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jokenotfunny · 7 months ago

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about a boy - e.m.

Summary: You've never had a boy in your bed. You're not sure what you're meant to do with one.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: none i don't think? mainly fluff and an overthinking reader (they're so me)

divider by firefly-graphics

There's a boy in your bed.

"M&M?"

You turn your head. Eddie holds the bag of candies to you.

"Okay," you say, and take a blue M&M.

Eddie smiles, about fifteen M&Ms in his own mouth. His attention returns to the screen. You have no idea what's playing.

A boy is in your bed, and he's put a movie on, and now his thigh is pressed against yours, lean and warm.

Eddie's socks are green and have tiny yellow stars on them. He's pulled them over his jean cuffs to keep the cold away. Not that it matters when he has a sleeveless Metallica shirt on.

But Eddie doesn't seem to get cold, anyway. You went for ice cream last week even though it had snowed the night before.

Eddie had paid for your ice cream, which isn't something to look too into. Steve's paid for your ice cream before, because Steve's a nice guy. And Eddie's a nice guy too. So maybe nice people pay for ice cream. And that's all.

Your eyes trace the dip of Eddie's belly, the slice of skin that peeks out between his waistband and shirt hem. His exposed arm and neck is sprinkled with freckles and you can see the edge of the demon tattoo on his breastbone.

Your heart races. That's wrong, isn't it? Looking at Eddie like that? Hoping he'll give you more?

You don't know. You've never had a boy in your bed. There's no guidebook.

Eddie laughs at the screen. You relish in his swelled cheeks and glimpse of fanged canines. You love Eddie's smile; bright and all-encompassing. You can't help but be pulled into his orbit every time you're around him.

You ought to give Robin something for introducing the two of you. A fruit basket, or maybe Vickie Summers in a gift box.

Need curls deep in your chest as you watch Eddie sink further into your pillows. You wonder if he can feel your eyes on him. That would be embarrassing. But maybe he'd be flattered that you're looking at him; that you can't help but.

He's touchy. Affectionate. You're really not, but Eddie takes it in stride. He gives you little half-hugs instead of his usual squeeze-the-soul-out-of-you ones. He bumps your shoulder or simply walks beside you, respecting your space.

And funnily enough, through all that, you've begun to wish Eddie would touch you more.

"'M gonna get more popcorn," he says. "Y'want something else?"

You turn your head in a vain attempt to make it seem like you haven't been mooning over him like a lovesick calf.

"No, no, um, thanks. Thanks."

You cringe at your clumsy mouth. Eddie's oblivious, hopping off the bed and disappearing into the hall.

Are you even allowed to want more? You and Eddie are friends. Maybe even Good Friends, especially after the 'murderous monster tries to swallow Hawkins' crisis died down.

But you don't hang out like this. Where Eddie can see all the Polaroid pictures of trees you thought were good reasons to love the earth and of your mom and of the deer you saw once, and your sky blue wallpaper with clouds painted on it. You wonder if he thinks you're childish or silly.

Why does he even spend time with you? Are you the only one free? Was today a non-Hellfire day and that's why Eddie had agreed to come over? Nothing better to do?

You haven't the slightest idea what's happening in the movie. You should pay attention because Eddie might want to talk about it afterwards, and he'll be cross if you don't know what he's talking about.

Except, that doesn't really seem like Eddie. Still. You've never had a boy in your bed. You don't know if they expect you to pay attention to the movies they play.

You chew on a cuticle. Eddie returns in a couple minutes, climbing onto the bed with his knees. He offers you the bowl of popcorn. You shake your head.

"Everything okay, sweet thing?" he asks.

Oh, don't you just melt over that. You feel like the yellow M&M between Eddie's fingers.

"Yeah, f-fine."

You stare at the foot of space between you. Once, you'd dared to lean on the shoulder of a boy you didn't like that much. Your head hadn't stayed long on his shoulder, and afterwards, you wished you'd been struck by lightning.

What if this is like that? What if Eddie sneers at you and shuffles away. God, you can't handle that. You like this boy in your bed so much, it frightens you.

"This guy, the one in the raincoat." Eddie points. "He's one of my favorite actors. I like the way he talks. You ever get that? Liking the way someone talks?"

You look at him. Eddie looks at you. He's trying to pull you out of your head. He thinks something's worrying you. You're so anxious all the time. And Eddie knows that, so he tries to ground you. You withdraw and Eddie will call out to you and ask you questions. He always sounds lovely. Sometimes, you try to gather the courage to ask him something back. But the words remain lodged in your throat.

"Yeah, I get that." Be brave, be brave. "I like the way you talk."

You wait for lightning to strike.

"Really?" Eddie asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Uh-huh. You have a nice voice."

Nothing. Not even a rumble of thunder.

"Sweet thing, you're gonna give me a big head," Eddie says with a grin.

He's not teasing you. Once upon a time, you might've thought he was, because it seemed like that's all people were capable of. But Eddie's not. He thinks they're nice, the words you say. You want to say more nice words. You want to keep this boy in your bed.

You also want to close this distance. Be a permanent planet in Eddie's orbit. Be brave.

You stare at that tiny foot of space between you again. You're probably being too quiet and still, and Eddie's probably worried you're stuck in your head again.

So before he can coax you out again, (because he cares about you. He cares about you, and you're just going to have to get used to that, alright?) you scoot an inch.

And another inch. And another.

You move at a glacial pace. You don't think Eddie's picked up on your little scheme. How fiendish you are, attempting to cuddle with the boy in your bed. Wicked!

Now, you're so close you can feel Eddie's body heat. His shirt looks soft and worn. You wonder what he smells like.

You move closer. Now, your chest is touching Eddie's side. He looks at you.

His eyes are dark like the blackest parts of space. If you do this and fail, those eyes might just swallow you up.

You listen for thunder, but the skies are clear.

"What's goin' on, pretty?" he murmurs.

"Do you like me?" you blurt, helpless in his pull.

Eddie's brows lift. He blinks, cocks his head.

"'Course I do, sweet thing."

"No, like." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, then open them. "You like me enough for a movie, but do you like me enough to let me put my head on your shoulder?"

"Is that all?" he asks, eyes dancing. There's stars in them. "I like you so much, I want your head on my shoulder forever."

Cinnamon. Eddie smells like cinnamon.

You no longer wish to be struck by lightning.

"Oh," you breathe.

Eddie hums and gently taps your head with one finger.

"That what you've been thinking so hard about?" he asks.

"I've never had a boy in my bed," you say.

"'M honored to be the first."

You nod, jittery with hope. "I'm glad it's you."

And then Eddie eases you into his side. It's perfect. It feels like you're young and don't know any better. It feels like you'll never find anything else like it.

Eddie bows his head. His curls tickle your cheeks and shroud you from the rest of the world.

"And will you kiss me too?" you ask.

"As much as you want, pretty."

You think you can get used to having a boy in your bed.

#eddie munson x reader #i absolutely adore this omg #AHHHHHHHH #yearning screams

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jokenotfunny · 7 months ago

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It feels like this every time I write a fic

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jokenotfunny · 9 months ago

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desperately need fics to start including steve's truck plsplspls

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jokenotfunny · 9 months ago

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I love the way you decorate my heart ♡

Paring: Steve Harrington x chronically ill!Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: A medical mishap leads to you and Steve spending the holiday in the hospital, and discovering maybe you’re more alike than you once believed. || this is for the twelve days of promptmas! day twelve: spending christmas/christmas eve in the ER

WC: 4k+

Includes/CW: angst, hurt/comfort, idiots to lovers, misunderstandings, chronic illness (left vague to be more inclusive), some symptoms are mentioned (syncope, temp. intolerance, fatigue), language, special appearances by some pals, pathetic pining, the rest is fluff and silliness!

A/N: hi! I left the details, aside from some symptoms, of the chronic illness reader has vague so more folks might be able to relate. Thanks @littlexdeaths for the fun lil holiday prompts! I’m so stoked I was able to come up with something last minute lol. Hope y’all enjoy if you read this one <3 title is from glittery - kacey musgraves & dividers are from @strangergraphics!

Waking up from a syncope episode isn’t the same as waking up in the morning.

Your limbs feel heavy, body tingling on pins and needles all over, and you only wake up more exhausted; you’re used to it by now.

What you’re not used to, is waking up next to—

“St- Steve?” You groggily rub your eyes, feeling a slight tug in your hand.; blinking a few times to focus, you notice the IV needle attached to it.

Ah, shit.

“Hm…?” Steve, crumpled in a heap on a nearby chair, begins to stir. His legs are hung over the arm of the chair, using a balled up gown under his head as a makeshift pillow, resting on the other arm. “S’goin’ on?”

“Um,” You’re coming to, more alert as the seconds pass. “You tell me?”

He blinks sleepily, sporting a disheveled, bed head, without the bed. Stretching his arms over his head, his shirt rides up enough to see his tummy, makes a soft noise that builds into a yawn; instinctively, you stare, wondering what it’s like to actually wake up next to him. It’s cute. He’s cute. You hate him for that.

You hate him for a lot of things— so why the fuck is he here?

More importantly, why are you?

Reality catches up to Steve, and he fumbles trying to adjust himself in the chair, wobbling it a bit as he swings his legs back to the floor. “I shoulda’ just gave myself a concussion or something to get a bed too.”

You quirk a brow, “Don’t ya’ have a few racked up already?”

He grunts, waving the concern away with his hand. With a gravelly voice, still in a daze, he asks, “How’re you feeling?”

Now you’re scrunching your brows together, confused. “I’m sorry, am I dead right now?”

Steve snorts, “Huh? No, you’re not. Thought you were for a second, though. It was—“ He pauses, dragging his chair closer to the bed. Muscle memory forces you to scowl and scoot back on the bed, keeping the distance. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t— that’s— I should’ve asked first.”

You’re lost, not totally lost, but still lost enough.

“… S’okay, I guess.”

He still pushes the chair back a few inches, but he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. Your eyes meet his, filled with concern. It fills you with shame— why?

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?” Steve’s voice drops to a whisper, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, then back to you; it’s a genuine question, not one out of malice or anger. “The whole… you fainting, thing, I mean.”

“Didn’t think it was important.” That’s only partially the truth. Why worry anyone when you have it under control?

Well, you had it under control, until today.

You see the right doctors— though, god, did that take for-fucking-ever— you’re finally on the right meds, after trial and error, time and time again.

“You didn’t think it was— I’m sorry, but that’s pretty important to people who give a shit about you.” He scoffs, sinking in his chair. “One minute, you’re running around in the snow with the kids, the next, you’re on the ground, out cold. That’s not important?”

“Not to you, it isn’t.” Regret instantly swallows you whole, dragging you down further at the look of offense flashing across Steve’s face. He shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket, averting his eyes to the window with a heavy sigh.

“Not true, but that— that’s not my concern right now.” His voice cracks a bit— is he genuinely bothered by this? It’s not like it’s breaking news; the two of you have never seen eye to eye, barely getting along for the party’s sake.

It was just a difference of personalities and backgrounds that kept a permanent gap between the two of you. Which, of course, only made less sense once Steve and Eddie became friends.

In fact, you know Steve isn’t one to flaunt the life and wealth he was born into, at least, not anymore. He hates it, hates how people see him because of it, but you can’t see him any other way. He’s long distanced himself from the ‘King Steve’ persona, hardly forgiving himself for it, even years later. You always thought he began to care for everyone but himself first to absolve himself of any past guilt— that turned out to be wrong; he’s the first one to offer rides for the kids, whether to hang out with one another, or take Max to physical therapy, and even allowing Dustin to use his car to practice driving (despite how stressed out he is as a passenger).

Since his home is usually empty, Steve’s gotten used to everyone just walking in, or staying over, like they live there; you might be the only one who still awkwardly rings the doorbell before movie nights with the party. Gatherings usually happen at his place, because he has the room for everyone to hang out comfortably. The pool is just a bonus on the hottest days of the summer.

And Steve looks happier, despite all the inner turmoil regarding his past, and the sea of trauma he’s fighting to stay afloat in. It must be nice to fill a house with the people you love, who love you in return, and don’t just use you for shitty parties and a well-stocked liquor cabinet.

You still can’t help but resent him for the life he was born into, though, but you try to keep the specifics to yourself, for the sake of everyone else. Everything handed to him, everything that came easy his way, you had the opposite.

The unknowingly ableist, backhanded comments never helped, either. Steve probably had no idea, but any time you needed a break from exerting any energy, he’d make little jabs about how you couldn’t keep up.

“Why didn’t you take your medication?”

His question clears the fog of your overwhelming thoughts away, leading you back into the present.

Brows furrowing, you scoff a laugh, confused. “Wh— I did.”

“You didn’t,” He states firmly.

“How do you know?”

“From the bloodwork they ran.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, hearing how invested he is in your well being, but the ice in your heart quickly freezes it all over.

“Why the hell do you have access to that shit?”

Steve presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I don’t, but the doctor asked us all while you were out, and none of us even knew what to say.” His hands fall away, but he starts talking with them in frantic motions. “Then that sent the kids into a panic, and Dustin— you know how he gets— starts asking if you’re dying, then the others started to shout thousands of questions at the doctor, demanding explanations, but that’s where it stopped, I promise.”

“Oh.” You sink against your pillows, the weight of remorse heavy on your heart. “I just— okay, I’m not dying, so let’s get that off the table.”

You don’t miss the way Steve’s shoulders relax, wondering why he’s tense over this.

“But… ?”

“It feels like it, sometimes.” Shrugging, you hope he stops asking questions. “I’m fine, I think my body just grew a tolerance for my medication, and I keep pushing off calling my doctor.” He doesn’t need to, not yet, when you’re beginning to word vomit everywhere. “‘Cause that shit is expensive, and I don’t want to drop that kind of money on a visit that they’ll only say ‘hey, your meds aren’t working, so let’s try something new’, as if I didn’t know already. Then it’s the whole process of trial and error, and getting used to side effects, weighing out the pros and cons of sticking with one kind, or starting all over to find something else that might work, but who knows.

“I probably forgot to take them, ‘cause honestly, what’s the point if it’s not helping?” You bring your knees to your chest, resting your head on them with a huff. “But I guess they were still helping somewhat, so I fucked up.” You tilt your face away from him, staring out the window at the glum, grey sky, wishing it’d bring some snow, at least. “It gets so old being sick all the time, watching everyone else have fun, live their lives, while I have to be cautious in how I live, but I can’t really afford that, either.”

Steve doesn’t respond, nor do you expect him to after unloading all of that frustration and grief. You turn to him to find himself pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut.

“Sorry for all of th—“

He jolts up, shaking his head wildly, hands in tandem. “Don’t apologize, this shit’s out of your control. I just— I’ve said some… really stupid stuff to you, and I had no right to.” He locks eyes with you, stare glassy and full of regret. “All the times I made comments about you sitting stuff out, or being boring— that— it was fucked up, even if I didn’t know. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me.”

Hugging your legs tighter, you’re conflicted.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to prove anything, or try to— I don’t know— look, I wish I knew, but even if you didn’t have a- this— um, condition,” He clears his throat, nervous to use the wrong terminology. “It wouldn’t be my business to ask why you’re taking time for yourself.”

Cautiously, he brings his chair a tad closer, sliding it across the floor. This time, you don’t move away, but your hand twitches in surprise when he reaches out, fingers brushing against your own. He doesn’t push it. “I really am sorry, and you don’t have to accept that, but it’s not right letting this shit go without apologizing to you.”

Over time, you’ve grown to read people pretty easily, especially in moments of vulnerability like this— you know he’s sincere, and you hate that. You hate it, and he said you don’t have to accept the apology, but you hate yourself for wanting to.

Fatigue overcomes your pride, and you whisper, “Thank you.” One last attempt at shielding yourself arises, yanking your hand away from his. “You don’t have to stick around, Steve.” Plucking loose threads from the scratchy hospital blanket, you feel your emotions come undone in time with them. “M’not sure if it’s out of guilt, or you trying to do one last good deed for the year, but I’m not a charity case.”

Steve doesn’t chase you, gives you physical space, but softly counters, “You’re not a charity case, I’d never think that about you. I just didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up.”

Guilt just seems to consistently flow back and forth between the two of you, filling the room with nothing but.

Crossing your legs under the blanket, you relax a little, still fidgeting with the blanket’s threads.

“That’s… thank you, Steve. That’s really nice of you, but I don’t wanna take you away from any plans you have for Christmas Eve.”

He snorts softly with a loose eye roll. “Yeah, right. You’ve seen how empty my place is without you guys. My parents went on some cruise, or some shit.” His smile fades, earnestly adding, “I’ll leave if you want, but no one should have to be alone during the holidays without a choice, at least.”

I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him— for… being a decent human being.

What the hell’s my problem?

A smirk tugs at one corner of your lips, visible enough for Steve to notice. “I think it’s you who doesn’t wanna be alone for Christmas Eve.”

Playfully, he rolls his eyes again. “What gave you that impression?”

“The kids aren’t up your ass tonight?” Little by little, you can feel the tension fizzle out. It’s slow, but it’s better than nothing.

“Nah, when I told ‘em I’d stay, Eddie offered to drive them home, since they all had plans.” Though the tension is on its way out, you notice Steve biting his lip, like he’s holding himself back from saying something.. He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, choosing his words with caution. “You scared the hell outta us. Before you collapsed, you looked over at me— and I don’t think you meant to—” He teases, trying to keep the conversation easy for both sides. “But you started to say ‘I’m gonna pass out’ and did, mid-sentence. The kids thought you were just being dramatic, but I… I’ve seen that look before… usually it’s never good.”

This was what you wanted to avoid the entire time.

“I should’ve been upfront from the start, but I didn’t wanna worry anyone. There’s so many triggers, and the cold’s one of ‘em.” He frowns with a knowing look. “It’s hard talking about it, ‘cause most people try to coddle me once they find out. I want to be understood when I need to take care of myself, especially with flare ups, not treated like some fragile doll.”

“You’re anything but fragile, let’s be real here,” He teases, earning an eye roll-chuckle combination. “Seriously! I thought the snowball you hurled at me was gonna be the big concussion to do me in for good.”

It’s a lighthearted comment, but it’s enough to make your heart ache.

“Is it really that bad?” You ask in a whisper. He shrugs lazily, like it’s no problem at all.

“Maybe not that bad, but I get migraines pretty often now, and chronic pain, just kinda… everywhere,” He admits, shoving his hands back in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Some days are harder than others, too. Makes sense for all the shit we went through, though.”

A mirthless laugh slips out. “They don’t even know where I got mine.” Contemplating, he purses his lips, looking down to the floor. “You okay?”

“I don’t think we’re as different as you believe,” Steve dares to observe. “Sure, we’re different in a lot of ways, and I don’t know your pain exactly, but you’re not alone. We’re both on the same plane.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Same boat, you mean?”

“Eh,” He grins lazily at you, “Same thing.”

He’s right, about your differences— and you don’t hate it as much as you thought you would.

“Oh, shit, hang on—“ Steve jumps out of his chair, startling you. “— I forgot the nurses wanted to know when you woke up. Fuck.” What startles you even more is the way he leans down to kiss the top of your head. It’s fleeting, without thought, only reacting on buried feelings. He doesn’t even realize it until he reaches the door, frozen mid-step.

Heat rises to bloom across your face, emotions rolling through you without mercy as your heart thumps through your chest.

“Um, sorry, I- I’ll be—“ Steve clears his throat, terrified to turn back to you, slipping out the door, “—yeah.”

Weirdest Christmas yet.

The nurses come and go, checking your vitals and asking basic questions, informing you that you’re staying the night, maybe even tomorrow night, too— which, you figured; this isn’t your first hospital rodeo.

Steve, however, doesn’t come back, and it leaves you perplexed. And weirdly enough… bummed out?

If he left out of embarrassment, though, you don’t blame him.

Snow’s finally falling in fluffy handfuls, so that gives you a good distraction. However, it doesn’t last long when the door creaks open. You glance over your shoulder, hoping to see Steve, but you don’t.

Not alone, that is.

It’s Steve, and Eddie, Robin, and Dustin, sneaking into your room well past visiting hours, snickering as they accomplish their mission. Eddie’s decked out in a Santa costume, hair from each side of his head clipped under his chin for a makeshift beard. He’s got a sack— a garbage bag— over his shoulder, with a wide grin slapped on his face. Dustin and Robin have matching elf hats, and you’re shocked to see Steve does, too.

Your face lights up at the sight of more friends, pulling a smile out of Steve, too.

“How’d you get in?!”

“Okay, so, I lied and said we were going to the children’s ward, to bring gifts for the holiday—“

“Eddie!”

“What? We’ll say we got lost, or something.” He shrugs, plopping the bag onto the chair Steve slept in. Rummaging around, he adds, “Besides, I grabbed a few old Happy Meal toys I had still lying around, so I’ll just… leave those on the desk upstairs, or something.”

Robin rolls her eyes with a huff, then grinning your way. “We heard you’re stuck here tonight, so we thought we should bring Christmas to you!”

“But you gotta close your eyes!” Dustin rushes out, and when you don’t immediately do so, he scolds you, “Close ‘em!”

“Jesus, Dustin, you’re too mean to be an elf.” Steve grumbles, making his way over to you. He leans down to your ear, whispering, “Okay, but really, close your eyes.” You do, ignoring how nervous the close proximity is making you.

A minute passes while noises surround you of giggling, cursing, scolding at one another, and some you can’t decode.

“Can I open—“

“Nope,” Steve’s hand covers your eyes, but he freezes. “Shit, I’m sorry, I keep doing that—“ He’s about to pull his hand away when you grip his wrist, keeping it in place with a sly smile. He’s grateful you can’t see how hard he’s blushing.

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re the worst elf in the world,” Dustin chides. “What happened to helping?”

“This is helping! I’m making sure they don’t peek!”

“Santa’s gotta do all the work around here, huh?” Eddie gripes. The banter fuels your giggles, while the warmth of Steve’s hand weirdly feels comforting. It ends far too soon, though. “Okay, okay, you can open ‘em.”

His hand falls away as your eyes pop open, taking in the sight around you.

Gone are the bleak, fluorescent lights, turned off and replaced by strung Christmas lights— some warm, others colorful. Illuminated on the dresser is a vintage, ceramic Christmas tree, with the tiny plastic bulbs. There’s tinsel everywhere— oh boy— with random holiday knick-knacks on every surface available, probably lovingly borrowed from everyone’s homes. Candy canes are hooked on anything they can hang from, and bows are stuck everywhere, too.

It’s as if the spirit of Christmas threw up all over the damn place.

This is probably breaking so many rules, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“We had window clings too, but that’d block the view of the snow, so,” Robin flip-flops her hand, waving away the thought.

Tears well in your eyes, adding a soft, bleary glow to the twinkling lights around you. Soft laughter laced with pure joy is all you can respond with.

“We gotta go before someone finds us, but real quick—“ Dustin sets a poorly wrapped present on your bed— it’s large, and lumpy, wrapped with three kinds of paper. “This is from all of us, and the others.”

Eagerly, you tear into the paper, finding a soft, plush blanket, one in your favorite color, and it’s so warm. While you squish the fabric to your face, humming happily, Steve clears his throat, grabbing your attention. He holds up a remote, and your brows knit together.

“And the best part— it’s heated.”

“‘Cause you’re always so cold!” Dustin exclaims, as if that’s something to be happy about, but the sentiment has heart.

“Don’t worry, we checked and it can reach that one outlet near the loveseat you always take when we’re at Steve’s.” Robin reassures with the observation.

“And it’s that fabric that doesn’t make ya’ all blegh’ed out.” Eddie adds; he’s right, it’s actually not a sensory nightmare, but buttery soft instead.

“What the hell does that mean?” Dustin snorts.

The effort, the love and care put into this wholesome mischief, the tiny observations about your personality that even you don’t give much thought to— it warms your heart and brings tears to your eyes.

“I- I don’t know what to say… thank you doesn’t seem like enough, but… this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” You hug the blanket to your chest happily. “Wait, what am I doing—“ You drop the blanket on your lap, throwing your arms open, “Y’all, get over here!”

One by one each friend adds to the hug while you murmur, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” They squeeze you tight— a respectable amount, nothing to hurt you further, of course.

“Feel better, we’ll all hang out when you’re home!” Robin pinches your cheek, and you swat her hand away playfully. Dustin fist bumps you, expressing well wishes, too, adding, “Glad you’re not dying!”

Steve hisses, “Oh my god, Dustin—“

“I’m going, I’m going!”

Eddie’s the last to leave, garbage bag over his shoulder again, ruffling your hair lightly. “Merry Christmas, kid.”

“Eddie, I’m your age, you dork.”

“Not while I’m Santa!” He waves, then salutes to Steve on his way out, who shakes his head, chuckling.

The excitement dies down once it’s only you and Steve left, but the air of holiday cheer lingers, as does the awkward energy from the unexplained kiss. Steve tosses his elf hat aside, sitting on the edge of your bed when you pout.

“Aw, man,” You pout. “You looked good with that hat.”

“Don’t— I can’t tell if you’re joking or not—“ He blushes, kicking one foot across the floor while keeping his eyes fixated down. “Hope all of that was okay. I know it’s not as good as Christmas at home—“

“Steve, are you kidding me? I meant it when I said this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. Best Christmas in a long time, honestly.” Your hand reaches out to rest on his arm, a move of reassurance, but it sends warmth through you. Judging off the red shade deepening on Steve’s face, you assume he’s feeling something, too. “But I gotta ask... Why’d you kiss me?”

“Oh— that?” His free arm reaches behind his back hand rubbing the back of his head as he shyly smiles. “It— I— that was— I didn’t think, I’m sorry. It just felt… normal? Like in the moment— I don’t know how else to explain it. And sorry I left like that, I wanted to call Robin while I had the chance, and wait to sneak them in—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” You assure him softly, throwing the blanket over yourself. “You wanna try this out with me?”

Steve glances around, then points to himself, like a total goof. “Me?”

“Oh, no, I was asking the elf hat— yes, you.”

“Um… you sure? The bed’s kinda small for the both of us.”

You shrug, handing over the plug to the blanket’s remote, “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t cool with it.”

Steve studies your face, expecting you to falter, but you don’t. He plugs the blanket in, cautiously sliding in next to you. Once he’s all settled next to you, uncomfortably trying to give you space, he asks, “What changed so suddenly?”

Taking a risk, your arm slides over his torso to hook around his back, tugging him closer. “This okay?” He nods eagerly. “I thought you were different, in a bad way. I don’t know why it took a hospital trip to realize we’re on the same page, even if our lives are practically opposite, but it did.”

He gives in, relaxing against you while enveloping you in his embrace, too.

“I always thought you were cute, by the way,” You mutter into his sweatshirt-clad shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, but I… man, I don’t fucking know. I’ve been dumb, when I could’ve had a friend who gets it.”

“I could’ve been nicer, so… it isn’t all you. But we could start over.” He glances down to catch the dopey, exhausted smile you’re giving him, “This is exactly why I made sure we found a blanket that shuts off automatically. I knew you’d immediately get sleepy.”

Another detail you never expected him, or anyone, to notice. A powerful duo of sleepiness and fatigue— two you’ve learned over the years are different from one another— crash over you like a wave, pulling you under.

“Shit…” You mumble, cheek squished against him. “Wanted to watch the snow.”

“Only thing you’re gonna watch is the inside of your eyelids at this point,” Steve teases, fingers wandering to brush along your face, blushing as you hum, nudging your face into his touch. “‘M’glad you’re okay.”

Your silence makes Steve wonder if you fell asleep, until you lean in, leaving a kiss on his cheek, while half-awake.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

When you curl up into him, he kisses the top of your head— intentionally, this time— and is left confused as you drift off, but content.

It’s not like the mistletoe he had stashed away behind the bed would help the confusion, but that can wait until tomorrow. All he knows for certain is, this is his best Christmas yet, too.

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

#i cant #i'm not okay #this was amazing #i love this 🥹#steve harrington x reader #fic recs from sey ❕

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jokenotfunny · 9 months ago

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final girl Steve Harrington has a nice ring to it 🩵🎀

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jokenotfunny · 9 months ago

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This path is reckless (Steve Harrington x female!reader, 1.6k, Steve and his favourite girl get close to crossing the lines of their friendship)

Steve couldn’t sleep knowing she was just down the street, she might have well been in the next room the way he was tossing and turning.

He couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing. Was she asleep? Was she feeling as wrong as he did? She had stayed over the other night. It was too late for her to walk home and it was innocent at first but then it felt strangely good to have her so near, to cuddle her closer in the night and having her head on his chest was like something he had been told about feeling but had only just realised existed. He was going crazy, missing her like she belonged here with him.

It couldn’t have been earlier than one, maybe two in the morning and Steve was tripping around his room trying to get dressed. He just had this feeling that he had to see her. He was never going to sleep otherwise. She was properly going to think he was insane, wandering around at night, knocking on her door. Maybe he could throw something at her window instead? Or was that worse.

The street was quiet and he felt like he was almost running, but he forced himself to pace into a walk instead, running would be insane. He wasn’t there just yet. There wasn’t a light on inside her house, not even through her bedroom window, so she wasn’t up. She hated the dark so she wouldn't just be sitting up awake with a light on.

There was still a key hidden under the doormat but Steve didn’t feel right breaking in. He knocked, it sounded ridiculously loud, but he supposed that was because it was the dead of night. He flinched at the sound but still knocked four times. He leaned left, trying to see through the window, waiting for the hall light upstairs to flick on, it did.

Really she shouldn’t be getting up and answering the door in the middle of the night, but he was too tired to point that out. She opened the door, she looked like she was covered in some kind of sleepy dust. She looked cute. She rubbed her eyes, voice soft as she said, “Steve, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep.” It was as simple as that. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, he felt cold now the rush had worn off. She seemed to understand, stepping aside and letting him in. If she had asked why he was here if he couldn’t sleep, he didn’t know what he would have told her. He didn’t know how honest he would’ve been.

Her bedroom was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, but that could’ve just been his mind tricking him. The soft warm colours, creams and light pinks just looked warmer. Her bedsheets were pushed to the bottom of the bed, presumably from where she had woken up to get the door. Steve kicked off his shoes, watching as she sunk back into bed, trying to hold onto her sleepiness. Very cute. He turned the light off on her bedside table and got into the otherside of her bed. Everything smelt like fresh laundry and her soap, just that alone made his body relax.

He closed his eyes, head softly on the pillow and then she whispered to him. “Why didn’t you just call or something, we could’ve talked till you fell asleep.” He heard her shifting, the bed sheets crinkling as she tried to get comfortable.

He just didn’t want to talk about it right now. How did he say ‘I can’t sleep now I know what sleeping next to you is like’ without it sounding weird. He hoped she would drop it, his hand sneaked around her pulling her in.

“Just come here.” Steve’s voice was so tired, he could feel every word in his throat, he just wanted to sleep. She nuzzled into his side, curling up like a cat.

It just felt so right, like it just made sense to him. He’d sleep next to her every night if she would let him. He took a deep breath, feeling sleep come over him. It was so easy to sleep when he felt safe.

“You’re ignoring my question, aren't you?” He could barely hear her, her voice was muffled by his hoodie. His hand squeezed her waist, fingers moving before he could think about it. He had never felt the urge to do that to a girl before, to just slip his hand around her and innocently grip any part of her he could, not till now.

“Yeah.”

This slope is treacherous

The bar was a little crowded, she could feel Steve’s hand pressed to her back. He had convinced her to come out. It hadn’t taken a lot.

He talked to their friends, only dropping his voice to a whisper when he talked to her, head tilted down so she could hear him clearly. It made her head feel fuzzy, it made her feel like his for a little while. Like, like this, she could imagine it, being his girlfriend.

Having his hand on her back, his lips by her ear, slightly leaning back on him, never separating. It felt good. Even just looking up at him as he talked to someone else, she couldn’t help smiling softly. It was hard to not look at anyone but Steve, at least for her.

“I want to go home.” He whisper-shouted down to her. She knew from the pout and the look in his eyes that he wasn’t kidding around.

It was ironic. He was the one who wanted to go, he was the one who played with the sleeves of her sweater until she said ‘okay’. His fingers kept brushing her wrist, what else was she supposed to say. But now, here he was, puppy-dog eyes staring at her, asking to leave.

“Just a little long-” She cut herself off as Steve’s fingers intertwined with hers, he was leaving and he was taking her with him if she would let him. “Okay. Let's go home.” She said softly, she wasn’t even sure he heard her but he watched her mouth and could make out the words well enough.

They called it home like it was somewhere they both lived, like she didn’t live several houses from him at the other end of the street. Either way, she would probably just stay at his tonight. It was just easier for her to crash at Steve’s, his sheets were always soft and he never let her leave without making her breakfast.

They hadn’t been out that late, she was going to suggest they watch a movie or something, but she could see the tiredness in Steve’s eyes as they stepped through the door. She laughed softly at the way he threw his jacket on his sofa, standing in the living room doorway watching as he kicked off his shoes.

“I thought it was you that wanted to go out tonight?” She sat beside him, Steve’s sofa currently felt very comfortable. She pulled her own shoes off. Letting them fall somewhere next to his. Someone was going to trip over them when they got up.

Steve narrowed his eyes at her like he had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t remember that.” He muttered before resting his head on her shoulder. His hair tickled her neck, and god it felt good. It properly shouldn’t have but it did.

She couldn’t explain it other than the fact that Steve had boyfriend hair, he had boyfriend hands, boyfriend clothes. And if anyone could be her boyfriend, she would want it to be him. In her head she can tell him that, but right now, it feels too scary. And it’s bad to think about your friend like that. It’s probably not great that his fingers are tracing the hem of her skirt either.

“Stevie?” Tiredness was taking over her, making her say anything she wanted.

“Hmm.” He lifted his head from her shoulder, letting one soft sound slip from his lips and making her head spin.

He looked perfect, with the light from the street lamps glowing through the window, with the smallest of scars on his jaw from some memory when he was younger. She liked that she could always focus on it if looking at him got too har. She didn’t know when she started doing that, but it was a habit now.

“Do you have all your friends sleep over like this?” She busied her hands with the bracelet around her wrist. No matter how tired she was, it was a nerve wracking thing to ask.

Because what if he did? What if Steve had all his friends sleep in his bed? What if he went over to their houses because he couldn’t bear sleeping on his own? What if it had nothing to do with her.

“No.” His fingers brushed her hand, they felt a little cold but that could’ve just been the shock of the moment. He wrapped them around her wrist, stopping her from her fidgeting. “Just you.” Steve didn’t let her go, he traced his thumb over the inside of her wrist and she wondered if he could feel how fast her pulse was beating. His eyes were on his own touch, while hers were stitched to his face. God did he have to be this pretty?

“Can’t sleep without you anymore.” He muttered and so she wasn’t sure if he meant to say it.

She shifted her head back and just slightly strained her neck to kiss his cheek. It was terrifying and she wasn’t sure if she had meant to do it either but it was already done. It felt like she was thanking him for making her feel special.

“Me neither.”

#steve harrington x reader #awww i love this #fic recs from sey ❕

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jokenotfunny · 9 months ago

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𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫.

FICMAS DAY 2: BAKING

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when steve comes over to help you make christmas cookies, things end a lot sweeter than you expect.

contains: ooey gooey fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, steve being a flirty klutz, kissing, a tinge of angst if you squint

word count: 2k

a/n: welcome to another installment of “i’m incapable of writing something short and sweet 🧍‍♀️ this is what happens when i revisit writing for my favorite pretty boy

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“steve?”

“yeah?”

“you’re supposed to be decorating the cookies, not eating them.”

steve’s tone is nothing short of soft and shy when he breathes out an “oh,” between bites of chocolate chip infused dough. when you recruited him to assist in baking cookies for the holiday potluck tomorrow, you didn’t expect it to end with half of them being consumed before they even got a chance to be decorated.

“sorry,” the brunette squeaks, wiping sugar-dusted fingers over the expanse of his very favorite pair of levi jeans.

it’s hard to stay mad at steve. not when he looks so cute, with a tinge of pink in his cheeks and his normally styled hair slightly askew. not when he so generously offered to help you out, and not when he was standing so close.

no, you can’t stay mad at steve harrington, because it’s impossible to stay mad at the person you’ve had a crush on for years.

momentarily distracted, your hands wrapped around the handles of a rolling pin halt in their ministrations, and steve worries that he’s screwed up big time.

but your frozen position isn’t from the slight wrench in your plans. it’s him and those stupid, pretty, big brown eyes, that always find a way to short circuit your brain. even more so when they’re pleading for forgiveness.

it takes another second to remember that you still have things that need to be done. that you promised robin and nancy you’d supply the gathering with your renowned baked goods. with a shake of your head, you’re back in business, waving steve off with a quick flick of the wrist.

“don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, despite the fact that your anxiety was kicking at the thought of having to prepare an extra batch. “just try not to eat the sugar cookies when they’re done, yeah?”

steve’s expression shifts from panic and embarrassment to something sweeter, sheepish almost. when he nods in reply, that rogue strand that always rests against his forehead bounces in a way that almost makes you roll the cookie dough off the counter completely.

this is just because you’re stressed. you tell yourself. you’re off your game today because you’re in a time crunch.

lucky for you, steve doesn’t notice the slight quiver in your motions, instead opting to shift the conversation in another direction.

“when did you even learn to bake like this anyways?”

you perk up a bit at that, a faint smile on your lips.

“every christmas eve when i was a kid,” you begin while simultaneously cutting out little gingerbread men using cookie cutters. “my mom and i used to make cookies for santa.”

there’s a nostalgic kind of warmth that blankets the room while you retell stories of your childhood to steve, who surprisingly keeps his hands off the treats and his attention completely focused on you. on how your nose wrinkles when you mention the year you accidentally added too much cinnamon, the gleam in your eyes that comes when you talk about making them by yourself for the first time.

it causes a slew of butterflies in steve’s stomach, a gallant whoosh that he’s been trying his damndest to ignore ever since he opened the door to your apartment and found you clad in a flour covered apron and with a red ribbon tied in your hair.

it's very hard to pay attention to anything when he’s confined to a cramped kitchen with the very adorable girl he’s had a crush on for as long as he can remember.

“obviously i figured out at some point that santa wasn’t real,” you joke, transferring the cutouts onto a baking tray. it snaps steve back to reality, away from the ooey-gooey ness in his heart that had nothing to do with the residual taste of melted chocolate chips. “but we still do it every year as a tradition.”

steve hopes he’s not smiling like an idiot, but it’s hard not to when you look so happy, so content. “it sounds nice.”

it's absent minded when he says it, and you know it. but that doesn't make the quiet muttering of “wish my folks were like that” under his breath sting any less. you had a general idea that steve’s parents weren’t the greatest, but it was never something he outright said, not to you anyways. this little glimmer of vulnerability he displays, whether intentional or not, only adds a spark in the torch you carry for him.

the oven timer beeping pulls him from mourning what he could’ve had. any falter in his smile is quickly reconstructed as he moves to grab the oven mitts on the counter. something that only makes your sympathy grow.

“i got it honey,” he murmurs while slipping past you, his hand brushing against the small of your back for a fleeting moment.

honey.

it sends an electric shock up your spine that makes you straighten out comically, unsure of any other way to react to his touch that doesn’t involve squealing like a schoolgirl. thankfully, your face is obscured from view while he very carefully pulls out the piping hot baking tray, your cheeks free to turn as crimson as they please.

honey, honey, honey. how he managed to make that word sound even more saccharine you’ll never know.

steve catches you in his peripheral, face redder than your hair ribbon. i’ve still got it, he mentally pats himself on the back. though his suaveness only lasts for a second when he remembers he’s got something scorching in his hand. the brunette drops the sugar cookies onto the counter rather ungracefully, huffing out a curse that makes you giggle.

you think you prefer when he's a little dorky over the pretty boy charm.

as much as steve wants to obey your request to not dive into the sugar cookies, he’s having a painfully hard time restraining himself. that heavenly smell of vanilla is overpowering all self control, an enticing and comforting aroma he’d never had the joy of experiencing until now.

the childlike wonder in steve’s eyes melts away any stress or frustration.

against your better judgement, you walk over to where he’s standing, resting your chin on the edge of his shoulder. if steve is surprised by the act, he doesn’t show it. this time though, the thrum of his heart is hard to miss, noticeable even through the layers of fabric separating you.

“you can have one,” you speak lowly into the cashmere material. “and you have to wait until they’ve cooled down. i’m not taking you to the emergency room because you burnt your tongue.”

steve chuckles at the memory from earlier in the year, when eddie’s impatience got the best of him and he burnt the roof of his mouth trying to get a taste of your baking. he remembers watching that interaction from afar, how you doted over the metalhead when he hurt himself, and it made a vile little twinge of jealousy move within him. though steve always tries to ignore that last part, simply focusing on your kindness. like he was right now.

“i still can’t believe munson managed to do that,” steve replies through his laughter.

the feeling of your own giggles vibrating against him is something he never thought would happen. in that moment, those butterflies in his stomach valiantly escape their cage, a flurry he’s not sure he wants to contain.

all he can hear in his head is robin’s voice screeching, “for the love of god dingus, you need to stop staring like an idiot and just make a move.”

when you suddenly pull away from him, he’s afraid that opportunity is gone. steve’s rather confused when he catches a glimpse of your face before you round the other side of the kitchen island. there’s a shyness in you that he’s not used to seeing. if he’s learned one thing in getting to know you better these past few months, it’s that you hardly ever got timid. only when you were uncomfortable, or scared, and he prays it’s not either of those things.

it’s not looking very good when you turn your body completely away from him.

“y’know,” you begin shyly, toying with the strings of your apron. “you’re more than welcome to come over again next year.”

oh.

steve’s lips part slightly, eyes widening in surprise. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, nerves taking over while you busy yourself with the frosting. you’re not really doing much of anything, just mindless fiddling with the bag and adjusting the parchment paper on the cookie sheet. everything but looking at steve.

“just think you deserve to be a part of a christmas tradition,” you say so softly he almost doesn’t catch it. the wholehearted sincerity in your voice, despite its low volume, makes him feel dizzy.

as he stands there, dumbfounded and mulling over your words, he knows he can’t chicken out any longer. not when you were offering a place for him in your holiday traditions. something steve knew you held very near and dear to your heart.

“that is, of course,” you add hurriedly, turning around to make sure you haven’t made him feel pressured. “only if you want to.”

oh boy does he.

steve crosses the room in long, slow strides. partly to test the waters and partly to watch the way you get a little squirmy. your hands struggle to find something sensible to do, but everything is a jumbled mess and you eventually drop them at your sides by the time steve glides into your peripheral vision.

your eyes squeeze shut in preparation for his polite rejection. that he’s going to let you down easy, and leave you to finish all this by yourself.

but you should’ve known steve better than that.

a tender hand wraps around your wrist, the scent of his cologne enveloping your personal space, and the syrupy sweet murmur of that damned word finds your ears again. he was consuming all your senses, an act of reverse psychology that makes you open up instead of run away.

when his hand travels further south, experimentally brushing your fingers together, you can’t hide anymore. there’s nothing you could possibly do to ignore the jolt of electricity that travels through you from head to toe. as your eyes slowly peek open, you find steve leaning against the counter beside you, a boyish little grin on his face. barely a feet of space between your bodies, yet you were buzzing with anticipation.

“i want to,” he says matter of factly despite the airiness of his voice. “i really, really want to.”

a hint of nervousness dances across his features when he utters, “but only if you’ll let me.”

there’s a double entendre to his proclamation that’s undeniable. steve leans closer, enough that you can see just how long his lashes are, how those stupid pretty eyes have flecks of gold in them, how his cupid bow is so perfect, so kissable. enough that you can’t mistake the way his gaze keeps flicking down to your lips. an unspoken permission you happily grant with the slightest nod of the head.

kissing steve is exactly how you dreamed it would be. those perfectly plump lips were just as soft as you hoped, as skilled as the girls back in high school used to whisper about. there’s a confidence behind the way he kisses you, though it’s still incredibly languid and gentle. his hand migrates from your wrist up to your jaw, gently caressing and cradling it with a care no one else has ever shown you before.

you’re not sure how long you stand there for. it could’ve been minutes, or hours; either way you didnt care. the cookies were long forgotten in your mind, having found a new craving that could only be satiated so long as steve held you close and his lips remained on yours.

a laugh bubbles in your throat at the faint flavor of chocolate on your tongue. you discover a new fact about steve that you don’t plan on sharing with anyone else as long as he’ll have you.

he tastes sweeter than sugar.

thanks for reading! <3

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

#steve harrington x reader #awww i love this #fic recs from sey ❕#your honor i needed this !

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