#steve harrington x (y/n)

[kennedy-brooke]

i constantly think about this fic. all. the. time.

forever one of my fav steve fics

i forget how much i love it and then i come to reread it and im left in awe all over again

Steve Harrington x fem!reader PART TWO [35K] another year at summer camp, more broken kayaks, a change of plans, a lot of wondering. meet us in the afterglow.

PART ONE

Tell me that it's not my fault

“Steve!” You yelled the boy's name on instinct when you saw him the morning after the cabin incident. “Hey, Steve!”

He looked startled to hear you, to hear his name on your lips when it wasn’t snarled or yelled. But he stopped anyway, blinking at you in the sunlight as you jogged over to him, hair still damp from the lake, leaving your shorts unbuttoned over your swimsuit. 

“Hey,” you said, softer now you were closer. “I heard about Billy.” 

Steve made a face that you tried not to smile at, his expression somewhat regretful, like he was expecting you to tell him off, something you would’ve normally done. Instead, you turned your attention to the cut on his cheek, the small scratch that still looked too fresh not to hurt. There was a bruise forming around it, blotchy blue and purple, high on his cheekbone. 

[THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (COVER) BY THE LUMINEERS]

You ached to reach out, to take Steve’s chin between your finger and thumb so you could pull him down to you, so you could kiss the mark better. “Are you okay?” You asked instead. 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, eyes darting around the forest floor, at the trees and the sun, before they settled on you. He swallowed hard and tried not to watch the drop of water that was running from the nape of your neck down your chest. “Yeah, m’fine. No big deal.”

You huffed, a familiar sound that made the corners of Steve’s mouth pick up, because you still sounded soft, huffy in a way that made him want to fix it. 

“That’s not what Eddie said,'' you told him, finally giving in and moving a little closer, toes of your sneakers pushed into the moss so you could peer at his injuries with concerned eyes. “He said you really went for Billy. That he’d never seen you like that before.”

Steve froze as you inspected his cheek, closer than you’d been in weeks. You still smelled the same, he noted, under your sunscreen and the lake water. Your perfume still clung to your skin and Steve watched with parted lips as you reached up to push some of his hair back in order to get a better look at his cheek. 

You kept your gaze lowered as you did so, careful not to move too fast, wary about making eye contact. But Steve didn’t move away. 

“S’nothing, honest. Just got out of hand.” Steve swallowed again, mouth too dry and Adam’s apple bobbing as his hand accidentally grazed your hip as he shifted. “Um, what else did Eddie say?”

You frowned, letting your hand drop from Steve’s face, albeit grudgingly. The boy was pleased to note that you didn’t move away. “Not much, apart from that. Why?”

Steve shrugged, feeling clumsy, feeling lovesick, like a teenager with a first crush, like a stupid boy who didn’t know how to function with a pretty girl so close. A month ago, he’d had taken this opportunity to pull you behind the kayak stack, nimble and sure fingers slipping down the straps of your swimsuit as he kissed you until you whispered his name the way he liked to hear. 

Instead, he gave you a small smile. “No reason. Hey, do I, uh, still have sand or somethin’ in the cut? Feels itchy.” 

Steve knew that the slice on his cheek was more than clean, he’d spent long enough cornered by Joyce as she squeezed cotton balls soaked in antiseptic over the injury, again and again until he batted her away with pleading eyes. But he was desperate for you to touch him again, to be this close to you without arguing. And if he couldn’t kiss you, well, maybe your soft hands on his cheek would just have to do. 

You took the bait, whether you’d seen through his plan or not, Steve didn’t care. You leaned in, fingers careful on his jaw as you tilted his face this way and that, close enough that your nose almost skimmed his cheek. Steve thought you were warmer than the sun then, a heat against him that he missed even more than he’d realised. He held his breath, clenched his hands at his sides and tried not to touch you. 

“Maybe there’s a little something,” you lied, “just there. Hold still.”

Steve did as you asked, frozen as you swept a gentle finger over the tender skin. You wanted to kiss the bruise, the mottled shape on his cheek that had darkened over night. But you kept your eyes lowered, movements careful, pretending to swipe away something that was never there. 

“Think it’s some sand or something,” you whispered. 

Steve licked his lips, hummed in agreement and let his gaze land on your face. You were just as pretty, he noted, even when you looked so sad. 

“What do you think of Shelbyville?” The boy asked it so suddenly that you stopped what you were doing, your hand paused against Steve’s cheek, your fingers splayed over his jaw. 

You wrinkled your nose, confused as you considered his question. “Shelbyville? Why?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just smiled a little weakly and made a half shrug with his shoulders, waiting for your answer. 

“It’s nice, I guess,” you finally replied, still confused but answering honestly. “S’pretty. My aunt lives there, out by Blue River. I like it.”

Something in Steve’s chest grew, an elated feeling that felt a little like hope, like a new possibility. “Yeah?” He smiled a little more confidently, brows raised. 

You still weren’t sure why he was asking, or why he suddenly seemed so happy but you couldn’t help but smile back. You nodded, squinting up at him through the rays of sun that had appeared through the tree canopy, turning you both golden. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. Grudgingly, you dropped your hand from his face, fingertips trailing down his jaw until you had no choice to step back, finding no reason to be so close. Not now. “There we go, all clean.”

Steve nodded, smile dropping slightly as you moved away, and his hand reached up to his own cheek, to the same spot you’d held. Like he was chasing your touch. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, just as soft. 

It hurt to walk away, it physically hurt. So you backed up slowly, like keeping your eyes on Steve for as long as you could would somehow help and the boy stayed where you’d left him, his hand on his sore cheek, staring at you as you made your way back to the dock.

Robin was there, a stack of lifejackets in her arms, the ones you’d dropped at the sight of Steve. You took them back from her, cheeks warm, gaze lowered. You watched as Steve finally left, almost walking into a camp sign, face burning pink as he frowned at it.

“What was that?” Robin asked, brows raised under her cap. It was on backwards and had been adorned with another patch, a purple Care Bear that had its middle finger lifted. 

You stared at her, wide eyed, as if that would help feign ignorance a little better. “What was what?”

“Bitch,” Robin scoffed, amused. “Don’t even try it.” She dumped more life jackets into your arms, laughing when you protested. “You’re not slick, you know.”

You kept your head down, a small shred of hope blooming in between your ribs like new flowers. If you smiled, Robin pretended that she didn’t see it. 

—————

“Capture the flag,” Hopper announced, standing to face the crowd of campers and staff alike. “Need I explain?”

The kids murmured excitedly and shook their heads, eagerly awaiting their weaponry as Murray weaved in and out of the groups with tiny balloons filled with coloured paint and an old, fraying piece of ribbon that was meant to be tied around an arm. “Red or blue?” he’d ask each kid, before grinning and giving them the opposite of what they asked for.

“Aren’t these supposed to go in paint guns, or something?” Lucas called out, squinting pitifully at the small balloon he held aloft. “These ain’t gonna do shi--”

“Language, Mr. Sinclair,” Hopper called back cheerfully. “And I’m so sorry, you seem to have mistaken our budget with Camp America. Take the damn balloons and pray you got a good arm, kid.”

The campers snickered and Lucas frowned, shoving a shoulder into Dustin who jostled Will and Mike, a red paint filled balloon popping prematurely and bursting over the smallest boy’s sneakers. Will sighed, a long suffering thing that was too weary for a preteen, and held out a hand for Murray to deposit another one into it. 

“Maybe we can do some fundraising for next year,” Murray added, making his way back to the front of the group. “I’m sure Mr. Harrington can help arrange something, right Steven?”

Every pair of eyes shot to Steve as he stood slack jawed and wide eyed, gaze finding yours in the confusion. You were looking at him with furrowed brows, wondering what on earth Murray could have meant. Next year? Mr. Harrington?

“Uh…” was all Steve had to say. 

Eddie snorted. Steve backhanded him in the stomach. You were still frowning.

“Team captains,” Murray announced, holding two more armbands aloft. These ones had a crown on each, penned on with black marker that had faded over the years. “Choose your leaders, people.”

It took approximately half a second for Eddie to shove Steve forward, sending him through a crowd of kids that squealed at the jostling. Unsure if it was planned or not, you swore when Robin did the same to you, nipping at your side so you squeaked. You glared at Murray when he approached, grinning wide. 

“This should be fun,” he drawled, teasing. His eyes flashed too much mischief for a man pushing fifty and you grunted your annoyance even when you grabbed the armband from him. 

You didn’t look to see if Steve did the same, but you heard his hissed argument with Eddie as you made Robin tie the material around your bicep, red cotton against your mustard yellow lifeguard shirt. 

“Harrington,” Murray announced. “Look sharp and uh, let’s keep it clean, huh, kiddies?”

When you finally spared a glance, Murray was looking between you and Steve, still grinning and the boy was knotting the blue band around his arm, his features pulled together in frustration. 

Hopper was pinching at his eyes, looking pained. “For the love of god, any destruction of property, will be coming out of your fu— out of your paychecks.” The man sighed, already tired and he huffed. “Take the damned flags and don’t trash my camp.”

And then the game began. 

The camp was alive with noise and colour, the sounds of kids laughing and screeching as they launched tiny paint balls at each other, all strategy and planning out the window after Eddie and Jonathan launched a sneak attack on Robin, dousing her in blue paint that they dropped from a tree. Subtlety was gone after that and the kids ran amok, abandoning their positions until you were the only one left defending the flag, an old ratty, red thing that was shoved up high and behind the stacked gym mats inside the hall. 

You were bored hearing the screams from outside, pacing the gym as you waited for either a teammate to return (Max and Will had left ten minutes ago for more supplies, but you heard the sorrowful sounds of Will being pelted with balloons mere seconds after leaving the gym. Max had snorted and left him behind), or for an opponent to try their luck at capturing your flag. You weren’t sure which option appealed less, as the semi silence you were left in gave you too much time to think. 

Why did Steve ask about Shelbyville of all places? Why did Murray talk like Steve was going to be here next year?

Outside, you heard someone yell, someone shriek and then a casualty was declared as Dustin yelped about having paint in his eye and how Max was playing too mean. You considered leaving, going to check everyone had it all covered but you heard Joyce fuss, kids giggling and soon enough, the game kicked back off. 

The late afternoon was turning to evening when the doors finally jolted open, a squeak and a whine of the hinges that let in the last of the golden coloured light, the sky turning pinky peach through the old, cracked windows. 

You turned to face your opponent with a balloon in your fist, already raised and aimed at the doorway. 

Steve. 

You sighed, trying your best to seem unaffected even though you could feel your own heartbeat in your ears. You pushed the toe of a sneaker into the gym floor, making it squeak. “This seems clichéd,” you joked. 

The boy snorted, a light huff of air that eased the pounding of your chest. “Right?” He agreed. “But Eddie got disqualified for unfair use of weaponry and fuck knows where Billy led Mike and Lucas.”

You frowned, genuine concern evident in your voice. “And no one thought to check on them?”

Steve shrugged, grinning. “S’fine. Mike’s been taking karate classes. Apparently.”

It was easy to joke like this. Just like it had been easy to forget about how Steve walked away from the cabin trap set by the kids, how you’d run to him the minute you found out he was hurt, how it was easier still to put your hands on his jaw, his cheek, play pretend and fake act nurse. 

But suddenly the last few weeks, the last few months, caught up to you and you were more aware than ever that August was soon approaching. You wondered if Steve’s room back in Hawkins was already packed up, if his carpet was covered in cardboard boxes, if his mom and dad would travel to Arizona with him, if he already had his class schedule, if he still really wanted to go. 

“What’s in Shelbyville?”

“What—?”

“Do you know someone there? And why did you hit Billy? Was it something to do with me?”

The boy was reeling from your onslaught of sudden questioning and the attention made him burn. “What? No,” Steve scoffed, trying and failing miserably to appear cool and collected. “Why? What did Eddie tell you?”

“What’s going on, Steve? Why’s Murray calling you Mr. Harrington, why are you—” 

“It’s nothing!” The boy interrupted. “Nothin’s going on.”

“Stop lying to me!”

Steve swallowed and let out a sigh that hurt his chest, a stuttering, wrenching thing because your eyes were turning glassy and he saw the way you caught yourself as your bottom lip started to tremble. 

“I’m no— I, fuck, I’m not trying to lie to you, it’s just…” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Princess, listen—”

A paint balloon landed on Steve’s hip, a barely there thump but the ball exploded with red paint, splattering across Steve’s clothes, his shirt, his forearm. He blinked up at you, lips parting in surprise. 

“Don’t call me that,” your words were thick with emotion, your lips in a tight line as you tried your hardest not to break. “And stop lying to me. All you’ve done is lie to me.”

Steve was speechless, holding his arms out before letting them drop back to his side in defeat. “I haven't lied to you,” he said mournfully. “At least I haven’t meant to, shit, it’s been— hard, okay? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I know it’s been hard Steve, but god, tell me the truth! At least admit it to yourself.”

“What truth?” Steve yelled, grimacing when you flinched. He immediately felt awful, but the frustration in his chest was simmering over, clawing its way up his throat. “What do you want me to say, huh? That you were right? That I’m some kind of fucking loser that’s doing as daddy says? That I’m so stupid that only the way I can get into college is if I let my dad pay my way in?”

He threw a paintball at the floor, only feeling slightly bad when some of the colour reached the toes of your shoes, your bare shins. Bright blue streaked across your skin and you frowned, at the mess and Steve’s words. 

“You’re not a loser,” you growled, annoyance colouring your tone. No one was allowed to talk shit about Steve Harrington. Not even himself. Not to you, at least. “And you’re not stupid, Steve. Stop it.”

Another paint balloon was thrown, this time by you, a careful aim that caught Steve’s chest. He swore, staring at the bloom of red over his staff shirt before he glared at you. “Hey, the fuck was that for?”

“You’re not a loser and you’re not stupid and your dad is a fucking bully who can’t be happy for his son’s own choices.” You launched another, huffing when Steve managed to avoid it, paint exploding over the gym floor instead. 

“Stop!” Steve retaliated with his own weapons, chucking a blue balloon at your thigh, feeling a tiny flush of satisfaction when it burst all over your tennis skirt. 

“Are you still going to Arizona?” You were near breathless, adrenaline high as you held another balloon in your hand, ready to take aim. 

“No!” Steve burst. He swore, dropping the last balloon and groaning when the paint hit his feet. He scrubbed his hands over his face, streaks of blue over his cheeks and into his hair as he tugged on the ends. “I don’t know. Fuck, I— no. I don’t want to. I never fucking wanted to.”

You dropped your balloon too, red on the floor, on your shoes, your ankles. You stared at the boy, shocked as his admittance, despite how you’d known it all along. You weren’t sure what to do now, what to say. But tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, hot and heavy. 

You sniffed, tears gathering at your lash line, making the boy before you blurry. You took a deep breath before your next question, wondering if this is the one that would hurt the most, but before you could, Steve spoke first. 

“You said I didn’t call you back,” he sounded as wrecked as you felt, his words thick and clumsy, his eyes holding too much emotion to try and decipher. “That night, after the party, you said I didn't call you back. When? When did you call me?”

You were stunned. One, that you’d admitted that, and two, that Steve had remembered. The vodka you’d had that night made the memories blurry, but you could recall your head buried in Steve’s chest, his sweatshirt on your frame, his cologne and leftover campfire smoke amongst cotton sheets. A mumbled confession, sad words and sleep. 

You shrugged, helpless. “Fuck, I— I called you the night after. The night after you told me about college. I rang and your dad answered.” You swallowed harshly, looking anywhere but at Steve. “He said you were busy. Said he’d tell you I called.”

If Steve had felt an annoyance, a disdain, for his father before, nothing really compared to the anger that burst in his chest like a bomb. “What?”

You shrugged at him again. 

“Ba—” Steve groaned, tugging at his hair until it stood on end. He said your name, agonised. “I didn’t know you called. I— fuck, I would’ve called you back. I spent fucking weeks standing at the phone wishing you would, tryin’ to work up the balls to call you myself.”

Steve stepped forward, once, twice. “He didn’t tell me. My dad didn’t tell me you tried to get in touch.” Steve’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out and take your own. “I would’ve called you back. Fuck, I would’ve driven straight over to you and—”

Steve didn’t get to finish his sentence before you’d launched yourself at him. You didn’t know what any of it meant, not yet, not really. You didn’t know if Steve really was going to stay, what that meant for you both, what would happen next. Nothing could be fixed right now, not right away, not in the middle of the forest during a game of capture the flag, but you decided then and there - covered in paint - that eight weeks was too long to go without kissing Steve Harrington. 

He caught you, arms around your waist as you crushed yourself to his chest, your hands finding the hair at the nape of his neck so you could tug him down to meet your lips. Steve went willingly, your toes barely skimming the floor, your T-shirt tangled between the boy’s fingers as he gripped you like he’d never dream of letting you go. 

Not again. 

Not ever. 

It was a messy thing, that kiss. It felt new, like a reset, a restart, like the first time all over again. Your noses bumped and you breathed in the air that Steve blew out, a sigh, a swear, lips pushed together until either of you could handle it anymore. 

“I thought you hated me,” Steve mumbled against your mouth, eyes closed tight and his arms still around you. “Fuck, I thought—”

“No,” you told him, hands covering his jaw, thumb soothing over the apples of his cheeks, the cut that was still there. “No, no, could never. Could never hate you.”

Your feet were back on the ground now, the toes of your sneakers pushed to the gym floor, stepping in paint as you both swayed slightly at the desperation of each other's grip. That’s all Steve seemed to need to hear, because the boy dipped his head back down to yours and kissed you soundly, with more confidence than the first time, like he suddenly remembered that he knew how to do this.  His hands were up your shirt, fingertips skimming along your spine, palm flat to your skin to hold you to him so he could kiss you deeper, slower, longer.  

And when you parted your lips for him, you weren’t sure who made the first noise. But you whined and Steve groaned, tongues licking over each other’s, four hands getting greedy, pulling and shoving at camp shirts to feel more. 

“I don’t wanna go to Arizona,” Steve whispered, and you pulled back enough to soothe a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes. He looked at you so seriously that you felt it in your chest, a sharp pang of hurt and relief for the boy. “I don’t wanna study finance.”

“I know.” You nodded, bringing him back to you, kissing over whatever part of him you could reach. His jaw, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his closed eyelids, his chin. “I know, it’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy, you know that right?”

Steve nodded too, nose bumping yours as he stumbled backwards, clumsy footing taking you both away from the middle of the gym. “I know, baby,” he sucked in a breath. “M’sorry.”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

He had you up against a wall before you realised, head tilted down to you as he nuzzled at your throat, your head tipping back so you could let Steve do as he pleased. He nipped at the skin there, kissing along your neck until you cried out his name and god, the hands he had on your waist just squeezed tighter in response. 

“Shit, Steve,” you sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. “I should be the one apologising, I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did, I should’ve—”

“Nonono,” Steve shook his head, catching your lips for another kiss again, swallowing your noises as you whined for him, fingers twisting and tugging meanly at his hair, the collar of his shirt. “Don’t wanna talk anymore,” he groaned. “Not right now, please…”

[MEDICINE BY HARRY STYLES]

“Storeroom,” you told him, nodding towards the double doors that led into the large cupboard, away from any prying eyes that would eventually come into the gym. “Now.”

Steve was apparently as desperate as you were, because he didn’t take his lips off of you, even as you both stumbled towards your chosen hiding spot. Feet tripped over each other as you made it across the gym, hands still in his air and tugging him down to you. Steve didn’t seem to mind, groaning loud when you sighed and tipped your head back for him, letting him lick and suck at your neck. There was paint smeared everywhere, splatters of red and blue mixing to make a lavender colour, streaking your skin and Steve’s. 

And then the door to the storeroom was wrenched open and Steve was guiding you in with a tug of his hand. It was funny how your stomach flipped, a nervous excitement, an anticipation hooking in your stomach like this was your first time with the boy all over again. Except you knew what he liked and you knew how to make him fall apart so easily, which is why you didn’t hesitate to throw yourself at him, Steve’s back against the wall this time as your hands cradled his jaw and you pulled him down to meet your kiss. 

Shoulders bumped old shelves, metal ball cages that were only half full now that the summer was coming to an end and there were stacks of old oars leaning against three kayaks, each plastered with patches of new paint that didn’t match the original colour. A quick fix it job that Steve had been tasked with last summer after he flat out refused to hand over the three hundred dollars Hopper demanded for a new boat. 

You thought of that stupid jar on your managers desk and wondered if it would be worth it. 

But once you’d pulled back, just a touch to look up at Steve, your mind was made up. The boy looked wrecked, tanned skin messy with paint, streaks of it running across strong forearms, dots of  it somehow mixing with freckles across his cheeks and nose. You’d gotten red paint in his hair when you’d grabbed at it, making it messier than ever. But Steve didn’t seem to care, nor if the way he was looking at you was any indication. Heavy, hooded eyes on you, roaming unashamedly over your face, your frame, the way you’d pushed your thighs together for some relief. He was already hard, thick and strained against the zipper of his jeans at the very first touch of your lips against his. 

Yeah, it would be worth it. 

“Missed you,” he whispered, reverent, ruined. His hands reached out for you again, fingers twisting in the sides of your shirt to pull you back to him. “Thought that was it, thought I’d never get to have you like this again.”

You made a noise of protest at the thought, a hiccuping thing that Steve swallowed with a kiss, his breath coming out heavy against your cheek. You were impatient now, too worked up, desperate for him. Your hands snuck under his shirt, slipping up and over his stomach, smiling when the muscles there clenched and twitched under your fingertips. You raked your nails back down him, anchoring yourself to his belt loops, wondering if he’d let you do what you wanted him with, if he’d be patient enough. 

Steve was working his mouth over your neck when you asked, his own thumb pulling at your shirt collar to try and stretch it out for himself, uncovering more skin to kiss. 

“Steve,” you were breathless and he hummed, never stopping the way he sucked and bit down at the crook of your neck. “Wanna suck you off.”

The noise that left the boy’s lips was unholy, a needy, wrecked sounding thing that had you more desperate to get on your knees than ever. Your hands went to the button of his jeans, popping it with a finesse that made Steve’s eyes flutter. 

“Please,” you added for extra effect, like you didn’t already know Steve would give you whatever you wanted. 

“Fuck, honey,” Steve pulled back, just slightly, his head falling backwards until it thumped dully against the wall. His pupils were blown wide, his hold on your waist tightening, hands sneaking under cotton to steal a touch of your skin. “You want me to fuck you, right?”

You nodded immediately, lips parting at the thought, head going fuzzy at the idea of having Steve inside you again after what felt like a fucking lifetime. Two years of regular sex had spoiled you, and not even your own fingers in a private Sunday morning shower had gotten you past frustrated. “God, yeah, yeah I do.”

Steve nodded like he knew, like he understood your frustration and well, he probably did. He reached up to trace a thumb over your bottom lip, hand cracking your jaw as he pulled it from place, watching awestruck as it popped prettily back into place when he let it go. You whined, moving closer, chest to chest and wrapping your hands around his wrist, anchoring him to you. 

Steve let out a quiet curse, breath uneven and watching you from under his lashes, bringing his thumb back to your mouth. He teased you just a little, rubbing the pad of it over the seam of your lips, taking it away every time you tried to part them. But when he saw you getting glossy eyed and restless, he gave in, sinking the tip of his thumb past your lips and resting on the soft of your tongue. 

Steve groaned when you whined, pulling you closer by one hip and wedging a thigh between your legs for you to push yourself against. His gaze was locked on your mouth as he dragged his thumb out past your lips, just a little, just enough to see the slick skin and the way your tongue chased it, curling around the digit. His cock twitched with jealousy in his jeans. 

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered to your doe eyed stare, your wet lips. “Can’t let you get your mouth on me, princess, m’sorry. Wouldn’t last a fucking second.”

You bit down on his thumb as some kind of argument, frowning when Steve slipped it from your mouth. But before you could protest, he was back on you, hands carding into your hair and pulling you flush to him, tongue on yours in seconds. You moaned into the kiss, a heavy, dirty thing that made you lick into him deeper, grinding yourself down on the thigh he’d so kindly given you.  

It didn’t take long for Steve to lose some patience - or maybe it was control - but he was effortless in the way he spun you both, trading places so he could pin you against the wall instead. You thought about resisting, thought about playing hard to get and keep up the pretence of still being mad but Steve’s mouth was on your throat and his hand was sneaking up the inside of your shirt. 

“Baby,” you squirmed, lashes fluttering, body boneless against him. You clung to him for dear life, fingers clutching his shoulders, his shirt, his hair. “Please.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, but it made Steve moan, a rumbling noise that vibrated through his chest to yours and he pulled back just to peck at your lips, your cheek, your jaw. “Say that again,” he murmured, voice thick with an endless affection. His lips were swollen, pouty and pink, his eyes glazed over for you. “Call me that again.”

Your body buzzed, your brain foggy and it took a few seconds for everything to catch up. Steve was still looking at you, pleading, his hands kneading at your hips, your thighs, like he didn’t dare stop touching you. 

“Baby,” you repeated again and you see the relief in Steve’s gaze at the word. Affection, fondness, love, affirmation. He needed it too. So you pulled him back down to you, hands curled in the front of his T-shirt collar, kissing along his jaw and chin until he groaned and caught your lips with his. “Babybabybaby,” you mumbled against his mouth, sighing prettily between kisses, pulling him closer than necessary, scared he’d disappear. 

It was a needy kiss that turned dirty, the ache between your legs making you nip at Steve’s lips, pull at his hair a little meaner, rake your nails down the back of his neck and pant into his open mouth. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” you whined, your declaration messy and garbled as Steve kissed you between words. “Missed you so much.”

Steve nodded his agreement, eyes half lidded and heavy as he let you yank at his shirt, pulling it off and launching it over his shoulder. It hung from some racks, old metal shelves filled with broken gym equipment and a box camp hats that no one was made to wear anymore. 

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “Jesus Christ, c’mere.” Steve pulled you back to him, your own shirt joining his, your plain white bra the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He tugged at the straps until they slid down your shoulders, baring more skin for him to kiss. “Missed you too, you’ve no idea.”

Something about the admission seemed to kick everything into high gear and Steve was mouthing across your chest as he slipped a hand up and under your skirt, teasing at the elastic edge, fingers gripping and pulling until it snapped against your thigh. 

“Kept dreamin’ about you,” he confessed, whispering the words against your throat like something unholy. “Kept wakin’ up with a mess in my fucking boxers like a damn teenager ‘cause I’d fall asleep and dream about how you tasted.”

His fingers slipped past the cotton barrier, swiping achingly slow through your folds, parting them and feeling the slick there. You both moaned at the feel, one foot coming up to rest on the edge of a kayak, keeping yourself spread open for Steve. He swore and you felt his grin, a pleased and proud smile that settled against your chest. 

“Good girl, that’s it, keep your leg up for me, honey.” Steve didn’t bother taking your underwear off as he sank to his knees, he just hooked your thigh over his shoulder and his fingers into pink cotton, tugging them to the side. “Fuck,” Steve hissed, eyes flickering from yours down to the shiny wetness between your legs. “Look at her, honey, still just as fuckin’ pretty, she missed me too, yeah?”

Fire nipped at your stomach, a fast roll of electricity under your skin at the boy’s words and suddenly nothing bad had ever happened, you’d never broken up and Steve had you pinned against his shower wall, cold tiles on your back and sticky, dirty words pressed onto your skin. You whined, a loud cry that Steve grinned at and you nodded, quickly realising that you’d agree to anything Steve asked. 

“Yeah, she did,” Steve cooed, moving closer to kiss along your thighs, nosing at the crease where your leg met your cunt. “She’s drippin’ for me, shit, just begging for a kiss, huh?”

“Steve,” you hissed his name, half desperate, half a warning, canting your hips forward until his lips brushed against your folds. He pulled back a little, smiling wide, like he was having the time of his life. “We’re hardly in the privacy of a hotel room, fuck, c’mon, please.”

“S’where I’ll take you after camp,” the boy promised, voice low and sticky soft. He ran his mouth over your folds, a barely there kiss that made rise up onto one set of toes to chase his lips. “Gonna take you somewhere real nice, princess, gonna make up for this summer, gonna fix it, I promise.”

He was babbling, eyes closed as he kissed up and across the soft of your lower stomach, nose dragging through the soft curls below until he could lick a line over you, not parting you just yet, just teasing, tasting. 

You were breathless, body bowing over Steve’s head as you grabbed at his hair and held on. If you wanted to meaner about it, if it was two months ago and he was teasing you in your bedroom, laughter on his lips, you would’ve pulled his hair and rode his face, giving in and making him moan. 

But Steve was whispering promises into your skin like apologies and even in your pent up haze, you still had questions. “What about - fucking hell, Steve -  what about Arizona?”

“Later, I’ll explain later,” was all he said, before he parted you with two thumbs and licked a slow, wide stripe from your entrance to your clit. 

Steve knew how you liked it, had two whole years to learn what you loved, where to touch, where to kiss, when to slow down, when to speed up. He kept his eyes on you as he swiped over your clit, a soft, little kitten lick and that made you squeak and buck your hips down onto his face. The kayak you had one foot rested on groaned in protest. 

You heard him whisper praise into you, filthy, pretty words that you barely heard over your own heaving breaths and your head fell back against the wall when his tongue worked its way around your entrance, licking over you, nose nudging at your clit as he did. 

“Fuck, princess, she’s just crying for me, isn’t she?”

You could only whine, a soft, high pitched thing that made Steve palm at his cock through his jeans, pulling you onto his face with his free hand. He kept up those slow, lazy licks through your cunt, only speeding up when you started to roll yourself over his mouth. He groaned, a dirty noise that made you want to grab at him but you were hurtling towards an orgasm that you’d hadn’t been able to give yourself for weeks. 

“M’gonna come,” you whispered, your throat tight, your voice wrecked. “Steve, Stevie, please, I’m gonna come.”

The boy didn’t dare take his mouth away from you, not even to whisper encouragement. He just snuck his hand from your thigh to your ass, squeezing you tight and he coaxed you further onto his tongue, silently telling you to rock yourself over his mouth, to take what you needed. And as your noises got breathier, needy, little whines that turned into groans, Steve took your clit into his mouth and sucked at the same time he slid two thick fingers into you, hooking them in place and rubbing.  

You gushed around his fingers as you came, a sob ripping from your lips as your body gave in and bowed over Steve’s, hands clutching at his shoulders, his neck, trying to keep yourself up. Aftershocks jolted through you as Steve grinned, tongue seeking out your clit even still, licking over it softly as you came down, holding you in place as you tried to jerk away. 

“Steve,” you gasped at him, pushing softly at his forehead until he gave in, running kisses up your thigh and stomach as he stood. “Fuck, baby, fuckfuckfuck—”

“How’d you want me?” He gaped out, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from your fingers and his lips glossy from the way you’d ground yourself against his mouth. “Huh, princess? Tell me, I’ll give you it, I swear.” The boy was desperate, clinging to you, his hands on your jaw as he dipped in for a kiss, groaning wild when you licked yourself from his lips, sucking the taste of yourself from him. 

You couldn’t really think, words coming out in strings of pleases and curses, begging for something you didn’t know how to ask for. So you pulled at the belt on Steve’s jeans instead, shoving the denim down his hips, just enough for you to pull his cock out and show it some proper attention. Steve’s eyes glazed over as you pumped him, thumb swiping over his leaking tip, your mouth kissing along his chest. 

He groaned, a gasping, rough sound that you knew so well and Steve shook his head, batting away your hand before he came all over it. He patted at your hip, held his hands out for you. “Up,” he commanded. 

You hopped easily, Steve’s hands catching your bare thighs, palms curving around your ass as he turned and set you upon the stacked kayaks. You were just the right height for him to slip into you, but he kept you waiting, playing with himself as he pulled down the cups of your bra, freeing your tits for him. He thumbed over an already hard nipple, watched in awe as it pebbled even more and he licked his lips, cock nudging at your thigh. 

“Like this?” He asked you quietly, running a hand down your front, curling his fingers around your throat, squeezing gently at your chest, your hip. He was everywhere at once. “Could fuck you like this, or I could bend you over, huh?” 

The kayak stand shook a little when Steve tugged at your calf, bringing you closer to the edge and his cock. You had zero faith the boats would withstand the movements that were about to ensue, but you honestly couldn’t find it in you to care. 

You’d help Steve burn the camp to the ground, as long as he kept touching you. 

“Like this,” you whined and god, you sounded bratty, needy, the way Steve liked it best. “Need to kiss you,” you told him and it was the truth. You were as desperate to kiss and hold and look at the boy as much as you were for him to finally fuck you. 

Steve’s expression softened then, melting brown butter, his gaze sugar sweet. He leaned in, nose nuzzling yours as he kissed you, a one, two, sweet peck of a thing before your mouth fell open for him and you were gasping his name. 

“Steve!”

He’d slid into you easily, caught your noise with his lips, kissing it away as he groaned through it too. You were soaked still, but the stretch and burn of taking him again for the first time in months was apparent. You whined, clutching at him, letting the boy coo and soothe you with kisses everywhere, scattered pieces of affection dotted over your nose and cheeks. He felt you clench around him, tighter than ever, and his hands found your jaw. 

“Honey - Jesus Christ - baby, look, hmm? Look at me, baby.” Steve sounded almost serious, his tone low and soft, determined for your eyes on his. He caught your jaw, cradling it as he pulled out of you, just enough for the tip of him to stay inside of you, throbbing. “There we go, there, that’s it, princess.”

You could’ve let your eyes slip shut at the pleasure of it all, lips parting and jaw falling slack when Steve thrust forward again, a slow and steady rhythm that kept you stretched out and wet for him. But you knew that Steve wanted you to keep gazing at him, his own eyes heavy and half lidded as he leaned in, his forehead against yours, his stare hot as he picked up his pace. 

“S’fucking amazing,” you moaned for him, almost unaware of the shuffling and banging noises you were both beginning to make. The kayaks were bumping into the wall with each rock of Steve’s hips. “Fuck, keep going, please.”

It turned harder, faster. A dirty snap of the boy’s hips against yours, his hands everywhere, one holding a thigh wide, the other tangled in the hair at the nap of your neck, a hot and commanding hot that made you arch your back for him. Steve grunted at the push of your tits bare against his chest, skin on skin and your bra, a tangle of wire and straps around your ribs, your skirt tucked up to meet it. 

“M’really not gonna last long,” the boy admitted, his chest heaving, his eyelashes fluttering as he glanced down at your spread legs, the soaked cotton of your underwear stretched at the seams around one thigh, the slick, shiny wet of you coating him with each rock of his hips. “Fucking hell, s’too much, so fucking good.”

The sound of skin on skin and the rattle of kayaks filled the small room, the soft glow of the sunset coming in from the tiny window that was partially hidden by old gym mats. It turned you both bronze, shades of gold and rose and copper in the light, breathy gaps and whines that morphed into moans as you both reached the edge. You weren’t sure how long it had been, if the game was still being played, if someone had captured your flag - or Steve’s - if a whistle had been blown. 

Fuck, it didn’t even matter that camp was ending next week, that you’d go back to Hawkins and live a life without the boy. Maybe. Maybe? Would you see him again? Before he left? Would you go to his parents house and stand in the same driveway you left him in and let him leave you? Would it hurt less or more after this, after you let him kiss you in the shadows, in the last bit of the sun? Would this fix it? Would it matter, once you had your clothes back on?

It was like Steve could tell you were floating away from him, like he could see you trapped in a box in your own head. He tugged gently at your hair, nudging his nose against yours and worked his cock somewhere deeper inside you. He tilted his hips up until you gasped for him and he smiled, nodding against you as you caught him for another kiss, swallowing his soft “there you go, honey, just focus on me.”

You couldn’t take much more after that, emotions and the feeling of Steve hitting that pretty spot inside of you over and over and over suddenly becoming too much. You blinked at him, body flush with his, clinging to his shoulder, his neck, his messy strands of hair. Neither of you mentioned your glassy eyes, the stuttering sob that broke in your throat when you told him:

“Need t’come, Stevie.”

Steve just kissed you sweetly, a lingering push and pull of his lips against yours that felt warmer and softer than a summer morning. Steve Harrington was still the afternoon sun and blue skies, those endlessly big clouds, the sound of a creek, the splash of a lake. He was blue raspberry popsicles and pink lemonade, he was the taste of honey, the smell of cedar and wild mint. 

He was still yours. 

You were sure of it. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, letting a hand fall to your cunt so he could flick over your clit, thumbing soft circles as he started a dirty grind of his hips into yours. “Gonna come for me, honey, yeah? Gonna come with me?”

And you did, easily. Too easily. Your whole body tightened around him as you came hard, crying out and blinking back tears. Steve was quick to follow, losing his rhythm as his hips stuttered, his face pressed to the crook of your neck as you petted his hair and whispered to him, pushing him closer and closer. 

“Baby, where can I—”

It was strange to hear him ask the question. Of course, it had been asked before, a few times, years ago, when sex with each other was new and exploratory, when condoms were still used and the afterglow was filled with shy laughter and out of breath kisses. 

Then comfort and familiarity grew between the tension, and intimacy took over from that new excitement. It was even better, knowing each other like that, being able to touch and feel and know what the other liked, the easiness of falling asleep stretched out beside each other, naked and ready for toothpaste kisses and a shared cup of coffee the next day. 

You missed it. 

You missed all of it. 

“Inside,” you whined, eyes clenched shut as Steve swore and pulled you closer still. “Inside, please.”

Steve kissed you when he came, a mash of his lips against yours, an open mouth groan that you swallowed, a clumsy, aching thing that made you want to keep him this close forever. 

But then the kayak underneath you squealed loudly, an ugly protest as it dug too hard into the stack beneath it, the shell of it splintering. You swore, clinging to Steve with both arms and legs before he could even pull out of you. He took your weight just as the boat cracked, a jagged hole in the bottom of it taking your count of destroyed call equipment to an all time high. 

The silence was deafening. 

Eventually, Steve spoke. His arms were still tucked under your thighs, his face at your neck, close enough that you could feel the twitch of his grin. “Maybe we could hide it. Y’know, before anyone sees.”

You laughed, a tired sounding thing as you tightened your hold around the boy’s neck. You wanted to kiss his cheek, his temple, his forehead, you wanted to love on him until either of you could take it anymore. You never wanted this to end - at least not with another broken kayak. But camp was almost over and August was crawling closer. So you hummed, shrugging. “We could throw it in the lake. It would sink, at least.”

—————

Neither Hopper nor Murray believed you when you told them you’d hurt your foot in the scuffle of capture the flag, as convincing as your limp may have been. And they certainly didn’t believe you both when you claimed Steve was there to help. 

Hopper had narrowed his eyes at the marks on Steve’s neck, the mess of your hair, the rosy tint to each of your lips. You both shrugged, staring at the forest floor before Murray had snorted, breaking the tension and sending you both back to your cabins. 

No other questions were answered that night, especially seeing as Murray was ten feet behind you both at all times, trailing you through the forest with a flashlight as he whistled jovially, ensuring you both ended up in your respective beds. So you took one last look at Steve and smiled, somewhat hopefully, maybe a little sadly, before you clambered up the porch steps and into the darkness of your bunk. 

You didn’t get a kiss goodnight. Or was it supposed to be a kiss goodbye?

I don’t wanna lose this with you 

On the last Saturday of camp, Steve took a deep breath and made his way out of his cabin. 

It had been a long week, the last days busy and filled with games, tasks, a swim meet, a gymnastics competition, Eddie’s musical extravaganza show - his title, not yours - and a campfire story every night. 

The kids were filled with marshmallows, made up of sugar and sunshine, tan lines and freckles littering their faces, messy hair smelling of sunscreen and the lake. Everyone was happy. That soft, slow kind of joy that faded into melancholy as the days turned over. For those last few days you’d spent at the lake, you regretted asking Hopper to let you run swimming with Billy more than ever before. 

It kept you away from Steve, all the way across the camp so all you could do was try to keep your eyes on the kids in the water and wave at the boy when your eyes met. It was only a little embarrassing, that kind of childish, first crush kind of interaction, eyes meeting, cheeks warming, hand raised to say whatever it was you couldn’t to his face. 

Not yet, anyway. 

It was made even more painful with Billy lingering behind you, still sprawled on the same deck chair he stared the summer in, minus his sunglasses, because his broken nose was still too tender for them. 

“Could you get more pathetic?” The boy scoffed, a little nasally, biting down on the toothpick between his teeth. “Honestly, Hawkins, you’re too hot to pine.”

You scowled, flicking your towel over your shoulder so the corner of it whipped at the boy’s shoulder. He glared at you as much as he could with his sore face. 

“I’m not pining.”

“Moping then,” Billy offered, grinning. “Either way, it’s disgusting. I thought you two were over.”

“I wouldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning, Hargrove,” you squinted at him through the sun, sparing a glance when Dustin pulled himself onto the dock, only to barrel roll back off of it. “What makes you think I’m discussing my love life?”

The boy huffed, a smirk on his lips, mean and cruel, like always. “Or lack of,” he commented. “You think one quick fuck can solve your problems? You think that what you got between your legs is good enough to make Harrington stay? Defy daddy dearest? Even Harrington isn’t stupid enough to turn down a free ride.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared stone faced at the water, watching the way the sun changed the ripples from white to blue to gold

Billy scoffed, taunting. “Keep dreamin’, princess.”

It hurt, his words. Billy Hargrove was a bully, a mean boy that liked nothing more than to make other people hurt as much as he did. You knew that. You’d always know that. But all that was left of you and Steve’s encounter in the gym was a fading lavender bruise on where your neck met your shoulder, a blurry bite of evidence that it had actually happened. 

Your scowl deepened and you decided that being close to Billy wasn’t helping your mood. 

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

—————

On the last Saturday of camp, you sat in your bunk, wondering if you’d be brave enough to do something about the gnawing want in your chest. 

You hadn’t been spying, not really, but it had become harder to ignore how often Steve seemed to disappear in and out of Hopper’s cabin. You’d spotted him through the window when the kids were eating lunch, everyone else distracted by the pizza party Robin and Bob made for the last weekend of the summer. But Steve was sitting with Hop and Murray, heads bent over the desk, pieces of paper scattered on the wood. 

Hopper had looked pleased. Maybe even proud. Murray was chatting animatedly, hands waving, eyes bright. 

Steve had looked the most hopeful you’d seen him in weeks. 

But you didn’t get the chance to ask what was going on, because Nancy was dragging you out for one last hike and El was pulling at your hand, pleading for you to join them. You couldn’t say no and you were half way up the hillside when Steve eventually emerged, a folded piece of paper slipped into his back pocket. 

And when you returned, bug bitten and tired, you tried to seek the boy out, only to find him through the office window again, his back leaning against the cabin wall as he bent his head, eyes closed and the office phone pressed to his ear. You couldn’t hear, not from so far away, not over the yells of excitement from the campers as Eddie brought out guitars and old drums, but you were almost certain Steve was yelling, a frustrated furrow between his brow before he dropped onto the sofa with the phone cord wrapped around his wrist. 

You could’ve gone to him then. Knocked on the door and offered your hand, a smile, maybe a hug. And maybe Steve would’ve told you what was going on, maybe he would’ve explained everything. But it didn’t feel like the time, it didn’t feel right and Mike was pushing an out of tune guitar into your hands and challenging you to some sort of battle. 

Steve returned to the camp pit soon after, his eyes a little red but his smile seemed sincere when Dustin ran to him, a faux sort of tackle that made Steve catch him round the middle. They grinned as they wrestled, laughing brightly and the air around the older boy seemed lighter than it had in weeks. When Steve caught your eyes over the kid’s head, he smiled. A real thing, pink cheeked and achingly full of love, that sticky sweet kind of adoration that you’d missed so much it had hurt. 

—————

On the last Saturday of camp, Steve knocked on your cabin door. 

It was late, well after dinner and the kids were in their bunks full of sloppy joe’s and chocolate pudding, telling stories by flashlight, trading cards and secrets while they finished off their stashes of candy. Twilight had set in, that hazy lilac light that came after the sun had set and the forest was falling asleep. Cicadas buzzed in the depths of the trees and fireflies grazed the edges of the lake, that green-yellow glow that made you want to stay up a little later. 

The knock came as Robin was painting her toenails, a cherry red she’d stolen from you, her damp hair wrapped up in a towel. She didn’t even look up at the sound, just slicked another coat of polish over her nail and said:

“That’ll be for you.”

You frowned from behind your book, setting it down with the pages splayed so you wouldn’t lose your place. The story of two star crossed lovers that pined for each other seemed more addictive than it usually would’ve been. 

“M’not expecting anyone.”

Robin just huffed out a laugh and nodded at the door. “Don’t keep him waiting, babe.”

You padded barefoot across the cabin despite your confusion, sleep shorts high on your thighs and thank fuck you’d decided against wearing Steve’s staff sweater to bed, because the owner was standing on your porch when you opened the door. 

“Hi.”

He had his shoved in his pockets and he looked flushed, slightly out of breath like he’d ran over. And maybe he had, considering it was lights out hours and no one was supposed to be out of their bunks. 

“Hi.”

Steve smiled just as you did, a dopey, lovesick thing that felt awkward and lovely all at once. He shuffled on the wooden boards before he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to something you couldn’t see amongst the trees. “D’you wanna go for a drive?”

It was the easiest thing in the world to nod your head yes, trying to hide the smile that was making your cheeks ache. You dipped your chin as you turned back to your bunk, grabbing the sweater you kept under your pillow, avoiding eye contact with both Steve and Robin as you pulled it over your head. The material dropped to your thighs, the boy’s name stitched over your heart. 

“Have fun and don’t get caught,” Robin warned cheerfully. She waved her nail polish brush between you and Steve before you had the chance to pull the door closed. “If either of you come back crying, we’re having words.”

You snorted, cheeks warming as Steve ducked his head with the same awkwardness. “We are?” You joked. 

“Uhuh,” Robin nodded, “full intervention. Eddie will be here.”

“God forbid,” Steve deadpanned, wrinkling his nose at you when you laughed. He tugged his sweater sleeve, his fingers brushing over your wrist. “You comin’?”

You looked down at Steve’s hand like you weren’t sure whether to take it or not, if you were supposed to slip yours into his, fingers intertwined. But you nodded again, that little, shy smile still on your lips that Steve hadn’t seen in so long. Together, you walked between the cabins, keeping to the treeline and the shadows, smiling fondly when you heard the giggles and whispers from inside the kids' bunks. You were almost at Steve’s car, the BMW parked up in the makeshift lot behind the gym, when you both stopped in your tracks at the sight of someone else out in the dark. 

Murray was walking back from the mess hall, a mug of something hot in one hand, an oversized cinnamon bun in the other. He was in slippers and a tartan bathrobe, his jovial whistling coming to a slow stop as he spotted the two of you out of bed. 

“Shit,” Steve groaned, squinting awkwardly at the man. He raised a hand, half a wave, half a sign of defeat. “Murray, we weren’t—”

“That’s weird,” Murray interrupted, looking around the wooded area theatrically, eyes wide. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone.” The man shrugged before looking right through you, whistling again as he passed. 

“Wha—?” You were stunned, both you and Steve pivoting in the mossy ground, brows raised. 

“Must be the wind!” Murray announced again, continuing his walk back to his own cabin. “But if it was a couple of rogue staff members, I’d be sure to tell them to be back by midnight. You know. If I saw any.”

Murray turned back before he took a turn in the path. He didn’t say anything else, but he winked and raised his mug before disappearing. 

—————

You didn’t ask Steve where he was driving you. Honestly, you didn’t mind. Didn’t care. The passenger seat of the BMW was as familiar as your own bed, a sense of ownership and melancholy hitting you in the chest as you clicked your seatbelt into place. Steve smiled as you tucked your knees up, legs bare and feet shoved into unlaced converse, his grin widening when you fiddled with the radio dials until the mixtape he had playing turned up a little louder. 

[TWICE A FOOL BY #1 DADS]

The windows were down as Steve drove down a road you’d travelled before, the wind still warm from the heat that made the day suffocating, the smell of pine needles and wild mint lingering on it. The breeze picked at your hair and Steve’s, lifting the strands until they were brushing your cheeks and sitting between your lashes. 

It was all sunburnt cheeks and sore knees, achy and bone tired from a whole summer of hikes and swimming in the lake, chasing kids who were too adventures along the creek beds and hanging from tree branches when the sun went down. 

The smell of sunscreen, lake water, lemonade, Steve’s cologne, wildflowers, home. 

It was a broken heart that was still splintered around the edges, the anxious gnawing feeling of the possibility of loss, of something new and unwanted, something you couldn’t control. It melted into hope, into the idea of reaching out and holding Steve’s hand until he gave you something to cling to. 

Steve wouldn’t drive you somewhere pretty and quiet and peaceful, just to break up all over again. Would he?

So you sucked in a breath - pine needles and wild mint and mountain air - and reached out to where Steve’s hand lay idle on the stick shift. Your fingers brushed his, cautious, nervous and he looked from the road to you with surprised eyes. Shock turned to warmth, like he’d spent the last ten minutes wondering the same things you had, sharing the same worries. He flipped his hand, palm outstretched, waiting for you to slide yours into his. 

Your thumb found the scar on the back of his knuckle, the small silver line that he got four summers ago, from helping a tiny Lucas Sinclair try archery for the first time.

So Steve kept one hand on the wheel and his other in yours, a small smile on his face that seemed so content, full of a fondness that rivalled the warm comfort of the wind in your face, the lavender shade of the sky, the way the moon was just starting to rise over the mountains in the distance. 

Everything was tall trees and the distant trickle of a creek, a long road that turned to gravel and dirt and Steve. You held his hand all the way to the lake. 

It was the same one you’d been to before, two years prior with Robin on a day off, Eddie and Steve trailing with you in a last minute change of plans. The last time you’d been on this shore, you’d had an odd realisation that you didn’t actually hate the boy you were supposed to hate. Now, as you toed off your shoes and stepped into the same sand, you were overcome with the urge to ask Steve if he still loved you as much as you loved him. 

Anxiety rippled over you the same way the lake lapped at the shore, and you suddenly hated the silence you once cherished. You could hear the wind between the trees on the other side of the water, the quiet trickle of the creek that fed into it, the soft huffs of Steve breathing. 

Neither of you said anything when Steve shrugged off his shirt, letting it drop at his feet. His shoes joined yours in a pile and you watched as he closed his eyes, just briefly, the stress leaving his body. His shoulders dropped, his jaw unclenched and when he opened his eyes again, he was looking at you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t prompt you into anything, but you pulled off your sweater too - Steve’s sweater - wiggling your hips until your sleep shorts fell and soon you were in your underwear, some cotton mismatched things that were less than enticing. 

But it made Steve grin, the daisy print on your bra familiar, one he’d seen so many times before. His belt buckle clinked in the night and soon, his jeans were on the sand and he was hopping out of them as you laughed. 

It was the most simple thing to do, to follow him into the water. 

[SKINNY DIPPING BY SABRINA CARPENTER]

The night made the lake cooler, an inky navy thing that nipped at your skin for the first few seconds. But you let it swallow you whole, waist disappearing, shoulders dipping under, hair slicked back and eyelashes dripping beads of it.   

Steve followed suit, a warmth underneath the water that your body recognised, his own hair clinging messily to his forehead as he ducked under the surface, hands brushing your ankles briefly before rejoining you. It went like that for a little while, the sky getting darker, the lake ready to copy. There were stars on the surface, a mirror-like reflection when you weren’t making ripples. So you swam circles around each other, Steve’s car parked up on the sand, the mountains in the distance, tall trees all around. There wasn’t a sound except the small splashes of water, the soft bubble of laughter when either of you swam too close and your shoulders bumped. 

 Steve ducked under one last time before he resurfaced, swiping at his hair before he took a breath and told you:

“Hopper offered me a job.”

You blinked at him, lips parting so you could start asking one hundred questions. But Steve beat you to it, treading water as he smiled a little shy. 

“The whole, ‘Mr Harrington’ thing, that’s what that was about,” he shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. Water dripped from his chest, his neck, rolling into beads from his messy hair. “Uh, him and Murray, they’re opening this community centre for kids. S’gonna be a year round thing. After school, weekends. They, uh, they want me to manage it.”

You gaped at the boy before the smile you couldn’t contain started lifting the corners of your lips, a ridiculously happy thing that made your eyes crinkle and your cheeks ache. You thought about Steve - your Steve - running after kids all day, tired but content, paint stained and giving quiet pep talks, glitter in his hair as he clapped his hands and yelled for order. 

“Steve,” your voice was almost too loud in the night. It shook, a trembling, overjoyed sound. You were so happy for him, even if you didn’t know what this meant. “You’d be perfect for it— if, if you want to take it, that is.” The unsaid hung between you, the elephant in the room that was the size of a whole other state. 

Steve held your gaze and smiled nervously. “It’s in Shelbyville.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Oh,” you said slowly, realisation dawning on you. Things were starting to make sense now. But instead you said in a whisper, “that’s much closer than Arizona.”

Steve laughed softly as you tried not to sound hopeful, but there was a sticky, cloying ball of emotion stuck in your throat and it was barely holding back the tears. What you were almost crying for, you weren’t overly sure, but Steve moved a little closer, ankles brushing yours under the water. You could count the freckles on his nose by moonlight, you could see the faded green ink on his bicep from where El had tried to give him a ‘tattoo’ two days ago. 

“It is,” Steve agreed and there was a smile on his lips, a barely there thing that you wanted to rub your thumb over. “It’s so much closer than Arizona. Like, thirty minutes on a good day.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what Steve was trying to say. Hope bloomed between every crack of your ribs like wildflowers and it was overwhelming, breath catching, it made you want to make a break for the shore and beg the boy not to crush your heart again. 

“Steve—”

“I don’t want to go to Arizona,” he interrupted. “I never wanted to go to Arizona. I— fuck. You were right.”

You shook your head. “That’s not the point, I didn’t want to be proven right.”

“I know, but you were. It was all my dad,” Steve smiled and it was sad. “He came in one night after a day of golf and like, eight martinis. Told he spoke to an old friend and boom, handed me my whole future on a piece of fucking paper.” Steve laughed, dry and humourless and you moved closer still, close enough that your thighs grazed his and you could see the hurt in his eyes. “He didn’t even ask, you know? Just sat down at the dinner table and told me what I was doing for the next ten years of my life.”

You could imagine it. So easily. Michael Harrington’s imposing figure in a sharp suit and slicked back hair. You’d always wondered if it was once as wild as his son’s, if he ever liked the same music or spoke about movies and games with the boy. Michael Harrington was a straightened navy tie and a leather briefcase, polished shoes and numbers on a sheet. 

“He told me he knew what was best for me,” Steve continued and his voice hit a crack that he didn’t even blink at. “He told me that he was my only chance and making something out of myself, that without his help, I’d spend my thirties and forties stacking shelves and regretting having a kid with you before we were twenty five. He told me I needed his help, even if I didn’t know it yet.”

Anger bubbled inside of you, intense and hot enough that you were surprised the water around you didn’t bubble and hiss. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “Steve, you know that’s not true right? Your dad— shit, Steve, when was the last time you ever needed your dad?”

You waited as the boy thought, confusion on his features as he struggled to recall a memory. Eventually, he shrugged. “When I was sixteen, seventeen maybe. Crashed my first car trying to show off to my friends. I was shit scared on the side of the road. Everyone else ran. I walked to a pay phone and told him I needed his help.”

You raised your brows, waiting. 

“He told me to fix my own mess.”

More anger, a surge of it, pushing at your chest, making tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you shook your head, hands coming out of the water to finally touch Steve. You clung to his damp shoulders, still warm from the sun even now. 

“You don’t need him,” you whispered fiercely. “You never needed him. Not then, not now, not for your future.”

The boy smiled, sad and tired, if not a little relieved. “I know that now.”

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” you swallowed hard, pride and stubbornness going down with it. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t make it easier for you, I was just so— so sad that you were going to give everything up for something you didn’t want.” You let your hand trail to Steve’s neck, thumb brushing the spot under his ear, an unbelievably soft touch. “You know I would’ve supported you completely if it was something you wanted to do, right?”

Steve nodded, his hands finding your waist, bringing you closer. 

“But finance? Fucking finance?” You made a face and Steve barked out a laugh, a sharp bright sound in the dark and it made your chest ache, hearing such a happy noise from him. 

He nodded again, humming in agreement before he gave in and hid his face in your neck. “Fucking finance,” he repeated. “I hate numbers.”

You laughed too, watery and happy at being so close. His touch was overwhelming, stubble on his jaw scraping at your throat, his lips ghosting at your jaw when he smiled. “I know you do,” you whispered and god, your voice was thick with affection. 

There was more silence for a minute, a long, slow moment suspended in the water, holding each other, feet brushing the bottom, your arms wound around each other. An owl called out from a tree and somewhere in the distance, a car revved its engine. 

“I took the job.”

You froze, unblinking, scared to move, scared to talk. Eventually, Steve lifted his head from your neck and he studied you, waiting for your response, cheeks pink and eyes nervous looking. 

You wondered if your heart had stopped beating, if the world had stopped spinning. You couldn’t fathom another reason for the stillness you felt at his words. “What?”

The boy cleared his throat, his big hands squeezing gently at your waist, the tips of his fingers brushing the band of your soaked bra. “I took the job,” he said again, a look of amazement and incredulity on his features, like he still couldn’t believe it himself. “I told Hopper yes.”

Those wildflowers? The ones filled with hope that had wound their way into your chest? They flourished, blooming bright and big until the garden grew and grew and your bones cracked with the enormity of it. 

“Steve—” you tried to say more, but nothing came out.

“My dad didn’t take it all that well,” he shrugged, grinning now, like he was suddenly weightless. He looked brighter, even in the night. “Yelled a lot, but I think we’re gonna have a talk when I’m back, a good one, y’know? He didn’t seem as… fucking furious when I told him about the job.”

“In Shelbyville,” you said, like you need clarification. You wondered if this was a dream, a really mean one. 

Steve laughed, grinning all pretty. “In Shelbyville,” he nodded, looking at you through his lashes, tired and happy and feeling like things might just be okay. He hoped they’d be okay. “C’mon, let’s get you dry and warmed up, yeah?”

So you let him lead you out of the lake, a blanket pulled from his trunk that the boy wrapped you in first. You let him rub at your shoulders, your chest against his, sand sticking to your feet, water dripping from Steve’s hair onto yours. You were staring at him, still shellshocked, eyes wide and disbelieving and it made him laugh; soft, sweet thing. 

You dressed with eyes on each other, wandering, lazy, greedy, seeking out the bare skin that you’d missed touching, kissing. And when damp legs were pulled through shorts and Steve’s sweater was back on your frame, you crawled into the front of his car and let the boy pull your calves over the console and into his lap. 

He traced shapes there, copied the constellations from above onto your skin, joining freckles and scars until they made up a Milky Way and you could let your head rest against the window, languid, happy. You weren’t sure what all of this meant for you and Steve, but you’d go back to your bed happy, knowing that Steve was. 

“Shelbyville isn’t far from Hawkins,” Steve murmured softly, his cheek against the driver's seat, his eyes on you. He smiled, shy, unsure. “Maybe you could check it out with me after we get home.”

You smiled, tired, the night a yawning thing through the windscreen. It was nearing midnight, the moon above the mountains and the sand glittering on the car floor. “That sounds nice. You think you’ll move?”

Steve nodded, shrugged, nodded again. “Maybe? Eventually.” The boy swallowed, nervous. “Could find a house by a creek, big yard. Big enough for a dog.” He squeezed your knee, a longing touch. “A start of somethin’ new, maybe. Somewhere different. Us. If you’d want.”

You thought about it, about the savings you’d both piled together, the extra shifts, the clip outs of apartment listings in downtown Indianapolis neither of you really wanted but could just about afford. You thought about the late night talks with your cheek pressed to Steve’s pillow, trying to hide your smile as you both whispered about houses with flower boxes and a tree you could hang a swing from, maybe a porch, maybe a lake you could walk to on the weekends. 

‘Are we fixed?’ You wanted to ask. ‘Were we broken?’ You wondered. 

And maybe Steve could sense your questions, maybe he just knew you that well. His hand swept from your knee to your ankle, fingers curling around, warm and soothing. His thumb stroked over the top of your foot, playing with your untied laces. 

“S’okay, if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know you’ve got your job in Hawkins, I know your family is there. I don’t— I don’t expect us to just, you know, act like nothing happened.” Steve didn’t sound as nervous as before when he said, “But I know I love you. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t— that’s not changed.”

It didn’t surprise you, not really. You knew the boy still loved you. You saw it when he looked at you, when he frowned at Billy when he got too close, spoke too boldly . You saw it when you strayed too far, when he searched for you in the crowds of campers, when he helped your drunk self into his bed, when he refused to take his sweatshirt away from you. Still, relief flooded you and your breath hitched, emotion catching in your chest. You held out a hand, palm up on your lap, fingers spread for Steve’s to link between. 

He let go of your ankle to do just that, fingers twisting, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles. He looked just as hopeful as you felt as he gazed back, all shades of navy and lavender in the night. 

It was too easy to say, “I know I love you, too.”

Meet Me In The Afterglow

[YOU’RE SO COOL BY HANS ZIMMER]

The last of the kids left Camp Upside Down the way they arrived: in a flurry of colour and sticky hands, forgotten backpacks left on porches, teary eyes as they hugged their favourite counsellors. 

You were left behind with Steve as the rest of the staff left one by one, more hugs exchanged along with new email addresses and promises to visit different cities and states before Christmas. And when the parking lot was just settling from clouds of dust and dirt, Steve appeared from Hopper’s office, a small folder in his hands, signed contracts and a set of shiny new keys. He twirled them around one finger, a smile on his face he was trying to tamp down with a crinkle of his nose and you raised a brow at him. 

“Hey, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve let out a low whistle, joining you in between your two parked cars. He leant against his BMW and made a show of looking you over. “Oh,” he grinned. “Say that again?”

You laughed, slapping at his shoulder before pinching the papers and stealing it from him. You looked over the print, smiling warmly at the official look of it all. Full time hours, managerial role, pension plan, holiday pay. Hopper and Murray’s signatures were at the bottom with Steve’s and you looked up at him and beamed. 

“Are you happy?” You asked. 

Steve seemed to consider the question for a moment or two before he nodded, hair falling into his eyes that he didn’t bother brushing away. He pushed himself off his car with a foot, taking the two steps it needed to lean in close to you instead. He brushed away an invisible piece of dust from your shoulder, took it as an excuse to brush his thumb across your neck, ‘cause two months apart made him feel like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore. But you did you both a favour and leaned into it, lashes fluttering when his big hand cupped your jaw. He let his thumb push softly against your bottom lip in lieu of a kiss. 

“Yeah, I’m really happy, princess.” Steve let out a small laugh, a breathy thing full of surprise. “It’s stupid how I happy I am.”

You turned your head to catch his palm, pressing a soft kiss there that made the boy turn pink, a flash of affection warming his eyes and it only made him drop his hand from you to tug you closer, fingers catching the belt loops of your shorts. 

“What ‘bout you?” Steve asked quietly. A hand crept up the side of your shirt, fingers seeking warm, soft skin and familiarity. “You happy?”

You nodded, pushing yourself closer to the boy, hands running over broad shoulders. It was easy to touch him again, even though your heart thundered like it was two summers ago and you were like a preteen with a crush. But you’d missed him too much to let that get the best of you. 

“I’m happy,” you murmured. “We got jobs, roofs over our heads, friends, families that don’t wanna disown us—”

“Still to be determined,” Steve quipped. 

You tutted. “It’ll be okay, handsome. And you’ve got me.”

Steve turned soft for you, brown eyes caramel and sugar, lips lifting back into a smile, thoughts of his parents forgotten. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. A promise. “Always got me.”

The words seemed to soothe him and if the birds above hadn’t stopped chirping at the right time, you wouldn’t have heard him whisper a ‘love you’ into your hair when he turned to kiss the side of your cheek.  

“You’re gonna be a whole forty minutes away from me,” he grumbled, like it was an awful, awful thing. A hardship. 

You were both - maybe more you - determined to take it slow before rushing back in. Steve asked you to help him find a new home, an apartment in Shelbyville, maybe even a small house. You’d agreed enthusiastically with the promise to talk about moving in together in six months or so. Despite the joy that leaked out of you like summer and warmth, there was a lingering sting of rejection in your chest. You knew it wasn’t the case, but you’d spent a while with thoughts that told you Steve picked Arizona over you. 

“S’not far,” you told him. “I’ll stay over, you can come round on weekends, it’ll be great. We’re taking it one step at a time, remember?”

Steve stole a kiss, a barely there press because he was smiling too much. His contract was a crush of paper between you. “We’ll see.” 

FIVE WEEKS LATER

Steve had found a house in Shelbyville that quickly became a home. 

It was a small thing out by Big Blue River, a patch of land just outside of town where the river led into a creek and wild raspberries grew in the garden. You helped him move in, watched from your car as he hugged his mother and received a firm handshake from his dad. They didn’t help him into his new home, but they invited you both for dinner the following weekend, so it placated Steve enough. 

So you spent days at your job in Hawkins, a bag of clothes always in your car so you could drive to Shelbyville after work, music blasting, engine sputtering. You’d take turns making dinner, cooking some pasta as Steve built a bookcase, a lopsided coffee table, hung up his favourite movie posters a little squint. But the house was filled with Steve and a little of you, photos of you and the boy dotted around the house, Polaroids of your friends stuck to the fridge with magnets. 

It got harder to leave each time. 

It got harder to leave when Steve kissed you senseless against your car in the evenings, a slow building, needy thing that came with wandering hands. It was lazy mornings with a shared pot of coffee, a bed with soft sheets that smelled like him and you, your body wash in his shower, your clothes in with his piles of laundry. It was long lies on the weekends with the promises of a walk along the river, lunch by the creek laid out on a blanket, the sun on your cheeks and Steve’s head resting on your lap as he made you laugh with stupid jokes. 

Then one night your car broke down before you could make it out of the yard and Steve didn’t hesitate to pull you back into him, humming thoughtfully. He was all hands, sneaking up your skirt, pushing back your hair, lips against your neck, soft enough to make you shiver. 

“Guess you’ll just have to stay,” he murmured against your jaw. 

You snorted, “I need my car fixed, Steven.”

A shake of his head, his lips still on your neck. “S’a piece of shit anyway, princess, been yellin’ you for years.” It was cheeky enough for you to pinch at his side but the boy only grinned and took your face in his hands, cradling your jaw. He turned a little more serious, smile still there, but his words were determined. “I’m serious, babe. Stay. Please.”

“I just stayed all weekend,” you told him, your fingers tracing patterns along his collar. Your heart was thundering. “You’re not sick of me?” 

Steve tutted, acting up. “You know that’s not what I meant. Move in. I want you to move in.” He nuzzled your cheek with his nose, smelling like cedar and mint and sunscreen. “Wanna live w’you.”

So the next day Steve gave you the keys to his car and painted the bedroom your favourite colour. You told your parents, who were unsurprised, packing up bags and boxes with your things, a bubble of excitement in your chest that you didn’t think would pop anytime soon. The drive to Shelbyville from Hawkins was like the drive to camp, and the same anticipation of a new adventure was in the air. You drove down roads lined with tall trees, wheat fields that turned golden past the old water tower, the beginnings of Big Blue River greeting you at the bridge. 

And when you turned down the dirt lane that took you to Steve’s house - your house - it felt more like home than ever. The shutters were painted sage green, the flower boxes beneath the windows filled with blooms, and the old oak tree round the back looked the perfect height for a swing. A dog didn’t greet you, not yet, but Steve did, with all the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever. 

Neither of you bothered with your bags, not right away, because Steve was pulling you from the front seat with a smile on his face that rivalled the sun. Steve Harrington was summer and sunscreen and lakes at night. He was mountain hikes with sixty kids, he was car racing out of town, he was sneaking out, sneaking in, he was lemonade, he was broken kayaks and hiding in the gym, he was arguing, he was kissing to make up and everything you ever wanted. 

He was yours.

And he was staying here. 

[keeryhours]

zombie movies & first kisses - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female Henderson! reader

Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

Dustin thinks Steve and his sister would make a great couple. They’re both obsessed with each other, they just don’t know it. They just need a little push.

Just first date fluff :)

Warnings:

None, just Steve fluff, kissing, zombie movie references

Word Count: 3,321

A/N:

Excited to get my first Steve story posted! Joe Keery holds my heart in every role. I hope you enjoy this little fluffy story! Requests are open.

—

“She does not like me.” Steve sighed, scooping the mint chocolate chip ice cream and placing it on the waffle cone. He handed the ice cream to the waiting customer with a forced smile.

“She totally does,” Dustin said with full confidence as he leaned against the counter, watching Steve work. “She has Mrs. Harrington doodled all over her notebooks. I’ve seen them in her room.”

Steve laughed. “For some reason I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Dustin asked, throwing his hands in the air. “You think I haven’t snooped in her room to find all the embarrassing stuff she writes about?”

“It’s not that I doubt your level of nosiness,” Steve said, moving on to helping the next customer. “I just think you’re lying because you want me to embarrass myself by asking your sister out.”

“Oh my god,” Dustin groaned, getting frustrated with his older friend. “I am not trying to embarrass you. She likes you. You’re practically obsessed with her. You’re both obsessed with each other, really. But neither of you will make a move!”

Steve considered his words as he took another order. “You’re not messing with me? You actually think she’s into me?”

“Dude, I know she’s into you. Just ask her. She might pass out on the spot, but she’ll say yes when she wakes up.”

Steve laughed. “Okay, okay. Maybe when I’m not in this stupid uniform, though.”

Dustin asked Steve for a ride home after he and Robin got off work. Steve agreed, but took the time to change out of his Scoops Ahoy uniform and into a pair of jeans and a shirt with the first button undone before he left.

Steve’s mind was racing as he drove towards the Henderson house, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel nervously. Dustin didn’t miss it, watching his friend with a smile on his face.

When they pulled up outside of the house, Steve was relieved to see Dustin’s mom wasn’t home. She could be a little overbearing.

Steve walked with Dustin up to the front door of the house, following him inside as he let himself in.

You were lounging in the living room, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a rainbow t shirt that clung to your body in just the right way. Steve gulped when he saw you, his heart rate picking up.

“Hey, sis,” Dustin greeted you, a big dumb grin on his face.

You looked up from the TV, a shy smile spreading across your lips as soon as you saw Steve. You worried all of a sudden that you should have picked a cuter outfit, should have done your makeup.

“Hey,” you greeted your brother. “Hi, Steve.”

Steve smiled at you, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest at the sight of it. He was just so cute, you could hardly handle being around him.

“I’m going to get started on my homework,” Dustin announced before scurrying out of the room before either of you had the chance to say anything. You briefly thought about how it was summer and he didn’t have any homework, but Dustin was always up to something weird so you just brushed it off.

Steve stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before he slowly walked closer. “Uh, how have you been?” he finally asked.

“Good,” you answered. “I’ve been working at the movie theater for the summer.”

“Oh, cool!” Steve said, and he seemed genuinely interested. “Do you, uh…like it?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” you said. It was pretty cool as far as jobs go, you got to see free movies whenever you wanted and your coworkers were fun. “How’s Scoops Ahoy?”

Steve felt embarrassed at the mere thought of you seeing him in his uniform. “Oh, it’s fine. Free ice cream, you know.”

“That does sound nice,” you said, smiling at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling down at his feet. “Hey, uh, actually,” he began, his eyes moving back up to meet yours, “I wanted to ask you something?”

“What’s up?” you asked, looking at him curiously.

Steve looked nervous, which wasn’t something you had seen very much from him. “Um, I was just wondering, you know…if you’d want to go out with me this weekend?”

Your eyes went wide at his question. “Like- like a date?”

Steve smiled at that - you weren’t outright rejecting him, and you’re just so cute. “Yeah. I was thinking like a date.”

You blushed then, looking down for a minute before you met his gaze again. “Sure. Yeah, I’d love to.”

Steve’s smile grew. “Yeah? How about Friday night? At 7?”

“Sounds good,” you answered, butterflies in your stomach already.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” Steve said, the grin staying on his lips as he turned and walked back towards the front door. “Later!” he called as if both to you and Dustin, before he was out the door.

You waited a full minute after he left before you grabbed a pillow from the couch and pressed your face into it, screaming and kicking your feet.

Dustin came running into the living room.

“Did he do it???”

—

When Friday rolled around, you spent the entire day freaking out about the date. You started getting ready early in the day, starting with a shower, where you took the time to thoroughly shave, not missing a single spot. You dried your hair afterwards and spent ages styling it until it laid just right. You went with a more natural makeup look, which took a lot more time than it looks like. You finally dressed in a short brown skirt and white top.

Dustin was excited for your date with Steve, but even he was at his limit by the time you got ready. He was sick of you staring at yourself in the mirror and asking his opinion on a million different outfit combinations.

When the doorbell rang, you were still looking in the mirror, making last minute touches to your appearance. Dustin answered the door, a huge grin on his face.

Steve stood there, looking nervous and handsome. He wore a button down shirt and jeans, his hair styled perfectly. He held a bouquet of roses in his hand. Dustin just looked at him with that dopey smile on his face.

“Hey,” Steve greeted. “Is your sister ready?”

“Yeah,” Dustin answered, moving out of the way to let Steve inside. “She’s been done for at least an hour already but she won’t stop looking at herself in the mirror.”

Dustin yelled for you as he followed Steve into the living room. Your heart beat hard in your chest as you took one last look in the mirror before leaving your room.

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw you - you always had that kind of effect on him, but you looked especially beautiful tonight.

Steve told you so as you approached, and you smiled and blushed as you took the bouquet from his hand. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and it sent jolts of electricity through your whole body.

You brought the flowers to your nose, smelling them - they smelled lovely, fresh - before you said, “I should go get these in some water,” and scurried off to the kitchen.

Steve could hear the sound of water running moments later, and Dustin would not stop smiling at him like a crazy person. You were back before they knew it, smoothing down a piece of your hair as you walked.

“Ready to go?” Steve asked, holding out his arm for you.

You smiled as you linked your arm with his, and then the two of you were headed towards the door.

“You kids have fun! Don’t do anything too crazy!” Dustin called after you.

You rolled your eyes but laughed as you left the house. Steve smiled and shook his head, leading you towards his car parked against the road.

He opened the passenger door for you, and you smiled at him as you climbed in. You buckled your seatbelt as he walked around the front of the car, and you couldn’t help but admire just how handsome he was as he walked in front of you.

He climbed into the driver’s seat next to you, giving you a quick smile before he got himself buckled and started the car. He turned some music on, quiet enough that you could talk over it.

“So, where are we going?” you asked him as he pulled onto the road and began driving.

“I was thinking we could grab something to eat and see a movie? That is if you’re not tired of movies, working at the theater and all,” he said, suddenly second guessing his choice of a date.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of movies,” you said, reassuring him. “I actually haven’t even seen one in a while.”

Steve smiled, your words making him feel better. “Well, good. I thought we’d see the movie first so we could talk about it over dinner.”

You smiled at the thought he’d put into this, the butterflies in your stomach going crazy. You resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hair.

The drive to the theater wasn’t long, its proximity to the house was a factor in you applying there in the first place since you didn’t have a car yet. Steve pulled into a parking spot, killing the engine and turning to you.

“We have options,” he said, before he began listing all the different movies playing.

“Day of the Dead!” you exclaimed when that option came out of his mouth. You didn’t need to hear any more. “I’ve been dying to see that one.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah? You’re into horror movies?”

“They’re my favorite,” you said, which made his smile grow wider.

“That’s cool,” he said genuinely, and then he was climbing out of the car, quickly jogging to your side to open your door before you could do it yourself. You couldn’t help but giggle at his effort. He was being so cute, a total gentleman.

“Plus I can hold you if you get scared,” he said, grin still on his lips as you took his hand and climbed out of the car. “Or you can hold me if I get scared.”

You laughed, which only made him smile bigger.

The two of you walked towards the ticket counter, and Steve bought and paid for your tickets. Your friend and coworker, Alice, was working the ticket counter, and she gave you a sly grin as she handed the tickets over.

“Have fun, you two,” she said, with an obvious double meaning to her words. You blushed, knowing there would be questions at work. Steve didn’t miss the teasing, either.

He encouraged you to pick whatever you wanted from concessions. You got a large popcorn to share, you each got a soda, and you both picked out your favorite candies. You weren’t sure if he was going to be paying, so you brought money with you, but Steve didn’t even hesitate to pay for everything himself.

Steve had the huge tub of popcorn and a million snacks balanced in his arms as you carried the two drinks to the theater. You were relieved that it wasn’t crowded, and you found two seats together towards the back that gave you privacy and had a great view of the screen.

You got settled next to each other, drinks in the cup holders and snacks distributed between you, and you realized just how close he was. His knee brushed against yours, the rough feeling of his jeans against your bare skin sending chills through your body.

The movie began, and you shared the popcorn, your hands brushing together whenever you’d reach for some at the same time. It would send a jolt through your body, and the way his eyes would dart to yours made your heart speed up.

You were loving the movie, it was just as good as you had hoped. About halfway through, Steve shifts closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but it makes you smile, and you shift further into his embrace, which makes him squeeze your shoulder.

You have an even better time watching the movie snuggled up against Steve’s side. You take in just how good he smells, something you had never thought about before, but of course he was perfect in every way.

By the end of the movie, your nerves had gone, comforted by the feeling of being pressed up against Steve. It felt right, like it was where you had always belonged.

“What did you think?” Steve asked as the credits rolled and the lights came back on in the theater. He gathered up the trash from your snacks.

“I loved it,” you answered honestly, standing as he did. “The special effects were so cool.”

“Definitely,” Steve agreed with you. “That part where they pulled that guy apart was crazy.”

The two of you left the theater, dropping your trash in the can on the way out. As you walked together out of the building, Steve reached down and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers. It surprised you, but you certainly didn’t mind, holding his hand back and smiling to yourself.

Steve opened the door for you again before he climbed in on his side. You had been chatting about the movie since it ended, both of you having enjoyed it a lot.

Steve began driving again. “What are you in the mood to eat? I had somewhere in mind, but if you want something specific, we could go anywhere…”

“I’m sure whatever you picked out is perfect,” you gripped his hand over the center console, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He smiled back at you. He loved the way you always put him at ease, even when he was so nervous about impressing you.

Steve pulled into the parking lot of a steakhouse. Not too fancy, but not super casual either. Despite the theater snacks, you felt your stomach grumbling at the idea of getting something good to eat.

“They have all kinds of stuff here, if you’re not into steak,” Steve said quickly as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I’m a big fan of steak,” you laughed. You were already thinking about what you’d order.

You waited for Steve to come around this time because you knew he’d want to open your door for you. He helped you out again, and the two of you walked hand in hand into the restaurant.

The hostess greeted you both with a big smile. “Just 2?” she asked, which Steve confirmed. She led you to a booth, giving you both a menu.

“This place is nice,” you complimented as you opened up your menu, examining the many options.

“Yeah, I’ve been here with my parents a few times, it’s good,” he said, looking over his own menu before he looked at you again, smiling. “Never brought a girl here, though.”

Knowing you were the first girl he’d brought on a date here made you feel something. You didn’t consider yourself to be a jealous person, but you had been jealous when Steve dated Nancy. You didn’t love the idea of Steve with other girls, so the knowledge that this was new territory for him too made you smile.

Your waiter came by and took your drink orders. You looked over the menu for a while longer before you were satisfied you knew what you wanted.

You were in a deep discussion about the movie when the waiter came back to take your orders. You ordered a steak, of course, with fries. Steve ordered the same thing, shooting you a smirk.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Steve complimented when your plates were placed in front of you. “I think I already said that tonight, but I couldn’t tell you enough times.”

You blushed as you looked down at your food. “Thank you,” you said. “You look really handsome. I mean, you always do.”

Steve smiled bigger at that, beginning to cut up his steak. “I always do, huh?”

Your blush grew deeper. You didn’t mean to make it sound like you had been obsessed with him, even though you have.

“You always look beautiful,” he added softly.

That made your heart flutter in your chest. He had noticed you. You always thought he didn’t know you existed.

You ate together, talking about the movie, other movies you liked, how your summers had been going, all kinds of things. Steve made you laugh a lot. He was so naturally funny, and he’d really become more of himself since school ended. He didn’t care so much about being popular and impressing his friends and looking cool. He just cared about being authentic.

When dinner was over, Steve got the check before you even had a chance to see how much it was. You offered to pay half, but he shut you down quickly.

Back in the car, he drove with one hand, intertwining his free hand with yours over the center console. You sang along to music together on the way home, and you thought this may have been the best night of your life so far.

Steve pulled up outside your house, turning the car off.

“I really had an amazing time,” he said, turning to look at you. “You’re so great to spend time with.”

You smiled at him, your cheeks heating. “I had an amazing time too, Steve.”

Steve grinned at you. He placed a hand gently on your cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin there.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen…” he mumbled, almost as if only to himself.

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t think he could have possibly meant it, but his face and eyes show only sincerity. It makes your heart thump harder in your chest as you look into his eyes.

He leaned in, slowly, giving you ample time to push him away. You don’t, of course. You never realized how kissable his lips were until you were this close.

His lips pressed against yours, and they felt so soft. You practically melted into his kiss, your lips moving against his as you kissed him back eagerly. He led the kiss, being more experienced than you were, you gladly let him.

You could have kissed him all night, you think, but your mom was home now and she’d be coming out to check on you if you lingered in the car for too long.

Steve finally pulled away, looking at you with adoration in his eyes. His thumb traced over your lips, wet from his kisses.

“I want to see you again,” he said, his eyes finally moving from your lips back up to your eyes. “Soon.”

“I’d like that,” you said. You were surprised how weak your voice sounded, you cleared your throat.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow?” you raised your eyebrows. “Uh…yeah. I’m off work tomorrow, too.”

Steve smiled. “Good. Me too. I’ll come pick you up at around 12, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you smiled.

Steve opened your door for you one last time before he walked you to your front door. He leaned in and placed one more quick kiss to your lips. “See you tomorrow,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” you echoed back to him, and then you let yourself into the house, giving him a little wave as he turned to walk back to his car.

You sighed as you entered the house, feeling like you’d been holding your breath all evening. You couldn’t wipe the dreamy grin off your face.

The living room lamp turning on and Dustin speaking nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Tell me everything.”

[mouseymilkovich]

hihi congratulations my love!!

i am thinking smut prompt 16, classic let me help with your sunscreen, with lifeguard Steve harrington 🙇

I LOVE U CAS!!!!! everybody say thank u cas

steve harrington, save me. save me steve harrington.

16) the classic “oh, let me help you put some sunscreen on” but then the little massage turns into something more — from ; smut prompts

content tags: gn (but afab) reader (wearing a bikini top tho), mostly a lot of teasing, light spanking, lil biting

come celebrate with me! 🪩 → mouse's 500

It was a nice, early morning at the Hawkins public pool, and you were the only one there— except for the lifeguard, of course. Steve Harrington. You'd had an on and off thing in high school with him, and you were both now graduates of Hawkins High.

Of course, when he saw you at the pool, he was delighted to see you. So, he came down from the heighty chair in which he sat, and strode over to you with a grin.

"Well, hello there, fancy seein' you here on this fine morning," He hummed, just as charismatic as ever.

"Hi, Steve," You greeted with a sweet little smile, lowering your sunglasses to gaze at him for a moment before you began to put sunscreen on your arms.

"Mind if I give you a hand with that?" He asked with a little grin. "You must need help gettin' your back."

"Oh, I'd never turn down help from you, Steve Harrington," You replied with a little giggle.

So, you rolled lowered the back of the beach chair, and rolled onto your stomach. You undid the back of your bikini top, and got comfortable.

Steve had to bite back a groan as he looked at your body. The familiar curves, dips, and textures of your skin was seared into his memory, and as much as he wouldn't admit it, he longed for you again. He slathered some sunscreen between his hands and began to massage the white liquid into your skin, his hands moving slowly and deliberately.

"Mm, Steve, that feels so nice," You hummed with a soft sigh of contentment.

"God, you can't make noises like that or you'll get me hard," Steve protested.

You smirked a little. "What if that's what I want, pretty boy?"

"You're such a pain in the ass," Steve chuckled. So, for a bit of revenge, after rubbing in most of the sunscreen, he gave your ass a little swat.

You gasped softly. "Oh my god!" You laughed. "Jerk."

"You love it and you know it," He smirked. He put a little bit more sunscreen on his hands, rubbing it on the backs of your thighs, making sure his hands crept a little too close to your core.

"Steve," You whined softly.

"Yeah, baby?" He murmured, acting as if he didn't know what he was doing. "What's up?"

"God, I wish we weren't in public right now," You whimpered.

"My lunch is at noon and I get off at three," Steve mentioned casually before he leaned down, planting a kiss on one of your ass cheeks before biting it lightly. "There's a little taste, if you want it."

Oh, you were gonna stick around, there was no turning back now.

[ash5monster01]

Taylor you’re really trying to melt my heart with this one. Too much cute to handle, I can’t wait to see what happens next

series masterlist | chapter two

chapter summary: Steve brings his daughter to her first day of Kindergarten.

the song: My Girl by The Temptations

6,251 words | please see the masterlist for warnings! | my blog is 18+

Steve can’t be sure if the sigh that escapes his lips and clouds up in front of him is due to the anticipation of the inevitable sticky situation that’s about to occur or annoyance in himself for continuing to provide her the jam. He supposes it could just be a sigh of acceptance, finally coming to terms with the new and almost constant state of his hair lately. Most likely though, it’s just a content, tiny burst of affection.

Because that’s the overwhelming feeling that blooms in his chest when sticky, sweet strawberry smelling fingers land in his freshly styled hair. His eyes flit up from the green sparkly laces between his fingers to see her tiny lips forming her patented pout.

Hair a bit lighter than his, curls slightly in a mind of its own kind of way beneath little pig tails, bouncing just above shoulders that are tucked up to her ears as she tilts her head to look around his. Big, curious eyes that he claims are like her mom’s, but everyone is adamant are also a carbon copy of his too - just like her nose that scrunches all too familiarly, dotted with tiny freckles that seem to multiple every day.

Steve taps the side of Charlie’s ankle as he finishes the first bow, and she sticks her other foot out for him, yellow lights at the center of daisies flashing as she stomps it down on the gravel. He glances back up to find her eyes still trained on the playground behind him, the furrow between her eyebrows only growing deeper as her fingers tug in his hair - either for his full attention like it isn’t already on her, or the aforementioned jam predicament, he isn’t sure.

“Daddy?”

He finishes the second bow, and removes her hands from his hair gently, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles and he sighs again. She is so sticky.

Steve shakes his head at his own thoughts and releases her hands to search his pockets, the other chucks the side of his knuckle under her chin.

“Talk to me, Goose.”

Her pout disappears, a giggle slips past her lips just like always, but it’s not long lasting when a shriek comes from the playground behind him. Her voice lowers as she asks in a wobbly tone, “Who will do the underdogs?”

“Well, uh, I’m sure your teacher knows how to do them, cutie,” he reassures while his forehead wrinkles and he tries to determine if she’s looking for some reason not to go suddenly or if she’s just genuinely curious. She does take her swings seriously, so it’s not an out of the ordinary question.

Steve finds a napkin, and decides it’ll have to do for now, grimacing as the paper material hits his tongue.

“But what if she can’t, daddy?” Her voice whines as he continues his stand off with the sticky residue.

That’s it. He’s suing Smuckers.

He hums, squeezing her fingers that wiggle between his and the napkin doing absolutely shit all.

“Then we’ll just have to teach her, right? Everyone’s gotta know how to do the underdogs.”

Charlie huffs, but she shrugs her shoulders in some sort of agreement it seems. He wonders how someone so tiny can be full of such complicated emotions, curious thoughts, and brains that he absolutely can’t keep up with, yet still need her shoes tied and someone on jam removal duty most mornings.

Steve stares at her tiny hand in his palm, green sparkles on clear nails that make him swallow down something stuck in his throat, make his free hand run down his nose and swipe underneath it.

Don’t you dare cry, you fucking loser.

But he can’t help but feed the worm that’s been digging deeper and deeper inside of him for months: What if she’s not ready?

And he knows, he really knows, after all the long talks and preparation for this very moment, that it’s him who’s not ready, not her.

She’s so ready, and going to wow the socks off of every teacher with her brilliant and funny little brain and she is the greatest, most precious thing in the world and nothing bad is going to happen to her, dingus.

He recites it to himself over and over, verbatim what Robin told him as he tries to move on to her second hand. But as the gold heart shaped locket dangling from her neck hits his forehead, all he can think is, that starting today, the room full of people he trusts with her safety is expanding. And the problem with opening that door to the room is not Charlie exploring beyond the safe wall’s he’s built, it’s who can get in when he’s not there 24/7 to guard that door.

Visions of flashing Christmas lights, baseball bats meeting gray flesh, Russian guard’s hands and their beady eyes, potentially rabid bats and, you know, just the earth cracking in half and the world almost ending multiple times, while losing people he really cares about, threaten to overtake his mind and he huffs in then out, a quick and calming breath.

Steve wets the napkin with his tongue once more, but pieces of it stick to it this time and he sputters and blows a raspberry, and Charlie’s giggles soothe any worry that was climbing over him like writhing vines.

He let’s go of her hands and makes a bigger show of removing the wet clumps of cardboard tasting napkin from his tongue and coughs loudly. She laughs harder and his eyes widen and his mouth drops in a dramatic gasp.

“Are you laughing at your dad?” He jabs at her sides lightly, tickling and poking her while the napkin falls to the ground and she giggles harder. “Huh? That’s not very nice!”

Steve picks up Charlie, squeezing at her wiggling and gasping body as she laughs so loud he can’t even remember what he was so worried about. He blows a raspberry into her neck so she shrieks in a laughing protest, “Daddy! Too much…” she laughs and wiggles more, gasping around her words, “Too much happy!”

He’ll take the sticky fingers and messed up hair and cardboard taste in his mouth and worrying about another human more than he ever could about himself every day if it means he gets to hear that every once in awhile.

“Mr. Harrington?”

Steve spins at the sound of his name, slowing his tickling. As his body turns and he’s met with your smile, he nearly drops his kid.

You are so pretty.

His mouth goes dry, like the entire napkin is balled up inside of it. He’s sure his cheeks are turning pink from how warm he feels while staring at you. Your fingers wrapped around a bright yellow thermos tap at it while a clipboard rests wedged between your side and elbow. Your light gray tshirt is decorated with sparkly planets and the slogan “Kindergarten is out of this world!” and is tucked into a bright green skirt that he can sense Charlie eyeing appreciatively, though apprehensively from her new residence tucked into his neck.

He runs a palm down Charlie’s spine, reassuring her as you tilt your head and smile wider at her, your nose scrunching up when you do. It takes your kind eyes turning their gaze to him again for him to realize you’ve never met and you were asking if he was Mr. Harrington.

“H-hi. Yeah, I mean yes. I’m Mr. Harrington. I mean, I don’t, kids at school call me that, and I guess parents, but I mean that is my name. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

He squeezes his eyes closed shut as if to erase that moment from existence forever. He can practically see Robin drawing a line on a whiteboard in the ‘You Suck’ column.

Your laugh drags his eyelids open, and it tugs at something inside of his chest that he thought disappeared a long time ago. Your hand extends and he bites his cheek, cursing all jelly and jam brands. He raises his hands up almost in surrender and Charlie clings to his neck harder, her face hidden in his shoulder as the back of her thighs balance in the crook of his elbow.

“I’m afraid we had a bit of a sticky jam situation this morning, so I don’t know if you want to proceed with a handshake.”

Proceed? With a handshake? Dude, you’re killing me here.

Your shoulders shrug, your voice all soft and smooth and a little sleepy as you joke, “They literally make us Kindergarten teachers take a class where they simply throw sticky substances at us, and if you flinch or grimace, you’ll never graduate. It’s all a part of the job.” Your hand clasps around his gently, but in a firm shake, as you introduce yourself, “I’m Miss Honey.”

He can’t help but notice the Miss not a Mrs.

Charlie perks up at your name, her forehead knocks his chin and he blinks rapidly from the sensation and her shout directly in his ear, “You’re my teacher!”

“I am?” You gasp, excited and smiling at her when you do and he thinks he might already be in love with you.

Charlie nods and then exclaims, “Daddy calls me honey!”

Steve fights a smile and his arm wrapped around her waist squeezes as he whispers, “How do we introduce ourselves?”

Charlie beams at him and slides down his front, foot pushing off of his thigh for leverage. She jumps to the ground forcefully, and almost trips and falls face first into the cement.

Steve’s already moving forward in anticipation of big crocodile tears, but stops himself when he sees you don’t move a muscle and simply watch her find her balance. He watches as you bite your lip in a way that tells him you’re hiding a smile as Charlie sticks her hand out towards you.

When you take it, she shakes it and takes a deep breath before slowly reciting, “My name is Charlotte Maxine Harrington. I live at six eight two Poppy Lane and my daddy’s phone number is seven six five four two…five-“

“Woah cutie,” he stops her, hands resting on her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. “We don’t have to give her the whole speech, how about just the name?”

Crouched down to Charlie’s level now, you tilt your head at her, eyes widening as the tone of your voice turns to something syrupy sweet that he recognizes in the way he talks to her himself sometimes as you ask, “You memorized all of that Charlotte? That’s amazing! And there’s more? A whole speech?!”

She nods, eyes big and wide and voice excited as she hums, “Mhm. For policemans like Mr. Jim and firesmens like Uncle Eddie and teachers like Auntie Robin. Cause every-eveybody calls me Charlie, but if I’m scared and I need help they need my whole name and daddy’s phone number and if any food makes me itchy.”

Steve knows without a shadow of a doubt that not only are his cheeks pink, the tips of his ears are now too when you look up at him with raised eyebrows and something twinkling in your gaze. He clears his throat and focuses on his hand running through Charlie’s curls instead of you.

“Daddy’s gotta make sure his right hand gal’s got all the facts, right?” He kisses the top of her head again, inhaling her L’Oreal mangoes and strawberry and something distinctly his daughter that he is certain would be what the sun smells like if it could be bottled.

She tilts her head back, resting against his dark Levi’s so she can see him. Her grin is wide, showing off dimples she didn’t get from him as she nods again. “Right. Always be pepared.”

Steve brushes his thumb down her nose, and something stings behind his eyes again. He looks back over at you, slowly standing from your crouch with a fond gaze staring back at him. He swallows before his lips part, prepared to tell you that it’s all wrong. He’s not Steve Harrington, this is not Charlie Harrington, and no way is anyone starting Kindergarten today, but Charlie’s shriek never lets the words leave his mouth.

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water dumps over his head as he spins to watch Charlie race towards the parking lot, about to yell far too loud from fear, when she comes to halt right at the curb. Impatiently bouncing as her favorite person waves and runs towards her.

The familiar honey tinged red waves bounce as Robin scoops Charlie up in a hug that can only be comfortable for the two of them, all squeezing and no grace, kissing all over her face as she gushes and fawns over her like she literally didn’t see her last night.

“Hey babe! You look splendidly spectacular this morning! Did you do something different with your hair?”

“No!” Charlie giggles and spins once back on the ground, as if to show off her outfit. Which is pretty cute, if he does say so himself. Robin taps a finger to her chin. She holds up curls and circles Charlie, inspecting.

“Not the hair, not the hair…aha! Your nails! Green nail polish!”

Charlie shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips, and Steve relaxes as she tells her that Auntie Robin you painted them last night and how could she forget already, no it’s not that.

You’re watching him closely when he turns to look back at you, rubbing the back of his neck under your appraisal. Your smile all knowing as you reassure, “She’s gonna be fine, Mr. Harrington. Stopping to look both ways and being aware of cars is first week stuff, she’s a natural. And that speech? Time for you to relax.”

He knows he was never one for hiding how he felt from his facial features, but after having a kid and becoming a teacher, he’s had to learn to keep himself fairly composed. So he’s not sure if you can already read him that well or this is just the speech you give to all the parents. Nonetheless, he smiles back at you.

“I’ve never heard of that word before, what does it mean? Relax?”

Your laughter at his terrible joke makes something in his chest swell, almost as sweet of a sound as Charlie’s. He glances over to see Robin smacking her forehead and exclaiming that oh of course it’s the fabulous new green overalls.

“Also, call me Steve, please,” you smile politely and he knows you won’t, because he does the same thing to parents who tell him the same thing, “And I think it’s in that packet we had to fill out, but I’m a teacher over at the middle school, um, art, and so I’m only like ten minutes away if something happens, and she should be really good, she’s a great listener, but I know how she can be so please tell me. Seriously. And I know she didn’t do pre-school, but she’s so smart, she’s just struggling with her R’s and H’s sometimes, but I honestly think it’s because she talks so fast she just doesn’t care to slow down-“

Your fingers touch his wrist, catching it as he talks with his hands and he stops immediately, blinking at you with a held breath.

It’s like touching his skin shocks you and your fingers release from around his wrist quickly before you take a step back, shaking your head while biting your lip.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s oka-“

“Dingus!” Wing woman extraordinare interrupts, “Why on earth did cutiepie here just tell me she did not get a picture in this fabulous first day of school outfit?”

He focus’ on the pair walking towards him hand in hand with a scowl he quickly hides, rolling his eyes at Robin when Charlie quips, “Yeah, dad!”

Steve rubs the side of his cheek, glaring at Robin as you make yourself busy with your clipboard. “Because, we were gonna be late after we were so focused on finding the green overalls, and the green hair ties, and the green shoelaces and the green-“

“Because green is the best,” Charlie interrupts while putting her hands on her hips as if it weren’t clear how exasperated she was with him from her tone.

Robin snorts from behind her and mirrors her pose before sticking her tongue out at him. “Yeah, dad!”

Your laughter reminds Charlie of your presence and she tugs Robin’s matching polished fingers with her own forward.

“Miss Honey, this is Auntie Robin. She lives at…um…oh yeah…four one three-“

“Woah kiddo!” Robin whispers and crouches down, looking around dramatically like a spy. “Does Miss Honey know the super secret password? ‘Cause, remember, only the friends who know the super secret password get to know where Aunt Robin lives.”

Charlie gasps like she’s just recalled this important fact and nods, face seriouos. Robin mimes zipping her lips, locking, then throws the invisible key over her shoulder. Charlie copies her, then promptly steps towards you and loudly whispers: “Pickles.”

Steve bites his cheek and Robin laughs, running a hand over her curls. “We’ll keep practicing the whole locking of lips thing, huh?”

“Kay,” Charlie shrugs before she tugs on Steve’s pant leg. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?” He watches her grip the side of jeans in her little fist and stare at the swings with that pout on her lips again.

“Can I swing?”

A lump in his throat forms when he looks up at you, you glance at your watch and nod with a smile.

“Sure, cutie.” He starts to take off her back pack straps and she’s already racing across the gravel and he calls out loudly, “Don’t forget to be nice to new friends! Take turns! Say please!”

“Tank you!” She shouts back over her shoulder.

Steve groans at it all, her racing away, her forgotten H. He watches her slow down as she reaches the swings and point to an empty one next to a boy already pumping his legs. He nods eagerly and Charlie talks animatedly with her hands as she climbs into the swing.

He lets all of his weight drop against Robin, Charlie’s backpack limp in his fingers when his temple knocks hers and he whispers, “I can’t fucking do this.”

Robin sniffles and his head whips up.

“Are you crying?”

She swats at his chest and avoids his gaze, “No. I have something in my eye. Both eyes. Like a branch or something. Just…” she holds out her hand and blinks blue eyes that have turned a little more shiny, “Give me your keys so I can go get the polaroid, ‘cause I know you brought it, you sentimental idiot.”

He drops the car keys into her palm and she quickly turns away from him before he can catch the tears slipping down her cheeks. When he turns back around you’re hiding a smile behind your thermos again.

Steve clears his throat and runs his thumb and forefinger down his nose, squinting at the playground.

“It’s okay to cry you know, most parents do.”

“I’m not,” he clarifies, words thick in his throat and a struggle to get out.

“Okay, I believe you,” yours easy and tinged with laughter.

“I’m not,” he begs, pleading with someone in the universe so the burn behind his eyes doesn’t fully form and fall.

You must hear it, and decide to give him an out, because you pull up your clipboard. “I actually did need to ask you a few questions, you were my last parent to snag before we all go inside. We never got your authorized pick up list? Just if you can’t ever pick up Charlie, who we’re allowed to send her home with? We tend to also use this as an emergency contact list if there was ever some reason we couldn’t get a hold of you.”

The word emergency makes his heart beat harder and he looks over at Charlie swinging to make sure he can still see her.

“Oh,” he nods, licking his lips as he thinks through it. “How many people can I put?”

“As many as you want,” you shrug before adjusting your coffee thermos in the crook of your elbow so you can write on the clipboard.

“Here,” he grabs the thermos, “Let me. I feel like if I let you spill coffee on that skirt, Charlie might actually never forgive me, as you heard, we’re in a green phase.”

He’s awarded that laugh of yours again before you whisper a quiet thank you. Your lashes kiss as you blink at him, pen poised on the paper. It’s when your eyebrows lift expectantly that he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something still.

“Oh! Um…honestly…” he looks at Charlie who’s smiling at Robin holding up the camera now and nods towards her. “Robin Buckley,” he lists her phone number before adding on, “She’s a teacher here, music, um, honestly she might be picking her up most days. I coach soccer here in the fall after school, so I should make it, but in the spring I’m over at the high school for baseball.”

“Okay great,” you smile as you finish writing her number and look up at him, “Anyone else?”

“I guess Eddie Munson?”

“The ‘firesmens’?” You ask as you write the name.

Steve laughs, fiddling with Charlie’s backpack in his hands, “Yeah, and I guess I should do Nancy too…”

He gives you both of their numbers along with Hopper and Joyce and he doesn’t even want to imagine what would be going on that you couldn’t get a hold of him, Robin, Eddie, or Nancy and had to resort to calling them. And what’s worse, if you couldn’t get a hold of them either.

“We almost never have to call even the second person on the list Mr. Harrington, she’s gonna be just fine.”

“Right,” he nods, but doesn’t really believe you.

“For relationship, Robin is Charlie’s Aunt is what I gathered?”

“Oh,” he laughs and rubs at his temple, “Um by blood? No. She’s just my best friend, but I mean, I guess, to Charlie, yeah. Closest person to having a real one I think.”

“Oh, okay, gotcha” you nod, glancing down at the list and writing.

Steve feels the need to clarify when you hover over Eddie and Nancy, and he isn’t sure why. “They’re married, shouldn’t have said that. And again, family friends I guess, but Charlie calls them Aunt and Uncle. And Jim and Joyce, do you know Hopper? The chief? Anyways, they’re just Mr. Jim and Mrs. Joyce, but they’re essentially her grandparents I guess? I don’t really know…”

Your face does that thing that he hates, the look like you wanna tell him you’re sorry, or you want to comfort him but don’t know how. And it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate where it comes from, he just hates anyone thinking he can’t handle it, can’t handle her, all by himself, or feeling sorry for him in any way. Because there’s nothing to be sorry for, not when he has her.

Your mouth parts, but before you can speak, thunder rumbles loudly overhead.

“Oh, shit,” Steve groans, looking up at the angry clouds. The clear morning sky slowly turning gray without him noticing and he looks over to see Charlie already running for Robin’s legs.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” You ask as you watch her and several other kiddos get scooped up by parents.

Steve shakes his head, lips turning down in a frown as Robin whispers in her ear and starts back towards him. “No, she really doesn’t. No matter what I say or do, nothing helps. I honestly don’t know where it came from, I don’t think it’s the loud noises of the thunder, we’ve never lost power…I feel so helpless. Or useless. Like I can’t fix it for her. ”

The smile you offer attempts to reassure, but Charlie’s eyes fill with tears and Robin rubs a hand down her back, looking over her head at Steve with worried eyes.

“Sorry, I gotta…” he apologizes but he’s already moving towards her and he hopes you understand.

Charlie’s sniffles grow louder as another rumble cracks overhead, burrowing her head into Robin’s sternum and kicking her shoes against her thighs so hard, the little daisies light up.

Robin grimaces at the rough kick, and Steve gives her a mouthed apology as he relieves her of her comforting duties. “Hey, calm down honey. I’m right here. It’s just the rain being a little loud, announcing it’s coming soon, remember?”

He watches you and Robin and some of the other teachers start to gently guide parents and kids inside, smiling and distracting from the incoming rain, and he starts to follow but Charlie wails in his ear as he gets further away from the car.

“Dad-dy, nooo,” she sobs, shaking her head, “I don’t wanna go.”

His eyes blur as he sets her down in the entryway, kids running past as parents give him kind smiles when they walk around them.

“What?!” He tries to sound excited, but he’s wavering, throat too tight and eyes burning, “Why don’t you wanna go now? You get to color, and meet new friends! You get to go play music with Robin!”

“But,” she hiccups around a big sob and his thumb catches a new fat tear trying to trail down her pink cheeks. “You-you leaving and and I don’t like the storm and-“

“I don’t have to leave yet! We get to go put your backpack away, and see your new classroom together. Can we do that? I was so excited to see where you get to sit and draw me pictures every day.”

He’s grasping at straws as she shakes her head no and tries to climb into his lap. And he doesn’t even care if he shouldn’t, he lets her. And he squeezes her and kisses the top of her head as he cradles her, walking deeper inside.

Steve whispers in her ear about how Miss Honey must be magic cause guess what? Char, your cubbie is green. How’d she know? And oh my gosh, no way, someone has a sleeping beauty lunchbox. All the while humming her favorite lullaby between the exciting things he hopes grab her attention. And soon she’s not crying anymore, wet lashes tickling his neck as she peeks at the things he’s pointing out. Soon she’s climbing off of his lap as he forces his voice to sound happy about her hanging up her power rangers backpack she just had to have, and holding his hand as she walks to the doorway of the classroom.

All the parents are gone, aside from a few taking last peeks at their kids drawing or playing and Charlie clings to his knee as he hesitates in the doorway himself.

You’re knelt on the ground pointing at some books with two kids when you spot them. He’s not sure what you say to them, but then you’re walking over to them and not even looking at Steve as you crouch in front of Charlie hiding behind his leg, your sole focus on her and making her feel better.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Charlie!” You tell her, thoroughly relieved, “I have the biggest hugest favor to ask you, will you help me?”

Charlie looks at you, and takes a step forward as she quietly asks, “Help?”

Your nod is so enthusiastic, and you reach out your hand for hers, waiting until she rests her fingers in yours to lace them together. “I heard you are your dad’s best helper, and I need help finding all of the green crayons, can you do that with me? There’s so many in this bin! We need them for a special project we’re going to do later.”

She’s about to nod, he knows she is, when lighting flashes outside, and despite the blinds being closed, she knows. Charlie flinches and starts to retreat but you sigh, and nod your head, smiling still. “I know, rain can be scary sometimes. Do you know what I like to do when it rains?”

Charlie shakes her head no, and you smile encouragingly at her as she gets closer and places both of her hands on your arm instead of holding your hand, squeezing close to your side. “I love to bake cookies. They make my house smell so good. What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”

“Um…” Charlie swipes at her cheek and looks around the room at kids playing and laughing. “Monstermashes.”

“Monstermashes? What are those? I’ve never heard of them, can you tell me what all goes in them while we find all the green crayons?”

She let’s you lead her to the table with the bin where two other kids coloring smile at her and say hi. She sits and you squeeze her shoulder as she tells you all about the cookies. It’s when you risk a glance at the door that Steve realizes he’s just standing there, crying.

Your smile is kind, but your head tilts ever so subtly, telling him to slip out while he can and he knows he should, but the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her goodbye or say have a great first day or I love you is ripping him apart and he squeezes his eyes closed.

He’s not sure how he makes it out to his car with how clouded his vision is, but he does. Thankfully he doesn’t have a sob leave his lips until the maroon door is slammed and his forehead presses to the leather wheel. He notices a little stack of polaroids under an orange post it that says “You sentimental idiot” on the passenger seat. He cries more when he sees the curled fingers around his. He cups his cheeks and slaps them, clearing his throat while muttering under his breath to get a grip.

And he does, eventually.

He goes to teacher workshop and sets up his own classroom and lesson plans and catches up with his co-workers. The thunder only lasts about a half hour, and then it’s just a normal rainy day, which he hopes you’ve managed alright with her. He only calls Robin once but that’s only because she yells at him that of course she’s fine, you think she’d let anything happen to that sweet angel? And he only grabs his keys to go early three times, but never makes it fully out to the car. He does have to take something from his little orange bottle when his breath isn’t quite right when lights flicker for no reason, but turns out it was just the custodian doing some checks. And then finally, it’s already time to go pick her up, and he’s not proud of this, but he speeds at least ten over the whole way there.

So maybe he’s a little early.

He’s slow to approach the classroom, and leans against the wall on the other side of the doorway, just out of sight. He hears your voice singing some sort of clean up song and the kids responding, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on if he can hear her. When the song is over, he opens his eyes to find you smiling at him from the doorway. Your shirt is stained, your hair messier than it was this morning. You’re clearly exhausted but absolutely overjoyed that this is your job as you call for anyone who’s favorite color is green to come grab their back pack. Charlie races towards the door with a few other kids and waves excitedly at him from her place in line.

When you tell them to grab their backpacks, she exits the room and leaps into his arms when he crouches down, expecting the hug. He squeezes her tightly, “Hey cutie, did you have a good day? I missed you so much!”

“So so so so good daddy, we played with cars and colored planets and Auntie Robin taught us a new song and and oh my gosh there’s too much happy to tell you.”

He gets a little choked up at that, a sob threatens to hiccup out of him that he tries to cover up with a laugh, kissing her cheek. “That’s so great! Go get your backpack, I think Miss Honey is waiting.”

“Oh!” She jumps out of his arms and skips to her cubbie, and brings it to you where you slip some papers into a folder, notably sparkly and green, into her backpack after you do the same with three other kids and three different colored folders. The others go sit down on a rug and you smile at him.

“Hi Mr. Harrington, Charlie had such a great first day! She was my awesome helper and she has some art projects to show you that I think you’re really gonna like. There’s also a note about what we did today for you in there, that also has some dates to keep in mind and it’ll always have announcements for things like snack rotations.”

Charlie tugs at his pant leg as Steve smiles at you, “Hold on, sweetie.” He runs a hand over her curls before turning back to you and lowering his voice, “Thank you. For this morning, but also, you know, the whole day.”

“It’s literally my job,” you joke, but you smile warmly at him, “But, you’re welcome. You just need to sign Charlie out and then you’re all set!”

You grab a binder from it’s place by the door and flip to the H’s, and hold it open for him. Typed up information about Charlie on top, and the dates of the month in a calendar for signatures, and at the bottom, the list of names. He gets a little emotional seeing: ‘Robin Buckley - Aunt’ and all the other relationships you’ve given instead of family friend.

Charlie tugs harder, this time on his belt loop and he laughs, picking her up. “Hey, I said hold on, what’s got ants in your pants, huh?”

She taps at his cheek, big eyes blinking at him as she whines, “Daddy, this is so impotant, I promise. No ants.”

“Okay,” he laughs, signing his name in the today’s box, “What’s up?”

“What are the crunchies?”

She asks it so seriously and he has no idea what she’s talking about, he looks to you for help.

You’re thanking the kids for the calm and listening bodies before you’re calling up kids who’s favorite animal is a penguin, so he looks at Charlie who’s waiting expectantly. “What are what?”

“The crunchies daddy. What are they? Miss Honey doesn’t know them.”

“Cutie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are crunchies?” He bends down with her to grab her backpack that’s still on the floor and he hears you laugh.

“Daddy the monstermashes,” Charlie whines, like he should know this.

“Oh,” he draws it out, “The M&M’s? The chocolate candy I put in?”

“No,” Charlie whines, and she turns to you with a pout. “Daddy doesn’t know too. It’s no use! Hopeless!”

He doesn’t know how or where she learns these phrases so quickly and how she uses them so correctly but he does know that he’s not alone in thinking it’s the cutest thing ever when you smile at her.

“Hold on, I bet we can figure it out together!” You tick off on your fingers as kids who love potato chips go to their cubbies and get their equally different folders and a second parent enters the hallway. He starts to wonder how many folders you bought to be prepared for all their different interests. Colors, animals, shapes, characters, sparkles and no sparkles. He wonders what else you did today.

“Let’s see, we have peanut butter…” Charlie nods and you gasp, “Is it crunchy peanut butter? Peanuts?”

She makes a face, much to his dismay they’re a creamy peanut butter household, so Steve shakes his head no and you tap your chin. “Okay, and it’s not the m&m’s or…” you smile at Steve, emphasizing the R’s in a way that tells him the very important letters were left out of the word, “Butterscotch.”

Charlie nods and the two of you are silent so he chimes in with, “Rice Krispies? The cereal?”

You smile and Charlie nods, “That’s it! Krispies!”

Crunchies, krispies, he has to give it to her, that’s pretty close. And from the way you react, he knows you knew all day, you just wanted to keep her distracted.

“I’m so glad we figured it out! I had such a great time learning with you today, Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Charlie nods and waves, shouting in his ear, “Bye Miss Honey!”

You wave back, smiling at the two as the next parent takes his place and you call up a boy named Matt.

Steve heads down the hallway, looping her backpack over his shoulder as he whispers, “Should we make Miss Honey some Monstermash cookies tonight? You can bring them tomorrow?”

Charlie shouts yes directly in his ear again and his hair gets trapped under her hand in her excitement and all he can do is sigh.

A content, tiny burst of affection, for sure.

[strangelysamantha]

praise ❀

steve harrington x fem!reader.

warnings: none

words: 367.

summary: steve harrington loves getting under your skin, filling your stomach with butterflies from his praise.

request? no :)

a/n: short cute story since im feeling sappy lol

my masterlist

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"you're such a good girl for me." his hands deeply caressed your thighs. "such a pretty baby." he squeezes your skin, a small groan falling from his lips. you smile softly at his words, "steve!" nervous from his touch, you attempt to protest his movements. he quickly interrupts your whine by crashing his lips against yours. "what?" he chuckles, his hands still roaming your body. "you don't like when i touch you like this?" he slides his hands from your thigh, slowly making his way up your frame. your breath hitches. he grips your hips, wrapping his arms completely around your waist. he moves to your back, massaging it swiftly. "or this?" he questions, watching your reaction as he touched every inch of you.

he is fully engulfed by you, his eyes locked on yours. his hand cups your chin, his thumb rubs against your pouty lips. "talk to me baby, use your words." you sigh, uncertain of what was on your mind. his presence was dominant, and when around him your mind went blank, secured by his attention and protection. it wasn't intentional, but you hadn't quite learned how to not get so comfortable. "i love you." you lean in for a kiss, he happily accepts. "yknow i love you baby." you nod, "i know, i just can't help but say it..." you look away coyly, "and i really like when you touch me steve." you place your hands on top of his, guiding him to your chest, "i love touching you. the way my grip can make you tremble, the way you melt into my touch." he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you close to his face. his lips barely an inch away, "you are all mine." you nod, biting your lip. "i'm all yours steve."

"good that's what i like to hear." he crashes his lips onto you, his hands hungrily grabbing you, he pulls away for air. "my perfect baby, you're so beautiful." you nuzzle your head into his chest, his hands immediately wrapping around you to embrace you. his finger traces shapes on your back, you're content in this position. "i could stay like this forever." he chuckles, "me too."

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

[buckysgrace]

10. I miss you, I’m sorry

Broken Hearts Club

Steve Harrington x reader

An early post since I accidentally deleted the last chapter smh.

Steve comes to see you.

Steve

The last few weeks had been dull as a gloomy cloud had settled over him, storming and thundering as the lonely feeling caught hold of him. He hated this feeling, but there was no way to get rid of it. He was too bitter to talk to you, still betrayed over how you had lied to him.

“You look awful.” Robin spoke up, shaking the tip jar around again. He had a feeling she was trying to get a rise out of him, but it wasn’t going to work. Not today.

“Thanks.” He replied dryly as he continued to scrub the counter clean, irritated that today had to be such a slow day. Where were all the kids? Probably enjoying the pool like the traitors they were.

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” She asked in frustration, holding her hands out like she didn’t understand. He shook his head, not in the mood to see you at the moment.

“I’ve already spoken to her,” He grumbled, “There’s nothing more to say.” He said, seriously debating about scooping himself out some ice cream. He hadn’t seen you since your last talk, had refused to drive past your house or look at the stall where you worked. Ignoring you was easier, even if he still caught wind of some things.

“I don’t think that’s true.” She told him softer this time around. He snorted, figuring she had to be tired of talking about you too. He couldn’t escape you in his dreams either. It was frustrating, like karma had finally caught up with him.

“Good thing you don’t know everything.” He smarted back, dropping his rag in frustration. No matter how hard he scrubbed at the counters they remained sticky.

“What she did was shitty,” She agreed with him, “But I don’t think she’s a terrible person. You said she was going to tell you, right?” She questioned again, crossed her arms as she leaned against the counter. He sighed.

“Only because her friend was going to tell me.” He repeated the bitter truth, still wondering why you couldn’t just tell him. He didn’t think he was that scary, or shitty. But maybe he still was the asshole from school.

“She’s nice,” She said a second later, “I don’t think that’s completely true.” She nodded her head softly, making him irritated at the way she was siding with you. She was his friend, not yours.

“So I should just forgive her?” He asked with a little laugh, already knowing that he couldn’t do that. At least he thought he couldn’t.

“You should talk to her,” She reasoned with him, giving her head a little shake, “Why are you being so stubborn?” She rested her hands on her hips, mirroring his actions.

“I don’t want to go through another breakup,” He grumbled, “She’s going off to college soon anyways.” He dropped his hands in annoyance again, figuring that would be the end of it. You’d be somewhere else. Much happier. You’d probably find someone else too, but that thought didn’t linger well with him.

“So that’s it?” She questioned him, “You never want to see her again?” She asked as she reached out, giving his shoulder a little push. He grumbled as he pushed her away.

“I never said that,” He sighed, “It’s just complicated.” He stated at last, not wanting to bring up the fresh wounds again. Daybed he would talk to you later, but he didn’t want to think about you right now.

“You don’t have much time left,” She reminded him, “You should talk to her before it’s too late.” She added a second later, making him nod his head as he thought about it. You would be leaving for college soon. Far away, all the way to Chicago. You were leaving this small town for some big city.

“I guess.”

“And get us some more of that banana bread,” She added a second later, “That was really good.” He mumbled along as he thought about how they had devoured it between a shared joint.

He thought about you the rest of his shift and not in his usual mopey way. He took a lot of time considering how the past few weeks had been and if he wanted to keep up like this. He was sure he could eventually pick up the pieces, just as he had with Nancy. But something about you was different. You had always been mingled through his life in some manner and it felt wrong to just lose you completely.

But he was hurt. He couldn’t deny that, even if it was over some dumb bet. Or prank. Whatever it had been. It was immature of you, but that wasn’t the part that hurt him the post. It was the lies. He didn’t understand how you could be with him for so long and keep such a big secret and then be afraid to tell him the truth. None of that made sense to him.

Despite being so hurt, he took pity on you and the way you were pumping your legs furiously to work your bike up over the hill. The summer sun was high in the sky, the air wet and dry. It was a miserable day to be outside. Something about it made him feel soft inside, bitter as he recalled the memories.

He slowed down as he approached you, watching the way you were trying to make your way towards the top of the hill. Part of him wished that he could say that you deserved to be out in the hot heat, but he only felt bad instead.

“Do you need a ride?” He asked as he came to a halt, rolling his window down as your eyes snapped towards him in surprise.

“Oh,” You stalled, “My house is right there.” You pointed out, as if he didn’t know where you lived. His eyes drifted over your shorts for a second too long, heart aching at the worry that you had moved on just fine without him.

“Maybe you can come over and we can talk.” He replied at last, feeling like there was a weight being lifted off of his chest. Your eyes scanned his features for a moment, like you were trying to determine if this was a joke or not.

“Okay,” You breathed out deeply, blinking at him, “Are you sure?” You paused as you glanced down the road, checking for traffic before you pulled yourself off of your bike seat.

“Positive,” He said as he put the car in park, then hopped out to grab your bike, “Why aren’t you driving?” He asked you, recalling how he had seen your car not too long ago.

“Oil change,” You replied sheepishly, “My grandpa is doing it today.” You rubbed your palms over your arm, watching closely as he squeezed your bike into the trunk. Just enough room.

The short ride to his house was quiet, tense as you continually moved your hands across your knees and arms. You were nervous, that much was obvious.

“You can come in,” He chuckled softly, even though he felt just as awkward, “I won’t bite.” He replied as he held the door open, watching as you shimmied your way inside. He hated how the two of you had taken several steps back.

He walked to the fridge, reminded that he desperately needed to head to the grocery store again. He ignored that though, instead reaching for two cans of Coke. He passed one to you, watching the delicate way you opened it.

“Did you read my letter?” You asked at last, bringing the can up to your lips as your eyes fleeting met his. He chewed on his bottom lip, knowing that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

“I did,” He told you softly, “You have a way with words. You should be a poet.” He said seriously. Your words were stunning, beautiful. He wanted to read more of your thoughtful sentences. Even if they sort of rambled at times.

“Right,” You snorted, “But did I explain myself well?” You asked as you furrowed your eyebrows together. He knew what you were really asking. He just didn’t know the full answer to that yet. But he had missed you. Even with all the hurt, he still wanted you. He’d always wanted you.

“I just don’t know why you couldn’t trust me.” He replied at last, not liking the bitter taste that filled his mouth as the words rolled off of his tongue. But it was the truth. He needed to know why.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” You promised, “That part was killing me. I figured you’d probably understand. But I didn’t want to be the one that caused the issues.” You shook your head, laughing a little bit.

“It blew up in your face.” He replied, trying to bite back his own smile. Even if he was supposed to be mad at you, something about this felt so natural. He could argue with you for a lifetime.

“Majorly.” You agreed as you sighed deeply, shoulders slumping. He watched you, momentarily memorizing the expression on your face. You look defeated.

“When do you leave for school?” He asked gently, wondering how much time he’d have left. Maybe the two of you could make up before then. Maybe.

“A week,” You told him softly, “I’m excited.” You told him as a smile formed on your lips. He felt his heart crack a little bit, thinking about how far away you would be. He could still change his mind, though. He could still go with the original plan.

“You quit your job?” He asked you softly, trying to recall the last time he had seen you. He had been avoiding you, but maybe that’s why it had been so easy.

“I did,” You nodded your head along, “I figured I owed myself one last week to myself.” Your eyes were gentle as he met your gaze again, feeling the need to cup your face and hold you.

“Just by yourself?” He asked softly, wondering if you were even interested in him still. Maybe he had waited for too long.

“The friends I had were shitty,” You replied with a crinkled nose, “And the guy I’m crazy about isn’t talking to me right now.” You had a longing gaze on your features, making his heart thump roughly inside of his chest.

“We’re talking.” He replied as he felt his lips curl into a soft smile. Baby steps. That was good. Maybe this had been a little too rushed anyways.

“I hurt him,” You continued on, “And I was a big ass about it. He didn’t deserve to be treated in that way. I totally blew it.” You rambled on for a moment, making him consider your words. He agreed with them, but he knew he hadn’t been perfect either.

“I don’t know about totally,” He said a second later, “I think I’ve been a dick before too.” He told you truthfully, regretting the way he had ditched you in school. Things would’ve been better if he had just stuck with you.

“Steve,” You exhaled roughly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to get this far.” You looked apologetic again, eyes brewing over with fresh tears. He watched, but didn’t want you to cry.

“You’re being honest right now?” He questioned you softly, wondering if that trust could be bridged between the two of you again.

“Of course I am,” You said in surprise, “I swear to you.” You told him quickly, nodding your head. He breathed in deeply, feeling a lot better suddenly.

“I’m sorry I ditched you in high school.” He apologized, knowing he hadn’t ever fully said it outloud. Maybe he didn’t mean it then either, but he did now.

“That’s not important,” You mumbled as you looked towards the ceiling, “I shouldn’t listen to what people tell me so easily.” You chewed on your bottom lip, making him smile wistfully.

“You’re going to make much better friends than Patty.” He said honestly, feeling bad that you had been stuck with someone like her for so long.

“You think so?” You questioned, eyes glimmering hopefully. He paused for a moment, reaching across the counter to take your hand.

“I think you’re going to do great things.” He promised, observing the way your hand fit against his. Perfectly.

“I think you will too,” You replied gently, “Maybe you’ll forgive me one day and I can be there to witness that.” You breathed out hopefully, but he already knew what his answer was.

“I don’t get it,” He said suddenly, “How could you just lie to me like that?” He asked again, almost withdrawing his hand. But he stayed still, wanting to hear your answer. He wanted to believe you too. Badly.

“I didn’t realize it was real until it was too late,” You admitted, “And then I was afraid of hurting you. I know it sounds stupid, but I never wanted to hurt you. I promise you.” You nodded your head, looking earnest.

“You’ll never lie to me again?” He asked softly, linking his fingers with yours gently.

“Ever.” You nodded your head sternly, a small smile forming on your lips. His chest felt even lighter, his heart not as sore. He believed you, he really did.

“Maybe I could come with you,” He started to suggest, thinking about where this was going, “I mean, you’re going to need someone to carry all of those boxes.” He replied as a small laugh came from you.

“Oh, absolutely,” You nodded your head in agreement, “I need a strong man to help me out.” You teased, smile blinding as he watched the way your lips parted. He had a feeling that everything was going to be alright.

Thanks for reading!!

Tags: @ravenclawkatherine @losingmygrasponreality

[munsonsmixtapes]

Does anyone have an steddie x reader requests? Can be smutty or fluffy, I have no preference.

I DOOOOOO!!!

SMUT 🥰Reader (f) is with Steve, has been for over 5 years. Moved really fast, was all good and dandy fell inlove, live together. But reader is craving the attention of another, just to feel something new, to know she’s still wanted or attractive to others. Eddie is one of Steve’s close friends / reader broke down and explained to Steve how she feels (still loves him and only wants him but craves just something more) / Steve brings this up to Eddie asking for advice, and somehow ends up with Eddie confessing that he always was attracted to reader and it goes from there….. ? Eh? 🫠

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) voyeurism, zelophilia, choking, spanking, degradation (by both reader and Eddie) masochism, Eddie calls reader a slut and whore, perv!steve

"I don't think I understand," Eddie says as he sips on his beer. Him and Steve are sitting on his couch while a movie plays in the background.

"I know it sounds weird," Steve replies. His cheeks are flushed as he thinks about you having sex with his best friend. He doesn’t know why he’s to turned on. He’s unsure if it’s creepy or hot and feels a chill run down his spine as he thinks about it more. He doesn’t want to freak you nor Eddie out, so he’s trying to play it off like he’s uncomfortable with the whole thing.

"No, just tell me again and I think I'll get it." Eddie sets his beer on the coffee table as he turns to Steve to give him his full attention.

“Y/n...she...she wants to sleep with you." So that was what Steve had said and he wasn't just hearing things. This is the exact thing that's played out in his head more times than he can count, but he never thought it'd actually happen.

“Why would she want to do that when she has you?" That's what Steve doesn't understand. He knows that what he's into is a little vanilla, but you've never complained. In fact, you've told him that you really enjoy it on multiple occasions.

“She wants something different." Steve doesn't fully understand it himself and he's just trying to not feel offended about the whole thing.

Steve unfortunately knows about all the freaky shit Eddie is into (even if he really wishes he doesnt) and he knows that's why you're so interested in fucking him. He supposes he gets the appeal to a certain extent, but not really, though.

"Are you offering me the opptortunity to fuck her or just asking for advice?" Eddie's secretly hoping it's he first one as he's been wanting to do exactly that for so long. He wants to know if you're as much as whore as he thinks you are.

"Both...I guess?" Steve's still having a hard time wrapping his head around the whole thing so he's not exactly sure certain what he's supposed to say.

“Well, if I'm being honest, man, I've always had a crush on her," Eddie admits and he feels his cheeks heat. He wasn't planning on ever telling anyone that, fully prepared to take it all to the grave, but he supposes it's too late to take it back now.

Steve doesn't know why Eddie is telling him this as it has always been so obvious, but he can see that a huge weight has been lifted from his chest. He doesn't care, though. Eddie would never do anything about it and has been nothing but respectful about the whole thing.

If anything, Steve feels bad for the guy. He's watched the two of you with longing throughout your entire relationship and said and done nothing about his feels for you. And now Steve feels like a dick for unintentionally rubbing the whole thing in his face.

"Alright," Steve sighs. "I'm gonna offer you something I've never offered any other friend. This is a one time opportunity so if you say no, that's it, I'm not offering it again. So...choose wisely, alright?"

Eddie is actually on the edge of his seat now as he leans forward, so invested in what Steve's about to offer him even though he has a pretty good idea. Steve licks his lips then takes a deep breath then speaks again. He can't believe he's about to do this, but he feels like he owes the both of you.

And because he's such a good boyfriend and best friend, he says, "I'm offering you one fuck with my girlfriend. The only condition is that it has to be tonight and it has to be right now-"

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but the jealousy is making him feel some type of way. He can feel his cock getting hard just by the thought of it and now it’s all making sense.

"Yes," Eddie replies before Steve's even finish his sentence.

And if Steve’s being honest, imagining watching you and Eddie getting it on is making him even more hard, to the point where he has to cover his crotch with the blanket on his couch to hide the whole mess.

"Alright, let's go then." The two men rise from the couch and head to Steve's car to head to your apartment., one buzzing with excitement while the other feels a little queasy about the whole thing.

The front door to your apartment opens and there's Steve and...Eddie? What’s he doing there? Unless…no, there’s no way. Why would Eddie be there for that? And would Steve have asked him? It was very clear that he was uncomfortable by the whole thing so you dropped it, not wanting to make him feel even worse.

The two of them move into the living room and you’re quick to turn off the tv once they stand in front of the coffee table. Whatever is going on, they mean business.

“Can we talk to you?” Steve asks and you give the duo your full attention.

“Sure,” you nod, making yourself comfortable on the couch. “What’s this about?”

“Well,” Steve, sighs then turns to Eddie. “You tell her.” Now your interest is piqued. They really have you on the edge of your seat now.

“Steve has decided that he’s going to let us…” Eddie trails off, but you know exactly what he’s getting at.

“Let us what?” You know what he’s referring to, but you need to hear him say it. You actually need to hear the words come out of his mouth.

“I’ve decided to let the two of you fuck to get it out of your systems,” Steve tells you and you can see he’s still hesitant about it. You told him that you would leave it alone, but it’s become clear that he just wants to make you happy.

“You’re going to let me fuck your best friend?” You ask with a chuckle, not quite believing what’s happening.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I-I don’t know, the jealousy…turns me on.” You can see his cheeks flush and think it’s adorable. Everything’s starting to make sense now. Now you totally understand why Steve was always asking you to flirt with guys in bars beige taking you out to his car to show you that you belong to him and only him.

“And I don’t now, I also want just want to see you guys…I think I’m coming around.”

“You are?” You ask, unsure if you believe him considering that just last night, he felt uneasy. But what you didn’t know was he was just desperately trying to hide his kinks. He was just afraid that you were going to judge him.

“I am,” he nods. “I think it’ll be hot.”

“Wow, Steve, I’ve never pegged you as a perv.” You step closer to him, pressing your lips to his briefly before pulling away. “You wanna watch me fuck your friend, hm?” All he can do is nod and you find yourself stepping closer to Eddie.

You feel your heart race with excitement as you grab onto his arms, leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. They’re soft and his kisses are rough unlike Steve’s. His tongue takes no time to slide into your mouth and you moan as it tangles with yours.

His hand moves into your hair as Steve moves closer, already turned on by the whole thing. Watching his girlfriend making out with his best friend was doing something to him.

Eddie’s lips move to your jaw and he gives it a nibble, causing you to gasp and a whimper falls from Steve’s lips.

“You like that?” Eddie asks. “Does Steve do that to you?” He does sometimes, but Steve doesn’t even care what Eddie says. He’s so close to coming and he knows he can get there if you guys just fuck already.

“Mmm,” is all you respond and then Eddie’s lips are on your neck, licking and sucking in the skin as he forms a hickey on the spot right under your ear. Your moans are getting even louder and Steve is loving hearing it be caused by someone who’s not him.

“Fuck,” you whine and Steve moans, resisting the urge to get himself off right there. “More.”

Eddie’s teeth scrape along your neck and you feel your knees buckle, but he’s quick to catch you, pulling you so close to him that you can feel his rock hard cock against you.

“God, Eddie, take her top off,” Steve whines and as you moan again, Eddie’s hands moving to the buttons as his teeth slide against your skin again. Your orgasm is approaching fast and you can feel it.

Eddie pulls on your top and it opens as a couple of the buttons fly across the room. You gasp as the suddenly movement and Eddie is quick to push it from your shoulders, pulling it from your body and letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled pile.

He then moves to your bra and unhooks it as his lips find your collarbone as the thing fall to the floor between you. He then pulls away to get a look at your tits then buries his face between them.

“They’re even more beautiful than I thought they’d be,” he mumbles against your skin as his hands fumble with the button of your jeans. You help him and together, you’re able to slide your jeans off your legs before throwing them down onto the floor next to you.

He then grabs onto your ass and pulls you close to him, giving it a squeeze as his lips find yours again.

“Give it a smack, Eddie,” Steve instructs and Eddie obeys, smacking you hard, causing a gasp to fall from your lips as you fall into him from the impact. “Again,” he says. “Harder.”

Eddie smacks you even harder and you feel your cheeks stinging, but love the feeling. It feels almost euphoric having someone do these things to you.

You slide your tongue into Eddie’s mouth and push him back towards your room as his shirt comes off. He takes off his pants as Steve retrieves a condom for you, hurrying back so he doesn’t miss anything.

As soon as Eddie’s underwear comes off, you can’t help but stare at his rock hard cock, noticing immediately how much larger it is in comparison to Steve’s. You’re now wondering how it can possibly fit inside you, but you definitely want to try. You want him to fill you. You want tears to well up in his eyes as both he and Steve tell you that you can take it.

He grabs you and pushes you down onto the bed and Steve is quick to follow, sitting on the backs of his legs as he watches Eddie get on top of you after he's put on the condom, both of you moaning loudly as he enters you. He thrusts hard and deep as he pins your hands to the bed so you can't move anywhere. You're so hot underneath him like that and now he can't even blame Steve for wanting to fuck you any chance he gets.

Your moans are so loud and hot that both men swear they could both come just by hearng them. And Steve is close, God, is he close. Eddie's thrusts get harder and faster as he slowly tries to fit all of himself inside you inch by inch. He's only halfway there and you already feel tears pricking in your eyes.

"A little more, honey," Steve tells you. "You can take it." You can take it, you know you can. It hurts and you feel like you're going to be torn in half, but there's no way you're asking him to stop. You can't.

"Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, y/n," Eddie commands. "Just a little more." You can't help but notice how much more rough he is than Steve, and how much you enjoy it. You want him to degrade you, to tell you how much of a good little slut you are. But all of that comes to a stop when Eddie's hand wraps around your throat, giving it a tight squeeze.

Your eyes bug out as you stare at him in shock. You have no idea how he knows exactly what you like, but he does. He's not afraid of potentially hurting you like Steve is. And the thing is, you like the pain. You like the way his hand chokes you, the way you feel your throat closing up and how he lets up just when you feel like you're going to pass out.

And little do you know that Steve's taking notes, paying full attention to what you like and what you don't so he knows for the next time he fucks you. And he's not even upset. He knows that you never fake it, but maybe it's time to do something new.

Once you're breathing again, his movs back to your hip, pounding into you again and again sliding the whole ting in and out as you cry on his cock, feeling it stretching you out. You finally reach your orgasm and feel yourself slipping away as you go dumb.

"That's it, baby," Steve says as he encourages you through your orgasm, pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. "Taking Eddie so well, honey."

Eddie's pace slows down as you're fading away and he thinks it's best to call it a night, hoping, praying that you can't walk in the morning as he pulls out of you. He gathers his clothes from the floor as you tell him over and over how good he was. And as Steve walks him to the door after he's dressed, he makes sure to let his friend know that he can do that as many times as he wants as long as Steve can watch again. Eddie agrees and flees the apartment as Steve goes to take care of his fucked out girlfriend, wondering how he got to the point where he got to the point where he got off by watching her fuck his best friend.

[coco-cinnamon]

FIRST TIME WITH YOU

౨ৎ Warnings: cursing, smut, virginity, oral sex, mentions of sex, some fluff, 18+ MDNI.

౨ৎ Pairings: Steve Harrington x Fawn!Reader.

౨ৎ Summary: In which Steve and Y/N have their first time together.

౨ৎ Author's Note: I'd just like to put out there that, the first part of this fic shows that Y/N feels kinda shameful about being a virgin but seriously.. there is nothing to feel ashamed or embarrassed about when it comes to being inexperienced. Everyone is ready at different times, some sooner than others but it's okay not to be ready right away 💗

coco-cinnamon. please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

While making out with your boyfriend Steve at his place, you planned to stay the night, as it was the weekend. Though you had spent many nights at his house before, this was the first time your kissing had become so intense and heated. Feeling inexperienced, you were unsure how to proceed, as you had never been in such an intimate situation. Steve was aware of your relative inexperience, though unaware of the full extent of it.

You pulled away from him mid-kiss, avoiding his gaze. "What's wrong?" He asked, his brow furrowed with concern. He could always tell when something was bothering you.

You let out a heavy sigh. "Well, it's just... I mean, I'm inexperienced." You admitted, sounding slightly embarrassed.

"I already knew that, babe." Steve replied, tilting his head as he tried to discern the root of your unease.

"Yeah, but you only know a little of the truth." You said.

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

You felt embarrassed, but knew you had to tell him eventually. "Well... I'm still a virgin." You said quietly.

Steve sat in silence, leaving you worried about his reaction. As an experienced sexual partner, you feared that revealing your virginity might turn him off for good

"Are you mad?" You finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. Steve looked over at you, his expression puzzled. "Mad? Why would I be mad, sweetheart?" He asked.

You averted your eyes. "Well...it's because I'm a virgin and...I never told you until now." You said quietly.

Steve's brow furrowed as he took your hands in his. "Oh, baby," he said softly. "That would never upset me. It's completely fine that you're a virgin, and I would never pressure you to have sex before you're ready."

You bit your lip. "But you're so experienced, and I have no experience at all, other than making out." You said with a frown.

"I understand," he said reassuringly. "Everyone starts out inexperienced. But when you decide to have sex and with whom is entirely up to you. If you want to wait, that's your choice. Everyone's different, but you should never feel ashamed about being a virgin or inexperienced." He gave a small smile.

"About being ready," you said, looking up at him. "I am ready to have sex. I trust you, and I know you're the one I've been saving myself for." "Wait, are you sure?" He asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "Because it's okay if you aren't ready. You don't need to have sex with me just to make me happy."

You smiled. "No, I'm not just saying it, Steve. I really am ready. I know I am. I want to do this with you." He nodded and leaned in, kissing you softly at first. The kiss quickly grew passionate and hungry. You tangled your fingers in his brown locks as you made out. Steve broke the kiss, then stood and scooped you up into his arms, making you giggle.

He led you upstairs to his bedroom and gently laid you down on his bed. He resumed kissing you, trailing down your neck and leaving a trail of hickies on your soft skin. As he continued kissing down your body, he slowly removed all your clothes until you were completely naked. He stood at the foot of the bed, admiring you. "God, you're so gorgeous laid out on my bed like this." He said, biting his lip. Spreading your legs, he took in the sight of your pussy. You propped yourself up on your elbows, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation, wondering what he would do next.

Steve climbed onto the bed and nestled his head between your legs. He licked a slow, sensual stripe up your folds, eliciting a gasp and a sigh from you as you rested your head back on the soft pillow. Encouraged, he licked up your folds once more before gently spreading them.

He looked up at you hungrily before diving in, licking and sucking at your sensitive clit. "Fuck, baby." You moaned as he ate you out with abandon, like a starved man.

The familiar tension began to build in your core, and soon a wave of intense pleasure washed over you, causing your legs to tremble.

You uttered Steve's name breathlessly as you climaxed. He pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You're so alluring, princess. I can't wait to fill that pretty pussy of yours with my cock." He said with a glint in his eye. You gazed up at him, biting your lip coyly. "What are you waiting for?" You replied. "Oh baby, I'm gonna make sure that I ruin you for anyone else tonight." He said with a devilish smirk.

coco-cinnamon. please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐏 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𖥔

⊹ asking him to cum in you

⊹ being steve’s pretty little play thing

⊹ boyfriend!steve wanting to use your princess parts

⊹ feeling stressed so steve eats you out

⊹ giving stevie a handjob

⊹ late night fucks where steve fills you up

⊹ morning sex before he has to go to work

⊹ movie night with best friend!steve got a little carried away

⊹ passionate touchy makeout with stevie

⊹ showing fwb!steve your riding skills

⊹ sneaking up to frat!steve’s room while there’s a party downstairs

⊹ steve goes absolutely insane when you’re on top

⊹ steve moaning while you give him head

⊹ telling steve you’re ready to stop using condoms

⊹ the joy steve feels when he gets to cum inside you

⊹ what late night drives usually entail

⊹ when he comes home from work and needs you so bad

⊹ you and eddie wanting to pleasure steve

[ssweetleaf]

babies.

husband!steve harrington x wife!reader

summary: you finally tell steve that you’re ready for a baby.

includes: SMUT 18+, breeding kink, not really a daddy kink but he refers to himself as daddy lol, mating press, creampie, unprotected p in v

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Hang on— what did you say?”

Steve felt as if he was dreaming, completely delirious, struggling to stay on his feet when his knees started to buckle.

He clutched a quivering palm to his chest, as if in attempt to quell his heart, but nothing could sate the thick thumping that barrelled through his rib cage.

You smiled at him, a small, impish one that made his eyelids flutter and you stepped closer, smoothing your hands along his shoulders before resting upon the thickness of both biceps, squeezing only slightly— just for your benefit, of course.

You knew it was something he’d desperately wanted to hear for a long while, so you spoke slowly, hoping the few words you spoke would register properly.

Because this was real. Such a big step, something that Steve had always dreamt of, but you not quite. It took a good few years for you to succumb to the idea of raising kids; a pretty house and a small wedding— even a few cats roamed around your home, so you knew that something was missing, something you now wanted desperately in your life.

“I want to try for a baby, Steve.” You spoke, watching his doe eyes grow even rounder, little tears threatening to ebb while he felt all melty and gooey, moving forward to shakily cup your cheeks and bring you closer towards him.

Steve nuzzled his nose against yours, sighing out a big breath and sponging a sweet, chaste little kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I don’t know what to say, honey, I’m—” he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, his thumbs lazily circling the apples of your cheeks. “I’m so fucking happy.”

—

So, the two of you fucked like rabbits— for hours and hours, multiple times a day, the mere feeling of his raw length inside you had you creaming around him in minutes, and it was much akin for Steve, the soft, gummy walls of your cunt squeezing around him with no barrier between the two of you.

It felt like heaven.

Steve had insisted that you both have sex as regular as you could, the need to have you pregnant, to make it stick, needed to be quenched, and you nodded along like the doting little wife you were.

“My pretty honey,” he cooed, pressing your knees firmly against your heaving chest, holding you in a mating press whilst he fucked his thick cock into your spasming pussy.

Sweat beaded along his hairline, breathless from his hard thrusts— he had already came inside of you three times that same day, however you knew he wouldn’t let up until he saw those two red lines that told him what he’d wanted to hear.

“Gotta give you my babies, don’t I, hon?” He uttered, moaning breathily into the stuffy air— his full, round balls smacking against your ass with every inward thrust, so full of cum and ready to breed. “Gotta be thorough now, baby— want you nice ‘n’ round.”

He was babbling, words slurring into something almost nonsensical— his pretty lips sponged at any piece of skin he could find, mouthing and suckling with a desperation that shone in his honeyed eyes.

Your pussy practically sucked him in, letting his ruddy tip nudge at the spot so deep inside you, that had you clenching and fluttering.

“Fuck, jus’ wanna be a daddy so bad,” he whined, “and once we have our first, we’ll have another, and another, and another— oh fuck.”

He was fisting the pillow underneath your head, muscles drawn tight, trying so hard to keep his eyes open and not let them flutter closed— trying hard to keep his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, honey baby,” he sighed with a smile, still thrusting as deep as he could, his thumb moving to rub at your clit. “You’ll still be daddy’s best girl— daddy’s favourite, I’ll make sure of it.”

You whined. He was so filthy, so crude, as soon as his big dick would slip inside of you he’d be gone, so stupid, completely pussy drunk. Silly boy.

“You ready for it, hon?” He cooed, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, “ready for my cum, pretty girl?”

You nodded, uttering a small ‘yes, Stevie’ through a moan and a sigh, clenching hard and quivering around him, ready to cum yourself.

The sheer need to be filled had you delirious.

“Yeah, gonna fill you up— gonna put a sweet baby in that pretty tummy of yours,” he hummed, “that sound good?”

“Sounds s’good, Stevie,” you whined, struggling to keep hold of your legs, your limbs shaky when you tried to keep your knees pressed against you. “Wan’ it so bad, want your cum— want your babies.”

He nodded fervently, hair whipping in every which way, dick throbbing in you hotly, the taut veins pulsing with every inward thrust— so, so close and ready to burst.

“I know ya do, hon— you ready to take it? You ready to take another load, baby?” He whined, squeezing his eyes shut, thrusts turning sloppy and erratic, “I know you’re so full, can barely fit anymore cum inside this poor pussy, huh?”

“Can take it, Stevie,” you spoke, fluttering your lashes, your lips all pouty and pink, “promise.”

And with one, two, three thrusts, he stilled inside of you, so deep, tip kissing your cervix before shooting his thick, pearly ropes of cum inside you, hoping to fill you with his Harrington prodigy, to make all the babies he could wish for.

Steve kept your legs raised, pulling them from your chest to place above his shoulders, keeping your back arched.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” he whispered, stroking at your calf before pressing a little kiss to your ankle. “think this is the one, honey.”

[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 :,)

𝜗𝜚

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 thing!! it helps more than you know <3

[keeryhours]

lover boy - steve harrington

Modern College AU

Frat King! Steve Harrington x female! Reader

Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You absolutely do not want to see Steve tonight, but your friends convince you to go to his frat’s big party anyway. This is definitely not going to end badly.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), p in v, rough sex, sort of mean!Steve but also not at all, drinking

Word Count: 3,396

A/N:

I’m interested in writing more about frat Steve if y’all like this and want more! Requests are open :)

—

“Oh, come on,” your friend, Kayla, said. “It’s going to be fun.”

You weren’t so sure. It’s not that you didn’t like going to college parties, because you definitely did, it’s just that this one was being thrown at a specific frat house. At his frat house.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I just don’t know.”

Your other friend, Jenna, spoke up then. “There’s gonna be so many people there, you probably won’t even see him.” She attempted to reassure you. You didn’t really believe it, but you wanted to make your friends happy.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll go.”

Kayla and Jenna both began screaming then, both of them wrapping their arms around you which made you laugh.

“It’s going to be amazing,” Kayla said, absolutely beaming. “This is supposed to be, like, the party of the year.”

—

You, Kayla, and Jenna all crowded into your dorm room to get ready for the party that night. Your entire closet was on your bed by the time you were dressed, since your friends wanted to see every option possible before you decided on an outfit. You ended up in a cute new top you’d bought recently and a short skirt. You felt hot, at least.

Your friends looked equally hot. You all crowded into the mirror together as you pulled your cell phone out and took a photo, all three of you smiling. You posted it on your story before the three of you left.

Living on campus, the frat house wasn’t far away. You all decided to drive in Kayla’s car anyways because none of you wanted to walk blocks in your outfits.

The three of you sang along to music loudly as Kayla drove, the excitement for the party already high. You were the only one who couldn’t relax and just be happy, your mind racing about whether you’d see him there. You felt like you would - how could you not? He was president of the whole fraternity. You regretted letting your friends talk you into this, but at the same time, you didn’t want to let him ruin yet another night.

The party was already going strong when you pulled up to the house. The lawn was dotted with drunk college students, empty red cups all over. The three of you linked arms as you walked up to the front door, always a unit.

You had to separate as soon as you walked into the house, however, the crowd pushing in at you on all sides. You tried your best to form a hand holding train to the kitchen, which worked well enough.

You laughed as the three of you stumbled into the kitchen, and you grabbed three red solo cups, handing one to each of your friends. You made your drink strong, you knew you’d need it tonight.

You were pleasantly surprised at how well the night started. You didn’t see him, you didn’t run too close to any of his asshole friends. You started your night getting tipsy and dancing with Kayla and Jenna, but of course they each ended up being pulled off by some guy, and you were left alone. You’d had multiple guys approach you, but you weren’t interested. You had just wanted to hang out with your girls tonight.

You found yourself heading back into the kitchen for another drink refill. You would have to come up with a new plan for the night since your friends had been distracted.

You poured another strong drink in your cup, taking a big sip immediately. You were already feeling pretty loose and comfortable, after this drink you felt like you’d be having a really good time.

Tommy found you in the kitchen, which wasn’t ideal, but he had Carol with him so you weren’t too upset. The couple practically cornered you, and you ended up in a conversation with them as you finished your drink. By the time you were done you really were having an amazing time, laughing so hard your stomach hurt at some story Tommy was telling.

“I wanna go dance now,” Carol said, rubbing her hand over Tommy’s chest. He looked down at her hand before meeting her eyes again, giving her a smirk.

“You got it, baby,” he said, grabbing her hand. “See you around,” he said to you with a nod.

“You should come dance, too!” Carol called as her boyfriend dragged her off.

You didn’t think that sounded like a terrible idea. You tossed your cup in the trash can as you walked - you were plenty tipsy for now and you’d just get another one if you wanted another drink.

Back on the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music, dancing alone. Carol smiled at you from across the floor, and you giggled back at her. You were feeling incredible.

The feeling of large hands on your hips and someone’s body pressing up behind you took you by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You danced on this mystery guy, grinding your ass back against his hips. You thought maybe you’d found your entertainment for the evening, until you heard that voice in your ear.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Steve hummed in your ear as he danced against you, pushing the bulge in his jeans up against your ass. His fingertips teased up your bare thighs, slightly pushing up your already tiny skirt.

You had done so well avoiding him all night, and now here he was, as close to you as he could get, his hands trailing under your skirt. And you weren’t pushing him away. Your skin tingles everywhere he touches. It always went the same way with him.

“Steve…” you breathed out, continuing to dance slowly to the music. Steve’s grip tightened on your body.

“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me…” he said, his voice low and right in your ear. He caressed your thighs as he danced against you, pulling you tightly against his own hips.

“No,” you lied, a blush rising to your cheeks that you were glad he couldn’t see. “I just didn’t see you.”

“Well here I am,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. Yeah, here he was.

“I’ve missed you,” he continued to purr in your ear. “You haven’t been texting me back.”

You fought back the urge to sigh. “You know why, Steve.”

Steve laughed lowly against your neck, his hands moving up to grip your hips and guide you back against him. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Steve liked to play games. You swore to yourself and your friends that you were over him, and you weren’t going back to him again. He was no good for you, he only ever wanted to fuck and then act like he doesn’t even know you at school. Yet every time you came face to face with him, you fell back into him every time.

You didn’t respond to Steve. You kept dancing on him instead, grinding your ass back against him until you could feel just how hard he was through his jeans.

He wasn’t shy about moving his hands wherever he wanted to go, starting from your hips up and over your stomach and breasts, then back down to feel your bare thighs again, hands reaching beneath your skirt until fingertips traced lightly over your panties.

You gasped at the feeling. You were suddenly aware of how exposed you were.

“Not here…” you mumbled back to him, hoping he could hear you over the blaring music.

You felt him grin against your neck. “Wanna go up to my room, then?”

You should have said no. You were going to say no. At least that’s what you tell yourself. In reality, you didn’t hesitate before you were nodding your head, which only made Steve grin wider.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, before pulling you through the party and up the stairs. You caught Jenna’s attention for a moment as Steve dragged you off, and she gave you a wide eyed look that said, Really?, to which you could only shrug. She shook her head at you as you followed Steve upstairs.

You had been in his room many times before, so this was nothing new. He locked the door behind you, turning to you with that cocky smile on his face.

“Did you wear this tiny little thing for me?” he asked as he walked right up on you, his fingers toying with the hem of your mini skirt.

“No,” you responded with a scoff. “What, I can’t want to look cute without it being for you?”

“Who else do you wanna impress?” he asked, chuckling darkly. He slid his hands beneath your skirt, cupping your ass in his large hands and squeezing.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” you huffed, but then Steve was leaning down and before you knew it his lips were on yours. You hesitated for only a second before you kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck. He felt you up as he kissed you, his hands continuing to feel your ass and play with the hem of your panties.

He pushed your panties down your legs, and you stepped out of them and kicked them away when you felt them hit the ground. He groaned, his hands having full access to wherever he wanted now.

He felt around your smooth legs, one hand sliding around your front until he was slipping a finger between your folds, feeling how slick you were already.

“So wet for me,” he groaned against your lips. “You always act like you don’t want me anymore, but your pussy always begs for me.”

He circled around your clit with a single fingertip and you leaned your head back, letting out a sigh of pleasure. Steve took the opportunity to attack your neck, biting and sucking at your skin before soothing it with his kisses. You figured he’d be leaving marks again. You knew you’d regret letting him do it tomorrow, but for now it just felt so good.

Steve moved his hands back up to your hips, then slid them up your sides, feeling the skin beneath your shirt until he was pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. He undid your bra with expert fingers, then he cupped your breasts with his hands, thumbs rubbing over your hardening nipples.

You tangled your hands in his perfectly styled hair, messing it all up. He didn’t complain as he moved back up to kiss you again, his tongue tracing along your lips until you let him in. You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressed against yours as he kissed you deeply, making him smile into the kiss.

He pulled away from you with a smack to your ass. “Get on your hands and knees for me, baby.”

You moved to push your skirt down your legs, but he stopped you.

“No. I think I like the skirt,” he said, a smirk on his lips.

You smiled to yourself as you climbed onto his bed on your hands and knees, lowering your upper half to lay on his soft sheets, the side of your face pressed into the mattress.

Steve groaned in approval, flipping your skirt up and rubbing a hand over your ass as he took in the view. He gave it another harsh slap, causing you to jerk forward and moan out at the feeling.

You heard him quickly undressing himself. His shirt hitting the floor, his belt unbuckling and zipper coming undone as he pushed his jeans and boxers down.

You felt his hands on your hips as he positioned himself behind you, his hard cock grazing against your thigh as he adjusted himself.

You closed your eyes in anticipation, subconsciously moving your hips back against him, wanting to feel him inside you immediately.

He smacked your ass again, and you let out a mix between a yell and a moan.

“Always so eager for me…” he mumbled, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and giving himself a couple quick strokes. He rubbed his tip between your glistening folds, coating his dick in your wetness.

You gasped when you felt him against your entrance, but you barely had time to think about it before he was thrusting in without warning, filling you completely in a second.

You screamed his name, your fists balling into the sheets, looking for some kind of leverage over the intense pleasure and slight pain from the stretch of him. Steve had a big dick, and he knew it.

You could hear the smirk in his voice even as he praised you, setting a brutal pace as he thrusted into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. She’s so fucking tight, every time for me.”

You moaned as he fucked you mercilessly, your eyes rolling back in your head and you thought you might also be drooling. Your brain was already hazy from the pleasure, when Steve reached forward, grabbing onto your shoulder so he could pull you back on his cock harder and faster.

You didn’t know if you could take much more of this. You felt your orgasm building fast, just from the perfect way he was fucking you. You felt like you had lost your mind and the only thing that was left was Steve and the way he was making you feel.

Steve grunted as he thrusted into you harshly while also pulling your body against his hips with every movement. His head dropped forward, hair hanging in his face, as he groaned loudly.

“Fuck, baby…” he panted out. “You have the perfect fucking cunt. I’ve never fucked a pussy this good, I swear to god.”

You whined at the compliment, arching your back as he took everything he wanted from your body. And you were happy to let him do it.

Steve reached one hand around your body to rub quick circles against your clit. You were already close just from his dick, so when you felt his touch you cried out, eyes closing hard and desperate moans spilling from your lips as you came hard around his cock. You tensed around him, making him groan loudly as he only pounded into you faster, chasing his own release.

“Yeah…that’s it, good girl,” he grunted out as he leaned his whole body over you. He rutted into you nearly desperately at this point, his grip on your hip tightening until you were sure it would leave a bruise.

“Fuck…gonna cum,” he groaned, and you felt his thrusts becoming more frantic and sloppy. “Can I cum inside?”

“Yes,” you answered him immediately. “Please. I’m good. I want you to.” You were practically begging him, it was your favorite way for him to finish and you felt like you needed it desperately.

Steve moaned, moving his hand up to grab your hair as he buried his face in your neck, thrusting into your pussy from behind at that brutal pace until he pushed in one last time, moaning your name before he groaned as he filled you deeply. You felt the warmth of him deep inside you and you whined, pushing your hips back against him as if wanting more even though you were both now utterly spent.

Steve tried to catch his breath as he laid over you. Realizing you were probably uncomfortable with all his weight on you, he carefully pulled out, rolling onto his side next to you.

Your body felt used in the best way. You ached, both from and for him. You were always insatiable when it came to Steve, that was one of your many problems.

Steve stood, pulling his boxers and jeans back on. You still hadn’t even moved from your position on your stomach, feeling like your body was made of jelly.

“You should get cleaned up and get back out there,” he said, pulling his shirt on over his head. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to fix it.

You looked over at him. You always wished he’d stay, even just for a little while. Cuddle a little, maybe. But this was King Steve and he didn’t do things like that.

You lifted your aching body from the bed, feeling a little embarrassed as you had to nakedly hunt for your clothes on the floor. You found your top, but couldn’t find your panties anywhere until Steve tossed them to you with a smirk.

“I would have kept them, but with that little thing,” he eyed your skirt hungrily, like he wanted to get beneath it again, “I think you need ‘em more than I do.”

You blushed, sliding your panties back on. “You’re a pig.”

Steve laughed, leaning over to look at himself in the mirror attached to his dresser. He fixed his hair a little more, and then he was heading to the door.

“Take your time in here,” he said, unlocking and opening the door. He slipped through, careful not to expose your still topless form to anyone in the hallway. He looked back at you before he fully left. “I’ll text you,” he said, giving you a wink, and then he was gone.

You sighed as you pulled the rest of your clothes back on. You felt the same way you always did after you ended up sleeping with Steve again - guilty, angry at yourself. But also longing for more from him, which was probably the part of yourself you hated the most.

You slipped out of his bedroom, straightening your clothes and hair. You managed to get back to the party undetected.

You swore that you weren’t going to let Steve ruin your night, and you didn’t plan to let that change even though you’d fucked him again.

You went back into the kitchen, making yourself another drink. Steve was across the room, leaning against the wall and talking to a group of people hanging on his every word. This included at least three girls, one of which was literally hanging on his arm.

You rolled your eyes and walked into the living room, drinking from your cup as you walked. You wanted to get drunk now, forget all about Steve. Again.

Jenna caught your eye as you entered the room, and she left the guy she’d been with the whole night to run over and grab your arm.

“What the fuck was that?” she hissed at you, not wanting the whole party to hear. “Did you fuck him again?”

The look on your face was answer enough. Jenna sighed and looked at you like she was disappointed, which made you feel terrible.

“Come on, girl. I love you. You need to respect yourself more than that.”

You knew she was right, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore. You tugged on her hand. “I don’t want to talk about him. Come on, come dance with me.”

She looked at you strangely as she let you lead her to the dance floor. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m great,” you assured her, a smile plastered to your lips. “I just want to have fun tonight, okay?”

She looked at you for a few seconds longer, but then she gave in, sighing and squeezing your hand. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s dance.”

You smiled gratefully at her, and the two of you started dancing along to the music. The current song ended, and the one that came on next happened to be your friend group’s favorite. You both laughed and began singing along, Kayla running from wherever she had been all night to join in dancing with you.

You didn’t need Steve or any guy to have a good time. Even though you let him in again, let yourself be let down by him again, you could push that out of your mind. Right?

He watched you from across the room as you danced with your friends. You could feel his eyes burning into you, but you only allowed yourself to look up once, only for a moment. He turned his attention back to the girl he was talking to the second your eyes met, but you saw him.

You were tired of stressing over Steve. Fuck Steve.

Whatever. You were going to have fun. The night was still young.

[lovebugism]

do something with king steve who secretly likes female/shy/reader

hope u like it xoxo — the one where king steve keeps his best girl a secret (shy!fem!r, secret relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

“Boo!”

You jump when a figure appears suddenly behind the door of your opened locker. They’re wearing bell bottoms and a sparkly clip in their strawberry curls. Carol Perkins giggles when her attempts to scare you work. Tommy Hagan follows just behind her, laughing louder until his freckled face scrunches together.

The only reassuring thing about seeing both of them together is knowing Steve isn’t too far behind. He’s got his tongue in his cheek, and his arms crossed over his chest, visibly unamused.  “What are you guys— three?” he scoffs, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.

“Yeah, three inches deep in your mom,” Tommy retorts with a boyish chuckle.

Carol squints her made-up eyes at him. She deadpans, “That’s not the comeback you think it is, Hagan.”

You turn to Steve with a panicked glimmer in your eye. You’re so used to being the butt of all their jokes that being in their proximity now fills you with something close to ice-cold dread. You peer at the boy beside you with pinched-together brows, knowing he’s the only one who cares about you past cheating off your homework.

“What’s going on?” you wonder quietly, for only him to hear.

Steve grins, brows raised and eyes twinkling. “My house is gonna be empty tonight. ‘Cause, you know, my dad’s got a work conference or whatever, so… No parents. Big house—”

“A total recipe for disaster,” Tommy interjects with a laugh.

“You’re throwing a party?” you ask, voice trembling. There’s little more that scares you than crowds — well, crowds and loud music and drunk people. Parties were never your scene. Steve knows that better than anyone.

He corrects you quickly, stammering over himself because he never wants you to feel uncomfortable. “No! No, not a party. It’s gonna be lowkey. Just a— a get-together, you know? Just the four of us.”

“Ooh,” Carol croons from behind you. “So no priss?”

“Shut up, Carol,” Steve snaps.

“I’m just used to you following her around like a lost puppy, that’s all.” Carol and Tommy laugh about it together. ‘Cause that’s all they’re really good at — making stupid jokes and cackling like supervillains.

Steve rolls his eyes with an annoyed huff and turns his attention back to you. You take it from him wholly, every ounce of his focus. 

There was something ethereal in your vagueness — in how softly you spoke and how pretty you looked when you weren’t even trying. You’re quiet and mysterious and hidden. Steve desperately wants to be the one that deciphers you.

“Are you in?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone.

Your gaze falls to the tile. “I don’t know…” you murmur.

“C’mon,” he croons and steps closer to you. His sneakers enter your vision until you look up at him again, peering at him from beneath your lashes. His grin is pink and pretty and lopsided. “Don’t leave me with these assholes all night.”

“Dick,” you hear Tommy scoff from behind you. He sounds much further away than that ‘cause all you can see now is Steve. And his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his stupid pretty smile.

You cave instantly. 

You never really stood a chance, anyway. Not with the way he was looking at you.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble and turn back to your locker. You switch your English textbook for a History one and cradle it in your arms. Steve grins, knowing he’s forgotten his on purpose just so he could sit next to you all period.

“Good,” the boy hums.

“We’re finally wearing Wallflower down,” Carol muses, giggling to herself.

Tommy knocks you too hard on the shoulder. “You’ll be one of us in no time,” he grins.

You grimace as they walk off down the hall. That’s the last thing you’ve ever wanted. The thought of there being an ounce of similarities between you and them makes your stomach ache.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Steve tells you, smiling quietly when you nod. 

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and passes you a folded-up piece of paper. He doesn’t look back at you when he follows his friends down the corridor. You don’t open it until he’s gone.

West wing chem lab, he’s written in chicken scratch. Come find me. 

—————

The hallway at the west end of the school is dim and empty. The floors are untouched, and the lockers are sparingly opened. The air is thick and noticeably stale. You open the door to the old chemistry room with a high-pitched squeak that sounds like something out of a horror movie.

Steve waits for you in the dark classroom, lit only by the natural sunlight streaming in through translucent curtains. He sits at a table in front of the window and toys with the burner at the end of it. He turns the thin blue flame on and off and on again, silently wishing he’d plucked a cigarette from Tommy before he left.

His honey eyes flit to yours when you walk into the room. He grins at the soft smirk on your bitten lips. “What’s that look for, huh?” he teases, turning off the burner and sliding off the desk.

You shrug. “Nothin’…”

“I missed you.”

You scoff when he wraps his arms around you. His wide palms smooth over your back. “You just saw me.”

“It doesn’t count when I’m with Tommy and Carol. I need you all to myself…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs lowly, ducking down to kiss you. His plush lips lock with yours, tasting of nicotine and chewing gum — a near-lethal concoction. He smiles against your mouth when you melt further into him. He parts from you with a gentle smack.

“They’re starting to like me, I think,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over his chest. “Tommy and Carol.”

“I think so, too.”

“It’s awful.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” he concurs, grinning wide when you giggle.

“But, you know, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” you stammer, gaze falling when it becomes too hard to hold his. “If they don’t think I’m, like, the lamest person on the planet.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why you don’t want them to know about us, right? ‘Cause you’re King Steve, and I’m… fish bait,” you conclude with a forced laugh.

“No,” he answers instantly. “What? No. That’s not— That’s not why.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want them to know about us because they’re assholes,” Steve confesses. “I mean, they were awful to Nancy when we were together. ‘Cause they’re miserable, and they hate when other people are actually nice. I just don’t want them to… ruin anything, that’s all…”

You muss with a rogue thread at the neckline of his sweater and smile quietly to yourself. “I thought you were scared because you accidentally fell in love with the Wallflower instead of the Prom Queen.”

Steve scoffs. “I didn’t accidentally fall in love with you, first of all.”

“No?” you murmur, brow quirking in disbelief. 

“No, it was very intentional.”

“I don’t believe that,” you argue with a lighthearted chuckle. You think it’s easier than saying, I don’t believe you because there’s no way you love someone like me because you want to.

Steve’s palms squeeze your sides reassuringly, like he can hear all the mean thoughts swirling in your head. “Well, you didn’t make it any easier on me,” he tells you, a crooked smile tugging at his pink lips. “You started talkin’ all smart in Ms. Click’s class, and I started melting.”

“That’s when you knew you liked me?” you scoff. “After I gave a presentation about geopolitical tensions in China?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, licking his lips with heavy eyelids. “See what I mean? That’s hot.”

“God, you’re such a boy.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before? 

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you. 

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly. 

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.  

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette. 

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown. 

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing. 

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”  

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend. 

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something. 

You wondered if he’d find it. 

“Not everyone?” You whispered. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be. 

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact. 

The silence was too loud now. 

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes. 

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air. 

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour. 

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle. 

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls. 

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out. 

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him. 

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy. 

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer. 

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough. 

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?” 

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too. 

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again. 

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason. 

He simply pressed his lips to yours. 

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own. 

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar. 

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper. 

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—” 

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own. 

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning. 

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position. 

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he  had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin. 

“Kiss me.”

 So you did. 

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own. 

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise. 

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak. 

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else. 

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower. 

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you. 

“Yeah?” Was all you asked. 

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours. 

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question. 

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control. 

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch. 

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder. 

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home. 

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed. 

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before. 

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans. 

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

[strangelysamantha]

break up with your gf ❀

steve harrington x reader.

warnings: infidelity, alcohol/drunk steve.

words: 1,447.

summary: in which steve has trouble in paradise, he goes to you for advice, and while your feelings are prominent, you're unsure of how steve feels about you. you urge him to break up with his girlfriend, since he is clearly very unhappy.

request: yes! from pm!

a/n: i need a speech to text setting except it just reads my mind instead. like and reblog if you enjoy. maybe drop a follow. asks are open, and i have alot of great stories in my drafts. thank you as always. <3

masterlist link

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you saw them in the hallways at school every day. you dreaded it. he sneaks up behind her, lifting her in the air. spinning her around, his hands tight on her waist. he'd spin her around, his full attention on her. the other students rushing to class, and all he'd care about is the brief five minutes he'd get to see her pretty face. small giggles would escape her lips, pure bliss commencing. he would pull her into a deep kiss, she happily kissed him back, her hands tangling in his brown fluffy hair. it was nauseating to watch. seeing them so entranced with each other, you slammed your locker shut, heading to class.

you didn't know why you couldn't leave him alone, let him be happy. have his little romance flourish and have him be satisfied, but something inside you craved his touch, his attention, a few times a month he would get too drunk. immediately his contact would appear on your phone, drunken words filled your screen. he was so sappy, talking about how his girlfriend didn't satisfy him enough. how he needed someone else that would please him fully. he asked if you could stop by to talk, while you hesitated, worried for a set up, you knew you would have regretted not going.

you knock twice, and he swings the door open. "thanks for coming." he got out of the way, welcoming you inside. you hurried through the door, the house was dim, most lights were off since it was so late. he led you to his room, gently shutting his door behind him. "why do you always come when i call?" he asks. his breath reeked of bourbon, and you started to wonder why you even gave him the time of day. "if you need someone, i will be here for you," is all you could say. he nodded.

"she just doesn't get me, yknow?" you follow along, glancing around the room. "it's like she wants me to be better, but in return i'm changing myself for her. she has me doing stuff i would have never done before," you tsk, "why stay if you are unhappy?" he ponders for a moment, "because," he pauses, collecting his thoughts. you wait silently, crossing your legs together. you mouth forms a straight line as he still hadn't given a reason for staying with her. "steve?" he looks back at you, halting his repetitive pacing. "i don't know why i stay, i guess i want it to work out..." he sits beside you on the bed. "you need to break up with your girlfriend." he stays silent after your comment.

you sigh, he places his head on your lap, and you run your hands through his hair. "if you're this unhappy now, how do you think you'll be happy down the line?" he takes a deep breath, your words settling ease over him. "i don't think she even loves me." his tone is laced with sadness, and your heart aches at his puppy dog eyes. "steve, you are very handsome. super funny, and charming. you will be able to find someone who truly deserves your time and energy." he closes his eyes, his hand wraps around your thigh. "what if i hurt her feelings?" you place your hand on his cheek. "but if you stay with her, knowing you aren't fully in it, and she finds out your leading her on, she might hurt more." he nods, appreciating your advice. he lays quietly in your lap; you look down at him. you notice his sleepy eyes and prominent eye bags. "you need rest, honey."

he moves to lay in the middle of the bed. you lift the blanket up, tucking him in. you get up to leave and he reaches for your hand. "stay." you nod, slowly sliding into bed with him. your nerves wash away when he cuddles you, spooning. he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you as close as he can manage. you close your eyes, your mind racing. despite all the times he talked about leaving, and moving on, he never actually did it. this was the third time you had went to steve for support, he'd tell you everything wrong, and any advice you'd give, he'd listen intently, and then immediately do the opposite.

despite how badly you wanted steve, you didn't want to always be a drunken late-night call. you actually liked him, and it was starting to feel like he didn't like you, let alone care about you. you settle into bed with him, you try to clear your cloudy mind. the sound of his small snores allows you to crawl out of his bed. you slip out of his room, headed to the front door. you make it outside, getting in your car and heading back home.

the first thing you see when you open social media is an anniversary post from steves girlfriend. your heart drops to your stomach, you always blamed yourself after going to steve. regardless of the fact he was the one to initiate, you still felt bad afterwards. you click your phone off, already having enough with what you saw. you lay back on your bed, your phone suddenly rings, and its steves contact. you take an unsteady breath, reluctantly answering the call.

"hey." he breathlessly states. "hello," you softly mutter back. "i took your advice. i broke up with her." your heart speeds up at his words. "really? how did it go?" he sighs, "it went okay. she wasn't happy, but she was glad i ended it before things got super serious." you nod, although he couldn't see that on his end. "i'm proud of you, steve." your words have his heart beating out of his chest. "i think i was pretty distracted during the relationship with her," you're puzzled by his words, "what do you mean?" he laughs nervously, "well, i'd really like to try things between us. so many times, i called you, because in the back of my head, i wanted us to be together." his words were the words you've been waiting for, but now hearing them you couldn't help but feel like a rebound.

"steve, i'm not going to be a rebound." you remark, and your tone hurts his feelings. "it won't be like that, i promise. you've showed me so much. you've allowed me to be vulnerable and my authentic self. you make me feel like a good person, without having to change myself in the process." you smile at his confession. "that means a lot steve, and i really like you. are you sure the wound isn't too fresh?" you question, scared for his potential response. "well, i know what i want. and she said she had found someone else too." you're stunned at this, "she moved on already too?" he smirks, "yeah, i guess she wasn't feeling the love either. do you want to come over?" he questions. "yeah, i'll be over soon, okay?" you stand up, grabbing your shoes. "okay, great. i'll see you soon." you say goodbye before ending the call.

you approach steves house, he's waiting outside for you. you walk up to his porch, and he immediately pulls you into a hug, you wrap your arms around his neck. he wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing you. you both pull away. he looks up at the stars, and you follow his gaze. he holds your hand, "can i take you on a date?" you smile brightly, "i would love that steve." he grins, "sleepover?" you bite your lip, "why not." you follow him to his room again, getting deja vu from being here a few hours earlier.

"thank you for sticking by me." he rubs your back, "of course, i do have something to admit though." he frowns at this but urges you to continue. "it was really hard seeing you two in the hallways." he stares into your eyes, "i'm sorry, i didn't even think about that." you shake your head, ensuring he knew it wasn't his fault. "i'm just happy to be with you here now," he laughs, "i wanted to say something sooner, but i was also so scared of the breakup to blow up in my face." you nod, understandingly, "i know, but aren't you relieved now?" you're curious to see how he is feeling.

"very relieved now," you two lay back in his bed, cuddling. "i couldn't have gotten the courage without you." he leans in for a kiss, this one being full of love and need. "what do you want to do?" you stare into his eyes, entranced by his beauty. "i just wanna lay here with you." you giggle, "that can be arranged." he pulls you closer to him, and the two of you lie there embraced with each other.

[taintedcigs]

can’t stop thinking about firefighter steve x chief’s daughter and it’s your fault </3333

— switched

firefighter!steve harrington x reader.

CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP... I AM SORRY!!!... also ignore my lazy caption i cant find anything better woops... warnings: MINORS DNI!!! just filthy piv smut, maybe a bit of mean!steve, some dirty talk and DUH switch!steve and switch!reader bc i can't help myself. </3 wc: 1.1k+

But seriously imagine Steve with Captain's daughter... you meet him when your dad takes you down to the station, and of course, Steve charming Harrington lays (or at least tries to) the moves on you the SECOND he meets you, and sure enough, captain WARNS him to stay away from you.

Not realizing forbidden fruit is much more juicy when it's prohibited. and it quickly turns into a dirty little secret.

So casual and fun, the sneaking around, the hidden dates, having sex wherever and whenever you can, and of course, having sex while the others are busy and he's not, and now you convince him to have sex in one of the trucks.

Lodged in one of the backseats, you're on top of him, his uniform folded to his ankles, he looks good with it, but much better out of it.

With slow movements, you tease him, milking him for his worth, hips rolling so skillfully that all he can do is mutter out a few "F-fuck!"'s and a whole lot of "S-shit.... mhmm... jus' like that, honey."

You're perfect, but your teasing is straight-up torturous. "Baby," he whispers, lips grazing over your ear, pathetically and heaving, just needing more of you, even though you're sure he can't go in any deeper.

"We have to be quick." It's almost like a warning, he doesn't want to get caught, and neither do you, but it's so much fun with the risks, with the what-ifs, with the sneaking around and the secrets.

You pull back from his neck with a hearty giggle, the smile adorning your face is sweet and deadly, picking up your pace just slightly, bouncing up and down his veiny cock, feeling him stretch you open, nice and wide.

And as much as you want to pretend that it doesn't have any effect on you, it does. He's big, so big that you can almost feel him splitting you open, feeling him throbbing, can imagine his pink tip going red, tired of all the teasing, but you're nowhere near done. "Oh, do we?"

You throw him another sultry look and at this point, you can barely see his pupils, gaze overblown by desire, the tight hold he has on your hips is almost bruising, marking you, heavy breathing all over your already marked up neck. you know he's going to explode soon. "I don't think you get to decide that, Steve."

Another smirk thrown his way, "What happened, Stevie? gonna cum?" you ask, voice filled with desire, hips grinding against his thighs, every movement is met with his loud moans.

Not even bothering to stifle it.

It's like he wants everyone to know that you're his.

"You're evil," he groans, it's much less pathetic, almost sinful coming out from his salmon-pink lips, the tip of his cock hitting spots inside of you that you didn't know existed.

And you try, so hard, to play it cool, like grinding down on his huge cock is not making you want to scream out.

Like his thick thighs that you are sitting on and heavy balls that are slapping against your sweetest spots aren't making you squirm, like you're not about to whine and beg for him to make you cum.

And, shit, you know he can tell, by the way his big hands grab your hips, guiding you roughly, a bruising hold that makes you let out a mewl, yet, you still hope he doesn't notice.

But he does.

"You love it, don't you? Love me having all the control and being all mean to you?" Your last attempt to have all the control and you fail.

Because his padded thumb rubs circles against your clit, and your voice cracks, turning you into a mewling mess.

He can feel you slipping over the control, it's all so quick, one more move from him and he knows you'll be putty in his hands, begging to have his cock stuffed inside you forever.

Just the thought of that makes him want to spend his load inside of you, a half-smirk is quick to form its place on his freckled cheeks. "That's funny," he grunts, realizing that your movements are slowing down, allowing him to finally drive his cock into you slowly, regaining some sort of control, intently watching the way your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head.

"W-what is?" You try to hum confidently, attempting to mask your submissiveness, but it's too fucking late, and that infamous smirk grows on his cheeks, spreading all over.

He chuckles, the sound bellowing from his stomach, it's downright pornographic, making your pussy flutter in more ways than one.

His movements pick up, fucking into you with short but rough thrusts, filling you all the way in.

"That you think you even have an ounce of control, sweetheart," he growls into your ear, making you moan with need, the room filled with slapping noises, heavy balls hitting against your clit.

All so stimulating.

"I let you have it, and I can take it away just as quick, hmm?" He barely gives you any time to adjust to his words, abusing his cock inside of your soppy pussy, making you gasp as your gaze glistens with tears.

He's just so fucking good.

And you're perfect like this.

"S-steve!" You yelp, driving him more and more to the brink of insanity, hands grabbing any globe of skin he can find, teeth sinking into it, while his cock hits inside of that sweet spongey spot that makes you sing.

You have that fucked out look on your face, plushy lips slightly apart, hair disheveled and brows knitted, Steve wants nothing more than to fuck your drooly lips next, and fill each of your filthy holes with his cum.

"God, I love it much more when you go all cock drunk on me like this.... Can't even form a coherent thought when I'm poundin' into you, can you, honey?" The name sounds sickly sweet rolling off his lips, but in the dirtiest way, and all you can do is nod meekly, grabbing onto his shoulders for some sort of support.

He hums contently, watching the way his cock disappears in and out of you, covered in your juices, perfect fucking sight.

"Singing like an angel the second i have you bouncin' on my cock, that's right, sweetheart, love it so much more when all that's coming out of those pretty little lips are those whines," he whispers in the shell of your ear, mouth running more and more the closer he gets, and his gaze darkens.

"Now be a good girl and take my cock, yea?"