can u plspslspslsoslspls do a part 2 of nap trap😔it was soooo good
firstly, thank you guys SO much for all the love on nap trap 😭 i genuinely did not expect a sleepy little domestic fic about steve playing with reader’s hair to blow up like that, so seeing how many people connected with it has been so lovely <3
also tysm to the anon who requested this part 2!! and @megs0118 i LOVED your idea about reader eventually asking for it because ohhhh steve would absolutely lose his mind over that. so this one is for both of you <3
nap trap pt.2
Steve Harrington x reader
Summary: Hearing you ask for Steve's hands in your hair affects him significantly more than expected.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, touch-starved reader, touch-starved steve harrington, praise, reader being obsessed with steve’s hands, comfort fic, mildly suggestive at points (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.2k
Read part 1 of nap trap here: [nap trap]
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
Usually Steve can track exactly how tired you are based on the pace of your conversation.
Fast and animated means fully awake.
Long pauses between thoughts means fading fast.
Complete silence means one of two things: you’re upset, or you’re unconscious.
Considering you’re currently curled against his side beneath three blankets watching terrible late-night television while rain rattles softly against the windows, Steve’s betting heavily on option two.
Still, he glances down just to check.
You’re blinking slowly up at the ceiling while his fingers drift lazily through your hair, very clearly fighting sleep with the determination of somebody losing badly.
Steve bites back a smile immediately.
“Hey sleepyhead,” he murmurs.
Your eyes narrow weakly. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“The smug thing.”
Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You absolutely do.”
His grin only widens as his nails scrape lightly against your scalp again.
Your entire body softens against him on instinct.
That immediate reaction that’s become so familiar over the past few months, Steve barely notices himself doing it anymore. The tiny exhale you make every single time his hands slide properly into your hair. The way your shoulders loosen beneath his arm. The gradual heaviness of your body settling more fully against his side.
It’s honestly ridiculous how effective it is.
Robin still calls him “human melatonin.”
Dustin’s started referring to him exclusively as “the Sandman.”
And unfortunately for everyone involved, both accusations are pretty accurate.
Especially now.
Because Steve’s barely touched your hair for thirty seconds before your eyes start drifting shut again.
“You’re doing it on purpose,” you mumble.
“I’m literally just touching your hair.”
“No,” you say sleepily. “You’re weaponising affection.”
Steve laughs quietly under his breath.
The thing is, he genuinely can’t deny it anymore.
Not when he knows exactly what this does to you now.
Not when some embarrassingly soft part of him likes it far too much.
Likes the trust of it.
The way you’ll fall asleep practically anywhere if he’s touching you gently enough. How instinctively you seek him out when you’re tired. The fact your body relaxes around him before you even consciously realise it’s happening.
That part affects him more than he’d ever admit out loud.
Which is why, when you suddenly tilt your head slightly against his shoulder and mumble, “Can you do the thing again?” Steve nearly loses coherent thought completely.
He looks down at you.
“…the thing?”
Your eyes stay shut.
“The hair thing.”
Something painfully fond twists low in Steve’s chest.
Because usually this happens accidentally. One of you ends up sprawled against the other during a film, or tangled together in bed, or sitting on the floor listening to music while Steve’s hands wander absentmindedly into your hair without either of you thinking much about it.
This is different.
This is you asking for it.
Actively seeking him out for comfort.
Steve clears his throat once. “Uh. Yeah. Obviously.”
You make a sleepy little humming noise immediately, shifting closer until your leg hooks loosely over his beneath the blanket.
Clingy.
Half asleep.
Trusting him completely.
Steve’s heart genuinely doesn’t stand a chance.
His fingers slide properly into your hair this time, scratching softly against your scalp while rain taps steadily against the windows outside.
The reaction is immediate.
Your breathing deepens slightly. Your whole body melts more heavily into his side. One of your hands curls absentmindedly into the fabric of his hoodie like you need something to hold onto while you drift off.
Steve stares down at you for a second.
“…Jesus Christ,” he mutters quietly.
You crack one eye open. “What?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Says the man who accidentally Pavlov’d his girlfriend.”
Steve grins despite himself. “You almost started purring last week.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Your face disappears briefly into his chest in protest while Steve laughs softly, fingers never stopping their slow rhythm through your hair.
The room settles comfortably quiet after that.
Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance while some awful commercial flickers silently across the television neither of you are really watching anymore.
Steve notices every stage of your exhaustion now.
The slower blinking.
The increasingly delayed responses.
The way your body gradually gets heavier against his side like gravity affects you more whenever he touches your hair for long enough.
“You’re falling asleep already,” he murmurs eventually.
“No I’m not.”
“You just stopped talking halfway through a sentence.”
“I was thinking.”
“Mhm.”
“I was.”
Steve smiles to himself as your words start blurring together slightly from tiredness.
“You’re so pleased with yourself about this,” you mumble.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately for you,” Steve says quietly, “this might actually be my greatest achievement.”
That gets a soft laugh out of you.
It fades quickly into a yawn instead.
Steve feels something warm settle painfully beneath his ribs at the sound.
Because this is the thing nobody really sees about him. Not the babysitter jokes or the stupidity or the pretending not to care.
Just this.
How badly Steve likes being safe for somebody.
How naturally he settles into taking care of the people he loves. How much he quietly craves these tiny domestic moments nobody else would even notice.
You shift sleepily against him again until your face ends up tucked properly into the crook of his neck.
“Feels nice,” you murmur eventually.
Steve glances down. “What does?”
“Your hands.”
The words come out so drowsy and sincere they nearly ruin him on the spot.
You don’t even realise what you’re doing to him.
Or maybe you do.
Because your eyes blink open slightly afterwards, finding his face in the dim orange light.
“You okay?”
Steve huffs a quiet laugh through his nose.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just think you might actually be trying to kill me.”
Your lips twitch sleepily. “Why?”
“Because you say stuff like that while lookin’ like this.”
“Like what?”
Steve gestures vaguely toward you.
Curled against his chest beneath a mountain of blankets. Sleep-heavy eyes. Hair completely messed up from his hands.
“…cute,” he finishes weakly.
You smile lazily at that.
Then immediately move even closer.
Which honestly feels a little unfair.
Steve’s fingers slow briefly in your hair as he watches your eyes drift shut again.
“You know,” you mumble eventually, voice already heavy with sleep, “I think this might genuinely be my favourite thing too.”
Something warm twists painfully through Steve’s chest.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You nuzzle slightly against his throat. “Makes me feel safe.”
Oh, that one nearly takes him out completely.
Steve goes very still for a second before leaning down to press a slow kiss against your forehead.
His hand never leaves your hair.
“C’mere,” he murmurs quietly, pulling the blankets higher around your shoulders.
You make another sleepy little noise immediately, practically melting against him now.
Steve could probably stay exactly like this forever.
Especially when, less than five minutes later, your breathing finally evens out completely against his chest.
Dead asleep.
Again.
Steve looks down at you for a long moment before shaking his head quietly to himself, still combing gentle fingers through your hair.
To me, Steve Harrington loves naps. He loves napping anywhere he can. On the arm of the couch, on the couch, the floor, in a desk, in his bed, in his closet, wherever.
He curls up, crosses his arms on his chest, folds in his legs, and just sleeps. He snuffles and he snores and he mumbles. He drools a little. But he loves just disappearing during a party or something, and his friends find him later curled up and napping. He just gets so cozy.
Eddie loves laying with Steve, but he doesn’t nap very often. He holds Steve, plays with his hair, runs his hands over Steve’s chest and belly. Loves to leave forehead kisses and read to Steve. Steve’s such a cuddlebug
i miss it when we all collectively kept thinking and theorizing and fantasizing about how the "painting? what painting?" and the painting confrontation scenes would go
requested! — post s4/ pre s5 fluff w/ lite angst blurb! — 1.4k words
It had been a month since the quarantine had started, and a very long month at that. The military had just started their operation to overlay the fresh cracks in the earth with giant steel plates. A band-aid right on top of an open wound.
The party was still getting their footing, scared for when Vecna would strike next. Max was still in the hospital, her body on the mend while she remained deep in a coma. You would often join your brother or Steve to visit her, hoping that even her silent presence would fill the hole that Max’s curse had left. Steve had really stepped up to be there for Lucas through the defeat. It was clear that he blamed himself for that night, for Jason finding them in the Creel house.
To say that the last month had been draining would be putting it politely — but life moved on. The military had created a regulatory schedule including a strict curfew for Hawkins. From sun up to sun down, civilians were free to roam the town, excluding the MAC-Z in the center of downtown. School had even reopened, trying to provide the remaining children of Hawkins with an education and hope that normalcy would return. The people of Hawkins slowly returned to their regular jobs or chose to volunteer for the humanitarian organizations that brought in rations from the outside world. You wondered whether the eyes of the nation were focused on the insanity that had racked your once-small town, or if they had found a new tragedy to focus on.
The knock of the doorway caught your attention, derailing your thoughts. You lifted your gaze from the manual you had been reading to where Steve stood in the entryway of the WSQK green room. He held a soda in both hands and flashed you an easy smile, approaching your side.
This was your new normal. After Robin discovered that her favorite radio DJ had skipped town, leaving the station abandoned, the town committee needed new employees to manage the public airwaves. Steve and Robin were fresh out of a job with Family Video, choosing to shut down the Hawkins store. Plus, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and you would all be graduating high school and still be stuck in Hawkins until the gate was closed.
So it was decided that your ragtag group would run the station and utilize it as a base of operations to locate Vecna. Dustin, your younger brother, led the charge in establishing a comms system, but that meant you needed to learn what every part of that tower did.
“Studying up?” Steve asked as he offered you the cold soda.
“Trying too. You never know what could happen, and at least one of us should know how all this works in case Dustin’s busy,” You rambled off with an explanation.
Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking over your face in admiration, “Well, why don’t you take a break? The manual will still be here later, and you can fry your brain trying to become an engineer then. But I just found another box of records to sort through. New releases that arrived at the station before everything went to shit.”
You smiled as you took a half step closer. Steve took the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side.
“Fine, fine. I’ll help you with the music library,” Your tone full of playful mirth, though you were content to spend some time together. It had been hard to just have some quality time as a couple before all the craziness took over.
Both of you stood at the table, sorting through a cardboard box to alphabetize the new singles. Prince, Bowie, Tiffany – new additions to the extensive catalog. Steve picked out one of the records at random, pulling George Michael’s Faith.
“Oh, is that your new fave?” You asked, with a warm smile, at his pleased expression.
His smile morphed into confusion. “Um, no? You love George Michael.”
“No, I love Wham!” You corrected him, moving your attention to the actual task.
While you thumbed through the records, Steve set the single aside. One large hand settled on his hip, perplexed and brow pinched, “Same thing. You like George Michael.”
“Totally not the same thing,” You scoffed at his lack of discernment between the two, “George Michael is great, and I love that single, but I still prefer Wham! I think George is finding his sound outside of what the band was.”
“Jesus, you sound like Eddie when he corrects me on Black Zeppelin,” Steve sighed, dragging a hand over his face in exasperation.
“I think you’re trying to say Black Sabbath,” you cringed a little at his lack of musical knowledge, but at least your boyfriend would agree to listen to anything once. Your eyes danced over his confused expression, “Why do you think George Michael is my favorite artist?”
“Um… Dustin mentioned you and your mom listening to it to cheer up, and you’ve asked Robin to queue it a few times. So I made note that this was your favorite song,” Steve explained, attempting not to sound like the worried boyfriend he was, “Y’know, just in case.”
Neither of you needed to elaborate — you both knew what ‘just in case’ meant. Steve beat himself up every day about Max, and he was determined to keep you and everyone else in the party from the same fate.
You gave him a sympathetic smile, stepping closer to his side, “That’s really sweet, y’know.”
Steve bashfully shook his head, moving his hand to rub soothing circles against your upper back, “Figured you’d do the same for me.”
“Oh, of course. I don’t think your Tears for Fears cassette has seen the light of day since you first put it in your car,” You affectionately teased him, not wanting to burst his bubble just yet.
“Haha, yeah, you’ve got me figured out,” He hummed, taking a moment to simply admire you in the moment. Steve tucked your hair behind your ear. “So what is your favorite song?”
Your eyes drifted back over the singles, knowing that you wouldn’t find it there. Because your favorite song wasn’t the latest hit from this summer or even last. Music had a way of sticking with you, even if the rest of the world changed. Your eyes trailed back up to meet Steve’s, giving him a gentle smile before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“Thank you, but if that’s an avoidant tactic, it’s not gonna work,” Steve hummed, tugging you half an inch closer by your belt loop, “Tell me. I won’t laugh – promise. Mike likes The Butthole Surfers, so I don’t think it gets much worse than that.”
After mulling it over a moment longer, you admitted with an exasperated sigh, “Well… my favorite song is Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper.”
Steve blinked, not completely shocked but a little stunned at the information, “That cheesy ballad we danced to at Prom?”
“Cyndi Lauper is not cheesy,” You swiftly corrected him with a glare, “And… yes, it is.”
His signature smirk stretched across his lips, “You are such a sap. I can’t even believe it. Time After Time? Really?”
“Really,” you nodded, exasperated by his need for explanation, “It was just… We had just started kind of dating, and you were there. Not just my rom date, but my boyfriend who went dress shopping with me and bought a matching tie and sneaking a flask of your dad’s liquor — it was the perfect night. And then you won Prom King and refused to dance with Tammy Thompson, even though she rightfully won Prom Queen.”
“Because why dance with Tammy Thompson when I’ve got you,” Steve chuckled, reaching to intertwine your fingers, “I stopped caring about winning Prom King after the demodogs. Was shocked I was still nominated.”
“You’re still Steve Harrington, need I remind you?” You teased him, recalling a version of Steve you hadn’t known in a long time now.
“Sure, sure. I’m Steve Harrington to Hawkins,” His brown eyes held intense focus on your own, “But I’m happy here just being your Steve. Which makes us both saps, I guess.”
“You’ve always been a sap,” Your lips twisted into a loving smile before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Steve nodded in agreement, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
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