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bubblegumbayleigh · 2 years

Text

leather jacket

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: waking up in steve's arms on his sofa was the last thing you expected after your rough night out.

word count: [2.3k]

cw: alcohol, drunken behaviour and hangovers. lovesick fluffy steve and oblivious (but in love) reader. softest kiss ever.

a/n: i may or may not have gotten really drunk last night and i may or may not have written this to make myself feel better because this is the worst hangover ever. i kind of hate this but whatever, I hope it's somewhat readable. also all the love from my last fic has been amazing! thank you, guys <3

A tame hint of vanilla. Woody, smokey scents laced with vanilla masked underneath the mild whiffs of hairspray. Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Cool, waxy grip of leather against your upper body. Lower down, a rub and pinch of coarse denim. A belt buckle digging sharply into your right side, causing you to squirm as you become conscious of the dull pain.

A mumble left your lips as you tossed your head to the other side, cheek met with the same leather soothing your sweating body below. The sensation caused you to groan in response, nuzzling your face deeper into the material. To your surprise, the cooling touch spread further across your skin as something squeezed you closer with a low hum.

There he was, Steve Harrington, legs spread and arms clad in the leather of his jacket; the preppy navy blue polo shirt peeking out from underneath as usual. Head thrown back against the couch, his arms supporting your back and legs in bridal style to keep you as close as he felt possible. Although he was definitely out like a light, he was as tense as ever to not let his arms slip and let you go. There was a pretty pink blush spreading across his cheeks, tender lips and chin slightly glazed by drool as he mumbled mute, unintelligible nothings.

“Steve.” You grumbled as you looked up to him, still against his chest, grazing your hand over his shirt with heavy eyes. He awoke with little protest, searching for you desperately with fluttering lashes before looking down at you in a sudden panic.

“No.” You giggled gently to not startle him. Judging by his state, a louder noise could kill the boy. “I woke you.”

“God, I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”

His puppy dog eyes became softer, a drowsy half-smile adorning his face and a breath of relief relaxing his posture. That was the look that always made your heart ache.

“How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” The tips of his fingers dragged up and down your thighs hesitantly where he held you in his grip to encourage you to speak.

“Uh. Yeah?” His noticeable worrying began to confuse you. “I’m fine.”

Just as the words had left your mouth, an arrow of sharp pain struck through you and pulled a hiss from between your teeth. Your hand rubbed at the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair to numb the feeling. The dehydration became too hard to ignore, realising how your lips sealed together with layers of saliva after each word, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

“Oh no- okay. I have to put you down now.” Steve quickly swapped your positions and laid your body down on the couch with a gentle urgency. He kneeled down next to you and took his palm to your forehead, applying a gentle pressure where you were fiddling a few moments ago to soothe the pain.

“I’m going to bring you painkillers, okay? Just don’t move” He put his hands in front of himself and made a “stay there” motion as he stood and backed away. Even while fidgeting through his kitchen cabinet, he kept leaning back to peek over the door frame and shoot you troubled glances.

Now that you thought about it, you had absolutely no recollection of last night. Even without the throbbing through your body and nausea stirring inside you, you wouldn’t be able to fathom a thought of how you really ended up in Steve’s arms this morning. All you could assume is your night out most definitely lead you to places you didn’t entirely expect to go to.

“Okay, I'm here. You with me darlin’?” He kneeled back down next to you, brightly coloured medicine packets rattling as he poured them out onto the floor from his arms, cautious to not pour the water he brought also.

You could only groan in response, allowing him to sit you up steadily, taking the glass of ice-cold water into your shaky hands. You shuddered, a chill going through you as the sudden change in temperature shocked your body. With the help of Steve’s hand holding the back of the glass, the other tucked under your chin to avoid you spilling, you took your first few sips.

“There you girl. Atta girl.” Steve praised as you let out little gasps after each desperate gulp trying to push down the medicine. You couldn’t remember the last time water tasted this good; even worse, you couldn’t remember if Steve always looked this… pretty.

It was the way that leather jacket hugged his body, the way the top buttons of his polo were unbuttoned to help him cool down from the heat of the moment. It was the way his eyes were fixated on only you, switching his gaze between your eyes and your lips ever so often, mouth ajar. The way his hair was still sleep-mussed and flopping over his eyes. It wasn’t the regular slick, neat and preppy Steve; he was messy, rugged, so concerned for you, praises pouring from his lips like honey. Being caring just looked so good on Steve. He really was the best babysitter.

“Thank you, Steve.” You calmed your breathing and leaned back against the armrest. Steve raised his hand back up to your face and dragged his thumb over your lower lip to wipe off a droplet of water.

“No problem, sweets.”

Now Steve noticed the tension, he could most definitely sense the change in the nature of your gaze. There was a few seconds of silence accompanied by eye contact before he stood up to go back to the kitchen, with less urgency this time. You could catch a glimpse of the puzzled expression painting his face as he turned away.

Your mind always fought the relentless battle of ridding yourself of these thoughts clouding over your brain. It didn’t help that he always had to use these stupid pet names. Hon, darlin’, sweets. It was like he was trying to refrain from calling you something excessively affectionate, like honey, darling, or sweetheart, but tried to find his way around it anyway. It engulfed you, but you always promised yourself that you wouldn’t fall into the trap of the Harrington charm that easily, especially since your friendship was so special to you.

“Better?” He came back into the room and scoffed at the sight of you guzzling down the last drops of water from the glass. Clearly, your usual energy started to possess you again, even if your thoughts were still a little hazy, and you weren’t really forming coherent sentences. Stripping himself of his leather jacket, he sat down behind you on the armrest and ran his hand through your hair, carefully undoing the knots which formed over the night.

“Steve.”

“Hm?”

You thought hard about your words.

“As much as I appreciate all of this. I still don’t really know how--how I got here?”

“Uh, well.” The boy shifted his hips and avoided your gaze completely, trying to recall the events of the night himself. Although he wasn’t hungover, you assume the few hours of sleep he got after watching over you like a guard dog probably lessened the performance of his usually sharp brain.

“Your friends called me to take you to mine, they were too drunk themselves to protect you from doing something insane for the rest of the night, they said.”

You let out a long sigh and leaned your head back into his lap, looking up into his eyes as if you knew there was way more to the story than that.

“So I obviously did, drove over and picked you up as quickly as I could.”

“Made you carry me?” You scoffed, ashamed.

“Yeah.” He chuckled, smoothing his hand over your hair again. “Only for a little bit”

“God, Steve.” You clasped your hands over your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m really embarrassed. I'm never like this.”

Although you almost never ever got drunk, even between those few times you would never act so, stupidly. You almost always managed to keep your friends in check, the carer amongst your group, getting everyone home safely before sinking down in your own bed for the night. Never having to be driven home, carried in, only being able to sleep in the arms of your friend.

“Oh come on. I was glad to help. We watched a movie and everything, had the time of my life, [Y/N].”

His smile was genuine, words tender and caring. It shocked you how much of a big softie the infamously short-tempered babysitter was every single time.

“So I didn’t do anything outrageously embarrassing, then?”

“Oh no, no. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve wasn’t big on lying, obviously. It’s not like he was lying, anyhow, but he was confident that you didn’t want to hear about this. Not yet anyway. He cared too much about your friendship to let it become awkward or, tense. Even if he felt his heart skip a beat, breath hitch in his throat and blush rise to his cheeks each time he thought about it, absolutely desperate to address his feelings.

You didn’t do anything outrageously embarrassing. It was just outrageously forward, but considering your state, it was understandable. Maybe you didn’t even mean anything by it, but Steve was always incredibly fixated on what-ifs. What if you felt exactly the same as he did? What if you felt the direct opposite? Those were the kinds of questions which kept him up at night.

He had just managed to open the door despite you clinging in his arms, fingers indented from the pressure of the many missed attempts of the key stabbing into the keyhole. He begged to let you stand for only a second so he wouldn’t snap his keys, but you refused, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck.

He walked into the house, cautious not to bump your head or legs in the hallway; holding his breath as he passed the ridiculously expensive vases his parents splurged on constantly. Thankfully, they were both out of town this week. As normal as that was, it left Steve alone in that big house with nothing but his thoughts, feelings and that big, stupid TV that seemed to always play heart-breaking romances whenever he turned it on.

It’s never good to be alone with those things, especially not for a lovesick Harrington.

He tried to lay you down from every position, even completely letting go of you while he held you over the couch. But you just wouldn’t budge. Steve’s heart was practically exploding, he was afraid that you would notice the thumping noise as you buried your face into his chest.

“Steve. Talk to me.”

It didn’t take much for him to give in whenever you ask him for something. He would give the world to you, and you didn’t even have to ask that nicely. Everyone around you was completely astounded at how oblivious you were to his constant romancing of you, how he was always near you, always doing things for you. Driving you around, taking you on dates you never knew were dates. Playing with your hair, tucking it behind your ear whenever it got in the way of your heated rants about work or some stupid guy. Bringing you flowers, chocolates, and your favourite food whenever you were feeling down, or just because he wanted to. He drew love hearts on notes he passed you in class and slipped you little doodles to make you giggle during especially boring lectures.

Steve Harrington was totally in love. [Y/N] was totally and utterly oblivious.

“What uh--what do you want to talk about?” He sat you both down; pulling you closer to his chest hesitantly as you whined from the loss of touch, the recoil of the couch prying you apart for a second. He could feel your slow, warm breathing against his chest, your weight pressing him firmly into the couch. He could smell your shampoo, and the perfume you always used on special occasions.

It made him too nervous to look you in the eye.

You didn’t respond. Steve just assumed you fell asleep; but when he turned his gaze down to you, you were staring right up at him with sultry, drunken doe-eyes. You chewed on your lip and hummed quietly at the rush of his look meeting yours. The moonlight and glow of the pool outside was the only thing illuminating the room through a gap in the scarcely shut curtains, but you could just make out the mesmerized expression on his face.

Steve noticed you slowly pulling his face down to yours with your weight, your noses bumping as he rested his forehead against yours to stop himself from doing anything he would regret. Now your breath was right against his face, the pattern becoming rugged and heavy. He could barely process your actions before you lazily brushed your lips against his, settling a feather-light kiss on his lower lip.

“-Love you. So much.”

Just as quickly as it all happened, you passed right out, eyes fluttering closed gently after the words fell from your mouth with an ease that made his jaw drop.

Steve was in a state of shock, euphoric shock. He wasn’t sure what he was allowed to feel. But he definitely felt something. It was like little fireflies were dancing around his heart, butterflies glittering in his stomach, something buzzing in his ears. He wanted to make you the happiest girl in the world. He just wished that one day, you two could do this again. Fall asleep with each other after the sweetest goodnight kiss.

But he could wake up in the morning, and kiss you again, call you his.

So he sat. Sat watching over you. He couldn’t let you hurt yourself and swore that he would stay awake until you opened your eyes the next morning. He wanted to hide the grin on his face but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling that still lingered on his lips. Couldn’t stop thinking about your words. Couldn't stop thinking about the what-ifs of the future.

“I love you too.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve x reader #harrington x reader

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bubblegumbayleigh · 2 years

Text

chapstick

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve tries to pick out a chapstick for the ever-so picky reader. things get passionate as an overwhelming memory sheds light on their true feelings.

word count: [2.2k]

cw: nothing really. fluffy but spicy yearning, slightly touchy (?), long-awaited kiss, robin being a little shit hehe

an: this is the first fic I've actually finished and posted so eek! super nervous. probs super messy and short so please forgive me! anyways crush to best friend to lover steve is cute,, also I've been listening to meet me in the pale moonlight so that was the mood I wrote this in. enjoy lovelies <3

“What about this one?”

You looked over your shoulder to see your best friend Steve, who had been rattling through your endless box of colourful, flavoured chapsticks for the past hour, splayed out on your bed.

He was entirely determined to find the perfect flavour for you before you two had to leave to see the gang for a movie, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in dedication whilst the plastic clatter filled the room all afternoon. He was nowhere near giving up, despite the ache of his elbows digging into your mattress and the frustration of your instant dismissal of his every suggestion.

That was until he found one he recognised a few moments prior. Now his expression was full of gratification, holding the small pink tube to your face, rolling it between his finger and thumb. It read “strawberries and cream” along its length, and the cap was visibly loose from its frequent use. Your expression softened and a smile adorned your blushing face.

“I haven’t used that since like, sixth grade, don’t remind me”, you turned back to your vanity mirror, continuing to brush your hair, glancing at him in its reflection ever so often. A part of you hoped he would have remembered the little plastic tube, but why would retired king Steve Harrington remember what was smudged on your lips years ago, anyway? It’s not like you spent every day applying that specific chapstick just for him, knowing it was his favourite as you overheard from a passing conversation.

Younger you was… impossibly desperate for his attention; you struggled with the thought that maybe that urge never truly left.

This time, you didn’t hear the disheartened drop of the chapstick back into the box as he had done a million times before, instead, a pop of the lid shot your head back around to face him again. He had pressed the tip to his lips, dragging it carefully along the top and then down to the bottom, applying more pressure as the chapstick threatened to run out. It may have also been fueled by your eyes fixated on his movements, a smirk curving the edge of his mouth upwards.

Followed by a smack of his lips, you were out of your trance; they looked even softer, pinker. More delicate and plush than ever before, if that was possible.

“Seventh.”

“Hm?” You bit your lips and looked back up to meet his gaze in a frenzy. Maybe it was to suppress anything idiotic which would have spilt out of you in response, or just to relieve yourself of the ache which throbbed within you.

“It wasn’t sixth grade, it was seventh.” Steve replaced the lid with a snap and plopped backwards, legs dangling off your fluffy pink bed with his much larger body, a sigh of defeat escaping through his smile. “I remember noticing something different about you, then the missing shape of the chapstick in your left pocket..”

You plopped down next to him, facing the ceiling. It still made you nervous to be so close. The impact made Steve’s entire body spring slightly off the mattress, his hair flopping over his eyes. He lifted his palm to swoop the hair back, then settled it down above himself.

“But worst of all, I could never smell strawberries whenever you were close enough to me. It was comforting, y’know? Like, even if I closed my eyes, I knew you were there.”

“You paid attention to that?” You fiddled with the hem of your dress, too nervous to turn and look him in his eyes.

“It’s embarrassing, I know. We weren’t even that close back then and all.” Steve was equally as nervous to look back at you, he felt like his words were bubbling out of his mouth, frothing, and he just couldn’t stop it. He was scared, and even more anxious to admit that to himself.

What made it so much worse was the feeling of your dress brushing along his arms, barely even touching him; thoughts of the same fabric covering your bare skin.

“No.” You mewled. “I don’t think it’s embarrassing at all.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A few seconds of dead silence passed, a strenuous effort from both of you. It felt more like an hour, more thoughts circulating around your brain than what the average person should endure.

Although you spoke last, you could feel another sentence approaching your lips, but a blunt ache filled your throat like stacks of cotton balls.

Steve spoke first, as if it was a custom.

“Why did you stop wearing it?”

You feared this question would arise eventually. It wasn’t like you could just say that you lost feelings for him because, in all honesty, you didn’t. You never did, you just tried to make yourself believe it after seeing Steve’s hundredth new girlfriend of the week. It made you sick. He was just so much different from who he is now. You can’t remember a single girl he dated in the past year despite his incessant popularity, which is a drastically different track record from his earlier years.

“I guess I just got bored of it. Peach became more my style, it brings in the ladies. You would know, Harrington.” You scoffed and nudged him with your elbow in an attempt to hide the crack in your voice. You thought maybe lightening the conversation would help, but the almost mute giggles you both gave provided no comfort.

If anything, it made the conversation tenser, and you could feel both of you were mere seconds away from snapping. It had never been this tense with your best friend before, although you could sense it building over the past few days. Hands brushing over thighs, chests grazing past backs, fingertips on waists.

You thought you only imagined it, but it was clear as day that Steve felt the same now, too. It was, different.

Steve finally rolled onto his side, elbow propping him up to let him look into your eyes. You could see his lip quiver in anticipation of speaking again, the smile from earlier dropping slowly from his face as the cogs were turning in his brain.

“Could you, maybe, wear it again?”

He whispered. It was only now that you noticed the glimmer of desperation and want in his eyes, resembling that of a puppy.

“Er,” You gulped from the heat of the sudden attention. “Well, yeah. I could.”

His expression softened as if he was expecting a different answer, but he was entirely relieved at your reply. He handed you the chapstick, and the pattern of his breathing became quiet as if he was holding it in an effort to not make noise. Taking it, you popped the lid once more.

To your shock, the tube was near to empty. After using a generous amount each day for years, you were surprised there was anything left for Steve to use. Despite this, you just couldn’t bear seeing the craving expression embellish his features.

“Empty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have used less.”

Your voices barely reached a whisper. The moment felt intimate, the eye contact was unbreakable, but didn’t feel forced or awkward. However, your nerves were increasingly creeping up, engulfing your cheeks in soft blush and sending a tingle of adrenaline up your spine.

His face was closer now, body attempting to glance over into the chapstick, but his eyes wouldn’t budge from yours. You realised what he meant now, the smell of the strawberry; it was entrancing. Whether that was the chapstick or the fact his lips were centimetres away from your face made your eyebrows knit in thought.

Suddenly, a stupid thought flooded everything else.

“That's okay. There’s still some left.”

The puzzled expression on Steve’s face only drove you over the edge, rolling your entire body weight on top of him, pinning him below you as you straddled his lap.

You never realised how gorgeous he looked laid against your pillows, although he would laze about your bed regularly. But his hands were thrown up at his sides as if he was under arrest, hesitating around your waist. His eyes didn’t have the same desperate twinkle they had seconds before, and you could no longer grasp a sense of his thoughts.

A deep sensation of embarrassment and regret set in you; how you completely misread the situation will never be lived down, if you even stayed friends after this. All you could do was hope you would both laugh it off, move on, and forget this ever happened. In a sudden movement, you tried to push yourself back onto your knees and lift yourself from his lap.

“Shit. Steve, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

There was a grip around your thighs and a gasp escaped your lips. His hands no longer hovered over you, the tips of his fingers digging into the flesh directly under your ass with an eager desperation. His eyes filled again with the sparkle from before, chest rising up and down steadily as he scanned over your features.

“No, i-it’s okay.”

It was his turn to be shy, his grip on you becoming softer as he started to regret his unexpected touches. Still, his hands remained on your thighs, guiding your body back down onto him; relaxing your tensed-up muscles with gentle drags of his thumb. A low grunt escaped him as your weight pressed down onto his crotch, breathing heavier than before.

The look from before wasn’t fright or disgust, but the sheer fear of messing up the moment he had anticipated for so long, nerves shaking his fingertips. He was burning to touch you for weeks now. Not that he wasn’t this impatient years prior, but the yearning feeling near-drove him to insanity at this point. Your beauty, your scent, your innocent touches and glances. Naturally, he couldn’t help but fantasize about your taste.

“Y-you said there’s-” He paused to take a breath, trying to calculate your next move. “Said there’s-- more?”

The realization hit you as you remembered what got you here in the first place, words hitching in your throat.

“Yeah I mean, I-”

“Show me.”

That was all you needed to slam your lips down onto his, all of the remaining tensions snapping at lightning speeds. As cliché as it was, it felt like fireworks exploding all over your body, a bright flash and ringing in your ears as everything seemed so much grander than before.

All of your senses were melting, your thoughts ablaze. You could feel Steve whine into the kiss as he breathed out his nose in relief, his shaking hands running up your thighs, lightly brushing up your skirt, past your hips and onto your waist. One hand trailed further up, slipping past your jaw to lightly caress your cheek and deepen the kiss, tilting your head slightly to the right.

As confident as he tried to appear, Steve was about to break. He thought maybe a kiss would soothe the burn, but if anything, it only fueled the heat to twice the size. It was never like this, with anyone else, ever. He realised a couple of months back that he in fact did not want anyone else.

Ever.

He wanted you, nobody else but you.

You could feel Steve getting restless, his fidgety hands squeezing you slightly harder than before, his tongue threatening to slip past your lips any second. He was too bashful and nervous to push through, but the need was most definitely there.

A crunching sound of tires arriving at your house knocked you both back to consciousness. You pulled back to see Steve’s kiss-drunk expression, his hair messy, eyes glossy and low, blush spilling over his nose to both cheeks to match his lips. It was a sight you would give anything to see again.

“Movie” He barely muttered, keeping his eyes on yours to signal how keen he was to keep you right where you were. He refused to admit he knew you both had to go. Gently, he brought your face back down to his with both hands and kissed you again, softly.

-------------------------------------------------

“Jeez, only honked like, thirty times? Where were you?” Eddie slammed his hands down onto the wheel as you both emerged from your house, trying to seem as normal as possible.

As you turned to lock the door behind you, Steve noticed your dress clinging to where he pushed it up before. He quickly pulled it back down with a swift move of his hand, an exchanged look of panic and a nervous laugh buffering the silence after Eddie’s question.

You slipped into the front as Steve slipped to the back next to Robin, who had an undeniable smirk on her face.

“Sorry, makeup dilemma. Right, Stevie?” You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smoothing your dress down and resting your hands into your lap, seemingly as innocent as ever.

Eddie did nothing but sigh, starting the car with a roll of his eyes and a bite of his lower lip. The great thing about Eddie was that he was almost always completely oblivious to the things happening around him, including this.

“You will be. You too Harrington.” He shot a look back to Steve who rolled his eyes and kept his usual dorky expression. You almost couldn’t believe how smoothly you both pulled that off.

“So” Robin scoffed. Your heart dropped.

“Since when do you wear pink chapstick, Stevie?”

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