if its not too vague could u just talk about like. cuddling. steve harrington. i want to hug him really really really bad. or just like physical affection with him even. idk i just think he needs to be shown love. THANK YOU
steve is so. large. mmmmmmmmm. yeahh. cuddling w him is such a dream bc he’s like your own personal giant teddy bear it’s actually so blessed. and it helps that he like. LOVES cuddling.
steve harrington is touch starved as hell. as a little kid, he was always clinging onto his mother. hiding behind her skirts at parties, latched onto her leg or balanced on her hip at grocery stores. he was made to sleep in his own room when he started kindergarten at age 5, but always managed to sneak his way into his parents’ bedroom in the middle of the night.
but then he was forced to grow up. his dad would lock the door at night, his mom stopped kissing him goodbye whenever he left for school and wouldn’t welcome him with a hug when he came home anymore. it was all so abrupt and sudden. one day he was loved, happily running into his mother’s arms when she came to pick him up from school, the next day, he was coming home on the bus to an empty house and cold food on the stove with instructions on how to heat it written on a post it note.
steve harrington doesn’t really ask when he wants to hold you. not verbally at least, mostly because he’s never learned how. instead, during group movie nights, he’ll inch a bit closer to you so he can get the popcorn. he’ll stretch out and his arm will end up wrapped around your shoulder. he’ll press up against you so you can both fit under the small blanket. he’ll pick a piece of lint off of your pants and his hand will stay on your thigh.
when you’re over at his place, alone and up in his room, sex is never the first thing he wants. he’ll just want to lay there, your head tucked under his chin with your back pressed up against his bare chest. he wants you as comfortable as possible but craves the feeling of skin to skin, so will ask for you to have your shirt off as often as possible.
even if you want to keep your shirt on, his hands creep under, splayed over your stomach or reaching up to grope at your chest. it’s not in a sexual way, at least that’s not how he means it to come off. the warmth of your skin, the slight weight of your tit in his palm, is almost calming to him in a way. he’ll just… hold. no squeezing or teasing, his hand will just rest there until his breathing evens out and he falls asleep, pressed up against you like you’re his life source.
more babysitter!reader hcs because i love her and jonathan sm :(
⊱ will's babysitter!reader who basically starts living at the byers' when will goes missing in '83. she sleeps in jonathan's room, usually in a sleeping bag on the floor, but they always end up next to each other anyway. whether it's because he's crammed himself into the sleeping bag with her or if it's because he can't sleep and tells her to come up to the bed.
⊱ who watches joyce spiral and has to help jonathan plan will's funeral and is basically there as a caregiver for joyce because she knows jonathan can't do it on his own. he shouldn't have to.
⊱ who is there when lonnie moves back in and is no longer allowed to stay in the house too long, as lonnie accuses her of "mooching" off of his family. she sneaks into jonathan's bedroom at night either way though. he doesn't have to say anything for her to know how hard it is for him to have his dad living with them again.
⊱ who is found in jonathan's bed by lonnie one morning, and has to watch as jonathan is berated by his dad for getting all cozied up with a girl when his brother just died.
⊱ who punches lonnie and gets into a genuine brawl with an adult man before joyce manages to intervene and get lonnie out of her house.
⊱ who would do anything for jonathan, and he’s so genuinely confused by that because he’s never had someone care for him like that before. even though he knows his mom loves him, he’s still been forced to grow up to quickly, and he never got the same kind of love and affection will got.
omg u write 4 kurt🥹 could u write roommate!reader whos sweeter than sugar n supports kurt by snagging him a job at her work?? idk what next but like i would love som subby kurt ily
perv!roommate!kurt headcanons
ok hi beautiful this isn’t going to be a fic bc. the request was so vague BUT i do want to write smth for kurt my beautiful baby boy bc it’s been a while and also today is my half birthday and i said i’d be nastier on main once im only half a year from being 18 SO. here u go!!
extreme suggestive content, 16+, viewer discretion is advised
⊱ who is a fucking dog for you he will literally do anything you ask bro is doing those dishes, cooking (burning) dinner, cleaning until the apartment is spotless like the perf house husband
⊱ who is basically your own personal chauffeur bc he already drives people around for a living so it’s really no problem at all and ofc you don’t have to pay!
⊱ who offers to pay for everything despite not making as much money as you. whatever you do for a living makes better than being a spree driver + failed streamer lets be so fr
⊱ who alwayssss posts pictures of you on his instagram and when people ask if you’re his girlfriend, he gets SO embarrassed like “nooo that’s just my roommate guysss”
⊱ who gets really upset when someone asks him to set them up w/ you because the two of you aren’t dating so obviously that means you’re available
⊱ who offers to do your laundry for you and slips your panties into the back of his pocket for later, telling you that they probably got eaten by the dryer
⊱ who will actually have an aneurysm if he sees you wandering around the apt wearing one of his shirts or his like. spiderman pajama pants bc he def owns those. his clothes are a bit oversized on you and barely show any skin, but it doesn’t matter because all he wants to do is rip them off of you
⊱ who will “accidentally” walk in on you just as you get out of the shower just to catch a glimpse of your naked body, still damp from the water, relishing in the way you scramble to hide yourself with the towel
⊱ who takes polaroid photos of you and jerks off to them at night when you’ve gone to bed, a part of him hoping that maybe you can hear his soft whimpers through the wall that separates your bedrooms
⊱ who will dream of you every night, sometimes the dreams are sweet and innocent, sometimes they’re dirtier, but he will always wake up with a wet patch in his boxers, even with the most chaste of dreams
jonathan who smokes in the rain because he doesn't want to wake you up
after defeating vecna, after everything is over, sometimes you’ll wake up in the middle of the night because of some nightmare of the upside down and everything that’s happened over the past few years. you’ll reach out to the other side of the bed to find it empty, but the sheets are still warm and still smell like him, like lilies and cigarettes. you know jonathan has nightmares too, despite the fact he refuses to talk to you about them. you know how he usually tends to deal with these things.
sneaking out of bed, trying not to wake you. going out into the backyard, never with a coat because he just can’t be bothered. it doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of winter or if it’s pouring rain outside, like it is tonight. you pad your way out to the kitchen, looking through the sliding glass door that leads into the backyard. he’s just standing there in a t-shirt and sweatpants getting soaked to the bone, a cigarette between his lips as he tries not to shiver.
he doesn’t see you out of his periphery, not with the way you stay hidden in the dark. there’s an old point-and-shoot camera on the kitchen counter that jonathan gifted you ever since you told him you wanted to get more into photography like him. you told him you’d only take photos of nature, like the ducklings you see at the park or that pretty tree nearby your place that blossoms into flowers every spring.
it was a lie. you’ve only been taking photos of him. you know how much he hates it, how much he avoids looking at photos and videos of himself or at his reflection for too long because all he can see is his father. you want to prove him wrong, to show him that he’s not like that asshole, to make him see himself the way you see him. you take a photo. a photo of him drenched by the rain, smoke coiling around him.
you don’t go outside, you don’t try to convince him to come back to bed. but you leave a clean towel for him, folded up neatly on a stool beside the sliding door. you toss some of his clothes in the dryer for a bit and then fold them up and set them on his side of the bed, so they’re there for him when he comes back.
it’s just as you’re about to drift off that you feel that smell of lilies and cigarettes envelop you, jonathan’s arms wrapping tightly around your middle, as if he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go. neither of you say anything, you know you never have to with him. you just have to be there, twisting around in his arms to bury yourself into his chest. he’ll press a kiss to the top of your head and his arms will tighten on you just the tiniest bit, but you notice—you always do.
those little actions, the tiny movements and gestures between the two of you, they say more than any amount of words can.
( ☆ ) . * a little flash photography . . . taking a picture of you to my heart !!
f!model!reader x kurt kunkle — kurt kunkle masterlist
ask : “hi i will give you half of my soul to literally write anything with kurt with a girl who is equally nutty as him. make them stalk each other. but its their love language.” — @strawburrybun
summary : on a visit to azusa for a photoshoot with a friend, you meet a spree driver who seems to be just as crazy as you. after your first encounter, you feel the desperate need to meet him again. as it turns out, he feels the same way.
warnings : extreme suggestive content, 16+, viewer discretion is advised
this one is kinda dark? stalking, perv!kurt, no smut but lots of allusions to sex and brief mentions of masturbation, they definitely get nasty but it’s fade to black dw, kinda cringe dialogue & prose but also it’s kurt kunkle idk. what yall expect. reader is a bit freaky and deranged but like. so is kurt & i love it when they go freak4freak so what do u want from me. reader’s clothing is vaguely described (bodycon dresses & lacy panties), they have sex while reader is inebriated but kurt is sober so like. dont. do that in real life drunk people cant consent yall stay safe
word count : 3.3k
You’re not sure what possessed you to come out to the middle of Bumfuck, California for a photoshoot, but your friend was incredibly convincing, and so was the money he offered. It would just be some indie makeup commercial, nothing too complicated, and you’d get some free lipgloss out of it too. This meant you were now staying at a tiny little hotel in Azusa, the most boring town in the entire state, waiting impatiently outside for some guy in a silver Prius to show up and take you to the shoot.
Despite technically being a “model,” you’re not one of those super rich runway ones that get to be on the cover of Vogue. Not that you minded at all, that industry sounds like shit from what you’ve heard, and you’re perfectly happy being in little indie magazines and Instagram adverts for makeup brands. You’re a photography model, not a supermodel, and you’re perfectly content with that. This does mean, however, that you’re stuck taking Spree socials, which you hate.
Rideshares are already iffy to you, you never actually know how trustworthy the driver is, being being in a social is worse. The sheer amount of manspreading men you’ve had to sit next to in dirty SUVs makes you want to go up to San Francisco just to jump off of the Golden Gate. But you’re frugal as all hell, which means you’ll sacrifice what little semblance of dignity you have left to save two bucks, all while praying to whatever god might exist up there that your driver isn’t a creep and no one else requests him while you’re still in the car.
Luckily for you, it doesn’t take long for the Prius to show up, and your driver rolls down the window to wave you over, calling out your name and shouting out, “Hey! I’m Kurt, I’m your Spree driver!” You give him a bit of a forced smile as you slide into the backseat, diagonal from his, looking at his side profile with slight intrigue. He’s… cuter than his photo looks, a goofy little grin on his face as he asks “So where are you headed?”
You give him the address of the studio, explaining “One of my friends asked me to do a shoot with him for this new makeup line. I just wish it wasn’t… here, of all places. No offense.”
Kurt laughs. “None taken, this city kinda sucks. Not much to do here, and not that many pretty girls either.” A small flush comes to his face as he says this—you can see it in the rearview mirror—and you suspect he isn’t that used to flirting with girls. “So… you’re a model?”
You shrug. “Of sorts. Mostly social media stuff.”
“Oh, sick, so you’re like a content creator?” he asks. “I am too! That’s why I’ve got all these cameras, I’m streaming right now actually.”
“Oh?” You feel like you should be a little creeped out about this, yet it doesn’t really bother you at all. Instead, you smile brightly at the camera right above the rearview mirror, wiggling your fingers in a wave. “Hi everyone!” you singsong, much to Kurt’s delight.
“Hey, you should follow me on Instagram and stuff. KurtsWorld96 on all platforms,” he says. “I’ll follow you back and everything. Y’know, follow-for-follow.”
You give him a bit of an odd look, though you’re not fully sure if he can see your face. You didn’t think anyone actually ever said “follow-for-follow” in real life. He was cute, though, and incredibly entertaining, so you agree, pulling out your phone.
“There,” you say, quickly following him on Instagram and leaning forward to take a selfie, your chin coming to rest on his shoulder. He glances over at your phone, one hand coming up to make a little peace sign as you snap the photo.
“Make sure you tag me in that,” he reminds you, making you hold back a little snort.
“How could I forget?” you tease, tagging him as requested before uploading it to your story.
You enjoy a bit of light banter with him for the rest of the drive, finding it entertaining how easy it was to get him all flustered and rambly. He’s constantly trying to flirt, trying to make it seem like he’s all suave and charismatic, but ends up a blushing mess when you actually entertain him and flirt back. It’s endearing, in a way.
When he drops you off, you make sure to rate him five stars per his request, though you were planning on doing that anyway. You tip him with cash and a kiss on the cheek, though you don’t linger long enough to see how he reacts to it, instead wiggling your fingers in another wave as you head off into the studio without looking behind you.
You can’t seem to get Kurt out of your mind for the whole photoshoot, constantly looking at his pages and finding his other platforms whenever you get the chance to go on your phone. You’re not entirely sure what kind of chokehold this odd little Spree driver has on you is, yet you find yourself completely enamoured with him and you can’t explain why. You find his YouTube channel, watch the videos with the grainy camera quality and tinny, too-quiet audio.
He barely has followers or views, and judging by the quality of content, you can see why. Oddly enough, it’s not a turn off. It’s cute; silly, you’d even say. God knows why this failure of a “content creator” has you so enraptured with him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t see him again. Though the next time you do, you’re determined to kiss him somewhere other than just his cheek.
Kurt can’t stop thinking about you. He’s been scrolling through your Instagram for what seems like ages. Pictures of you out with your friends, having lunch, drinking, clubbing, so pretty in those tight dresses that hug all of your curves just perfectly. Those photoshoots he was so curious about, all incredibly tame, yet your posts and photos somehow manage to get him going anyway.
Those makeup campaigns where your lips look so shiny and kissable because of whatever gloss you’re promoting. Pictures of you at the beach with your friends, your perfect little mouth wrapped around a popsicle, the way your fingers curl around a bottle of Coke. All so innocent, yet Kurt’s mind can’t help but twist them into something that will feed his dreams each night.
He’s now parked across the street from the little hotel you’re staying in, looking back and forth from his phone—opened to your Instagram, as it has been for the entire day—and outside his window. His stream’s ended for a while now, the content would’ve been stale anyway. Just him sitting in his car in the dark, waiting for you to step out of whatever Spree or GoGo that you ordered to take you home. He can’t help but feel a spark of jealousy flare up within him as he thinks of you being in some other car with some other rideshare driver. It’s stupid, he had only met you a few hours ago. He’s a glorified taxi, not your boyfriend or anything, yet he can’t help the feeling.
Kurt only hopes the room you’re staying in has a window overlooking the front of the building; hopes he can see you from where he’s parked, or else this would’ve all been for nothing. By some miracle his prayers are answered, as he eventually sees you step out of some Honda and enter the building. He waits, eyes fixated on the rows of windows on the front of the hotel, and breathes a sigh of relief as one of the ones nearest to the ground floor lights up. He can see it’s you through the glass, watching as you’re quick to shed the weight of the day by stripping off your clothes.
The street is wide, leaving a great distance between him and your window, so he can only barely see into it, but Kurt is a clever person. His partially obscured vision is nothing a camera zoom can’t fix. He swore to himself he’d only use his phone to get a better look at you, that he wouldn’t take picture, but he’s never had much willpower. He tells himself it’s out of his control as his thumb taps the photo button repeatedly, capturing grainy photos of your lace-clad ass or the slope of your chest from the side as you release your tits from the confines of your bra.
He’s glad he’s not streaming. Not because he’s ashamed of his actions—there’s no room for guilt when all of the blood in his brain has rushed south by now—but because he doesn’t want anyone else to see you like this. Only he gets to watch as you rummage around your suitcase for your pajamas, wearing nothing but some lacy panties and giving him a perfect view of your ass while bent over like that. You’re unaware of the open blinds, unaware of the photos cumulating in his phone. These are all for his eyes only, no one else’s.
When you finally get back to the hotel and changed into your pajamas, you’re quick to get onto your laptop, not caring for dinner or a shower or anything. You had a big lunch and you could always shower in the morning. Right now, you’ve got a one-track mind, and it’s fixated on showing Kurt how much you care for him.
You think he might be stupid, or maybe just incredibly inobservant, because it wasn’t hard to figure out his address by watching his videos and scrolling through his posts. He really needs to be more careful, but lucky for him, you’re not some weird creepy murderer. Of course you’re not, you just want to help!
He clearly needs better equipment and you have some spare cash lying around, and you certainly don’t need a new pair of shoes. Why not use it for a good cause? Sure, you could send the packages to his P.O. box, but that’s what any other fan would do. If you don’t send it directly to him, how will he know that you really, truly care? That you’re different from all the rest?
You stay up until the early hours of the day, scrolling to the depths of the Best Buy online store and looking through pages upon pages of Amazon filming and recording equipment. You’ve never been one too care so much about this sort of tech; sure you knew what cameras were popular and some of your editor friends would show you the befores and afters for your photoshoots, but that was about it.
Honestly, you don’t even care that much when it comes to Kurt’s content “improving.” Sure, it’s a bit cringey, but in an endearing way. A way that makes you giggle as you have his item reviews on in the background of your scrolling, as you rewatch his stories and highlights maybe hundreds, if not thousands, of times. But you know he wants views and followers and you also know that people care about visuals and content quality, so you’ll do whatever you can to help him with that.
You input the name and address as Kurt’s when ordering all the stuff, too focused on getting it to him to remember that you’d need to write some sort of letter to go along with them so he knows they’re from you. It doesn’t matter, though. You’re determined to see him again. You’ll know you will, and once you do, you can just tell him then.
So what if you’ve only just met him? So what if your only conversation was twelve hours ago, and lasted for maybe twenty minutes? Those twenty minutes were enough for you to know that he’s the one for you, and that you’re really and truly meant to be together. You’ll order a million Sprees if you have to, keep up with his streams and stories and “accidentally” run into him at a taco truck or something. Whatever it is, you know you’ll see him again.
It’s been two days since those packages came in the mail for Kurt. Two days since he set up the new cameras for his car, that new facecam on his PC, tested out the mic for his item reviews and figured out how to Bluetooth the tiny fluffy microphone to his phone for his videos. Everything was working out perfectly. His videos and streams are clearly much higher quality now, and people are even starting to watch them! Not many comments or subscribers yet, and he still wants to find those loyal fans that will stick around, but views gotta count for something!
The only issue is that he doesn’t know who sent him all the stuff. It was sent directly to his home address, oddly enough, rather than the P.O. box he had on all of his socials. His name was on the package, and there was no note or anything. He, unfortunately, had no way of tracing who this mystery fan was that sent him all of this cool and expensive new equipment. This, as he puts it, sucks balls.
He wants to know who cares for him this much, wants to repay them. Not in money, being a Spree driver does not pay enough for that, but in some other way. Maybe with a drink or lunch or a good fuck. The last one would partially also be for himself. But he’s got nothing. No leads, not even a whisper of an idea of who could’ve blown so much money on him.
Hopefully, whoever sent him the stuff is watching his videos, and sees how he’s putting all of the new equipment to work. Unfortunately, averaging maybe twenty views per video doesn’t rake in all that much money, so he’s still got a job to do. Still driving people around and dropping them off, a routine he’s pretty much accustomed to now. To his surprise, as he drives around on what’s supposed to be a normal Friday night, he sees a familiar profile picture as a ride request comes in.
It’s you. He recognizes you from the selfie you uploaded as your profile picture on the Spree app. Those same eyes, framed by dark lashes that seemed to bore into his soul whenever he scrolled through old photos of you. One hand down his pants, the other on his phone, as if those past selfies knew what he was doing. As if those eyes were constantly calling him a creep, a pervert. Those lips that still linger on his cheek from all those days ago when you pressed a soft kiss to his skin, your gloss leaving sticky residue on it. He didn’t wipe it away until he got home that night. God, how he wishes it were those lips that were wrapped around him each night instead of his fist.
Pulling up to the front of some shitty club, he watches as you stumble out in a dress that hugs your body in all the right way. Your heels dangle from your wrist as you’re barefoot on the concrete, your eyes roaming around for your ride. They lock with his quickly through the window of his car, and your entire face lights up as you see him. You’re quick to stumble your way into the front seat, all giggly with your face flushed and makeup slightly smudged.
“Fun night?” he asks weakly as the smell of your perfume envelopes him entirely; stronger now than it was when you had first met, considering you’re right next to him this time.
“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “My friends decided to continue with their pub crawl but I think I’ve had enough, y’know?”
“Smart,” he says, giving you a smile and eliciting another giggle from your pretty mouth.
“So…” you start, eyes drifting around the car, roving over slowly, your gaze lingering a bit too long on both his face and his lap. “That new equipment working out well for you?”
“Yeah! It’s—” he pauses, glances over at you, staring just long enough to start swerving a bit into the other lane. “Shit— how’d you know about the new stuff?” He hadn’t found time to make a video about it yet, and it slipped his mind to even post something quick about it on his story. He’s been too busy with work, all the set-up the new tech required, and of course, he kept getting distracted by your photos every time he opened up Instagram.
His question makes you laugh as if it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever said. “‘Cause I sent them, silly,” you say, reaching over the console to rest a hand on his thigh. “What? Don’t you like ‘em?” you ask with a small pout. The color is slightly rubbed off, the residue no doubt staining the glasses back at the club you were just in, but they’re still shiny and glossy, like you decided to reapply just before leaving.
“No— no! I love them. I’ve been using all of the stuff you sent! I just— I didn’t realize it was you that sent them,” he says, fumbling his words a bit as he feels the warmth of your palm through his jeans, which, really, shouldn’t be possible considering how thick denim is. “Thanks for buying it and everything. It’s all really sick, and all the stuff works really well. I mean, I think my videos have improved by, like, at least a hundred percent.”
Your pouty lips melt into a relaxed and satisfied smile. “Good,” you say, body slumping against the door, though your hand stays on his thigh.
Both of you are quiet for the entire drive back to your hotel, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep until you perk up as soon as he stops in front of the building. Your hand leaves his leg as you move to undo your seatbelt, but you don’t get out of the car immediately. Instead, you turn to him, leaning over the console and reaching your hand to run through his hair.
“Hey, um, do you maybe wanna… come in with me?” you ask softly, so quiet Kurt thinks he’s imagining it.
His lips part but no sound comes out for a bit until he nods rapidly with a desperate and needy “Yeah.”
You lean back over to your seat as he quickly finds a place to park, the beeping of the seatbelt indicator muffled to both of you now. You forget your shoes in his car but you don’t care, too eager to get him up to your room. As soon as you’re upstairs and the door clicks shut behind him, you’re quick to tug him down onto the squishy hotel mattress, lips finding his as your hands work to rid him of his clothes.
It’s clear he’s a bit inexperienced, not quite knowing where to put his hands, or even how to kiss. You don’t mind, though; you’re happy to take the lead tonight. You take over the kiss, tongue finding its way into his mouth as you unzip and tug off the green plaid hoodie he’s wearing. Your hands slide up under the t-shirt he has underneath, and you can feel him shiver a bit as your nails gently rake down the side of his ribs.
You remove one of your hands from its spot under his shirt and guide one of his to the zipper on the back of your dress, waiting patiently as he tugs it down. You get off the bed to shimmy it off, letting it fall in a sparkly heap at your feet. Left in nothing but a pair of panties—because you weren’t going to wear a bra with spaghetti straps—Kurt’s mouth goes dry and his pants grow tighter, if that was even possible. Seeing you like this, bare in front of him, soft skin close enough to touch, to kiss and taste, he knows one thing for sure.
This is so much better than the photos.
a/n: three thousand words of pain, suffering, and ovulation
fuckkkk steve is SUCH a clingy drunk i love him smmmm.
like. y’all have been dating for a few months now but you haven’t made the Big Step of moving in together yet but! you do! have each other’s house keys so like. it’s two in the morning and you’re sleeping all cozy wozy in bed until you just feel a huge weight just collapse on top of you and this weight reeks of beer but also cinnamon and hairspray so you don’t panic. you know this weight, you love this weight.
you don’t, however, love the smell of alcohol emanating off of him. you try to push him off but this man is heavy i fear so it does Not work. you can feel his tongue and lips leaving sloppy wet kisses along your neck, and it’s a little gross but it’s also really funny how uncoordinated he is.
you have to call out his name multiple times to get his attention as your fingers rake through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp, and he almost purs at the feeling. he hurries to get off as you as soon as you express discomfort bc he’s so so good for you and wants to do whatever you want fawkkkk i need this man so bad guys.
he’s so pouty when u call him out for being stinky but cheers up again so fast when you offer to help him shower. does he think he’s going to get lucky? oh yes most definitely. he’s a very clingy and needy drunk which mean he’s also a horny drunk. you, however, are a responsible person who knows a drunk person cannot consent so you’re doing the right thing and saying no & js trying to get him showered and into bed. he is incredibly whiny abt this.
you get him into your bathtub though, you sitting on the edge as the shower rains down on him. you’re gentle as you wash his hair, despite his pouting that you’re not touching him anywhere else, but his pout quickly melts away as you press kisses to his cheeks and nose and lips after each step in the shower. when he gets out, he does that dog thing and shakes his head rlly fast and flings water everywhere bc rn he thinks that’s like the funniest thing ever actually and you get a little upset at him for getting water on u but sigh it’s ok bc he’s cute.
you help him dry his hair and loan him his own sweatpants that you stole ages ago before you get into bed together, steve all cozy with his arms wrapped around your waist like you’re his own personal teddy bear and his face pressed into the crook into your neck. you think he’ll try to make his moves on u again and that he’ll start to kiss your neck and his hands will start roaming, but you greatly underestimate how incredibly exhausted he is.
he falls asleep much too quickly to try anything. he stays awake long enough to murmur an “i love you” against your skin, but doesn’t stay up long enough to hear you say “i love you” back. it’s alright though, there’s always tomorrow, when you nurse him back to health from his inevitable hangover
f!reader x ex-boyfriend!steve harrington — steve harrington masterlist
angstober 2025 — day #007
summary : you hate steve harrington. he was a horrible boyfriend, and even when he had you, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of other girls. but now, you’re huddled up in a bathroom stall with him in the mall the both of you work in. drugged up and delirious, you start to think you might still love him. and that he might still love you.
warnings : yayyyy there’s comfort in this one finally hooray, drugged up steve and reader, steve is. kinda a bad person but its ok he has redemption arc yes!! pathetic wet dog steve, robin buckley mention!
word count : 1.5k
Maybe I should’ve just stayed unemployed, you think as you’re sprawled across the tiled floor of a Starcourt Mall bathroom with your best friend—Robin—and the guy you hate the most, your ex-boyfriend: Steve Harrington. Maybe he’s the second guy you hate most now, though, considering that creepy Russian doctor that drugged the three of you up has definitely moved to the top of the list. At least you didn’t have to worry about the creepy Russians anymore.
You and Robin are giggling about nothing in particular, side by side. You’re not quite sure what’s so funny. You don’t even think there’s an actual reason for your laughter. But with the drugs wearing off, the way the ceiling spins and the fluorescent lights making you see spots, you just laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Steve asks, sliding under the stall wall from the next one over to join the two of you in the handicap stall.
“Dunno,” you mumble. You feel like you should hate him like you usually do. But you don’t, not right now. Not when everything is so floaty and spacey.
“Gonna get snacks,” Robin decides, standing up after giving you a hug.
“Ooh, get me a pretzel,” you say, as if anything is open right now.
Once she’s gone, it leaves you and Steve alone together. Your giggles have stopped now, with Robin gone, and you’re kind of just staring at him.
“What? Is there something on my face?” he asks.
“Yeah. Right here,” you say, tapping at your eye, where his is blackened.
He feels at his gently with a wince. “Oh.”
“Why does this always happen to us?” you ask.
“What do you mean?”
You sit up, your back against the wall. “I mean us getting stuck together. And just always being around each other all the time. We always seem to share shifts, we got stuck in the ice cream freezer together that one time while Robin was on lunch and almost froze to death, and now this,” you say. “It’s like you’re stalking me or something.”
“Well the freezer was an accident,” he says. “But the shifts thing might be my fault.”
“What?”
It might be the drugs lowering his inhibitions, telling him it’s a good idea to let all his emotions pour out. He doesn’t stop talking, even when it would be smart to. “I keep on trading shifts with Robin ‘cause I wanna see you more,” he explains. “Which is why she always has a family emergency when you expect to work with her.”
You’re a bit angry but mostly confused. “Why?”
Steve laughs, moving to sit against the same wall as you, so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder rather than face-to-face. “Because I still love you,” he says, trying to take your hand in his.
You tug away, scooting further from him, but not leaving entirely. “You didn’t love me when we were together,” you accuse. “You were all over Nancy when we were dating.” You don’t blame Nancy at all. It’s not her fault she’s pretty and smart and everything you couldn’t be all those years ago. But you don’t think you’d ever forgive Steve for breaking up with you just so he could go to her.
It’s not like he ever explicitly cheated. He didn’t start doing anything until after he broke up with you. But you caught him staring multiple times; not just at her, but at so many other girls. Their tits, their asses, their everythings. And with the speed he went to her after leaving you— taking him less than a week to move on—it made you think he never loved you at all. You cried back then. It makes you laugh now. Sometimes you can’t believe how ridiculous and stupid you were to believe he’d ever truly love you.
“And I was stupid then. I mean, come on, we were just kids. And I get if you hate my guts, I would too. I don’t expect you to like me back in the slightest,” he says with a long sigh.
“Steve, you basically pseudo-cheated on me, of course I hate you,” you snap, cutting him off.
“I know,” he says. He has no apology this time, just an acceptance of what he did to you.
“You were a dick. And honestly? Sometimes, you still are,” you continue, hugging your knees to your chest.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been stalkerish. I swear I’m not gonna try to ‘One Way or Another’ you or anything, I’ll cut it out, I swear. I just— I knew you didn’t like me after everything but I still wanted to be close to you and around you so I kept giving Robin part of my tips so she’d trade shifts—” he rambles.
“Steve,” you say, stopping him. “I don’t doubt that you’ve changed. I know we were kids, stupid ones at that. And I trust you’re a better person now. But I can’t forgive you fully, not yet at least.”
“I know,” he mumbles, head hanging.
“But I’m willing to try. If you promise to stop being a stalker. I want to believe you’re a better person because—fuck—I miss you sometimes. But I can’t risk getting hurt again. Not until I’m sure you’re not going to do the exact same thing to me as you did three years ago,” you say. “But I want to be your friend. For now, at least.”
“For now?” he asks, looking up at you with a mix of curiosity and hope.
“Maybe more, someday in the future,” you say. “Maybe we can be together again. But not yet. And there’s no guarantee, Steve.”
He nods eagerly, tugging you in for a tight hug, ignoring your yelp. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are,” you say. “I have missed you. Just— your lame jokes, the way you always smell like hairspray, stupid things like that. Things that I shouldn’t really miss.”
You have missed him. Ever since he broke up with you, you haven’t stopped. Even after you’ve “moved on” from him, going out with other guys and letting your friends set you up, you always wished it was Steve instead. Always wished it was his scent of hairspray and cinnamon wrapping around you rather than whatever shitty bodyspray or cologne your date decided to wear to movie night. Always wished you had him there so he can offer to pay for your lunch, even though you both knew that you could easily pay for it yourself. He’d always pay, and you’d always slip a twenty into his pocket when he wasn’t looking.
In every date or boyfriend you’ve had since, none of them have ever been what you wanted. None of them were ever Steve. You tried to deny it for so long. He hurt you, how could you be so hung up on him? But now, there’s no use in denying. You couldn’t even if you wanted to, not with the remnants of whatever the Russians pumped into you still coursing through your system.
“I must’ve been a shitty boyfriend then,” he says with a soft sniffle. You’re not sure if he’s crying or not; his face is still buried in your shoulder. “Considering you don’t miss any gestures or anything I’ve ever done for you. Not that there were any gestures.”
“You would climb through my window at night,” you say, pulling back.
“That was creepy,” he objects.
“Not within context. Within context, it was romantic.” You’re not sure why you’re arguing in his favor so much. Maybe because you’ve decided he’s worse when he’s all sniffly and pouty. Whether worse means “more annoying” or “annoyingly attractive,” you don’t quite know either.
“Promise you’re not lying?” he asks.
You laugh softly at his utter ridiculousness. “I promise.”
“I know you don’t love me back or anything but can I just hold you? While we’re still all drugged up still so I can pretend?”
It’s a stupid question, a longshot. But you still say “Yeah. Sure.” with a long and reluctant sigh. You smile as you answer, though, so he knows you’re not really annoyed. He tugs you in eagerly, burying his face in your hair, as if he can’t get enough of you.
“You’re gonna suffocate me,” you say.
“I don’t care. I’ve missed this,” he says.
Maybe if drugs weren’t still coursing through your system, you’d say something else, or you wouldn’t say anything at all. Instead, what comes out of your mouth is a quiet agreement, laced with some shame, but you can’t find it in you to care right now. “Yeah,” you say with a soft sigh. “I did too.”
When Robin returns, a cold soft pretzel and some M&M’s in hand, probably stolen from the movie theater concessions, she immediately spots the two of you cuddled up together. “Finally made up, lovebirds?” she asks, handing you your pretzel and tossing a bag of M&M’s at Steve.
“Not fully,” you say, taking a bite of the pretzel and breaking off a chunk for Steve. “But we’re getting there.”
“Fucking finally. I was getting tired of watching Steve pine for you from a distance,” she groans, stealing a piece of pretzel from you.
“I’m gonna get worse,” he informs her. “Now that I know I actually have a chance.”
Robin groans and you and Steve laugh as the bathroom door bursts open to reveal the two adolescents that saved your asses, ready to scold you incessantly, you’re sure.
a/n: maybe reader forgave him too easily but what can i say he’s too pretty to be mad at for long
steve harrington & his fucking peanut butter boppers
idk what this is i wanted to do smth silly and stupid bc why does bro talk abt boppers so much in s5. no s5 spoilers but this is based on his obsession in s5
⊱ bro is fucking obsessed w them you have a constant stock of boppers in your pantry
⊱ his favourite flavors are fudge chip and fudge graham which means every time you kiss him all you can taste is chocolate and peanut butter
⊱ he always keeps some on deck, there’s a box of boppers in the glove compartment of the beemer at all times
⊱ in ‘85, when they were first introduced, my guy got like. borderline addicted to them like he had a bopper with every meal like if you have a peanut allergy he is your worst nightmare i fear
⊱ after his almost addiction to boppers, he started to limit himself a bit because he just could not fit that many boxes into his weekly budget anymore
⊱ back when he worked at scoops his favourite thing to do was to crush up boppers and put chunks of them into rocky road ice cream and it was his go to treat when on the clock
⊱ when boppers got discontinued in ‘89, steve ran to all the supermarkets in the area and bought out as much of his fav flavors as possible. he cried for like a week over it.
⊱ for the first few days he like refuses to share them with you or anyone else bc it’s genuinely that serious for him but then he realizes he’s being a bit selfish so he. relents.
⊱ a few weeks after he runs out of his stash he’s really sad but then you surprise him with homemade boppers and he kisses you like there is no tomorrow
⊱ you start experimenting with new flavors together too like he asks you to make a pumpkin spice graham cracker flavor for halloween and a peppermint bark flavor for christmas its rlly cute
⊱ some of them taste better than others but at this point, it’s just an excuse for him to spend time with you
