#Steve Harrington x fem!reader comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munsonsreputation · 8 months

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i can't talk to you when i'm like this

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.1K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)

summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.

You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.

Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.

He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.

“Why are you making it such a big deal?”

His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.

Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.

“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”

Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.

This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.

He knows he messed up.

It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.

It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.

You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.

Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.

“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.

The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.

The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.

“B-baby… I’m so sorry.”

The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’

All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.

He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.

Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.

“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.

There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.

No one gets it… but Steve does.

“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.

The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.

“I’m fine, Steve!”

Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.

He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.

“Baby,”

Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”

He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.

Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.

It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.

You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.

One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.

“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.

Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.

He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.

Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.

You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.

“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.

He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.

Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.

“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,

Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.

But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.

“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.

But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”

You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.

You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.

“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.

“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”

You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”

Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.

Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.

“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.

It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.

“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.

“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.

When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.

“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”

“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“

He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”

Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.

Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.

It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.

“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.

His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.

“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.

Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”

“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.

He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.

His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.

“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.

His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.

“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”

He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.

“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”

Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.

The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.

It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.

But Steve gives you everything and so much more.

A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.

When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.

He’s everything you could have asked for and more.

You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.

“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.

He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.

That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.

His love.

“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.

You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”

“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.

You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.

“I know, I love you too.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

kiss it better

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3,176

warnings: swearing, sick fic (sorta), steve not taking care of himself, anxiety, stress, mental breakdown?, best friends to lovers deal (let me know if i missed something)

a/n: hi! it’s been awhile. i’m sorry about that. this has been a very slow process for me. my mental health is shit, and that’s probably obvious. i hope it hasn’t seeped into this too much, but it probably will with the next few things i write. i apologize for taking so long to post, for disappearing, for not really making this the blog it once was. but i’m not the same person i was then. so we’ll see where this goes. i hope you enjoy this one a little. i love you.

————

The shrill sound of a phone ringing scares you awake, eyes flying open, heart pounding so aggressively you fear for a split second that it might burst.

You sit up quickly, enough so that you make yourself dizzy trying to get your bearings. You roll onto your side, and reach blindly across the edge of your nightstand, grabbing for the green plastic that’s shaking with the force of which it’s ringing.

You almost fall out of bed, just managing to catch yourself as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

Your voice comes out weak, thick with sleep and the longing for more rest. It startles you and makes you clear your throat.

“Hey, it’s me.”

The voice on the other line is even weaker than your own. It’s quiet.

“Steve?”

Your eyes find the alarm clock on your dresser, bright red letters telling you it’s just after one in the morning. You might be half-asleep, but you’re conscious enough that your heart rate picks up, registering that this isn’t when your best friend normally calls.

You hear him breathe, along with some shuffling. He’s nodding his head, but realizes you can’t see.

“Yeah. Listen,” he drags a shaking hand down his face. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

He goes quiet for a moment, but you wait patiently for him to continue. He must be trying to get something out, and you don’t want to pressure him, or cause him stress in any way.

Steve huffs, frustrated with himself.

“I-I’ve got an insane headache, and we’re out of goddamn medicine. My parents were here, and my mom was hungover and I guess she must’ve emptied us out, but it hurts too bad to drive, and…” He trails off, breathing heavily.

His pause lends you a moment to process, and you decide to speak up. If his head is killing him, you know finding the energy to speak to you, let alone call, has to be draining. You wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already is.

“Stevie?” you start, happy to hear a small hum that encourages you to go on. He registers what you’ve called him, something you don’t call him often, and his chest aches. “I’ve got some I can bring you. I think all the drugstores nearby are closed.”

You swing your legs out from under the covers, pushing yourself off the mattress. Pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you pull on the pair of sweats slung over the end of your bed, trying not to bust your ass as you hop into them.

“Is anything else hurting you?” you ask, gently as can be.

“Honestly?” he responds. “I think I’m sick. I can’t be sick, can I?”

You stand upright once again, taking the phone firmly in your hand.

“I think even King Steve can get sick from time to time. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

————

Steve’s not sure you understand him. He can’t be sick. He’s got shit to do. He has a shift tomorrow, and he’s pretty sure Dustin needs a ride one day this week because Claudia is on a “girls trip.” He has to keep working on his college essay, because he’d told you he was almost done, but really he isn’t.

Steve doesn’t have the time to be sick. And he can’t have you ruining your own schedule to come and babysit him. He’s supposed to be the babysitter. Not the charge.

He should be able to take care of himself, but of course, the one time his parents come home they clean out his mediocre supply of medicine. Something he’s always stocked up on, given his tendency to get the shit beat out of him, or the nasty string of tension headaches that just won’t quit.

And his head is killing him. He has his palms pressed to his temples, trying (and failing) to dull the ache. There aren’t any lights on in the kitchen, where he’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the cabinets.

He’s trying not to move too much either, because he’s dizzy. This probably has to do with the fact that he skipped dinner, feeling too nauseous to eat. Now that Steve is hungry, he fears he won’t be able to get up and fix anything.

Maybe you’ll be able to help, he thinks. But that voice is quick with a counter argument. No. I need to do it.

He perks up at the sound of the front door opening. “Steve?” you call out, careful not to slam the door or yell too loud. It’s also why you hadn’t rung the doorbell.

Steve raps his knuckles softly against the countertop, hoping it’ll be enough to clue you in. He can’t bring himself to shout right now. You follow the sound, taking the few steps toward the kitchen.

When your eyes lock on his figure, see the way the heels of his hands press into his eyes, you realize how young he looks. He almost looks small, legs pulled up to his chest, big, lanky body compacted as much as possible. He looks vulnerable. You’re sure he hates that.

“Hi, Steve,” you say, keeping your voice low.

He looks up at you, and his face splits into a sweet grin. He’s happy that you’re here, even if that voice is screaming at him, wanting to punish him for asking for help.

“Hey, honey.” You smile back at him, and his heart rate picks up. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful you are, and then you’re standing in front of him, snatching every last breath from his lungs.

You set your bag down beside him and reach out, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He feels a little warm, but not feverishly so.

You move away from him, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. You fill it up with water and crouch at his side. Steve takes the glass from you, head resting against the cabinet to watch as you grab him some medicine. You hand him a few pills, and he takes them quickly. If he doesn’t get this headache calmed down soon, he thinks he might just die.

Steve keeps drinking the water you gave him, and you push his hair back again, watching the way it curls around his ears.

He drinks about half of the water before he pauses, taking a deep breath. He looks at you then. It’s mostly dark in the kitchen, but the lamp on the table by the front door is on, so you’re a little backlit from it. Not to mention the moonlight seeping in from the window above the sink.

You look gorgeous. And you came over to take care of him. You got up, at one in the morning, and drove to his house, just because he asked you to. Hell, he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t gotten the words out. But you’d known. You’d known exactly what he was trying to ask, and you’d offered your help with no qualms.

Steve’s nose starts to sting, and that pressure from behind his eyes—it starts to release. Before he knows it, his vision is getting cloudy, and he’s crying. He can’t be crying, can he?

You carefully remove the glass from his hand and move in between his spread knees.

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m gonna take top notch care of you.”

“I know you are,” he says, voice breaking. “But I should be able to do it myself. I always do it myself.” He presses his hands against his face, but you catch his wrists and gently pull them away.

You hold your arms out, and Steve practically falls into you. He buries his face in your neck. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the cotton of your sleep shirt. You smell like soap, that fancy conditioner you use.

One of your hands finds the base of his neck, nails scratching gently over his scalp, thumb dragging over the top of his spine. Your other rubs soothingly up and down his back.

“But the thing is, Stevie, you don’t have to.”

He’s not a loud crier. But he is sort of panicky, breaths coming quick and short, chest heaving against your own. “I know you’ve always had to do a lot by yourself, but you can ask for help, and you don’t have to punish yourself for it, either.”

You feel him nod against your collarbone. His hands are fisting the back of your shirt. Eventually, he pulls away, but keeps his eyes closed. He tries to keep his head turned from your gaze.

“Hey. Look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, lashes clumped together and lips parted where he tries to suck in a good deep breath.

You reach up, fingers gently sweeping away the remainder of the tears on his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his forehead. You’ve never done that before.

Steve recognizes that you’ve never done it before, even if it’s sort of fuzzy. Sure, he’s kissed the back of your hand and you’ve reciprocated, but he’s usually the one to initiate physical affection. You’re too shy most often, even if you ache to do it.

Fuck, he wishes he were a little more coherent right now.

“Can you stand for me? It’s late, and I think you need to rest.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Now that he’s thinking about it, getting in bed sounds so nice.

You stand first, and watch as Steve pushes off the floor, gripping the countertop on the way up to steady himself.

“Come on. The stairs are gonna be a pain.”

He reaches out for you, and you let him take your arm. He pads out to the staircase, and you watch each precarious step he takes, hoping he won’t get too woozy and trip.

By the time he finally makes it up there, he’s wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face between your shoulder blades. You soften beneath his hold.

You walk slowly towards his bedroom, and he waddles behind you. You push the door open. “M’kay, Steve. Wanna change clothes and hop into bed?”

He pulls off of you and grabs hold of his dresser. “I’m not givin’ you a free show.”

You snort. “I’ll go get some more water and be right back.”

His grin fades. “Please be fast.” He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to leave him.

“Steve, I’m practically The Flash.”

He laughs, pulling a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the drawer. Usually he’d sleep in less, but with you here he feels he should keep his modesty.

When you return, he takes the water from you, drinking it faster than he probably should. Steve feels like he’s had the shit beat out of him, and for once—he hasn’t.

You’d sat down on the edge of the bed, not noticing the way he’s staring at you. You look up when he sets the glass down. He drags both hands down his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He exhales. “I want you to stay here with me, but I don’t want you to get sick. The idea of you being on the couch, which is like, miles away, is driving me insane.”

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Can’t I just sleep on the futon?”

His eyes move towards the other side of his room where said piece of furniture is pressed against the wall. He’d bought it when group sleepovers became a thing after all they’d dealt with. Jesus, his brain really isn’t working.

“Oh. Yeah, honey. Just don’t want you to go far.”

You lean forward and push his hair back from his forehead. You’ll need to remember to take his temperature come morning.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I promise. Not until you’re all better.”

————

When Steve wakes up, you’re not there. He starts to panic, thinking maybe he’d been too much, maybe he’d shown you a side of himself he shouldn’t have, that maybe you left.

But you return to his room just as he’s about to start looking for you. There’s a thermometer in your hand.

“Morning, sleepy boy. Are you coherent enough for me to check your temperature? Or no?”

He yanks the covers off of himself, and his shirt has ridden up. You catch a sliver of tummy before he sits up fully, and you miss it the second it’s gone.

“Hit me, I can take it.”

You roll your eyes but stick the thermometer under his tongue when he opens his mouth. When you pull it away, you’re happy to see he hasn’t got a fever. He was warm last night when you kissed his forehead, but you’re thinking it was from stress or just overheating.

“No fever. What’s buggin’ you today, Stevie?”

He flops onto his back, and his shirt rides up again. You mentally slap yourself for being so enamored by it. All your brain can compute is tummy. Steve’s tummy. “My head still, and my stomach. I feel like I haven’t slept in four years.”

His words snap you out of your reverie. “Four years? That’s incredible. When’s the last time you ate something?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, though it looks as if there isn’t a single thought behind his eyes. “Yesterday…morning. I think. Yeah, I had a banana.”

You stare back, rather appalled at his statement. “Steve.”

“Hm?”

“All you’ve had to eat in the past twenty four hours is a banana?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus christ. Get your ass up and come with me.”

Steve doesn’t move. Rather he watches you move, right out the door and towards the top of the stairs. You pause and turn around, crossing your arms.

He huffs. And then he slides down the side of the bed like a child before crawling up and following you to the kitchen.

Over the course of the next few hours, you manage to get Steve to eat, shower, and go for a short walk, weather permitting and all. He’s looking astronomically better than he did last night.

Steve sits opposite you on the couch, his socked feet in your lap. “What do you think my deal is?”

You rub your hand over his calf. “I think you just had a little bug. Or maybe you let yourself get too stressed out and your body couldn’t take it.”

He blinks. “Is that…that's not a thing? Is it?”

“When’s the last time you gave yourself a fuckin’ break, Steve? When you just took a day for yourself rather than worrying about who needs to go where, or if you’ll have to cover a shift? You have to take care of yourself, or this is the kind of shit that happens.”

“Being overwhelmed about your parents, not eating, worrying about that application, all of that is fucking with you. That headache was probably a stress headache. They’re killer. I want you to be healthy and comfortable, Steve.”

You exhale, and close your eyes. When you open them, Steve has sat up, scooting towards you on your end of the couch.

He might still be tired, but he can’t believe this. He can’t believe you. No one has ever worried for him in this way.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.

He barely even registers your words, too busy memorizing every line on your face. You look so fucking beautiful. It almost makes him angry.

“I’m thinkin’ about how bad I want to kiss you.”

Your face starts to burn. You shove his shoulder. He looks at the place where you’d pushed, quirking a brow, but grinning nonetheless.

“What?”

“Steve, you can’t say shit like that.”

“How come?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

“Well yeah, but best friends don’t say that to one another.”

His grin widens. He looks more awake than he has this entire time.

“Oh, but you haven’t said it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Steve gets his voice up that little bit higher, doing a cheap imitation of you. “‘Best friends don’t say that to one another.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but that implies you want a kiss too, doesn’t it?”

You drag your hands down your face and flop back against the arm of the couch.

“So you gonna say it, or what?” He’s shifted, and you can feel him hovering over you, but you refuse to move your hands.

“Of course I’m thinking about kissing you, Steve.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes, locking with his own. “But you’ve got cooties.”

Steve rolls his eyes before he backs up and yanks on your ankle so that you’re flat against the couch.

“You did not just lecture me about self-care just to tell me I have cooties. I didn’t even have a fever.”

“I didn’t even have a fever,” you mock, lowering your voice in what is quite possibly the worst impression of him you could do.

He’s quick about it. Almost stealthy, not that you’d ever boost his ego by telling him so. But his fingers are reaching for your sides, the tips dancing over your shirt, that tiny sliver of hip showing where it’s ridden up.

Steve is practically drunk off of your laugh. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and when he goes for your neck, when you tilt your head and trap his fingers between your cheek and shoulder, he thinks he could die.

You and your laugh. The fact that you drove over at one in the fucking morning, without even thinking about it, just because you care. That you stayed the night, listened to his pitiful thoughts, took care of him…it’s too much.

Never in his life did he think he’d find someone like you. Someone who makes him feel like he matters. You’d made him realize how smart he is, how capable. That he could do things for himself and not just to please his dickhead father.

You have made him whole.

He lets up when you start breathing extra heavily, only to tickle the underside of your foot before he quits, just to piss you off. You kick him in the side.

“I think a kiss from my very favorite person might be the best form of self-care there is, honey.”

You sit up. “Wow. King Steve really never died.” He raises his hands like he might tickle you again, but you catch them before he can do any damage. “Okay, sorry!”

Before he can register it, you’ve leaned in and pressed your lips to his. When he does realize, he lets out a surprised hum, and you can feel that smartass smirk forming on his face.

When you pull away, he whines.

“All better?”

Steve falls back against the couch, pulling you with him just to get that laugh out of you again.

“I’m healed.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#savannah’s fics #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington sick fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fluff

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astermath · 6 months

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hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

#tysm for the ask!#stevemath #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington writing #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington comfort #serpentwithatardis #aster replies

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iveseenstrangerthings · 4 months

Text

you’re not sleeping on the floor - steve harrington imagine

summary: reader spends the night at Nancy’s after a party and gets an uexpected guest at bedtime... no warnings as such in this one :)

word count: 2.3k

notes: yikes it’s been a while, this has been in my drafts for TIIIIIME. Anyway, enjoy :) here’s the link to my masterlist if you’re interested !

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You take the spare room, (y/n).” Nancy chirps in her deliriously drunken state as she flings open the Wheeler’s spare room. You’re met with a double bed, neatly made with plush pillows and a crochet throw to decorate. It looks sweet, and happily undisturbed, unlike the rest of the house following the party, which you’ve already promised to help clear away in the morning.

Nancy swiftly places a small kiss on your cheek before turning on her heels, “Sleep well, no snoring, I’m only down the hall!” With a roll of your eyes, you saunter down the hall to the bathroom where you flick the light on and close the door softly.

In the bathroom, you place your overnight bag on the counter and fish around for your toothbrush. Upon finding it, with a yawn, you twist the lid from your toothpaste and place a sloppy dot of mint infused gel to the head and start to brush. As you’re brushing, you tune into the sounds of people calming down for the night in the rest of the house. Doors closing, slow footsteps tracing back and forth in the hall and up and down the stairs, hushed voices and drunken giggles permeate the house and you smile. Still, you’re left wondering about someone in particular. Someone who seemed to disappear part way through the night, much to your sheer disappointment. You’re pondering where Steve went. He was supposed to be staying too, but you did see him chatting to Paige, so you figure he’s left with her. Before the thought could get too overwhelming and add a downer to your otherwise fun evening, you spit into the sink and get yourself ready for bed.

After you change into your pyjamas, you unlock the bathroom door and head back across to the spare room, closing the door softly behind you. The sheets are cool against your warmed skin as you pull them back and get comfortable before knocking the light off and shuffling further down into the bed. Within minutes, you feel yourself on the edge of a sound slumber, slowly drifting into a dreamlike state as your head swims as the effects of the alcohol wear off. You’re unaware of how much time has passed before you’re abruptly snapped back into consciousness. The bed dips and you hear a heavy sigh from next to you, someone’s made their way in here... As soon as your brain registers this, you quickly gasp loudly and shoot up, sitting bolt upright searching around for the lamp on the bedside table. As your fingers fumble around under the lampshade for the small switch, you feel the weight shuffle around again, paired with the ruffle of the duvet as it’s thrown back, as the person stands up from the bed.

Click.

The room is bathed in light as your eyes squint at the sudden brightness, a harsh contrast from the darkness that previously cloaked the room. You turn to the side of the bed and then your eyes meet the figure stood next to it, a palm covering their eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Steve?! What the hell are you doing?! You almost gave me a heart attack.” You harshly whisper at him as he stands squinting back at you.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” He whispers back, “I didn’t realise anyone was in here. All the couches are taken, and I didn’t know where else to go.” His hand rakes through his hair as he shifts from foot to foot.

An irritable huff escapes your lips, “I thought you left with Paige?” Your intonation pitches to make it sound like a question, and Steve’s features soften.

With a shake of his head, he runs his fingers over his mouth, “God no.” He’s still whispering, “I thought you left too, I was trying to find you.”

He was? He was... hm. Interesting. “Well you’ve found me, and woken me up.” You laugh slightly at the harsh whispers the pair of you are passing back and forth. Slyly, you catch Steve’s eyes wander down your front at your pyjama top before back up to meet your eyes and you could swear there’s a tinge of pink decorating his cheeks.

“I’m just gonna...” He starts, taking the two unused pillows from the bed and placing them on the floor, starting to lie down.

“Wait Steve,” you start, realising he’s willing to sleep on the floor. Although the pair of you have been friends for a while and have on nights like this shared some drunken feelings with one another, it’s a thing that just keeps getting passed over as time goes on. But now, knowing he’s going to sleep on the floor, you feel a rush of warmth and confidence fill you. “You can’t sleep on the floor.” You state simply.

His head pops up over the side of the bed as you pull the comforter closer to you. “Why not? You’ll want that nice big bed to yourself. I’ll be fine here.” He shrugs.

You answer by simply pulling the comforter back on the other side of the bed. “Come on, get in so I can turn the damn light off and go back to sleep.”

“You sure you’re okay with sharing a bed?”

“Yes!” Your harsh whispers return as your tired impatience builds and he quickly stands up, places the pillows back and stands still, as if someone has an invisible iron grip on him. “Steve, c’mon.” You tut as he maintains eye contact and you watch as his chest rises and falls quickly. “I get you’re being respectful, but you don’t need to do that,” you say as you turn back to the light and knock the switch off before sliding back down in the bed and getting comfortable. You hear him drop his jacket onto the floor and slide out of his jeans before pulling back the comforter and letting himself sink down into the mattress.

The pair of you lie in silence for a few minutes, and judging by Steve’s now steady breathing, you’re assuming he’s fallen asleep. But for you, the opposite. The feeling of impending sleep that was flooding your body moments ago has gone and you feel hypersensitive to every noise that your ears register. With a small huff, you turn over onto your back and cross your arms over your chest atop the covers.

“You good?” His voice startles you through the dark and you turn your head slightly, trying to make out his position in the bed next to you.

“Can’t sleep.” Your voice comes out tired and impatient, you’re already recognising how tired and cranky you’ll be tomorrow because of your lack of sleep.

Before too long, you feel the bed shift again and Steve’s weight comes slightly closer as you still lie on your back. “Did you have a good night?” His voice remains calm and quiet.

You nod at him through the dark, but then realise he won’t really be able to see your reply. “Yeah, I did. It was fun.” Your head is still turned to face Steve and your eyes are gradually getting used to the dark and his shape is becoming clearer, and it is much closer than before. “Did you?”

He takes in a deep breath before exhaling, “Sort of.” His apparent drunkenness he entered the room with seems to have settled.

“Sort of?” You question before turning onto your side to face him, the arm you’re lying on bends upwards to come under your pillow, a position you’ve always found comfortable since being younger.

“Yeah, I guess. Don’t get me wrong I did have a good time. I just wish I’d spent a bit more time with someone.”

In the darkness, your eyebrows furrow, “Really? Who was it?” You are completely ignorant to his hints, and he loves that about you.

“She just looked amazing.” He starts and your stomach drops a little, disappointed that he’s going to spend the time now describing someone else to you. “I kept looking over at her laughing and joking around with her friends.” He stops and takes a deep inhale; your body feels heavy at the thought of him admiring someone from afar. He continues, “She had a beautiful, like orange satin-y dress on,” suddenly your breath hitches and your mouth feels dry. You think of your overnight bag, at the bottom of the bed, with that very dress folded up in. “There’d be times where we’d make eye contact, you know, and I’d just totally freeze and feel like an asshole.” You swallow quietly, trying so hard to make your mouth feel like anything but sandpaper. “Seeing her tonight made me realise that I’ve been wasting my time getting to know the wrong people. When really, she’s been right in front of me all along.” You daren’t breathe in case you miss what he’s saying, you almost can’t believe it. In your mind, doubts unfurl like mist curling along the edge of a lake, but all you can do is listen for more. “I think I’ve always just been scared that she doesn’t feel the same, you know?”

Silence. Nobody says anything else, and he’s so worried that he’s just fucked it up. Surely you’ve realised he’s speaking about you, or so he hopes you’ve realised. “...Steve,” you start, surely this is all too good to be true? “She does.”

“Hm?” He replies quicker than you expected.

You clear your throat as a signal of finality almost, “She does feel the same, idiot.” A giggle punctuates the end of your sentence like a period and your cheeks flush.

In the darkness, his figure is still indistinguishable, but the bed shifts to let you know he’s moving closer. Only a slight outline is visible and your heart picks up speed dramatically, throbbing in your chest. Gently, you lift your hand up and bump into Steve’s arm, making you realise he’s much closer than you thought. With a deep breath, you slowly move your hand up his arm, tracing your fingernails lightly over his bare arm before you reach the end of his t-shirt sleeve. At his shoulder, you move your hand along, gliding across his collarbone that peeks out from the neck of his shirt before you finally place your fingers at the base of his neck. Ever so slightly, you can feel the slight of his pulse beating underneath the tips of your fingers as they gently rest on his neck. With one final, wilful urge, your hand moves up to rest on his cheek, your thumb swiping across it, hoping that you’re not about to poke him in the eye. Your own skin is now covered with goosebumps that have risen in anticipation of the proximity you both now share. Whilst your hand made your way to its current position, you felt yourself shift even closer to him. Underneath the cover, his hand confidently finds your waist and he tightens his grip, pulling you close to finally close the gap between you both. His hand glides down to the side of your thigh where he pulls your leg up to rest over his hip, once it’s resting comfortably, he traces his hand over places he could only have ever dreamed of touching. Your heart now hammers wildly in your chest and your skin feels like it’s on fire from his touch.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, his breath lightly fanning over your lips, again reminding you just how close you both are.

Your fingers trail down to the collar of his shirt where you give it a soft pull, inching him agonisingly closer. “You can’t even see me.” Teasingly, you brush your lips against his and you feel his grip tighten on your hips, he hadn’t expected you to feel the same, but he is absolutely not complaining.

“I don’t need to see you to know.” And before you know it, his hand leaves your hips and comes up to hold your jaw, his thumb placing itself right underneath your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly before you feel his lips on yours. You both lose yourselves within each other as he kisses you slowly, meaningfully, like months of pent-up emotions are seeping through his kiss and you feel as if you’re melting into him, his grip staying strong on your jaw.

In synchronisation, your lips move together effortlessly, and you feel at ease together, like it’s the most natural thing to have happened between the pair of you. After what felt like an eternity, but was no longer than half a minute, you slowly pull away from one another. His thumb grazes over your chin and you tip your chin into his hand, enjoying the feeling of support that he’s offering you.

“Wear that dress again for me sometime, hm?” His voice is low, raspy with the fog of worn off alcohol and lust.

That one sentence, those eight simple words, send your heart into eruptions of excitement and thank God it’s dark because your cheeks tinge the colour of fresh beets. The whirlwind of feelings leaves you unable to communicate with efficiency, so you place another small kiss upon his lips with a brief nod, one you’re sure he will feel due to the proximity of you both. A roar fills your ears as your cheeks tighten with a smile and you shift down, moulding to the shape of his body as you tuck your head into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. If anyone were to walk in, it would look as if you were both used to doing this, they would think it was the most natural thing in the world. Happily, the thought brings you a sense of pride and calm that you hadn’t experienced for so long.

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wroteclassicaly · 5 months

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18+

Thinking about having a secret that no one in the group knows about, but you end up telling Steve when you’re cleaning him up, and all of you are changing into your new clothes for the battle with Vecna.

You really think you’ll be dying and that’s why you say it, fiddling with your fingers. He’s inquisitive, voice a low and quietly calm rasp - just for you.

“Tell me, please?” He’s begging, and underlying need to please, to satiate before this all unfolds tonight. However, still patient with you.

“I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to have sex. I want to know how it feels to be close to someone, and not when we’re being threatened to die by some monster.” Straight to the point with him, it takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

He’s thoughtfully paused, swallows a few times, making the cuts wrapped around his neck and jugular all the more visible. You ache inside, knowing how much it must hurt him. You’re not ready as his thick hand cradles the line of your jaw, thumbpad grazing your temple. It’s an unspoken agreement the moment that his dirt shaded brows raise in question. You’re nodding into his nose as it slides across your lips, two friends meeting mouths.

He kisses you once, twice, testing the waters. And the floodgates release, his spare hand cradling your nape, knees working apart so that you can slide in between. It’s a careful shift to get you onto your back, and he does it so gently that you were barely aware you hit his unmade bed at all.

“Are you sure you feel okay to —“ He breaks your shaky question with a kiss to your neck, a nose bridge to the apple of your cheek. You card a hand through his streaked, dampen tresses, feeling the nod before he speaks his words across your throat.

“ — I really fuckin’ need you tonight. Let me be the one to take care of you?”

Acceptance is given in a settled fervor. He doesn’t rush you, takes his time letting you experience how things feel, how you feel, how you’re making him feel, and what you’re doing together. He kisses your nerves and away, adds his thumb to your clit when you have trouble accepting him into your body. Words of encouragement are bestowed, only for you, shared pleas and whispers. Once he’s fully seated, he grabs your hands, mouths your jaw in a pathway right down to your lips, checking in with you.

His hips stutter a few times the before he starts. Overwhelmed with the situations, but mostly how tight and warm your body feels. He makes it last for you as long as he can, but you know he needs to let go. “Cum in me. Steve, do it inside of me.” You beg, kissing his stubble, mouths panting with need.

It happens moments later and he eases out, lets his hand drift, rubbing you through your own climax, you holding one another after. Until you reluctantly part to prepare to load the RV. He clasps a hand across your shoulder as you wipe your tears, knees still shaking from the changes of letting someone else in your body. You feel different, you want to stay with Steve - safe in his bed.

“You’re gonna be okay, I know so. When it’s all over, we can do this again. I’ll take you to bed every single night… If you’ll have me?”

You accept. And after survival, post-battle, even when everything has gone to shit, defeat present, having sunk through your muscles and settled across your bones - he makes good on his promise from that very first night on.

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mysticmunson · 1 year

Text

date night: alpha!steve harrington x omega!reader

summary: finally scoring a date, things go smoothly until you present, and only one alpha knows.

word count: 2.8k

authors note: hii so i wrote this like two months ago and tried wrapping it up to have it posted, but i enjoy this au so please request some expansion requests :)

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, smut 18+

The pungent smell of fryer grease sifted through the air of Benny’s, a mountain of food divided into a few plates as you sat with Robin, who was in the midst of discussing her most recent ‘study date’ with Vickie.

“Get this! We’re sitting there, talking about chemistry, and bam!” Robin exaggerates, voice lowering in fear of someone overhearing, “She looked at me and kissed me!”

You gasp, smacking her shoulder with the back of your hand, a french fry between your thumb and index finger.

The couple had kissed a few times now, but the excitement remained as you knew how badly your friend pined over the redhead.

“We just need to find you someone now.” She teased, taking a bite of her grilled cheese as a string of orange came from between the bread.

“I’m determined to get laid by the end of this month,” You proclaimed, giving yourself around 30 days, “I want to experience it because when or if I present, I want to be somewhat prepared.”

Presenting was a concern for your age group, freshly out of high school, as everyone awaited to discover if they would become an alpha or omega. There had been a few start to show, including your best friend, Steve.

His presentation was expected, his father a well-known alpha in town, and the traits of one showed early. He was fiercely protective of those he cared about, known to be more than good in the sheets, and strong. Having grown up with him, you saw it happen in real time, making it even stranger when you realized how attractive he became.

Still, Robin supported you on your journey, but worried for your safety. Over analyzing any recollection you shared of a man flirting with you, deciding he was a murderer or ugly, or both.

In her bedroom, you stood in a loose blouse, tucked into a jean skirt and a matching jacket. Applying another layer of lipstick, you fretted over your appearance as you waited for the clock to strike 6:30, and for your date to pick you up here.

“Steve is coming over.” Robin mentioned, sipping on her water bottle, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“Okay,” You reply, “We just need him gone by the time Devin comes.”

Steve was a great best friend, but he could be a real pain in the ass. He had been scaring any potential boyfriend away since middle school, deeming them not good enough or them being too intimidated by him as he faked a macho persona.

For the plan to work, he couldn’t know. He would go on a tangent about how you didn’t have to have sex just to do it. That was true, but it was hard to listen to a guy who had numerous sexual partners preach it.

The front door swung open as if on cue as you and Robin went to the living room, Steve kicking off his shoes. He began his rant about work, Family Video making him lose hair from stress and children yanking on his hair.

You paid attention, but kept an extra eye on the clock, noticing the hands nearing 6:30. Cursing Steve’s tangent for not letting him leave sooner, you swallowed your anxieties, peaking to make sure a car wasn’t outside. As inconspicuously as possible, you stood and went to grab your heels from Robin’s room.

Toeing quietly, you were hoping to go unnoticed, but Steve decided to be aware for one of the first times tonight. “Where are you going? You’re dressed up.”

Shrugging, you leaned against the wooden door, “Just out for the night, a friend is picking me up.”

A terrible liar, you thought of something that wasn’t completely fictional, however, they both could tell. The sight of headlights caught your attention, standing straighter, “Okay, bye!”

Robin rushed to the front door to stick her head out as you walked away, “Wrap it before you tap it!”

Embarrassment crawling up your neck, you flicked her off behind your back, opened the car door, and stepped in.

“What!” Steve gasped, startling Robin as she shut the door and who hadn’t expected him to follow her or hear him. Thankfully, the car had pulled away, leaving a confused man with a bit too much heat in his cheeks at his best friend to get some.

“I’m just kidding, Harrington. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Robin snarled, shoulder-bumping him as she went back to her couch.

The date was fine, Devin was a kid you’d gone to school with since diapers. He had boyish features, cheeks a bit chubby with dimples, and was always polite. He had asked you to hang out a few days prior, agreeing on tonight.

Curls in your stomach that you attributed to nerves hadn’t vanished, even as you both mutually realized midway through your walk in the park that things were platonic.

Heat simmered within you, discarding your jacket and feeling beads of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. It wasn’t hot outside, even as you walked around and chatted.

“Are you okay? I don’t mean to sound rude, you don’t look well.” Devin questioned, a hand on your shoulder as your legs began to wobble.

Nausea flooded you before dissipating, wavering emotions as you tried to make sense of what was wrong.

Through the nerves, you kept thinking of Steve. How he would let his fingers trail against your lower back in hugs, kiss your head when leaving, and put his hand in front of your body when he hit the brakes too hard while driving.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling tears threaten through. As you made that statement, you felt the surge between your legs, knowing you had presented.

It couldn’t be happening now. Not with someone you didn’t know well. Not when you hadn’t been able to score a boyfriend first. Not now.

“I think I need to go home, I’m so sorry-” You began, huffing as streaks of mascara fell down your warm cheeks.

Assuring you it was okay, Devin drove you home, even stopping to get you a snack to make your stomach feel at ease. While it didn’t help, you appreciated the thoughtful gesture and thanked him as he waited for you to get securely in your apartment.

The space went from chilly to scorching, removing any amount of clothes you could besides a pair of boyshorts. Your mind raced with confusion as your nipples became hard, feeling a chill, but like a fire on ice.

Anxieties without category hit you, curling in a ball as you cried, sitting on your floor. It felt pathetic, but no stream of thought was strong enough to withstand the hormones.

Time slipped by as you tried regulating your breathing, applying slight pressure on your clothed core. A shrill ring came from your black phone, lifting the handle and pressing it to your ear.

“You were not supposed to answer!” Robin grumbled, already giving the heads up that she’d call to see if you were getting some, that no answer would be her answer. You had forgotten this rule, her tone making you bring in a fresh set of tears.

On the other end, Robin sat in her room with Steve walking in, not staying in the living room as she had asked. Her priorities were averted to the cry on the other side of the phone.

“Wait, what happened? Why are you crying? What happened with Devin?” Robin frantically questioned, Steve glancing over with furrowed brows as Robin had never stated who she was speaking with.

“Devin? From junior year math class? That was the friend?” Steve grimaced, toying with nicknacks in his friend’s bedroom, earning a finger on the lips to quiet him down.

“I presented,” You whispered, “I’m so scared and uncomfortable and overwhelmed! What alpha do you know, I don’t care who it is anymore.”

Though you would probably care later, the clouded judgment had you aching for any form of reprieve from the pain.

“Fuck, I don’t know!” Robin squeaked, not wanting to reveal your status to Steve for fear of your embarrassment, but she contemplated. The gears of her brain turned as she questioned his overprotectiveness, the way he was quick to frustration when discovering you were on a date.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, Y/N. I promise.” She concluded, hanging up and grabbing her yearbook.

The faces of former students made her ill, but word got around about presentations, and she hoped that seeing their faces would make her recollect.

“What the hell’s going on? Do I need to go fight Devin?” Steve eyed his friend, an unnerving worry in his stomach.

Biting her lip, she debated internally, “She needs help.”

“What is looking at that going to do?” Steve gawked, used to his friend’s antics, but still astounded when they acted erratically.

“I’m trying to remember who’s an alpha.”

“Why would you need to know who became an alpha-”

As the words left, his mouth ran dry, and he gulped while looking at Robin. She slowly looked up, watching the dark iris’ before her enlargen.

“Steve-” Robin began, the corner of a page between her two fingers.

The stern look on his face was withholding a multitude of emotions, ones she couldn’t quite make out. She made the judgment call that maybe Steve was your best bet.

“She’s at her place.”

That was all that needed to be said before Steve ran out her front door and into his car. He had driven your route a million times, but never this fast.

His blood pumped with nerves and excitement. He had spent his ruts alone, a fist full of himself with the occasional tears of frustration as he tried to alleviate his knot. But now you had presented as an omega.

Refraining from palming his crotch, he watched your streetlights come into view, throwing his car into park. The dark hallways were typically concerning, but your door was practically glowing within his mind.

He growled at the smell in the air, catching his attention more the closer he got. Gripping the door handle, it was unlocked, thankful no one else had noticed the compromising position.

Choking on his own breath, he fumbled with the lock behind him and trekked down the dim hallway. The protectiveness he already felt was consuming, his palms sweating as he made his way closer.

The door swung open too quickly as the handle slipped from his grasp, seeing you flinch from your curled position on the floor.

As if you were nothing, he lifted you from your armpits, making you stand in front of him. Eyes blazing, he looked pointedly as he undid his belt.

“Your door.” He stated, voice wavering with stability.

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at him, “What?”

His shirt was shrugged off, tossing it to the ground as your eyes drifted to his broad chest, whimpering at the sight to his delight.

“It was unlocked, don’t you ever fucking do that again.” He gritted pushing his jeans off, cupping your cheek with one hand and leaning forward so the back of your knees touched your bed.

His nose had skimmed against yours, breath fanning against your cheeks as you drank in every pheromone he perpetrated. Breath quickening, every thought coming to your head was vulgar, eyes softening in need.

“I won’t.” You whimpered, yelping as your back hit the wrinkled sheets, and his chest soon pressed against your bare one.

“I mean it, don’t ever do that again, you could’ve gotten hurt.” He gripped your chin in his grasp, looking down at you as your clothed centers touched.

The brief touch made you wail, your body suddenly aware of what was to come. Equally as impatient, he grabbed one side of your underwear and ripped it. Repeating the act on the opposing side, the shreds of fabric were now a relic of the you before this moment.

Palming himself, looking down at your frame as a predator and prey, he growled.

“How bad do you want it?” He egged on, ripping his own boxers off and onto the floor.

“Please, Steve, please.” You whined, watching as his cock bobbed. Blushing profusely pink, your mouth watered at it and your chest began to burn with greed.

He seemed far too composed, the performance of himself he was forced to obtain through most of his teen years floating to the top. However, his soft spot was you. It always had been and both of your fresh senses were sensing the discomfort in both of you.

“Alpha, please.”

That was all it took for his body to be pressed to yours and his lips to meet yours for the first time.

Grunts and gasps came from you both as the underside of his cock rubbed against your folds, too consumed with how he tasted and how you smelled.

“Keep that door locked, do you understand?” He gritted, fisting himself in his own grasp, his first thrust in synchronizing with your nod.

A pained cry rose from your lungs, tears already streaming down your cheeks, his lips kissing where the beads were.

Desperation reeked from you both as you grabbed at one another, needing any form of solidification that the other was there.

Steve found comfort in your warmth, trying his best to soothe your discomfort with affection. Kissing on your neck or rubbing your clit, the latter making you shriek from sensitivity.

“My omega now,” He sighed, balls reaching the curve of your ass as he settled against you, “my girl. Always have been.”

“Always yours, alpha, always Steve.” You trembled, the veins of his length stimulating every ridge within yourself. His brown hair crowned around his face, only able to see him in your state of need.

Though you were the one presenting, Steve felt the same wave of emotions he felt during his first rut, but now even more with another person. His person. The one who knew him since he had gaps in his front teeth, since he had graduated, and every minute moment before and after.

“Fuck, I love you.” He blurted out, feeling his own bashfulness creep up his neck.

To his relief, you began to be more overcome with emotion, agreeing. Each thrust hit your spongy spot inside you, convincing you more and more he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

“I love you too,” You revealed, locking his lips between yours briefly, “M’sorry I didn’t ask for you first, I was nervous.”

Your words were sweeter than honey, but the implication that someone else almost came to your aid burned him deeply. His hands pushed up your thighs, your knees coming up as he fucked you deeper than you could comprehend.

“Devin asked me out and I just wanted a boyfriend, but I didn’t want him, I swear-” You cried, unknowingly provoking more possessiveness.

“Honey, please, it’s okay.” He gritted, clenching sheets in his shaking hands, suppressing the urge to flick his hips quicker.

“I wanted you, alpha, please.” You sighed, stroking his cheek and hair, anywhere you could touch, “I’m so happy, I’m sorry, thank you-”

“Don’t worry, I would’ve found you anyway. You’re my girl, my omega.” He assured, gulping down the emotions he felt when you looked into his eyes.

His words appeared to have a larger effect than any physical reimbursement could do for you as your fingers clenched within his hair.

Your cry as you came made his hormones go into a flurry. He could feel your uneasiness being thrown into release. It was as if your chests opened in tandem, reaching out and moving in sync as he finished inside you.

White noise filled both of your ears as Steve’s body hovered over yours with much of his weight on top of you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his chest, shoving your face against the crook of his neck.

Pumping himself within you until sensitivity took over, he gasped at how you clenched around him. His stature shook as he knotted, a hand going to your hip to keep in place, chest heaving to regain a steady tempo.

“Thank you.” You whimpered, hugging his chest closer to your front, an embrace he matched. Pressing a kiss on the side of your forehead, he trailed down to your ear with pecks and bites.

Rolling to his back, he pulled you to his chest, rubbing your back after you tried sitting up.

“Just relax, honey.” He cooed, the exhaustion already hitting you both, stilling your hips from causing you both more frustration in the compromising position.

“I want to make you knot again.” You whine beneath your breath, trying to sit up again, ignoring the pain shooting through your body at his swelling.

“Easy tiger,” He chuckles, biting his lip to stop his own need, “we’ve got time.”

tagging mutuals :)

@andvys @lilacletter @corrodedcorpses @munsonsreputation @berryfairy444 @poppy-metal @lesservillain @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint

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myspacebrat · 3 months

Text

this will probably be my last fic for the st fandom for a little bit, but I really wanna write for my ‘welcome to the dungeon’ babies, bc I love them and you’d have to pry them from my cold, dead hands. Anyway, gonna work on it later in the week, so keep your eyes peeled. 👀

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underoossss · 1 year

Note

can I request a hurt/comfort with steve, where maybe the reader gets hurt in the upside-down and he is taking care of her? you are one of my favorite steve blogs!

I love a good old hurt comfort!!! And this time though r is hurt Steve is getting comfort cause that boy sure blames himself for no apparent reason. You’re so sweet thank you! It means the world to me you like the stories I write for y’all💖 I hope you like this! 1k.

••••

“I can’t lose her!”

Steve’s scream still echoes at the back of your mind, fuzzy and distant but it’s still there. The panic, the pain, the anger, they’re all there burned in your brain. You were in a dizzy state, half present and half gone after your last trip to the upside down had left you with a pierced leg and a bleeding wound. Vecna was gone which is all that mattered, yet instead of celebrating Steve hovered over you making a makeshift tourniquet for your leg with his belt – Nancy and Robin trying their best to calm him down. That's when he snapped, voice raw and cracking with emotion; it was clear he didn't mean to, but if you were in his shoes you're sure you'd have done the same. You wanted to reassure him, tell him you were fine, but things were hazy after that.

Steve's quiet now, lying down on his bed next to you.

His torso is bandaged just like your leg; his wounds clean and treated, yours got ten stitches covered with two layers of gauze and clear medical tape. He's done nothing but look after you since you got back, making sure you had everything you needed, driving you to his place and helping you get upstairs. He even washed your hair, gentle and caring and careful, pretending he's alright when you know he isn't. His hands still shake no matter how much you hold onto them, you can tell he's holding back tears from the way he clears his throat before speaking. Yet he only wants to take care of you.

"You should try to get some rest." Steve says, one hand gentle on your cheek as his thumb rubs softly at your skin. "It's late."

You glance sideways at him, his face is golden in the glow of the nightstand lamp. Hair almost dry from his shower earlier, eyes red-rimmed, a soft grin that's holding everything back. You know this boy the same way he knows you. "I can't sleep lying on my back." You whisper over a frown.

"We can figure it out." Steve's smile is a fraction more genuine this time, always happy to help you. "Here, let me sit up."

It takes some minutes but Steve rearranges the pillows and helps you sit up, mindful of your injured leg. He lies back against the headboard with you slumped sideways against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and patched up leg extended in front of you. It's not the most comfortable position but it's better than before, especially now that you have your arms around Steve.

"I'm not hurting you?" You ask quietly, closing your eyes at Steve's touch rubbing up and down your arm.

"No," You feel Steve shake his head. "I like this better."

You snuggle closer to him, wanting to be as much as possible as someone who thought would lose the other only hours ago. Steve hums and kisses your temple which makes you look up at him. When you see the tears he's holding back, you break.

"I'm so sorry Stevie." You mumble through an aching throat. "I didn't mean to get hurt and scare you like that."

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't have to say sorry."

"I wanted to tell you I would be okay, reassure you that I would be." Your words are rushed through your tears, lips pulling downwards with sorrow. "It all happened so fast."

Steve's arms go around you and pull you closer, his shoulder shaking as he cries into your hair. You'd squeeze him tight in return if he wasn't injured, so you settle for kissing the middle of his chest as you cry with him. The idea of the roles being reversed makes your blood freeze with panic. "I thought I was going to lose you." Steve confesses, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

"You'll never lose me." You pull pack to look at him in the eyes, red and full of tears just like yours. "I will always fight to stay by your side, Steve. I can't even imagine being without you; if I can keep you from going through that, you know I will. Just like I know you'd fight too."

Steve closes his eyes and nods, "Every time."

You grab his face in both your hands. "I love you, so much."

He looks calmer when he opens his eyes, still shaken but better than before. "I love you too."

"Tell me what you need?" You ask in a whisper, wiping the last of his tears away and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please, if I can make it better I'd like to."

"I just need you." Steve brings you towards his chest again with his arms around your waist. "This is all I need."

You look up at him and smile when you see some of that previous fear melt away from his face. Your beautiful boy slowly becoming himself again. "I can give you a kiss too. I don't think we've ever gone this long without kissing you know."

"Tell me about it." Steve's smile appears then, before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

masterlist

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x fem!reader

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 months

Note

croissant - send me a sfw request!

steve harrington x anxious!ditzy!reader friends to lovers

a/n: hey babyyy 🥰

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Oh, there you are!” the rumbles of the party poured through the door as Steve slipped into the dim office, “what are you doing hiding out in here?”

“I’m not hiding,” you continued to clutch your knees to your chest as you sat in the tufted armchair nestled by the window.

Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and squinted in your direction, “…you hate it don’t you?”

Cocking your head gently to the side, your heart still thumped harshly in your chest, “hate is a strong word…”

“I shouldn’t have dragged you along, should I?” a look of guilt washed over his features as he gazed upon your form in the shadows.

“There’s just a lot of people here,” the booming base kept your body tense, “a lot going on.”

Stepping closer to you, Steve kneeled down beside where you were seated, “are you okay?”

Opening your mouth to answer, you nearly spat out a polite lie before averting your gaze and uttering, “not really… but it’s alright. Nothing I’m not used to juggling on an everyday basis. Don’t worry about me, you should go back out there, don’t let me spoil your Friday night.”

“Y/n,” his tone commanded your attention and ushered your eyes to meet his, “I don’t wanna be here if you’re not. Do you know what I’ve been doing for the last 30 minutes? Looking for you. So, if you wanna go, if you don’t wanna be here anymore, then let me take you home.”

#lea’s writing #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington hc #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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love-hs28 · 4 months

Text

I hope you're ready to lose, Harrington.

Summary: A competitive game of beer pong with Steve leads you to become a bit drunk, but the best kind; giggly, playful, and flirty. And Steve, of course, knows exactly how to take care of you when this happens. CW: Alcohol 1.5k Words fem!reader - ("pretty girl" is used) Henderson!reader - doesn't impact the story Sweet, sweet fluff & comfort Posted on: 5-27-24

It’s Friday night and, per usual, you and Steve are at a party. Nancy and Johnathan came with you guys too, and you had all gotten ready at your house (despite Dustin’s complaints). Steve is in the living room with a few of his old friends and the rest of you are in the kitchen getting drink refills. You and Nancy are having a conversation with one of your friends from class and Johnathan is opening a new bag of chips for you guys (because everybody knows you should never take chips from the open chip bowl). You’re sipping your drinks and laughing with the conversation as the music is blasting in the background.

A minute or two into the conversation, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you and someone sweetly kiss your neck. A smile immediately appears on your face and you twist around to see Steve grinning down at you. His hands rub up and down your waist and he leans in for a kiss as he pulls you closer into him.

“Hey pretty girl,” he whispers before his lips touch yours, and you giggle into the soft kiss. It’s short but sweet; exactly what you needed right now. Your drink-free hand comes up to his hair and your fingers play with a few strands on the back of his neck.

“How’re you feelin?” Steve asks, as his hands travel up and down your arms. He knows you can get kinda anxious at parties, but you sweetly smile up at him. “Good. A bit hungry though.”

You can see a frown start to appear on Steve’s face, but Johnathan pipes in and says “I just opened a new bag of chips, here you go.”

You turn around and he hands you the bag. You thank him with a smile and grab a few out and munch on them. Your back is against Steve’s chest now and he wraps his arms around your shoulders, resting his chin on your head. You rejoin the conversion with Nancy and your friend, and a moment later you hear someone yelling that a new cup pong game is starting in the backyard.

Steve spins you around and grins down at you once again, wiggling his eyebrows as you return the smile.

“Wanna go play?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

Last time you played each other Steve beat you terribly and you ended up getting pretty drunk. But not the bad kind; nothing but happy, flirty, and giggly.

You mirror his eyebrow raise and set your drink on the counter.

“Oh you’re on. And be prepared to lose this time.”

Steve laughs and grabs your hand as you walk out back.

“Oh yeah? I seem to remember a certain someone getting their ass whooped last time, but sure, we’ll see about that.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, shaking your head as he winks at you. The two of you wait for the round already going on to finish and take your places.

“I hope you’re ready to lose, Harrington.”

Steve does a little shimmy to get himself ‘in the zone’ and laughs slyly.

“Ohhoo, prepare yourself, honey. You’re about to get your ass. whooped. again.” The crowd that has gathered “ooo’s” and you laugh.

After your first couple turns, it’s looking up for you and you’re winning by a good amount, having only taken 3 drinks in the first few minutes. You only need to make a few more balls in and you’ll win.

When you only have 2 more cups left, Steve starts to make a comeback. You play-banter throughout the whole thing and it eventually comes down to one-on-one; next ball wins.

You imitate Steve’s shimmy from the beginning and crouch down to aim your ball. A small crowd has formed now, and you and Steve each have a half cheering for or booing you.

“Oohh!” you laugh and point at Steve, “Good luck now, Harrington. Good. Luck.”

He grins at you but shakes his head, “Don’t get too excited, honey. I could still make it. Redemption round.”

You nod your head and shrug your shoulders, “I mean, good luck, but don’t come crying to me when you looooseeee.”

The two of you share a grin, both knowing the banter is full of nothing but love.

Half the crowd chants “Steve, Steve, Steve!” and the other half, mostly made up of your friends, boos and tries to distract him. He does another little dance, crouches down, and puts a focus face on. He shoots his ball, aaaannndddd…

It goes in.

A few of his buddies surround him and clap him on the shoulder. He cheers and walks over to where you’re standing and shaking your head with a disappointed look on your face, but smiling as you take the last shot.

"I guess we tied, huh,” he pulls your waist into his as the crowd starts to disperse.

“That just means we gotta try again next week,” you say, and lean up to give him a kiss. It only lasts for a few seconds, and he’s smiling when he pulls away.

“You’re so cute when you get competitive, you know that?”

You smile, blushing a bit, and playfully swat his arm. “Oh, stop it.”

You walk back inside, holding hands of course, and rejoin Nancy and Johnathan in the kitchen. They’re laughing with your friends and you’re quickly and easily able to rejoin the conversation. You have a few more drinks, probably a bit too many, and soon everyone starts to leave the party. It’s gotten pretty late, and you and Steve are eventually the last two left of your friends in the kitchen. You tilt your head back to down the rest of your drink, and Steve starts to notice how much you’ve drank throughout night.

“You ready to go? It’s getting pretty late,” Steve gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You give him a head shake and move to pour another drink.

“Noo let’s stay for a bit longer!” You start to drink your newly filled cup but Steve gently takes it from your hand.

“I think you’ve had enough, hun. Don’t want you feeling like last time.”

You whine in protest and try to reach back for it, but almost tip over in the process.

“Whoaa, hey,” Steve sets your cup on the counter and steadies you by holding onto your arms. “I think it’s time to go home, yeah?” By home, he means his house. You make a sound that's a mix between a whine and a hum, and slouch into him.

“Come on,” he puts an arm around your waist and leads you out to his car. He struggles a bit to open the door, but eventually gets it and helps you into the passenger seat. You slump into the leather and don’t let go of him.

“Stevie,” you mumble and grab onto his shirt as he’s leaning over you to buckle the seatbelt.

“‘s the matter, sweetheart.”

“Don’t feel good,”

He leans back a bit and looks at you concerningly, “Are you gonna be sick?” He quickly starts to unbuckle your seatbelt in case you need to get out of the car, but you shake your head and lean into his chest.

“No. Jus’ dizzy. ‘m tired.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know, honey. We’ll be home soon, just close your eyes, okay? That’ll help with your head.”

You sluggishly nod and lean back into the seat. He buckles you in once more and kisses your forehead before shutting the door and jogging around the front of the car to the driver's side. He gets in and turns the car on, cranks the heat up a bit, and leans over to brush some hair out of your face and kiss your cheek. He backs up and keeps a hand gently rubbing your leg the whole ride home.

When the car pulls into his driveway, he looks over to see you half asleep, but not fully. He smiles to himself and turns the car off, hopping out to help you. He unbuckles you and you stir awake a bit and hum.

“‘s just me, baby. I’m gonna carry you inside and get us to bed, okay?”

You sleepily nod and he puts his arms around you. Your head rests on his chest and you hold onto his shirt and allow your eyes to fall closed. You’re almost asleep by the time you get to his room, and he gently lays you on his bed. You grab his arm before he can walk away to get ready for bed.

“Wait, can you help me change? 'm uncomfy.”

“Um, yeah, you sure?” Steve gets kinda flustered and stutters. You giggle sleepily and make grabby hands towards him.

“Yes Stevie. ‘s not like you haven’t seen me naked before ya know.”

He softly laughs and comes over to help you sit up.

“I know. Just wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”

You nod and gaze up at him, your fingers lightly brushing over his cheek and lips.

“I trust you, Stevie.”

He sweetly smiles down at you. “You’re so cute.”

You giggle and blush as he kisses your forehead.

He gently helps you get your pajamas on and take off your makeup. He lays you back in bed, and by then you’re half asleep again. He climbs into bed next to you and you subconsciously snuggle into his side, finally feeling comfortable enough to drift off.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed!! I could not be more grateful for all of the love shown on my last few posts, it's very encouraging <3 As always, leave requests for me pretty please! :) Also, I have my first day of work today, wish me luck!! Love ya <3

xoxo

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x gn!reader #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x henderson!reader #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #Steve Harrington x reader comfort #Steve Harrington x gn!reader fluff #Steve Harrington x gn!reader comfort #Steve Harrington x fem!reader fluff #Steve Harrington x fem!reader comfort #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x you fluff #Steve Harrington x you comfort #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fic #Steve Harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #Steve Harrington stranger things #Steve Harrington #Joe keery #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington comfort #Steve Harrington x henderson!reader comfort #Steve Harrington x henderson!reader fluff #Steve Harrington x reader imagine #Steve Harrington x reader fanfic #Steve Harrington x reader fic #Steve Harrington x gn!reader imagine

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

My stomach hurts so bad!! I feel so sick Bb do u think u could write a fic with James or Steve with a super sick gf???

I'm sorry about your stomach babe! Hopefully you're feeling much better by now, thank you for requesting

cw: food poisoning (no vom or anything, just mentioned)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 615 words

You whine, curling in on yourself like you can squash your insides into numbness. “I feel so gross,” you whine.

“You are pretty gross,” Steve replies, knuckles running up and down your arm.

You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, appalled. “You’re not supposed to agree with me!”

“What?” Your boyfriend gives you a disbelieving look. “I didn’t say you were hideous, but you are definitely grosser than usual. Like, if we’re taking you on your best day, this is at least thirty percent more gross than that. I can’t agree with that?”

“No!”

“In that case, I think you’re delirious with fever, babe. I never said anything about you being gross.”

Despite yourself, a reluctant little chuckle puffs out of you. Steve grins.

“Even if you were gross,” he drags his palm down the length of your back, letting it curve over your hip to your thigh before starting back in the other direction, “you’d still be way hotter than anyone else I’ve ever seen. It’s only fair that you get gross every now and then. You know, to make everyone else feel better.”

“I don’t think everyone else is that worried about it,” you say.

“That’s where I think you’re wrong. Think about it: we eat at the same place we go to all the time, and only you get food poisoning? That’s not chance, that is a planned attack.”

You look up at him amusedly. “You think this was an assassination attempt?”

“I mean, without the killing part, probably, but yeah.”

You hum, settling back in on his lap. “You’re starting to sound like your nerd friends.”

Steve’s mouth drops open playfully. “I am not! And anyway, if you tune out Wheeler’s brother, sometimes they’re making some good points.”

You start to smile just before another cramp seizes your middle, rolling through you with a wave of nausea. Steve’s grip on you tightens as your eyes screw shut.

“Shit.” He sounds part sympathetic and part like he might be in pain himself, one hand worming underneath your arms to rub at your stomach. “I’m sorry, baby. I know it sucks. All we can do is ride it out, and it should be gone by morning.”

You make a small, distressed sound. “We don’t even know if it’s food poisoning.”

“Nah, it is.”

Steve’s massaging helps, and gradually the pain lessens. You take deep breaths until you can think clearly again.

“How are you so sure?” you ask him.

He shrugs. “It’s just the only thing that makes sense. You’re just getting whatever it was out of your system. You’ll be good as new soon, just you wait.”

You shoot him a dubious look. “What, you think you’re a doctor now?”

“No, but I kinda look like I could play one on TV, right?” At your bewildered silence, Steve goes on, his hand still moving gently over your stomach. “I’m just saying, have you ever seen those soap operas in the hospitals? If they came out to Hawkins to do their casting calls, I’d be snatched up in a hot second, babe.”

You study him. Steve is undeniably handsome, this isn’t new information. He has a firm brow paired with sweetheart eyes and mussable hair, plus a classical sort of bone structure that’s humanized by the odd blemish or mole. Nice skin and a nicer smile. Good hands, too, one of which is currently caressing your hurting stomach while the other plays with the ends of your hair.

“Nope,” you say, completely lovestruck. “I don’t see it.”

“That’s okay.” Steve gives the pudge of your stomach a gentle squeeze. “It’s just the fever getting to you again.”

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munsster · 2 months

Text

hold my hand through it

A/N: oh, nothing just thinking about being taken care of by a lovely boy :( (gif creds: @keery)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: Even if there ends up being someone else to turn to, he hopes you always pick him. Especially now, battered and sore and desperate. 1.8k words.

Warnings: season 4 canon divergence, canon level gore, (secret) mutual pining, a hint of best friends to.... lovers?, hurt/comfort, pet names (sunshine, honey, baby), wound/scar description

The clench of your jaw and the way you slump into the dusty cushions of the Wheeler's old couch is telltale. Steve's side aches when your hand curls over your own ribs, the fabric of your band tee wet and sticky beneath your fingers. Nancy, Robin, and Eddie filter through the thickly fogged rooms, waving their flashlights up the steps and walls in slow circles. He watches the ashen air fill your lungs, the realization splintering your face, and you'd scramble to the bathroom if you could get up.

You glance up to find he's watching you.

"Steve?" you squeak. And tears spill over the rims of your eyes, down your cheeks, wetting the corner of your mouth and the column of your throat.

"Woah, woah," he huffs, skidding to his knees at your feet and winding his fingers around your wobbly wrist, uncertainty making you ache and hyperventilate even with his soft brown eyes honeyed over the blood like antibiotic. "Hey, eyes on me, sunshine, look at me."

But you're flickering between your soaked shirt and the delicate slope of his nose, between your scrape and the forgiveness he harbors in his slumped shoulders.

"There you go," he says, "can I...?"

You nod. Lifting your arms, it hurts. Like the skin was trying to heal just to be stretched apart again. You hiss, and he cradles your wrist back down.

"Ooh, careful, honey, don't push yourself. You've been hurt enough for one night."

"Is it bad? Steve," you cry, and he looks up to find your chin wobbling. It breaks his heart. "Steve, please, is it bad?"

"No. No, honey. It's alright." But the panic sets in around your eyes, wrinkling your forehead as blood trickles across your knuckle.

"How bad is it? Fffuck, it's bad, isn't it?" There's a maroon pool, slipping through the hardwood cracks beneath the tangle of your fingers and his.

"No, c'mon, you're fine. You're good," he huffs. Your eyes slink closed out of exhaustion or fear or the fact that it's so easy. "Baby, keep your eyes open, please. I'll go find a first aid kit. Promise me you'll keep 'em open 'till I'm back."

You frown, and his heart races. You were supposed to be the one to make it out. Back to reality. You were supposed to be his forever in the real world. Not just in this fucked up, pitch black underworld. Someone must be playing a trick on him. He's gonna wake up tomorrow to the sun hot on his face and you smiling sweetly back at him, fingers combing through his hair. He blinks hard just in case.

When he opens them, you're nodding.

"I promise." It sounds so weak dribbling from your cracked lips. Steve wipes the dirt from your jaw before darting to the lower level bathroom.

He roots desperately through the cabinets, sweat pricking across the back of his neck and his forehead and his scalp and his cheeks. God, he needs a shower and to make you better and to be home safe in his bed. With you.

You take a shaky, deep breath when he reappears with a dull, blue box under his arm. He sits beside you, wincing at the constricted noise that escapes your scratchy throat.

"What've we got... gauze, yes. Bandages, yes. Antiseptic, fuck yeah. We're in business, baby. Still with me?"

You nod weakly, hissing when he lifts your wrist into his lap. He watches your face as he rips the antiseptic wipes open.

"Gonna hurt, okay?"

A strangled sound escapes you and your head lulls onto his shoulder.

"Okay, sunshine. So proud of you, doin' great," he hums, pressing his dry lips to your damp temple. You grab for the hem of his sweater when he pats the blood from your gash. He can tell you're struggling to stay quiet, muscles tense and fingers wringing. You're tightly wound, and yet, you can feel yourself losing control.

Or maybe it's more like surrender. Relinquishment of your responsibility over your own blood. And you only do it because it's so easy to let him command it. Especially when he's so gentle in cleaning your wounds, why shouldn't you share your hurt if he's so willing to bear it.

His fingers spread neosporin over the cut, which is suddenly clean and only a little irritated. You can't help but watch him, so focused on packing the cotton and tightly sealing the wound with gauze.

"Alright?" Steve hums, and god, those brown eyes deserve their own gallery. He waits for an answer, but you're distracted and pouting at the thought of him putting your hurt before his own. Everyone has scrapes and cuts and soreness from climbing and running and falling. You saw it in his limp. And yet, he looked to you and didn't hesitate to kneel beside you and tend to your open wound. "Sunshine?"

"Yeah," you sigh, more sure than before, "feels better."

"Yeah?" he chuckles, "Feels better? That's good. I'm glad." He sighs, trying not to anticipate your reaction to the next step. He knows it's going to hurt. "Let's get you changed, okay?"

You bat your lashes up at him. That's what he was worried about. You're gonna do it, but it hurts his conscience to know how much pain the process will put you through. He stands from the couch, whipping off his sweater and shivering a little at the hellish chill.

Usually, you'd made a joke about his promiscuity. Something or other about him taking it all off. Maybe a catcall or two. He honestly misses it. The silence is deafening.

"Lift your arms."

You do, wincing and grating your teeth.

"Slowly. There you go." Once your arms are sufficiently above your head, he tugs at the soaked hem of your tee. He feels bad for cringing at the state of your side: sticky and dark red, a chunk of skin missing. Thankfully, it’s not too deep, but it still makes his heart clench.

He can’t bring himself to look in your eyes, knowing the strain and suffering he’ll find. Doe-wide and pleading as he tosses your shirt aside.

“Definitely won’t be needing that anymore,” he teases, looking at the bundled up pile of blood and cotton.

“Too bad,” you shudder, “that was my favorite.”

He grins.

With your arms still above your head, he carefully fits the rest of the gauze around your ribcage, cleaning the excess grime built up around the gash. He can tell you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as he pulls your hands through the sleeves of his damn yellow sweater. You always said it reminded you of a fuzzy bumble bee, a lingering title that he bore proudly.

He thinks you look so beautiful. Even now, streaked with dirt and ozzing blood. He thinks he'll never get used to your lazy smile and how you reach for his hand even when it hurts. His heart skips a beat feeling the warmth flood back into your fingers. "Careful, baby. Don't hurt yourself."

"Okay, Stevie," you whisper. You still have plenty of wounds that need tending to, but you're glad Steve was there for you. "Thank you."

He nods like it's all second nature. Shrugs it off like he didn't just save your life.

"Know what I'm looking forward to?" Steve says. It cuts through the fog suddenly. A welcome breath of fresh air in a conversation. "French toast."

You laugh, but stop short at the pinch of your ribs.

"Shit. Didn't mean to make you laugh. Well, I mean I did, just didn't intend for it to hurt," he says, looking a little guilty. Then, he looks over at you and his stomach drops. "Honey—"

"Sorry"—you choke a little, tears pouring hot down your cheeks, leaving clean streaks through the sheen of grime—"Sorry, I don't know why I'm crying."

"It's okay, you can cry. C'mere," he hums, resting your head back on his shoulder. He catches a tear from your cheek on his knuckle, wiping it on his collar then pushing the hair from your face.

"I'm just," you sigh. "I think I'm overwhelmed. And in pain. Obviously."

He smiles, sympathy tugging at his heartstrings when you inhale sharply.

"I know." It's mumbled against your forehead, his eyes closed and his voice hushed.

...

Eight months and a couple stitches later, the scar tissue on your forearm glistens gossamer in the sunlight as you face the push-door to the Hawkins gym. There’s a low roar coming from inside; the squeaking of shoes and blaring brass section welcomes you back. Steve had asked you to be his date to Lucas’ last game of the season. You couldn’t refuse.

Steve spots you as soon as you enter, his caramel hair sweeping soft across his forehead. Free of all the sweat and blood and weight it had that twisted spring evening. Seeing you again makes his heart soar. Knowing for a fact you’re safe and healthy. It makes him sweeter on you than he’d like to admit.

You climb the bleachers to the spot he has saved next to him. He kisses your cheek, which surprises you.

“I thought we weren’t kissing in public, yet,” you whisper. Yet, he remembers. He had agreed to that, he supposes. Only after you’d both hastily shared one outside your door one night and decided it would be best to share the rest of them where the kids couldn’t tease you incessantly. He scrunches his nose, shoving his nervous hands into his jean pockets.

“Well, you still owe me a certain yellow sweater’s worth of kisses,” he teases, “Besides, I don’t think anyone noticed.” You scowl playfully up at him, nudging his side.

“I told you you could have it back!”

“Nah. Looks better on you anyway.” He shrugs. He wouldn’t take it back if it came with a million dollars cash. It’s rightfully yours. “You know what I could go for right now?”

You tilt your head in amusement. “French toast?”

“You know me so well.”

stranger things masterlist

#steve harrington #fluff #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x gn!reader #x gn!reader #x fem!reader #x reader #stranger things #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers #tw gore #tw blood

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

all the time

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 7,206

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)

a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.

————

The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages.

You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening.

You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl.

You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor.

You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”

“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”

You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious.

“No shit.”

Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”

“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word.

Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about.

She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care.

Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely.

None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be.

“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here.

“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”

You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”

“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”

You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids.

“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”

“Mom, are you out of your mind?”

She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table.

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim.

Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.”

You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!”

“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.

You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?

When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?”

Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now.

“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”

You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”

When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event.

“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door.

In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother.

You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers.

Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t.

Steve. As your boyfriend?

That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night.

————

“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?”

The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine.

You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation.

Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”

You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.

“Steve’s not working today, is he?”

Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked.

“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”

Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”

“Robin, what?”

She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid.

“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”

You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you.

“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”

“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”

She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.”

You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?

A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that.

Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think.

Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder.

Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face.

“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”

Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together.

“Good luck! I love you!”

You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.

————

You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that.

Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.

There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”

Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”

He grins. “Yes ma'am.”

And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit.

Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything.

You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.

“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”

“You know how my sister is getting married?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”

You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”

Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”

You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”

You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass.

You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”

“Steve, are you sure?”

He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this.

“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”

You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him.

“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”

You let go of him and start to walk away.

Steve chuckles. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”

He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.

“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”

You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.”

You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”

“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile.

“Only yanking your chain, dearest.”

He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck.

You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made.

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”

Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator.

“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.

“No. It’s not.”

“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”

Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”

Your knee starts to bounce.

The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards.

Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous.

“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.

Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”

“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”

You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.”

Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you.

“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”

Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name.

You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before.

“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”

“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?”

You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation.

“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”

You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you.

“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”

“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her.

She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”

Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”

Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”

“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”

“I mean—yeah.”

Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.

“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”

This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”

He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.

You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more.

You nod your head at him.

“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.”

She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again.

“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”

Steve face palms. “Robin.”

“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”

Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”

He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it.

————

“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy.

You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that.

“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”

Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Fancy,” you say, smirking.

He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”

You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye.

You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories.

“They all fit okay?” you question.

He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to.

You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him.

After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look.

You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress.

“I think that looks nice, yeah?”

You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is.

“I like it a lot, Harrington.”

He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand.

“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.

He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his.

“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty.

He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own.

“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?”

You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one.

“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”

Steve’s hands run up and down your back.

“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.

————

Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue.

You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party.

He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.

Not that you’re any better than he is.

His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand.

The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Did you have that? Just lying around?”

He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you.

It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are.

“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”

Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.

The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint.

For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him.

When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all.

You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him.

“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.

“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors.

“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”

You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out.

Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”

Knew.

The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend.

You’re fucked.

“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”

He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead.

He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words.

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”

A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it.

“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”

You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable.

“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin.

You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can.

“You look pretty too, you know.”

Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”

Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way. “Let’s do this, yeah?”

You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”

————

“So, how’d the two of you meet?”

You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know.

“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her.

“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”

Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action.

“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before.

Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here.

He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even.

“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”

You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying.

Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest.

One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed.

“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”

Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?

“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”

You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?”

Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her.

Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”

Baby.

Steve called you ‘baby.’

You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you.

“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”

You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same.

When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you.

“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.

“Escaping the mob.”

“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”

You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”

She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had.

You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up.

“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.”

“C’mon, Steve.”

He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out.

————

“Sweetheart? You comin’?”

You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here.

You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping.

“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”

“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”

He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”

Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat.

You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”

He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter.

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels.

“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”

There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.

“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”

You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share.

“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”

You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win.

Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks.

He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling.

When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you.

“Damn.”

You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can.

You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are.

“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later.

“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled.

“If you’re good.”

————

“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.

“What?”

You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.

“When did this love confession take place?”

“That’s not what it was—”

“Just tell me when, dingus!”

“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”

“Shit!”

Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks.

“I owe Dustin twenty.”

“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.

“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.”

Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?

Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!”

You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter.

“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”

She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”

“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”

“No. Nononono—”

You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening.

“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs.

You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”

He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.”

“So quit whining.”

“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”

You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him.

“Was that mean?”

“Not at all.”

You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mean and a tease. Wow.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”

He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin.

“Damn right.”

————

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tagging: @clovermunson

#savannah’s fics #steve harringtion #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #robin buckley #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington comfort

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thelostmagicians · 1 year

Text

Hugs | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve Harrington hated hugs until you came along. [1.9k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, implied homophobia (against Robin)

♡

Steve Harrington hated hugs.

Hugs were meant to be soft and warm like ice cream on a sunny day, crackling fire on a chilly night, but to Steve they were anything but.

He blamed his aversion to hugs on the lack of affection he received as a child. He couldn’t recall a time when his father even gave him a simple pat on the back let alone a hug. And his mom, she tries, but when a rare ‘I love you’ slips past her lips it’s in the same tone she uses for the grocer at the store, so Steve can never tell if she means it.

Steve didn’t know the meaning of love until Nancy Wheeler broke his heart and Dustin Henderson nuzzled his way in with an unlikely friendship and demodog. Since then, he’s opened up his large and previously empty heart to a talkative Robin Buckley, Dustin and his group of ragtag friends, Nancy Wheeler (albeit it’s different now), a smidge for Jonathan Byers, and even Eddie Munson. Even though he loves his friends to the point of self sacrifice he can never seem to spare them a hug. He’ll give them an encouraging nod and an affectionate high five, but he’s never been able to engulf any of them in the warmth radiating off his chest. And Steve feels awful for this, he truly does. He felt awful when Dustin had to seek solace in Robin’s arms when Eddie was injured and when Lucas clinged onto Max’s hand while she was on life support. He knows they understand it isn’t anything personal, but he still wants to be able to show his feelings through a soothing hand hold or a comforting embrace.

The first time he sees you he's at Nancy’s house for a small gathering celebrating the completion of her and Jonathan’s internship at the big fancy newspaper in New York. You’re in the kitchen helping Nancy with the snacks, smiling wide at her full of sunshine and sparkle, a stark difference from the gloomy aura of Hawkins.

“I see someone’s caught your eye already,” Jonathan giggles, breaking him out of his trance.

Steve glances at you a final time before he turns to Jonathan and steals his drink.

“Hey, why can’t you just get your own?” Jonathan whines a little, the result of a smoke sesh with Argyle and Eddie slowly wearing off. Steve can tell he’s only got a few minutes left to question Jonathan about you before he sobers up and uses this to tease him in the future.

“Who is she? Don’t think ‘ve seen her here before,” Steve tries to act as nonchalant as possible, but he can tell he’s failing with the way Jonathan smiles.

“She’s mine and Nance’s friend. We met her at the internship and she wanted to visit here for a change of scenery. Isn’t that crazy, someone from New York finds a place like Hawkins interesting enough to visit?”

Steve nods in agreement, because why would someone like you, someone so full of light and everything good want anything to do with the drabby town of Hawkins.

“What’s her name?”

When Jonathan says your name loud enough for him to hear over Robin and Eddie’s loud chatter Steve gasps softly. He mumbles your name to himself thrice because it tastes sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the cherry popsicles he likes so much. You talk for the first time that night, nothing past basic introductions, but it’s enough for him to drive home with a smile on his face because he liked the way your lips looked when you said his name.

The first time you hug him he’s taken by surprise his body goes rigid and then pliant. He isn’t exactly reciprocating the hug, but he isn’t pushing you away like he would the others. He pulls back first taking a look at your disheveled appearance, Nancy had called him earlier frantically telling him you needed to be picked up from Creel House and he wasted no time coming to your rescue.

He brushes the dust off your shoulders as you huff in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for this, Nancy told me to wait for her and Jonathan to get back but I wanted to see the house for myself. I thought I could handle it, but I guess it’s a little too creepy for me,” you explain sheepishly.

Steve chuckles awkwardly, still a little loopy from your hug, “Yeah this house isn’t for the faint of heart. We brought the kids here once to err- explore and we still have nightmares about it.”

Steve curses under his breath as you give him a curious look, pushing more details out of him. “There were just a lot of spiders, ya know and the history makes it creepy enough,” he plays it off like it was no big deal but he had an inkling you knew there was more to the story.

The second time you hug Steve it leaves him winded, but he decides he likes the feeling. He lets you hold onto him longer than last time and pulls back when you sneakily go to ruffle his hair. He pouts a little, hands swatting yours away while he tries to fix it the best he can without a mirror.

“Don’t worry Steve, you’re still the prettiest person in all of Hawkins,” you say giggling.

His cheeks heat up but he likes you too much to throw a fit about your teasing. You’ve gotten closer over the past few weeks, always bringing him and Robin lunch during work and he thinks he might just keep you.

Steve realizes you're a hugger when the first thing you do after you pick him up from the station is trap him in your warm arms instead of yelling like the others would have. He thought he was over high school bullshit, but he couldn’t hold himself back when Robin called him from Tammy Thompson’s house on the verge of tears because Tommy Hagan accused her for looking at a girl a little too long for it to be considered straight. He was fuming when he pulled up to the house, Eddie meeting him at the doorway trying to convince him to not make a scene. He tossed Eddie his keys telling him to take Robin home while he threw punch after punch at Tommy for making someone he loved feel unsafe.

He pushes you off gently trying to explain what happened but you shush him softly, eyes falling to Hopper as he claps him on the back a proud smile on his otherwise stoic face. Everyone’s waiting for him when he arrives at the Byers, Joyce with a first aid kit, Jonathan with a smug smile (probably reminiscing his first fight with Steve), and Robin with eyes full of love and gratitude. He lets everyone fuss over him that night before he falls asleep on the Byers’ couch with your hand holding his.

Steve lets you hug him often now, he rolls his eyes and huffs a bit, but allows it with the pretense of it being the last time. It never is, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’re on his kitchen floor passing a bottle of wine back and forth sharing core memories. The others have gone home already after the last movie ended but you seemed reluctant to leave, so Steve offered you the guest room and a pair of old pajamas.

“Do you have any happy memories, Stevie?” You ask gently.

Steve shakes his head, “Not really, didn’t really have much of a happy childhood I guess, the only one I can think about is going to my Nana’s for christmas, but she died when I was five.” Steve’s a little tipsy now absentmindedly spilling his heart out to you not thinking about the repercussions.

You smile sadly, “I know what you mean, sort of.”

Steve waves his hand urging you to go on. You sigh softly, “I’ve been almost everywhere and yet it feels like I haven't experienced anything. I have loving parents but I never feel like they love me for who I am, they only love me for what I am, you know? To them I’m more of a trophy, something crossed off on the path of life to show accomplishment. I told you I came to Hawkins to research small towns for a project, but I think that was just an excuse. When I met Nancy and Jonathan they spoke so fondly about everyone back home. They might’ve been in New York, but their hearts resided in Hawkins. I wanted to find that for myself and followed them here…and I think I did.”

Steve shoots you a soft smile full of hearts as your eyes fill with unshed tears. You try your best to scoot over in your tipsy state and fall into his lap resembling a clumsy hug. This time he doesn’t pull away.

It’s nearing summer break for everyone now. Nancy and Jonathan are heading back to New York in a few weeks to present a proposal to your guys’ boss in New York for a new paper about small towns with mysterious histories. They put together a portfolio with files full of research done by you, articles written by Nancy, and photographs taken by Jonathan. The kids are finishing up finals and making plans for junior year. Robin passed her first year at community college and he quit his job at Family Video to work at the station with Hopper. And you, you decided to stay back in Hawkins. Steve can’t find a better excuse than this to throw a summer party at his house.

The sun is shining, bellies are full, hearts are happy, and laughs are loud in Steve’s backyard. Steve opened up his pool for the first time since Barbara Holland’s death and he thinks it’s time he starts moving on. Everyone is in the pool having fun, everyone except you and Steve. You’re lounging on one of the chairs, Jane Eyre in your hand and a lazy smile on your face, so it was no surprise Steve chose to stay at your side.

Steve is terrified to bare his heart to you, to tell you how he really feels, he thinks he might as well hand you his heart and a hammer on a silver platter. But then he remembers the shy smile you had when you told him you were leaving New York for good and you were staying in Hawkins. He looks over to you, your book finally pushed aside in favor of watching your friends have fun and he can’t hold his feelings in any longer.

His fingers brush up your arm slowly making their way to pet at your soft cheeks.

“You know you’re the only one who’s allowed to hug me.” It’s a concealed declaration of love an I love you that only the two of you can decipher.

“I know.” I love you too.

Steve smiles shyly before gently cupping your chin and pressing his lips to yours in a much awaited kiss. He pulls back gently only to pull you into his chest. He squeezes you hard pouring all his love into the first hug he’s ever initiated.

Steve Harrington used to hate hugs, but not so much anymore, not when your arms feel like home.

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