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abibliophobiaa · 23 hours
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GOSSIP GIRL (2007–2012) 5.15 Crazy, Cupid, Love
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abibliophobiaa · 2 days
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update: it got worse.
sucks that my writing is completely tied to my mood. and when i am in a bad mood, i can’t even write a single word.
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abibliophobiaa · 3 days
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sucks that my writing is completely tied to my mood. and when i am in a bad mood, i can’t even write a single word.
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abibliophobiaa · 3 days
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edward hopper / jenny slate
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abibliophobiaa · 6 days
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almost fell into that hole in your life.
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orange colored sky set list.
older!modern!eddie x thirties!reader summary: ficlet. you haven't been acting like yourself these days and eddie notices. unfortunately for you, eddie can't help but wanna make you feel better. tw: implied depressed reader, alcohol mention. implied praise kink if you squint really hard? still 18+ tho! songspiration: black balloon | the goo goo dolls
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Eddie doesn't like it when things are too quiet, it makes him hear the static in his brain -- gets too aware. He can hear his eyes blink, the sound of his breath, so when you've been clammed up on the couch all night on your phone he can't help but start to make noise.
"Babe," he says from the kitchen, "Do you want me to make quesadillas or something? I have some shredded chicken I wanted to use up."
"Hm," you respond. He barely hears it, padding his way over in his 'house slides' that you like to tease him about. Such an old man.
"I was thinking quesadillas and I can make some margs, would you like that?" he asks, standing at the end of the couch. The way you're laying on your side, eyes glazed over, is enough to let him know that you haven't heard a word he's said for the last hour. Just scrolling with with a glassy look, numbing yourself ten times over.
"Peach," he says, albiet little sharply, "Are you listening to me?"
"Hmm, no way, that's wild," you respond, a zombie in his midst -- replying just to reply, to fake like you're hearing him. Eddie bites his tongue and then his cheeks to sting the frustration out.
"Hey," he says again, ringed hand reaching down to squeeze your chenille blanket covered thigh, "You hearin' me?"
You finally look up and see his face and the world around you comes into view. In your trance, the world outside had become night, the TV was off, you weren't even sure how much time had passed since you plopped yourself under Eddie's blanket on the sectional in his livingroom.
"Yeah," you squeak out, heart racing because you can tell he's disappointed, "Y-yeah I'm hearing you."
"Then what did I just say, huh?" he doesn't sound mad, or accusatory. Worse, he sounds disheartened. And even worse of worse, he sounds worried.
"Um...it was about um, you were asking about food," you try to answer confidently, and you know it was food adjacent, but you aren't sure.
"Do you want me to make quesadillas?" he asks again, "I have some chicken I wanna use up and I got all the stuff for 'em."
"Yeah," you nod, "Yeah that sounds nice."
"You wanna come help me?" he asks, "I can make us some drinks while we work."
"Uh," you start, that familiar pull tugging in your chest -- laying down feels good, getting lost back in your phone will feel better. It's so comfortable to hide under his chenille blanket and tune out. It feels better like that.
"Please?" You hesitate again, but you're not fast enough to redirect Eddie's attention, and it's then that he catches it in your eyes. The ache. He comes around the the front of the couch to sit in the divot of your thighs and chest, hand moving from your thigh to your shoulder. "What's goin' on?" his low voice twangs at your chest.
"Nothing," you urge, but your voice is too high and so are your eye brows. He doesn't believe you for a second.
"I don't like when you lie to me, peach," he confesses, "Don't lie to me, please."
"Psh, okay dad," you tease, trying to lighten the mood while you get up.
"I'm not kidding with you," Eddie's timbre keeps you in place, "I'm not playing around, babe. What's goin' on with you? You've been -- y'know -- you've been really I dunno -- inward this week. I'm missin' you."
"I'm okay," you urge again, but now you're too quiet. You don't mean it. He raises his brows and blinks at you in disbelief.
"I promise, I'm okay," you continue, "I'll be okay. It's fine. I'm fine."
"You're not making a great case for yourself." "Well then it's a good thing I'm not a lawyer," you joke again. He doesn't buy it.
"You're sad, baby," he tells you, reaching up to hold your cheek in his palm, "Why can't you just tell me? It's okay that you're sad."
"I'm not!" you try to say cheerily again, but the words get stuck in yout throat -- eyes stinging with wetness after hours of being open.
"I'm not sad," you say breathlessly, choking on the lie while a tear sneaks its way onto your lash line.
"Oh, sugar," he coos while you try to tread the water of your feelings -- flailing to keep your head above the pain in your chest.
"No, no, I'm okay -- I'm fine!" but you're starting to cry now and it kills him. Before you know it, he's made his way under the chenille blanket with you, nose to nose.
"Hey, hey, it's okay if you're not fine," he coaches you through your deep breaths while you try to guide yourself out of a full blown sob, "You can tell me. I'm here. I'm here, okay?"
"I'm sorry," your voice becoming a wraith of itself.
"Don't be sorry," he presses himself against you, enough so that you can feel the pressure of him and the pressure of the back of the couch on both sides, "Just talk to me."
"I don't..." you shrug, "I don't have anything to say."
"Just sad?" he asks, you feel an arm snake around you between your back and the the couch, pressing your chest to his. You nod, it feels pathetic, but you're cornered now and there's no use in arguing with someone who was born to win every argument he's ever had.
"Yeah," you mumble weakly, "Yeah, I'm sad. Think I'm more than sad."
He nods, his demeanor softening to something gentle -- heart reaching out to yours with caution like you'll run away, "Yeah, honey I can tell. You really haven't been actin' like yourself these days."
"I just don't wanna bother you," you confess, the brick coming off your chest, "I always get over it, I don't wanna like -- bum you out if it's not like...if it's not a big deal."
"I don't care if it's a big deal or a little deal," his heart bleeds for you while he speaks, "I don't care if you're gonna be over it in fiteen minutes. When you're hurtin' like this -- babe you gotta tell me. You gotta talk to me. Or else how're we gonna make this work?"
"It's just not important."
Eddie can tell that you mean it when you say it; he's never felt more frustrated with whoever convinced you that this was true.
"It's super important to me," he encourages, "Your shit is like, top of my list babe."
"Top of your list?" you crack a weak smile.
"You think the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of when I go to sleep isn't on the top of my priority list?"
"Okay, well now you're doing to much, Ed," your face scrunches in the way that he loves, not letting you totally get out of his hold yet while you try to squirm away.
"Hey, look at me, before you get up," he cups your cheek again, gently, your eyes meeting his brown ones. Eddie leans in for a kiss, a soft reminder that he's not going anywhere anytime soon -- not that you'd want him to. Not with lips like that.
When you break away, his nose nuzzles yours, coasting up to press another gentle kiss on the center of your forehead. Long and intentional, warm enough to get you to close your eyes.
"It's gonna be okay," he assures, "It's okay if you're not, but -- I gotcha until you're feelin' better, hm?"
You nod, sniffling snottily and wiping your wet cheek.
"I am ordering us quesadillas," he whispers, stealing another kiss from you, "Because if you're going to rot on my couch, I'm gonna make you rot next to me."
"We're rotting!" you cheer half heartedly, pouting when he gets up to get his phone for take out. When he finishes, he holds his hand out and you sheepishly put your hand in his.
Eddie curls bounce when he shakes his head, "Peach, you know what I'm asking for."
"No," you frown, "I need it to rot."
"Peach...please?" it's more of a warning than a question, and you slide your phone into his hand. He doesn't check it, but he knows that if you don't have it 'locked away' in his sweats pocket for a while you'll just end up zoning out the same way you did before.
"Thanks, sugar," he smirks, "You're so good."
Your cheeks burn at the priase, rolling your eyes with a grin that cracks against your features, "Don't. We're not doing anything sexy."
"Yeah I know," he shrugs innocently, finding his way next to you again, "But when you smile like that, who am I to deny you a lil' somethin'?"
He dims the lights in the open space from the remote on the coffee table, settling in while you make yourself comfortable in his side. Eddie keeps you close on nights like this, when he knows you're on unsteady ground. You're still quiet, but the start of another Twilight Zone marathon keeps you more alert than before. With steady breaths you start to relax in what he'd deem a healthier way than before, and the quiet doesn't make his brain too fuzzy this time around. In the still of the living room and the hum of Rod Serlings voice, he feels you squeeze his hand -- a silent thank you. He doesn't think he could be any more in love.
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abibliophobiaa · 7 days
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I forgot about this one. 😌
For the Steve thing
“Cheerleader”
18+
steddie x afab!reader (1.6k words)
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All it took was a trip to the Upside Down, a battle with impending death, Hopper working his magic to get Eddie’s name out of the public eye for murders he hadn’t committed, and a few weeks where Eddie spent nearly every hour studying with yours and Steve’s help (once well enough) to end up here. 
Here, where you sit beside Steve and the kids, watching as students in a sea of green caps and gowns eagerly anticipate their names being called. One good thing in what seemed to be an endless whirlwind of chaos these past few months. 
Photos of students lost are erected against the curtains lining the back wall. Bright and smiling faces of lives lost too soon. Further in the crowd you manage to stumble on Nancy and Robin’s smiling faces. Pass them a quick wave when they meet your gaze. And there, in the middle of them all, is none other than Eddie Munson, with a huge grin plastered on his lips, looking over at the two of you with a sticky fondness that still feels so new—so unexpected and treasured all the same. 
You listen, your hand curled around Steve’s, as one by one students are accounted for. Walking across the stage where they meet and shake hands with the principal, before sliding their tassel to the other side of their caps. Officially graduated, officially ready to get the hell out of Hawkins High. 
Then finally at last, Eddie’s name is called through the microphone, and your boyfriend of a few months saunters along the stage. You know exactly what he’s going to do even before he grabs that parcel from Higgins, and Steve’s dragging you upward onto your feet with the kids so you can scream, shout and make a ruckus deserving of Eddie Munson himself when the curly headed metal head raises his middle finger in the air for a big final “fuck you” to Hawkins High. 
Eddie finds the two of you near Steve’s BMW later, arms outstretched, green gown now parted to reveal his clothing beneath. Nearly strangles the both of you in the tightest of hugs, pressing you both flush into the side of the vehicle, laughing brightly. “Didn’t know I had not one, but two cheerleaders out there in the crowd today.” 
You shove at his ribs lightly, and he dips down to kiss you. “We told you we’d be there.”
“Hey, big boy,” he drawls, turning to press a teasing kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth, before Steve’s gripping the front of Eddie’s Hellfire tee and kissing him soundly.
He pulls back, eyes glinting. “You’re a fucking idiot.” 
“We have a full day ahead of us,” you say, clapping Steve on the back to remind him of where you intended the rest of the evening to go. “You take the front seat, Ed.”
After that it’s a trio date at the local diner with a shared basket of cheesy fries between the three of you. Giggly kisses in Steve’s car between stop lights, fingers roaming against skin, utterances of what you’ll do to each other later. It’s cheap beer that you and Steve managed to sneak past the bored-looking worker at the local supermarket. 
Later, it’s Steve and Eddie sprawling out on Steve’s bed—his parents gone for the week, as always—and Steve’s head resting over Eddie’s chest as they watch a movie. It’s slipping out from beneath Eddie’s other arm to enter into the bathroom down the hall and change into the fun little set you’d stumbled upon while shopping with Nancy and Robin. After many horrified, nervous giggles on your part, and encouraging whoops and whistles when you later tried it on for them, you’d purchased them with the intention of this day in mind. 
Grinning to yourself, you slide the ratty tee you’d borrowed from Steve over your newly dressed form and snatch Eddie’s graduation cap from the bathroom floor where he’d discarded the rest of his things into a bag for the night. 
And maybe your palms start to sweat, your heart starts to race, and you question every decision that has led you to this very moment, with these boys, in this room. But Eddie’s head whips your way when you slip into the bedroom at last, Steve’s shifting away from your shared boyfriend’s chest to utter a breathless curse, and those fears dissipate in an instant. 
It’s replaced only by the feeling of exhilaration, of excitement as you clamber over onto the bed and slot your knees on the free side of Eddie’s hips. He blows out a whistle as those dark eyes rake your form, as he tosses the silly cap into the farthest corner of the room, as ringed fingers skirt up along your bare thigh, pushing the material of your shirt higher against your hip, revealing the emerald green lace beneath. 
Now he’s cursing. Whining as thick digits brush along the fabric, gliding along the plush of your inner thigh, sweeping up to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing a slow circle into the wetness visible there, eradicating all coherent thoughts from your mind. 
He’s pushing the lace to the side a moment later, your own lips catching Steve’s as he rises to his knees to kiss you, swallowing your moan as Eddie’s finger slides in, teases at that place within you that has your knees wobbling against the bed. 
They're both everywhere. Eddie's fingers inside you, Steve's tongue tangling with yours, blood rushing low in your belly, stoking those brimming flames, tempting them higher--to burn brighter. And you'll fall into them willingly every time, no question, no hesitation.
Eddie watches you both. Breath hitching, chest rising and falling swiftly. His free hand tugs you fully down and onto his lap, rocking you down over him where he’s hot and hard and ready. 
You know it would only take two words, a plea for him to fuck you, to have him shove you over onto your back, push your panties aside, and push inside you. 
But that’s not the goal of tonight. Fingers curling around his forearm to stop him, you whisper, “Eddie, this night is about you.”
“Wha—”
Before he can say another word, your fingers are pushing up the hemline of his shirt. He helps you slip it up and over his head, your palms dropping down to glide along either sides of his waist as Steve starts to press kiss after kiss to Eddie’s lips, the curve of his jaw, the column of his throat. 
And you get to work, marking a path down his abdomen with your lips, teeth teasing at the bump of his stomach, tongue laving along the happy trail that slips down into his jeans. Fingers swiftly unbutton his pants, his hips shifting upward as you hastily drag them down his thighs. Your mouth immediately drops back down to his skin, teasing and tasting flesh. The sensitive skin of his hips, a nip to the extra fat there, the delicate skin of his balls. One palm cups him gently, lips and tongue alternating between licking and sucking that velvety smooth flesh until he’s a whimpering mass of man, cursing against the curve of Steve’s throat. 
You’re mindful to save his cock for last, waiting until he’s bucking up against the mattress into open air to finally, blessedly, wonderfully grasp him in hand. A thumb runs over his leaking tip, drawing an elongated sigh out of the man practically quivering beneath you. 
Your eyes meet Steve’s, a dark desire filling his stare, and he’s rising to join you at the edge of the bed.
Eddie’s fingers clutch at the bedsheets as you lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock, holding his stare the whole time. 
“Hey, Stevie?” You hum, peering up on your right, bottom lip jutting out into the smallest of pouts. “Think you can help me out here?”
The two of you take your time with it. Lips along both sides of his cock, licking, tasting, relishing. Telling him how good he tastes, how you both love his cock. Listening as Eddie gasps and groans beneath, gentle praises of how beautiful you both are, how fuckin’ lucky he is, cries of ‘like that,’ ‘keep doing that,’ whimpers of ‘gonna come.’ 
And you’re swallowing him down, taking everything he can give you, gliding your tongue over Steve’s when he pulls you over to lay back on the king size bed as Eddie catches his breath, sharing salty kisses that taste of Eddie. Whimper into him as his fingers tug the cup of your bra down and a thumb grazes your nipple. 
Eddie fucks you like that after. You on your back, those panties ripped and tossed into the room with a promise from both your boys to buy you another pair as soon as possible. He hooks one of your thighs over his hip, opens you wider for him, pumping slowly and deeply into you, until tears prick in the corner of your eyes, until you’re gasping against Steve’s lips between kisses. 
Steve, whose fingers roll sweet circles into your clit as you fist him in your palm, as he watches Eddie’s cock glide in and out of you, impossibly wet with your slick. Steve who curses your name as he comes against his stomach, your hand, your hip—his fingers laced with yours over the frantic beat of your heart. 
Eddie falls apart watching Steve twitch and writhe against your form, spilling warm and deep within your walls, taking you along with him with a cried whimper of his name against his shoulder. Gasp into his sweat slick skin as he lowers himself against your chest and loops an arm low around your waist. Hums as Steve leans up and kisses his bare shoulder, combing at the curls slick against his forehead. 
“Congratulations, Eddie,” you murmur, sighing as the boy in question brushes the gentlest of kisses against your lips. 
Eddie leans over and does the same to Steve, who is already starting to drift off into a gentle slumber. “Got the best graduation present right here.”
-
-
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abibliophobiaa · 7 days
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OKAYYYYY... So I'm not sure how late I am to the party but I just spent this past week binge reading Beyond... And let me tell you 1. I'm dead and this is actually me sending this to you from the afterlife and 2. BABEEEEEE this was one of the BESTEST stories I have read in a while!😭 It's one of those stories where you literally can't think of anything else because it consumes your entire existence!! (and now I'm really, really sad that it is finished and I want to sit in a corner and cry because it's one of those stories that will be really REALLY hard to beat and nothing will come close to it😭😭) ANYHOO....Your writing is incredible and OUT OF THIS WORLD! Your attention to detail is absolutely insane, and they love you put into your stories and the characters is beyond amazing!
P.S: Ever since I read Chapter 6, I would just start laughing uncontrollably out of no where, no matter where I am, because I keep thinking about the gym scene where we ogling, eye fucking and drooling over our beloved Stevie and face plant off the Treadmill 🤣🤣
**ALEXA PLAY BAD GIRLS BY M.I.A **
LITERALLY US:
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Anyways..... I love you and I love your stories!!! ❤️❤️ Please just keep doing what you are doing! You make so many people smile and laugh and just know your writing/ stories get me though the day!! xx
STOP THIS JUST MADE MY DAY!!
Haha I’m laughing over here over that gif. But it’s so me too. I’d be strutting and then fall off if he walked in looking the way he does. 😭
Thank you so so much. I love writing, and it still surprises me that people enjoy the silly things I daydream about. So THANK YOU. 🤍🤍
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abibliophobiaa · 7 days
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the creative juices are flowing. older!eddie, with a side of best friend’s younger step sister, forbidden romance and a little jealous!reader, anyone?
eddie munson x best friend/band mate’s step sister!reader.
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abibliophobiaa · 8 days
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okay, last call for eddie AND steve blurb ideas now. i have some lined up, but i have a nice long weekend coming up and i want to have some all queued up and ready to go. 😌🤍
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abibliophobiaa · 9 days
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THE VISCOUNT ANTHONY and VISCOUNTESS KATE BRIDGERTON Bridgerton S3
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abibliophobiaa · 9 days
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I have not yet listened to hozier's latest album but I bought it anyway, I just love him too much
he has a four song ep coming out on the 22nd (I think it’s the 22nd) annnnd I am so excited 😂🤍
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abibliophobiaa · 9 days
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Steve’s singing quietly under his breath and eddie’s just 🤩 completely distracted.
as always, inspired by @sparklyslug 💕
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abibliophobiaa · 9 days
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‘too sweet’ on hozier’s ep coming out this week is giving me ideas.
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abibliophobiaa · 9 days
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Big City Lovers
For the 'Spring' prompt from the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop up event
'Spring forward' Because I'm a sucker for a sudden dramatic kiss
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abibliophobiaa · 10 days
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SIGHS AND TURNS ON MOVIE.
Thanks, EMMY. Can’t wait for you to wreck me again 😭🤍
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Then a boy appeared - no, more man than boy - from the staff building.
He had red shorts on, the fabric sitting above his knees and an old white shirt that you assumed must’ve once said “lifeguard.” He was barefoot and tanned, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t even notice you at first, too busy hanging a net back onto the wall.
Steve Harrington was pretty and tall and he had really good hair. He was quieter than when you’d know him in high school, softer looking than he’d once been. But you didn’t really know him and he didn’t really know you. But he was friends with Eddie and you were friends with Eddie, so somehow, someway, that meant you were kind of, almost friends with him too.
Except you weren’t and you had no idea why you’d agreed to this.
“You can change in there.”
You hadn’t expected his voice, so you startled, arms wrapping tighter around your body and crushing the small rucksack that housed your suit and towel. You frowned at the idea, because changing meant one step closer to going into the water and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to do that yet.
So you said nothing.
Steve just watched you from across the pool, brows raised. And then he shrugged and muttered something that sounded like “suit yourself,” before he threw his sunglasses onto a plastic chair and tugged his shirt over his head.
- a lifeguard!steve wip that is very loosely based on the movie Float and heavily influenced by leighanne @loveshotzz
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abibliophobiaa · 10 days
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my last few reads have been only 2 to 3 stars. we are struggling out here. I’m craving a 5 star feeling book. any recs?
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abibliophobiaa · 10 days
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right where you left me
chapter three: you can hear it in the silence
summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.
warnings: 18+; smut - r is inexperienced; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; time skip, where r and steve are parents, purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series.
steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.
masterlist
——
Steve kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times before. He kisses you and it feels like kismet — like pieces of a puzzle shifting together. He kisses you, and you feel like you could take to the sky, run a marathon, or leap into the unknown with only his arms as safety.
And you soak up every moment. Every precious second as his lips move over yours, fingers twining around your hips, tugging you flush against him. It shifts, the atmosphere changing, the intensity of his kisses deepening. Heat rises in the room and it has nothing to do with the fire burning in the fireplace. You soak up every soft breath from his lips as you swipe your tongue over his — soak up the breathy moans that pour from him when your fingers glide over the planes of his abdomen, over the softness of his stomach, the hardness of his cock in his jeans.
And it’s there that your experience falters. That nervousness creeps in, because when you jolt back at the unexpectedness of it kicking up in his pants, he presses your palm harder, seeking friction, whispering that it’s okay. That you’re doing everything right.
The nerves ebb. “I - I want it to be good for you,” you say, breathless, “I just - I don’t —”
“It’s already good for me,” he whispers against your collarbone, tugging you down onto the couch, his body hovering above yours. “Pretty sure I’ve never been so hard in my life. But I really just want to make this good for you. Do you trust me?”
With your life. “Yes.”
“Can I take these off?” He slides a palm along your leggings, index finger toying with the band that rests high on your waist.
“Please.”
Deft fingers curl and tug. Slide them down your thighs, baring naked skin. Those same fingers glide over your ankle, up the curve of your leg, the glide of a hip. They toy with the edge of your panties; simple black lace, which you blow out a grateful breath for choosing that morning.
“Still with me?” he rasps, fingers stroking over your lower abdomen, your muscles dancing under the touch.
Hazel eyes, nearly molten honey now in the firelight, meet yours. Flickering with a look you’ve never seen within them before. Lust — for you. At your slow nod, eyes fluttering at the feel of his fingers sliding over the edge of your panties, he pushes the flimsy fabric to the side. Exhales shakily at the first brush of him, robbing your air straight from your lungs.
He drops onto one elbow, palm cradling your head with the softest of touches, lips molding to yours as he slips the first finger inside, your back arching up against the delicious intrusion.
Reality spins around you. Turns on its axis as Steve’s lips move to coast along your abdomen, against hip bone, the inside of your thigh. As your best friend slowly, carefully, reverently slides your underwear down your thighs and whispers a question that has you sighing a soft ‘yes,’ just as your panted breaths turn into cries of his name into the living room. As your heart races when his tongue glides over your clit just so — as he licks at you like it’s his job, a dream come to fruition at last, something he’s wanted to do all his life.
“I - I’m —”
“It’s okay,” he whispers, squeezing at your thigh with his free hand, “it’s just me. You can let go.”
No one has ever touched or kissed you like this. And you’ve never…never spiraled like this either. Never felt so close to the edge of pure, endless pleasure. Never seen the peak, never skirted over the edge, crying out another’s name.
Until now.
Steve knows this. Soothes you through it, crawling back up your body to brush at your cheek as you clutch his shirt tight, gasping breaths warming his flushed skin. As you float back to reality, a hazy mass of trembling limbs, he cups your chin and kisses you soundly, tongue gliding over yours, tasting yourself on him.
“We can stop,” he manages to get out before your fingers slip to grip at the hem of his top, tugging at the fabric, wanting it off.
In one swift movement, he grips the collar from behind his head and rips it free from his form, the ripple of his arms, chest and stomach dancing in your vision. He swoops back down and kisses you anew, body against body. Pulling back, you sit up against the armrest of the couch, Steve leaning back onto his knees. He watches with rounded, heated eyes as you grab at your own sweater and slide it up and off your frame, revealing a matching black bra to the panties that now lay discarded on the floor.
Your fingers reach behind you to grip at the clasp of your bra, appreciating the way Steve’s throat bobs.
“Wait!” His shout has you pausing, your eyes narrowing in fear of rejection, until he eases that nervousness away with the fumbling of his jeans, pushing them down around his ankles before kicking them into the corner of the room. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible. It seemed fair. We’re equal now.”
In one movement, you unclip the bra. Straps flutter around your shoulders, the cups freeing from your breasts, the warmth from the fire skittering along your flesh. Heart racing, you watch as Steve grips at the band of his boxers, pushing them down and off his thighs, the part of him you’ve never seen before slapping against the soft of his stomach. Against the dark hair that trails there. He’s hard and huge and there, the evidence of his desire on display.
Curiosity and reverence has you inching closer on the couch, settling your palms against his abdomen, gliding up and over his chest and shoulders, down his biceps, along the backs of his hands. Nervously, you raise one to your breast, gasping as his fingers cup the fullness of it in his palm, cradling it, brushing over a nipple with a thumb as his forehead drops against yours.
No one has ever touched you like this before. Before, it had been a rush and a hurry in the back seat of someone’s car. A flurry of movement. But Steve’s gentle touches roam your body, his other hand coming to cup the other breast, sliding down your sternum, along your stomach, between your thighs, making you whimper against his lips. Hesitant fingers reach out, trail along the rippling muscle of his abdomen, over the line of hair beyond his naval, the long and thick cock lingering in the space between you.
A trembling palm curls around him and experimentally moves, a gesture brought on by human instinct alone, an upward and downward stroke that has Steve’s forehead falling to your shoulder, rasping out a curse into your skin.
“Like this?” you ask through a pleasant sigh as he curls that digit within you in the way that had you crying for him moments ago, marveling at the way he grapples at your side with his free hand, fingers pressing tight to the fullest point of your hips.
“J-just like that, honey,” he stutters, lifting his head again to claim your mouth in a fervent kiss, swallowing your pretty noises. “Are we really — is this really happening?”
“You’re not dreaming,” you giggle, shrieking as he shifts you both over so you’re rolling onto the floor, onto the endless mountain of blankets and pillows below. “Steve!”
Broad palms press against your cheeks, lips falling against yours, a hum spilling from you. Without a moment to even try and stop your head from spinning, Steve drops kiss after kiss to your skin. The curve of your neck, the line of your collarbone. The dip of your sternum. A tongue glides over a pebbled nipple, bringing it into his mouth, hazel eyes locking on your own with a blazing heat behind him as another callused palm kneads the other. You could unravel just like that, with his eyes on you, drinking you in like he is now. But you know you want more. You want it all with him. Want to feel every inch of him that’s presently resting against your inner thigh, want to feel him inside, closer than he’s ever been before.
“Steve,” you rasp, curling your fingers in his long tresses, “I want — no, I need you inside me.”
He shifts up onto his elbows, peering down into your eyes. A shudder licks along your spine, the realization of what you’re both about to do dawning. The importance of this moment; a moment that’ll change everything you know about your relationship fully and completely. Where there might be nervousness, you only feel solidity in your choice — excitement, to finally be taking this step, this leap, with Steve.
“Please,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks and chest warm under his gaze.
A palm comes up to seek his face, brushing back the hairs that fall over his forehead, so messy and perfectly him. With a slow exhale, Steve curls his palm around the back of one of your knees, parting you for him, lifting it a bit into a bend. Instinct has your ankle hooking around the back of his knee, tugging him closer, shuddering at the feel of him against your slick center.
“I’m on the pill,” you blurt out quickly, “And you know my experience is…”
“I want you to know right now that this is the best night of my life,” he promises, knuckles brushing along your temple, quelling your nerves, “you could never disappoint me, okay?”
A nod.
“I’m clean, and I’ve never —” he gestures to where you both lay bare, “without a condom. I just want you to be sure. We can stop at any point.”
“I want this,” you tell him, curling your ankle tighter around his thigh, the heel digging into his muscle to draw him closer.
He grabs himself in hand, those dark eyes locking on yours. “Look at me,” he whispers, and you feel him nudge at your entrance, “it’s just us,” and he’s sinking in.
Slowly, so, so slowly.
“P-perfect,” you stutter out, clutching at a forearm as he inches in a bit more, that unfamiliar burn making you wince. Worry clouds his eyes, but you shake your head, “just…go slow, okay?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He pushes a little further, gauging your reactions, clutching at the bend of your thigh, thumb stroking along the inside of your knee lovingly. Another inch, and you lean up to kiss him tenderly. “Ah, shit —”
“W-what?”
Anxiety fills your tone, and he shakes his head rapidly to assuage your fears. “No. No. You just feel too good. I’m trying to make this last.”
Heat blooms in your chest at his words, hips rolling experimentally from beneath him, that burning dulling into a pleasurable fullness. The delicious stretch of him giving way to something…new. Something different. Twine spills out before you, a coil, a line you feel growing tighter with every passing moment. He gasps out a breath. A hot puff against your collarbone as his head falls, wispy hairs teasing along your warm skin.
“More,” you pant, clutching at his shoulder as he fully seats himself inside, pussy clenching around him at the newness of being so full of Steve.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You nod, head falling back as he pulls back, nearly pulling out, and drives back in. In and out, in and out, beginning something you know will forever change your relationship. “Oh god.” A gasp, as he repeats the motion again and again, brushing against a part of you that you didn’t even know existed.
“You’re so tight, baby,” he grounds out. He pulls back, pulls out, and you nearly cry with the loss of him, until he smirks and pushes back in, punching your breath straight from your lungs. “It’s like you were made for me.” You could cry, you could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you lose yourself to this, to this moment — to him. “Tell me you’re mine. You’re finally mine.”
“I’m yours,” you promise, keening as he lifts your thigh higher onto his hip, driving into you in a way that makes white flash behind your eyes, “and you’re mine.”
The words you want to say bubble on your lips. The three words with the power to change everything. The three you’ve denied yourself all these years in fear of the rejection that might come should you ever utter them. But you feel them with every beat of your heart, with every roll of his hips, with every kiss he presses to your lips as you inch closer and closer to release.
And it’s there. Right there. That elusive thing you’ve only heard about with friends in mixed conversation. That blooming low in your belly, the unfurling as he continues to grind into you over and over again, the flame licking in the space where you’re irrevocably connected to him now in a way you’ve never been before.
“Steve — I’m —”
“I’m close too,” he grunts, chest pressing against yours, lips at your cheek. “Let go with me, yeah?”
It ripples through you with a broken sob, and the feeling of Steve’s hips faltering in their rhythm as he finishes, warmth spilling into you. Hearts race. Mouths come together in the middle, foreheads pushing against one another. Your hands tangle together like whispered secrets on knitted blankets, against pillows littering the floors.
Neither of you pulls away, bodies only rolling enough to face one another, his softening cock still inside of you. Fingers trail along his bicep as his other arm slides beneath your head, cradling you there. It’s all sweet and soft kisses against skin. His mouth at your brow, your cheek, your jaw…lips. Different and yet it feels like something that’s always been meant to be. A part of the two of you never tapped into.
Until now.
“So…”
“So…” You nuzzle your nose against his, blinking up at his tired, blissfully hazy eyes.
“That was…”
“Perfect?” you finish, gliding your fingers through the hair curling around his ear.
“Perfect,” he agrees, index finger gliding up and down the line of your spine, “everything. Tired, hmm?”
He watches the flutter of your eyes. The telltale yawn that pours from you. The liquid form of your limbs draped over his own. Your head rests over his chest and fingers dig into his hip.
“Let me take care of you and then we can pass out, okay?”
He parts from you with a whine, limbs aching a little as you stretch and he disappears into the bathroom, only to come back with a warm washcloth to clean you with. It’s tossed across the room a moment later, the man of your heart rearranging the pillows around the floor into a better makeshift mattress, blankets already tucked low around your hips as you find him again, your bare chest pressing against his.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I just want to remind you that you’ve always been enough,” you tell him softly. Quietly. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”
“You have me,” he promises, squeezing you tighter. “I’m yours.”
And you’re his.
A beautiful thing that curls around you both as you slip into sleep.
You’re grateful for a holiday weekend, because for the next three days, neither of you leave the comfort of the bedroom. It’s there that you learn every inch of Steve. That you remember the way his fingers trace your skin, how he feels when he’s inside of you, over you and under you, what it looks like when you drive him to finish, the way he looks at you when you writhe beneath him, hands fisted in his hair.
For days, all you know is that. The complete and utter bliss of a new relationship — despite the fact neither of you have given things a title yet. And even so, you hardly feel like you need to. You’d both said those words: you’re mine, and I’m yours. Wholly and completely. In your heart you know it, in your mind, and in your body. This is what you’ve been dreaming of for years, this is what you know you want.
He’s holding you now, your back to his chest, his fingers stroking you between your thighs, the fullness of him sliding in from behind. Another arm loops over your chest, resting over your heart, keeping you close. And you pinch your eyes shut at the feeling of it, at the sound of your sweat slick skin against his, the place where you’re joined, the press of his lips against your spine, your shoulder.
“You always.” A kiss. “Feel so.” Another kiss. “Good.” He tips your chin up and kisses your lips, swallowing your moan as you drive your hips back against his, wanting him deeper, wanting to crawl inside him if you could. “Taking me so well, beautiful.” A whine. “Gonna come for me, baby? Want it.”
You’ve been at it for hours. Or it feels like hours. He’d woken up that morning insistent on feeding you, before falling back into bed with you for the third day in a row. Had kissed every inch of you before rolling over and watching you with hooded eyes as you sunk down on him, robbing him of his very breath. That had been a frantic thing, hips rolling over him, his hands digging crescent moons into your sides, little medals for the honor of watching Steve completely crumble beneath you when his orgasm snuck up on him, knowing you’d done that.
Another whine punches from your lungs. Stolen from you as fire licks up your spine and you’re engulfed with it, clutching at his forearm and crying his name with your release, forehead slumping into your pillow as he follows soon after, hips slowing to a stop as he tugs you flush against his chest, whispering your praises against the skin of your cheek, his fingers dancing along your sweaty temple.
“I think that was our best yet,” you laugh, stroking along the hairs against the back of his arm, relishing in the shiver that ripples from him in the aftershocks of his own orgasm. “How about we shower and grab some breakfast at the diner or something?”
“Are you up to grab a tree with me for the holidays too?” At your nod, he grins against your shoulder, “maybe some ice skating and hot chocolate at the rink?”
“Is this our first date?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder to press a lingering kiss to his lips.
He hums against you, breathing a sigh, and you know the contentment pouring from him because it mirrors your own. “If you want it to be. As much as I want to stay here forever, I'm pretty sure our friends are worried we’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
“We kind of did,” you muse, recalling the parting words on Thanksgiving just days ago now. “I haven’t slept a wink in days.”
“Says the woman reaping all the benefits in the form of endless orgasms,” he teases, laying a love bite against your shoulder, pulling away from you to rise up onto his feet, nodding his head toward the shower. “Come on.”
“No funny business,” you tease, curling a blanket around your shoulders as you follow him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.
You only make it five minutes in before you break that promise by sinking down onto your knees.
…And naturally, he repays the favor after.
——
People notice Steve wherever he goes. As the town handyman, he earns a bit of attention. Smiles from those that pass by, waves as he walks down the street, calls of his name from across parking lots. So you suppose it should come as no surprise when you meander through the endless rows of trees, your hand in Steve’s, earning a bunch of stares of your own.
For a while, you’ve been simply the girl who follows in his wake. A familiar face around town while you’ve been here, and a figment of a past time to those who had been around much longer. Now, you were swiftly approaching what you knew to be a permanent fixture in the town all over again.
It feels natural — the weight of his palm in your own, fingers tangled, arms swinging in the space between the two of you, dressed in similar outfits. It’s nothing unusual in comparison to your years long friendship, though now you know what his lips feel like against every inch of you, you know that his heart against your spine thrums like a perfect tattoo while his arms circle you, you know what the weight of him above you feels like.
And even so, you earn the curious gazes of wandering eyes. The glances from those trying to garner what is happening here. You don’t mind it, though. Don’t mind the way people wonder, because you already know the truth within your heart. The depth of the feelings he has for you mirror your own, as sure as the sun rises and sets every day. The realization that this is the start to what you hope might be forever.
“How about this one?” Steve asks.
An hour later you’re both dragging a tree into his living room and decorating it in dozens of shiny lights and bulbs. He kisses you long and slow, fingers in your sweater, foreheads pressed in close, hearts even closer.
“It’s perfect,” you whisper, staring up at the tree, beautifully lit and adorned with love.
“It is,” Steve says back, but he’s not staring at the tree, he’s staring right at you instead.
——
The Hideout is bustling with customers. Endless rows of children constructing and decorating gingerbread houses at one table, while parents and family members alike mill about at the other tables, conversations about the upcoming holidays filtering through your ears as you pass by, handing off drinks and food.
Steve’s not here yet. A fact you notice as you watch the table of your friends grow, the group bent low together, beaming at what the other is saying, caught up in their company as day turns into night.
You’re finishing up handing off water to a table of teenagers when you notice Abi waving you over, a weary look in her eyes. It’s when your gaze travels southward you notice the shaggy blonde curls that you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Nor the pristine suit and tailored pants, the too expensive watch, that tie cinched around his neck. Green eyes drift your way from the bar, arms crossing over a toned chest. Chiseled cheekbones give way to blonde stubble, a messier look than you’re used to on Clark’s conventionally attractive features.
His eyes narrow at your appearance. To him, you’re wearing no more than a pair of jeans you bought off of a clearance rack, and a black sweater with a hole in one sleeve after you’d gotten it caught on Steve’s truck handle. He’s seen you in designer gowns, shoes, decked to the nines with jewelry, looking like the ever dutiful daughter. And now — now his eyes roam your form with distaste, the curl of his lip making your stomach drop.
“I can ask him to leave,” Abi murmurs low against your ear as you slip behind the bar to join her, “just say the word, and he’s gone. Eddie wouldn’t mind if I toss him out. He’s kind of an asshole anyway. Asked me if I had a specific bottle of wine, and scoffed when I said we didn’t. I almost told him he could shove the credit card he slapped against the bar up his ass.”
“Sounds about right,” you grumble, giving her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll be okay. And if not, and you catch me ready to throw a glass and lose my job —”
“I’ll turn the other way and pretend I didn’t see it.”
Offering her a smile, you slip back out and round the bar, grabbing Clark’s sleeve and tugging him to a smaller table positioned away from everyone else. From here, you can see Steve when he arrives and escape if need be. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head up, staring into that blank stare.
“So this is where you ran off to,” he tuts, snickering, “it’s…charming.”
“It’s where I grew up,” you tell him flatly, “it’s home.”
“Home is in the city,” he says, leaning up onto his elbows, hand coming to curl over your own. Your eyes narrow at the contact, at the feeling of his finger cradling the back of your palm. “Come home. Stop this, please? Your family misses you, your friends miss you — believe it or not, I miss you.”
You bark out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Darling…” The hand around yours tightens, and you know he’s trying to narrow your window of escape, to ensure you stay rooted in place. “We had fun together, didn’t we?”
“At events, sure.”
He was kind enough. Was willing to laugh with you, to joke and tease, to talk. But there was nothing of any sort of romantic nature beneath the surface. Your marriage was intended for monetary purposes and those alone.
“You hardly even gave us a chance.”
“Clark, we were in an arrangement,” you remind him. “A mutually beneficial agreement for both of us.”
“Which has since fallen through.”
“And I am sorry about that —”
“Then come home,” he says again, eyes intent on your face. “Come. Home.”
“This is my home,” you whisper, catching the sight of Steve walking by in the window. His eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Clark across from you.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Clark lets out a bitter laugh as Steve appears in the doorway, approaching your table cautiously. “This is the guy you ran out on me with. Him? You’re choosing him. What can he offer you that I cannot?”
“Love, Clark,” you say, voice breaking at the end, “I love him…and I — I think he loves me. So yes, I’m choosing him. I’m choosing to stay here…with him.”
He fixes Steve with a hard stare, mouth parting slightly, settling back into a firm line. “You love him?”
“Yeah,” you laugh, and it’s watery. A broken off sob at the realization of your admission. “I do. We wouldn’t be happy together. You know that. I mean…you were kissing Christina on our wedding day.”
“She’s, ah, that’s…complicated.”
“But she means something to you,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “We wouldn’t be happy. You know we wouldn’t. Tell me you can see that.”
His palm slides down his face, head shaking slowly. “Your father’s company —”
“You’re an amazing surgeon,” you remind Clark, “and my father will come around. Eventually. I’m certain. And…maybe when he doesn’t hate me for making the choices I’ve made, I can send over a glowing recommendation. We don’t have to do things just because it’s our family’s way. We can choose our own happiness.”
Clark leans back a bit, his hand falling away from yours, fingers curling around the chair beside him to make room for a perplexed looking Steve Harrington at the table. “Can I at least say hello the man my fiancée ran out on me — on our wedding day, no less — for?”
“Clark,” Steve mutters with a nod, sinking down onto the chair beside you, arm curling around your shoulders. “I’m Steve. Steve Harrington. And, uh, sorry about your wedding day.”
Clark reaches over to grip his hand. “You’re really not sorry, though,” he chuckles heartily, shaking Steve’s hand.
Steve grins, because no. No, he’s not at all sorry, and you couldn’t be happier.
The three of you sit there in that restaurant for an hour, talking about plans for the future. About Christina and Steve. Christina, who is from a not so affluent family. A family his family doesn’t quite approve of, but he loves her. A fact you could even tell after seeing them together in their embrace.
In the end, Clark decides to head back to the city with the intention of making things right with the woman he loves. You also send him on the mission to talk to your parents, to convince them neither of you wants the marriage, and to let them know you’re okay since they don’t wish to contact you as it is.
Once he’s gone, you’re left to finish up cleaning your station, later announcing to your friends that you and Steve are heading for a little walk. Neither of you wants to stick around at the moment. Not when there’s so much to talk about.
Without him even saying anything, you know he’s overheard what you said to Clark. That you loved him. That you love him. Nervousness wells within you as you tug your jacket closer to your form, reaching out to lace your fingers with Steve’s, your hands swinging in the space between the two of you. Part of you wonders if you’ll ever get used to this. Part of you doesn’t, wanting merely to rest in the excitement of finally having the one thing you’ve both always wanted come to fruition.
“So…that was nice,” you say, peering up into his eyes.
The moon shines above, but Steve’s eyes are on your face. A lingering look you feel all the way down to your toes. “He’s still an asshole.” He swallows. Here it is. “Did you mean everything back there?”
“Which part?”
He pauses on the sidewalk, hands curling into your belt loops, tugging you against him. “Well, for starters, the part where you said this is your home now.”
“If you don’t mind having a roommate for a little while longer. At least, until I get back on my feet. Pretty sure my inheritance is not happening ever.”
His fingers cup your jaw, mouth brushing lazily over yours. “I’m not kicking my girlfriend out.”
It’s the first time he’s called you that, no fanfare, no need for explanation. And it feels right down to your marrow.
“Are you…asking me to officially move in?” you question, head tilting back a bit to gauge his reaction to your words.
“Are you saying yes?” He bounces on the heels of his feet a little, your palms resting against his stomach.
“I mean, an endless sleepover with my best friend sounds pretty great.”
He beams. “And then there’s that other part of the conversation I walked in on.”
“What part might that have been?” you prompt, leaning up onto your toes, biting at your bottom lip.
His fingers slide around your hips, slipping into the back pockets of your denim jeans. “The part where you said you love me.”
“I’ve loved you for years, Steve,” you tell him honestly, “I’ve…been in love with you for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”
His nose runs down the side of yours gently. “I’m in love with you too.”
He says it so quickly, all in a rush, like he simply wants to breathe the words into existence. To make them known. To speak the secrets that have been lingering in the silent moments between the two of you for years. To give them the voice they deserve. To set them into motion, to flight, to give them the breadth to roam freely.
“All this time?” you ask, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill.
“Yeah.” He nods. “All this time, honey. Always, if you’ll let me.”
You trust that his words are true. You know within your heart he means every single one of them. You welcome the free fall, and what a beautiful, safe space to land you’ve found in Steve.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” A kiss brushes the tip of your nose.
A giggle. “Deal.”
——
Two years later…
Sunlight streams in through the bedroom window. Warms your skin as a yawn spills from your lips, arms stretching against pillows, head nuzzling deeper into the mattress's downy embrace.
A warm arm slides in around your waist, a palm gliding over your stomach. “How are my girls doing?” It’s the voice of your husband that stirs you, chest rumbling against your spine, thumb stroking along your skin.
“We were just taking a nap,” you sigh, rolling over to face the man, “you finished for the day?”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to look at the scrunched up newborn resting near your hip. “Uncle Eddie and Aunt Abi’s new house has a nice deck now. They also decided to keep the swing in the backyard just for when you grow up a little bit more, Summer.”
Summer sleepily stares up at her father as he carefully lifts her into the crook of his elbow, bouncing her a little to help her settle when her face wrinkles with the beginnings of a soft cry.
“She’s bigger than she was this morning,” he huffs, the hairs that are getting a little too long on his head now puffing upward with the hard breath.
Giggling, you roll over to lean against his shoulder, running the pads of your finger along her chubby cheek. “She’s the same as she was this morning.”
“Do you think she missed me?” He glances up, hopeful.
“Always,” you reassure him, knowing he hates going back to work after the initial few weeks he took off to spend time with his newborn daughter. “We got an invitation to Clark and Christina’s wedding.”
“At least that wedding won’t end with a runaway bride situation.”
“Hey, that runaway bride became your wife.”
Your own wedding was a year ago now. And because Steve had helped nearly everyone around town, it became a huge event. Nearly everyone in town had gathered around as you walked down a grassy aisle to the man who always had your heart. It was there he pledged forever, a promise to keep you close and your heart closer for all of time to come.
Your parents had even come, deciding that love truly mattered above all else — though a lot of that was thanks to Clark and Christina’s influence. Those two had even become closer friends to you than you ever thought imaginable. Just four people who had come together in the strangest of circumstances, finding that sometimes the person who people deemed ‘best’ for you wasn't actually the right one — and that choosing love would overcome any other obstacle that might try to get in your way.
“That she did,” he says, leaning down to brush a kiss to your forehead.
And now you had an extension of that, in the form of a bleary eyed baby staring up at the two of you. Equal parts him and you, and everything you could have ever dreamed of and more. “Come on, I have something to show you! Summer can come too.”
“You just don’t want to let her go.”
“I never do,” he coos, leaning down to brush a kiss over her forehead, “she’s like her Mom. Has me wrapped around her finger, and she’s not even two months old.”
“I’ll say a prayer for her future suitors now —”
“Hey — she is not dating until she’s thirty and that’s final.”
You shove at him lightly as he leads you down the hall and into the newly extended part of the home. There’s a little sunroom, full to the brim with plants, and just outside on the back porch, he’s added a beautiful wooden swing that overlooks the water.
“Steve…”
“I know you like to read out here, but I figured now that we have Summer…” He settles down on one of the cushions, making room against his hip for you to curl up next to him, watching as the sun begins to set over Hawkins. “We could come out here…as a family. I have more plans too. A seating area over there for when we have company. Maybe some stuff for when Nancy and Jonathan bring their son over for a play date. A treehouse over there.”
“I love it, Steve.”
“I love you,” he says, brushing his lips against yours ever so softly, just as Summer starts to whine in the crook of his elbow. “Oh no, sweetheart, shhh shh. Don’t cry…this mountain I must climb…feels like a world upon my shoulders…”
“Oh, come on,” you laugh as he starts to sing, sides shaking with the memory of your return to Hawkins so long ago now.
“Through the clouds I see love shine —” He continues, and Summer stares up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky for her. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder.”
“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” you sing along, snuggling closer into his side, looping your arm around his and lacing your fingers with his own. “I don't know if I can face it again.”
You both break into a fit of giggles as the both of you sing-whisper out in equally as horrendous voices so as to not wake the baby that’s starting to doze off, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”
You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, the song falling off, along with the laughter, as Summer’s eyes flutter shut. “Thank you for this. For all of it. This life we have together. For choosing me every day. Us. Our family.”
“Thank you,” he breathes back against your lips, kissing you as the sun sinks further along the sky, soft and pink and golden — just like the life before you and the one to come.
——
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