who wants to live forever, babe?

mostly blogging about steve and eddie / requests are closed / loosely on hiatus, most reblogging / American / 20s / AO3: the_edge_of_tonight

[harringtonfeels]

I'm Casey, and welcome to my blog! I use this blog to share my own Stranger Things fics and fics I've read and loved. I follow/like from my main, @sugarcult .

My requests are temporarily closed as of May 24, 2025. I am open to receiving requests, but I may not write them if I don't like them or just don't have the time. I work a lot and have a young kid, so I don't have quite as much time as I'd like to write. If you request something and I don't write it, please don't take it personally.

Masterlists:

Steve Harrington | Eddie Munson | STKinktober25

Things I love to write:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers (but in a chill way)

Things I'm currently not interested in writing about:

Graphic depictions of non-con/dub-con

Intimate partner violence or graphic familial abuse

Characters I currently write:

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

MADE FOR EACH OTHER | s.h

Steve Harrington had always looked forward to meeting his soulmate. But you? Not so much.

pairing:steve harrington x mayfield!reader words: 4.1k contains: fluff, angst, soulmate au, soulmarks, friends to lovers, brief mention of death of a sibling, mention death of a romantic partner, grief, female reader, no use of y/n (steve calls reader mayfield), she/her pronouns for reader.

author's note: 3k followers special request by @beainabottle2 | first fic for the 3k followers special! i love soulmate au's so i couldn't leave this one as just a blurb! requests are still open until wednesday 28th may 5pm bst. please send in blurb requests here ✨

to be added to my taglist | masterlist | 3k special masterlist | requests page

Steve Harrington had a habit of noticing everyone's soulmark. He couldn't help it. Ever since he was told about the concept of soulmates, ever since he had learned that there was someone out there destined to be with him, he wanted to find his person. He wanted to find the person whose soul was intertwined was his, the person who had a mark in the shape of an anchor on their wrist that was identical to his own.

He had thought a lot over the years about what the anchor meant. Soulmarks tended to hold significance to where soulmates would first meet and so, Steve first thought that he would perhaps meet his soulmate on a cruise. His parents had taken him on many cruises as a child and so the idea wasn’t completely ridiculous. He had believed in that idea so much that he hadn’t really considered any other options. That was until his first day at Scoops Ahoy!

The moment he had seen the slightly obnoxious bright blue and butter yellow signage, Steve’s eyes were instantly drawn to the red anchor that sat between the S and the A. It was near identical to the anchor that had appeared on his wrist at ten years old. It was then Steve realised he had been dead wrong, that he wasn’t meant to meet his soulmate on cruise at sea. He was going to meet his soulmate here—at the job where he made $3 an hour and where he was forced to wear a sailor uniform.

Steve spent his summer slinging ice cream for kids with sticky fingers, begrudgingly giving Erica Sinclair free samples and checking the wrist of almost every woman who walked into the ice cream parlour. Days slipped into weeks and yet—Steve never lost hope.

And so, when he first met you—Max’s older sister who had been dragged along to buy her sister ice cream—of course his eyes had shifted down in the hopes of seeing your wrist. But you had been wearing an abundance of bracelets and he couldn't see whether or not you had the mark.

Still, he held out hope anyway because you were pretty and he felt a warm, fluttering feeling in his stomach when he was near you. A feeling his mother had once told him that he would only feel when his soulmate was near.

But you gave nothing away—no indication that you felt that feeling too or that you even noticed his own soul mark.

Steve held out hope that one day he'd see it on your wrist.

And he did—at your step brother Billy's funeral.

He saw it only for a few, brief moments as the sleeve of your blouse dipped while you wiped away your tears. But it was there and it was undeniable—the anchor that was identical to his own etched into the skin on your wrist. 

Of course he didn't tell you then. You were grieving and it wasn't the right time. Still, he let you cry on his shoulder, he became a friend—just a friend—who was there when you needed him. He helped to get you a job at Family Video when you worried about your family's finances and he became your ride home from work. But still, Steve didn't tell you and it was eating him alive—being friend zoned by his own soulmate. He was just biding his time and maybe, just maybe, Steve Harrington was fucking terrified that you already knew and that there was a part of you that was disappointed that the universe had decided you belong together.

And so, Steve Harrington kept the fact that you were his soulmate to himself. For now.

Max Mayfield usually came along to Family Video with her skateboard tucked under one arm just before closing time. It had become routine for her over the past few months—skating after school and letting the hours slip by and then heading to the video store so Steve could give you both a lift back to the trailer park. It had been a routine ever since you had scolded her for skating home late at night. She had huffed at the time, called you paranoid but still—she showed up to the video store after every skate boarding session and got into Steve’s beamer with no complaint.

Whenever Max would walk into the video store, she would always head straight for the horror section. You had told her, perhaps a hundred times, that there was no way you were going to let her rent The Slumber Party Massacre or Friday the 13th but still—Max just gravitated towards it.

The sound of Cloudbusting by Kate Bush blared through her headphones. Max hummed the words under her breath as she picked up a tape for The Evil Dead, flipping it over to read the back.

“You know your sister isn’t going to let you rent that, right?”

Max only just hears Steve’s voice over her music. She rolls her eyes and doesn’t put the tape away.

“Whatever Harrington," Max replied with a small huff, pulling her headphones down to rest around her neck before casting a quick glance over at Steve who was restocking a nearby shelf. “I can still look, can’t I? Or is that illegal now?”

Steve opens his mouth to reply but honestly—trying to outwit Max Mayfield was something he simply could not do eight hours into his shift.

“Why don’t you check out the more age appropriate films?” He asks, glancing over to the front counter where you were going through the end of shift returns box while Robin talked your ear off about her most recent Vickie update.

“Like what?” Max asked, uninterested. “Annie?”

Steve very nearly laughed but managed to stop himself, pursuing his lips as he placed My Bloody Valentine back onto the shelf.

“Funny,” Steve murmurs, lips twitching slightly as he looks down at Max. “No, I was thinking something more like… The Goonies or—”

“You sound like just my sister,” Max mutters, her blue eyes bright as they flicker over to Steve with a mischievous look on her face. “No wonder you two are soulmates.”

The tapes Steve had been holding all clatter to the floor. Both you and Robin look over at the noise while Max didn’t even bother to hide her amusement.

“Are you good over there, Stevie?” Robin calls out to Steve as he scrambles to pick up all of the tapes he had just dropped, his face burning an impressive shade of red. You meanwhile were looking over at Max in surprise, having only just realised that your sister was in the store.

“Yeah! Sorry—butter fingers!” Steve calls back as he shoots Max a look that plainly says ‘shut up’.

Max sends you a quick smile in acknowledgement before turning to look back at Steve who was now blushing a shade of red that Max did not know he was even capable of turning.

“How did you—”

“—oh, come on Steve,” Max huffs, though Steve can’t help but notice how she speaks in a low voice, eyes flickering back over to you as though making sure you couldn’t hear. “I’m not an idiot, you have the same soulmarks—”

“—I never said you were an idiot,” Steve says quickly as he shoves the last tape back onto the shelf before turning to look at Max fully. “And that’s just a coincidence—” 

“—you have an anchor. She has an anchor in the exact same place. You met at Scoops—none of that is coincidence.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond and then quickly closes it again because she was right. When it came to soulmates, there was no such thing as coincidences.

“Plus you act all…pathetic when you’re around her.”

Steve's ears turned red, almost perfectly matching the shade that his cheeks had turned.

“I do not—”

“—you do,” Max tells him with a faint smile. “Really pathetic, actually.”

Steve huffs in response and once again, his eyes shift over to you—mostly so he could make sure you weren’t listening to his conversation with your sister but also because you looked ridiculously pretty. You always did but today you’d done something different with your hair and—

“Exhibit A,” Max says, clicking her fingers directly in his face to snap him out of whatever trance you had unknowingly sent him into. “Staring at her like a lovesick puppy.”

“Well she is my soulmate,” Steve says, his heart thumping in his chest because it was the first—the very first time—he had said those words out loud because he hadn’t told anyone. Not even Robin (though, admittedly that was because Robin had an inability to keep a secret due to the fact she had a tendency to ramble when nervous).

“Surprised you worked it out,” Max says under her breath.

Steve has to force himself to take a deep breath, having to remind himself that Max was going through a lot. Between witnessing Billy’s death, your stepdad leaving, the move to the trailer park and a breakup with her own soulmate, it was no wonder she was a little more brash than usual.

“Yeah well, your sister doesn’t seem particularly fussed about having me as a soulmate,” Steve says finally, looking away from Max and instead looking at the tape still clutched in her hand. “Probably realised it was me and—”

“—it’s not you,” Max interrupts him quickly in a tone so surprisingly soft that he looks back at her. “Trust me she’s just—she’s just skeptical, she doesn’t really—”

“—believe in soulmates?” Steve finishes, jaw tightening because he had always had a feeling that you didn’t by the way your mark was always covered or the way you couldn’t even pretend to be interested when a soul couple would come into the store and share their story.

Steve had never hoped before that he was wrong but as he waited for Max to respond, he prayed he was. But when she says nothing in response—he knew he was right and the feeling that began to burn in his gut could have killed him.

Max, perhaps noticing the heartache written all over his face, quickly adds, “It—it’s a long story but if you talk to her—”

“—no,” Steve says quickly, shaking his head and pulling himself together in the blink of an eye. “I’m not going to make her do something she clearly doesn’t want to do.”

Max’s expression changes, she looks slightly panicked and shakes her head. “No Steve, you don’t understand—”

“—you should put the tape away,” Steve tells her, nodding towards The Evil Dead tape that Max was still holding. “Before your sister sees.”

And with that, Steve heads towards the stock room before Max could see the way his hands were shaking.

You couldn’t help but notice the distance that Steve Harrington had carefully placed between the two of you.

He still gave you a ride home from work, still laughed along with you and Robin at work, still showed up to the trailer unannounced with a bag full of groceries for your mom. But Steve no longer lingered, he stopped calling to tell you about whatever story you had missed from your day off at the video store, he stopped giving you those one armed hugs before he went on his lunch break that had become part of your routine. You were beginning to feel his absence like it was a physical ache.

And so, you sit in the passenger seat of Steve’s beamer after a shift at Family Video and two weeks of distance wondering whether or not to ask Steve if you had done something wrong.

Perhaps your nerves were a little too obvious because barely two minutes into the car journey, Steve was looking over at you.

“You gonna stop bouncing your leg like that?” He asks. “It’s distracting.”

“Sorry,” you mutter quickly, eyes fixed determinedly on the road ahead as you place your hands on your knees to try and stop them from moving.

It’s quiet then—aside from the gentle hum of the radio, Time After Time filling the silence between you and Steve. 

“You okay?” He asks suddenly, shooting you a hesitant glance before focusing back on the road. “You’re a little quiet.”

You chew your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider your reply. You could be honest with him—you could tell him that you were worried that you had done something wrong, that you had felt the distance Steve had put between you. How that distance had started to feel like a chasm and you didn’t know what to do.

Or you could lie. 

You choose the latter.

“Long shift,” you say finally with an attempt at a smile.

It was a lie and you both knew it. 

But Steve doesn’t press you further. That somehow hurt more than the distance. 

Your leg begins to bounce before you could stop it. Steve glances at you again.

“You’re doing it again—”

“—did I do something wrong?” You burst out suddenly, the feelings in your gut swirling in a dangerous storm.

Steve’s eyes remain on the road but you see the way his face blanches ever so slightly. “Wrong?” He repeats in a voice of forced composure. “Why would you think—”

“—because y-you’re different, Steve,” you say finally, your heart racing as you turn to look at him fully. “You don’t—you’re treating me differently and I just—I’m trying to understand what on earth I did wrong.”

“You didn’t—”

“—then why won’t you look at me, Steve?”

You can feel the anger beneath your words, a tone that surprised even you. But still, Steve doesn’t say anything and you simply watch as his jaw tightens, as his knuckles gripping onto the steering wheel turn white.

“Because I’m driving, Mayfield.”

You feel cold at the use of your surname. In all the time you had known Steve, he had never called you by your last name. It felt cold and distant and it made something in your gut turn uncomfortably.

“Pull over,” you say suddenly.

“What?”

“I said pull over.”

“Are you insane? I’m not—”

“Pull over, Harrington or I swear to god that I’ll open the door and—”

“Alright!” Steve snaps back, his clipped tone matching your own as he signals before he pulls over into the side of the road. “I’m pulling over, happy?”

You wait until Steve’s car is stationary before you decide to answer him. “Ecstatic.”

And then—without another word, you rip open the passenger side door and climb out of his car without another word.

You make it perhaps ten feet up the road before you hear Steve calling after you.

“Where are you going? Mayfield! Have you lost your damn mind?—”

“—Mayfield?” You repeat, anger flaring as you turn around to face Steve, only to find him barely two feet away from you. You try not to think about the way your stomach turns at that. “Since when do you call me Mayfield, Steve?”

Steve blinks, seeming to realise his misstep as he rubs a hand over his face in frustration.

“I—I don’t know, I just—”

“—can you just tell me what I’ve done wrong? If I’ve pissed you off or annoyed you or—”

“—you haven’t,” Steve says too quickly. “I’m just—”

“—you’re just calling me Mayfield and avoiding me like the plague?”

“I’m not avoiding you, I just—”

“—you’re just, what, Steve?”

“I’m just upset, okay?” Steve exclaims angrily, and the exhaustion in his voice silences you.

You blink, your eyes flickering over his face as you try and understand his anger.

“Upset?” You repeat, confused, hurt and everything in between. “Why are you—”

“Because I can’t be around you anymore!” He snaps, your name cracking at the end of his sentence like a whip.

Your blood starts to run cold. The skin on your left wrist itches. 

“Why?” You ask, your shoulders slumping slightly as you look at him, feeling something inside of you break a little.

Steve looks as though he was bracing himself, scrubbing another hand over his face before he takes a deep breath and looks at you properly this time.

“I can’t—I can’t be around you because—I know. I know you’re my soulmate.”

The air in your lungs disappears. The words seem to echo around you as you try to digest exactly what Steve had just said. And your eyes, your traitorous eyes, move down to the exposed skin of his wrist where the anchor identical to yours was etched into his skin.

“How did you—”

“—I saw it. At Billy’s funeral.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding, glancing down to the wrist you had kept covered for years. The mark you had tried to ignore since you were thirteen years old.

“Steve, I—”

“You knew, right?” Steve asks, taking a single step towards you as his eyes hold you captive. “You knew—you knew I was your soulmate, didn’t you?”

You had the urge to lie, to tell Steve that no, you had no idea. But one look in those big, brown eyes and you knew you couldn’t.

You give a small, barely there nod.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I knew the day I first met you at Scoops.”

Something in Steve’s expression cracks—a mix of hurt and betrayal that words couldn’t quite explain.

“Then why—why didn’t you say anything?” He asks you, your name falling from his lips at the end of his question like it had always belonged there. “I mean—we’re soulmates and you didn’t say anything.”

You look away for a brief moment, a sense of shame mixing with that fluttering, warm feeling in your gut you had always felt around Steve. The feeling you had tried so hard to ignore. 

“Is it me?” He asks you, taking another hesitant step closer to you. You can see the hurt, the desperation in his eyes as he watches you. “Were you—were you that disappointed that it was me who was your—”

“—no!” You say quickly, your throat thick with emotion. “God, no. Of course I wasn’t disappointed. I mean, you—you’re—you’re great. Amazing, actually.”

Steve’s expression softens slightly, eyes slightly glassy as he looks at you. “Then why didn’t you say anything? Is it because you don’t believe in soulmates?”

You flex your fingers before you dig your nails into the skin of your palms, your breathing starts to feel uneven. 

“It’s not that I don’t believe in them,” you say finally, swallowing a lump in your throat as you force yourself to look at Steve. “I ju—just—I’m scared.”

“Scared?” Steve asks, perplexed as his eyes flit down to watch the way your nails bite into your skin. His own hands twitch as though he was desperate to reach for you. “Why would you be scared?”

You want to look away, you almost do but something in Steve’s eyes keeps you there.

“Becuase my mom met her soulmate when she was young too,” you tell him in an uneven voice. “And he—something really bad happened to him.”

You don’t elaborate and Steve doesn’t press you further, but you don’t miss the way he looks at you with softer eyes.

“Then she met my dad who hadn’t ever met his soulmate and they fell in love and things were great for a long time. She had me, then she had Max. And we were happy. But then he met his soulmate—some random woman in a grocery store while me and Max were standing right there. And things just—things fell apart pretty quickly after that. My mom met Neil and she—she was never the same. All because she was trying to fill a hole that couldn’t be filled—her soulmate dying. The person she was meant to have forever with only being in her life for two years. Even in the years with my dad that were good, I could tell she—she was looking at my dad and seeing something else, seeing somebody else. An—and when you know what someone goes through when they lose their soulmate—I just—I don’t want to go through that.”

You hadn’t realised that tears had started falling before it was too late, your voice breaking and traitorous tears beginning to slip down your cheeks.

“Baby,” the word falls so naturally from Steve’s lips that it makes your heart feel lighter. A small sob escapes you before you could stop it and Steve doesn’t hesitate this time in taking another step closer, lifting his own hand to wipe away your tears so gently it very nearly took your breath away. “You don’t—you’re not gonna lose me—”

“—you can’t promise that, Steve,” you say, fighting the urge to push him away from you—because the place where his skin was touching yours felt hot enough to burn. “You—I've seen you. You throw yourself into danger without a care in the world! You act as though you’re disposable and I ca—can’t watch it happen, Steve, I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve hushes you softly, two large hands cupping your cheeks gently and rendering you powerless to his touch. “I know, okay? I can’t promise that—that something bad might not happen to me. Or to you. Or to both of us. Okay? I know that. But—but you’re my other half and no matter how much time we have together, whether it’s seventy years or seventy days, I promise you that I’m in, one hundred per cent.”

“If you need time or space. I’ll give it to you. I swear. But I’m not going to let you throw this away because you’re scared. Baby, I’m scared too. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to give this everything I got because—what if we do get seventy years? What if we get seventy great years? You really gonna throw all that away because you’re scared?”

You swallow and you try to look away from him, his words too intense but Steve doesn’t let you—his hands keeping your head gently between palms.

“But what if—”

“—if we don’t get them then what we do get will be beautiful anyway,” Steve tells you in a voice so fierce yet so certain, you found yourself unable to look away from him even if you wanted to. “I can’t promise you a lot, but I can promise you that.”

The fear still lingered in your gut—the place it had lived since you had first walked into Scoops Ahoy! to see your soulmate in a sailor uniform. The fear that kept you up at night, that imagined over and over again what those Russians had done to Steve to leave his face and body black and blue. The fear that kept those bracelets covering your soulmark for years.

But alongside that fear was that feeling that you had never been able to shake—that warm, fluttering feeling whenever Steve was near. The one that made you realise that home wasn’t a place, that it wasn’t Hawkins nor was it California—that home was Steve Harrington.

And in the end, it was that feeling that won.

Your hands move without you thinking too much about it, fisting the front of his vest as you tug him closer. And when your lips met his, it was like two pieces of a puzzle slotting together, like the sea kissing the shore, like everything had finally fallen into place.

Steve’s hands find their way into your hair as he kisses you back with lips so smooth that you couldn’t think straight. Everything else had ceased to exist and all that remained Steve and his lips on yours, You barely even register that you were kissing Steve Harrington on the side of the road—that cars were driving by and honking at the two of you as his other hand rested on your waist to pull you even closer.

It was only when you felt droplets of rain beginning to fall that you finally pulled away from each other.

“Is it really starting to rain?” You ask, laughing as you look up to feel the rain falling onto your skin like a million tiny kisses. “Right now?”

Steve smiles, watching the smile break out onto your face as the rain starts to fall even harder. His fingers gently wrap around your left wrist, tugging down your bracelets to expose your soulmark before lifting it up to press a gentle kiss to the anchor that lived on your skin, the mark glowing golden beneath his lips.

“There’s no such thing as coincidence when it comes to soulmates,” Steve mutters against your skin.

“Maybe you’re right,” you whisper back softly with a faint smile. “Now should we get out of the rain?”

Steve hums, considering your question as he looks back at you. “Maybe just after—”And then before you could even breathe, his lips were back on yours. You let out a gasp of surprise and the rain fell even harder around you, but you didn’t pull away. Because this was right where you and Steve were always meant to be.

dividers by @suupersonic

support dividers by @saradika-graphics

line dividers by @omi-resources

.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖

[graywrenhart]

pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader

summary: After coming off a date with a bad review, Steve sets out to prove that he really is good at going down on girls.

tags: MDNI!! [roommates/friends to lovers] [smut] [oral fem receiving] [mutual pining] [he just needs an honest review] [friends help each other...right?] 2k words

a/n: While brainstorming this fic, I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be fluffy or smutty, so I had you guys vote. And you wanted me to write both. (Here is the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it!)

It is your deepest held belief that Friday nights are, indeed, best spent in. 

You’re on the couch, curled up with a book, basking in the soft lamplight as steam from your favorite tea reflects in the dark windows beside you. 

All is peaceful. All is quiet. It’s perfect. 

And then your apartment door opens. 

You jump, looking over your shoulder just in time to see your roommate, Steve, storm through the entryway. His dress shirt is untucked, tie loose, and his hair is a wreck, like he’s run his hands through it a million times.

That’s not a good sign for a man supposed to be on a fancy date tonight. 

He said, if things went well, he’d probably end up back at her place for the night. You thought that might be a little presumptuous, but hey, it’s Steve Harrington you’re talking about here. 

Steve looks around wildly, and when his eyes land on you, the intensity in them takes you aback. 

“I’m guessing things didn’t go well, then—?” you start, but he cuts you off, his words overlapping yours. 

“Take off your pants.”

You freeze. 

What the—

He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door. 

“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out. 

“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”

The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.  

“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”

“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap. 

“Who said what?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet. 

But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset. 

Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours. 

“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time. 

Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair. 

“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts. 

It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”

“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”

You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side. 

“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”

Oh. Okay. 

Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing. 

That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever. 

You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?” 

Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”

The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one. 

“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”

Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”

Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?” 

“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”

You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs. 

You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate. 

You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”

 His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”

“Between us.”

Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face. 

Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”

Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”

He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”

“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”

You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick. 

In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip. 

 “Yes,” you breathe. 

He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space. 

“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”

“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband. 

Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. 

“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.

“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”

Shit. 

You’re not strong enough for this. 

But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done. 

And you should. 

God, you should. 

But you don’t want to. 

So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak. 

As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you. 

His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold. 

He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.

 Then there’s that wet heat. 

His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance. 

“Oh, God,” you whimper. 

His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. 

He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”

Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it. 

Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind. 

His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more. 

You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment. 

Steve eats pussy like he wants to. 

You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face. 

Too pretty for his own good.

A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes. 

The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button. 

But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down. 

His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks. 

Hard. 

You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively. 

Then, without warning, he pulls back. 

You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that. 

“Is that it?” You squeak. 

“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down. 

He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”

“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands. 

He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off. 

And this time, he doesn’t tease you. 

Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.

As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches. 

Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes. 

He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations. 

The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it. 

The way your heart slams against your ribs. 

A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing. 

That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in. 

That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt. 

It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink. 

“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”

The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks. 

Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.

Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away. 

When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth. 

You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough. 

“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours. 

You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.

Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss. 

This one is different. 

Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful. 

He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious. 

“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.

You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”

He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”

“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that. 

“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”

His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it. 

“You could do it again.”

a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol

ᥫ᭡ dividers by @cursed-carmine| steve masterlist | drop by my desk

[harringtonfeels]

family

4.6k | Fluff and a healthy dose of hurt/comfort | Stepdad!Steve x Reader | Kid fic | Fluff, Angst

When Reader spends Mother's Day feeling like she's failing as a parent and a partner, her boyfriend Steve helps change her perspective.

Notes: This is a little Mother's Day fic. Reader's kid is a ~4 year old named Henry (and I love him). Hurt/comfort is involving the general mom guilt when raising a kid post-divorce.

It hasn't been a bad day - well, not exactly. It's Mother's Day, and you were supposed to have the day off work but were called in to handle an emergency while your boss is away on vacation. You'd had plans for the day already and had to cancel almost all of them.

First was breakfast in bed, although that one had been a bit up in the air. Your son is at the age where, when he wakes up before you, he wants to climb right into your bed and sandwich himself between you and Steve, poking your arm and carefully prying open your eyelids until you wake up. Sleeping in isn't usually an option unless Steve gets up with him so you can enjoy some blessed sleep alone, so it was already highly dependent on what time Henry decided to get out of bed. Ultimately, not a huge loss, but it was a nice pipe dream, nonetheless.

Then, after nap time, you were supposed to have a picnic in the park, just you and your boys. Steve already prepped the food and got a cooler ready last night, and set aside everyone's swim clothes for the splash pad.

And then you were supposed to have a lowkey dinner at home with them, and a nice, long bath, too, if you were lucky.

Any of those things would have been more than enough. The weather's been beautiful this spring, and you've been so busy, you haven't been able to spend as much time with Henry on the weekends as you'd like. It's something you've been lamenting a lot lately. Your job requires a lot of you, a lot more than it used to. You took the job when you separated from your ex because you needed a way to provide for your son without relying on a marriage that just wasn't working anymore. But now, it's two years later, and the time is flying by, and you know the things you're missing with Henry are things you'll never get back. So you've been trying hard to cherish the time you do have with him. It's just nearly impossible to put the energy into it that you want to when you're constantly working overtime with no end in sight.

Steve has been a huge help the past year that you've been dating. He met Henry for the first time about six months in, and although Henry was shy at first, they've been thick as thieves almost from the start. Steve is always at your house on the weekends, and he's converted the guest bedroom at his place into a room for Henry. He picks him up from pre-school when you need him to, which is becoming more and more frequent with your increasing workload. He joins you for doctor's appointments and holds Henry's hand at the dentist. You don't think there are enough words in the world to express to Steve how grateful you are for his help, or for how much you can tell he loves being a part of Henry's life - and a part of yours, even when it's messy.

Today, more than ever, you're determined to update your resume and start looking elsewhere. Because it's Mother's Day, and it's an hour to Henry's bedtime, and you're just now walking through the front door, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

The way everything has been piling up the last few months, it feels more overwhelming than when you first became a single mother.

As you're turning to lock the door, you hear the pitter patter of little feet stomping down the hall.

"Mommy!" Henry says, and before you can even hang up your purse, you're tackled from behind, little arms wrapping around one of your legs.

"Hi, baby," you laugh, looking over your shoulder at him. He's got a toy car in one hand and is mashing it into your thigh, but even as tired as you are, it's hard to care about the discomfort. You reach down and ruffle his hair, moving your leg laboriously before he sits down to wrap his legs around your ankle. Only as you're trudging across the living room with a thirty five pound ankle weight do you notice the smell in the air.

Dinner.

Henry giggles as you grunt with each step, and you're smiling, too, all your worries presently forgotten at the door. When you round the corner to the kitchen, you see Steve dressed in slacks and a button-up, sleeves rolled up just below the elbows. Your eyes linger where his tanned forearm flexes as he stirs the sauce simmering on the stove, and when Steve catches you staring, he doesn't even make fun of you.

"How's our girl?" he asks, wiping his hands with a dishtowel and tossing it over his shoulder before closing the gap between you. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

With a playful smile, you say, "Well, I thought I was doing alright, but suddenly, I'm feeling a little weighed down."

The laugh that pours out of Henry is infectious, and Steve is all smiles as he leans down to Henry's level and pries him off your legs. "Do you want to tell Mama what we did today?" he asks, setting Henry on his feet.

This is a new game you play together. Henry has always been a little shy, and he answers broad questions with a lot of I don't know and Nothing really. So you've been working on feeling more comfortable sharing. You always give Henry the opportunity to go first, but today, he seems to want to hide his face behind your leg, even though he's smiling. So you start.

"Well, today, I got a fancy breakfast at Brew & Bloom, and they gave me a free cookie because the barista liked my aura."

Steve hums, already diving back into his sauce. "Oh, yeah? What did they say about your aura? What color was it?"

"Motherly?" you guess. With your hastily applied mascara and less than stellar hair, you certainly look the part today, although that has less to do with being a mom and more to do with getting abruptly called in to work. "What did you do today, Steve?"

He hums as though he's thinking. "When I did laundry today, I found a gummy worm in somebody's shorts."

"Was it tasty?" Henry asks.

Steve's face scrunches, and you laugh. "It was a little crunchy," he says, "but it was one of the pink and blue ones, so you know it was still delicious."

Henry pulls a face at that. "You didn't eat it," he says disbelievingly.

"I totally did!" Steve's voice is slightly higher than usual, a dead giveaway that he's lying. "If you don't believe me, you can smell my breath. It'll be just like a gummy worm."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Why don't you c'mere then and give it a try?" Steve teases, eyes full of mirth, and you blink, feeling an overwhelming wave of fondness wash over you.

When Henry hesitantly steps out from behind you as though to approach, Steve switches off the burner and pivots, the directness of his step a clear prelude to a chase if you've ever seen one. Henry is too slow to piece it together, and just as he's starting to move his feet, Steve scoops him up in his arms and holds him up. Henry wriggles violently as Steve pretends to eat his stomach like a watermelon, laughing hysterically the whole time.

After a few seconds of this, Steve sets Henry back down on the ground, both of them breathing hard, and you lean against the doorframe, observing.

"Tell Mom what you did today," Steve prompts again when they've both caught their breath.

Henry takes a seat on the floor and picks up two of his cars, which are lying about on the rug. Absentmindedly pushing them around the little streets patterned into it, he says, "Steve played dinosaurs with me, and he told me all about this one called a place-iosaurus."

"Plesiosaurus," Steve whispers loudly from the doorway.

"Ooh," you say, settling yourself onto your knees beside him. He seems to be chasing the red car with the silver one around the little cartoon hospital building. "Can you tell me about the plesiosaurus?"

Steve seems to be wrapping up dinner as you find a green car to join Henry with, and he prattles off facts that sound accurate, or at least believable to your ears. It's apparently somewhat turtle-shaped, with a long, long neck. "Like a brack-osaurus," he says.

"The noble brachiosaurus," you repeat sagely, and Henry looks up at you like you've hung the moon. You don't know all that much about dinosaurs, but that's been his thing recently, so you've all been learning. You can tell how much he loves it when you remember the things he gets excited about. One day, he won't find you so exciting, and you know that, so you're trying to enjoy it now, while you can.

You play for about fifteen minutes before Steve calls from the dining room to let you both know dinner is ready. You have to remind Henry not to run into the dining room - more than once, he's rounded a corner directly into you or Steve while you were carrying a large container of food, or plates.

When you enter the room, Steve has set the table with your nice dishes, the porcelain ones with the flowers on them. You can't remember the last time you used them - surely, when you were married, at least. But Steve has gotten out a nice tablecloth, which you know must have been stored in the back of the linen closet, and placemats. There are a couple of wine glasses for the two of you, and Henry's green, plastic cup is already filled with juice in front of his seat.

"Did you iron this?" you ask Steve, hand on the tablecloth as Henry seats himself.

"Tell me when," he tells Henry as he starts to dole out food. Then, he glances up at you, expression sheepish. "Maybe."

You didn't even know Steve knew how to iron at all.

After a few scoops, when Henry hasn't told him to stop, Steve laughs at his expectant little expression. "Okay, why don't we start with this, buddy?"

He serves you as well, and your cheeks burn at the gentleness of it all. It's not that Steve never does this sort of thing. You're just still not used to being treated so kindly, and Steve - well, Steve is old fashioned in all the good ways. He opens doors for you, carries your groceries. To his core, he's so, so considerate. It never fails to impress you. Sometimes, you catch yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never comes.

Steve can cook quite well. When you first got together, he wasn't that great at it, but many nights, he's helped you in the kitchen or made dinner when you were at his house. He's a quick learner. At this point, he's probably a better cook than you are, and it shows with tonight's meal.

After dinner, Steve tells you to go relax, and he takes care of bathtime. You're not exactly sure what to do with yourself, so you find yourself curled up on the couch, watching TV and ruminating on the day.

Steve has done so much for you these last few weeks that it's hard to process it all. You love that he likes spending time with Henry, and that he never complains. But, even though he stays over a lot, you aren't even living together yet. It's hard not to feel guilty about, well, everything.

When you first started dating, Steve told you he's always wanted kids, and you think with a little more time, maybe he'll even love Henry like one of his own. You can already see it on his face, when he talks about him, long after Henry's gone to bed. When he updates you on the things they've done throughout the day, tells stories about this funny thing Henry said, or oh my god, you should have seen his face. Maybe Steve loves him already.

But it's not fair to him to be doing this much work, especially not this soon. And you don't see the situation at work getting any better, at least not in the coming months. It's one of those things, where someone leaves and they opt not to replace them, over and over, until one person is doing the job of several. And they've got no intention of hiring anyone else to help you. And meanwhile, you're trying to make the most of your time with your son, and you're also trying to make the most of your relationship with Steve. It's hard to have a relationship with someone who can't devote the time.

An old friend called you the other day, told you their new company is hiring and said they thought you'd be a perfect fit. It's almost exactly the same pay, with fewer responsibilities - and, most importantly, no overtime. Tomorrow, you tell yourself. Tomorrow, I'll revise my resume, and I'll send it over and I'll do whatever I have to do to get this job. Whatever it takes to be able to be more present in your life again.

You can hear Henry giggling almost the whole time, splashing with his rubber ducks and his boats. As usual, when Henry starts whining, you know they're about to vacate the bathroom. Sure enough, the door swings open, and they both trudge down the hall to Henry's room, Henry in his koala towel with the hood up, and Steve in his yellow swim trunks. His hair is a mess, and he's got bubbles all over his forearms and in his hair. You're so endeared, you think - despite the fact that you want him to stop having to pick up your slack - you could get used to seeing him this way.

You move quickly, following them to Henry's room to help with pajamas and a bedtime story. While you let Henry choose his bedtime story - The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, it is - Steve goes to your bedroom to change into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. Henry's thrilled that Steve is doing storytime; it's usually just you, but Steve does silly voices better, and he always makes sure the bad guys sound extra silly.

Henry picks out some Buzz Lightyear jammies, and once he's dressed and his hair is dried, Steve says, "Why don't you show Mama what you made her today?"

You raise your eyebrows and watch as Henry dutifully trots over to his dresser and pulls a sheet of paper off the top. It's a white sheet of copy paper with four carefully drawn stick figures, three big and one small. In Steve's handwriting across the bottom, it reads Happy Mother's Day - Love, Henry with the year etched into the corner.

Henry looks up at you with cautious optimism, like he's unsure if he should hand it over, or if you'll like it, but thinks you probably will. You've seen that face on him a million times. It's the same as when you tickle him between his neck and shoulder and he leans his little head over to fend you off, fighting a grin the whole time.

"Hmmm, who could this be?" you ask, pointing to the stick figure that's about half the size of the others, who wears a very convincing blue box of a shirt and brown shorts.

"It's me, silly," Henry says with a little belly laugh and waits expectantly for you to keep going.

You cock your head to the side and inspect the three adults. It looks to be maybe one woman (you) and a man, but the third one has long hair and pants, so it's anyone's guess, really. "And this one is me?" you ask, pointing at the lone stick figure wearing a dress. You assume he learned triangle dresses symbolize women from pre-school, but then again, the figure looks suspiciously like the symbol for a women's restroom, so it's hard to say.

He nods emphatically.

"Wow. I can tell you worked really hard on this. I like the stripes on my dress." He has recently developed a real desire to color between the lines without any mistakes, and you're careful not to say anything to reward "perfection" above effort.

"Thank you," he says, very businesslike.

Your eyes shift back over to the other two characters. "And who is this?" you ask.

Henry frowns. "That's Steve," he says, like it should have been obvious. Maybe it should have been.

He's put out that you had to ask, clearly, and you nod. "Oh, right. I thought so."

"Yeah, it's obviously Steve," Steve interjects, "because of his beautiful hair."

"Exactly!" Henry says with a little gap-toothed grin.

You roll your eyes at Steve, and then your eyes rove over the other stick figure. Henry doesn't wait for you to ask, just says, "And that's Daddy."

You should have known. You really should have, and you should have expected it, but it feels like a gut punch. It's sweet that Henry included Steve in the photo. It would have been sweet if he'd included his dad with you and Henry, too. But it's painful, seeing him try to include all the people he loves, and knowing very little of his life will ever include all four of you together. Seeing how happy Henry is, and how much love he put into this drawing makes your heart ache.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean down and pull him in for a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "It's beautiful, honey. Can I put this on the fridge?"

"On the front," he suggests.

All through storytime, your mind wanders. You can't help but ruminate on all the things you wish you were doing differently, how you wish things would have been different with you and Henry's dad. How you wish things were just easier in general. And how you can't shake the constant nagging feeling that you aren't doing enough in really any area of your life. You're lucky Steve does all the reading tonight and you're just there for moral support.

When you tuck him in and kiss his forehead, he wrestles free of his blanket and extends his arms toward Steve, demanding another hug. Then he demands Steve tuck him back in as well.

You remember how impatient your ex could be with things like this, all the times Henry reached for him and was brushed aside. You think of all the times it probably still happens when he's with his dad and you're not there to run interference. Once you're back in the privacy of the hallway, Steve already cleaning up in the dining room and the bedroom door shut snugly behind you, you start to cry.

You didn't know it would be this hard, is all. When you decided to have a kid, you knew there was a chance, like with any couple, that you may not be together forever. But you never thought that a guy who's known your kid for six months would be a kinder and more present parent than his own father. And it hadn't occurred to you that Henry could ever want someone to be a part of his life in the same way as you and his dad. It wasn't until you began the process of divorce that you ever seriously considered you might eventually introduce someone to Henry, and that Henry may not understand why you can't all be one big, happy family together.

Henry doesn't ask much about his dad anymore, but he sees him frequently enough that he doesn't forget him. Frequently enough that he still gets excited to sit in the windowseat and watch the driveway for his dad to pick him up.

The dishes clatter as Steve carries them to the kitchen, and then the faucet turns on in the kitchen, so the sound of your sniffling in the living room is muffled. You put your head in your hands, like that can hide the sound of your heart breaking. But after a couple of minutes, when Steve shuts the tap off, he must hear you. "Baby," he calls, panic filling his voice.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" The couch dips beside you under his weight, and he takes one of your hands in his, wet with tears.

You don't know what to say. There's so much to cry about, honestly, and it's hard to know where to start. And Steve has done so much for you already, and you don't want to put this on him. You wish, selfishly, that he would have done the dishes for a little bit longer so you could have finished crying without him ever knowing.

You force yourself to slow down your breathing, leaning into him and letting him wrap his arms around you. Steve gives the best hugs, you think, and only an idiot would refuse one.

His hand smooths down the hair at the crown of your head, and you paw at your cheeks with your sleeve, struggling to wipe your tears away as they're still rolling.

Finally, voice trembling, you say, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for crying." His voice is gentle. You know that he means it.

"I'm not. I mean, that's not what I was apologizing for." Drawing a shaky breath, you rest your head on his chest and look across the room, clenching your fist tightly. "I'm just—I'm sorry you had to do all this today. And every day, lately."

You can hear the confusion in his voice. "I didn't really have to," he says plainly. "I wanted to do everything. Actually, I wanted to do more than this and just didn't have enough time."

"This isn't your responsibility, though. Not just Mother's Day - just - everything. You've been doing so much, and you're so good with Henry, and I know he loves you. And—"

"And I love him," Steve says calmly, brown eyes wide with earnestness, "and I love you." You don't know what to say to that. If he was looking to disarm you, he was successful. After a pause, he continues, "Look, you've been doing too much. You're too hard on yourself. If I didn't want to be this involved with Henry, I wouldn't be. If I didn't have time to watch him, I'd tell you. But I want to, and I can, so I do."

"It's just not fair to you."

He shrugs. "It doesn't feel unfair to me."

There's a long silence, and now that you've stopped crying, you do a much better job of wiping your eyes. Finally, you say, "It really hurt me to see all of us in his picture. It's just—I don't think he understands yet that his dad will hardly be in the same room with me, let alone spend a day with you and me and Henry. And it's so sweet that he put us all together, but it feels so wrong, knowing how much love he has in his heart for all of us and that we'll never be a family again."

Steve laces his fingers with yours and brushes his thumb against your wrist in reassuring strokes. "Honey, it's gonna be okay. You don't have to be a family with him for us all to be Henry's family. Hell, if there's anything I've learned over the years, it's that family is what you make it. I've got family I'm not related to, and plenty of them have never even met each other. It's okay if Henry's family looks a little different. We're still his."

It takes a little time for you to ruminate on it, but you know Steve's right. Finally, you lament, "I think I'm just scared that one day, I'll have to explain it to him why our family doesn't look like his friends' families, and that it will hurt him to hear."

Steve presses a kiss to your hairline and murmurs, "It's hard to be the one having the big talks. But maybe he already knows, and maybe it won't seem that weird, as long as we make sure he knows he's loved. Lots of kids have stepdads, or live with their grandma, or are adopted. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it," you say, "but I'm afraid he'll think it means there's something wrong."

"Then it's our job to make his life as normal and full of love as possible. And—Honey, look at me." When you lift your head and look into Steve's brown eyes, you wonder what he sees. If your mascara is smudged all over your face, if your eyes are puffy. And then he says, "I need you to know you're doing a great job."

It feels like it can't possibly be true. With how much you work, how much extra effort you feel like you have to put in to meet your own standards lately.

"Seriously," he says, "I see you doubting yourself sometimes, or feeling sorry for needing to ask for my help, but you're doing your best. And it may not look how you want it to, but even Henry can see how hard you work to give him a good life."

You sit up then, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what he said to me today? He told me he wanted to make you a perfect picture for Mother's Day because he knows you miss him when you're gone." You blink back at him, surprised. "And he told me earlier this week that he likes how you don't rush him when he doesn't know what to say. So, yeah, maybe things aren't how you want them right now, and it's hard. But if Henry can see what an incredible mother you are, I think you can give yourself some credit."

You sit with that for a few moments, trying to internalize it. Sometimes, you get so caught up in trying to be the right kind of parent and do all the right things, that you don't realize Henry might actually notice the things you do.

"And, for the record," Steve adds, "I don't just love spending time with him. I love being here when you come home, and spending time with you - with or without him. I'd go anywhere you were, no matter what we were doing."

After a beat, you say, "I'm putting in for a new job. So I can be home more."

He sits back, eyes roving your face. "Really?" His voice sounds almost hopeful.

You nod. "Yeah, I just need to update my resume, and… I think I've got a shot, actually, with this place my friend works at."

Steve's face lights up, and he makes you tell him all the details - what you'd be doing, where it is, how the pay compares. He's so excited that, for the first time all day, you actually feel yourself relax a little.

He offers to make you each a glass of wine to celebrate, and you accept, although you remind him that you haven't been offered a position, exactly. He doesn't seem to care, and when he makes it into the kitchen, he says, "Oh. I almost forgot."

When he returns, he's carrying a vase of flowers - your favorite flowers, the very same ones he brought you on your first date. He sets them on the coffee table before sitting down and passing you your glass of wine. "Happy Mother's Day, baby," he murmurs, kissing your temple.

[harringtonfeels]

.

[harringtonfeels]

When you're cooking up an Eddie fic but the heart yearns for your roots (best friend!Steve)

[harringtonfeels]

Also I was thinking about maybe doing a little AMA about my first experience with my local kink community this weekend 👀 I recently went to an in-person event (called a munch lol) that is in a casual, vanilla setting to meet people from the specific dungeon I'm interested in joining, and I have learned soooo much in the last several weeks and would be happy to share 💖

If you guys want to send in some asks, I can tell you all how I got there (discovering the dungeon, figuring out their process, etc) and what went down at the munch!

[harringtonfeels]

What dynamic do we want for kinky!Eddie?

submissive!reader x Dominant!Eddie

switch!reader x switch!Eddie

casey button

Voting ended onMay 12

[harringtonfeels]

We're going to explore many kinds of kink with varying amounts of detail in reader's kink dungeon journey. What kink style of the following options do you want to focus on most?

Classic Bondage/Sadomasochism:

Impact Play (spanking, paddles, riding crops, etc.)

Bondage / Restraint (handcuffs, rope play, etc.)

Erotic Control:

Edging, Orgasm Denial, Forced Orgasm

Collar and Leash/Ownership Play

Consensual Non-Consent and Breath Play

Degradation and Praise:

Verbal Degradation and Praise

Public Humiliation

Body Worship

Reward and Punishment

primary kink style focus

classic bondage/sadomasochism

erotic control

degradation and praise

casey button

Voting ended onMay 13

[harringtonfeels]

Also I was thinking about maybe doing a little AMA about my first experience with my local kink community this weekend 👀 I recently went to an in-person event (called a munch lol) that is in a casual, vanilla setting to meet people from the specific dungeon I'm interested in joining, and I have learned soooo much in the last several weeks and would be happy to share 💖

If you guys want to send in some asks, I can tell you all how I got there (discovering the dungeon, figuring out their process, etc) and what went down at the munch!

[harringtonfeels]

Do you guys perhaps want Chapter One of kinky!Eddie this weekend?

[stevenose]

disarm (18+)

contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina; reader is called ‘girl’ once; sexual tension; drunk!flirty!steve; lil bit of inspection kink; size kink; teasing; no smut just whorish vibes

author note: i hope you folks like it! i won’t be doing a part 2 of this one, but hope you enjoy the tension :)

Steve’s always saying weird shit to you when he’s drunk.

You know he’s just uninhibited. That if he were sober he’d be so embarrassed. You keep telling yourself that, at least.

The first time he approaches you like this, he asks, “What color underwear you got on?”

You humor him, tipsy yourself. “Take a guess.”

Steve really looks like he’s thinking, dilated pupils staring deep into yours. “Red?”

“Nope.” you can’t stop looking at him, and he isn’t looking away either. “They’re blue, actually.”

“How’d you know that’s my favorite color?” he asks, voice low, leaning forward to rest his palm on your knee.

“Oh, you think I wore them for you?”

“I wish.”

He’s easily distracted and the conversation goes no further. It’s easy to shrug him off. You know he’s a whore, anyway - have to hear about his most recent date every time you see him.

But then it happens again.

Steve stops you in the hallway at the next party, his warm hand curling around your bicep gently. Makes you stop walking to look at him.

“Havin’ fun?” he asks. His t-shirt is cut low - your eyes are drawn to the dark patch of hair on his chest.

“I think so.”

He grins, borderline diabolical. Teeth straight and white, blunt edges that could bite bruises into your skin. “There’s a free bedroom upstairs if you wanna have more.”

“Huh?”

“I said -“ he leans in towards you, until the tip of his nose touches yours, “- there’s a free bedroom upstairs if you want to have more fun.”

He doesn’t stay very serious, however. He giggles, pulls away from you and winks before continuing on his way. You roll your eyes after him, trying to brush off the way he made your stomach flip. He apparently doesn’t fuck without a first date, anyway.

And then it just sort of keeps happening. Sometimes he’d just stare at you, mouth slightly agape, watching you from the other side of the room. Or he’d make sure his palm presses firmly against the small of your back as he “squeezes past” you to grab another drink, despite there being a five foot clearance.

One night, when he’s more drunk than usual - something to do with a bad week at work - he goes a lot farther than he has. He finds you in the corner of the living room, looking at the lines in your own palm.

“Hey,” he says, quite loudly, startling you.

When you look up, he’s extremely close to you. Eyes soft, but staring into yours. He smells like maraschino cherries, no doubt from the strawberry daiquiris he won’t admit he loves. “Hi,” you breathe, trying to look at his eyes, but they keep moving languidly from your eyes to your lips to your chest. Your breasts peak out from the scoop-neck of the baby tee you’re wearing. And, okay, it’s baby blue - you may have worn it just to see what he’d do.

“Can I help you?” you ask.

He nods, nose slanting downwards towards your tits. “Y’never really wear stuff like that.”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

You grin. “Because pervs like you will stare.”

He scoffs. “That’s ‘stactly why you shouldn’t be wearin’ it here.”

Your eyes narrow at him. Now he’s just being annoying. “Oh, are you mad?”

“A little.” He licks his lips, tongue stained red from the mixer. “You should only be wearin’ somethin’ like that when you’re gonna get fucked.”

Your eyes widen, heart hammering in your chest, enough to feel it in your throat. He’s never been so forward before. And he’s backing you into the wall, trapping you in - very deliciously.

He tilts his head, highlighted hair bobbing over his forehead. “Are you gonna get fucked tonight?”

You swallow hard, blood icy cold. You’re not used to this tango, not with him. “You tell me.”

Steve blinks like he’s also shocked, goes a little slack jawed. He looks down at your tits, then back up. “I think you should get fucked tonight.”

Your hand clenches around your drink, threatening to fall to the floor. You’re weak, sore and needy between the legs.

Perhaps he’s willing to make an exception for the date rule for you.

“Will I?”

“With tits like those?” He nods down again. “Bet you’ve got the sweetest nipples. You like havin’ ‘em bit? Sucked?”

You wonder if he feels the heat radiating off of your face. “Steve,” you say, trying to give him a warning. You can’t breathe, knees beginning to shake. “What kind of friend asks that?”

His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “So you just see me as a friend?”

You bite your cheek. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? Or do you know something I don’t?”

“I -“

You’re both startled by the sound of champagne popping, shrieks and woops breaking you out of whatever you were just entangled in. And Steve, so easily distracted, groans and marches towards the kitchen, shouting, “I told you to take that shit outside!”

You inhale deep, thumping chest caving in, collarbones turning sharp. It’s suddenly so cold without him in front of you. You run a hand through your hair and look around, spotting Robin grinning at you from ear to ear. You roll your eyes at her and move through the living room to get some water and air.

You wonder if he’ll even remember when he’s sober. If he’ll apologize for asking something so insane. But he either doesn’t remember or wants to forget, because when you’re back to return tapes two days later he acts completely normal. It isn’t a bad thing - it’s a bit fun to play with him in such a non-serious way. Though you do find his hands gripping the next tape you rent for a bit too long, shoves your change into your hand and lets his palm linger against yours.

Another get together - you can hardly call it a party when there’s only ten people present - brings you back to his apartment two weeks later. It’s much more low key and he, in turn, drinks much less. He still gets drunk, though - laughing loudly, freckled neck on display. Does things he gives Robin shit for. You laugh beside her when she scoffs at him, throwing a pillow across the way to hit him in the back of the head.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” she says. “Do you want one?”

You tell her you’re okay and she’s off, leaving the couch beside you empty. Which Steve notes. Immediately.

“What’s a place like you doin’ in a girl like this?”

“You invited me,” you remind, the couch dipping as he sits beside you.

“Ohhh. And why’d I do that?”

You hum, trying to suppress a smile. “I don’t know. You must like me.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I do.”

You’re already getting horny again. “Because I leave big tips for you?”

“And what do you know about big tips, huh?”

You laugh, a little shrill, feeling very much on the spot. Then he grabs your hand, pulling it up against his. You assume he’s comparing the size - a clear flirting tactic - and you watch him with much adoration as he examines them together. His first knuckle is able to come down on your finger tips and he grins. “You’ve got small hands.”

“Maybe yours are just freakishly big.”

“Wanna know what else is?”

Which, truly, in any other situation this would be funny. But it so isn’t. His words are deathly serious to you.

“Well, it can’t be your brain.”

Steve scoffs again. “Oh, funny.”

Out of nowhere, you’re doused with something cold. Robin’s tripped on the rug, spilling her wine on you. You gasp just as she says, “Oh, shit!”

“Rob-in!” Steve sounds more than exasperated with her, but it’s hard to take it seriously when he’s slurring.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry - I got - I tripped - with my big clown feet - oh my god, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” you promise, despite the huge red stain on your white shirt. It’s still dripping down you, onto your skirt. Drenched. “Uh, let me go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll help,” Steve says, stumbling when he stands, helping you off the couch. You’re certain he won’t be much help but you accept his assistance anyway.

You’ve noticed how Steve gets into these dad modes. Like, one time Robin choked on a lemon seed that was in her water and Steve wouldn’t let her drink without him checking her cup for two months afterwards. And there was the time that Eddie, clumsier than Robin, tripped and scraped his knee, and Steve acted like Eddie was five. So now it’s your turn, ushered into his bathroom while he props you against the counter and scrounges around for a towel.

“It’s okay,” you say, “I’m just wet.”

“I got it,” he assures, running a washcloth under the tap. You’re sure he thinks he’s helping, as much as he can when he’s inebriated, but you’re very certain a wet washcloth won’t help. He swats your hands away when you try to take it from him, and he starts blotting the wine.

His hair in your face smells fruity, like his hairspray. “Steve, I don’t think this is doin’ much.”

His brows are knitted in concentration. “‘s almost out.”

You look down. It is not.

But you let him feel important anyway. Watching as he dabs and dabs and dabs over your sternum. His breath tickling your neck. And now that the shock has worn off, you’re getting turned on again. By his attention, how he’s trying to help, how his big fucking paws are right there. You’re practically begging god to make him do something when his hands start wandering.

Steve brings the towel over your breast, blotting as usual, then slowing. Like it’s clicking what he’s doing. And then he presses a little harder, lingers for a while. His palm touching you more than the cloth. His eyes drift up to yours as he moves towards the other. And instead of blotting, his hand cups it.

You simply let him.

The cold has made your nipples perk up under your bralette. Steve’s thumb swipes over the hardened nub. You both stare at each other, willing the other to do more, but it’s left in a stalemate. Steve throws the washcloth in the sink, lets his hand slide over your heart.

“Heartbeat’s so fast,” he observes softly. “What’s that all about, huh?”

You swallow hard. “Lot of excitement.”

His eyes drift down. “I can tell.”

You take a big breath, looking away from him. “Do you have something I could borrow?”

“Like what?”

“Like, a shirt?”

Steve blinks, looking sad. “Oh. Yeah, yeah, prob’ly.”

As you walk behind him to his room, you decide you’ll throw him a bone whenever the opportunity arises. You certainly can’t have him thinking you don’t like his attention. You watch him clumsily rifle through his closet before he finds a black sweater that’ll match your skirt well enough.

It makes you dizzy how it smells like him, even freshly laundered. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” Steve simply stands in front of you, hands on his hips, lips pulled in tight. Looking at you like he’s thinking really hard.

You bite your lip, heartbeat fastening again. You turn from him to place the shirt on his bed, which seems to snap him out of whatever stupor he’s in. He clears his throat and turns to leave, but you call after him.

“Steve?”

He turns, brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

You inhale deep before slowly peeling your shirt off of you. Taking your time, letting it catch on the curve of your breasts. You let it slip to his floor and you continue watching him. Watching his chest rise and fall rapidly, his nostrils flaring, chestnut eyes staring right at your bra-clad chest. You’re so hot you’re beginning to sweat - and then you reach behind you to unclasp your wet bralette.

Steve’s jaw drops comically slow as it joins your shirt on the floor. You can’t help but to smile.

“What do you think?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head slowly. “Think you’ve been holdin’ out on me.”

You press your tits together with your arms as you shrug at him, turning around to fetch the sweater he’s given you. You figure it’ll be enough for him to know you’re wearing his shirt, chest bare underneath, but then he says, “Your skirt is wet, too.”

You don’t turn to look at him as you grab the fabric, leaning forward for it. “Don’t suppose you have one for me to borrow?”

You didn’t even hear him walking up behind you. You’re suddenly pressed into the bed, his hand pushing down on the space between your shoulder blades to keep you against the mattress. Your breath hitches, stomach flipping. You feel how hard he is against your ass, and he grinds once before sliding down to kneel behind you.

“What are you doing?” you breathe.

“Checkin’ out the damage.” His hands push your skirt up, up, up, until it rests above your ass. You feel his breath fanning across the back of your thighs. “Y’know,” he continues casually, “since you said you’re wet.”

Your breaths turn shallow. Steve’s hands, warm and soft, run up the backs of your thighs slowly. You part them for him. Heat rushes to your face when he laughs behind you, but he doesn’t say anything. Must just be overjoyed that you’re letting him do this.

His hands move to your hips, squeezing them slightly before tucking his fingers under the waistband of your underwear. You’re so dizzy it almost makes you sick - but you wait patiently as he slowly pulls them down.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” he observes quietly. Lets your underwear hang around your knees. “All this for me?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Been - you’ve been working me up for weeks.”

“I know.”

You want to call him a bastard, but you’re stunned into silence when he parts your folds. The sound it makes is embarrassing to you, but Steve coos at it. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy. Knew you would.”

You exhale shakily. “Steve….”

“Fucked my fist to it,” he admits. “But I didn’t think it’d be so tiny.”

And then one of his fingers presses against your hole. Just enough. You short circuit, electric running through you, knees going weak. Steve’s free hand steadies them, fingers splayed out along your skin.

“Can you even get any fingers in here?” he mumbles. Circles your little hole, your eyes crossing. “Know your hands are so tiny, too.”

“No,” you force yourself to say. “Not really.”

He sounds contemplative. “Just one of mine would split you in two.”

His finger trails down, resting at your swollen clit for a few short moments before he pulls away, yanking your underwear back up.

You feel more than upset. Devastated that he’s pulled away. You want to grab him, cunt hurting from the teasing with no relief.

“Steve-“

“You know I don’t fuck without a date first,” he grins. As if he didn’t just ruin your life with whatever that was. Like he didn’t just turn you into his cock-dumb whore. Jesus Christ, if he told you to spend the rest of the night topless, you would. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, okay?”

Then he’s back, leaning over you, pushing you into his bed. His cock really straining against his jeans while he presses into your ass. He puts his lips right up against your ear. “You’re gonna get dressed ‘nd we’re gonna party, ‘kay? Then tomorrow I’m gonna pick you up and take you for breakfast.” He ruts himself into you and you moan. “Sorry, sweetheart. ‘m usually a dinner guy but I can’t wait that long to have you. How’s nine sound?”

“You… there’s n-no way you’re going to be up at nine.”

He scoffs. “‘ve got an alarm clock.”

You press your ass back into him. “You’ll forget.”

“Haven’t forgotten you so far.” Grinds against you again.

“You remember when you’re sober?”

“Honey. You’re all I’ve been able to think about.”

Then he’s off of you, leaving your tits pressed to his mattress, overwhelmed. He walks towards his desk while you desperately try to stand - your legs are still shaking. Your fingers curl around his sweater just as he comes back, arm marked up with a pen.

BREAKFAST AT 9 WITH HOTTIE :)

“See? Won’t forget.”

You’re still not so sure - you’ll have to wait and see. As you finally start pulling his sweater on, he grabs your bra, tucking it into his back pocket. “I’ll wash it for you,” he says, patting it.

“Yeah? After you cum in it?”

Steve smiles deviously. “You wanna watch me do it?”

[harringtonfeels]

In the upcoming kinky!Eddie fic, reader is going to meet several play partners (the main focus is on Eddie, but she's learning and exploring).

do we want...

primarily male-attracted reader?

bisexual/pansexual reader?

Voting ended onMay 9

[paperplateprose]

writing is easy! first you must explain something you do not understand, you must express the turmoil within a person using dots and lines, you must craft a living world using hands that were never made to. and then you die

[harringtonfeels]

We're going to explore many kinds of kink with varying amounts of detail in reader's kink dungeon journey. What kink style of the following options do you want to focus on most?

Classic Bondage/Sadomasochism:

Impact Play (spanking, paddles, riding crops, etc.)

Bondage / Restraint (handcuffs, rope play, etc.)

Erotic Control:

Edging, Orgasm Denial, Forced Orgasm

Collar and Leash/Ownership Play

Consensual Non-Consent and Breath Play

Degradation and Praise:

Verbal Degradation and Praise

Public Humiliation

Body Worship

Reward and Punishment

primary kink style focus

classic bondage/sadomasochism

erotic control

degradation and praise

casey button

Voting ended onMay 13

[harringtonfeels]

What dynamic do we want for kinky!Eddie?

submissive!reader x Dominant!Eddie

switch!reader x switch!Eddie

casey button

Voting ended onMay 12

[harringtonfeels]

We've got some polls incoming for the kinky!Eddie fic 🖤 We'll start with the basics (what role does Reader want to play) and then move on to what kind of kink we're going to showcase (starting broadly, then exploring in more detail).

Kinky!Eddie Poll Masterlist:

Submissive!Reader x Dominant!Eddie vs Switch!Reader x Switch!Eddie

Primary Kink Style

Straight Reader vs Bi/Pan Reader (basically)