#stranger things thoughts

something where he’s talking her through it bc well— he’s big and she’s really nervous abt it. maybe at the wsqk station, where robin is out sick that day.

pussy eating puppy steve harrington for you all. lemme know if it’s alright!

robin being sick, an excuse steve knows was used so she could finally go on a date with vickie, turned out to be a goddamn blessing. with no one else at the radio station, he thought it would be fun to have his perfect pretty little girlfriend to come over and keep him company. because without robin, the place seemed too quiet, missing the ramblings of hawkins very own rockin robin. however, it had made his job much easier. with no radio presenter, all steve had to do was switch the vinyls whenever the last song was finishing up. easy peasy.

which meant he got bored. quickly. after replacing what felt like the millionth vinyl of the day, and knowing he could be productive and tidy up, steve tapped his lap.

well, it was his lap, but it was your seat. you just fit perfectly there, his girl, on his lap, where she was meant to be. you two had naturally been drawn to one another after nearly dying side by side for multiple years. it had been a slow wait, but oh was it worth it. when your lips had finally met his, moments after surviving the destruction of the star court, steve felt like he was in goddamn heaven. he’d dreamt it, yet somehow, it was still better. like little fireworks going off in his head. or maybe that was due to one of his numerous concussions of the day. he hadn’t cared. because he had you.

and now he had you again, however this time it was on his lap, staring at him with the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen. steve never knew how he’d gotten this lucky.

but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this moment pass.

gently, his lips met yours, soft and sweet at first. guiding your legs around his hips to straddle him without leaving your lips. one of your hands finding his hair and entangling your fingers in it. these were your most common moments, especially now, with the end of the world looming, all you needed was his lips on yours. his tongue pressing at your lips, asking, begging to be let it. and who were you to deny him that? there was no fight for dominance, as steve’s tongue pushed itself into your mouth, deepening your kiss as you moaned into his own mouth.

that’s when you felt that it. a reminder of just how big your boyfriend was. well you knew, that sting and emptiness you’d felt after the first time you fucked steve had been held as a reminder of how big steve harrington’s cock fucking was. but ever since then, you guys hadn’t been able to make it as far. not with the gang usually needing one both or both of you most evenings.

grinding down, steve felt you grin as he let out a muffled groan. separating his lips from yours, a string of salvia connecting you both as he practically growled. “you really playing that game?” your giggle, he can’t help but roll his eyes. leaning down to your neck, biting down hard enough to halt your grinding and for your fingers to tug at his hair. “fuck” is all you can groan, listening to steve’s chuckle as he stares at the pretty mark on your gorgeous neck. sure, hickies may be juvenile, but he fucking loved seeing his mark on you.

even as he has you in his lap, where he’s needed you for so long, steve still has to be aware of the music. like how the current song playing was about to end. he’d have to replace it. groaning again, his head on your shoulder, steve lifts you up, putting you in his seat as he goes to change the vinyl. maybe robin being sick wasn’t as great as he had thought when he could get more than a quick makeout with his girl.

yet, as he was lost in thought, his eyes widened as he saw treasure on his table. a song long enough for him to enjoy you more. of course, he’d rather have you in his bed, keep you there for hours, enjoying you. but right now, he had to saviour this moment as a it was

turning around to you, already on his knees, one hand on either knee as he looks up at you with those beautiful begging eyes. “please baby,” he begs. looking like sin wrapped in angelic beauty. this was where you loved him, between your legs begging for you.

as you nod, giving him all he needs, steve mouths over your clothed cunt. squeezing the plushness of your thighs. making out with your pussy, eyes closed as if he’s in heaven. your soaked. and he knows it.

one finger pulls the panties to his side, steve leaning his head back as he just stares. stares at this beauty he is allowed to devour. “mine,” he mumbles before his tongue slides inside of you, a slow and steady pace that has you begging for more.

“please steve, need you,” is all you can say, hands tugging him closer, suffocating him on your cunt. and he loves it. lips moving up to suck at your clit, which has your head rolling back in pure pleasure. his pace quickens, fingers moving up to replace the empty needy space in your cunt. sucking hard, he kisses your cunt. looking up at you, chin covered in your slick.

as he watches you, how you pant, eyes glassy, he goes back in. unable to stop. you’re a meal, a heavenly gift between your legs. two fingers and his tongue plunging in and out. the only noise is the quiet sound of the music and the sound of him entering you. in and out. it’s nasty. sinful. and you two fucking love it.

one hand gripping the arm of your chair, the other still in steve’s hair. panting, one leg going over his shoulder as he goes deeper. sucking and moaning into you.

pressure building and building until finally, finally, you cum. all over his face. he doesn’t stop, too lost in his own bliss as he keeps going. your sensitive now, whining for him to stop. as he sucks every last bit of cum out of you.

grinning, he looks up at you. finally pulling away from your pulsing cunt. “thank you, baby. fuck, thank you so much.” he leans up, kissing your lips. the taste of you on him as his tongue slips back inside your mouth, hands cupping your face. “i love you, honey; thank you.”

he pulls away again, sure that’s all he’s able to give you today, ignoring how fucking hard he is. he could just run to the bathroom the next song, get it over with. he didn’t want to hurt you.

steve knew he was big, he’d been proud of it, even. but then he realised how big he was. how it would hurt whatever girl he was with. that’s why it had taken so long to finally fucking you, why he kept finding excuses to not screw you. even if he wanted to. badly. but the thought of hurting you? god that terrified him.

pulling at his sleeve, you look up at steve. you two had discussed his size, you’d been aware of it. enjoyed it, even. and you knew he was loosing himself in his own head, even with your cum on his chin. “steve…” you mumble, looking away for a moment, biting your lip. “need you, even more.” hoping he understands. and by the way his eyes widen, he does.

“but - baby, i don’t wanna hurt you,” he replies, cupping you cheek. thumb rubbing up and down.

as your brows drawn together, he rolls his eyes. “but, you worked me, won’t be as much as a stretch.” both of you know that’s a slight lie, he’ll still stretch you out, ruin your cunt. but you need it. want it. want him.

he hides in the crook of your neck, licking at the mark he’d left. it’s still sensitive, you moan softly, eyes closing. “fine…” he mumbles, kissing the mark as he leans back. grinning at you, that soft, sweet, grin that you love.

without another word shared, he’s picking you up - one of his favourite activities. he loved to hold you. taking you to the sofa and dropping you down, watching you giggle.

he’s quick to tug off your skirt, he’s still kind, but fuck he needs you. and now, he doesn’t care if the radio goes silent for a bit. he’s hard. aching. and it’s all for you and you alone. as he hands go to his jeans, you lean up, taking over. unbuttoning his jeans with a sense of a rush, stumbling over your movements. steve chuckles at you, before straddling over your body. the sofa creaking under the two of you.

he’s lining himself up when his eyes meet yours. “are you sure?” he asks again, waiting definite consent. as you nod, biting your lip, he enters. slow, gentle.

you’re nervous, never scared, but the stretch already is insane. eyes closing as your brows furrow. steve watches you, kissing your neck, mumbling about how “good you are, baby, made for me. taking me so well.” he whispers into your ear. slowly pushing himself more and more, watching as you whine, hands gripping his shoulders. were he not in his grey jumper, you’d be scratching his back up. he’s nearly fully bottomed out. your cunt squeezing around him everytime he even twitches. he’s stretched you out, your walls tight. every ridge of his cock moving against you in the most perfect of ways. watching you cover your face in pleasure.

“hey, show me my good girls face, please?” he asks softly, moving your hand away to see how pretty you look. how you’re flushed, panting as he does the final push to bottom out. fully inside. “there you are, so good for me. fit me. no one else made for me like you.”

waiting, he watches you closely. waiting for your small nod to drag himself out and back in. slow at first, watching you whine at the stretch still. cooing at you, “awh, look at my baby, doing so good.” kissing your lips quickly, in and out. he’s speeding up, you’re moaning more and more. “there? you need me there?” and he’s going faster chasing his own release as one hand goes to your clit, rubbing rough circles. “come on, you can come again, come again, honey.” he’s practically ordering you to.

the music ended a while ago, anyone listening to the radio just heard the silence of the vinyl. but steve doesn’t care. he’s close. you’re close. and he’s not stopping. mumbling praise non stop as his head rolls back and he’s whining, “fucking brilliant.” he groans before cumming, heat blossoming inside you as you peak.

looking down, steve’s panting, smiling at you, “thank you baby, fuckin love you.”

There’s nothing simple, basic, or heteronormative about mileven.

We have two kids who fell for each other in the midst of an inter-dimensional fallout and unmasked government conspiracy, despite the fact that one was almost entirely non-verbal and the other was racked with insecurities.

Mike is an outcast; a skinny nerd with no desire to pursue sports, or cars, or anything else traditionally masculine. He even refers to himself as Lois Lane, giving the title of Superman to his girlfriend. He’s an excellent portrayal of quiet, non-toxic, non-traditional masculinity. Within his relationship with El, he takes on the traditionally “feminine” role of the gentle, patient supporter, and he does so without second thought or grudge.

El on the other hand is otherworldly. Not super feminine, she treads her own path, acquiring both masculine and feminine traits as she grows into herself. She’s a rebel, a scrappy fighter, and a challenger. If she was allowed to participate in sports, she make one hell of a competitive athlete. In her relationship, she’s the decision maker, and the protector.

Not one of the main ensemble are conventional, and Mike and El are no exception. They complete each other. They do more than push the boundaries of typical relationship expectations — they completely subvert them.

will coming out was not beautiful, it was sad. the acceptance he received was heartwarming, sure, to see a queer person who has built up fear of being abandoned after coming out not have to face that reality is nice - but his coming out was not this beautiful heartwarming acceptance of himself, it was fear. fear that the same person who traumatised him and took over his adolescent body when he was a little kid would be able to overpower him from how extreme his fear was of not being loved anymore after coming out, that he knew he had to fight in the final vecna battle - but couldnt unless he came out, because he was mortified that the fear would be used against him again and he’d cause more deaths from his fear of not being accepted after already feeling so much self blame for peoples deaths he didnt have any intention to cause.

thats not beautiful. a beautiful coming out doesnt stem from fear that if you dont, everyone you love may die and the person you fear the most may use your queer fear against you. will was blubbering, crying and stuttering trying to express something he wasnt quite ready to say.

and on top of it all, forced to repress his feelings for his lifelong childhood love and reduce it to mike just ‘being his tammy’ - because he only has one queer person to go to for advice, someone who’s experiences are very different than his. so he reduces it to a silly crush, as if he only liked mike for a while and realised he wasnt the one the same way robin had experienced her first queer love. even though, will has loved mike through every phase of his life, through every milestone and challenge and never faulted in the concept that he loves mike, until being forced to convince himself he didnt anymore just so he could cope with his fear that if he admitted he still loved mike, it could ruin more of his life then just simply coming out would. it would be coming out and telling his best friend he loved him.

the softest kind of overkill 𖤐 steve harrington

you watch your boyfriend completely overcommit to a simple gift exchange, turning it into a full-on Christmas mission for all the kids.

or: you slowly realize the gifts aren't about Christmas. they're about steve making sure the kids feel loved.

⋆ happy holidays! this is my way of bracing myself for his inevitable death... (not proofread. dialogues/certain scenes might've been repeated by accident)

you sit on the edge of the couch with your legs tucked under you, watching steve harrington wage an unnecessary war against wrapping paper.

the living room smells like pine and sugar cookies, the christmas lights twinkling softly around the windows. there’s a half-empty mug of cocoa on the coffee table, a roll of wrapping paper unfurled far too long across the floor, and steve—kneeling on one knee like he’s proposing to the concept of gift-giving itself.

you can tell he meant well. he always does.

the paper keeps sliding back on itself, curling stubbornly no matter how many times he smooths it down with his forearm. tape sticks to his fingers, then his sweater, then somehow his hair. he huffs, muttering under his breath, blue eyes narrowed in concentration like he's defusing a bomb instead of wrapping a box.

"okay, okay, i swear this was easier last year," he says, pressing his weight down on the paper as if intimidation will make it behave. "or maybe it wasn't. i don't know. i don't remember. but i definitely didn't use this much tape."

"this is for dustin," he explains for the third time, glancing back at you as if you might've forgotten. "not just any gift. this is the exchange gift. so it has to look good. he's gonna notice if it looks bad."

"steve," you say gently, "dustin would accept it if you wrapped it in a grocery bag."

"yeah, but i wouldn't," he replies immediately, grabbing tape with his teeth and pulling it free a little too aggressively. the tape sticks to his fingers. he sighs. "okay, see? this is why i shouldn't be trusted with sticky things."

you lean back, watching him wrestle the tape off himself, amused and fond and a little in love with how seriously he’s taking this.

he finally secures one corner. crooked, but holding and then starts rambling, like he always does when he's nervous or excited.

"so, dustin's getting this, obviously," he says, nodding at the box. "and i got lucas something too. i know we weren’t supposed to, like, go all out, but i saw it and it just felt right, you know? and max... okay, max is tricky, because she pretends she doesn't care but she does, so i got her something subtle. not lame. subtle."

this wasn't supposed to be all of them. this was supposed to be a single exchange gift. dustin's name pulled from a folded scrap of paper. but then steve came home with more bags. and then more. and then you caught him sneaking in stocking stuffers like he wasn't the world's worst liar.

you smile as he reaches for another piece of tape, sticking it down with a little too much force.

"and then there's mike," he continues, folding the paper with intense focus. "which—don't get me wrong, the kid drives me nuts, but he's good. he's got a big heart. so i got him a thing. not a big thing. just… a thing. i think he'll like it. i think. and will's always cold, so i got him that sweater, not itchy, i checked twice."

you watch his shoulders tense as he talks, as if he's bracing himself for some invisible failure. like he's afraid of doing too much, or somehow not enough, all at once.

"and el—" he stops, shakes his head with a soft laugh. "i didn't even have to think about that one. she deserves… you know. something good."

your chest tightens at the way he says it so casually, like it's obvious. like loving them is just something he does, without expecting anything back. "steve," you say softly, eyes warm, "you know you didn't have to get all of them gifts."

he pauses, tape dispenser hovering mid-air, then shrugs without looking at you.

"yeah, i know," he says. "but… i wanted to."

the paper tears slightly when he pulls it too tight. he groans.

"son of a— see? this is what happens when you care too much."

you move closer, kneeling beside him now, watching as he tries to fix the tear by aggressively taping over it.

"it’s fine," you reassure. "they’re gonna love it. all of them."

he exhales, shoulders relaxing just a little. "you think so?"

"i know so."

steve glances at you, eyes soft, a little sheepish. "i just—when i was their age, i didn't really… you know. and i don't want them to ever feel like that. especially not on Christmas."

he finally finishes the wrapping, the gift slightly lopsided but clearly made with care. he sets it aside and leans back on his heels, looking proud and exhausted.

then he groans again when he looks at the pile of unwrapped presents beside him.

"great," he says. "i still have, like, five more."

you laugh, reaching out to brush your thumb over the crease in his forehead. "told you i could help."

he grins up at you, boyish and relieved. "yeah, yeah. guess i could use my girlfriend's superior skills."

as you grab another roll of paper and sit beside him on the floor, steve keeps talking about the kids, about Christmas mornings, about how he hopes everything's perfect—hands clumsy but determined, heart way too big for just one exchange gift.

you take over one corner while he watches closely, copying your movements like a student. his hands are clumsy but careful, big fingers trying their best to be gentle. every now and then he glances at the clock, like he's worried he's running out of time like Christmas might come early and catch him unprepared.

"you know they don't care if it's perfect," you murmur.

"i do," he says immediately. he hesitates, softer now. "i want it to look nice for them. they deserve nice."

you look at him then—really look at him. at the way his shoulders hunch protectively even now, at how much effort he's putting into something as simple as wrapping paper because it means something to kids who've lost too much already.

steve finally finishes wrapping the gift. it's a little lopsided. the bow is aggressively large. one corner is definitely crooked.

he stares at it, then at you. "be honest."

"it's awful," you say sweetly.

he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder.

"but," you add, wrapping an arm around him, "dustin's going to love it. they all will."

steve smiles against your shoulder, tired but satisfied. he reaches for the next box, rolling his sleeves up again like he's gearing up for battle.

"next year," he says, shaking his head with a crooked grin, "i'm buying gift bags."

but even as he says it, you both know he won't.