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a bat was in my room and i told my dad and he didn’t believe me then the bat flew right in front of him, he caught it, then said he didnt believe me bc he thought i was watching stranger things
you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
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grumpy s5 boyfriend steve and ‘want me to get you a pillow’… are you picking up what i’m putting down
18+ yes...... i think for me, the main difference between s1 mean!steve and s5 mean!steve is that s5 steve would be really great at pretending he doesn't give a shit.
like: oh, i'm sorry, is this uncomfortable? my foot pressing on the back of your head? is it tough when I pin you to the carpet while i use this pussy? too bad.
this man is tired and angry and resentful and sad—too many things he couldn’t fix, too many people expecting him to be stable when he feels anything but stable—and he's so fucking done with trying to pretend like it doesn't get to him.
so when you offer to be, let's call it an... emotional outlet to ease the burden of his... frustrations, so he can fuck you until he feel like there's a shred of normalcy back in his life, well... what's the problem with that?
and he's still careful, the love underneath it hasn’t gone anywhere—if anything it's gotten stronger, more fierce after all the shit he’s had to go through—but now it's more: tell me if you want me to stop, rather than: is this okay?
it's more: don't move, stay right there.
it's more: no, look at me. you're okay. just breathe.
it's more: yeah, that's it. you’re fine. you can handle this, can't you?
it's more: what, is this too much? thought you wanted this, baby. i'll stop if you can't take this cock. just say it.
years of sneaking into the house late, trying not to wake his parents, had turned silence into instinct. keys set down softly. shoes kicked off by the door instead of across the floor. careful footsteps through dark rooms.
but lately he’d started doing it for you too.
especially on nights he knew you weren’t feeling well.
the apartment was dim when he walked in, lit only by the soft yellow glow of the lamp near the couch and whatever late-night sitcom was playing quietly on the tv.
for a second he thought you were awake.
then he noticed the heating pad tucked against your stomach.
the bottle of painkillers sitting half-open on the coffee table beside a glass of water.
his expression softened immediately.
oh, baby.
you were curled on your side beneath the blanket he recognized from your bed, knees pulled toward your chest slightly even in sleep. face scrunched faintly like your body still hurt even unconscious.
steve’s chest tightened in that awful tender way it always did around you.
he set his work bag down quietly before moving closer.
slow and careful like you were something precious enough to startle.
the couch creaked softly when he knelt beside it.
you stirred a little but didn’t wake fully.
steve brushed a piece of hair away from your face gently, fingertips warm against your cheek.
“hey, sweetheart,” he whispered.
your eyebrows furrowed sleepily.
he smiled immediately.
gosh, you were cute.
“c’mon,” he murmured softer this time, thumb stroking slowly across your cheekbone. “wake up for me.”
your eyes fluttered open after a second, still heavy with sleep. disoriented for exactly half a heartbeat before they landed on him and instantly softened.
“steve,” you mumbled.
his heart nearly folded in on itself.
“hi, baby.”
you pushed yourself upright before immediately reaching for him.
not even fully awake yet and still instinctively seeking him out.
steve let out a quiet little laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“okay,” he whispered warmly, catching you easily. “c'mere.”
you tucked yourself against him without hesitation, face pressing into the side of his neck while his arms slid around your waist automatically.
home.
it always felt like coming home with you.
his hand rubbed slowly up and down your back while you melted sleepily against his chest.
“missed you,” you mumbled.
steve closed his eyes briefly.
completely gone over three words.
“i was at work for six hours.”
“terrible,” you sighed dramatically against his shoulder.
he laughed softly.
then gentler, fingertips brushing through your hair now,
“how bad’re the cramps?”
you groaned quietly in response.
“that bad, huh?”
“my uterus is trying to kill me.”
“rude of her, honestly.”
another sleepy little laugh.
steve shifted slightly so he could look at your face properly.
there were still traces of discomfort there. tiredness too.
he hated when you hurt.
always had.
“you take the painkillers?”
you nodded against him.
“heating pad helping?”
“kinda.”
his thumb brushed beneath your eye gently.
“you eat anything?”
the guilty silence answered for you.
steve sighed quietly through his nose.
“baby…”
“i forgot.”
“you can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.”
you frowned slightly like he was the unreasonable one here.
“thats just a rumor.”
“yeah?” he smiled faintly. “well your body’s currently staging a violent protest, so maybe let’s not challenge science tonight.”
you huffed weakly into his neck.
adorable.
steve pressed one kiss against your forehead before carefully pulling back.
“stay here,” he murmured.
your arms tightened immediately.
“where’re you going?”
“kitchen.”
you looked genuinely distressed by that idea. “don’t leave me.”
his expression softened so much it almost hurt. “sweetheart, i’m making you soup. not joining the military.”
“still.”
steve smiled helplessly before kissing your temple this time.
“c’mon.” he brushed his nose lightly against yours. “you can survive thirty seconds without me.”
“debatable.”
he laughed quietly again.
then stood only after making sure the blanket was tucked properly around you and the heating pad stayed against your stomach.
domesticity looked unfairly good on him.
you watched sleepily from the couch while steve moved around the kitchen in sock feet, opening cabinets and muttering softly to himself while he cooked.
the apartment smelled like soup within minutes.
he checked on you constantly while cooking too. glancing over every thirty seconds like he couldn’t help himself.
“you alive over there?” he called softly at one point.
you barely lifted a thumb from beneath the blanket.
eventually he returned carrying a bowl in one hand and one of your fluffy socks he’d apparently found abandoned near the bedroom in the other.
you blinked at him.
“why do you have a sock?”
“because,” he said patiently, kneeling beside the couch again, “you took the other one off and now one foot’s cold.”
your heart actually hurt a little.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and yet,” he slid the sock carefully back onto your foot, “here we are.”
you stared down at him fondly while he adjusted the blanket around your legs again afterward.
pretty boy.
sweet boy.
your boy.
steve handed you the soup once he was satisfied you were adequately bundled.
“eat.”
you took a few sleepy bites while he sat beside your legs, one hand rubbing absentminded circles against your calf through the blanket.
the tv murmured softly in the background.
after a few minutes you set the bowl down and reached toward him again silently.
steve smiled immediately.
“needy tonight, huh?” he laughed under his breath before stretching out carefully beside you on the couch.
the second he settled, you curled into him again automatically, head tucked beneath his chin. his arms wrapped around you without thought.
“better?” he whispered.
you nodded sleepily against his chest.
steve kissed the top of your head and pulled you closer beneath the blanket with a quiet little hum.
“get some sleep, baby.”
you smiled faintly against his chest.
“only if you stay.”
steve tightened his arms around you immediately.
“not going anywhere.”
likes, reblongs, and comments are much appreciated <3
The first thing Steve notices when he wakes up is that you’re missing. His arm is stretching across cold sheets where you’d been tucked against his chest all night, and he frowns before even opening his eyes fully, curls flattened on one side from sleep.
Then he hears the quiet shuffle of socks against hardwood. Coffee brewing. Cabinet doors opening softly like you’re trying not to wake him.
Steve smiles into the pillow before he even sees you.
The apartment is still dim, washed in pale gray morning light through the giant loft windows. The city outside hasn’t fully woken up yet. Everything feels slow and warm.
He drags himself out of bed wearing nothing but sweatpants and an old Hawkins High hoodie, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he walks toward the kitchen.
You’re standing on your tiptoes trying to reach the mugs on the top shelf.
“Baby,” Steve rasps, voice rough with sleep.
You turn immediately, softening the second you see him.
“There he is.”
Steve swears there’s nothing prettier than you in the mornings. Not dressed up. Not trying. Just sleepy eyes and messy hair and one of his shirts hanging off your shoulder.
He walks over without saying anything else, hands automatically finding your waist.
“You left me,” he mumbles dramatically against your neck.
“I was gone for like six minutes.”
“Longest six minutes of my life.”
You laugh quietly, fingers slipping into the curls at the nape of his neck. Steve practically melts on contact, burying his face into your shoulder like he’s touch-starved even though he spends most of his life attached to you somehow.
“You’re clingy,” you tease.
“You love it.”
Unfortunately, you do.
Steve presses lazy kisses along your jaw, still half asleep. Soft little things. Barely-there touches that linger longer than they need to.
His hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt just to feel your skin.
He does that a lot.
Like he still can’t believe someone let him love them this gently.
“You smell good,” he murmurs.
“That’s your soap.”
“Exactly.”
You snort softly, and Steve grins against your skin before finally reaching over you to grab the mugs you couldn’t reach.
He always does things like that without making you feel small for asking.
The apartment becomes quiet again after that. A comfortable quiet filling the air.
Steve leans against the counter while you make coffee, watching you openly like he can’t help himself. Like loving you is a full-time occupation.
“You’re staring.”
“Mhm.”
“It’s weird you creep.”
“You’re pretty. I can’t exactly ignore that.”
You try to hide your smile by looking down into your mug, and Steve thinks he could survive off moments like this alone.
Later, the rain starts. Heavy enough to drum against the massive windows.
You’re curled up on the couch under a blanket while Steve lays across you dramatically, head resting on your thighs while some random movie plays in the background neither of you are paying attention to.
One of your hands is absentmindedly scratching through his hair.
Steve nearly falls asleep instantly.
“You know,” you say quietly after a while, “you’re basically a golden retriever.”
Steve cracks one eye open. “Rude.”
“You literally follow me room to room.”
“Yeah because what if something happens?”
You laugh. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you need a jar opened. Maybe there’s a spider.”
“You’re scared of spiders.”
“Exactly. Moral support.”
Your fingers drift down to his cheek absentmindedly, tracing the softness there.
Steve turns his face just enough to kiss your palm. Not even teasing or performative. Just instinct.
You stare at him for a second afterward with that look that always makes him nervous in the best way.
Like you’re feeling too much at once.
“What?” he asks softly.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
You shrug a little. “You’re just… really easy to love.”
Steve goes still.
Every single time you say something sincere to him, it hits like a bruise he didn’t know he had.
Because for so long, Steve thought love had to be earned through performance. Through being impressive enough or charming enough or useful enough.
But with you, it’s terrifyingly simple.
You love him when he’s sleepy and grumpy and clingy. When he burns dinner. When his anxiety gets bad. When he talks too much. When he gets quiet.
You love him when he’s just Steve.
And maybe that’s why he looks at you sometimes like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
Steve sits up suddenly, one hand cupping your jaw.
“What?” you whisper, smiling a little.
He shakes his head once before kissing you.
The kind of kiss that feels more like being held than anything else.
Your hand slides into his hair immediately, and Steve hums softly against your mouth, climbing closer until you’re practically folded into him on the couch.
Rain tapping against windows.
Warm coffee gone cold on the table.
Your legs tangled together beneath blankets.
Steve kisses like he loves with his whole body—completely, earnestly, a little desperately.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.
“You make me insane,” he murmurs.
“Good insane?”
“The worst kind.”
You grin. “You’re smiling.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re blushing too.”
“I’m literally not.”
He absolutely is.
You kiss him again before he can defend himself further, and Steve immediately forgets whatever argument he was trying to make.
Because this—
This quiet little life with you.
Rainy afternoons. Shared hoodies. Hands under shirts just for warmth. Sleepy kisses in kitchens.
It’s everything Steve Harrington used to think only happened to other people.
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- the morning after a terrible argument, you come down with the worst fever of your life. unfortunately for your dignity, Steve Harrington still loves you enough to play nurse through all of it.
- cw: sicky reader, fight, hurt/comfort, stevie being a sweetie pie >⩊<
no reader description (aka pic is just aesthetic purposes ^^) also inspired over a jeno fic i read a couple yrs ago and thought abt recently... if you know which one pls let me know so i can tag them :p
Steve thinks you and him are cosmically doomed to have the worst timing imaginable.
Exhibit A: the last twenty-four hours.
Yesterday you’d both had the same day off for once, which almost never happened anymore between Steve picking up extra Family Video shifts and you drowning in work all week. You ran errands together, made fun of the kids after they got too worked up from pointless arguments, argued in the grocery aisles over whether to get the E.T or Indiana Jones themed cereal.
It was normal. Easy.
Then somewhere between takeout containers and exhaustion and too many things left unsaid lately, it stopped being easy.
Steve couldn’t even fully remember how the fight started now. Something small. Something stupid. You accusing him of never talking about what he was feeling anymore. Steve snapping back that every conversation lately somehow turned into him doing something wrong.
Then it escalated.
Like it always did when both of you were too tired to communicate properly and too emotional to stop talking.
“You don’t even want to be here half the time,” you’d snapped at him.
Steve looked like you’d slapped him.
“That’s not fair.”
“Well, what am I supposed to think?” you shot back. “You barely look at me anymore.”
Steve ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“Bullshit.”
The second the word left your mouth, you regretted it.
Steve’s expression hardened instantly—not angry exactly, just hurt.
“Seriously?”
But by then both of you were angry enough to keep going anyway.
It ended with Steve grabbing his jacket and slamming your apartment door hard enough to shake the walls while you cried in your kitchen.
Which would’ve already been bad enough.
Except you woke up this morning feeling like actual death.
By noon, your fever had climbed high enough that your teeth hurt. Your throat burned so badly it felt shredded every time you swallowed, and your chest ached from coughing so hard you could barely breathe afterward.
You held out until almost two in the afternoon before finally calling Steve.
Steve showed up thirteen minutes later with medicine, electrolyte drinks, soup ingredients, cough drops, two thermometers because “the other one looked unreliable,” and the kind of worried expression he tried hard to hide whenever he was scared.
He’d barely spoken to you since arriving.
Not mean or cruel.
Just… distant.
Like he was forcing himself to stay calm.
And honestly? You deserved it.
Right now, Steve sat at the foot of your bed with one leg bouncing anxiously while Back to the Future played on your TV. Every few minutes he glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still conscious.
You had spent most of the day curled beneath blankets while he took care of you in silence.
He made soup.
Made you take medicine.
Refilled your water constantly.
Pressed cold washcloths to your forehead.
Cleaned your kitchen while you slept.
He even argued with Robin over the phone because she wanted to come over and “diagnose you dramatically,” and Steve insisted you needed rest.
But he still hadn’t really looked at you.
Not fully.
Not the way he usually did.
And every second of that distance sat heavy in your chest.
You pushed yourself upright slowly, immediately dizzy enough that the room tilted sideways.
Steve muted the TV instantly.
“Whoa, hey.” He stood fast. “What do you need?”
His voice softened automatically around concern despite everything.
Guilt clawed at your stomach.
“Just going to the bathroom” you muttered back.
Steve frowned immediately. “You need help walking?”
The fact that he was still asking things like that after last night almost made you cry on the spot.
You shook your head weakly.
Big mistake.
Your vision swam. Steve noticed instantly, moving closer without touching you yet.
“Easy,” he said quietly.
“I’m okay.”
“You almost fell over.”
“I’m dramatic.”
“No. You’re delirious with that fever you got.”
A weak huff escaped you that turned into coughing almost immediately. Steve’s expression tightened hard at the sound.
Gosh. You hated this.
Hated feeling helpless.
Hated knowing you’d hurt him.
Hated that he was still here anyway.
You shuffled toward the bathroom slowly while Steve watched like he was debating following you in case you collapsed.
Once the door shut behind you, the thin thread holding you together finally snapped.
You sank to the floor beside the sink with trembling hands covering your face.
Everything hurt.
Your body.
Your chest.
Your head.
Your heart.
The apartment felt too quiet without Steve talking to you properly. Every careful movement from him all day somehow hurt worse than if he’d just yelled.
You’d spent the entire morning thinking he was going to leave. That eventually he’d decide last night was too much.
That he’d grab the few things he kept at your apartment—his extra clothes, the Polaroids tucked beside your mirror, the stupid toothbrush he insisted on matching to yours—and walk out.
The thought alone made you nauseous.
A sob tore painfully out of your throat.
Then another.
Your coughing immediately got worse after that, sharp enough to make tears stream harder down your face.
You pressed your forehead against your knees miserably.
You were so tired.
Three soft knocks interrupted your spiraling.
“Sweetheart?”
The nickname nearly broke you.
“Can I come in?”
You couldn’t answer properly through your throat, so you tapped weakly against the floor instead.
A second later, the door opened carefully.
Steve stepped inside quietly before shutting it behind him.
The second he saw you on the floor, his entire face changed.
All the distance from earlier cracked instantly.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Fresh tears burned your eyes immediately.
Steve crouched in front of you carefully, close enough to touch but still giving you room.
“What happened?”
You laughed once weakly through your crying.
“What do you mean what happened?”
Steve’s eyebrows pulled together.
“You were okay five minutes ago.”
“No I wasn’t.”
Your voice came out smaller than intended.
Steve went still.
You wiped at your face angrily. “I feel awful and you’re mad at me and I know I deserve it but I just—” Your throat closed painfully around another cough. “I can’t do this today.”
The second the words left your mouth, Steve’s expression fell completely.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
You looked away immediately, ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” you croaked. “About yesterday. I know I was being horrible and dramatic and—”
“Hey.” Steve’s voice turned firm instantly. “Look at me.”
You didn’t want to.
He waited anyway.
Eventually, you forced yourself to lift your head.
Steve looked devastated.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Devastated.
“You seriously thought I was punishing you?”
Your stomach twisted.
“I mean…” you whispered.
“Baby, no.”
The tenderness in his voice hurt worse somehow.
Steve exhaled hard through his nose before sitting fully on the floor in front of you.
“I was trying to give you space.”
“In my own apartment?”
A tiny smile tugged at his mouth despite himself. “You know what I mean.”
You stared down at your hands.
“I didn’t know if you still wanted me around.”
Steve looked genuinely alarmed.
“What?”
“You left.”
His face softened instantly.
“Oh.”
The memory of last night clearly hit him all over again.
Steve dragged a hand down his face tiredly before scooting closer.
“I left because I was angry, and i didn't want to say something that i'd regret..” he admitted quietly. “Not because I wanted to leave you.”
Your eyes burned again.
“I said awful things.”
“So did I.”
“You didn’t mean them.”
“Neither did you.”
That shattered the last of your composure entirely. Another sob escaping before you could stop it.
“C’mere,” Steve murmured immediately.
He reached for you gently this time, hands warm against your arms as he pulled you across the tiny bathroom space until you were practically folded into his chest.
You went willingly. Like your body had spent all day waiting for this exact moment.
Steve wrapped both arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head while you cried against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I know that too, baby. I know,” he whispered softly.
You clutched weakly at the back of his shirt.
Steve rested his cheek against your hair.
“I’m sorry too,” he murmured after a moment. “I shouldn’t have walked out like that.”
“You were mad.”
“Still.” His arms tightened slightly. “I hate leaving you upset.”
Your chest ached.
Gosh. You loved him so much. Even when things got messy. Even when neither of you handled things perfectly. Even now, feverish and exhausted and crying on the bathroom floor.
Steve pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”
You tried to answer.
Ended up coughing instead.
Steve sighed softly. “Okay, that’s enough talking for you.”
Despite everything, you smiled weakly.
“There it is,” he said immediately, relief flickering across his face. “Was wondering where that went.”
“Feel disgusting.”
“You look disgusting too.”
You stared at him in betrayal.
Steve grinned for the first time all day.
“Aw, there you are.”
You managed a watery laugh before another cough interrupted it.
“Okay,” Steve decided, pushing himself to his feet while still holding onto you carefully. “Bed. Now.”
“I can walk.”
“You almost passed out standing up twenty minutes ago.”
“Now you're being dramatic.”
“You almost walked into the wall.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah.”
He guided you slowly back toward the bedroom with one arm around your waist.
The apartment felt warmer now somehow. Like the tension finally dissolved.
Steve got you back under the blankets before disappearing briefly into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, water running, the microwave beeping.
When he returned, he carried fresh water, medicine, and one of your hoodies.
You blinked at it.
“Why do I need that?”
“Because you’re freezing and keep stealing my body heat.”
“You say that like you mind.”
Steve snorted quietly.
He helped you sit up long enough to take medicine, making sure you actually swallowed it before handing over the water bottle.
“Good?” he asked.
You nodded tiredly.
Steve adjusted the blankets around you again with ridiculous care before climbing into bed beside you.
The second he settled in, you moved toward him automatically.
Steve opened his arms immediately.
“Yeah,” he murmured softly as you curled into his chest. “There she is.”
You buried your face against his neck weakly.
He smelled like laundry detergent and the peppermint gum he always chewed when stressed.
One of his hands slid slowly through your hair while the other rubbed absent circles against your back.
“You scared me today,” he admitted quietly after a while.
You frowned sleepily against him. “Sorry.”
“You called and the first thing you said was ‘I think I’m dying’. I could practically hear your frown.”
“In my defense,” you mumbled, “I really did think I was in that moment.”
Steve pressed a kiss against your forehead after letting out a light laugh. “I almost ran a red light getting here.”
Guilt surfaced again immediately.
Steve must’ve felt you tense because he nudged your head gently.
“Hey,” he whispered. “None of that.”
“But—”
“No.” His hand moved to your cheek. “We had one bad night. That doesn’t erase everything else.”
Your throat tightened painfully for entirely different reasons this time.
Steve looked down at you carefully.
“I love you,” he said simply. “Even when we fight. Even when you’re stubborn. Even when you accuse me of emotionally cheating on you with Robin because I bought her mozzarella sticks.”
Your eyes widened weakly. “She was flirting with you.”
“She called me ugly twice during that conversation.”
“Ehh. She’s complicated. Playing hard to get.”
Steve laughed softly under his breath. The sound wrapped around you warm as a blanket. Your eyelids growing heavier by the second.
“Sleep,” Steve whispered, fingers tracing gently along your spine.
“You’ll stay?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Steve immediately pulled you closer.
“Try getting rid of me.”
Something in your chest finally loosened completely. You pressed one weak kiss against his collarbone. Steve’s hand stilled briefly in your hair. Then he tilted your chin up carefully and kissed you properly.
Slow.
Warm.
Apologetic in all the ways words sometimes couldn’t quite reach.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Get some rest, sweetheart.”
For the first time since waking up sick, you actually thought maybe things would be okay again. And tucked safely against Steve’s heartbeat while he held you through the fever and exhaustion and leftover hurt, sleep finally came easily.
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steve harrington loved summer for completely pathetic reasons.
not normal reasons, either.
not because school was out. not because the weather was nice.
not because robin stopped complaining quite as much when she got enough sunlight.
no.
steve loved summer because you wore tiny little outfits that made him forget how to function as a human being.
which was exactly the problem he was currently dealing with.
“you’re staring again,” robin said flatly from beside the grill.
steve blinked once. “huh?”
“your girlfriend.”
he looked back toward the pool automatically.
mistake.
huge mistake.
you were sitting at the edge of the deep end in a red bikini, legs dangling in the water while max braided little sections of your damp hair for no reason other than boredom. sunlight glowed against your skin, making the red look even brighter somehow, and every time you laughed, steve felt it physically in his chest.
it had been two years.
two entire years together.
and somehow you still walked into a room and ruined his life instantly.
robin followed his line of sight and groaned dramatically.
“jeez.”
“what?”
“you look obsessed.”
“i am obsessed.”
“yeah, but usually people hide it a little.”
steve ignored her completely.
because you had just looked up and smiled at him. that soft, automatic smile that only ever belonged to him.
his stomach flipped like an idiot.
robin looked genuinely ill now. “you know what? i hope you both get married so i never have to witness this with anyone else.”
nancy snorted from her lounge chair. “they already act married.”
“thank you,” steve said.
“that wasn’t support,” robin informed him.
before he could answer, dustin came tearing through the backyard gate holding three bags of chips.
“why does it smell burnt out here?”
“because robin’s cooking,” jonathan answered.
“rude,” robin called.
“it true,” nancy corrected redireccting robin back to food that was on the verge of turning black.
the younger kids spilled into the backyard behind dustin immediately — will carrying popsicles, lucas with a basketball under one arm for reasons nobody understood, mike already arguing about something, and eleven trailing behind them with sunglasses nearly sliding off her face.
complete chaos.
steve loved it.
mostly because for once, everybody was safe enough to be loud.
“you started without us?!” dustin yelled, horrified.
“you were late,” steve answered.
“it’s summer!”
“and? max made it here on time.”
“time isn’t real in summer!”
lucas pointed toward the pool. “shotgun first jump.”
before anyone could argue, he cannonballed directly into the deep end. water splashed everywhere.
including all over you and max.
you gasped loudly. “lucas!”
lucas surfaced laughing hysterically while steve grinned despite himself.
“that’s what you get for sitting too close.”
you turned immediately toward him, narrowing your eyes.
“you’re on his side?”
“always.”
“wow.”
“it was a solid cannonball. i respect it.”
you rolled your eyes, smiling anyway.
gosh.
that smile.
robin made another disgusted noise beside the grill. “you two flirt like you’re trying to make everyone else single on purpose.”
“you are single on purpose,” steve pointed out.
“that’s different dingus.”
the afternoon settled into easy noise after that.
music drifting through the speakers. water splashing endlessly. jonathan burning at least two hot dogs while pretending he wasn’t.
steve spent most of the time in the pool because every time he tried sitting normally, you appeared beside him somehow.
not that he minded.
currently, you were floating lazily beside him in the shallow end while the younger kids screamed through a violent game of marco polo nearby.
your foot brushed his tummy underwater in your floating state.
“you’re staring again,” you murmured.
steve didn’t even deny it. “can you blame me?”
“yes.”
“counterpoint: red bikini.”
you laughed softly, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”
“you knew that already.”
“true.”
he drifted a little closer unconsciously.
or maybe consciously.
honestly, he stopped pretending with you years ago.
your fingers trailed through the water beside his.
“robin’s gonna kill you if you keep looking at me like that in front of her.”
“robin survives exclusively on hating my happiness.”
“also true.”
you tilted your head slightly then, studying him.
his wet hair. sunburn starting across his nose. that stupid relaxed smile he only wore around people he trusted completely.
your expression softened immediately.
steve noticed because steve noticed everything about you.
“what?” he asked quietly.
“nothing.”
“liar.”
you smiled a little coming up to wrap your arms around him. “i just like you.”
his chest actually ached.
it happened embarrassingly often around you.
“good,” he said softly.
your eyes flicked down toward his mouth automatically.
it nearly killed him.
before either of you could do something embarrassing in front of everybody, robin’s voice echoed across the backyard.
“absolutely not!”
you both looked over.
robin pointed her tongs at you two aggressively. “if i have to witness pool make-outs, i’m pushing both of you into traffic.”
nancy looked up from her magazine. “that feels a little extreme.”
“i’m serious.”
steve rolled his eyes. “nobody was making out.”
“yet,” dustin added helpfully.
“shut up, dustin.”
“you’re literally attached to each other.”
you snorted while steve splashed water directly at dustin’s face.
chicken fights started an hour later because lucas claimed he could beat steve in literally anything.
which obviously escalated immediately.
“you’re all talk,” steve called from the pool.
“you’re old!”
“i’m nineteen!”
“exactly!”
teams formed quickly after that.
lucas on dustin’s shoulders.
max on eleven’s.
and you climbing onto steve’s shoulders while he held onto your thighs carefully beneath the water.
“comfortable?” he asked.
“mhm.”
his hands flexed slightly against your skin.
not intentionally.
well probably...
you leaned down a little, smiling. “you okay there, harrington?”
“no, actually.”
you laughed immediately. “dramatic.”
“baby, your legs are literally around me right now. i’m fighting for my life.”
immediately as the game started and all dignity disappeared instantly. water exploded everywhere.
dustin fought dirty.
max nearly drowned lucas.
eleven cheated somehow, though nobody could prove it.
and through all of it, steve couldn’t stop laughing because every time you nearly lost balance, you grabbed onto him tighter.
your hands in his hair. your laugh directly above him. your thighs squeezing around his shoulders while you yelled at dustin for trying to dunk you.
it was maybe the happiest he’d ever been.
which sounded insane over a chicken fight.
eventually everyone collapsed into the water in a giant disaster of limbs and screaming.
you surfaced laughing breathlessly while steve reached for you immediately out of instinct.
his hand settled against your waist automatically.
“you good?” he asked.
“barely.”
“hm, good enough.”
you grinned at him, water dripping down your face.
and steve had the terrifying realization that if you asked him to right then, he probably would’ve married you on the spot.
robin watched the entire interaction with visible exhaustion. “i need both of you psychologically evaluated.”
by sunset, the backyard had gone soft and golden.
the younger kids were exhausted now, spread across towels and lounge chairs eating popsicles while jonathan worked the grill and nancy argued with robin over music.
string lights glowed around the patio.
the pool shimmered blue beneath them.
and steve sat beside you at the edge of the water with your legs tangled together.
your head rested against his shoulder while his fingers traced absent patterns against your knee.
for a while, neither of you spoke.
just listened to everybody else laughing nearby.
then quietly, you said, “today was nice.”
steve hummed softly. “yeah.”
“feels normal.”
that made something in him pause slightly.
because normal used to sound boring.
before everything.
before monsters and nightmares and hospitals and fear.
now normal felt precious.
he turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into your damp hair.
“i like normal,” he admitted quietly.
you tilted your face up toward him.
soft evening light caught your features. your eyes warm and sleepy from sun and chlorine.
there genuinely wasn’t a universe where steve harrington survived you long term.
“what?” you whispered.
he smiled a little.
“nothing.”
“liar.”
“i’m serious. just…” his thumb brushed slowly against your knee. “thinking.”
“dangerous hobby.”
“yeah.”
you laughed softly.
steve looked at you for a second longer before saying quietly, “you know my favorite part of summer?”
you raised an eyebrow. “the pool?”
“you.”
your face changed instantly.
small smile and softer eyes.
that look he’d spend the rest of his life chasing.
“that was smooth, you flirt,” you murmured.
“thank you.”
“still cheesy though.”
“i’m consistently cheesy. it’s part of my charm.”
“debatable.”
he gasped dramatically. “wow.”
you were still smiling when he kissed you.
slow.
lazy.
warm from summer heat.
the kind of kiss that felt like home now.
comfortable enough that neither of you noticed everyone else going quiet until dustin yelled—
“OH, COME ON!”
you broke apart laughing immediately while robin looked seconds away from throwing herself into traffic. (her words)
“i cannot live like this anymore.”
nancy smiled despite herself. “they’re cute.”
“they’re nauseating.”
steve pulled you closer against his side anyway, completely unashamed.
because honestly?
if everybody had to suffer through how much he loved you, that sounded like their problem.
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"he would not fucking say that" but about injuries. he would not fucking recover that quickly. those scars would not fucking heal like that. he would not be fucking able bodied after that. he would not be fully lucid after that.
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&&
the first time you squirt on gator it’s an accident and he is startled
he isn’t really into it at first—just feels weird, making you do it, he ain’t never expected to see any woman doing ANYTHING like that
but the thing is that gator is uncannily good at making you squirt, actually. it’s like every time he fingers you, his hand pounding against your cunt, fingers pressing up into your g-spot, you feel the rush in your groin and then you can’t even help it—you come, hard, dousing him and your sheets and yourself and gator
gator quirks an eyebrow because
maybe… it’s starting to grow on him a little
so he starts doing it on purpose. perfecting the angle of his fingers. making sure to use the right amount of pressure that you like. learning by muscle memory the tempo and pace he has to go at to make you come all over him
and it just gets worse from there because he stops wanting you to come on him and instead come in his mouth
so he stays right up close to you, his hand working between your legs, spitting on your slit where his fingers disappear in you and once he can tell it’s close, you’re close, he leans in toward your dripping pussy, mouth open, tongue hanging out, panting for it as he keeps
fucking
going
until you come and squirt right into his mouth, wetting his face as he drinks it down and then pulls his fingers out of you, closing the distance to ravage your clit with his soaked tongue and lips, wanting you to go again if you can, overstimulating you until you’re screaming his name.
Steve patiently helps you get ready by curling your hair, acting like it’s his favorite part of the day
Steve’s currently standing behind you in front of your vanity, his tongue poking out in concentration with his brows scrunched together, utterly focused on not burning your hair while he has the curling iron clutched in one hand and a section of your hair in another.
“Steve, you can blink.” You tried not to laugh at his expression, while simultaneously applying your mascara.
“I am blinking.” He said, not taking his eyes off the iron.
“Just breathe.” You instructed, feeling his hands rake through your hair.
“I can’t, because if I mess up you’ll make fun of me.” He pointed out.
You grin, moving onto unscrewing your bumble gum pink lipgloss tube. “No I won’t.”
He gave you a look through the reflection and you cracked, “okay, maybe a little.”
Steve counted the seconds to himself before releasing the curl, watching it bounce back into place with satisfaction. “There.”
You admired his work, “you got really good at this.”
“Damn right I did.” He smirked, grabbing the next piece.
It took an embarrassing amount of effort to explain makeup to Steve in the beginning of your relationship. Normally, he ignored anything remotely considered “girl stuff,” but the moment it involved you, he paid attention.
He sat through your college level lectures of why you required so many shades of blush, and the purpose of bronzer. Now, whenever his kisses smudged your lipgloss, he’d dutifully hold up your pocket mirror while you fixed it, staring with the patience of a boyfriend who pretended like he knew the difference between lipliner and lipstick.
Sometime later, an amount Steve would never spend getting ready himself, he set down the iron and placed his hands on his hips like he was finished completing a masterpiece.
“Okay,” he clapped his hands together.
You turned back confusingly, tilting your head. “Okay what?”
“Proud of us.” He raised an eyebrow, referencing your neat curls that fell in loose waves.
“Us?”
“You did the makeup, I did the hair.” A wide smile spread across your face, he was so proud to have a role in your daily routine.
“Great work team.” You giggled.
He grinned, nodding excitedly. “Great work.” He repeated, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, you were the real piece of art.
Steve knew you never needed makeup, you were still the prettiest girl with or without it, but if it made you happy—he would spend all the time in the world doing what you wanted.
“You know,” he said casually. “You’d look pretty either way.” He said, unreasonably soft
You immediately groaned, he repeated the same thing every day, and though you loved hearing compliments from him, there were only so many times you could hear, “you know you’re beautiful without all this, right?” before wanting to roll your eyes.
“…Thank you, Steve.” You replied anyway.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
“You really do say that everyday though.” You added.
“Because it’s still true everyday.” He shrugged.
And if Steve had anything to say about it, you’d be hearing the same words from him for the rest of your life.
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