If you have a request for any character on my masterlist please feel free to send it on in. If they are not on my masterlist but their fandom is (Fourth Wing, ACOTAR and Bridgerton) please send it along anyway and I'll let you know if I feel comfortable to write for their personality.
Fourth Wing
Garrick Tavis
*Your Boys part of the #fourthwingbirthdaybash
*Am Smooches
*Rebellious Secrets (This was a request!)
*I'm Going to be a Father?
*I'm Going to be a Father? Part 2
*The Gauntlet Reader X Garrick Tavis (this was a request)
*Garrick Au Swim Coach X Reader
*After all This Time (This was a request)
*After all this Time (part 2 )
*Sibling Love is Tough (Request)
*You are my Light Garrick X Telery Reader (request)
*Experimenting with Garrick (request)
*Promise? (Request)
*This is Never Happening Again (Request)
*Wishing of a Solstice With You
*Special Valentines Day
*Comfort & Caring (request)
*Midnight Sneak Outs (request)
*Midnight Sneak Outs Part 2 (Request)
Why Now? Mairi Reader X Garrick Tavis
*Part 1
*Journal Entry
*Part 2
*Part 3
*Part 4
*Part 5
*Professor Tavis College AU OC Sophia Riorson
*Prequel (Part of Garrick week 2025 Focused Prompt)
*Part 1
*Part 2
*Part 3
*Part 4
*Part 5
*Part 6
My Little One (I'll do anything for you) Garrick Tavis X OC)
*Part 1
*Part 2
*Part 3
*Part 4
*Little one Final update, sorry :(
Garrick Week 2025
Focused Professor Tavis Prequel
Gentle Giant Head Cannons
Distance Why Now final Installment
Dain Aetos
*My New Pillow part of the #fourthwingbirthdaybash
*My new Pillow Part 2
*You're My Sunshine (request)
*Corn Maze
*Sibling Love is Tough (Request)
*Happy New Year With You
*Cravings and Pregnancy
*Comfort (request)
Xaden Riorson
*The Day of Dread part of the #fourthwingbirthdaybash
* Power X velocity= Air and Wing Speed (request)
*Our Time (part of the rider's quadrant gift exchange on a03)
*Our Time part 2 (Request)
*You're What?
*Because Of You NSFW (Request)
*Can I hold You? (Request)
*Promise Me (Request).
*Love Confessions & Venin (Request)
*A Special Gift For Xaddy (NSFW) (Request)
Liam Miari
*Your Boys Part of the #fourthwingbirthdaybash
*Sibling Love (Request)
*Mated Dragons (Request)
*I'll Always be here for You (Request)
*Be My Valentine
*I'll Be There For You
* Always Yours
*part 1
Raelynn's Letter to Liam
* Part 2
*Part 3
*Part 4
*Part 5
*Part 6
* Part 7
* Part 8
*Part 9
*Part 10
*Part 11 & Finale
Week Liam 2025
Our little ball of honor
Protective Jealously
Gone but forever in your heart
Your favorite hands to feel
Baby your my number one
Being Liam's twin brother head cannons
Road trip of your worst nightmares??
Bodhi Durran
*Safe (X Tavis younger sister reader request)
*Does it Have to be Lucifer?
*Solstice with Bodhi
*By Your Side (Bodhi week 2025)
Ridoc Gamlyn
*Missing You
Imogen Cardullo
*Imogen's Intimacy Alphabet
Fourth wing Head Cannons and squad shenanigans.
*Spanking head cannons. (request) (all boys I write for)
*Crying in Garrick's lap headcannon.
*Garrick's Little Sister headcannon
Lights Out
Josh Hammond
*Who's the faceless man part 1
Bridgerton
Anthony Bridgerton
A Viscount and the Dressmakers Apperntice
*Part 1
*Part 2
*Part 3 & Finale
ACOTAR
Rhysand
Cassian
*Little Bat Cassian as a girl dad (request)
*Special Package for Solstice
Summary: Turns out Garrick's signet has its domestic uses, too.
Part of my Raspberry Riorson series, but can be read on it's own (reader has chronic pain/fatigue and uses sign language due to selective mutism). Set during Iron Flame. Written for @empyreanevents's Garrick Week Day 3: Air.
You're standing in front of the doorway between family wing and staircase, buttoning your coat, when Garrick calls for you at your back.
"Where do you think you're going?"
You turn to give him a puzzled look. »Outside?« You would have thought that much was obvious, but maybe what he really meant was the why of it, so you explain, »I'm going to collect some herbs for Tony. With all the extra riders you guys brought, their supplies won't last over the winter, so we need to stock up on basically everything.«
"That's all nice and well, but Xaden's gonna have my head if I let you out into the cold with your hair wet. And he'd be right. You'll get sick."
He has a point, but if you wait for your hair to dry, it'll be too dark outside, and you don't want to wait until tomorrow — the first frost could arrive any night now, destroying the less hardy of the plants Tony needs. The smart thing to do would've been to shower after collecting the herbs. Unfortunately, you hadn't thought that far ahead, simply wanting to get that annoying necessity over with while you had the energy for it. Your chronic headache and the fatigue that accompanies it have been comparatively mild today, but there's no telling when they'll flare up again, making it impossible to do anything but rest.
Since you're aware how futile it would be to argue with Garrick, you suggest a compromise. »What if I put on a hat?«
"Sure, that would work, but I have a better idea, actually," he says, and pulls you toward the living room. "Trust me, you'll like this."
With a shrug of acquiescence, you follow him and let him guide you to kneel in front of the hearth. The fire is low but not yet guttered, still hot enough to make you glad you took your coat back off.
Garrick, looming behind you like a giant, doesn't bother with an explanation. While you curiously watch him over your shoulder, he raises his hands, and immediately, the air in front of you starts to stirr. Using his signet to draw warm air from the fireplace, Garrick redirects it at your head in a strong breeze.
It's a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Garrick seems to have perfect control over the air, making sure it only blows through your hair and not into your face.
"Is the temperature okay?" he checks.
"Uh-huh."
You can almost imagine you're standing outside on a hot summer day, the kind where even the usually cool mountain winds are hot and everything is so bright you have to hide in your room with the curtains pulled shut to keep your head from exploding. The only thing that ruins the illusion is the faint scent of woodsmoke Garrick's breeze carries.
Just as he had promised, it's much better than waiting for your hair to dry on it's own or covering it with a hat. It only takes a few short minutes for it to be sufficiently dry.
"There," Garrick smiles, helping you back to your feet. "Now you can go get those herbs."
summary. what you thought would be a bummer of a night at prom post-breakup with your boyfriend is saved by none other than steve harrington.
warnings. can be read as a stand-alone but is technically a part 2; mentions of bad ex-boyfriend; a little bit of angst but mostly fluff; loverboy steve harrington; not proofread
Hawkins High glittered with prom decorations a decade or so old. The smell of hairspray and too much cologne hit you the second you entered. A large group of your peers was already on the dance floor as the middle-aged DJ spun records from the small stage in the corner.
You didn't mean to look for your ex-boyfriend, Tom, but your eyes found him wrapped up in some other girl. It shouldn't have sent an uncomfortable pang through your chest. You were the one who dumped him after he had the gall to threaten your little brother, after months of directing that raised tone and harsh words at you. If anything, it should have relieved you that he was occupied with somebody else, but you were the one who had to attend prom alone.
Since you were shunned from the popular crowd after your breakup, and your school friends weren't the type to go to school dances, you had to brave the night alone.
You hoped you blended into the background that night. The best place to do that was at the snack table, which was at the far side of the gym, where the chaperons hung out. At least there was a nice spread of desserts. You picked up a cookie from a tray and gazed out at the dance floor again, wondering how long you had to stay for it to be considered not pathetic.
"I don't know what the PTO does, but they bake a mean cookie, huh?"
You jumped slightly at the voice beside you. For a second, you just stared at Steve Harrington. He was all dressed up in prom attire, in a suit that looked expensive, and his hair styled even more than normal.
Since that day when Steve had been at the right place at the right time, showing up at your house just as Tom pinned you between himself and his car, you had changed your tune about him. You had once believed him to be some rich jock with shitty friends. Which made you dislike him even more when he somehow found himself friends with your little brother and his group of friends.
But the more Steve found himself offering you and Dustin rides, and spending time at your house, you realized he was a lot different from what you thought. He had his own dorky tendencies, which included bad jokes and a love for video games. He was also nice, a lot nicer than you thought he would be.
If you were being honest, you wished he weren't. The thing with having a boy like Steve start hanging around you was that it was impossible not to like him.
You were still navigating your post-breakup feelings, but it was easier to get over someone when they were an asshole. It was even easier when someone like Steve started filling that time you would spend with Tom. That time you used to spend getting yelled at by Tom when he was frustrated or ranting about whatever his latest issues were had been replaced by watching movies with your brother and Steve.
It was a much better way to spend your time. Maybe it was too good a way to spend your time. It made you all sorts of confused, and made all sorts of feelings bubble just below the surface of your chest.
"I didn't know you were gonna be here?" you said. Despite all the time you had spent with Steve, he hadn't mentioned attending the dance.
Steve sighed. "I didn't plan on it. But Tracy said her friend needed a date, and I made the mistake of saying I wasn't doing anything tonight."
You took a bite of your cookie and nodded, hiding your disappointment between chews. It was so stupid. You didn't even know if you could call Steve and yourself friends, let alone someone he'd talk to about his prom plans.
"What Tracy didn't mention was that her friends just wanted someone to make her ex-boyfriend jealous," Steve continued. He pointed at the dance floor at a girl in a pretty purple dress being spun around by one of your classmates. She was giggling with little stars in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around the guy, their bodies pressed so close together that you were sure one of the chaperons would come over and tell them to leave some room to breathe.
"Looks like it worked," you said.
Steve chuckled lightly, not looking that upset over the fact. "We barely made it through the door before they were back together."
"Sorry. That sucks."
He shrugged, picking up a cookie from the tray before he turned his gaze onto you. "Having a date's overrated."
You rolled your eyes. "Did Dustin pay you to tell me that?
"He may have mentioned it," Steve admitted, a small smile on his lips. You looked away from him, suddenly interested in your shiny heels.
"I really didn't want to come tonight," you said. "But my mom was so excited to help me get ready, and she helped pay for the dress."
Steve lightly bumped your shoulder with his, earning your gaze. "Well, you look beautiful."
You hated the way your heart skipped a beat at the compliment. It felt juvenile. You felt your face heat up. "Thanks," you quietly said into the rim of your cup of punch, before you took a drink, hoping someone spiked it so you could blame your teetering feelings on something else. Unfortunately, the punch tasted normal.
"How long until it's not totally lame of me to leave?" you asked after a beat, turning away from the dance floor and all of the happy couples dancing.
Steve thought for a moment. "Have you even danced yet?"
"By myself? I try to stay away from things certain to humiliate me."
He smiled. "Fair. But you can't really say you attended prom if you didn't even dance."
You huffed, tugging at the lacy white gloves that matched the belt around your waist. "Really?"
"I'll make you a deal," Steve said, stepping closer to you, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. "You humor me for one dance, and I'll drive you home."
You thought it wasn't possible for your face to feel more flushed after he called you beautiful, but the thought of slow dancing with Steve suddenly set your face ablaze.
"Steve, you don't have to do that," you rushed out.
He made a face. "You're the one humoring me, Henderson. Throw a dude a bone, will ya? I have a reputation to uphold."
Narrowing you eyes at him, you said, "I doubt being seen dancing with me will do your reputation any good. Besides, I thought all of that King Steve stuff was behind you?"
"It is," he said. "Now I'm some wash-up jock who just wants one dance with the only person here that I like." He held out his hand, and you stared at it for a moment.
If someone had told you, a year ago, that you'd be spending senior prom dancing with Steve Harrington, you would have laughed. But it was suddenly a lot less funny and a lot more heart-hammering.
Yet, you knew how lame it would have been to leave your last prom early, without dancing. And you weren't going to let Tom have any satisfaction that your break-up made you feel anything less than relieved. You deserved to dance, to have fun. And Steve was offering you that with a sweet smile and outstretched hand.
So, you took it and let him lead you to an empty spot on the dance floor. You two stood close enough that it didn't look like you were confused middle schoolers, but not as close as most of the couples on the dance floor. It was comfortable, with his hands on your waist and yours around his neck.
It took you a minute to find the slow rhythm of the music, but once you did, you relaxed a little.
"See, this isn't so bad, right?" Steve said after a short lapse of silence between you two.
"It certainly beats wasting the night at the snack table," you said, a bit of humor in your tone.
You studied his face, the closest it had ever been to yours. His warm eyes were lit up from the overhead string lights, and his cheeks held the slightest dusting of pink, from the cold outside, you assumed.
"You are okay?" Steve asked suddenly. You furrowed your brow before he continued. "I mean, after the whole Tom thing?"
"Oh, yeah. He's been pretending like I don't exist, which I guess is kind of the best outcome? At least he's not being an ass to me anymore. That's a plus."
Steve frowned. "He's such an asshole. You didn't deserve that."
You shrugged. "I could handle him being an asshole to me, but not to Dustin. I just shouldn't have let it even come to that."
"Hey, no," Steve said quickly with a shake of his head. "Don't take the blame for his bullshit. Yeah, he shouldn't have tried to rough up Dustin, but he also should have never spoken to you like that." He paused. "Did he do that a lot?"
You blinked and dropped your gaze onto something over Steve's shoulder, not sure you could keep looking him in his pretty eyes. "Yeah. He just got upset easily. It was easy to take it out on me than...than anyone else, I guess."
"You didn't deserve that." You were surprised at how sure he sounded, like he knew that for a fact.
All you could do was shrug, because if you were being honest, you had no idea what you deserved.
"At the very least, you deserve someone who wears a suit that doesn't look like he pulled it off his grandfather at the poor man's wake."
You snapped your gaze back at Steve's face, an amusing smirk on his lips. You laughed, maybe a bit too loud, before you ducked your head in a fit of quiet giggles.
Tom did look pretty bad in his suit. It looked both too big and too small at the same time, somehow.
Steve laughed too, the two of you even closer. He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut when the slow dance ended. The DJ started playing a more upbeat tune, and you two stepped apart.
You let out a breath before you said, "That wasn't so bad."
Steve bowed. "Glad I could be of service," he said, causing a grin to take up residence on your lips. "Now, as I promised, a ride home."
You hesitated for a moment. "Would you be opposed to a pitstop, first?"
The little diner just outside of town mostly welcomed people looking for a bite just off the interstate. But it was one of your family's favorite places to eat for special occasions.
It was quiet that time of night, only a couple of people seated at the bar.
You and Steve tucked yourselves into a back corner booth and ordered a milkshake each. While time seemed to drag all day, it flew by as you and Steve talked about nothing between sips, your laughter growing louder as the night ticked by.
Not once did you think about Tom. Your thoughts were only on Steve, and the way his shoulders shook when he laughed. If you had been up to you, you would have sat there all night. But eventually, your sugar rush from your milkshakes slipped away, leading you to yawn.
Steve insisted on paying, refusing the crumpled bills you dug out of your small clutch, before he led the way back to his car.
The ride back to your house was quiet, just comfortable with the low hum of music from the radio. By the time he pulled into your driveway, your eyes were heavy, and you were eager to be in your comfortable pajamas and in bed. At the same time, you really didn't want your time with Steve to end.
Before you realized, Steve had put the car in park and rounded it to your door, opening it with a tired smile himself.
You were certain that Tom had never opened your car door for you, nor had he ever walked you to your door, unless he was coming inside too. But Steve had.
You turned to face him before you unlocked the door. "Thank you for tonight."
He had his hands shoved into his pockets and a slightly sheepish look on his face. "It turned out a lot better than I thought it would, that's for sure," he said. "Thanks to you."
Maybe it was the dazzle of prom, the sleepiness in your bones, or the way Steve gazed at you in the pale moonlight on your front steps. Maybe it was a mix of all three that made you lean in a little closer, closing the gap between the two of you, and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You pulled away before you were sure Steve even registered what happened.
With wide eyes, you blinked before quickly unlocking your front door and pushing it open. Before you stepped inside, you rushed out, "Good night, Steve."
"Goodnight?" he said, more as a question. You closed the door just as his confused expression shifted into a smile.
Letting out a heavy breath, you leaned your back against the front door and couldn't help but smile to yourself.
Hellooo. So, not a request, but I'm just really curious about any theories you have for the next installment of Fourth Wing, if you don't mind sharing :)
Hi! Sorry im just seeing this now. I try not to set my mind on to many theories when it comes to new books. I do have more personal thoughts on characters and such vs theories.
will you continue Professor Tavis? I liked that series
Im unable to answer this with a yes or no question. Im still unsure if I want to continue writing or not. It is not as much as a joy to me as it was in the beginning. Needless to say im still in that writing funk
summary: robin never put much faith in love. but at steve’s house, she notices the small, unspoken ways steve and you choose each other.
a/n: this is pretty short, but i’ve been a bit inactive and wanted to post <3 as always, english isn’t my first language, so let me know any mistakes!
my masterlist!
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
robin always thought love was mostly a rumor. something people exaggerated to survive bad decisions and shared custody schedules. her parents tried it once, failed impressively, and now communicated only through lawyers and tense holiday cards. very poetic. very convincing.
so she didn’t believe in it. not really.
especially not the kind that lasted.
robin didn’t understand men, and she definitely didn’t understand straight relationships. but she understood patterns. and this didn’t look like something doomed from the start. it looked… real. and that was the worst part.
robin had agreed to movie night. steve’s living room was dim except for the tv glow. robin sat on the floor with her back against the couch, arms crossed, pretending she was deeply invested in the plot. she wasn’t. the movie had explosions and a confusing timeline. she’d already given up.
you were beside steve, legs tucked under you, sharing a blanket like it was a neutral treaty zone. nothing dramatic. nothing obvious. and yet.
half an hour in, you leaned forward.
“i’m gonna grab popcorn. this movie is unwatchable, who chose this?”
“i’ll come with you,” steve said immediately, already standing.
robin glanced up. “wow. teamwork. beautiful. really warms my heart.”
“you don’t have one of those,” steve replied.
you laughed soft and automatic then he followed you toward the kitchen.
robin stayed behind. obviously. she was not a creep. she just… watched. casually.
the kitchen light flicked on. you reached for the popcorn, knocked over a bowl, muttered an apology to the inanimate object. steve picked it up before it hit the floor.
“i’ve got it,” steve said.
“i know,” you answered, and there was something about the way you said it. not relieved. not surprised. just… certain.
they moved around each other easily, like this wasn’t the first time, like there was an invisible map only they could see. steve handed you the popcorn without asking how much butter you wanted. you didn’t thank him, not verbally. you just bumped your shoulder into his, quick and fond.
robin felt it then. not a lightning strike. more like a quiet realization settling somewhere uncomfortable.
steve leaned against the counter, watching you pour the popcorn. not staring. not hovering. just… there. when you glanced up, he smiled, not his big one, not the performative one. the small, private version. the one that didn’t ask for attention.
“you okay?” you asked.
“yeah,” he said. “you?”
“yeah.”
a pause. not awkward. just quiet.
“why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, amused.
“like what?” steve replied.
you tilted your head. “like that.”
he shrugged. “nothing.”
robin almost scoffed. classic. the oldest lie known to man.
you smiled anyway. “you’re bad at lying.”
“i’m amazing at lying,” he said. “i’m just choosing honesty today.”
you laughed, shaking your head, and that’s when he stepped closer. not rushed. not sneaky. just enough to lower his voice.
“you’re really beautiful,” he murmured.
robin looked away. reflexively. because that felt… private.
there was a soft sound after that. not dramatic. just a quick kiss, gone almost before it settled.
you pulled back immediately. “steve.”
“what?” he asked, already smiling.
“robin’s right there.”
he rolled his eyes. “she’s watching the movie, she’s fine.”
you nudged him with your elbow, smiling despite yourself. “behave.”
“no promises,” he said, grabbing the popcorn bowl. “but i’ll try.”
they headed back to the living room, shoulder to shoulder.
robin pretended very hard not to notice how naturally they fit like that.
steve set the bowl between you like it belonged there. you took a handful. then, without looking, passed some to him. he didn’t hesitate.
robin exhaled slowly.
she’d spent hours thinking love had to be loud to be real. messy. painful. something that left collateral damage and lawyers involved. her parents had proven that theory very thoroughly.
but this? this wasn’t loud. it wasn’t fragile. it wasn’t begging to be noticed. it was quiet confidence. shared jokes. whispered truths in kitchens.
“so,” robin said, breaking the silence, “are we actually watching this or are we just emotionally developing in the background?”
steve snorted. you smiled.
“we’re watching,” he said. “probably.”
robin nodded, eyes back on the screen.
great.
because now love wasn’t a rumor. it wasn’t a cautionary tale or a failed experiment. maybe it was just people choosing each other in small moments, over popcorn, without needing permission.
𑣲 summary, as every parental figure does, you and steve claim to not have favourites - though its so beyond obvious you both do.
𑣲 contents, fem! reader, steve favouriting dustin, reader favouriting lucas, small jealousy, flirting, teasing, fluff, cuteness and everything in between
request
i feel like i didnt do my best with this one so i apologise :(
"I love all of you equally, I don't have a favourite."
Those were the words many parents had said when their bundle of children asked who is the favourite, and every parent knew they shouldn't have a favourite. Though it never stopped them from having one.
In the same way, you and Steve, mom and dad of the party, have your own favourites - despite denying it.
The basement of squawk radio was bundled with the party, they often gathered here on Saturdays just for a place to be together without the chance of a parent getting in their way. They'd bring candies, homework sheets to copy off each others answers, maybe even put a tape in and watch it on the projector screen that was meant for crawls.
Steve would embrace Dustin every time he entered the building, ruffling the geniuses curls with an extra pat on the back. "Oh you so favourite him." you glare at your boyfriend, whose jaw slacks as he stutters out defensive words.
"You literally favourite Lucas so hard I don't wanna hear it." he rolls his eyes, mr sassy pants in full play. He grabbed the chicken and squeezed it in your face, the god awful squeak coming out of it.
"I do not!" you has gasped, walking off with a cassette tape in hand and following after Lucas. You'd managed to curate a two hour loop of Kate Bush for his visits to the hospital to see Max.
Steve rolled his eyes as he watched you wonder off after him, no favourites his ass.
He would know if you had a favourite, after all he was the one who drove you everywhere, he was the one to drive you to Lucas' games. Not to include that he'd bring Dustin along for his own company as you focused on cheering for Lucas - because he didn't have favourites, and if he did it wouldn't be Dustin.
Especially not Dustin, he'd never ever share his milkshake with the boy! Or anything for that matter, because he wasn't his favourite.
You sat back down, tired of standing whilst cheering the basketball player on, looking to your left and seeing Dustin drink out of the milkshake you and your boyfriend were supposed to be sharing.
"Oh." you said, raising a dramatic brow.
Steve turned to you, laughing nervously and rubbing his hand on your knee. "He took it from me, had no time to say no." he rushed out in a murmur, kissing your cheek as if to sway you to believe him. "I'll buy us another after the game, yeah?" he promised, lips on your skin.
And he did, even buying the flavour you liked! You took it from the workers hands across the counter as Steve fished in his wallet. Taking a great big sip you hummed in satisfaction, passing the cup over to Lucas to try.
Steve clocked it immediately, you were not one to share anything that could pass on germs, and now you were sharing with a sweaty teenage boy who had just lost another basketball game.
"Its okay Lucas, they all looked like they were thirty anyways! You may not be a winner but at least you look your age!" you tried to cheer him up.
"Ah! Favouritism!" Dustin pointed out, Steve nodding along beside him in agreement.
You only rolled your eyes, making your way back to Steves car. Not defending yourself or getting your milkshake back.
Of course Steve would bring it up later on. You were chopping vegetables, he'd cling to the back of you. Hands wrapping around your soft tummy, nose in the crook of your neck. "Its so obvious Lucas is your favourite, yknow." he mumbles, causing you to roll your eyes as you'd been cornered.
"Mmm, so what if he is. You treat Dustin like he's your girlfriend." you shrug, paying attention to chopping up peppers because Steves hold had made you slip up one too many times before.
Your boyfriend laughed against your neck, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin. "So you're jealous?" he implied, getting closer and closer in your personal space.
Swerving him, setting the knife and veg down, you turn to face him. Eyes roaming him, his face displayed a shit eating grin because he knew he was right. "No. No, I'm not jealous."
Steves eyebrows raised, not fully believing you though he'd play along before you mention Dustin. "You're my favourite." he cooed, poking your side which made you swat him away.
Though it was true, you were his favourite person in the whole wide world, no matter how much he spoiled Dustin. And you could say the same, with a big blush on your face, what you do for Lucas you'd do for Steve times ten.
𑣲 summary, as every parental figure does, you and steve claim to not have favourites - though its so beyond obvious you both do.
𑣲 contents, fem! reader, steve favouriting dustin, reader favouriting lucas, small jealousy, flirting, teasing, fluff, cuteness and everything in between
request
i feel like i didnt do my best with this one so i apologise :(
"I love all of you equally, I don't have a favourite."
Those were the words many parents had said when their bundle of children asked who is the favourite, and every parent knew they shouldn't have a favourite. Though it never stopped them from having one.
In the same way, you and Steve, mom and dad of the party, have your own favourites - despite denying it.
The basement of squawk radio was bundled with the party, they often gathered here on Saturdays just for a place to be together without the chance of a parent getting in their way. They'd bring candies, homework sheets to copy off each others answers, maybe even put a tape in and watch it on the projector screen that was meant for crawls.
Steve would embrace Dustin every time he entered the building, ruffling the geniuses curls with an extra pat on the back. "Oh you so favourite him." you glare at your boyfriend, whose jaw slacks as he stutters out defensive words.
"You literally favourite Lucas so hard I don't wanna hear it." he rolls his eyes, mr sassy pants in full play. He grabbed the chicken and squeezed it in your face, the god awful squeak coming out of it.
"I do not!" you has gasped, walking off with a cassette tape in hand and following after Lucas. You'd managed to curate a two hour loop of Kate Bush for his visits to the hospital to see Max.
Steve rolled his eyes as he watched you wonder off after him, no favourites his ass.
He would know if you had a favourite, after all he was the one who drove you everywhere, he was the one to drive you to Lucas' games. Not to include that he'd bring Dustin along for his own company as you focused on cheering for Lucas - because he didn't have favourites, and if he did it wouldn't be Dustin.
Especially not Dustin, he'd never ever share his milkshake with the boy! Or anything for that matter, because he wasn't his favourite.
You sat back down, tired of standing whilst cheering the basketball player on, looking to your left and seeing Dustin drink out of the milkshake you and your boyfriend were supposed to be sharing.
"Oh." you said, raising a dramatic brow.
Steve turned to you, laughing nervously and rubbing his hand on your knee. "He took it from me, had no time to say no." he rushed out in a murmur, kissing your cheek as if to sway you to believe him. "I'll buy us another after the game, yeah?" he promised, lips on your skin.
And he did, even buying the flavour you liked! You took it from the workers hands across the counter as Steve fished in his wallet. Taking a great big sip you hummed in satisfaction, passing the cup over to Lucas to try.
Steve clocked it immediately, you were not one to share anything that could pass on germs, and now you were sharing with a sweaty teenage boy who had just lost another basketball game.
"Its okay Lucas, they all looked like they were thirty anyways! You may not be a winner but at least you look your age!" you tried to cheer him up.
"Ah! Favouritism!" Dustin pointed out, Steve nodding along beside him in agreement.
You only rolled your eyes, making your way back to Steves car. Not defending yourself or getting your milkshake back.
Of course Steve would bring it up later on. You were chopping vegetables, he'd cling to the back of you. Hands wrapping around your soft tummy, nose in the crook of your neck. "Its so obvious Lucas is your favourite, yknow." he mumbles, causing you to roll your eyes as you'd been cornered.
"Mmm, so what if he is. You treat Dustin like he's your girlfriend." you shrug, paying attention to chopping up peppers because Steves hold had made you slip up one too many times before.
Your boyfriend laughed against your neck, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin. "So you're jealous?" he implied, getting closer and closer in your personal space.
Swerving him, setting the knife and veg down, you turn to face him. Eyes roaming him, his face displayed a shit eating grin because he knew he was right. "No. No, I'm not jealous."
Steves eyebrows raised, not fully believing you though he'd play along before you mention Dustin. "You're my favourite." he cooed, poking your side which made you swat him away.
Though it was true, you were his favourite person in the whole wide world, no matter how much he spoiled Dustin. And you could say the same, with a big blush on your face, what you do for Lucas you'd do for Steve times ten.
summary: Steve’s parents are gone as usual, so Steve treats the house like it’s yours as much as his and drags you into his bed to remind you exactly who you belong to. Big dick, cock-slapping, creampie-obsessed boyfriend energy as he fucks you deep into the mattress and gets way too excited about the mess he leaves between your thighs.
Steve’s bedroom always felt more like your room than his.
Your clothes in a pile on his chair, your perfume soaked into his pillows, your lip balm on his nightstand next to his watch. His parents hadn’t been home in what felt like months, and somewhere along the way, “Steve’s house” had quietly turned into “your house.”
Which is why you were comfortably sprawled across his bed in one of his shirts and nothing else, flipping through a magazine like you weren’t waiting for him to get out of the shower and ruin you.
You heard the bathroom door squeak open, the soft pad of his feet on the carpet. A second later his weight dipped the mattress and wet hair brushed your arm.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice warm and lazy.
You didn’t bother looking up. “Hey.”
He plucked the magazine right out of your hands and tossed it onto the floor.
“Rude” you protested, finally turning your head to glare at him.
Steve just grinned, that cocky, sunshine smile that made you forget your own name. His hair was damp and messy, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, shirtless and still flushed from the hot water. Drops of water trailed down his chest and you got stuck watching one slide past his navel and disappear under the waistband.
“Thought you said you missed me” he teased, leaning on one arm, crowding into your space. “I’ve been in the shower for, like, three years and I get… a hey?”
Your lips twitched. “I do miss you. I also missed my article on how to get the perfect blowout.”
He huffed a laugh and ducked down, nosing at your cheek. “Yeah? ‘Cause I’m feeling pretty blown out that my girlfriend would rather read about hair than kiss me.”
“Terrible” you deadpanned. “That was terrible, Steven.”
His fingers slid under the hem of his own shirt that you were wearing, thumb brushing the bare skin of your hip. “What, you gonna punish me for it? ‘Cause I’ll take my chances.”
You tried to keep your voice steady. “Who says I was thinking about you at all?”
He paused, then slowly pulled the shirt up just enough to expose your bare thigh, eyes dragging down. His gaze darkened when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “You gonna look me in the eye and tell me you’re not thinking about me right now, honey?”
Your face went hot, but you held out as long as you could. “Maybe I was thinking about dinner.”
Steve hummed, unconvinced, and pushed the shirt up higher, exposing the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your stomach. His palm flattened over your skin like he was staking a claim.
“Uh-huh. You lying to me in my house?” His thumb stroked small circles low on your belly. “That’s crazy, ‘cause I walked in here and all I can think is… my girl’s in my bed, in my shirt, no panties, and she wants me to believe she’s thinking about takeout.”
You swallowed. “I– I could be.”
His hand drifted lower, knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh. “Yeah? So if I check, you’re not gonna be all warm and wet for me, is that what you’re saying?”
You glared at him, even as your hips gave a tiny, traitorous tilt toward his touch. “You’re annoying.”
“You’re avoiding the question” he shot back, smug, sliding his hand between your legs.
The moment his fingers brushed your slit, both of you froze.
“Jesus” he breathed, eyes flicking back up to yours. “Baby.”
You were soaked, slick gathered there like you’d been working yourself up just thinking about him. Which… okay, you kind of had.
Steve’s pupils blew wide, and suddenly the teasing was gone. He looked hungry.
“Yeah” he said quietly. “Yeah, you definitely missed me.”
You sucked in a breath as he lazily dragged his fingers through your wetness, up and down, not quite giving you what you wanted.
“Steve” you whispered, hand grabbing at his wrist.
“What?” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“You’re—” You bit your lip as he circled your clit just barely, not enough pressure to make it count. “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?” He played dumb, lips ghosting over your throat as his fingers kept up those slow, infuriating strokes. “The thing where I touch my girl ‘cause she’s dripping all over my sheets? That thing?”
You whined, squirming. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled against your skin. “You should see yourself right now.”
He pulled back just enough to look, spreading you open with two fingers, the cool air hitting your slick heat. Your cheeks burned as his gaze dropped to between your thighs, dark and reverent.
“God, baby” he groaned, almost to himself. “Look at this pussy.” His tongue peeked out to wet his lips. “You’re so wet and I haven’t even done anything yet. You really were just laying here thinking about me, huh?”
You wanted to deny it, to save a shred of dignity, but the way he was staring at you made your brain short-circuit.
“Maybe” you muttered.
He grinned, triumphant. “You are gonna be the death of me.”
Before you could respond, he shifted, kneeling between your legs and tugging the shirt higher until it was bunched around your ribs. His hands slid up your sides and cupped your breasts through the thin cotton, thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebbled.
“Take it off” he said, voice a little rough. “Wanna see all of you.”
You sat up just enough for him to peel the shirt over your head. Steve dropped it somewhere on the floor without looking, eyes glued to you spread out for him, bare and breathing hard.
He let out a reverent little laugh. “My perfect fucking girl.”
Heat flared low in your stomach at the way he said my—like there was no universe where you belonged to anyone else.
“Steve” you whispered, reaching for him.
He caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, kissing your palm, your knuckles. “I’ve got you, okay? Just lay back for me.”
You did, sinking into the mattress. Steve shoved his sweatpants down, revealing just how hard he already was, cock flushed and heavy against his stomach. Even now, every time you saw him like that, your body gave that same little nervous flutter.
He caught your stare and smirked. “You staring, honey?”
You wet your lips. “Maybe.”
“Can’t blame you” he said lightly, then dropped his voice. “This is all yours, you know that?”
You nodded, dazed, as he wrapped a hand around himself and gave a slow stroke, base to tip. A bead of precum gathered there and he thumbed it away, hissing softly.
Then he leaned forward and used his free hand to hook under your knee, pushing your legs open wider.
“C’mere,” he murmured, sliding closer until the head of his cock nudged your folds. He didn’t push in, just dragged himself through your slick, coating himself. “Fuck, baby. You hear that?”
The obscene wet sound filled the room, and you moaned, fingers clenching in the sheets.
“Steve—”
“You’re so messy for me” he rasped, eyes fixed where his cock moved against you. “You got yourself all worked up just waiting, huh?”
He pulled back and then slapped his cock lightly against your clit.
You jolted. “Oh my god—”
Steve’s grin turned wicked, doing it again just to see you jump. The thick, weighty smack and the sting of sensation had you gasping, heat shooting straight through you.
“You like that?” he asked, testing, giving you another sharp little slap against your swollen folds, the head of his cock bouncing off your clit.
You whined, hips twitching. “S-steve—”
“That’s not a no” he teased, eyes bright. “Look at you. Getting all flustered over a little cock slapping.”
“It’s not—” you tried, but it dissolved into a moan when he did it again, a little harder this time.
“Not what?” he coaxed, voice smug. “Not making you clench around nothing? ‘Cause I can see you, baby.”
Your thighs trembled. The mix of sting and pressure had your body arching off the bed, nerves buzzing.
“Okay, okay,” you breathed, half-laugh, half-plea. “I like it. Happy?”
“So fucking happy” he said, and then, almost sweetly: “My pretty girl, taking it so good for me.”
He eased up then, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance. The teasing dropped out of his expression, leaving just raw heat and something softer underneath.
“Gonna put it in now, yeah?” he murmured. “Need you so bad, baby.”
You nodded quickly. “Please.”
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking your skin. “Deep breath for me.”
You exhaled and he pushed in slowly, the stretch burning in that familiar, addictive way. He was big—he always felt big—but he went so carefully, watching your face, stopping when you gasped so you could adjust.
“Fuck” he groaned, jaw clenching. “Always so tight for me. You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”
Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into warm skin as he sank deeper, inch by inch. The fullness built and built until he was bottomed out, pelvis pressed to yours.
You let out a shaky breath. “You’re… you’re so deep.”
“Yeah?” Steve’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, like he was hanging onto his control by a thread. When he opened them again, it was all for you. “You feel me in there, sweetheart?”
“Can’t– I can’t not feel you,” you whined, walls fluttering around him. “You’re huge.”
His mouth curved, pride and affection tangled together. “Say that again.”
You swallowed. “You’re so big”
He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear to god.”
He stayed still for a beat, letting you get used to him. You used the pause to wrap your legs around his waist, angling your hips instinctively until he brushed that perfect spot inside.
You gasped, nails scratching lightly down his back. “There—right there—”
Steve sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah? That it?” He pulled back just a little and pushed in again, hitting the same place, watching your face twist in pleasure. “Right here, baby?”
A choked sound tore out of you. “Yes, yes—”
“That’s my girl” he praised, grin going hazy. “Knew you’d take it all for me.”
He started to move, slow at first, deep thrusts that had you feeling every ridge of him. The drag of his cock against your slick walls, the pressure low in your belly—it built fast, too fast, all the tension from waiting on him now snapping into sharp, needy focus.
“Faster” you whined, hips chasing his. “Please, Baby, I need—”
He didn’t make you beg for long. “Okay, okay. I got you.”
He adjusted his weight, bracing on his forearms so his chest pressed to yours, bringing you impossibly close. Then he started fucking you in earnest, pace quickening, hips snapping against yours in deep, firm thrusts.
The headboard thumped lightly against the wall, your moans mixing with his grunts and the filthy wet sound of him sliding in and out of you.
“Listen to you” he panted, eyes locked on yours. “You hear yourself, baby? You’re so loud for me.”
“You’re the one—” You broke off with a gasp as he hit that spot again and again. “You’re the one doing this to me—”
“Damn right I am” he said, and then his hand was sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit.
You gasped, back arching, the added pressure sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. It was too much and not enough all at once.
“Steve—oh my god—”
“That’s it” he coaxed, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. “Take it, sweetheart. Take all of it. This pussy’s mine, yeah?”
You clenched around him, the possessive edge in his voice making you dizzy. “Y-yeah—yours—oh fuck—”
“Say it” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Tell me. Tell me it’s mine.”
“It’s yours” you cried, the words tumbling out. “All yours, Baby, I’m yours—”
He groaned like you’d punched the air out of his lungs. “Fuck, I love you.”
The way he said it, wrecked and earnest, tipped you even closer to the edge. The pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, building with every thrust, every drag of his fingers over your clit.
Your thighs started to shake. “I’m gonna—”
His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him, nose brushing yours. “Yeah? You gonna come for me? On my cock?”
You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how intense it felt. “Please—please, Steve—”
“Do it” he rasped, picking up the pace, driving into you just a little harder. “Come on, baby, make a mess on me. Want to feel you squeeze me.”
Your whole body went tight, then snapped. The orgasm tore through you, white-hot and blinding, your walls clamping down around him as you cried out his name. Your legs locked around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.
Steve choked on a curse, his rhythm stuttering as he felt you come undone. “Oh fuck, there you go—that’s it, that’s it—good girl, holy shit—”
You could feel him fighting to hold on, hips still driving into you even as you spasmed around him. The sensitivity was almost too much, pleasure tipping into oversweet, but you clung to him, desperate to keep him as close as possible.
“Inside” you gasped, words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “Come inside, Baby, please—wanna feel you—”
His eyes flew open, pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left. “Jesus Christ” he groaned, jaw going slack. “You’re trying to kill me, I swear—”
You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Please, Steve. Need it.”
That did it.
His hips snapped forward in a few rough, frantic thrusts, and then he was coming with a broken, strangled moan, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse inside you, warmth flooding your core, the sensation making your entire body shiver.
“Fuck—oh my god, baby—” He collapsed against you, breath hot and ragged against your neck. “So good, you’re so fucking good—”
You held him through it, fingers rubbing soothing circles on his back even as you trembled beneath him. The two of you stayed tangled together, panting in the quiet of his room, the world narrowed to the thud of his heart against your chest.
After a long moment, he shifted just enough to look at you, still buried inside, his cheeks flushed and hair a wild, damp mess.
“Hey” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You okay?”
You nodded, dazed, a lazy smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah. More than okay.”
His mouth curved, relief and pride softening his features. “Good.”
You felt a slow leak of warmth between your legs and your face heated. “Oh my god, I can feel you—”
He groaned, eyes squeezing shut. “Do not say shit like that unless you want round two immediately.”
You laughed, giving his shoulder a playful smack. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned down to peck your lips. “You love me.”
“I do” you admitted, brushing your nose against his. “Even if you are a menace.”
“Rude” he said, but he was smiling. He shifted carefully, easing out of you with a soft wince—for both of you—and watched, openly fascinated, as his come started to slip out.
He made this low, reverent noise. “God, I love seeing that.”
“Steve” you whined, mortified, trying to clamp your thighs together. “Don’t stare.”
“Can’t help it” he said, utterly unbothered. “My girl, my mess. Kinda obsessed, actually.”
“Kinda?” you snorted.
He grinned, unabashed. “Okay, very obsessed.” He flopped down beside you and pulled you into his chest, tucking you under his arm like you belonged there. Which… you did.
For a while, you just lay there in the quiet. His fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as the high slowly faded.
“You know” he said eventually, voice thoughtful, “my parents have no idea their bedroom is getting shown up by mine.”
You giggled into his skin. “What, you jealous of their thread count?”
“Please,” he scoffed. “They’re never here. This is our house now, remember? This—” He gestured vaguely around the room. “This is the primary suite.”
You rolled your eyes fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”
He tipped your chin up so you had to meet his gaze, a soft, dopey smile on his face. “Yeah, but I’m yours.”
You smiled back, heart doing a little flip. “Yeah. You are.”
a/n: happy saturday angels! here’s a long one since it’s been about a week since i last posted. nothing better than some feral bf!steve for your saturday evening!
summary: Winter break is a perfect time to stay with your boyfriend, maybe even a perfect time for the first 'I love you's.
cw: mentions of showering/ being naked, no smut but very touchy, fluff, domestic!steve <3, first 'I love you's, fem!reader, if I missed anything please lmk!
a/n: so sorry i’ve been so m.i.a…… i promise ill start writing more especially with the new season!! <3 enjoy <3
It’s finally winter break in Hawkins. Schools out, finals are over, and the next few weeks are full of relaxing. It also means your parents are out of town. Similarly to Steves, but his parents are always out of town. A perfect excuse to stay with him all break. Just the two of you in your own little bubble of domestic bliss.
This is also your first time staying over at his house for this long. Normally you spend the night and leave early the next morning, both of you having your own things you need to do for the day. But instead of leaving right when you wake up you can stay in his bed, watching as he gets himself ready for work, kissing you goodbye on his way out.
With days following the same pattern it’s easy to fall into something of a routine.
Especially when the cold winter breeze finds itself stuck in little crooks of the house. Even with the heater on, the freezing temperature sticks to your bones with ease. But when Steve comes home he’s stuck to you like glue. Hands anywhere and everywhere, his body heat warming you as the night gets colder. He can be as hot as a furnace, a perfect match for your shivering body.
So when Steve leaves you in the morning the hours he’s gone you're stuck trying to find ways to sustain warmth. His old house and the harsh winds don't mix well, the creaky doors let the air in with ease. That’s why when he comes back you're in pretty much the same spot he left you in. Surrounded by blankets and sheets that smell like your boyfriend who's been gone for too long.
That’s also how your nightly showers have started. First it was Steve just needing to be clean from his work day. But for you it was letting the steaming water hit your skin, filling with goosebumps at the strike contrast. The burning sensation of your freezing hands met with the lava temperature water, it was perfect for you.
The first night it was just you sitting on the toilet lid soaking up the heat from his shower, until he kindly said you could join him. Then following it up with some cheesy boyish pick up line like how it would save water to shower together.
How could you say no to saving water?
It’s nice to have routines with Steve. Living a life like you're married, or living together full time. It’s a future you really want with him. Although it’s silly to think so far ahead, when you put the amount of time you and Steve have actually been dating officially it hasn't been long enough. The usage of ‘I love you’s not even being said yet. In reality this break is just you two playing pretend, or maybe seeing what could be if it keeps going.
Something that won't be here in a few weeks time. Maybe he will notice how much you talk to him before bed, after spending the afternoon alone. And perhaps you’ll notice just how needy he is after work. The little things that only happen in close proximity coming to light, ending something before it even has a chance to start.
However, these things only happen because you two are so attached to each other. Dating for only a short time and already thinking of marriage and living together. So while the idea of you two getting sick of each other is very rare, it’s still a nagging thing in the back of your head. Possibly something born from the lack of ‘I love you’s. But maybe not something that should be said on the third day of staying with him.
The thoughts only last so long until the hour you have been waiting for him has passed and you can hear the front door open. As Steve kicks off the snow from his shoes he can hear you pounce down the stairs. Out of breath from getting up quickly and skipping every other step.
“Hi angel.” The tip of his nose is red from his short amount of time outside and his hair is a little less than perfect– probably from the amount of times he stressfully pulled it back at work. But he still looks perfect.
“Hi I missed you.” The heavy coat he has on blocks you from any real warmth that radiates off of him. It’s why your hands are quick to find their way under all the layers.
“Holy shit.” Is all he says as he steps back, your hands freeze in their position in the air, scared by his reaction. “Your hands are like freezing cold.” It only takes a few seconds for his warm hands that had the heater on them for the whole car ride to meet yours.
“Sorry, I forgot about that.” You say sheepishly, focused on his hands rubbing yours to create heat.
“Y’know what I think this calls for?” Now instead of rubbing them he’s holding them, bringing a hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles and letting the other rest against his cheek.
“What?”
You know what he’s thinking. But hearing his reasoning for why you should skip winding down, having dinner, maybe even watching a movie to shower is more interesting. Normally it’s something that happens after all his attempts at warming you up fail. Resulting in the burning water being your last resort.
“I think it calls for a shower, can't let my baby freeze for a second longer.” It’s enough of a reason for you. Not one to deny what Steve thinks is best.
There's probably a minute or two difference between when you get in the shower versus when Steve gets in the shower. You just have to undress and step in, Steve has to put his coat back into the closet, hang his keys up, put his work vest next to his wallet so he doesn't forget it.
By the time he gets up to the bathroom steam is already fogging up the mirror. Even the glass door for the shower has a blurry effect to it, giving him a barely there look at you under the water. It’s not until he shuts the door to then turn back around to you that he sees your pink lips come through the foggy glass, leaving a print. And only through that print can he see the smile you make afterwards. Drawing him in more than anything else. Like a moth to a flame.
First you hear his belt buckle hit the tile, then the sliding glass door open. This time when he touches you you're not ice cold. Sure your skin is a little red from the heat of the water but you feel back to normal. The first shower you two ever had together Steve made fun of you for how hot your shower was but now he’s completely used to it. Anything colder is not enough to completely relax his muscles.
As he steps in you switch places with him, letting him get the water now that you've gotten warm. Steve is weird and steps right into the water, face first, not even letting his chest bare the heat before anything else. But it’s okay because you enjoy your view of his back. Broad shoulders that met his narrow waist, raising with each deep breath. Maybe you both have your weird ways.
“I can't believe you’re so busy ogling me that you haven't even asked how my day was.” Steve says, spitting out water that got into his mouth during his sentence.
“I was not ogling you. It’s called being patient, waiting for my turn.” You don't help your point when you poke at his back, needing to feel him.
“Think I can feel you burning holes in my back.” This time he finally turns to face you as he pushes his hair back. And maybe you are crazy or maybe you haven't seen him all day but the sight of him with water stretching over his biceps is doing even more than his back.
“Well since we are pointing things out you didn't kiss me when you walked in.”
You’re starting to get cold not being under the water and Steve is all smiles. This is a conversation that would typically be had downstairs, probably in the kitchen while you two talk about dinner. But instead you are latching onto him, your chin against his chest, and your arms around him– trying to catch any water that hits him.
You even finish the complaint with puckered lips, really selling the deal. And really how can Steve not put his hands on you when you look at him like that? His long arms folding over your back, only to go lower as he deepens the kiss. It’s bad how easily you two could spend hours wasting water, too busy in each other's presence to actually do what you’re supposed to do in the shower.
Steve only lets go once he needs a break for air, letting his forehead meet yours. “There, that's my end of the deal. Now your turn.”
It’s so hard not to be all giggly and squeamish when his hands are all over you like this. Or when his big eyes are pacing between your lips and eyes. He’s consuming, it’s hard to focus on anything other than him, hard to think normally.
“Okay, my turn. How was your day?”
“My day was good, Robs didn't spend every second of every hour talking about Vickie so it could have been worse.” The normalcy of the conversation has Steve slowing down on the grabby hands. Instead going for the shampoo bottle, trying to multitask but failing at it.
“I think it’s cute, she values your opinion. Plus I bet she feels the same way when you talk about me.” You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing directly after saying it. Steve’s quick to notice and the sugary sweet giggle you do afterwards is the cherry on top.
“You’re brave to assume I talk about you at all.” Steve replies, pinching your sides. It’s sarcastic and filled with irony because that's all he does, but he has to come across cooler than that.
“Robin has literally called me to tell me what you say about me.” You must look crazy right now, hair full of bubbly shampoo, waiting for Steve to rinse his out so you could go next. All you can do is make a mohawk with the product.
“Robin complains about everything to anyone who will listen. ‘Oh Steve stepped on my foot, Steve only talks about his girlfriend, Steve got here late’ it’s all I hear all day long.” Finally he’s shampoo free so you two flip where you’re standing. Unlike your boyfriend you face away from the shower head so you can still talk.
“Hm well what I hear is ‘Steve wont stop talking about you, Steve said he misses you, Steve wouldn't shut up about your date later’ do any of those sound familiar?”
At this moment you wont tell him off but he is using way too much of your expensive conditioner. Despite his full head of hair he only needs a pea size amount but the glob he got was about 10 peas. In reality you shouldn't let him use any of your hair products but you simply can't tell him no.
“Nope, couldn't imagine saying anything like that.” He shrugs, raking the conditioner through his hair.
“Maybe I need a new boyfriend then. Kinda want one that's obsessed with me.” You play along.
“Based off of what you’ve heard from Robs I think I’m too obsessed with you, I mean I don't think I could love you any-”
It was rapid speed the way the word came out to Steve slapping his hand over his mouth.
The sentence was so smooth and natural, like it was said a thousand times, as if there was no thought put behind it. Something that was just instinctual and second nature. Between the time he said it to your eyes shooting open was milliseconds. You caught it right when you heard it. The word ‘love’ stood out to you in big bold letters. It was almost as if you were taking in each word as they were coming to you but your brain short circuited at the one it hasn't heard yet.
“What did you just say?” Steve hates that he can't read your face at this moment. It wasn't like you had the world's biggest smile or the saddest frown. It was just an expression of shock. He’s probably has the same one.
“That I was obsessed with you.” He says it with his hand still over his mouth making it muffled. A clear sign he was caught in the act but not brave enough to man up about it just yet.
“And then what else?” The sound of the steaming water hitting your back was all that could be heard. That was until he completely broke.
“It just slipped out. I really didn't mean to say it. I mean I meant to say it, not in this moment, definitely not in this way. Like I have been wanting to say it. Soon- not today soon, but soon. I’m sorry.”
“Did you mean it? You love me?”
You feel so open right now. Not only are you stuck in this shower with him but you might've just heard words that weren't meant to be said. Ideally this conversation is had when something romantic happens, when a person simply couldn't hold it in any longer, the love bursting through them. Not in the shower when you were just having a fake fight that would be one of many throughout the day.
“Of course I meant it, how could I not mean it?”
“You love me?” The repetition is annoying, you’ll be irritated with yourself for saying it later but right now you need him to say the words. Loud and clear with purpose.
“I love you.” If this was a regular moment Steve would have a hand on you. Maybe on your shoulder or your neck, a comforting touch to keep him grounded but your quietness has him guarding himself up.
The silence only lasted a few seconds– Steve would've bet it was a whole minute– until you spoke again. “I love you too.” Your words weren't as tight and strong as Steves, his being the second time he said it. Allowing it to sit with him.
And finally the expressionless look on your face left, being replaced by a smile that would last all day long, maybe even going into the next day. Steve copied it quickly, breathing a breath of relife– in reality a breath in of steam and a breath out of stress. Gleaming with your approval and agreement. A bridge crossed, one of the biggest he would argue. Something that has a promise that one day there will be even more bridges to cross. As if you pinky swore that you both would continue and stay strong to what you have.
Once you said the three words it was like a dam was broken, or the finish line was crossed snapping the ribbon in half. “I love you, so much you have no idea.” Steve feels back to normal, ready to jump back into your skin and become one person again.
“I love you, even though you just told me you didn't mean to say you loved me.”
“Oh my god I cannot believe I just did that.” He’s lucky you just washed your hair because he’s hugging you but also mumbling all these words into the crown of your head. So struck by himself that he doesn't even care.
“I can't believe you just did that either, but I'm glad you did.” All you can do is try to give his shoulder baby kisses while you're stuck in his bear hug.
“I’m glad I did it too.” He says back as he gives you a squeeze. “Robin is gonna give me so much shit for this.”
“Now all the calls I'm gonna get are about how much you love me.”
Steve doesn't think he’s ever smiled so much. And you can't wait to get those calls.
hill i love ur stories sm !! Do you think you could maybe write virgin!reader with experienced steve? Doesnt have to be anything specific, just him helping her and guiding her through it. (also maybe some soft dom!steve 😉🤤)
LISTEN AND LEARN ! (experienced! steve harrington)
╰ or... you're a virgin, not for any particular reason, just because you haven’t found the right guy yet. but steve harrington? when he finds out about your virginity? he's determined to shatter it.
WARNING: 18+ CONTENT, fem! virgin! reader, gentle sex, tummy bulge, praise kink, loss of virginity, dirty talk, spitting, vaginal sex, protected sex (for once!), soft dom! steve harrington, steve whimpers in bed!
you weren't going to lie to yourself; you were a virgin.
it was obvious with the way you refused to have sex with anyone. it's not even out of a religious obligation— not that it would be bad to do it for that, it's just... you didn't want to. were you scared? a little, but did you care more about the timing and the man himself? that was more like it.
you didn't want to spread your legs for a man that was horrible, not wanting to give your virginity to a manwhore (oh boy, you were about to give your virginity to the biggest manwhore possible). you didn't want to lose your virginity to someone pathetic, didn’t want to loose it to a man who didn't deserve it... so you just let the timing happen.
and the good ol' thing you call fate? well... it decided that the first man in your cunt would be steve harrington— king whore himself, bouncing around four different jobs at a time, and parents are never home— steve harrington, of all individuals.
you see; you didn't plan for him to fuck you. the shyness about sex wasn't something you told him when he kissed you— you've kissed a few people before this— you could count them all on one hand, and masturbated a handful of times… you've just never had a sexual experience with another person before... but steve was determined to give you the best possible first time.
he loved the idea of it anyway, it always ate at him like a filthy little secret of his, the idea of taking a girl’s virginity was both hot and incredibly honoring to him.
"baby, you've never had sex before?" he asks you, his hands on your lower back as the back of your knees hit the bed frame.
you swallowed a whimper that tried to leave and nod your head. you weren't embarrassed about it, you didn't care, it was just the fact that you were admitting it to him that got you a little shy. "no. never... just... haven't found time for it." you mutter against his lips.
the grin that he has? it's unparalleled, it's undeniable. he's so damn excited at the prospect of that.
"well... thank you for trusting me sweetheart." he says against your lips, beginning to tug up your shirt. "because fuck, you're going to feel so god damn good... promise."
...and you could not prepare yourself for what this man did the moment he had you on your back, his head in between your thighs.
steve ate you out like you were the only thing he needed. he brought you to your orgasm over and over again.
you've never felt so god damn good in your life. his tongue laid flat on your cunt, flicking in your folds, sucking on your clitoris and treating your cunt like it was the best thing in the entire world, tasting your orgasm over and over again, the third orgasm blended into the fourth— you could never imagine your first time would feel like this before.
obviously, you cummed on his tongue over and over again, moaning so loud that your throat was burning up, your own moans ringing in your ears as you came down from every high steve pushed you to. you tugged at his brunette hair so needily, squeezing his head between your thighs as he just ate away, groaning every time a particularly good yank of his hair happened.
"steve... oh fuck..." you moan low, huffing, attempting your damn hardest to get air in your lungs as he takes off his blue jeans and finally moves his head from between your legs. his eyes get a firsthand viewing of the result of his tongue on your cunt for nearly twenty-seven minutes; seeing how puffy your folds got from overstimulation and his tongue (and the occasional finger or three), seeing the wetness coating your cunt, the cum all over it.
it was a sight to behold and steve couldn't stop staring, taking the only fewest of second glances at your face to see blush covering your cheeks, even when you hid it with your hands.
his right hand went down, rubbing his thumb on top of your abdomen. "you did so damn well for me, baby." he praises low, stroking his cock in jerks of his hand. "pussy tastes fuckin' incredible. can't believe what you were hiding this entire time."
you nod your head, pussy fluttering at his slow teases of praise. "best you ever tasted?" you didn't know where the fuck this confidence was from, but after four orgasms, you thought you deserved it.
he looks down at you with a big grin on his face, leaning down and pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips— you got to taste your own cum on his tongue. "hell yes." he mutters, pulling back.
steve reaches over to your nightstand where his leather wallet sits happily. you nod your head up, watching as his fingers fish into his wallet and dig into the different credit card holders of the wallet. steve clicks his tongue until he feels the foil wrapper of a condom, pulling it out and ripping it open with his teeth.
he throws the wrapper to the ground and with practiced precision, he rolled the condom onto his thick cock, watching as the protective material covers his inches easily.
readjusting his hips, steve looks at you as he lines his cock up with your sobbing folds, his right hand steady on your hip as the left holds himself.
"s-steve... fuck—" you whisper, putting your weight on your forearms. your cheeks were flushed, hair messy, mouth agape.
he cocks an eyebrow, moving his right hand up to cup your chin. "you nervous, baby?" he asks you quietly, his thumb taking a chance to swipe over your bottom lip, fingers wrapped under your jaw.
you nod your head. "a little..." you admit, licking the bottom of your lips, which involuntarily licks his thumb. "I mean... obviously i'm gonna be a little nervous."
he looks at you with a sense of understanding, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on your lips. "sweetheart, no need to explain yourself... i understand... going to feel way different from what you think it's going to feel like... but i promise you, it will feel so good." he tries to comfort you, knowing it's going to feel so damn foreign.
you look at him, his eyes are so damn understanding, so you trust him.
he drags his right hand down from your chin, pushing you gently to the bed. "just lay back and enjoy it, baby, don't get too worked up over it. 'gonna hurt at first, but it's going to be alright."
and as he presses his tip against your folds and begins to push forward; the stretch hits you damn instantly. he's thick, so obviously, he's stretching you a good amount.
a sharp groan leaves your mouth, fingers curling in the bedsheets under you, your heels digging into the mattress as he's slowly pushing into you. at a particularly good inch, your hand shoots up to the forearm of the hand on your cheek, your nails digging into his skin and brushing against his arm hair.
steve freezes mid inch, jaw flexing and eyebrows furrowing, seeing the bulge slowly develop in your cunt. "fuck— okay, baby, jesus you're so fuckin' tight— feel so damn good... so good f'me." he whispers, head dropping down as he bullies each inch into you.
he’s usually such a cocky, smooth bastard, but now? he’s breathless, watching as you take each inch with pure perfection. each inch fits into your cunt easily. “that’s it…” he whispers. “open up f’me, sweet girl… fuck.” he moans, voice breaking as your walls clench around his cock needily.
you arch your back off the bed as your body succumbs to the unfamiliar feeling. he feels so filling in you, a burn sensation still lingering in your body as you attempt to breathe properly. it feels so good even if it’s unfamiliar territory for you, pleasure running through your body like blood at this point. he sits warm in your cunt, letting you adjust to his size, watching in awe as you become accustomed to him.
“don’t worry baby.” he begins, pulling out slowly as his right hand remains on your cheek, stroking his thumb up and down while his left hand strokes the bulge in your abdomen. “you’ll get used to it, promise you.”
and before you could say anything (or like your body could give you any time to respond), he thrusts back in, stretching your walls slowly as they’re forced to open up to him and his thickness. your fingers dig into his hand and bedsheets respectively, creating marks as a sharp gasp of pleasure rings out.
steve smiles, watching your reaction as he creates an easy tempo; nice and slow. just like he knows how to do.
he rolls his hips deeper, just enough to hit all the good spots in your pussy, shaky moans beginning to be the only thing audible in the bedroom.
“ah! ah! st-steve! o-oh fuck!” each thrust, albeit slow, delivers shocks of pleasure that you couldn’t even imagine, sensations that you never wanted to let go of as each thrust accommodates you to his size even further. his fingers weren’t even close to the size of his cock.
he nods, strands of hair falling in his face. “there you go. taking it so fucking good for me, baby. just like that… deep breaths…” he encourages, seeing you take his advice and take deeper breaths even when moans escape from your mouth. “you’re killing me, sweetheart, so good f’me, such a pretty pussy.” he aims and lets a small swab of spit fall from his mouth directly on your clit, watching it infuse with your sobbing folds and coat the condom even more.
you look down, relaxing beneath him as his words echoed through your head; you were feeling better, the burn was slowly going away and you moved your hands, sliding down his back as they attach to his shoulderblades. “steve… so good… oh fuck!”
“that’s my girl.” he whimpers, voice completely wrecked as he begins to gain a tiny bit of momentum, each thrust hitting you deeper and deeper, thrusting right on your g-spot.
your body moves with his, shy but eager and definitely a tiny bit involuntarily, but the moment your hips lift into his, matching his thrust? his mind melts, a moan combined with a chuckle leaves his throat as he watches your attempts.
“y-yeah— yeah, just l-like that.” he chokes out, grinning. “fuck baby, you’re not so innocent at all if you know how to do that.”
“i-i’m just doing what— ah! i’m doing what my body f-feels like doing.” you respond to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers dig deep into the back of his neck, pressing your forehead against his. “steve!”
He nods encouragingly. “listen to that gorgeous body of your’s, keep doing that, you’re a natural, hun.” he murmurs, bracketing both hands on your hips as he does the motion with you, lifting your hips and grinding you against him as he was able to hit your walls over and over again.
pleasure was the only thing you felt flowing through your veins as each thrust, each grind of his hips (either by his hands or your body) brought you so damn closer to your orgasm.
it was harder than the ones committed by steve’s tongue, this one felt different but so damn good.
“steve. steve. ‘m gonna cum! oh fuck!” you cry out, soft and overwhelmed but in the best way possible, steve’s hands gripping onto your hips like he’s holding you together, and in some ways he is as he helps your body bring you to your orgasm.
“i’ve got you.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “don’t worry, baby. cum for me. cum all over my cock, i’ve got you.”
your body tightens around him, white-knuckling in his hair, shuddering hard as you let your body hit the peak of your pleasure, slamming into your orgasm. your eyes roll back, moaning his name once more.
steve moans like he’s never felt anything better in his entire life, watching as you hit your orgasm, thrusting softer as he fucks you through your orgasm, slow and tender even as your body shamelessly trembles beneath him.
“good girl… good girl f’me.” he whispers, moving his left hand from your hip and pushing strands of your sweaty hair from your face, getting a good look at your gorgeous face as you slowly come down from your high. you look like a daydream in his arms that he doesn’t realize when he unloads inside the condom, his heavy cum spewing deep into the protection as his high shoots through him.
your vision comes back to you, closing your eyes as you come down from the high he sent you to, loosening your fingers in his hair as you lean your head back, your head hitting the soft mattress as he keeps you in his arms.
“you alright, sweet girl?” he asks quietly, smiling softly as you open your eyes to him.
you nod your head, eyes half-lidded. “yeah… i-if there’s a word better than alright… i’m that.” you murmur, feeling his soft hands all over you.
steve kisses you again, pulling out so damn slowly that a second round? yeah. you’re getting that and a few more, but who is steve to deny you?
click here for main masterlist!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: steve harrington my loveeeeee. i lwkey love cocky! soft dom! steve because god he's so fucking sexy. i luv to make him whimper though cause he's always gonna whimper no matter what! also, continue to request me, i love it! i don't write virgin! reader a lot but i tried my best! fighting for my life trying to make my requests the best I can make them so if i answered one before urs, I ain’t ignoring u, promise!
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
hii! i'm absolutely in love with your writing! idk how many requests you take but i'd love if you could do a steve harrington one where the reader gets hurt in the upside down/on a mission or smth and everyone tries to help but steve freaks out and it's kind of angsty? sorry if that doesn't make a lot of sense! also happy new years xx
scared me to death
Steve harrington x fem!reader, 1.4k words
tw: blood, gore (not a lot), the Upside Down, Eddie's alive
a/n: Thank you for your request gorgeous!! By the time this will be posted it'll probably be a little later but Happy New Year to you too!
Steve is losing his mind.
Not in the “Oh, Dustin's being a total dipshit again” way, or even the “Robin won’t stop talking” way. This is the real thing—heart in his throat, stomach‑in‑free‑fall kind of losing his mind.
Because you’re gone.
You were supposed to be thirty feet ahead with Nancy and Eddie, checking the tunnels for any sign of movement. You'd split from him, Robin, and Dustin an hour ago to cover more ground.
It had made sense at the time. It doesn’t now, especially with the way his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his fingers.
They've been circling the same patch of vine‑covered terrain for at least ten minutes. The air’s still thick with that heavy, mildew-y scent.
He hates the Upside Down, sure, but he hates the fact that you're not by his side even more.
And that's saying something, because the Upside Down is terrifying.
Robin yells your name again.
Nothing. Just a warbling hum that he's gotten way too used to.
“We’re supposed to regroup at north tunnel exit, remember? Maybe they’re already headed that way," Dustin says.
“Maybe,” Steve mutters. It sounds more like please.
He keeps walking. The air hums with that awful electricity, the scent of metal and mould burning his lungs. Every sound makes him flinch — not out of fear for himself, but for the possibility that you’re making it.
“Steve,” Robin says softly. “We’ll find her. Probably just—”
But her voice dies when a shout cuts through the air.
Nancy.
Steve's running before thought catches up, breath ripping through his throat. He rounds a corner so fast he nearly wipes out on a slick patch of dirt.
And then he sees it — Nancy, pale and panting, half‑dragging you forward by the arm. Eddie’s hovering uselessly behind her, jacket clutched in one hand.
For a heartbeat, Steve stops breathing.
You’re limping badly, your left leg slick with blood down to your boot, eyes glazed with exhaustion. You’re upright only because Nancy’s got a death grip on your coat.
“Steve!” she calls when she spots him.
“Jesus—” He’s already there before she finishes his name, one hand cupping your face, the other bracing your side. “Hey, hey, I got you. What happened?”
You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. Nancy answers instead. “Vine grabbed her leg, one of those big ones. Ripped clean through when Eddie cut it off.”
“I told her to let me handle the slashing,” Eddie says quickly, guilt bleeding into his voice. “She didn’t listen.”
Steve ignores him. His focus narrows to you, the streak of dirt across your cheek, the tremor in your lip when you try to speak. “Sweetheart, you’re okay,” he says, too quickly to fully believe it. “It’s okay now. Let me see.”
He crouches, careful hands rolling your torn jeans up enough to see where crimson seeps through what’s left of the fabric. His stomach lurches. “Shit. Okay, that’s— okay. Not too bad. I can fix that.”
“Steve,” you whisper, half laughing, half crying. “You say that about everything.”
“I’m usually right.” His voice cracks on usually.
You shudder, breath catching in your throat. “It hurts,” you whisper, sounding smaller than he’s ever heard you.
“I know, angel. I know.”
Steve makes quick work of taking off his bandana to wrap it around your leg, putting pressure on the wound. You let out a little whimper and his heart just about splits in two. "I'm sorry, baby. You did so good, alright? You're doing good. Just breathe."
Robin's voice breaks through his haze. “Steve! Oh my god—” She stumbles into view, Dustin a few paces behind her, both wide-eyed and pale.
"Holy shit, that's a lot of blood."
"Wow, thank you, Dustin, for that insightful comment," Nancy deadpans. "We weren't aware."
Steve’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look up. His hands don’t stop moving, even as his shoulders tremble. “Someone give me more fabric,” he says. His voice sounds rough, scraped thin.
Robin tears off the hem of her flannel and crouches beside him. “Here—try this. It’s clean-ish.”
“Emphasis on ish,” Eddie mutters.
Steve takes it anyway, wrapping it carefully over the bandana, knuckles white. “You still with me?” he asks, glancing up only when your breathing stutters.
You nod weakly. "I'll be fine," your attempt at a reassurance.
He swallows hard, fingers trembling against your leg. "Just focus on me, okay? Breathing nice and steady."
Eddie rocks back on his heels. “Okay, but seriously, are we sure she’s not gonna, like, bleed out? Because I’m getting some bad vibes here.”
“Eddie,” Robin warns. “Not helping.”
“I’m just saying!”
You let out a little choked laugh. “You guys… you’re really bad at comforting people.”
Robin glances at you. “She’s making jokes. That’s good, right? People don’t joke when they’re dying.”
“Pretty sure they do,” Dustin says under his breath.
“Dustin!” Robin and Nancy shout in unison.
“Okay, fine! I’ll shut up!”
Steve exhales shakily, jaw tight. He presses harder on the makeshift bandage. You've stopped bleeding, for the most part. He takes that as a good sign.
Nancy shifts above you, scanning the air with the flashlight, restless. “We’re sitting ducks here,” she says under her breath. “We need to move.”
Steve nods, still crouched, hands hovering protectively over your leg. “Yeah,” he says finally, voice low. “We’re not staying here.”
He glances at you then, and for a moment, his expression softens—something raw flickering behind the worry. “Can you walk, sweetheart?”
You blink at him, then down at your leg, then back up again with a tired grimace. “Define walk.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He shakes his head, mumbling mostly to himself, “Screw it.”
Before anyone can protest, he slides an arm under your knees and another around your back, scooping you up with a careful ease that makes your stomach flip. Your arms go instinctively around his neck; he tucks you closer, as if you weigh nothing. “You don’t need to, okay?” he says firmly. “I’ve got you.”
“Steve—”
He gives you a look. “Not up for debate, angel.”
Robin blinks, looking surprised. “Okay, that was... surprisingly smooth, Dingus."
Eddie grins, but it's tinged with worry for you. "He's definitely done it before, that's for sure."
Nancy gestures up the tunnel. “Let’s keep moving. The longer we stay, the worse it gets.”
Steve adjusts his grip on you, one arm locked under your knees, the other steady around your back. You shift slightly, head pressing into his shoulder, trying not to breathe too hard.
"Okay?" He murmurs, his voice close to your ear.
"Mhm."
He presses a kiss to your temple. "Just hold onto me."
You hum a tired little sound in response, half comfort, half trust.
Behind you, Dustin pipes up, his flashlight beam wobbling as he tries really hard not to look at your leg. “Uh, not to be dramatic, but there’s, like, a lot of blood, and I might throw up."
Steve doesn’t even turn around. “Then maybe stop looking at it, Henderson.”
“I can’t just—what else am I supposed to look at? The vines?”
“Yes,” Steve says immediately. “Look at the vines, genius. Maybe compliment them. Ask if they’ve thought about branching out.”
Robin snorts hard enough to choke on air. “That was terrible.”
“Not my best material,” Steve mutters, adjusting his hold on you when you shift weakly against him.
Dustin’s still grumbling under his breath. “I’m serious, Steve, if I see her leg again, I’m—”
Steve glances down at him, exasperated. “Henderson, if you faint, I’m not carrying you too.”
"Excuse me?"
Steve huffs. "I've got my hands full."
“Please,” Robin says, rolling her eyes as she sidesteps a patch of slick ground. “If he fainted, you’d go all ‘Dad Mode’ and throw him over your other shoulder.”
"Was that ever up for discussion?" Nancy quips. "Now all of you, shut up and keep walking."
Dustin and Eddie start muttering about hemophobia being totally valid, and Robin catches up to Nancy to pester her, but Steve's focus is entirely on you.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just for you. “Almost there.”
You sigh, quiet and tired. “Told you I’d be fine.”
And Steve, walking forward through the dark, breath trembling, just mutters, “Yeah, angel. I know."
pairings ━ steve harrington x fem!reader with child!OC
synopsis ━ when the family of a younger girl passes away, you are asked by your colleague to take her in as a foster child. at first, you were nervous, until your boyfriend reminded you at how much he, and you, were made to take care of younger kids.
warnings ━ painful and comforting angst. parental death mentions (for reader and child!OC), somewhat unrealistic, childhood trauma, real historical contexts, vecna, character death (not reader, steve, or child!OC. do not worry). adoption and foster care system.
notes ━ this is based off of this request linked here. child!OC character profile linked here
PART ONE - NOT SO ORDINARY DAY
summary: at work, one of your regulars who works in the foster care system stops by. after bringing up your love for kids, you are asked to foster a child who is in need of a home.
time period: november 1985.
PART TWO - SUPPORT SYSTEM
summary: steve and you are young, taking care of a younger child. ups and downs are expected to happen as the holidays approach.
time period: christmas 1985.
PART THREE - HAPPY BIRTHDAY
summary: jodie's birthday was coming up, and steve gets the group to throw a surprise party for her.
time period: early january 1986
PART FOUR - CHALLENGER
summary: after a horrifying day at school for jodie, you and steve comforted her, even though your mind could not stop thinking about the upside down horrors that she is unaware about.
time: january 26th, 1986
PART FIVE - ROCKIN' ROBIN
summary: jodie found an idol in robin buckley.
time period: august 1986
PART SIX - MR. WHATSIT
summary: when holly disappears, jodie does too and you nearly lose your life while trying to protect her.
time period: november 1987
PART SEVEN - VESSEL
summary: all you wanted to do is bring jodie home, which put you at another risk at death. steve and you get into a heated argument, since your mind was clouded over the decision to fully adopt jodie before someone else could.
time period: november 1987
PART EIGHT - WELCOME HOME
summary: after defeating vecna, jodie saw her biggest fears come to life. she thought abandonment was in her cards, unaware that you and steve would never leave her alone again.
Summary: An ode to Steve Harrington's sweater. In which Steve thinks he's done something to piss off his girlfriend, and is ready to do anything to calm her rage. But in reality, she just wants to jump his bones because he looks absolutely delectable in that sweater of his. How could you do this to her during the end of the world, Stevie?
Warnings: Established Relationship, Kissing, Petting, Grinding, Making Out, Mentions of a Breakup, Use of Y/N, S5Vol2 Spoilers, Steve is a bit pathetic, They do NOT have their priorities straight
Word Count: 1.6K
Masterlist
Steve is running his whole day through his brain. Actually— his whole week, maybe the whole damn month. Trying to figure out where the hell he went wrong. Every interaction he’s had with Y/N, every conversation, every shared look, everything. Because the girl is staring at him so intently, he’s sure he did something wrong. Something criminal. He can’t think of anything he’s guilty of, but the look on her face has him convinced he is not an innocent man. If looks could kill, he’d be dead!
He tugs at the collar of his sweater, trying to get some air. Because damn, this is nervewracking. Scarier than any of the times he’s faced a Demogorgon head on or anything like that. Somewhere between the joke about his dick and the development of Operation Beanstalk, he tries looking her way to offer one of his award winning smiles, full of charm. His last resort to winning her over and bringing a smile back to her beautiful face.
The look she gives him suggests that he’s getting his ass beat in the car ride home before Operation Beanstalk commences. Oh god. This is like a Level 10 global atrocity. Steve knows the world is ending, but worse than that, his world is ending. What if she dumps him? Is this it? His relationship is ending before the world does. Who would’ve guessed? Not him, that’s for sure.
Once Operation Beanstalk is fully fleshed out. The team agrees to regroup in several hours, and continue preparations at the Squawk. Until then, Steve has to head home, grab all his gear, get a change of clothes— most importantly, fix his relationship, evidently. He launches up from his seat so fast that he gets stares from a couple of the other members of the Party, though he ignores them as he makes his way to Y/N almost instantly. Offering a curt smile to anyone in his way as his hand comes to the small of her back.
“Hey, Honey.” He greets, his voice more of a croon than anything else. “We can go back to mine, get all the stuff, yeah?” Steve has no clue what 'stuff' entails, he just knows there are things he needs to pick up. He'll figure it out when he gets there...
He’s painfully aware that his relationship probably shouldn’t be at the top of his priority list ahead of a world-ending scenario, but he really can’t be doing anything life-threatening with the amount of anxiety he’s experiencing at this present moment.
She hums. “Sure.” She responds simply.
Oh fuck. Could he have gotten a dryer response than that? Is she that pissed? Maybe it had to do with Nancy, Steve would never look in the direction of another woman again— he'd communicate via writing if he had to. Anything!
She starts to move, heading to grab her bag, and Steve stumbles trying to get ahead of her and snatch it up instead. “I got it, baby.” He assures, waving her off. “ Let’s go. C’mon.” He gets weird looks from... everyone. He can even see some of the kids teasing him a bit, but at this point, he's in too deep. Steve just needs his sweet, sweet, sweet girlfriend to look at him with something other than the glare he's been met with every time he looks in her direction.
She looks at him, a bit confused, but ultimately shrugs it off as his hand returns to the small of her back, guiding her out of the Squawk to the van outside. Steve looks around to ensure they’re alone, before guiding her to the back doors of the van rather than the passenger seat. “Can we chat real quick, sweetheart?” His voice comes out coaxing, he tilts his head at her, doing his best puppy dog eyes. Surely, she cannot resist the puppy dog eyes.
“Hm?” She blinks, looking between him and the doors. He can see a thought pop up in her brain, some sort of realization, though he’s not quite sure what. “Oh— sure.” She responds, climbing into the back of the van she plops down on the plush carpet, and he swiftly follows, shutting the door behind them.
He has his back to her, shifting on his knees to sit, turn around and face her. Imagine his surprise when she surges forward, her lips smashing against his. He almost falls back against the van doors, but catches himself. His wide eyes flutter shut as he leans into the kiss, hand coming to her cheek. Despite his extreme confusion, he meets her kiss with an extreme amount of eagerness. Immediately, sliding his hand to her nape to hold her against his lips as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.
Well, evidently, she isn’t mad.
No, poor Stevie had been misreading all the signals. The truth of the matter was simple: she just really, really wanted to jump his bones. How could she not? He looked delicious in that sweater. And she’d realized now was her chance to absolutely pounce on him. Her hands traveling to the hem of it to slide under the soft material and over his skin, she pulls back. “Where’d you get this sweater?” She breathes out when they separate.
Steve blinks, he swears his brain has been turned to mush as he stares for a moment. “The— the sweater? It’s— I don’t remember. I can check—” Her hands on his skin don’t really help, Steve’s always had been one for skinship, a hand was always on her person regardless of what they were doing and how innocent it was. Touching her was the highlight of his day. And feeling her hands on his skin only frazzled his brain further.
“You should buy it in every color.” She cuts him off, her gaze flicking over his form. “It looks good.” She leans forward to kiss his jaw, lips trailing down towards his neck as she mouths at his skin. “You look good. So pretty, Stevie.”
Oh, he’s melting, his breath stutters and one of his hands comes to her back. “Yeah?” His voice cracks a bit but he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed. “God, Honey. You scared me.”
She hums, lifting her head from where she’d started to suck at his skin. “Why?” She asks, tilting her head, confused.
“Thought you were mad.” He responds, hand sliding to her jaw as he leans forward to nudge his nose against hers affectionately. “Kept staring at me with those pretty little eyes.”
She scoffs, “because you look fucking amazing.” She finds herself tugging at the hem of the sweater. “It’s ridiculous. Where have you been hiding this?” Almost exasperated as she asks. “You look criminally good.”
He breathes out a laugh, tilting his head to nose at her cheek. “You flatter me, Honey.” He murmurs, his hand drifting to her waist.
She hums, ducking her head back down to suck at his neck, her hand coming to his nape to hold him still. She shifts, free hand coming to his shoulder to gently push him back until he’s seated flat on the floor of the van. She crawls into his lap, knees pressing into the carpet as she settles against him. Steve swears his brain goes blank, hands coming to her hips. “After we survive all this, I’m gonna buy you a million more sweaters, just like this one.” She nips at his neck, mouthing at his jaw.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She shifts a bit in his lap, and his head falls back against the door. A short grind of her hips has him hissing through his teeth, hands tightening around her hips to halt her.
“We need to pick up our stuff.” He reminds her weakly.
A whine escapes her as she pulls back from him to look at him. “You were just really hot today. All smart, coming up with that plan. In this delightful sweater… My man is so smart. So handsome...” She trails off, gaze trailing over him. “I’m getting deprived of what’s mine.” The subtle possessiveness in her tone, her statement, has his brain feeling fuzzy. Hers. Yes, he is absolutely, most definitely, completely hers and he is quite happy that way.
He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. Her own hands coming to his cheeks to tug him into another kiss, she sucks on his bottom lip and suddenly he’s pushing her off him so that her back is flat on the carpeted floor of the van. His hand sliding to her thigh to hitch her leg up against his waist before he gives a smooth grind of his hips against hers— inciting a mewl from her. He dives down to capture her lips with his, swallowing her noises.
Steve pulls back to gaze down at her, her hair splayed out beneath her as his eyes dart over her face. “You’re gorgeous.” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss her cheek, her jaw, then down her neck. He sucks at the sensitive skin. “And absolutely evil.”
She breathes out a laugh, hand sliding to his nape again. “Only a little evil.”
He lets out a grunt in response, nipping at her neck teasingly, causing her to let out a small ‘hey!’ before pulling back. “We gotta… we gotta go get the stuff.” He repeats weakly.
She pouts a bit, before sighing a tad dramatically. “Fine. But you’re purposely blue-balling yourself—”
He groans in frustration. “Don’t remind me.” He grumbles, leaning back down to rest his face in her neck, he inhales her scent and sighs. “After this whole mess. You and I will go on an incredible date at Enzo’s. I will wear the sweater and then–” Steve pressed a firm kiss to her jaw, “you can jump my bones.”
She hums in response, shifting a bit beneath him. Her hand comes to his cheek and her eyes dart over his face. “It’s a date.”
feel free to tip ☕️ — always appreciated, never expected 💛
Note: Can you tell I absolutely ADORED the sweater. Because I did. I was so distracted during that whole scene. Unrelated: I tried very hard to maintain my typical oldies song naming convention for fics, but Sweater Weather by the Neighborhood simply felt too fitting.
hi!! could i request a steve x reader, s1/s2. basically reader is like a girl version of steve, hanging out with tommy and carol as their group, very diva, yk. steve and reader have been bestfriends since forever but once he starts dating nancy they drift, and when billy comes in town they drift even more cause billy and reader date but he is toxic to reader & steve notices & confrontation happens at the byers house scene (s2 ep8?). sorry choppy explanation but thats it!! tysm!!
SOMEBODY ELSE
pairing. steve harrington x popular!reader
summary. what once was an unmovable friendship fizzles when you and steve get into relationships. but fate (or max mayfield) brings you two back together
warnings. reader is a little bit of a diva; breakups; billy hargrove being a MAJOR asshole to literally everyone; mention & descriptions of physical & emotional abuse (from billy); friends to enemies to lovers; set in season 2; NO nancy hate; canon levels of injuries/mention of blood.
word count. 4.7k | masterlist
There had once been a time when Steve Harrington wouldn't be spotted in town or in school without you close behind. Your names were once almost said at one, always following the other. Everything from your parking spots to your lockers had been beside each other.
Sometimes, it was hard to know where you stopped and Steve began. Like the universe had created you two by splitting apart a single star, you two had once seemed bound by forces beyond your own understanding.
You never thought that would change, but high school had a way of changing a lot of things. And while you and Steve began at Hawkins High already in high social standing, like you ruled the halls you hardly knew, something in the universe shifted near the end of your sophomore year.
Like a beautiful shooting star, Nancy Wheeler caught Steve's attention one day after school. The girl had been waiting to speak with Steve and your seventh-period teacher, lingering outside the door in her long skirt, bony elbows, and drowning in the textbooks she carried. And as Steve rushed out the door, eager to leave for the day, he crashed into her, spilling her books across the hall.
You stepped out into the hall a couple of students after him when the shift started. As Steve handed the books he had picked up off the ground back to a starry-eyed Nancy, he was already gone.
It wasn't until junior year that he actually asked her out. You rolled your eyes at his laments, complaining like some love-sick loser during lunch and when he drove you home. You thought you were just tired of listening to him drone on and on, so you told him to get over himself and ask her out. You thought that when he did, that weird feeling in your chest would go away. But it only grew worse.
You didn't mean to be mean. You really had nothing against Nancy Wheeler; how could you? She always smiled at you in the halls and complimented your outfits when she sat at the lunch table beside Steve. She was kind and quiet. You wanted her to be two-faced, say something mean to you about how she hated how close you and Steve were, or at least once were. You wanted her to give you a reason that validated the ache in your chest when you saw her laughing at some stupid joke Steve made, or when he bumped her knee under the table to make her blush.
But Nancy couldn't even do that.
She and Steve turned from a quiet whisper in the hall to a scream, a couple who held hands and kissed in the parking lot after school.
Places that had once been yours, the passenger seat of Steve's car and the right side of his bed, became hers.
And while Steve hardly noticed, a wedge was driven in between you two. Slowly at first, your after-school hangouts lessened in numbers, and weekends were divided into two.
Tommy H., of all people, noticed. He stood by your locker after school one day, a small smirk on his lips as he watched Steve head toward the parking lot to eat outside with Nancy instead of inside with you.
"I can't believe you let prissy Nancy Wheeler replace you," he said.
You closed your locker harder than necessary and shot him a glare. "No one replaced me," you snapped. "She's his girlfriend, not his friend."
Tommy H. laughed. "Right, and you two are still friends. He hasn't totally ditched you every weekend, right?"
Something hot split open inside your chest. You ignored the scratchy feeling in the back of your throat. "Fuck off."
"Someone sounds upset." You started to walk away, but Tommy H. had a way of pressing buttons.
"I'm not upset. I don't care what Steve does."
To make matters worse, Steve did try, but too long after you were stuck in a hole of annoyance at his flakiness and after you had the demoralizing realization that you were jealous, of all things.
You didn't get jealous. At least, you never had, because there had never been a time in which you weren't Steve's obvious first choice for everything. You two were connected at the hip; it had only made sense for you to be each other's go-to person. You didn't know anything else until it slapped you in the face.
The only person you told was Carol, and her advice was the art of distraction. It would be hard to focus on Steve and Nancy if your mind was occupied with your own relationship.
The universe decided to do you a solid, or so you thought. The next day, it sent Hawkins into a tizzy in the form of a California license plate.
What started as a game of cat and mouse between you and Billy Hargrove ended in not exactly a declaration of affection or even a proper asking out. No, Billy wasn't like that. He wasn't the kind who brought you flowers and asked you on dates to Enzos. Billy was the kind of boy who told you that you'd be attending Tina's Halloween Party together.
You were smug about it, in a costume you had to change into after leaving your house because your mother would probably kill you. Billy kept his hand on your lower back all night and kept your cup full of alcohol.
Through your buzz, you spotted Steve and Nancy arguing in the kitchen. You smirked, leaning into Billy's side as he was trying to be convinced to do a keg stand by Tommy H. There was something satisfying about seeing Steve and Nancy not be so perfect. But that was a fleeting feeling as you watched them disappear down the hall. Nancy had punch stains on her white sweater and what looked like tears in her eyes, and Steve looked...different.
Billy grabbed your wrist, not your hand, and tugged you through the crowd toward the front door so he could finish getting wasted with his friends in the driveway.
You stood on the sideline, sobering up with an empty cup in your hand.
The front door opened, and you recognized the person rushing out of the house. Maybe it was the one-to-many cups of punch in your system, but you took off after them without a second thought.
"Steve?"
He paused halfway across Tina's front yard. In the dim moonlight, you saw the tears that tracked down his cheeks, and your chest tightened.
For a second, it looked like Steve was going to say something to you. His lips parted before his eyes flickered to something behind you, and he clamped his mouth shut.
Then, you heard Billy call your name with a sharpness that made you flinch.
"What the hell are you doing?" Billy slurred as he came up behind you, his fingers digging into your hip as he grabbed you.
"I was just-" you started to say, before he shot a dirty look at Steve and started to pull you back toward his friends and the keg. You didn't stop him, not sure you even could. But you threw a look over your shoulder back at Steve. His brows were furrowed before he shook his head and continued on his way to his car parked along the curb.
"For someone who doesn't care, it sure looked like you were going to check up on your little Stevie," Tommy H. said, drunk and smirking like an idiot.
His words caused Billy to drag you right past the group and around to the side of the garage. "Since when do you talk to Harrington?" he asked with a bite.
You pulled your wrist out of his grasp and rubbed the sore spot with your opposite hand's thumb.
"Since long before you showed up," you replied. "We are...were friends."
Billy laughed dryly before stepping closer to you. There was a different kind of tightness in your chest that made you step back, only to bump into the side of the garage, stuck between it and Billy.
"Friends. I'm sure you were."
You narrowed your gaze, feeling hot with the alcohol in your blood but cold with the Halloween breeze that swirled through the air. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He looked you up and down, eyes hungry. That had been your goal when you first picked out your outfit, but you felt too exposed all of a sudden, somewhere between insecure and uncomfortable.
"Doesn't seem like Harrington cares much for you anymore."
Maybe he didn't. Maybe he hadn't longer than you were willing to admit, but you hated hearing that out of Billy's mouth.
"You don't know anything," you spat, and attempted to shove him back so you could go back inside to where Carol and Tina were. But as soon as you tried to push him, he pressed his hands hard against your shoulders, forcing your back against the siding with a slight sting, like he wanted to pin you in place.
Your breathing quickened, and your confidence vanished, carried away by the breeze.
Billy leaned in close, his breath reeking of beer and tobacco, and smiled. "You're not gonna talk to Harrington again, are 'ya?"
You swallowed thickly and muttered out a quiet, "No."
And you didn't because he had been more than flaky the next whole day at school, popping in and out and mind clearly somewhere far away. Rumor had it that Nancy had skipped school with Jonathan Byers, which would explain the glum expression Steve wore the few times you spotted him.
After school, Billy boasted that his dad would be out for the evening with his new step-mom. He didn't so much as invite you over as he assumed you wanted to by his statement alone. When you were around him, you started to carry a tenseness in your shoulders. Your memories from Halloween were tainted with a bit of drunk haze, but the parts with Billy were sharp, untouched, like your brain wanted you to keep them in mind each time Billy kissed you feverishly and droned on about how much he despises Indiana.
You sat on Billy's bed, unfocused until he brought up Steve, again. "Did you hear Wheeler dumped Harrington for that Briers-"
"Byers," you corrected, picking on a loose thread of his blanket.
Billy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just means he's off his game and I'll take his spot, easy, on the basketball team."
"I thought you didn't want to join the team?"
"I don't," he said. "But my dad is on my ass about doing something in this shithole town. And if I get to humiliate Harrington even more by taking his spot after being here less than a month, then I'll join."
You really didn't understand the egos of boys, or why Billy picked Steve of all people at Hawkins High to compete with. You didn't understand a lot of things about Billy Hargrove. Maybe that was for the best.
"Have you ever been on a basketball team before? I think the word team is key," you said, sarcasm lacing your tone, even though you knew it was probably a bad idea.
Billy narrowed his gaze from where he was standing at his closet. "What?"
You rolled your eyes. "You don't seem like a team player."
His lips curled into a smirk. "I'm not."
"Steve is."
Billy's smirk vanished. "So, what? You think he's better than me?"
"God," you muttered under your breath and stood up. "What does it matter?"
He crossed the small space between you two, your body somehow tensing up even more. "I asked Tommy about you two. He told me how you and King Steve were inseparable before he left you for that Wheeler bitch."
You felt your own anger rising to meet his. "Don't call her that," you said. "And Steve and I were never together! We were friends. And now we're not. End of story. So whatever ego-stroking contest you've got going on with him, leave me out of it. I don't date losers more obsessed with themselves and another dude than m-"
You didn't get to finish your sentence before a seething Billy struck you across the face. The slap was sharp and sudden, knocking the wind out of you for a moment.
There was a stretch of silence before you bee-lined for the door, tears welling up in your eyes as you stumbled down the hall. Before you reached the end, someone else stepped around the corner. Your teary eyes widened in surprised a young girl looked at you with a similar expression. Her gaze was quick to dart between you, where your hand cupped your cheek, and Billy's open bedroom door.
She nodded her head toward the door and turned around, like she was leading the way out of the house. No words were said, but she opened the front door and locked it after you stepped through it, maybe to slow Billy down, you thought as you hurried down the quiet backroads of Cheery Street, clutching your stinging cheek and trying to wrap your head around what the hell you were doing.
You knew better, you really did. But when Billy called you to cancel your date that you had no intention of attending, wanting to just deal with whatever repercussions that meant when Monday rolled around, he mentioned his little step-sister, Max, and how she was missing, and his step-mom was freaking out.
The first thing your mind jumped to was Will Byers, when he vanished in Hawkins almost a year to the date, and a weird feeling replaced the anxiety of facing Billy again after he slapped you. He had said he was sorry over the phone, that he didn't mean it. And what if something bad happened to his step-sister? What if she had disappeared like Will had? Sure, he had come back, but you couldn't deny the oddness around it. The few times you saw him, he looked like a ghost wandering through town, and you started to question if he had ever been found at all.
It was so stupid. Why did you care about some kid who was probably hiding at the arcade from her temperamental household? You didn't, not really. But there was something about the look on the kid's face when she saw you and how you were holding your face, like she knew exactly what had happened. If Billy had the gall to strike you across the face, what would he do to someone like his step-sister, whom he seemed to loathe, alongside her mother?
Against every bone in your body and your better judgment, you offered to help him look for her.
You didn't think that would lead you to the Byers house of all places.
"I really doubt she's here," you said. There weren't any cars in the driveway or a slew of bikes that would give away the group of kids that Mrs. Wheeler said Max could be hanging out with.
Billy ignored you and turned off the engine of his car. You let out a breath and were about to open the passenger side door to follow him, but your actions were halted by someone stepping out of the house. You squinted your eyes to help your vision, and regretted it.
Standing there was Steve, his hands on his hips as he eyed Billy.
"Steve Harrington," Billy said, his voice loud as he plucked his cigarette from his lips and put it out under the toe of his boot.
"Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants."
You forced yourself out of the car, drawing Steve's attention. He furrowed his brows as he said your name.
Billy started asking Steve about Max, and Steve shrugged him off, telling him that no one else was there. But Billy's gaze flickered to the window that overlooked the porch, where four heads poked up from the back of the couch, watching the exchange.
"Then who's that?" asked Billy, pointing to the kids before they ducked down like maybe he hadn't seen them.
Steve let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. "Listen-"
He only got that out before Billy shoved him to the ground, hard, and took off toward the house. You cursed under your breath and rushed to Steve instead of following Billy inside, extending a hand to help him up.
Steve hesitated before he took it, groaning as you helped him back to his feet. "This fucking guy..."
You just nodded. "Come on."
The two of you hurried inside, only to find Billy towering over a kid two times smaller than he was, Lucas Sinclair. Max was yelling at her step-brother, but Billy wasn't listening.
"You're so dead," Billy said through gritted teeth. Steve stopped him before he could hurt Lucas, throwing the two boys into a full-on brawl inside the house that was already in complete disarray, but you had no idea where even begin to understand why.
You side-stepped the fight and looked between the wide-eyed kids. They looked at you, confused too, before they refocused on the fight.
You didn't know what to do, how to help. It looked like Steve would win, which was the only outcome that seemed like it wouldn't bring too much damage, aside from Billy's ego.
But then Billy snagged a plate from the kitchen counter that he leaned against to catch his breath. The plate was smashed against Steve's head, shattering upon impact and sending Steve stumbling away from Billy, clutching his head as the kids all erupted in screams.
Billy followed Steve closely, and when he was in range, he hit him hard again to send him to the ground. Steve lied there, hardly conscious, but that didn't stop Billy from straddling him and landing punch after punch to his face. There was so much blood it made you nauseous.
You frantically looked around the room before spotting a fire poker beside the fireplace. You raced to it, holding the end with the sharp part as your handle, and planned to use the heavier handle of it as your weapon; you didn't want to kill Billy, but you needed him to stop before he killed Steve.
From behind Billy, you raised the weapon and struck him hard in the back of the head. He threw a look over his shoulder, one of his hands flying up to meet the back of his head where you had hit. He looked like he was about to get up, but you hit him again in panic, knocking him out cold.
The Byers house fell into silence, nothing but your heavy breathing. Slowly, you turned around to meet the gazes of the gaggle of kids.
"You just knocked him the fuck out!" said the curly-haired kid, who was unmistakably a Henderson.
Max nodded slowly and took a couple of tentative steps toward you. "Thanks," she breathed out.
You tried to offer her a smile, but it came out more like a grimace before you let the poker fall to the floor.
Later that night, you found yourself at the Harrington's house. The kids had insisted that they needed to leave, dragging a groggy and beaten Steve with them for something that they couldn't discuss with you. And while you should have asked more questions, and have been way more concerned when you watched Billy's car keys get stolen by his step-sister before she offered to drive, you were stuck in a daze that probably wouldn't have made you much better at driving them wherever the hell they just had to go at that hour.
All you could do was ensure that Billy wasn't dead before you left and started to walk home. But the further you walked in the darkness of Hawkins, the more your mind was filled with the image of Steve on the ground and his blood on Billy's knuckles. Before you fully knew what you were doing, you found yourself at Steve's house. You sat down on his front stoop and buried your head in your hands for god only knew how long, before a car pulled up to the curb and Steve started stumbling up the driveway.
"Steve?" you called out, startling him.
"What are you doing here?" As he got closer, the worse his face looked. Fresh bruises blood across his cheeks and nose, and there was a nasty split in his lip and across his forehead.
"I...I don't really know," you admitted, hugging yourself tighter. "I wanted to see if you were okay."
He let out a sigh and dug his keys out of his pockets before beckoning you toward the front door.
You were sure it had been the longest stretch of your entire life of not being in Steve's home. You had once practically lived at the place. You once had a drawer in his bedroom and a mug in his cupboard. Did you still?
You managed to get Steve into the bathroom before you grabbed the first aid kit, like it was muscle memory from the times you had scraped your knees playing in his backyard, or when Steve once slipped running around the pool and busted his chin.
He sat on the edge of the tub, silent for several moments, which caused your nerves to gnaw down on you even harder.
"Dustin and Lucas tried their best to patch me up," he said as you approached him with a wet washcloth to clean up the remaining dried blood.
"The pink band aids are a nice touch." He smiled slightly before his lips settled back into a frown.
"I'm sorry," he said after a minute.
You froze, hand hovering over the cut on his forehead. "What?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. For everything. I was scared of scaring Nancy off when I first started talking to her, that I thought...I thought if there was a little bit of distance between us, she wouldn't think there was anything going on between us. But I let it go too far. I didn't even realize you were so far out of reach until it was too late. And when I tried to get things to go back to normal, shit happened. A lot of shit. Shit that I can't talk about, which I know probably doesn't help anything. But I need you to know that I'm an idiot."
You dropped your hands back at your sides and retreated to the sink, a small smile playing on your lips. "I already knew that."
"Do you hate me?"
You shook your head almost too quickly as you rinsed the bloody washcloth off under hot water, watching the pink water swirling down the drain.
"I never hated you, Steve."
He let out a breath. "You should have. We were friends, and I threw that away for the chance to date somebody. We aren't supposed to do that shit."
"I'm the one who told you to go after Nancy," you reminded him, leaning against the sink to keep the space between you.
He shrugged. "Still, you didn't tell me to be a shitty friend to you in the process."
"You weren't the only shitty friend."
"I don't think that was your fault," Steve said. "I think it was Hargrove's."
You let out a heavy sigh and shifted to brace your hands against either side of the sink. Tears pricked your eyes, but you closed them in a lame attempt to stop them.
"No, it was mine. I only went after Billy because...because I thought it would take my mind off you and Nancy. And it did, kind of. Until..." you trailed off, feeling the ghost of tension in your shoulders and the sharp sting on your cheek. "Until I realized he was an asshole to everyone, especially me."
Steve furrowed his brows. "What'd you mean? He was mean to you?"
You almost laughed. Mean. It sounded so juvenile, like he pulled your ponytail at recess or something. You used the rinsed washcloth to wipe the makeup you had used to cover the bruise he had left on your cheek.
Steve nearly fell into the tub with how quickly he stood up. "Billy did that?" he said before he tried to close the short distance between you two. And while you knew it was Steve, not Billy, your body reacted with a flinch as he neared, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Sorry," he rushed out. "I'm sorry, I just...what is wrong with him?"
You relaxed your shoulders and took a step toward Steve. "A lot of things, I think."
Slowly, all too carefully, Steve lifted his hand and cupped the side of your face that had the bruise. His brows were knitted together in concern and concentration, like if he thought hard enough, he could will it away.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said softly.
"I'm sorry I didn't stop you from pulling away; could have saved us both a lot of grief, huh?"
"You have no idea," he sighed, dropping his hand. "Nancy broke up with me." Your eyes widened in surprise, earning a nod from Steve. "Too much had happened. It wasn't...it wasn't going to work. I just didn't want to admit it. She found someone better for her, Byers."
"Byers?" you repeated. "Wow."
"And the worst part of this whole thing? Nancy was never jealous of you. She liked you! I was the idiot you thought it was better to put distance between us," said Steve. "She actually, um, told me I should talk to you, after she called it quits."
You swallowed thickly. "She did?"
Steve nodded. "Something about asking you why you went out with Billy? I don't remember exactly, my head is still a little fuzzy from the whole being knocked out thing," he said. "But you just said it was to take your mind off Nance and I-"
"It's because I was the jealous one, Steve," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
"You were jealous that I was spending time with her." That much he understood, but it was bigger than that. You were fine sharing a friend.
"I was jealous that you were dating her," you said, earning an even more confused expression from Steve. "And not me."
His body stilled, like every muscle had been pulled tightly, and if he moved, he'd snap like a rubber band.
"You...you wanted to date me?"
You chuckled, but your eyes stung too. "It surprised me too," you joked. "I thought dating Billy would make me stop thinking about that, about you, but it just made it worse, I think. Because you're not like him."
A serious look overtook Steve's face, one you almost never saw him wear. "He doesn't deserve to date someone like you."
You weren't sure that was true. You weren't the best person; you got jealous and could be mean when you wanted. You had shitty friends who did even shitty things while you stood by and let it happen. Maybe Billy was what you deserved.
"I don't know about that," you said with a sigh. But Steve seemed to know.
"I do," he rushed out, bringing his hand up to yours, holding it like it was important to him. "I know. And he doesn't." His voice lowered into a whisper, and he stood close enough that you could see every mark Billy left behind in sad clarity.
"Then who does?" you asked, lost yourself.
Steve shrugged once more, his face inching closer to yours until his nose brushed against yours. "No one, probably," he whispered. "But maybe I can try?" He punctuated his sentence by ghosting his lips against yours, asking if it was okay. You answered him by pressing your lips to his, deepening it as his hands snaked around your waist, engulfing you in a warmth you had missed so much.
summary: steve likes to keep a photograph of you somewhere (anywhere). he thought he could keep it a secret, until you start finding them
established relationship
warnings: slight season 5 epilogue spoilers, nothing else really, just a bunch of fluff :)
word count: 3.2k
a/n: in honour of baseball coach steve harrington<3 i’ve had this idea for so long and the epilogue finally tied everything together for me to write this
── ᵎᵎ ✦
his wallet
the theater lobby glowed in soft neon, reds and blues bleeding together across the polished floor. the smell of popcorn clung to everything, mixing with the faint tang of soda syrup and cleaner. it was busy without being overwhelming, the kind of place that hummed rather than roared, full of people killing time before the lights went down.
steve walked beside you like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was meant to be on a friday night. his hand rested at your lower back, thumb moving in slow, absent arcs as the line inched forward. it was an unconscious thing by now, his way of keeping you close without making a show of it. you leaned into the touch just as naturally, shoulder brushing his arm when you shifted your weight.
“this one looks awful,” he said quietly, nodding toward a poster plastered with explosions and overly dramatic taglines.
“you say that every time,” you replied.
“and i’m right every time.”
you smiled, tilting your head to read the tagline. even though the movie looked ridiculous, you’d probably end up seeing it anyway, just not tonight.
the two of you had been dating long enough that dates like this didn’t come with nerves anymore. no awkward silences, no second-guessing where to stand or how close was too close. just the easy comfort of shared space, of knowing exactly how the other person took their popcorn and which previews they’d complain about.
when you reached the counter, you stepped forward first. “one large popcorn,” you said, then glanced back at steve., “and two sodas, please.”
“cherry coke,” he added, quick, like he didn’t want to be difficult.
“i’ve got it.” you said as you reached for your bag.
steve immediately straightened, “no, you don’t.”
you paused, wallet halfway out “steve.”
he shook his head, already smiling. “i asked you out. that means i pay.”
“you’ve already paid for the tickets.” you kept your eyes on him, wallet still secured in your hand, “and you paid last time, too.”
“exactly,” he said, like that proved something. “it’s tradition now.”
you playfully rolled your eyes. “it’s just popcorn.”
“and i’m still paying.” he stepped closer, gently pressing your wrist back toward your bag with two fingers. “let me.”
you studied him for a second, then sighed, smiling despite yourself. “fine. but i’m paying next time.”
he huffed a quiet laugh. “we’ll see.”
you turned back toward the counter, half-focused on the rows of candy behind the glass. that was when movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention. steve opened his wallet. you weren’t trying to look, it just… happened. a flicker of worn leather, folded bills, and a small rectangle tucked neatly into one of the clear sleeves; a photo.
your breath caught before you could stop it.
it was you.
the image registered all at once, sharp and unmistakable. you were sitting sideways on the hood of his car, knees bent, hair loose and caught mid-motion, mouth open in a laugh you didn’t remember posing for. you remembered the day, though; the sun, the warmth, steve insisting the light was ‘better this way’ while you told him to hurry up.
the wallet snapped shut.
steve paid, thanked the cashier, and turned back toward you like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “you good?” he asked, handing you a soda.
you took it, nodding “yeah, thanks.”
you didn’t mention what you thought you’d seen. the moment had passed too quickly, and you weren’t sure you trusted your own certainty. besides, saying something felt like it might turn a quiet thing into a conversation it didn’t need to be.
steve led the way down the hallway, popcorn tucked under his arm, holding the door open as you stepped into the theater. the space was cool and dim, the screen already lit with previews. you found your seats without much thought, close enough to share the armrest, close enough that your shoulders brushed when you sat down.
he settled in easily, stretching his legs out, passing you the popcorn. you leaned back, letting the familiar rhythm of it all take over; the previews, the low chatter, the way he glanced over during the louder moments just to see your reaction.
when the lights dimmed fully, steve reached for your hand without looking, fingers sliding into place like they belonged there. you squeezed once, grounding yourself in the moment. whatever you’d seen, whether it was real or imagined, you let it stay unspoken.
not in a dramatic way, nothing overpowering, but in the subtle accumulation of familiarity. clean upholstery with a hint of whatever soap he used, old leather warmed by the sun, a trace of something sweet that might’ve been gum or cologne. you noticed it every time you stepped inside his car. this time however, you slid into the driver’s seat, fingers curling instinctively around the steering wheel. “oh my god, okay.”
the door on the passenger side shut with a solid thunk, and steve leaned back into his seat like this was the most natural thing in the world. he turned his head toward you, mouth already twitching with amusement. “relax,” he said.
“i am relaxed,” you replied, sitting straighter despite yourself. “i just— this is your car.”
“yeah,” he said easily. “and you’re driving it.”
“that’s the problem.”
steve laughed softly, shaking his head. “you’re acting like i handed you a newborn.”
“you care about this car,” you said, glancing around at the pristine dashboard, the lack of clutter, the way everything seemed exactly where it belonged. “like… a lot.”
“i care about it a reasonable amount.”
“you named it.”
“that was a joke.”
“you wax it.”
“i maintain it.”
“you talk to it.”
he opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. “okay, no, i don’t talk to it.”
you smiled despite the nerves buzzing in your chest and adjusted your grip on the wheel, suddenly very aware of how unfamiliar the driver’s side felt. the angle was wrong. no, everything was wrong.
you reached down and pulled the lever, sliding the seat forward a few inches. the sound was sharp in the quiet car. then you leaned back, testing it, and adjusted again. steve watched you with exaggerated patience, elbow propped against the door. “you know you’re allowed to move things,” he said. “it’s not permanent.”
“you say that now.”
“i mean it.” he smiled softly.
you tilted the seatback, then shifted it forward another notch. the steering wheel felt too high, so you lowered it, then nudged it closer. lastly, you adjusted the rear view mirror carefully until the view felt right.
steve tilted his head. “you good?”
“almost,” you said, tugging the lever to tilt the seatback once more. “your legs are longer than mine, and you sit like you’re auditioning for a commercial.”
“i sit like a normal person.” he acted insulted, but a smile was playing on his lips.
“you sit like you’re posing.”
he leaned slightly closer. “you like it.”
the sun slanted through the windshield, bright and low, hitting your eyes directly. you blinked against it, tension creeping back into your shoulders. something steve noticed immediately, “hey,” he said softly.
you turned your head toward him. he leaned in without hesitation, one hand coming up to rest at your jaw, thumb warm against your skin. he kissed you; slow, unhurried, familiar in the way that always made your thoughts settle. it wasn’t flashy or teasing, just steady, like he was reminding you where you were. when he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. “you’re doing fine,” he said quietly. “i trust you. and the car will survive.”
you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “you’re very calm about this.”
“that’s because i know you,” he replied.
you smiled, nerves easing. the light still poured through the windshield, though, sharp enough to make you squint again. you reached up and flipped the sun visor down.
you startled as a small rectangle fluttered down, landing softly against your thigh. “what—”
when you picked it up you saw it was a photograph. it was small and slightly worn at the edges, like it had been handled more than once. once the image came into focus your breath caught, not sharply, just enough to still the moment.
you were pictured holding a giant teddy bear, a multitude of coloured lights caught your face, and your mouth was curved into a smile that looked unguarded and real. your hair was up in a ponytail, with a couple loose strands, most likely because of the wind. you remembered the day dimly; it was one of your first dates with steve, he’d won you the teddy bear at the town’s yearly fair.
you turned your head slowly and saw that steve had gone very still. “that—“ he started, then stopped.
before you could say anything, he reached over and took the photo from your hand a little too quickly. “okay,” he said. “so— before you ask—”
you stared at him. “steve.”
“it’s not—” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s not a big deal.”
“you keep a photo of me in your sun visor.”
“it was convenient,” he said immediately, then winced. “that sounded bad.”
you waited, eyebrow raised.
“i didn’t want it to get bent,” he added. “or lost.”
“that’s your explanation?”
“yes.”
“it’s not a great one.”
he huffed a quiet laugh, cheeks faintly pink. “i’m not lying. i’m just—”
you cut him off as you held your hand out. he looked at you and after a beat, he gave the photo back. your fingers brushed briefly as you took it before looking at it again, slower this time. “how long has this been here?”
steve hesitated. “a while.”
you smiled, something warm settling in your chest. eventually, you slid the photo carefully back into the visor pocket and flipped it up again, smoothing it like it belonged there.
“there,” you said. “seems safe.”
steve watched you, a little dazed. “you’re not mad?”
“no.”
“not weirded out?”
“steve,” you said gently, “we’re dating. you liking me isn’t exactly shocking.”
he laughed softly, relief obvious. “yeah. i guess.”
you smiled and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before turning back to the dashboard. you adjusted your hands on the wheel, and finally reached for the ignition. “alright, now I’m ready.”
the engine hummed to life, smooth and steady. steve smiled, settling back into his seat. “told you. you’ve got this.”
you arrived early, mostly because you didn’t know what to do with yourself if you didn’t.
the middle school field looked different than you expected, smaller, obviously, but also brighter somehow. the grass was cut too short, the chalk lines too clean, the bleachers still cool when you sat down. parents filtered in slowly, carrying folding chairs and coffee cups, voices low and conversational. someone’s little sibling ran past you with a foam finger twice their size.
you scanned the field without meaning to.
steve was easy to spot.
he stood near the dugout in a windbreaker that still looked a little too new, clipboard tucked under one arm, cap pulled low against the sun. he was talking to one of the kids, crouched slightly so they were closer to eye level, expression focused but gentle. when the kid nodded and jogged off, steve straightened, clapped his hands once, and called something you couldn’t hear.
your chest did something small and stupid at the sight of him. you’d seen him nervous before, about plenty of things, but this wasn’t that. this was anticipation. pride. the kind of careful attention that came from wanting something to go right for reasons that weren’t about him.
when the game started, you settled in easily. it was a lot of starts and stops, the kind of pace only kids could manage without getting bored. steve paced near the dugout, occasionally calling out encouragement, sometimes crouching to talk quietly with a player before sending them back out. he celebrated small victories like they mattered. a solid throw. a clean catch. a kid remembering to back up first base. you found yourself smiling more than you expected.
by the third inning, you’d learned which kid was too serious, which one kept adjusting his helmet, which one looked at steve after every play like he was checking for approval. he gave it freely, without fuss; thumbs-up, nods, a quick clap.
the game was close. too close, judging by the way the parents leaned forward in their seats.
when it ended, hawkin’s team winning by a single run, the field erupted in uneven cheers and scattered applause. the kids piled toward steve, who laughed and herded them into something resembling a line, handing out high-fives like it was a sacred duty.
you waited and eventually, the crowd thinned. parents collected bags, kids disappeared toward cars, the field returned to something quieter. steve lingered, talking to one of the parents, gesturing animatedly, grin still stuck on his face like it hadn’t worn off yet.
when he finally looked up and spotted you, his smile softened into something familiar. he jogged over. “you came.”
“i said i would.”
“i know,” he said, a little sheepish. “still.”
you tilted your head. “you did good, coach.”
he laughed, shaking his head. “they did good. i just tried not to mess it up.”
“you didn’t.”
he hesitated, then nodded toward the building behind the bleachers. “you wanna see the office?”
you immediately said yes and walked after him eagerly. “this is it huh?” you asked as you followed him inside, the door creaking slightly. “the big leagues?”
he smirked. “careful. you’re standing where the magic happens.”
“is that what we’re calling it?”
he flicked the light on, revealing a small, functional space that smelled faintly of coffee and dry-erase markers. a desk shoved against one wall, a filing cabinet, and a bulletin board crowded with schedules, team photos, and handwritten notes from kids in uneven penmanship.
steve leaned against the desk, still buzzing. “okay, so— this is where i pretend i know what i’m doing.”
you stepped farther in, taking it all in slowly. “you look like you know what you’re doing.”
“that’s because i practice in the mirror,” he said easily. “very convincing.”
he straightened and moved around the room as he talked, pointing things out; equipment lists, lineups, the whiteboard where he’d written reminders in blocky handwriting. you half-listened, content to watch him instead. he was animated in a different way here. looser. like this space had made room for something in him.
“and then,” he continued, tapping the bulletin board, “we’re supposed to have another game next week, but the schedule might change if—”
you drifted closer to the desk without realizing it and that was when you saw it: a photograph, tucked into a simple frame near the corner of the desk.
you stopped.
the noise of steve’s voice faded into the background as you leaned in slightly, recognizing it instantly.
it was from his birthday last year.
you remembered the night clearly; the cake that leaned a little to one side, the way he’d laughed when someone lit the candles crooked, the warm blur of voices and music. in the photo, you were smiling directly at the camera, relaxed and carefree.
steve was turned toward you, eyes fixed on your face like the camera didn’t exist. his expression wasn’t dramatic. just open and intent. like you were the only thing he’d registered in that moment.
your chest tightened.
“…and yeah,” steve was saying, tapping the edge of the desk. “that’s where i keep all the paperwork i’m definitely not losing this season— hey.” his voice softened when you didn’t answer.
you hadn’t realized you’d stopped moving until he did. you were standing near the desk now, gaze fixed on the framed photograph tucked neatly beside a stack of folders.
steve followed your line of sight. “oh,” he said, smiling immediately. “you found that.”
you glanced back at him, then at the photo again. “i didn’t know you brought this here.”
he crossed the room and leaned against the desk beside you, casual and unbothered. “yeah. thought it deserved a better view than a drawer.”
you laughed quietly. “you’re ridiculous.”
“hey,” he said, mock-offended. “that’s a great picture.”
“it is,” you agreed. you tilted your head, studying it more closely. “i remember that night. you wouldn’t let anyone cut the cake until dustin got back from the bathroom.”
“he picked the flavour,” he defended. “he deserved the first slice.”
you smiled, eyes tracing the familiar details. “i look happy.”
steve’s grin widened as he stepped closer to you. “you were.”
you nudged his hip lightly. “you weren’t even looking at the camera.”
he didn’t pretend not to know what you meant. “yeah,” he said easily. “i know.”
“why?”
he shrugged, relaxed, like the answer was obvious. “because you were right there. why would i look anywhere else?”
you rolled your eyes, but there was no bite in it. “you’re such a sap.”
“and you love me for it.”
you turned to him, smiling. “unfortunately.”
he laughed, warm and unguarded, the sound filling the small office. “i figured if i’m gonna be stuck in here half the week, i might as well have something that makes me smile.”
you gestured around the room. “the inspirational sticky notes from twelve-year-olds aren’t enough?”
“they help,” he admitted. “but this one’s my favorite.”
your chest warmed in that familiar, steady way; no rush, no surprise, just the comfort of knowing exactly where you stood. “you did really good out there,” you said, nodding toward the field. “they adore you.”
steve shrugged, but he looked pleased. “they’re good kids. i just try to show up.”
“you do more than that.”
he reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “means a lot that you came.”
“you kidding?” you said. “i wouldn’t miss your first official game.”
“coach harrington,” he teased.
you snorted. “don’t let it go to your head.”
he grinned. “too late.”
you leaned in and kissed him, quick and familiar, the kind that comes from years of shared space and quiet certainty. when you pulled back, he was still smiling. “think you’ll keep the photo here all season?” you asked.
“absolutely,” he said. “unless you object.”
you shook your head with a small smile playing on your lips. “nope. just don’t let it distract you.”
he glanced at the frame, then back at you. “no promises.”
you laughed, leaning in for another soft kiss as the late afternoon light filtered through the window. outside, the field was empty now, quiet and sunlit, but inside the office everything felt full.
summary: Steve’s big. He knows it, you know it, and he loves watching you take him. Every single time.
cw: smut, unprotected piv, big dick!steve, praise kink, size kink, feral steve
word count: 1k
mdni 18+
You’re already whining before he’s even all the way in.
Your legs are spread wide, his hands warm and steady on the backs of your thighs as he leans over you, thick cock pushing at your entrance, slow and careful. Always careful. Always tender. Steve is big, and he knows it. Knows exactly what it does to you—how your pretty little body has to stretch, make room for him.
“Okay, baby” he coos softly, voice like honey. “Gotta make room for me, yeah?”
You giggle a little breathless laugh, but it’s cut off by a whimper when his tip finally slips inside.
He watches you like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered like the entire world exists between your legs, under his hips, inside this bed. His eyes are wide, locked on where you’re joined, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth like he’s trying not to moan already.
“Fuck” he mutters under his breath, brows twitching. “Still so tight. Every damn time.”
You’re already clenching around the tip of him, and he hasn’t even given you the rest. And God, there’s a lot more. You feel it—feel him—as his hips inch forward, the thickness of him stretching you open so slowly it’s borderline torturous.
Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Steve—”
“I know, baby” he whispers, dipping down to kiss your cheek, your temple, your jaw. “I know. You’re doin’ so good, though. Let me in, yeah? Just a little more.”
You nod, eyes fluttering shut.
He rolls his hips again, slow and smooth, sinking deeper.
And you feel it.
The stretch. The burn. That perfect mix of pressure and pleasure that knocks the air from your lungs every single time. He’s always so big, so thick, and your body never quite gets used to it—has to learn him over and over again.
“Breathe, sweetheart” Steve says gently. “That’s it, jus’ like that.”
His palm strokes over your hip, and then he’s leaning on his forearm, nose brushing yours.
“You’re takin’ me so good. My perfect girl” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. God.”
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but it turns into a moan instead when he finally bottoms out.
You feel full, stretched impossibly wide, but it’s perfect—he’s perfect.
He holds still, letting you adjust, forehead pressing to yours.
“I wish you could feel what I feel” he whispers. “How warm you are. How tight. How you just pull me in. Like you were made for me.”
You whimper, hips twitching against his.
That makes him groan—really groan, deep in his chest. “Shit, baby. Don’t do that. You squeeze me like that and I’m gonna lose it.”
He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, before rolling back in just as slow. His strokes are deep and careful, hips rocking with the ease of someone who knows your body like the back of his hand.
“You good?” he asks, and you nod, breath stuttering.
“Yeah. Just—big.”
He grins down at you, cocky but sweet. “You love it.”
You blink up at him, panting. “I do.”
And you do. You really, really do. You love the way he takes his time, how he always checks in, how he worships your body like it’s sacred.
Steve starts moving a little faster, a little deeper, hips grinding against yours on every thrust. You can hear the wet sound of him fucking into you, and it just makes everything hotter.
He’s watching your face now, your parted lips, your fluttering lashes, your pretty whines.
“There she is.” he murmurs. “My good girl.”
Your back arches off the mattress. “Steve—”
“Yeah? Tell me, baby.”
“S-so deep—feels so good.”
He kisses you, swallowing your moans, hands holding your thighs open while he drives into you again and again, that same breathless praise spilling from his mouth:
“Stretchin’ so good for me.”
“Love watchin’ you take it.”
“You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”
“My pretty baby, always so greedy for it.”
“Feel you suckin’ me in, sweetheart. Like your pussy misses me.”
You whimper at that one, and he laughs softly, cock twitching inside you.
“I mean, I can’t blame her” he says, teasing now. “I do treat her real good.”
He presses his palm low on your tummy, right where he’s bulging inside you, and your eyes roll back at the pressure.
“You feel me there?” he asks, voice gone husky.
You nod frantically, your legs starting to shake.
“I know, baby, I know” he whispers, leaning in close. “It’s a lot. But you’re takin’ it so, so good.”
Your orgasm creeps up fast—hot and sharp and overwhelming.
“Steve—m’gonna—”
“Yeah, you are. Let go, baby. Come on my cock.”
That’s all it takes.
You come with a cry, your whole body tensing as your walls clamp around him, squeezing so tight he nearly loses it.
“Fuuuck” Steve groans, fucking you through it. “Just like that—Jesus—”
He’s close, you can feel it. His rhythm falters, hips jerking, voice cracking on a low whimper as he buries himself deep one last time and comes, spilling into you with a broken moan.
He collapses over you, still panting, arms trembling as he holds himself up just enough not to crush you.
“Holy shit” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”
You smile, dazed and soft, running your fingers through his sweaty hair. “You always say that.”
He laughs into your neck, pressing a kiss there.
And then he leans back just far enough to look at you—really look at you—his eyes all soft and wide and wonderstruck.
“Can’t believe I fit inside you” he whispers. “Every time, it blows my fuckin’ mind.”
You grin, cheeks warm. “I’m really bendy.”
He laughs again, that sweet Steve laugh that makes your chest ache, and kisses you right on the mouth.
“You’re really mine,” he says. “That’s what you are.”
a/n: okayyy first steve fic doneeee!! do we like?? should i keep going with more steve content on the blog? more smut? fluff? hurt/comfort?? 👀 let me know what you think babiesss, i’m feeling inspireddd 💌
♥️ lani
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