My Tears Ricochet

Because I can go anywhere I want just not home

[xpeachsunsidex]

You Can Hear It In The Silence

Steve Harrington x Bestfriend!Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve may be a brat, but he’s your brat - and you get possessive when you think another girl is trying to move in on your man best friend.

WC: 4.4k

Warnings & What to Expect: yearning and insecure reader, Steve being a brat and reader is bratty too lol, friends to lovers trope, pet name Angel 🥹 brief mentions of alcohol, angst with happy ending!

Masterlist If Interested!

Peach’s Note: this is a combo of this request for girly reader, and this request for being in an argument with Steve. thank you anons for helping me come up with this fun idea!!

i veered a bit, and didn’t get too into detail about reader being girly - it’s more so about comparing herself to the other girls that Steve sees… but hoping y’all still enjoy!! 🩷

tysm to everyone showing love on my works - it means the world. requests are open! feel free to send anything Steve, Gator, OR Keys related (have my first one for him up my sleeve already) and I can certainly try my best 🫡

pls know that it takes me a bit to get my ideas down, so it may not be a quick turn around 🫶🏻

It was a well known fact that Steve Harrington could be a brat.

As his best friend, you knew better than anyone about the snippy and petty remarks that he would make towards others when he was pissed off about something.

He never directed those comments toward you though - which is why when he rolled his eyes and made a sharp jab your way during an argument, you decided to give him the silent treatment.

Because while he may be your brat, he’s certainly not allowed to be bratty towards you without consequences.

“Are you seriously not going to talk to me?” Steve whines pathetically once he realizes you’re ignoring him.

You don’t answer verbally. Instead, you curl in on yourself, turning to face the passenger window.

“Oh, c’mon, Angel. Don’t be like that,” he begs, throwing you a look before turning back to the road.

You fight the urge to retort a witty comeback about how he should’ve thought about the repercussions of his actions, but you were determined to not speak to him until he apologized and meant it.

“You realize that you can’t realistically ignore me the whole evening, right?” Steve grips the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening at the hold he’s got on it.

You huff out an angry breath of disagreement, despite the fact that you know he’s right since you’re on the way to watch Eddie’s band play at The Hideout with the rest of your friends.

Steve tries again, “You’re killing me here. I promise, I really didn’t mean to be rude to you.”

You bite your tongue and want to tell him that the intent didn’t matter because it came off that way. It’s also not an apology, so you continue to stare dejectedly out the window, thinking back on the hurtful words that slipped past those plush pink lips of his.

Steve was over at your place, sitting on your bed - watching you finish getting ready when he started yapping about the latest girl he’d been casually hooking up with and why he ended things with her.

Hearing about it made an ugly jealous feeling twist inside of your chest, because you’ve had a thing for him ever since high school, but he was too clueless to see it.

He was complaining about how the girl was late to everything and how it made him feel like an afterthought.

“Well, maybe you should date someone punctual,” you press, emphasizing the word because he’s always teasing you about your need to get to places early.

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t know. I mean, I like her a lot. I just feel like there’s something missing.”

You curl the wand of mascara over your eyelashes one last time before huffing out a breath of frustration, “Obviously.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You fight the urge to yell at him that it’s you that’s missing - that he’s supposed to be with you, and that’s why he nitpicks each girl he’s with.

Instead you shove that thought deep back into the crevices of your brain, “It means you always find something wrong about the girls you date, Steve.”

He scoffs, “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” you point the mascara stick in his direction, twisting back around to cap it and pick up your tube of lip gloss.

“I do not. I just have standards, you know?” He says, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

You purse your lips together, spreading the color evenly, “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

The nickname makes him annoyed, because you only ever called him that when you were being flippant.

“God, get off my back about it. It’s not like your opinion about who I go out with even matters,” Steve lashes out.

With anyone else you might’ve backed down, but because he’s your best friend, you fight back.

“Then stop being a bitch, Harrington. I’m sick of you whining about a new girl every time we hang out,” you grumble.

You knew you weren’t playing nice, but you were sick of him searching for something that was right in front of him. Plus the comment about your opinion not mattering hurt much more than you cared to admit, which made you defensive.

“Oh, I’m the one being a bitch?” Steve snaps sarcastically, and you instantly see regret washing over his face once the insult is out.

Your jaw drops at that, “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t actually call you a -,” he starts, but you cut him off.

“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?” You clench your teeth, fighting the urge to cry.

“No, Angel. I promise, that’s not what I meant,” he sighs heavily.

“If I’m such a bitch, Steve, then why are we even friends?” You fold your arms over your chest.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, “You’re not. I’m sorry.”

You laugh bitterly, “That’s a sad excuse for an apology.”

Steve gets mad at that, throws up hands in defeat, “Why are you pissed? You called me one first!”

“Because you’re always talking behind these girls' backs, Steve. And you’re only upset because I called you out on it,” you turn away from him, spritz your perfume on your wrists before storming out of your bedroom.

Steve scrambles to get up, tripping over his feet a little - following you down the stairs as you head towards the front door of your home.

“Where the hell are you going?” He calls after you.

“Unlike your new girlfriend, I don’t want to be late,” you retort.

Steve groans, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

You don’t bother answering, just make your way outside and to his car - waiting impatiently for him to unlock it.

Steve rounds the car, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t open the passenger door for you, even when you’re angry with him.

But being stubborn, you block him from getting to the handle.

“Can you not?” Steve narrows his eyes at you.

“Sorry, am I being a bitch?” You bite, and Steve mutters something under his breath.

“Just let me open the door for you,” he reaches out to try to gently pry your fingers off the handle.

“Please, Angel?” He says quietly when your hand refuses to move, and god does that nickname make you crumble easily.

You concede, stepping to the side. Once you slide into the Beamer, you decide that you don’t want to waste your breath arguing with him anymore - making the decision to keep quiet until he says he’s sorry; and not just because he felt like he should, but because he believed it.

You knew you were kind of being a bitch, especially since you called him one, but you were incredibly fed up with him acting like his love life was in shambles and expecting you to help clean up the mess.

As Steve’s pulling the car into the gravel lot, he’s still trying to get you to break and talk to him, but you scamper out before he’s even fully parked.

You find Robin leaning against the bar and grab onto her bicep, causing the drink she had in her hand to slosh slightly over the rim.

“I need you to sit next to me in the booth,” you inform her - cutting your eyes to the front door where Steve’s making his way inside.

“Shit, where did you come from?” She quips.

You grab a napkin and hand it over to help her clean up the spilled liquid, “Sorry. I’m just super annoyed with Steve and don’t want to sit next to him.”

She looks at him, “What did the dingus do now?”

“He keeps shoving his hopeless love life in my face. As if I want to hear about that when I’m in love with him,” you ramble.

Robin quirks an eyebrow up at you, “Need I remind you that you haven’t told him that?”

“And he also insinuated that I was being a bitch,” you add.

Robin looks sufficiently upset for you, “What an asshole.”

“After I told him that was being one,” you tag on sheepishly.

“Oh,” she laughs a little at the ridiculousness of it all.

She quiets when Steve makes his way over to the two of you, and his eyes narrow suspiciously at her lack of words, “What, did she convince you not to talk to me either?”

“I’ll have you know I’m my own person, Harrington. If I’m not talking to you it’s of my own free will,” Robin replies.

Steve snorts at that, turning to the bartender and ordering himself a beer and the drink of your choice - extending an olive branch that you weren’t quite ready to take.

“Robin Buckley not talking? Sure, totally believable,” he teases.

Robin’s mouth drops open in mock offense, and it’s then that Eddie interferes - steering the conversation in a different direction.

“Hey! You guys made it. Where’s the happy couple?” Eddie inquires, sliding up to the three of you and slinging his arm over your shoulder.

“They’re on their way. Nance got off work late,” you reply, leaning into Eddie’s embrace - throwing a discreet glance towards Steve whose jaw seems to tighten at the action.

Eddie’s eyes flick between the two of you, “Ooh, are Mommy and Daddy fighting?”

You shove his arm off you, “Shut up, Eddie.”

He grins at you, “Sorry, sunshine. You just look like you’re about to bite Harrington’s head off with that glare you’re giving him.”

“I kinda want to,” you mutter under your breath.

Steve looks all pouty at that, “Real mature.”

Eddie decides to drop it and turns to Robin.

“Is Vic coming?” He asks.

Robin sighs, “I couldn’t coax her to take a break from studying.”

“Too bad. Oh, by the way. There’s someone I want you guys to meet,” Eddie flags a girl down that’s trailing behind him and gestures for her to come over to your group.

He introduces you to the girl, and you know instantly that you’re doomed to watch Steve try to gain her interest when you see how he’s staring at her.

Steve immediately takes her hand, giving her that stupidly charming smile of his. You feel an ache at the way his eyes light up when she laughs at something he says - something you didn’t catch because the rushing sound in your ears from the pounding of your heart is too loud.

You instantly feel insecurity wash over you, because you looked absolutely nothing like the girl.

And god, was she gorgeous too.

You wanted her to open her mouth and say something that would give you a reason to hate her, but she didn’t - which almost made your envy over her that much worse because she was sweet.

She leans closer to Steve to hear him better, and you can’t help but notice how he angles his body in response.

Bile rises in your throat, and your breathing picks up tenfold - an anxious feeling stirs inside of you at watching them together.

“So sorry we’re late. My boss is a total prick and threw a last minute editing problem at me,” Nancy calls from a few feet behind you - dragging Jonathan by the hand through the crowd.

They join your little circle and because Nancy is the most observant person ever, she notices your odd behavior right away.

“You okay?” She asks softly, palm reaching out to grab delicately at your arm.

All the attention shifts to you, which you can’t stand, “Yeah, um, I’m totally fine.”

You awkwardly excuse yourself to the bathroom while Eddie cues up to play. The rest of your friends get settled in the booth, and you miss the way Steve’s eyes watch you worriedly.

The bathroom is dimly lit - smelling of cigarette smoke and weed. You really don’t want to stay in there for long, but you’re dreading having to spend the night watching Steve fall for another girl that’s not you.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, tears gathering quickly as you turn around - taking in your appearance. It’s not that you didn’t like how you looked, but you couldn’t help but compare yourself to every girl that Steve wanted, noticing how none of them ever seemed to resemble any qualities that you had.

Robin whips the door open and stops in her tracks when she sees you observing yourself, “What are you doing?”

“Do you think Steve has a type?” You confront her, wanting to know exactly what’s wrong with you.

“Who cares?” She shrugs.

“I do, Robin. It’s never me that he chooses,” you mumble bitterly.

“Harrington’s loss then, right? You’re a total babe,” Robin encourages, leaning her back against the porcelain of the sink.

“I’m sick of feeling like I’m not,” you admit.

“No guy is worth making you feel not good enough. Especially if that guy's supposed to be your best friend. But the only way you’re going to make him realize that is if you’re honest with him,” Robin says truthfully.

“You’re right,” you nod with a new determination to get over your self pity and go have fun with your friends.

Robin weaves her arm through yours to walk to the table together, and you freeze when you see the girl sitting in your normal spot. She’s next to Steve, still talking to him about god knows what.

You feel a flare of possessiveness - which you know is stupid because you weren’t even planning on sitting next to him, but you don’t like the way it makes you feel replaced.

All thoughts of ignoring him flew out of the window at that moment, and you don’t know what comes over you when you stand in front of the girl, “That’s my seat.”

The table goes silent, and you hate the way your friends stare at you - making you feel like a mean girl for the move you just pulled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” the girl smiles at you - not thrown off at all, and she scooches out to take a seat next to Nancy instead.

“What the hell was that?” Steve says under his breath, sliding your drink over to you.

Your lips part at him remembering to grab it for you, and the automatic response of ‘thanks’ rests on your lips before you remember you’re supposed to be avoiding him.

Steve looks at you glumly, like he can’t believe you’re still choosing not to speak to him and you nearly cave at the pleading look on his face when Corroded Coffin jumps onto the makeshift stage to perform.

You try your best to lose yourself in the music, to focus on supporting Eddie, but every time you feel Steve shift next to you - it makes you realize that he keeps checking out the girl that’s now sitting across from you two.

It’s torture, and you’re grateful when the Eddie announces a quick break because you know it means Steve will get up and get the next round of drinks for everyone.

“I can help,” the girl offers.

That territorial feeling floods your bones again.

“I’ve got it,” you cut in snarkily.

Steve gives you a look of disbelief but doesn’t argue as you follow him to the bar.

After putting the order in, he turns to you, “Okay, what’s your deal?”

You swallow hard, starting to feel embarrassment crawl over you, and you keep your teeth clamped down.

Steve’s shoulder brushes yours as he steps into your space, “C’mon. Talk to me, please. I really am sorry, Angel. And I can tell something is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

His hand reaches out to gently tap two fingers to your temple as he finishes speaking, and it makes you give in.

“You were staring at her,” you state accusingly.

“I was assessing her. There’s a difference,” Steve defends.

“Assessing her for what, Steve?” You reply crossly, titling your head.

“To get a read on if she’s into Eddie, which he asked me to do. You would’ve known if you talked to me earlier,” he gives you a pointed look.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

“Yeah, oh. And if you keep treating her like that, she’s definitely not gonna want to date him,” he replies.

You look back to your group of friends - watching as the girl keeps glancing towards the stage, like she’s counting down the moments until Eddie comes back out.

“Oh god, I am a bitch,” you moan out, dropping your head into your hands.

“You’re not. You were just being a protective friend,” Steve tries to assure you, hand resting hesitantly against your back.

You shake your head before mumbling, “It’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks curiously.

You peek at him through your fingers, panic overriding your system, “Nevermind.”

“No, no. You’ve gotta tell me now, Angel,” he laughs quietly and starts tugging at your hands.

Robin’s words flash across your mind briefly, ‘but the only way you’re going to make him realize that is if you’re honest with him.’

“I should probably, um, tell you something. But it can’t be here,” you answer meekly.

Steve nods in understanding, “Later, then?”

“Later,” you confirm.

When you bring the group's drinks back to the table, you spot Eddie and the girl giggling with each other - causing a new wave of guilt to wrack through you.

You’d been blinded by your need for Steve to notice you, and you didn’t like how it made you act out.

As you settle into the booth next to your best friend, you make the decision that you can no longer hide your feelings for him and ultimately, have to come clean.

The car ride back was different from the ride on the way to The Hideout, even though there was still some unresolved friction between you and Steve.

Mainly because Dustin Henderson was in the backseat since Steve promised he’d give the teenager a ride home from the Wheeler’s.

Dustin was chatting your ear off, filling the quiet that he wasn’t used to. He finally addresses it as Steve rolls to a stop in front of his house.

“I’m feeling like a child of divorce,” Dustin jokes, but you don’t find it funny.

“Really, Dustin?” You turn around to scowl at him.

“What? Obviously something weird is happening between you two. I don’t like it,” he declares.

Steve huffs in annoyance, “Just get out of the car, man.”

“Tough crowd,” he mutters, before opening up the car door, “maybe fix it soon though. I can literally feel the tension between you two. What do you call it, Steve, sexual electricity?”

Steve reaches back to push at Dustin’s head, “Dude.”

“Dustin,” you press, feeling your face flush heatedly.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m going,” he smiles at you before closing the door.

It’s a tad uncomfortable in the car now that Dustin’s gone - making you feel suffocated in the confined space, but finally Steve’s BMW reaches your place.

“Do you wanna come up to my room to talk?” You muster up the courage to ask.

Steve swallows thickly, nerves now wracking his body, “Yeah, c’mon.”

He observes your room the way he always does when he comes over. He would normally playfully joke about the softness of it, but instead he sits down on your bed, back leaning against the wall - patiently waiting for what you have to say.

“You know how you can be a brat, right?” You ask him bluntly, sitting down next to him, curling your legs up underneath you.

He rears back and his face pinches sassily - proving your point, “Wow, thanks.”

You bravely place a hand on his thigh, which makes his breath hitch at the contact, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I like that you’re bratty. I like that you don’t let anyone walk all over you, besides maybe Dustin, and Robin,” you smile teasingly. He scoffs in jest, but lets you continue.

“And, I like that you know what you deserve from the girls you’re seeing. It’s just,” you trail off, having second thoughts about admitting how you’ve felt all along.

“Just, what?” He asks quietly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear - it’s natural, because he’s done it a thousand times before with you, and it gives you the courage you need to be upfront.

“I don’t like hearing about them, because I feel like I’m what you deserve,” you admit.

Steve’s eyes blow wide at the confession, stunned to silence.

“I’m not trying to say that in a bragging way either or anything like that. It’s just, I know you. I know how you take your coffee, and I know you love how your tight polo shirts make your arms look,” you watch in delight at how a blush rises up his cheeks at that, highlighting the moles and freckles that dot his skin.

“And I know that you secretly hate the scary movies Robin picks out-,” you start.

“I love scary movies,” he interjects.

“You hate them. You love rom coms, and I love that you do,” you smile sweetly, “and I know when you say that you’re fine you don’t really mean it, and I know that you’d do anything for the people you care about.”

His eyes start to soften - the lighting from the haze of the lamp making them look all doe like as he gazes at you.

“I know that you want a big family, and I know that being alone scares the shit out of you,” you whisper. Steve’s eyes start to go a bit glassy at that, so you reach out to interlock your fingers with his.

“I know that you think that none of these girls have ever known who you are and it’s because you don’t let them in enough to see all of you, but I see you. I see every part of you, and god I’m so in love with you it hurts,” you confess, staring down at your feet because you’ve just laid your heart out in front of him - expecting a rejection that’ll cut deep.

“C’mere,” he whispers, placing his hands on your waist.

He maneuvers you so that your back is resting against his chest, and his legs are spread out on either side of you - allowing you space to settle in between them. His arms wrap around your middle, and his head drops to the crook of your neck.

“Gonna tell you something, and I need you to stay facing away from me because everytime I try to tell you I freeze up. Got it?” Steve directs, and you’re already trying to turn around in his arms.

“Wait, can you please just listen for a moment, Angel?” He requests, tightening his hold on you.

Steve’s nose skims along your jawline, and you melt against him, intently waiting for him to start explaining.

“You not talking to me tonight? That must’ve been the most miserable thing to happen to me in a while,” he murmurs.

You fiddle with his fingers that are intertwined against your ribcage, silently encouraging him to keep going.

“When I realized you were giving me the silent treatment, I just about died,” he confesses.

“Steve,” you chide, finding his dramatics endearing.

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck in response, which makes your brain go haywire - completely taken aback by the affection he’s showing you.

“I mean it. My whole night was ruined. Couldn’t stand you not giving me attention,” he smirks, “and you know why?”

“Why?” You implore desperately.

“Cause I’ve wanted you to be mine for years now,” he breathes out, voice laced with a desire that makes you bloom with want.

You can’t stand it anymore - needing to turn around to see him. He helps you settle on his hips, knees digging into the cushioned material of your bedspread. His hands cup your lower back, slightly shifting you closer.

Your eyes cast down to his lips, and you suck in a ragged breath of surprise at his revelation.

“But, the girls,” you trail off, feeling a wave of vulnerability crash into you.

Steve looks down timidly, “Because I’m a coward who’s never been able to just tell you. And I could never find the right girl because none of them were you.”

You tentatively lean your forehead against his, stepping into uncharted waters by doing so.

“I’ve compared myself to every single one of them, you know,” you confide, not trying to guilt him - just needing to be transparent.

Steve winces defeatedly anyway, and your hands come up to hook around his neck.

“Just thought that maybe I wasn’t what you wanted and that you were trying to find someone totally different than me,” you shrug helplessly.

Steve’s hands come up to gently grasp your head, fingers splaying out along your jaw and neck tenderly, “Fuck, how could I miss that you’ve felt like that?”

You grab onto the collar of his shirt, twisting the material idly, “I got good at pretending not to care.”

“Still. You’re my best friend. Should've known,” he says in aggravation.

“You know now,” you reassure him, brushing at his cheekbone.

He nods eagerly, “Gonna spend a long time making it up to you.”

“Starting now?” You grin coyly.

He hums in agreement, before pulling you flush against him, “Starting now.”

Steve presses a kiss below your jaw, working his way up until he reaches your lips. He hovers over your mouth, thumb swiping against your chin - requesting for permission to kiss you properly.

You feel like dissolving into a puddle of need at the way Steve’s expertly slotting his lips with your own - being slow about it, almost lazy in the way he’s dragging his mouth against yours.

You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling a bit to signal that you need air. Steve’s displeased about it and reluctantly lets you go.

“I’m in love with you too, by the way,” he nips at the shell of your ear, making you release a little high pitched noise.

“Cute,” he murmurs, slyly moving to lay back against your bed - hauling you with him, which causes you to topple on top of him in a fit of giggles; allowing him to continue his siege of kissing your exposed skin.

You feel like you nearly have the wind knocked out of you with the way he’s looking at you, like he’s truly in love - your best friend, who you always thought wouldn't look at you the same way, has always been in love, just needed a little push from the silence.

Divider credits to @cursed-carmine

Taglist: lmk in the comments or message me if you want to be added to my main masterlist tags!

[loversagile]

reader trying to convince joe to quit smoking because she hates it.. i feel like he could be kind of stubborn about it

I’m basing my request on that new photo of joe holding cig when he was in paris in january, i don’t know if you saw that already😭

He stood on the balcony of the hotel suite. Grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and plain white t-shirt tight on his biceps. You stood there staring at him for a whole minute at least. Taking in the sight of him just standing there. His gaze casted down to the city life buzzing beneath us.

Then smoke bellowed from between those pink lips and you rolled your eyes with the right corner of your own lips tugging upwards. Tale as old as time. Busy night. Too many people. It always made him smoke afterwards. A stress reliever, he called it. You knew what he went through was stressful. You would never deny that. You just wished he'd use other outlets.

"Those things are so bad for you..." You muttered as you stepped up behind him. Your movements so quiet he jumped at the feeling of your arms sliding around his middle. Your cheek rested against his shoulder blade.

"Everything's bad for me." He huffed out as he flicked the cigarette and put out the end on the railing. Then his other hand settled over my forearm. Warm, steady, and already trying to apologize for the bad habit.

"Not true-" You muttered against his clothed back.

He didn't argue his side today. Just rubbed his hand over your forearm. Chatter filled the air. Car horns followed. It was never quiet here in the city. You had learned that quick. Joe seemed to love the noise and hate the silence. You were the opposite.

"There's other forms of stress relief." You muttered. Lifting your head from his back to press your lips against the middle of his back. Then pressing your forehead against the middle of his back.

He huffed out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. His shoulders moved as he let it out. “Like what?” He hummed. Warm hand still rubbing over your forearm. The action more soothing for him than it was for you.

The moment of silence you let linger between the two of you caused him turn around in your arms. His lower half leaning back against the railing of the balcony. Hazel eyes peered down at you with a lazy tilt.

"Like you?" He muttered as his hand coming up to push your hair back behind your ear. "You wanna be my bad habit?" He muttered in a low, playful tone.

A smile tugged at your lips before you laughed softly at his attempt to dirty talk you. "That was hot. I gotta give that to you." You hummed. "But yeah, you could use me instead of cigarettes if you wanted to." You shrugged with nonchalance but fought away a smile.

"But you need to brush your teeth first-"

[xpeachsunsidex]

Harrington Household Masterlist

Steve Harrington x Hargrove!Fem!Reader

About the AU:

I wrote this post, and then a request sparked the idea to build out the life of the six nuggets these two would have!

Time period taking place - 2006/2007

I'm thinking for now just keeping this series as request only, so if you have any, please feel free to send them in 🫶🏻

About the Nuggets:

I don’t like giving names to kids in x reader imagines (just a personal preference - you can come up w/ what you’d like!!) but here’s what I’m thinking their ages are.

Steve & Reader started having their babes young, so they’re only like 38.

Boy - 17 years old

Girl - 16 years old

I’m thinking the reason for the next age gap between kids would be bc reader thought two was enough, but then the twins end up being a happy accident.

Boy & Girl Fraternal Twins (reader was twins w/ Billy so it runs in the fam) - 10 years old

Another age gap because four is already a lot, and then Max & Lucas start having kids of their own - which makes reader have insane baby fever that leads to…

Boy - 4 years old

Girl - 2 years old

In timeline order!

Summary: Steve's struggling to accept that his little girl has turned into a rebellious teenager. Link to read

Summary: Watching his little girl go through a breakup nearly crushes Steve's own heart. Link to read

Summary: When your oldest boy gets into one of the most prestigious music colleges in the nation but doesn't tell you and Steve - you spiral, and Steve's there to help pick up the pieces. Link to read

Summary: You and Steve navigate how to tell your girl where babies come from. Link to read

Summary: Your oldest kids catch you and Steve in a compromising position, but it leads to them realizing they're thankful to have parents who are disgustingly in love. Link to read

Summary: In the heat of the moment, you make a comment that strikes Steve heavily - and your kids are left wondering where their parents stand. Link to read

Summary: Your eldest son brings home a girl for the first time - things quickly go south when your kids get an attitude with each other and then with you - which Steve doesn't tolerate. Link to read

Summary: Summer break means soaking up all the time with your babes, but that also means being needed, all the time - and Steve makes sure your needs are met too. Link to read

Summary: Steve knows you're gorgeous, but it doesn't stop him from being all pouty when other men (and one bold teenager) who aren't him flirt with you. Link to read

Summary: It's the last Harrington family trip around the states before you and Steve send your oldest boy off to college, and safe to say - it's chaotic. Link to read

Link to my main masterlist if interested!

[athenas-rose]

Clingy reader and steve where he loves when she's clingy even in front of the party..

I love ur writinggg

Velcro Hearts

Steve Harrington x clingy!reader 700 words

warnings: fluff, clinginess, dependency,

Steve adores the constant need you have for him, especially when everyone else can see it too

Steve never understood why people always complained about clingy girlfriends. What was there to hate about a girl who loves you so much that she sees something in you no one else saw? Maybe it was because no one has really ever clung to Steve before.

Back in high school, girls liked him, or more so the idea of him—the hair, the name, the popularity. Nobody reached for him without thinking, nobody melted into him without a second thought.

Then you came along.

And suddenly, Steve couldn’t go five minutes without feeling some part of you touching him. Your fingers curled into his sleeves to keep a tight hold on him, your head tucked beneath his chin whenever he sat down, your legs draped across his lap during movie night with the party. Half the time Steve couldn’t move around your place without you trailing after him like a shadow.

“Baby,” he laughed under his breath one late night, glancing back to catch you following him. “You know I’m just getting a glass of water, right? Go back to bed.”

You only rubbed your bleary eyes with a pout, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I can’t.” You mumbled into his soft sleep shirt.

“Why not?” Steve asked, furrowing his brows.

“Because the beds cold without you, and I already missed you.”

Steve nearly dropped the glass in his hand. Every single time. Every damn time you said something like that—a simple yet effective soft confession, his chest did this stupid aching thing.

No one ever looked at him like he held the whole world in his hands.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He sighed affectionately, turning in your arms to pull you against him properly. “C’mere, baby.”

You smiled immediately, burying your face into his chest as you cocooned yourself soundly, Steve lifting you up to carry you back to the bedroom.

And the way you relaxed the second he touched you? It was a huge difference to people that recoiled away from him, like your body trusted him completely.

“Needy girl,” he teased affectionately, rubbing his hands up and down your back in slow motions.

The nickname stuck after that—his needy girl, and you loved it more than anything. Because you wanted to be his needy girl, to show him that you loved him deep enough for your heart to hurt.

“Needy girl, move over.”

“I love you even more, needy girl.”

“You tired, needy girl?”

And the party had no trouble noticing it immediately, especially Dustin.

“This is actually disgusting.” Dustin looked at you two curled up on the wheelers basement couch with a grimace. “You guys are attached at the hip like some kind of parasite from the upside down.”

Steve didn’t even look up from where he was absentmindedly playing with your fingers, rubbing featherlight touches over your knuckles.

“She likes me.”

Dustin rolled his eyes, groaning. “You’re literally holding her hands while she’s asleep.”

“She can’t sleep when she’s alone.” Steve responded, keeping his gaze on you. Your cheek was smudged against his chest as your hand remained clutched in his own.

“Do you hear how you sound right now? That’s crazy!” Dustin pointed out with disbelief.

“Don’t call my girl crazy.” Steve said almost threateningly, finally glancing upwards to glare at the younger boy.

If there was one thing Steve wouldn’t stand for, it was for anyone who shamed your relationship. There was nothing wrong with being attached to him, the truth was—he loved showing you off like this.

Loved when you sought him out first in a room.

Loved when you automatically climbed into his lap like that was your designated seat.

Loved when your hand reached for his without looking.

He loved that you depended on him. Not because you couldn’t do it yourself, but because you chose him constantly. And he used to be a man who felt replaceable every second of his life, but with you, he only knew what feeling permanent meant.

When the party left that night, you were still half asleep while he lazily stroked your hair.

“Stevie?” You asked.

“Hm?”

“Do you care that I’m clingy?”

Steve stared at you for a moment like the answer was the most obvious one in the world. Then he leaned down, pressing the softest of kisses to your forehead.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin. “You could cling to me forever and I still wouldn’t get tired of it.”

Your face flushed instantly, but his response sounded so genuine, relaxing you until your shoulders sagged.

“My forever, needy girl.”

[velvetys]

I plan on watching a movie at some point in the future

[kosmogrl]

september was practice… in october I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in november I'm getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in december I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in february I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in march I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in april I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in may I’m getting my shit together

[kosmogrl]

in june I’m getting my shit together

[zinainblue]

comin' home ✴ gator tillman

boyfriend!gator tillman x reader - wc 1.9k

summary: after a long patrol, gator finds his girlfriend in bed asleep. it's only his nature to disturb her.

tags/warnings: gator x reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, suggestive content, soft!gator, domestic fluff, grumpy x sunshine, possessive!gator, elements of casual sub/dom, gator thinks he wants a tradwife but really he wants your attitude

a/n: help me save me from the chokehold this character has me in (I'm exactly where I want to be)

---

A set of arms wrap around you, pulling you from luxurious sleep. 

You make a noise of protest, drawing in a long breath. Your down comforter feels heavenly right now, and snuggled in your favorite pair of cozy socks, you’re warmer and happier than you’ve been all day. It’s just typical of your boyfriend to interrupt.

“Right where I left you,” Gator hums, arms tightening around you, nose prodding into your cheek. From the feeling of his chest pressed up against you, you can tell he’s still in his work clothes, though he’s ditched the tactical vest. He’s been patrolling later than usual lately, much to both of your dismay. Were it not for how sweet he almost always is when he gets back and the fact it usually means you can sneak in an evening nap like this one when he’s gone, you might have had to pick a fight with his boss. 

You groan again, turning your head over your shoulder so he can see the frown on your face, your eyes still stubbornly shut. “‘M sleeping,” you mumble, voice thick. 

Gator’s letting the cold under the covers, and he probably knows it. He relishes annoying you like this, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as he presses them into the warmth of your neck.

“So fuckin’ lazy,” he chuckles. 

“Rude,” you grumble, rolling over. He laughs as you slip your arms around him, clutching him closer. In contrast to the idyllic heat of your bed, his arms are chilled from so long spent out in the Dakota snow.

“You’re wearing outside clothes,” you complain, finally opening your eyes. You blink at him, clearing them of sleep. 

He’s got that smug, lazy grin painted on his face as he watches you, and his hair is loosened slightly from its gel. “So?”

“You can’t bring outside clothes into bed,” you chide him gruffly, snuggling further into his chest. Damn it, but you’ve always slept better in his arms than alone, and as much-needed as your nap today was, you’ve missed him. You breathe him in, savoring the faint scent of perspiration and that sharp cologne you’ve told him you don’t like.

“I don’t see you complainin’,” he teases, his fingertips pressing into you. 

“Mmm,” you intone, already feeling sleep attempt to drag you under again. “How was work?”

“Same shit as usual,” he grumbles, tucking your head under his chin.“Rather be lazing around all day here with you, that’s for damn sure."

You tap a pattern onto his sternum with the pad of your finger. “I’ll have you know I’ve been slaving away all day,” you argue sleepily. 

“Oh yeah?” he snorts. “Believe that when I see it.”

If you weren’t so comfortable cuddled against his chest, you would have glared at him. “I have. I made scones for the church picnic, and I cleaned out the laundry room cabinets–”

“Mm, sounds hard,” he mocks you.

You huff indignantly. “Sounds like you’re not getting any of my scones.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest.

“I also went to check in on Mrs. Dougherty–”

“Crazy old bat,” Gator grumbles of your eighty-two-year-old neighbor who despises him. She’s really a sweet lady– just sees too much of Roy in Gator. You go over there every now and again to pick up the house for her and attempt to smooth things over between the two of them.

“And I picked up a morning shift at the diner,” you finish stubbornly. “And nobody else competent was working.”

His sigh ruffles your hair. “Baby, what’d I tell you about picking up those extra shifts?”

You roll your eyes. “It was only four hours, Gate.”

Gator pulls back to give you a displeased look. “I wish you’d just quit working at that fuckin’ place already. Those scumbags’re runnin’ you ragged.”

“I like my job, Gator,” you tell him pointedly. And you did– as shitty as any off-the-highway diner job was, yours was just decent enough to keep. And besides, you liked your coworkers, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to spend your hours keeping children from crying with smiley-face pancakes. It was more rewarding than what Gator did all day, that was for sure. “The people are nice. The tips are good.”

“Tips’re only good ‘cause you’ve got all those jackoffs making eyes at you,” he complains.

You fight not to roll your eyes again. “That’s not the reason.” Gator’s always been the jealous type– something you both love and hate about him. If he didn’t make it so difficult every time he came into your work or went out with you to a bar, you might have found the trait endearing. But he always made it all but impossible for you to hold a conversation with another man– interjecting and putting his hands all over you like you weren’t in public. It was no secret in town who you belonged to– Gator had made damn sure of that.

“Like hell it isn’t,” he argues. “I see ‘em every time I’m in there. Runnin’ their eyes over ya like they want a piece of ya.”

“Gator,” you cut in placatingly. “Everyone in town knows I’m with you. They know better than to try anything.” More importantly, they know Gator– know what it means when Roy Tillman’s son staked his claim. Every one of your regulars would much rather keep their eyes from wandering and their tone respectful than face the other end of a bloodied tire iron. 

“They fuckin’ better,” Gator adds, already spinning himself into a bad mood. But, as if he’s caught himself on it, realized what he’s doing, that anger melts slightly, replaced with a wicked, possessive mischief. “Maybe I should just knock you up. Finally send a message to all those assholes.”

Shock and a delicious jolt of warmth travel through you, and you glare at him. You pinch his side, then pull one of your hands free and hold it in front of his face, waggling your fingers. “Or maybe you could just get a move on and put a ring on it, stud. Start there.”

“You gonna quit your job if I do?” he teased, leaning forward to nip playfully at your neck. “Stay home all day makin’ scones ‘n shit?”

“Gate,” you sigh, your hand cradling the back of his head as he attacks your neck. “You know I like having something to do with my time besides sit around and take care of you.”

“Takin’ care of you’s my job,” he insists, his voice muffled against your skin. The vibrations travel up your pulsepoint, and you fight your shiver. “Y’should let me do it better. I’m the man. S’posed to provide for you.”

“You do,” you assure him, knowing this is a pressure point for him. “I’m just better for you if I’m not going stir-crazy in this house every day.”

He sighs, finally retreating from the junction of your shoulder and neck. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn. Drives me crazy, woman.”

You press forward, locking your lips onto his. Your mouths move together, slow and luxurious. “I love you,” you mumble, eyes crinkling as you stare back at him. 

“Mm,” Gator intones, holding out on you on purpose just to show he’s still not pleased. You snort, nonplussed by his pouting.

“I’m starving,” he announces, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before beginning to extract himself from the bed. “Gonna go make something to eat. You want anything?”

That reminds you– you make yourself sit up and get moving again, yawning wide. “There’s pulled pork in the slow cooker. I waited for you.”

“Why the hell’d you do that?” he asks, exasperated. He stands by the side of the bed waiting for you, which betrays the annoyed look on his face with more of that hidden sweetness.

You shrug, stretching your arms above your head. “I don’t like when we don’t have dinner together.”

“You shouldn’t have waited,” he scolds you, a frown tugging at his lips. “It’s late, doll. You can’t just starve ‘cause you’re waitin’ up on me."

“What time is it?” you ask, still groggy, ignoring his chastisement as you grab his right wrist and pull it up so you can look at his watch. When you see the time, you roll your eyes. “It’s only eight-thirty, Gator.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed and let him grab your wrists, pulling you to your feet. 

“You just told me you worked all day, stupid,” he reminds you, letting you lead the way out of the bedroom. “Next time, you eat without me. Got it?”

You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. It’s almost endearing how fast he switches between the insults and frustration and that care you’ve come to see in him– care that’s unlike how anyone’s ever treated you before, huge and constant and limitless. Like this boy would drive to the ends of the earth for you and yell at you all the way back home for being dumb enough to strand yourself out there. 

He’s got rough edges, your Gator. But there’s no denying he loves you.

When he’s standing behind you, beating you to taking the plates down from their high shelf as you stretch for them, you can feel it. When he watches you dig into your food and complains that you’re eating like you’ve been starving to death, it’s there, too. When he takes the dirty dishes from out of your hands and washes them while you sit on the counter beside him, drying them with a dishcloth, it’s impossible to ignore. 

On the way back to the bedroom, Gator lands a sharp smack to your ass, and you jump, glaring over your shoulder at him. He grins at you, the expression turning him so boyish. “Gotta be my favorite part of comin’ home.”

“Hm,” you intone, flicking your hair over your shoulder as you walk. “Mine’s giving you head. But I don’t know if you’ve been nice enough tonight.”

He laughs aloud, catching up to you and gripping you around the waist, spinning you in his arms as you reach the bedroom and he kicks the door shut behind him. Ignoring your squeal, he picks you up and throws you back onto the unmade bed.

You can’t help but grin as he comes over you again, his arms caging you in. 

“Careful what you wish for, pretty,” he teases, his voice a husk. “You’re lucky I love you so much. Wouldn’t take this kinda attitude from anyone else.”

Your fingers come up to clasp behind his neck, teasingly chaste. “If anyone else is offering you head, you’ve got another thing coming, Alligator.”

He leans down and kisses you, his tongue sweeping past your lips as he languishes in your taste. When you part for air, he’s smiling. “I love you,” he says begrudgingly, like he’s admitting something you can’t already tell in everything he does.

So, grinning back up at him, you only tell him, “I know.”

---

a/n: wrote, edited, and posted this in like one hour which is bizarre for me so apologies for any mistakes. also my first real x reader fic...

requests are open!

[firelilyfox]

Lessons in Love

Pairing: teacher Steve Harrington x shy female reader

Summary: You are the new teacher at the Hawkins middle school and Steve notices you immediately. He can’t help but falling for you.

Warnings: shy reader. pet names. flirting. mocking (in a sweet kinda way). yearning. no use of y/n.

___________________

The first thing Steve Harrington notices about you is that you look lost.

Not someone call the authorities lost. Just standing in the middle of the darkened hallway at Hawkins Middle School after sundown with a stack of papers in your arms and the expression of someone who took one wrong turn twenty minutes ago and has been too stubborn to admit it ever since.

Honestly? Kind of adorable.

Steve watches through the glass doors for a second after leaving the baseball field, still carrying a crate of sports equipment against his hip.

The school’s mostly dark by now except for scattered classroom lights glowing warm against polished floors.

You disappear around the corner and Steve frowns slightly. Who the hell is still here this late?

He steps inside, letting the door shut behind him with a heavy clunk. The hallway echoes quietly.

Somewhere farther down, papers rustle. Steve follows the sound automatically. And then you suddenly step out of one of the classrooms directly into his path.

Both of you scream, papers fly absolutely everywhere.

“Oh my God!” you gasp, clutching your chest.

Steve nearly drops the equipment crate. “Jesus Christ ... sorry!”

You stare at each other in horrified silence for one beat. Then simultaneously burst into laughter. The tension breaks instantly.

“Oh no,” you groan, crouching quickly to collect your papers. “That was so embarrassing.”

Steve drops beside you automatically to help. “No, no, I think I screamed louder.”

“You absolutely did.”

“That feels false.”

You laugh again. And Steve’s kinda done for already.

Because you’re wearing this oversized university hoodie with your hair thrown into a messy bun that’s definitely halfway collapsed after a long day, and you scrunch your nose while you frantically gather worksheets from the floor.

Cute. Unfairly cute.

“You new here?” he asks, handing you a paper upside down.

You take it with a soft snort. “Yeah. History department.”

“Ohhh.” Steve nods seriously. “So you’re the brave soul replacing Mr. Jenkins.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Was he awful?”

Steve winces dramatically. “He once showed a documentary from 1973 for three straight classes because he forgot where he left his lesson plans.”

You laugh so suddenly and brightly that Steve actually forgets what he was about to say next. It echoes softly through the empty hallway. Warm and easy.

God.

“Good to know the bar’s low,” you say.

Steve grins. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

You tell him your name. And maybe Steve’s imagining it, but he swears something soft shifts in your expression when he repeats it back to you.

The next morning, he sees you again immediately. Mostly because you walk directly into a classroom door. Not hard but just enough to make Steve choke on his coffee trying not to laugh.

You whip around instantly, mortified. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw a tragic betrayal by architecture.”

“You’re annoying already.”

“And yet you’re smiling.”

Your face goes pink immediately. Steve beams for the rest of first period.

After that, it starts happening constantly. Little collisions. Tiny moments. You in the teachers’ lounge muttering furiously at the copy machine while Steve tries very hard not to laugh.

Steve walking into your classroom during lunch only to find you passionately ranting to an entirely empty room about medieval political propaganda.

“You know nobody’s in here, right?”

You nearly launch your yogurt spoon across the room. “Steve!”

“What?” he laughs. “You were waving your arms around like a history wizard.”

You point the spoon at him threateningly. “The Tudor dynasty was deeply fascinating.”

“I believe you,” he says solemnly. “You looked extremely emotional about it.”

And that’s the thing. You’re quiet around most people. Shy in staff meetings. Soft-spoken around parents. Nervous when too many teachers gather in the lounge at once.

But alone with Steve? You talk. And talk. And talk.

About history. About books. About weird historical facts that apparently keep you awake at night. And Steve listens to every single word like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard.

Because honestly? When you get excited, your whole face lights up.

You stop fidgeting. Stop second-guessing yourself. Stop shrinking.

And Steve thinks it might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

One afternoon he finds you sitting cross-legged on your classroom floor surrounded by papers.

“You alive in here?”

You look up with the exhausted expression of someone three grading assignments away from losing consciousness. “Debatable.”

Steve steps inside holding two vending machine coffees.

Your eyes immediately soften. “Oh, you’re my favourite person.”

His heart does a stupid little somersault. “Oh yeah?”

“You brought caffeine. That’s basically romance.”

Steve almost walks directly into a desk.

And then suddenly it’s the winter ball. The gymnasium glows with cheap fairy lights and crepe paper decorations while middle schoolers scream and sprint around fueled entirely by sugar and chaos.

Steve’s been assigned supervision duty near the snack table. You’re helping chaperone near the dance floor. Which mostly means repeatedly telling twelve-year-olds not to climb things.

“This feels less like education and more like wildlife management,” you mutter as Steve joins you.

“You’re doing great.”

“I just confiscated six Pixy Stix from one child.”

Steve gasps dramatically. “You monster.”

You laugh tiredly. God. There it is again. That warmth blooming in his chest every time he makes you smile.

A slow song starts playing unexpectedly. The kids immediately react with horror.

“EWWWW.”

“THIS IS GROSS.”

“WHY ARE THEY PLAYING OLD PEOPLE MUSIC?”

Steve snorts loudly. You hide your laugh behind your hand. And then without really thinking Steve holds out his hand toward you.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Oh?”

“C’mon,” he says softly. “One dance before someone throws punch at a seventh grader.”

You glance around nervously. The gym is still chaotic. Nobody’s paying attention.

Still ... “You serious?”

Steve smiles gently. “Very.”

Your face turns pink immediately. But after one tiny hesitant second you place your hand in his and Steve swears his heart physically stumbles.

He leads you behind the stage curtain where the lights are softer and the noise dulls into distant muffled music.

Private and hidden. Your hand still rests in his.

“You know,” you murmur shyly as he settles one hand carefully at your waist, “I haven’t danced with someone since high school.”

Steve grins softly. “Lucky me, then.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too hard for it to work properly. Slowly, you start swaying together beneath dim golden light while the song drifts softly through the curtain.

And Steve’s pretty sure this is what hope feels like. A shy history teacher in an oversized cardigan looking up at him like she can’t believe he’s real either.

“You smell like chalk dust,” he murmurs teasingly.

You gasp quietly. “Rude.”

“And mint.”

Your expression softens immediately. Steve’s chest tightens.

“You notice weird things,” you whisper.

“Only about you.”

The words slip out naturally. Honest. And suddenly the space between you changes. The air turns softer somehow. He watches your eyes flick briefly to his mouth. Then back up again.

Nervous an a little hopeful.

“Steve,” you whisper.

Steve’s hand tightens slightly at your waist. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath catches. And then you give him the tiniest nod.

That’s all it takes.

Steve kisses you gently beneath the glow of cheap winter-ball lights while kids scream and laugh somewhere on the other side of the curtain. And it feels so sweet it almost hurts.

Your fingers curl softly into the front of his sweater as he kisses you carefully, like he’s scared to rush this. Like he understands that some beautiful things need patience.

When he pulls back, both of you are smiling helplessly.

“You know,” you murmur breathlessly, “this is dangerously close to feeling like an eighties movie.”

Steve grins. “Sweetheart, we literally live in the eighties.”

You laugh so hard you accidentally hide your face against his shoulder. And Steve wraps his arms around you instinctively, holding you close while fairy lights glow warmly through the curtain folds around you.

Outside your little hiding place, the gym is loud and chaotic and messy. But here in this tiny corner of warmth and music and shy laughter ... Something lovely begins.

____________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[tellcherhesgone]

Don’t know if this is cheating haha but maybe can you do both 🩷 and 💞 together with Gator? Xxx

Send me an emoji and I'll write a fic for a kiss [CLOSED]

🩷 [ Comfort ] - A tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance

“What if she don’t like me?”

Gator had stopped rubbing your stomach, lips now pressed in a familiarly tight way. Like he wanted to pretend that he didn’t just ask that in favor of doing his whole “Gator pullin’ a Gator” song and dance for you to deal with. You furrowed your brows, bringing your hand to rest on top of his. He tried to pull away, but you wouldn’t let him. The muscles around his eyelids twitched in a ghost of a squint. You traced the outline of his hardened profile with your own eyes, voice steadily reassuring him,

“She will. You’re her daddy.”

“Tch. Yeah, obviously, but…”

“But…?” You pressed, thumb rubbing soothingly slow circles into the back of his hand. The former deputy’s breath hitched, his nose turning pink as he forced a cough out from his throat. You knew better, of course, and this was just another one of his tells that he was going to get vulnerable (something he didn’t particularly care to be or appear as).

“’S not like every man’s worthy of bein’ one. I mean, look at my old man, he—”

A sniffle, suddenly. He swallowed it down with an annoyed groan, bringing his unrestricted hand up to pinch off the leak coming from his nose. Although he’d talked about his rough upbringing and crime entangled life before he’d met you, it’d always been at length. Like an unforgiving beast that Gator never allowed out unless half the leash was wrapped around his grip.

You squeezed his hand against your protruding belly and your future daughter growing underneath to ground him back to Earth.

“…I keep wonderin’ if, if that old ass sayin’ bout apples fallin’ off the tree’s got some truth to it. Y’know what I mean?”

“Er, Honey, I don’t follow. What’s this really all about?”

“Shit, yer really gonna make me say it?” Your boyfriend asked, voice cracking as he slightly faced you with a bittersweet smile, lips parted enough to show the straight edge of his teeth and the tongue lightly pressing against their backs. His nose was leaking even harder to make up for the tears that’d long stopped production from his eye sockets.

“Don’t wanna end up like my dad,” Gator hoarsely mumbled, voice coming out something thick through the lump in his throat. “Don’t ever wanna make my baby girl go through all the, the…fucked up shit I had t’ go through growin’ up, but his blood’s my blood. How ‘m I supposed to keep from yellin’ at her when she catches me on a bad day, or, or worse? I don’t think I could live with m'self if, if I were to—"

You interrupted his stream of self-doubt by bringing his hand up off your stomach and to your lips, gently kissing his knuckles. A simple gesture, but it worked every time. Gator sniffed again, turning his face fully towards you.

You smiled and whispered, “C’mere.”

As fast as he could, your boyfriend was holding himself above you, holding his breath in anticipation. You cupped his jaw with both hands and guided him down to you, pressing a tender, reassuring kiss against his natural pout. Gator’s arms almost gave out from the elation and love coursing through his body, but he couldn’t allow himself to give in. Not when you were in such a physically fragile state yourself. He sighed as you carded a hand through his hair, moving your lips to peck against the cute moles dotting his face.

“Wish you weren’t so hard on yourself,” you muttered against the crook of his nose. “I think you’re gonna be a great daddy.”

“Ya make it sound so easy,” he mumbled back, searching out your lips with his. “Makes me wanna believe yer right.”

“I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I? I’m always supposed to be right,” you breathlessly chuckled, accepting Gator’s kiss.

He snorted, pulling away to lay down next to you. As if it had a mind of its own, his arm immediately curled around your body to hold you close and provide you with a semblance of protection. Had he still had his sight, he’d have looked up to the ceiling pointedly away from you as the next shaky thought came to mind after a few minutes of silence. But since he didn’t, he faced you plainly, voice a bit deliberate as he earnestly asked,

“Babe, what do ya think ‘bout the name ‘Allison’?”

Divider credit: @pixopix

[djohours]

interesting pt 2

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

🌸 MAY RECOMMENDATIONS 🌸

here's my may recommendations!! another beefy month of fics i loved!!

**some fics will not have necessarily been posted in may

IMPORTANT: please read the warnings on the fics before reading them. most will be 18+!! there is some series in there also but mainly all of these are one shots!

ᰔ indicates that this is a series / multi parts

۶ৎ steve harrington

in the summer sun by @tinfoileddd wrapped around your finger by @vamptales promise? and gold rush by @aecd27 oblivious by @munsonify i almost do by @catherinnn you don’t go to parties anymore and i’m scared i’ll never sleep again by @teheblue ᰔ temporary fix by @discodjo ᰔ one big favour by @luusygoosey disarm by @stevenose busy right now by @vader-anakin never leave you by @whispersoflost he knows better by @trizharrington will you still love me tomorrow? by @levanswrites ᰔ so high school by @swirledyouintoallmypoems after midnight by @harringtonsugar in the dark, you’re honest by @drownedinmelancholy said i'm the love of your life (about a million times) by @catssluvr the hawkins memorial hospital by @kensley-11 the second line by @calelundaa daughter from hell and uptowngirl by @oohgeminii slow hands by @s111ut a conversation on nuggets by @bells-bookshelf don’t sweat by @yeah-iveheardofbears always ready to be left out in the cold by @thecreelhouse what are you wearing? by @djopuppy my desperate girl by @cakedupkeery

۶ৎ gator tillman

wanna hear you say by @keer-y my boy only breaks his favourite toys by @xpeachsunsidex everything shower by @levanswrites

۶ৎ kurt kunkle

boy next door by @stvswrld69

۶ৎ travis 'teacake' meacham

be quiet (no, don’t) by @keer-y white lines, pretty baby, tattoos by @djopuppy

۶ৎ walter 'keys' mckey

officer mckey by @entrenoussir ᰔ smashingkeys69 by @nowprettybbyimrunning

۶ৎ bucky barnes

tuesday night secrets by @aderna01 it’s not the same river by @goldiwrites manchild by @houseofhyde you make loving fun! by @superbassbuck you earned it by @phoenix-in-writing

for all my recs, please see my fic rec account @moonstone-recommends

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[xpeachsunsidex]

omg the highest honor for real 😭🫶🏻

[hanwritesthings]

cape cod - joe keery

chapter three

previous part

pairing: joe keery x reader

a/n: oooh things are picking up! kinda. i have my motivation back so hopefully updates will be rolling out more regularly. hope u guys enjoy!

word count: 1.6k

sometime after breakfast, everyone silently agreed that it was beach time. everyone moved to their rooms, changing into bathing suits and grabbing any necessities.

after you changed and thrown on some worn jean shorts and an old tattered t shirt over your swimsuit, you grabbed your tote bag, tossing in a book, towel, and some sunscreen.

you slide your feet into sandals and make your way out into the living room, when joe was already waiting with two of his sister. he catches your eye and gives you an easy smile that you return, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag.

when everyone was ready, you made your way out the backdoor, down the back porch steps, and down the trail of wooden steps that led down to the beach.

you watched with a smile as your friend ran ahead while her twin, laughing as her other two sisters trailed them. joe lingered next to you in the rear of the group, mindful to match his pace with yours to avoid leaving you behind.

ten minutes later, towels are laid out, bags are set down, the smell of sunscreen and salt water fills your nose, and half of the group is already running towards the water. caroline, the oldest of the girls, lounges in the chair she hauled out and cracks open a book. joe sits cross legged on his towel, conveniently next to yours, messing with his speaker.

and you sit on your towel taking it all in. the sun was warm, but not unbearably so. after a moment, you stand and begin to shred your clothes. you miss the way joes eyes flicker over you as you stuff your clothes into your bag and pull out your sunscreen.

by the time you sit back down to apply your sunscreen, his eyes had already diverted back to his speaker, the blush on his cheeks disguised by the heat from the sun.

“you guys come out here every summer?” you ask as you work the lotion into your legs, eyes on the three girls in the ocean.

joe nods next to you, pressing play on a playlist before adjusting the volume on the speaker to a lower level.

“yeah, since we were kids. well, i may be guilty of missing a couple of summers in recent years.” he says, scratching his neck sheepishly.

“that’s nice.” you smile. “my family never did anything like this. no beach houses or vacations really. but then again, i don’t have a big family really. we’re not close like this.”

you nod towards his sisters and he follows your gaze with a fond smile. if there was anything joe loved most in this world, it was his sisters.

“yeah, we’re really close. too close sometimes.” he jokes and you smile.

“so, art history?” joe asks, pulling his shirt over his head. you try not to ogle at him, his tanned torso, the freckles and moles decorating the skin there, the patch of chest hair that narrowed into a thinner trail down the center of his belly then beneath his belly button, disappearing beneath his swim trunks. swim trunks that were insanely short by the way.

you shook your head, wafting away any inappropriate thoughts about your best friend’s famous brother. two reasons why that would never happen.

“yeah, art history.” you say with a nod. joe smiles.

“why?”

“i’ve always loved art and creating it. i thought it’d go to school for painting or photography or something under the fine art umbrella. then i took my first art history course freshman year and i was hooked. learning about how art has evolved and how culture and society throughout different time periods impacted it. it’s amazing. it’s almost like studying a language. a diverse, creative, completely open to interpretation language.” you reply with a shrug, but there was a smile that absentmindedly grew on your face as you spoke. one that had joe mirroring himself.

“hm. i never thought about it that way. it’s very interesting.” he says. “i might have to request a private museum tour with you. i’d love to hear you talk about different pieces. seems like your view would make it more enjoyable.”

it was your turn to blush. you thanked the sun for beating down on your face, already making it flushed.

“well, whenever you have free time in new york, hit me up.”

“don’t threaten me with a good time.” joe say with a grin.

over the next couple of hours, you and joe talked about anything and everything. what you were like growing up, your hometowns, random little anecdotes. both of you had books open in front of you, laying forgotten.

even when both of you decided to move to the water (you decided to get in and joe immediately got up to follow), you discussed movies and music and books and shows.

it was surprisingly easy talking to joe. you didn’t see joe keery the actor, or djo the musician, you just saw joe. he was incredibly normal and kind, and a bit of a dork. it all made it harder to ignore the fluttering happening in your stomach.

-

the sun had begun to dip in the afternoon and everyone was tired from the sun and the water. you all packed up your things and trudged back to the house.

after changing, everyone collapsed in different spots for naps. the older two girls disappeared into their shared room while the twins sprawled out on opposite ends of one of the couches in the living room. you and joe took the other couch and joe switched on the boxy tv that was definitely at least twenty years old.

“my grandparents are adamant about not getting a newer tv for this place. so it’s just dvds and vhs.” joe explains as he gets up and walks towards the shelf of movies.

“it’s also mostly children’s movies.” he says as he plucks ‘toy story’ off the shelf. you snort, shaking your head.

“nice choice.” you chuckle and joe smiles over his shoulder.

“nostalgic.” he says before putting the movie into the player.

he makes his way back to the couch, grabbing a blanket on his way. he drops it onto your lap before looking around for another. his eyes lands on his sleeping sisters on the opposite couch, each using a blanket. but katie was laying atop the last free blanket.

joe sighs and tries to tug it from beneath her, earning a sleepy groan. accepting defeat, joe flopped onto the couch with you with a pout.

you snort, rolling my eyes. “you’re pathetic. i’ll share my blanket.”

joes head lifts up and he looks at you, a small smile forming. “oh yeah? wait, i’m not pathetic.” he whines, despite the grin widening on his face.

you just shake your head and spread the blanket out across both of your laps.

“so generous. and they say chivalry is dead.” joe jokes, settling back into the couch as he tucks the blanket around his crossed legs.

“you’re such a dork.” you chuckle, getting comfortable against the back of the couch.

“thank you.” joe grins, nudging your knee with his foot.

you roll your eyes, a smile blooming subconsciously on your face as you turn your gaze to the tv screen.

-

you make it through maybe thirty minutes of the movie before you pass out.

you don’t remember much directly before falling asleep, and when you are pulled from your catnap by whispers and muffled giggles, you’re just a little confused.

you swear you and joe were on opposite sides of the couch when you sat down, the blanket you were sharing large enough to span the distance and cover both of your laps.

however, when your eyes flutter open and you lift your head, you register a weight on your lap. you also notice that your legs are stretched out and thrown over a lap.

more specifically, joe’s lap. and that weight was him laying down half on your lap, like his body drifted there after he dozed off.

you blink a few times, rubbing your eyes before you look over at the opposite couch and meet the curious and amused gazes of the twins.

“you look comfy.” katie giggles softly, earning a kick from emma.

your face is red, no doubt about it.

“shut up.”

“who’s shutting up?” a groggy voice asks and you turn towards it. joe is lifting his head, rubbing a hand over his face. he takes a moment to process his current position before he sits up off your lap and gives you a flustered smile.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. you could’ve kicked me off.”

you pull your legs out of his lap and tuck them to your chest as quickly as he sat up.

“it’s okay, i sorta unconsciously anchored you down with my legs. sorry about that.”

joe shakes his head, smiling. “i don’t mind.”

both of you hold each others gazes, completely oblivious to the way joe’s sisters are staring at you like they’re watching the beginning of a romcom.

it isn’t until katie loudly and unsubtly clears her throat that your eyes snap away from each other.

“we’re starving. what’s for dinner?”

you silently curse your friend for ruining the moment. but then again, it was probably for the better. there was no doubt that the scene was probably painful to watch- you were convinced you seemed like a flustered mess while joe was cool and collected.

“i’ll see what we have. but i’m not cooking alone. you guys are gonna help.” joe says before pushing off the couch, his bare feet padding softly as he disappears into the kitchen.

you’re left alone under the intense gaze of his sisters, both of whom are grinning widely at you. you sigh and let your head fall back against the back of the sofa.

this was gonna be a long two weeks.

@soggycerealtbh @bingsbitch @charlisgarden @lilacdreamrxo @keerymylove @downbad4bil @solynoche @jajajhaahaha @thisisourforest

[prettybutaching]

℘1 - ℘2 ⋆˚࿔ m.list⋆˚࿔ steveharrington x henderson!reader

You avoid Family Video entirely after the fight.

Not intentionally at first.

The first day afterward, you tell yourself you’re just tired.

That you don’t feel like dealing with fluorescent lights and movie shelves and Robin making knowing faces at you from behind the counter. You tell yourself you’ll go tomorrow instead once the knot in your chest settles into something manageable again.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it gets worse.

Because now every quiet moment leaves too much room to think.

And every thought circles back to Steve eventually.

The argument replays constantly in your head in sharp fragmented pieces that refuse to leave you alone no matter how hard you try distracting yourself.

Because watching you with these guys sucks.

You don’t get to act possessive over me when you’ve never actually wanted me.

I thought it was obvious.

That part ruins you most.

You thought it was obvious.

The words echo around your skull for hours afterward because what the hell was that supposed to mean?

Obvious how?

Obvious that Steve cared about you?

Obvious that all those looks meant something?

Obvious that every late night conversation and every lingering touch and every moment that felt too intimate to just be friendship actually wasn’t all in your head?

The possibility tears straight through you because if that’s true, then the last few months suddenly become unbearable to think about.

Every date.

Every time you forced yourself to pretend someone else was enough.

Every night spent lying awake convincing yourself Steve could never actually want you like that.

All of it suddenly feels humiliating.

Because maybe you were both standing on opposite sides of the same misunderstanding this entire time.

But then another thought crashes into it immediately afterward.

If Steve really felt something, why didn’t he stop you?

Why didn’t he say it?

You replay the moment over and over again while lying awake in bed that first night, staring blankly at your ceiling while moonlight spills faintly across your room.

You remember the look on his face after you said he never wanted you.

Like you’d reached into his chest and pulled something out barehanded.

Your stomach twists painfully at the memory.

Then you remember what happened after.

The way he just let you leave, didn't follow you or stop you.

Didn’t say the words you desperately needed him to say.

And that hurts worst of all, because now you know enough to ruin yourself properly. Now you know there was something there.

Meanwhile Steve spends those same three days feeling like someone physically removed his internal organs and forgot to put them back.

He barely sleeps the first night.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face in the video store again.

The confusion turning into anger, then that horrible wounded expression right before you left.

Steve’s never hated himself more than he does in that moment replaying endlessly through his head at three in the morning.

Because how did this happen?

How did he spend months loving you so obviously in his own mind while somehow completely failing to make you feel wanted?

The realization genuinely wrecks him.

He keeps thinking about your voice when you said

“You don’t get to act possessive over me when you’ve never actually wanted me.”

And Jesus Christ... The fact that you believed that.

The fact that somehow you spent all this time thinking his feelings weren’t real makes Steve feel sick with guilt.

Because to him, loving you became as natural as breathing somewhere along the line.

He forgot you couldn’t actually read his mind.

Forgot that not everyone interprets devotion through stupid little things the way he does.

To Steve, it felt obvious.

Of course he loved you.

He looked for you first in every room. Memorized your coffee order. Drove across town at midnight whenever you called. Spent entire conversations staring at your mouth without realizing it. Let you touch parts of him emotionally nobody else had seen in years.

In his head, he’d been loving you loudly for months.

But he never actually said it.

And now he understands that maybe you needed him to.

The second day is somehow worse, Because now you’re fully avoiding him

No calls. No stopping by Family Video. Nothing.

The absence of you feels violent suddenly.

Steve never realized how much of his life revolved around you until your silence settled over everything.

Even Dustin notices almost immediately.

“You guys had a fight or something?” he asks while climbing into Steve’s car after school.

Steve grips the steering wheel tighter automatically.

“No.”

Dustin snorts.

“You’re both acting weird.”

Steve says nothing.

Because he doesn’t even know where to start explaining this.

How does he tell Dustin that somewhere between movie nights and summer drives and hearing you laugh from another room, he accidentally fell so deeply in love with you that now functioning like a normal person feels impossible?

Instead he just drives in silence while Dustin keeps glancing at him suspiciously from the passenger seat.

“You know y/n’s being weird too, right?” Dustin says eventually.

Steve’s heart immediately betrays him.

“What do you mean?”

“She keeps asking if you stopped by.”

Steve goes still.

Dustin notices instantly.

“Oh my God,” he says slowly. “You’re in love with my sister.”

Steve nearly swerves into another lane.

“I am not—”

“You totally are!”

“Dustin.”

“No way.” Dustin sounds genuinely delighted now. “This is disgusting.”

Steve groans and drops his forehead briefly against the steering wheel at the next red light while Dustin cackles beside him.

But even through the embarrassment, Steve’s chest still aches at the thought of you asking about him.

Because you miss him too.

At least a little.

That thought becomes the only thing keeping him sane for the next twenty four hours.

By day three, Robin is fully losing patience with him.

Steve’s been standing in the middle of the action aisle for almost five straight minutes holding the same tape without moving while his brain replays the argument again for probably the hundredth time.

Robin watches him from behind the counter with growing irritation.

Finally she slams the register drawer shut loud enough to make him flinch.

“If you stare dramatically into the distance one more time,” she says flatly, “I’m calling a priest.”

Steve barely reacts.

Robin narrows her eyes.

“That wasn’t a joke. I think your soul left your body yesterday.”

Still nothing.

Which immediately tells her this is worse than she thought.

Robin walks over slowly, arms crossing over her chest while Steve continues staring blankly at nothing.

“You gonna talk to her?”

Steve laughs once under his breath.

“She hates me.”

“She absolutely does not hate you.” Robin’s expression softens slightly.

“You didn’t see her face.”

“I did actually.” Robin leans against the shelf beside him. “You both looked like someone shot your dog.”

Steve shuts his eyes briefly.

Because that’s exactly how it felt.

Robin watches him carefully for another second before speaking again.

“What exactly happened after I went into the back room?”

Steve hesitates before telling her, not everything but some.

Robin physically recoils.

“Oh my God, you idiots.”

Steve drops his head into his hands.

“I know.”

“No, like actually. This is so painful to witness.”

Steve laughs weakly despite himself, but it disappears almost immediately.

Because underneath everything else, one thought keeps eating through him relentlessly.

You thought he didn’t choose you.

After all this time, somehow you still believed he wouldn’t.

Robin sighs beside him.

“Steve”

He looks up tiredly.

“Go talk to her”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“The truth?” Robin says like it’s obvious. “Crazy concept, I know”

Steve looks away again immediately.

The truth is that Steve loves you enough to rearrange his entire life around your existence without noticing he’s doing it.

The truth is that every future thought in his head somehow includes you automatically now.

The truth is that seeing another guy touch you made him feel physically sick because somewhere deep down, some selfish broken part of him already thinks of you as his even though he’s never had the courage to ask if he could be yours too.

How is he supposed to say all of that out loud without completely falling apart?

Robin watches panic flicker across his face in real time and immediately understands.

“Oh,” she says quietly.

Steve swallows hard.

“Yeah.”

For a second neither of them speaks.

Then Robin nudges his shoulder lightly.

“She’s probably just as scared as you are, you know.”

Steve thinks about your face in the video store again.

And suddenly something inside him snaps into place painfully hard.

Because maybe Robin’s right, Maybe you’re hurting too.

Maybe this entire thing only happened because both of you were too terrified of losing each other to admit what was already there.

Steve exhales shakily.

Then grabs his car keys.

The drive to your house feels longer than it actually is.

Steve keeps both hands locked tightly around the steering wheel the entire time like if he loosens his grip even slightly, he might lose his nerve and turn the car around before he gets there.

Streetlights blur past the windows in soft streaks of yellow while the radio hums quietly in the background, low enough that he can barely hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat.

Everything in him feels restless, like his chest physically cannot hold another second of this.

Because Robin’s right.

He has to talk to you.

And honestly, Steve’s not sure what scares him more anymore, telling you the truth or spending another day pretending he can survive without you.

His thoughts keep circling back to the same horrible realization over and over again.

You thought he didn’t choose you.

After everything.

After every look and every touch and every moment where he practically handed you pieces of himself without realizing it, somehow you still believed he didn’t want you enough.

That thought alone makes him feel sick.

Steve pulls onto your street just after midnight.

Most of the houses are dark already, quiet in that specific late night suburban way where everything feels softer somehow. The air outside is warm when he steps out of the car, carrying the smell of summer pavement and distant rain that never actually came.

Your bedroom light is off.

For a second he just stands there staring up at your window feeling sixteen again.

Then he bends down, grabs a few small rocks from beside the curb, and throws one lightly against your window.

Nothing happens.

Steve exhales sharply and tries again.

Still nothing.

By the third rock, he’s starting to feel genuinely insane.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath. “Fantastic plan, Harrington.”

Then finally your curtains move slightly.

Relief hits him so fast it almost knocks the air from his lungs.

A second later your window slides open and there you are, sleep rumpled and exhausted looking down at him with immediate disbelief written all over your face.

Your hair’s messy from bed.

There’s a crease pressed lightly into your cheek from your pillow.

And somehow Steve still thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life.

“What are you doing?” you whisper harshly.

Steve shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket mostly so you won’t notice they’re shaking.

“I need to talk to you.”

“At one in the morning?”

“I was emotionally spiraling.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches slightly.

Steve notices immediately because of course he does.

The tiny almost smile disappears just as fast though, replaced by something more guarded.

The last three days are still sitting heavily between both of you.

You glance behind you into your dark room for a second before looking back down at him carefully.

“You couldn’t have called?”

Steve laughs softly under his breath.

“You haven’t answered the phone in three days.”

Fair point.

Silence stretches for a second.

The warm night air presses softly against your skin while Steve looks up at you with an expression so openly nervous it makes your stomach twist unexpectedly.

Because Steve doesn’t usually look unsure of himself around you.

Not like this.

“Can I come up?” he asks quietly.

Your heart stumbles hard enough to hurt.

Part of you wants to say no purely on principle.

Because he hurt and confused you.

Because you’ve spent three straight nights replaying that fight until your chest physically ached from it.

But another part of you—the bigger part unfortunately—has missed him so badly it’s become unbearable.

You missed his voice. You missed his stupid commentary during movies. Missed the way he fills space in your room like he belongs there naturally.

Three days without Steve feels wrong in ways you don’t even know how to explain to yourself yet.

So eventually you sigh quietly and step back from the window.

“Fine.”

Steve’s relief is immediate and impossible to miss.

It moves across his face so fast it almost looks painful, like he’d been fully prepared for you to shut the window in his face and leave him standing out there alone with everything he should’ve said days ago.

His shoulders loosen first.

Then his expression softens in that quiet unguarded way you only ever catch accidentally, usually late at night when he’s too tired to hide what he’s feeling properly.

For a second neither of you says anything.

You just step back from the window silently while Steve looks up at you like he can’t quite believe you still let him in after everything.

The guilt from that alone settles heavily in your chest.

Because no matter how upset you were these last few days, some part of you always would've opened the window for him anyway.

That’s the problem.

It’s Steve.

And apparently your heart has never learned how to deny him anything for very long.

A minute later you hear the quiet scrape of his shoes against the side of the house followed by the familiar thud of him climbing through your window with significantly less grace than he probably imagined in his head.

Normally you would’ve laughed.

Normally Steve would’ve made some sarcastic comment about risking his life for you while dramatically dusting himself off afterward.

Tonight neither of you does.

Steve catches himself against the frame awkwardly before stepping into your room, and suddenly the atmosphere shifts so sharply it almost steals the air from your lungs.

Because the room feels different with him in it again.

Like the last three days left behind an absence you only notice now that it’s gone.

Your bedroom had felt too quiet without Steve in it.

Too still. You didn’t realize how used to him you’d become until he disappeared and took half the warmth in your routines with him.

Now he’s here again standing near your window in faded jeans and a denim jacket thrown hastily over a gray tshirt like he got dressed too quickly to think properly. His hair looks messy from running his hands through it too much, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes that make something ache deep in your chest because suddenly you wonder if he slept as badly as you did.

Your pulse becomes unbearable immediately.

You sit cross legged near the end of your bed mostly because your legs suddenly don’t feel steady enough to trust standing anymore while Steve lingers awkwardly by the window like he’s unsure whether he’s still allowed to take up space here.

That more than anything almost breaks your heart.

Because Steve has always belonged in your room.

He used to walk in carelessly, all easy confidence and lazy smiles while stealing hoodies off your chair or collapsing dramatically across your bed like he lived there half the time.

Now he looks careful.

Like one wrong movement might make you ask him to leave.

The realization hurts far more than you expect it to.

Steve glances around your room briefly, and you can physically feel the tension radiating off him in quiet waves. His hands flex once at his sides before disappearing into his jacket pockets again, a nervous habit you only started noticing recently because apparently you notice everything about him now too.

The silence between you stretches softly.

Your bedside lamp casts warm gold across the room while summer wind drifts lazily through the still open window behind him, stirring the curtains slightly. Somewhere downstairs the house creaks quietly, your mom probably asleep in front of the television again, completely unaware that your entire life feels seconds away from changing permanently upstairs.

And Steve—

God.

Steve keeps looking at you like he’s trying to gather the courage to say something that might ruin him completely depending on how you react.

Finally, the silence becomes too much to sit inside anymore.

You pull your arms tighter across yourself like it might somehow steady the mess happening in your chest and force your voice to come out even despite the way your pulse keeps climbing higher the longer Steve looks at you like that.

“Well?”

The word lands softly between you, but it still feels sharp enough to split something open.

Steve drags a hand back through his hair immediately, fingers catching for a second like he’s already frustrated with himself for not knowing how to start this properly. You watch his throat move when he swallows hard, eyes flicking away from yours before finding them again almost helplessly.

And suddenly he looks younger somehow.

Not physically but, stripped down in a way you’ve never seen before.

No easy grin to hide behind.

No carefully timed sarcasm to soften whatever he’s actually feeling.

It’s just Steve standing in your bedroom at one in the morning looking terrified enough to ruin you completely.

Then quietly, almost like the words hurt coming out

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Everything inside you stops.

Your heartbeat stutters once so hard it almost feels painful, and for a second your brain genuinely refuses to process what he just said because the sentence itself feels too impossible to exist outside your imagination.

You’ve spent months wanting this.

Months replaying tiny moments over and over again wondering if they meant as much to Steve as they did to you.

And now he’s standing in front of you saying the exact thing you trained yourself not to hope for too much.

Steve lets out a quiet breath afterward, but it sounds uneven around the edges. Wrecked, almost. Like even saying it out loud physically shook something loose inside him.

Then he shakes his head once immediately after, eyes dropping toward the floor.

“Actually, no,” he says softly, correcting himself before you can even react.

“That’s not true.”

Your chest tightens instantly.

Steve looks back up at you then, and the expression on his face nearly undoes you on the spot because there’s nothing uncertain left in it now.

“I know I’m in love with you.”

The room goes so quiet afterward that you can hear the soft buzzing of your bedside lamp and the faint sound of cicadas outside drifting through the open window behind him.

You just stare at him.

Because what are you even supposed to do with that?

Part of you feels almost detached from your own body suddenly, like this entire moment exists slightly outside reality. You’ve imagined versions of this conversation so many times over the last few months that now it’s actually happening, your brain can’t catch up fast enough.

Steve looks at you for so long afterward that it almost becomes unbearable to sit inside.

Like now that the words are finally out in the open, he doesn’t know how to pull himself back together again.

Your room feels painfully quiet around him. The warm light from your bedside lamp catches against the exhaustion written across his face while summer air drifts softly through the curtains behind him, and suddenly you realize something that makes your chest ache immediately—

Steve didn’t come here tonight planning to protect himself.

He came here planning to tell the truth even if it destroyed him afterward.

The realization settles heavily into you while he stands there searching your face nervously, like he’s trying to figure out whether he already ruined everything by saying too much.

Then finally he laughs once under his breath.

“You know what’s insane?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head before you even realize you’re doing it.

Steve’s eyes stay fixed on yours when he speaks again.

“I genuinely thought I was being obvious.”

The words hit you hard enough to hurt.

Because now that he’s saying it—now that you’re looking back through everything with this new understanding—the signs suddenly feel everywhere.

The staring, the jealousy, the way he always reached for you first without thinking.

The way he’d show up at your house even when Dustin wasn’t there.

The softness in his voice whenever he said your name.

You swallow hard while Steve drags a tired hand down across his face.

“I didn’t even realize when it happened,” he admits. “That’s the worst part.”

His voice has gone quieter now.

Like each sentence is pulling something deeper out of him against his will.

“One day you were just…” He exhales slowly. “Dustin’s sister. The girl who insulted me in your kitchen while I bled all over the floor.”

Despite everything, a small breath of laughter escapes you.

Steve’s mouth twitches faintly at the sound before softening again almost immediately.

“And then suddenly you were the first person I wanted to tell things to.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Steve glances away for a second, jaw shifting slightly like he’s trying to steady himself enough to keep going.

“I started looking for you without realizing it,” he says quietly. “Everywhere.”

The honesty in his voice feels almost unbearable now.

“If I walked into your house and you weren’t there yet, it ruined my mood instantly. If something funny happened during my day, I’d catch myself thinking about how you’d react before I even thought about telling anybody else.”

His eyes find yours again.

“And then you started dating people.”

The sentence lands differently.

You physically see the hurt move across his face this time.

Steve laughs softly under his breath again, but it sounds exhausted.

“God, I hated it.”

Your heartbeat jumps.

Steve shakes his head once immediately afterward.

“Not because you did anything wrong,” he says quickly. “I know you didn’t. I know you were allowed to date people and live your life and whatever, but every time some guy picked you up, I felt…” He stops abruptly, frustrated with himself already. “I don’t know. Like somebody was slowly replacing me without me noticing.”

The confession cracks something open in your chest.

Steve takes another step closer unconsciously while he talks, like his body keeps drifting toward you no matter how hard he tries controlling it.

“I’d sit there listening to you talk about dates pretending I was okay while feeling completely insane inside.” His expression twists slightly, embarrassed now. “And then afterward you’d still lean against me like nothing changed.”

His voice softens at that.

“You still trusted me.”

You can barely breathe properly anymore.

“Even after other guys,” Steve says quietly, “you still came back to me.”

The room goes still around the two of you.

neither of you expected that sentence to sound as intimate as it just did.

“That’s when I knew it was bad,” he admits.

You stare at him.

“Bad?”

Steve huffs out a faint laugh.

“I’m trying not to completely scare you off here.”

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

“I know.”

But neither of you are really joking anymore.

Steve’s eyes stay locked onto yours while he speaks again, quieter this time.

“I knew I loved you the night you fell asleep on my shoulder after that date.”

Your pulse stutters violently.

Steve looks down briefly like even admitting this still embarrasses him somehow.

“You were half asleep complaining that I smelled like cigarettes.” A soft smile pulls faintly at the corner of his mouth. “And I remember sitting there thinking I could do this forever.”

Your throat tightens instantly.

Because you remember that night too.

You remember leaning against him without thinking.

Remember how safe it felt.

Meanwhile Steve was apparently sitting beside you realizing he loved you enough to ruin himself over it.

“I started thinking about stupid things after that,” he admits quietly.

“What stupid things?”

Steve laughs once under his breath, looking genuinely shy for maybe the first time you’ve ever seen.

“Like… grocery shopping with you.”

You blink.

He shrugs helplessly.

“I told you they were stupid.”

“No,” you say softly before you can stop yourself. “Keep going.”

Something changes in his expression after that.

Like your answer gave him permission to finally say the things he’s been swallowing down for months.

Steve steps even closer until he’s standing directly in front of you now, close enough that your knees nearly brush against his jeans where you sit at the edge of the bed.

His voice drops quieter.

“I’d think about stupid domestic things all the time,” he admits. “About driving over here after work and finding you asleep on the couch. Or arguing with you in grocery store aisles over cereal. Or hearing you laugh in another room while I was making coffee.”

Your chest starts aching now because steve’s not talking about wanting you temporarily, He’s talking about building a life around you so naturally he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he says honestly. “Not even close.

“You got so important to me so fast that it actually scared me,” he admits. “suddenly every good part of my day somehow involved you. And every bad part got easier if I could talk to you afterward.”

Your eyes burn slightly at that.

His expression softens with something almost heartbreaking.

“And then at Family Video,” he says quietly, “when you said you thought I never wanted you…”

He stops there. Swallows hard.

You watch emotion move visibly through him before he forces himself to continue.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard something hurt that bad in my life.”

Steve shakes his head faintly, eyes still fixed on yours like he physically cannot look away anymore.

“I wanted you so badly it was ruining me,” he says softly. “I just didn’t know how to say it without risking losing you completely.”

The room goes completely still after that.

Just quiet in the kind of way that feels fragile, like even breathing too loudly might crack the moment apart before either of you are ready for it to end.

Steve’s standing so close now that you can see every tiny shift in his expression as it happens. The nervousness still lingering around his eyes. The exhaustion pulled into the corners of his mouth from too many sleepless nights. The vulnerability he’s making absolutely no attempt to hide from you anymore.

Steve has always been beautiful, everybody and their mothers know that.

But this version of him standing in front of you now—messy hair, tired eyes, voice rough from honesty—is the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

Steve watches you carefully, like he’s trying to read your reaction before you even speak. You can tell he’s bracing himself for something. Rejection maybe. Hesitation. The possibility that he’s already said too much and there’s no taking it back now.

And the awful thing is that part of you understands exactly why he’s scared. You’re scared because suddenly this thing between you is real now. Tangible. Sitting openly in the middle of your bedroom where neither of you can hide behind almost anymore.

For months everything lived safely underneath the surface.

Lingering looks could still be accidents.

Jealousy could still be explained away.

Late night window visits and stolen touches and the way Steve looked at you like you were something worth protecting could all still exist in that blurry space between friendship and something else.

But now?

Now Steve’s standing in front of you admitting he imagined grocery shopping with you.

And somehow that feels infinitely more intimate than if he’d just said he wanted to kiss you.

You look down at your hands because suddenly your eyes burn in a way that feels embarrassing.

Immediately Steve’s expression changes.

Concern flashes across his face so quickly it almost startles you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

The gentleness in his voice nearly ruins you.

“I’m sorry if this is too much.”

Your head snaps up instantly.

“What? No.”

Steve studies your face carefully.

“You look upset.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, shaky and quiet and completely overwhelmed.

“I am upset.”

His face falls immediately.

“No, not because of—”

“I know.”

You press your lips together briefly, trying to steady yourself enough to explain properly. “I’m upset because I spent months convincing myself you could never feel this way about me.”

“Are you serious?” he asks quietly.

You let out another weak laugh, looking away again because saying this out loud feels humiliating now that you know the truth.

“Steve, do you know how many times I talked myself out of reading too much into things?”

His eyebrows pull together slightly.

“What things?”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What things?” you repeat. “Are you kidding?”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

“Oh my God.”

The words leave your mouth with exhausted affection threaded through them, and Steve actually looks confused enough that despite everything happening right now, part of you wants to laugh again.

“You’d look at me for like…” You gesture vaguely. “Entire conversations.”

Steve blinks.

“I was listening.”

“You were staring.”

“I can do both.”

You shake your head immediately.

“No, because then you’d touch me all the time and act jealous every time I went out with somebody, and then two seconds later you’d flirt with some waitress at the diner like it was nothing.”

Steve groans softly and drops his head back toward the ceiling.

“Oh my God, not the waitress thing again.”

“It was devastating for me, actually.”

That makes him look at you again instantly.

And suddenly something shifts.

Because that sentence slipped out too honestly.

Steve’s eyes search yours carefully.

“You were jealous?”

Heat rushes into your face immediately.

“No.”

“That was literally a confession.”

“It was not.”

“You just said devastating.”

You cover your face with both hands instantly while Steve lets out the first real laugh you’ve heard from him in days.

You missed that sound so much.

“I cannot believe this,” he says, still laughing quietly under his breath. “We’re actually idiots.”

“You are definitely more at fault here.”

“Me?” Steve points toward himself in genuine disbelief. “You dated like four guys.”

“Because I thought you didn’t want me!”

“I thought you didn’t want me either!”

You stare at each other for half a second.

Then both of you start laughing at the exact same time.

Not because any of this is actually funny.

Mostly because the emotional tension sitting between you has become so huge that something had to break eventually.

Steve’s laughter fades first.

You watch the exact moment it happens.

Watch his expression soften again while he looks at you sitting there on the edge of your bed smiling for the first time in days.

And suddenly the atmosphere changes all over again.

The space between you feels charged in a way it never has before because now everything is out in the open. Every lingering touch from the last few months suddenly means something different.

Your pulse starts climbing again almost immediately when Steve steps closer.

This time neither of you pretends not to notice it.

He stops directly in front of you, knees brushing lightly against yours where you’re sitting at the edge of the mattress, and the contact alone sends warmth rushing all the way up your spine.

It’s ridiculous.

Steve’s touched you a thousand times before.

His hands on your waist guiding you through crowds.

His arm slung around your shoulders during movies.

Your legs tangled together in the passenger seat during late night drives.

But this feels entirely different now.

Now you know what it meant to him and, you know what it meant to you too.

Steve looks down at you quietly for a second, something almost disbelieving still lingering in his expression like he hasn’t fully processed the fact that you feel the same way yet.

“You really tried getting over me?”

You nod once.

Steve watches you carefully.

“How bad was it?”

You laugh weakly under your breath. “Pretty bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Steve, I literally went out with other people because I thought maybe eventually I’d stop comparing everybody to you.”

That wipes the remaining traces of amusement off his face instantly.

His expression turns almost unbearably soft instead.

“You compared people to me?”

“All the time.”

That confession makes something flicker visibly across his face.

Like the idea matters to him far more than it probably should.

“How come?” he asks quietly.

You look down briefly because admitting this suddenly feels terrifying in a completely different way now that he’s standing so close.

But Steve waits patiently.

He just stays there looking at you like whatever answer you give him might become the most important thing he hears all night.

So eventually you tell him the truth.

“Because nobody else ever felt safe the way you do.”

Steve’s breath catches softly.

You keep going before you lose your nerve.

“With other people, I always felt like I had to perform a little.” Your fingers twist nervously together in your lap. “Like I had to be interesting enough or pretty enough or say the right thing all the time.”

Steve’s face tightens slightly at that.

“But with you…” You finally look back up at him. “I never really had to think about it.”

The room feels impossibly quiet now.

Steve stares at you like you just reached directly into his chest and touched something fragile there.

Then after a second he shakes his head faintly, almost in disbelief.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says softly.

The way he says it nearly melts every coherent thought left in your brain.

Steve’s eyes drop briefly to your mouth before catching himself.

But this time neither of you ignores it.

Your breath catches instantly.

And suddenly all those months of tension settle heavily into the space between you at once. Every almost moment. Every lingering glance. Every touch that lasted slightly too long.

Steve notices your pulse jump in your throat.

You know he notices because his expression changes immediately afterward, softening into something careful.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.

The words send warmth rushing through your chest so fast it almost hurts.

Because even now, after everything he’s still making sure.

Still giving you a choice.

You stare at him for a second too long before whispering

“I don’t think I could.”

That’s all it takes.

Steve exhales shakily like he’d still been preparing himself for rejection anyway before he leans in slowly, carefully enough that your heart starts pounding impossibly hard against your ribs.

And when he kisses you, it feels nothing like you expected.

Soft in a way that immediately makes something inside you melt completely because Steve kisses you like you’re something precious to him. Like he’s been thinking about this for so long that now he’s terrified of getting any part of it wrong.

His hand slides gently to the side of your neck while your fingers instinctively curl into the front of his jacket, pulling him slightly closer without even realizing you’re doing it.

Steve makes the quietest sound against your mouth at that.

The kiss deepens slowly, natural and careful and achingly sweet in a way that makes your chest feel painfully full.

suddenly it makes sense, why nobody else ever felt right, why every room felt different when steve walked into it, why being around him always felt a little dangerous in the best possible way.

When steve finally pulls back, neither of you move

His forehead rests lightly against yours while both of you try catching your breath in the quiet afterward.

“Oh my God.”

You let out a breathless laugh.

“What?”

Steve opens his eyes enough to look at you.

“That was actually worse than I imagined.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“Worse?”

“You know.” His mouth twitches slightly. “For my emotional stability.”

You laugh again, and the sound seems to physically brighten something in his face.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs without thinking.

The words hit both of you at the exact same time.

Steve freezes immediately afterward.

Then very slowly, heat creeps up the back of his neck.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he admits.

You stare at him for another second before smiling despite yourself.

“I didn’t hate it.”

The look Steve gives you after that nearly stops your heart entirely.

Then suddenly he’s smiling too, and it’s different from the smiles you’re used to from him. Less practiced somehow. Less aware of itself.

The realization sends warmth flooding through your chest.

Steve leans down and kisses you again before either of you can say anything else, quicker this time but no less careful, and you can feel him smiling slightly against your mouth halfway through it.

“You know what’s humiliating?” he says quietly afterward.

“What?”

“I had an entire speech prepared in the car.”

You burst out laughing immediately.

“No you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

“I’m serious.” He groans softly, dragging one hand over his face. “Robin made me rehearse things.”

“Oh jeez”

“She said if I came over here and said something stupid, she’d legally disown me.”

Your laughter gets louder at that, and steve watches you with the kind of expression people only get when they’re looking at something they love too much.

The thought hits you suddenly and hard enough to steal your breath for half a second.

He loves me.

Steve loves you enough to lose sleep over it.

The weight of it settles warmly into your chest.

You reach up without thinking and brush your fingers lightly through the messy front pieces of his hair.

Steve goes completely still.

Your hand pauses immediately.

“What?”

He just shakes his head faintly.

“No, it’s just…” A soft laugh leaves him. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.

“You say things like that and then expect me to function normally afterward?”

“Nope.”

“Great.”

Steve grins properly then, all warmth and affection and relief tangled together now that the worst part is finally over.

Then his expression softens again when he looks at you.

“You know,” he says quietly, “these were probably the worst three days of my life.”

You snort softly.

“That feels dramatic.”

“I’m deeply serious.”

“You survived demodogs.”

“Yeah, but this was super upsetting.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away immediately.

A comfortable silence settles between you after that while Steve sits beside you on the bed now, shoulders pressed together naturally like the distance of the last few weeks never existed at all.

Outside, summer night stretches quietly around the house while the clock beside your bed creeps closer toward two in the morning.

Neither of you seems interested in sleeping.

Steve absentmindedly traces shapes against your wrist while you lean against his shoulder, and every once in a while one of you looks at the other and starts smiling all over again for no reason besides this still feeling unreal.

Eventually Steve presses a kiss softly into your hair and murmurs against the top of your head,

“You know Dustin’s gonna be insufferable when he finds out.”

You groan immediately.

“Oh, he’s never letting us live this down.”

“Nope.”

Steve’s arm tightens slightly around you before he speaks again, quieter now.

“I really am in love with you, by the way.”

Your chest aches warmly at the sincerity in his voice.

You tilt your head enough to look up at him properly. “I know.”

Steve smiles softly.

Then he kisses your forehead like he’s been wanting to do that for months too.

⋆˚꩜｡ my inbox are always open for recommendations!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 @idontread4 @kurtsw7rld96 @drmscomet @swaggyvlad @omgshesinsane @louisbelongstome28 @somethingsfishy23 @certifedgoober380 @harringt0nangel @poetwithanxiety @decaffeinatedpuppygiver @brrrainst3w @matildakissesxo

[athenas-rose]

hi! can i request a fluff fic where reader is obsessed with her book and bf!steve just wants to cuddle with her and he ends up reading it to her and she falls asleep on his chest

Between The Pages

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 1k words

warnings: fluff, banter,

Steve tries to steal your attention away from your book, only to end up between the pages himself

It was one of those quite comforting days you spent with Steve. The kind where you didn’t really want to do anything or go anywhere, just bask in his warm presence.

And that’s exactly what you did, the apartment had been silent for almost an hour besides the occasional turn of a page—not even the sounds of television playing or soft music filled the room. Steve lay sprawled across the couch with one arm hanging off the side, staring at you with the same betrayed expression he’s been wearing for the past twenty minutes.

You couldn’t deny he looked cute, the furrow of his brows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the slight pout playing on his lips—okay it was definitely a pout. But no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t pull your mind away from the paperback book gripped in your hands.

“You’ve ignored me for an entire chapter.” He finally spoke, gaze unwavering.

You hummed absentmindedly, eyes still tracking the words on the page. “Mhm.”

Steve scoffed dramatically, having finally had enough of the torture you’ve been putting him through and sitting up.

“Wow, okay. So this is what we are now—roommates? Coworkers? Two strangers who live together?”

You tried to keep the smile tugging at your lips at bay. “Steve, you’re being dramatic.” You shook your head.

“You haven’t looked at me since ten pages ago.” He wined, justifying his actions.

“How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been keeping track.” He said with a narrow of his eyes.

Finally, with a sigh, you reluctantly lowered your book enough to glance at him over the edge. He remained in the same position, staring at you awaitingly.

“Are you finally going to give me what you promised?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

“I will,” you rushed out. “I just—-I really wanna read.”

“And you don’t wanna cuddle your poor, lonely, desperate boyfriend who’s seconds away from dying without your touch?” He held a large hand over his chest.

“You are not going to die, Steve.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“I could be, but you’d only care if it was one of your characters.” He sighed, looking away.

You gasped loudly at his assumption. “That isn’t true! You know it’s not!”

“Then show me it isn’t.” He responded.

“I just did, I told you.” You still weren’t giving him what he wanted much to his dismay.

Having no other option, Steve groaned loudly before lunging at you. And in a flash of a second, you were no longer holding your book.

“Steve!”

He held it carefully above his head, making sure to keep open the page you were on, settling back into the cushions. “If this is what it takes to get affection from my girlfriend, then fine. I’ll adapt.” He decided.

You reached for your book again, now being the one with the pout. But Steve caught your wrist easily, tugging you towards him instead. You let out a surprised laugh as you practically fell into his chest, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist to cage you in, preventing any escape when he finally got you where he wanted.

“There.” He said smugly. “Much better.”

You attempted at burying your face further into him, to hide your smile against his shoulder. “Give me back my book.” You mumbled, but were only met with a swift shake of his brown locks.

“No.” He adjusted you more comfortably, before clearing his throat dramatically. “Now hush, I’m reading.”

“In the dark corridor,” he began, tone dropping to match the tone of the story. “The knight could only hear the faint callings of—”

You wanted to interrupt, wanted to laugh at his seriousness and untangle yourself away, but you found yourself giving in almost immediately. A sigh inaudibly left you, and the warm comfort you’d been looking for settled over the both of you as your attention focused solely on his voice.

Steve continued reading, slower this time and much softer as the minutes passed. You noticed he was genuinely trying, eyes scanning the pages carefully so he wouldn’t mess up any words or skip details.

Every so often he’d offer his own commentary, shifting your perspective in a way you hadn’t thought about before. It wasn’t long until senses strayed from the story, becoming lulled by the steady rise and fall of his breathing, it was impossible not to get sleepy.

Steve noticed instantly when your eyes started slipping shut somewhere around the middle of the chapter.

“You falling asleep on me, baby?” He said even softer.

“No, just resting my eyes.” You whispered weakly, and he couldn’t help but give a light chuckle.

“Mhm sure, whatever you say.”

You felt his fingers brush gently through your hair while he kept reading, and the words blurred together after that.

Steve suddenly paused in the middle of his sentence, looking down to find you completely asleep against him, eyes shut and mouth slightly parted against his shirt.

He completely melted at the sight, forgetting all about the book.

Very slowly, he bookmarked the page and set it on the coffee table.

You stirred faintly when he shifted, instinctively curling closer to his body.

Steve smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, feeling something clench fondly in his chest. “Yeah, yeah.” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss into your hair. “I’m staying.”

He stuck true to his words, laying a blanket over you two and staying exactly where he was for the rest of the time. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he became grateful for the book, because it pulled you to him.

[djolemodel]

Heyy, could u maybe write smth where its set in the szn 3 bathroom scene ?? And basically, instead of Robin, it reader with Steve and he admits he likes her whilst still kind of high, and they kiss and its js rlly fluffy and adorable 🥹🥹

HIGH CONFESSIONS

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

NIA'S NOTES: Thank you for this request!! Pure nostalgia whenever I hear someone mention season 3 😞 I started watching ST when season 3 came out.. almost 7 years ago, that's insane. Enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

Everything that has happened in the past few hours has felt like a blur, moments blending into one. A twist of ceilings, rushing down halls, and the buzz in your ears that you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. For hours, even voices close to you sounded distant, slow, even closing your eyes didn’t take away the dizziness. You feel completely euphoric, like you could walk into ongoing traffic without paying any mind to the danger.

Between the rush in your brain to escaping the Russians, you couldn’t remember when you ended up curled up on the bathroom floor. There was silence between you and Steve for a while, which was weird because moments before, you were chatting each other’s ears off. You had been hunched over the toilet, gasping as you pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes, trying to relieve the pressure in your head.

You shuffle on the floor, pushing yourself up into a sitting position to lean your back against the wall, letting your head flop backwards. “It hurts to think. I feel like my brain has been crushed.” You say, more to test how your words came out.

He huffs out a breathless laugh. “That’s how I felt when you were explaining that movie to me.” He pauses. “I still don’t get it.”

You shake your head, rubbing your fingers against your temples. “It wasn’t that hard to understand. I think I was pretty clear with my words.” You groan.

“I’ve got whatever drugs they gave me in my system, have some sympathy.” He murmurs, shuffling to lean against the toilet.

With everything lapping over each other, what happened with you and Steve with the Russians was pushed to the back of your mind, and you hadn’t put much thought into it at all. The buzz in your body had you feeling more alive then ever, and you were grasping onto that.

You hum. “Okay. Ask me questions then. I’ll do the thinking.”

“Like what?” He asks.

“I said you ask me the questions, not you ask me a question.” You grin, brushing your hands over your knees.

Without needing to look at him, you can tell he’s rolling his eyes, and the thought alone makes you laugh.

“Okay. Uh. Would you rather have hands for feet or feet for hands?” He asks with a chuckle, sliding his hand through his tangled hair.

An amused laugh leaves your lips, and you almost want to question him, but that would defeat the purpose. “Wouldn’t the correct answer be hands for feet? That just makes more sense.”

“You tell me.” He mumbles.

“Well, if you had feet for hands, you wouldn’t be able to function like a human being. You wouldn’t be able to feed yourself or hold a pen.” You say, blinking at the wall of the stall in front of you.

“How would you walk with hands for feet?” He asks, pausing for a moment. “Walking on your feet is easier.”

“I mean, you could crawl?” You say, but you don’t sound sure yourself.

“That’s not normal though.” He laughs.

You drag your hand down your face. “Nothing about your question was normal.”

He goes quiet for a moment, tapping his hands against his thighs. “You’re not wrong. What if the floor was hot though?”

“I guess you’d just have to wear gloves, or just not move at all, that’s easier.” You trail off. “Ask me something else.”

“When was the last time you lied to someone?” He asks.

You laugh, exhaling. “Like, yesterday.”

He sits up straight, snorting. “What, why?”

“A customer asked me if we had any millionaire shortbreads left, but it was the last one left, so I told him no. He walked away disappointed and had no idea that I ate it after we closed for the day.” You grin, the laughs flowing from your mouth.

“Oh my God. That’s cruel.” He laughs.

“What? It looked good.” You breathed.

“I can’t blame you, really. I do that all the time.” He smiles, tilting his head back against the checkered wall, letting his eyes flutter shut.

The room is filled with your laughter for a while, mostly because once he started laughing, it set you off too. It dies down after a few moments, and you sigh, looking up at the ceiling as you think.

“Okay. My turn to ask you a question.” You say, and you can hear Steve shifting in the other stall.

“As long as you’re not going to make me think too much into it.” He groans.

You hum, going silent for a moment. There are so many questions that you’ve been trying to push yourself to ask Steve, but you never had the courage to ask. With the high you were still feeling, it felt like the only chance to blurt something out.

“Have you ever been in love?” You ask breathlessly.

He sighs loudly, and you almost want to take it back, assuming that you hit a rough spot.

“Nancy Wheeler.” He says, and he almost sounds defeated.

“God. Wasn’t expecting that one.” You pause, looking down at your hands, a slight bruise appearing. “Rough one, hm?”

“Yeah, pretty rough.” He murmurs.

“Do you still love her?” You ask.

He’s quick to answer. “No.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Shocker. You sounded a little unimpressed. Why not?” You ask.

“I spent a while thinking over it, y’know. I was so blinded by her, that I didn’t realise I had everything right in front of me.” He laughs, shaking his head.

“What are you saying?” You ask.

“I mean, this girl is just something.” He says breathlessly. “She’s not what I expected, but I think that’s what I like the most. When I first saw her, she was nothing like what I thought she’d be. So, when we started talking to each other, I was shocked. She’s everything that I never knew I needed.” He admits.

You go silent and listen to him ramble on, pinching the bridge of your nose as you try puzzle together what he’s saying.

“She’s nothing like me or my friends, in fact she’s even better. I like that about her. She’s got all these goals for life, and she’s sweet, and she has this sarcastic attitude to herself, but I love it.” He grins. “I didn’t think I’d get so close to her. She seems like the type of person to hate me, and I wouldn’t even question her about that. I mean, we just escaped Russians together. Couldn’t be more insane than that.”

He trails off, staring down at the floor. You scoot your knees up against your chest, resting your chin on your knee, letting out a shaky exhale. After the silence had gone on for too long, he knocks on the stall wall, calling your name.

“Hey, you still with me? Don’t tell me you’ve passed out.” He groans.

You sigh. “I’m more awake than ever, don’t worry.”

The next thing you see is Steve’s scuffed trainers coming under the stall, and he slips into yours, sitting opposite to you with that stupid grin of his. You laugh and shake your head, flopping your head to the side, looking at him after what has felt like hours. It’s been a while since you’ve looked at him and not have your vision blur on you, he looks more himself than ever.

“The girl sounds nice.” You whisper.

“She’s definitely sweet.” He grins.

You hum, slowly blinking at him. “So, escaping Russians together, hm? I’m jealous, what a lucky girl she is.”

He breathes out slowly, slipping his hand through his hair. “Think you should be saying that I’m the lucky one.” He pauses, leaning in closer to you, closing up the space between you. “What do you think of this guy then?”

A warm smile twitches at the corner of your mouth. “Well, he’s an idiot for starters.” You laugh, and he just nods along, not disagreeing with you. “He talks a lot and probably has no idea what he’s saying half of the time. His lips move before his brain does, but he’s really funny, and I think that he can be really sweet.” You pause. “Sometimes.”

“He sounds like a great guy.” He nods.

You gently swat his arm, though there’s no anger in your tone or your gestures. “Don’t let this boost your ego. I think there’s one thing about him though that he needs to work on.” You add.

Steve raises his eyebrows, leaning closer as he listens in. “What’s that?”

“He needs to shoot his shot. Think he spends too much time pissing about.” You admit, letting your eyes flicker from his eyes down to his lips, still split and bloody.

“Maybe that’ll change.” He whispers.

“Then he should do that, starting now.” You whisper.

His hand comes to rest on the side of your face, and his thumb brushes over your cheek. He wastes no time leaning in, pressing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss, like he’s been physically holding back for months. Even through the desperation, he’s still gentle, keeping himself aware of your sounds and your movements.

Your hands slide into his hair, gripping strands between your fingers, pulling a groan from his throat. He presses himself against you, giving you no personal space. You’re pressed to the wall, panting against his mouth. For the first time you’re kissing Steve, it’s not in the best setting. The taste of his lips is metallic, and if this was anyone else, you’d be pulling away, but you couldn’t help but lean in more.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers against your mouth.

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He slowly pulls back, grinning. “Definitely not the most romantic place I’ll be kissing you, but at least we can check this one off.”

“Why, where else are you planning?” You ask with a laugh.

“Enzo’s. Once we are out of here, anyway.” He brushes his thumb over your bruised lip, a slight hint of concern washing over him.

“Trying to impress me already?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

He grins. “Of course.”

“It’s definitely working.” You whisper, sliding your hands through his hair, your mood completely softening up.

“That’s my plan.” He mumbles, burying his head into your shoulder, letting the tension in his body relax.

It may not have been the best place to open up, especially when you’re sat on a bathroom floor together, only just aware of what you’re saying, but you didn’t know if or when this could happen again. Not long after, Dustin and Erica come barging through the door, offering you and Steve a concerned look as they glance at each other. They’re completely clueless to the conversation you had before, and they just roll their eyes.

Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕💕 The bathroom scene between Robin and Steve stuck with me for WEEKS. I think I will sob my heart out watching literally anything

[hanwritesthings]

Hiiii could you write something about reader getting her house broken into in the middle of the night maybe so she immediately calls gator. He comes and beats up the intruder but reader is very shaken up so he takes care of her? And maybe lets her stay at the ranch for the night?

Thank youuuu I love your work💘

intruder- gator tillman

pairing: gator tillman x reader

a/n: loved this request! not proofread and also i wrote this in the car so there might be typos oops. as always, likes, reblogs, comments, and requests are always appreciated! luv u xoxo

word count: 1.2k

gator hated where you lived. you, however, loved your little home.

it wasn’t in the greatest part of town, the house was small and a little raggedy. most importantly, it was too far from him, on the other side of town from the ranch.

but it was yours. you’d rented it with the money you saved up during college working double shift at the local diner.

despite all of that, gator spent the majority of his time there. when he wasn’t working or busy kissing his daddy’s ass at home, he was at your place.

tonight, you had the house to yourself.

gator was working, so you had a night in. dinner on the couch, binge watching reruns of some trash reality show until your eyes burned.

around 11:30, you decided to turn in for the night. your bones pop and crack as you stand up and stretch before you drag your feet down the dark hall to your bathroom.

you’re going through the motions of your night routine, washing your face and brushing your teeth, when you hear a thud come from outside.

you freeze, heart jumping in your chest at the sudden noise amongst the silent house. you listen, ears almost straining to pick up any other sounds.

you’re just about to reach for the faucet handle to turn the water back on when you hear it again, this time louder.

you toss your toothbrush back into its holder, next to gator’s you kept there for him, and wiped your mouth. you shut off the light and grab your phone, creeping out into the hallway.

you peak out in the living room and from there you can see a dark figure through the frosted glass on your front door’s window. an awful, hollow pit formed in your stomach.

maybe it was gator, you tell yourself. maybe he is stopping by while on patrol or got off early. but you knew that wasn’t true.

you curse under your breath and make your way to your bedroom, phone already dialing gator’s number.

you will him to pick up as you shut the door and lock it behind you. it rings a few times and you’re scared that he’s busy or in the middle of a traffic stop or call.

finally, the line on the other side clicks and gator’s voice hits your ear.

“hey, baby girl.” you could practically hear his shit-eating smirk on the other side of the line, no doubt thinking you’re calling because you miss him and want attention.

you wish that were the situation.

“are you at my door?” you rush out as you make your way to your bedside, grabbing the metal baseball bat you kept tucked between your bed and your nightstand.

gator’s tone turned serious in an instant. “no, i’m patrollin’ on the highway. someone at your door?”

you can already hear the charger’s engine turn over and the tires screeching as gator began flooring it down the road.

“i was about to go to bed and i heard a noise outside. i thought it was a animal or something then i heard it again, louder. then i saw someone at the door through the window.”

“get your ass into your room now. lock the door.”

“i am.” you say as you open your closet and climb inside. your heart pounded in your chest, making it almost impossible to hear gator.

“i’m on my way. don’t hang up the phone, ya hear me? i’m almost there.”

“i’m fucking scared gator.” you whisper shakily.

“i know, baby girl. i’m comin’. ain’t gonna let nothing hurt ya.”

you could hear your front door being hit and broken down. you curse, curling yourself into a tight ball. you knuckles had gone white on your phone and the bat.

the intruder had made their way inside, heavy footsteps thumping through your house.

“gate, please hurry.” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “they’re inside.”

gator mutters a small fuck under his breath and his engine roars louder. “hang on baby, turin’ down your road now.”

the sound of drawers being rummaged through roughly, things being picked up then tossed down echo loudly, but the sound of police sirens coming closer were louder.

you don’t even think the person inside your house had much time to react before gator came barreling through your front door.

“county police! put yer fuckin’ hands up!” gator’s voice angrily reverberates through the house. everything else is a blur.

the sound of gator knocking the person down. the sound of his fist repeatedly connecting to flesh. he could’ve shot them, sure, but he was pissed. he needed to let it out. a shot wouldn’t have been as satisfying for him.

when he was satisfied, having beat the guy to a pulp and handcuffed him then calling for backup. gator rushed down the hall.

his heavy boots thundered towards your room, banging on the door. “babe?”

you could barely pull yourself up and out of the closet, let alone walk to the door. but you managed to put your shaky legs to use.

when you opened the bedroom door, your phone was still clutched in your hand, still connected the call with gator even though he’d left his phone forgotten in his car, and the bat was in your other.

when your eyes landed on gator, you let out a sob and fell into his chest. his arms held you tightly to him, lips pressing to the top of your head. the bat fell from your grasp, clanging loudly as it hit the floor.

you cried, understandably shaken up. and gator let you, running his fingers through your hair.

“i gotcha. don’t worry, baby girl. i gotcha.”

after a few minutes, you pulled back and looked up at him.

“’s all taken care of, darlin’. ‘s okay.” he say, holding your face in his hands. you manage a nod and gator presses a kiss to your forehead.

“got some back up comin’ to take the son of a bitch in. i need ya to pack a bag. whatever ya need for a couple of nights.”

“why?”

“you’re stayin’ with me. no ifs ands or buts. ain’t letting ya out my sight.”

“gator-“

“you ain’t comin’ back to this house. i’m a find a better place for us. where this shit won’t happen.”

this makes you pause, your lips managing to curl up slightly. “a place for us?”

gator frowns down at you, narrowing his eyes. “you think i’m gonna let ya live alone after this shit? like hell.”

“if you wanted to move in with me, honey, you could’ve just said so.” you smirk.

gator scoffs, rolling his eyes. “the fucks the matter with you, woman? jokin’ after this shit. i need to be able to protect ya. ‘s all.”

your smile softens, your fingers curling into his vest. you knew that was only half of the truth. that really, he wanted to live with you because he wanted to. he wanted to be around you all the time at home. but he would never admit that.

“gator?”

“don’t.”

you shake your head, smiling. “thank you.”

gator’s face softens slightly, and he nods.

“it’s my job to protect ya. don’t thank me.” he mumbles. still, you lean you and peck his lips before turning to pack a bag for your stay at the ranch with him.

until you found your new home. together.

“we’re gettin’ ya a gun, too.”

“gator.”

[djohours]

anyways