Hii I Love Ur Writing For Steve And Was Wondering If U Could Write Something About Him Changing Bedsheets

hii i love ur writing for steve and was wondering if u could write something about him changing bedsheets for an autistic reader ? maybe they're trying to cuddle and watch a movie or something but the reader can't focus/stop squirming ? certain textures/fabrics are very much sensory hell for me and i've had this problem a couple times and didn't want to be rude so i barely got any sleep lol

no pressure to write it ofc !! ty for reading :]

thank you for requesting; you’re my first request ever and I couldn’t wait to write this! I’m not on the spectrum but I do have adhd and am very familiar with sensory issues, so I tried to focus on those since I know them well. I hope that’s okay lovely!

warnings: fluff

steve harrington x reader ✿ 1393 words

You and Steve had been dating for three months and had the quintessential, imperative, and possibly relationship-changing date planned tonight: the sleepover. To put it plainly, you were terrified. You liked Steve, a lot. He was kind, thoughtful, and so handsome it made you wonder how you were dating him in the first place.

When you got to his house, you had packed the essentials: pajamas, a blanket, personal care items, and popcorn for your movie, of course. Despite being well-prepared, you couldn’t shake the nervousness from the first sleepover with a new significant other, or the butterflies in your stomach that you could only blame on your infatuation with your honey-eyed boyfriend.

Steve’s parents were out of town for the weekend, which thankfully allowed you to avoid the whole meet-the-parents situation, along with sharing the house. You packed your trunk and drove over to Steve’s house with some anxiety bubbling in your throat. When you pulled into his driveway, you prayed things went smoothly.

When you reached his front door, you only had to knock your fist on the door once before Steve opened it quickly. It appeared that he had been waiting for you, and he opened the door with a smile gracing his lips. He stood with one hand on his hip, and the other posed in a wave when he saw your face.

“Hi, honey,” he spoke, one hand reaching out to grab your backpack, and the other to grab yours. Your cheeks warmed at the thoughtfulness of his actions, not used to having someone so readily help you with heavy bags, or grab onto your hand so quickly.

“Hi, Stevie, how are you?” You asked genuinely, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. He smiled in return, leading you inside by your hand.

“I’m doing good; I’m just excited to spend some time with you,” He answered, tugging your hand after placing a gentle, delicate kiss on the back of it, and leading you to his bedroom. He hadn’t dropped your fingers since you walked in the door, his thumb now gently rubbing over your knuckles.

Steve quickly led you into his cozy bedroom. You had both agreed that watching a movie there would be more comfortable so you could fall asleep directly afterward. Upon entering, it was clear you didn’t need to bring any blankets, as Steve’s bed was piled with everything you could need for sleep.

He was already dressed in comfortable clothes wearing blue plaid pajama pants and a white wife beater that accentuated his strong biceps and revealed a peek of his brown, sparse chest hair and skin dotted with moles. He added your blanket to the mountain-high pile on the bed and plopped your backpack down on his floor. “Do you wanna go get changed?” He asked after taking in the sight of your day clothes, which probably weren’t very comfortable to watch a movie in.

You huffed, a bit disappointed by your lack of planning, wanting to immediately crawl into his arms and get comfortable. “I guess I should; give me a few minutes,” you said, a displeased sigh added to your words. Steve laughed in response to your obvious disdain and after digging through your backpack, threw your pajamas into your hands while putting the bag of popcorn you bought on the bed.

Walking into the bathroom, you got changed into your pajamas hurriedly, excited to watch a movie and cuddle with Steve. You had brought the most comfortable clothes you owned–though maybe not the cutest–a T-shirt that went down to your middle thigh and shorts that wouldn’t shift during the night. You hated when you woke up with your shorts in disarray, not arranged on your torso or hips correctly anymore.

After changing, you ran into Steve’s room, plopped down next to him, and got situated for the movie. You both sat next to each other on his bed, in relaxed positions. His arm was slung around your shoulder, lightly rubbing your scalp, and your head plopped onto his shoulder, breathing in his scent of vanilla, citrus, and woodsy musk. One of your legs was tucked under his, allowing his warmth to keep your frequently cold toes–wearing socks in bed was a cardinal sin–comfortably warm.

You guys decided to turn on The Princess Bride after deciding a horror or thriller movie was too intense, and after approximately one hour, you both had carefully shifted down the bed into a sleeping position. One of Steve’s hands was now thrown over your waist, the other under your midsection, and one of his legs was tucked in between yours as you tucked yourself into his chest, keeping you both warm.

Sleep had evidently taken over Steve; his breath hit your shoulder in warm, slow, even cycles. You could even feel his chest moving up and down behind you, and his hand on your waist had gradually gone from a grip to an effortless touch. The issue? You could not get comfortable. His sheets were so soft and grippy that they resembled a microfiber towel, seemingly sticking to every hair follicle on your leg, more similar to Velcro than bedding.

You tried to carefully shift to get more comfortable, tired, frustrated, and eyes heavy with sleep. When you shifted your midsection though, you accidentally put more weight than intended down and pressed hard on Steve’s hand.

Stirring, he lifted his head and chest a bit in response to your motion. Voice heavy, muffled with sleep, and eyes squinted, he yawned briefly and then asked, “You okay, sweetheart?” Reaching up to rub his groggy eyes with one hand and gently grabbing your pointer finger with the other.

You hesitated. You were so tired, but you also didn’t want him to get upset with you. Although you were comfortable with Steve, and he had given you no reason to not trust him, three months isn’t a long time to be with someone. Ultimately, after taking a moment to think, you decided to tell him the truth. After all, Steve had always been so receptive to listening to your complaints in the past concerning clothes, loud sounds, and overstimulating social scenes.

“I’m okay, I just can’t seem to get entirely comfortable. The sheets keep sticking to my legs,” you spoke quietly, slightly embarrassed at your confession.

Steve almost immediately sat up at the confession, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “You should’ve told me sooner! I’ll be right back.” He hurriedly got out of his bed. In the distance, you heard a closet open and close, as well as his footsteps, heading back to the room. When he came back, he had his arms full of new sheets which he put down on top of the duvet.

Reaching his hand out, he grabbed onto your fingers and pulled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I promise I’ll be quick,” he spoke earnestly, proceeding to wrap your shoulders with a stray blanket to keep you warm while you stood.

Stripping the bed, he quickly pulled down the blankets and ripped off the old sheets. “I stole my parents' expensive sheets; they should be a lot more comfortable,” he spoke, offering you a toothy grin while you stood next to the bed, slightly embarrassed by his actions.

It took him only a few minutes to replace the sheets and throw the duvet cover back on. When he finished, he promptly hopped back into his previous spot, making himself comfortable. For a second, you were worried he was a little bit upset, but when he pulled the blanket up for you, an invitation to nestle back into his chest and get some rest, you felt a strong sense of relief.

You hopped back in bed next to him, returning to your previous positions. He tucked his arm back under your torso, nestled his head into the crook of your neck, wrapped his remaining arm around your front, and stuck one of his legs comfortably and loosely between yours.

“Try to get some rest now,” he spoke, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, loosely interlocking his hand under your torso with your own. You fell asleep to the feeling of his chest rising and falling, comfortably warm, and confident you had the best boyfriend in the world.

hi ellaaaa !!! :] im here requesting another steve harrington (or fred weasley if u want variety !!) drabble type thing again lol ! i was wondering if u could write smth abt the reader going to visit him at work and they're in an arm sling and he's just generally shocked ? u don't have to of course, i was just curious cause i fractured my elbow yesterday after trying to skateboard and i fell really hard on the concrete 😭 i got an arm sling today and i don't need help but people keep offering it (i appreciate it but i can do things fairly normally !!)

tysm !! -☄️

thank you for requesting; I hope your arm feels better now! <3

warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, swearing

steve harrington x reader ✿ 1025 words

You had tried not to fall; you really had. After seeing Max skateboard across town on a beat-up skateboard that never left her side, you decided it would be of utmost convenience to be able to glide in between houses and stores on a similar board. It was only a bonus that you might look cool doing it. 

Thus, you find yourself practicing riding a skateboard on a hill entirely too large for your skill level. You had meant to stop at the stop sign, which usually signaled the end of your block, but you found yourself rapidly gaining speed, flying past the stop sign, and then flying down a hill that resembled a mountain–or a children's slide if you were being realistic. 

Given your speed, you rapidly hurtled down the hill, and any efforts to stop were futile. You crashed into a storm drain and were quickly thrown backward. Your elbow, unfortunately, took the brunt of the impact. After a tearful phone call to your best friend and a doctor's visit, you found yourself in an arm sling that was entirely too embarrassing to mention to your boyfriend.

Steve was cool, aside from his seeming default dad-like poses, and you couldn't bring yourself to tell him about your accident or show him, for that matter. You were committed to doing everything yourself and not having to recount your fall. 

With your busy college schedule & Steve's job at Family Video, this was easy for a while. You resorted to texting him during the week, praying that your injury would be healed before the weekend came, and you both would undoubtedly want to spend lazy afternoons together to make up for the lost time. 

During the week, you buried your head in books, took acetaminophen to reduce the pain, and faithfully elevated your arm to reduce the swelling–which previously made it resemble a turkey leg, the flesh around your elbow ballooning to uncomfortable levels. 

It was Thursday when you got a text from Steve that read: You better come into Family Video. The movie we rented on Friday is due for return! At that moment, you knew that your antics had ended. Plus, given your student budget, you couldn't afford late fees. 

When you read the message, you sent a silent glare to the VHS that sat woefully unaware, tucked underneath the TV in your college house. If you just had a few more days to heal, you could've been out of the arm sling before Saturday. But no, the VHS return you procrastinated upon injuring yourself the day after your movie night had come to bite you in the ass. 

Even worse, morning classes had made it impossible to avoid Steve at Family Video–though deep down, you knew the news would've spread to him through the source of his chatty coworkers. Begrudgingly, you walked to Family Video, mirroring the form of a wounded animal, the VHS tucked into a spare tote bag that sat loosely on your undamaged arm, head hung slightly in defeat. 

By the time you reach the store, the only thing keeping you calm is the gentle tweets of birds that flutter in and out of your hearing. You also feel increasingly guilty for keeping this from Steve. It probably wouldn't have done much damage to your reputation in his eyes. However, the thought of his doting getting more excessive made heat creep up your neck and into your ears–which may constitute one reason for your antics. 

Walking inside the store, you fight the urge to curse as the bell above your head dings, immediately alerting the workers to your presence. Usually, this was helpful for quick service. But now? You want to crawl into a hole and stay there. 

Looking upwards as you walk towards the counter, you meet Steve's face with a sheepish grin. Taking in your form like he usually does before seeing you makes you think all is well until his eyes fall on your arm. Upon seeing your sling, his eyebrows lift incredulously to his forehead, and he develops wrinkles that better suit a man twice his age. 

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to sputter out, "What happened to you?" It's a tone laced with shock, not anger, but perhaps a twinge of amusement. Although he doesn't find your misfortune funny, he thinks it's characteristic that you have managed to hurt yourself since the last time you saw him. 

You laugh at his tone before rubbing your face with your good hand. "Okay, I'll tell you, but you can't laugh because it's really embarrassing." You decide that making a bargain is your best bet and scan his eyes for trust before continuing. 

He offers his pinky as if to say: I promise I won't. But, he truthfully doesn't know. 

You breathe in before unleashing your story. "So, last weekend–"

He cuts you off, "Last weekend?! You've had your arm in a sling since last weekend?" 

You give him a pointed look, a warning to stop interrupting you before telling the rest of your story, including your ambitions to look as cool as Max riding her skateboard–which probably could have been excluded. 

Surprisingly, Steve keeps his word and doesn't laugh once as you recall the events. Although a glint of amusement shines in his honeyed eyes, he feels more sad than anything he didn't know sooner. When you've finished, he walks around the counter to pull you into his chest. 

"I wish you would've told me sooner; I would've come to your place to care for you." He emphasizes his point by pressing a kiss on your hair and a frown on his lips. 

"It was just so embarrassing to have to say out loud," you mutter into his shirt, the cotton material pressing against your cheek. 

He pulls away to grab around your shoulders, offering you a stern but kind look. "I would never judge you, even if you didn't successfully learn how to skateboard." 

He's so sincere it almost makes you laugh. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know," you respond, and you're telling the truth.

ahhh in your ask to ellecdc you said your favourite book is The Goldfinch, and it’s mine too!!!!!!

Ahhhhhhhh

so, so valid; the first time I read it, it changed my life! <3 #twins

I cannot stop thinking about mike faist 🙁

rainy day

summary: you are terribly unprepared for the weather, luckily your neighbor is dressed for a flood.

warnings: fluff, swearing

steve harrington x reader ✿ 976 words

There was nothing more soothing to you than the gentle patter of rain, splashing onto your bedroom window, a stream of light filling your room with the sunrise. So, when you woke up to a mist of rain spraying through your opened bedroom window, you knew it was a good day.

You got ready in a hurry, quickly throwing on clothes suitable for the weather, brushing through your hair, and practically running to the front door to slip on your shoes and grab an umbrella. It wasn’t until you tried to open your only umbrella on the front porch that you realized maybe today wasn’t going to be a good day.

“Well, fuck,” you muttered, the umbrella springs weakly flopping back down after you attempted to shove it open. You love observing the rain, being around it, not being drenched with it. From the looks of the outdoors, you were going to get drenched without an umbrella.

Looking from under the roof of your porch revealed an absolute downpour of rain. The rain came down torrentially, sliding off your roof visually similar to a waterfall rather than singular droplets. Given that your raincoat from last season didn’t fit anymore, and your umbrella decided to shrivel back up on itself, you were screwed.

Bracing yourself, you stepped out from the protection of the roof, immediately being hit by heavy water droplets. Living only half a mile from Hawkins High School was usually great until it meant you lived too close to be a part of the bus system. Today, you despised your proximity to the school.

Walking as quickly as you could manage, you marched through puddles of water that were practically ponds due to the uneven road, quickly feeling the weight of water as it soaked through your normally warm sweater.

You only managed to make it one block before hearing the voice of your only other classmate who had to walk to Hawkins too: Steve Harrington. He jogged up to you in an outfit that sent deep waves of jealousy through your soul. He looked uncharacteristically nerdy as he was readily equipped with rain boots, a rain jacket, and an umbrella. I wonder if he’s even found waterproof hairspray for the weather, you accidentally let out a small snort at that last thought.

Steve was nice, nicer than you expected him to be given his popularity and seemingly exclusive friend group. Despite the fact that you two never talked outside of school, you’d developed a relationship as friendly acquaintances due to your close living proximity and shared understanding of just how shitty walking to school every morning was.

When he meets you, Steve gapes. His eyebrows raise so incredulously that they almost meet his scalp. “Y/N! Did you forget your umbrella?” His breath fills the air with small, quick puffs of clouds, coming out in quick pants after running to catch up with you.

Continuing your pace, not wishing to be out in the rain for any longer than necessary, you and Steve fall step in step making your way toward school. Recalling the events of your morning, you gain a new twinge of frustration in your heart but nod nonetheless. A small frown sets in on your face, “something similar to that. It just wouldn’t open this morning no matter how hard I pushed upwards.”

“Gosh, I hate it when that happens,” he huffs out. “You know the last time we had rain like this, the same thing happened to me,” he gestures to his outfit, with his hand on his hip, “hence why I’m wearing this.”

You let out a small laugh, tossing your head back a little, after observing the ridiculousness of his outfit for the second time this morning. His rain boots look extra silly as you walk on the evenly paved main road, barely even submerging into any water as it readily went down the storm drains. “You know, I was wondering why you had so much rain gear on,” you laugh.

He looks up at you, and a look of embarrassment spreads across his face, a slight pink dusting his cheeks. He has to fight the urge to facepalm himself when he notices your rain-soaked hair. Here he was in every item of rain gear he could ever need while the rain pelted your clothes, gradually lengthening your sweater as the weight of the rain pushed it down your torso.

Without a word, he moved his umbrella to cover both of your bodies and the immediate coverage from the rain was relieving. However, you couldn’t tell if the warmth came from the end of the torrential rain pelting your clothes, Steve’s warm shoulder brushing up against yours, or the heat that crept up your face because of his thoughtful actions.

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly, slightly embarrassed accepting a thoughtful gesture. You’d always struggled with that.

“I figured I should put you out of your misery,” Steve laughed, his brown eyes and cheeks crinkling as a smile overtook his face. You two walked shoulder to shoulder as Steve made an effort to stay close enough to cover the two of you, although his raincoat would probably have him covered.

Walking shoulder to shoulder, you two gradually made it to Hawkins High School, mostly in comfortable silence as you enjoyed the sound of the rain, the tweets of morning birds, and the rustling leaves on overhanging green trees.

When you reached the school, you were filled with a comfortable warmth that you weren’t sure was from the relief of the umbrella or your thoughtful savior who was comically overdressed for a rain storm.

“See you around neighbor,” Steve waved in his oversized raincoat, a few droplets shaking off from the action, with a newfound twinkle in his eye you hadn’t noticed early this morning.

“Have a good one, Steve.”

Stranger Things Tours the Green Monster