summary | Steve loves giving you flowers, but doesn’t realize how much you love receiving them. (1k words)
content includes | tooth rotting fluff, gn!reader, Steve will do anything for you, he just can’t help himself, flowers, peonies, all anyone wants is to be gifted flowers.
notes | Steve and flowers. What more can I say? I have my requests open and here’s my masterlist ✩
Steve knows that flowers are a requirement in a relationship.
They can be used for any occasion- if he’s in trouble, if you’re having a bad day, if it’s just because. They come in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Giving you flowers is a whole other love language in itself. He learns the history of floral and fauna, the hidden meanings behind each bloom. When words fail, Steve feels that giving you flowers speaks more.
He’s on a first name basis with the local florist at this point. Mr. Milton is “an old geezer,” in his words, who loved gardening so much his wife forced him to open a store front so her own home wouldn’t become a greenhouse. He’s a squat guy, always dressed in his gardening clothes and has an errant dirt stain here or there. Every time Steve walks in to purchase the next arrangement, Mr. Milton insists on meeting “the lucky one.”. Steve always responds that he’s afraid you’ll leave him for Mr. Milton’s charms and direct connection to florals. He’s half-kidding since he’s seen the way your face immediately lightens up when presented with a new bouquet.
Delivery is also an engineered event. Sometimes Mr. Milton’s delivery guy drops them off at your work first thing so you’re greeted from the moment you walk in. Steve occasionally bribes Dustin with rides to and fro under the condition that he hand delivers your latest laurel. Steve will shyly hand you over the more romantic intentioned ones before going out on a date.
You always fuss over them, gushing about how gorgeous they are, and pull Steve inside your apartment so you can put them in water. You kiss his cheek and he’ll be on cloud nine for the rest of the evening, pleased with himself for his selection.
Steve’s messing around your living room while you’re putting on the final touches in the bedroom. He doesn’t mean to pry, he’s just fidgeting because he has finally worked up the nerve to ask you to move in with him or vice versa. He really didn’t care either way, he just wanted to wake up next to you in the morning and study your eyelashes uninterrupted by an alarm for work.
He’s flicking through some magazines and CDs of yours when he spots an old antique book under the coffee table. Thinking it’s one of Will’s, Steve pulls it out and flicks it open. Instead of drawings of knights and mages, he finds flowers between the pages.
Each is carefully arranged into a two-dimensional replica of a bouquet. The petals are paper thin after compression and Steve spots your carefully handwritten notes along the margins. You’ve left a record of each flower, including what looks to be the Latin name and a date as well. Steve begins to recognize the flowers as he turns each page.
It’s samples from every flower arrangement he’s given you. He never thought to ask what you did with them when they started to droop, but it seems that you wouldn’t let them. You’ve kept the flowers frozen in time, the fruits of Steve’s love and adoration something you seem to look back on frequently.
He pauses on a page of pressed peonies. They nearly take up a whole page, large circles outlined pink with fuchsia middles and yellow centers. He remembers these flowers; he gave them to you early on in your relationship, right after you graduated. Mr. Milton said they signified good fortune and romance which Steve really wanted to communicate to you. When he presented them, he tried to recite the facts but got too tongue tied at your soft expression as you looked at the flowers in wonder. All he could manage to stammer was that they made you look even more beautiful. He couldn’t help but gifting you peonies as often as he could when they were in season.
You’ve delicately labeled this page of blooms with an additional note. “Steve’s favorite.”
Steve can barely stop the smile from breaking out across his face. He never could hide his feelings, especially not his affections for you. He tried to be subtle but you saw right through him. He couldn’t help but thank his lucky stars that you mirrored such love tenfold. The evidence was right in his lap; a memory book of flowers spanning years.
“Alright,” you called out, breaking the peace. “I’m nearly finished, I promise!”
He quickly closed the book up, careful not to disturb the preserved pressings. He didn’t want to startle you with the sight of him looking through your secret catalogue, you would show him if you wanted to. He just managed to slip the book back under the coffee table as you emerged from the bedroom.
You strike a pose. “How do I look?”
He makes quick work of striding over to you and capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You reciprocate until the need to breathe rushes in. “Steve, we’re going to be late if you keep that up.”
“I don’t care,” Steve responds, kissing every inch of your face.
You giggle but manage to separate yourself from his clutches. “I have been dreaming about a milkshake all day, so we must go.” You pull him with you towards the front door, on a mission, but Steve has one last plan.
Steve eyes the latest flower arrangement, sitting in a vase of water on the coffee table. It’s a few inches above the unsuspecting book of blossoms he had found. He wastes no time to grab a peony from the glass, snapping the stem.
He turns to you, gorgeous you who is smiling already. He shyly places the flower behind your ear.
“Beautiful.”
You can feel the heat creep in your cheeks and you give Steve a quick peck of thanks.
Throughout the date, Steve can’t stop smiling when he looks at you and the large flower behind your ear. You were right. They were his favorite flower. But only because of how good they looked next to you.
summary | You wake up without Steve and find that he’s started the coffee for you. (1.1k words)
content includes | fluff, light swearing, coffee drinking, lack of socks, just the way to start your day, gn!reader
notes | been thinking about how Steve would know exactly how you would want your morning to start and waiting for you to wake up. i have my requests open and you can find my masterlist here ✩
You woke up without Steve.
Years ago, that would've scared the shit out of you. You would’ve torn through the house, searching in a panic for your boyfriend. You would’ve thought he had been taken, stolen like those kids, that the nightmare wasn’t over. That you would find him beyond repair and you would be alone.
Now, you just roll over to his empty side. The sheets weren’t warm like you were hoping, so he must’ve been up for a while. You take a deep stretch, muttering a small curse as your muscles wake up. A lazy lie-in was just what you needed, but you would’ve rather had Steve right next to you. You could spend hours just studying his inhale and exhale in awe.
You manage to pull yourself up and out of the bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The wooden floor was warm, probably because Steve, but you snag two pairs of wooly socks from his side of the dresser. He kept them all rolled up together, neatly piled to one side all yours for the taking. You pull a pair on and pocket the other in your (also Steve’s) sweats.
The unmade bed wasn’t too messy as Steve had clearly pulled up his side of the covers when he left. But your heat-seeking mission had rumpled some creases in the navy plaid sheets that had made the move from Steve’s bedroom to your shared apartment. You would attempt to pull up the covers and make it, but it wouldn’t be your best effort. It was one of your normal household chores but knowing Steve, he would probably re-do it for you without complaint. You pad out of your shared bedroom to continue your search for your loveable boyfriend.
The smell of coffee hung in the air as you yawned your way into the kitchen. It was on the smaller side, with classic wooden cabinets and a fridge that did the job. A vinyl countertop overlooked the comfy living room and the back door. There, the coffee pot rested, half full but fresh.
You open a cabinet to select your mug from the eclectic collection compiled over time. Short mugs with Star Wars figures, daisy patterns all over another, a Niagara Falls souvenir from one of Steve and Dustin’s trips. A mug stolen from the WSQK break room was beloved particularly by Robin, so much so she would frequently attempt to steal it and fail miserably. Your mug was a matching set to Steve’s- two tankards that masquerade as coffee cups with a moon and a sun. Steve had selected them silently while thrifting with you for new homeware when you were moving. Both were missing from their center spots in the cupboard.
You turned your head to spot the back door wide open with the glass storm door closed. You could just see Steve’s bed head sticking out from behind one of the deck chairs outside. You could also spot the familiar wisps of a cigarette floating in the air and rolled your eyes.
Steve rarely smoked, only when he was feeling nostalgic. For what, you weren’t entirely sure. You could remember him looking like an idiot in high school before the Upside Down business and during it he was going through at least half a pack a day. The habit was thankfully kicked as you didn’t like it, refusing to kiss him until he brushed his teeth at least three times.
You make your way over and grab an old quilt from the living room, before tapping at the glass.
“Put that out, you redneck, and open the door.”
Steve chuckled as he rose, stamping out the cigarette on an ash tray. He swung open the door, but didn’t move.
“What’s the password?”
“My foot up your ass, if you don’t move.”
“So grumpy this morning, is that anyway to greet your loving boyfriend?” Steve emphasizes the last few words with mock hurt. You are unphased at his dramatics.
“Steven, you have my coffee.”
“Kiss please.”
“You just smoked-”
“I didn’t, I just lit it. Promise.”
“I don’t believe you-
Steve cut you off for a quick kiss, his hand taking the blanket from you. You just tasted coffee and him.
“Wow,” you smirk as he pulls back. “You do have self control.”
“Get out here, it’s cold without you.”
He wraps the blanket around you and leads you backwards to his chair. He sits first and you remember to offer him the second pair of socks stowed in your pocket. He accepts them with a smile and you remain standing as he puts them on.
You spot your mug on the side table, full and steaming, next to the ashtray and Steve’s own cup. Before you can grab it, Steve has captured you in his arms and settles you in his lap.
“Hold on sweetheart,” he says in a low voice and adjusts the blanket to cover the both of you. You squirm on purpose, trying to free your arms to grab at your coffee. Steve chuckles and passes it over finally. “Addict.”
You ignore him, closing your eyes and taking a sip. It’s just how you like it. You let out a small sigh of relief and lazily open your eyes to look at your boyfriend. He’s gone a little pink in the cheeks, either from the heat of you on top of him or the scene of you melting after a simple sip of coffee. He’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. It’s rare for you to catch him staring at you; the kids say it happens all the time. At the grocery store, at the mall, at Family Video. It was a constant problem and a running joke amongst them. Steve Harrington could not take his eyes off of you for a second when you entered the room. You didn’t know what about you captured Steve’s attention like this but you were determined to never take it for granted.
You nudge at him, jerking him out of the catatonic state. “Earth to Steve.”
“Coming in loud and clear, captain,” he mused. “I’ve just caught sight of a beautiful life form.”
“Okay, alright, enough already.” You bite your lip to hold back your sheepish smile.
“Never.” He shook his head before leaning in for a quick peck.
You keep your eyes closed as he pulls away, foreheads still huddled together.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
“Thanks for the socks.”
“I don’t know how you get out of bed and forget to grab them.”
“Cause I know you’ll wake up and get them for me.”
You open your eyes at that and find him looking back at you. “That’s ‘cause I’m tragically in love with you and your cold ass feet.”
“I knew it.” He beamed triumphantly.
You leaned in this time, sealing the deal that you would, no matter what, love Steve Harrington.
summary | Steve has been hiding his scars from you for months. It’s not that big of a deal, he’s just in constant pain and can’t remember the last time he didn’t wake up with his skin screaming at him. (1.9k words)
content includes | angst, scars, injury, PTSD, demobats, unsafe scar treatment, blood, tears, hurt/comfort, body worship, kisses and love, post s4/before s5
notes | i think about how little characterization occurred in the last two seasons. and then i fight back. possible part two? let me know. all reblogs and likes are appreciated! my requests are OPEN and you can find my masterlist here ✩
Steve has scars.
Extensive damage adorns his torso, his marred flesh rarely thinning out in places. Mottled stripes span from one side to another. A collection of bite marks crown the center of deep scratches, making a twisted pattern. Bits of himself were torn away, too shredded to save, so they left small fractures along his sides.
The demobats truly did their best to make a meal out of Steve. He still remembers being forced to watch, struggling to breathe as they descended. Their teeth were razor sharp, thinner and longer than a demogorgon's petals. They didn’t let up, gnashing at Steve, even when help arrived. Each puncture wound oozed for weeks, nearly making Steve sick on more than one occasion.
He couldn’t exactly walk into Hawkins General with nasty lacerations fresh from a hell dimension without severe questioning. Hopper had to staple Steve back together in the back of his dingy cabin away from everyone. He had held out a small hope that the scars would heal neatly, but that was quickly extinguished. His skin couldn’t join together nicely, the contorted lines were either sunken in or raised.
So he hides them, no question.
He first thought maybe a bit of cover up would do the trick. He accepted his scars were there to stay but he could at least make them more attractive and dashing to look at. He raided his mother’s bathroom drawer at his empty house. All she had left behind was an old cream foundation. Steve stood in front of the mirror, trying to dab lightly at the darker red areas. Instead of evening out, it just looked like his skin had yellowed and it didn’t match his skin tone at all. He had to painstakingly scrub the product off which aggravated his skin even more.
He looked next for some treatment cream, but that was a complete dead end. The quarantine forced the short supply at the pharmacy to run out fast. Any hope disappeared in an instant as the doomsday hoarders struck. Once they set up a smuggling system, there was an opportunity to order some salve. But Steve would rather die than admit he needed something, there were bigger issues than this needling inconvenience.
So now he resorted to consistently layering. He tucks in his undershirt each morning, barely pulling it out to avoid give. He compulsively checked it throughout the day, thumbing at the fabric. Sweet Robin hadn’t picked up on the real reason, teasing Steve about his incessant need to preen. Steve laughed it off with her; “At least I care about what I look like, you muppet.”
The only problem with this solution was the tight binding that pulled against his new scars. He fought the urge to scratch at them daily, from pulling himself at the seams. They would constantly twinge or flare up with sudden movement, which wasn’t helpful in day to day life where he spent running around Hawkins. He tried his best to not to draw attention to the live wires that sparked each time he moved but was finding it increasingly more difficult each day. They would burn for hours on end. When the water heater finally gave out with no oil, Steve didn’t mind the freezing cold showers so much.
He would suffer in silence, just to keep some sense of normalcy, especially for you.
At first, you were confused. Steve never had a problem before with shedding all of his clothes when he was around you. Eventually, you got used to it. You decided to be patient with the fact that Steve suddenly felt better when he had a layer on. You would distract him from the pause he took every time you were alone, simply kissing at the furrow in his brow until he unfroze. He wouldn’t wear his usual sweat crop top to bed anymore or strip to his skivvies to jump in the lake come the summer time. You didn’t question it. You figured he would tell you when he was good and ready.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t when you finally saw him without a shirt on for the first time in months. You had snuck up on him, he wasn’t expecting you to come over after his Squawk shift for a few more hours. As you let yourself into the house, you heard his shower running and wandered upstairs. His clothes had been laid out on the bed so when he came in with just a towel draped low, he was shocked to find you sitting there.
Your eyes didn’t immediately fall to his sliced stomach area, you were too busy admiring the cold flush on his cheeks. It was only when Steve quickly raced to grab his clothes that you realized how exposed you had found him.
“Baby, what are you doing here?” Steve huffed.
“I got off my shift early, I figured we could get dinner.” Your eyes had fallen to his scars, then back to his face, sensing a change in the air.
“Well, I wasn’t ready yet, we said seven.” Steve yanked on his plain t-shirt and pulled up some boxers fast, almost an afterthought.
“Honey.” You slowly got up and walked over. You took the towel from his hands and let it drop. Steve barely looked at you, biting his lower lip and looking down at the floor. He knew he had been caught. There was no worming his way out of this. He couldn’t stop you from seeing him like this.
He took in a stuttering breath as you put your careful hands on his waist, your thumbs ghosting the beginning scars. “Hey,” you whisper quietly. “Is this okay?”
Devastating. Even when you wanted answers, Steve always marveled at your way of ensuring he was taken care of. He nodded numbly, eyes still on the ground.
“Why don’t we sit down?”
Steve let you lead him to the head of his bed, hyperaware of your hands hypnotically stroking his hips the whole way. He was surprised to miss the sensation as you drew your hands back to sit down next to him.
“What’s going on?” Steve focused on your hands, which were now wringing themselves in your lap. A nervous tick of your own that had developed over the past few months. He moved to put his own hands on top of yours, stilling your movements.
“I’ve hiding them from you.” Shame spills out of Steve, a tidal wave that’s been building for months let loose. “I don’t know what you’d think of them. I can’t stand them. Every time I look at them, I’m being torn to pieces all over again. I’m reminded that nothing will ever be the same, that these nightmares will follow me to the ends of the earth. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you looking at me with pity or disgust, each scenario was worse than the last.”
Steve still can’t look you in the eyes. At some point, his fingers threaded into yours and now he just studied them. How perfect they fit together. How he never wanted to let go of you.
“Steve Harrington.” Your voice has no shake to it. It’s quiet and simple. When Steve looks up, he can see your small smile holding back unshed tears. “I would never look at you like that. You’re my Stevie. You are perfect no matter what. I love you and every piece of you that you’ve shared with me. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
You squeeze his hand tightly, before reaching up to brush a stray lock. “But I don’t think any part of you is truly ugly. Even the scary parts.”
Steve can’t begin to wrap his mind around lovely, thoughtful, beautiful you. He can’t believe how you immediately shoulder him, despite the hang ups and the nonsense he’s dragged you through. He allows you to push at his shoulder, letting him fall back against the pillows. You sit up on your knees in between his legs, looking at him with stars in your eyes.
You place your hands on the bed, bracketing either side of him, and catch his lips into a slow kiss. “I love you Steve. Nothing will ever change that.”
Steve pulls you in for a deeper kiss, his hands cradling your cheeks. He was surprised to taste the salt of his own tears mixed with yours. He felt this great weight leave him, this was the relief he had been denying himself for months. He pushes forward until you both need to pull back for air.
Steve takes a deep breath and makes a decision. He goes to pull his shirt off, but you stop him and his shaking hands. “Why don’t we start slow?”
You push the shirt up past his torso, exposing him but not far enough. “Let me know when you want to stop.”
You duck down and press a chaste kiss to Steve’s sternum, right before his scars start. Steve has to hold his breath and try not to squirm under your watchful eye. “Any second now,” a quiet, evil part of Steve’s brain goes, “she’ll pull away and leave you.”
But you soldier on, another kiss placed in a bitten part. Steve has to exhale or he might implode. He watches, transfixed as you take your time, mapping out the new territory. Your hands stroke at his sides again, feather light touches that send goosebumps all over. You look up with a sly smirk. “You are still gorgeous, pretty boy, don’t you worry.”
Steve’s brain has short circuited. You pay him no mind as you devote a careful eye to each scar; a kiss here, a light touch there. You blow a steady stream of air on the red areas that he can barely feel. Minutes go by and you don't stop, never pausing your endless care to examine all the brutal details. You're more focused on whispering little fragments of words- "gorgeous" "pretty" "my boy."
It felt strangely nice, having your attention on the most hated area of his body. He’s reminded of the first time you did this, before he was a mess. You held him with the same reverence here, committing each part of him to memory. This time, Steve can admit that with the relief coursing through his nerves, he can finally breathe.
He clears his throat. “Stop.”
You immediately draw back, hands going to his rucked up shirt to pull it down. Your eyes are full of concern. “Are you alright, sweetheart? Too much?”
“No, it was perfect.” Steve confesses, the flush on his cheeks burning. “I just want to kiss you.”
You break out into a smile and grant his request. It’s short and sweet, Steve has to pull back to look at you before he loses the nerve. “I can’t- I’m so grateful for you. I don’t know how you manage to deal with this.”
The tears are back but Steve continues. “I can’t imagine not doing this without you.”
You kiss him fast. “This? Baby, this is for life. No question about it.”
You embrace him, pressing kisses all over until Steve can’t help but laugh. He flips you onto your back and launches an assault of his own. You’re both unable to stop giggling, both winded from the intense moment that's passed.
Steve’s scars pull like they always do but for once, it doesn’t seem to ache as much.
summary | A cancelled date night with Steve leads you to planning a surprise at the Squawk. (1.7k words)
content includes | fluff, established relationship, sleepy Steve study, light makeout, The Cure, post s4
notes | all reblogs and likes are appreciated! my requests are OPEN and you can find my masterlist here ✩
Steve had called you an hour ago to let you know that Murray was late getting into Hawkins, so it would be a later night at the Squawk. You could hear his disappointment through the phone, the heavy sigh as he explained he had to miss yet another movie night, that he was sorry beyond belief. You felt a small twinge of disappointment for a moment, but you knew this was completely out of Steve’s control and it broke your heart to hear him beat himself up.
“Seriously, sweetheart. I’m going to make it up to you. Murray said he was bringing pancake mix this run. I’m commandeering it all for you.” He kept talking a mile a minute, desperation leaking through every word. “And we still have next weekend, I made Robin promise that she wouldn’t need me-”
“Steve,” you dragged his name out, hoping to slow him down. “It’s okay, baby. I understand.”
“Are you sure? Cause I can always force Robin to come up and deal with it.”
“No, don’t worry. She’s making moves on Vickie tonight and she might actually kill you if you interrupt.”
“True,” he sighed again. There were a lot of sighs going around these days. Ever since the army moved in two months ago, everyone in your group was a mix of high alert and utter exhaustion. You never thought you would’ve craved the normalcy and ignorance of Hawkins once again but here you were, wishing you were worrying about your term paper rather than the evil plans of a hidden, veiny creep.
“Alright, I’ll let you go. I’ll tune in until you’re off the air.”
“I’ll play ‘In Between Days’ for you.”
“Sap,” you giggled.
“Romantic!” he protested.
You wished each other good night and hung up. You fell back onto your bed with a thump, trying not to pout. You and Steve hadn’t seen each other in days and it wasn’t because of a lack of trying. He was either working at the Squawk or looking for Dustin in all corners of Hawkins, trying to keep him out of trouble. You were either keeping vigil over Max or running reconnaissance in the center of town. If Hopper wasn’t pulling you in one direction and Joyce pushing Steve in another, you both would make a plan and it would fall apart within the hour due to some crisis.
There wasn’t much time for the two of you alone, except for some very early morning phone calls that were more half-mumbled gibberish to one another. And you were fluent in each other’s mumble and gibberish! You would just prefer to talk nonsense with Steve right in front of you.
You sat up. Why couldn’t you? It wasn’t like there was an actual boss of the Squawk, Jimmy “Fast Hands” Lee hadn’t named a successor. There was no one that would blink an eye at you coming over to the station to hang out with Steve.
You changed into your comfy clothes- one of Steve’s old swim hoodies and some patterned pajama pants. Steve had a small drawer in your room with some clothes he had intentionally left for him to change into when he stayed over. “Not yours to steal,” he said, trying to appear tough. You just smiled and kissed him stupid, reminding him how good you looked in his clothes. This time, however, you grabbed a change for Steve so he could get out of his day-old clothes while you waited for Murray together.
You headed to the kitchen and grabbed some snacks, including the hidden stash of Boppers you were squirrelling away for Steve. They were supposed to be a surprise for Christmas, but you were willing to sacrifice this one gift for tonight.
With snacks and clothes packed away in your duffel bag, you raced outside to your car. It was winter now and you could see your breath in thick plumes. The holidays would be strange this year, under quarantine and everything. You imagined you would make the most of it, new traditions and homemade gifts all around. You shuffled towards your car and hit the dark road.
The neon lights of the Squawk greeted you, a humming beacon that buzzed underneath your skin. It seemed that most of the interior lights had been shut off inside so you lightly tapped at the front door using Murray’s knock. It was a trick but you figured Steve would brighten up upon seeing you rather than the crusty conspiracy theorist. You waited with bated breath but there didn’t seem to be any movement from inside.
It was getting colder by the minute and you couldn’t wait much longer. You located the spare emergency key under some rocks with a small D&D figurine Will had placed to keep watch. You jiggled the key into the lock, making as much noise as you could. This was meant to be a surprise, but you also didn’t want to give your boyfriend a heart attack.
You had half a thought that something terrible had happened; that Vecna had shown up or the army to investigate but it was too late to not announce your presence. You braced yourself for the worst and pushed on through the reception area.
All the studio lights were off, the on-air sign dead. The room seemed to be empty, the only glow coming from a small lamp in the common area. There a sleeping Steve Harrington was illuminated on the old couch.
Your heart stuttered to a stop as you took in the sight. Steve was tucked against the back of the couch, his head supported uncomfortably against the arm. His own arms were crossed and his mouth was slightly open as he dosed. His perfect hair was a bit of a wreck, probably from running his hands nervously through it during his shift. You were struck with how peaceful he looked. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his brow, the eyebags seemed to have lightened a touch, and he had barely stirred since you had entered.
Peaceful sleep was hard to come by, especially by Steve after the showdown with Vecna a few months ago. He had brushed you off at first, even refusing to sleep over for fear of waking you with his night terrors. But you held your ground, saying that whatever terror he faced you would tackle together. No questions asked.
You hated to startle him, so you took your time making your way over to the armchair near his head. You placed the duffel on the ground slowly and eased into the chair, praying it wouldn’t creak like it usually did. You eyed Steve’s sleeping form and felt yourself relax as he didn’t move a muscle. You couldn’t help but reach a hand over and start combing through Steve’s hair.
The time was nearing the twilight hour and you figured Murray would be along soon, cantankerous as ever with the amount of gas station coffee he drank. Steve would be better prepared to handle him if he was less bleary-eyed.
As you lightly scratched at Steve’s scalp and massage his neck, you could see the movement behind his eyelids start to quicken. “Hey baby,” you whispered.
“Hmm?” Steve cracked an eye open.
“You dosed off darling.”
“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, sleep thick in his voice.
“I figured I’d come over to keep you company. I brought you some clothes and snacks.” You nudge at the duffel bag on the floor. Steve blinked and focused his attention to the bag, then back to you. “You what?”
You huff with amusement. “I brought over your sweats. And snacks.”
You rummage through the bag to present a Bopper to your sleepy boy. He sat up suddenly on the couch and stared at it in shock. “Have I died and been blessed by an angel?”
“Oh my god, Harrington, you just passed out. I assure you I’m very real.”
“The realest angel in the world,” he said, swinging his legs off the couch to clamber on top of you. He smelled like his cologne as he pressed a thousand little kisses up and down your face. You laughed at his antics, helplessly pinned and grinning. He finally stopped to kiss your lips sweetly. “An angel truly.”
“I sure hope so. Only an angel could-”
Steve cut you off with a bigger kiss, nipping at your lip. You realize that it’s been five whole days since your boyfriend kissed you last. That is far too long. It should never happen again. You lost yourself in Steve, inviting him into your space completely so there was no absence of him near you.
You felt Steve’s breath hitch as you played with the hem of his polo teasingly. “Whatcha doing there sweetheart?”
“Helping you get dressed,” you whisper back, tongue in teeth.
“Evil,” he chuckled back, pulling his polo off in one movement, left in his undershirt and jeans.
He took your face in his hands, but missed your mouth as he mouthed a trail of hot kisses down your jaw to your neck.
“Whose evil now?” you hum, shutting your eyes as you feel overwhelmed by Steve. He kissed your neck, your collar bone, taking his time taking you apart. You squirmed a little under his endless attention, but he had you boxed in under his weight. He moved up to capture your mouth hungrily, swallowing a moan. You were intoxicated by the touch, taste, sight, smell, and sound of Steve Harrington.
What you didn’t hear was Murray’s knock. Or Murray swinging the door open. Or Murray entering the room.
You only heard him after he cleared his throat.
“Lovebird, I would like to leave this god forsaken militarized zone! Separate yourselves instantly or I’m calling discount Tom Selleck to rip into you two.”
Steve never moved so fast in his life. Murray’s hands were on his hips, very irritated. “Dude, don’t you knock?”
“I DID!” Murray shouted, hands in the air as he left. “I’m surrounded by hormones.”
You look at Steve with an equally sheepish grin. “We should probably help him unload.”
“I have half a mind to let him freeze out there.”
Steve offered his hand to help you up. You accepted but tugged him down for one more quick kiss before leading your interlocked hands out of the room.
Stolen moments and surprises with Steve were always worth the trouble.
summary | Steve comes along on a school field trip and gets turned upside down, literally. (1.8k words)
content includes | fluff, pining, minor character injury, teacher!reader, steve is a sucker for your smile, gn!reader, minor s5 ending spoilers
notes | this is my first time posting my writing! all likes and reblogs are appreciated, I've just had this idea in my head for awhile post s5. i have my requests open and you can find my masterlist here ✩
Steve would consider himself a smooth, coordinated person.
As baseball coach for the Hawkins Cubs, he found himself meticulously arranging schedules, working out snack drama with the team mothers, and mentoring some of the most hyperactive kids of Hawkins without breaking a sweat. The gym teacher gig was proving to be rewarding as well. There wasn’t much grading, the sex ed unit was pretty straight forward, and the pay was decent. However, there was a challenge that he had set his efforts to without thinking.
Steve had to leave his apartment exactly forty five minutes before the first bell rang- all so he could conveniently run into you, offer to help with your multiple work bags, and start his day off following you around as you set up for the school day.
On Steve’s first day at Hawkins Middle, he actually had shown up an hour early out of nerves. He had been completely locked out of the building, pacing at the front door and fixing his tie. He had half a mind to go back in his car and just drive home. But then you showed up with your glimmering smile and Steve was done for. He spent the next few months getting to know you in those early mornings; how you had ended up in Hawkins post-militizarized zone, why you became a teacher. He memorized your love for old music, how you liked your coffee, and the way you dressed.
Steve obviously didn’t need to come almost an hour before school started and you had noticed. Steve thought he passed it off pretty well, saying something along the lines of needing to open up his equipment closets to air out the middle school funk. You laughed so hard and that sound had carried him throughout the whole day.
So when the opportunity arose for him to join your class field trip to the local park- he figured that could be played off as right up his alley. The outdoors, y’know?
You seemed thrilled to have him- your eyes had widened and that cute smile broke free and nearly knocked him over. He couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend his afternoon and said so. He thought he saw a flush on your cheeks but he didn’t want to presume. He could play the long game for you, no problem. Everything was going according to plan.
It was a gorgeous fall day. The sun was still warm and the trees hadn’t started shedding their leaves. You had set up at a picnic table for you and Steve to observe the students without breathing down their necks. You explained that the field trip was really a chance for your class to explore their home town, rather than lecture them at town hall. Steve was once again struck with your care and attention for your students, all while celebrating internally the chance to talk with you uninterrupted.
He couldn’t hide how enamored he was with you, listening hand on cheek as you tell a mundane story about grocery shopping. You looked so pretty as you checked in on him to see if he was still listening and then scanned the area to make sure no students were in need. Everything was great, everything was flowing and yet- he let his guard down.
“Coach!”
Connor, one of Steve’s outfielders, ran over to the picnic table. “Will you time us?”
The boys had taken to running down a simple hill, back and forth. There was clearly a competitive edge to it, but Steve knew most of the kids. He would give you a break from his relentless staring and time some silly races. “Sure thing, little man.” Steve stood up and shot you a shy smile as he was led away.
“Be careful!” you called out and Steve imagined you were telling him that.
Steve timed a few races, enjoying the kids’ laughter. A few brave girls joined in as well, reminding Steve of fearless Max showing up Dustin and Lucas. Eventually, Steve called for the last heat and decided to sweeten the glory. “Alright, who wants to race me?”
Every kid’s hand shot up and Steve laughed. “Starting positions please. Connor, count us off.”
“Three, two, one, GO!”
Steve realized as he took off that this hill was way too steep for these kids to be hurtling themselves down. He had planned to slow down a quarter of the way down but he was finding rapidly that his momentum was too great. In the next second, he saw a hunk of rock that the group was veering closer and closer towards as Connor tried to edge him out of the running. He had to make a decision- crash into Connor or take on the rock.
Steve sped ahead to jump over the rock- and knew immediately he had misjudged how old he was now. His legs were not moving as fast as his front half. The ground was now fast approaching his face. As he descended, all he could think was what on Earth you would make of him. His arms went out on instinct as he made contact with the rocky path. Shouts and gasps from the students echoed as Steve tumbled down the hill, arms and legs flying.
A sharp whistle sounded as he came to a stop at the bottom. His pride was in tatters, his ego torn to shreds. He groaned, biting back the urge to curse as the boys gathered around him.
“HOLY BALLS!”
“MR. H, ARE YOU OK?”
“I can’t believe it- you ate the dirt Coach.”
“Everyone, take a step back NOW.” Your voice commanded. Even when you were stern, it was the most beautiful sound he ever heard. Wow, was he concussed?
“Oh my god Steve- uhm, Mr. Harrington? Are you alright, can you sit up for me?”
Steve nodded slowly, eyes screwed shut half trying not to assess the damage and the other half hoping for this absolute nightmare to end.
“Let’s clean you up without the gaping audience,” you muttered to him privately. You stand up and clap your hands. “Okay everyone, we’re going to start lunch! Your packs are labeled in the coolers- Sarah and Jamie are our lunch helpers today, they will hand out lunches. You can spread out on the field but don’t go too far, I should be able to see you!”
The kids dispersed a flurry of noise as you guided Steve to a picnic table, hand on the small of his back as he shuffled forward. He didn’t need the help, the twinge in his knees was dulling from the adrenaline rush but the electric elation to feel your hand on him was too good to brush off.
He sat down slowly and stretched out his legs as you pulled a first aid kit from your go-bag. You had your focused face on- biting your lower lip as your brows furrowed with concentration. He had seen it a few times as you graded papers or rearranged desks. It took a lot in him to not kiss the wrinkle in your forehead away. Jesus, he needed to calm down.
You turned towards him with those wide eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I think I’ve bruised my ego more than my body to be honest,” he cracked.
“Well, that is what tends to happen when you take on a fifth grader’s challenge. Trust me I’ve learned the hard way too.” You kneeled down in front of him. “Can you roll these up for me?”
Steve was trying really hard not to flush at the sight of you and started to stammer.
“You really don’t need to do all that, I’m sure I can clean myself up. Besides, who's watching the kids?”
You glanced around behind you. “Steve, they’re all set. They’ve been complaining of starvation since we got here. And anyway, it’s my job as a field trip manager to clean up all the scraps and bruises since you missed that day of training.”
“I think I know how to clean up a scrape or two,” Steve tutted as he conceded, slowly rolling up his khaki. Why must you be so attractive putting him in place?
He hadn’t hit the ground hard enough to rip his pants but there were grass stains galore. A clean rivet of blood was flowing from his left knee and his hands were littered with bits of gravel and torn skin. He saw you wince a bit as you took the damage in.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’ve had way worse.”
You huffed out a short laugh which hit his exposed skin. “Are you sure about that? You went down pretty hard.”
“I promise. I’m tough.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, Harrington.” you gently said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be all the time.”
And that was why Steve Harrington was head over heels for you. Literally.
He could feel the heat rush all over as you carefully opened up the kit and took out some antiseptic wipes.
“This is going to sting and I’ll give you one for your hands. Try to get some of that gravel out.” You placed a wipe beside him and turned your attention to his banged up knees.
Steve could barely feel it, still too wrapped up in the lovely sight of you fixing him up like it was nothing. You took your time, cleaning the edges of his cuts with precision and care. That focus face was back. Steve could’ve sworn you could hear his heart beat faster as you started unwrapping the largest band-aid, hand on his knee to steady.
You pressed it over slowly and looked up with a smile, which quickly turned into puzzlement. Why were you looking at him like that?
“Do you need help there?” you asked, gesturing to his hands.
“Sorry,” he stumbled, trying to save face as he realized how stupid he must’ve looked. Seriously, he’s been attacked by demon bats and tourniquetted by his ex-girlfriend. This accident should not have caused him to go catatonic.
“Why are you apologizing?” you chuckle as you take his hands into your own.
Steve knew the flush on his cheeks had turned into full tomato red. You studied the scrapes on his hands without noticing your entrancing effect on him. He needed to think of something quick to say, something witty, something-
“Coach Harrington?”
Connor had cautiously walked over, nervously scratching at his palms.
“What’s up Connor?” Steve put on a casual smile.
“I’mreallysorryyoufell.” Connor rushes through. He eyed Steve’s bandages warily, not looking Steve in the eye.
“Connor,” Steve said, directing his attention to Steve’s face. “This wasn’t your fault, buddy. Accidents happen. I’m just glad it was me that got banged up and not you. Next time, we’ll race on a track, instead of a hill, okay?”
Connor nodded slowly.
“Okay. How was your lunch?”
While Steve was a smooth, coordinated person, he did miss his footing sometimes. He missed other things as well. Like your adoring gaze on him, as he struck up a conversation with Connor about lunch, baseball, and how his family was doing. Literally anything but the race and the fall, all to calm Connor down.
You knew that you were as committed to falling in love with Steve Harrington as he was. It was just a matter of time.
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