging on exasperation but laced with concern.

Your arms ached from the earlier scuffle with whatever the hell that thing was. A vine had lashed out, wrapping tightly around your wrist, and though Steve had managed to cut you free, the bruising was vivid and unforgiving.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your shaky hands betrayed you as another hair tie snapped under the pressure.

Steve sighed and pushed off the counter, walking toward you. His sneakers scuffed against the hardwood floor before he stopped, towering just slightly over where you sat.

“You’re not fine. You’re stubborn.” His tone softened as he knelt down in front of you, resting his arms on his knees. “Let me help.”

You snorted, dropping your hands to your lap. “What, you’re gonna fight a Demogorgon and be my hairstylist now?”

Steve flushed but didn’t back down. “I mean… yeah. If that’s what you need.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting away before he added in a quieter voice, “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want.”

Your mouth fell open slightly, surprised by the offer. It wasn’t like Steve to be so gentle, not when his typical armor consisted of sarcasm and bad jokes.

“You… know how to braid?” you asked, suspicious.

“I have a sister,” he said with a shrug, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Used to braid her hair all the time when we were kids. Pretty sure I still got the muscle memory.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart stuttering at the thought of Steve’s hands in your hair. But the truth was, you needed the help, and the look on his face—earnest and patient—was impossible to resist.

“Alright,” you relented, your voice soft. “But if you pull too hard, I’m throwing a pillow at you.”

Steve grinned, his whole face lighting up with the kind of boyish charm that made your stomach flip. “Deal.”

He climbed onto the couch behind you, settling in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his knees brushing your back. You handed him the brush, and he gently began to detangle the mess, working from the ends up.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a few moments. “You good?”

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured, though the truth was far more complicated. Steve’s fingers were deft but careful, the occasional accidental brush against your neck sending shivers down your spine. The closeness was almost too much, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

As he worked, the room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft scrape of the brush and the hum of the rain outside. When Steve finally started braiding, his voice broke the quiet.

“You scared me today, you know.”

Your heart twisted at the vulnerability in his tone. “Steve—”

“No, I mean it.” He paused for a beat, his hands stilling for a moment in your hair. “When I saw that thing grab you… I thought—” He exhaled shakily. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and you struggled to find a response. “I’m okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, but what if you hadn’t been?” His fingers resumed their work, but his voice remained tense. “I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Your chest tightened, and you turned slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. “Steve—”

His hands dropped from your hair, the braid unfinished, as his brown eyes met yours. “I’m serious. I—” He shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but I care about you. A lot. More than a friend should.”

Your breath hitched. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softer now, almost shy. “I have for a while. I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

A warmth spread through your chest, so intense it almost hurt. “Steve, I—” You swallowed hard, your next words trembling but sure. “I feel the same way.”

His eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face, genuine and breathtaking.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your own lips.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something electric and undeniable. Then, with an awkward laugh, Steve cleared his throat. “So… should I finish the braid or—”

You laughed, reaching up to take his hand. “Forget the braid, Harrington.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. It was soft and tentative at first, but as he kissed you back, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious, it deepened into something that felt like home.

When you finally pulled back, Steve rested his forehead against yours, a grin playing at his lips. “Best hairstyling gig I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “Guess you’re hired full-time, then.”

“Deal,” he said softly, his voice filled with affection. And as he pulled you into another kiss, the rain outside continued to fall, but inside, everything felt warm and bright.

[sammy-is-not-smiley]

steve x fem!reader fic please!! soulmates to lovers but it's initially one-sided on reader's end. lots of angst please <33

Let It Hurt (Pt 1)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve has been your best friend for years despite his douchery in early high school. You would tell him anything... well, anything except for the fact that you've been feeling his physical pain since elementary school. The way he finds out is less than ideal.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: Soulmate au (kinda), language, no use of (y/n), depictions of severe pain, injuries mentioned, crying, passing out/fainting, angst, set in season 3, soulmates to lovers, friends to lovers, hurt/no comfort (yet), I think that's all??

A/N: I really love this request, the only issue was I've never written or read a soulmates fanfiction before 😅 But that didn't stop me cuz I instantly had an idea for it and ran with it. It's gonna be a 2 parter too! I really hope you still enjoy. Thanks so much for reading and requesting. <3

Part 2: Right Here!

Steve Harrington hadn't always been a dick. In fact the mask he wore through a majority of high school was just that: A mask. One that he used to blend in.

From an early age, you two gravitated to one another. It all started one day in elementary school. You had managed to get a soccer ball stuck in a tree while playing kickball. Being scared of heights, you knew you wouldn't be climbing up to get it. That didn't keep you from staring up at it though, trying your hardest to get the ball to fall with your mind. Steve walked up next to you to see what you were looking at. When he caught sight of it, he didn't hesitate to begin climbing the tree, as if that had simply been routine for him. In awe, you watched him scale through the branches, throw your ball down next to you, and climb back down.

You picked up the ball and just stared at him then, surprised at the ease he managed the task with.

He dusted off his pants, looked at you, gestured to the ball, and asked "You wanna be on the same team?"

From then on, you were inseparable. It didn't take long before you discovered something new. Steve took a fall while running bases one day, earning a nasty scrape on his knee in the process. As he sat in the dirt and held it, holding back tears, you were doing the same on the other side of the field, clutching a knee that bore no injury. Yet somehow, you could feel the pain. You could feel his pain.

Through your life after that event, you would get random strong bouts of pain that you knew weren't yours, all in random places. As a kid it was mostly just things like your knees or elbows, like you skinned them, always when Steve skinned them. In the summer you would sometimes feel a sunburn that never turned red, only for Steve to return from a trip with a sunburn. In your mind, all the evidence wasn't evidence enough, at least not to tell anyone. You tried your best not to look in pain in front of anyone when it happened, and you got pretty good at it. Eventually it became the norm for you to hide it, and you didn't plan on changing that. You were worried Steve would react badly to it somehow if you told him, or call you crazy and ditch you. So it stayed your little secret.

You and Steve lived on through the school years, friendship staying relatively the same.

It wasn't until freshman year you sensed a shift in him. Something bitter to the taste that didn't belong, a sprinkle of salt where there used to be sugar. That salt was Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins. Somehow they wormed their way in, pushing you out with glares. Steve only hung out with them when he wasn't hanging out with you, which slowly became less and less. He wasn't getting into any trouble, he just became a gigantic jerk to anyone Tommy deemed worthy of being a jerk to. Eventually Steve was seen as the lead in their escapades, 'King Steve' as it were, but you knew the truth. Steve was just the limp head that Tommy turned in one direction or the other. By tenth grade, you barely spoke to him anymore… and you missed him.

In 1983, one of the largest pains happened - 'attacks' is what you began calling them after this because, honestly, that's what it felt like. It felt like Steve had been attacked, beaten to a pulp. For days after this one, your lip, nose, and especially your upper brow ached. You were sure the skin had been broken somehow, however it remained an invisible ghost. After it happened, you tried calling him. However, he never picked up.

In school, you saw him with a scabbed over face… and he looked miserable. But, as much as it hurt, you assumed he didn't need you anymore. After all, he had a smart and pretty Nancy Wheeler now. Surely he had forgotten about you and didn't want your help. You don't know how many nights you cried over that. How many times you thought to try and call him again. Instead, you waited.

It was a long while before you felt pain even close to that again. On a cold Monday night in November of '84, it happened again, but even worse than the year prior. Another attack.

It was the middle of the night, awaking you from a normal slumber. When you first felt it, it was only a couple hits. When it subsided, you took a breath, slightly annoyed at Steve for getting into a fight this late, and got up to get a pain killer to hopefully numb the ghost pain. From what you could tell after past experiences, it helped. As you rounded your bed for the bathroom, your knuckles bursted with pain and made you stop and grasp at them. Steve must have thrown a punch and hit his target. You didn't have much time to process that thought before an onslaught of attacks bombarded you. Harder and harder and harder, one after the next you could feel the swings and blows. Every punch to the face and gut, explosion after explosion of searing pain rattled your skull. You couldn't breathe, couldn't even cry out for help. Eventually you became too dizzy to stand and found yourself collapsing to your carpet in a whirlwind of invisible strikes to your head and face.

That night, you passed out on your bedroom floor. When you awoke in the same spot, you were greeted with an angry agony you had never felt the likes of before. Every heartbeat made your sight shift, your eyes strained and ached, your nose felt as though it were broken, and your mid section felt deeply bruised. You were stuck in bed for days afterwards, sensitive to any kind of loud noise or light. You were certain Steve had managed to get a concussion, however you were too miserable yourself to try and pursue him. Headaches became your best friend, and it wasn't a kind one.

When you went back to school, you were met with Steve looking literally like death. From a safe distance, you could see that both his eyes were blackened, his lip looked busted and healing, and he had a few scratches over his forehead. Rumors circled around you that Steve and the new kid, Billy, had gone at it a week prior, and Steve was obviously the loser in the fight.

You found yourself staring at him more than you probably had in the past year. You had no intention of speaking to him, but you couldn't avert your eyes. Your head still throbbed with his and you couldn't deny that you felt pity for him. Once or twice he happened to catch you staring, sharing a moment before you eventually turned away sadly. That happened a few times in fact, so you should have expected him to be at your doorstep not long after.

He held a single flower, your favorite kind, and your favorite candy. His bruised, purple face practically pouted at you as he rambled on an apology, saying he understood if you didn't want to be his friend again, that he was a douche for no reason and he doesn't deserve much, but he wanted to try again and make it up to you. The longer you let him ramble, the harder he was on himself, until finally you leapt forward and embraced him.

"I knew it wasn't you," You spoke into his shoulder. "I was just waiting until you figured that out too."

After many long talks about the time lost and the mistakes made, you both managed to pick up where you had started. You sat with him at lunch again like old times. Not many people did anymore. You gave him some tips on how to better heal his scarring, you came to watch him play basketball, and you offered him pain killers when you could feel one of his head aches coming on. You noticed he tended to get more of those since the fight with Billy. He always looked so shocked when you offered, but you made the excuse saying you had a headache and wanted to offer while you had the pills out. It seemed to appease him enough, and he never dug any further about it.

It didn't take long for you to realize you liked being around him… like, really liked it. After some thought, you realized you always had. And it wasn't like it was hard to find time to be with him. Other than Dustin Henderson, you seemed to be his only close friend again. It got to the point where by spring of the next year, you were sleeping over at his house quite often. You never slept in the same bed, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't wanted to ask to.

One day he picked you up for one of the last days before graduation with a sour look on his face. His greeting was deadpan as you got in his passenger seat.

You snickered at him as you pulled your seat belt on. "What's up with you, grumpy?"

"Parents, that's what's up," He grumbled, backing out of your driveway. The way he put his hand on the back of your headrest made you stare for a moment.

Damn him.

"What they do this time?"

"Dads not letting me work for him. And he won't pay for college either."

Your brow came together in confusion. "Wait, what? Why? I thought that's been the plan all these years. You graduate and then help him or go to school."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," He sighed, "But the old man's making me go out and work to get a job. Said he doesn't want to hand me everything and that I need to learn respect and responsibility, blah blah blah…"

Well at least he didn't hit you this time, you thought to yourself. Unfortunately, you always knew when his dad hit him… Every single time. His favorite technique was to slap Steve square in the face, hard. No one else did that. No one else even knew. Steve didn't even know you knew.

You tilted your head as you thought. "Well… What if you tried to work with me? At the new mall this summer? I'm pretty sure I have a solid 'in' at the ice cream place."

Steve scoffed, half smiling. "An ice cream shop?"

"Oh come on, it's not the worst place. It will at least give you something to put on a resume. Just a summer job. Ya know, work your way up, get experience or whatever."

"I guess…" He thought, then brought his hand up and pointed at you. "But only if you work there too."

"Aw, what, would you miss me working somewhere else? Need me to hold your hand at your first job?"

He rolled his eyes, finally smiling for the first time that morning. "You wish. No, see, the plan is to make you talk to all the bitchy 40 year old moms while I eat free strawberry ice cream in the back all day."

Your brow perked up. "Strawberry ice cream? Strawberry? When did that become your favorite?"

He shrugged. "Since, like, forever….. Don't look at me like that, it has clear supremacy over the other flavors."

The rest of the ride to school that morning was spent in a useless debate over ice cream flavors and how you had managed to go so long not knowing his favorite. You insisted on gaslighting him that strawberry had never been his favorite.

Later that month, right after the end of the school year, you both were locked in to work at Scoops Ahoy together.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

"Another 'you suck', Harrington. What a surprise," Robin teased flatly from the back room, a squeaky tally added to the many others accumulated on the whiteboard that day.

You smirked, which was hidden from Steve behind you as you refilled the banana and strawberry slices for that afternoon.

Steve groaned and slapped his hat down on the counter next to you. "What am I doing wrong?" When he was answered with only your chuckles he shook his head. "No, really, what am I doing wrong? There's gotta be something I could change and you guys just aren't telling me."

You and Robin stole a glance at each other before snorting and continuing to laugh.

"Look buddy," You offered, turning to him. "I'm going to put this in the nicest way possible."

Steve raised his brow and stood straight in attention.

"You're coming off super desperate."

His posture sagged again and he rolled his eyes. "Desperate, okay… Well how do I not come off as desperate?"

"Don't BE desperate, dummy," Robin laughed.

"I'm not actually desperate!"

"Yes you are," You and Robin chimed at the same time.

You grabbed your trash from the counter and looked at the girl in front of you, shaking your head with a half smile. "He asks us for help and then ignores us." You say as you push past Steve to get to the back.

She shrugged. "The life of every woman talking to a man."

"Oh, come on," Steve interjects, following you at the heel, "What makes you the expert at flirting with girls anyway?"

"I don't know, cause I am one?" You call over your shoulder, tossing your trash and gloves in the bin before walking over and sitting down at the table.

"Fine," He mutters, striding over to you and leaning on the table to loom extremely close over you. You could smell his cologne and the way his hot breath brushed your forehead. "How should I flirt then, Miss Professional?"

Like that, you think to yourself, butterflies suddenly having a party in your stomach. The smug look on his face was one you'd seen many times before, the one he wore when he tried to get under your skin… The one he wore when he knew he would.

Immediately you remembered Robin's presence not 10 feet next to you. You quickly glanced at her, saw that she was watching, and in a panic you kicked Steve in the shin. Just as immediately, you regretted that decision as you felt an affliction on your own shin.

Steve let out a yelp as he stumbled and squat down to hold his leg. Robin laughed while you pulled your own leg up into the chair, holding it as if it were casual and not because you were doctoring pain as well.

"Does that count as another 'you suck'?" Robin asks joyfully through giggles. You can't help but smile back at her.

"I'll let you judge it," You reply, pretending to be neutral. In reality, the butterflies hadn't calmed down in your tummy and you knew you'd be thinking about that interaction for the rest of the night.

Damn him.

Robin whirled around to put yet another tally under 'you suck'. When she did you looked at Steve to see him standing in recovery shaking his pained leg as he did so.

"Screw you guys, I'm going on break," He announced. Before he walked through the door, though, you caught him glancing back at you, a boyish glint in his eye.

No really, damn him.

As soon as he was gone, Robin whirled back around to you and squinted her eyes. "I saw that, you know."

Shin still aching, you rubbed it mindlessly. "Saw what?"

She rolled her eyes and walked closer, leaning down with her palms on the table. "That split second look on your face that said 'Whatever you want, Stevie!'" She mimicked in a high pitched mockery. "It was pretty gross."

"Woah, okay," You croaked, trying to ignore her knowing smirk, "That's- That's not what happened, okay?"

"Oh please, your cheeks are still as red as those strawberries," She tutted. "Not the first time that's happened either, you know. I've seen you blush plenty because of him."

All you could do is fight the heat on your face and shake your head in disbelief, trying to play it off as not a big deal.

But it was a big deal.

Nobody knew of your rather new acknowledgement of your crush on Steve. And of all the people you'd want knowing about your secret crush, Robin was VERY low on the list. Sure, in the short time working with her she had become a pretty nice work friend. You even hung out with her and Steve a few times after work every once in a while. But in the short time you'd gotten to know her, you learned one thing for sure: She was absolutely ass at keeping secrets.

Alas, that thought slipped your mind before what you said next.

"Rob, just drop it, it's not like I'd have a chance anyway," You muttered under your breath, standing from your seat to go back out to the front.

Your co-worker cut you off, jumping between you and the door. "Hold on, what? You actually do-....." You gave her a warning with your eyes. "Oh, I knew it!"

"Shut up, shut up," You whisper yelled, now realizing your mistake. "Look, just act like I said nothing, okay? He can't know- He shouldn't know."

Robin snaked her head back in shock. "You kidding me? Why? You see how badly he wants a date, right?"

"You see the kinds of girls he asks on dates, right?" You countered.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but none of them are remotely interested. He's going for all the wrong girls. You on the other hand-"

"Rob, Rob, listen," You hands grabbed hers in a hopeful grasp, "I need you to do everything in your power to keep this all to yourself, okay? He's my closest friend and I don't want anything screwing that up right now."

Robin could see the desperation in your eyes and she sighed, a small pout on her lips. "That's what you really want?"

You nodded fervently, hoping to wrap up this conversation before Steve returned.

She sighed again, this time overdramatically, and stomped her foot on the ground like a child. "Fine. But I'm making a new tally board for you. It'll just be on a piece of paper in my pocket." She smiled proudly.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

Working at Scoops with Steve was the worst possible thing you could have done. For one, you had to stand there every day and watch him flirt with every girl in the vicinity. Every girl except you, that is. Unfortunately, your feelings had done nothing but grow, making each shift with Steve heaven and hell at the same time. You didn't think it could get any worse.

And then it did.

Because now you were trapped under the mall in a secret Russian base, tied up and locked in a room with Robin.

Yeah, working at Scoops was a mistake.

"Why did they separate us?" You asked, voice trembling as you stared at the locked metal door in front of you. "Why would they need Steve?"

Robin looked up from trying to chew through her bindings on her wrist, sweat shining on her forehead. "I don't… I don't know, maybe to sort this out?"

You turned to her, a hopeless manner about you as you lifted your own bound wrists. "This doesn't look like harmless sorting out, Rob."

"We can at least hope, right? I mean… I mean Steve's charismatic or whatever, he can tell them that us getting here was a mistake and that we just work at the mall and… Yeah, he can do that. He's good at talking, I mean he talks all the time. They'll just…. just take us back to the surface and-" Robin rambled, pacing circles around you like a toy car on a full battery.

"I just don't have a good feeling about thi-" You were cut off by an invisible punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you and causing you to double over slightly.

Shit.

Robin was immediately at your side. "Woah, hey, hey, what's wrong?... It's okay. It's okay we'll get out of here-" She continued on, her panicked voice becoming like white noise in the background.

Another searing pain, this time square on the nose, then again in the gut. You let out a groan, both in pain and realization.

What the hell were they doing to Steve?

You inhaled carefully, putting your bound hands up to your face in agony.

"Shit, please, tell me what's wrong?" Robin's worried voice faded back in as she grasped at one of your shoulders.

You shook your head as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling another blow to the face. "Steve," You choked out, tears brimming your eyes.

"What about Steve?"

You looked up to her in terror. "They're hurting him- agh!" Another punch, this one you felt deep in your ribs and made your legs give out, falling to the floor.

Robin followed, kneeling next to you. "How do you know that? What's going on?"

You panted, trying not to wheeze as it became painful to breathe properly. Another punch, right in the eye socket pushed a whimper out of you as the tears started to fall.

"Does this have to do with that weird portal thing or something?"

You shook your head helplessly, knowing just as much about that weird experiment as she did. Somehow Steve and Dustin knew about it, but that fact was far in the back of your mind now.

Another hit to the already bruised nose exploded over your face, making you struggle to hold in an audible cry.

Robin was now also on the brink of tears. "Please, please, give me something, I don't know what to do!"

With all your will you looked up at her to answer in shallow breaths. "I can feel- feel it. They're torturing him."

She put her hand up to your face scrunched up in pain. "How do you know?"

"I've always-... augh," You groaned again, letting your head drop out of her grasp as you tried controlling your reactions. It was no use. Your head was beginning to hurt as a whole. Eventually you laid down on the cold floor, helpless to any attack Steve was receiving in the other room. Helpless to stop it.

In your state, Robin didn't dare ask any more questions. Things were more complicated than she realized. Although she didn't fully understand, she knew that whatever was happening was bad. Very bad. And she was as helpless to stop it as you.

The time went by so slowly, and the punches never stopped. They kept hitting the same spots over and over and over again. If anything, they got harder and more frequent. One after the next. Occasionally you were given a break, but those breaks were experienced in tense anticipation for the inevitable next hit.

The tears were uncontrollable, slowly soaking the concrete below you. Movement hurt. Breathing hurt. Being awake hurt. Steve hurt.

What if they killed him? Would you feel that too?

The thought only spurred on the flow of tears.

The entire time, Robin was knelt beside you, a hand on your arm stroking, attempting any way possible to comfort you through your obvious torment. Both of you sat in helplessness together.

Then, finally, your tense body went limp and your whimpers halted.

[denim-mixtapes]

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan. 

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb. 

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least. 

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss. 

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”  

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!” 

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name. 

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it. 

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor. 

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. 

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime. 

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar. 

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down. 

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it. 

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.” 

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?” 

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?” 

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.” 

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.” 

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside. 

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty. 

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?” 

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?” 

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.” 

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.” 

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.” 

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.” 

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls –  so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee. 

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.” 

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.” 

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room. 

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.” 

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.” 

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.” 

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully. 

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–” 

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!” 

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway. 

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks. 

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?” 

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.” 

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.” 

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. 

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?” 

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes. 

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight. 

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are. 

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests. 

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake. 

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him. 

[vilentia]

Unmasked

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: A tender and intimate relationship unfolds, allowing Steve to discover and embrace his true self.

****

The quiet aftermath of the Upside Down brought a stillness to Hawkins that was almost eerie. For you, it was a return to normalcy, but for Steve Harrington, it was the beginning of a new journey.

In your small, cozy living room, with its mismatched cushions and soft, warm lighting, Steve found a haven. Here, he was no longer King Steve, the guy with the nail-bat, or the default babysitter. Here, he was just Steve, and it was both terrifying and liberating.

"I've always had to be something more," he confessed one evening, as you both lay sprawled on the couch. Your head rested against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "King Steve at school, the protector for the kids... It's like I never got the chance to just be me."

His words hung in the air, mingled with the faint scent of the jasmine candle burning on the coffee table. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, which always seemed to carry the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

"You don't have to be anything but yourself here, Steve," you said softly, your hand finding his. "With me, you're safe."

It was a slow process, watching the layers peel back from a persona that had been carefully constructed over years. But in these quiet moments, with shared smiles and gentle touches, Steve began to let go.

Rain tapped gently against the window on a chilly evening, the kind of rain that whispered secrets and promised new beginnings. Wrapped in a blanket, you both watched the droplets race down the glass, an unspoken comfort in the silence between you.

"I was always scared to show weakness," Steve admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "To be vulnerable meant to be open to hurt, and I couldn't afford that. Not with everything that was going on."

Your fingers traced patterns on the back of his hand, a silent reassurance. "It's okay to let those walls down, Steve. Here, with me, you don't have to be strong all the time."

As he turned to you, his eyes were an open book of fears and dreams, of battles fought and scars borne. But there was also hope, a flicker that grew stronger in your presence.

"With you, I feel like I'm just starting to understand who I am. Not some role I have to play, but me. Steve Harrington, without all the extra baggage," he said, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips.

You leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was tender and filled with understanding. It was a reassurance, a promise, a moment of shared vulnerability.

In the days that followed, your relationship blossomed into something beautiful and real. Movie nights turned into impromptu dance sessions in your living room, his laughter filling your space with a joy that was infectious. Cooking together became a regular activity, filled with playful flour fights and stolen kisses.

One evening, as you both lay curled up under a blanket, watching the embers of the fire dance in the fireplace, Steve's voice broke the comfortable silence. "I love you," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Not for the heroics or the adventures, but for this. For the quiet moments, for the comfort, for the realness."

Your heart swelled with an emotion so profound it was almost overwhelming. "I love you too, Steve. For who you are, for who you've been, and for who you're yet to become."

In your embrace, he found a peace he'd never known. With you, he was unmasked, vulnerable, and utterly content. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other's arms, the world outside didn't seem so daunting anymore. Together, you were ready to face whatever came next, unmasked and unafraid, in love and in life.

[inkluvs]

New follower and I’m obsessed!

Mid-July

Mutual masturbation while camping in a tent

Steve Harrington

pretty

a/n: ur so fucking sweet i'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this </3 i hope u like it !!! tw: SMUT(18+) ; mutual masturbation ; kinda pervy steve? not sure (0.4k)

steve harrington x fem! reader

summer celly // masterlist // taglist

A soft grunt makes its way from Steve’s lips, his palm rubbing against the obvious bulge in his jeans. He twists and turns on his back as he tries to find a position that eases some of the tension, the hard ground underneath your shared tent doing nothing to help. A camping trip with you would be difficult, he knew that. What he didn’t know was exactly how short the shorts you would wear are. Though he did imagine(more times than he’d care to admit) he thinks his imagination can’t possibly perfectly capture the way the fabric hugs the curve of your ass, the soft fat warm as it presses against his own. After all, you wouldn't want him to run cold, right?

You stir at his noises and he freezes, thumb dancing along the button of the denim.

“You got pretty moans. Always thought you would but it’s nice to be sure.” Your eyes are still shut, your cheek pressed into your pillow so he can’t see your grin.

His cheeks flush pink. “Wh–”

“You really aren’t subtle, tossing and turning like that, almost thought you were havin’ a bad dream till I heard that noise.”

Steve can’t deny that his jeans seem to tighten at your words. His hand pushes underneath just barely, his breath hitching as he grazes his cock.

“You can take ‘em off if they’re bothering you, won’t bother me.” You curse yourself at how eager you sound. 

Steve’s chest rises and falls more quickly after that, finally managing to pop open the button before saying, “You’re really okay with this?”

You nod and he slides his boxers down with the rough material, his cock thick and hard against his stomach. Steve can feel you staring at him and a fire lights under his skin. Your lips are parted, saliva pooling on your tongue as his hand wraps around his cock.

“Pretty.” Your voice is breathy and your fingers slip under the waistband of those damn shorts.

“You can take ‘em off if they’re bothering you.” 

“Shut up.” He grins, cocky and wide and much too proud of himself. 

You shove your shorts down and his grin falters into a gasp, his eyebrows pinched as he stares. 

His palm starts to stroke his cock and you press your thumb against your clit, eliciting a soft whine.

“Pretty.” He repeats.

[megxplryxb]

Masterlist <3

Steve Harrington fics

Roommate Romance

Romance is Dead, Isn't It?

More Than This Part 1

More Than This Part 2

Let Me Show You

Serving More Than Ice Cream

Our Little Secret

Tainted Love

Date Night

Fighting The Fireworks

Green With Envy Pt.1

Green With Envy Pt.2

Things We Didn't Say

Bite Me

Truth or Dare

Unfaithful

Steve Harrington Imagines

Steve Imagine #1

Steve Imagine #2

Steve Imagine #3

Steve Imagine #4

Dating Steve Harrington Would Include

Colby Brock

Lockdown Lovers

As Bad As You Are

How Can it be Over When it Never Really Started?

Daryl Dixon

Addixon

Pete Dunne

Twisted Temptations

Secret Passion

Till The Bitter End

Currently Working On.....

Steve being totally in love with his friend Eddie’s girlfriend. ❤️ (Not a Steddie fic)

[ssahopelessly]

On the Clock Feelings

Synopsis: Reader is the newest employee to Family Video. While Steve has taken a liking to her, the same can not be said for Robin.

Warnings: FamilyVideoSteve x FemReader featuring Robin, new job, defensive/protective Steve, workplace banter, Steve injuring himself, pining / let me know any I missed

Word Count: 2.1K

a/n: Hey, hi, hello! This is my first oneshot in the Strangers Things universe! I had originally wrote this earlier in the year but finally got around to finishing it. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

“Where’s Robin?” She had asked from the passenger seat.

“Oh- she’s skipping her lunch.” Steve lied. Robin Buckley was in fact not skipping her lunch. More like Steve had asked Robin to sit in the Family Video breakroom for just one day. Steve was also subsequently $10 more broke than yesterday, the two being completely unrelated. “So,” he tried to change the subject, “how are you liking Family Video?”

“It’s… not terrible.” She mumbled over her milkshake, poking it with the spoon as she tried to break down the oreo bits before they clogged up her straw. “Keith is… a bit much though.” This made Steve laugh. Not as if he wasn’t always laughing in her company, but because on some level it made him feel sorry for her. The fact that Keith was their manager remained to be some lifelong karma lesson that Steve couldn’t quite figure out. At least it was Saturday and Keith happened to have today off. “And… I know she’s your friend… but Robin keeps pushing her work onto me.” Her body had slid lower into the seat, still cradling the cup closer to her chest. “Like I get it, I’m the new guy. But do I have to do all the putbacks- gobacks? Like she does know I can run the desk, right?”

Steve wiped the smile from his face as he brushed the salt from his fingertips over his knee. “No, she knows. Robin just- Robin likes to feel like she’s in control.” This wasn’t incorrect. Steve knew Robin was trying to manipulate their roles so they would have more chances to interact on the clock. So far it was working, though he was now certain to talk to Robin about maybe letting them have desk time. “But I’ll talk to her.” Looking over to her, he noticed she was still jabbing away at the cold cream. “Is there anything else?”

“Steve. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” His actions froze, the finger twiddling he had started paused.

“I didn’t- that’s not what-“ he was fumbling for an explanation now. Once he realised how he felt, every action around her became a coordinated step.

“It’s never been like this,” he tried to explain to Robin one night. “I just get around her and start stumbling over everything.”

“Wow, it’s like you have to actually try.” Robin had then mocked him.

“It’s just- Robin is my friend… and you’re also my friend, and I don’t want my friends to fight.” How self preservative, he thought. He watched as his words played through her mind and he hoped that labeling her as a friend didn’t hurt her in any way. It’s not like they weren’t friends… but Steve knew he felt more than a friend to her.

“Well, as your friend, I can handle myself.” Looking up to Steve, she tried not to think of how he had been looking at her. She tried not to think of how Steve Harrington, her coworker, had been almost caught staring at her lips, choosing to believe the stare and everything else in consideration were hopefully unrelated. “What is it?” Shaking his head, the look disappeared and a few strands of hair fell over his face.

“It’s nothing.” Looking at the watch on his wrist, he then reached for the keys, turning the car off. “We have to go anyway.” With a simple nod, that was mostly for herself, she started helping him gather up their trash and whatever else they would need to take back into Family Video. She had almost forgotten about the overcast sky above them, the endless gray cloud that seemed to linger over all of Hawkins.

-

When they reentered Family Video together, Robin’s head naturally perked up in their direction. “Oh thank goodness, you’re back!” She called to them from behind the desk. (Y/N) felt like it was mostly to Steve though, as she had never outrightly been so relieved to see her before. Springing up from her seat, Robin rounded to the cart that had been sitting just in the front corner of the desk, her hand lingering on the metal frame before sharing a smile to Steve. “Now that you’re back, this lovely cart needs to be put away and-“

“Actually Robin, I was hoping we could have the desk.” Robin froze completely in place, hands still grasping the cart as she had started pushing it towards the two.

“What?” There was an incredulous indention to her voice, almost like she couldn’t believe Steve was disagreeing with her.

“It’s just, she wanted to see the protocol for some technical situations. More practice on the computer, you know?” Nodding her head, Robin was cutting them both a glance that (Y/N) couldn’t quite pick up on.

“Right.” She pushed the cart around them now, gently bumping into Steve’s shoulder. “Well, maybe you should time me. I’m sure I can put this away faster than the two of you.” Steve rolled his eyes as Robin took the cart and pushed it away and into the aisles, disappearing for now. The two of them entered the little corral that was the hub inside the desk, the walls being the desk itself as it wrapped around them. From the corner of his eye he could see how she hesitated to even sit down, just standing ever so slightly behind him as she looked around the desk, almost unsure to touch anything.

“Here.” He pulled a stool out from under the counter, motioning for her to sit in front of the computer. When she did so, he tried to then figure out where the best place for him to stand would be. “So- you’ve used a computer before right?” He settled for standing just a bit behind and to the side of her.

“Only a little bit?” She still sounded unsure of herself. He wondered if it were her nerves and whether, had it been anyone else in this situation, would she sound the same? She was practically sitting in front of him as he reached around her for the mouse, careful not to lean onto her or anything.

“Okay, well for starters, you’re going to want to shake the mouse to wake up the computer.” He bumped the piece and waited for the static of the screen to come to life. But there was no static, it remained silent. Pursing his lips to the side, he tried to then look under the desk and he saw it. The computer had been turned off. “Or make sure, it’s turned on.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Her voice called down to him. It brought a smile to his face as her humour started to return to her, meaning she was feeling comfortable again. For Steve though, he was too worried about how close he was to her legs that he almost didn’t notice how close the underside of the desk was. That was all, until he hit his head under the counter on his way back up.

“Shit!” He cursed under his breath as he stood back up to his normal posture. He tried to focus on the giggling she was failing to control, but he couldn’t ignore how badly his head felt, a burning sensation over the spot.

“Are you okay?” Her body had turned to face him now, her knees nearly brushing his legs.

“Sure. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Steve hoped she wouldn’t read too much into his words. He hadn’t wanted to talk about the horrors he had seen in the last four years with her just yet. Honestly, he had hoped it would be something that she would never need to know about.

Too distracted by the pain and his thoughts, he didn’t notice how her hands reached up to hold his head in her hands, palms resting just below his ear near his jawline. Her touch was soft and delicate, and Steve considered how he hadn’t felt anything as pure as her hold. Looking into her eyes felt like a mistake though, like a tar trap that he wouldn’t escape, not that he wanted to. While her eyes were full of concern, he saw the tender affection swimming in her irises and he tried not to drown in it. To be the star athlete he had once been praised for. But his teammates had never swam through tar. And he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so much in just a stare. “Well your eyes don’t look dilated.”

“They’re not?” He asked, his voice a whisper as his hands reached up to hold on to her wrists. “That’s good?”

“Really good.” A smile was pulling at the corner of her lips like a homecoming banner being pulled up a wall. “It means, no concussion.” The smile stayed, and he couldn’t fight the smile growing on him at the idea that he had put hers there.

“Oh.”

“How do you feel?” With his fingers over her soft skin, he could feel the slight muscle tremor as she had tried to withdraw her hold, but he just squeezed her wrists instead, taking comfort in the warmth they were temporarily providing him.

“It still kind of hurts.”

“Maybe you need ice?”

“Yeah,” the last syllable dragged out, “ice.” He had to let go of her then. They couldn’t stay that way, no matter how much his heart was crying to. He couldn’t fathom willingly trading the warmth she had provided him, even in that small moment, for a bag of cold ice to numb the pain at the back of his head. What about the ache in his heart? Was there a reliever for that?

While he was lost in his daydream, she got up from the stool, and with her hand now holding his wrist, tried to pull him to the backroom of Family Video. “Robin, we’ll be in the back!” Steve would’ve winced at the volume which she was talking, but her guiding him to the back seemed to balance out his pain for comfort ratio.

“No funny business!” Robin called to them from somewhere in the shelves. “I mean it Steve Harrington!”

“Got it!” He rolled his eyes as they passed through the door, her hold on his wrist guiding him to the table at the center of the room.

“Sit here. I’ll get the bag of ice.” Somehow she had found a plastic bag in some drawer behind him and the freezer had been miraculously capable of making ice today. With a paper towel wrapped around the bag, she offered it to him to hold to his head, and it was then he felt his first wave of guilt. He’s a former student athlete, he should be taking care of himself. Why was he so resided to letting her take care of him?

“You didn’t have to do this, you know? I’m the one who hit my head on the counter.” He tried to point out to her as she took a seat in the spot next to him. She kept her hands to herself now, watching him as he winced between the pain and the cold temperature of the ice.

“Yeah well.” Her eyes looked around him before settling on him once more. “I just wanted to make sure…” Breaking their gaze, she looked down to her fingers, hands clasped together so neither of them would be tempted to hold the other. “You’re like, the only one looking out for me, here. I just wanted to do the same for you.” She looked back to him now, not sure what to expect from his expression. But there was a smirk on his lips, a smugness she hadn’t seen on him. “What?”

“You just…” Waiting on his words, she wasn’t really sure what he would say. “You care about me?” The smug coating of his words never left his face. Her brain was backpedaling to get out from under that feeling.

“I mean, you're my coworker.” Ouch. “And the only one that’s been checking in on me. So yeah?” Removing the ice pack from his head, he noticed how some of the ice was beginning to melt, a small collection of water at the bottom of the bag.

“Coworker?” He asked, attention still on the water sloshing around the bag.

“Yes?”

“That’s funny.”

“What?”

“That’s just a weird label for someone you care about.” He thought he had this one. That they had danced around each other verbally enough that he could win this one.

“Well that’s what you are, so-” It’s not what I would like to be. Steve let their banter die out.

Let her have this one, he thought to himself, there will be plenty more to come.

-

Thank you for reading!

[headkiss]

i have a summer themed request for steve!! helping him out with his sunburns from a whole day spent outside, just stupid affectionate, doting fluff <33

i loved this idea so so much thank u sm for requesting!!! i hope u like it <3 | 1.1k of pure fluff

Summers in Indiana are hot and humid, your hair a constant mess of frizz, the light sheen of sweat seemingly permanent on your skin until you cave and shower it off only for it to start all over again.

It’s windows open all night and fans plugged in all day in yours and Steve’s shared apartment, the hum of crickets sneaking through the screens, a constant soundtrack to your nights.

And—your favorite part—it’s beach days with your friends whenever your conflicting work schedules allow. Half in Eddie’s van, the other in Steve’s BMW driving out to the closest beach where the wind coming off the great lake is a little cooler, where you can walk around in your swimsuits without any complaints from town grandparents.

It’s how you’d spent today, packing up coolers and towels in the morning, sitting in Steve’s passenger seat with Robin in the middle at the back, leaning forward the entire drive to ‘keep herself in the loop’ even though she’d been the one keeping the conversation going.

Then it was spreading out on the sand, towels in a row and sunglasses over your eyes as the sun beamed bright in the sky. Everyone taking turns going for a swim, Eddie’s curls an absolute mess upon his return, Steve shaking out his wet hair the way a dog would. You leaning into his chest in lieu of a chair once he sat down in his spot behind you.

Finally, it was coming home happily exhausted from a day in the sun and taking turns showering (because shared showers aren’t fun when sand’s involved).

You’re already cleaned up, your pajama shorts and tank top thrown on, hair still wet and dripping down your back. When Steve comes out of your bathroom in nothing but his boxers, you can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your mouth.

“What are you laughing at, honey?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Looking a little crispy there, Harrington.”

“Don’t make fun of me! I’m in pain!” Steve dramatically collapses onto your bed next to you, then winces at the scrape of the sheets against his sunburn. “Save me.”

“Poor baby,” you say, failing to hide your smile. His back and shoulders are reddened from the sun, along with his cheeks and nose, but nothing too horrible. You run a hand up his arm gently, “I did tell you to put some sunscreen on.”

“Not the time for ‘I told you so,’ babe, really,” Steve huffs, an arm thrown across his eyes—though it doesn’t hide the teasing smile that twitches across his mouth. “I’m dying here.”

“Oh, stop.” You squeeze his arm once before standing, “I’ll be right back.”

You walk over to your bathroom and find your bottle of aloe you keep under the sink (because Steve is prone to sunburns) and grab it before heading back into the bedroom, where he’s still sprawled across the bed.

“Turn over,” you say, “I’ll do your back first, okay?”

He obeys, shifting so that he’s laying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms. Despite his sunburn, you can’t help but admire the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin, the constellation of freckles that scatter across his back.

You feel warm and fuzzy whenever you get moments like this, quiet and full of trust, intimate and sweet, because you don’t think you’ll ever stop feeling lucky that you get to call him yours.

With the aloe in hand, you get onto the bed and straddle his lower back, and he sighs as your weight sinks him into the mattress a little bit further. Neither of you say anything—save for the appreciative hums escaping Steve’s mouth—as you massage the lotion into his upper back and shoulders.

Soon enough, you’re shifting off of him and patting his arm softly, “‘Kay, flip over, Stevie.”

He does, and pushes himself up to sit so that he’s facing you, that private smile of his that he seems to save for you on his face. He dips in to kiss you once, and then twice, because he can never seem to help himself. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back. “Almost done.”

You spread a bit more aloe across his nose and cheeks, on top of the freckles that you can only see when you’re this close, and press a peck to the tip of his nose before pulling back.

“Mmm, I feel so much better,” he says. “Maybe you should kiss me again, just in case.”

“You’re a dork.”

“You’ll still kiss me though, right?”

You roll your eyes but don’t protest a bit when he leans in and catches your lips again. Twice, because once is never enough.

“Let me do you now,” he says, holding his hand out for the bottle that’s now laying by your knee.

“I’m not burnt,” you laugh, “unlike some people, I remember to use protection.”

He gives you a look that he always gives you before he turns something into a joke, “that’s what she-”

You cover his mouth with your hand before he can finish that one, “okay, okay,” you hand him the bottle of aloe. “Here you go.”

He grabs it from you and nudges your shoulder to get you to lay back against the pillows, your damp hair fanning out. Steve copies your position from earlier, swinging a leg over so he has one on each side of your thighs.

Lifting the edge of your tank top gently, he shifts it up to rest just above your belly button, his hands coming up to hold your waist before he catches himself and remembers what he’s meant to be doing.

Admittedly, you’d let him do this for you, sunburnt or not, ‘cause he looks at you and touches you as if you’re the most precious thing in the entire world.

His hands are soft as they spread the aloe across your stomach, careful not to get any on the band of your shorts or the hem of your top, and his brown eyes are warm as they wash over your skin, from where his hands work up to your chest and neck and then your face.

When he’s done, he tugs your shirt back into place for you and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your mouth. Twice, of course.

“There you go,” he says, “pretty as ever.”

“Yeah, because I’m not sunburnt, Stevie.”

“Stop it and let me compliment you,” he says, moving to lay down beside you.

And when you’re tucked safely to his chest, as close as you can get no matter the temperature, you think that summer just might be your favorite season, humidity and all.

[dameronology]

stop, you're losing me (s.h)

taylor swift released a new song so here's a fic based on it. this doesn't have a happy ending btw it's just pure angst lol

warnings: language, angst, arguing

it's kinda short but i'm getting back into the swing of writing. love you all and thank you for bearing with me through the last few months.

jazz xx

If you stared at the wall for long enough, you could still see the shadows of what once. The rigid outlines of you and him, dancing around what had been an empty room this time two years ago; the contours of your bodies as you spent hours putting together furniture, desperate to make the space yours after years of uncertainty. Nailing pictures to the wall - you and him last year in Italy, the pair of you at a friend's wedding in the fall, school photos and yearbook pictures. Then, if you blinked hard enough, squeezed your eyes shut and peeled them back open, you'd see the room for what it was now. Empty; photo frames you'd foolishly brought, never used and collecting dust; a crease in the sofa where he used to sit, cold because he was never fucking home anymore. The shadows that used to be happy were tense now, backs arched and arms flailed, faces flexed from smiles to frowns and then pure rage.

It was just you. No Steve. No laughter, no tears, no anger. Emotions replaced by apathy and the man didn't have a clue. Maybe he was just fucking oblivious but every futile attempt, every conversation you'd tried to have on the matter, had been in vain. Maybe it had worked for a few weeks; a few weeks where Steve would come home early from work, bring you flowers and get you a booking at that one restaurant with some vaguely sentimental meaning to your relationship. Then it would go back to normal - late nights, forced conversations, and finally, the stand still. The moment where you'd realised your relationship was stagnant and whilst everyone was getting married or pregnant or buying a house, you were going no where. At least not with Steve.

He was home late as usual, just after 9PM. He came through the day, car keys and briefcase thrown to the side, top button immediately undone and tie coming loose. Steve barely looked at you as he moved across the living room, straight to the fridge for whatever leftovers he could fine. It wasn't until he turned around, mouth full of pizza and a can of Coke in the other hand, that he finally gave you a smile.

"Good day?" he asked.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, not bad."

"Good," he gave you another smile, breezing past you and to the bedroom. Door slammed, minor shuffling, and then he re-appeared, now in an old t-shirt and sweatpants.

Sometimes, you wondered if he sensed it too. The coldness in your touches, in your voice. The way there was always a massive gap between you in bed at night. If he had noticed, Steve sure did a good job of ignoring it. He always had, in a way. Even after everything - the Upside Down, the monsters, the darkness - he hadn't wanted to talk about it. Maybe he was clinging on to the familiar. Even when everything had changed, your relationship stayed the same. If only he'd known that was the entire problem.

You'd had faith for a little while, but then you'd lost it.

"Nancy called, by the way," Steve continued on, waltzing around the room - heating on, TV volume up, mail thrown onto the coffee table. "The baby's doing well. She's six months along now."

He passed by you, hand ghosting across the back of your shoulders. That was it. That was your physical contact for the day, unless he was feeling sweet enough to accidentally kick you in the night or brush past you in the bathroom when he washing up before bed.

"Steve?"

Your voice was low; enough to alert him. Steve stopped, turning to face you.

"Yeah?"

"I'm moving out."

His shoulders dropped for a moment - and then he laughed. He fucking laughed. "Yeah, good one. Your jokes are getting worse."

"I'm not joking," you said. "Our lease is up next month. I'm moving."

"Where?" his eyes followed you as you got up and walked to the kitchen. He was on your heels like a lost puppy, immediately by your side. "And when were you gonna talk to me about this? Do you mean...like, a place together? Or a place apart? Because I thought we liked this apartment. We do don't we, because of the sky lights, and the fancy fuckin' sinks in the bathrooms-"

"- the place isn't the problem, Steve!" you cut him off. "It's you."

"How?" he asked. "I thought we were good?"

"Look at us!" you snapped. "Of course we're not good! You're a stranger to me, Steve. I never see you, and when you do you're just...you're not there."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've just been busy with work, okay? I'll try harder."

"You always say that," you shook your head. "Why do I have to keep asking you to try? You should want to try. You should want to act like you love me. Am I asking too much by asking you to fucking love me, Steve?"

"Do you honestly think I don't love you?" Steve said. He looked defeated now; drooped shoulders, sad eyes, bottom lip folded like he was about to cry. "You're everything to me. You have been since we were sixteen years old, and you're seriously asking if I don't love you?"

"If I'm everything to you then why don't you act like it?" you quietly asked. "Why all this...brushing past me? Acting like we're just room mates?"

"I...I don't know," he murmured. "The way I felt about you hasn't changed-"

"- I've asked you so many times Steve - if something is up, if we need to talk about stuff, if I've done something," you cut him off again. "And you see me every day sat here, waiting for you to come home, trying to make conversation and you just...you do nothing. You ignore me. You ignore all my futile fucking attempts to make an effort and quite honestly I am done."

The anger had taken over now, taken hold on your brain and tinted the edges of the vision. It was red. Not pink, how it used to be when you were happy, or blue when you were sad, but still had each other. It was just red; scarlet for the realisation that you were stood opposite each other now and not beside one another. You weren't a team anymore.

"So...you're dumping me?" Steve sniffed. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Do you really want to lose me over this?' he asked.

You shrugged. "You've lost me already, Steve."

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

yk how it's a thing that dad's will see you like a fruit once and then will fill the fridge with that fruit? THAT but with our boy Steve? it doesn't have to be fruit, it can be anything. like u once mentioned u like something and next thing u know he keeps getting u stuff related to that. he does it so much that r gets frustrated a lil and tells him that they don't like that thing THAT much

hope that made sense<33

took inspiration from my own obsession with cups and my own flower teapot. gn!reader

he won’t stop buying you cups.

you told him once when he asked, “what’s with all the mixed-matched mugs?” and you told him, “when i go to the thrift store and find some that catch my eye i can’t help myself. plus it’s extra storage for my many knickknacks.”

and when your anniversary arrived that year, steve gifted you a white mug with a bright red ladybug painted onto the ceramic with my love bug written in looping cursive. you cooed and fawned over him about remembering that small conversation.

but now you’re gonna blow your top off. it was cute the first two times, but after the fifth one was a bit ugly, you’ve had to withhold from ‘accidentally’ breaking it.

“baby.” you looked away from a rerun of i love lucy to see steve standing in your doorway with his hands behind his back. wonder what it’ll- “look what i found!” and he pulled out a teapot shaped into a flower. it was so cute.

“oh, stevie…” climbing off your bed to meet him halfway. gentle palms holding onto the body and handle as your eyes took in the details and color.

“reminded me of you, of course. your love from drinking utensils and you’re my favorite flower.” pressing a kiss to your forehead for punctuation.

“it’s beautiful, but steve i have been meaning to tell you-“ “oh god is this a breakup pot!”

“what? no! no it’s not, absolutely not!” rushing to ease his panic. “it’s about the mugs.” pitching your voice down, worried about such a silly subject.

his brows pinched, “you don’t like them?” sounding just a bit hurt. “no i love them, it’s just… you don’t have to just buy me mugs!” unintentionally yelling. steve’s eyes bugged, taken aback, “woah.”

“i appreciate that you remember why i told you, but i don’t even have space for them anymore. and- and i would feel bad if i gave them away, but steve-“ gently placing the pot on the foot of your bed then eyes back to steve, “i don’t want anymore pots or cups, that’s final.” pointing behind you.

he licked his lips then sighed, “well i already knew you liked them so i know i wouldn’t mess up giving you gifts. i don’t want you to pretend to like something just cause i bought it for you.” looking at his hands.

“well i’ll be honestly,” reaching to curl a hand along steve’s, “i hated that clown one. haunted my dreams for weeks, had to hide it deep in my closet.” shuddering at the reminder and it caused steve to laugh with you following. “but seriously,” using your other hand to curl two fingers into his belt loops and give a tug, “you know me very well. so stop putting yourself down and remember, i love you even without constant mugs.”

[blckbrrybasket]

➠ slowly kissing over Steve’s skin, trailing them from mole to mole to connect them by an invisible string. you want to worship his body, but he’s never been able to lay back and accept it. he’s more of a giver than a receiver. when your kisses land on his jaw he takes advantage of the given space and mouths down your neck. Steve smiles against you when a small breathy sound comes from your lips. “Steve…this is about you.” he can’t help but chuckle, knowing in a few seconds you’d feel so different. “sorry, honey. i can’t help it. you’re just so pretty.” Steve cuts off your train of thought when he latches his lips to your skin, sucking gently. he relishes in his victory when your head tilts back to give him more access. Steve’s teeth roll your skin between them, feeling the capillaries pop, darkness blooming over the spot. “want me to stop?” he murmurs into you, hiding his smile when you adamantly shake your head ‘no’.

[magical-reid]

Into the Breach

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Prompt: 29 Prompt: 7: “Go with me?” “Only if you hold my hand.”

Summary: In the eerie, desolate landscape of the Upside Down, you and Steve face a terrifying creature together, fighting side by side with unwavering determination. After surviving the battle, Steve’s quiet confession and the comfort of his embrace make you realize that, no matter the dangers around you, you’ll always have each other.

The ground was sticky, soft underfoot, as if the earth itself were holding its breath. Tendrils of sickly gray mist slithered around your ankles, winding higher with each passing second. The air was colder than it should’ve been for a late June night in Hawkins, and it carried the sharp tang of something otherworldly—a scent that stung like ozone and blood.

You couldn’t stop staring at the gate.

It pulsed like a living wound carved into the earth, jagged and raw. In the dim light of the flashlights scattered around you, it glowed a deep, menacing crimson. You could hear it too—the faint, awful sound of something breathing.

And beyond it, there was something else. Waiting.

Steve stood beside you, gripping the bat in one hand, the spikes he’d hammered into it catching the light in quick, deadly flashes. His jaw was tight, his hair wild and messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times tonight.

“We don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

His eyes snapped to you. Hazel and honey-brown, full of fire and determination, but softening just a fraction when they met yours.

“Yes, we do,” he said, voice low, steady. “We have to stop this thing before it hurts anyone else.”

Dustin’s frantic voice crackled through the walkie in Steve’s back pocket. Something about Demobats, something about Nancy’s group needing time to set the trap. You barely processed the words. All you could focus on was the gate.

And the way Steve had shifted closer to you.

“We go together, alright?” he said, breaking through the silence. His hand found your arm, a warm, grounding pressure that you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to tell him you’d go anywhere he asked. But the truth was, you were scared—scared of what waited for you on the other side, scared of not coming back.

“Go with me?” he asked, his voice soft now, laced with something fragile and raw.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His face was open, honest, like he was letting you see every bit of him—the fear he wouldn’t say out loud, the hope that you’d say yes.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“Only if you hold my hand,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Something shifted in his expression. His grip on the bat faltered for half a second before his free hand reached for yours. His palm was rough, his fingers warm, and the way he held on—like he wasn’t planning on letting go—made something inside you ache.

“Deal,” he said, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips despite the situation.

You felt a little steadier, a little braver, as his thumb brushed over the back of your hand. He squeezed once, firm and reassuring, before leading you toward the gate.

The edges of the rift crackled as you approached, heat and cold and something electric making the hair on your arms stand on end.

“Stay close,” Steve said over his shoulder, his voice gruffer now, his shoulders squared.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, gripping his hand tighter as the two of you stopped at the edge. The sound of growling—low and guttural—echoed from the other side. Your stomach turned, but Steve’s hand didn’t falter in yours.

“On three,” he said, glancing at you one last time. “One… two…”

You sucked in a breath as he pulled you forward, the world twisting and cracking as you plunged into the Upside Down together.

The Upside Down was colder than you remembered. The air was thick with ash, swirling in lazy, malevolent spirals, and the trees loomed jagged and dead. It reeked of rot and decay, the kind of smell that clung to your skin and sat heavy in your lungs. Steve still hadn’t let go of your hand, and you hadn’t asked him to.

You could feel the heat of his body beside you, a stark contrast to the icy void of this place. His grip on the bat was steady, his knuckles white as he surveyed the shadows around you. Every snap of a branch, every distant screech, set your heart racing.

And then you saw it.

It emerged from the fog with a slow, deliberate gait, its claws clicking against the ground as it moved. It was grotesque, all sinew and bone, with a twisted, too-long body and a maw filled with rows of serrated teeth. Its eyes—if you could call them that—glowed faintly, like dying embers, fixed on you and Steve with unrelenting hunger.

Steve shifted in front of you instinctively, his body a shield.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and calm in a way that didn’t match the tension rippling through him. “Here’s the plan: I’ll distract it. You—”

“No way,” you interrupted, stepping beside him. “I’m not hiding while you get yourself killed.”

“Y/N—”

“We do this together,” you said firmly, gripping the crowbar in your hand. Your voice wavered, but your resolve didn’t.

He stared at you for a beat, something flickering in his eyes that might’ve been admiration—or maybe exasperation. “Fine. Together. Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

The creature lunged before you could respond, its claws raking the air where you’d stood seconds before. Steve shoved you aside, the movement fluid and practiced, as he swung the bat in a wide arc. The spikes connected with a sickening crunch, but the thing barely flinched, whipping its head toward him with a guttural snarl.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

With a shout, you drove the crowbar into its side, the metal sinking into the tough, rubbery flesh. It screeched, its body twisting unnaturally as it lashed out. You barely had time to duck as its claws sliced through the air above you.

“Y/N!” Steve’s voice was sharp, panicked, as he swung the bat again, aiming for its head. This time, the spikes found their mark, and the creature staggered back, its movements jerky and erratic.

You scrambled to your feet, adrenaline surging through you as Steve barked, “Go for the legs!”

Together, you moved in sync. You struck low while he struck high, the sound of metal meeting flesh ringing out in the desolate landscape. The creature howled, a high, keening sound that made your ears ring, but it was faltering now, its movements sluggish and desperate.

Steve delivered the final blow. With a shout, he drove the bat into its head, the spikes burying deep. The creature let out one last, pitiful shriek before collapsing in a heap.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the Upside Down.

Steve dropped the bat, his chest heaving as he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse. His hands found your shoulders, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you managed, though your legs felt like jelly, and your hands were trembling. “Are you—”

He didn’t let you finish. He pulled you into a fierce hug, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. For a moment, all you could do was stand there, your face pressed against his chest, listening to the wild hammering of his heart.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you didn’t dare name.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you said, trying to sound lighthearted, but the crack in your voice betrayed you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your arms. His face was smeared with grime, a cut on his cheek oozing blood, but his eyes—those warm, honey-colored eyes—were soft, shining with something raw and unspoken.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I scared you?” you shot back, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “You’re the one who went full monster bait out there.”

A laugh burst out of him—unexpected, short, but genuine. And then he did something you weren’t expecting. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Thanks for having my back,” he murmured.

“Always,” you replied, your voice steady now.

You stayed like that for a moment, the world around you fading into a dull hum. Here, in the middle of the Upside Down, surrounded by ash and decay and death, you found a sliver of peace.

And when Steve’s hand found yours again, you held on just as tightly as he did.