‪‪❤︎ ‪‪maria ❤︎

chuegy-phobe!

[snoopysgarden]

°❀⋆Welcome! °❀⋆

She/her ⋆˙⟡ 21⋆˙⟡ Taurus ⋆˙⟡ Fangirl since the womb ⋆˙⟡

hihi! Welcome to my page! Finally decided to start writing again after a longggg hiatus. Requests are always open! Feel free to just say anything <3 muah thank u for reading luv u all!

Masterlist!

Steve Harrington:

Don't Try So Hard - part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13

"It's Just a Headache"

[snoopysgarden]

Don't Try So Hard - pt. 13

Summary: Moving from sunny California to Hawkins Indiana was the last thing you wanted to do right before your senior year. With zero intentions of calling this place home, and every intention of leaving as soon as you got your diploma, you didn't see a point in trying to make connections. At least, not until a certain popular boy starts trying to get your attention. part 12

pairing: steve harrington x mayfield! reader

word count: 2.2k

cw: swearing, plot inaccuracies, sassy! steve, sassy! reader, kinda angst, mostly unedited

a/n: HELLO! happy may friends :) I cannot tell u how long it took me to figure this part out omg. I almost finished this like a week and a half ago but then it was my birthday and I got sick booo. anyways, this part is shorter buttttt im HAPPY TO BE BACK! (actually this time...I lied last time whoops #forgiveme) I have finals but then I will active again trust

————————————————————————

You swallow the lump in your throat embracing her in a hug. Of course she’s here right now

“What are you doing here you never come to the mall!” Becca says sweetly.

You shrug and hold up your shopping bag, “Christmas gifts, Just little things and stuff for Max.” 

“Ugh you should’ve mentioned you were coming! Sarah actually was gonna come but she got roped into cooking with her aunt or something. I just came with a few girls from the team.”

The longer you guys talk the faster your heart begins to race. What the hell would you say if Steve didn’t get the clue to wait till Becca leaves. After a few more exchanges Becca turns her head, “ I know they arn’t your cup of tea but you’re more than welcome to hang out with me and the girls. You’d like them more then you think.” she laughs, a part of her hoping you’ll accept her offer. 

“So you keep telling me”, You look down, taking a deep breath before letting out a little laugh, “I think i’m good for today. I’m basically heading out anyways.”

“You’re loss. No like you’re gonna be in forced proximity to them in like a week.”

You turn your head, furrowing your brows in confusion. 

“New years?” she kicks your foot.

New years. Right. 

When your expression doesn’t lighten fast enough Becca continues, “Oh come on you’re coming right?”

“Yeah I just- I just need to figure a few things out.”

She pauses, trying to read if you are kidding or not. 

“You were serious about the parents thing?”

“I just haven’t gotten a chance to mention it.” You shift on your feet anxiously.

“Okay well chop chop you can’t just not come.”

You begin to reply when you’re cut off by Becca’s vision darts to something behind you, “You’re gonna distract half the mall with those tight ass jeans Harrington”.

“Caught your attention didnt I?” The way it all rolls off his tongue almost makes your stomach hurt for some reason. But you know this is how he is. You know how the two of them are. Mindless flirting. You turn your head and move to the side, allowing Steve to stand with you guys.

“I thought I saw you earlier, man everyone’s here today.” Becca says

“Tell me about it,” you reply.

You stay listening to Becca and him talk until your start to feel your skin crawl. A cheeky comment from Becca sends you over the top, causing your feet to start walking away before you fully register, “Well I guess I’ll just leave you guys to it,” you smile, “Nice to see you guys.”

Steve almost says something before he stops himself, clearing his throat before saying bye. Becca says something else, something about Sarah’s house, before you completely turn your backs to them. 

You stand outside and lean against the building. You didn’t this far ahead about leaving, you know realize. You decide to see if by some chance Steve left his car unlocked. Lucky for you, he did. You get in the passenger seat and throw your head back with a loud sigh. After a few minutes of boredom you decide to crank the window down to smoke a cigarette. 

You’re lost in thought with your arms crossed when you hear something smacking at the drivers side window, “come on seriously in my car?” Steve says in a whine. The smacking starles you and causes you to lose grip of the cigarette. It falls on your forearm, making you wince before you pick it up. 

“Fuck im sorry,” He immedietly replies while opening the car door. He instinctively grabs your arm to see what happened but you pull away before he can look too hard. 

“Chill I’m fine,” You take a drag, “i’ve been burned worse.” He sits down as you too stare at eachother. You take a second before offering the cig to him. To your surprise, he takes you up on your offer before putting the cigarette out completely.

You roll your eyes at him before pulling one of your knees to your chest. “Buzzkill”

“God forbid I don’t want my car to smell like smoke.” 

You point at the open window as a reply, getting no reaction out of him. He starts the car and shifts in his seat before looking back in your direction. He tilts his head slightly as if he’s waiting for you to say something. You don’t. 

“You good?” he finally says. The question catches you off guard. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He nervously laughs, “I mean you kinda stormed out of there.”

You put on a half smile before looking down, tracing a star on your knee and shrugging, “I got what I needed. Didn’t see a point in staying any longer.”

Steve is unsatisfied with your response, not shifting his gaze from you. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you say flatly.

He nods with a breath and puts his car and drive. “Am I driving you home or do you need to get things for my house fir-”

“I’ll just get it another day,” you cut him off, “home is fine.”

He pauses again as he carefully choosing his words. The silence drags to the first stop sign. 

“You know i’m not into her right?”

The words cause your breath to catch. You don’t answer, furrowing your eyebrows while still looking down as if you don’t know what he’s talking about. 

“I’m not actually into Becca” He looks your way before turning back to the road and tapping on his steering wheel. “Or Tiffany Wright.”

You head betrays you as you jerk up to look at him, causing him to bite his tongue with a smile. 

“Knew it.” He replies.

“Knew what?”

“You’re little fit earlier. Was over Tiffany yeah?”

You roll your eyes, shifting in your seat to face him, “I didn’t throw a fucking fit.”

“Mhm lets go with that.” The smugness in his voice is aggitating, but there’s a care behind it. “I didn’t mean for it to bother you. I didn’t even know where you were before you walked passed-”

“What do you mean you’re not into Becca?”

He looks a little puzzled, “Becca? No, never. She’s fun and all but no. Not like that.”

“So you’ve never slept with her.”

His mouth opens slightly, half out of shock and half out of amusement, “This entire time you thought i’ve slept with Becca?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I didn’t listen to her half the time when I first met her,” you let out a breathy laugh, “I guess I just assumed or something.”

“Or something,” he clicks his tongue “Okay well I haven’t. And I wouldn’t”

You can’t help but feel your shoulders ease at his words. “Didn’t know you were so picky.”

He rolls his eyes, “Apparently not if i’m still dealing with you,” he says tongue in cheek, causing you to push his shoulder in defiance. He turns his head again to smile at you and ducks when you go to hit him again. “There she is,” he continues as if he’s proud of your reaction. 

“You out of everyone should know the Becca thing is not serious”

“Well for the record Becca is completely into you. Like she acts like it’s a bit but it’s not.”

He nods his head at your words, not saying anything to egg you to continue. 

 “And so is Tiffany,” you finally add. 

“Tiffany is into anything that breathes and gives her compliments,” he runs his hands through his hair, “Can I be honest?”

He takes your silence as a clue to continue.  

“I used to be into her beginning of sophomore year. Like really into her. But I don’t know, guess she’s just not my type anymore.”

You fidget with your hands, debating your next words. At the red light, Steve notices the look on your face

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Look I promise Harrington I don’t care who you talked to. Seriously.” you say quicker then intended, like it’s been eating at you. “It just- I was caught off guard I guess. But for the record I did not throw a fit about it,” you point at him, “I just left.”

He nods, his face softening, “Thanks for telling me. Thought you hated promises though,” he teases. 

You make a dramatic move for the car door handle while he’s driving, and he immediately grabs your other hand. He tugs you back toward the center console, his hand still wrapped around yours. Instead of letting go when you finish your little fit, he shifts his grip and interlocks his fingers with yours. You don’t let go. 

—————————————————————————

“How long will you be gone for?” Your mom repeats, calling from the dining table where she’s organizing the mail.

When you got home from the mall, luckily it was just your mom who was home, and things around the house had seemed to cool down. You let yourself get settled and let her get into a half-distracted rhythm before you decided to bring up Jeff’s party.

“Just for the weekend, maybe an extra day or two at max, but I doubt it.” You sit across from her, passing her a cup of hot chocolate to match your own. A peace offering.

She puts her glasses on her head, placing the mail on the table. “That’s a long time for you, honey.”

You knew why she was nervous, and you couldn’t really blame her. If your daughter ran away and ended up in the hospital a week later, you also would be hesitant about letting her leave town with girls you hardly know.

“I’ve gone to Stacy’s for the weekend before.”

“She lives five minutes away that’s different. Plus, even those last-minute sleepovers stress me out beyond belief,” she continues.

“Okay well this isn’t last minute.”

She looks at you, contemplating.

“Billy has been gone almost all of break with some random girl and nobody cares,” you start to ramble to fill the silence. “And I’m with a group we’re not gonna do like a mass exodus across Indiana. I can even come home early, I’ll just spend the night, I’ll- ”

“This is really important to you?” The question comes off a bit harsh, but you know she’s asking genuinely.

You run your hands through your hair, twirling the ends for extra comfort. “Kind of, yeah.”

You take a deep breath. “It’s been almost a year, Mom. I’m getting good grades, I’m taking my medicine, I’m not gonna do something stupid again. You have to trust me.”

She’s still thinking, tapping her finger on the table.

“Please just trust me.”

She sighs, taking her glasses off her head now and placing them on the table. She crosses her arms and rubs her temple. “I mean, I guess if your friends know and—”

“Mom,” you turn your head to her pleadingly.

“Sweetie-”

“Mom,” you repeat, almost in a whine this time.

“I don’t feel comfortable having you go without knowing someone is looking out for you.”

“They are-”

“Looking out for the signs. You know that’s different.”

You put your head down on the table in defeat, deciding what to say next.

“You’ve spent lots of time with these girls I’m half surprised you haven’t mentioned it before. Or they haven’t figured it out already.” The last part she says quieter. It doesn’t mean to be a dig, but it is.

“I can’t,” the words start spilling out faster than you mean them. “I can’t just randomly tell my friends everything. I haven’t told them anything- I’m not telling them any of that. I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.” Your face burns at the thought.

“Then just tell Stacy,” she says, as if that makes it any easier.

You stare at her, anxiously rubbing your hand at the back of your neck.

“She deserves to know anyways, baby. She’s your friend. I’d say one of the best friends you’ve made in a while from what I can tell.”

Deserves. What a stupid word.

You don’t reply.

“Tell Stacy, and you can go. That’s my condition.”

You look down and close your eyes before taking a breath. “Fine,” you reluctantly agree. “Fine, fine, that’s fine, I guess,” you say, still rambling.

Your mom reaches her hand out to place on top of yours.

“I tell Stacy and you’ll let me go? Like 100% you can’t make more conditions later.”

“That’s what I said isn’t it?” She squeezes your hand before letting go. 

“I hope you know I’m serious,” she says when you finally look back at her.“I know,” you say as you get up and leave the table. Once you’re in the hallway, you press your forehead to the wall and sigh. A win at what cost. Fuck.

—————————————————————————

taglist: @emngray @fallautum @teheabrams @darling-eos @salvatt1 @steve-4-life @happiness2014 @not55named @wifeyofeveryone @meowieees @spenceatiny18 @emmal0129 @burningfudge @a-dal7490 @stilinskisensation @wishingforwonderland@emmaturtle48 @idontread4 @trulovekay @xoxocelestial

[snoopysgarden]

wya! we miss and love you maria 🥹🥹🥹

hiii! time has so gotten away from me I haven’t even realized how long it’s been since I posted ugh. My workload this semester just completely burned me out 😣 BUT i’m starting to get the writing itch again. I think I might try and backlog some stuff before I start actually posting again soooooo no timeline but I WILL be back soon i promise 🫶 xx

[flashphotograph]

Joe Keery muah

[oohgeminii]

GIRL DAD

joe keery x reader

part 2 to - pregnant !!

val speaks - i am deeply in the obsession of dad joe so im very glad u guys wanted a pt2 lol ily ily

the truth is, for a while after that night, the doubt doesn’t disappear all at once.

it fades slowly.

because even though joe apologised, even though he cried in your lap and promised he would never make you feel like that again, a small part of you still remembered the way he’d walked out the door. you didn’t hold it against him the way you thought you might, but it lingered quietly in the back of your mind.

not loud. not constant.

just a small, fragile question.

but joe didn’t know how to do things halfway. once he realised how badly he’d hurt you that night, he didn’t just try to fix it with words. he proved it in a hundred little ways every single day.

it started with the obvious things. he refused to let you handle the heavy stuff on tour. suitcases, bags, doors, anything remotely inconvenient, he was already there before you even thought about doing it yourself. if you reached for something, he’d appear beside you like it was instinct.

“joe” you’d say, half laughing, half annoyed.

“what?”

“i can grab my own water.”

“i know you can” he’d reply easily, handing it to you anyway.

but it went deeper than that.

every morning he checked how you were feeling before anything else. not his phone, not his schedule, not the setlist. you.

“nauseous?” he’d ask softly, brushing your hair back while you were still half asleep.

“a little.”

“okay. we’ll skip the diner breakfast. i’ll get you toast and ginger tea instead.”

if you were tired, he didn’t hesitate to cancel whatever little plans he had before the show. if the bus ride was long, he made sure you had the most comfortable spot to lie down. if you looked even slightly overwhelmed, his hand was already finding yours.

he listened more carefully than he ever had before.

and he remembered everything.

what foods made the nausea worse. what songs made you emotional lately. which nights your back hurt more than usual. which pillows helped you sleep better.

the first time you realised how serious he was about proving himself came during one of the bigger shows on the tour.

the venue was packed, the biggest crowd yet. you were standing side stage watching him, wrapped in one of his jackets because the backstage air was freezing. the energy in the room was electric. thousands of people singing, lights everywhere, his voice carrying across the whole space.

during the middle of the set he glanced over at you like he always did.

but this time he paused for just half a second.

then he smiled, not the stage smile he gave the crowd, but the softer one that was just for you, and tapped his chest twice before pointing toward you.

a small gesture.

barely noticeable to anyone else.

but you knew what it meant.

you’re my priority.

later that night, when he came off stage sweaty and breathless, the first thing he did wasn’t talk about the show.

he walked straight to you, cupped your face gently, and asked, “you okay? was it too loud?”

that was the moment something shifted inside you.

because he meant it.

he wasn’t performing it. he wasn’t trying to make up for something temporarily. this was just… who he had decided to be for you now.

and he never slipped.

not once.

even when the tour got exhausting. even when the travel was chaotic and the schedule was tight and the pressure on him was huge.

if anything, the harder things got for him, the more protective he became of you.

when your bump finally started to show, he became even worse in the best possible way.

he looked at you differently.

like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

sometimes you’d catch him staring when he thought you weren’t paying attention. his eyes would soften immediately when they landed on the curve of your stomach, like something inside him melted every single time.

one afternoon on the bus you were sitting sideways on the couch reading, one of his hoodies stretched gently over your bump.

joe had been across the aisle talking to one of the guys, but the conversation slowly died because he kept glancing at you.

finally you looked up.

“what?”

he blinked like he’d been caught.

“nothing.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’ve been staring at me for like five minutes.”

he laughed under his breath and rubbed his neck.

“i just… can’t get over it.”

“over what?”

he walked over and sat beside you, his hand immediately resting over your stomach like it belonged there.

“that’s ours” he said quietly.

you felt your chest warm.

he shook his head slightly, still looking down at your bump like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“i swear every time i see you like this it hits me all over again.”

you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “you’re so dramatic.”

“no,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of your stomach through the hoodie. “i’m just really fucking lucky.”

and that was the moment you realised the doubt was gone.

completely.

not because he had said the right things, though he had, but because every single day since that night he had chosen you again.

in the way he held you.

in the way he protected you.

in the way he looked at you like you were carrying the most important thing in the world.

you didn’t question him anymore.

you just leaned back into him, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his hand spread gently over your stomach.

and when he kissed the side of your head and whispered, “my baby's” like it was the most natural thing in the world…

you believed him completely.

-

the last few weeks of tour had been getting harder for you.

at first you’d insisted you were fine, that you could still travel, still sit side stage, still go out after shows with everyone like you always had. but by the time your bump had properly started showing, everything just felt heavier. your back ached more, you were tired all the time, and joe noticed every tiny shift in you long before you said anything.

so when tour finally wrapped, he didn’t even hesitate.

a handful of appearances, interviews, and random commitments had been lined up for the next few months, but joe cancelled the ones that weren’t important without a second thought. he told his team he was going home with you. that was it. no long discussion.

and suddenly the two of you were back home with nowhere to rush to.

at first you almost didn’t know what to do with the quiet.

tour life had been constant movement, but now mornings were slow. joe would wake up before you, make coffee, then come back upstairs just to sit beside you while you slept a little longer.

and he still wouldn’t let you lift a finger.

if you even tried to do something, he was there.

“i can get that” he’d say immediately.

“joe, it’s literally a glass of water.”

“and i can still get it.”

it became a running joke between you. sometimes you’d deliberately stand up just to see how quickly he’d appear.

most of the time it took less than ten seconds.

but the biggest change wasn’t even that.

it was the way he looked at you.

one afternoon you were standing in the bedroom mirror, turning slightly to the side, studying your reflection. your bump had gotten a lot more obvious recently, stretching the fabric of the oversized shirt you were wearing.

you rested a hand under it without really thinking.

joe had walked in quietly behind you and stopped in the doorway.

he didn’t say anything for a second.

you caught his reflection in the mirror, staring.

“…what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he stepped closer slowly, like he was still processing what he was seeing.

“nothing, he murmured, though he was very obviously looking.

you laughed softly. “you’ve been staring at me like that for weeks.”

“can you blame me?” he said.

you turned slightly to face him. “a little, yeah.”

joe’s hands came to your waist, sliding gently around to rest against your stomach. he looked down at it like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

there was this softness in his expression that had become familiar lately, something proud, something awed.

“you look…” he paused.

you tilted your head. “what?”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding ridiculous.

“…you look really hot.”

you burst out laughing.

“joe!”

“i’m serious,” he insisted, though he was smiling now too. “it’s not even just… the pregnancy. well- it is, but-”

“great recovery.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, trying again.

“it’s just… seeing you like this,” he said more quietly. “knowing it’s ours. yours and mine.”

his hand moved slightly over the curve of your bump as he spoke, almost absentmindedly.

you studied his face for a moment before smirking.

“…it turns you on.”

joe froze.

“…what?”

you crossed your arms, clearly amused now.

“it does.”

“that’s not-”

“joe.”

he opened his mouth to argue, then stopped, realising he’d been caught immediately.

you grinned.

“i can literally see it happen.”

“oh my god” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

you started laughing again.

“i’m sorry,” you said between laughs. “it’s just funny. every time you start staring at me like i’ve suddenly become the most fascinating thing on earth.”

“you are the most fascinating thing on earth” he said automatically.

you softened a little at that, even though you were still smiling.

joe looked down again at your stomach, his hand resting there gently.

“…can you blame me though?” he said after a moment. “look at you.”

his thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of your shirt.

“you’re carrying our baby.”

the way he said it made your chest warm.

you slid your arms around his shoulders.

“you were obsessed with me before this,” you pointed out.

joe looked back up at you with a crooked smile.

“yeah,” he admitted. “thought that was the peak.”

his hand moved again over your bump.

“…turns out i was wrong.”

you shook your head fondly.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love it.”

“…unfortunately.”

he leaned down and kissed you softly, one hand still resting protectively over your stomach like it belonged there now.

and honestly?

you didn’t mind the obsession one bit.

-

the months leading up to the birth passed in a strange blur.

some days felt slow and heavy, especially toward the end when moving around got harder and you were constantly tired. other days seemed to disappear before you even noticed them. joe stayed home with you for most of it, only leaving when he absolutely had to, and even then he never stayed away long.

and one thing the two of you had been firm about from the beginning was the gender.

you didn’t want to know.

everyone had asked, friends, family, even the doctors, but you and joe had decided early on that you wanted the surprise.

it drove people crazy.

“you’re seriously waiting?” one of your friends had asked during dinner.

joe just shrugged beside you.

“seems more fun.”

so the months passed with everyone guessing.

joe would sometimes rest his hand on your stomach and speak to the baby like they could already hear him.

“i think you’re a boy” he’d say confidently.

“you said girl yesterday” you pointed out.

“…i’m covering both possibilities.”

“very brave of you.”

truthfully though, neither of you cared which it was.

you just wanted them healthy.

by the time your due date arrived you were more than ready.

joe had been calm through most of the pregnancy, but the moment you told him your contractions had started he turned into a completely different person.

suddenly he was pacing.

double checking the hospital bag.

checking the car.

checking the bag again.

“jo,” you said between contractions, watching him rush around the room.

“yeah?”

“…you’re panicking.”

“i am not panicking.”

he was absolutely panicking.

but somehow he pulled himself together enough to get you to the hospital, staying beside you the entire time. he barely left your side through the whole process, holding your hand, rubbing your back, whispering encouragement when things got harder.

and when it was finally over, when the crying filled the room and the doctor lifted the baby-

everything seemed to go quiet for a second.

“do you want to see?” the doctor asked gently.

joe was gripping your hand so tightly you could feel it shaking.

they turned the baby slightly so you could both see.

“…it’s a girl.”

for a moment you just stared.

a girl.

your daughter.

you felt tears immediately blur your vision, exhaustion and relief and happiness all crashing together at once.

but then you heard something beside you.

a very obvious sniff.

you turned your head slightly and saw joe standing there, looking completely stunned.

and crying.

not just a little either.

actual snotty tears running down his face as he stared at the tiny baby the nurse was wrapping up.

you laughed weakly, still breathless.

“…joe.”

he didn’t even look away.

“yeah?”

“i think you’re crying more than me.”

that finally broke his focus enough for him to glance down at you.

he wiped at his face quickly, though it was pretty pointless.

“no i’m not.”

you gave him a look.

“…you absolutely are.”

he let out a shaky laugh, clearly too overwhelmed to even argue properly.

“can you blame me?” he said quietly.

a moment later the nurse carefully placed the baby in your arms.

joe leaned closer immediately, like he couldn’t help himself.

the way he looked at the two of you then was something you’d never forget.

complete awe.

like he couldn’t quite believe either of you were real.

his hand rested gently against your daughter’s tiny head, his other still holding yours.

“…she’s perfect” he whispered.

you looked down at the tiny face bundled against your chest, then back up at him.

joe was still staring, eyes soft, clearly emotional in a way you’d never seen before.

“…we made her” he murmured, almost to himself.

you smiled tiredly.

“yeah.”

he shook his head slightly, still in disbelief.

then he leaned down and kissed your forehead gently before looking back at your daughter again.

and honestly?

you weren’t sure which one of you he was more in awe of.

-

the first year with your daughter was messy and exhausting and beautiful in a way neither of you had been prepared for.

the first few weeks were mostly a blur of sleepless nights and quiet mornings where the two of you sat on the couch looking like you’d both been hit by a truck. she cried a lot at first, not in a bad way, just in the normal new baby trying to figure out the world way, and there were nights where the clock would say 3:14 a.m. and joe would be pacing the living room with her against his chest while you watched from the couch wrapped in a blanket, both of you half delirious from lack of sleep.

sometimes you’d laugh about it.

“do you think she knows what sleep is?” you mumbled once.

joe looked down at the tiny baby resting against his shoulder.

“…think she’s against it on principle.”

there were also nights where one of you would start crying right along with her.

once around four in the morning you found joe sitting on the edge of the bed holding her, gently rocking back and forth while she fussed. his hair was sticking up in every direction, he looked exhausted, and he was quietly whispering nonsense to her.

“hey, hey… it’s okay… we’re figuring it out together, kid.”

you stood in the doorway watching for a moment before softly saying his name.

he looked up at you with tired eyes.

“…are we doing this wrong?” he asked quietly.

your chest squeezed a little.

because the truth was sometimes you wondered the same thing.

but you crossed the room and sat beside him anyway, resting your head against his shoulder.

“i don’t think there’s a right way,” you said softly. “i think we’re just… doing our best.”

he nodded slowly, still rocking your daughter.

“…she’s lucky the,” he murmured.

the thing that became obvious almost immediately though was that joe was absolutely gone for her.

completely.

utterly.

hopelessly.

a girl dad in the most obvious way possible.

the first time she wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his, joe had looked like someone had just handed him the entire universe.

“did you see that?” he whispered like it was the most incredible thing that had ever happened.

“she grabbed your finger” you said, smiling.

“yeah but she chose to.”

“joe, she’s a baby.”

“still counts.”

as she got older it only got worse.

he’d carry her around the apartment constantly, talking to her like she was already part of full conversations.

“so i’m thinking pasta for dinner tonight,” he’d say while she sat on his hip. “what do you think?”

she’d just blink at him.

“strong opinion. like it.”

sometimes you’d just sit there watching them, feeling your chest swell with something warm and overwhelming.

and somehow your daughter didn’t just become the centre of your lives, she pulled the two of you closer together too.

if that was even possible.

joe was still just as in love with you as he had always been, maybe even more now. you’d catch him looking at you when you were holding her, when you were half asleep in the rocking chair, when you were laughing at something stupid she’d done.

like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

and you felt the same way about him.

especially during the quiet moments when the three of you were together and the world outside your little family felt far away.

there were milestones that felt huge at the time.

her first smile.

her first laugh.

the first time she said something that almost sounded like “dad,” which joe insisted counted immediately.

and suddenly the months had passed.

before you really realized it, you were planning her first birthday.

it wasn’t anything huge, just close friends and family, a small cake, your daughter mostly playing with the wrapping paper instead of the actual gifts.

but it was perfect.

by the time everyone had left and the apartment was quiet again, she had finally fallen asleep after an extremely exciting day.

you and joe were sitting on the couch together in the dim living room, the baby monitor resting on the table nearby.

the house felt strangely calm.

for a while neither of you said anything.

you were leaning against his chest, his arm wrapped around you while he gently rubbed your arm absentmindedly.

“…she’s one” you said quietly after a while.

joe let out a small breath, almost like a laugh but softer.

“i know.”

it was quiet again for a moment.

you could feel something emotional building in your chest, not sad exactly, just overwhelming. the kind of feeling that made your eyes sting a little.

joe shifted slightly beside you.

“…hey” he murmured.

“yeah?”

his voice was softer now.

“…i’m sorry.”

you frowned slightly and leaned back enough to look up at him.

“for what?”

he hesitated.

“…for the beginning,” he said quietly. “when you told me.”

it took you a second to realise what he meant.

that night.

the couch.

him walking out.

your expression softened immediately.

“joe-”

“no, let me say it,” he said gently.

his arm tightened around you a little.

“…i was a dick,” he admitted. “i panicked and i made it about everything else instead of you when you needed me the most.”

you shook your head slightly.

“we’ve talked about this.”

“i know,” he said. “but still.”

his voice dropped even quieter.

“…you and her are the best things in my life,” he said. “the best things that ever happened to me. and you always will be.”

your eyes stung a little more now.

you leaned forward and pressed your forehead lightly against his.

“you’ve made up for that night about a million times over” you murmured.

joe smiled faintly, kissing the side of your head.

“…still gonna spend the rest of my life trying.”

you laughed softly through the emotion, curling closer into him while his arms wrapped around you again.

the baby monitor crackled quietly on the table.

the apartment was warm and peaceful.

and as joe rested his chin on top of your head, holding you like he always did now, both of you knew the same thing without needing to say it.

you might not have known what you were doing that first night.

but somehow, together, you’d figured it out.

____

@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729@teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu@b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1@songkangslvr @keerymylove@foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @1011008

[keeryspullman]

Hiii first of all I love your page and your writing so much!! I’m a huge Joe fan he’s so amazingly talented with his music and every role he plays. Gator might have been one of his best performances I have to say BUT I fear that a lot of fans do forget that Gator is a very racist guy (there’s the scene in his room with the confederate flag on his wall) and misogynistic as well. It kind of rubs me the wrong way to see some fans thirsting over this specific character just because it’s Joe. I just want to make sure that people are aware of those facts even if it’s fictional… I’ve been hesitating to talk about this for a while even though I am not even a POC myself, but I feel like it would be insensitive to not acknowledge the fans that are and might feel uncomfortable seeing fics and edits about a racist character and wonder if they’re safe in this fandom you know what I mean?? Like those this make sense?? Xx

The anti Gator crusaders have found me 😟

I opened my inbox and thought I was about to find a new Gator request. Then, I started reading and… there’s so much to unpack here.

You are responsible for your own comfort. People should not have to adapt their work to fit your specific wants and comfort level. If you don’t like a certain type of content and/or it makes you feel uncomfortable, block the tag! It’s so simple and I know for a fact that it works effectively on Tumblr and Tiktok (I’m not sure about Twitter because that app scares me. So to everyone complaining that people are posting about Gator, ignore it! Block the tag! It’s so fucking simple.

You also acknowledge that Gator is fictional yet you don’t seem to understand what that actually means. “Gator is a very racist guy”, yeah but he’s not real. Obviously racism and misogyny are real issues, but no one was harmed by Gator’s actions because they didn’t actually happen. People aren’t romanticizing or defending those actions or issues either. Noah Hawley wrote it into a script, then Joe Keery performed the role. The show condemns those values in real life by satirizing them in a fictional environment.

People in the fandom are very aware of Gator’s racism and misogyny as well. In all the fics I’ve seen that address those topics, they always include it in the warnings and work through those beliefs in the fic. Hard topics shouldn’t be ignored because they’re bad, they’re allowed to be written about and explored. Especially since Gator is such a complex character and the source of those beliefs is something that needs to be broken down.

This entire ask just feels performative. From the oh I love your blog but I think you shouldn’t write about this topic because it makes people uncomfortable, to the I’m not a POC but what if they feel unsafe because people write fictional works about a fictional character. I’m not a POC either and I would never try to police people’s actions under the guise of “helping” people of color. They can make their own choices and know what makes them feel comfortable without your interference.

To all the Gator writers seeing sentiments like this across social media, just ignore these people. All they want to do is seem like they’re better and more moral than everyone else because they noticed that a character who is written as an antagonist has antagonistic traits. It’s not wrong or insensitive to write for Gator and you shouldn’t sensor yourself for the comfort of people like this. Write what you want!

[snoopysgarden]

sigh i have so many half finished drafts why can’t i FINISH ANYTHING

[swtnerry]

Joe’s moles

you can tell you are obsessed with joe’s moles, and he knows that.

when you’re in bed with joe, your head resting on his chest, your fingers trail slowly across his abdomen. they trace gentle circles around the moles scattered like stars over his skin. he stays focused on whatever show you are watching, yet you can still feel his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm, relaxed under your touch. at night, his breathing gradually softens, his eyes fluttering shut as a subtle smile settles on his lips before he finally falls asleep.

he truly loves your soothing caress sessions, even though he never admits it. every time you go to bed, or before taking a nap, he slips his shirt off without hesitation, already expecting your hands on his skin.

he has the habit of lying on his stomach when he is too tired to find a comfortable position to sleep. so, when you want to wake him from his heavy rest, you scatter small kisses over the tiny dots on his warm, soft skin. he responds with quiet whines and soft sounds of satisfaction, slowly stirring until he finally moves, pulling you closer and pressing a lazy kiss to your lips before getting out of bed.

you take any chance you get to do it.

when the two of you are sprawled on the couch, you take his arm and trace absent-minded lines between the little sparkles.

and during those random, silly conversations, you find yourself pointing at the moles on his face and neck, leaving soft pecks in their place.

“you are not listening to me, this is a serious matter,” he said, holding your chin up so you look at him.

“i am listening, joe — my ears are here,” you replied sarcastically, pointing them out. “it’s not my fault you distract me.”

“also, we are having a conversation about which type of berries are your favorites, and there’s not much to talk about,” you added.

“be serious, frozen berries and natural berries are not the same,” joe said.

“they literally taste the same.”

“they do not!” you laughed because you love to annoy him, and he laughed because he loves when you do it.

and then you continue with your very important activity while he keeps yapping about random things.

really short but i wanted to write abt joe so bad😭

[flashphotograph]

Djooklyn

[underoospeterparker]

wait shy!reader and its like her having her first kiss with Steve!!

Kiss Me

Steve harrington x shy!fem!reader, 1.1k words

a/n: this is so cute!!! I interpreted this as reader's first kiss EVER btw

There are infinitely many things you love about Steve Harrington.

You love the way he gets two straws when he orders a milkshake. You love the face he makes when he's concentrating, tongue poking out just slightly between his teeth. You love his smile. You love the way he always has a hand on you, always has you tucked into his side, which is where you are now, on his couch, watching a film.

But one thing you absolutely don't love is when he gets quiet.

Steve is never quiet. He's always running a commentary of jokes, impressions, and dramatic sighs. Steve filling the silence is like an unalterable fact of the universe, as constant as gravity.

You tilt your head to look up at him, cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his shirt. "Steve?"

He blinks, as if pulled from deep thought, meeting your gaze with soft eyes. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

"You're quiet."

He smiles, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. You feel the scratch of light stubble on your scalp. "I'm just thinking."

"That's dangerous," you deadpan, burrowing into his shirt.

Steve chuckles, burying his face in your hair. "Ha, ha. No, seriously. I have a question."

You pull back just enough to look at him, a flicker of nervous curiosity in your chest. "Okay. Shoot."

He hesitates. His gaze drops to your mouth, lingers there for a heartbeat, then lifts back to your eyes. His thumb drifts up to brush gently at your lower lip. The touch is gentle. You almost forget how to breathe with the way he's looking at you, like he's seeing something precious and entirely new.

"Has anyone ever kissed you before?"

You blink at him, wide-eyed, your lips parting on a soundless inhale. His thumb shifts, abandoning its post on your lip to brush soothingly at your cheekbone.

A knowing smile spreads across his face. It's not cocky, exactly. It lacks the sharp edge of his usual bravado. It's more... knowing. "That a no?"

You manage a tiny, frantic shake of your head.

"Yeah," he breathes. The word is full of a warm, reverent satisfaction. He doesn't sound surprised. "Didn't think so." The hand on your cheek shifts to cup your chin, tilting your head up to look at him with a tenderness that makes your throat ache. "That's 'cause you were waiting for the right person, right?" He murmurs. "You were saving it for someone who'd do it right. Who'd take their time. Make it good for you."

It's not a question, but you nod anyway.

Steve smiles, the smile he keeps reserved for you—soft at the edges, blindingly bright in the middle, crinkling in the corners of his eyes. "Can I be that someone, baby?"

Your breath catches. You can only manage another tiny, hopeful nod.

The sound he makes is soft—like he can't believe you'd actually agree to giving him something this vulnerable. A piece of yourself, a first. "Thank you," he whispers. "C'mere, angel."

He lets go of your chin, and for a dizzying second, you miss the contact. But then both of his big, warm hands slide to your waist. He hoists you up into his lap easily, your legs tucked against the cushions.

One of his arms curls around your lower back, holding you securely against him. The other hand comes up to cradle your jaw again, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"You're shaking," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing hum. His forehead rests against yours. "Don't be scared, baby. It's just me. Just us."

Steve's eyes are so close you can see every fleck of golden brown in the rich hazel. "Just follow me, alright? I'll go slow. Real slow." To demonstrate, he tilts his head a fraction and presses the softest, barely-there kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Like that, see?"

You let out a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding. He smiles against your skin.

"There you go," he whispers. He kisses the other corner. "Just getting you used to it."

Then he brushes his lips against the tip of your nose, making you let out a tiny, startled giggle. The sound seems to make his smile widen.

"Good girl," he murmurs approvingly, his voice thick with warmth. He pulls away just enough to meet your eyes again. "Now, close your eyes for a sec, baby."

You do, lashes fluttering shut. Your fingers tangle in the soft fabric of his sweater.

"Just feel it," he murmurs, right before his lips meet yours.

It's a proper kiss this time, but it's still Steve—which means it's soft. Tentative. Gentle.

His lips move over yours with a patient, coaxing pressure, and when you hesitantly kiss him back, he hums in approval. "Just like that," he breathes against your mouth before reclaiming it. "You're doin' so good, baby. Perfect."

One of his hands drifts up to slide in your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you better. "That's it," he murmurs between kisses. "No rush, honey. We've got all night."

He tastes you slowly, thoroughly, with a reverence that makes your head spin. He explores the shape of your mouth with a lazy curiosity, his own lips curving into a smile against yours when you tentatively stroke your tongue against his.

You're not thinking anymore. You're just feeling. The softness of his sweater, the little humming sounds of pleasure he makes, the way he seems to breathe you in.

He kisses you until you're pliant and boneless against him, until the only points of existence are the places your bodies connect: his mouth on yours, his hand in your hair, his arm like an iron band around your waist, the heat of him seeping through your clothes.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark, soft, and shining with pure, unadulterated wonder. He doesn't go far. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. His breathing is ragged, rough.

For a long moment, he just breathes with you, his thumbs stroking your cheek and your waist. Then, he peppers a dozen soft, fleeting kisses all over your face—on your eyelids, your cheeks, your temples, the shell of your ear, the corner of your smiling mouth.

"See?" He whispers, "told you I'd make it good for you."

He gathers you up in his lap, letting you hide your face in his neck while he rests his chin on the top of your head.

You can officially add one more thing to your never-ending list of things you love about Steve Harrington: the way he kisses you.

[snoopysgarden]

Don't Try So Hard - pt. 12

Summary: Moving from sunny California to Hawkins Indiana was the last thing you wanted to do right before your senior year. With zero intentions of calling this place home, and every intention of leaving as soon as you got your diploma, you didn't see a point in trying to make connections. At least, not until a certain popular boy starts trying to get your attention. part 11

pairing: steve harrington x mayfield! reader

word count: 3k

warnings: swearing, plot inaccuracies, sassy! steve, sassy! reader, kinda angst, mostly unedited

a/n: MOMMYS HOME! sorry for shortly abandoning u all school has drained all motivation out of me. BUT got djame impala tickets today so needless to say feeling inspired again.

—————————————————————————

He didn’t chase after you when you turned your back, a thought that stays with you as you drive away. But yet again why would he? He didn’t owe you anything. And you’re the one who left, you remind yourself. So why did everything feel so uneasy?

You spent the night at Stacy’s before sneaking back home after you knew your Mom and Neil were at work. The runaway look wasn’t exactly good right before New Year's, but they'd survive. You made sure to leave a note at least this time, claiming an extended stay at Stacy’s (a truth you weren’t sure you’d keep). You also saw Max, reassuring her that everything was good. 

You knew your mom needed the car in the morning, so you waited at the house till Stacy was done with her cheer Christmas lunch and could pick you up again. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” Stacy randomly mumbles while the two of you watch TV a while later.

“What?”

“I just mean you’ve been so busy recently, I feel like I never see you anymore,” she chuckles before adding on, “you don't even come to photography a third of the time anymore.” Little to her knowledge, photography class was the only time you could slip away to meet Steve at his car without sacrificing your grade. 

You shrug, “It just is nice to have a second. I got school, the hospital, max, you know the whole thing.”

“And……” Stacy says cheekily, nudging your shoulder. You furrow your brows at her. 

“Oh come on, you’re seriously not gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

She sighs, laying her head on your shoulder, “Fine. Don’t tell me. I just hope he’s attractive at least.”

Your heart basically falls out of your chest as you get whiplash from her words. You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks

“Stacy I-”

“Nope, not talking about it. Just know I'm happy for you.” She pauses, “I’m also reallyyyyyy good at keeping secrets,” she teases. You don’t respond; she doesn’t expect an answer. A surprising sliver of guilt creeps in immediately for not telling Stacy. For as much as she tells you, and for how important she’s become in your life, you really don’t tell her anything. This is why you don’t make friends: you think to yourself, you’re horrible at it.

Being scared of overstaying your welcome, you go and use Stacy’s phone to make a call while she's in the bathroom.

“Hey i’m gonna leave at like 7:30,” You tell her upon her return.

“Oh?”

“I called my house. Billy answered. Said he has to drop off something in the neighborhood anyway. If I walk to his friend's house, he’ll give me a ride.”

She tilts her head, “I really don’t mind driving you babes.”

“No no seriously, don’t sweat it, plus I think we’d both earn some points at home if he’s the one that takes me hope,” you laugh through your breath, playing with your fingernails. 

“Whatever loser,” She says, sitting down again, throwing a granola bar she grabbed for you on her way back. 

—————————————————————————

7:30 arrives, and you find yourself two blocks away from Stacy’s, walking towards a car you know very well. 

“Were the two blocks really necessary?” Steve says as you open the door.

“Hello to you too Harrington.” You buckle your seatbelt, looking down. 

There’s a pause before you go to look up at him. His eyes are already on you. His jaw is tight, you immediately notice, and he turns his head quickly, not letting the eye contact linger.  

The ride back to his house is relatively quiet; a faint Queen song plays on his stereo, one you don’t quite know yet. He opens the front door, letting you walk first as he throws his keys down and turns on the lights. 

He sighs, “Nobody else is home by the way.” 

You nod, walking to the kitchen, “Good to know,” you chuckle awkwardly, grabbing a glass of water. 

“You decorated since last time.”

“Huh?”

You point to the corner of the living room, “Christmas tree?”

“Oh, yeah. Figured better late than never. It’s just a little fake one,” He sits on a barstool, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches your movements. You lean across the counter in front of him, tapping your water glass. You stare at the glass like it has something to say. 

“Thank- “Can we please talk about last night?”

You both talk at the same time. You put your tongue in your cheek as you look up at him, your brain moves faster than your mouth as you try to talk, leading you to pause. You look up at the ceiling. 

He stutters before continuing, “I just- Did it do something wrong?”

His words shock you and your eyes snap down at him in confusion. “What? Why would you think that?” 

“You freaked out on me last night. How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

“It wasn’t about you.” You snap out faster than intended. He looks at you confused.

“It wasn’t-” you pause, “It had nothing to do with you.” 

He doesn’t respond right away. He just keeps looking at you.

“I Uh-” you pause again. Fuck this was hard. “You know what? It’s not important. I was just being dramatic”, you breathe out, “ And I guess I got scared,” you mumbled out. 

“Scared?”

“Fuck can we not talk about this anymore please?” you nervously laugh.

He pauses before nodding slowly, eyes still locked on you. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“What are you gonna cook for me or something?” you joke. 

He’s completely serious. 

“No way you know how to cook.”

He gets up from his seat with a smile, “Offended.” He walks into the kitchen, opening a cabinet. “Do you like pasta?”

“What do you have an apron and everything?”

“You are such a little bitch,” he laughs, “Pasta yes or no.”

“Sure whatever,” you go to grab the tv remote and sit on the couch, “Thanks I guess.”

“You and your sister are so much alike.” The words cling to you and catch somewhere in your chest. You don’t quite know how to process them.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you finally respond.

He lets out a breathy laugh while filling up a pot of water, “You very much should.”

The rest of the night passes by, and it doesn’t take long after dinner for you to end up where you always do, tangled up in his sheets. 

—————————————————————————

 The next morning, you’re wrapped in a blanket against his headboard fidgeting with a Rubik’s Cube when he comes in the room.

“Where the fuck did you even find that?” He turns his head with a laugh and hands you a cup of water. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed and chucks a Hershey bar from his pocket at you. “Found this too.” 

You flinch before catching it, “You couldn’t have brought an apple or something?” You laugh. 

“I haven’t exactly gone grocery shopping. My parents were supposed to be home yesterday, but plans changed I guess. I can make us breakfast or something if you really want.” He reaches for his nightstand to grab the TV remote and changes positions to plop next to you on the pillows. He scooches himself close enough to be able to rub mindless circles on your forearm. You go to put your water on the nightstand, wincing at the movement.

“You okay?” He asks.

You half- laugh and sigh, “I’m fucking sore you asshole.”

“Right…” He takes a second to think before he jokingly puts his hand up for a high five with a grin.

You don’t respond to him, yanking the tv remote from his hand and turning it on.

“Oh come on, humor me a little.” 

You roll your eyes and click through channels, landing on one playing A Charlie Brown Christmas. “You’ve done better.”

He elbows you gently and lets out a breathy laugh.  He looks at the TV and raises his eyebrows, “Charlie Brown?”

“What,” you say defensively.

He shrugs, “Seems a little too soft for you, that's all,” as he shifts to lay his head on your shoulder. 

You lightly flick his forehead and his eyes look up at yours.

“You really are all bark no bite,” he taunts

“I do bite,” you fight back.

“You nibble maybe,” he looks back at the TV. 

You roll your eyes with a huff, shifting in your spot. “Can you drive me home soon?”

“Suddenly we’re in a rush to get home?”

“I have to get my car, I have things to do today. Or at least try and get my car,” you take a piece of the Hershey bar, “I might have to drag Stacy with me.”

“Well why don’t I just drive you?” He says it as if it’s second nature. Like it’s obvious. It sends a sting down your back. 

You sigh, “I have to go to the mall and get gifts. It will take a while.”

“Perfect, so do I actually.” His persistence makes your stomach turn.

“Steve.”

“I’m just offering,” he throws a hand up, “it makes no sense to drive you home just so you can maybe drive yourself when I have to go anyway. I’ve been putting it off for like weeks.”

You rack your brain for excuses: “I don’t have a shirt, I spilled sauce on mine last night, I don't wanna wear it again.” It wasn’t a lie- you really did spill on it. 

“Oh I put it in the wash after you fell asleep. I didn't want it to stain.” 

You rub your face, lingering to cover your eyes. “Fine. We can go to the mall.”

He gets up and stretches, his shirt lifting up enough to see his lower stomach. You can’t help but stare. “Perfect,” he says mid-stretch, “A friendly hangout at the mall,” he’s almost taunting you. Maybe this was a horrible decision. 

—————————————————————————

You sit angled towards the car window the entire drive over. Steve rambles over the stereo, talking mostly about basketball (and other things you really didn’t pay attention to), before he gently swats your hand, “Are you alive?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“Right. Right.” His fingers begin to tap on the steering wheel as he bites back what to say next. 

“What,” you respond after a second. 

He shakes his head. “Nothin.”

You agree as if it makes any sense. 

You pull up and walk in. 

“So where to first?” He barely finishes his sentence before you’re walking already, leaving him to follow behind. “Can you slow down?”

You don’t answer, walking until you reach the sports store. 

“Hello?” Steve says out of confusion as he follows behind you into the store, “Why are we here?”

“Max,” you turn to him, saying it as if he’s stupid enough to even ask in the first place. 

It takes him a second as he turns his head to think.

“Wait, are you getting her a new board?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?”

He leans against one of the shelves, just watching you. He lets you look in silence. 

“I was hoping she’d ask for one; her one now is so beat up,” he says more to himself than to you.

“You really need to stop hanging out with my sister so much.”

“I’ve told you I just give them rides and stuff. It’s because of Dustin, really.”

“And I’ve told you that I don’t really believe that. Not fully, at least.”

His posture straightens, and he doesn’t answer. He notices you meticulously checking the price tags on all of them. “Any keepers?” he moves to look next to you, your shoulders brushing. You pull away. “Can’t decide. This is the one Max showed me but I can’t pick what color wheels.”

“I think she deserves a better one than that no? That thing is like her child. Look at this one,” He points to another one. There’s no doubt that one is way better quality, but with that came the higher price tag. Your breath hitches and you cross your arms, “yeah, that one is nice.” You say dryly. 

There’s a pause.

“Let me pay for it.”

Your whole body jolts back from him before you can think, “Oh fuck off.”

He furrows his eyebrows with his mouth agape. 

“You think I can’t buy my own sister something? I’m not a fucking charity case.”

He sighs, running a hand nervously through his hair as he panics, “You know that’s not what I meant. Fuck I didn’t mean it like that.”

You don’t reply.

“I’m not trying to do charity.”

“We don’t need favors.”

“Can you not take this so fucking personally? I’m just trying to be nice to my friends okay? Friends. Plural. 

When you don’t reply he sighs again, trying to find the right words. 

“Can you let me split it with you then? It can be a joint gift that only you take credit for. That way I could get her something without having to get something for all of them,” he nervously laughs. 

“So you’d only get a gift for my sister. See. Creepy.”

“Can you just say yes?”

You pause again, an uneasy feeling beginning to make you nauseous. You hate this, but he had a point. She did deserve better. You just wish better didn’t mean having to elicit the help of Steve fucking Harrington. “Okay we can split it,” your ego stings the minute the words come out of your mouth. 

“Thank you,” he says cheekily. You roll your eyes and hit him on the shoulder. 

As you’re walking out of the store when you spot something out of the corner of your eye. Cheerleaders. You couldn't remember their names, but you vividly remembered being introduced to them before. Several times probably. 

“You have to be kidding me.” You yank Steve to a table and sit, putting your shopping bags up as a barrier to cover your faces. He looks up in that direction before you slap his hand. 

“This is over Tiffany, Bella, and Sammy?” He asks.

“Well yeah.”

“Is it that horrible to be seen with me?”

“You know what’s gonna happen if they see us together. Out. Not at school. Not at a party. Willingly hanging out.”

“Well we are willingly hanging out.”

“Yeah and if the town fucking gossips see us what the fuck do you think they’re gonna say? Aw, so nice to see bonding happening between Steve Harrington and this random girl.” You ramble and he laughs. 

“You are not a random girl.”

You tilt your head at him, blinking slowly.

“What? People know who you are. They talk about you. You’re not as mysterious as your ego likes you to think.” His words are intended to be playful, but all they do is make your heart race. They talk about you. 

You try and shake it off, waiting for the girls to head into another store before getting up. 

The next hour or so passes like that. He stops at a jewelry store for his mom, you grab smoothies from the food court, and now you’re picking through random trinkets for your friends while Steve wanders somewhere on the other side of a store.

You move to look at necklaces when you hear Steve’s voice at the front of the store. You crook your neck to see who he’s talking to and you’re met with the long red hair of Tiffany Wright. She looks perfect, as always. Hair perfectly curled, makeup done, and jeans that are doing her a load of favors. You feel a lump in your throat. Why is he talking to her? Why is this bothering you? 

You ignore and keep looking, unconsciously trying to get closer and hear their conversation. 

“…No, you should totally come out with us this weekend,” she says, laughing lightly. “It’s been boring without you.”

You pick a necklace up, turning it between your fingers like you’re actually interested in it. People get invited places all the time. It’s normal. He has lots of friends. You knew that already.

“I know, I know,” he replies back, “The guys have been bothering me too. I just need to make some time you know?”

You see her weight shift closer to him out of the corner of your eye. “Think you could make some time for me soon?” God, this is stupid. Worst part? He plays along. He moves closer.

“Yeah, I’m sure when basketball’s over I won’t be as busy.” As he finishes his sentence, she reaches up, fixing something in his hair. “Sorry, your hair’s doing something weird.”

Your jaw tightens, and you quickly go to check out your items. You walk past their conversation to leave, walking behind Tiffany and avoiding eye contact with Steve. You lean over the second-floor balcony a few stores down and try and rationalize your reaction. You just didn’t want Tiffany to see you guys. That’s all that was. It doesn’t take long for Steve to follow you out, “Hey sorry I didn’t know you were done.” 

“Yeah. I am.” You say dryly.

“Do you need to go anywhere else?”

“No. You?”

“Nope, I think I'm good too.” Steve rolls his shoulders back, his demeanor changing to match yours, “Let me go to the bathroom and then we can leave?”

“Sounds fine.”

“Okay,” he clears his throat before walking away.

“So this is where I finally find you,” you hear from beside you as you watch a group of toddlers play.

Your stomach drops before you even turn around. Of course.

You turn anyway. “Hey, Becca.”

—————————————————————————

part 13

taglist: @emngray @fallautum @teheabrams @darling-eos @salvatt1 @steve-4-life @happiness2014 @not55named @wifeyofeveryone @meowieees @spenceatiny18 @emmal0129 @burningfudge @a-dal7490 @stilinskisensation @wishingforwonderland @emmaturtle48 @idontread4

[andrewgarfieldlovr]

never falling for the steve harrington ab propaganda.

[snoopysgarden]

"It's Just a Headache"

Summary: Steve's never been good at letting others take care of him, even if it's by his favorite girl in the world.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

A/N: this is a completely self-indulgent fluff blurb i just needed a break from writing angst lol

You first noticed it in the way his attention drifted from the TV, slightly furrowing his eyebrows. One thing about Steve Harrington is that he will never admit to himself how bad of a problem his migraines are.

They started senior year of high school, but had only gotten worse the longer he dealt with all of the stuff with the Upside Down. He had told you little parts of the story here and there but most of what you knew was from Robin and Dustin. No matter what story he told you, you could tell by the scars littering his body and the way he shook in his sleep it was worse than he led on.

That’s why it was so important to you to help him when he was hurting: mentally or physically. You couldn’t take the pain away, but you sure as hell could love him through it.

You walked from the kitchen over to the side table and took the remote to turn the TV down, earning a confused look from Steve.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

“The what thing?”

“The ‘I’m getting a migraine and I’m too stubborn to admit it’ thing.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, unconsciously starting to rub his temple. “I don’t get migraines, it’s just a little headache.”

“Mhm,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Do you want some Tylenol?”

He shakes his head and averts his gaze from you, “It’s really not even that bad.”

You pause before flickering the lamp next to him on for a second, causing him to wince with a quiet hiss.

You raise your eyebrows at him before going to rummage in the hall closet.

“That didn’t prove anything, you just startled me.”

You ignore him and place a pile of things on the coffee table.

“Baby you don’t have to make this a thing.”

You shush him.

“Baby. It’s fine,” he reaches back from the couch to catch your wrist as you walk towards the kitchen. You can see the tension in his face growing — especially his jaw.

“Steven,” you say, making direct eye contact with him before pulling your arm away. You can see in his forehead the amount of tension in his face.

“Jeez you don’t have to full name me.” He chuckles, leaning his head back into the couch cushion.

You come back with a glass of water, ice pack, and some Tylenol, turning the kitchen light off so it’s just you guys and the flicker of the TV.

“Is the TV too bright?”

“Baby please,” he wraps his hand around your hip, pulling you down towards him, and you land with one knee on the couch facing him. You give him the pills in one hand and reach around to put the ice pack on his neck with the other. Your hand trails forward, resting at the base of his neck.

You tilt your head and look at him sweetly as your thumb rubs circles on his jaw. With your other hand you grab the pills on the table, putting them on your open palm as you playfully pull down his jaw. He rolls his eyes before taking the water from the table and swallowing the pills, throwing his head back with another wince.

“I really don’t need all of this.” He says weakly, his eyes looking dizzy. They follow you as you get up, his hand reluctantly letting go of your hip.

“Yeah yeah,” you tease as you pull the pile from the table and you lay down on the chaise side of the couch. You toss him a blanket and grab his hand, periodically squeezing to check in as you watch TV.

It doesn’t take long before he scoots closer and lays his head on your shoulder. A tear breaks free from his eye.

“Can you hold me?” He mumbles with his eyes screwed shut. You can’t help but smile at his words despite the pain behind them. You put a pillow on your lap and pull his arm gently until he gets the hint to lay down. He quickly wraps his hands around your waist with a loud sigh, his body finally relaxing a bit. You adjust the ice pack on his neck and move the blanket to cover him before moving your hand up the back of his shirt to trace your fingernails along his back. It doesn’t take long for him to doze off.

He awakes hazily a little later. You notice his eyes flicker and you move his hair out of his face to kiss his forehead, raking your fingers down his scalp. In return, he grabs your arm that’s on your lap and kisses your hand. Then your wrist. Then your forearm. He adjusts himself to kiss up your arm until he reaches your neck, and eventually your lips. He jokingly kisses the corner of your lip, making you laugh as you pull him in for a real kiss.

“Feeling better?” You ask before he can peck your lips again.

He moves down to lay his head on your chest and looks up in adoration. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”

[snoopysgarden]

this is getting so many likes??? feeling #blessed this lowk might be enough to get me out of my writing slump

[colouredbyd]

mine, all mine

steve harrington x reader

synopsis: you’re not exactly thrilled when you find out the new teacher has been flirting with your man — especially since steve conveniently forgot to mention he has a girlfriend. so when valentine’s day rolls around and she gets a little too bold, you decide to give steve something sweet… and a reminder he won’t forget.

wc: 5.1k

tags: post season 5, coach steve, jealous reader, reader in control, possessiveness, smut, riding, vaginal sex, oral sex, dirty talk, dom/sub elements, switching, teasing, overstimulation, edging, begging, whining, spanking, sexual frustration, orgasm denial, flirtation/jealousy play, steve whimpers, teasing, praise kink, verbal dominance, hair pulling, light restraint, porn with plot, i know this seems kinky but i swear the fic is so fluffy too guys.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know your boyfriend had admirers. You weren’t delusional.

Steve Harrington was, objectively, unfairly attractive. It wasn’t just the hair, though that certainly did him favors. It was the way he carried himself, easy and open, full of confidence and warmth. He was charming without trying to be, attentive without realizing it, and that combination had a very predictable effect on the general population of women within a ten mile radius.

You had never doubted him. Three years together had you trusting your boyfriend blindly; so really, trust was not the issue.

Irritation, however, absolutely was.

You had stopped by Hawkins High on your lunch break, meaning to surprise him with coffee and maybe steal a few minutes of his time before his next class. Instead, you walked into the front hallway and were met with the sight of a woman you had never seen before standing far too close to your boyfriend.

Valeria. You learned her name quickly.

She was the new art teacher, someone had mentioned that earlier in the week. Mid twenties, glossy blonde hair, blouse a little tighter than necessary for a school setting. She laughed at something Steve said and placed a hand on his arm as though she had every right to be there.

And Steve, because he was Steve, stood there nodding politely, completely oblivious to her very clear flirting.

“I just keep getting turned around,” she was saying, voice pitched high and airy. “It’s my first week and this building is so confusing.” 

Steve shifted his weight, gesturing down the hall. “Oh yeah, no, it’s kinda like a maze at first. The restrooms are just past the trophy cases, big blue sign, can’t miss it.”

You stared at the enormous RESTROOMS sign hanging from the ceiling less than twenty feet away.

Who the fuck needed a personal escort to a bathroom that was clearly labeled in bold block letters? Apparently this blonde bimbo.

Valeria leaned in a little closer. “I’m just so bad with directions, you know? Maybe you could show me? I wouldn’t want to get lost again.” she batted her lashes at him. 

Her commitment was almost impressive.

You stepped forward then, heels clicking against the tile, and that was when she noticed you. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, noticing you approaching Steve. Her hand slipped from Steve’s arm like she had suddenly remembered boundaries existed.

Steve, on the other hand, lit up.

His whole face changed the second he saw you. Shoulders straightening, mouth breaking into that wide, unfiltered grin he never bothered to hide around you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said immediately, already moving toward you. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Just like that, Valeria ceased to exist.

You held up the coffee in your hand. “Thought you might need this.”

His expression softened in a way that made your irritation flicker, then stubbornly linger. He took the cup from you but leaned in first, pressing a quick kiss to your temple without a single ounce of hesitation.

“God, you’re the best,” he murmured, like it was a fact he had only just rediscovered.

Behind him, Valeria cleared her throat.

Steve blinked, as if remembering there was a third person standing there at all. “Oh, uh, right. This is…” He trailed off, genuinely struggling to recall her name. How fucking halirious.

“Valeria,” she supplied tightly.

“Right. Valeria. She’s the new art teacher. I was just showin’ her where stuff is.”

You offered her a polite smile that did not reach your eyes. “That’s sweet of him. He’s very helpful.”

Valeria’s gaze flickered between you and the hand resting comfortably at your lower back, his thumb brushing there absentmindedly like it belonged. The shift in his posture was immediate. He was angled toward you now, shoulders open, attention locked in, like the hallway and everyone in it had faded to background noise.

Her lips thinned.

“Well,” she said, voice clipped in a way that tried to pass for breezy. “I think I can find the restroom on my own.”

“Yeah,” you replied, sweetness sharpened at the edges. “It’s right there.”

She followed your pointed look toward the enormous blue sign hanging from the ceiling. For a split second she looked embarrassed. Then she smoothed it over with a tight smile.

“Right. Of course. Thanks, Steve.”

“Mhm,” he said vaguely, already looking at you. “You good?”

You waited until she was fully out of earshot before letting your expression shift. You watched her disappear around the corner, then slowly turned your head toward him.

“You’re very helpful, huh?”

He frowned, genuinely confused. “What? I was just bein’ nice. She looked lost.”

You crossed your arms, still holding his coffee hostage. “Do you normally escort grown women to clearly labeled bathrooms, or is that a new service Hawkins High offers?”

His expression shifted, and then slowly, teasingly, a grin started to form. “Aww. So that’s what this is about.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling in that infuriating way. “Are you jealous, baby?”

You smacked his arm.

“Oww!” he laughed, rubbing the spot dramatically. “That was uncalled for.”

“She was clearly flirting with you.”

“What? No she wasn’t.”

You gaped at him. “Steve.”

“She was askin’ for directions and trying to find her way.”

You scoffed with an eyeroll. “Yeah, her way into your fucking pants.”

“Hey!” His head whipped around instinctively, scanning the hallway. “Lower your voice, woman. I teach kids here.”

You gasped, offended. “Oh, so I can’t say that, but she can give you the fuck me eyes in front of students?”

He bit down on a smile and failed miserably. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it.

“You think this is funny?” you demanded.

“A little,” he admitted, eyes softening. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous.” you scoffed, trying to step back, but he caught your wrist gently and pulled you closer again. His teasing expression faded into something more sincere.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even realize she was doin’ that. Swear to God.”

You studied his face. There wasn’t a hint of dishonesty there. Just confusion and a little bit of amusement.

“She was flirting,” you insisted, though your tone had lost some of its bite.

“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Then I’ll tell her I’ve got a girlfriend. Gladly and happily taken.” His mouth curved. 

You huffed, but you leaned into him anyway. “She’s just really annoying.” 

He laughed again, kissing your cheek before stepping back toward his classroom. “There’s nobody I’m lookin’ at but you. ‘Kay?”

****

Valentine’s Day has always belonged to Steve.

Three years in, and somehow he still manages to make it feel new. You have never once had to plan a thing. Last year he blindfolded you the second you stepped outside your apartment, drove you halfway across town with one hand on the wheel and the other squeezing yours, and revealed a rooftop picnic he had somehow pulled together in the middle of February. 

There were fairy lights strung up along the railing, takeout from that little Italian place you love, a portable radio playing your favorite songs, and a box of handwritten notes he claimed he had been working on for weeks.

So yes, you are used to being surprised.

But this year feels different.

For the past week he has been… twitchy. Distracted in a way that is almost endearing. You have caught him staring at you like he is trying to memorize something, only to immediately look away when you ask what is wrong. 

It has to be something big.

The days blur together when you’re lounging around your apartment, the quiet settling in like a heavy blanket. Life in Hawkins is slower nowadays somehow, and with Steve back from winter league tryouts and coaching at Hawkins High, the evenings stretch long without much to break them up. 

You are currently perched at your vanity, trying to decide if your hair looks better down or half pinned back, when the front door swings open with that familiar creak.

“Hey, baby,” his voice calls out.

You glance toward the hallway mirror and smooth your dress down your hips before stepping out to meet him. He is standing just inside the doorway, baseball cap turned backward, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, cheeks pink from the cold (and damn if it isn’t unfair to look this fucking good).

You fold your arms lightly. “Well, you’re finally back.”

His eyes find you fully then, and he freezes for half a second. “Whoa.”

You try not to smile too smugly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, then shakes his head. “No, not nothing. You just—” His eyes drag over you again, slower this time. “Jesus, baby. You look so pretty.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “It’s just a dress.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a dress on you.” He drops his bag without looking, stepping closer. “That’s different.”

You roll your eyes but you’re already flustered. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m honest,” he corrects, hands settling on your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His thumbs brush over your hips, grounding and warm. “You look beautiful.”

He grins, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, like he’s savoring it. 

When he pulls back, he kisses you again, quicker this time, before you break the kiss and swat lightly at his chest. “Steve!”

“What?” He’s smiling against your mouth now. “Can’t help it. My girl’s out here looking like that.”

You hide your face in his shoulder, mortified and smiling at the same time. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before flopping onto the couch beside you and holding your hips in between his spread thighs. “How was your day, besides sitting here looking adorable?”

You grin. “Don’t let that go to your head. And, by the way, I’ve been trying to get ready for whatever you secretly planned, but you didn’t exactly give me a dress code.”

He blinks. “Dress code?”

You gesture helplessly at your closet. “I’ve changed three times, Steve. I have no idea what I’m walking into. You didn’t say if it’s fancy-fancy or like… cute fancy or just normal dinner fancy. I’m stressed.”

He just stares at you for a second, then looks at your with a dazed look and a smile. “Relax, baby.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“’Cause,” he says, hands finding your waist automatically and pulling you into his lap, “I already took care of it.”

“…Took care of what?”

“The dress.”

You blink. “What dress?”

“The one in m’truck,” he says casually. “Picked it out last week.”

Your jaw actually drops. “You what?”

He shrugs, pleased with himself. “I know what you like and what you look good in.”

You stare at him. “How do you even know my size?”

Steve scoffs softly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Baby, we’ve been together three years. ’Course I know your size.”

You huff, trying not to smile. “You could’ve told me instead of letting me spiral.”

“And ruin the surprise?” He kisses you again, softer this time, lingering just enough to make your knees feel a little weak. “Never.”

You laugh with him, the sound filling the apartment, and for a moment, it’s like the world has shrunk down to just this little living room, you and him and the comfort of easy companionship. “So? How was practice?”

“Same old,” he says, toeing off his shoes. “Tim nearly took his own head off with a bat again, so that was fun. And, uh… you were right, sweetheart.”

You blink. “About?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “That new teacher? She was definitely trying to flirt with me.”

You go very still. “Oh?”

You blink, slow and deliberate. “Flirt with you?”

“Yeah. She kept hanging around the field while I was running drills, asking if I needed help, laughing way too hard at anything I said, and then she hit me with the whole ‘maybe you could show me a few coaching techniques sometime.’ Can you imagine?”

Your eyes narrow immediately. “She was flirting with you while you were coaching kids?”

He lifts his hands in surrender, already grinning like he knows he’s in trouble. “I know, I know. Trust me, I clocked it too. It was fuckin’ weird.”

“And what did you say?” you ask, voice calm in a way that is anything but.

Steve shrugs, leaning back against the couch with you still seated don his lap. “I told her I was busy, that practice was my priority, that I’ve got a full plate, you know. She said something about how she admired how dedicated I am, and I figured she’d get the hint.”

You lean closer. “Steve.”

He pauses, sensing the shift immediately. “Yeah?”

“You told her you have a girlfriend, right?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. His brows knit together, and he drags a hand through his hair in that way he does when he knows he messed up but is still trying to figure out how bad it is.

“…I mean,” he starts carefully, “I just thought it was obvious,” he says quickly. “I leave early every day to come home to you. I talk about you constantly. I literally introduced you to her last week and she saw me kiss you. I figured she’d connect the dots.”

You cross your arms. “Why didn’t you just say it?” you press. “Why didn’t you say, ‘Hey, I have a girlfriend, please stop flirting with me while I’m supervising minors’?”

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t embarrassed, if that’s what you’re thinking. God, no. I just didn’t want to make it awkward, and then she kept talking, and then practice was over, and suddenly it felt too late.”

You look at him for a long moment. “So you were worried about making her uncomfortable.”

“I was worried about being a jerk,” he says, softer now. “But yeah, I get how that sounds. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll let her know next time she pulls a stunt like that. ”

“It sounds like you cared more about her feelings than mine,” you say.

Steve’s expression drops immediately. “Hey. No. That’s not what this is.” He steps closer, hands hovering like he’s asking permission without words. “You know I love you. I’m not playing dumb, I just didn’t think.”

You hold his gaze. “Then think next time.”

He nods, serious now. “You’re right. I should’ve said it straight out. I should’ve shut it down the second she crossed the line. That’s on me.”

The tension lingers for a beat, thick but not cruel, until you finally sigh and uncross your arms. He takes the opening, pulling you gently into his chest where you belong after any argument worth having.

His chin rests against the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Next time anyone even looks at me sideways, I’ll tell them exactly who I’m with.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, then tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. You slide your hand up to his jaw, thumb pressing lightly beneath his ear, just enough to remind him you are very real and very present.

“Good,” you say quietly. “Because I don’t like people thinking they have a chance.”

His breath stutters, eyes darkening in that familiar way. “They don’t,” he says immediately.

You lean in, lips brushing his. “Exactly.”

The kiss deepens, unhurried but sure, until he’s half-slouched against the counter and you are right there, smiling against his mouth, feeling his pulse race under your fingers and knowing without a doubt that Hawkins can try all it wants, but Steve Harrington is yours.

“Is this what you wanted all along?” he asks, breathless, voice rough around the edges. “You know, you could’ve just asked for—”

“Shut up,” you cut in, pressing your mouth to his before he can finish the thought. The kiss is firm, claiming, leaving no room for argument. You plant your hand on the armrest beside his head and lift yourself just enough to shift your weight, settling deliberately against him. You feel the undeniable hardness beneath you, and his sharp inhale tells you exactly how aware he is of it.

He gasps when you move, and you take advantage immediately, biting down on his tongue just hard enough to make him whimper low in his throat. The sound goes straight through you.

Your mouth drifts from his lips to the corner of his jaw, then lower, trailing slow, purposeful kisses along his skin until you reach his neck. You suck and bite there, unhurried, marking him, knowing full well what you’re leaving behind. His breath stutters as you feel him grow harder beneath you, his hands gripping the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re mine,” you murmur against his ear, your voice quiet but absolute. “Only mine. Right?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes stay shut, lashes resting against flushed skin, chest rising and falling too fast. You don’t like that.

You pull back just enough to grab his face, thumb pressing into his open mouth without warning. His lips part instinctively, and his breath hitches.

“Right?” you repeat.

His eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, pupils blown wide. The sight of him like this makes something dark and hungry coil in your stomach.

“Yes,” he manages, voice shaking. “Only yours.”

“And no one else gets you?” you press, softer now, but no less demanding.

“No one.” He looks wrecked already, and the thought sends a rush of heat through you.

“Show me,” you say, your own breath uneven, heart pounding.

“What?”

“Show me that you only want me,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He sits up suddenly, hands firm as he shifts you back until your spine meets the opposite armrest. He kneels between your legs on the couch, crowding your space, kissing you again—slower this time and deeper—while his fingers glide along your thighs. He hooks them under the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down with deliberate care.

You shiver at the contact, anticipation making your stomach tighten. He breaks the kiss to mouth at your earlobe, warm breath spilling over your neck, drawing a low sound from you that you don’t bother holding back. One last kiss traces your jaw before he lifts your dress, gathering the fabric at your hips.

You feel him exhale in front of your core, shivering once again.

Finally he licks a stripe up your slit, to which you let out a gasp. He starts sucking on your clit, and you feel pleasure start to rush through your body. 

You tangle your fingers in his messed-up hair and pull it back, to which he whines, leaving more space in his neck for you to sink your teeth in. You run your fingers through his now-bare torso in feather-light touches, making him continue to let out gasps, now his eyes' turn to be filled with tears.

You grind against his clothed crotch, feeling yourself start to get turned on again as well. "Please," he sputters out.

You fight a grin. He's doing it. "Please what?"

"Please touch me," he breathes.

You trace his stomach, going lower but not quite to where you know he wants you to.

"No, not there," he whines, throwing his head back in frustration.

"Then where?" you say, the sadistic grin spreading through your face. He says nothing. "Come on, where do you want me to touch you, Steve?"

He's still hesitant to answer. "You know, if you don't tell me, I won't know where to—"

"My dick," he interrupts through his teeth.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" you say, knowing full well you heard what he said.

"My dick," he says, louder this time. "God damn it."

You can't help but giggle. It’s always fun, exhilarating, playing with him like this. "You should have said it before, sweetheart."

"I did, you just didn't—" he's cut off by a moan as you grind your hips down on him again. 

You unzip his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear, his full erection springing out. He shivers at the contact with cold air. 

You toss his pants aside and start stroking him, his cock covered in precum by now. He moans loudly, bucking his hips into your hand as you stroke him at an agonizingly slow pace that does nothing to relieve his frustration. 

Your hand tightens around his cock again, slower this time, dragging from base to tip while you watch his face fall apart under you.

He hisses through his teeth. “Jesus—”

“Oh, I’m gonna teach you a proper lesson on not letting other girls flirt with you,” you murmur sweetly, thumb circling the swollen head, spreading the precum that’s already slick and hot against your palm.

His hips jerk up hard and you press him back down with your weight, cunt settling more firmly over his thighs. He can feel the heat of you through the thin fabric between you and it makes him curse.

“Baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “You’re soaked. I can feel it.”

“And whose fault is that?” you ask, giving him another slow stroke.

His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to grab you again. “Mine,” he admits quickly. “All mine. I’m sorry. I didn’t let her flirt, I swear. I didn’t even notice at first. I was just bein’ polite.”

You hum, unconvinced, and lean forward so your hair falls around his face. Your lips brush his jaw, then his throat. He shudders when you lick lightly over the pulse there.

“Did she make you this hard?” you whisper against his skin.

His eyes fly open. “What? No!”

You squeeze his base tighter.

“Fuck,” he chokes. “Only you do that. Only you.”

“Good,” you murmur.

Your hand moves faster now, wet sounds filling the room as you stroke him properly, twisting at the head just enough to make him gasp. His cock is heavy in your hand, hot and throbbing, leaking more with every breath he takes.

“Did she make you this hard?” you ask, voice syrup-slow.

His eyes snap to yours, dark and blown. “No. No. Only you do this to me. Only you.”

You let your other hand slide between your legs, fingers dipping beneath your underwear just enough to drag through your slick, wet folds. He watches as you touch yourself, fingers gliding across your cunt and dipping in as his breathing goes ragged.

“See what you do to me?” you whisper.

“Fuck.” he swallows hard. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You push your fingers deeper, gathering more wetness, then reach down and smear it over his cock. The glide becomes obscene instantly, your wetness mixed with his. Your hand moves again, wet sounds filling the room as you stroke him slow and deliberate.

His head falls back. “Please,” he groans. “Please put it in. I need your cunt so bad.”

You stop moving completely.

He makes the most pathetic sound you’ve ever heard.

“You need it?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I need you. I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Thinkin’ about you. Thinkin’ about how tight you get when you’re jealous.”

You shift forward, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds. “God, you’re dripping,” he mutters.

His hands slide up your thighs, gripping, squeezing, like he needs to feel every inch of you.

“Take the dress off,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “Please. I wanna see you.”

You pause on purpose, still rocking your hips slow, letting your cunt drag over his cock in a way that makes his stomach tighten.

“You’re so bossy for someone who’s not in control,” you tease.

His fingers dig into your hips. “Baby, I’m beggin’. Take it off so I can see what’s mine.”

That does something to you.

You lift yourself just enough to peel the dress up over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you without looking. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, already damp, breasts bare and flushed from the heat of it all.

Steve’s breath stutters.

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes dragging over you slowly. “You’re unreal.”

You sink back down on him fully, and the way he looks underneath you, spread out on the bed, hair messy, lips parted, chest rising fast, makes heat pool low in your stomach. He looks completely undone. Completely yours.

He reaches up immediately, big hands cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden under his touch.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so pretty like this. Ridin’ me with that look on your face.”

You roll your hips deeper, faster now, the wet sound of your pussy sliding over him filling the room. His head falls back when you grind just right, and you feel him throb inside you.

His fingers knead your breasts harder, rough but needy, squeezing and rolling your nipples between his fingers until you gasp.

“You like that?” he asks, voice thick.

You nod, biting your lip.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I like it.”

He smirks up at you, that cocky edge slipping back in. “Good. ‘Cause I fuckin’ love watchin’ you fall apart.”

You bounce harder now, letting your body take over, riding him deep and steady. His hands never leave your chest, thumbs brushing, squeezing, tugging just enough to make you arch.

“Look at you,” he groans. “So wet for me. So fuckin’ tight.”

Your walls clench around him at that and he hisses.

“Don’t do that unless you wanna make me come,” he warns, breath shaky.

You lean forward, palms on his chest, hair falling around your face as you grind down slow and deliberate. His cock drags against that spot inside you and your thighs start to tremble.

“You look so pretty under me,” you murmur.

His eyes snap to yours, dark and hungry. “Yeah? You like seein’ me like this?”

You start riding him faster, your breasts bouncing under his hands, the sound of skin slapping against skin turning filthy and rhythmic.

“God,” he groans. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He shifts suddenly, one hand sliding from your breast down to your hip, gripping tight as he starts thrusting up into you to meet your rhythm. The other stays on your chest, thumb circling your nipple while he fucks up into you harder.

Your moan comes out louder than you meant.

“That’s it,” he encourages, breath hot. “Let me hear you.”

He’s not in control, but he’s not passive either. He’s right there with you, meeting every grind, every bounce, hips snapping up when you drop down hard.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “So warm. So tight around me.”

Your movements get sloppier, more desperate. He feels it immediately.

“You close?” he asks.

You nod, unable to form a sentence.

He sits up suddenly, pulling you flush against his chest, arms wrapping around your back while he keeps thrusting up into you. The new angle hits deeper and you gasp into his shoulder.

“There you go,” he murmurs against your neck. “Come on. Ride it. Use me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, steady circles while you rock against him.

You gasp, hugging his neck and pressing his face against your chest. He starts licking at your nipples, sucking on them like a man starved. You speed up until the only sounds in the room are skin slapping and heavy moans, two people slowly losing any sense of reason, overtaken by senseless pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby.” he whispers, voice low and filthy. “Cum on my cock.”

The way he says it sends you over instantly.

Your orgasm hits hard, your body clenching around him so tight he groans your name like it hurts. You collapse against him, still trembling, and he follows seconds later, hips jerking as he finishes inside you with a broken sound against your skin.

He whimpers in overstimulation as you continue grinding against him, gasping and moaning, consumed by ecstasy. Once it's done, you collapse on his chest, exhausted as well, still inside him.

You finally collapse against him, breath still uneven, heart hammering in your chest. His arms wrap around you instinctively, and you let yourself sink into the afterglow for a moment, tangled together.

After a few deep breaths, you lift your hand and give his chest a playful swat. “Don’t you dare do that again,” you say, grinning despite the way your cheeks are still flushed.

He lets out a low laugh, nudging his nose against yours. “I promise… tomorrow, I’ll wear a shirt that shows off every single one of these marks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

You blink, mock horror on your face. “Steve! Not in front of the kids!”

He shrugs, smiling like he’s the biggest troublemaker in the world. “Fine, fine… but let everyone know I’ve got a girlfriend, yeah?”

You swat him again, more for show than anything else, laughing as he grins up at you. “That’s better. Keep your flirtatious little plans to yourself… or at least, out of public view.”

He glances at the clock on the wall, eyes narrowing playfully. “You know… we’ve got like forty minutes before our date starts.”

You slump dramatically against him, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Nooo… I’m too tired. Can’t we just spend this Valentine’s in bed?”

He lifts an eyebrow, incredulous, as he tugs you a little closer. “No. Absolutely not. I didn’t spend all those weeks planning it for you to sit at home all day.”

“Ughh” you whine, nuzzling against his chest. “Riding is so exhausting…”

He slaps your ass lightly, laughing loudly. “Could’ve let me take control, baby. I’d gladly do all the work for you.”

You kiss him, shaking your head with a small laugh. “Nuh-uh. I had to teach you a lesson.”

“Lesson learnt.” he smiles, leaning back just enough to meet your eyes. “Now… off you go, Miss Control. Go get ready.”

You groan, but before you can argue, he’s on his feet pulling his pants on and a shirt over as he heads for the door. “I’m gonna go grab your dress from the truck,” he calls over his shoulder.

You call after him, mock-serious, “This date better be worth it, Steve Harrington!”

He smiles as he opens the truck door. Inside, your dress waits, folded neatly, expensive and perfect. Beside it, a small velvet box catches the sunlight, a diamond ring gleaming from within.

Steve lets out a slow breath, a mix of nerves and excitement in his chest. By the end of tonight, he knows, he’ll be wholly yours. And true to his word, the next day he’ll make sure the flirts stop—and introduce you to everyone not just as his girlfriend, but as his soon-to-be wife.

steve harrington masterlist

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

[catherinnn]

You're the Risk

summary: Steve’s been burned enough times to believe every relationship he touches eventually falls apart, so he swears he won’t let himself fall again. Then you come along and make him want something real for the first time in a long while. Which is exactly why, at the end of the day, he has to reject you as much as it hurts.

warnings: insecure! steve, very suggestive but no smut, angst with comfort, not proofread sorry not sorry

words: 2.8 k

Steve’s parents owned a house out of town, near a lake and mountains. It was a wooden old cabin, but so beautiful. And what’s the use of it if it’s not to share it with loved ones? That’s why Steve invited you all for group vacations. 

“Smile,” you say, holding a digital camera, a present for your birthday. Robin and Eddie quit their bickering about whatever bands and music they were discussing this time, and smile for the picture. 

Steve notices you taking pictures and smiles, walks up behind you and leans over your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?”

“I brought the camera so we could document our trip.” you explain, now taking pictures of the pair in front of you while they keep bickering. “Look how cute,” you laugh, showing Steve.

He laughs and shakes his head, wrapping one arm around your waist, and the other around your shoulders. 

“Let me take one of you.” you ask him.

“No, that way you won’t appear in any of the pictures. Let’s take one together.” he says.

You point the camera at you two, loving the way he’s holding you, and smile. He grins and squeezes your waist tighter. Then, you click the camera. 

“That’s gonna be a very cheesy picture.” he laughs.

“You’re the one holding me like this.” you argue. 

“I didn’t hear you complain.” he mumbles.

You turn your head to the side to look at him, and steal a quick kiss to his cheek. He laughs to mask the blush creeping to his cheeks. 

“Wanna go sunbathe a little? You’re already tanned, I gotta catch up.” you offer. 

“Okay, but I’m gonna need more sunscreen.” he says and you go lie on the lounge chairs that Nancy and Jonatahn left to go take a swim. 

He settles onto one, stretching out his long legs and letting out a sigh. His eyes drift over to you, taking in your swimsuit and the way it clings to your curves. Then, he catches you pointing the camera at him again. 

“Seriously? Again? I feel like a famous person with paparazzis.” he complains. 

“You look amazing, Harrington. Stop looking away.” you laugh. But he’s determined to annoy you, so he covers his face with his hands.

“No, come on!” you try to move his hands from his face, but he doesn’t let you. Then, you move over to his lounge chair, sitting on his legs, forcing him to look at the camera.

He laughs, surprised as you plop onto him, his hands instinctively fly to your hips to steady you. “Whoa there! You’re determined!” He can’t resist squeezing your waist just slightly. “Fine, one picture.”

You smile and take some pictures of him from this delicious angle. He can’t hide his smirk when he sees you smiling like that, his hands stay loosely on your hips. 

“Alright, enough paparazzi treatment for today.” he teases, taking the camera from you. 

“You look real cute.” you shrug.

“Well, you look real cute yourself. I should do the same.” He leaves one hand resting on your thigh as he brings the camera up and frames your face in the viewfinder. "Smile for me, gorgeous." He says, voice low and teasing. His thumb rubs circles on your skin, almost unconsciously. You smile for him. 

He clicks the shutter, the sound of the camera filling the air. He holds your gaze for a moment, drinking in the sight of your smile. He looks down at the camera, scrolling through the recent pictures.

"Mmm, not bad." He says, the tone casual. He looks up at you again, eyes fixed on your face. "But you make it seem so easy. You're so damn photogenic."

“No, I’m not.” you laugh, flustering a bit at his words. "You're the one who’s photogenic like crazy, with that ridiculously good-looking face."

He rolls his eyes at your flattery, but there's a warm smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "You're one to talk. You've got those big, sparkling eyes and that nose. And..." His gaze drops to your lips. He clears his throat and looks back up into your eyes. "And those lips..." 

“Cut it off. Stop it.” you chuckle.

One of his hands moves up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His gaze cannot leave your lips now. "Stop what? Telling the truth? Because from where I'm sitting, you're breathtaking." 

“And we’re friends.” you remind him. 

His flirty demeanor softens now, leaving a more serious face on. “Right, just friends.” He forces a smile. The reminder hits him like a cold shower. Friends, that’s all.  

You catch on to his sudden change. “Do you think this would be a good idea?” you ask, referring to… more between you two. Potentially ruining the friendship. 

He can't help but let out a humorless laugh. A good idea? Yeah, spending time with a gorgeous girl in a colorful swimsuit that barely covers anything, sitting on his lap and driving him crazy? Of course not. Who would ever want that, right? 

“Probably not.” he says in a low voice. His hand on your thigh tightens a bit, thinking of how to get you off of him. 

“Huh…” You could’ve expected anything but that response. You look down. Now the cold shower falls onto you. “Okay then.”

He can see the shift in your expression, and now he feels like a jerk. This is exactly why we shouldn't be doing this, he convinces himself.  "Hey." His voice softens, His thumb brushing over your hip reassuringly. "Don't look at me like that. You know this... complicates things." But his eyes betray him, they're still lingering on yours for too long to play it cool.

“I know…” you simply respond. You lean back, further from him. 

He feels like the distance you’re putting is like a punch to the gut. He has to force himself not to reach out to pull you closer. Then, he peaks again… just to fuck it up some more apparently. “Just friends, right?” 

“Right.” you say, hoping those words could cut. And you get off of him. 

"Right. Friends it is then." He forces a smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. But he has to remind himself and you. 

You leave without more words. Towards the lake to jump in with your friends. 

And that’s how you spend the rest of the day: ignoring him. Trying not to get too mad at him for being exceptionally flirtatious and enticing, even in front of all of your friends. But then get cold feet the second you suggest something more. 

Steve noticed you were ignoring him, he’s not dumb. He spent the rest of the day stealing glances at you from across the lake. 

By sunset, when everyone's packing up for dinner, he finally caves. "Hey," he calls out as you walk past him toward your room, "are we good?" 

“Yup,” you simply respond and walk away. 

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. This isn't like you, usually you'd both be bantering by now. The fact that you're shutting him out completely is killing him. “Alright,” he says, just watching you, “we should still grab s’mores later though.” 

“Come watch the sunset!” we hear Robin call us, reminding you to get the camera. 

Steve falls into step beside you, as you get outside. And as robin said, the mountains are now accompanied by orange, pink, and yellow all around them. You take a few pictures for the memories. 

But once you step back, enjoying the view with your sight now, you feel Steve’s finger brushing against yours for just a few seconds. He’s testing the waters, you know him too well by now. 

Once again, you chose to ignore him and head back inside. For Steve, that stung a bit. He'd been expecting a snappy comeback or a glare, anything but that cold shoulder.

“If I remember correctly, you two promised yesterday that you were in charge of dinner tonight.” Robin tells you two. And it was true, you had been planning to cook together with him before today. 

Steve pushes off from where he was leaning and heads to the kitchen, partly to do his job but mostly because if there’s one thing that might get your attention back on him, it’s this. 

You head to the kitchen, still not talking to him. The silence in that kitchen is deafening. You’re ignoring him, and he can feel his frustration growing with every passing minute. 

Finally, unable to take this uncomfortable silence anymore, he breaks it. “You're really giving me the silent treatment, huh? Come on- at least say something, or throw an insult at me or anything-"

"What do you want, Steven?" you interrupt him. And you can see how much he hated the full name, his jaw clenching. 

"I want you to stop pretending I don't exist, for one." His eyes flick to you as he slams some supplies onto the counter. "This whole silent treatment crap is driving me crazy."

"No, I meant what do you want with me... we act like a couple all the time, you almost kissed me. But then you say this between us is a bad idea and that we're just friends... And then, just now, you're trying to hold my hand again!"

“I- I don’t know,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze. “I just… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, wanting you. But then I have to remember we’re just friends, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“What do you actually want?” you repeat, still unsure of where he’s heading with this. 

“I want you! Not just as some friend, not when everytime you’re near me I forget how to function properly.” He confesses, to then add bitterly. “But that’s the problem, because I shouldn’t want that.”

“And why not?” That last sentence hurt you more than it should.

“Because-” he stops for a second, “if we cross that line there’s no going back. And what happens when one of us gets tired of this?"

"Steve, why are you thinking that right now? What if it does work out? If we work out?" you contradict him. 

The possibility,the hope, is nearly suffocating. "And what if it crashes and burns?" He murmurs, voice low, scared and longing all at once. "What if we're too different? What if this… whatever this is, fades?" He’s practically begging you to believe it could work, he wants to believe you, but his history proves him differently. 

“You’re scared… You’re thinking about Nancy.” you don’t ask, you know he is. 

His eyes fall away from yours as the truth hangs there. “Yeah.” he admits, voice quiet. There’s no point in lying. "I'm thinking about Nancy, and a bunch of other mistakes I've made. I am scared… of screwing us up."

"Steve, not all of your relationships are gonna end like that... It’s not a rule" you remind him. 

You make it sound so damn easy. “Maybe not. But every relationship I’ve had blows up in my face one way or another.”

"And you're just gonna stay single forever? What's the plan? Date people you don't care about so it doesn't hurt?"

He stays silent. That was kind of his plan, as stupid as it sounds. At least, it was until you came along. You, being beautiful, intelligent, and witty, throwing everything off balance.

“Baby, come on… you deserve better than that.” you say softly. 

His chest clenches and he has to resist the urge to close the distance and pull you into his arms. But the fact that you're so damn sweet just frustrates him more. “It doesn't matter, alright? My track record sucks. Every time, I end up being a shitty boyfriend. So it'd be better-"

You interrupt him by laughing. Actually laughing at that. 

"What is so funny?" His tone comes out sharper. Why are you laughing at the fact that he’s an idiot with zero dating skills?!

"Sorry, it's just really hard to imagine you being a shitty boyfriend... I'm not sure you actually know what that's like."

“Why do you think that? Because I’m charming for five seconds?” 

"Or because you'd rather put someone you love before you without doubting a second... Or because you're ready to give whatever help is needed to anyone; sure, complaining a little bit, but that's because you're a bit of an old man." You joke. "And a million more reasons."

He’s not used to being seen like that. The joke about him being an ‘old man’ makes a smirk tug at his lips. "...You can't just say shit like that," He mutters under his breath before letting out a slow exhale. "And what if you're wrong? What if you give me too much credit and end up getting hurt because of it?"

“It is possible… We just have to focus on working on this. Become a team.” you try, thinking it’s not enough for him. But he sees you so reasonable, sincere, making it near impossible for him to keep fighting this. The thought of being a team with you, working together to make it work... he can't deny that it sounds appealing.

"A team, huh?"

"If you want to..." you say, playing with his shirt, drawing random shapes on it. 

“If we’re doing this ‘team’ thing, you can’t keep ignoring me.” he warns lowly, though there's no real bite to it.

“Then don’t ever reject me again.” you warn him.

He chuckles at that. The way you say it, so confident and firm. He pulls you closer by the waist, his gaze roaming over your face. “I won’t be so stupid ever again. No more running.”

“Good,” you look up at him. 

The sight of you looking up at him, all soft eyes and sweet smile, damn near makes his knees weak. He keeps his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer again until you're practically flush against him. Obsessed with the way you fit so perfectly against his chest.

He exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering back up to your eyes. "You're something else, you know that?" He mutters, hand slipping to the small of your back, tugging you even closer.

He chuckles again, so close to you. “Oh, yeah?” he keeps the smirk on his lips while he presses them to yours, his hand on your back keeping you close. For a second, he forgets about the food you were supposed to be cooking, your friends outside, his fears. 

Your hands find the way to his hair, he deepens the kiss. He pulls you impossibly closer as you both surrender to the dizzying kiss.

“You think we could order some take-out in this place?” Eddie asks Robin. Both knowing the fact that neither of you started cooking in that kitchen, and they’re not sure if you’re even planning to.

[uniicorns-arereall]

you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free

(just NO a.i)

[harringtonsugar]

manspreading like that as if i won’t bite my screen CLEAN OFF