JADE

steve <3 , 20s she/her

[ilovetulips]

steve harrington x fem!reader

steve likes to think he hides his crushes well. well enough for nobody to notice. not robin, not nancy, and especially not you. he takes care with every word that leaves his mouth, concealing his happiness whenever you speak to him.

calm, cool and collected is his motto. everyday he follows this to avoid exposure. he finds having a little crush fun, harmless even. but he didn’t know that you knew. and he didn’t know that you feel the same way.

you walk into the rusting video rental store for your shift, paired with non other than steve this morning. “mornin’ y/n” calm, cool and collected. he makes a mental note to pat himself on the back.

“g’morning steve.” you smile, strolling straight past him and into the back room to clock in. the smell of your shampoo hits steve’s senses ever so slightly and he has to stop his knees from giving out right then and there.

when you return, your vest now atop of your floral blouse, he once again has to regain control of his knees.

calm, cool and collected. the red blush on the tip of his nose that he was completely unaware of was the complete opposite of this statement ‘motto’.

“bet you it’s not gonna be busy today.” the boy says, leaning forward on the counter with his arms. you do the same, only leaning backwards on the small of your back.

“whattcha betting me, harrington?” his head turns back, hair flopping widly before he turns around and copies your posture. bingo.

while he thought he was being the most subtle guy in the world, you had a list of things that made you almost positive steve had a crush on you.

1. he masked your posture. telltale sign.

“heyyyy, steve.” your shift not starting yet, you decided to sit in the small canteen for staff. your legs stretched out and your arms crossed.

“holy— y/n. scared the shit outta me.” he pulled out the chair opposite you on the small table.

“sorry! i got bored so just decided to wait in here.” you apologised. his arms crossed over his chest.

“you’re like some freaky ghost. you’re everywhere.” his legs stretched out infront of him as he spoke. the smirk on your face disguised in a laugh.

2. his feet pointed towards you whenever you sat in a group. always.

“did you just steal my fries?” your shocked face turned towards the culprit next to you.

“dunno what you’re talkin’ about. did anyone see me take her food?” eddie raised his hands in the air, feigning innocence.

“not me!” “i didn’t!” “what food?” your friends chimed in unison.

“you’re all traitors.”

steve smiled at your words. “what’re you smiling at, harrington?” his eyes widened slightly before he responded.

“nothin’.” his smile turned into that of a guilty person’s as he reached down into his lap,

his hand returning with a few fries he happily shovelled into his mouth — a few missing and falling on the floor.

you looked down in shock at your falling fries, their grease coating steve’s shoes. his feet were facing you, which wouldn’t have been odd except for the fact his body was facing a different way and he wasn’t sat directly infront of you.

you made sure to remember that.

3. everytime you weren’t involved in something, he wanted to know absolutely everything about why not.

“hey guys! where’s y/n?” steve stopped in his tracks. you rarely missed group outings, which let his steve-senses tingle at the fact something was clearly wrong.

“mmm i think she’s sick. nance said something like that. i dunno.” eddie was twirling his hair, not really paying attention.

“hm? oh, yeah. said she wasn’t feelin’ good and she couldn’t make it.” nancy chimed in, sipping her drip and sinking into the sofa next to her boyfriend.

steve’s shoulders tensed. “what kinda sick? like throwing up or just a cold?” he sat down, his leg bouncing.

the girl huffs out a laugh at the state of his panic, “she’s fine, steve. just a bit sniffly. calm down.”

calm cool and collected. totally the opposite of what he was right now. shit. was he being obvious?

and of course, nancy phones you to give you a debrief of the night - including steve’s concerns and constant questions throughout the night.

—

“whatcha thinkin’ about?” slow day was an overstatement. you had served one customer in the 2 hours you had been there.

“hm? oh, nothin’.” you replied, words rolling off your tongue yet the blush staining your cheeks said otherwise.

you wouldn’t have paid such close attention to his behaviour if you didn’t like him. of course you were flattered by the revelation, who wouldn’t be?

“okay. who are you thinkin’ about then.”

you whip your head around to meet his eyes. “huh?”

“you’re blushing, y/n.” your eyes widened.

“no.” he laughs at your response.

“yes.” there is that pink blush on the tip of his nose. he leans down to your level.

“steve?” you look up at him. the pink turns to a shade of maroon.

“hm?”

“i know you like me.” the blush spreads across his whole face, and you wouldn’t be exaggerating if you said it spread to his hands too.

“i- no- what—“ he’s a stuttering mess. it’s cute.

“steve.”

“hm?” he gulps.

“i like you too.” you smile sweetly, and he thinks his heart cries out with joy.

[vampieteeth]

BOXER STEVE IS SOOOO. like imagine he’s all mad after losing a fight and you’re trying to clean his bloody face but he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you ….. I am but a girl 😞☝️

no because i need him in a way that feels anti-feminist… like

he’s got that look in his eyes that you can only really classify as hungry, dark, half-lidded, lips slightly parted like he’s going to do it— take his hands from where they’re rested gently on your hips and drag them up to your face, pull you in for a kiss. knowing him, it’ll be all tongue and teeth, hot and heavy, loving and passionate. the kind that scorches.

you won’t let him, though. even if you want to— his nose is perpetually leaking red no matter how much cotton you use to mop it up and his eye is turning a sickening shade of blue (already). he can’t kiss you when you’re worried he might have a concussion. and it’s never just one kiss with steve. it’s always two or three, and then suddenly you’re missing a shirt and his belt is nowhere to be found. so you play nurse. try be a good girlfriend and take care of him; try not to give into the temptations.

not that he’s making it easy for you.

because he’s observant, steve notices how hard you’re trying not to give in— thinks it’s cute. thinks it’s maddening too: he hates losing, and he’s already eaten a big one today. this won’t become a pattern, not if he can help it. so now he’s sliding his big, bruising hands up the length of your back, underneath your shirt— just a little. they’re warm against your skin, like the sun almost.

“honey,” he says, all kind and lovely, like he isn’t looking at you like you’re something delicious; something he’s planning to devour like he’s starved. it makes you shiver reflexively, and he likes that. likes that he has as much as effect on you as you do on him. “look at me for a second?”

“i know what you’re trying to do steve,” you warn him. there’s no malice in your voice, but you’re trying to be stern. you’re squeezing his chin in your delicate hand, still dabbing at the mess, and you can feel it shift as he smiles. you catch a glimpse of it in your peripheral vision, all smug. like the cat that’s caught the canary. mischievous and sharp, likes he’s plotting.

“‘m not doing anything baby,” he’s lying. he’s rubbing circles on your flesh, calloused thumbs being so kind. he’s always up to something; always being sweet about it. “just want you to look at me. please?”

he knows exactly how to make you melt. you bite your lip. you worry your fingers over his cheek bones that are very handsome and very red. you do not resist when steve brings you a little further against him, the inside of his thighs bracketing your body.

well, he’d said please.

when you give in there’s that look, and he isn’t smiling so much as he is practically licking his lips. you feel like a lamb. he has teeth like a wolf. you wouldn’t mind it if he showed you how

“you look so beautiful,” his dark eyes twinkle like sparks of a flame underneath his thick brows.

“steve...” you aren’t resisting. not really. but you’re stubborn. it’s why he likes you, he says. you’re a firecracker in lace and ribbon.

steve presses a chaste kiss to the hand you’ve still got on his face. the blood’s stopped, but you’re all out of cotton. the bow of his mouth is red with it; the edge of his nose. but you don’t mind, not when his touch sends electricity through your veins. “i’m only telling the truth, doll.”

tenderly, he runs his thumbs across the length of your spine. it’s funny, you think. how mean he can be in the ring. how awfully nice he is to you outside of it.

“i— think you need to go to the medic,” you worry, stroking his hair from his face. it’s a little damp with sweat. you don’t mind too much. not when it’s him. “i’m worried about your head. I think percival was real hard with his hits today.”

“how about you kiss it better?”

“steve.”

“‘m serious bunny. i think you got that healing touch. will you kiss me? fix me up?”

you think about it for a minute. “will you go see someone after?”

he nods, a deliciously eager smile splitting his lips. “anything for you.”

you roll your eyes. he’s such a flatterer, always knows how to get what he wants from you. not that you mind giving it to him.

you bend and he tilts and you feel his lips on you like silk. steve kisses you like he’s been deprived of it, like he’s forgotten how to breathe and you are oxygen. he takes those big hands and he holds you like a glass feather, but his mouth is hot and it is carnivorous. you melt against his wolf teeth like honey.

just as you expected, it’s a long time before he’s letting you go.

[upsidedownmvnson]

tell me you love me | steve harrington

warnings: fluff (warning lol) friends to lovers, idiots to lovers,

a/n: i actually really loved this <3 i hope you do too

Steve Harrington had already tried twice in his life to confess his love for you.

The first time, you two were in the tenth grade and you had just accepted stupid Jack Warren's invitation to prom, so Steve didn't bother. That was back when he was settling into popularity anyway, so he got over it pretty quickly. He was dating Cathy Bartlett the next week.

The second time, Robin had made him pinky promise not to date you. She had held him down, sat on his back and twisted his arm until he pinky swore that he wouldn't do anything to destroy the delicate ecosystem of the friend group. There was already one awkward ex-situation in there.

But Robin was right, you were not like the girls he normally dated. If things went wrong he wouldn't be able to just sweep it under the rug, it could have painful ramifications for all his friends. Although... he didn't actually think it would go that bad. Steve would find his mind wandering on the idea often. He pictured the two of you in the kitchen, side by side cooking dinner and talking about your day. When he thought of you, it felt like home. It felt like somewhere he could build a house and live forever.

If he could only get the words out, he'd realize how quickly you'd accept him. He'd realize he wasn't the only one of you that was stupid in love.

You had been in love with Steve since you could remember. But never once thought he'd shared your interest, not with all the girls around him all the time. The way he shines in their attention and basks in their praise, it's enough to make you sure he's happy with how it is. Or he probably wouldn't have told you all about his date with Debbie Dabbenthorn, right?

Tonight, you, Nancy and Robin were at a party. Something Steve desperately tried to make not happen. But he was working, so there was no one to stop you girls from coaxing each other into drink after drink, which you always did. The three of you always drank too much, and Steve always got stuck trying to coral you and Robin into his car.

At the party, Nancy was handing you another red cup filled to the brim, sloshing over the side and coating your fingers. You hadn't noticed.

"I love when we ditch the boys," Nancy said, smiling as she sipped out of her own solo cup. "It's so fun!"

"Same," Robin said, slinging her arm around Nancy's shoulers, making the two of them sway and laugh. They caught their balance and cheered drinks. "Hey, help me find the bathroom!"

It wasn't hard to find, but it was hard for all three of you to get there without knocking into each other, but it didn't matter. The three of you giggled the whole way, laughing too hard over barely anything. Enjoying the simple joy of being with your friends on a party.

The line for the bathroom was short, only a few people deep. Nancy was grilling Robin on her love life while Robin evaded every question with a vague answer, soon, she turned it onto you, focusing Nancy on the other singler girl in the group.

"Do you not think anyone is cute at least?" Nancy said, not quite believing you when you say you didn't have a crush on anyone at the moment. You shrugged, trying to avoid admitting that it was her ex boyfriend that really turned your head. Robin chuckled, and slid into the bathroom.

You started sipping your drink when Nancy asked, "Not even Steve?" and you nearly choked, but you coughed once and composed yourself. You stared at her, confused as to why she would bring him up.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, and you looked into your cup, noting that you'd need a replacement after this trip. "But it would be okay with me."

Robin opened the bathroom door again, reassembling the trio be throwing her arms around both of your shoulders. "New drinks!" she cheered, steering you all in the direction of the kitchen.

"Drink up," Nancy giggled, "and then let's dance!"

So that's what you did, you guys drank and danced and had a great time. Until Jonathan came to pick up Nancy. That's when you saw that it was after nine, so Steve should've been on the way to come collect you and Robin from your drunken outing. You told Robin again how nice it was for Steve to come get you.

"But c'mon, you love him right?" Robin asked, laughing at your shock.

"I do not love him," you argued, but you did. Robin shrugged, but didn't look convinced. "He just is beautiful, that's all."

"Nah," she said, brushing off the idea with a wave of her hand. "You just love him."

"Do not," you mumbled. But Robin already leaned the other way when Vicki walked up to talk to her. You leaned further into the couch, the ugly thing was very comfortable. Steve should be there any minute.

"Hey," Robin whispered, "Vicki invited me to go with her friends to the lake... Are you gunna be okay here? You're not too drunk are you? Because if you think you can't stay awake, I'll stay of course..."

"Robin, go! I'll be fine for like two minutes..." you slurred, you were pretty drunk but Steve really was going to be there any second.

"Okay!" she didn't have to be told twice before she was scrambling after Vicki in her love-drunk haze. Or maybe just regular drunk, but Robin was feeling giddy anyway.

Steve was running behind because he lost the address that Robin had given him. She'd just ripped off a corner of a piece of paper, and Steve had lost it at some point in his shift. When he finally found the place he was thirty minutes behind.

When he got inside you were curled up on the couch alone, snoozing while some couple made out next to you in the spot Robin had vacated. He smiled when he saw you, and took a knee next to you, trying to wake you up nicely. He stroked your cheek, and tucked some hair behind ear, making you stir softly in your slumber.

"Time to get up," Steve said, "Where's Robin?"

"Went with Vicki," you whispered, rubbing your eyes, smudging whatever makeup wasn't already ruined from the dancing.

"Well, how mean of her to leave you here all alone," he said, running his thumb along your cheek again. "Can't trust you guys alone now though, she did leave you to fall asleep at a house party. That's like really bad, I'm mad at her."

You made a soft noise in response, his stern voice was, not so stern. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. Leaning close to you, rubbing your cheek, hair falling perfectly on his forehead and you just wanted to reach up and brush it away like he did. But your hands were wedged under your head, and you were afraid that if you stirred even an inch, he would leave, and this moment would be over.

"Guess you'll just have to make sure you come with us next time," you whispered, eyes bloodshot and glossy from all the alcohol. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The party was still raging around him, and he easily could've found a place within the girls, but he was content in this moment with you. Your eyes started feeling heavy, and you couldn't stop them from constantly fluttering shut.

“C'mon let me help you up babe,” Steve said, aiding your drunk figure. The nickname made your stomach flip. You were dead weight, giggling as he took care of you and grabbed your things and still found the patience to be kind to you, musing like he was interested in all your drunk babble.

“You're just so pretty, Stevie, it's stupid,” you cooed, finding a place beside him with his arms around you for balance as he lead you, slowly, to his car.

"D-Don't say that stuff," Steve said, voice cracking at the beginning. You were drunk, and it was dark, but you still noticed the blush on Steve's cheeks, and you smiled.

He opened the door for you, and you commented, "so romantic," while holding your hand over your heart, and Steve's heart raced. He went around the trunk of his car to get another second of fresh air, if you saw him in the light you were sure to see the heat he felt in his neck and cheeks. You were flirting with him, and he couldn't contain his excitement every time you complimented him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes.

The entire trip was like that. From the moment he was in the car you were just a loose cannon of compliments and praises. This combination of him sober and you drunk has never happened while alone before. Were you this flirty with him when he was drunk too?

The answer was yes. The real reason Nancy knew you really wanted Steve was because whenever you two are drunk and together you look like you're in love... because you are. Holding hands, head on shoulder, legs across laps, big bright smiles that made everyone think you were truly, madly, deeply in love. Everything that's just a little too friendly, but never crossing that silly little line that kept you both under the umbrella of just friends.

You were a delight in his passenger seat. He only wished you spoke like this when you were sober, because then maybe he'd know for sure you love him too.

"Hey Steve?" you asked, voice coming out as almost a purr in your sleepy state. Steve's heart melted. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat and moving his hand over to your lap, intertwining your fingers. Your hands were cold to the touch, but all you felt was the comforting warmth of him. You were both smiling, goofy grins to match the butterflies in your stomach. "You can hold my hand whenever you like."

You made another happy hum, but said nothing else. The ride was short. No words exchanged, just the quiet songs on the radio, turned low to let you drift off in the passenger seat.

When you got to his house, he parked the car, looking at you. He didn't want to wake you. And he didn't want to let go of your hand. Maybe he should just stay in the car all night.

Of course he didn't do that. Steve weaseled his way out of your grip, not bothering to hide how pleased he was that you whined at the loss of his touch. he helped you out of the car, encouraging you to climb on his back for "an express ride to the VIP bathroom," and he delivered, carrying you, all dead weight and giggling, to the bathroom where he left you to clean up. You put on the clothes he delivered, Plaid pajama pants and a big grey shirt. Well, you put the shirt on, the pajama pants were thrown into the tub, because you couldn't be forced to wear pants.

"Steeeeeve," you slurred, leaving the bathroom, giggling and bumping into the doorframe.

Steve was standing in the doorway to his room, wearing only blue plaid pj pants. His torso on glorious display, while he stood frozen at the sight of you. You stretched your arms over your head, and the shirt rose, exposing your panties to him. He nearly choked looking at you.

"Can I sleep in your room?" you asked, smiling at the effect you had on him. "Look how cute I am," you said, turning around and lifting the shirt while bending over slightly, giving him a perfect view of your ass, with the panties laying deliciously over your cheeks.

"Jesus," he muttered, unable to look away but trying to force himself to. He shouldn't be sneaking a peak while you were this drunk, but in his defence you were the one showing him. "Come to bed, just put your shirt down."

"It's your shirt," you teased, obeying him anyway. You danced behind him into the room, and crawled into bed. It smelled so good, it smelled like him. You could've stayed by Steve's side under these blankets forever.

You lay facing Steve, in his overly big, overly comfortable bed, too tired and drunk to keep your eyes open, but you still try. Steve smiles at your determination to stay awake, he watches your eyes blink quickly, trying to shake the sleep away.

You want to reach over and intertwine your hands, you don’t. He wants to reach out and brush the hair off your forehead and behind your ear, he doesn’t.

“Are we in love, Steve?”

The sharpness of your question cuts him, wounding him in a way he didn’t know was possible. He wanted to speak, but there were no words. No charismatic come back, and no way to avoid the lingering question in the air. Steve holds his tears back. He really did love you.

When your eyes peak open, he’s nodding. His eyes filled with tears that he refuses to let you see, but you see. "Yeah, I think so."

“Why is it so sad?”

“Because we're best friends," he said, "and I can't lose you."

"Tell me you love me," you whispered, silly mood replaced with a tight feeling in your throat, like you were going to cry. But you held it back.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

He wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss you. But instead, he just sighed, and found your hand under the sheets, and held it tightly. He was frozen. This was his dream come true, so why did it feel like a nightmare? Like you were right there, but he couldn't have you. Like he was doomed to stay in love with you, and never actually get to be with you.

“I will still love you in the morning whether I say it or not, Stevie.” Your eyes finally started winning the battle, and they stayed closed more than they stayed open, too heavy too fight.

"I know babe," he said, watching as you breathing changed and your eyes didn't open again. "I will too."

[theemporium]

what about hockey!steve fucking rival captain!reader in the locker room🫣🫠😶

he makes me so😵‍💫thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

You shouldn’t have been in the Indiana University Boys’ Locker Room.

You knew that. You did.

You should have been in the locker room three doors down, the one that you had all to yourself as the only girl in the visiting team. You should have been with your team right now, debriefing the game and discussing the pointers your coach had made from the tight game, pointers that could have helped you win the next game after your loss against Indiana University. 

You knew that, and yet you still found yourself pressed against the lockers, cold metal against bare skin as you wrapped your legs around your biggest rival’s waist as he fucked you. 

“That’s it, honey,” Steve groaned, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as his lips danced along your collarbone. “Make those pretty noises f’me, tell me how good it feels.”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” you gasped out between staggered breaths and whiny moans. Your nails dug into his back, small half-moon dents in his skin that he would fucking adore tomorrow morning. He always loved the way you marked him up.

“Already am, sweetheart,” Steve bit back, lifting his head so you could see the cheeky grin on his face. It should have infuriated you, and maybe it still did. But it was hard to focus on anything except his cock drilling into you, hitting a spot inside you that only Captain Steve Harrington seemed to hit—and you hated that it was him.

It was a drunken mistake that just seemed to become a repeating sober mistake. 

But something about Steve Harrington made your body hum in a way no other man ever did. Whether it was when he was running his mouth on the ice or between your legs, something about him seemed to get under your skin in a way no other player ever seemed to do.

And even when you told yourself you were done with him, he would flash you that pretty smile and you’d somehow find yourself pressed against him again, naked and writhing and begging for more.

“C’mon, honey, tell me,” he groaned as he pressed a line of sloppy kisses up the column of your neck as your nails raked down his back. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Shut up,” you whined as you threw your head back.

“That’s not very nice of you,” he grunted, his words condescending as he watched your eyes roll back. “I can feel you, honey. I can feel you clenching around me, fucking milking me dry and you can’t even be honest with me?”

A choked noise left your lips when his thrusts stopped, when the head of his cock brushed against your cervix and stayed there. “Steve—”

“Say it,” he muttered, raising a hand to lightly brush his thumb against your lips.

You shook your head, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, but still ever so fucking stubborn.

“Oh baby,” he cooed mockingly as his fingers squeezed your cheeks together, as your pouty lips were inches away from his own. “You gonna be like that? Gonna give me some attitude?”

You stayed silent.

“C’mon, pretty girl, just say the words and I’ll let you come,” he murmured, his hooded eyes locked on your lips. “I’ll make you feel so fucking good, make you feel better after that loss, hm? Just gotta say that word.”

You glared at him.

“No?” He said with a teasing pout. “You want me to leave you here, all fucking desperate and wet?”

Your eyes widened, your nails digging into his skin. “Steve—”

His lips twitched upwards. “Oh, there’s my needy little girl,” he cooed. “She just wants to come, huh?”

You opened your mouth to reply, only for a pathetic moan to leave your lips as he thrusted back into you. 

“Just needed my cock, hm? That’s all my pretty girl needs,” Steve continued, his hands falling down to your ass to hold you against the lockers as he thrusted up into you. “Say it.”

“You,” you choked out in a whine. “Your cock. Steve. Please.”

“There she is,” he praised as he leaned down to press his lips against yours, to eat up every single one of your moans. “There’s my pretty little slut.”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” you gritted out between kisses.

His grin only widened. “My fucking pleasure, honey.”

.

[luveline]

What would happen if Roan went through a phase of calling Eddie by his name instead of dad because she hears reader and Wayne calling him it?

(This was loosely inspired by this TikTok https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJqukwNU/)

thank you for your request! eddie and roan —roan starts calling eddie by his first name and he doesn't know how to feel. fem!reader, 1.5k

"Eddie? You want horseradish?" Wayne asks, wiping his hands in a rag. 

Your eyes widen as Roan leaps up into your lap. You wrap your arms around her and almost get your teeth knocked out as she makes herself comfortable, one of her high ponytails tickling your cheek. Your laughter shakes you both. 

"Yeah, please. Ro, horseradish?" Eddie asks, standing behind the chair next to yours, hand out to receive the jar of horseradish. 

He takes the spoon. Roan settles at a sideways angle, giving you an ample view of her wrinkled nose. "No thanks, that stuff is stinky." 

"You can't have tenderloin without horseradish, sweetheart," Wayne says, putting your plate in front of you. Fragrant steam wafts your way. "Now come on, sit in your own seat." 

Roan sighs and turns to you morosely. "They always do this." 

"They're tearing us apart," you say agreeably, fondly, rubbing her arm before lifting her from your lap and into the seat right beside you. 

"They don't do anything. Horseradish smells a little strong, but that doesn't mean it isn't really, really yummy," Eddie says, sitting in the seat to your left. 

It's dark outside, later than you intended to eat. Wayne and Eddie went out looking for ground beef to make meatballs and came back with beef tenderloin instead, which takes way longer to cook. It's been a nice evening while you were waiting, filled with VHS kids movies, conversation, and a secret bowl of hard pretzels. 

"You said those pickled onions were yummy, too," Roan says, clearly disbelieving as Wayne puts her plate down in front of her. 

"They're an acquired taste," Eddie says. 

"A what?" Roan asks. 

"They're not for everybody," Wayne explains. "Do you need help cutting your dinner?" 

"It's okay," Roan says, picking up her fork eagerly. The tines look longer, more dangerous in her small hand, but you've learned not to worry. 

"Come on, sweetheart, I'll cut it up for you," Eddie says, rolling up his sleeves. 

You pick up your drink as Wayne offers it with a thank you, eyes closing in momentary bliss. Wayne makes the best sweet tea, and he doesn't skimp on the ice.

"No thank you, Eddie," Roan says, stabbing a piece of tenderloin. The fork scratches across the plate. Unbothered, she brings the beef to her mouth. 

You almost choke on your drink. 

"Excuse me?" Eddie asks. 

You laugh. Wayne sits down for the first time in the last hour and tucks in his chair, shaking his head in defeat as he grabs for the horseradish and begins spooning it onto his plate. 

"I said no thanks," Roan repeats around a nibble of beef. 

"I heard that part. What did you call me?"

"What, Eddie?" Roan asks. A little smile has her lips tilting upward, a fleck of beef on her chin. It's evidence that she knows what she's done. 

You lean over to wipe her chin. "Oh no." 

"No thank you dad," Eddie says emphatically. "Dad, daddy, hell, I'll accept papa." 

"Everybody else calls you Eddie," Roan says, shrugging little shoulders, her hair bouncing either side of her face. 

"I'm not everybody else's dad," Eddie says, slipping between your chair and Roan's. He sounds strange —not upset but shocked, an unusual colour on him. He eases the knife and fork out of her hands and begins slicing up her food into smaller bites. "I'm your dad."

"Okie dokie, Eddie." 

You can see Eddie sticking his tongue in his cheek while he stands there. He isn't mad; he rarely gets angry over things like this, and even less with Roan. Doesn't mean he likes what's happening, though. 

The evening continues like that. Roan can tell Eddie doesn't like being called by his name and it eggs her on. By the end of the night she's smirking every time she speaks to him, Wayne's clearly amused, and you're not sure how to feel. 

You have to use the bathroom, catching Eddie on the way back with a kind hand on his wrist. 

"Hey, handsome," you say, looking over the soft slopes of his cheeks, his puppy dog browns, his brows where they've furrowed. You stroke the pulsing vein bisecting his forehead in concern. "You cool?" 

"Why is she calling me Eddie?" he asks, shaking his head gently.

"'Cos she could tell you didn't like it. Want me to ask her to cut it out?"

Eddie nudges you. He's dressed nice for a day at home, a slightly too tight t-shirt bragging the lines of his chest and stretched at the curves of his biceps. You tug on one mindlessly. 

"No. Maybe I'll start calling her daughter, see if that works. Or tell her she can't call me dad, reverse psychology." 

"Probably shouldn't." 

"No, I shouldn't." He covers your hand at his sleeve. "Thanks for worrying about me, but it's fine." His face inches closer to yours. "It's kind of funny. I guess I just got so used to being called dad I didn't realise I'd miss it this fast." 

"She'll forget it by tomorrow," you assure him, closing your eyes quick as he presses a good kiss to the corner of your mouth. More than a year down the line and still his kisses make your heart skip. 

"She better." 

Eddie steals another kiss before giving your hand a finger-tingling squeeze and ditching you for the bathroom. 

You return to the living room faster than Roan must anticipate, catching her crouched by the doorway, eavesdropping. You raise your eyebrows at her.

"Whatcha looking for, gorgeous?" 

Roan looks as though she might pretend otherwise, but eventually admits, "I heard what dad said." 

"Which part?" 

"That he misses being called dad. Am I in trouble?" 

"Do you feel like you're in trouble?" you ask, bending at the waist to meet her eyes.

"No, but," —she touches her tummy— "I feel bad." 

You hold your arms out for a hug. Roan grabs your waist as much as she can with her shorter arms, head tilted to the side as you murmur in her ear, "It was only a joke, babe. Right? You were just being funny. Daddy doesn't mind." 

"Are you sure?" 

"You're so lovely," you praise, easing her head back, your hand encapsulating her cheek and ear. Her hair and skin are incredibly soft beneath your palm. "You have a super big heart, just like daddy. It's no biggie, okay? Ask him when he comes back if you want to. I know he'll tell you you're not in trouble." 

You rub the apple of her cheek in a tight circle as you stand. Roan nods against your hand, her back straightening as the bathroom door closes and Eddie's footsteps approach. He beams when he discovers you both together.

"Everything okay?" he asks, wiping his hands in his shirt. 

You encourage Roan toward him. "Tell dad." 

"Tell me what?" he asks. 

Roan puts her hand out toward him. You make you way to the kitchen as Eddie takes it. 

Wayne's smoking a cigarette by the open back door, smoke furling lazily from between his fingers and out into the backyard. 

You turn your attention to Eddie pulling Roan up onto his hip, poking at her sweetheart chin. "Babe?" he asks her. 

"You're good with her," Wayne says, flicking Ash haphazard into the breeze. "I don't think I've ever told you that. You can see how much she trusts you." 

Internally, you glow like the heart of star, joy like an intense and sparkling heat. Externally, you stay cool. Wayne is a chill man. You endeavour to be totally chill. 

"Thank you," you say, crossing your arms across your stomach. "I have a really good teacher." 

Wayne brings his cigarette to his lips. "You do," he says, taking a drag through his smile. He looks past you to where Eddie's standing, his arm holding Roan like a seatbelt to his chest. 

"Sorry if I hurt your feelings," Roan says quietly, looking down at his shoulder.

Eddie nudges her face with his, forcing her to look up. Her hesitance melts away at the loving smile on his face, more so when he says, "You didn't hurt my feelings, superstar. Don't get me wrong, I don't want you to call me Eddie 'cos I'm your dad. That's nice for me. It feels kind of like getting a hug. It makes me really proud 'cos it's you, but I was just being dramatic. You'll get it when you're older, all the grown up junk." 

It's charming to hear his attempt at explaining sentimentality. 

"Plus," Eddie whispers, nose to nose with her, "it was a little funny." 

Roan presents her face for kissing. Eddie plants a big one on either cheek. 

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too, dad." Roan fidgets. "What about if I can call you Eddie on the weekends?" 

"I'll have to think about it."

[lovebugism]

Congrats on 6k!! 🎉 You deserve it and plenty more! ❤️

This one is slightly different but mutual pining office romance with modern Steve? Some inspo like “I got a coffee and muffin for you because I noticed you haven’t left your desk all morning”, teasing jokes, tension in the elevator, the a/c in the office doesn’t work and it’s the middle of summer 👀

18+ (ish)

It was Casual Friday on a Tuesday.

The air conditioning went bust building-wide, and the stuffy businessmen on the fiftieth floor decided to be lenient about the dress code for the time being. Of course, that still meant everyone had to work in ninety-degree temperatures with little to no relief, but at least Steve could see you waltz around in a pretty little tank top and pencil skirt.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a policy against showing your shoulders, sweetheart,” Steve jokes to announce his arrival as he walks into your office.

Jolted from your stupor at the printer, your head whips over your shoulder. You find the boy in his usual white button-up, unclasped to reveal his ribbed undershirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Sweaty honey hair pushed back over his forehead, the underside of his glasses slightly fogged.

He sits a white paper bag and a cup of iced coffee on your desk.

You smile, warmed by his presence in a way that’s far more tolerable than the heat wave.

“I’m pretty sure that’s because Mr. Harrington knew his son wouldn’t be able to keep it in his pants otherwise,” you squint at him, still grinning. 

“Well, I must say, you are far sexier than balance sheets.”

You giggle like a schoolgirl when his broad arms wrap around you from behind. His lips sprinkle chaste kisses to the sticky skin of your bare shoulder. You can feel him smiling against you.

When you turn around to return the favor, you notice that the blinds of your office are still open — leaving the both of you on display to the entire rest of the floor you manage. They’re all too busy with their own work and too plagued by the heat to notice, but you pull away from Steve and his kisses anyway.

“You didn’t shut the blinds, you dork!” you scold, pushing your hand against his chest as you step back like he’s burned you.

Steve laughs. “C’mon. Nobody’s looking. I can kiss you.”

You’re not swayed by the wide palms he slides on your hips.

“Not until you shut the blinds and lock the door,” you scowl sternly, using your uncowed, badass businesswoman voice that always makes his knees buckle.

And even though he thinks twisting the slatted curtains closed is far more suspicious, he listens to you anyway. It’s the least he can do to make his girl feel comfortable — to make her less tense and more receptive to his touches.

Your concerns aren’t totally unfounded. You’ve told him a million times why you don’t want to make your relationship public. “I’d be dating my boss’s kid, Steven,” you’d gripe. “All my accomplishments stop meaning something after that.” 

You started out on the second floor in the mail room, spent a year slaving over the books in the dim eerie hall of the seventh, and then got promoted to floor twenty-five after a particularly lucrative sale. You worked your ass off and it left you much more concerned about your position in the firm than most people tend to be. 

You were halfway to the top. The very first woman to run this whole floor. 

And you loved Steve, just not enough to throw all that away.

“Happy now?” he singsongs as he locks the door with a low click.

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod. 

Now you can ogle him without fear of someone noticing, touch him all over without someone reporting it to H.R. 

He looks far too sexy than what should be allowed — in his loose slacks, glasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose, chest hair poking out from the collar of his tank top.

Screw the shoulders, Steve’s body should be a company-wide violation.

Propped up on your desk, the boy settles between your thighs — spreading them slightly with his hips and making your skirt ride up. His wide palms settle on the outsides of your bare knees. Your hands rise to cradle his scruffy jaw, pulling him down for a much needed kiss. 

His lips on yours are as all-consuming as the humidity surrounding you.

Your mouths click wetly when they part.

You smile at each other like two lovesick idiots.

“What’s in the bag?” you wonder, nodding your head to the paper sack beside you and the iced coffee already melting next to it.

“A blueberry muffin and one of those bagels you like,” Steve answers, big hands squeezing your thighs. “‘Cause I know you haven’t eaten all morning.”

“I’ve eaten!” you protest half-heartedly.

“Yeah?” he challenges. “What.”

“…An apple slice from the platter we had in the meeting room.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “That so does not count. You gotta eat better, babe. Alright? Especially in this heat. Can’t have you passing out at the copier or something.”

“Well, that’s why I have you, right?” you retort, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. This heat wave’s no match for the fire that sparks between the two of you every time you touch. “So you can bring me breakfast and feed it to me when you know I’m too busy to eat.”

“Why would I feed it to you?” he chuckles in a scoff.

You shrug. “‘Cause you love me.”

“…Touché.”

“What about you, Stevie?” you lilt, almost teasingly. “Have you eaten today?”

“I bought me something when I stopped at the café for you, but… I could always go for another bite.”

You grin wide like a mischievous cat. It would be alarming how quickly the air between you can turn from innocent to sinful if you weren’t already so turned on. You’ll just blame it on the heat for now.

“I bet you worked up a real appetite in this heat, huh?” you ask him, feigning sympathy, as the tip of your nose brushes his own. His breath fans against your mouth. You can already taste the coffee on him. 

“Yeah,” he huffs lowly. “Definitely.”

“Maybe I should give you something else to eat…” 

Your eyes flutter shut when his hand trails between your thighs to cup your pussy over your cotton underwear. Your neck becomes free real estate for his mouth when your head tips back. His thumb rubs your clothed clit. He can feel a damp patch already starting to form.

“Let me clear off your desk, baby,” he slurs into your pulse, smearing his spit there. “Need you to ride my face…”

“Shit, Steve—”

A knock at the door pierces the silence made velvet by sweet nothings and heavy breaths. Both of you freeze in shock, still clutching onto each other, like if you stay still enough whoever’s behind the door will leave.

“Who is that?” Steve murmurs to you, his eyes trained on the shined shoes behind the sliver of space beneath the door.

“I don’t know…”

“Steve? Are you in there?” Mr. Harrington’s voice comes muffled as the door handle jiggles. “When I told you to be fast. I meant fast. I need you for another errand.”

“Oh, shit,” you swear, breath caught in your throat. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit—”

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers sharply back to you. He inches toward the locked door.“Just… Just be cool.”

“Steve Harrington—”

“It’s fine.”

“—Don’t you dare open that door.”

He swings it open anyway. His father stands before him, looking just like his son but a few decades older and not nearly as pretty. He scowls. “Care to tell me what the door was locked?” he deadpans.

You’re glad he’s not looking at you for an answer. You wouldn’t have been able to lie like Steve does. It comes rather effortlessly to him because he’s done it all his life.

“I was bringing her breakfast, remember? Like I told you. And then we just started talking, you know? I can be a real blabbermouth sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Harrington monotones. By the time he pokes his head around the doorway to your desk, you’ve already rid yourself of any evidence that you might’ve been kissing his son. His stern expression never wavers. “Both of you. Come with me.”

You nod like you’re happy to do it, swallowing down the inkling that you’re about to get fired that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

Like cows to the slaughter, you and Steve trail behind his father as he leads you through the twenty-fifth floor and to the elevators. Steve tries to grab your hand in a feeble attempt to comfort you. You jerk away from him, not wanting to be caught being so unprofessional a second time.

The elevator is quiet and stiff with sweltering heat. Mr. Harrington presses the button for the fiftieth floor.

“Um… Can I ask where we’re going?” Steve answers when the doors shut.

“I’ve got a big client coming in and want you two to sit in on the meeting. I think it could be very beneficial for you both,” he answers, still monotone, but obviously not angry.

Your chest deflates with a sigh of relief.

The man’s hands are tucked neatly behind his back. His eyes stay locked on the digital inclining numbers below the ceiling — 28, 29, 30…

“I want you to clean up in the bathroom before you go in, too. You’ve both got lipstick smeared on your chin.”

Your heart sinks all over again.

Mr. Harrington turns to his son, still as stern as ever but with a foreign glint in his eye. It borders on playful. “And if you run off my best accountant, Steven, I’m booting you back down to the mail floor.”

[ghostlyfleur2]

king steve falling for the shy, soft girl that is an introvert and a flustered mess and extremely clumsy and he just thinks she’s cute, okay?

but any effort he makes into becoming close to his dream girl — that is always nice to him, and always lends him a pen in class with a smile, and never judges him or calls him stupid — is brushed off with a cute blush and silence or a shy smile followed by her just walking away with a nervous wave, and he does get it. steve knows he can flirt, he also knows she’s into him; she’s so obvious about it, what with her blushing and stuttering and trying to hide her pretty smile and her pretty face. the thing is, what steve doesn’t realize, is that she doesn’t take his interest seriously, i mean… he’s King Steve, right?

she thinks he’s just bored after breaking up and moving on from nancy wheeler, and it’s true, he has moved on, but she won’t believe he moved on because of her. she brushes it off as him just teasing her or joking or being naturally flirty or maybe he just wants to make her fall for him so he knows he still has that effect on girls, doesn’t believe he’d ever truly want her, at least not for anything more than a hook up, and that’s just not her. even though yes, she’s falling for him, but she won’t let herself believe he might feel the same. see, she’s never had romantic validation, no one has ever taken an interest in her or tried to pursue her, and yeah, the fact she’s quiet and closed off and a loner plays a part in it, but she’s also demiromantic/demisexual so she needs an emotional connection before romance or sex even becomes a possibility… and there’s just no one that has the patience for that… right? and if someone does, what if she doesn’t reciprocate?

but she likes steve. she does. so much. she’s just trying her hardest to protect herself so she won’t fall for his charms, but he won’t let her. because steve sees that she likes him back, so he’s all in. steve just thinks she’s so cute, so overwhelmingly kind, so sweet and soft and smiley, always giggling and petting stray animals and and she always has flowers with her somewhere (from both her job at the flower shop and the copious amounts of flora in her home), on her hair or behind her ear or just carrying them around; they make her feel happy and safe and calm. ease her anxiety. steve loves her flower printed dresses that look so good on her, and her flowy skirts that show off her pretty legs and soft thighs he’s dying to grab at, and her cute sweaters he just knows are soft to the touch just like her, and her pretty mary jane shoes or converse that always match her outfits in color, coupled with her dainty rings and a cute daisy necklace she wears everyday that steve wants to add an ‘s’ pendant to.

but she dodged his advances. every time. giggles as if he’s joking, walks away when she gets too flustered with a soft “gotta go, have a nice day, stevie”, like she doesn’t know his heart is about to burst out of his chest and that she’s the only one allowed to call him stevie at all. like she doesn’t see all the girls that are interested in steve look at her with jealousy because steve only looks at her. she’ll blush and hide her cheeks and roll her eyes playfully and steve just doesn’t know how to make her believe him! how to prove to her he’s serious, that he wants something serious. with her, and her only.

so steve keeps flirting, keeps asking her out, keeps being sweet and affectionate and caring and tender, keeps making her adorably flustered, keeps smirking and winking at her, keeps showing her his true self whenever he manages to keep her in his presence long enough before she scurries off, keeps ignoring any other girl that’s interested in him, saying he’s not interested and that he already has someone, and trying to make his baby finally give into him… until one day she breaks and just asks him to stop, tells him he won, she fell for it, he can stop now. and his sweet girl tears up, crybaby that she is, tells him he can stop trying to make her fall for him ‘cause she has and he wins, okay?! he can move on to the next girl and make her fall for him too. just to stop messing with her, it’s not fair. and it breaks steve’s heart, it’s painful. so he drops all of his walls and he confesses his love and she’s hesitant at first, not believing her dream guy could possibly want her back, but steve promises that if she gives him a chance he’ll prove to her she’s the only one he wants.

[ghostlyfleur2]

your mind, r!!!!!

but listen, i can totally picture it! no matter what is happening, steve always wants to look good for you. robin mocks him every day for it and even though steve rolls his eyes at himself when he instinctively looks at himself in the mirror when you’re around to make sure his hair looks okay, he can’t help it— it’s been a while since he was considered steve “the hair” harrington or “king” steve, and that’s fine, whatever, but once you walk into his life he’s always trying to make a good impression, make himself look better, to look nice when you’re around, to be calm cool and collected, charming, to appeal to you.

stevie boy is so smitten with you and it goes completely over your head !!!!!! you’ve always thought steve was handsome, pretty, gorgeous, stunning even… and you often compliment him ‘cause he’s your friend and he’s perfect and he deserves praise, right? the fact you’re secretly in love with him has nothing to do with it… *cough cough* at all… *cough* but you’re oblivious to the fact steve is constantly trying to impress you

you make your feelings known to him while in the upside down ………. because you’re so worried about your stevie and he’s clearly in pain but trying to look tough, to give you (and the others) a sense of security. it’s when you’re fretting over him, being so obviously concerned, that you start tearing up and poor stevie can’t handle it so his fake macho attitude breaks for a sec and he holds your face in his hands and wipes your tears and tells you it’ll be okay, that he has you, he’ll protect you, won’t let anything bad happen to his sweet girl 🥺

you give him the softest and quickest kiss, a bit clumsy and so so shy, and while steve is momentarily in heaven, you whisper to him “still look pretty even now” and he smiles for the first time all day

robin has to slap both of you upside the head ‘cause “i’m happy you two idiots finally figured it out but we’re still in hell here, so focus!”

♡

# steve harrington

(repost from my old account) @y0urgrl

[ilovetulips]

steve harrington x fem!reader

steve harrington has a crush on you, and he’s terrible at hiding it. short n’ sweet.

steve likes to think he hides his crushes well. well enough for nobody to notice. not robin, not nancy, and especially not you. he takes care into every word that leaves his mouth, concealing his happiness whenever you speak to him.

calm, cool and collected is his motto. everyday he follows this to avoid exposure. he finds having a little crush fun, harmless even. but he didn’t know that you knew. and he didn’t know that you feel the same way.

you walk into the rusting video rental store for your shift, paired with non other than steve this morning. “mornin’ y/n” calm, cool and collected. he makes a mental note to pat himself on the back.

“g’morning steve.” you smile, strolling straight past him and into the back room to clock in. the smell of your shampoo hits steve’s senses ever so slightly and he has to stop his knees from giving out right then and there.

when you return, your vest now atop of your floral blouse, he once again has to regain control of his knees.

calm, cool and collected. the red blush on the tip of his nose that he was completely unaware of was the complete opposite of this statement ‘motto’.

“bet you it’s not gonna be busy today.” the boy says, leaning forward on the counter with his arms. you do the same, only leaning backwards on the small of your back.

“whattcha betting me, harrington?” his head turns back, hair flopping widly before he turns around and copies your posture. bingo.

while he thought he was being the most subtle guy in the world, you had a list of things that made you almost positive steve had a crush on you.

1. he masked your posture. telltale sign.

“heyyyy, steve.” your shift not starting yet, you decided to sit in the small canteen for staff. your legs stretched out and your arms crossed.

“holy— y/n. scared the shit outta me.” he pulled out the chair opposite you on the small table.

“sorry! i got bored so just decided to wait in here.” you apologised. his arms crossed over his chest.

“you’re like some freaky ghost. you’re everywhere.” his legs stretched out infront of him as he spoke. the smirk on your face disguised in a laugh.

2. his feet pointed towards you whenever you sat in a group. always.

“did you just steal my fries?” your shocked face turned towards the culprit next to you.

“dunno what you’re talkin’ about. did anyone see me take her food?” eddie raised his hands in the air, feigning innocence.

“not me!” “i didn’t!” “what food?” your friends chimed in unison.

“you’re all traitors.”

steve smiled at your words. “what’re you smiling at, harrington?” his eyes widened slightly before he responded.

“nothin’.” his smile turned into that of a guilty person’s as he reached down into his lap, his hand returning with a few fries he happily shovelled into his mouth — a few missing and falling on the floor.

you looked down in shock at your falling fries, their grease coating steve’s shoes. his feet were facing you, which wouldn’t have been odd except for the fact his body was facing a different way and he wasn’t sat directly infront of you.

you made sure to remember that.

3. everytime you weren’t involved in something, he wanted to know absolutely everything about why not.

“hey guys! where’s y/n?” steve stopped in his tracks. you rarely missed group outings, which let his steve-senses tingle at the fact something was clearly wrong.

“mmm i think she’s sick. nance said something like that. i dunno.” eddie was twirling his hair, not really paying attention.

“hm? oh, yeah. said she wasn’t feelin’ good and she couldn’t make it.” nancy chimed in, sipping her drip and sinking into the sofa next to her boyfriend.

steve’s shoulders tensed. “what kinda sick? like throwing up or just a cold?” he sat down, his leg bouncing.

the girl huffs out a laugh at the state of his panic, “she’s fine, steve. just a bit sniffly. calm down.”

calm cool and collected. totally the opposite of what he was right now. shit. was he being obvious?

and of course, nancy phones you to give you a debrief of the night - including steve’s concerns and constant questions throughout the night.

—

“whatcha thinkin’ about?” slow day was an overstatement. you had served one customer in the 2 hours you had been there.

“hm? oh, nothin’.” you replied, words rolling off your tongue yet the blush staining your cheeks said otherwise.

you wouldn’t have paid such close attention to his behaviour if you didn’t like him. of course you were flattered by the revelation, who wouldn’t be?

“okay. who are you thinkin’ about then.”

you whip your head around to meet his eyes. “huh?”

“you’re blushing, y/n.” your eyes widened.

“no.” he laughs at your response.

“yes.” there is that pink blush on the tip of his nose. he leans down to your level.

“steve?” you look up at him. the pink turns to a shade of maroon.

“hm?”

“i know you like me.” the blush spreads across his whole face, and you wouldn’t be exaggerating if you said it spread to his hands too.

“i- no- what—“ he’s a stuttering mess. it’s cute.

“steve.”

“hm?” he gulps.

“i like you too.” you smile sweetly, and he thinks his heart cries out with joy.

[luveline]

jade to say i’m obsessed with eddie and roan is an understatement. can we see r walk in on eddie and roan having a tea party and the fun that follows - tysm ily!!!

thank you for your request my love! dad!eddie x fem!reader

You're so used to coming home to Eddie in the kitchen that his not being there actually makes you nervous. The feeling doesn't last very long —you can hear him laughing in the living room.

You close the door quietly and slip out of your shoes. You hang your coat and bag on the bannister of the stairs and walk the short distance to the living room door, immediately laying eyes on your very favourite people in the whole world. 

When Eddie and Roan first moved in with you, you gave away your coffee table to make room for some of her toys. Eddie was horrified at first: you were moving in together, and it was scary, and you knew he was scared of you changing your mind, so he hated how many changes you made. The child proof locks on the cleaning supplies cabinet, the new kitchen table with enough seats for all of you, the improvement of your guest bedroom into a princess paradise of silk sheets and fairy lights for Ro. The thing that scared him most of all was the coffee table, worried you were cutting things out of your life for them, worried you would resent him for that. 

You have yet to feel any such emotion. You didn't even really like the coffee table, though that isn't the point. 

Roan's picnic table, painted pink you know by Eddie when she was maybe three years old, is flocked by mismatched chairs. There's a drum stool from a set of drums Eddie doesn't own, a pink and green plastic chair, and a regular wooden stool with a flower painted on the seat. Eddie sits on the flower stool, Roan sits on the pink and green chair like a throne, and the drum stool remains empty, though a Teddy has been propped up on the leg with a saucer in hand. 

"I need more sugar in mine," Eddie says, holding his cup out to Roan. 

She holds court. In her favourite turquoise princess dress that's getting much too small for her, the back button undone, and a plastic tiara you got for her when you barely knew her, Roan takes a little plastic spoon from the table and spoons imaginary sugar into Eddie's teacup. 

"Thanks, babe." 

"You're welcome." 

Eddie doesn't look nearly as royal. He's wearing sweatpants but no shirt on account of the insufferable hot weather, his tattoos always surprising despite having seen them hundreds and hundreds of times. 

There's his simple flock of bats, his demon puppeteer and its puppet on strings. There's the clock over his heart, hands pointing to the time his mother passed. That one shocked you the most, when he told you. He doesn't talk about his mom much. When he does, it's with the reverential adoration of a child who thinks the world was made by their parent, exactly how Roan speaks about Eddie when he's not around. 

And there's his R, for Roan, behind his ear. You can barely see it. You'd paid for it as a birthday present not that long ago, and ever since he's started wearing his hair back more and more, like he wants to show it off. He usually has his hair tied back at work anyways, and the heat today is stickying. 

He’s shirtless but wearing socks, you realise. What a weirdo.

"We could have a real tea party," Eddie suggests. "I'm not busy. I can make some sandwiches and we can have sweet tea?" 

"Y/N will be home soon," she says, shaking her head. 

"She won't mind." 

"No, but she doesn't like sandwiches." 

"Who told you that?" 

"She says they're not big enough." 

"She means when you only eat one and nothing else for your lunch at school, babe. She wants you to eat the crackers and the cut fruit, too, so you're not hungry before you come home." 

Roan shrugs. Eddie shrugs back, laughing, and takes a pretend sip of tea. "Well, excuse me," he says against the lip of his teacup. 

"I like sandwiches," you say, finally breaking your cover. 

Eddie flinches bodily, not having known you were there, his saucer tumbling to the floor. Roan doesn't flinch but she does shout, "Woah!" and stands up from her chair. 

"Sorry, Eddie," you say with a laugh. "I didn't mean to scare you. Sandwiches can be such a spooky business." 

"Loser," he says, standing too. 

Roan climbs onto the couch and up over the back to get her after school hug. You receive her eagerly, her cool lengths of skirt and all her dark curls under your hands as familiar as her smell, baby shampoo, jelly bean body wash, and the pleased laughing sound she makes as she rubs her face against your neck. 

"You used to be so little," you say, propping your cheek on her temple. 

Eddie meets your eyes over her head and grimaces at you. "She's getting older every day." 

"We missed you a lot," Roan says. 

"You did? What for? It's only been a couple of hours." 

"Because we love you and we need you to have dinner." 

You laugh suddenly. It actually hurts, like a cough, "You just wanted me to come home so you could have dinner." 

"Not true," she says, sounding guilty. 

"You not feeding my girl?" you ask. 

"We had a whole bag of honey barbecue chips waiting!" Eddie denies, rounding the couch to kiss your cheek. "And they were awesome and we didn't save any for you. Suck it." 

"Mean." 

"Will you come and have a cup of tea?" Roan asks you, taking on a posh effect. 

"Oh, I'd be delighted," you croon in a bad proper accent. 

Roan beams, overjoyed, and bounces back down onto the couch. You sit down at her tea table as Eddie leaves for the kitchen, calling, "Two minutes, I'm making some sandwiches for my poor hungry offspring!" 

He returns with a plate of big sandwiches, another bag of chips, and a jug of sweet tea you'd been steeping in the fridge. Your stomach rumbles as soon as you set eyes on the food and Roan is the same: Eddie sets the sandwiches down between you, and you and Roan descend on them like piranhas scenting blood. 

He gathers the tea cups and the small teapot and takes them to the kitchen. They're damp when he brings them back and sits down, "Ready for tea," he says. "All clean." 

Eddie pours tea from the jug into the teapot and allows Roan the honour of pouring it into your cups. She's ecstatic. He's made her incredibly, overwhelmingly happy with such a small gesture, her little face contorted by the force of her smile. 

"For you, good sir," she says, lifting her teapot from Eddie's cup. 

"Thank you, madam," he says. 

She lifts her pert chin. "Of course, Mister Munson. Tea, lady?" she asks you. 

Your mouth is so full of sandwich you can barely speak. "Yes, please." 

She chuffs happily and fills your cup. Eddie leans across the table to tuck her wild hair behind her ears, all the gentleness of a devoted father but all the expertise of someone who's had to corral unruly curls for more than twenty years. 

"Please get off," she says. 

Eddie tucks his hands under his thighs, properly chastised. "Sorry, babe." 

"It's okay. Do you want chips?" 

"Not in my tea, right?" 

"No, dad, with your sandwich, duh."

"Duh," you echo. 

He reaches under the table to punch your thigh. You jump and ram your knee into the table, tea sloshing over the sides of your cups. Roan squeals in horror, while Eddie laughs and pinches you again.

[luveline]

Hi Jade, I love your writing, I’d love to request more of Steve with his twins x the reader who’s looking for the cat, if you’re interested in writing that! I gotta know if Evangeline is okay

hey babe, thank you for reading! here’s a part two for this | single dad!steve x fem!reader, 3.5k

Despite their very best efforts, Steve's twins can't find Evangeline the lost cat. Sarah, the loudest of the pair, is passionately displeased for a while. 

"Dad," she grumbles, hand in his as they walk back home, "I wanted a party." 

You promised via a written message on a flyer you'd given Steve that you'd celebrate with him if he found the lost cat. Steve's obviously no stranger to flirting, it's how he ended up with a kid on either side of him at all times, but he figures it was an offhanded sort of thing, some throwaway sweetness. He wouldn't have given much more thought to it, but when Sarah asked him to explain what she'd written he phrased it wrong, giving Sarah the idea that finding the cat would result in a popcorn party with soda pop and karaoke. 

"I can throw you a party," Steve says. It's not especially difficult. He doesn't mind expending the extra effort. "We can have a snack party even if we don't find Evangeline. How does that sound, Charlie?" 

Charlie's the quiet one. "It sounds fun," he says. 

Steve ruffles his dirty blonde hair. The older he gets, the darker it grows. Sarah's hair is already way darker. 

"Do you think Evangeline will be okay?" Sarah asks.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Sar-bear. It's normal for kitty cats to run away when they're gonna have babies, they want to be alone." 

"Why?" Charlie asks. 

"Uh, well," Steve says, not really sure himself, "I think they're trying to keep the babies safe." 

"Did you want to be alone?" Sarah asks. 

Steve laughs out loud. He's relieved when they reach their front door, grabbing his keys from his coat pocket to unlock it. He doesn't know what to tell Sarah. Where to start? He didn't have the babies, and does she know that? He kind of thought she thought babies came from pumpkins and butternut squash like he told her a year ago. Lucky for him, Sarah forgets her question because she needs to pee, running up the stairs to the bathroom still in her shoes. 

He'd rather her trek mud in than pee her pants, but he calls, "Take your shoes off, Sarah! And wash your hands after, please!" 

"Yeah!" she shouts back. 

Steve slings his backpack over the bannister and looks down at Charlie, who looks up with a similar expression. Rubbing his hands over his face, Steve drags his cheeks down and asks Charlie, "What are we going to do with her?" 

"We could put her back in the pumpkin," Charlie says. 

Steve beams. At least one of them still believes it. "We could," he says, kneeling down to help Charlie out of his shoes. "But I don't think she'd fit anymore." 

Charlie puts his hands on Steve's shoulders and lifts his feet one at a time so Steve can take them off. He probably doesn't need Steve's help anymore, but Steve is genuinely horrified at the idea of his kids growing up, and he doesn't mind doing it a little longer anyhow. Shoes off, Charlie unzips his coat. Steve peels it off of his shoulders and hangs it up.

"Drink?" Steve asks. 

"Yes, please." 

He takes Charlie's hand where it's insisting at his hip and together they walk into the kitchen. There's no need for hand holding, but if Charlie wants it then Steve doesn't mind. Only thing is, it makes it difficult to pour juice into cups. 

"Are you hungry, buddy?" Steve asks, lowering the cup to Charlie's level. 

"Yeah. Dad, it's–" 

"What do you want for dinner? Are you hungry enough for a big helping? Maybe I'll make lasagna." 

"Dad, it's cold." 

Steve frowns at Charlie where the little boy's curling in on himself. Steve picks him up, hands quick to cover his back but careful not to knock his drink over. 

"Is it cold?" Steve hasn't taken his coat off yet. "I'm sorry, bud, let's turn up the thermostat." 

"It's really cold." 

Steve's feeling it now, a chill on his face that hints to an ajar window, or… 

Steve carries Charlie the short distance to the dining room that leads off from the kitchen and opens the door. His suspicions are confirmed; the patio doors are wide open, letting the chill of a coming fall pervade the room. 

"Woah," Charlie says. 

"Woah," Steve repeats. He sits Charlie on top of the table and closes the doors, locking the leftmost with a concerned sigh. Open doors invite creepy crawlies that Charlie can't abide by, or worse, rats. 

"Sorry, buddy, let's go find your blanket," Steve says, turning away from the doors. "And your sister." 

He forgets about the open doors after a busy night. Sarah and Charlie make lasagna with him, and then they help him wash up. Sarah gets dish soap all over her and decides that she doesn't need a bath anymore because that's what dish soap is for, dad, she's clean now. He haggles with her, and they strike a deal that she will in fact be bathing tonight as long as they can have a party (sans Evangeline the cat) tomorrow. 

She was going to get the party anyway. It's a sneaky dad win. 

When they've both been bathed and dressed in clean pyjamas, Steve ushers the twins into their bedrooms and bids them both goodnight. Charlie falls asleep before Steve's even left the room, but Sarah takes a little more persuasion. 

Steve sits on the side of her bed, his thumb stroking a line up and down the bridge of her nose to the spot between her eyebrows. Her lashes flutter with every crest. 

"Do you think Evangeline will be okay?" she mumbles sleepily. 

"Yeah, baby, I do. I think she'll be just fine. Don't worry about her, okay?" 

"She must be lonely," Sarah says. 

Steve leans in, speaking warmly. "What makes you think that? Because she's not home?" Sarah nods. Steve takes a big breath. "Well, think of it this way… She might be away from home, but she has her kittens with her, so she's not alone." 

"Does she have a husband cat?" 

"I bet she does. He might even be with her," Steve says. 

"Maybe we can get a pet cat," she says. 

Steve kisses the tip of her nose. "Nice try, Sar-bear." 

She smiles, either from his joke or his affection, and touches his arm. "Maybe I can sleep in the big bed with you tonight?"

Steve would let her if he didn't think she was close to falling asleep already. "Tomorrow," he says, letting her down gently. He sits up, his hand on her forehead, stroking back her freshly clean hair. "I love you. Have good dreams, okay?"

"Okay, daddy. You too." 

Her eyes shutter closed. He strokes her hair for a few minutes more to make sure she's asleep, before kissing her head, turning off her light, and closing the door. 

He stands in the hallway for a second, checking his watch. It's later than they'd usually go to bed but still relatively early, nearing 10PM. He has enough time to swap the load of laundry from the washer to the dryer before he has his own shower, and he could probably squeeze some TV in if he doesn't mind falling asleep on the couch. 

Steve does the laundry. He showers. He checks on the twins, peeking his head into their rooms. Sarah's asleep as he left her like a princess, and Charlie's curled up, a pill bug under three blankets. 

Steve's scrubbing his hair dry with a towel on the way downstairs and wondering if there's any good ice cream in the freezer when he hears a weird sound. He knows what he thinks it is immediately, but the reality of it being said thing is too weird, too coincidental, and he really actually doesn't want to have to deal with it. His pulse quickens at a wooden knocking sound. 

"No way," he says, ditching his towel on the kitchen counter top. He approaches the dining room door, resting his forehead against cold wood. "No fucking way." 

The sound grows louder. Steve considers leaving the door closed and dealing with it tomorrow, but he can't. He has kids in the house. And if there's an animal in need of assistance, he doesn't wanna be the kind of person who doesn't help. Even if he's so, so tired.

—

"So you found her there?" you ask, eyebrows raised high. 

Steve —Harrington, apparently, from your graduating class— rubs the back of his neck. "Would you believe me if I said the patio door was open?" 

"I believe you, Steve, I'm just surprised at the coincidence." 

Your neighbour, Serena, looks up from where she's poking at Evangeline the cat and her rabidly meowing brethren to grin. "It's a great coincidence. I'm so happy she's okay. And so sorry she decided to do this here." 

Turns out you and the pretty dad from the park are almost neighbours, living one street away. He lives on Cherry Avenue. You live on Cherry Avenue West, as does Evangeline the cat. 

"I can, uh, pay for the cleaning," Serena offers. 

Evangeline has given cat-birth in the bottom of Steve's hutch, a solid oak piece with a glass front. It's the kind of furniture you'd expect in such a nice home, but the glass-fronted cabinet isn't lined with dishes. It's full of kids' arts and crafts. 

Steve crosses his arms across his chest. "Don't worry about it. I've cleaned up worse stuff than that." 

"Oh, no, please, let me pay for it. Or at least let me clean it myself." 

"It's really no trouble," Steve says. 

"It's definitely some trouble," you butt in mildly. "Me and Serena'll clean it, just as soon as we get these cats into crates." 

You hadn't been expecting Steve to call you for a while. You'd hoped he'd find the cat, obviously, and hoped even if he didn't he'd try his luck with you. He's a handsome guy with big hands, lean arms, and a smile so gentle it tips into searing; you can't help smiling at him to get him to smile back. It makes your chest feel insanely tight. 

There's nothing so thrilling as having a good-looking guy flirt with you. It doesn't happen often. 

"If you think I'm gonna let you clean up in my house you've got another thing coming," he says with a bravado that's clearly self-aware. "You guys don't want a cup of coffee, do you? I need one." 

"Sure," you say, "I'll help." 

Steve's kitchen is the same as the rest of his house, cluttered and clean, lived in and proud of it. There's drawings on the fridge, homemade magnets, poorly painted mugs on a rack by the coffee pot. Kids live here, and they're loved here, evidenced by their artwork in pride of place, and the sheer amount of Goldfish you see in his cabinet when he retrieves a jar of coffee. 

"The kids are in bed?" you ask. 

"Yep. Though I doubt Charlie's sleeping, he can't sleep through the front door closing. The creaking scares him sometimes." 

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," you say. 

Steve shoots you a smile from over his shoulder. "Don't be sorry," he says, unscrewing the coffee jar. "It's not your fault the cat wanted to have her kittens here. It's not even the cat's fault. Charlie will come down in a minute." 

Steve's eerily right. The quiet thump of footsteps patter down the stairs, and the blonde little boy you'd met that afternoon appears at the end of the hall with a mess of cotton candy hair sticking up and a blanket around his shoulders. Steve pours you some freshly brewed coffee and offers you the mug. 

"Milk is in the fridge," he says, his arm held out as he approaches his son. "Hey, Charlie. Sorry, we were being too loud, huh?"  

Charlie slides behind Steve's legs. "It's not morning." 

"No, sorry." 

"Who's the lady?" he whispers. 

"That's Y/N, we met her at the playground earlier, remember? Because of her friend's lost cat?" 

Charlie leans around Steve's legs to sneak a glance at you. You smile and raise a hand to wave at him. He hides. 

You bend at the waist. "Hi, Charlie. Sorry to make so much noise while you're sleeping, but we had to come over and see Evangeline. You can tell me off for being loud, I don't mind." 

"It's okay," Charlie says. 

You beam at him. "Really? Thank you. I promise we'll be much quieter and you can go back to sleep soon." 

Steve brushes Charlie's hair back out of his eyes and down flat. "Want to sit on the counter?" he asks. 

Charlie nods. 

Steve picks Charlie up and puts him on the countertop next to his cooling coffee. Things are quiet and slightly awkward for a minute. You fill the silence with sips of coffee, while Steve's too preoccupied with his kid to touch his own. He rubs Charlie's back, a chubby cheek pulled into his chest, offering up treats in a murmur, "How about something warm? I can make you hot cocoa, you can have marshmallows, too. Would that make you feel better?" 

"Are you having it too?" Charlie asks.

"No, I'm having coffee." 

"Can I have some coffee?" 

"You can have a little sip to see if you like it," Steve says. 

You're surprised by his willingness to let Charlie try it, but it's not like he's force feeding him caffeine by the spoonful. Steve blows on the coffee for a few seconds and then holds Charlie's back. "Just a little bit, baby, it's hot and I don't think you'll like it. Just a little sip." 

Oh, no, you think. He's so nice. 

He's a very tender father. Gentle and patient. He helps Charlie take a little sip and he doesn't so much as blink when Charlie spits it back out into his mug. Steve fills a new mug with water and helps him wash away the taste, laughing without malice.

"I didn't think you'd like it," Steve says. "But good job for trying." 

"It tasted sour," Charlie says. 

"Are you sure?" Steve laughs again. He looks up at you and lowers his voice. "Would it be a problem for him to see the cats?" 

"Are you kidding? Of course he can." You put your coffee down. "Do you like cats, Charlie?" 

Charlie loves cats. When Serena's sure that Evangeline won't go into a defensive mom rage, she beckons Charlie forward to watch the kittens wriggling. They're not very active, having just been born, but they're cute, and alien in a way that's boggling. You fawn at his fawning. 

"Don't touch," Steve says softly. 

"Where's the pumpkin?" Charlie whispers. 

"What?" you ask. You can't help yourself. 

"Um." Steve trips over his words, "Um– he wants to know where the pumpkin is, where the kittens came out of. Because… that's where babies come from?" 

Your lips part. Serena nudges you before you can say something idiotic, and you thank her in your head. "Oh, of course! Well, we had to put the pumpkin outside so the kittens had room to lay down." 

It's not smoothly done, but Steve nods appreciatively. Charlie hums and sits back in Steve's lap. "Does Sarah get to have two parties now?" he asks. 

You'd thought yourself fine at understanding children, but you never realised they spoke in code. 

Steve's voice is almost melodical in its cadence, and his hands do a sort of waltz, a slow, practised manoeuvre as they settle around Charlie's front. "I don't know, buddy. I think one party is enough." 

"What was her party for?" you ask. 

"Well," Steve begins, "your flyer, she wanted to know what celebrating means. So I told her it meant like when you have a party, and she really likes parties, so she thought if we could find Evangeline, we'd get to have one. But when we couldn't find her, I said we'd have one anyways." 

So he's a sweetheart, you think. Good to know.

"It's too bad she's still sleeping," you say. While she might not have found Evangeline, and Steve may not have found her purposefully, she deserves a treat just for looking. You're about to suggest it when Steve tilts his head to the side. 

"It shouldn't be too long, now. She always knows when Charlie's not where she left him." 

"What, like a sixth sense?" you ask, charmed. 

"Exactly like a sixth sense. He was in the hospital for a few days a year ago and she didn't sleep for two whole days. Which is weird 'cos they have separate bedrooms," —you bite back a huge smile at the impassioned tone of his retelling— "and she hasn't slept in the same bed as him in two or three years, but it didn't matter."

"That's sweet, though," you say. 

"She loves him more than anyone in the world," Steve says easily. He dips his voice down into a playful grumbling, "But Charlie loves me most. Don't you Charlie?" 

They must have had this teasing before, as Charlie knows exactly what to say, giggling and affectionately fond as he protests, "No, dad." 

"What?" Steve asks incredulously. 

"I love Sarah most." 

"Sarah's not here to hear you, buddy." 

"I love Sarah the most, and then you, and then Aunt Robin and Aunt Cory, and then grandma." He's apparently been coached on it.

Steve meets your eyes over Charlie's head. "Can't blame a guy for trying." 

Sarah appears not long after, clearly surprised by strangers in her house and her dad on the dining room floor. She walks forward, bunny ears on her slippers wagging with each step, eyes blinking sluggishly. 

"Daddy?" 

"Sarah," he greets. "Guess what? I found Evangeline." 

Sarah realises what she's seeing, and nothing can prepare you for how high-pitched she squeals. "Are those kittens?" she asks, stepping over Steve's knee. You stabilise her when she pitches forward and prevent a disaster. "Oh my god, dad! Can we pet them?" 

"No, we can't, I'm sorry," he says, "they're still shiny brand new. And sticky." 

Sarah's disappointed but doesn't whine. She sits politely beside you and watches the kittens climbing blindly atop one another, her pyjamas warm against your crossed leg. 

"As soon as I take them to the vets, you guys can be the first to pet them," Serena says, finally tearing her attention away from her darling Evangeline. "How's that sound?" 

"Really?" Sarah asks. 

"If it's okay with your dad, absolutely." 

You reckon Steve couldn't say no if he wanted to. You all stay there like that for a while, talking in quiet tones until Charlie's falling asleep in Steve's lap and Serena decides it's now or never, attempting to usher Evangeline and the kittens into the huge cat carrier she'd procured. Thank yous and no problems are exchanged at the door, Steve with Charlie in his arms as though the boy, who looks to be five or older, weighs nothing. Sarah waves her hand at the kittens as Serena takes them to the car. 

"Dad, we really need a cat," she says. 

Steve pats her shoulder momentarily. "Maybe one day." 

You hover at the porch step, because there's something you want to ask. It might be odd, but getting this little sneak peek into their life, seeing Steve in action, you can admit to both having a small crush on him as well as wanting to see him again. Even if it turned out to be nothing, you'd want to see him. He seems interesting, charming, and so ridiculously loving; you could use a little love in your life. 

"Listen," you say, twirling your car keys around your finger nervously, "about that celebration…" 

Steve hikes Charlie further up his chest. "The party?" 

"I mean, you did find her. And I'd like to keep my end of the bargain, so maybe… we could celebrate sometime? Together?" 

Steve's hand covers the back of Charlie's head. "Are you asking me out?" 

You look away from him, accidentally locking eyes with Sarah, who's smiling at his hip like you're the best thing since sliced bread. 

"Only if you want to," you say. 

"We would love to!" Sarah says. 

You can see the moment that Steve bites back a smile. "What she said. We'd love to." He hikes Charlie up again. He must be heavier than he looks. "I really have to put them to bed, but– I'll call you," he says. "Cool?" 

"Cool," you say. He generously ignores how breathless you sound, and you say goodnight. 

Serena's telling Evangeline off in the car as though she's a reckless teenager when you climb in, but it isn't without love. "What's so unsafe about your own home, Eva? We had that wardrobe all decked out for you, and you chose some random guy's dining room. Some random hot guy," she says pointedly. "Tell me you asked him out." 

"What?" you ask, laughing nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

She stares at you.

"Okay, fine! Yeah, I asked him out," you admit. 

She cheers, "Woo! Good thing. He deserves a nice date with a pretty girl like you after that. We never cleaned out his hutch, you realise?" 

You flush all over. "Oh, fuck." 

"That might put a dampener on the appetisers." 

—-

hello, thank you for reading! if you’d like to request more for this au please go ahead, I’d love to see some<3<3

[luveline]

if you’re up to it!! maybe a single dad!steve w twins? i cant stop thinkin about one of your posts saying he’d have a really rambunctious lil girl and a sweet shy lil boy 🥺 maybe a meet cute with r? or the lil boy warming up to r and letting her hold him for the first time? idk!! also no worries at all if you’re not feeling this! just thought i’d throw it out there okay ilysm mwah

thank you for your request, this was so fun, and I'd been thinking about the twins for a little while now so it was fun to actually write them!! ♥︎ single dad!steve x fem!reader 2.2k

"Sarah," Steve says loudly, "you gotta hold my hand, or we'll have to go home." 

Sarah's eyes widen and she grabs for Steve's bigger fingers. Her palm is sticky with ice cream. No part of her remains unscathed from the disastrous dairy — her blue dress is now purple in splotches, bubblegum ice cream stains like fingerprints, and her blonde hair is darker towards the tips where she'd accidentally leaned into her sundae. Steve doesn't mind, she looks like she enjoyed herself, and her little sighs of joy had proven it, but he worries other people will look at her and think he isn't looking after her properly. 

He's lucky in some ways to be a single dad instead of a single mom. Most people commend him for doing the bare minimum. He's a saint for 'giving mommy a break'. Oh, please, he thinks, rolling his eyes internally each time. 

"But, how come Charlie doesn't have to hold your hand?" she asks, pouting at the injustice of it all. 

"Your brother does need to hold my hand," Steve says. 

"He's holding onto your pants, dad," she grumbles. 

It would be more accurate to say Charlie is hiding behind Steve's pants, rather than holding them. 

He frowns. "Come on, buddy," he says softly, stroking the downy hair from Charlie's face. "It's alright. We're gonna go on the swings." 

His mentioning of the playground has Sarah's hand straining in his. She tugs her small family with huge willpower down the path until the top of the swingset and jungle gym are in sight, and she lets go of Steve's hand. Steve grabs her as kindly as he can. 

"Hey," he says, leaning down. His backpack shifts against his back, their water bottles no doubt crushed under the weight of their coats and lunchboxes. "What's the rules, Sar-bear?" 

She fizzes up like a can of soda as he brushes sticky strands of hair behind her ears. "Um, to be nice. And to not go where you can't see us, and," —she pauses as Steve wipes her mouth, the old spirit and polish marring his shirt sleeve— "to, uh…" 

"To be careful," he finishes for her pointedly. 

"Yes!" she agrees. 

Steve would ask for a kiss here but Sarah's already jumping on tip toes to give him one, her little kiss print more spit than anything else against his bottom lip. He snorts.

Sarah rushes through the gates and Steve and Charlie follow. There's only one other parent at the playground, a mom with a book in her hands and a stroller by her knees, a child Steve assumes to be hers swinging on the swingset. It's too many people for Charlie regardless, not half as eager as his sister.

Steve sits on the bench opposite the jungle gym where Sarah's already climbing, and Charlie holds his arms up to be lifted into his lap. He does so obligingly.

"You don't wanna play?" Steve murmurs warmly in his ear. 

"No," Charlie says succinctly. He's adorable. 

"I can push you on the swings?" 

"Not for now," he says. 

The twins are at mostly all the same developmental milestones. They sound clumsy when they talk, but they talk, big vocabularies and sentences that make Steve well up because they're getting older so quickly. Sarah tells stories like nobody's business. They're good enough to capture even her brother's attention, full of animals and magic and people. Charlie likes listening, will sit enthralled at her feet, and most people who meet him think he's quiet because his sister is so loud, but it's not true. Charlie likes to talk too, he's just timid. Only at home does he come out of his shell, playing out scenes with imaginary characters, singing gibberish karaoke at the top of his little lungs. 

Steve doesn't mind that Charlie's shy around others. He's grateful to see his baby boy's loud side at home. He wishes Charlie would put himself out there, though, for his own sake. 

"The little boy won't mind," Steve insists. "Come on, baby, it'll be fun. We don't wanna sit here watching Sarah all day, do we?" 

Charlie tips his head back against Steve's chest. "I like Sarah." 

Steve laughs, an extreme affection warming his heart. He wraps his arms around Charlie's front and rubs his baby's head with the tip of his nose. 

"I like Sarah, too," he says. His smile is audible and catching. 

They sit there for a while. The sun shines down, the sky a bright blue and dotted with eggshell clouds. Sarah races over rope fixtures and spring boards until she finally reaches the monkey bars. Steve regrets letting her up there when he realises how tall it is and how small she is, shepherding Charlie with him to stand at the side. 

"Daddy," she says, clearly pleased at his arrival and talking with near factual efficiency, "I need your help." 

"Yes you do, honey." 

He puts his arms out. She grabs one bar and tests it to see how her weight will feel, her bottom lip disappearing between white shiny baby teeth. 

"You want me to hold your waist?" he asks knowingly. 

"I think so." 

"I think so too." He holds her waist, her legs against his chest, and tries not to make it too obvious that he's holding the majority of her weight. "Have a go, honey. One hand at a time." 

Sarah 'swings' from handhold to handhold until she gets to the other end of the bars, where she uses his chest to push herself up onto the metal floor. She cheers and rushes to sit down at the top of the slide. 

Charlie stands at the bottom. Steve has to pluck him from in front of it before Sarah rockets her Mary Jane's into his chest, which makes Sarah laugh and cheer even more. 

"Woah, Charlie! I almos'd kicked your face!" 

"You want a turn?" Steve asks him. "We'll use the other side to go on the slide, should we?" 

Sarah had chosen the hard way up to the slide via monkey bars. Charlie takes the easier side, a gentle wooden ramp with a rope for him to hold onto. He climbs to the top of the slide, sits happily at the precipice, wind ruffling the hair out of his bright eyes, and Steve thinks he's going to be brave for a moment. 

Charlie looks at Steve worriedly. "You'll catch me at the end?" 

"Yeah, I'll catch you." 

Charlie slides down to the end, the metal squeaking under his pants, and Steve catches him before his feet can hit the floor as promised. 

Sarah is ecstatic, already at the top waiting for another turn. "Go Charlie!" she shouts, pushing down and slamming into Steve's knees at the end. 

"Excuse me?" 

Steve turns, one kid clinging to his chest, the other his legs. 

You're standing at the gate with a stack of fliers in your arms. Steve's worried he's about to get cold called, thinks, wow, she's a little too pretty to be selling vacuum cleaners curbside, as you hold out a flyer. 

"I'm looking for my friend's cat," you say. "I'm really sorry to interrupt you. Her name's Evangeline and she's orange. She's kinda chubby. Have you seen her?" 

Charlie's pressing his face as far into Steve's neck as physics will allow him to while Steve draws closer to you. His breath warms Steve's skin in hot puffs. 

"I don't think we have. Did you see a cat today, Sar-bear?"

Sarah holds her arms up for a flyer. A smile flickers across your face, and Steve can tell you're immediately indoctrinated into the Sarah fan club. She has this charm about her that can get just about anyone on her side, even Hopper. 

It helps that she's beautiful. Steve will admit to parental bias, sure, but Sarah is gorgeous. 

"Thank you," she says, mumbling but not shy as you give her a flyer of her own. 

LOST CAT, the poster says. PLEASE CALL THIS NUMBER IF YOU SEE ME. I AM VERY FRIENDLY. EVANGELINE, SEVEN YEARS OLD, GINGER. I DONT BITE BUT PLEASE DONT PET MY TUMMY, IM PREGNANT.

"Oh no," Steve says.

"Daddy, what does it say?" Sarah asks, pert nose wrinkling in confusion. 

"It says," he begins, "that she's a really nice cat, and she's about to be a mommy." 

"Ohh… I didn't see'd her today." 

"No, I didn't think so." Steve's arms are aching from holding Charlie for so long, but knows from experience he won't be put down. Steve doesn't bother trying it, just shifts Charlie on his hip to encourage his gaze to you where you're standing, patient and a smidge awkward. 

"How about you? Have you seen any cats today?" he asks Charlie. 

Charlie peeks up from Steve to assess you. You're wearing jeans and a dark green jacket, unzipped. There's a smiley face on your t-shirt, black against grey-white. Charlie sees this, sees the very real, very gentle smile you wear on your lips, and relaxes just a touch.

"I don't remember, sorry," he says quietly.

You visibly weaken. Steve gets it. His kids are ridiculously lovely. 

"Don't be sorry, babe," you say sweetly, leaning down to meet his eyes. "Can I ask you for a favour?"

Steve rubs his back. Charlie nods. 

"Could you keep an eye out for me, would that be okay? We don't want Eva to have her kittens by herself. Maybe if you see her daddy can call the number on the poster?" 

You look to him with a different kind of smile. 

"Sure we will!" Sarah says, eyes fixed on the black and white photo of Evangeline.

You fish a pen out of your pocket. "Maybe you could call me." You smile. "You know, if you find her." 

Steve blinks. It takes a second for his body to remember how to talk to girls, pretty girls who want to talk to him. It's been a while. 

"Uh, sure." He hates himself. He can still save it. "What's the reward?" 

He can't save it. 

"If you find Evangeline? We were hoping whoever helped get her home would do it from the goodness of their heart, but I think I could make an exception." Your eyes flit between the twins. You scribble down something Steve can't see on a new poster and offer it to Charlie with an encouraging nod. "Hey, thank you. Any help at all means the world. You guys go on and have a good day, alright? Thanks, handsome." 

"You're welcome," Steve says, a millisecond after he realises you'd been talking to Charlie. 

You laugh and wiggle your fingers at his kids. You're gone as quick as you came down the stone path to the ice cream parlour. 

Steve's boiling. It isn't from the sun. 

"What'd she write, daddy?" Sarah asks. 

He tears his eyes from your retreating figure and lowers Charlie to the ground with a tired groan. He sits on the end of the slide and the twins follow him as they always do, like magnets since the days they learned to crawl. They all squeeze on the end of the slide together. 

"Can I see yours, bud?" he asks.

Steve puts Charlie's flyer on top of his own. Next to Evangeline's chunky body, you've written a tightly packed message. Your handwriting looks like your voice sounds. Steve doesn't know how to explain it. 

You've put down your phone number. Under it, you've written a sloping message: 

find her and maybe we can celebrate! ♥︎ 

"Dad?" Sarah prompts. 

"Oh, right. It says if we find the cat we can celebrate."

"What's 'celebrate'?" 

"Uh, we can celebrate, we can have a reward and a little party."

"A party?" Sarah asks with a gasp. 

"Well, not always?" he says, his heart still pattering from the sight of your number. 

It's too late to amend what he's said. Sarah's heard party, and she wants a party, though her definition of what a party is inaccurate. She thinks parties with Aunt Robin are better than Christmas, movies and popcorn and jiffy pop and Depeche Mode singalong. 

"Dad, we have to find that cat!" 

Steve's thinking the same thing. Any excuse to call you is one he wants to take, not just because you'd been pretty, but because you'd seen him and the kids at the same time. He doesn't wanna be presumptuous, maybe you write your number on all the posters, but even as he thinks it he doubts it. 

Your biro heart feels like a beckoning. 

Or Steve's an idiot. It wouldn't be the first time he was.

"Can we go look, dad?" Charlie asks. 

Steve has a lot of chores waiting for him at home, laundry and dishes and bills he has to do over the phone. He doesn't have time to look for a wandering cat, even if you were super pretty, and you'd talked to the kids like they were golden, and the smile you'd given him at one point felt heavy with something unspoken… 

"Let me get my bag," he says, standing up. "You guys are gonna need your jackets if we're staying out. It's getting cold." 

The twins rush to join him. 

—

my requests are open so if you'd like to see more of steve and the twins let me know, hopefully they can find poor evangeline! and if you enjoyed please consider reblogging, it means the world <3<3<3<3

[luveline]

JADEEEE I love roan so much can we please have a mother daughter day??? And Roan tells everything they did to Eddie as soon as they get home and he’s just so happy that you love roan so much !!!!!

thank you for your request! dad!eddie x (nearly step)mom!reader

"What is it called again?" Roan asks. 

You smile down at her little beatific grin, knowing that she knows and knowing that she wants you to say it again. "It's called a mother-daughter day. Where moms and their daughters spend the whole day doing mom and daughter stuff, like manicures and haircuts and coffee. Or, cake. No coffee for you, princess."

Eddie's blow dried Roan's hair so that almost all of her curls agave been straightened, and the dark length of it fans over her shoulders, soft as spun silk. He dropped you and Roan off in the centre of Hawkins town to spend a day with Wayne (that you called a father-son day, and he called chores day —Wayne's not taking me out for shopping and treats, sweetheart, he's gonna break my back in the yard).

The very first port of call, you decide, is hair. You take Roan into a quiet hair stylist's where you'd made two appointments, her smaller hand swinging in yours. The room is cool but inviting, and it doesn't take much convincing to get her into one of the chairs. 

"What do we want?" the hairdresser asks, bending down on Roan's left and meeting her eyes in the mirror. 

You do the same to her right. "We don't want much cut off, do we, Ro?" 

You'd already talked about it with her yesterday, wanting to make sure she doesn't have anything done that she doesn't want, or anything Eddie doesn’t approve of. 

"No, just the little bit," Roan says. 

"Can she have a wash and blow dry, too?" you ask. "She has the most beautiful curls when it's dry. We only did it like this today so she could see how much was being cut off." 

The hairdresser agrees with gusto. A second hairdresser comes along to do your hair, and it's a good thing you'd wanted Roan to have the full treatment, because you almost mess your own up constantly by turning in your chair to speak with Roan's hairdresser about what it is their doing. 

When you're finished, you're not shy about standing watch. The hairdresser is a sweetheart, fawning over Roan's pleased face as she rubs shampoo into her scalp over the sink. "Hey, Ro," you greet, "you look like you're enjoying yourself." 

"Hi, mom." 

"She's as good as gold," the hairdresser praises, "she's so polite." 

Roan shies away at the praise, worse when you agree. "She's my greatest love," you confess, "that's why I'm spoiling her today, because she deserves it for being so good all the time." 

Roan absolutely still tantrums. She misbehaves as every kid does, she hates vegetables, she makes those silly potions in the bathroom and she breaks things on purpose. But she's still a great kid. She deserves more than a special day. You'd treat her to this stuff all the time if you could. 

When Roan's hair has been dried and moussed with a diffuser, you pay your (unfortunately large) debts and compliment her all the way to the cafe. 

"Sweetheart, you look so beautiful, I wish I could show your dad right now, your curls haven't looked this bouncy and shiny in ages," you say, stroking a rogue one from her cheek. 

"I think you look beautiful, too," she says, almost walking into a woman coming from the cafe door. 

You pull her into your legs to avoid collisions and lead her through the door. "Thanks, baby," you say. If you were at home you'd grab her up, kiss her chubby cheeks, and maybe cry a little bit, but instead you take her to a nice table and buy her two different slices of over-expensive cake. One slice of triple chocolate fudge cake, and one slice of toffee cake with caramel buttercream. You tuck napkins into the collar of her nice dress and tie her hair back, fingertips sliding gently against her scalp as you pull it away from her face. She's extremely enthusiastic, spoon to her mouth before you've managed two loops of her scrunchie. 

"Eat up, princess," you say, stroking her shoulders clean of lint and stray hairs. "We have a super busy day still waiting for us." 

And the day is super, super long. It's night time by the time you and Roan get home via Hawkins lone taxi cab. Poor Eddie's literally waiting on the porch swing. 

"Holy crap, girls, I thought you were gonna call me," he says, rushing down the path to help with your shopping bags. 

"Dad, you're not supposed to see how much money mom spended," Roan declares, running around him on the path with a couple of bags in her clutches. "Don't worry, I'll hide them!" 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, waiting until you've thanked the driver and started up the path before asking, "I'm not supposed to see how much money you spent?" 

"That's a joke," you say. "You know, it happens on TV. I thought it was part of the mommy-daughter experience." 

"Oh, gotcha." He sidles in close to you as you take the few steps up to your door, not-so-subtly taking the shopping bags out of your left hand. "You look fucking beautiful, in case you don't know. Your hair is so pretty." 

"They barely did anything to my hair." You're not disparaging your stylist, she did exactly as you asked. It looks the same as always, but freshened up. 

"And yet." 

You step into the house and shut the door behind you. Eddie places your bags off to the side and turns to you for a hug rather than a kiss. He's maddeningly sweet like that. He hugs you so tightly that your back crunches. 

"Missed you… Thank you for taking her out today. I love how much you love her," he says against your cheek, punctuating with a quick kiss. "I thought you'd be home hours ago." 

"How was Wayne?" you ask through laughter. 

"Healthy enough to put me to work." 

You cup his cheek. "And how are you?" 

"Tired. Please tell me you bought me a present." 

"We bought you lots of presents," you say. "You might want to sit down." 

Eddie grins like a kid at Christmas, sweeping the bags into one arm and all but yanking your wrist from its socket as he pulls you to the living room with the other. You laugh as the two of you collapse into the couch, Eddie shouting, "Roan, come back, sweetheart! You don't have to hide anything you've got, just let me see your hair!" He rubs your arm. "She went off so fast I didn't see it. Have they scalped my girl?" 

Roan tramples back down the stairs like a stampede all by herself. She races around the couch and onto the armrest on Eddie's side, a struggle but one she manages with enthusiasm. 

"Okay, daddy, lookit. Mom told them to give me the sparkles and stuff," —she holds up her hands to showcase her painted nails— "aren't they the prettiest ever? Ever ever?" 

Her nails are small, and every inch has been decorated. Black polish at her own insistence encrusted with pink-white gems that sparkle when she wiggles them. Eddie likes her nails, but he loves her hair, combing her hair with two gentle hands at once. "Aw, sweetheart," he murmurs, "you look so pretty, they've given you your curls back." He looks at you. "How did they do that? I swear her curls don't bounce up like that even when I try my hardest anymore." 

You lift a bag into his lap. "I got some stuff on the hairdresser's recommendation. We can do it at home." 

He holds her little face carefully. "It's like when she was a baby." 

"Dad," Roan says severely, pulling his hands from her face, "we don't have time for crying. You haven't seen my new dresses." 

He pulls himself together with the help of your comforting hand on his thigh. "I'm not crying, you just look so pretty, Roro. And forget dresses, I want presents." 

"Y/N took me to Masy Daisy." 

Eddie looks at you out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe I don't want to know how much you spent after all." 

"It wasn't so bad, handsome," you say warmly, dropping your cheek into his shoulder. "They really were beautiful. Every one she tried on…" 

"How many did she try on?" he asks, like he’s scared of the answer.

"Just a couple… with matching shoes. And cardigans.”

Eddie sighs and leans back. “Best get the fashion show started, Roanie. Sounds like we’re gonna be here a while.”

[luveline]

for your dad!steve au, can we see steve making the girls laugh? or just any slice of life? thank u!

thank you for your request! dad!steve x mom!reader, 1k

Steve doesn’t play rough with the girls because he’s a schmuck who’s constantly terrified of dislocated elbows (shockingly common in young kids —all you have to do is pick them up wrong), but Avery has discovered via soft play club after school that landing on or being thrown at a soft surface is extremely enjoyable. 

“Please, dad, just chuck me! I won't get hurt,” she insists. 

You, sitting on the floor by your bed, look up from the clothes you’re sorting into piles to smile at him. “Go on, handsome, just throw her.”

“I don't want to throw you,” Steve says unhappily, trying to ignore Avery where she’s sat pleadingly on the edge of the made bed. He’s putting your folded pyjamas away in the dresser. 

“Please, dad, please, please, please!” she begs, climbing from her knees onto wobbly feet.

Steve sighs. Today hasn’t necessarily been long or anything, as it’s a Sunday, so you’re home. When you’re home, you insist on handling the majority of childcare to give Steve as much of a break as he can get, which isn’t often a break at all because you have three kids and a house and a lot of chores that are unavoidable. Steve reveres your efforts. You work all week just like he does, and at least he gets the pleasure of being surrounded by the people he loves. A full work week and everyday you come home tired but willing to keep on fighting until bedtime. 

He closes the dresser drawer. Realistically, there is no reason to say no to Avery. He isn’t so tired as to not be able to play for a bit, and he knows himself well enough to know he won't hurt her. 

He crouches gently and opens his arms. “Fine. C’mere, Ave.”

She launches herself at him. Steve picks her up, and he rocks her lanky but still so small body in his arms, each rock a threat that prompts an excited laugh from his oldest. She screams with joy when he finally throws her into the bed, her body bouncing up toward the pillows (two for you, about six for him).

“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to drop you,” Steve teases.

She giggles giddily and crawls back to the end of the bed for another go. 

You pause with clothes unfolded in your hands. Kids wear altogether too many clothes. Dove must change three times a day, Bethie too, your youngest girls both burdened with a penchant for mess. Avery is much better, but even if they were the neatest girls in the world they’d still make a mountain of laundry at the end of the week. 

Simply put, you’re sick of clothes. It’s much more fun to watch Avery scream with joy as Steve scoops her up and drops her down again. He looks nice tonight, like he always does, lean but tough, not as fit as he once was because there’s no time for swimming when you’re raising kids but really, really pretty. The suggestion of his biceps strain against his short sleeve t-shirts, and when he pulls Avery up against his chest his shirt gets caught and you can see his soft tummy. 

“What is happening?”

You turn to the source of the new voice. Your second oldest, Bethie, stands in the doorway in her white nightie, hand in hand with your toddler, Dove. Dove is in very sweet, very small pyjamas, thin white cotton dotted with dainty blue flowers. They wear twin expressions, an apprehensive sort of confusion. They can hear the laughter and they want to be involved. You can’t blame them; Avery’s squealing in her disorientation, having way too much fun. 

“Dad’s throwing your sister,” you say. 

Bethie takes a step back. Not from fear, never, but because she’s a shy girl who doesn’t like asking for things. You don’t understand how you managed to make a daughter so different from your first, but you're delighted anyways. You love her exactly how she is. 

“Do you want to play, too?” you ask her, setting aside the last pile of folded clothes.

“No,” she mumbles. 

Steve tosses Avery at the pillows again and turns to the newcomers as she rolls. “Hello,” he says sweetly. “Now all my favourite girls are in one place! Come here, Beth, let me see you.”

Bethie is the world’s biggest daddy’s girl, immediately dropping Dove’s hand to crowd Steve’s knees. Dove’s happy to be set free. She squeezes through all the hubbub to flop into your lap, kicking over a neat pile of laundry as she goes. 

“What’s this?” Steve asks Bethie as he picks her up. He smooths a hand down her face. “What have you done here? You have a little mark.”

“I don't know,” she says. 

“No? You know what I think? I think it’s–” He tosses her in the space Avery vacated. Bethie is shocked beyond words and delighted by his deception, screaming as she lands in the rumpled sheets. Steve laughs at her laughing, and quickly moves around to the side of the bed to check he hasn’t done any lasting damage. “I thought you’d like that,” he says, hands sliding under her shoulders. 

“Do you want a go?” you ask Dove.

Dove can’t speak much yet. She knows lots of words and fractions of sentences, but all her pronouns are messed up, and she doesn’t like speaking anyways. She’s a quiet girl like Beth, though she doesn’t quite have her older sister's happy disposition, and she frowns at you. 

“Want boppy,” she says. 

You wrap your arm around her to feel her stomach like that might reveal a certain truth. “You’re hungry?” you ask, rubbing her side. “Okay, baby, let's go get your bottle.”

“She had loads at dinner,” Steve says. “I’m not sure why she’d be hungry.”

You laugh, because when he turns to you he has the two girls under his arms like bags of flour. They laugh and squirm to be released. Steve pretends to drop them, hiking them up again with a grin when their giggles thicken. 

“She’s a growing girl. Why don’t we all go have some milk, milk and cookies?” you ask, giving Dove an indulgent kiss. 

“Two seconds,” Steve says over the sound of excited agreement, “just need to–”

Steve throws the girls into your bed again. 

“Dad!” Avery scolds, her hair ruffled, her t-shirt collar rolled. “I’m fragile.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” He turns to you with a showful glare. Vindicated at last. 

Bethie stands up, an uncharacteristic loudness to her as she says, “Again, dad, please!”

Steve has trouble saying no to any of the girls but especially Beth. he drags her onto his chest and gets ready to toss her.

“I’ll meet you downstairs?” you ask knowingly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

—

more of this au &lt;3

[lovrily]

hi :) could you do steve x shy reader at like a party or something and steve is her boyfriend who is super flirty but she's never had a boyfriend before so she's nervous bc he's being flirty?? i hope this makes sense 😭 thank you!!

it makes so much sense! i hope this is good! fem!reader | 2000 words | suggestive but no smut

"we should leave."

you look up from the fire, a marshmallow melting on the metal skewer you're holding. "really? why?"

steve shrugs. "let's do it."

"why?" you laugh. you're not disappointed; you wouldn't mind going back to his place and getting in pajamas, where it's quiet and familiar. but it had taken a lot of convincing on steve's part to get you to come to the bonfire in the first place, so you're surprised he would want to leave so early. he'd even convinced you to wear your bathing suit, although you'd worn his shirt over it for most of the night.

he hasn't answered.

"are you upset?" you ask quietly.

"no, it's not that." he smiles at you, a little crookedly. "sorry, babe."

"it's okay," you laugh. when you flip your skewer around and bite into the marshmallow, he inhales- bending down to pick up your purse. when you bite the rest of it off the tip of your thumb, his nostrils flare.

your eyes flash wide. "what?"

"nothing. you wanna go? we don't have to."

"yeah, but-"

"i got you, then. my car's out front. did you know that?"

he's murmuring and grinning like a fool. yeah, he jokes again, this time in your ear. let me take you home. you can't help but laugh.

there's a small chorus of friendly but mostly unfamiliar girls around the fire who whine various lines like, no, don't take her yet! or, leave her with us! and while you're flattered that so many people have taken a liking to you in one night, you're perfectly relieved to go home.

steve puts his hand on your back while you weave through the small crowd. his friends holler at him, trying to say goodbye, and he waves back at them, every gesture noncommittal. the sky is a murky, midnight blue, the sun completely gone. you're gawking at him by the time you've hiked back to the empty section of the field where you parked, a handful of other empty cars around you.

"are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"wrong?" he scoffs. "no, nothing's wrong."

"you're scaring me."

he opens the passenger's door and leans on it, smiling. "you're ridiculous."

"what!"

once you're inside, he shuts the door and hauls around to the driver's seat, shutting it and locking it behind him. the breadth of his shoulders blocks the moon, his hair fluffy and dark, mostly towel-dried after swimming. you lean away and he's watching you- so you're tempted to lean back over and just let him do whatever it is he's planning to do. but you're genuinely rather confused, so you hold your ground against the seat. it's cold against your back, even in the dead of summer.

"your hair is still wet," steve murmurs.

"i know. sorry, i'm getting it on your seats."

he reaches over and takes a section of your hair in his fingers. "babe, you know i don't care."

"i know."

he's still smiling.

"what is your problem?" you nearly shriek.

then you're laughing, and he's laughing even harder, and then he kisses you, and you're very, very quiet.

he's still grinning. his fingertips rake against the back of your neck, at your hairline, careful not to yank at the wet strands there. his thumb skids over your cheek, your face still slightly damp, your skin too-clean and sensitive and a little cold.

"are you cold?" he says suddenly.

"no," you breathe. not now.

you pull away, dizzy. he breathes hard, beaming at you, but he doesn't look nervous. he's steve. he doesn't get nervous doing stuff like this. especially not with you.

why would he, with you? he's your first boyfriend. he doesn't have to impress you, if he doesn't want to. maybe you're not very impressive, either. every time he kisses you, you feel like you're going to pass out. that's not very cool girl of you.

now is not the time to be feeling insecure, but the feeling has already set in- even after he wraps his right arm around your waist and hauls you over to the driver's seat. you squeal as he sits you on his lap, grabbing his keys from the console and putting them in the ignition behind you. the heat comes on in a dull wave.

he's about to kiss you again, and then he stops, pulling wet, knotted strands of hair away from your eyes as you loom over him, not fully settled.

"you okay?" he asks.

"yeah," you try to say confidently. it's more of a wheeze.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

he smirks, and it might look a little evil if he wasn't so sweet.

"can i kiss you?"

it's the stupidest question you've ever heard. he's practically gloating.

"again?"

he gawks at you, laughing. "again, yeah."

"you want to?"

you're not even sure why you say it. but you do, and at first, steve just snickers quietly. then his smile goes a little crooked and his brows knit together. and he says-

"of course i do."

you swallow. "okay." be cool. "do it."

that was not cool in the slightest.

steve watches you, leaning back a little bit, like you're something to examine. you fight the urge to wrench your eyes shut. one of his hands lands softly on your hip, and the other comes up to rub your arm, warm over the thin tan sleeve of his waffle shirt.

"are you okay?" he asks. this time, he really means it.

"yeah," you nod. "i'm okay."

"but you're hovering."

"i'm what?"

"sweetheart," steve laughs softly, letting go of you for a moment. you droop a bit, and realize he's right. "you're not sitting."

"you can't just ask a girl to sit on you, harrington."

he looks like he might laugh, but he doesn't- his expression oddly serious for the night. "did i do something?"

"no!"

you finally lock eyes with him, and he looks so worried that guilt blooms in your gut. just be honest.

"i don't know, sometimes...i just get nervous. when we're together."

your words seem to wound him, but he's listening intently. "okay."

he brings his hand back to your arm, tracing lines on your skin over the fabric of his shirt.

"i...haven't had a boyfriend before," you say. it's not a shock- he knows. "you're my first. for everything."

he nods. "my luck is crazy."

"sure," you scoff, but his face is gravely serious. "i just worry sometimes that you're going to realize i'm not worth it. sometimes, when you...when you kiss me, or...touch me, i just get scared you're going to realize i'm not what you want. you could have someone who's less nervous. or who's been with other people before."

someone who isn't me.

you're a little horrified once you've said all of it. steve just watches you, crickets chirping outside the car, the heater blowing by your waist and over your elbows. his hands go still, and his face crumples, like he'd cut himself on something sharp. his mouth falls open a little bit.

"honey," he laments.

"i know. sorry-"

steve leans forward and wraps his arms around you, pinning your biceps to your sides at first, not weaving your limbs with his. you both inhale. he squeezes you, your head drooping onto his shoulder, and then he pulls you away and loops his hands through your sides; where you finally sit on his lap, thighs brushing against the console and the door. he holds you around your stomach and puts one hand on the back of your head, holding you to his neck. the scent of sunscreen and bug spray laundry detergent make it more real; his hands warm and dry from swimming, his neck tan from being in the sun. the entanglement of you both is a heavy weight on the seat.

you breath in again and exhale. he's real, and he loves you, even when it's hard to believe it.

"are you kidding me, sweetheart? are you joking?"

"no," you laugh, voice muffled at his neck, but he doesn't in return.

"you should have told me that before. i feel like i'm gonna be sick."

"steve!"

he squeezes you once more and plants a kiss to the top of your head, then one on your forehead. his palms meet your cheeks and he tilts your head back, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"i don't want anyone but you," he says earnestly. "there is no one i want to be with but you. it doesn't even cross my mind. it's not an option."

you might cry. he wipes his thumb over your cheek, now hot as an iron.

"you're it for me," he says plainly. "okay?"

"okay."

"do you believe me?"

"yes," you nod, embarrassed.

he shakes his head at you, expression still pained. it's almost comedic how awful he feels, but you feel even worse for bringing it up.

"i'm sorry."

"don't," he retorts. "no. don't be. c'mere."

you lean forward and kiss him this time, and he's happy about it; the palms on your cheeks sliding back into your hair and over your ears, drowning out the sounds of the field like a fishbowl. all you hear is him. all you feel is him.

"i love you," he murmurs, kissing your lips- and then the tip of your nose, and then your chin and the crook of your neck. "you're my girl. i love you. there's no one else."

you melt like ice cream, slumped in his hands. what else can you do?

"steve..." you whisper.

"mhm?"

"let's go home."

his response is delayed. he kisses the crook of your neck again, then closer to your collarbone. when you inhale sharply, he leans back, screwing his eyes shut.

"but we have to drive all the way there."

"you're the one who wanted to go home in the first place!" you beam, amused at his grimace.

"home is far," steve utters. "you're here. right now."

you're going to die if he keeps talking like that. so you climb off of him and drop ungracefully into the passenger's seat, clicking your seatbelt into place. steve groans.

"oh, that's evil."

"take me home, harrington."

he sits there for a second, and then shakes his head; running his hands over his eyes and his hair, black against the night. his laughter is a quiet rumble.

"you're killing me. you don't even get it."

"what'd i do?"

his head is still in his hands. "you don't even have to do anything. you're just sitting there, and you're driving me insane. it's embarrassing. it's bad for my reputation."

"take me home, steve."

you're trying to be firm, but you're smiling. it's impossible not to. steve sighs once, then sits up, putting the car in reverse.

"you need to watch for cops, at this point, sweetheart, because i'm going to go fifty over until we get home."

you consider saying something snide in return, but honestly, you'd be perfectly happy if he did.

[astermath]

songbird ♪♩♬

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: your singing had easily become steve’s new favorite sound. he can’t help but break out in an impromptu duet with you one night, and the two of you share a heartfelt moment together. 

tags: domestic steve, established relationship, not rlly proofread, normal size font below!!

word count: 0.9K

notes: just smth short while i’m on my steve high lol, i’m a sucker for domestic steve oh my GOD RAHHH

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

Even before you two started dating, Steve knew how you loved to sing.

You were a music fanatic, usually out by yourself with a little headset and a walkman, humming along with Cyndi Lauper songs as you went about your day. It was adorable, really, it made his heart swell. He’d started believing your singing was the only thing that could put his mind to rest after a long day, even if that wasn’t why you did it. 

Keep reading

[messyemmy]

Employee of the Month

EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH [Inside] - Steve Harrington x reader

PREMISE: Steve and Robin find themselves the newest employees of Family Video- a place you are well acquainted with. With a strange history and a chance to win employee of the month at stake, your Summer is turning out to be more than you bargained for. [enemies to lovers.]

WARNINGS: n/a. (use of Y/n).

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

🎞️🎞️🎞️

Standing behind the counter, Steve took in his new surroundings, getting familiar with the space he would now regularly occupy for four of seven days for the unforeseeable future. 

His eyes darting, sometimes stopping to skim over the spines of video boxes, big, bold titles of films he hadn't even heard of.

He couldn't help his curiosity from reaching out for a nearby stack of boxes, his fingers tracing along the outline of Citizen Kane. 

But even with the lightest of touches, Steve stumbles back in fright just as the stacked boxes start tumbling like Jenga, scattering across the floor with a startling smack.

Robin looks over, eyes wide, her hand instinctively reaching out to swat Steve's bicep,

"We've been here for five minutes, Steve."

"It was an accident!" his palms raised in surrender,

"If you get me fired, I swear-"

"I'm not gonna get you fired, Robin." Steve sighed reassuringly,

"Oh, please. Everyone knows we're a package deal." Robin almost scoffs.

Steve geared up for a comeback, sentence still half formulated, none-the-wiser of your sudden presence as you timidly peered out from behind his towering figure, instantly catching Robin's attention.

"Hi!" you waved shyly, and Steve turned on his heels so fast his sneakers surely sparked the ground beneath him.

"Hey, you must be Y/n!" Robin greeted, and you embraced her energetic enthusiasm with ease,

"Yeah! Robin, right?"

"That's me!" she nodded, as an afterthought, gestured toward a still-startled Steve, 

"And that's Steve. He's clumsy but decent enough."

You glanced his way, shy with familiarity, only giving him a moment of your time and a tight-lipped smile. Knowing it would only be so long before he remembered you, if he even did, you avoided eye contact- and that had nothing to do with the fact that you were more than aware of his pretty, pretty brown eyes.

"Hi Steve." you waved gently,

"I'm not clumsy!" the words tumble out, his cheeks flushed, scanning your face for approval. 

But Steve was met with only furrowed brows, your familiar eyes disappearing beneath swooping lashes,

"I'll take your word for it." you nodded.

"Ignore him. I promise we are not a package deal," Robin reassured nonchalantly, sending him a wink.

Steve released the breath he hadn't known was trapped in his chest with such relief when any chances of further embarrassment were dismissed by the heroic timing of Murrary- known locally as the chaotic, moody, and far too nosey manager of Family Video- trudging through the front door, a melodic bell announcing his arrival. 

He took his time reaching the front desk, barely acknowledging the new duo as he addressed you, 

"Y/n, I see you've had the pleasure of meeting Robin and Steve." you nodded meekly. 

Murray hastily glances over at Steve and Robin, "I'll give you each a schedule later." leaving no gap for a retort, 

"In the meantime, Y/n will designate jobs. I'll be in my office, not being disturbed... don't fuck anything up." his eyes narrowed at Steve.

"Why are you looking at me?" Steve protested with a whine. But it's Monday, and Murray is in no mood as he walks off, entering an office off to the side, the door swinging shut behind him.

The three of you are left looking like headlighted deers, shifting on your heels and clearing your throat- it was so soft and subtle, but Steve looked at you with such haste you could easily be fooled into thinking he was paying you far too much attention.

"Okay. So... I guess I'll give you a rundown of the store?" You suggest, and Robin cheers like she was just offered free food for life, grinning at Steve as they follow you away from the front desk and deeper into the store.

Your heart thudding in synch with Steve's, unsure if anxiety or excitement is threatening to stir, but you brush it off and halt in front of the storage room, stepping aside to give the duo a good look at their new home away from home.

"Here's the back room... We store the really old or newly unboxed movies here. Mostly the room is used for taking breaks. Oh, but we have to do inventory at least once a day." you informed.

The newbies took a moment to look over the space. Steve spots a navy beanbag and decides he can definitely get used to this. Robin's eyes light up, suddenly rushes further into the room,

"What's that?" her heart swells as she points animatedly at a whiteboard hanging haphazardly against the faded walls. 

The board has seen better days, smudged marker almost making it impossible to spot the words 'Wins' and 'Losses' scrawled across the top.

"Oh. I made it for the last guy who worked here, Brad. Total shitshow. And I enjoyed taking note of that." you hummed with fondness.

"No way." Robin felt lightheaded, body rushing with more excitement than she could handle- and definitely more than she had felt this past year.

"What?" Your head tilted innocently,

"I had one exactly like this for Steve back at Scoops!" Robin couldn't help it when her feet began bouncing, arms flailing around joyously.

"You're kidding!" you were sure you had just met your soulmate, meeting her enthusiasm with extra. Steve, caught by pleasant surprise, felt an ache in his arm as Robin dug her nails into him. 

He sent her a warning glare, but even after letting him go, Steve still felt lightheaded, eyes darting between you and Robin with newfound terror. Tremendously overwhelmed, sensory overload swallowing him entirely as your glee only seemed to be escalating,

"I think I just made a new best friend." Robin announced.

Relief washed over you with reassurance that your new co-workers wouldn't be all that bad- well, Steve was yet to be confirmed. Speaking of Steve, your eyes met his for just a moment,

"Sorry to steal that title from you." you offered offhandedly.

"You kidding? I'm relieved!" he teased, never acknowledging Robin, focus solely on sending waves of friendship your way.

"Shut up. You love me." Robin reminds.

"But you make it so hard." he huffs.

🎞

Hardly an hour into their first shift, Steve's head- though seemingly screwed on and held in place by excessive hairspray- was clearly miles away. 

And it definitely didn't go unnoticed because it was the same look he used to get during your last periods of the school day. It annoyed you then, and it definitely annoys you now.

Pausing mid-sentence, you watched him through slanted lids, frustration tingling the tips of your ears and palms threatening to itch,

"Harrington." you snapped your fingers near his face,

"Did you hear me?"

"Huh?" Steve blinked back to attention, though the dazed look in his eyes never strayed.

"Were you paying any attention at all?" you exhaled a whiny huff.

"I was!" Steve really does like the little frown that creases at your brows, indulging as it only increases.

"What did I just say?" you waited, lip tugged between your teeth, and Steve is still hardly paying attention,

"Uh-" he stutters.

"She said you need to select the customer profile before logging in the code for the video. Then you need to check if they have store credit, and after that, you need to put the cover for the video in that pile over there." Robin recited with ease, her focus still on flipping through a misplaced comic book.

"Thank you, Robin." you rewarded, eyes never leaving the spot occupied by Steve.

"Yes, thank you, Robin." he hissed through gritted teeth.

"So, the next thing you need to do is..."

Like a schoolteacher, you paused expectantly, and Steve, head bowed like your scolded student, pulled himself together and offered up a gentle reply,

"Replace this box with the other box."

"Exactly." Satisfied, you tapped his shoulder, cueing him to get up from the stool. Steve stiffened under your touch, the waves of your sternness washing over him with an unsuspecting flutter of the heart, and it only seemed to increase when you practically forced his palm open and placed the box for The Graduate, pointing toward the aisle of shelves he needed to visit.

"Robin, you said this would be fun." Steve whined, sluggishly sliding off his seat, dragging his heels as he set off to do as told.

"I'm having a great time!" Robin called over his shoulder, tilting her head to send you a sweet smile.

"Is he always this difficult?" you turned to her fully, willing your bubbling frustrations to simmer down.

"Usually he's just disinterested," Robin attempted to reassure but was clearly clueless to the storm brewing just under the surface.

"Well, that's just great," your hands found your face, cradling the nightmare that refused to end, eyes scrunched shut, elbows balancing you against the countertop.

"Getting on your nerves already, huh?" she teased.

"Is it that noticeable?" you muttered through the spaces of your fingers. 

Robin stood up and made her way over to your slumped figure,

"Just a smidge." she poked at you playfully.

Your Summer was quickly turning sour. What was supposed to be easy money and plenty of days by the pool was tumbling away, replaced with unrest and the resurfacing of uncertain feelings from your formative years.

The threat of Steve taking over your space- just like he had in high school, ignorantly bumping his hip into your desk, day after day, ignoring your disappointed sighs. But unlike in high school, you feared he would bother you in ways far more blood-boiling.

"He hasn't changed at all," you muttered, seething.

"Hasn't changed?" Robin pondered, standing upright just as you decided to do the same, conspiracy in the air. Suddenly, your eyes widen with mirth and a hint of mischief, only furthering her confusion. You rubbed your scheming hands together, your brain sent into a spiral of brilliance,

"I have an idea."

With not a word more, you leave Robin befuddled, turning on your heels and heading for the backroom. 

Robin stays put until she's sure you aren't making a return, and then she's hot on your heels,

"Wait up!"

Excitement coursing, Robin catches up just in time to watch as you grab an old red marker, using your shirt sleeve to remove Brad, writing 'Steve' in its place. 

Stepping back to admire your work, bold and capitalized 'Harrington' staring back at you, begging for his screw-ups to rack up. Adding a squiggly separation line as an afterthought, you admired your work one last time, arms folding atop your chest.

"There. Fixed it."

"I love it." Robin cooed with approval.

"I'm brilliant."

"A genius." she commended.

The two of you stood in your bubble of admiration, so much so that neither of you noticed the arrival of Steve, stepping into the room with confusion- it had taken him a good minute to even find you. 

Peering over your heads to get a glimpse at what seemed so interesting,

"What are you two on abou- are you kidding?" this was a new low for Steve.

First days were never great, but this was record-breaking bad. And when you turned to him, a cheeky smile still curving at your lips, Steve felt his bones might melt right off.

"The opposite," you informed.

"I haven't been here half a day, and you guys are already ganging up on me?"

"I mean, it was bound to happen, Steve." Robin teased.

"It's only fair." you shrugged, smile fading for good.

Steve was clearly confused now, brows cocked, shoulders stiffening. He could feel both of your eyes on him now,

"How's that?"

"You and your friends ganged up on everyone at school." you recited like it was something everyone already knew everything about.

"I-" Steve stuttered out,

"Hopefully you have thicker skin."

Steve said nothing- didn't know where the fuck to even begin as quick flashes of himself, strutting the hallways, blurred his vision, desperately trying to place the image of you within all of the chaos that was his high school experience. 

But you're looking at him expectantly- or perhaps, just plain hostility- and it's only hyping Steve's unease.

Robin has whiplash, focus dashing between you and Steve, and if nobody was willing to speak up, she certainly would. Unfortunately- for Robin- Murray's voice booms through the closed door, the muffled sound of "Y/n!" seeking your assistance.

"You guys can head to the front counter. I'll be there in a sec." you sighed with relief, giving Steve a brief glance before leaving, head thumping in step with your sneakers.

"Holy shit." Robin, her mouth ajar, pranced over to join a puzzled Steve.

"I know. What the fuck was-"

"She is so cool!" she fawned.

"What?" he almost chokes.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew each other?" Robin chides as they make their way to the store's front.

"Because we don't." Steve defends.

"Another casualty of the romancer formerly known as King Steve?"

"Of course not."

Steve picks up the pace, trying to get at least a few feet away from Robin's newfound source of a summer scandal. 

But she won't stop- and they both know it.

"Oh, please."

"I'm serious!" he comes to a halt, collecting whatever strength remains to convince Robin otherwise.

"You didn't try? Like, not even once?" Robin probably wouldn't believe him anyhow. 

Steve could hardly care as he dropped back down onto the nearby stool, palms clenched, head hanging low,

"She wouldn't have given me the time of day."

Summer was starting to look like it might be far more interesting than expected. Guaranteed, this was less than thrilling for both Steve and yourself. 

But for Robin, well, she couldn't help her giddiness from spreading throughout town, sighing with such content,

"I am going to love working here."

🎞️🎞️🎞️

[Hi lovelies! This is my first time posting anything about Steve. I've been working on this series for ages, and I've decided to make some chapters about their work shifts and some about moments out in town. Would you guys be interested in this format, with an update each week? I'd love to know what you think!! xox]