- steve thinks you're shutting him out because you don't trust him; he doesn't realize you're spending every day trying to survive the place you call home
- cw: abusive home life, y/n mentions angst
the fight started because steve was tired.
not angry. not at first.
just tired because every time something was wrong, you disappeared behind a smile. every time life got hard, you insisted you were fine. every time steve reached for you, you met him halfway and then stopped.
he knew you loved him, that wasn't the problem. you loved him in a hundred quiet ways. you always remembered how he took his coffee. you kept extra band-aids in your purse because he somehow managed to cut himself doing the simplest things. you left notes in his jacket pockets. you called robin when you knew steve was struggling but wouldn't admit it.
you loved loudly through actions, just never through words.
and steve was exhausted trying to guess what was happening inside your head.
"just tell me what's wrong."
you looked away immediately. "nothing."
"there is always something."
"steve—"
"don't." his voice wasn't loud, which somehow made it worse.
you stared at him as he rubbed a hand over his face.
"i'm not asking for every thought you've ever had."
"then what are you asking for?"
"anything." the word came out broken. "i'm asking for anything."
guilt twisted in your stomach because there were things—so many things. the unpaid bills hidden in drawers. the holes punched into walls. the screaming matches. your dad. always your dad.
but if you started talking about it, it became real, and if it became real, you weren't sure you'd survive it.
"i just don't like talking about stuff."
steve laughed. once. humorless. "see, that's exactly what i'm talking about."
your chest tightened.
"i'm trying."
"no," his jaw clenched, and the words hit harder than they should have because part of you feared they were true.
steve looked frustrated and hurt. "you tell me enough to shut the conversation down."
you swallowed. "that's not fair."
"isn't it?"
silence.
the worst part was that you couldn't defend yourself because he wasn't entirely wrong.
steve looked away. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, which somehow hurt more.
"i don't think you trust me."
your head snapped up. "that's not true."
"then why am i always the last person to know when something's wrong?"
"you're not."
"really?" he laughed again. "because that's what it feels like."
you opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again. nothing came out, and steve saw it, saw you choosing silence again. something in his expression cracked.
"okay." your stomach dropped. the "okay" wasn't okay, and you knew it immediately.
"steve—"
"no." he stood up. "i'm done dragging information out of you."
"that's not what you're doing."
"isn't it?" his eyes were glassy now, hurt—so hurt.
"i love you." the words nearly broke you. "but i'm tired."
you stared at him.
"i'm tired of guessing," he swallowed, "when you're ready to actually let me in, come find me."
your heart started pounding.
"what does that mean?"
steve looked away, and that terrified you more than yelling ever would.
"it means i'm not doing this anymore."
"steve—"
"i'm serious," his voice cracked. "i can't keep being the only one trying. it's your turn."
and he left, leaving you standing there, wondering if you still had a boyfriend or if you had just watched your relationship end.
the next few days were hell. and not because of steve.
your sister leaving wasn’t supposed to happen like that.
you found out because her bedroom was empty. that was it—no conversation, no warning, no goodbye.
you came home from work and stood in her doorway, staring at the bare walls. the closet was empty, the dresser was gone, and the bed frame had been taken apart.
for a moment, you genuinely thought you had walked into the wrong room. then you noticed the note. just three words: "i'm sorry."
your knees nearly gave out.
you called her immediately, but it went straight to voicemail. again. voicemail. again. voicemail. on the fourth attempt, she finally answered. you didn’t even say hello.
“you left?” silence.
then, “i couldn't do it anymore.” your throat tightened. “you left.” guilt flooded her voice.
“i know.”
“you didn't tell me.”
“because if i told you, i would have stayed.” that somehow hurt worse.
you sank onto the floor, surrounded by the ghost of her room.
“you just left me here,” the words slipped out before you could stop them.
silence.
heavy silence.
then a shaky breath.
“i’m sorry.”
you closed your eyes because you knew she was. you understood exactly why she left. you just hated that she could and you couldn’t—at least not yet.
suddenly, it was just you and him now.
that night, your dad barely spoke. the next day was worse, and the day after that was even worse.
by friday, you felt like you were drowning.
you thought about calling steve a hundred times, but his words kept replaying in your mind: "it's your turn."
every time you picked up the phone, fear stopped you. what if it was too late? what if he didn't want to hear it anymore? what if he was done? so, you said nothing. again.
this turned out to be the worst possible choice.
the fight happened in the car.
rain hammered against the windshield as your dad gripped the steering wheel, already angry before either of you spoke.
you tried anyway. “why are you acting like this?” you asked.
nothing.
“dad.”
his jaw tightened, “drop it.”
“i’m just asking—”
“i said drop it.”
you looked out the window, then back at him.
“ever since she left—”
“get out.”
you blinked. “what?”
“get out.”
you stared, certain you had heard wrong. the rain pounded harder. “dad—”
“get. out.”
your stomach dropped. “we’re three miles from home.”
“then walk.”
“are you serious?” he slammed the brakes, and the car lurched.
“out.”
your eyes burned with anger and confusion as you climbed out. the door slammed behind you, and he drove away just like that, leaving you standing in the rain.
across town, dustin henderson happened to be looking out his bedroom window, partly out of boredom and partly because he liked spying on the neighborhood.
his eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar car and a familiar argument. a familiar girl.
“what the hell?” he watched your dad speed away, watched you stand there alone, and watched you start walking, completely soaked.
dustin didn’t hesitate. he grabbed the phone and dialed immediately.
steve answered on the third ring. “what?”
“uh,” dustin looked back outside. “don’t freak out.”
“that’s literally the worst way to start a sentence.”
“i think something’s wrong with y/n.”
silence. immediate silence.
“what happened?”
dustin explained everything. with every second, steve became quieter until he finally asked, “where is she now?”
“walking.” another pause, then steve instructed, “stay inside.”
by the time you finally made it back, you were soaked to the bone. your shoes squelched with every step, your hair stuck to your face, and your hands were shaking from the cold and exhaustion. all you wanted was to get inside.
instead, you found your dad standing in the driveway, throwing a duffel bag into the back of his truck.
your stomach dropped. not again. not another fight. not today.
he spotted you immediately, and his expression darkened.
"finally."
you stopped walking, too tired to even defend yourself.
"dad—"
"where the hell have you been?"
you stared at him. seriously?
"you told me to get out."
"don't start."
you laughed, actually laughed, because the alternative was crying. "don't start?"
he slammed the truck door. "i've got enough problems without dealing with your attitude."
your chest tightened. "my attitude?"
"everything's always about you."
you physically recoiled, as if he had hit you, because nothing in your life had ever been about you. not once. not ever.
"she left because of you." the words slipped out, and the second they did, you wished they hadn’t. his face changed instantly, dangerously.
"what did you say?"
you swallowed. too late. way too late. "you heard me."
silence enveloped you, making your stomach knot. his voice dropped—quiet, which was always worse.
"after everything i've done for this family…"
you almost laughed again because what family? there wasn't one anymore. just him, and you, and a house that felt like a minefield.
"you're unbelievable." he shook his head. "just like your sister."
the words landed exactly where he wanted them to, and you felt them. he saw that and kept going. "both of you are selfish."
your eyes burned. "stop."
"both of you are ungrateful."
"stop."
"both of you—"
"i said stop!" the scream tore out of you, and suddenly, the entire street felt silent.
your dad stared. you stared.
neither of you noticed the bmw that had pulled up at the curb—not at first. your dad laughed, cold and mean.
"there she is."
your stomach dropped because you knew that laugh.
"all that crying and carrying on."
you looked away, humiliation crawling up your throat. "just leave me alone."
"that's your problem." he pointed at you. "always the victim."
you physically flinched, and that’s when you saw him—steve—standing beside his car, frozen, watching.
oh god.
your blood ran cold because he’d heard it, heard enough, seen enough.
your dad followed your gaze, noticed steve, scoffed, then grabbed his keys.
"whatever." he climbed into the truck, slammed the door, and drove away, leaving silence behind.
you couldn't breathe.
steve was still standing there, staring, not judging, not angry, which somehow made it worse.
you wanted him angry. anger was easier. anger you understood.
pity would kill you.
without a word, you turned and hurried toward the house.
"hey." you ignored him, your hand shaking as you unlocked the door.
"y/n."
the door opened, and you practically ran inside.
the last thing you wanted was for him to see—too late.
steve stepped in behind you and stopped, completely frozen. now he could see it—really see it.
the dent beside the hallway, the hole in the living room wall, the cracked picture frame, the patched drywall. the damage that suddenly explained everything. the things you’d spent years strategically hiding now all sitting out in the open.
steve looked around slowly. once, twice, three times.
his face got paler with every second.
"oh." the word barely came out.
you closed your eyes, humiliation flooding every inch of you.
"now you know. congratulations."
steve didn’t answer.
you laughed bitterly. "this is why i don't talk about it. this is why i don't invite people over. this is why—"
"hey."
the softness in his voice stopped you immediately.
you looked up and saw tears in his eyes—actual tears. steve shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t process what he was seeing.
"did you think i was going to leave?"
your throat tightened because, yes, of course you did. why wouldn’t you?
steve stepped closer, carefully, like he was approaching something wounded.
"you seriously thought i was going to see this and leave?"
you couldn’t answer. his face broke completely, and suddenly he looked far more upset than you were. now he understood. not everything, but enough.
enough to realize that while he’d been angry about being shut out, you’d been surviving something alone.
the realization wrecked him.
"oh, sweetheart," the nickname shattered whatever composure you had left. you started crying immediately, and steve crossed the room before you could look away, pulling you into his arms. he held you so tightly it almost hurt. and for the first time since he walked away after that fight, neither of you let go.
I absolutely love how you write Steve 🫶🏻 I don't know if you get recommendations, but could you write an angst-type fic with a comforting ending, where the protagonist yearns for Steve and they're best friends, and Steve doesn't notice and dates other girls until she gets a boyfriend and he realizes he's jealous and in love with her, but the boyfriend is an idiot and the protagonist doesn't realize it until Steve can't take it anymore and fights with the guy over her, and she realizes that the guy she was dating was a real idiot and ends up confessing her feelings to Steve?
hi lovely!!! tysm for ur kind words 💐 hope i made ur req justice here <3
- after years of waiting u finally decide its time to move on from steve, only ur boyfriend isn’t exactly great.. based of this req
- cw: shitty boyfriend 👎
the worst part about being in love with your best friend wasn’t the heartbreak. it was how normal everything looked from the outside.
nobody saw the way your stomach flipped every time steve smiled at you. nobody noticed how your eyes automatically searched for him in crowded rooms. nobody knew that half of your favorite memories involved him.
to everyone else, you were just friends. best friends.
steve harrington and you were a package deal.
the problem was that Steve never seemed to look at you the way you looked at him. at least, that’s what you told yourself because what else were you supposed to think?
years passed. steve dated. you dated. life moved forward, and somehow, neither of you ever said the one thing that mattered.
you became very good at pretending: at smiling when steve talked about dates, at helping robin make fun of him afterward, and at ignoring the way jealousy crawled under your skin every time another girl touched his arm.
because steve never said anything. he never gave you a reason to hope.
so eventually, you stopped waiting. or at least, you tried to.
that was how you ended up dating aaron.
at first, everyone liked him, especially steve.
“see?” steve said after aaron left your apartment one night. “normal guy. nice guy. finally.”
you laughed. “finally?”
“Ii’m just saying your last date thought star wars was a documentary.”
“that’s not what happened.”
“he thought sharks were mammals.”
“okay, fair.”
steve grinned, and your chest ached. a small, ugly part of you wanted him to hate aaron. you wanted him to look jealous. you wanted proof that losing you would matter.
instead, he looked relieved, happy, even, like he had personally approved the relationship.
what you didn’t know was that robin cornered him the next day.
“you okay?”
Ssteve looked up from stacking tapes. “huh?”
“you look like somebody ran over your dog.”
“i’m fine.”
robin snorted. “right.”
steve shoved another tape onto the shelf, and robin waited. eventually, he sighed. “he’s nice.”
“and?”
“and she’s happy.”
robin's expression softened all while steve stared at the floor.
“if she’s happy, that’s what matters.”
the words sounded convincing enough. almost.
months passed.
three, four, five. and then the cracks started showing.
the comments came first, small enough to dismiss.
the first time it happened was because you wore one of your favorite sweaters on a date.
aaron laughed and said, “you dress like somebody’s grandma.”
you laughed too, well because he laughed, but afterward, you found yourself staring at the sweater differently.
eventually, you stopped wearing it around him.
then came the jokes, the little comments, the constant corrections:
“you’re such a nerd.”
“you’re kind of a lot.”
“do you ever stop talking?”
always smiling.
always joking.
always making you feel ridiculous for being hurt.
slowly, you became quieter. you apologized more. you shrank yourself down without realizing it.
the first person who noticed wasn’t you, it was robin.
the second was steve.
one night, you were all sitting around family video after closing, and you got excited talking about a book you’d read. halfway through your sentence, you stopped.
“sorry. i’m talking too much.”
the silence that followed felt strange. robin frowned, and steve looked up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair.
you laughed awkwardly.
“what?”
robin exchanged a glance with steve, and neither of them answered. they had never heard you apologize for being yourself before.
after that, steve started noticing everything.
the way you hesitated before speaking. the way you checked aaron’s reaction after every joke. the way your shoulders curled inward now.
and every time he noticed, something angry settled deeper in his chest.
the breakup happened two months later. you ended things with aaron, who called you dramatic, too emotional, and too sensitive.
those words followed you anyway.
a week later, you found yourself sitting on the hood of steve's bmw in the empty parking lot behind family video.
the summer air was warm, but the silence wasn’t.
steve sat beside you, waiting.
you appreciated that.
“i kept thinking that something felt wrong,” you said.
steve listened.
“i just couldn't figure out what.”
your throat tightened.
then, quietly, you added,
“he made me feel difficult to love.”
steve's head snapped toward you immediately, like you’d slapped him.
“hey,” he said, the softness in his voice nearly breaking you.
“don't.”
your eyes burned.
“he did.”
“no.”
“he—”
“no.”
the certainty in his voice startled you.
it was as if this wasn’t even up for discussion.
“he made me feel like everything about me needed fixing.”
steve looked away, his jaw clenched.
“like i talked too much,” you whispered.
“like i cared too much. like i was too emotional.”
something flickered across his face.
pain. real pain.
you laughed softly through your tears. a sad sound.
“i kept trying to figure out which version of me would finally be enough.”
steve closed his eyes for a second.
when he opened them again, there was something fierce in his expression.
protective. angry. heartbroken.
“that’s bullshit.”
you blinked, surprised.
steve shook his head.
“you know how many people spend their whole lives looking for someone who cares the way you do?”
your breath caught.
“steve—”
“no, seriously.”
he looked frustrated, as if he couldn’t believe this conversation was happening.
“you remember everything. you show up for everyone. you make people feel important.”
your eyes stung.
steve let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“you cry at commercials.”
a watery laugh escaped you.
but he didn’t smile.
“aaron looked at all that and thought it was something to fix.”
silence fell between you.
steve looked away.
then said quietly,
“i would’ve killed to have someone like you.”
the words landed heavily between you.
steve froze.
you froze too.
because neither of you missed it.
someone like you.
not someone like that.
you.
his hand dragged across his face.
“damn it.”
your heart started pounding.
“steve.”
he laughed softly. a nervous sound. the kind he made when he was cornered by the truth.
“you know what the worst part was?”
you couldn’t speak.
steve stared at the pavement.
“watching you date him.”
everything stopped. “what?”
he smiled sadly. “i hated him.”
you stared in disbelief.
“you said you liked him.”
“i lied.”
your mouth fell open. steve laughed.
“what do you mean you lied?”
“he was nice enough,” he shrugged. “but i wanted to punch him every time he touched you.”
the world tilted.
“steve...”
“i thought you were happy,” his voice cracked slightly, the honesty in it making your chest ache. “and if you were happy, then that was supposed to be enough.” he looked up, meeting your eyes.
“i kept telling myself i’d get over it.”
the air disappeared from your lungs.
steve smiled sadly. “turns out, i couldn’t.”
silence hung heavy between you.
then he said, “i’ve been in love with you for years.”
your heart stopped. actually stopped. steve swallowed.
“you don’t have to say it back.”
you laughed through your tears because, somehow, he still didn’t know.
after all this time.
after all these years.
“you idiot.”
steve blinked.
“what?”
you moved closer. then closer still. until there was almost no space left between you.
“i’ve been in love with you forever.”
for one second, steve just stared. as if his brain had completely shut down.
then he laughed. bright and disbelieving. overwhelmed even.
“forever?”
you groaned.
“don’t make me regret this.”
“forever?” his disbelief was evident.
“oh my.” you gently shoved his shoulder.
steve caught your wrist before you could pull away. his grin was impossibly soft. as if he’d just been handed everything he’d ever wanted.
his thumb brushed gently across your skin. “you know,” he said quietly, “for somebody who’s supposedly difficult to love...”
you rolled your eyes.
“steve.”
“you’ve had me wrapped around your finger for years.”
your chest squeezed painfully.
but happily.
the smile that followed was small and entirely yours.
and when steve kissed you, it felt a little bit like coming home after being lost for a very long time. like finally being loved in a way that never asked you to become smaller first.
likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated <3
Oh my gosh millie u podting steves face while he solves the rubiks cube reminded me of how everyone was so mean to him this season 🥺🥺 jonathan and dustin were always giving him slight jabs on how “dumb” he is in the beginning like when dustin found them during the crawl when in the end it was steves plan to climb the wsqk tower! I saw ur requests were open and was wondering if you would be interested in writing the reader uplifting him when dustin and jon r being mean and telling him how smart he rly is when he makes the beanstalk plan!! No worries if this isnt ur thing 💕 i think you write reader soo sweet and this totesss makes sense in my head !!
౨ৎ꣑ৎSMART COOKIE౨ৎ꣑ৎ
꣑ৎyou remind Steve how smart he is꣑ৎ
fem reader x steve harrington
thank you anon for the request!!! <3
large text version here!
Though he is confident, certain things poke holes in it and you see through to Steve's insides. He knows lots of things you don't, like how to handle a bat and how to drive stick, even though he promises you won't not know how for long because he is going to teach you. Steve knows how to unfreeze pipes in the winter, and he can grill chicken perfectly. More than anybody you know, especially yourself, Steve can read people and scrabble the right thing to say together, even if they don't want to hear it.
You are not easily annoyed and it is rare for you to be all-out angry, but nothing tests your patience more than seeing people talk down to your boyfriend. It makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs until your throat is raw and itchy. Steve is so unbothered about it, which you can't understand.
"I didn't do great in school, babe. That's not exactly a secret," he assured you when you asked him about it one night, cuddled into his side, legs stretched over his thighs. He rubbed your knee, chocolate eyes soft.
His simple acceptance made you sad in a way that hollowed your chest and urged your arms to pull him closer. Steve bent to your touch, pushing his head into your hand. He is like a cat the way he likes being stroked, both physically, and buttered over his ego. You don't mind it, he is sweet.
"Hitting the vending machine. You want some cookies?" At the Squawk, Steve braces his hand on the fraying arm of the couch and bends to kiss your forehead. "Or chips? Or both? You haven't eaten in awhile. I'll get both."
You fold your lips together, trying to hide your smile for some reason. "I don't know how to respond."
"Don't have to. Sit pretty, I'll be right back." Steve loves that term, sit pretty. He heard it somewhere and started using it exclusively with you.
He slumps into the sofa beside you when he returns, arms crinkly with snacks. "I thought you'd want a water too, so I got one."
"Thank you." You sit up eagerly, accepting your portion of his bounty one at a time. "You were right about me being hungry."
"Yeah?" He is occupied lifting your legs one at a time to rest over his lap, using them to scoot you closer. Your hip is touching his now, and you are a puzzle piece slid into place.
Nestling as snug as you dare, you tilt your head into his shoulder and watch him pinch either side of your bag of chips to pull it open. He angles his elbow away so he won't hit you when the gap opens. Passing it to you to start with, he angles the corner of your package of cookies in his teeth, making a neat tear. "These are ready when you are."
You kiss his cheek as a thank you. "I always make the bag of chips explode. And my cookies fall out."
"I'll open your cookies as long as you'll have me." Steve traps you between his elbows, stamping a kiss on your shoulder.
"Didn't you get yourself anything?"
"I'll take a chip if you've got a spare one." He opens his mouth dutifully when you hold one up, prized, folded over itself like a taco shell. He pats your waist. "Thanks."
You're about halfway through a cookie when you start to yawn, eyes feeling heavy all of the sudden. It is raining outside. You know there's a long night ahead listening for signals in a van with your boyfriend and his teenage partner in crime, but the drumming at the roof always quiets your mind.
"Close your eyes for a minute," Steve says, taking your cookie from you and safely stowing it in the wrapper, folding the edge over.
"Mm." Your feet cricket together. He catches on, legs shifting underneath you, and he shells off your shoes one at a time.
You are clay to be molded with him. He lays you horizontal on the couch and squishes himself behind you. "Get some shut-eye. I could use some time."
"For what?"
"Feels like I never get the chance to just hold you," he says softly, thumb cresting your hairline in a way that keeps you sleepy. "These days."
"You hold me every night," you murmur, and he kisses your crown.
"Yeah, but I'm asleep. Don't appreciate it as much as I should." Steve centers his arm over your middle, shielding you, but you don't know what from. "Close your eyes, babe. I've got you for a little while."
You drift, skating up and down the walls of your mind and relaxing into yourself. "I love you."
"I love you, sleepy."
You are shaving that night in the shower, paying special attention to nooks and corners you've neglected for purposes of time. The crawl was not stressful, just long, and you wanted some quiet time before bed. Steve hopped out earlier than you after washing his hair, and you sat on the shower seat with your razor.
He shouts over the waterfall that he'll wait for you in bed and you listen to his muffled footsteps, focusing on pulling your razor in a perfect stripe up your leg. Cool sheets are waiting for you, and you can't wait to wiggle around like an earthworm under the covers.
Putting finishing touches on yourself, you twist the shower off and dry yourself, slipping into just a pair of light panties with a daisy embroidered in the middle and a soft pointelle top. Steve runs hot; he always has. He uses you as his teddy bear when you stay over, so you figure it's best to dress light and be prepared.
"Hi, bub." He reaches for you when you patter in, tossing your clothes in his hamper and sitting on his bed, crawling to him on your elbows because it's so cozy. Steve hooks his fingers under your armpits and hoists you over. "You look cute."
"You look cute." Your chin sinks to a stop on his bare chest, hair tickling your neck. "I like your pajama pants."
"Thanks." He is pleased, lifting you to sit on his belly button and you draw yourself up, straightening your spine. "Let me see your- oh, baby."
"Hm?" Your gaze flits down to where he's looking between your legs. There is a teeny dot of red blooming beside the daisy. "Oh. I must have cut myself."
"I'll get you a new razor." Steve is focused, reaching out to thumb the affected spot. "Honey, does that hurt?"
"Uh uh." You flush hot. "It's fine. It's happened before."
"You're bleeding." Steve frowns up at you. "I'm getting Neosporin. Hold on." He lifts you from your seat on his tummy and fluffs a pillow behind you so you can lean against the headboard.
He returns from the bathroom with a tissue and the little yellow tube, brow still knit. "Can you pull 'em down a little?"
You obey and he doesn't even blink. Even though embarrassment is thinning your skin so much you're sure he can see through to your bones, he is purely clinical. Dabbing a teeny drop of Neosporin on you, he keeps the tissue handy in case of more blood. Steve keeps an eye on you even after the bleeding stops, pulling up the waistband of your panties warily. "We can wash 'em."
"Mhm." You feel like hiding your face.
"Hey." Steve reaches for you, palm sheltering your ear. "It's okay. I've seen it all, 'member?"
"Yeah, but it's in a different context." You fold your arms over your chest. "I was trying to be cute. Er, sexy I guess."
"You are, what do you mean?" Steve hooks his arm over your waist, rolling you to face him.
With no choice but to meet his eyes, you reluctantly give in. "Cleaning me up isn't cute."
"Well, I like doing it." He kisses your forehead. "You're a sweetheart. I like taking care of you."
Pouting, you roll over onto your tummy, burying your face into your pillow. He makes an aww sound and slips an arm under your torso, twisting you back "Oh baby, I know."
"I can take care of myself," you whisper,
"'Course you can, babe. I'm just here to help a little." Steve nudges your hairline with his nose. "You wanna cuddle?"
"Uh huh." As pretend-mad as you were, he is sweet and soft and firm in all the right places. You burrow into his armpit, throwing a leg over his waist. He gives you another kiss.
You melt. "How do you always know what to do?"
"I know my girl," he says, tinged with pride. "And she's the sweetest thing in the world."
"Really?"
"Yeah. She just needs a little love." He nudges a kiss into your head. "And she's sleepy too. Real sleepy."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, she's exhausted." Steve smooths a heavy hand up your back. "She's had a big day keeping me company in a van with an annoying teenager."
"Huh." You burrow into the hollow of his chest. "Well, she's a lucky girl."
"I'm luckier." Steve scoops his elbows under you, palming your crown. You nuzzle his side and spread your hand over his heart. He likes it when you kept it there. It is like your hand keep it beating.
His energy was brewing to a boiling point next to you until he sprung up. You nearly went after him, unsure if he was upset about something or if he needed help, but he was back in an instant. In his hand, the slinky he fiddled with during broadcast hours.
Steve laid out his plan calmly, confidently, and a hush fell over the room. Your heart is brimming with pride, something unusual stiffening your limbs. You feel dreamy and dazed when he sits back down, white sweater thick around his wrists. You are both tired and a little dirty from your stint in the Upside Down, but there is a lightning bolt in your chest.
He throws a casual arm over your shoulders, probably wanting you to lean your head, but all you want to do is look at him. It isn't that you're surprised. It's that he spoke up in their language and they listened.
When everyone begins to disperse, fleeing for supplies, he turns to you, offering his palm up. "You okay?"
Surging in, you throw your arms around his neck. Steve stills, not hesitating to squeeze you back. "Woah, hey, I love you too. You okay?"
Waiting a moment, you pull back and distract yourself thumbing a strand of his hair back. "You're so smart, Steve."
He actually laughs and you frown. Quickly, he amends, "Cause of the beanstalk plan? Somebody would have come up with it eventually. I just said it first."
"No." You hide your face in his neck again, kissing his jaw. "You thought of it when everyone else was struggling for ideas. Don't make it seem like nothing."
Something has changed in his eyes when you pull back. "You think so?"
It is the uncertainty of his question that pushes you forward into his lap, sitting facing him and framing his face with your hands. He holds your waist, never rushing you, just giving you attention. You lean in to kiss him once, gently, eyes half-shut.
"You're smart, Steve," you say steadily. "You just know different things than they do. You're the one who opens my chips and patches me up even when I'm being stubborn." Rubbing his cheekbones, your voice grows softer. "You see people. What they need. And the thing is, an idiot wouldn't jump to help the way you do."
Steve presses at your back until you are fully leaning into him and he can hold you all the way around.
"You know how to get me to sleep when I have insomnia," you whisper into his shoulder. "And that's impossible."
He presses a long kiss into your head, holding you there. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything you want," you say, meaning every syllable.
"I want you." Steve doesn't hesitate. "When we make it out of this hellscape, I'll show you just how much."
"How?" You bat your eyelashes and he grins.
"Crunchy grilled cheese and mineral water, of course." He kisses your cheek. "Every day forever."
You laugh and snuggle, determined to pour all the love in your body into him. Steve gives you a determined kiss, pulling back to meet your eyes. "You're gonna stay by me when we go out there. Right by me. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Smiling softly, you kiss him again. "D'you want me chained to you when we climb the tower?"
"If we can do that, that'd be great." Steve pulls you back close, shielding your head with his palm. "We've got so much more to do. We're not gonna die in there, I won't let it happen. Wait and see if the plan works before you tell me what a brainiac I am." His voice is light, and you are grateful for it. The end of the world is not here, not when he is here and he is holding you.
years of sneaking into the house late, trying not to wake his parents, had turned silence into instinct. keys set down softly. shoes kicked off by the door instead of across the floor. careful footsteps through dark rooms.
but lately he’d started doing it for you too.
especially on nights he knew you weren’t feeling well.
the apartment was dim when he walked in, lit only by the soft yellow glow of the lamp near the couch and whatever late-night sitcom was playing quietly on the tv.
for a second he thought you were awake.
then he noticed the heating pad tucked against your stomach.
the bottle of painkillers sitting half-open on the coffee table beside a glass of water.
his expression softened immediately.
oh, baby.
you were curled on your side beneath the blanket he recognized from your bed, knees pulled toward your chest slightly even in sleep. face scrunched faintly like your body still hurt even unconscious.
steve’s chest tightened in that awful tender way it always did around you.
he set his work bag down quietly before moving closer.
slow and careful like you were something precious enough to startle.
the couch creaked softly when he knelt beside it.
you stirred a little but didn’t wake fully.
steve brushed a piece of hair away from your face gently, fingertips warm against your cheek.
“hey, sweetheart,” he whispered.
your eyebrows furrowed sleepily.
he smiled immediately.
gosh, you were cute.
“c’mon,” he murmured softer this time, thumb stroking slowly across your cheekbone. “wake up for me.”
your eyes fluttered open after a second, still heavy with sleep. disoriented for exactly half a heartbeat before they landed on him and instantly softened.
“steve,” you mumbled.
his heart nearly folded in on itself.
“hi, baby.”
you pushed yourself upright before immediately reaching for him.
not even fully awake yet and still instinctively seeking him out.
steve let out a quiet little laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“okay,” he whispered warmly, catching you easily. “c'mere.”
you tucked yourself against him without hesitation, face pressing into the side of his neck while his arms slid around your waist automatically.
home.
it always felt like coming home with you.
his hand rubbed slowly up and down your back while you melted sleepily against his chest.
“missed you,” you mumbled.
steve closed his eyes briefly.
completely gone over three words.
“i was at work for six hours.”
“terrible,” you sighed dramatically against his shoulder.
he laughed softly.
then gentler, fingertips brushing through your hair now,
“how bad’re the cramps?”
you groaned quietly in response.
“that bad, huh?”
“my uterus is trying to kill me.”
“rude of her, honestly.”
another sleepy little laugh.
steve shifted slightly so he could look at your face properly.
there were still traces of discomfort there. tiredness too.
he hated when you hurt.
always had.
“you take the painkillers?”
you nodded against him.
“heating pad helping?”
“kinda.”
his thumb brushed beneath your eye gently.
“you eat anything?”
the guilty silence answered for you.
steve sighed quietly through his nose.
“baby…”
“i forgot.”
“you can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.”
you frowned slightly like he was the unreasonable one here.
“thats just a rumor.”
“yeah?” he smiled faintly. “well your body’s currently staging a violent protest, so maybe let’s not challenge science tonight.”
you huffed weakly into his neck.
adorable.
steve pressed one kiss against your forehead before carefully pulling back.
“stay here,” he murmured.
your arms tightened immediately.
“where’re you going?”
“kitchen.”
you looked genuinely distressed by that idea. “don’t leave me.”
his expression softened so much it almost hurt. “sweetheart, i’m making you soup. not joining the military.”
“still.”
steve smiled helplessly before kissing your temple this time.
“c’mon.” he brushed his nose lightly against yours. “you can survive thirty seconds without me.”
“debatable.”
he laughed quietly again.
then stood only after making sure the blanket was tucked properly around you and the heating pad stayed against your stomach.
domesticity looked unfairly good on him.
you watched sleepily from the couch while steve moved around the kitchen in sock feet, opening cabinets and muttering softly to himself while he cooked.
the apartment smelled like soup within minutes.
he checked on you constantly while cooking too. glancing over every thirty seconds like he couldn’t help himself.
“you alive over there?” he called softly at one point.
you barely lifted a thumb from beneath the blanket.
eventually he returned carrying a bowl in one hand and one of your fluffy socks he’d apparently found abandoned near the bedroom in the other.
you blinked at him.
“why do you have a sock?”
“because,” he said patiently, kneeling beside the couch again, “you took the other one off and now one foot’s cold.”
your heart actually hurt a little.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and yet,” he slid the sock carefully back onto your foot, “here we are.”
you stared down at him fondly while he adjusted the blanket around your legs again afterward.
pretty boy.
sweet boy.
your boy.
steve handed you the soup once he was satisfied you were adequately bundled.
“eat.”
you took a few sleepy bites while he sat beside your legs, one hand rubbing absentminded circles against your calf through the blanket.
the tv murmured softly in the background.
after a few minutes you set the bowl down and reached toward him again silently.
steve smiled immediately.
“needy tonight, huh?” he laughed under his breath before stretching out carefully beside you on the couch.
the second he settled, you curled into him again automatically, head tucked beneath his chin. his arms wrapped around you without thought.
“better?” he whispered.
you nodded sleepily against his chest.
steve kissed the top of your head and pulled you closer beneath the blanket with a quiet little hum.
“get some sleep, baby.”
you smiled faintly against his chest.
“only if you stay.”
steve tightened his arms around you immediately.
“not going anywhere.”
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