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THEY ARE THE SAME

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social media has really warped our perception of creativity and hobbies. Stop doing things to post them. Just write. Just journal. Just sketch. Just read. Just annotate. Just sing. Just crochet. Just do the thing you’re going to do with the assumption no one will ever see or know you did it. Stop performing. Just enjoy it.

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really starting to undestand old people these days. i love laetters. love packages. terrified of my email inbox

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I-80 highway through Wyoming. nicknamed The Sisters, for the three sets of hills that create an optical illusion of the road rising into the sky

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A fae forms a genuine bond of friendship with a human. As a prank another fae decides to kill their friend. Their ruler decides the murder did not violate any fae laws and issues no punishment, so the first fae dedicates their life to getting revenge by teaching humans all the rules of the fae.

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hii how about a grumpy steve x sunshine reader where they're hanging out with the kids and reader is having fun and missing the hints that steve is being a grump bc just wants to get her alone :P

“You promised!”

“You did, you totally said you’d take us.”

“If we can’t get a ride with you, we’re gonna miss the whole thing—”

“It’s gonna start in five minutes, c’mon!”

“Steve, you promised.”

“Did I?” Steve replied lazily, too busy pulling you closer. You were bashful about it, wary of your audience, who were not only younger, but growing rowdier with each passing second. Steve nudge his nose to your jaw at the same time he hooked his fingers into your belt loops. “Weird. Don’t remember.”

It was easy to sink into him, even with Dustin glaring at you both. Max and Lucas were sighing at the doorway, arms crossed and feet tapping. Mike and Will were already outside by Steve’s car, clamouring for the front seat despite the doors being locked.

“Steve!” Dustin yelped helplessly, growing more frustrated as the older boy ignored him, too caught up in the smell of your perfume, the way you grinned and made that pretty noise every time his lips met your neck.

“This is disgusting,” Max announced.

“It’s my house,” Steve grumbled back, throwing his head back onto the cushion of the couch. The movie the kids interrupted still buzzed in the background, even though El was standing blocking it from view. She smiled and waved when you caught her eye. “Don’t like it Mayfield? Leave the way you came.”

“Steve!” Mike was back inside, yelling from the front hall. “We’re gonna be late, what the fu—”

“Language, you little asshole,” Steve shouted back, groaning as he took his hand away from smoothing over your hip to rub at his eyes. “Christ, can’t I get five minutes with my girl?”

You pouted sympathetically, even though your heart hammered at the affection. You pushed yourself away from Steve’s chest, despite not wanting to, your plans of making out like a couple of desperate teenagers ruined. At least until Steve took the kids to the cinema.

“You did promise,” you reminded him gently, softening the blow by leaning in once more to kiss his cheek. Max made another retching sound from the doorway. “Last week, Dustin wanted it as a written contract, remember?”

“And this is why!” Dustin ground out, tapping the Velcro strapped watch on his wrist. “T-Minus two minutes, Steve!”

“Oh my god, nerd,” Steve sighed, more than exasperated. But he grudgingly hauled himself off of the couch, running a hand through the hair you’d helped mess up. He still looked kiss bitten, lips pink and swollen, cheeks all flushed, grumpy about the intrusion. “Fine, everyone in the car, shitbrains.”

The kids didn’t much more coaxing, fighting each other out of the front door to clamber by the car, pawing at the doors as they waited for Steve to appear with the keys. He took his time though, pouting at you until you pouted back, leaning down into your space one more time for a kiss goodbye that didn’t end when it should’ve.

Tongue over his bottom lip, his teeth scraping yours, a swallowed sigh and a bitten off moan. Steve groaned, eyes squeezed closed as he used all his willpower to pull back, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek.

“Won’t be long,” he murmured, pressing one last peck to your jaw.

“Good,” you replied. “And be nice. I’ll be waiting in bed for you. With much less clothes on.”

Steve slammed the door on his way out, left foot tripping over his right, his car keys getting stuck in his jacket pocket as he wrestled with it.

“What’re you all standing about like dumbasses for?” Steve yelled, he clapped his hands at the kids like a litter of untrained puppies. “Get in, c’mon, let’s go!”

[loove-persevering]

hii how about a grumpy steve x sunshine reader where they're hanging out with the kids and reader is having fun and missing the hints that steve is being a grump bc just wants to get her alone :P

“You promised!”

“You did, you totally said you’d take us.”

“If we can’t get a ride with you, we’re gonna miss the whole thing—”

“It’s gonna start in five minutes, c’mon!”

“Steve, you promised.”

“Did I?” Steve replied lazily, too busy pulling you closer. You were bashful about it, wary of your audience, who were not only younger, but growing rowdier with each passing second. Steve nudge his nose to your jaw at the same time he hooked his fingers into your belt loops. “Weird. Don’t remember.”

It was easy to sink into him, even with Dustin glaring at you both. Max and Lucas were sighing at the doorway, arms crossed and feet tapping. Mike and Will were already outside by Steve’s car, clamouring for the front seat despite the doors being locked.

“Steve!” Dustin yelped helplessly, growing more frustrated as the older boy ignored him, too caught up in the smell of your perfume, the way you grinned and made that pretty noise every time his lips met your neck.

“This is disgusting,” Max announced.

“It’s my house,” Steve grumbled back, throwing his head back onto the cushion of the couch. The movie the kids interrupted still buzzed in the background, even though El was standing blocking it from view. She smiled and waved when you caught her eye. “Don’t like it Mayfield? Leave the way you came.”

“Steve!” Mike was back inside, yelling from the front hall. “We’re gonna be late, what the fu—”

“Language, you little asshole,” Steve shouted back, groaning as he took his hand away from smoothing over your hip to rub at his eyes. “Christ, can’t I get five minutes with my girl?”

You pouted sympathetically, even though your heart hammered at the affection. You pushed yourself away from Steve’s chest, despite not wanting to, your plans of making out like a couple of desperate teenagers ruined. At least until Steve took the kids to the cinema.

“You did promise,” you reminded him gently, softening the blow by leaning in once more to kiss his cheek. Max made another retching sound from the doorway. “Last week, Dustin wanted it as a written contract, remember?”

“And this is why!” Dustin ground out, tapping the Velcro strapped watch on his wrist. “T-Minus two minutes, Steve!”

“Oh my god, nerd,” Steve sighed, more than exasperated. But he grudgingly hauled himself off of the couch, running a hand through the hair you’d helped mess up. He still looked kiss bitten, lips pink and swollen, cheeks all flushed, grumpy about the intrusion. “Fine, everyone in the car, shitbrains.”

The kids didn’t much more coaxing, fighting each other out of the front door to clamber by the car, pawing at the doors as they waited for Steve to appear with the keys. He took his time though, pouting at you until you pouted back, leaning down into your space one more time for a kiss goodbye that didn’t end when it should’ve.

Tongue over his bottom lip, his teeth scraping yours, a swallowed sigh and a bitten off moan. Steve groaned, eyes squeezed closed as he used all his willpower to pull back, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek.

“Won’t be long,” he murmured, pressing one last peck to your jaw.

“Good,” you replied. “And be nice. I’ll be waiting in bed for you. With much less clothes on.”

Steve slammed the door on his way out, left foot tripping over his right, his car keys getting stuck in his jacket pocket as he wrestled with it.

“What’re you all standing about like dumbasses for?” Steve yelled, he clapped his hands at the kids like a litter of untrained puppies. “Get in, c’mon, let’s go!”

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could I please request steve and shy!reader and her first time staying the night at his place? lots of timid cuddling and just overall sweetness? I loved your first steeb drabble!

ohemgee yay i’m so glad you liked it!! thank u for for such a cute req, i hope i did it justice🫡 | 1k fluff, gn!reader

You were going crazy, without a doubt. You’ve already finished showering, but you’ve been locked away in his bathroom for 15 minutes. The pep talk you’re giving yourself in the foggy mirror does nothing to calm flutter in your stomach.

“Everything okay, honey?” You hear Steve call from down the corridor.

“Yes—Yeah, I’m okay!” The words are rushed and clumsy as the nickname runs through your head on repeat. And while you’re about to sleep in his room for the first time, it’s too domestic for your racing heart. You hope he doesn’t notice.

Giving yourself one final nod of scarce confidence, you pull open the door and softly let it close behind you. You’re practically walking on the balls of your feet so as not to make any noise.

When you peek into his room, you see the plain of Steve’s back facing toward you. You let your gaze shamelessly trace through the freckles and moles that grace his skin, then to the muscles that tense in his biceps as he fluffs one of his pillows. He’s mumbling to himself as he punches and pulls at the cushion.

Once you push past the door, he turns like he’s a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He’s doe eyed with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Hey, there you are,” he sings with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” You timidly wave with a smile just as sweet.

“I was getting worried,” he starts as he meets you by the door, “Started to think you fell in or something.” Steve laughs it off, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrows that threatens to expose his nerves.

Because while you were in the bathroom, Steve had been giving himself his own encouraging speech. One which also fell quite short, but he was better at concealing it. At least he thinks he is.

Your clammy hand reaches for his, a reassuring effort to soothe both your worries. “No search party necessary. I’m still standing,” you reply softly. He releases a hefty exhale — a mixture of a shaky laugh and a sigh of relief — and gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll be right back. You can sleep on either side, I don’t mind.”

He’s quick to jog out, leaving you to roam every inch of his bedroom.

You’ve been in Steve’s room countless times before, you probably have every trinket and frame committed to memory. But every detail has somehow become more intimate since the last time you’ve visited. Every knick knack is a window into Steve Harrington’s being and by tomorrow morning, you’d become even more familiar. The thought only further warms your chest once your eyes land on an old love note you’d given him, preserved in a framed picture of you right on his bedside table.

By the time he returns, you’re already under the covers with a cheesy smile and patting the empty space next to you.

He uses some sort of excuse so that he can keep a dim nightlight on: Just so you can see everything in case you need to get up in the middle of the night. And Steve Harrington doesn’t have a secret aversion to the dark.

No, Steve Harrington is a romantic, and he just really wants to see your pretty face.

“Are you okay?” He whispers as he settles beside you. He moves to bring the blanket up to your chin and traces the underside of your jaw with his knuckle.

“Yes, I’m okay, Stevie.” You giggle at his concerned expression and reach up to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow before you convince yourself not to.

“Good. Good…just checking.”

And though you’re both laying face to face, sharing the same sheets, he’s entirely too far away for your liking. All you would have to do is extend your arms just a few inches until they reach his shoulders. But really, it’s a few inches too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again lowly, noting the pensive expression on your face.

Your stomach flips and your hand flies to pick at the skin of your lips. Now, you would just need to ask. But it’s so difficult when he’s staring right at you, practically oozing adoration. Now there’s a knot in your mouth where your tongue should be.

“Steve?”

He hums. The knot tightens.

“You don’t have to, but…can you, um—would you want to…” you trail off as the rest of your question dissipates.

“Do you…do you want me to hold you?” He finishes for you. He’s already moving to sit up before you can say ‘please,’ eager to wrap you up in his embrace.

You sit up the slightest bit so that he’s able to slither his arm underneath your head. He’s laying on his back while you’re curled into his side. You rest on his bicep, legs tangled with his own and an arm around his middle as you play with the fingers of his other hand.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” You turn slightly so that you’re peering up at his face, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s an awkward angle and you know it’s going to result in a dull ache in your neck, but you can’t be bothered to care with his lips so close.

“No, no,” he’s quick to rush out, “This feels nice. I like this.”

It’s not until you see his wide smile that you notice the ache in your cheeks thanks to your matching expression. Without giving it a second thought, you push yourself up to kiss him, eliciting a sigh from the boy. It’s lazy, and it doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before you’re drawing back to hide your burning face in his chest.

He pauses to gather his bearings and gives you a kiss to the top of your head. “If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, please.”

[loove-persevering]

one year of s4 steve 🫶

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Never really over | S.H.

summary: [4.2k] you and steve fall apart, then fall back together.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: so much angst, best friends to exes to lovers, language, gratuitous taylor swift references

a/n: exes to lovers is one of my fave tropes so i hope i did it justice! reader is vaguely asian-coded by accident (though there shouldn’t be any direct references to r's appearance!) lmao happy AAPI heritage month to all my fellow asians

masterlist

The day after your breakup, Steve shows up at your house with a bag of takeout and a six-pack. He kicks off his shoes at the front door while you’re in the kitchen, already grabbing napkins and chopsticks. The light on the floral rice cooker on the counter just turned from cooking to keep warm. Steve is nothing, if not right on time. 

To most people, the situation would seem peculiar. But you and Steve were best friends before your break up and you had promised that you would stay best friends after it. 

You settle in on opposite sides of the worn-down loveseat, a rerun of Golden Girls playing on the television. You’re just about to ask him if he remembered to get extra sauce for the chow mein when Steve, seemingly anticipating your question, silently hands you a small cylindrical container. 

The night goes on as it usually would, with Steve lamenting Keith’s tyranny and Dustin’s antics. He helps you clean up when you’re done, scooping the leftover rice into a Tupperware container saying I gotta get myself one of these, it’s so convenient! He even does the dishes, washing while you dry, never commenting on the fact that you have a perfectly good dishwasher that you never use. 

Once he’s standing in the entryway, shoes back on and keys in hand, he instinctively leans in for a chaste kiss goodbye. 

You flinch, turning your cheek at the last second. The moment becomes a sobering reminder as to why you decided to break up in the first place. Instinct over time starts to feel like routine. Routine over time starts to feel like a chore. Another thing that you have to cross off your to-do list.

For a while, it was grounding. It felt good to be normal. Normal felt like warmth, like coming in out of the freezing cold and cozying up next to a blazing fire. But you knew from experience that the cold always comes back. As the days drew darker, the once roaring hearth settled into a pile of ashes. Being grounded can feel like being tied down. It’s only natural to want to break free. 

You didn’t realize freedom would feel like this. 

“Right.” Steve huffs out awkwardly, swinging his car keys around his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shuffles out the door while you offer a weak goodbye. You know you’re letting the cold in by watching him as he gets into his car. You do it anyway. 

–

Steve and Dustin have taken to visiting you while you’re on shift at the coffee shop. You’re not sure why. The arcade next door seems much more fitted to their shared interests, but they still come and visit you all the same. Usually, when you come upon them, they’re standing on the other side of the till having a whispered conversation that dies the moment they notice you’re there. 

“A latte for me, and hot cocoa for the kid.” Steve says, ruffling the younger boy's hair. 

“I’m fourteen!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Maturity. Did you want a coffee? I’m sure our girl over here has some great recommendations.” 

Dustin only grumbles in response, muttering insults under his breath. Steve refuses your offer to comp their drinks, paying and dropping his change in the tip jar.  

You set both drinks down on the counter when they’re done. One is a simple steaming cup. The other is piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles, decorated with a tiny plastic snowman left over from the holidays. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter. “Y’know, you’re my most favorite barista in the whole world.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only barista you know, but you’re welcome.” 

“So, would you be interested in movie night tomorrow?” 

“Wow, let me think.” You feign contemplation, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I have a meeting with some venture capitalists but I might be able to squeeze you in.”

“It’s a date.” 

“So… you guys are back together?” Dustin darts a confused glance between the both of you, his irises going back and forth as if watching a ping-pong match. 

“No!” You and Steve both blurt out at the same time. Then you both take a moment to look at each other as if to say, I know why I said no but why are you saying no? 

Is it really over?

Dustin, as observant and tactless as ever, gives off a little shrug. You mutter something about needing to go to the back to do inventory. As you’re walking away, you hear Steve say something that sounds a lot like Nice going, doofus!

–

Dustin answers the door when you ring the bell. Steve’s house has the usual suspects for movie night. Max and El are cuddled up together on the floor, practically laying on top of each other. Robin and Nancy are on the loveseat to the left, so wrapped up in each other that they barely even register your arrival. You presume that the sounds coming from the kitchen are Mike, Will, and Lucas, no doubt making one too many bowls of popcorn in the microwave.  

Steve is sitting, his arm draped over the back of the couch. Before, there would’ve been no questions as to where you would sit. The empty couch cushion practically had your name on it. You would’ve already bounded across the room and snuggled up to the boy that felt like home. 

You search the room for another option, but come up empty. Unless you want to pointedly avoid sitting next to him by crashing on the floor with the kids, which would undoubtedly draw attention to the very thing you want to ignore. 

Taking a seat next to Steve, you toe the line between platonic distance and romantic distance.

“What’s on tonight?” You ask no one in particular. 

“The Princess Bride.” Lucas replies, coming from the kitchen with a bowl of fresh popcorn. 

He barely gets a chance to put it down before the three other boys tumble onto the floor and begin shoveling the savory snack into their mouths. Max and El whine about their lack of civility, yelling at them for having spilled popcorn on the floor before the movie has even started.

“Ah, that’s my favorite!” 

“I know.” Steve finally speaks up beside you. 

“We’ve only seen it like a million times.” Max says, rolling her eyes and resting her head on El’s shoulder. 

“Hey! Little shits who eat my food and use me as a taxi service don’t get to complain about my movie choices.”

“Whatever, Steve.” The redhead remarks, with an unmistakable fondness in her voice. 

You settle into your seat. The January cold has seeped into the house and, despite the heating being on full blast, you’re freezing. Steve notices, tugging the comforter in his lap over your frame, enveloping you in a warmth you didn’t realize you missed so much. You murmur a quiet thank you that you’re almost sure goes unheard until he turns, giving you a small smile before returning his attention to the screen. 

In order to properly share the blanket, you have to scoot in even closer. You tell yourself that it’s a perfectly reasonable platonic distance, that you used to do this all the time before you were dating. If Steve is experiencing even a fraction of your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking ahead, paying far too much attention to the film. The palm that would usually come to rest upon your shoulder stays gripping the back of the couch. 

Sometime after Buttercup and Wesley enter the forbidden forest, you fall asleep.

It’s hard to make out anything through the dense fog. The trees around you loom large, foliage so lush and thick that it blocks out the sky, making it unclear if it’s day or night. The only light source comes from an oil lamp. 

The lamp casts a shadow over the face of the person holding it, emphasizing his strong brow and straight nose. You go to move toward Steve, but you can’t. You’re stuck. Ankle deep in sand, coarse and with the consistency of molasses, that slowly creeps up higher and higher. It takes you a moment to realize; the sand isn’t getting higher, you’re getting lower. 

You’re sinking. 

Desperately, you begin grasping at anything and everything that might get you out. It’s futile. The more you move, the further you fall. You’re waist-deep now. Steve is still standing there, stone-faced, oil lamp flickering. He turns, walking into the fog and taking the light with him. 

You open your mouth, wanting to scream. Needing to scream. But only one word echoes throughout. It does nothing to stop Steve’s retreating figure. 

Stay. 

“Hey,” Steve is tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. “Wake up.” 

The fog dissipates. Feeling slowly returns to your limbs. The first thing you realize is that you fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder. The second thing you realize is that, due to your impromptu nap, the distance between the two of you is practically nonexistent. You recoil, sliding yourself as far away from him as you can. Steve flinches at the sudden movement. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and comforting, like a childhood blanket that you can’t sleep without. “It seemed like you were having a bad dream.”

You blink your eyes furiously, trying to shake the sinking feeling that has settled deep into your stomach. 

“Where is everyone?” You ask, avoiding his question. The once lively living room is now empty. Remnants of movie night surround you in the form of stray pieces of popcorn and a nearly empty tub of Red Vines. 

“They all went home about twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed so comfortable. I didn’t wanna wake you.” He shrugs, saying the next words gently. “Are you having nightmares again?” 

Before, you would tell him yes. You always talked to Steve about your nightmares. Most of the time he was there to witness them firsthand, waking up to your shouting and thrashing. Some nights, he would be able to coax you back to sleep with soothing words and tender touches. Other nights, he would stay up with you for hours, talking about nothing. The next day, the deep bags etched under his eyes would serve as another reminder of just how tiring you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wipe the corner of your mouth, cringing at the slight dampness you find there. Great. Not only did you fall asleep on Steve but you also drooled on him. “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

Leaping from the couch, you get to the foyer in record time. Your shoes are already halfway on before Steve appears, standing in between you and the door. 

“You don’t have to. You know the guest room is always made up for you if you want it.” He bargains. 

“I— I have to go. I’m sorry. Goodnight Steve.” 

“Please, you’re tired. At least let me drive you.” He’s practically pleading, already moving to grab his car keys.  

“Just let me go, Steve!” Your outburst echoes throughout the empty house. 

Steve takes a step back away from you. “I’m sorry.”

Regret washes over you like a tidal wave. You can feel yourself being ripped under the current. You curse yourself, not for drowning, but for dragging Steve down with you. 

“No, don’t apologize. Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—” 

“Have to go?” He supplies. 

He sounds dejected like this is another battle with you that he’s already resigned himself to losing. You fumble through another apology, another goodbye.

You don’t dare to look behind you as you make your way to your car. It isn’t until you’re halfway down your street that you spare a glance at your rear-view mirror. Steve is still standing there, the door wide open. 

You don’t know why you keep having dreams where you ask Steve to stay. 

You’re the one who is always leaving. 

—

“She was totally flirting with you!” You scream whisper, keeping in mind that the diner is mostly empty aside from the loyal patrons that come in every weekday for a hearty serving of beef and potatoes.

Steve showed up to the coffee shop today, sans Dustin, asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat after your shift. You obliged, hoping to make up for your outburst from the other night. He still hasn’t mentioned it. For your sake, you hope that he won’t.

“No, she wasn’t.” You thought Steve’s obliviousness when it came to romance only extended to you. Apparently, you were wrong because he was completely ignoring the way that the waitress was batting her eyelashes at him.

“Yes, she was!” You take a fry from the basket and Steve pushes his strawberry milkshake toward you, already knowing that you were going to subject him to the gross combination and he might as well get it over with. “Y’know, if you wanted to ask her out you could. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back. Anyways, isn’t it weird, having your ex-girlfriend be your wingman?”

“I’m still your best friend. Besides, you totally helped me out with Brandon so I just thought I’d return the favor.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, causing you to furrow your brow at him. Despite having loved him for a long time and having known him for even longer, his inability to read a room knows no bounds. 

“Last week at Family Video?” You utter the words with slow precision, but recognition fails to make its way across Steve’s face. “Brandon Clayborn asked you for horror movie recommendations and you sent him to me.”

“And he asked you out?” Steve gapes at you from over the rim of his milkshake. The idea of grabbing the glass and slogging the pink confection at him crosses your mind, but instead, you clench your fists at your side. 

“Is that so unbelievable?” At your response, Steve’s brows pinch together. He toys with the wrapping paper of his straw, folding it over and over again. 

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh.” Steve finally stops fiddling with the piece of paper. It’s shredded to pieces in a pile in front of him. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the bulging leather wallet. “I’ll be right back.” 

With that, Steve slides out of the booth and walks up to the counter. The giggles of the waitress can be heard throughout the diner. You turn toward the window so that you don’t have to see her scrawl her number on the receipt, and you catch your muddled reflection. You don’t know if you look like you’ve seen a ghost or if you’ve become one. 

–

Due to unforeseen circumstances, your second date with Brandon had to be rescheduled. A literal rain check. He’d sputtered out numerous apologies over the crackling phone line, saying how the picnic he had planned didn’t account for a torrential downpour. You promised him that it was fine, that you didn’t even wanna leave the house in this weather. You didn’t think anyone would want to leave the house in this weather, which is why you grew shocked at the sound of the doorbell ringing. 

Then you promptly remember that this is Hawkins and that anyone or anything could be behind that door. Grabbing the old wooden bat you keep under the couch for emergencies, you inch toward the door. The frantic ringing of the bell matches the beat of your heart. Peering through the peephole, you sigh in both relief and frustration before flinging the door open.

“Are you insane?!” You practically scream at the soaking wet boy. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Steve stands in the threshold, shaking his head like a dog would to get all the water out. You flinch as the droplets inevitably fall on you. The fine mist and wind that he’s brought in with him chill you to the bone. 

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

“How did you even manage to get this wet in the twenty feet from the street to the porch?” You ask, peering behind him to look for the familiar maroon vehicle. It isn’t there. 

“I walked here.”

You balk at him. Sure, Steve has been known to act recklessly from time to time, but never without reason. Instead of taking the time to berate him for being so stupid, you take one look at the soggy shivering boy and shut the door, turning on your heel towards your bedroom. You don’t need to look behind you to know that he’s following you. 

“C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes.”

You rummage through your drawers, managing to find a t-shirt and sweatpants that you had stolen from him long ago. Now is as good a time as any to give it back, right? Stuffing the items in your arm, you thrust them into Steve’s hands and direct him to the bathroom. He doesn’t need direction. He knows the floorplan of your house just like he knows you–all too well.

While Steve is in the bathroom, you go to shut the drawers that you had left open in the rush to find him something to wear. The bottom drawer has always had a problem, getting stuck at the most inopportune moments. Lifting it just a little, you slam the drawer back into place which causes the contents on top of your dresser to shake with the force. The silver picture frame falls on its face and you go to place it right side up. 

It’s a photograph of the two of you from last summer. Robin had pointed the camera at you and at the very last second Steve grabbed you and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal in delight. The memory stings. You almost want to put it face down again so that you don’t have to be reminded of what once was. Instead, you’re interrupted by the sound of a lock turning and quiet footfalls on carpeted floors. 

The moment Steve steps into your bedroom, you’re drenched in nostalgia. It’s been months since you’ve seen him like this–standing in his pajamas in your bedroom. It’s moments like this that are the hardest. The ones where you can feel how everything and nothing has changed. It feels like relief and restriction. 

You realize you’re still standing in front of the dresser and go to sit on your bed. You need to put space between you and Steve. He has this insane gravitational pull and you know that if you stay around him like this for too long, you’ll end up back in his orbit.  

He steps cautiously around the room like he’s afraid of stepping on a landmine. One wrong move and everything could blow up. Standing in front of the dresser, he takes the dreaded picture frame into his hands. He’s still using a towel to dry his hair when he finally speaks. 

“It’s a good picture.” He says, simply. The pads of his thumbs wipe away the layer of dust that coats your sunbleached faces. 

“It is.” You manage to choke out. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He places the picture frame back down on the dresser. It’s perfectly angled towards you. The ghost of your smiling face taunting you in your own bedroom. 

“It’s funny, y’know?” Steve lets out a mirthless laugh.  

“What is?”

“We broke up and the only person I wanna talk about it with is you.”

All of the air has been sucked out of the room. Steve has always been good at taking your breath away. 

“I mean, I get it. I get why we broke up. I do.” He lets out a deep breath before continuing on, not giving you a chance to interrupt. “Except, I don’t. I can’t wrap my head around how one day we were fine and the next day we weren’t. I know that I’m not good enough for you–I’ve always known that. I guess I just wanna know when you finally figured it out.”

His words make you ache. A tightness blooms in your chest and spreads all the way down your arms to your trembling fingertips. You want so badly to reach out to him. He’s on the other side of the room but he might as well be on the other side of the world. You don’t know how to bridge the ravine that you’ve put between the two of you. You know for him you’d make the leap, uncaring of the abyss below. The thought scares you so much that your fists tangle in your bedsheets, hoping for something to keep you from falling back in.   

“The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you weren’t good enough for me. You’ve always been good enough, Steve.”  

You can tell from the shake of his head that he doesn’t believe you. 

“I thought that maybe you just needed a little space, a little time. Then I have to watch you go on dates and move on like it’s easy. Like the fact that we’re not together anymore doesn’t eat you up inside.”

“It’s not easy! It’s killing me!” Tears collect in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I don’t know why I can’t just be happy with you. I want to be happy with you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Steve begs, his question punctuated by a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning. 

You found solace in the eye of the storm. Once the storm passed, you didn’t know what to do with the wreckage. Calm didn’t provide comfort. Instead, it only reminded you that there was likely another storm to come. Steve has always been better at picking up the pieces and patching things up. You didn’t want to become just another thing he had to fix. So, you pushed him away. 

He still came back.

This time he brought the storm with him. 

“I’m afraid that the minute I actually enjoy everything, it’ll all get taken away from me.” You confess, roughly wiping away your tears. 

Steve crosses the room and kneels in front of you. His hair is still slightly damp, a stray strand hanging in front of his forehead. You brush it out of the way and he catches your wrist, placing a kiss in the palm of your hand. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. He says it like a promise. You wish the words were tangible, that you could close your fist around them and hold them close. “Tell me what I can do to fix it.”

The words simultaneously endear and exasperate you. Here is this boy who loves you, sitting in front of you telling you to let him love you. Here you are, about to tell him that he can’t. 

“What if you can’t fix it, Steve? What if I’m unfixable?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes both of your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. 

“Then I’ll still love you anyway.” 

Steve looks up and the clouds part. You’ve been so caught up in your doom and gloom, that you’d forgotten what it felt like to see the light of day. You lean down, closing your eyes, pressing your forehead to his. 

“Why?” The question comes out watery and wanting. 

“I can’t help it.” He breathes out. 

You understand the feeling. 

You bridge the gap, uncaring of the abyss that lies below. You’d fall through eternity if it meant you got to do it with him. His lips feel exactly like you remember them–like home. He kisses soft and slow, hands anchored at your hips as if to prevent you from floating away. When you break apart, both of you gasping for air, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. It fades away as soon as you lean back on the bed, pulling at his sleeves and dragging him with you. 

The night is composed of soft apologies and even softer sighs, accompanied by the din of rain against the roof. It isn’t until far into the night that the storm finally subsides, leaving the pavement to glow in the morning sun. 

Waking up next to Steve is a revelation. You don’t know how you ever survived without it. He’s all sleepy smiles and tired eyes, drowsily pulling you closer to him. Resting your head on his chest, you’re soothed by the rhythmic thump of his beating heart.   

“Y’know, you didn’t have to walk in the rain just to say that you wanna get back together. You’re so dramatic.” You joke, hoping that it isn’t too soon to start poking fun. 

His chest rumbles with laughter, the reverberations quelling your fears.

“In my defense, it wasn’t raining when I started walking.” He says, voice still thick with sleep. “Besides, you love it.”

You smile contentedly to yourself, not offering up a response besides a hum of agreement. He’s right. You do love him. Rain or shine.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

[loove-persevering]

Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs - on the probabilities. || Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros

[loove-persevering]

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

[loove-persevering]

hey love!! hope ur well. was wondering if i could request a steve drabble?? one where the reader maybe flinches in an argument kinda like the one with james. i know you’ve done a similar one with steve already so all good if you don’t wanna do it xoxo

hi I hope you're good too! some hurt/comfort for you!! ♡ fem!reader | 1.2k words

When Steve raises his voice it's not on purpose. He's infamous for having a short fuse. Far from unkind, he wasn't raised in a house where patience held much value, and it's something he's actively learning. He's good. He's a good guy, but when he gets angry he can't help it. You wouldn't hold it against him, almost everybody yells, though maybe you should've told him before how it can send you into flight mode.

You hadn't exactly been anticipating an argument today. Hadn't anticipated his stern looking face, his hand on the back of the kitchen chair while the other tugs through his hair restlessly. The argument, about his friend Dustin's role-playing game of all things, has devolved into accusations that aren't quite true. 

You don't want to go. Steve, frustrated, doesn't understand why you don't like his friends. 

"It's not that I don't like them, Steve, I just don't get the game. I feel awkward," you say, voice strained toward the end. 

"Well, god forbid you feel awkward," he says dryly. 

Which hurts your feelings a lot. Like being hit in the chest with something sharp. You grasp the ends of your shirt in your hands and frown at him. "Don't you think that's unfair? It's a game I don't play and a bunch of people I haven't gotten to know very well yet, and I'm not like you, Stevie, I'm not."  

"You don't want to get to know them," he says. Unfairly, in your opinion. 

"That's not true. Don't be an asshole," you name call, also unfairly. His face betrays how personally he takes it, worse when you say, "This is bullshit, you can just go without me."

"I don't want to go without you, for God's sake!" he shouts. Though the majority is said at a reasonable volume, it's 'sake' that peaks, loud and abrupt and enough to make you take a step back from him, flinching.

You remember your shoes are behind you a moment too late and slip, hands out and palms stinging as you hit the ground. You gasp at the sharp pain spiking up your back, your coccyx having taken the brunt of it.   

Steve rushes forward to help you up. His sudden movement makes you flinch worse, disorientated from the fall, and he stops dead where he is. 

After a second and a few hard blinks you raise your hands up, a silent ask for him to pull you up. 

He ignores your hands and bends at the waist, pulling you up into his chest. "I'm sorry," he says over your head. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, just slipped on my shoes." 

"Shit, I'm so sorry. I'm- I'm a fucking idiot." His hand ghosts up the length of your aching back, his chest tight to your chest. It's a bit much, your heart still racing, and you push against his chest for some space to look at him. 

"I'm sorry," he says again. 

You take a funny deep breath – it wobbles as you suck it in, catches when you exhale. 

It's Steve, you think. Everything is fine. 

"I didn't mean to…" 

"No, I know," you say. Your voice sounds too high, not quite your own. 

"I'm sorry." 

You try to laugh. "It's okay. It's fine. You just surprised me." 

"I scared you." 

"No." 

His eyebrows furrow as he looks down at you. Carefully, he brings his hand to your cheek. You lean into it and feel tension like a wound coil, his and your own, release. His palm warms your skin. 

"I just… I get jumpy. I wasn't expecting it." 

"Did somebody-" 

You shake your head before he can ask. "Doesn't matter." 

He looks like he wants to say, Well, it does matter. Of course it matters, but you wince and it steals his attention. 

"Shit, did you hurt yourself?" he asks, hand moving down the curve of your neck to clutch your shoulder, the other on your hip like he might check you over. 

"Bruised my backbone, I think." 

He pulls you into his side and raises your shirt, looking over your back with his fingertips prodding carefully, so low down that you forget your worrying for a moment and start to feel shy instead. 

"Here?" he murmurs, pressing into a quick-forming bruise. 

"Yeah," you say breathlessly. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll get you an ice pack, okay?" 

"It's okay. It's okay," you repeat as he starts to pull away, feeling peculiarly close to tears. You curl your fingers into his and frown. "Are we still arguing?" 

He looks surprised and then softens. "No. You're right, I was being an asshole." 

"I didn't mean it." 

"You were right either way. You don't know them, and I don't expect you to-" he squeezes your fingers, "to warm up to my friends already. I really want you to like them, but it takes time. And I got mad when I shouldn't have. I'm sorry." 

You want to say sorry too but apologies always feel so clunky in your mouth, and you struggle to get it out, "I'm- I'm sorry. As well. It's not because I don't like them, Steve, I just…" 

"I know. I get it." 

You nod at him. 

He smiles and kisses your cheek, quick and careful, "Let me get that ice pack, pretty girl." 

"It's not that bad," you say after him. 

"You're on bed rest," he says into the freezer.

He sweeps you up into a hug and walks you backwards into the living room, a huge space with an appropriately overlarge couch. He helps you down onto your front and kneels in front of you so he can hold the ice pack over your injury. 

You rub your cheek against the soft fabric of the couch cushions. Steve tilts his head to mimic yours, the two of you looking sorry and fond and a touch embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry," you tell him again. He's pretty and he's your boyfriend and it always feels weird after you argue, like you've messed with the balance of the universe. 

He takes your arm into his hand and pushes his thumb into the skin, dragging semi circles that send a rush of familiar butterflies up the back of your arm. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. It was just a-" He searches for the phrase, says it all light and teasing, "a lovers quarrel." 

"We are lovers," you concede, copying his drawling tone.

He smiles. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, and his lips part before he talks like he's weighing each word. "You'll tell me eventually, right? Why you flinched?" 

You sober up. "Yeah, I'll tell you. It's nothing to worry about Steve, I was being stupid." 

He frowns at your attempt to minimise and closes in until your noses brush. "No, you weren't."

He kisses your lips and then the skin under your nose, the very beginning of your cheek and then the apple of it. His lips track warmth over your face until the tip of his nose bumps your earlobe. He holds you still and presses a great firm kiss underneath it. 

[loove-persevering]

losers and the supernatural | steve harrington x reader

summary Steve has a theory about Hawkins being divided into two subsets. You try to work out where you fit within that. [4.5k]

warnings fluff, getting together, confessions, first kiss, mutual pining, pre-s4, no major s4 plot spoilers, gn!reader, shy!reader

<3

Steve isn’t how you remember.

In school you’d thought he was a bit of a jerk. A hot jerk with stupid nice hair, but a jerk. It’s a surprise to see him uninjured for once, remembering the bruise that had covered his face during your last year of school, a bouquet of yellows and purples, and another surprise to see him at all behind the desk at Family Video.

“Hey,” he says, at first sounding hesitant and then with a little more of his familiar bravado, “Y/N, how’s it going?”

He leans over the desk on his elbows. You flounder – you hadn’t expected to see him.

“Hi.” You pull your strappy bag closer to your chest.

“What are you looking for?”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheek, distracted by him. He’s more attractive than you remember, his big hand scrubbing over the bottom of his face as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve never been good with people, with anyone housing a drop of popularity. You’d depended on weird Keith being here to get through a human interaction without sweating.

“Do you guys have Dressed to Kill?” you ask quietly.

“Sure thing. You want me to get it?”

You nod, chancing a glance at him. He’s watching your hands where they abuse the hem of your shirt. You let them fall to your sides.

Steve rounds the desk and starts to where the tape must be hiding, stopping a foot away and making a small motion with his hand for you to follow so you do, the distance between you closing fast.

He smells of a musky cologne, bergamot and citrus hiding under a heavier smell, like sage or lavender, maybe both. It’s distracting. You’re still breathing him in when he pulls the movie down from its shelf and offers it to you.

Keep reading

[loove-persevering]

Hi did you got Many peter sutherland x reader request? I am thinking of requesting one but if you’re too busy I understand

I have a couple! I just haven’t had as much time this week to write because of exams and working full time:(

[loove-persevering]

I am working on some of the Peter Sutherland request sent in just had a busy weekend and didn’t get to write much!