How pinterest sees you
Thanks for the tag @jinxispunk !!
hairstyle - animal - style - idol
No pressure tags!! : @oohgeminii @harringtonsdiaryxx @djohours @ktwwx
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art blog(derogatory)

Janaina Medeiros
will byers stan first human second
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Xuebing Du
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

@theartofmadeline
tumblr dot com

Origami Around
todays bird
h

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YOU ARE THE REASON

shark vs the universe

ellievsbear
Mike Driver
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JBB: An Artblog!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye

seen from Germany

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@teheblue
How pinterest sees you
Thanks for the tag @jinxispunk !!
hairstyle - animal - style - idol
No pressure tags!! : @oohgeminii @harringtonsdiaryxx @djohours @ktwwx
10 people you’d like to get to know
Thank u for tagging me!! : @jinxispunk and @harringtonsdiaryxx
˙⋆✮ last song - Honeybee from Olivia’s new album,(fml, aoty)
˙⋆✮ currently watching- i’m in constant loop of rewatching stuff, but haven’t had time to watch anything lately here at the internship, so i’ll just say friends bc i’m always watching them at some point. 💔
˙⋆✮ current obsession - ice cream. The ice cream here in Malta is so good i’m gonna miss it so bad.
˙⋆✮ currently reading - i brought the hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes with me so if i’m not reading tumblr i’m reading that
˙⋆✮ currently working on - heartbreak girl songfic !! And a quick blurb inspired by the line “i love the way you’re screaming my name” from no shame
˙⋆✮ currently wearing - a black top and jeans(sue me), on my way to work at my internship rn (last day who dis)
˙⋆✮ last google search - weather for today bc i keep hoping it’ll be less than 28 degrees but it never is. I miss the rain. like actually.
˙⋆✮ favourite flower - daffodil and lillies, it’s actually one of the reasons i got a mix of both of those tattooed.
unfortunately all of my mutals have already done this so i fear i’ll leave this to anyone who wants to do it!!!
“Hope is quick. Reflexive. Stupid.”
Stunninggg writing. Poignant but punchy. You’re a really talented author!!
Thank you thank you thank you 🥲 mwah 💋
5sos x steve harrington crossover is something i didn’t know i needed …. but now i’m realizing that i desperately do
Here for the 5sos x djolings propaganda
Disconnected
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
summary: Admiring Steve in the darkest nights when you can barely see anything but his love for you.
a/n: is this corny? idkk. Sorry for no updates, I'm currently in Malta for an internship so this took long to write and it's lowkey ass but hey
The lights went out at 11:47 p.m.
One second, the television was flickering in the corner of Steve's living room, Hairspray tunes still softly humming from the screen, but neither of you were really watching it.
The next, everything went dark and a surprised silence filled the room.
You looked around trying to make a sense of where Steve might be.
"Ow, shit."
There he is. There not being a certain place you can pin point, but the curse being audible enough to startle your hearing senses.
You immediately bursted out laughing while somewhere in the darkness, Steve followed with a groan.
"Don't." He warned.
"You walked into the coffee table again."
"I did not." He argued, though the truth was obvious.
"You absolutely did."
"I bumped it."
"With your entire leg?" Another groan as you heard shuffling around the dark room.
"You are supposed to be supportive."
"You've lived here for years, Steve."
"I forgot where it was."
"You always forget where it is."
A hand suddenly emerged from the darkness and grabbed your ankle. You tried bracing yourself on the couch cushions, careful of what’s to come next.
Now it was Steve who laughed. The deep, warm laugh you loved more than you would ever admit.
Before you could even think, Steve shifted, and suddenly the world seemed smaller in the best way.
He was above you now, one arm braced beside your head, the other wrapped loosely around your waist as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you drift too far away. Touch was all you had. His presence settled over you like a warm blanket. Familiar and impossibly safe.
For a moment, all you could do was look at him.
You caught his eyes like sunlight trapped beneath amber. Tiny flecks of honey and chestnut glimmered there, and you found yourself getting lost in them the way you always did.
Steve Harrington had always been beautiful. Painfully, unfairly beautiful.
But it wasn't the kind of beauty that made your heart just race anymore. It was the kind that quieted every anxious thought rattling around in your head.
His gaze softened when he caught you staring, the corners of his mouth lifting into a familiar smile with tthe gentle weight of his arm around you and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
You felt cocooned beneath him, tucked safely inside a universe made up entirely of soft smiles and warm hands and eyes that looked at you as if you were something precious.
The realization bloomed quietly in your chest. You trusted him. Because whenever the world became too loud, too frightening, too much, Steve was the place you ran to.
And somehow, every single time, he made everything feel lighter. Literally.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your side. A tiny movement. But your heart reacted anyway.
Because every touch from him carried the same silent promise: I'm here.
As simple as that sounded, it was more than anything else could say. And lying beneath his gaze, wrapped in his warmth, you believed it completely.
“That’s what you get.” He breathes out.
“You’re impossible.” You shake your head, not wanting to move away from your mind or his face.
"You love me."
Unfortunately, he sounded far too confident.
You do. More than you probably should. More than was reasonable.
You’d have spent years loving Steve Harrington and you will continue to do so.
And that came with hundreds of little things.
The way he always walked closest to the road when you were walking next to him.
The way he remembered your favourite food order down to every detail.
The way he checked everyone got home safely.
The way he looked at the people he loved like losing them would destroy him.
The way he looked at you.
Especially that.
A flashlight suddenly flickered on. Steve was holding it clumsily in his hands. You could finally see more than the glint in his eyes. His hair was sticking up in every direction. You laughed immediately.
"Oh my God." You laughed, mouth wide, waiting.
"What?" He furrowed his brows.
"You look ridiculous."
"Excuse me?" The eyebrows then rose in confusion.
"You look like you got electrocuted."
Steve lifted a hand to his hair.
"You think this is funny?"
"Very." You look at him amused.
"You're lucky you're cute."
The words slipped out so naturally that neither of you acknowledged them. Because Steve called you cute every day.
Beautiful too. Pretty. Gorgeous. His girl. Like it was simply a fact.
Like saying the sky was blue and like there was no possibility of disagreement.
The flashlight illuminated the room in a soft glow. Outside, rain tapped against the windows.
You shifted your palms and landed them on his arms. Brushing them with your fingers lightly, a soft plea to remove them so you could be closer.
Immediately Steve leaned into you. Not even consciously. Again, just naturally.
His hand found yours in a second. It made it's way up your forearm, desperately searching to find space in between your knuckles and squeeze. Squeeze to prove that he really is there, even if you already know it. The weight of it felt reassuring as you intertwined your fingers without looking.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. The rain only grew heavier. The entire neighbourhood appeared dark.
There were no streetlights. No television. No music. No ringing phones. No distractions.
Just quiet.
Steve looked out the window. "Huh."
"What?" You mumbled, still unable to peel your gaze from his beautiful face.
"It's kind of nice." He admitted. You smiled. "The blackout?"
"The peace." He corrected, eyes searching for yours again.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
"I kind of forgot what real silence sounds like." He said, finishing his thought with a breath that didn't need more explanation.
You understood exactly what he meant.
The last year had been chaos. It was full of hhospital visits without knowing if everything was going to be okay. Nights full of nightmares, that made sleep feel like a chore instead of rest.
People still pretending everything was normal when it wasn't.
The constant feeling that something terrible could happen at any moment.
Even now, months later, you still caught Steve checking exits in crowded rooms, waking up from bad dreams. You still saw the tension in his shoulders whenever a phone rang unexpectedly.
Trauma didn't disappear overnight and neither of you even expected it to. But nights like this helped. A lot.
Nights where nothing was happening and you could just exist together.
Steve rested his head against your shoulder, nudging it with his nose.
You took your free hand up and tangled it in his soft waves. That soothed him immediately.
"Tired?" You asked.
"A little."
"You worked all day."
"I know."
"You drove Dustin around for three hours."
"I know."
"You let Robin reorganize your entire movie collection."
Steve made a pained noise. "Don't remind me."
You laughed and Steve's smile appeared instantly.
Hearing you laugh was his favorite thing. Maybe it always had been.
He'd told you that once.
You'd been lying in bed together, fingers laced between yours just like they were now. His face was tucked against your neck, leaving absent-minded kisses along your skin as he murmured things only meant for you.
You were half asleep. It was nearly two in the morning.
And then, without any warning, Steve had said it.
"My favorite sound is your laugh."
His voice had been muffled against your skin, so casual that it almost sounded insignificant. But you hadn't asked him to repeat it. The moment felt too fragile, too perfect to disturb.
That was the thing about Steve.
Every compliment that slipped from his lips sounded effortless. Never rehearsed. Never exaggerated. Just honest. As though loving you came as naturally as breathing.
The memory still made something in your chest ache.
Because no one had ever loved you the way Steve did. Consistently. Every single day.
Steve's fingers lazily traced circles against the back of your hand. Outside, rain drummed against the roof. Inside, his heartbeat felt steady beneath your cheek.
You hadn't realized you'd leaned against him until he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. Always doing that. Always adjusting. and always making space for you.
As though your comfort mattered as much as his own. Maybe more.
"What are you thinking about?"
His voice was soft and a little rough. It was clear sleep was close to taking over him, but he didn't give in. Because these were moments with you, he liked the most.
You looked up.
The flashlight sat on the couch floor between you, casting soft golden shadows across his face. Every so often, the beam flickered when one of you shifted, making the room seem smaller, quieter.
You loved him like this. Just Steve.
His hair was a mess from running his hands through it all evening, strands falling into his eyes every few seconds. The sleeves of his sweatshirt swallowed his hands whenever he pulled them over his knuckles, and the fabric looked far too big on him, making him seem softer somehow.
His eyes were tired.
Not the exhausted kind. The comfortable kind.
The kind that came after a long day, when there was nowhere else he needed to be and no one else he needed to talk to. No one else he wanted to talk to.
His eyelids looked heavier than usual, his movements slower, and every now and then you caught him fighting off a yawn.
And yet he stayed awake. For you.
The light caught the curve of his smile as he looked down at whatever he was doing with his free hand, completely unaware that you'd stopped paying attention minutes ago.
Because you were watching him instead.
You watched the way his brows furrowed when he was concentrating. The way he bit the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. The way his fingers absent-mindedly tapped against his knee.
Small things. Things that nobody else would notice.
Steve finally glanced up and caught you staring.
"What?" he asked, a laugh already hiding in his voice.
You shook your head immediately, smiling despite yourself.
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed. "Stop looking at me weird."
"I'm not."
"You are."
The grin spreading across his face made your heart squeeze. You loved him like this most of all.
Now it was just the two of you, jopined on the couch, illuminated by a cheap flashlight, existing in the same space.
"I'm thinking about us." you admit, finally.
A smile tugged at his lips. "Good thoughts?"
"Mostly." He looked at you, offended.
"Mostly?"
"You're still annoying." You roll your eyes.
"There she is."
"What?" You blink.
"The love of my life."
It slipped through his lips, effortless. Again.
Your heart immediately stopped functioning, words caught in your throat.
"Steve." You barely make out.
"What?"
"You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
His smile widened.
"Because." You reason.
"Because?"
"Because then I forget how to talk."
Steve looked entirely too pleased by that. "I kind of like that."
"You're the worst."
"I'm your worst."
You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's corny words but they stayed with you.
At some point, Steve stretched out across the couch and pulled you with him even closer if that was even possible.
Your head ended up on his chest and his arm wrapped around your waist. A blanket somehow appeared along the way.
The storm carried on outside through the summer evening. The darkness remained but the silence was full.
Full of Steve's heartbeat beneath your ear. Full of the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair.
Full of the certainty that nowhere else in the world existed right now.
Just him.
After a while, you felt Steve press a kiss against the top of your head. Then another. And another.
"What?"
"I really love you."
The words were muffled against your hair.
Your throat tightened.
Begging for attention was never something you needed to do with Steve. If you were thinking of wanting to kiss him, he’d already been reaching his hands to grab your face and give you a thousand of those.
You didn’t have to ask to be close to him, because he’s close to you all the time. Always touching you, holding you, hands grasping for any part of you he can reach no matter the situation.
You never had to ask him to just be here with you, because he was with you no matter what. Even in boring moments like this.
He left no room for overthinking or doubt in his love.
But even after all this time, hearing him say it still felt overwhelming.
You tilted your head back and his eyes met yours immediately.
He looked at you like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. No one else he'd rather love.
"I love you too." Steve smiled. The kind of smile that belonged only to you.
Steve's smile softened the moment the words left your mouth.
"I love you too."
The flashlight between the couch cushions cast a weak golden glow across his face, catching the tiredness in his eyes and the softness in his expression.
His thumb brushed beneath your eye before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
You closed your eyes immediately.
Inside, the room felt impossibly small. Just you. Just him.
You shifted closer. The movement was instinctive and Steve responded just as naturally. One of his arms slid around your waist even tighter.
His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your ear. The rhythm was so familiar now that you thought you could recognize it anywhere.
One of his hands moved slowly up and down your back. Just touching you because he could. Because he liked to.
You felt him press another kiss into your hair. Then another. Always two.
A quiet habit he'd developed somewhere along the way.
The blanket shifted as he pulled it higher around both of you, tucking it beneath your shoulder, making sure you were warm as you smiled against his chest.
Immediately his hand covered yours.
Steve's breathing slowed. You could feel sleep finally beginning to pull at him.
His body relaxed further into the couch, his shoulders finally losing the last bit of tension they'd been carrying all day.
You tilted your head slightly,just enough to look up at him.
His eyes were already half closed. Long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. His hair was still sticking up and you wanted to laugh. Instead, you reached up and smoothed a piece of it back.
Steve immediately leaned into the touch. Sleepy.
But tucked against Steve's chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his fingers lazily tracing across your back, the darkness didn't feel dark at all.
And eventually, as his breathing evened out completely and sleep finally claimed him, you stayed exactly where you were. Wrapped in his arms.
Listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of the boy you loved.
boy fuck you and those big brown eyes and plump lips and and and and
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ djolings as sabrina carpenter songs
steve wants to make you juno bad. it was no secret that steve really wanted to have kids. that he wanted a big family. he made that very obvious when you first got together. you thought it was sweet he knew exactly what he wanted but you told him you may have to compromise on the whole six kids thing. so, it came as no surprise that this man had the biggest breeding kink going. when it came to imagining getting you pregnant—his hormones are high. and outside the bedroom, steve loved to try and tempt you, telling you that one of him was cute but two of him though? even better. you’d roll your eyes but secretly agree.
the amount of times you had text your friends “we almost broke up again last night” when it came to gator tillman was…a lot. more than you care to admit. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you fought, one of you threatened to leave and then—one of you (usually gator) would give in. you’d have sex (incredible, incredible sex) and you’d both say sorry. it was a cycle, it was probably—most definitely—unhealthy but it was you and gator.
your bed chem with teacake was well—it was fucking incredible. that man had the stamina of a damn race horse. the way he picked you up, put you down, turned you around always got you going. the way he knew exactly what your body wanted. the way he talked so fucking sweet while doing the dirtiest things to you. the way he would look at you—you were pretty fucking obsessed.
keys treated you so well that you joked a lot that it made tears run down your thighs. keys would always go red when you’d say that. he’d tell you to shush but his lips would twitch as though he was trying hard not to smile. he didn’t just treat you good but he was always so responsible. he wasn’t a manchild. you never had to baby him. you never had to remind him about an upcoming special event, he communicated so well that you began to wonder why you bothered wearing clothes around him.
you constantly had kurt talking nonsense. he couldn’t help it, it was like his tongue went numb as soon you were anywhere near him. he was in deep with you. he caught that l-o-v-e and he caught it bad. the butterflies in his stomach weren’t just fluttering around you—they were doing damn cartwheels when you were in the room. you couldn’t talk because you weren’t much better when it came to him. kurt made you forget about every ex you ever had. you had no chill about him, kurt had made you lost it. you’d find yourself wondering how on earth did he do this to you?
dividers by @anitalenia
You don’t go to parties anymore
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: You and Steve Harrington were never really anything. You were just the girl who made the last hours of his parties feel like they meant something. At least, until you stopped showing up.
A/n: fuck everyone who got this as their surprise song, anyways, as opposed to the song this has a happy ending, so enjoy!!
The music is too loud for how late it is.
Or maybe it just feels that way because everything else has started to quiet down, unnoticed, until quietness is the only thing left.
It’s 5:00 a.m., or close enough. The clock on the wall has been stuck between numbers all night.
Steve Harrington is half-slouched, half-collapsed into the couch.
One arm hangs off the side, fingers barely grazing the floor, sticky from something he doesn’t remember spilling. His head tips back against the cushions, eyes open but unfocused, fixed somewhere above the ceiling like there’s something written there he has yet to figure out.
There are still people in his house.
Too many, honestly.
Someone laughs in the kitchen, loud and unfamiliar. A bottle clinks against the counter. A couple disappears down the hallway like this is normal, like this is his house but not really his space.
Everyone he’s ever known.
And somehow not a single person he’s actually looking for.
The front door creaks open.
Steve’s eyes flick toward it instantly.
Hope is quick. Reflexive. Stupid.
Stupid, because It’s not you.
Just another guy-someone from school, maybe-dragging his feet in at this ungodly hour, talking too loudly about nothing.
The door swings shut again, and with it, Steve’s brief, flickering expectation dies just as fast as it came.
He exhales through his nose, slow, reminding himself.
Right.
You don’t come anymore.
It hadn’t been like that before. You used to show up late. Always late.
The memory hits him out of nowhere, uninvited and too clear, like everything from before somehow survived the blur of everything now.
The door opening. You stepping in, already half-smiling, half-annoyed.
“You know you could not invite half of Hawkins, right?”
He remembers your voice, teasing him with a truthful smile. And Steve—God—Steve would feel it instantly. That shift. Like the night finally made sense.
He’d push himself off whatever wall he was pretending to enjoy leaning on, weaving through people just to get to you with a grin that spread across his face like a reward.
A reward to the hours he spent doing nothing but wait for you at every party, not even listening to anyone’s words because all he could think about was you.
“You came.” He’d said. Like he wasn’t sure you would. Like it mattered more than it should.
You’d roll your eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
But you’d stay. That was the thing.
You weren’t a party person. Never had been. You hated the noise, the mess, the people who got too close, too loud. You’d hover in the kitchen, or sit on the counter with a drink watching everybody mush into one another, or disappear into quieter rooms and somehow, Steve always ended up there with you.
Not hosting. The thought that it was his party completely left his mind the moment you showed up.
Now the kitchen is full, and he doesn’t step foot in it. Now the quiet rooms stay empty. Now he doesn’t even try to look.
“Steve!”
He barely reacts when someone drops down beside him on the couch, too close, too energetic for the hour.
A girl. Familiar, but not familiar enough. Her hand lands on his arm like she’s done it before.
Maybe she has but he can’t remember, too lost in the thought of that it should’ve been you.
It shouldn’t feel wrong. But it does.
Because it should’ve been you.
You, reaching for him like that without thinking.
You, nudging him when he drifted too far into his own head.
His brain does this cruel thing.
It expects you. It always does.
You never even had to say his name.
You’d barely get the first sound out—“S—”—and he’d already be there, turning, stepping toward you like it was instinct, like he was tuned to you in a way he couldn’t explain.
“This party’s insane,” the girl says, laughing, leaning into him like they’re sharing something.
Steve glances at her, blinking slowly.
Her words take a second to land. He forces a smile. It’s automatic at this point. “Yeah.” He agrees. Not bothered.
She keeps talking about someone in the backyard, something that happened earlier, something that probably would’ve been funny hours ago.
He tries to listen. But it all blurs together.
Her voice fades into the background, mixing with the music, the outside noise of people chatting.
And all he can think about is how you would’ve reacted.
You would’ve made a face. You would’ve leaned over and whispered something sarcastic in his ear.
You would’ve pulled him away after thirty seconds because you knew he wasn’t actually listening.
His jaw tightens slightly.
The girl laughs again, nudging him. “Are you even listening right now?” Not really.
He huffs a quiet, humorless breath.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
She doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t push, either. Just shrugs, already half-distracted by something else.
That’s the thing about these people. No one looks twice. But you would. In fact, you wouldn’t look away the first time in the first place.
You would’ve kept him company all through every party.
At some point, he ends up in the bathroom. He doesn’t remember walking there. The door clicks shut behind him, muffling the noise just enough that it feels like stepping underwater.
For the first time all night, it’s quiet.
Steve grips the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection. At his messy hair due to being run through one too many times, red rimmed eyes and his hollow expression.
One of the memories hits him again, sharper this time.
You, sitting on the counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him with that look, half amused, half something deeper. He knows you’re about to say something that’s been bugging your mind.
“I think you’re trying too hard.” You say, firmly, shrugging like this wasn’t the sentence that has been washing up your mind every time you get Steve in moments like these. Away from the crowd, without anyone to impress.
“What?” He answers, obviously a little confused.
“This,” you’d said, gesturing vaguely. “The whole…King Steve thing.”
He’d frowned.
“It’s just a party.” But you both knew it was’t.
You shook your head, softer now.
“I like you better when you’re not like this.”
Not like this. Steve swallows, looking back at himself now. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Because you were right. And worse because he knows it.
He stays in there longer than he should.
Long enough that the party starts to feel distant. Long enough that the silence becomes heavier than the noise ever was.
When he finally steps back out, it hits him all over again. The mess. The people.
The version of himself he slipped back into without even realizing it.
Someone calls his name from across the room again. This time he ignores it.
Instead, his eyes drift—slow, searching—toward the front door. Like they have all night. Like they keep doing without his permission. And the door? It’s closed. Of course it is.
After everyone has left, Steve ends up back on the couch. Same position. Same spot. Like he never moved.
Except now the house actually is empty.
Cups litter the floor. Something sticky clings to his shoe when he shifts. A chair is knocked over near the kitchen. The air smells stale, heavy with everything the night dragged in and left behind as a reminder of what’s left to clean up.
He stares at the door again. One last time.
Again. It’s stupid, at this point. Really stupid.
He knows you’re not coming. You haven’t in weeks. Maybe longer.
He just… didn’t want to admit it.
His throat tightens slightly, something uncomfortable settling in his chest. Because for the first time all night, there’s no distraction left. No noise to drown it out. No one to pretend in front of.
Just him.
And the quiet realization that’s been waiting for him to stop running long enough to catch up.
His gaze lingers on the door a second longer before finally dropping, his head tipping back against the couch.
A slow breath leaves him.
Another memory hits him.
It had never been about the parties for you.
Steve knew that.
You didn’t show up for the music, or the people, or whatever reputation came with being seen at his house. Half the time, you barely spoke to anyone else.
But you always stayed for him.
That was the part he didn’t understand at first.
Not until he started noticing the way your eyes tracked him across the room. Not in a clingy way. Not like you needed him.
More like you were making sure he didn’t lose himself in it.
There were nights you’d catch his wrist as he passed, just for a second.
Not to stop him. Just to ground him a little.
“Hey,” you’d say, softer than the rest of the room.
And that was enough.
Enough to cut through the noise. Enough to make everything else feel distant. He’d lean in without thinking, like your voice existed on a frequency meant only for him.
And you’d always notice. Always.
The second his smile stopped being real. The second his laugh went a little too loud.
You’d actually listen.
At least when you were there.
The house is quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful yet—just empty. Hollow. Like something’s been taken out of it and nothing’s replaced it since.
Steve doesn’t move from the couch. He hasn’t for a while.
The clock still blinks. The floor still sticks. The air still feels too thick to breathe properly.
And the door— The door is still closed.
He lets his head fall back, eyes slipping shut for a second, exhaustion finally starting to settle into his bones now that there’s nothing left to distract him from it.
This is it. This is what’s left.
A trashed house. A quiet morning. And the realization that he spent the whole night waiting for someone who was never coming.
A knock breaks the silence. Barely there.
Steve’s eyes snap open.
For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
Because his brain, still stupid,hopeful and desperate—won’t let him believe it.
Not yet. The knock comes again.
Still quiet and still unsure.
He’s on his feet before he fully registers standing, crossing the room faster than he means to, heart racing something sharp and uneven in his chest.
His hand hesitates on the doorknob for half a second. Then he pulls it open.
And it’s you.
You look out of place.
Not because you don’t belong there, but because the night has already ended, and you weren’t part of it this time.
Your eyes flick past him, briefly taking in the mess behind him; the cups, the overturned chair, the remains of everything.
Then you look back to him.
There’s no smile this time.
Just something careful still settled on your face.
“Hey.”
His throat feels dry. Unsure. Like his brain is still catching up, too much happening all at once.
“Hey,” he echoes, quieter.
For a second, neither of you moves and it feels awkward in a way it’s never been before.
Like you don’t quite know where you stand anymore.
“I, uh—” you start, shifting your weight slightly. “I think I left my jacket here. A while ago.”
It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But Steve nods anyway, stepping back to let you in.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably…somewhere.”
You walk past him slowly, more cautious than you used to be, like you’re not sure what version of him you’re walking into.
After all it has been weeks and you never know what to expect with Steve. Or with you. The last few weeks you’ve spent avoiding him because facing your feelings with the fact that Steve the hair Harrington could never like you.
Even if you always saw right past that persona. He didn’t.
He closes the door behind you, watching as you move through the space that used to feel familiar to you. During evening, at least.
You don’t head for the kitchen. You don’t make yourself comfortable. You just look around taking it all in.
“This is new,” you say quietly.
Steve huffs, but there’s no humor in it. He knows what you mean.
“Not really.”
He lets silence overtake everything for a quick pause, hoping that what he says next won’t mess up the moment even more.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
You glance at him, something flickering across your face, searching for his eyes like there’s a right answer and that’s where you’ll find it.
“I didn’t,” you admit. “Not for that.”
Not for him. The words hang there, unspoken but understood.
Steve nods slowly, looking down at the floor for a second. “Yeah.”
He clears his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet house. “Where do you think you left it?”
Another dumb excusable question you’re both aware of.
You shrug slightly, arms crossing, bracing yourself against a feeling you can’t explain yet.
“I don’t know. Your room, maybe.”
His jaw tightens a little at that. You haven’t been up there in weeks. Not since the last party you came to.
“Yeah. Okay.” He nods once, not letting another memory flood both of your minds this time, then he gestures vaguely toward the hallway with a head shake. “It could be there.”
You hesitate before moving. Just for a second, deciding if this is a mistake, like you’re giving yourself the chance to turn around and leave.
Steve notices. Of course he does. He notices everything about you.
“I can check,” he rushes. “You don’t have to-“
“No.” You shake your head, cutting him off, softer this time. “It’s fine.”
You step past him before he can say anything else.
He follows, a step behind, like he used to, but it feels different now. Less certain. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed to be that close anymore.
You reach his bedroom door first, pushing it open slightly, surprised it wasn’t locked.
Even more surprised when you see how untouched it is compared to the rest of the house. He didn’t let anyone in here.
You scan the room again, slower this time, like you’re giving yourself something to do.
“It’s cleaner in here,” you say, glancing back at him. “That’s new.”
Steve huffs a quiet laugh from the doorway.
“Yeah, well. People don’t usually make it this far.”
“Wow,” you deadpan. “I feel special.”, you joke, with a laugh, but the words had more weight to it. The word joke not holding it’s meaning anymore.
He shrugs, but there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You are.” Like he’s not even thinking about it.
You chuckle, hoping he doesn’t take it the wrong way and look away first, stepping further into the room, crouching slightly to check the side of the bed still holding onto the story. “If I find it covered in something gross, I’m leaving it here.”
“That’s fair,” he says. “Honestly, I’d probably do the same.”
You glance up at him. “You would not.”
“I would,” he insists, pushing off the doorframe a little, stepping into the room. “I have standards.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You threw a party for half the town.”
“Hey,” he points at you, mock-offended, “those are unrelated issues.”
But you don’t know the parties aren’t for half the town. They’re not for his neighbours, for his classmates or anyone he ever knew.
They’re for you.
Why would he keep throwing them and pretend to thrive someplace that didn’t include you. Even if that place included you for the last few hours only.
You stand back up, brushing your hands together like you actually found something, even though you didn’t.
“Still not seeing it.”
Steve nods slowly, looking around like the jacket might magically appear if he tries hard enough. “It’s probably..uh..” he gestures vaguely toward his closet. “Check there, maybe?”
You pull the closet door open, pushing aside a few hanging shirts without much hope. “I’m not digging through your entire house for one jacket.”
“Wow,” Steve says lightly from behind you.
“Didn’t realize it meant that little to you.”
You glance back at him. “It’s a jacket, Steve.”
“Cold mornings are serious,” he shrugs, looking away from you.
There’s barely anything there—just a couple of boxes, a pair of old shoes.
And then something small, half-hidden near the corner. You reach for it without thinking.
“…wait.”
Steve shifts a little. “What?”
You pick it up, turning it over in your hand, squinting at it for a second, then your expression changes.
“…no way.”
Steve already knows that tone.
“What?” he asks, a little more cautious now.
You stand up, holding it out slightly. “You still have this?”
It’s a keychain.
Cheap. Plastic. Slightly scratched. From one of those dumb arcade prizes.
Steve freezes for half a second when he sees it. “Oh,” he says quietly.
You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Oh?”
“I mean-it’s just-” he gestures vaguely, already losing the point, “it was in there.”
“You won this for me,” you remind him, as if he needs any reminding, turning it between your fingers. “And then got mad when I said it was ugly.”
“It is ugly,” he defends, a small smile creeping in despite himself.
“You were so proud of it though.” you add.
“I worked hard for that,” he shoots back. “Those machines are rigged.”
You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. “I think I said something like, ‘Wow, I’ll treasure this forever,’” you recall.
“You were lying,” he says immediately.
“Obviously.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “I knew that.”
You look at it again, “I lost it like…two days later.”
“I know.”
That makes you glance up at him. “You do?”
Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Found it in my car.”
“…and just kept it?” you ask, searching for his eyes.
He hums, then, even quieter, “Yeah.”
“You’re weird.” You rush, before you could let your mind think too much of it. This meant nothing, you and Steve were nothing.
“Getting that a lot today,” he mutters in response. But he’s smiling a little.
You step out of the closet, still holding the keychain, your fingers brushing over the scratched plastic absentmindedly.
“Still not my jacket,” you scoff, dramatically, feeling less out of place now.
“Yeah,” Steve replies. “Guess not.” With raised eyebrows and a smile spreading into a grin already. Like he knew it wasn’t there anyway as much as you did.
Neither of you moves much after that.
You’re closer now. Not on purpose, it’s just how it ended up.
You glance down at the keychain again, then back up at him. “You kept a lot of stuff like this?”
“No,” he says. “Just…some things.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Important things?”
He lets out a quiet breath, like he didn’t expect that question. “Something like that.”
Your breath catches, taken back deciding on what you’re about to do next.
You shift your grip on the keychain, and your hand brushes his, this touching him on purpose.
Steve’s gaze drops for a second, then back up to your face like he’s searching for what this really means and the answer is on your face.
He takes a deep breath.
“You still think it’s ugly?” he asks softly.
You hum, pretending to think about it. “…yeah.”
He nods. “Fair.” Then you add, just as quiet: “But I’d probably keep it now.”
You don’t move away after saying it. Neither does he. There’s barely any space left between you.
Steve lets out a small breath, deciding something again, knowing he didn’t give it a second thought. Not even a first one. “You can.”
You look at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “You can keep it.” He looks down at where your hands are still touching. “Was kinda yours anyway.”
You push harder against his hand, probing for one of his fingers, his hand, you don’t even know, just wanting to hold a part of him in some way as slick as you can be.
“yeah?” You mutter, not losing your focus.
You settle on the finger closest to yours as quickly as you can, not wanting to make this more awkward than it already might be. He reaches for the keychain, both of you holding it tightly now.
But at the same time you’re scanning his eyes, scouring for any possible hint that says he doesn’t want this, blinking as a way to cue him and let him know he can still pull away.
And instead of saying anything else, you lean your face closer, just slightly at first, giving him time to meet you there, if he wants to.
For a second, nothing happens.
Your breath mixes with his, close enough now that you can feel the hesitation in it, not unsure but like he’s not entirely sure this is real and happening.
His eyes flick between yours, searching, almost waiting for you to pull back, giving you every chance to.
You don’t. But you don’t get closer either, letting him decide what comes next.
So he closes the distance.
It’s careful, barely there at first. His lips are brushing yours so lightly it almost feels accidental.
Like a test. And you still feel his reluctance, waiting for you to make it go away and confirm that he can be resolute in this.
And instead of stopping, you lean in just a little more.
That’s all it takes for the kiss to settle, both his and your lips catching each other tentatively. Chasing the taste of one another.
Steve exhales quietly against your lips, like something in him finally gives in and his hand lifts, slow, almost unsure, before resting gently at your side, still grounding himself in the fact that this is happening.
You tilt your head slightly, deepening it just enough to feel real, not rushed.
His thumb shifts faintly against your arm, a small, absent movement, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
You try to think of how maybe this shouldn’t be happening, like your lips shouldn’t be so desperate and in seek of his the second he pulls back to breathe.
You should be bothered by sweat building on his pinky from you gripping it so tightly, but you just want more, more and more.
Because you know you’ve wanted this for weeks. Weeks spent away from him, the moment only living in your imagination.
When you finally pull back, it’s unhurried, neither of you moving far, both still hovering in it, wanting it to continue. Your breath is uneven.
Steve lets out a quiet, disbelieving exhale, his eyes still half on yours, like he’s afraid if he looks away it’ll disappear.
The keychain is still in his hands, pressed between his fingers.
Steve glances at it, then back at you, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “..definitely not here for the jacket.”
You huff softly. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Don’t.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, still close. “Okay.”
And he’s dropping the keychain in an instant, his hands framing for your cheeks, determined to kiss you again without any doubts.
I’m scared I’ll never sleep again
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: Late at night, you comfort Steve through a spiral of restless thoughts
warnings: insomnia
A/n: Luke sang this song straight to my face. But also hii!!! first fic on here, bear with me
Your phone rings at 2:11 a.m.
You don’t even have to answer to know it’s him.
He says that sometimes, Hawkins makes makes him sick.
He loves the city itself, but he nudges the fact in his throat every time he hears people talking from outside his house.
Like the noise crawls under his skin instead of past it.
The streetlights are creeping through the shades, thin and restless, like they won’t let him have the dark.
You huff a little, even though you’re half asleep, and roll onto your side before getting up to reach the phone.
A thin coiled cord stretching across your bedroom floor. A desk cluttered with small things you haven’t bothered to put away. A half-dim lamp casting soft light over rumpled sheets. Outside your window, the night is still.
When it rings again, it cuts through everything.
Your voice is thick with sleep when you pick up. “Yeah?”
There’s a pause on the other end. Not empty, just a little delayed.
“Hey,” Steve says finally and you can practically hear the guilt settling in his throat. The guilt of thinking he's bothering you. He always thinks that when he calls.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, already more awake now.
A breath comes through the line. Soft, uneven.
“I can’t sleep again,” he says, defeated.
You shift under your blanket, pulling it closer without thinking.
“Bad night?” You ask gently.
Another pause.
“It’s just loud up here i guess,” he admits. “Even when everything’s quiet.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the phone. You look around your own room, so still it almost feels unfair to describe it the same way.
“I’m here,” You say after a moment, quieter than before.
You can picture him; lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest, hair messy, and eyes tired but wide open.
You’ve told him countless of times to never feel bad about texting you late, because you’ll answer. You’ll be there. No matter what. And he knows that.
“Want me to stay up with you?” You offer.
You know the answer, but you know him, too.
He carries it like it’s his fault, like he’s the reason, like every shadow under his eyes belongs to him.
But you don’t mind it-not really. How could you sleep peacefully, knowing he’s still awake somewhere, unable to rest?
This time Steve answers immediately.
“until i fall asleep?” A little hesitant.
You press the phone closer to your ear, the soft static filling the space between you before his breathing does as an answer to your hum.
For a second, neither of you says anything.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough like he hasn’t used it properly in hours.
“I’m here,” you whisper back.
You hear the faint rustle of sheets on his end, like he’s shifting, trying to get comfortable in a bed that isn’t his, in a room that doesn’t know him. There’s something hollow about the quiet around him, too big, too empty, like it echoes.
You can picture him again without even trying. Flat on his back pressed against the wall, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other holding his phone loosely against his chest. The city outside never really sleeping, bleeding through the walls in distant noise that won’t quite settle.
“Still loud?” you ask gently. Not wanting to startle his brain with having to think too much.
A quiet huff of air. “Yeah.” Then, after a second of silence: “It’s stupid, ‘cause it’s not even the city. It’s just-” he exhales, cutting himself off. “It’s up here.”
“I know.”
You don’t need him to explain it. You can hear it in the way he talks slower, like every word has to push through something heavier first. Through layers of terrible memories built and gushing to come out all at once.
There’s a soft thud on his end, like he’s letting his arm fall back down.
“Can you just… talk?” he asks, quieter now. “About anything.”
Your chest tightens, but your voice stays warm. “Yeah. Of course.”
So you do.
You tell him about your day, about little things, pointless things, the kind of details you’d normally skip. What you ate, the way the sky looked earlier, something you saw that reminded you of him. Your voice stays steady, soft, filling the silence so his mind doesn’t have to.
At first, he hums in response. Little sounds, barely there. But you know he’s listening. He always is.
Then it fades.
Not completely, but enough that you notice the small shift.
His breathing starts to slow. You don’t hear any moving anymore.
You keep talking anyway.
“…and I swear, it looked exactly like that place you showed me,” you murmur, voice dropping even softer now, like instinct. “The one you said we’d go to one day.”
There’s a long pause.
You think, for a second, he might’ve drifted off. Then immediately:
“Don’t stop,” he whispers.
Your heart twists.
“I won’t,” you promise.
You adjust slightly in your bed, curling into your pillow, phone still pressed to your ear like if you move it even a little, it might break something fragile between you.
“You’re okay,” you murmur, more to him than anything. “You can sleep.”
He exhales, shaky at first.
“I don’t-” he swallows, his voice dropping, being pulled under something heavy. “It feels like if I close my eyes, it all just starts again. Like I’m stuck in it.”
Your grip tightens around the phone, like you can hold him steadier through it.
Like you can hold his thoughts in place from spiralling all over. From wandering to the Russians. To the upside down.
You both know it’s ended, that it’s over. Still, you know he never had anybody to talk to about this.
No one was ever really there for him the way you wish they had been. Not in the moments that actually mattered, not in the quiet parts where it would have changed something.
So he learned how to handle it alone.
How to turn everything into something smaller before anyone else could see it properly. How to laugh it off before it got too close to being taken seriously. Like if he made it sound like nothing, it would eventually become nothing.
But you can hear it underneath him anyway.
And it’s not that simple. It never really was.
Because when everything gets quiet, when there’s nothing left for him to distract himself with, it’s still there. And no matter how much he tries to laugh it off, you can tell it never fully stops being real.
“You’re not,” you say softly but firmly. “You’re here. With me. Just listen to my voice, okay?”
There’s a pause. Quiet and almost a little fragile.
Then, barely there, “Okay.”
And you hear it for what it is. Not just agreement. Not just exhaustion.
It’s him wishing you were there.
You feel it too, sharp and aching, settling somewhere deep in your chest.
Not just in the obvious ways, but in all the small ones that build up until they feel unbearable. The weight of him next to you. The way he reaches for you without thinking.
He’s told you before, in moments softer than this, voice low and almost embarrassed, that when he thinks about you, it’s never complicated. It’s simple. He just wants to be close. Wants to press his face into yours, kiss you until you laugh and tell him to stop, until everything feels quiet again. Wants to pull you into him, skin to skin, just to prove you’re real and not something his tired mind made up.
And it’s never said in a way that feels rushed or messy, always just honest. Like closeness is the only thing that makes sense to him when everything else doesn’t.
You close your eyes, listening to his breathing through the phone, wishing you could reach through it.
You slow your words even more, spacing them out, giving him something steady to follow. Something simple. Something safe.
He says your name lightly. “Come over?” He whispers, barely audible.
Without even giving yourself time to think it through, you tell him you’ll be there in ten minutes.
You try to be quiet, preaching with your feet towards the stairs.
“Hey.”
You turn and spot Steve, watching from close to the couch in the living room.
And he looks… exhausted.
Not just tired. Worn down in a way that sits in his shoulders, in the way he’s barely holding himself up.
“Steve—”
You don’t even get the full sentence out before he crosses the room and pulls you into him.
It’s immediate.
Arms tight around you, face buried in your neck, like he’s been holding himself together and finally doesn’t have to.
You feel his weight settle against you, heavier than usual.
He exhales against your skin. It’s uneven at first, then deeper the longer you stay like that.
“You’re out of bed,” you whisper.
A small nod. Barely there.
“Yeah.”
Your hand comes up to the back of his neck, fingers resting there, grounding.
“Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head again, this time pressing closer instead of answering right away.
“Not really.”
You tilt your head just enough so your cheek brushes his hair.
“Hey,” you say quietly. “Come on.”
You don’t pull away all at once. You ease back, your hands lingering on him like you’re making sure he stays with you as you guide him to your room.
He follows without hesitation.
The second he lies down, he reaches for you again and pulls you with him like it’s automatic, like there’s no version of this where he doesn’t.
His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close until there’s no space left between you. His face tucks into the space between your shoulder and your neck, breath warm, steadying.
You feel the tension in him up close now, not sharp, just constant.
“You okay?” you whisper, your hand already finding his hair.
“…Yeah.”
But it’s softer than that. More honest.
“You’re here.”
“I told you I would be,” you murmur.
Your fingers move through his hair slowly, again and again, the same path each time.
You feel him exhale, longer this time. His body shifts just slightly, pressing into you instead of holding himself rigid.
“You can sleep,” you whisper, your lips just brushing his temple when you speak. “I’ve got you.”
His hand tightens at your side for a second.
“Don’t go anywhere.”
There’s something quieter under it this time. Not fear. He's just… asking.
“I’m not,” you say, just as soft. “I’m right here.”
A pause.
“Promise?”
You tilt your head, resting it lightly against his.
“Promise.”
Your hand slides from his hair to the back of his neck, thumb brushing slow, absent circles there.
You keep talking, your voice low, almost blending into the quiet now. Not really about anything, just enough that he doesn’t have to fall into silence alone.
And gradually, you feel it.
The way his breathing evens out. The way his grip softens, the way his weight fully settles into you.
Like he’s finally stopped bracing.
You don’t stop moving your hand.
Not when his breathing deepens. Not when it stays that way. Not when you realize he’s actually asleep.
Like he’s been waiting for it. Like he’s been waiting for you.
Your chest tightens a little at that. Something warm, something heavy.
You shift just enough to get comfortable without pulling away, your fingers still resting in his hair, your other hand spread lightly against his back.
He doesn’t stir.
And you stay exactly where you are, holding him, listening to the quiet, knowing that for the first time in a while. his mind finally let him rest.
And even though your own eyes start to burn, exhaustion creeping in slow, you don’t let yourself fall asleep.
Not yet. Because if he wakes up, even for a second,
you want to be right here.
I loved your whimsical reader as a whimsigoth girly myself and I was wondering if you could mayhaps write Steve X Whimsical reader. Like big Stevie Nicks vibes.
Probably season 1 Steve.
Maybe his friends are taking the piss out of her and he's just in awe as he watches her walk past, and they're like "you okay man?" But he just fell in love at first sight
Okay thank you bye
under your spell
steve harrington x reader
val speaks - looooove this trope and whimsy reader soooo much. hope u like what i did w this 💋 ++ the whole upside down n such isnt included in this! just a lil highschool love story (which i also kinda got carried away with lol)
word count: 6.7k (not kidding) (dont say it)
the king and his secret
𑣲 the quiet girl collection
king steve behaviour, mild angst, eventual fluff
Everyone at Hawkins High thought they Steve Harrington. More often known as ‘King Steve’—the guy who held the keg stand record for three years running, the guy famous for his hair, the guy who people noticed when he walked into a room.
But Steve Harrington had a secret.
That secret being that he had been in a relationship with you for the past three months.
You saw a side of Steve Harrington no one else did. The side that made you lumpy pancakes and walked you to your door without being asked. The side that asked you to tickle his back with a pout and always needed to be touching you when you were alone.
When it was just you and Steve, there was no ‘King Steve’. It was just Steve.
Keeping it a secret had been completely unintentional at first. You were quiet and Steve didn’t want you dealing with any unwanted attention that came from dating a guy like him. And so, you had both decided to not tell anyone. Keep it a secret.
Steve carried on being King Steve and you stayed in the shadows. And for a while, it worked.
Until passing him in the hallways without him so much as glancing your way began to hurt. Until him cheerleaders fawning over him at basketball games became too real for you to pretend it was okay anymore.
i'll leave the porch light on, heartbroken each morning when its me that turns it off.
|| desc- at what point is loving someone not enough?
steve harrington x reader
val speaks - in honour of noah kahans new album, and in honour of my love for steve harrington- i present to u porch light!
word count: 6.6k
IM BEGGING FOR GATOR/STEVE FIC BASED ON HEARTBREAK GIRL BY 5SOS 😣
I FREAKING LOVE THIS SONG
`
heartbreak girl
steve harrington x reader
summary: your now ex boyfriend leaves you for someone “better” and steve comforts you - you don’t realize he’s in love with you until he finally says something.
content: cheating bf (not steve), insecurity (f) ?? cursing, kissing...idk what else
a/n: YOY CALL ME UOPPPP ITS LIKE A BROKEN RECOOOORRRDDDD SAAAYING THAT YOUR HEART HURTTSSSSS THAT YOULL NEVER GET OVER HIM GRTTING OVER YOYYUUUUUUU 🤕🤕
you picked up the phone on the third ring, voice still thick from crying. it had only been two weeks since austin dumped you. he’d been seeing some girl from the next town over for months, someone he swore was “just a friend.” then one night he showed up at your door and told you it was over. said she made him feel alive in ways you never could. you stood there in your doorway like an idiot while he drove off. turns out she wasn’t even prettier, just new. steve had reminded you of that the first time you called him sobbing.
“you’re so much better than her,” he’d said that night, calm and steady like always. “trust me.”
now here you were again, curled up on the couch in an oversized shirt and tiny pajama shorts, pink velcro rollers still clipped in your hair even though it was almost nine. your parents had left for california that morning for a whole month. you didn’t want to go. staying home felt easier than pretending to be okay in front of them.
“hey,” steve’s voice came through the line, warm and familiar. “you okay tonight?”
“you’re not nothing,” he said softly. “you’re everything. he’s the asshole who couldn’t see it.”
you smiled even though it hurt. “steven harrington, you always know what to say, huh? what would i do without you?..you’re such a good friend.”
there was the tiniest pause on his end. you didn’t catch it.
“yeah,” he answered, a little quieter. “anytime.”
he bit his tongue after that, the way he always did. the words he wanted to say sat heavy in his chest. he wanted to tell you he’d been in love with you since junior year, that every time you cried over austin it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his ribs. but he wouldn’t push. not when you were this broken. so he stayed on the phone for almost an hour, making you laugh with dumb stories about dustin trying to ask out some girl at the arcade and failing miserably. by the time you hung up, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
he called again the next night. and the night after that.
every call ended the same. you told him he was the best friend anyone could ask for. every time, steve felt that same pang, sharp and familiar. still, he kept calling. kept checking if you’d eaten, if you’d laughed that day, if you needed him to bring over ice cream or just sit on the line in silence. you started looking forward to the sound of his voice more than you wanted to admit.
one evening you caught yourself staring at the phone before it even rang, heart doing something stupid and fluttery. you realized then, sitting there in your rollers and baggy shirt, that you were falling for your best friend. hard. the thought scared you quiet. you didn’t say anything. not yet.
three days later steve showed up at your door with a six-pack of coke and a bag of video tapes.
“figured you could use some company,” he said, stepping inside like he belonged there. which he kind of did. he’d been in this house a thousand times.
you were in your usual home uniform: soft camisole, tiny pj shorts, hair half in rollers, half tumbling down. steve thought you looked pretty like this. no makeup, no trying. just you.
“you didn’t have to come over,” you said, but you were already smiling.
“i wanted to.” he kicked off his shoes and followed you to the living room.
you spent the whole afternoon like that. sprawled on the couch watching movies, legs tangled under a blanket even though it wasn’t cold. steve kept stealing glances at you every time you laughed, memorizing the way your nose scrunched up. you kept catching yourself staring at his hands, at the way his hair fell when he ran fingers through it. the ache from austin felt smaller with every passing hour. almost forgettable.
when the sun went down you ordered pizza and ate it straight from the box on the floor. steve told you about the new family moving in down the street and how the kid reminded him of a tiny version of himself. you laughed so hard coke almost came out your nose. he grinned at you like you hung the moon.
later you both ended up back on the couch, lights low, some dumb comedy playing that neither of you were really watching anymore. your head rested against his shoulder. his arm had found its way around you somewhere between the second and third movie. it felt natural. safe.
steve shifted a little. you felt his heartbeat pick up.
“hey,” he said, voice low. “i need to tell you something.”
you sat up enough to look at him. “what’s up?”
he opened his mouth, then closed it. looked away. mumbled something.
you blinked. “what?? can you repeat that-”
he said it again, faster this time, almost tripping over the words. “i’minlovewithyou!”
the room went still. your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure he could hear it. all those phone calls, all those nights he stayed on the line just to make sure you were okay. the way he looked at you right now, nervous and hopeful and so steve.
“steve..-” you whispered.
“you don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, sitting up straighter. “i know you’re still hurting over that dickhead austin and i’m not trying to push. i just couldn’t keep it in anymore. every time you called me your good friend it felt like--”
he was rambling.
so you cut him off by leaning in and kissing him.
it was soft at first, tentative. then steve made this little surprised sound and kissed you back like he’d been waiting years for permission. his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin. you tasted the cherry coke on his lips and something sweeter that was just him. your fingers found his hair, messing it up the way you’d secretly wanted to for months.
when you finally pulled back for air, both of you breathing a little heavier, you rested your forehead against his.
“i’m in love with you too,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i realized it the other night on the phone. i just..i didn’t know how to say it.”
steve let out a shaky laugh, eyes bright. “yeah?”
“yeah” you smiled, shy and real. “austin doesn’t even matter anymore. not when you’re here.”
he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. you melted into it, arms wrapping around his neck. the rollers in your hair probably looked ridiculous but steve didn’t care. he pulled back just enough to look at you, really look.
“you’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured, thumb tracing your bottom lip.
you smiled and hid your face in his neck. he just held you tighter, chuckling softly.
..
austin felt like a distant memory. just some boy who didn’t know what he lost. steve was here, solid and warm and in love with you. and for the first time in weeks, your heart didn’t hurt. it felt full.
“stay the night?” you asked quietly, tracing patterns on his shirt.
“only if you want me to,” he answered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“i want you to.”
he smiled against your hair. “then i’m not going anywhere.”
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secret fantasies
teacake x f!reader
cw: 18+, piss kink, p in v sex
This is my first time writing this man, hopefully I did it well
🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
“You ever have like, fantasies that are kind of embarrassing or some shit? Like, you know you probably shouldn’t be into that kind of shit but that’s almost what makes it appealing to begin with?” Teacake asks you, his face contorted like he’s confused about what he’s asking.
You giggle, turning to him as you kick your feet up over his lap. His hands reach for your ankles instinctively, wrapping around them as he pretends he’s still watching TV. His eyes give him away, pensive and bouncing back and forth.
“What kind of weird porn you been watching, Travie?” you ask with a snort, watching as his lips quirk up and his cheeks redden.
First time reblogging smut, sorry to all my 11 followers
we'll be fine?
Part 4 of end of beginning (read part 3 HERE)
Pairing: Husband!Steve Harrington x wife!reader
Summary: When Steve wakes up, the truth finally surfaces. Is this the end of you… or a new beginning?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, accident, injuries, alleged cheating, presumption of infidelity, divorce mentions
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +15k
Author's note: I hope you’re ready, because all your questions will finally be answered and everything will be revealed. Are you ready to find out? I definitely can’t wait to read your reactions and what you think. I really hope you love this chapter as much as the previous ones… if not more. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Two days after your conversation with Kirsten, the doctors told you the coma was no longer necessary and that they could begin reducing the sedatives.
They explained everything in careful, clinical terms — what it meant, how his body would respond, what to expect over the next few hours, the next few days. You listened, nodding when it felt appropriate, your eyes fixed on them as if you were following every word.
But you weren’t.
Because the only thing that truly registered, the only thing that stayed with you, was one simple fact.
Steve was going to wake up soon.
hey Val :))
i love you’re writing so much, and I’m pretty sure I’ve read almost everything of yours, I’m obsessed.
ive been thinking of a Steve fic for a while now. Like its s5 Steve, but he still has that s3 Russian trauma? Kinda like headaches, or migraines if he’s in a bright room, or if it gets loud. So basically something that reminds him of the base, if that makes any sense? :,)
Anyways, thank you, write it however you like :))
WE GOT THIS
steve harrington x reader
val speaks - heyyy babe ily!!!! thanku for requesting !! i took this as he gets all that and reader finds ways to comfort him, i hope thats what u were looking for n i hope u love xo
word count: 3.4k
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love
pairing: steve harrington x mayfield!reader
warnings: mentions of alcohol. angst. emotional neglect. implied cheating
includes: slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining (eventually), s2 setting, jonathan byers x reader (just for the plot)
summary: things with your bf aren’t what they used to be. somewhere in the middle of all that, steve harrington starts showing up more than he should.
a/n : hi. this is my first steve fic and the start of a series. the title is inspired by olivia’s upcoming album (you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love), which basically sums up the whole feeling of this story. hope you like it. <33
you didn’t notice when it started.
the happiness slipped away so quietly that one day you woke up and realized the innocent love you once felt for jonathan was gone, fading further and further until it felt like a memory that belonged to someone else. you didn’t understand why. after everything he’d been through last year, his little brother missing, the nightmares that followed, the way you’d been pulled into something way bigger than either of you, you told yourself things would get better. that you could make him happy.
but that didn’t happen.
he used to ask about your day. he used to take pictures of you when you weren’t looking, walk you home after your shift, hold your hand like it actually meant something. now you just felt alone. worse than before. and you didn’t have it in you to ask why he spent so much time with nancy wheeler anymore. you already knew you wouldn’t like the answer.
you took what he gave you. three nights a week, sometimes two. told yourself it was enough. at least when he was there, your head got a little quieter. the bad stuff didn’t feel so loud. but it wasn’t love. not really. it felt like obligation, like guilt, like he was sticking around because he thought he had to. and you were too tired to call him out on it.
you were tired of a lot of things. tired of hoping. tired of crying. tired of waiting for something to feel like it used to.
the only thing that still felt warm was max, and her loud, chaotic group of friends.
somehow you ended up babysitting a bunch of thirteen year olds half the time.
and lately, steve harrington had kind of inserted himself into that whole mess too.
the first time, he just pulled up in that stupid burgundy bmw, sunglasses on like he thought he was cooler than he actually was, waiting to pick them up. you stood there on the porch like, absolutely not, until all of them started talking at once and wore you down. so yeah, you let her go. because keeping max locked inside wasn’t gonna fix anything anyway.
most days steve stayed in the car, arm hanging out the window, acting like he didn’t care.
sometimes he’d wink at you, which was annoying. sometimes he’d get out and stand there like a tired babysitter, hands on his hips, waiting for everyone to get in the car without killing each other.
and yeah, you noticed him more than you probably should have.
he wasn’t the same guy you met earlier that year. not even close. you’d heard the stories, “king steve” and all that, but whatever that was, it wasn’t this. this version actually showed up, actually helped, didn’t act like he was above any of it.
and yeah, there was the whole nancy thing.
you heard about that too, dustin running his mouth like always, saying she “fumbled” him or whatever. which, honestly, made you curious in a way you didn’t love.
especially after halloween.
that night had stuck with you, more than you wanted it to.
his house, too many people, too loud.
he was drunk, like, really drunk, the kind where everything about him felt a little off. his eyes were red, like he’d been crying before anyone even showed up, and you knew why. the whole thing with nancy was still fresh, still messy.
he didn’t look like himself.
but he found you anyway.
stumbled over, a little unsteady, but focused on you in a way that didn’t feel like an accident. asked for your number like it mattered, like he actually meant it, even if the words came out a little slurred.
you didn’t know what to do with that.
before you could answer, his friends dragged him away, laughing, calling his name, turning it into something louder, easier to brush off.
and maybe it was nothing. maybe he was just drunk, sad, grabbing onto the first nice thing he saw.
you never really figured it out.
you thought he was cute. yeah. still do sometimes. but you shut that down fast, because your situation with jonathan was already a mess. you didn’t need another one.
still, steve kept showing up.
asking about school. coming inside instead of waiting in the car. sitting through their d&d games like he actually cared.
and lately, the way he looked at you wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was quieter than that. like he was trying to figure something out.
-
now you’re on dustin’s couch, sitting close enough to steve that your shoulders almost touch. the kids yelling about some campaign like it’s life or death. and weirdly, it helps. the noise keeps everything else out.
“hey,” he says quietly, leaning in a little. “you wanna go outside? these kids are driving me insane.”
you glance at him, a little surprised.
you’re not really friends, not officially. but it sounds nice.
“yeah, okay.”
you slip out into the backyard. cool air hits your face, fireflies blinking slow between the trees. it’s quiet out here, finally.
steve shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“seriously, how do you do it? i’m here like twice a week and i already feel like i need a vacation.”
you let out a small laugh, hugging your arms around yourself.
“you’re not that bad at it. kinda weird actually. former king steve voluntarily hanging out with a bunch of middle schoolers.”
he scoffs, bumping your shoulder lightly.
“hey, watch it. i have a reputation.”
“yeah,” you mutter, “pretty sure that reputation is long gone.”
“wow,” he says, putting a hand to his chest like you actually hurt him. “that’s cold.”
you shrug, but there’s a faint smile there. it fades pretty quickly though.
he notices. of course he does.
there’s a pause, a quieter one this time. he shifts a little, glancing at you instead of the ground.
“you okay?” he asks, softer now.
“you’ve been kinda… off lately.”
you look down, picking at your sleeve.
“i don’t know. things with... with jonathan are just… weird.”
steve doesn’t interrupt. just listens.
“i thought at first that he just needed time,” you say. “i mean, his whole life was readjusting again. but then… he just started acting weird. and i kept thinking maybe if i was patient, if i didn’t push, it would pass. like he’d come back to how he was before.”
you let out a breath that sounds more tired than anything else.
“but it doesn’t. it just feels like i’m the only one still trying.”
you were probably saying too much, but it feels like the first time you can really talk to someone.
steve’s jaw tightens a little, but he stays quiet.
“he’s there,” you say, quieter now, “but not really. and i don’t wanna ask why he’s always with nancy because i already know what that means.”
the words hang there for a second before you realize what you just said.
you wince immediately, looking away.
“sorry. i didn’t— i shouldn’t have brought her up.”
“hey,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “no, it’s fine. seriously.”
you glance at him, unsure.
he shrugs, but there’s something a little more careful in his voice now.
“i mean… yeah, it sucks. but i get it. it’s worse when someone’s already halfway gone and you’re just… the last one to realize it.”
you swallow, nodding a little.
“yeah.”
another pause settles in, not uncomfortable, just heavy.
“why are you still with him?” steve asks after a second, not harsh, just… honest.
you blink, caught off guard.
“i— i don’t know.”
he watches you, not pushing, just waiting.
“i guess,” you start slowly, “because it didn’t used to be like this. he used to care. like, actually care. and i keep thinking maybe if i just hold on a little longer, it’ll go back to that.”
you laugh quietly, but there’s no humor in it.
“which is stupid, right?”
“no,” steve says immediately. then softer, “it’s not stupid.”
you look at him.
“it’s just…” he hesitates, searching for the words. “it’s just not how it works. people don’t… snap back into who they used to be just because you want them to.”
you nod, eyes stinging a little.
“yeah. i know.”
“and you shouldn’t have to beg for it either,” he adds, a little firmer now. “for someone to care about you, i mean.”
you don’t answer. you just stare at the ground.
he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair.
“look, i’m not great at this,” he mutters. “like, at all. i usually make things worse.”
“you’re doing fine,” you say quietly.
he huffs a small laugh.
“you deserve better than that,” he says, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
you glance at him.
“better than what?”
he gestures vaguely.
“that. feeling like you’re… second place in your own relationship. like you have to work for something that should just be there.”
you look away again, your chest tightening.
for a second, neither of you says anything. the quiet stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty.
then steve speaks again, more hesitant this time.
“he’s an idiot, you know.”
you blink, looking at him.
“what?”
he shifts, suddenly a little awkward, like he wasn’t planning on saying that part out loud.
“i mean…” he rubs the back of his neck, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “if he were smarter, he’d notice… how you feel.”
your breath catches slightly.
he shrugs, but it’s softer now, almost shy.
“and you don’t deserve that.”
before you can respond, the back door swings open.
“shall we go? i’m tired of winning against those nerds.”
max’s voice cuts through everything, loud and dramatic.
you can’t help it. you smile.
“yeah, alright.”
the ride home is quieter.
max talks at first, going on about how she carried the whole game, how the others are “completely useless,” and steve throws in the occasional comment just to annoy her.
“you literally almost died twice,” he says.
“strategically,” max fires back.
“yeah, sure. very strategic near-death experience.”
you stare out the window, watching the streetlights pass.
at some point, max quiets down. by the time you turn onto your street, she’s already half asleep against the door.
steve doesn’t turn on the radio. doesn’t try to fill the silence.
it’s not awkward.
just calm.
he pulls up in front of your house.
max is out first, mumbling something that might be a goodnight before heading inside without looking back.
you reach for the handle, but pause.
“hey,” steve says.
you turn back.
he’s looking at you now, properly this time, hands still resting on the wheel.
“thanks for coming,” he says. “i mean it.”
you nod slightly.
“thanks for asking.”
there’s a small pause.
“and… if you ever need to get out again,” he adds, a little less steady, “or just not deal with everything for a bit, you can call me. or… not call. i don’t know. whatever people do.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
“i’ll keep that in mind.”
he smiles, quick and a little crooked.
“yeah. you should.”
you step out of the car, closing the door gently.
he gives you a small wave.
“night.”
“night, steve.”
you walk up the path, the porch light flickering faintly. you don’t look back again until you hear the car pull away.
the taillights disappear slowly down the street.
and something feels different.
like something small moved out of place, and you’re only just starting to notice it.
part of you thinks maybe it was about nancy. that he was just trying to figure out where things stood with her and jonathan. checking if there was still something there.
it would make sense.
it would be easier.
but there’s another thought sitting underneath that one, quieter, harder to ignore.
that maybe it wasn’t about her at all.
that maybe the way he looked at you, the way his voice softened, the way he said you didn’t deserve that…
maybe that was real. you push the thought down anyway.
because you already know how this goes. you start hoping, and it ruins everything.
and you’re too tired to pick up the pieces again.
guys if you want to be part of the tag list for this series just comment this post or this one:)