Hi, iâm bee, im not very good at writing but i find it fun and have a lot of ideas! i love stranger things, maya hawke, taylor swift, sombr painting, criminal minds and much more!!
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you have a crush on robin buckley and you tell your best friend eddie munson. However, you don't know if she likes girls and while Eddie is trying to investigate he is everything but discreet...
tags/warnings: fluff, kinda slow burn, angst, no smut, alcohol, strangers to enemies to lovers, swearing, modern!au, sm!au, everyone is alive, no upside down, fem!reader, wlw, everyone is +18, hawkins, no smut just mention of it, brief mention of homophobia, steddie.
IMPORTANT: as many videos cannot be attached I will only show a screenshot of them. However, they are in the originally posted twitter thread.
twitter thread
smau playlist
profiles | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 (final)
summary: reader was on stranger things and like a lot of the cast is putting out music, but all things go wrong when there is speculation her and joe kerry are dating
note: small idea that has been brewing in my mind for quite some time, this is the sloppier part though but if i donât just do it i never willđ
-ËË àŒ»âàŒș ËË-
likes by @djotime and more
y/u/n well thatâs a wrap!! this show genuinely was some of the best few years of my life and i canât believe itâs over đ„Č
view all comments:
@maya_hawke: miss you!!
@djotime:đ
liked my @y/u/n and more
y/n updated: itâs rumored @y/u/n will me next weeks SNL musical guest đ
view all comments:
@ynfan6: OMG GUES YN LIKED!!
@peachy67: god i hope not
@ynsleftshoe: oh!! i hope she plays the new song!!
likes by sadiesink_ and more
y/u/n: it was so fun hosting and being a musical guest in snl! thank you so much joe for dropping in as a surprise guest!!
view all comments:
@djotime: thanks for having me
@ynsuperfan: OMG JOE LIKED SUPEE FAST!!
@urdjoking529: they were getting a little TOO close there
djoupdates: joe keery was seen leaving snl with y/n then later walking around with her
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when you're 18 but still a high schooler so youre still at home so your mom can still take your phone away for no reason and you suck at using laptop so now you cant post fics unless you sneak the phone.
oh well just gonna work on some and publish them later ig
gender neutral! wavy/curly hair reader x steve harrington
summery: normally you couldnât care less about your hair, just doing bare minimum, but when your boyfriend steve âthe hairâ harrington finds out he thinks itâs unacceptable and ends up taking care of your hair for you
warnings: just fluff, steve is down BAD, very short also my first ever fic im posting so read at your own risk let me know if i did well (just be nice im sentive đ„Č) this was fun to write and i might try to write moreâŠ
With Steve Harrington you never have to worry about your hair care routine. Before him most times it was get into the shower, shampoo, conditioner get out. I mean sure, sometimes your hair would be frizzy and it annoyed you, but you also couldnât be bothered. then you met Steve.
Steve Harrington who would rush to open any door for you, who would bring you flowers weekly and quite frankly go to the end of the earth for you.
Steve Harrington cared a lot about his hair. A
always doing his best to keep it nice looking, knowing all the tricks. He was shocked when the first time he took a shower with you and he saw your hair care (or lack there of) routine. so much so that he gasped out loud. you guys had been needing to get somewhere so as to cut time you both got in the shower together.
âsweetheart!!â he scolds playfully a look of mock horror on his face âwhat is this shampoo youâre using?? and no double shampoo, what are you doing??â he asks as you laugh âhere let meâ he says softly, using his own product. you guys ended up very late that day
from that day on every shower was with him and he insisted on doing you hair. afterwords he also washed and added minimal products. he even bought you a satin pillow case.
âSteveâ you laugh âis this really necessary?â
âyes it isâ he says matter of factly while sliding it onto your pillow âitâll help keep your hair healthy and not damaged, and also helps your skin, not that you need it of courseâ it was just second nature for him to add the flattery in
âbut i spend most the night on top of you anywaysâ you try but itâs not use arguing with him
he also bought satin scrunches and it became a nightly routine for him to sit and braid your hair for you.
small bonus thought:
you also if you shave you would never have to worry about it, Steve happily doing it for you, even looking up ways to get the best shave. afterwards always putting lotion of you.
be nice or be blocked, iâm a very sensitive person so please keep it positive
nsfw is aloud however i might not do it since im new to writing and focusing more on fluff since i feel itâs easier but ill probably do some drabbles
only fictional characters for nsfw!!!
only request characters in my masterlist as this are who i feel most confident in characterizing well
i may write for real people however it is not THEM, it is djo not joe kerry and sombr not shane as i do not know themïżŒ
fuck ai, trump, ice, all that, no racism, homophobia or hate of any kind is tolerated
i do allow feedback or gently critique such as a typo or if something is wrong, just please be nice
ă €âĄhair care: normally you couldnât care less about your hair, just doing bare minimum, but when your boyfriend steve âthe hairâ harrington finds out he thinks itâs unacceptable and ends up taking care of your hair for you
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
gender neutral! wavy/curly hair reader x steve harrington
summery: normally you couldnât care less about your hair, just doing bare minimum, but when your boyfriend steve âthe hairâ harrington finds out he thinks itâs unacceptable and ends up taking care of your hair for you
warnings: just fluff, steve is down BAD, very short also my first ever fic im posting so read at your own risk let me know if i did well (just be nice im sentive đ„Č) this was fun to write and i might try to write moreâŠ
With Steve Harrington you never have to worry about your hair care routine. Before him most times it was get into the shower, shampoo, conditioner get out. I mean sure, sometimes your hair would be frizzy and it annoyed you, but you also couldnât be bothered. then you met Steve.
Steve Harrington who would rush to open any door for you, who would bring you flowers weekly and quite frankly go to the end of the earth for you.
Steve Harrington cared a lot about his hair. A
always doing his best to keep it nice looking, knowing all the tricks. He was shocked when the first time he took a shower with you and he saw your hair care (or lack there of) routine. so much so that he gasped out loud. you guys had been needing to get somewhere so as to cut time you both got in the shower together.
âsweetheart!!â he scolds playfully a look of mock horror on his face âwhat is this shampoo youâre using?? and no double shampoo, what are you doing??â he asks as you laugh âhere let meâ he says softly, using his own product. you guys ended up very late that day
from that day on every shower was with him and he insisted on doing you hair. afterwords he also washed and added minimal products. he even bought you a satin pillow case.
âSteveâ you laugh âis this really necessary?â
âyes it isâ he says matter of factly while sliding it onto your pillow âitâll help keep your hair healthy and not damaged, and also helps your skin, not that you need it of courseâ it was just second nature for him to add the flattery in
âbut i spend most the night on top of you anywaysâ you try but itâs not use arguing with him
he also bought satin scrunches and it became a nightly routine for him to sit and braid your hair for you.
small bonus thought:
you also if you shave you would never have to worry about it, Steve happily doing it for you, even looking up ways to get the best shave. afterwards always putting lotion of you.
Steve Harrington will always defend his wifeâespecially when it comes to incessant questions about when you were going to be having boy.
pairing: steve harrington x wife!reader
words: 2.3k
contains: fluff (like tooth rooting fluff), established relationship, girl dad!steve, tiny bit suggestive, pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweet pea, etc), female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: request by anon | this was a mix of a request and my own idea that i have had for a while! never written a full fic for dad!steve and i loved every minute of writing this one!! also apologies if you donât like the kidâs names, just pretend itâs something else if you hate :â)
to be added to my taglist | masterlist | requests page
Ever since Maisie Harrington had learnt how to walk, Steve had been in a near constant state of panic.
It was Margot and Florenceâs fourth birthday party and trying to keep tabs on your flight risk fourteen month old was proving difficult. Especially when your back garden was so full of squealing children, a bouncy castle (Steveâs idea, not yours), both sets of grandparents, a handful of your friends and some of Steveâs work colleagues. Steve had taken her eyes off Maisie for maybe three seconds before she had run off in the direction of the buffet.
âBaby, have you seenââ
You turn with a wiggly Florence in your arms and a brow raised.
âShe was trying to grab a cupcake,â you say as you watch your husbandâs shoulders sag in relief.
âThatâs our Maisie Moo,â Steve murmurs affectionately, shooting you an apologetic smile as he leans in to kiss your forehead before ducking before to kiss Maisieâs cheek. âCan smell your momâs baking from a mile away.â
You smile as you watch the way Steveâs eyes soften when he looks at his daughter. The man you saw fearlessly swing nail bats at inter dimensional creatures was now a damn teddy bear at the sight of his youngest with her fist in her mouth.
âDid you tell your mom we were practising by the way?â You ask Steve with a wry smile.Â
Steve looks at you, his face a little flushed but he tries his best to look confused.
âWhat do youââ
ââyou told your mom that we were âpractisingâ when she asked if we were trying for a fifth,â you say, beginning to bounce Maisie in your arms as she grew a little fussyâher big brown eyes locked on the buffet table ten feet away. âShe just gave me some tips on how to conceive a boy.â
âSon of aââ Steve mutters, glancing down at Maisie before he stops himself. ââbiscuit.â
âiscuit,â Maisie mimics with a small giggle.Â
You look at Steve with a soft smile. âNice save.â
âI told her to stop bothering you about that,â Steve mutters, gently taking Maisie from you as your daughter starts to try and wrestle her way out of your armsâcompletely fixated on that damn buffet. âThe practising thing was a joke because we have so muchâmommy and daddy time.â
Again, you try not to laugh at Steve self censoring. He had learnt from his mistake of saying âshitâ one too many times in front of your oldest, Ellie, who had nearly ruined your sisterâs wedding by shouting out the word in the middle of the ceremony.
âYeah well, you mom seems to think you wonât be happy until you have a boy,â you say, glancing in the direction of Steveâs parents. His dad looked as though he would rather be anywhere than at the twins' third birthday party while Steveâs mom seemed to be closely inspecting one of the cupcakes you made.
You donât see it but Steveâs jaw clenches tightly, his eyes flicker down to your daughter in his arms and he wonders why the fuck people canât see how happy he was. He had you. The love of his life, the woman who had been by his side through demogorgons, evil Russians and everything that came after that. The woman who gave him four little girls. Four perfect little girls.
Ellie, now nearly six years old, had an imagination so big that yours and Steveâs days were filled with tea parties, pretending to be mermaids in the inflatable pool and bed time stories that could last hours if Ellie had her way. Then there were the twinsâFlorence and Margot who were identical right down to their freckles but couldnât be more different. Florence was quiet, liked to observe the world around her carefully and Margot? WellâSteve sometimes wondered if she had belonged to a circus in a past life. Margot would climb the walls if she could. And Maisieâwho watched Margot run by with wonder in her eyes at her big sisterâseemed to be following right in her footsteps.Â
âIâm more than happy,â Steve tells you firmly, holding Maisie with one hand while the other cups the back of your head so that he could place a fierce kiss against your forehead. âDonât listen to my mom. Iâm more than happy to keep practising.â
You smile at him, you bump your ass against his hip and Steve wants nothing more to hand off Maisie to your mom to go upstairs andâ
âTime for cake?â you ask Steve innocently and it makes him want to kiss you stupid. âYeah,â Steve says softly, leaning in to press a determinedly chaste kiss against your lips. âTime for cake.â
The cake went as well as you had imagined it wouldâending in orange and pink icing smeared in both the twinsâ hair. Steve didnât care that he had ended up with icing over his brand new shirt, he just cared that his girls were smiling and that Margot hadnât yet tried to scale the climbing frame (again).
The party was now dying down. You had taken Maisie up to bed an hour ago and your parents had taken on the task of rounding up the twins for a much needed bath. Steve had Ellie on his lap as he sat with some of his work colleagues outside. Ellie was happily drawing someâwell, Steve wasnât too sure what she was drawing. Some strange fusion of a dragon and a hamster, perhaps. Whatever it was, Steve thought it was a masterpiece.
âGood job, little lady,â Steve tells Ellie affectionately as he brushes her hair gently to the side. âWeâll have to get another fridge for all your drawings.â
Ellie smiles and shakes her head. âYouâre silly, Daddy.â
âIâm not silly,â Steve gasps, feigning offence. âYour daddy is never silly.â
âDaddyâs always silly.â
Steve smiles before pressing a kiss to Ellieâs cheek. She squeals and promptly scrubs her cheek.
âYouâre so good with them,â Mr. Matthews comments as the English teacher watches Steve with his daughter.
It was meant to be a compliment but to Steve, he was doing the bare minimum being a good dad. And so, Steve just smiles and turns his attention back to Ellie and her dragon-hamster hybrid.
âDonât you ever wish for a boy?â
And there it was. The question Steve had been asked more times than he could count over the years.
âDonât need one,â Steve says simply with a polite smile. âGot my girls. My wife. Thatâs all I need.â
It was what he always said and he truly meant every word.
âDonât wish you were playing baseball instead of princesses?â
Steve stilled for a small second. If his daughter wasnât sat in his lap, he may have snapped at Mr. Matthewâs causal sexism but he didnât. Not in front of Ellie.
âMargotâs got a mean swing, actually.â Steve tells Mr. Matthews proudly. âPretty sure sheâll be joining Little League this time next year.â
âSheâll be great!â Mrs. Willaimsâthe arts teacherâpipes up. âSheâll outrun all the boys in her class.â
Steve gives Mrs. Williams a grateful smile. She clearly thought Mr. Matthews was a sexist piece of shit too. Steve certainly felt relieved when Mr. Matthews retreated into the house to grab another drink.
The conversation flowed between Steve and his colleagues after that. Discussing lesson plans, what everyone was doing during the upcoming summer holidays. After the cake, the kids had (mostly) begun to settle down. Parents of the girlsâ friends were taking their kids home with party bags filled with birthday cake, a bubble wand and some finger puppets. Steve was barely paying attention to the fact Mr. Matthews had taken well over five minutes to grab a drink.
âUm, I think Peter is pissâannoying your wife,â Miss Adams says to Steve suddenly.
The comment makes Steve turn sharply, Ellie shifting a little in his lap. He barely hears her grumble of annoyance as he sees you speaking to Mr. Matthews. He knows that look on your face, the quiet anger. The polite smile that masked the fact you wanted to smack the asshole stood in front of you.
âOhâshoot. Rachel, can you keep an eye onââ
âI got her,â Miss Adams says with a smile as Steve gently lifts Ellie off his lap onto his chair. âGo.â
âDaddy? Where are youââ
âDaddyâs just checking on Mommy, okay? Iâll be right back, sweetheart.â
He says it so gently that Ellie just nods and turns her attention back to her drawing. But Steve felt anything but gentle as he walked right up to you and Mr Matthews.
ââIâm just sayingâgirls are great. Really. But heâs probably missing out onââ
ââwhatâs going on here?â Steve asks, resting a reassuring hand to your lower back, despite the fact that he had a pretty good idea what was going on.
âPeter here was justââ
ââjust telling your wife how great having a son is. Thatâs all.â
Nevermind the fact that Mr. Matthews had interrupted you, nevermind what he was trying to insinuate but the way he had called you his wife as though that was all you were pissed Steve off. NowâSteve loved you being his wife. He loved it. He was immensely proud of it. But you werenât just his wife or the mother of his beautiful children, you were so much more than that. You were the woman who once threatened to smack Billy Hagrove with a nail bat. The woman who was scarily good at beer pong. The woman who made Steve Harrington get his act together.Â
âWellâquite frankly Pete,â Steve says with a forced smile as his hand on your lower back moved so Steve could wrap his arm around your waist. âI donât much care for what youâre insinuating here. That my girls arenât enough for me. Theyâre more than enough, more than I deserve. And I would appreciate it if you donât talk to my wife like that.â
âI wasnâtââ
ââI donât really give a shit. No one talks to her like that. No one. Especially not in front of me.â
Mr. Matthew swallows, glances at you who was looking determinedly down at your feet before he gives Steve a small nod.
âRight. Gotcha. Sorry Harrington, I didnât mean toââ
ââbut you did. And if you ever talk about my family like that again? I wonât be so forgiving.â
Mr. Matthews understood the dismissal. He nods once again, wordlessly setting down the unfinished can of Diet Coke onto a nearby table before he hurries out of the backgarden.
Steve watched him go, jaw set and posture tight. But when your hand found his arm, Steve blinked. He took a breath before looking back at you, eyes almost immediately softening.
âThat was hot,â you told him with a smile and it was just what Steve needed. He laughs and feels the tension leaving his body as you run your hand up and down his arm.
âReally? Thatâs what does it for you these days?â Steve asks, both arms now encircling your waist. âYou can be a real freak Mrs. Harrington, you know that?â
You roll your eyes before leaning in to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. âAnd you love it, Mr. Harrington.â
It took every bit of self control Steve had to note sweep you off your feet right there and take you upstairs. But there were still a few guests remaining, the kitchen and back garden needed to be cleaned and Ellie needed to go to bed. But after all thatâ
âWant to do some more practising tonight?â You ask Steve with a teasing smile as you pull away enough to look at him. âBecause after seeing you defend me like that, I might need us to practise all night.â
âAll night? Baby, youâre killing me.â
You smile at his whineiness. At the way his hands grip your hips a little, how he tugs you a little closer.
âGood,â you say, leaning again to press a sweet kiss to his lips. But to Steve, it felt anything but sweet. Especially that small swipe of your tongueâ
But then youâre pulling away and leaving Steve breathless. Even after four kids, a simple kiss from you still made him feel light headed.
âIâm going to help my parents with the twins. You take Els to bed, okay?â
Steve swallows and nods. Honestly, he probably would have done anything you said while he was in this state. âOkay.â
You smile, sending him a subtle wink before heading back into the house. Steve watches you go, watches the way of your hips sway and the way the dress you were wearing lifts up just soâ
âDaddy?â
Steve feels a small hang tugging on his jeans and he takes a few moments to come to his senses, looking down and smiling when he sees Ellie.
âYeah, sweet pea?â
Ellie smiles and holds out her completed drawing for him.
âI finished it!â
Steve looks down at the drawing and smiles. He still had no idea what the creature was she had drawn. He didnât know why the hybrid dragon-hamsterâs wings were a violent shade of purple, he didnât know why it was wearing a party hat but the smile on his daughterâs face meant everything.
âOh, honey. This is incredible!â Steve exclaims, bending down so he could pick Ellie up. She smiled widely at the praise and wrapped her little arms around Steveâs neck. âSeriously. I might have to get in contact with someone from the Louvreââ
ââDaddyâs being silly again,â Ellie says with a shy smile. âMaybe,â Steve shrugs with a smile that absolutely nothing could ruin. Because Steve Harrignton may not have a little boy, but he was whole. Complete. As long as he had his girls, as long as he had you, he was happy. Ridiculously so.
Summary â When you say you and Steve need to talk, Steve misinterprets it as you wanting to break up with him. In reality, you want to move in with him.
Steve never quite believes he deserves to love you.
He tries to believe it, he really does. He shows up, he listens, he remembers the little things. He tells you you're beautiful when your hair's a mess and you're pretty when you're sick and he loves you when you're being impossible. He gives you everything he has.
But in the back of his mind, there's always this voice. This quiet, ugly little voice that whispers she's too good for you and this can't last and eventually she'll figure it out.
He's gotten good at ignoring it. Most days, he can. But today is not most days.
You're on his couch, legs tucked under you, some movie playing in the background that neither of you is watching. You're talking about your week, about work, about nothing important. And then you say it.
"Steve, I think we should talk about something."
Steve's stomach drops. Those words. Those three words that never, ever lead anywhere good. We should talk. His stomach twists.
He's heard them before. From Nancy. From his dad. From every person who's ever looked at him and decided he wasn't enough.
He doesn't want you to think he's not enough, too.
"Yeah?" He tries to keep his voice steady. Tries to ignore the way his heart has started pounding. "What's up, sweetheart?" The endearment slips out automatically, because that's who he is with you. Even scared, even spiralling, he can't talk to you without softness.
You're quiet for a second, looking down at your hands, and that silence is worse than anything. He watches you bite your lip, watches you gather your words, and every second feels like an hour. You're nervous.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," you say slowly. "About us. About where we're going."
Steve can't breathe. You're breaking up with him.
And I... I just â I don't know if this isâ" You pause, shaking your head. "I'm not saying this right."
He doesn't hear the rest. He can't. Because all he hears is I've been thinking about us and I don't know if this is and his brain fills in the blanks with the worst possible words.
Working. What I want anymore. Worth it.
He stands up so fast you startle.
"Steve?"
He looks at you â at your confused, beautiful face â and even now, even with his heart cracking open in his chest, all he feels is overwhelming tenderness. He can't be mad at you, not even when you're breaking his heart.
"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is soft, so soft, because he can't ever be anything else with you. "I'm sorry, angel, I just â I need a minute. Okay? I just need a minute."
He's moving before he knows it, grabbing his keys, heading for the door. He hears you call his name, hears the confusion in your voice, but he can't stop. He can't stay in that room one more second or he'll fall apart right in front of you.
But even as he leaves, even as he's running, he closes the door gently. Because it's your door. Because you're on the other side. Because he'd never do anything to hurt you, even accidentally, even now.
He makes it to his car. Sits there, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing.
His chest hurts.
It actually hurts, like someone's reached inside him and is squeezing his heart in their fist. He can't breathe right. His lungs won't work. He tries to take a deep breath and it gets stuck halfway, a horrible stuttering inhale that does nothing to help.
You're leaving. You don't want him anymore.
The thought circles in his head like a song stuck on repeat. He knew this would happen. He knew it. People always leave. They always figure out that he's not worth the trouble. He presses the heel of his hand against his sternum, like he can physically push the pain away.
He should drive away. He should go somewhere, anywhere, and deal with this alone. But he can't make himself start the car. He just sits there, hurting, waiting for something he doesn't understand.
Then there's a knock on his window.
He looks up, and you're there. Standing in the driveway wearing your house slippers, your face worried and confused and... and not cold. Not distant. Not looking at him like he's something you're about to throw away.
"Steve." Your voice is muffled through the glass. "What's going on? Baby, please open the door."
He looks at you â shivering a little, eyes so concerned â and even through the fog of his own pain, all he feels is you're going to get cold. So he reaches over and unlocks the door.
You open it immediately, crouching down to his level. Your eyes scan his face, and whatever you see there makes your expression crumble.
"Steve. Honey. What happened?"
He laughs. It's not a nice sound. "You know what happened. You saidâ" His voice cracks. He has to stop, swallow, try again. "You said we needed to talk. About us. About whether this isâ" He can't even say it.
But even saying that, even voicing his worst fear, he reaches out and touches your face. Just lightly, his fingers brushing your cheek, because you're right there and he can't not touch you.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry I'm making this harder. You're trying to do this gently and I'm â I'm making it worse. You don't have to explain, sweetheart. I understand."
You stare at him for a long moment, looking entirely confused. "Steve. I was trying to ask if you wanted to move in together."
He blinks. "What?" What?
"I've been thinking about us," you say slowly, carefully. "About where we're going. And I wanted to ask if you'd consider â if you'd want toâ" You take a breath. "I want to live with you. That's what I was trying to say. I just didn't know how to ask without sounding desperate."
Steve stares at you. His hand is still on your face. He doesn't move it.
"You want to move in with me."
"Yes."
"With me. Me, living together. With you?"
"Yes, Steve."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "I thought you were breaking up with me."
Your face crumples with realisation. "Oh, baby. Oh, no."
"I'm sorry," he says immediately, because you look upset and he hates that, he hates that he made you look like that. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have â you were trying to talk to me and I justâ"
"Stop." You cup his face in your hands, mirroring him. "Stop apologising. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I thought I was losing you." The words tumble out, raw and honest. "And I couldn't â I couldn't breathe. I still can't breathe." His voice breaks. "I love you so much. I couldn't even be mad. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn't with me."
You make a sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and then you're climbing into the car, into his lap, wrapping yourself around him.
"You idiot," you whisper against his neck, but you're crying, and you're holding him so tight. "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying. I'm right here."
Your arms lock around his neck, your face presses into the warm space where his shoulder meets his throat, and you hold him like he's the only thing keeping you upright.
He feels your breath against his skin, feels the dampness of your tears soaking into his collar. You're crying. For him. Because he's hurting.
"I'm here," you whisper against his neck, your voice thick but steady. "I'm right here, Steve. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
His arms come up automatically, wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His hands spread across your back, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. "Angel," he breathes, and it's barely a sound. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ran."
You shake your head against his neck, holding him tighter. If you could, you'd crawl inside his chest and curl up next to his heart. You'd wrap yourself around every bruised, broken part of him and never let go.
"Don't be sorry," you murmur. "Just let me hold you. Okay? Just let me hold you."
He nods against you, and you feel his arms tighten around your waist. His shaking is subsiding.
You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands coming up to frame his face. Your thumbs trace his cheekbones, brush away the tears tracking down his skin.
"I love you," you tell him, slow and deliberate, because he needs to hear it, because he needs to understand. "I love you, Steve. You hear me?"
He laughs, watery and weak. "I hear you."
"Good." You press your forehead to his. "Because I need you to know it. I need you to believe it."
His hands come up to cover yours where they rest on his face. He turns his head, just slightly, and presses a kiss to your palm. "I'm trying," he whispers. "I'm trying to believe it. It's just hard whenâ" He stops, swallows. "When no one ever has. Stayed, I mean."
"I know." You kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and lingering. "I know, baby. But I'm not them. I'm me. And I'm staying."
He looks at you â really looks at you â and for the first time since you said those terrible, wonderful, misunderstood words, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
"You're cold," he murmurs, because you are, because you're shivering in your house slippers and thin pyjama shirt.
"I don't care about cold."
"I care." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Let's go inside, angel. Please."
You nod, but you don't move. You just keep looking at him, your hands still on his face, your eyes soft and warm.
"I'm okay," he tells you quietly. "I'm okay now."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He smiles, small and shaky but real. "You're kind of magic, you know that?"
You shake your head. "I just love you. That's all."
He shifts you carefully in his lap, getting situated, and then he's opening the car door and climbing out with you still in his arms. You don't protest â just tighten your hold on his neck and let him carry you.
He kicks the door closed and starts toward the house, cradling you against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the world.
"You're so warm," you murmur against his neck.
"You're freezing." He adjusts his hold, pulling you closer.
He carries you up the steps to the porch, careful and steady, then nudges the front door open with his hip. He carries you over to the couch and sits down carefully, settling you in his lap. You curl into him immediately, your head on his chest, your hand over his heart.
He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around both of you, tucking it around your shoulders.
For a long time, neither of you speaks. Then, "I love you," he whispers into the quiet.
You tilt your head up and kiss his jaw. "I love you too. So much."
He looks down at you, at your face soft and open and full of love for him, and something in his chest finally settles.
"So," you say, your eyes bright. "About that moving in conversation..."
He laughs, real and full, and thinks that you are the most perfect thing he's ever had.
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â¶ MY GIRLS .á dad!steve harrington x fem!reader
SUMMARY: in which steve harrington has four daughters he would do anything for.
WARNINGS: just some tooth rotting fluff.
WORD COUNT: 1k +
Steve Harrington always knew he wanted a big family.
Maybe it was something to do with his own absent parents. Or the fact that he never thought heâd amount to anything. He didnât know.
But in between fighting inter-dimensional monsters and being drugged by russian soldiers, the two of you always dreamed of making it out one day and starting a family of your own.
But that was all it was. A pipe dream.
Until it wasnât.
So, when El sacrificed herself and broke all final ties between hawkins and the upside down, you and Steve said âscrew itâ and got married. And nine months later, in the spring of 1989, you welcomed your first daughter, Jane Theodora Harrington.
Then, in the summer of â92, Ruthie Robin Harrington came along.
And now, in the fall of 1994, a weary Steve returned home after a long day of coaching baseball at the elementary school, closing the front door carefully behind him. He knew the girls were most likely asleep, and the last thing he wanted was to wake them up.
âDaddy!â
His tired demeanour softened, however, the moment he heard Janeâs voice, and he smiled as he turned to see his five year old daughter running towards him, little Ruthie trailing along behind her.
âHey, thereâs my girls,â He murmured, voice quiet as crouched down and pulled the two of them in for a hug, pressing kisses to the top of their heads,âYouâre supposed be in bed.â
He looked up the sound of further footsteps, his gaze softening even more at the sight of you stood in the hallway, holding the two newest, smallest additions to your family in each arm, Penny and Junie Harrington.
âAnd you were supposed to be home an hour ago.â
âI know. Iâm sorry, baby.â He smiled sheepishly up at you. âI had to give the boys a pep talk after the game. It turns out I canât expect a bunch of ten year olds to play like the Yankees.â
You had to hold back a laugh, watching as he ruffled the girlsâ hair and stood up with a small grunt, making his way over to you.
âHey, Pen. Hey, JuneâŠâ He cooed, running a hand over each of the twinâs heads before lifting it to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. âI missed you today.â
Your mouth twitched, your head tilting to the side. âYou were gone for five hours.â
âYeah, five hours too longâŠâ He hummed, leaning in closer only to be tugged back by two pairs of tiny hands. When he glanced down, he was met with Jane and Ruthie staring back up at him with looks far too intense for that of a five and a two year old.
âDaddy, can you read us a story?â
Steve knew he should say no. That it was already way past their bedtime. But there was no way he could resist Jane when she stood there with those big Bambi eyes that he only had himself to blame for, and you both knew it.
His shoulders slumped in defeat. He shot you an apologetic smile before bending down to scoop up Ruthie, setting her on his hip and nodding towards Jane. âCome on, then. But just one.â
The little girlâs eyes lit up and she was sprinting up the stairs before he could even finish his sentence, her feet patting against the wood. Once they reached their bedroom, flicked on the light and set Ruthie down on top of her bed whilst Jane flopped down on hers with her legs tangled between the covers and her arms folded over her chest expectantly, a mannerism Steve was sure sheâd gotten from you.
Once Ruthie was tucked under the duvet, he turned towards the bookshelf in the corner of the room that was topped with an array of stuffed animals. He didnât need to ask what book they wanted, already scanning for the familiar spine of Charlotteâs Web and fishing it out.
Heâd read it to them so many times now that he practically knew it word for word, not to mention heâd mastered the voices, but he didnât care. Not when it made his girls so happy.
Just like every other night, he barely made it through the first chapter before they were both out, their soft breaths filling the quiet room, and the sight made Steveâs heart ache in his chest. He sat between their beds until he was sure they were asleep, before standing up and switching off the light, letting the warm glow of the night light spill over them.
He shut the door behind him and padded back downstairs to the living room, where you were sat on the couch with Penny asleep beside you and Junie in your lap, drinking blissfully from a bottle.
A small, tired smile appeared on his lips at the scene before him, and he pushed himself off the doorframe and wandered over, lifting Penny up, carefully and practiced, from her moses basket.
âHey, sweet girl,â He murmured, his voice low. The baby let out a tiny noise of protest at the movement before relaxing against his chest, cheek squishing into his dress shirt.
You watched as he lowered himself down onto the cushions, one hand held protectively over Pennyâs back. He was such a softie these days, and it was such a far cry from the cocky high school jock you first met.
âGod, Iâm tiredâŠâ He muttered, letting his eyes slip shut.
You laughed. âYou wonât be wanting a fifth, then.â
âOh, no, weâre having a fifth.â He hummed immediately, resting his head against the back of the sofa, âJust give me a couple of years to recover first.â
He may have had tendency to joke around, and he may have been running on four hours sleep, but something told you Steve was being serious.