#sinclair!reader

Warnings ⚠️: 18+, mdni, breeding kink, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, dirty talk, black!reader, sinclair!reader, soft!dom Steve, aftercare at the end.

Steve's hands were everywhere, warm and reverent as they slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric of your tank top. The bedroom in his apartment was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting a golden glow over his tousled hair and the soft smile playing on his lips. You'd been dating for over a year now, ever since that chaotic night when he'd shown up at the Sinclair house to pick up Lucas for some D&D session and ended up staying for dinner, charming your mom with his easy laugh and helping with the dishes. But it was you he'd been eyeing all night, the way his gaze lingered on the curve of your hips in those jeans, the rich brown of your skin glowing under the kitchen lights.

Now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and clean—mixing with the natural musk of your bodies heating up. He was whipped for you, anyone could see it. The way he dropped everything when you called, how he'd drive across town just to bring you ice cream after a long shift at the mall, or the quiet moments when he'd trace patterns on your arm while watching movies, whispering how lucky he felt. Tonight, though, there was something deeper in his eyes, a hunger that went beyond the usual spark of desire.

"God, Y/N," he murmured, voice low and rough as he peeled your tank top over your head, exposing your bare chest to the cool air. His breath caught at the sight of you—full breasts, nipples already pebbling under his stare, the smooth expanse of your dark skin that he loved to worship. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of one breast, his tongue flicking out to tease a nipple. "You're so beautiful. Every inch of you. I could stare at you forever."

You arched into his touch, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently to bring his mouth back to yours. The kiss was deep, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your core ache. Steve was always like this—soft, attentive, making sure you felt cherished even as the heat built. But tonight, as his hand slipped down to cup your ass through your shorts, squeezing the firm flesh, you felt the shift. He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his hazel eyes searching your face.

"I love you," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was, for him. "You know that, right? More than anything."

"I know," you whispered back, smiling as you nipped at his bottom lip. "Love you too, Steve."

He groaned softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he shifted his weight, pressing his hips down so you could feel the hard length of his cock straining against his sweatpants. "Been thinking about you all day. About us. About... the future." His fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, dipping just inside to brush the soft curls at the apex of your thighs. You were already wet, arousal slicking your folds at the mere promise of him.

"What about the future?" you asked, voice breathy as he finally tugged your shorts down, along with your panties, leaving you bare beneath him. He sat back on his heels for a moment, drinking you in—the spread of your thighs, the glistening of your pussy, the way your body invited him closer.

Steve's hands settled on your knees, parting them wider as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up, dangerously close to where you throbbed for him. "Kids," he said bluntly, his breath hot against your skin. "I want kids with you, Y/N. A whole house full. Six little nuggets running around, with your smile and my dumb hair." He chuckled, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone, the way his eyes darkened with want. "I wanna fill you up, baby. Put a baby in you someday. Make you mine in every way."

The words sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly. You'd talked about it before—in vague, dreamy terms during late-night conversations—but hearing him say it like this, raw and unfiltered, ignited something primal. Your breeding kink wasn't something you'd shouted from the rooftops, but with Steve, it felt right, safe, wrapped in his unwavering love.

"Steve..." you breathed, reaching for him, but he caught your wrist, kissing the inside of it before guiding your hand to his cheek.

"Tell me you want it too," he urged, voice dropping to that husky timbre that always made your knees weak. He stripped off his shirt then, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, the faint scars from past adventures that you'd traced a hundred times. His sweatpants followed, his cock springing free—thick and veined, the tip already leaking pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, eyes never leaving yours. "Wanna breed this pretty pussy. Fill it with my cum until it's dripping out of you. Imagine it—your belly swelling with our kid."

You nodded, words failing as desire choked you. "Yes. God, yes. I want that. With you."

That was all he needed. Steve surged forward, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as he notched his cock at your entrance, the broad head nudging your slick folds apart. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your walls around his girth. You gasped into his mouth, the burn of the fullness delicious, your pussy clenching greedily to pull him deeper. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, bottoming out with a roll of his hips that ground his pelvis against your clit. "So wet for me. Made for taking my cock, aren't you? For carrying my babies."

He started moving then, thrusts deep and measured, each one dragging along your inner walls in a way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His hands roamed your body— one cupping your breast, thumb circling the nipple, the other braced beside your head so he could watch your face. "Look at you," he panted, pace picking up as sweat beaded on his brow. "Taking me so well. This pussy's gonna milk every drop from me. Gonna knock you up, Y/N. Fill you full."

The dirty talk poured from him, soft but insistent, laced with that whipped affection that made it all the more intoxicating. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to urge him deeper, harder. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingled with your moans and his grunts. He shifted angles, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl, and you cried out, nails raking down his back.

"Steve—oh fuck, right there," you whimpered, head thrown back against the pillows. Your dark curls fanned out around you, and he buried his face in your neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin just below your ear.

"Yeah? You like that, baby? Knowing I'm gonna breed you? Pump you so full of cum that it takes?" His hips snapped forward, cock plunging deep, the head kissing your cervix with every thrust. You could feel yourself fluttering around him, the pressure building like a coil ready to snap. "I want six, Y/N. Three boys, three girls. All ours. You'll look so hot pregnant—tits full, belly round with my kid."

The image he painted, combined with the relentless pace, pushed you closer to the edge. He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm circles that had you seeing white. "Cum for me," he demanded softly, lips brushing your ear. "Cum on my cock so I can fill you up. Let me breed you."

You shattered, orgasm crashing over you in waves, pussy spasming around his length as you soaked him with your release. Steve groaned, thrusts stuttering as he chased his own peak. "That's it—fuck, yes," he rasped, burying himself to the hilt one last time. His cock pulsed, hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, painting your walls white. He didn't pull out, grinding deep to push it further, ensuring not a drop was wasted.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, panting and entwined, his weight a comforting press against you. When he finally softened, he slipped free with a wet sound, his cum leaking from your pussy in thick rivulets. Steve watched, mesmerized, before dipping two fingers inside you, scooping some up and pushing it back in. "Can't let that go to waste," he murmured with a grin, kissing your forehead. "Gotta keep you full."

You laughed softly, pulling him down for a lazy kiss, bodies still humming from the aftershocks. He rolled to the side, tugging you into his chest, one hand splaying possessively over your lower belly. "One day," he whispered, voice tender now, all traces of the dominant edge gone. "We'll make it real. But for now... I just wanna hold you. Love you so much, Y/N. You're everything."

You nestled closer, tracing the lines of his jaw, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Love you too. And yeah... six sounds perfect." The future stretched out before you, full of promise, but right now, in his arms, it was more than enough.

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list - taglist 𝜗୧ | (✿. 2K CELEBRATION !) 𝜗୧

✿. summary: steve genuinely gets into the flow state when he’s fucking you and accidentally goes too fast. (based on this request -> here)

✿. pairing: boyfriend!steve x sinclair!fem!reader

✿. word count: 0.6k

✿. request: “Can you do one where Sinclair reader and Steve where Steve’s going to fast and she has to tell him to slow down a little bit{Steve in flow state 🤣}”

✿. warning: black!reader, rough sex, established relationship, steve is drunk off of you, reader has her own apartment, marks/hickies probably a plethoa of grammatic and punctuation issues

✿. a/n: my first steve x sinclair!reader fic and the first of many bc i will not sleep until everyone knows sinclair!reader.

MORE UNDER THE CUT | 18+ MINORS DNI </3

𝜗୧ RED-HANDED | Steve H.

Based on an anon request - “Can you please write a Steve Harrington fanfic with the reader as Lucas’s sister and they had their relationship because Lucas’s mom doesn’t want her dating and they get caught by the Sinclair family?”

wc - 2.3k

pairings - bf!steveharrington x oldersister!sinclair!reader

warnings - angst (kinda?), bit of fluff, established relationship, secret relationship, no use of y/n

a/n - Wasn’t planning on posting this first but it was surprisingly easy to write. S1 or 2 Steve. Highkey didn’t proofread

To your mom, rules meant safety, keeping you out of trouble, and more importantly, keeping her sane.

Dating was an unnecessary distraction for a growing girl like yourself. A girl of intelligence and stature shouldn’t need to worry about such frivolous things. It was something that you could concern yourself with more in college.

This mindset had never been a problem. You were always a well-behaved child who was more than happy to respect her parents’ wishes. Your parents always worried about your younger siblings rather than you. The standards and goals that they had were always over achieved by you. Academics, athletics, responsibilities, and poise, you had all the boxes checked. You were that– angelic to them.

That was all true until you started dating the reputable Steve the Hair Harrington.

Steve was known for many things. Some good and some not so good. He was a popular heartthrob of a jock who caught your eye this school year. The two of you were partnered together for a chemistry lab. Something you begrudgingly had to accept. Who wants to work with the dumb jock? He ended up changing your opinion on him with his lame jokes and charismatic attitude. You knew who he was, but you didn’t care. His charming smile and words had you smitten.

Your parents saw that Steve was respectable yet a little loose. Something they knew they’d have to keep an eye on.

Your mother let you bend the rules a bit after a bit of pleading. You were a trustworthy daughter anyhow. Not to mention, your parents didn’t want you to miss out on the chances of teenage love. Puppy love as they called it.

Lucas was reluctant to your new boyfriend. His views on Steve stemmed off the opinions of his friend Mike. Which obviously weren’t the greatest. Steve was just an annoying airhead that he couldn’t stand. Every time that Lucas would catch the two of you together he’d roll his eyes and mockingly gag in your faces. You’d scoff and go back to fluttering your lashes at Steve.

Steve tried to cater to your brother but Lucas simply wasn’t having it. That was up until you finally convinced Lucas to come around. He reluctantly did so to appease you. You were his big older cool sister… Steve buying him some new figures sealed the deal.

Erica didn’t really care. She never did. She was more focused on playing out her Barbie and Ranger Dan affair to be worried about whatever you and Steve had going on. She occasionally did ask you about him. Only to see how she could benefit from the two of you.

Both of your siblings mutually liked to tease you about the matter. Especially at dinner time.

“Busy sucking face with Harrington?”

You’d gotten used to it after telling them to shut up a hundred times got annoying. They weren’t wrong after all anyway. You’d spend most of your time with him in your bedroom doing exactly that. ‘Sucking face.’

Your parents weren’t phased until it started affecting their household. That’s when the foot really came down.

It started off with small things such as, coming home past curfew, maybe one or two bad grades on a test, and becoming more short-tempered with your family. Things that were expected of a hormonal teenage girl really. Your mother’s final straw was you sneaking Steve into her house and you sneaking out. It was harmless, truly, but to her it was blatantly disrespectful. Your father agreed on the matter and sat you down about it.

At that point, Steve Harrington was completely off limits.

That didn’t stop the two of you though. It just meant being more quiet and precautious. Phone calls after ten, meeting at the movie theater under the guise of meeting friends, and being on ten toes all the time. Steve was more than willing to play things like this. He was overly obsessed with you and you were just as enamored.

This is exactly why Steve Harrington was crouched beside your bed hiding his face behind a Monchichi plushie.

It was a Friday night and just as boring as usual. Steve insisted that he had to come over, catch up on chemistry notes with Hawkin’s most brilliant. An overused lame excuse that you willingly fell for. As with anytime the two of you were ‘studying’… You’d take the chance to catch up and ogle one another instead.

You were perched beside the doorframe, checking to see who was up and if the coast was clear.

“Lucas on the walkie as usual?” Steve asked with wide eyes. He moved Monchichi away from his face to look at you. His hair stood up over the doll anyway. Very obvious.

Pausing to listen, you could hear the faint sound of your brother and his nerd friends yapping. Erica was in the living room, watching her beloved My Little Pony reruns. You close the door behind you before turning back to Steve.

You laugh as you walk over to him. “Coast is clear. You can stop your awful excuse of hiding now.” He scoffs before standing up and sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Awful? I think I was doing pretty good.” He flails his hand in mock surprise. You sit beside him and a peck a kiss at his cheek. He returns the affection by pulling you in by the waist.

“Y’know, Sinclair, this sneaking around thing is– kinda killing me.” Steve drags out the confession with absentminded circles to your waist. “I don’t wanna hide around your mom all the time.”

He sighs with his fingers tugging at the fabric of your night shirt.

You lean your head your head against his shoulder. “Steve you know it’s not that simple. My mom doesn’t want me dating. Period.” You a place a hand at his thigh as a solace of comfort.

“No, she doesn’t want you dating me–.” Steve rests his head against yours as he wraps his arm around your waist. He continues on. “I mean I don’t get it. I’m not some delinquent.”

“I’m athletic, popular and respectful. I have a car. A job. Hair with-” He vaguely gestures toward his hair. “Structure”

“That’s like…textbook perfection. Right?” He hushes his tone is disbelief. You snicker and press a kiss at his neck. “My mom doesn’t care about your hair, Steve. She just doesn’t want me dating someone slightly– older, or popular, or…”

He cuts you off. “Me, yea I get it.” He pulls away from you and falls backwards on your bed, arms spread out like a star. You fall down beside him.

Turning your whole body towards him, you put a hand on his chest and bring your legs up. The prominent frown on his face causes you to wince a bit before moving in closer. You hated seeing him upset. Especially over your situation.

“You know I love you anyways.” Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek. He turns toward you with a slight pout. You furrow your brows feeling as if you said something wrong, but he quickly reassures you with a kiss to the lips.

He kisses you softly with his hand digging into your hip. It’s slow and desperate, like he’s been needing to hear you say that for a while. You groan into his mouth as you lean further into him, fisting a hand at his sweater.

With the arm that’s still wrapped around you he scoops you over to lay atop of him. Your lips are still connected as he wraps both arms around you, fully showing you how much he needs you.

He pulls back with drunken smile on his face, hands wrapped tight around your waist. “I love you so much.”

“I know you do.” You give him a final peck before lying flat against him. His hands moves up and down your back as he relaxes into the warmth of you on top of him.

Three knocks at the door quickly catch your attention. The both of you freeze. You roll of Steve and fix your moussed curls back in place.

“Shit-” Steve tumbles off of the bed with a thud along with your Monchichi. You hiss at him to go towards the closet. He frantically grabs the doll and stumbles over to your closet, holding it tight as if it’s a shield.

Before you can even answer your door creaks open. “Baby?” Your mom’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. You can feel your heart pounding against the cavity of your chest like a jackhammer. “Why is your light still on? It’s pretty late to still be up.”

You quietly gulp and calm your nerves. “Early studying. Chem test on Monday. Didn’t wanna be behind on anything.” Your mom is silent as she eyes you up and down. You glance over to your closet door, closed and not a sign of Steve.

Her eyes land on the rumpled bed and the extra pair of shoes by your desk. Which she knows for a fact aren’t yours. “Is there someone else in here?” She fully steps into your with her hands on her hips.

Your heart nearly stops. “No, mama. Just me and my books.”

The sound of clatter from the closet immediately betrays you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you try not to internally scream.

Your mother looks back at you and crosses her arms. “Steve, get your tail out of that closet.” There’s a brief moment of a silence as you and your mother hold eye contact for a second.

She turns her head while still looking at you. “Now, Harrington.” Her tone raises. That tone you always hated to hear.

The closet door slowly creaked open as Steve’s face became more apparent. He held your Monchichi closely to his chest with an awkward smile. “Uh, hi–Mrs.Sinclair.” Steve waves toward in the direction of mom slowly.

She sucks her teeth before pointing for Steve to sit next to you. Like a prisoner walking to his own execution, Steve walks over to your side with his head hung low and Monchichi cradled in his arms. The bed creaks with the added weight of him.

“Steve!” Lucas suddenly appears at your doorframe with his walkie in hand. Steve waves back awkwardly. “Hey, kid…” Lucas brings a hand up to his mouth as he whispers into his walkie. “Guys, my sister just got caught by my mom with Steve Harrington in her room…totally crazy I know!”

“So how long has this been going on? Or has it never stopped?” Your mom steps closer to take a look at the both of you.

You raise your head in defeat. “We never stopped.” Steve brings a hand to his face to avoid the terrifyingly strict glare of your mother.

“We weren’t doing anything, mom. I swear.” You plead your case to make matters less worse. “It was my idea anyway, Mrs. Sinclair.” Steve glances at you to help.

“Yea, I bet it was.” She flashes him a glare before turning back to you. Erica suddenly appears behind Lucas with Ken and Barbie in hand. “I was wondering how long it’d be before yall got caught.” She scoffs to herself before nudging Lucas.

Your mother turns around sighs. “Go to your rooms.” They flee like mice to their respective places.

She turns back to you and rubs her temples. Steve swallows. “Mrs. Sinclair, I promise you that I care about your daughter and that I would do nothing to hurt her, ever.” You turn towards him with a faint smile.

His confessions falls flat with your mom.

“No more phone calls, movies, weekend plans, or afterschool plans until I say otherwise.” She turns to Steve with disapproval. “And you. I thought you were respectful but sneaking back into my house after I said no more?” She shakes her head.

Steve nods along. “Yea, I deserve that.” A painful wave of silence echoed out across your room. The disapproving glare of your mother was enough to make your skin crawl and beg for forgiveness.

“You can leave now, Steve.” He quickly moves from off of your bed and gathers his shoes. He begins to crawl out the window before your mother interjects.

“Through the door, boy.” Your mom sighs as she points the other way. He turns around and nods. “Of course, the door, you meant the door.” He scurries out of your room before stopping at the door frame to whisper an ‘I love you’ and ‘see you Monday’ You grin before looking back at your mother.

The obvious wear and tear of your Mom’s work tires her out to leave it at that. “We’ll talk later. With your father.” You silently nod.

Your mom leaves your room with a deep sigh and slam of your door. You fall back on to your bed and let out a much needed exhale. This obviously wasn’t going to be the end of you Steve. If this was the way you had to play thing, so be it. You could live with disappointing your mom a bit.

A tap at your window forces you to sit up and turn around. You trot over to investigate the sound.

Once again, Steve. You crouch down to slide your window up. “Steve, did you hear nothing that my mom said?”

He stretches his neck with a chuckle.“I just wanted to say goodnight, Sinclair. Not trying to sneak back in.” He steps closer to your window frame and pulls you in by the cheek for a kiss. You delightfully groan and kiss him back for feels like ages before he pulls back.

“Trust me when I say that I’ll keep sneaking around with you.” He gently pulls you down by the chin to give a tender forehead kiss before bidding his goodbyes.

“See you on Monday, I promise.” He playfully blows you a kiss before running off down the block to his car. You whisper yell. “I miss you Steve!”

You close your window after he waves back and sigh. In complete and totally infatuation you plop yourself onto your bed and squeeze Monchichi. “Oh, Steve…” you coo.

2nd a/n: I really love the concept of Sinclair!reader sneaking around with Steve especially with the support of Lucas and Erica. I highkenuinely wanna write a part two for this that’s Steve gaining the trust of your siblings and having them help him plan a date. Something that includes them. Like I just LOVE the sinclair siblings ugh.

swearing, sinclair!reader, physical violence, allusions to racism, b*lly

"Harrington! Steve Harrington, is that you?" you called, storming down the dimly-lit street to Steve's curled up frame, coddling himself in the middle of the road. "What...What the hell are you doing? And where's my brother? I've been looking for him all night." You stopped in front of the boy as he pushed himself up on weak legs, crossing your arms as you watched him recollect himself.

"Well, hello to you, too, Sinclair," He grimaced, massaging his side as he struggled to stand to his full height. "You look cute in your little jammies," he joked through his own pain—chuckling at your character pajama pants.

request by: @sjskswhata thank u so much, pretty!!

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✧˖°.

The heat was inherent to summer. And with the weather came that inevitable urge to look for a pool, a kind shade or something cold between your lips. There wasn’t a single day when your younger sister, Erica, didn’t insist with the same determination as always on going for ice cream, as if the whole world depended on it. In reality, it wasn’t just the ice cream.

It was the new mall —bright, exaggerated, impossible to ignore— and the fact that Mom had decided you were the perfect “condition” so Erica could go out with her friends: if she went with you, she could go. Period.

summary: he’s only ever seen you with your hair pressed or pulled back. the first time he sees your curls free, he looks at you like he’s seeing you.

warnings / tags: steve harrington x sinclair!fem!reader, second person pov, soft hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, black reader, cultural identity, steve harrington yearning, gentle touching, sneaking through windows, rain, tenderness, being seen, microaggressions,

wc: ~1.8k

a/n: sorry this took so long, but i thought this was such a sweet request! i really, really hope you enjoy. i love these sinclair!reader concepts, please never stop sending them. i really just hope i do them justice!

cutie lace divider by: @uzmacchiato

The window opens with a sound you have come to know by heart, wood shifting, metal whispering just enough to make your pulse jump. Even after all this time, your body reacts before your brain does. A sharp inhale. A brief flash of what if. Then relief settles in your chest as moonlight spills through first, silvering the edge of your desk and the posters on your wall.

Steve follows it a second later, careful and familiar, like this is a room he belongs in even if the rest of the world would disagree.

He pauses when he sees you, always does. Like he needs a second to let the sight of you settle in his chest. You’ve noticed that about him. How he never rushes the moment where his eyes find you. How his shoulders drop just a little, tension melting away like being here has already fixed something.

“Hey,” he says quietly, smile already softening his features and making your chest tighten and adoration for the man you get to call your boyfriend.

“You know my mom would actually end you if she caught you climbing through my window,” you whisper, arms folding loosely around yourself. The words come easy, practiced, but underneath them is the familiar thrum of nerves. “Like spiritually. Emotionally. Possibly even physically.”

Steve grins, that lopsided, boyish thing that never quite goes away, even when he’s trying to be serious. “Worth it,” he says. “I’d face her. I’d apologize respectfully. I’d bring flowers.”

“She’d still hate you.”

“Yeah,” he admits, completely unfazed. “But she’d hate me while I’m near you.”

Something warm flickers low in your chest at that.

He swings himself fully inside with practiced ease, sneakers landing softly on the carpet. The room smells like the candle you lit earlier, something warm and familiar, layered with your hair products and the faint sweetness of your lotion. The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in gold, smoothing out the sharp edges of the room, making it feel like the rest of Hawkins has been shut out entirely.

He steps closer immediately, shoulder brushing yours, like distance between you is something he has to consciously fight. You feel it when his eyes flick up, then back to your face. The split second where he notices the bonnet and chooses not to say anything.

The way he waits.

Steve has only ever seen your hair controlled.

Pressed straight and glossy for school. Braided neatly back when you needed it out of the way. Twisted up and pinned when you were tired or running late. Always intentional. Always managed. Always something you did before you let anyone see you.

Never this.

You feel his curiosity like a held breath, like a question sitting just behind his teeth.

“You can say it,” you murmur, fingers already lifting to the edge of the bonnet. Your heart is beating too fast now. You are suddenly very aware of your bare shoulders, the dampness still lingering at your roots.

He shakes his head immediately. “I don’t wanna rush you.”

The sincerity in his voice hits harder than anything else could have. That alone almost undoes you.

You slide your fingers beneath the fabric and take it off slowly, deliberately, like you are unwrapping something fragile instead of just removing it. Your curls tumble free, a little less than damp from the shower you took earlier, springing back into themselves as they fall. They catch the light in soft halos and spirals, shadows curling into shadows. The air feels cooler against your scalp, and suddenly you are aware of how much of yourself is visible.

Your arms cross instinctively, a reflex older than you want to think about.

Steve freezes. Not because he doesn’t know what to do. But because every part of him seems to stop at once, like his body needs time to catch up to his heart. You watch it happen. The way his chest stills. The way his mouth parts just slightly. The way his eyes go wide, then soften, then turn impossibly tender, like he’s looking at something he didn’t know he was allowed to see.

“Oh,” he breathes out.

It sounds like awe. It sounds like disbelief, maybe mixed with something a little like gratitude.

He takes a step closer, then stops himself, hands curling into loose fists at his sides like he’s grounding himself. “You’re…” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your first instinct is to deflect. To laugh it off before it can settle somewhere real. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know,” he says immediately, almost tripping over the words. “I want to. I mean it.”

His hand lifts, then pauses midair. You see the hesitation in his fingers, the way he checks your face before doing anything else. He lowers it again. “Can I feel it?” he asks, voice careful, eyes soft as they flicker back to yours. “You can say no, don’t want— don’t want to be disrespectful.”

You nod, barely. There’s a small smile on your face at his hesitance, and your heart is pounding hard enough that you’re sure he can feel it from here.

His fingers brush a curl near your cheek, feather light, following its shape instead of pulling it straight. The touch is reverent. Curious. Like he understands without being told that this is not something to rush.

“It’s different,” he says softly. “Not like— not bad different. Just. This feels like seeing you in a new light.”

You laugh quietly, more breath than sound, because he looks terrified of saying the wrong thing.. and that just causes your heart to swell with even more. Your eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t really wear it like this.”

“Why?” he asks quietly.

The question is gentle, but it still makes something twist in your chest.

You shrug, a small movement that carries years of practice. “It’s easier not to. Less explaining. Less comments. Less trying to make people comfortable.”

His brow furrows, confusion giving way to something sharper. “Comfortable how?”

You hesitate. You can feel the weight of what you’re about to say sitting heavy on your tongue. “At school, my friends always wanna match. Same outfits. Same hair. Same everything.” You let out a quiet breath. “And it’s just.. easier to straighten it. To blend in. Hawkins isn’t exactly built for this.” You gesture vaguely to your hair.

Steve’s expression changes then. Not anger exactly. Something quieter and protective, maybe even offended for you.

“They actually told you to straighten it?” he asks.

You nod. “They weren’t like.. mean about it. Just.. ‘It’ll look cuter.’ ‘It’ll match better.’ ‘It’ll be easier.’” Your hands dance midair, emphasizing each phrase as you speak.

His jaw tightens and you can see it, the way his teeth press together like he’s holding something back. “That’s messed up,” he says. “Why should you have to change to match them?”

You smile faintly, tired and familiar. “Because it’s easier than being the odd one out.”

He shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying to wrap his mind around something that refuses to sit right. “I don’t get that,” he says. “I mean. I get wanting to fit in. But asking you to erase parts of yourself for it? That’s not fair.”

Your chest tightens, emotion creeping up on you before you can stop it.

“When I was little,” you say quietly, “my mom used to sit me between her knees and braid my hair before school. She’d hum while she worked.” The memory comes easily. Warm. Safe. “She told me stories about her mom doing the same thing. About how our hair holds memory. How it carries history and strength and survival.”

Steve listens like this is sacred. Like this is something he will remember. And it is, because it’s you. And anything important to you, is important to him.

“But at school,” you continue, “it was always too big. Too much. Too distracting. So I learned to tame it. Learned when to hide it..”

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he says softly.

“I know,” you whisper, shrugging half-heartedly. “But it did.”

He steps closer then, slow and deliberate, closing the space you didn’t even realize you were holding open. His forehead rests against yours. His hand finds your waist in that familiar grounding and warm touch, steady enough to make your breathing slow. His other hand cups the back of your head carefully, fingers threading through your curls like he’s learning them by touch, like he’s memorizing the feel. He slides that hand down the curve of your jaw before tilting your head upwards with a curled finger underneath your chin.

“Thank you.. I feel really honored you’re telling me this,” he says. “And letting me see you like this. Like.. really see you.”

Your eyes close. Your chest aches in a way that isn’t painful. “You don’t look at me like I’m too much.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “I look at you like I can’t believe you’re real.. ‘cause I can’t.”

He presses a kiss to your hairline, slow and lingering, then another to your temple. When he pulls back, he looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, like he was already falling and this just made the ground disappear entirely.

“You’re not someone pretending to be anything,” he says. “You’re just you, and I love that. All of it.”

Your fingers curl into his hoodie, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the weight of him. “You’re really serious about this.”

“Dead serious,” he says. “Ask anyone. I’m dramatic.”

“Oh, I know,” you laugh softly, and this time it doesn’t feel like a shield.

You lean into his chest, your hair brushing against his collarbone. His arms come around you fully, secure and warm, holding you like this is where you are meant to be. Outside, rain begins to fall, soft at first, then steady, tapping against the window like punctuation.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You just breathe together. You feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. The way his thumb rubs slow, absentminded circles at your side.

“I’m still learning how to love it,” you admit quietly. “To let it exist without apologizing.”

Steve tightens his hold just a little, not possessive, just reassuring. “You don’t have to rush,” he says. “I’ll be here, learning with you. However you wear it, whenever you’re ready.”

You smile, eyes closing, cheek pressed against his shoulder. The rain keeps falling. The room stays warm. “I love you, Harrington.”

He grins, squeezing you a little tighter as your words settle in his chest, and he presses a final kiss to the top of your head. “I love you even more, Sinclair.”

“Please, just play along.”

Steve Harrington x Sinclair!reader

PROMPT: “Please, just play along.”

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

SYNOPSIS: You don’t usually pay much attention to King Steve. Until you find yourself fighting inter-dimensional monsters with him. Now you can’t help but notice his sad eyes. Heavy fluff.

[MASTERLIST]

[a/n– this is one my favourite things I’ve written ahhhh. I actually found this to be a really interesting take on the prompt, so loved the request. This is my first Sinclair!reader fic, but happy to report not the last as I’m currently working at finishing a requested one too. However, it could’ve gone either way because I’m dying to do a Hopper daughter fic. So keep a look out.]

You had been having a weird month.

Actually, maybe if you were more precise, a weird year. Beginning with the disappearance of Will Byers– the quiet friend of your younger brother. Finding out creatures from a deep underworld were real was the line that marked the start of the inexplicable life you were leading now.