stevesgother

[stevesgother]

hihihi!! idk if ur requests are open, if not please ignore this! but id love to request a steve x f reader fic where the reader has the same powers as Eleven and saves steve from the demogorgon which makes him fall for her? something along those lines, have some fun with it :) tysm!!!! (also love ur writing so so much, i’ve literally been obsessed with all of ur steve fics) much love! 🫶

as much as i'd love to, i'm not super confident with my writing in the sci-fi genre yet! i only just now started writing an apocalypse au and the only reason i feel comfy doing it is bc i consume SO much apocalypse media lol

i do more domestic, slice of life type stuff :) but if i ever decide to explore that realm, you'll be the first to know <3

[stevesgother]

Hi, hope you're having a great day!

I really loved Chalkboard hearts, and I love heartbreaking angst with a happy ending, so how do you think the first time they fight would be like?

☁️

thanks sm for your request! i'm not super great at writing angst, so i hope this meets your expectations :) also sorry it took so long, i had to scrap it like eight times. it's also barely a fight bc i physically cannot write steve mean in this AU steve harrington x fem!reader can be read as a standalone but takes place in the chalkboard hearts universe

Birthdays had always been a special occasion for you growing up. Regardless of how you celebrated, your mother and sister would try their best to make it memorable for you.

Seeing it was the first of his birthdays you got to spend together as a couple, you were determined for Steve's to be as well.

You'd utilized what little baking skills you possessed and made him a chocolate cake with buttercream frosting from scratch-- even had Abbey taste test it before you dropped her off with her grandmother for the weekend.

By the time you hear the front door click, his favorite meal is just coming out of the oven; his favorite Bruce Springsteen vinyl spinning on the record player in the living room.

You don't hear the heavy sigh Steve exhales as he kicks his shoes off and tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl Abbey made in art class resting on the entryway table. His day had been exceptionally long, and all he wanted to do was come home to a soft, tender you-- leaving all his burdens in the passenger seat of his beat-up car.

"Babe?" He calls as he trudges towards the kitchen, "I'm home,"

"In here!" you yell from your spot you'd occupied all evening in front of the stove.

Steve's first met with the mouth-watering scent of braised chicken and rosemary, then he notices the singular lit candle and silverware already adorning the dining room table, "I could've helped you cook when I got home, you know," he tells you with a furrow between his brows.

"On your special day? Absolutely not," you lament as you approach him, noticing the tension in his shoulders instantly.

He doesn't look surprised, or even less puzzled, "What?"

"Your...birthday?" You remind him, starting to get nervous you'd somehow mixed the dates up.

Truthfully, the second Steve had written the date on the chalkboard this morning for his students and realized exactly what day it was, he got to work on immediately forgetting. His birthday was just that-- the day he was born. Nothing more, nothing less. Something he had spent perpetually alone since he was at least twelve.

"It is your birthday, right?"

"Yeah-- yeah, it is." He exhales slowly. For the first time in all the months he's known you, Steve finds himself cursing your gene for being so thoughtful; so kind. Quite literally the only thing he wanted right now-- was for it to be tomorrow.

You weren't totally positive what you were expecting Steve's reaction to be, but this certainly wasn't it. If anything, he seemed more tense than he was when he originally entered the kitchen. Sure, you hadn't specifically asked him how he wanted to celebrate, but you couldn't possibly go wrong with a simple dinner, right?

"Sit, honey," you tell him, gently brushing aside that pesky stray hair that's always falling into his eyes, "Dinner's ready."

Steve does as he's told and before long, you're setting two steaming-hot plates of food in front of you with a beaming grin. You looked so excited to be treating him like this, but he simply couldn't shake the misplaced resentment he was feeling towards your display of genuine affection for him. That-- combined with a deep sense of guilt for feeling it in the first place-- joined to form an ugly knot in his chest.

"How is it?" You ask him quietly.

"Really good," he smiles, but it's completely unconvincing; barely even reaching his eyes.

The two of you eat in almost complete silence after that. Attempts to ask him about his day or even tell him about your own proved futile to break him out of this weird state you'd found him in. Where you usually can't get him to stop talking, here you couldn't get more than a sentence out of him at a time.

"Okay--" you set your fork down on your plate with a metallic clank, "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" Steve asks, looking at you mid-sip from over the rim of his water glass.

"You've been acting weird all night-- what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lies, "just tired today."

"Steve, I can tell when you're tired. This is different." You push.

"Really, I'm fine-- just had a long day. The kids were off the walls at work." There's an edge to his voice now, but it bothers you immensely that he won't just talk to you. You've never seen him this guarded before.

"Well, then, talk to me about it! You're never like--"

"Jesus, will you just drop it?" He snaps, slamming his glass on the table where it was previously on its journey towards his mouth.

You're momentarily stunned by his sudden outburst. Steve's never spoken to you like that before, or anyone for that matter-- at least not that you've seen. Truth be told, you didn't know he was even capable of it.

You try to hide the swelling of tears at your lash line by rising from your spot at the table and taking your only half-empty plate to the garbage. but it's all in vain. The droplets stream down your cheeks in a torrent.

"Well-- I'm going to bed," you try to sound indignant but your voice cracks, "Happy fucking birthday, Steve." The end of your sentence punctuated with the sound of dishes clattering in the sink.

He feels terrible-- really, truly terrible. So much that it snaps him out of whatever vindictive trance he'd been trapped in all evening.

"Baby-- hey, wait--" his hand grabs your wrist on your way past his chair, forcing you to face him, "I'm sorry--"

"Your cake is in the fridge." You spit, wiping your tear-stained cheeks furiously with your shirt sleeves.

His heart drops. Of course you'd made him a cake.

"Y/N, please--" Steve stands, hands flying to your waist in a better attempt to stop you from leaving, "Look, I'm sorry--"

You only stare up at him, waiting impatiently to hear whatever explanation he has for his behavior.

"Birthdays are... tough. For me." He explains, looking pained as he does so. Like being vulnerable in this way is physically hurting him.

"My parents didn't really celebrate with me; I've spent every single one alone since middle school." He chuckles, but it's more self-deprecating than anything close to humorous.

Something softens in your expression then, as if you're crying not because you're mad at him but because you're sad for him. Like you're picturing a younger version of the man you love so much-- alone on the one day of the year no one ever should be.

Steve wraps you up in one of his signature tender embraces, his fingers stroking the back of your head where he cradles it against his chest, "Thank you for doing this, sweetheart, it really was perfect," a pause, "I'm sorry I acted like such an asshole."

"No, I should've asked before I planned it, I'm sor--"

"Ah-- don't even finish that sentence." He interrupts.

You hide a sniffle behind a weak laugh.

"I love you. So much." Steve tells you as he thumbs away your remaining tears, "You know that?"

"I know. I love you." You whisper.

"Good. Now-- you said something about cake?" One of his brow's arches in that way that always makes you laugh. Pride blooms in his chest.

One thing you know is for certain; you're never letting Steve Harrington eat chocolate cake on your couch ever again. Not even on his birthday.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[stevesgother]

when steve started talking dirty i nearly died when she called him out i physically needed CPR

i feel like this au's steve is simply too shy to be doing all that LOL when i wrote it originally i was gonna have it stay serious but i felt like it was so out of character for him here.

he's a sweetheart, what can i say?

[stevesgother]

absolutely obsessed with chalkboard hearts! it’s such a sweet series!

would we perhaps be able to see smth smutty? like maybe the night after their wedding or even their first time together?

love u!!

thanks so much for reading! i decided to go with the latter, so here is steve and reader's first time together <3 steve harrington x fem!reader from the chalkboard hearts au, but can definitely be read as a standalone. cw: SMUT, p in v, oral (f receiving), language

"This is really quiet the bachelor pad you got here, Harrington."

You tease him as you take in the surroundings of your boyfriend's kitchen for the first time. It'd took some convincing to let dinner be at his place this week. He'd just finished cooking you a delicious meal-- salmon with white rice and lemon-- and insisting that you not touch a single thing. Just sit there and look pretty.

"Not really a bachelor pad anymore, is it?" He observes as he takes another sip of his pinot noir. You'd never taken Steve Harrington to be the type of man who knew which wines paired well with fish, but here he'd surprised you again. He seemed to be full of them these days.

"I think we'd have to be married for it not to be," you swear he blushes, "but it's a lot cleaner than I thought it'd be!"

"Ouch," he places a hand over his chest in faux offense, "You saying you thought I'd be a slob?"

"I'm saying, you're a single man in his mid-twenties," you laugh at his dramatics.

"My mom was sort of a neat freak, I guess," he admits, a little more subdued this time as he picks at what's left of his salmon with his fork, "The house barely looked lived in most of the time."

His parents seemed like a consistently sore subject, or at least one that wasn't reminisced on with much joy. You attempt to lighten his mood, "Well, my house always looks like the Tasmanian Devil blew through it-- you know you're always welcome there."

A sense of pride blooms in your chest when Steve cracks a grin, "Yeah, Abbey seems to have that effect everywhere she goes. My classroom isn't much better by the end of the day." He chuckles.

"Sorry about that," you wince at your daughter's apparently incessant need to make everywhere she goes an absolute pigsty, but he waves you off.

"You all done, sweetheart?" Steve asks as he stands to rinse his own mostly empty plate. Now, it's your turn to blush at the usage of the pet name-- still something you're not quite used to hearing directed towards you.

"Yeah," you tell him bashfully, "Yeah, I am. Thank you."

The smile you flash him is more than enough thanks, if you ask him. Burning with the power of a thousand sunrises: enough to light a fire behind his ribs.

He really did go all out for this date. The button-down dress shirt is evidence enough as he rolls the sleeves up to his elbows in an effort to keep them dry as he rinses your plates free of food.

The muscles in his forearms flex deliciously beneath the fabric with every movement he makes; you trace a vein from his hand all the way to wear it disappears underneath his sleeve, thinking about all the different ways those hands could--

"It's rude to stare, you know," Steve tells you without look, snapping you out of your daze.

"I-- sorry, I, uhm--" You scramble, feeling suddenly flustered and hot in the face.

"Hey," he says, abandoning the dishes in favor of comforting you, "I'm just teasing. You can stare all you want." Steve's lips are a mere breath away from yours when his sentence finishes; they're simply too tempting not to close the distance.

The kiss is tender at first, loving; but morphs quickly into something more consuming. His mouth tastes fruity and rich-- red wine, and something else that's ineffably Steve when his tongue laves over yours.

It's not long before hands begin to roam; Steve's large palm needing the plump of your backside, skating down your torso and inching dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. His mouth develops an interest in the tenderness of your neck-- that spot just below your earlobe. You can't help the breathy sigh that escapes you when he nips there.

"Have I showed you my bedroom yet?" Steve pants when his lips detach from your neck.

"Smooth," you chuckle.

"I'm serious!" He laughs back; you swear his eyes sparkle. "Cleaned it just for you." You yelp as he hoists you up; quickly taking the hint, you wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you.

Neither of you were the wiser, but you'd both anticipated this might happen tonight. You, anxiously shaving in the shower and wasting an extra hour of hot water; and Steve, rushing home from work to shove miscellaneous piles of clothes into his closet and slamming the door shut.

And he wasn't lying, he did clean. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but you get a moment to look around when he plops you down onto his mattress; it was cute, albeit poorly decorated.

"Why do you have a bowling pin on your desk?"

He rubs at the nape of his neck, "I've just always had it, I guess,"

"it's cute," you reassure him, "you're cute."

"Cute enough to let me kiss you a little more?"

"Maybe," you say, quieter; the duvet ruffling under your head where you lie down in order to accommodate Steve as he crowds over you.

He wastes no time diving back in. You take the liberty of unbuttoning his shirt for him as he works open your blouse, revealing a cream, satin bra.

"You wear this for me?" Steve breathes as his fingers brush your pebbled nipple beneath the silk.

"So what if I did?"

He groans into your mouth, using his free hand to unhook the only barrier standing between him and what he wants. The second the previously unexplored skin is exposed; his hips begin to rut with a mind of their own. Your leg's part to make space for him.

The hardness of him against your core wasn't something you'd realized you needed so desperately until now; it's enough to have you keening.

Before you can process it, Steve's face is pressed between the valley of your breasts, planting soft kisses there before taking one of your buds into his mouth. He spends a considerable amount of time there before moving further south, nipping and savoring your freshly exposed skin as he goes.

"Can I take these off?" He asks with his hands fiddling at the hem of your pants, looking up at you through his lashes like he knows it's your personal kryptonite.

"Yeah..." your voice trembles and you hope he doesn't notice. It's been over five years since anyone's touched you like this, and no one's ever worshipped you quite like this. Not like Steve.

Steve grabs your hand in the gentlest show of affection, his brows marrying in the middle of his forehead, "Is this what you want?"

"Yes-- yes, sorry, I'm just nervous," you breathe, "it's been...a long time."

"Hey, me too," he reassures, "you're safe with me, right? And I'm safe with you."

"Right," You agree, feeling the tension leave your body bit by bit.

"Good," you pants and underwear begin their slow descent down your thighs, "Just relax, baby, let me take care of you--" That last part is muffled as he buries his nose in the folds of your cunt, licking a wide stripe upward.

He laps at you for what feels like hours, nosing at your clit and opening you up in preparation for him. Steve doesn't let up until you're clenching around his middle and index finger, back arching off his cotton sheets with a desperate cry of his name.

By the time he separates himself from your soaked core, you're so desperate for his mouth again that you reach forward to yank him down onto you. He chuckles into your mouth-- now he tastes of only you.

You palm him where he's noticeably tenting in his slacks, he quickly takes the hint and unbuttons them as he hovers over you.

"Yeah? You want this cock, baby?"

You have to stifle a gasp, "Harrington, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Steve had been ever the gentleman since the moment you'd met him; almost too timid, sometimes. Hearing him speak such filthy words was jarring to say the least.

"Sorry--" Steve winces, "Was that...was that not? I can--"

You have to pinch his cheeks together to get him to stop spiraling, "Never said I didn't like it," he relaxes a bit, face flushing, "I don't want you to force it, though. Say whatever feels right."

"Yeah, okay," he whispers.

Wordlessly this time, Steve reaches for the top drawer of his nightstand and pulls from it's confines a silver packet. He tears it open with his teeth.

You don't catch yourself before saying, "That was hot."

"Hey, thanks," he breathes an airy chuckle.

It's only as he's rolling the condom on that you truly see how well-endowed he is. The Levi's he's always wearing don't leave a ton to the imagination, but this is a whole different ballgame. You were beginning to sweat, if you were being honest.

Steve hands are trembling slightly as he attempts to line himself up with your entrance, "You're shaking, Steve."

"I know, I'm sorry--"

Your hand on Steve's wrist halts his movements, your other palm gently stroking the stubble starting to grow on his cheeks. You plant a loving kiss on his forehead before urging him off of you and onto his back.

He stares up at you like a moth looking into a flame; his hair all mussed around the frame of his beautiful face.

"Just relax, baby," you echo his words from earlier, "I've got you."

There's almost no resistance when you sink down onto him, despite his size. A breathy whimper escapes you at the stretch and Steve's mouth opens in a silent 'Oh'.

His hands fly to your hips to prevent you from moving just yet, giving both of you time to adjust to the position. Your head finds a comfortable home in the crook of his neck where it junctions with his shoulder, his arms wrapping around the plain of your back to keep you tucked into him.

Steadily, you begin to meet each other's grinding in a rhythmic tempo. It's lazy and it's beautiful: like two souls entwining as one.

As he picks up speed, his thrusts begin to punch little sounds of ecstasy out of both of your open mouths. You urge him to look at you with a hand to his cheek, not wanting to miss his expression as you're both pushed closer to the edge.

"Are you close?" Steve asks through gritted teeth, planting his feet to pound into you harder.

"Yes, Steve-- don't stop--"

He doesn't deny you, not when you sound so sweet and wrecked on top of him. He staves off until he feels your velvety walls begin to squeeze him harder; his hand sliding between the slick of your bodies to circle your clit, giving you that extra push you need before you're finishing around him with a loud whine. Steve's thrusts falter, and you can tell he's close.

"I love you--" Steve grunts as he comes inside you with one last pump of his hips. He stills, only just registering what he's admitted.

You rise onto your elbows to meet his gaze, his eye's wide and pupils blown. Sweat beads at his hairline, just enough for on droplet to slide down his temple. You can practically see him trying to think of something-- anything to say.

"I'm sorry," he starts to backtrack, "You said to say-- you said 'what felt right' so I-"

"Did you mean it?"

"I... of course I meant it,"

"Then stop apologizing. I love you, Steve." Your face floods with warmth, "I think I've loved you for a long time."

"I love you," Steve whispers.

"Right, we've established that," you laugh affectionately.

"Do you want to stay tonight?" He asks in an almost trance-like state.

"If you'll have me," you brush the stray hairs that stick to the dampness of his forehead.

"I'll always have you."

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name@ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[stevesgother]

i wanna be masc in the way that s4 villanelle is masc does that make sense

[stevesgother]

eve polastri a stronger woman than me bc i would've let that sexy russian psychopath hit it 3 seasons ago

[stevesgother]

i adore chalkboard hearts! could i see steve and reader explaining to abby shes gunna be a big sister 🥰

here is this for you darling <3 thank you so much for reading steve harrington x fem!reader

"Mommy?" Abbey asks as she mindlessly roots through the bathroom drawers, looking for nothing in particular, "What is this thing?"

You barely spare a glance from where you're applying your makeup in the mirror above the sink. Ever since the wedding, Abbey has made it her life's mission to never not be right next to you. 'Misdirected jealousy', your mom had told you. It didn't matter what you were doing: cooking dinner, folding laundry-- bathing, for Christ's sake-- Abbey would be there.

That's why you don't register that your daughter is holding your clean, but used nonetheless, pregnancy test. But Steve does, when he pokes his head around the door to check in on the two of you.

"Hey, you almost--oh-- Abbey don't touch that!" He says, all in one panicked breath.

You finally chance a look at what she's holding, immediately understanding Steve's reaction. Without another thought, you quickly snatch it from her innocent hands.

Abbey's still looking up at you inquisitively. She did ask you a question, after all.

"Oh, this? This is-- uhm, it's a, uhm--"

"It's a thermometer!" Steve saves.

"Then why can't I touch it?" She pushes further. You should've known better than to think she would drop it that easily.

"Steve checked my temperature with it a couple of weeks ago, so now it has all my sick germs on it." Both you and Steve make sour faces to really sell it, though you can't see his from where he's perched behind you.

"Hey, Ab," Steve prompts, "I have something really important I need your help with,"

Her ears perk instantly, "Yeah?"

"I need you to go into the kitchen and get some things out to make sandwiches while I talk to your mom, do you think you can do that for me?"

"Uh-huh!" She beams, Steve's request appealing to her newfound craving for independence.

"I don't know," Steve lilts playfully, "You sure you're up for it?"

You're forever in awe at how he manages to make the most mundane tasks feel like an impossible mission; how he turns everything into a game. You'd kill to be a fly on the wall of his classroom all day, content to watch him perfectly in his element.

"Yes! I am!" Abbey giggles as she tries to weasel by Steve where he stands blocking the doorway. He lets her think she overpowered him when his legs finally give way to her freedom from the bathroom.

Steve takes one more glance over his shoulder, "We need to tell her," he says in a hushed sort of tone.

"I know," you pinch the bridge of your nose, "It's just, what if--"

"Nothing's going to happen, sweetheart." He reassures you with two strong arms wrapped around your waist, "The doctor said the ultrasound looked great, and you're not a high-risk pregnancy. You said you had no complications with Abbey, right?"

"Right, but--"

"No 'but's I'm not gonna let anything happen to you-- either of you. You know that." Steve guides your head to nestle in the crook of his neck, enough so that you can't see that he's scared, too.

"She's going to find out eventually," he reminds you.

"You're right," you sigh.

"Per usual." You pinch his side in retaliation, making him yelp.

"Let's have lunch, then we'll tell her?" You ask, lifting you head from the safety of his chest.

"If that's what you want to do, then that's what we'll do.

--

You don't work up the courage to speak until Abbey's halfway through her PB&J, but Steve picks up the slack for you. He's perfect like that.

"Abbey, babe-- there's something Steve and I want to talk to you about," you tell her, trying to keep your tone lighthearted, but your voice still wobbles slightly with nerves.

Both of them turn to face you then, Abbey's mouth full and Steve sending you a look that says You've got it, I'm here.

God, you don't even know where to begin.

"Do you remember-- right before we had that big party where mommy and Steve got married-- when I got sick during dinner time?"

Abbey nods, idly licking jelly off of her tiny fingers; waiting for you to continue.

"Well... I thought it was just because Steve's burgers tasted yucky--" She giggles and Steve lightly kicks your foot under the table, "Really, it was because I have a baby in my belly, and the baby was making me feel sick."

You can practically see the gears turning in her head; she's certainly old enough to understand what it means to be pregnant, but maybe not quite the logistics of it yet.

Both you and Steve wait with bated breaths to see how she'll react. You're bracing for the worst, but all she asks is, "Is the baby still in there now?"

You have to stifle a laugh, not wanting her to feel silly for asking questions, "Yes, it is. That means you're gonna have a little brother or sister,"

She takes another bite of her sandwich, mostly indifferent. You don't know what you were expecting, but this nonchalance was probably the last thing.

Steve decides to take the reins for a moment, hoping to coax a little more of a reaction out of her, "How does that sound?" He asks, shaking her shoulders playfully.

"Good, but-- will we still be able to go to the park?"

Maybe you had been totally overthinking this, "Of course," you tell her, "And the baby can come, too!"

"Does the baby have to come?" She asks, just the slightest bit of whine in her tone, resting her tired head in the propped-up palm of her hand.

"Not always," Steve chimes in, "You'll still get plenty of time with us without the baby, too. We don't want you to worry about that, okay?"

She nods, "Okay," sipping her chocolate milk casually from its straw. "Can we go play on the swings after I'm done?"

"Uhm, yeah, I think we can manage that," Steve smiles at Abbey first but looks to you like 'That's it?'. You only shrug in response.

--

"Did we totally butcher that?" You ask Steve later that night from where you lay waiting for him in your shared bed.

He answers you with his toothbrush hanging haphazardly out of his mouth; making eye contact through the bathroom mirror, "No, honey-- I think kids are just like that sometimes."

You groan, "I feel like a bad mom..."

"Hey," he spits into the sink, wiping his mouth on the nearest hand towel, "None of that, okay? You're a fantastic mom."

Even from across the room, Steve can sense your slurry of racing thoughts. Ones of insecurity and worry for the future of your family-- of your daughter, whom you'd swore would always be your greatest priority.

He makes his way to the edge of the bed where you're curled in on yourself, "It's not just you anymore, love," his hands brush a stray tear you hadn't even realized has fallen.

"What if she feels like-- I don't know, what if she feels like I'm replacing her?"

"Listen to me, I promise you-- Abbey is never going to question whether or not you love her." Steve's hand moves from your face to land gently on your belly, "And neither will she,"

You breathe a teary chuckle, "You seem awfully convinced it's a girl,"

"Yeah, well-- call it father's intuition."

Hearing him refer to himself as a father sends butterflies erupting in your belly, "Thank you, Stevie."

"Hey, I'm serious. Everything's gonna work itself out, alright? Ab just needs a little time to warm up." You nod in agreement, "I'm tellin' ya, once we start getting those cute little baby pajama things-- she's gonna be pumped."

You laugh at his unsuccessful search for the word 'onesie', but you don't correct him. You know he's right, and even if he's not, you're sure now more than ever that there's not a thing in this world you can't conquer together.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[stevesgother]

loverboy steve harrington would absolutely fuck his girlfriend on her period cw - period sex kinda (fingering but no p in v), reader with a vagina and breasts 18+

"This helping at all?" Steve asks as he rubs firm circles into your lower abdomen just below your navel where your uterus ails you. You don't have to see him to know he's frowning.

"A little," you admit though it's far from convincing, curled on your side in the fetal position where you'd been holed up all day. The first twenty-four hours of your cycle were always the worst. Steve had been attentive all day-- bringing you light foods and keeping you hydrated. The warm pressure of his palm has brought only a brief reprieve from the incessant cramping.

Steve hums from his place cuddled up behind you. When he doesn't continue, you assume that's it; until he says, "Did you know orgasms can help with period cramps?"

You scoff, "Jesus, are you really trying to get in my pants right now?"

"Hey, no," his suddenly serious tone captures your attention, "I'm not joking! It's not about me-- I wanna make you feel better."

You're slow to turn onto your other side and face him, "You're serious?"

"Dead." And you can tell he's not lying.

"Where did you even learn that?" You ask, mildly curious.

"Girl told me once," he half-heartedly shrugs where he lays in front of you, "Might've been Rob, I can't remember."

A pause. The idea that he's not just fooling around making your cheeks heat up with newfound embarrassment, "You wouldn't... you wouldn't, like, think that's gross?" You question skeptically.

You still have half a mind to think this is some sort of sick prank, until you realize your bodies have been pressed together for nearly an hour now and there's no sign at all of his own arousal. This was purely about you.

"'Course not," he assures you with a hand to cradle your cheek, "If it might help, then I think we should try it."

Your expression must stay doubtful because he doubles down, "Promise I won't look if you don't want me to."

You nod, albeit tentatively, but his expression is beyond pleased. "Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, lips a breath away from touching your own.

"You don't have to ask to kiss me, Steve," you huff a laugh, suddenly breathless and admittedly a little nervous.

"Want this to be about you," Steve whispers, low in his throat, "whatever you want."

"Okay..." it's more whimper than actual spoken English, but Steve understands, kissing you as softly as his words had promised.

The hand that had been previously massaging your tender lower abdomen travels further south, but he takes his time. Still caressing firm circles as he goes, still kissing you languidly. His tongue tastes minty as it swipes across yours. You can't remember the last time you'd taken things this slow, but it makes the fire in your belly burn all the brighter.

His deft fingers slip beneath the hem of your underwear, and you barely even notice; too lost in the feeling of his lips devouring you and the smell of his natural musk wafting infiltrating your senses. You think, maybe, that he'd done it on purpose.

"Gonna touch you now, okay?" He checks, somehow sounding the sexiest and most loving he ever has simultaneously.

Merely his words alone have you keening before he even touches you. He doesn't have you waiting for long, though.

He collects the concoction that is your arousal and residual blood pooling between your legs, spreading the slick through you folds and rubbing tight but gentle circles around your bud. You cringe inwardly at the insinuation that he has your blood on his fingers, and Steve notices. Of course he does.

Steve shushes you, "Relax, baby, you're so beautiful," his lips find the spot just below your ear, barely speaking more than he's kissing, "So glad I get to make you feel better."

"Steve--"

"Yeah? That feel good?" He knows it does.

"Yes," you gasp.

"Good."

Maybe you won't be needing that Midol after all.

[stevesgother]

that video of joe keery on the set on jimmy kimmel where he does the reflex test was so hot and now i can't stop picturing steve harrington as a dad (what's new) and having 'dad reflexes'.

like, his daughter is climbing a jungle gym or something and starts to fall but he catches her without so much as looking up or stopping the conversation he's having.

lord have mercy. this is the lust they warned us about in the bible.

[stevesgother]

ellie this, ellie that-- i need dina like i need air.

[stevesgother]

just now watching tlou for the first time and idk if i want joel miller to be my dad or to fuck me

[stevesgother]

Egg might not only be my favorite song on The Crux, but my favorite Djo song period. the line, 'Is that you? Is that the child who's afraid in you? Stop, is that you?' might be some of the most heart-wrenching, relatable lyrics he's written. maybe they just resonate that deeply with me, but i feel like his angst radiates through the song and it lends itself so much to the emotional impact of the track.

i could talk about this album and this man forever.

[stevesgother]

no joke, i've had a dream about joe keery every single time i've slept for the past four days-- this is giving me hella blurb inspo

[stevesgother]

THANK U FOR 600 !!! i love every single one of u, here is a smooch on the forehead

[stevesgother]

"whore level: catastrophic" is crazy

quick little blurb abt this thought i got in my inbox a while ago steve harrington x gn!reader just suggestive fluff/ post-coital bliss :) 18+

Steve's fingers draw slow, methodical circles where they meet the small of your back-- his wiry chest hair tickling your nose where your head rests on his chest.

"You fallin' asleep on me?" He asks, barely parting his lips to do so. You can hear it in the way his words slur with the weighted bliss of the moment you're both suspended in.

You don't answer verbally, only shaking your head lethargically against him. The hand that's not tracing your back moves to caress the side of your face instead, tucking stray hairs behind your ear with the delicateness one might handle a flower petal.

He kisses the supple plush of your lips, his tongue sliding languidly against your own. Nothing like the way he had been ravishing you just twenty minutes ago.

The palm cradling your face travels south to where your leg is propped on top of his groin, softening beneath you with each minute that passes. For someone who doesn't want you to fall asleep, he's sure making it impossible not to-- every touch pulling you further into the vast ocean of unconsciousness. You don't fret though, knowing you'll see him there, too. Even in your dreams.

Steve's soft breaths cascade over your forehead where it meets your hairline. He places kiss after kiss there until asking, "Wanna take a bath with me?"

And how could you bear to deny him when he asks so sweetly? Even if the absence of his body heat and the sweat cooling on your skin leaves you shivering under your downy cotton sheets.

You can hear him floundering about in the ensuite: opening and closing cupboards, twisting the shower's diverters until the temperature of the water is just right. You like it a little too hot, if you ask Steve, but he doesn't mind overheating for you.

He reenters the bedroom, scooping up your still naked body and carrying you to the bathroom against his chest. Thankfully, there's no need for either of you to get undressed; having gotten so familiar with each other's bodies over the years, it was like he was just an extension of yourself.

The steaming water hits your skin as you're lowered into the tub by Steve, the temperature relaxing you immediately. This was your favorite post-sex ritual-- too tired to shower, but just awake enough to enjoy each other's company a little longer before bed.

Steve slots in the tub behind you, wrapping you up in his muscly thighs and biceps like the most comfortable security blanket. You've never felt safer than when he held you like this.

"Want me to wash your hair?" You ask him over your shoulder.

A tender smile tugs at the corners of his lips, "Only if you want to, baby,"

You raise a skeptical brow, because of course you want to. Steve hands over your own strawberry scented shampoo, because he likes it more than his own. He'd much rather have your scent following him around like a cloud as he goes through the monotonous tasks that come with each day.

It's selfish, in a way, because you love to watch the way his eyes drift shut as you thread your fingers gently through his scalp. You like to make a show of it-- it doesn't really take that long to wash somebody's hair. But he just spent the past three hours taking care of you in a way no one else could, so, you felt like this was the least you could do.

And when the time comes, you tip his head back and rinse the shampoo meticulously from his tresses-- taking extra care to shield his eyes from any rogue droplets of water.

Steve never lets you dote on him for long, though. Eventually he's got you back where he wants you: between his legs, in the comforting safety of his arms. You're turned around now, pelvis to pelvis. He guides you head to lie in the crook of his neck, as he orchestrates long, languid strokes from the crown of your head all the way to the base of your spine.

And you stay there until the water grows cold.

divider credit to @/plum98

[stevesgother]

quick little blurb abt this thought i got in my inbox a while ago steve harrington x gn!reader just suggestive fluff/ post-coital bliss :) 18+

Steve's fingers draw slow, methodical circles where they meet the small of your back-- his wiry chest hair tickling your nose where your head rests on his chest.

"You fallin' asleep on me?" He asks, barely parting his lips to do so. You can hear it in the way his words slur with the weighted bliss of the moment you're both suspended in.

You don't answer verbally, only shaking your head lethargically against him. The hand that's not tracing your back moves to caress the side of your face instead, tucking stray hairs behind your ear with the delicateness one might handle a flower petal.

He kisses the supple plush of your lips, his tongue sliding languidly against your own. Nothing like the way he had been ravishing you just twenty minutes ago.

The palm cradling your face travels south to where your leg is propped on top of his groin, softening beneath you with each minute that passes. For someone who doesn't want you to fall asleep, he's sure making it impossible not to-- every touch pulling you further into the vast ocean of unconsciousness. You don't fret though, knowing you'll see him there, too. Even in your dreams.

Steve's soft breaths cascade over your forehead where it meets your hairline. He places kiss after kiss there until asking, "Wanna take a bath with me?"

And how could you bear to deny him when he asks so sweetly? Even if the absence of his body heat and the sweat cooling on your skin leaves you shivering under your downy cotton sheets.

You can hear him floundering about in the ensuite: opening and closing cupboards, twisting the shower's diverters until the temperature of the water is just right. You like it a little too hot, if you ask Steve, but he doesn't mind overheating for you.

He reenters the bedroom, scooping up your still naked body and carrying you to the bathroom against his chest. Thankfully, there's no need for either of you to get undressed; having gotten so familiar with each other's bodies over the years, it was like he was just an extension of yourself.

The steaming water hits your skin as you're lowered into the tub by Steve, the temperature relaxing you immediately. This was your favorite post-sex ritual-- too tired to shower, but just awake enough to enjoy each other's company a little longer before bed.

Steve slots in the tub behind you, wrapping you up in his muscly thighs and biceps like the most comfortable security blanket. You've never felt safer than when he held you like this.

"Want me to wash your hair?" You ask him over your shoulder.

A tender smile tugs at the corners of his lips, "Only if you want to, baby,"

You raise a skeptical brow, because of course you want to. Steve hands over your own strawberry scented shampoo, because he likes it more than his own. He'd much rather have your scent following him around like a cloud as he goes through the monotonous tasks that come with each day.

It's selfish, in a way, because you love to watch the way his eyes drift shut as you thread your fingers gently through his scalp. You like to make a show of it-- it doesn't really take that long to wash somebody's hair. But he just spent the past three hours taking care of you in a way no one else could, so, you felt like this was the least you could do.

And when the time comes, you tip his head back and rinse the shampoo meticulously from his tresses-- taking extra care to shield his eyes from any rogue droplets of water.

Steve never lets you dote on him for long, though. Eventually he's got you back where he wants you: between his legs, in the comforting safety of his arms. You're turned around now, pelvis to pelvis. He guides you head to lie in the crook of his neck, as he orchestrates long, languid strokes from the crown of your head all the way to the base of your spine.

And you stay there until the water grows cold.

divider credit to @/plum98

[stevesgother]

When The Sun Hits

steve harrington x fem!reader summary - a supply run doesn't go as planned 1.7k previous chapter I next chapter series masterlist

Steve didn't hate you; contrary to what you might believe. But Steve does hate that you hate him.

Something about your clear disdain for him had opened some precariously healing wound. He bit, and he didn't know why. The roots of his younger, much more childish self-- you were especially good at finding them; tauntingly wrapping them around your fingers. Every word from your mouth unearthed the version of himself he'd tried so hard to bury; reminding him of who he once was. Maybe he did hate you a little for that.

Twigs and the very beginnings of fallen leaves crunch under his footfall-- a fraction out of time with yours. You were always in a hurry; desperate to get wherever it was you needed to be.

"You have the map, right?" You call over your shoulder to the man behind you, wishing that he would pick up his pace.

"Yeah-- yeah, I do," Steve responds, squinting at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands, "we're going in the right direction, I'm pretty sure. The ink is wearing off..."

"I'd rather you know than be 'pretty sure'."

"Why don't you read it then?" He retorts as he shoves the map into your shoulder. You snatch it from his hands before you can think better of it; as much as he irritates you, this was still your only one.

You'd made it to Indianapolis. Neither of you anticipated how overrun it would be-- your modest kitchen knives barely cutting it anymore.

What you really needed were antibiotics. Medicine. Antiseptic. Anything. Your concussion had been difficult enough to heal from without so much as an Advil; let alone something like an infected wound, or pneumonia. And it was only getting colder outside.

"There should be a pharmacy about a mile from here," you mumble, fingers tracing the map, "if...we are where I think we are."

"Helpful." Steve mutters sarcastically. You don't have the energy to quip back, you simply wish he'd stop being such a dick. "We need to make it fast-- sun'll be setting soon." He states.

You nod, clenching your jaw; tired of the authoritative tone he keeps taking with you. He's seemed to develop some sort of complex ever since he saved you, like you're something that needs to be taken care of-- looked after. Like you can't handle your own. It's simply infuriating.

More daylight than you'd hoped has been lost by the time the pharmacy finally comes into view over the glistening swell of a paved hill. Evidence of the city's wreckage was all around you-- in the abandoned shopping carts and boarded windows. Instead of honking car horns and the bustling racket of a metropolis, the only sound that could be heard now were yours and Steve's combined footsteps crunching on bits of broken glass, your heart hammering behind your ribcage.

The store looks ransacked from the exterior-- graffiti and smashed windows. You can only hope it's contents will be more promising. There's no current Plan B if this doesn't pan out.

"You take one side, and I'll take the other," Steve instructs, "It'll be quicker if we split up. It's already getting dark."

"Is that really a good idea?" You question-- constantly questioning, "I mean, Steve-- we don't even have flashlights,"

"There's enough light to get us in and out, it's fine." He dismisses, "Just keep your back covered, and yell if you need help."

Huffing, you shoulder past him and into the deserted aisles-- hating that your only option now was to trust him. The shelves still housed a surprising amount of stock; you quickly scan over the products in your direct eyeline.

Anusol, Systane, Levonorgestrel-- all basically useless, unless you or Steve got hemorrhoids. Or needed eyedrops.

You can hear Steve shuffling around on the other side of the pharmacy; so far, so good. The sound of pills rattling inside of their bottles fills you with an optimism you haven't felt in weeks.

You decide to try your luck at the shelves behind you, turning to begin sifting through the scattered packages there. It's still mostly condoms and antiacids, until out of your peripheral you spot an unopened box of Tylenol. Jackpot.

Steve's satchel tugs his shoulder a little tighter each time he drops a new item into it. He doesn't find that he minds it as much as he normally would.

He proceeds to snatch anything that sounds like it could be useful: amoxicillin, hydrogen peroxide, penicillin; even though he's allergic to the latter-- you might not be. So, he grabs it anyway.

The sound of objects clattering and a strained yelp ring out from the other side of the pharmacy. Steve's gut lurches at the cry that follows:

"Steve!"

His body reacts before his mind has a chance to catch up, retrieving his knife. It could be the dead, or an aggressive man with a loaded weapon, hell-- it could be a goddamn cannibal. All Steve knows is that he needs to get to you.

"Steve!" You cry again, "Please--help!"

Whatever sense of relief he feels when he realizes it's just a reanimated corpse that's gripping you by your hair and not a crazed psychopath is temporary. It's not ideal, but it could be much worse.

He plunges the dulling blade of his knife into the thing's skull; it's cranium so soft that it caves in on itself like a sinkhole. It makes him nauseous.

The walker loosens its grip on your scalp enough for you to regain your balance and face Steve. He doesn't even give you a chance to catch your damn breath before he's reprimanding you. Again.

"Jesus Christ, I told you to watch your back!" Steve scolds, his voice rising slightly in pitch.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You pant, "Can I have a second before you start scolding me? I'm not a fucking child, Steve!"

He opens his mouth as if to say something before changing his mind-- an apology waiting in the back of his throat, begging to be let out. He's scared that if he opens his mouth long enough, he'll finally admit that he's petrified. Even after everything, a terrible knot still forms in his chest at the idea of anything happening to you.

He still doesn't speak, opting to look anywhere but your face, "You're the one who insisted on splitting up--" You continue.

"God, keep your voice down!" He whisper-yells. "I can't be constantly keeping an eye on you!"

"I was doing just fine before you." You spit; fists clenched so tightly at your sides that your knuckles become a sickly shade of white.

"You would've died without me."

Your features harden, memories flashing like a projector reel in your mind: Freshman year. A charmingly handsome boy asking you to see a movie with him at the drive-in theater. Kisses and clandestine meetings. Heartbreak and betrayal.

"Not what I meant." You mutter more to yourself than anyone as you make to exit the pharmacy. You can't seem to find it in you to care if he follows you or not.

Steve's shoulder burns where it collided with yours on your journey towards the smashed, once automatic doors.

The dampness of the log you're sitting on soaks through your jeans and chills you to the bone-- the fire in front of you doing almost nothing to raise your body temperature.

"You need to eat." Steve says, offering you a can of pinto beans with a twig sticking out of it, "I can't carry you, too."

You shoot him a pointed look, "I'm good."

Steve doesn't argue, just sets the can down on the forest floor next to your feet, a silent plea.

"Do you really think there's going to still be anything left in Cincinnati?" You ask, despite your instincts warning you against it, "And honestly, do you really want to be stuck with the miliary even if there is?"

"What's my alternative?" His voice low and gaze blank where he stares into the woods.

When you don't respond, he sighs, "I'm looking for someone. She told me she'd be there-- to go get her when I was able to."

"Someone?" You push

"Robin. Her name's Robin."

Your eyes widen a bit in recognition, "...Buckley?"

Steve finally turns his head at the mention of her name-- a tender, almost sorrowful look in his eyes now. Something you haven't seen in years, "Yeah."

"What're you gonna do if--" you pause, considering your next words carefully, "What're you gonna do if she's not there?"

All the softness from Steve's expression drains and is replaced by something more severe, "She'll be there."

Picking up the can of pinto beans, you take the dirty twig and toss it back into the woods, opting to eat with your hands instead, "Okay."

"Is your head alright?" He asks softly. Not out of gentleness, you presume, but to keep quiet, and not attract any unwanted attention. Dead or alive.

"It's fine," you dismiss.

"Let me see--" Steve lifts his hand in an attempt to push your hair aside. Two head injuries in less than a week isn't exactly ideal.

You swat his hand away before it can get even a few inches from your person, "I said I'm fine."

He looks at you for a long minute, but you pretend not to notice. Sometimes, you think you'd give anything to be a fly on the wall of his brain during moments like these. Steve sighs, "I'm going to get the tent set up."

A silent nod, the bare minimum of an acknowledgement and his cue to leave you alone. Another thirty minutes or so is spent staring into the slowly dimming orange and white of the fire at your feet. You think about your mom, your brother; wishing you could get to them faster but dreading it in a way-- because what happens if your grandmother's is house empty? Or worse, your family slaughtered inside?

The thought causes the beans in your stomach churn, making you queasy.

Steve's asleep by the time you lift the burlap flap and step inside your shared tent, his lips parted with the soft sounds of slumber. There once existed a version of you that would've tucked the baby hairs that curl around the frame of his face behind his ear-- whispering something saccharine sweet to him as you did so, even if you knew he couldn't hear you.

That part of you had hardened into something much more bitter. The passage of time had only sharpened your edge, not dulled it. Being around Steve again stirred and sifted the silt sitting at the bottom of your chest. He knew just which buttons to push. You couldn't afford for these feelings to begin festering. Not again.

Barely a wink of sleep came to you that night. Just red-rimmed eyes longing for respite; dreading the foreboding weeks that lie ahead of you.

Divider credit @/strangergraphics

@adaydreamaway30 / @madaboutjoe