Hiya!! Could you do headcanons on how the djolings would react to walking in on their girl covered in bruises/injured?
I'm assuming you mean because she's had an accident or something, so that's what I'm going with lol. Also I gave Keys' girlfriend a nickname, so now we have Pickle and Noodle.
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Gator comes home from work and there's no noise, which is the first red flag. Usually you're blasting your music while painting, house renovation was your idea of a day well spent, and Gator liked that you had such a clear vision of the home you wanted to live in. "Y'home sweet?" He shouts as he pulls off his coat, and throws down his keys.
"Yeah." Your reply comes from the kitchen, and he furrows his brows, and walks through the house. He stops when he gets to the doorway, and sees you sat on the kitchen floor, covered in paint, with a bag of frozen peas over your ankle.
"What happened mama?" He asks, crouching to your level, using two fingers to brush your hair off your shoulder.
"I was painting the ceiling-" you gesture upwards and he looks at the half sage-green, half white ceiling, and then back down to you. "And the stool broke, and I fell." You say, gesturing at the stool you'd been using to stand on haphazardly.
"...Okay.." Gator says, looking at the small stool on the floor. There's no way falling from that caused an injury bad enough to need frozen peas, unless- "N'was the stool on the floor, or the counter?" He sighs, looking at you.
You give him an embarrassed smile. "The counter." You say quietly, knowing that it was stupid in the first place, and he'd absolutely told you not to do that.
He nods as he bites his lip, now isn't the time, but he's desperate to say 'told you so.' "Broken or sprained y'think?"
"Broken." You reply, and he slides one arm around your back, the other under your knees.
"Alright, let's get ya to the hospital." He says, lifting you up, watching as you wince when your ankle moves. "Idiot." He adds, pressing a kiss into your hair as he carries you to the car.
When Keys rounds the corner of your shared apartment, and sees you sat on the couch with your head tipped back, and holding a bloody tissue to your nose, his stomach drops.
"What happened noodle?" He rushes forwards, watching as you lift your head to show a yellow and purple bruise around your eye.
You laugh self-deprecatingly and roll your eyes as he moves to the kitchen to get an ice pack, and holds it to your face as you tell him what happened.
"So, you know it's your birthday tomorrow. Obviously." You say, avoiding his eyes.
"Mhm." He nods as his eyebrows furrow, not taking his eyes off your bruise.
"So I bought you something, but it didn't come pre-assembled, so I had to build it." You continue, your eyes focusing anywhere but his face.
"...Okay." He says, lifting the ice pack to look before gently pressing it against your skin again.
"And I almost had it. I was holding half of it up with my foot while I screwed the other half together... But my foot slipped, and it hit me right here." You point at your eye.
Keys pauses his care and looks you in the eyes as you finally bring yours away from the wall and to meet his. "You know that I would've been fine building it." He muttered, brushing your hair back out of your face.
"I know, but I wanted to surprise you. Like I wanted you to go into your game room and it all be set up and perfect for you." You gestured to his gaming room and then crossed your arms.
He smiles softly, his eyes flicking over to the door and then back to you. "What'd you get me?"
"It's a surprise. I'll finish building it-"
"What'd you get me?" He asks, lowering his voice to that soft tone he knows always works on you.
You sigh and pout slightly. "Display case." You mutter, sinking into the couch as he rests his free hand on your thigh. "And Legos to build and put in it."
Keys smiles softly and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you." He hums before pulling back. "Let me finish the case, you can help with the Lego."
"Okay."
Kurt gets home after 1am, driving drunk party goers home, and when he gets to his bedroom and you're not there, he sighs. Not because he's annoyed you're still out on your night out. But because he just wanted a cuddle, his last passenger had been a handful, and he just wanted to collapse against you and sleep.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls you, expecting to hear loud music and laughter on the other end, so when it's super quiet, and just your tipsy voice, the one that's all low and raspy and really gets him going, he's confused.
"Hey baby, where are you?" He asks, sitting down in his gaming chair and stretching out his legs.
You giggle on the other end and he smiles at the sound. "So, don't be mad at me." You start, and hit brows furrow. "But... I may have fallen off the curb, actually there's some dispute to whether I fell or was pushed-"
"Baby." He says, reminding you to stay on topic.
"Yeah?" You giggle, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. It's not that you annoy him when you're tipsy, it's just that you seem to develop short term memory loss.
"Where are you?" He asks, looping his keyring around his middle finger, tapping his keys on the desk.
"The hospital." You say, casually, like it's normal that you're sat in the emergency room waiting area.
He's up and back out of the house, in his car quicker than ever. "I'm coming to get you."
"Okay I love you." You say, he can hear the smile in your voice, just happy to be seeing him soon.
"I love you too." He says, hanging up the phone and turning his car back on, he smiles and shakes his head before setting off to the hospital.
When Travis comes to pick you up from the gym, the last thing he expects is to see, is your arm across the shoulders of your PT as he half carries you outside, with you limping at his side. He's out of the car and jogging over to scoop you up in his own arms, noticing the nasty looking purple bruise around your knee.
"Pickle, what happened?" He asks, nodding at your PT and carrying you to the car.
"I fell on the treadmill." You admit a little sheepishly.
"Is it the new sneakers? Did the laces come undone or something? I said you should've worn them for a walk or something before wearing them to the gym. Damn, Pickle. You think we need to go to the hospital?" He rambles as he sets you in the passenger seat and buckles you in.
"I'm fine." You wince as you shift in the seat.
"Liar. You just hate hospitals." He says, leaning his forearm on the roof of his car as he leans down to talk to you. "Let's get it checked out anyway."
You protest immediately. "It's fine, it'll be fine with just some peas or-" he shut the door halfway through your sentence, and you huffed.
You waited for him to round the bonnet and get in the driver's seat before you finished. "-Something."
He looks at you with a deadpan glare as he turned on the car.
"Were going to the hospital, pickle." He says softly, reversing out of his space. "I'll get you a McDonald's on the way home."
You huffed again, folding your arms over your chest.
"Only if you stop sulking with me though."
"Fine."
Steve bolts when he hears Dustin saying something about you being hurt, he runs until his lungs burn, skidding on the gravel and falling over himself as he reaches you, crawling over to you as you lie on the floor.
"Are- what- h-" He stutters over his words as his hands hover above the cut in your side, left by a Demogorgon claw.
"It's fine." You hiss, resting on your elbows, your hand clamped to your injured waist. Steve's already shedding his jacket, and pulling off his t-shirt to shred it.
"Don't move." He says, gently moving your hand away from the cut and wincing as he sees the full extent of the gash. "Okay." He inhales, leaning forward to press the fabric of his shredded shirt to your middle, wrapping it tightly and tying it off as your nails dig into his bicep.
"You're okay." He mutters, more to himself than to you, as if he's trying to convince himself that you're going to be okay for his sake. "You're gonna be fine- look at me." He says, cupping your face and turning your head towards him, his blood streaked thumb brushing your cheekbone.
"You're gonna be fine." He says, nodding until you copy him and then slides his arm underneath your knees, the other around your back.
"Steve, I can walk-" You protest, but he's already lifting you up against his chest, and mumbling how he's got to get you to the ER.
Baron comes home after visiting his mom, well, your home. He practically lives with you now anyway. He freezes when he gets to the bathroom and sees you cradling your arm in your hand as you move around with your headphones on.
When you turn and see him, you scream slightly, startled by his presence, and then bend down, cradling your arm.
He steps forward and takes your headphones off your ears for you.
"What's happening there, honey?" He asks, gesturing at your arm.
"Nothing, I'm fine. I fell." You say, wincing as he gently takes your wrist to move your hand. When he sees the purple and yellow bruise flowering over your forearm.
"Off what? The empire state? Honey that's broken." He says, turning your arm in his hand gently. "At least fractured."
"It's fine." You say, and his eyes flick up to yours.
"It's not, come on." He says, leading you out of the bathroom with a gentle hand on your shoulder. "What'd you fall off?"
"The side of the bath. I was trying to catch a spider."
When you start your period, you feel embarrassed to tell your boyfriend until he drops everything to be right by your side
Your monthly bleeding always seemed to come at the wrong time, there were so many things you had planned to do this week and all of them were halted when you felt the sharp sensation run up your abdomen.
You weren’t like the girls who could just use feminine products and move on with their day, the nausea and lower back pain made you cling to your bed out of sheer desperation for some sort of relief. You looked pale and were shaking while curled up underneath your sheets. And not to mention your poor boyfriend who would have a heart attack if he saw you in this deathly state.
Which was exactly why you haven’t left the house since you started, it was too embarrassing to have to tell Steve you were going to cancel your plans just because of your period. Every guy always recoiled in disgust whenever they were forced to hear about how a uterus was made to shed itself once a month, and you were going to spare the details to Steve, in order for him to not look at you like you weren’t human anymore.
Your phone rang, causing you to flinch hard from trying to sleep for the past hour, longing for any form of comfort. But you didn’t reach up to grab it, whoever it was could wait for now. However, you were mistaken when the phone started ringing for a second time, then for a third.
With a groan you finally raised it up to your ear, preparing to lash out on the person who was on the other side. “Who is it?” You grumbled.
“Hi baby, you doing ok? You haven’t been responding to any of my calls lately.” You heard the soft voice of your caring boyfriend.
Steve knew he was bothering you, if there was a reason you were busy you would’ve told him by now. It was clear this was your discreet way of saying ‘yeah I’ve finally grown tired of you Harrington, go find someone else to cling to.’ But Steve decided he wouldn’t go down without a fight, he worked so hard to get you, he was going to work damn hard to keep you as well.
But the second you heard him, tears stung behind your eyes, as something cracked deep inside of you. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed him these past two days, which wasn’t even a long time to be separated. But in your heart it felt like being forced apart for years. All you wanted, was to feel his arms around you, keeping you as close as possible.
“Stevie?” Your voice came out as a fragile whisper, Steve already felt his heart break.
“Honey — yeah it’s me, it’s your Steve. Please just talk to me. What’s wrong?” Steve begged hearing the brokenness of your voice, a tear slid down your cheek. You felt so needy, all your emotions were close to spilling over making you feel ridiculous inside. But there was no hiding now, not from him.
“I-I don’t feel well…” you admitted, not sure of how to phrase your situation. “Lady problems. Just — you don’t have to, but can you please come by?” You asked shyly, already expecting the laugh to come from the other side as humiliation coursed through your veins. But instead, without waiting another moment, Steve urgently grabbed his car keys, nodding furiously as if you could see.
“Of course baby, whatever you need. Hold on tight for me alright? Just gonna pick some stuff up, to make my baby feel better and I’ll be right there.” He rushed out, and you sniffled. Steve was always so good to you, how could you expect him to laugh at you like you were some joke? Your hands tightened on the phone, needing to feel any part of him immediately, the previous embarrassment melting away.
“Mhm,” was the only sound you could get out, feeling like every second without him would cause your body more pain.
Steve ended the call and sprang into action mode, he drove down to the pharmacy and picked up heating pads as well as pain relief medication. He didn’t know much about periods, but he knew enough from hearing girls complain around him, that you were probably in a lot of pain. And any unnecessary pain that you felt he wanted to take away, no matter what it would take, his girl didn’t deserve to be going through this and he made it his job to make you feel better.
He also knew that girls often liked chocolate during their time of the month, so he bought so many chocolate bars more than his hands could hold not knowing which flavor you would prefer at this moment. The cashier gave him a strange look, but Steve only shrugged sheepishly.
Steve also didn’t know if it was supposed to be his job to restock your hygiene supply, but he figured it couldn’t hurt. Steve Harrington buying tampons and pads? He really must be out of his mind. He only realized after that he should’ve asked you what you usually used, but again he only sighed and took a whole batch of products that suited every type of flow.
Finally, he got what he was sure he couldn’t mess up, flowers. He bought a whole bouquet of them, and hoped it would at least bring a smile to your face. He didn’t waste anymore time and went to your house as fast as he could. He walked in with the spare key you gave him a few weeks ago, and it was absolutely radio silent throughout.
You hadn’t changed your position since he called, still curled up in your bed with a tense look on your face. When you heard the creek of stairs your eyes began to flutter open, ‘your savior was finally here’ you thought.
Steve knocked on the wood of your door even though it was wide open. “Hey sweet girl, I’m so sorry that you’re not feeling well. I got you a bunch of stuff, it might make me look a little crazy but I only want you to feel better, sweetheart.” He walked closer to you and settled the bags on your bedside table.
You looked up at the overfilled bags and felt another wave of emotion filling your chest. “Steve…you did all this for me? I didn’t even think you would care, or that you would be too disgusted to come near me.” You said honestly looking into his eyes.
His face morphed into one of surprise, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “Baby, I’d never be disgusted from you.” He sounded genuinely offended. “This is normal. And I don’t know who made you think it’s gross or abnormal, but they’re a real jerk.” He reached out to cup your face so gently, you guess you were wrong. No one could match Steve’s care for you, and how he truly loved you.
“Now, what do you need? I think some pain relief would make your tummy feel a bit better. I also got a heating pad if you want it too.” Steve stood ready to accommodate your every need.
You nodded eagerly, any warmth to settle the dull cramps would feel like bliss right now. Once he got you all comfortable in bed, adjusting your pillows and moving you like were something precious, Steve pulled his warm sweatshirt off of his body and eased you into it carefully. The hem reached all the way down to your thighs, and was wrapped around you in a way that felt like you were still physically hugging Steve.
The tension immediately loosened from your shoulders as his familiar scent enveloped your nose. There was nothing better than drowning in the scent of Steve, woody with a note of his masculine cologne lingering. You inhaled deeply, like you wished to memorize his odor, letting out a sigh for the first time since the pain started. All those stuff he got for you would never amount to much better you felt with him just being here, paying attention and never brushing you off.
Then he slipped into the bed laying carefully right behind you. “C’mere, baby.” Steve whispered, pulling you against his solid chest. You let him move your limp body like a ragdoll, pressing your back against him as his hand came up to move his fingers throughout your strands of hair softly, trying to avoid hurting you any more.
“My poor girl, I’ve got you now.” He tsked, lulling you to sleep.
Before your eyelids could fully close, you muttered something so low like you were already dreaming, and Steve wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been so close to you, being able to detect every shift in your breathing.
“Please don’t go.”
His motions in your hair didn’t pause trying his best to ground himself, but Steve had to take a breath before speaking. “Never. I’m never leaving you honey, not until you ask me too.” He whispered like a promise. Your body finally relaxed, the last push it needed before being pulled under.
Your short words had ignited something overwhelming in his chest, Steve wasn’t used to being wanted.
All his life he was constantly seen as a burden, by his parents who’d tell him to leave when he simply wanted to be loved. So he started creating emotional barriers around the people in his life, telling himself it was so no one could hurt him again. But now he had you, the first person to choose him with no hesitations or regrets. You looked at him like he was someone worth holding onto, and in that moment he decided he would always prove to you he was the person you could lean on for anything.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He said into your ear, as if you could hear it while being asleep. And by the calm look ectched on your face, he hoped you had. You would wake up, and Steve would be right beside you — just like he always would be.
Grumpy!Steve harrington x fem!sunshine!reader, 2.4k words
Summary — A domestic night in with your boyfriend.
The rain starts in the late afternoon, soft at first, then heavier, drumming against the windows.
You're in the kitchen when it starts, standing at the counter with a recipe book open in front of you, your hair pulled back, wearing one of Steve's old shirts and underwear and nothing else.
Steve finds you there when he comes out of the bedroom, fresh from a shower, his hair still damp, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. He leans against the doorframe and watches you for a minute. There's flour on the counter, a little dusting of it on your wrist, and you've got a pan out and a pot for the pasta and a small bowl where you've already started chopping herbs.
"You're cooking," he says.
You look up, and your face lights up the way it always does when you see him, like you're surprised he's there, like you're happy about it every single time.
"I'm cooking," you confirm. "I thought we could have a night in. With the rain and everything. I found this recipe for pasta, the one with the lemon and the herbs, remember? We had it at that place on Main, and you said you liked it, so I thought I'd try to—"
He crosses the kitchen, and his hands find your waist, moving you gently, manhandling you a step to the left so he can reach the cabinet behind you. "Excuse me," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear.
You feel warmth crawl up your neck as he pulls out a pan, sets it on the stove, and then his hands are on you again, moving you back to where you were standing. You laugh softly, and he grins, and then he's beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, his hip against the counter.
"What's first?" he asks.
You look at the recipe, then at the ingredients. "I need to chop the garlic. And the herbs. And then there's the sauce, and then the pasta, and—"
"Okay." He reaches for the garlic to start peeling. You've cooked together enough times that you don't need to talk about who does what. It's like breathing at this point, the way you move around each other.
Steve slides the garlic across the cutting board toward you, and you crush it with the flat of your knife, the way he taught you, and he watches your hands for a second before turning to the stove.
"You got the lemons?" he asks.
"In the bowl. I already juiced them."
He glances over, sees the bowl of pale yellow liquid, the pile of spent rinds beside it. His mouth curves. "You started without me."
"You were in the shower."
"You could have waited."
You shrug, smiling. "I was excited."
He reaches for you, just for a second, his hand on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw. "Cute," he says, and then he's back to the stove, heating the pan, adding oil, waiting for it to shimmer.
You work around each other like two pieces of the same puzzle. He reaches for the salt, and you're already handing it to him. You need the herbs, and he's sliding the cutting board toward you before you can ask. He's at the stove, stirring the sauce, and you're at the counter, dropping pasta into boiling water, and somehow you never bump into each other, never get in each other's way.
"This needs more lemon," he says, and you're already handing him the bowl.
"More garlic, too?"
He dips a spoon into the sauce, holds it out to you. You taste it, your lips closing around the spoon, and he watches your face, waiting.
"More lemon," you confirm. "And a little salt."
He grins. "That's what I said."
"You didn't say the salt."
"I was about to."
You laugh, and he adds the garlic, stirs it in, and then his hand finds your hip again, just resting there, a warm weight while you drain the pasta and he finishes the sauce.
"You're going to burn yourself," you say, nodding at the pan.
"I'm watching it."
"You're watching me."
He doesn't deny it. His hand squeezes your hip, and then he's turning back to the stove, adding the pasta to the sauce, tossing it together the way the recipe shows. You stand beside him, your shoulder pressed to his arm.
"What do you think?" he murmurs, picking up the pan by the handle, tilting it so you can see.
"I think," you say, "that we're getting good at this."
Steve's smile widens. He sets the pan down, pulls you into his side, presses a kiss to your temple. "We're getting good at everything."
Dinner is ready at seven. You plate it yourself, two bowls, a sprinkle of parmesan on top, a twist of black pepper. Steve is already at the table, watching you, his chin in his hand, his eyes soft.
"You're staring," you say, setting his bowl in front of him.
"I'm admiring."
You sit across from him, tuck your legs up under you, pick up your fork. "You're going to make me blush."
"Good." He picks up his own fork, takes a bite, and his eyes close for a second. When they open, they're fixed on your face. "This is really good. Like, really good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He takes another bite, and he doesn't look at his bowl. He doesn't look at anything else. Just you. "You're getting better at this. Every time."
"It's not just me. You helped."
"I chopped garlic. You did everything else."
"I would have burnt the sauce without you."
He grins. "Probably."
You talk while you eat. It's easy, the way it always is with him. He tells you about his day, about the kids at work, about a funny thing Robin said that made him laugh so hard he almost choked on his coffee. You tell him about your day, about the book you're reading, about the woman who came into the shop and bought flowers for herself because she said she deserved them, and wasn't that just the best thing?
"It is," he says. "The best thing."
He's still watching you. His bowl is almost empty, and he's still watching you, his fork moving automatically, his eyes never leaving your face. You feel it, the weight of his attention, the warmth of it.
It makes you want to be quiet, to let him look, to let him fill himself up on the sight of you the way he's filling himself up on the food.
"You're doing it again," you say, soft.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at me like that."
He sets his fork down, leans back in his chair. His eyes are soft, darker in the low light, and there's a small smile on his mouth that makes your stomach flip. "Like what?"
You don't have words for it. You never have words for it. The way he looks at you sometimes, like you're something he's still surprised to have, like you're something he's never going to take for granted. You shake your head, look down at your bowl, and you can feel his smile across the table, warm and steady.
"You're cute when you're shy," he says.
"I'm not shy."
"You're blushing."
You are. You can feel it, the heat in your cheeks, and you press your hands to your face and laugh, and he laughs too, and the sound of it mixes with the rain, fills up the kitchen, fills up your chest.
After dinner, you move to the couch. Steve settles first, stretching out, his arm along the back, and you curl up beside him, your legs tucked under you, your head finding his shoulder like it belongs there. The TV is on but neither of you are watching. The apartment is dark except for your favourite lamp in the corner, casting the living room in gold.
Steve's hand finds your hair, fingers threading through it, slow and lazy. His chest rises and falls under your cheek, steady and warm, and you let your eyes close, just for a minute, just to feel it.
"You're getting sleepy," he says.
"I'm not."
"You're barely keeping your eyes open."
"I'm resting them."
His hand moves from your hair to your shoulder, then your arm, then your hand. He pulls it to his chest, holds it there, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.
"You can fall asleep," he says. "I've got you."
"M not gonna fall asleep."
"Okay."
"I'm not."
"Okay, sweetheart."
You open your eyes, just to prove him wrong. He's looking down at you, that soft look on his face, the one that makes your chest go tight. His thumb is still moving on your palm, slow and soothing, and you feel yourself sinking, sinking, the warmth of him pulling you under.
"I love your hands," you murmur.
His thumb stops. "What?"
"Your hands." You turn yours over, lace your fingers through his. "They're so big. I like when you hold my hand. I like when you cook with me. I like when you touch my face."
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is lower, softer. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Your eyes are closing again. You can't help it. "I like everything about you. Did I ever tell you that? Everything."
"You tell me."
"I mean it." You press closer, your face against his chest, his heartbeat under your ear. "I like your hair. I like your laugh. I like the way you say my name. I like—"
Your voice fades. You're not sure what you were going to say. It doesn't matter. He knows, you think.
"Sweetheart," he says, and his voice is so soft, so gentle, like he's talking to something small and precious. "You're falling asleep."
"Mmm."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed."
He shifts, and his hands slide under you, one behind your back, one under your knees, and you're being lifted, cradled against his chest. You curl into him automatically, your face finding his neck, your arms looping around his shoulders. He smells like your soap and home.
"I can walk," you mumble.
"I know."
"You don't have to carry me."
"I want to."
You sigh, content, and your fingers find the collar of his shirt, play with the fabric.
He carries you through the dark apartment, past the kitchen, past the windows where the rain is still falling, soft now, almost silent. The bedroom is dark, the sheets cool when he lays you down, but he doesn't let go. He stays there, leaning over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his face close to yours.
"There," he says. "Comfortable?"
You reach for him, your hand finding his cheek. His skin is warm, a little rough from the day, and he leans into your touch, his eyes closing.
"Stay," you whisper.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know." Your thumb traces his cheekbone. "I just like saying it."
He turns his head, presses a kiss to your palm. "You're sweet when you're sleepy."
"I'm always sweet."
"You're always sweet," he agrees softly, smiling. Then he pulls back, and you make a sound of protest, but he's not leaving. He's just standing up, reaching for the covers. "Let me tuck you in."
You let him. You let him pull the blanket up to your chin, let him smooth it down, let him stand there for a moment, looking down at you with something soft and wondering in his eyes.
Then you remember. "Stevie."
"Yes, angel?"
"I gotta brush my teeth," you mumble sleepily.
He laughs, a breath of sound against your skin. "Okay. Come on."
He lifts you again, carries you to the bathroom, and you let him. You always let him. He sits you on the counter, the cool marble pressing against your thighs, and your legs dangle, and you watch him move around the bathroom, getting his toothbrush, getting yours.
He puts toothpaste on both brushes, hands yours to you, and then he's standing between your legs, his chest against your knees, and you brush your teeth together. It's silly, it's so silly, and you're both smiling around the foam, and his free hand is on your thigh, keeping you steady, keeping you close.
You spit, rinse, and he does the same, and then he takes your brush from your hand, sets them both on the counter. His hands find your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there.
"There," he says. "Clean."
His hands slide up your back, pulling you against him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, let him hold you. He's warm, so warm, and his heart is beating against your chest, and you think about how you get to have this, every night, every day, for as long as you want.
"I love you," you murmur into his neck.
His arms tighten around you. "I love you too."
He lifts you again, carries you back to the bedroom, and this time he doesn't put you down. He climbs into bed with you, still holding you, and arranges you on top of him, your head on his chest, your legs tangled with his.
"Better?" he asks.
You nod, your cheek rubbing against his shirt. "You're comfy."
He pulls the blanket up around you both, tucks it in, and then his hand is in your hair, stroking, slow and steady.
"Go to sleep," he says. "I've got you."
You want to say something else. Something about how much you love him, about how safe you feel, about how you never want to leave this moment. But you're so tired, and his hand is in your hair, and his heart is under your ear, and the rain has stopped, and the world is quiet.
"Stevie," you whisper.
His breath catches. "Yeah, sweetheart?"
You smile against his chest. "Goodnight."
He exhales, slow and soft. His lips press to your hair, linger there. "Goodnight, angel. I'll be right here."
And he is. When you wake in the morning, he's still there, his arms around you, his face turned toward yours, his breathing slow and even. You watch him for a moment, the way his lashes rest on his cheeks, the way his mouth is soft, the way his hand is still curled around your waist
You press a kiss to his jaw, and his arms tighten around you, even before he wakes.
A/n: A tad unwell this morning. I want Soft!Gator to take care of me. Did I plan for this? No. Am I glad it happened? Yeahhhhh :))
Warnings: Newly established relationship, fluff, chat about intimate relations. Mention of sickness.
"Alright, sweetheart. I got you. Do you want some apple? Or somethin?" He says awkwardly just standing at the foot of your bed, this being a whole new thing for him. To take care of someone. He knew you had a tummy ache, but didn't know the full ins and outs, just that you were eating easy this morning.
"Yeah, some apple, and some tea? Of the herbal and fruity kind... There's some in my cupboard." You reply sleepy. You had been sick earlier on. And were trying not to stuff your face even though you were a bit hungry.
He goes to make you tea. He brings the chopped apple and strawberry tea to you within minutes and puts it on the bedside table. He crouches to your level.
"Need anything else?" He says softly.
"You. In bed next to me. Right now..." You say almost whining and in need of his comfort. He smirks and raises his brow.
"Well, aren't you demanding when you're feeling under the weather." He smiles to himself when you blush.
He shoves off his thermal jumper and pulls off his boots and pants. He puts his gun and holster, over on the small desk in the corner. He glances at you sheepishly. "I know I quit working for my dad and all, and I'm turning over a new leaf... But- Gotta stay armed you know? Protect my own... The one I care most about." He says out loud matter of factly and affectionately.
"Hm." You hum tiredly. He lifts the duvet and slides in next to you. "God it's freezing under here." He says spooning you and getting closer. He slips his arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer. "How you doing?" He says softly in your ear, kissing the skin just neath it. "Tummy aches."
"Yeah? Here. Dorothy told me about this thing once to help soothe achy tummies."
He slid his hand down your hip to your thigh in an affectionate gesture and then back up to your lower belly under your pyjama top. He cupped your lower belly for a moment, letting his large, warm, and soft hand warm you.
"Hm." You hum. "You're always so warm." You smile as you pick at the apples and take a sip of your tea.
"Truth be told... It's you. You make me warm." You smirk widely at that. His hand slowly rubs your tummy in circles, soothing whatever aches you had. You relax as he does that.
"That's good, Gator. Thank you, baby." He nuzzled his face into your neck. He sighs in contentment. "Anythin for you." He mumbles lowly. "Rest. I'll keep going with the massage, y/n." He has to admit being this close to you in your bed together is making him feel many things.
Being this close to you in bed is doing things to his downstairs region. He's trying not to be horny right now. But it's taking everything in him, not to initiate intimacy with you just now.
He focuses on your belly. Willing away any aches.
You close your eyes. And relax. "Maybe later, baby..." You say in a very knowing tone.
"M'sorry... It's just- We're so close and-" He says fumbling his words.
"It's okay baby... Later. I promise."
"Only if your sure." He responds cautiously.
"Yeah. M'sure." You say sweetly.
He kisses your neck in confirmation. "Alright. Rest, now."
hauntedhouseofhargrove | Fluffy July 2025 - Day 27
Interrupted Nightmare ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Steve Harrington
Steve Harrington x Female Reader
Genre(s): Fluff
Word Count: 487
Warnings: not proofread, nightmares, mentions of the upside down, Stevie crying, Eddie's death mentioned in this one instead of Billy for some change 🥲
Prompt(s) @fluffyjuly: Interrupted nightmare - "Do you want to come with me?"
Read my other works here! | Join my taglist here!
A/N: Probs horribly written cause I was on a teensy time constraint
Steve stirred in his sleep for the umpteenth time that night. Soft grunts and murmurs tumbled past his lips, making you jolt anytime you were about to doze off. Assuming they were just sleep spasms, you didn’t think much of it. It continued for a solid half an hour. You eventually sat up, running your fingers through his hair as a way of soothing him.
It wasn’t until he wailed your name that both of you jumped from your respective spots in bed.
“Steve, baby, what’s wrong?” your eyebrows furrowed.
You scanned his face, his breath heaving as he sank back down into bed. You followed suit, taking his shaking hands into yours.
“I-I had a dream,” he muttered.
It seemed as if he were scared to speak.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Your eyes searched for his, one hand coming up to smooth along his back.
He hesitated, his bottom lip jutting out as he bit the inside of his mouth.
“Remember the whole Upside Down hooey?”
You nodded slowly, eyebrows still furrowed.
“I had a dream that you were there. That instead of Eddie, you were bitten by a bat. You were taking your last breaths by the time I got to you.”
He was choking up. His voice was shaky. His entire body was trembling.
“I was holding you and begging you to hold on til we got out. But you used up your last bit of strength to kiss my hand and th- then you-”
He couldn’t finish the rest, tears now running down his face. You wasted no time. You pulled his body into yours. Cradling his head against your chest, you gently bounced and swayed. You shushed his cries.
“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed, kissing his head, nuzzling your nose into his hair. “I’m right here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
Your fingers instinctively curled into him, holding him tighter. He did the same, pulling your body closer to his as if you’d vanish.
“Nothing happened to me, honey. I’m still here, not going anywhere, not leaving you. I’m right here with you, babe.”
His cries quieted as you pulled his face away from your chest to look into his eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
You kissed him softly, thumbs smoothing over his teary cheeks. Your heart broke, never seeing him in such a condition before.
You slowly eased your way out of bed, your hands holding his quickly as he reached for you.
“I’m going for some fresh air out back,” you said, squeezing his hands. “Do you want to come with me?”
He didn’t say anything, simply slipping out of bed behind you. His arms clung to your waist.
“I love you,” he spoke desperately, as if it would be the last time he ever got to tell you he loved you.
Your hands were back on his face, thumbing over his cherry lips.
Summary: You recently moved into your new house and it's the first time you called Steve your husband in front of him.
Author's Note: Saw a cute little tik tok on this and thought it was so sweet! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always and thank you all so much for reading and sharing! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰🥰
Warnings: funny, soft, sweet, tummy makes an appearance, sexy and flirty, implied sexy time- domestic blissy goodness!
Steve Harrington Masterlist
“Steve?”
You poke your head out of the bedroom door and wait.
“Right here baby!” he shouts.
“Right where?” you yell back.
“In the living room.”
You smile and step down the hallway, finding him standing atop the step stool, hammer in hand while he hangs the small shelf above the TV.
“Is this where you wanted it?” he asks, concentrating with the slight tilt of his head and the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. From the lift of his arms his shirt rides up in the front, and you can’t help but be distracted by the hint of the curve of his tummy and the trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans.
You still haven’t answered him, but you close the distance and slip into the space between his body and the wall, your face at a perfect level now with his stomach. He quickly loses concentration and looks down just before you press your lips to the patch of exposed skin.
“This spot is perfect,” you murmur, then press your lips lower.
His low groan of satisfaction makes you giggle but just before your mouth is about to make contact again he wobbles on the stool and let’s out a small yelp.
“Oops,” you say, trying to look apologetic but only managing a very false pout before you smile deviously.
He blows you a kiss and throws you a wink then checks the spot again before starting to hammer.
“We still have to go food shopping, but I don’t feel like it after all that unpacking,” you say with a sigh as you fall back onto your newly positioned couch.
You’ve got a great view of his butt from this spot, and you use your last ounce of strength to stand again and move toward him with outstretched grabby hands. Unfortunately, he hops off the stool just before you reach him, turning and giving you a confused look.
“I was gonna grab your butt,” you say, now looking sad.
He walks into your arms and pushes them apart, wrapping his own around you. “Handsy today huh?” he teases.
“I’m hungry,” you whine.
“Because that explains it.”
You glare but he kisses you, soft and long, lips sliding against yours until you’re breathless.
“What are we ordering?” he asks when he pulls away with a smirk.
Your glare returns, playful and filled with mischief before you excitedly exclaim, “Benny’s Burgers!”
“Sure baby,” he answers. “Just let me clean up and I’ll call.”
With one more kiss you say, “you clean up, I’ll call. Want your usual?”
He nods and releases you.
You plop back down on the couch and grab the phone on the small end table next to it, wrapping the wire around your hand as you dial the number.
“Hi! Yes, I’d like to place a delivery order.”
You start to relay your new address and order then add a milkshake before giving Steve’s order.
Steve closes his toolbox and then comes to sit next to you, taking your feet and putting them in his lap to massage.
“Hang on one second,” you say into the phone. “Let me just ask my husband if he wants one too.”
Steve’s hands immediately go still, and you meet his gaze, gentle and glossy. Your eyebrows draw inward and you wiggle a foot. “Steve…? You want a milkshake too?”
He continues staring, everything in his expression softening. He still doesn’t answer so you uncover the phone receiver and say, “ok, my husband will have a vanilla milkshake. Thanks.”
You listen to the worker recite the order back and keep your eyes on Steve. He slowly moves his hand up your calves, lightly massaging until his body starts to cover yours. When he hears you say goodbye he takes the handset from you and stretches over your head to rest in back in the cradle.
“Husband,” he repeats, the familiar weight of his body now covering yours and pressing you into couch cushions.
“That’s you.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, his head dipping closer, his nose brushing along yours before you feel the soft caress of his lips.
“Say it again.” The heat of your body against his and the title perched on your lips makes his words come out thick.
“My husband,” you purr.
He holds his breath for the tiniest beat of hesitation, basking in the feel of your words, then presses his lips to yours.
At first he kisses you sweetly, just a few delicate slides of his mouth before parting your lips and catching the bottom one between his teeth. When he sucks gently and bites, he makes a small, rough growl, and you slide your fingers into his hair.
“How long did they say the food would be?” he asks, licking his lips.
“About forty minutes,” you answer, leaning in again. He meets you halfway with his palms cupping your face.
Your name is an urgent whisper on his lips, and he lets out a shaking groan, sliding his hand down your side, along your thigh to your knee, where he pulls your leg over his hip. Beneath the denim of his jeans, he’s rigid, his mouth playing along your jaw, neck, and collarbone.
“I could worship you forever,” he murmurs into your skin. “But I need at least a little taste right now.”
steve is such an acts of service man, he ties your shoes for you and pulls your hair back when it’s getting in your face while reading. he keeps snacks for you in his car when he picks you up from work and gives you a back rub after a long day. one day you come home from work completely exhausted and decide to not do anything yourself, partly because you are actually exhausted and also you wanna see how far steve will go in his quest to spoil you. carrying you upstairs and running a bath you expected. when he bathes you and helps you get dressed you’re caught a little off guard. you only crack when he’s about to spoon feed you dinner as you lay in bed tucked in with perfectly fluffed pillows. as much as you love him and how he treats you, you also know that if you let him keep this up one day you’ll refuse to walk on your own two legs and insist he carries you, and he will happily oblige
Omg anon. Are you literally in my brain rn cos I feel like you are!!! We are linked cos I've been thinking about acts of service Steve so so much recently... literally I have been thinking about coming home after the longest day ever and just sitting by Steve's legs and letting him scratch at your scalp with one massive hand, and he's so freaking warm so obviously you're clinging to him, not going to detach for the life of you! So he has to pry your hands off his legs with fond exasperation and scoop you up into his arms bridal-carry (duh!) while you mumble into your shoulder about how much you love him and you watch his ears go pink with flush. Obv he's a tad bit smug about it as he sets you down on the toilet lid, murmuring something like, "do you now?" with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face but he is secretly very pleased and loves hearing about how you love him! Tests the water with his wrist before you get inside to make sure it's just right and carries you in again (yes, you're right, no chance he is letting you walk on your own legs!) He sits behind you by the back of the tub because yes, he plans to wash your hair, and lets you practically melt into his hands, half-asleep cos you're so tired. Again he carries you out of the tub and wraps you in one fluffy robe and dries your hair nice and gently for you while you're sitting in his lap 'cos he says it gives him better access (Spoiler: it doesn't, he just wants you where he can see you better)
Other people definitely notice the princess treatment Steve gives you, because it is so totally obvious in the way he looks at you like he'd worship the ground you walk on, because he would! By the door he definitely does tie your shoelaces for you, oh my gosh, crouching in front of you with unbearable patience. And when you're crying, you try to hide it from him, 'cos you don't want him to worry, but he'll bend down and look at you with a furrowed brow and warm eyes and you can't help but let him take away all your worries! Steve harrington who learns how to cook because he wants to take things off your plate, so you don't have to worry, who always has a hair tie on his wrist in case you need it, who wipes off your makeup when you're too tired and just want to be in bed with soft words and even gentler touch! He cups your face in his hands and uses cotton to gently wipe away the remnants of your makeup and does your moisturiser too, taking his time because he absolutely loves touching you anywhere he can, and you let him.
Gator coming home after a long shift, trudging through the doorway of your shared bedroom. His boots feel even heavier as he makes his way to where you're sleeping so peacefully. He carefully sits on the bed, not wanting to wake you just yet, and begins undressing. Once he's down to his undershirt and boxers, he pulls back the covers to see you're laying on your side, facing away from him. The faint light from the bedside lamp allows him to take in the sight of your panties peeking out from under the edge of your oversized shirt.
He inhales sharply, as the overwhelming urge to touch you consumes him. He kneels on the bed, unable to take his eyes off your bare thighs. He leans forward, pressing his lips to your skin. He kisses up to the hem of your panties, nipping slightly, making you shift your legs.
"Just hold still, baby," he whispers, though he knows you can't hear him.
His hand gently pushes your leg to the side, letting him kiss up your inner thigh.
"Been thinkin' about being between your legs all day," he breathes, before moving to your other leg.
He notices you're starting to wake up now as you groggily say his name. He doesn't stop and presses his mouth to the thin cotton that's covering what he wants most. You gasp as he pushes your shirt up to kiss across your stomach. You then reach for him, your hand finding his slick hair. He grins up at you, as his tired eyes almost match your own.
"Love comin' home to ya like this," he drawls, "love havin' ya in my bed, waitin' for me."
"I know," you smile, your hand moving to cradle his face.
He crawls up your body and hovers his face over yours. He leans in and kisses you slowly, his earlier exhaustion now catching up with him.
"Love ya," he breathes, before laying his head on your chest.
"Love you, too," you reply, knowing he can't hear you because he's fallen asleep.
for the tantrum fic you could do that he said that they can go to work with him but the morning of he notices you're in too little of a mind space and can't ??
That’s a really good idea! I’ll try to incorporate that. Thank you! 🖤
꣑ৎsteve teaches you how to cuddle꣑ৎ
fem reader x steve harrington
large text version here!
The bubble around you wasn't a wall, but you didn't know how to tell anyone else that. Having a boyfriend was a mystery because Steve seemed to want to touch you. You somehow weren't used to it even after two and a half months of dating.
He was so casual, but it was monumental to you. The way he'd casually reach for your hand and twist his fingers between yours made your heart jump. Last week, when you were lounging by his pool in a pink bikini with your eyes shut behind your sunglasses, he snuck up and threw you over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your hip that made you go soft.
It was a wonder how his touch and the look on his face melted you inside. No boy had ever made you feel this way and you were glad for it. His touch made you feel safe, the way he could move you a testament to love, not control.
Now you were dreaming of it, even though he was just in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you sat on his bed in one of his t-shirts. This was the first time you'd sleep over with him.
It was late by the time you finished your movie, and Steve asked so easily that your 'yes' came just the same. The next thing you knew, he was pulling out a new toothbrush and handing you something to sleep in. His bed was big enough for the both of you to have plenty of space, but you suspected it wouldn't end up that way.
Fidgeting with your fingers, you turned the idea of sleeping so close to him over in your head. Nothing you'd ever done with a boy had come close to this. Then again, no boy's proximity made you melt the way Steve did.
He was a vision when he returned; it was nearly angelic. You smiled up at him, hands in your lap, legs crisscrossed. "Hi."
"Hi, baby." Steve was beaming. He tossed his clothes in the laundry and sat by you, warm palm finding your knee. "You look cute."
Goosebumps prickled on your thigh. His hair was damp, and he wasn't wearing a shirt, striped pajama pants sitting low on his hips. "You're…pretty."
Internally, you cringed, but he smiled, brown eyes warm. "Thanks." Rubbing your leg, he shifted to lift the blanket. "You sleepy?"
"A little." You leaned against the headboard and his arm slid around your waist.
"Is that comfy?" Steve patted your side, nudging you to lay on him instead. "C'mere. I'm softer than the wall."
You slowly eased onto him, your head dropping to his shoulder. He smelled like his shampoo. When he touched his lips to your forehead, you settled further into him. You let your eyes fall shut.
"Wanna lay down, sweetie?" His voice was so gentle. It was peaceful in here, a bubble you wanted to curl up in.
"If you want to."
Steve shifted downwards, cradling you close. You felt awkward, your limbs out of place. Were you supposed to drape yourself over him? Stay perfectly still? When it was time to sleep did you seperate yourself from him?
"I can hear you up here." He poked your head and you smiled. "What's goin' on? You okay?"
You flushed hot. "It's silly."
"Hm?" His arm was around your shoulders, and your hands were folded on your chest. Steve's eyes were soft. "Everything okay?"
"Yes." You moved your gaze to the ceiling. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?" He turned on his side, a worry line etched between his eyebrows.
"Um." You mirrored him, eyes wide. "I don't know how to lay. Where should I be?"
His smile was precious. "You don't know how to cuddle?"
Your cheeks were on fire, and you dipped your head, more embarrassed than you'd ever been in your life. Swallowing, you fidgeted with your fingers. "Never mind."
"No, no," he soothed, reaching for you. "I'm sorry, baby. It's okay."
"It's stupid." You stared at your hands until his palm tilted your cheek to him.
"No." Steve kissed your temple, smoothing your hair from your face. "Sweetie, I shouldn't have said it like that. I want you to be able to tell me whatever you want."
"I've never spent the night with someone before," you said, walls crumbling when you looked at him. "I just…yeah. I don't know how to cuddle."
He smoothed his hand over your waist. "You do. You just don't know it."
"Hm?" You blinked at him and he scooted away, turning onto his back and opening his arms.
"C'mere. Just do what feels right." Steve smiled encouragingly. "I know you can do it."
Scrunching your brow, you let your hand fall over his chest. He nodded, the pads of his fingers bunching together and apart over your back. "You can do whatever you want. Tell me what you want."
You tentatively rested your head on his shoulder, your arm falling over his midsection. He was so warm. It made you smile. Chasing the feeling, you snuggled into his side.
Steve reached down, hooking his fingers under your leg and pulling it to rest on his. "This okay?"
"Mhm." A delicious, sleepy feeling was overtaking you.
"You're perfect." He kissed your hair.
"You're my pillow," you said into him.
"Sure am." He planted a few kisses on your head. "I'm whatever you want."
You had nightmares about days like today. In your haze of a headache, you'd somehow managed to drive home safe. Collapsing on your sofa, you massaged your head, groaning a little when the phone rang.
After letting it ring for a moment, you stood and picked it up, managing a weak greeting.
"Hi. What's goin' on, sweetie?" Even the sound of Steve's voice took a weight off your shoulders.
You cradled the phone like it was his hand. "I'm…I'm okay."
"You sure?" His voice was gentle, and you yearned for his warm body on yours.
"Just a tough day." You shifted on your feet.
"Wanna come over?"
The thought of driving was unbearable. Your head was hurting too badly and you felt weary, the demands of the day sapping up every drop of energy in your body.
"I'm ordering a pizza soon. We can get pineapple." He sounded hopeful.
"I don't know if I can," you said softly, leaning on the wall.
"I'm coming to get you."
"Hm?"
"I'll be there in a few. Change into somethin' comfy." When you started to protest, he hung up.
You donned a pair of black leggings and a grey sweatshirt, sitting down by the couch and pulling your knees into your chest. Resting your forehead on your kneecaps, you tried to breathe. The idea that he was coming soon eased your headache a little, but you still wanted a moment to rest, just in case that made it better.
When Steve let himself in, you were still in the same position. He crouched in front of you, lifting your hands into his. "Oh, baby."
Tears pricked your eyes. You didn't mean to cry, but his sweetness after a terrible day was rain breaking a drought. Lifting your head, you saw him, concerned and right and real in front of you.
"Headache?" he asked sympathetically.
"Yeah," you managed, breathing through your nose.
"My poor baby. I've got you, 'kay? We're gonna go eat something at mine." He helped you stand up slowly, slipping his arm around your waist. "There you go. Atta girl."
You were practically leaning on him as he locked your apartment door and helped you in the car and buckled your seatbelt. It almost felt like you had turned to mush and he was carrying on as usual.
The drive was quiet, but he settled one hand on your thigh for you to hold the whole ride. You fidgeted with his fingers until he got out, coming around the other side to open your door.
He didn't turn the lights on when you went inside, kicking off his shoes and relaxing on the couch. You quietly went to him, slumping at his side. Trying to breathe through the pounding at your temples, you let yourself lean down until your head was in his lap, cheek pressed into his thigh.
"Here?" he muttered, lightly thumbing your forehead. You nodded, nearly whimpering at his touch. "Worry headache or somethin' else?"
"Worry," you guessed, relief coating your chest when his fingers started chasing the pain. "Long day."
"Poor baby." He was still working on your head. "'ve you eaten?"
"Not for awhile," you muttered, turning on your side to look up at him.
Steve caressed your head. "We can fix that."
"Okay." You reached over to thread your fingers through his.
"Ordered a pizza before I left to get you. Should be here soon."
It was such a small thing, but it felt like he'd built you a palace. He anticipated what you needed, knew before you yourself did. The way he gravitated to you, made it clear he wanted you near him, wanted to take care of you was a place you'd been so hesitant to sink into, but he eased you into it.
Suddenly, you were blinking back tears, and he frowned, rubbing your side. "Woah, hey. What's the matter, baby?"
"Steve," you breathed, blinking quickly.
"Yeah, Steve's here," he said quietly, searching your eyes. "How's your head? Is it bad?"
"You're being nice," you said softly.
"That's a good thing, sweetie," he promised, smoothing your hair from your face.
You swallowed, sitting up and leaning on your hands. He watched you carefully, ready to reach out if you wanted. "It…even when you touch me it means so much. I'm not used to it."
"Yeah?" He reached out to thumb your cheek, encouraging.
"You…touch me. And care about me. You knew I was having a hard day just from my voice. I feel like too much, like I need too much."
"I think before you've settled for less," he said quietly, and your fingers closed around his wrist, holding him like a security blanket. "This is how we work, baby. We're like this. It fits."
"I love it. I love you," you said, and he cupped your neck.
"I don't know how anybody could look at you and not want to give you everything you want." Steve opened his arms and you settled into his chest, cradled between his legs. "Y'know how much it means to hear how me touching you makes you feel? I feel the same way when we're like this."
"You do?" You turned to look up at him, brow crinkled.
He smoothed it out with his thumb. "You're like…uh…not kryptonite. The opposite of kryptonite. If I was Superman you'd make me stronger."
You giggled, surging forward to kiss him. "You're silly."
Steve grinned, and you ran a hand over his silky hair. "I am."
"I'll cuddle you forever," you said, nuzzled into his chest.
"Can't believe you didn't know how to do this not too long ago," he said, sounding amused.
You rested your chin on his chest, blinking sleepily. "You've created a monster."
"Nah," he said smoothly, dragging his hand up and down your back. "You're comfy. I love it."
"Cuddling's for lots of situations," you mumbled into him.
"I think it's for everything," he commented, and you giggled. "Baby, if anything happens, good or bad, we're gonna cuddle about it."
"Okay." You laid your head down, smiling imagining celebrating every high and low in his arms. Instead of curling into yourself like a flower in the frost, you'd curl into him.
Steve kissed your head and hooked his arms around you. "Pizza soon."
"Hold me 'til then."
"Before, during, after." He nuzzled his nose into your hair. "Yeah, this is the life. I'll miss this when I'm tipping the pizza guy."
Alright y’all! I have this request for a Steve Harrington and Little Reader story:
little reader throws a tantrum and steve tries to calm them down n stuff he gets slightly frustrated but doesn’t yell
That’s the gist of the request but I’m having a really hard time thinking of ideas for the story. I have a few ideas, but I’m struggling to build off of it. If y’all have any story ideas for a little reader, please send them to me in the comments here! That would be greatly appreciated! 🖤❤️
