Welcome to the compilation of all the wonderful Steve Harrington fics that give me life. And also some of the pictures of his face that make me want to slam my own into a wall 🫡
⇉ PLEASE NOTE this blog and anything shared here are rated 18+, Minors Do Not Interact
Blank blogs or blogs without an age listed will be blocked
Now have some tags to help you navigate these treacherous waters…
#sh hot — smut, filth, spice…whatever it is you wanna call it, it’s here 🌶️
#sh sweet — ooey gooey fluff full of feels🍦
#sh sad — just angst, babe (gn), all the angst 💧
#sh series — long form/multipart stories 📖
#sh thots — blurbs/drabbles (usually horny)
other misc tags: sh pic (steve’s pretty face) jk pic (joe’s pretty face) djo (self-explanatory) sh inspo (steve-coded things)
fighting the monday blues with steve x single mom!reader thoughts...
i'm just thinking about reader who hasn't slept with anyone in... god, you can't even remember how long. life became work and daycare pickups and doctor's appointments and making sure you had dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets stocked in the freezer.
somewhere along the way, you stopped thinking about yourself as someone who could be wanted.
and then steve harrington happens.
this ridiculously handsome, ridiculously thoughtful guy who's technically a whole five years younger than you.
"what?" he'd laughed when you brought up the age difference. "c'mon, we're basically the same age."
easy for him to say when he looks like that.
you keep trying to convince yourself it would never work anyway. he's gorgeous, charming, effortlessly good with people. women probably throw themselves at him.
meanwhile, your life comes with baggage: a kid who isn't his and a calendar built around school drop-offs and bedtime routines.
you assume that, eventually, he'll realize this isn't the kind of life he pictured for himself.
except steve doesn't see a list of reasons why it won't work.
he sees you.
and then, somehow, before you can even process it, he's gone and won over your daughter too.
you find him sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, letting her attempt to braid his floppy hair while she giggles herself silly. she tugs a little too hard and he throws his head back dramatically.
“owww, you're so mean to me.”
she erupts into laughter, immediately asking if she can try again.
“i guess,” he sighs dramatically, “if i have to.”
those stupid, warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at your daughter, looking at her like she’s the most important person in the room.
which, to him, she is.
and so is her mom.
you keep waiting for the catch. for steve to realize there's a whole world beyond yours—a world where he gets to be young and carefree and unburdened, instead of choosing a life that already comes with so many responsibilities.
and every time he looks at you with that soft, awestruck expression, you have to look away because surely this isn’t real. no one has ever looked at you like that before.
yet despite your best efforts to push him away before things can get any more serious...
he gets you into bed.
it's terrifying.
you're more nervous than you've ever been with anyone—even more than your first time—because this isn't just about being physically vulnerable anymore.
it's the way he looks at you.
at the scars and stretch marks. the body that carried your daughter, that carried you through the hardest years of your life. the body you've spent the last decade treating like something practical, something that only mattered because it kept you moving.
never something to be cherished or wanted.
except steve doesn't look at you like that.
his gaze is nothing short of overwhelming.
there's an intensity to it that makes your heart stumble, something instinctive and undeniably hungry, but it's softened by so much warmth and affection that you can't bear to meet his eyes.
you glance away, folding your arms across your stomach and trying to make yourself a little smaller.
except steve won't let you disappear.
he waits.
gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, kisses your cheek while he’s got two fingers lazily fingering your pussy, stroking deep and knowing and good because “I’ve gotta make sure you’re ready for me, hm?”
and oh, did you mention he was hung, too?
stretches you to the limit every time. he can fuck you for hours, though he makes you come at least three times before he even thinks about pulling his dick out.
and when he tells you you're beautiful in bed with a completely straight face, you believe he means it.
it's not a line. he says it the way someone says the sky is blue.
like it's simply, undeniably true.
and he's just... too much.
because the men you've been with before never paid even a fraction of the attention he does. no one slowed down long enough to notice when you got tense, or checked in just because they wanted to know how you were feeling.
but steve does. constantly.
he notices every tiny shift in your expression, every shaky breath and every little gasp.
he's endlessly patient with you, spending hours on his knees at the foot of your bed, blinking up at you with his nose buried in your pussy. cheeks tinged pink, glistening with your slick, hair a complete mess because he'd wanted you to stop worrying about being so careful with him. because he'd wanted you to grip onto him and show him what felt good.
and the whole time, he's looking at you with this expression that's almost impossible to describe.
wonder and gratitude. a kind of open, wholehearted adoration that feels too big to hold.
like he's trying to memorize the details of this moment because he still can't believe he gets to love you.
and all you can think is...
how?
how could someone so kind, so heartbreakingly good, look at you like you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to him?
what you don't realize is that he looks at you and wonders the exact same thing.
elaborating on prev tags @tinfoileddd: #is now a good time to mention that i lowkey think steve has a thing for stretch marks#like i think he finds them really beautiful. ESP if theyre the result of you having kids#but he truly would just like to kiss them all day if he could
and maybe loving you teaches him to be a little gentler with himself, too.
because he knows what it's like to carry reminders on your body.
the scars that violence has left behind, ones that still catch his eye in the mirror some mornings before he has a chance to look away. they aren't exactly his favorite part of himself. sometimes all they do is remind him of the people he almost lost, of the nights they barely made it through and the boy he used to be before everything changed.
but then he watches you do the exact same thing.
you look at your body and see only the things you wish were different.
he looks at your body and sees a woman who loved her daughter so fiercely that her body still carries the memory of bringing her into this world.
he sees love written into your skin.
and somewhere along the way, it makes him wonder if maybe his own scars deserve the same kindness.
because neither of your bodies tells a story of something broken.
they tell stories of love.
yours are the marks left behind by bringing your little girl into the world—their little girl now—and his are the marks left behind by protecting the people he loves, no matter the cost.
different stories, same kind of devotion.
and how could either of them be anything but beautiful?
fighting the monday blues with steve x single mom!reader thoughts...
i'm just thinking about reader who hasn't slept with anyone in... god, you can't even remember how long. life became work and daycare pickups and doctor's appointments and making sure you had dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets stocked in the freezer.
somewhere along the way, you stopped thinking about yourself as someone who could be wanted.
and then steve harrington happens.
this ridiculously handsome, ridiculously thoughtful guy who's technically a whole five years younger than you.
"what?" he'd laughed when you brought up the age difference. "c'mon, we're basically the same age."
easy for him to say when he looks like that.
you keep trying to convince yourself it would never work anyway. he's gorgeous, charming, effortlessly good with people. women probably throw themselves at him.
meanwhile, your life comes with baggage: a kid who isn't his and a calendar built around school drop-offs and bedtime routines.
you assume that, eventually, he'll realize this isn't the kind of life he pictured for himself.
except steve doesn't see a list of reasons why it won't work.
he sees you.
and then, somehow, before you can even process it, he's gone and won over your daughter too.
you find him sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, letting her attempt to braid his floppy hair while she giggles herself silly. she tugs a little too hard and he throws his head back dramatically.
“owww, you're so mean to me.”
she erupts into laughter, immediately asking if she can try again.
“i guess,” he sighs dramatically, “if i have to.”
those stupid, warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at your daughter, looking at her like she’s the most important person in the room.
which, to him, she is.
and so is her mom.
you keep waiting for the catch. for steve to realize there's a whole world beyond yours—a world where he gets to be young and carefree and unburdened, instead of choosing a life that already comes with so many responsibilities.
and every time he looks at you with that soft, awestruck expression, you have to look away because surely this isn’t real. no one has ever looked at you like that before.
yet despite your best efforts to push him away before things can get any more serious...
he gets you into bed.
it's terrifying.
you're more nervous than you've ever been with anyone—even more than your first time—because this isn't just about being physically vulnerable anymore.
it's the way he looks at you.
at the scars and stretch marks. the body that carried your daughter, that carried you through the hardest years of your life. the body you've spent the last decade treating like something practical, something that only mattered because it kept you moving.
never something to be cherished or wanted.
except steve doesn't look at you like that.
his gaze is nothing short of overwhelming.
there's an intensity to it that makes your heart stumble, something instinctive and undeniably hungry, but it's softened by so much warmth and affection that you can't bear to meet his eyes.
you glance away, folding your arms across your stomach and trying to make yourself a little smaller.
except steve won't let you disappear.
he waits.
gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, kisses your cheek while he’s got two fingers lazily fingering your pussy, stroking deep and knowing and good because “I’ve gotta make sure you’re ready for me, hm?”
and oh, did you mention he was hung, too?
stretches you to the limit every time. he can fuck you for hours, though he makes you come at least three times before he even thinks about pulling his dick out.
and when he tells you you're beautiful in bed with a completely straight face, you believe he means it.
it's not a line. he says it the way someone says the sky is blue.
like it's simply, undeniably true.
and he's just... too much.
because the men you've been with before never paid even a fraction of the attention he does. no one slowed down long enough to notice when you got tense, or checked in just because they wanted to know how you were feeling.
but steve does. constantly.
he notices every tiny shift in your expression, every shaky breath and every little gasp.
he's endlessly patient with you, spending hours on his knees at the foot of your bed, blinking up at you with his nose buried in your pussy. cheeks tinged pink, glistening with your slick, hair a complete mess because he'd wanted you to stop worrying about being so careful with him. because he'd wanted you to grip onto him and show him what felt good.
and the whole time, he's looking at you with this expression that's almost impossible to describe.
wonder and gratitude. a kind of open, wholehearted adoration that feels too big to hold.
like he's trying to memorize the details of this moment because he still can't believe he gets to love you.
and all you can think is...
how?
how could someone so kind, so heartbreakingly good, look at you like you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to him?
what you don't realize is that he looks at you and wonders the exact same thing.
contents: dubcon!!!!!; toxic!boyfriend!steve x fem!reader; reader with a vagina and breasts; jealous!steve; possessive/obsessive!steve; light bondage; slight stalking; piv; steve is pushy and overprotective but he really genuinely thinks it’s what’s best for you :( <\3… something something it’s very hot when a man loves you so much that he won’t let you go…
thinking of boyfie steve being protective of you to the point where it’s borderline toxic. or maybe even outright toxic. like, he was always looking out for you as friends, but some sort of switch flips the literal moment you say “yes” to being his girl, sitting in his car at lover’s lake one summer evening.
all of your problems are suddenly his to fix. flat tire? he insists on you sitting in the car while he fixes it up, even though you know what you’re doing. it’s chilly out and you’re not wearing a jacket? he’ll buy one for you so that you don’t catch a cold. not drinking enough water? he notices, and he won’t let you out of his sight until you’ve finished at least one glass in his presence.
it’s nice at first, being taken care of like this — but soon it feels a little condescending and sometimes even chauvinistic. there are boundaries you try to set with him, stressing that you’re not stupid. and steve does know that! you’re the smartest prettiest angel he’s ever seen! but a little thing like you shouldn’t have to carry the world on your shoulders. he sweet talks you, calms you down, telling you that he simply loves spoiling you and could very happily do so for the rest of his life.
but it doesn’t really feel like he’s spoiling you when he’s sizing up a guy who you were making small talk with while waiting for your drink at the bar. you watch your sweet steve turn from a puppy into a watch dog, his fingers digging into your waist and ushering you away from the presence of whatever “sleaze” was just “trying to fuck you.” that’s how steve sees the interaction, at least. as a threat. someone who wants to take you away from him.
you blow up at him when the cool outside air hits you. breaking out of his grip to shove your pointer finger into his chest and scolding him, words vicious, things you don’t really mean but you’re just so sick of him acting like you’re incapable of existing without him.
“i’m a big girl, steve, i can fucking handle myself!”
this is where steve disagrees with you. but he lets you rant at him until your throat hurts, and he lets you poke at his chest until it turns red. he lets you seethe in the car on the way home. most shocking of all, he doesn’t argue with you when you tell him you need a little space, a few days to just breathe without him watching you as if you might choke on air at any given moment.
he gives you a few days. it’s agonizing torture for him, and he sort of hopes it’s the same for you, too. though you do actually seem a lot happier when he watches you from the parking lot of the hawkins public pool, dressed in a goddamn bikini, one that he bought you, one that you’re only supposed to wear at his place. surrounded by friends with your tits barely concealed, where the lowliest trash in town can have an eyeful of your body.
he has half the mind to get out of his car and drag you away, but he knows better than to blow his cover now. so he waits until you’re tucked in bed that night to knock on your window and sweetly ask if you’d let him in. just to talk. nothing else. promise!
but would steve really be a loving boyfriend if he let you get away with that shit? no! he’s gotta fight for you, doesn’t he? even if that means tying you to your headboard haphazardly with a silk scarf when you get all combative again. even if that means slapping his hand over your mouth so that you’d just listen to him instead of arguing. until he finally shoves your underwear into your mouth with a regrettable sigh because you’re acting like someone you’re not.
“where’d my good girl go?” he asks softly, hands tracing down your body, cloaked in one of his oversized hawkins basketball shirts and nothing more. “what happened, baby? hm?”
you try to argue with him, but nothing quite makes sense past the cotton in your mouth.
a hand lingers at the base of your neck, steve’s finger gently tracing over the golden s that hangs on an expensive chain he got you. he’s at least pleased that you haven’t removed it, but it seems that, perhaps, it’s not doing such a good job at reminding you of who you belong to.
“i know you’re mad at me,” he says, sounding absentminded as his fingers continue to stroke his initial. it looks so pretty on you. “let me make it up to you, okay?”
you let him push your legs apart. you let him push his old t-shirt up over your breasts. you let him kiss down your neck while your chest rapidly rises and falls, clearly worked up — pissed at him and so wildly turned on that your sheets are darkening under you, wet with your arousal.
he fucks the look right out of you. spreads your legs wide and hitches them up on his shoulders, bending you in half. pushes in with one brutal thrust, a perverse sense of pride overtaking him while he watches your eyes widen and your fists clench above you.
“said you were a big girl,” he groans. “now you’re lookin’ at me like you can’t take it. need me to help you, huh?”
you clench hard around him, hips bucking, trying to get away from the stretch.
steve laughs. “yeah. just like i fuckin’ thought.”
every thrust is rough, but there’s intention behind it. each push of his hips is slow and deep, tilted just right, the tip of him sweeping over your g-spot over and over. you couldn’t even find it with your dumb little fingers before him. each press is a kiss to the deepest part of you — i love you. i love you. i love you. let me.
“i can be better,” he groans in your ear. “fuck, honey, let me show you.”
that doesn’t mean he’ll take a step back — instead, he means that he’ll help you get used to him. to his hand on the small of your back, to his overwhelming need to take care of you, to the rest of your lives together where you don’t lift a fucking finger except for him to put a ring on it and for you to take care of his kids.
and, considering how dumb you get when he has you like this, all spread open and at his mercy, it may actually be an easy lesson for you. and if it isn’t, that’s okay. he’ll keep you here as long as necessary. and you’ll thank him for it.
you know who would be hard for his wife ALL THE TIME no matter what she was talking about??? this man right here. she could be going on for hours about nothing and he’d just be all like “uh huh baby” while popping a boner
How do you feel about maybe free use with high!steve….🤤🤤🤤
contents: high!steve, sober!reader; free use; SEX :0; hung!steve; breast play; mention of oral (steve receiving); mention of cockwarming; steve catches feelings bc ofc; a little bit of angst but it’s ok i prommy…
oh BABY.
steve calls you sometimes at odd hours of the day. the conversation starts out innocently enough, if not a little awkward, until he finally ends up segueing.
“i, uh, was going to smoke a little. if you want to come over.”
which isn’t an invitation to share a joint.
steve’s a good guy, and when you offered to help him relieve his stress even further by letting him use you however he wants, you really did mean it. the only stipulation he asked for was that it only happened if he was stoned, because that somehow made it less weird.
this time, steve’s had a bad week. which seems to be a little bit more like a bad month. keith has him working ridiculous hours, and robin keeps bailing on her shifts to hang out with vicky. his car battery won’t keep a charge despite it being changed three times, and he needs new tires.
and he’s lonely. very terribly lonely.
you hear it in his voice when he calls you a little bit past 8, beating around the bush for a minute before telling you that he’s planning on smoking and would you pretty please come over. and maybe wear something that provides easy access.
you wouldn’t dream of denying yourself — or him — of that.
and use you, he does. all of you.
kisses you until you’re gasping for air, biting at your lips and licking into your mouth like it’s made of candy.
grabs your hips and hauls you onto his lap, hardly getting you stretched open enough before bullying his way inside of you. he knows you love the burn, the way he keeps you steady and helps you take it. he fucks you on his cock like you’re a toy, something for him to play with. something truly his.
steve loves it when you ride him, though he’s typically the one making you bounce. his teeth latch onto his bottom lip while he moves you, up and down at a dizzying pace. when the taste of copper hits his tongue, he leans forward to suck and kiss your nipples. he’s prone to leaving a hickey or two or five on your breasts, just because he can. likes knowing you’re marked up by him and no one else.
and when your legs get too tired, he flips you onto your back, hooking your knees over his shoulders. he’s slow now, grinding in deep, holding your hands to his mattress while he coos down at you.
“you’re real good to me, yeah? lettin’ me use this pretty pussy?”
you leave with shaking legs after, your stomach in knots for the rest of the evening thinking about him and thinking about how he may like to use you again in the future. maybe you could cockwarm him — or perhaps a blowjob, guiding the tip past your gag reflex just to feel your throat tighten around him —
his next call comes not even twelve hours later, just as the sun is starting to rise.
“i’m sober. but i can’t stop thinking about you.”
you sigh happily, sleepily, victoriously. “then get over here.”
Thinking about how alone Steve felt after the kids graduated and his closest friend went off to college. He dates around but can never find ‘the one’ because he can never truly be open with anyone about what he’s been through. Spending nights pacing around his tiny apartment trying to figure out what’s wrong with him and how he can fix it.
wait yeah :( because how can he really explain that he can’t spend the night because sometimes he can feel the bats on him again and wakes up grabbing at his sides and neck to kick them off, and he’d never want to accidentally whack the person next to him? or that he wants a single story house because heights don’t sit well with him since the tower fall?
and what if he keeps breaking things off the second they start getting a little more serious because he gets scared he’s frozen as the 17 year old boy that first got dragged into all of this, wondering how all of his friends have moved on, and sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he’s still back there?😭
Prompt #10 - Waterbed | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Sex | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Established Relationship, Banter, Eddie Gets a Secondhand Waterbed, Steve is Less Than Thrilled
"I don't know," Steve says, standing in the hallway, holding up the middle of the garden hose, as Eddie drags it through the house, thanks to their propped open back door.
"C'mon, live a little, Harrington," Eddie says, forging ahead, "It was a steal."
Steve snorts, like he isn't sure this thing was worth anything. Let alone what Eddie paid.
He couldn't be more wrong. This is luxury. This is how rich people live.
At least Eddie thinks so.
"Do the rich all have waterbeds?"
"Absolutely not," Steve says. "My mother would find this the height of tacky."
"Well, then. We better get two."
Steve chuckles, and Eddie knows he's got him.
Now that Steve is begrudgingly on board, this should go much smoother.
They own a waterbed now.
"It's freezing," Steve says, disgruntled. Wiggling on the newly filled mattress, making Eddie jiggle on the other side of the bed as he rides the wave of Steve's movements. "It's like it's leeching all my body heat."
"There's a heater underneath! Give it a chance to work!"
"Uh, yeah," Steve says, sounding unconvinced.
"In the meantime let's get this baby rocking!" Eddie shouts, giving it a hard smack. "Let's put some motion in the ocean."
"I'm having second thoughts," Steve says.
"About the waterbed?" Eddie asks, feeling a little crestfallen.
"About you," Steve retorts dryly, and Eddie cackles.
He knows better.
"C'mon. Blowing off some of this steam will do you good.
"I'm not laying my back on that cold ass plastic."
Eddie rolls his eyes.
"I'll bottom, c'mon," Eddie says. Tucking his knees upwards.
"Oh, great, so I have to find leverage against this thing to do all the work? I get to drive my knees into the bottom frame? Sounds fun."
Eddie laughs. Steve's awfully high maintenance today.
"You can sit on my dick, I'll do the work."
Steve still looks displeased. But he caves. "Fine."
It's a rough ride.
Eddie's trying to thrust up into him, and they're just getting battered around. Up and down, and side-to-side. A rhythm is impossible to maintain.
It's like they are playing tug-of-war. And not in a good way, as both of them try to strong-arm the rhythm, the pace, and aren't very successful. Steve's huffing, annoyed, and Eddie's just gripping his hips, trying to get them in sync. It might be impossible.
They have good sex. That's never been a problem.
This? This might be a problem.
"Just stop moving!" Steve finally snaps, and Eddie stills his movements immediately.
"Yes, sir," Eddie snarks, and Steve places a hand in the center of Eddie's chest, and rolls his hips. Gently. Testing the waters, literally. The wave starts, but this time it's a softer roll towards the head of the bed and back down. Steve tilts his pelvis up, testing another small movement, and well, that's nice, too.
Steve catches the wave on the way back and shifts with it. Grinding down on Eddie's cock.
Oh.
It's free momentum. That's the secret. They've gotta move with the natural coasting motion the bed is making, not try to jackhammer it to their will.
Steve is figuring it out in real time. Eddie can see it all over his face as he concentrates. Eddie shouldn't be surprised. This is Steve's wheelhouse. The mechanics of movement. Eddie just stomps and flails and scampers through life.
Steve gives another roll, a light moan escaping from his parted lips.
"Okay," he crows with a grin, "I've got it now. Go with the flow."
"Did you piss the bed again?" Steve mutters, voice thick, full of sleep.
"That was one time and I was blackout drunk. You were there. Did you piss the bed?"
Steve makes an annoyed noise, and Eddie knows he's skating on thin ice at — 2:23 in the morning — while Steve's ass is wet.
"It's leaking," Steve says, stating the obvious.
"Are you sure it's not from you?" Eddie asks.
And the noise Steve makes is enough to wake Eddie fully.
"I might be leaking, but if it's down on the side of my thigh, we've got problems," Steve says, haughtily.
"Gotcha," Eddie says, rolling carefully out of the bed, and onto his feet as Steve sloshes around, following.
"It says to apply the patch while it's dry," Eddie says, holding up the instructions of the ancient waterbed patch kit that came with it. The overhead light is blinding at this time of night. Hostile, even.
Steve wipes the bladder with the towel again, and more water bubbles up. If looks could kill, Eddie would be dead.
"Well, that's easier said than fucking done," Steve snaps. If he doesn't get his eight hours of beauty sleep he's a fucking bear, and this has already taken the better part of an hour.
"Maybe we need to drain it."
Steve throws the towels down, hands finding his hips, "Do you know how many gallons of water are in this thing? We aren't draining it!"
Eddie holds his hands up, conceding.
"Just fucking help me. I'm gonna force this part upwards. You wipe it dry, then apply that godforsaken patch. Got it?"
"I got it," Eddie says, and Steve nods, trying to wrangle the heavy, vinyl waterbed mattress. Wrestling it. It looks impossible to move, it's so heavy. But, Steve places a knee beneath the spot of the hole strategically, forcing the spot with a hole up as high as he can, grabbing a slick fistful around it, shoving upwards.
"Now!" Steve yells, and Eddie springs into action. Drying the pinhole twice, just to make sure, and then sticking the patch down.
Steve lets go, and the mattress flaps back towards the sides of the bed frame with a thwack. Jiggling as it settles back into shape. Steve leans back on his haunches.
"Did it work?" Eddie asks, and Steve gets up, shedding his damp underwear, putting on a dry pair.
"Guess we'll find out," Steve says, "but you're sleeping on that side now."
Well, that seems fair.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
life with steve post season 5 looks a little like💭
- buying that house in forest hills and moving in together, feeling like the fresh start both of you wanted is finally within reach. spending your weeknights and weekends decorating and rearranging furniture, radio droning in the background as steve pulls you away from your project every now and again to sweep you into a dance and a sweet kiss
- working together at Hawkins middle, you as the art teacher and steve in his head coach/health teacher gig. the two of you drive to and from work together and eat lunch together in the teachers’ lounge when your breaks overlap. you get some eye rolls and whispers about how you’re attached at the hip, but after what you’ve been through together, neither of you pay it any mind
- you’re usually caught up in grading or room cleanup and have to stay past when Steve’s finished up with his admin work, so he swings by your classroom after he’s wrapped up. You’re usually sitting at a desk in the back grading projects or wiping paint off of the chairs and he dotes over the lesson plan, the artworks lining your shelves. Saying things like, “you taught em how to make this, baby? You’re such a great teacher.” And making your stomach flip with butterflies.
- Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin come stay at your house any time they’re free. Sometimes it’s just one person, other times all three of them stop by and it feels like old times again. You and steve pull the mattresses into the living room and all of you eat too much pizza and drink too much wine before falling asleep together, hearts full and minds a little fuzzy. you all wake up with raging hangovers the next day, of course, and make a groggy drive to the diner for the cure.
- once a year, Steve and Dustin disappear off to the woods somewhere for a weekend. you invite Nancy to come stay with you in the meantime, and the two of you spend your time reminiscing on the good old days, not quite believing where everyone ended up. She gives you a sneak peek into the articles she’s working on and you show her your most recent art project — half finished and no end date in sight, but it feels good to unveil it to your best friend. at the end of the weekend, you and Steve reunite and swap stories, highlighting how grateful you are to be able to take care of the people you love most.
- cooking dinner together on the weekends anytime the weather’s nice and eating it in the backyard, watching the sunset and talking about all of the things you want to do someday: going to see the Grand Canyon, saving up to buy a new Beamer, and taking the party on a road trip for Steve; visiting the east coast, finishing an art project, and getting a puppy for you. “Y’know,” Steve mumbles eventually, tracing patterns over the back of your hand as he eyes your ring finger, “there’s.. something else I wanna do, with you, someday. Or, more, ask you to do with me.” You smile and lean in and kiss him, sweet and slow, mumbling how you know your answer and are just waiting for the question, which makes his ears go pink as he leans in for another kiss.
- it’s late nights at the town drive-in, recreating your first date whenever it feels like time is passing too quickly. it’s swims at lover’s lake and dinner with the byers and driving aimlessly through the cornfields whenever the mood strikes you. It’s talking about marriage, about children, about picking up and starting a new life somewhere states away; hearts giddy at the thoughts of your life stretching into forever together. snuggled in bed, lights off, voices hushed as if the two of you are still nervous about jinxing it after all this time. It’s full of laughter and joy and hope, and everything you and Steve wanted it to be <3
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a/n: this was inspired by this lovely piece @honorschem put out that made my brain go feral in the loveliest way!! Domestic post-season 5 Steve has my entire heart
pairing: lawyer!steve harrington x lawyer!reader
words: 2.0k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a minor plot, friends with benefits, semi public sex, fingering, mild edging, p in v, unprotected penetrative sex, horse cock harrington, little bit of cum play, hint of breeding kink, dirty talk, pet names (baby, sweet girl), probably lots of incorrect legal stuff, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns of reader.
author's note: so i watched legally blonde last night and couldn't stop thinking of lawyer!steve. i have no idea how it turned out so dirty but we move
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
“Fuck, look at you squeezing my fingers, baby,” Steve husks against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his eyes watch his slick fingers pump in and out of your dripping cunt. “You dirty, dirty girl.”
You whimper, the feeling of his fingers curling against your front wall sending heat to every damn nerve in your body. You scramble for purchase against the wall of the bathroom stall, needing something to grab onto but coming up short. Your fingers instead grab onto the front of his tie and pull, making Steve groan and press his body against you. You feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh through his suit trousers and it only heightens your senses.
“Stevie,” you mewl, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you desperately try to stop the wanton moans from spilling out as his tongue lavishes your neck while his digits continue to fuck your soaked pussy.
“Yeah, baby? What’s the matter?” He coos, smiling against your skin as he scissors his fingers inside of you and you jerk against him in response. “C‘mon sweet girl, tell me what’s wrong.”
He was teasing you, taunting you and you were putty in his hands. Like always.
“Fe-feels too good,” you manage to say, one hand still wrapped around his tie while the other fists the front of his once neat shirt. “I’m gonna—”
The sound of the bathroom door opening reaches your ears, the voices of a few of your colleagues spilling in and Steve was quick to cup his hand over your mouth to stop those pretty whimpers falling from your lips.
But does he stop fucking you with those thick fingers of his? Absolutely not. He wouldn’t dream of it.
His hazel eyes were locked with yours, his palm covering your mouth as he watched the way your brows furrow, the way your face was twisting with pleasure.
Your heart was hammering in your chest, the coil in your lower stomach tightening and tightening with every pump of his fingers, every curl against that spongey soot inside of you that Steve always seemed to find with ease.
“—he’s taking me to that new restaurant that just opened up,” a voice you recognise to be of your co-workers, Lisa, coming from just outside of the stall you and Steve were crammed into. “So I hope this hearing doesn’t drag out so I can rush home and get changed. I’d rather not wear my work clothes out on a date.”
“You look great though,” another voice you don’t quite recognise due to your lust filled haze tells Lisa encouragingly.
“You’re just saying that, Ruth!” Lisa replies with a laugh before the sound of her heels clicking into the stall right next to yours causes Steve to press his palm more firmly over your mouth as he continues the steady, torturous pump of his fingers into your heat.
You shouldn’t be so turned on, you should be pushing him away and remind him you weren’t just in a public bathroom—you were in a bathroom in a damn courthouse. You should tell him it was inappropriate and reckless and stupid. That you both had a hearing to get to in ten minutes. But you don’t, instead you hold onto him tighter and grind yourself against his hand, a silent plea for him not to stop. To keep going as heat like molten lava surged to your core, the coil inside you tightening, threatening to snap.
Steve smiles, biting his wet and swollen bottom lip between his teeth before he leans in to whisper, his breath hot in your ear, “don’t make a sound, baby.”
And then he withdraws his fingers.
You had been so close, so fucking close that you can’t help the small, desperate that escapes you. Thankfully, it was muffled by Steve’s hand that was still covering your mouth.
He tuts quietly, smiling at you in a way that makes your pussy clench around nothing before bringing his fingers coated with your slick to his lips and licking them clean. You watch—utterly transfixed by the way lips wrap around the digits, the way his tongue swirls around them to lick away the wetness he had collected from you.
You felt so turned on that the sound of the toilet flushing from Lisa’s stall did nothing to deter you.
“What’d I say?” He whispers, the sound of your colleagues laughing together at the sinks masking the sound of Steve hastily unbuckling his belt, of you whimpering against his palm at the sight of his cock—thick, heavy, the ruddy tip already glistening with pre cum from fucking you with his fingers. “I said—don’t make a sound.”
But it was hard not to when your pussy was aching for him. Thankfully, Steve doesn’t let you wait long.
Steve tugs your skirt up over your hips, pulls your ruined panties to the side before he pushes himself in deep with one thrust that has your eyes rolling back. The stretch of his cock was delicious as always and you were grateful for the loud noise of the hand dryer to cover up your muffled moans.
“Look at you,” Steve husks in your ear, setting a torturous pace from the offset while still being conscious of the wet sounds coming from his cock bullying its way into your pussy. “Letting me fuck you in the fucking court bathroom. You like this, don’t you? Knowing we could get caught? Fuck, you love it. Don’t you, baby?”
Almost each word was punctuated with a deep thrust that caused the fat head of his cock to kiss your cervix and it took everything in you not to moan out.
The sound of your colleagues leaving the bathroom allows you some reprieve, Steve’s hand remains over your mouth but he no longer cares about the noises your bodies make. In fact, he seems to revel in it—the way your cunt was almost crying for him, the way his cock could slip in and out of you seamlessly, the wet noises of your mixed juices filling the stall. It lewd and obscene and it was enough that even he allowed himself some desperate groans to slip from his lips as he fucked you against the wall of the stall.
“Can’t get enough of this,” he grunts as he lifts one of your thighs over his hip to allow himself to fuck his cock into you deeper, causing you to mewl in response. Heat was surging through you, so intense that you felt tears welling up in your eyes. “Can’t get enough of this pussy. Of you. Shit—you’re squeezing me so tight. Like you don’t want me to leave. Are you going to—”
You had no way to warn him, no way to tell him you were seconds away from tipping over the edge but the slight tug at his tie, the wild look in your eyes was enough for him to take the hint.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock, that’s it.”
And you do—with an orgasm that hits you like a damn tidal wave. It was the sort of orgasm that you felt in every cell throughout your body, the sort of one you felt from head to toe. It was so intense that you may have collapsed from the intensity of it if Steve hadn’t had such a tight hold on you. Your pussy gushes around him, your release completely soaking his cock and it was that—your essence dripping down, right onto his balls—that made him tip over the edge right after you.
Steve came with a groan of your name that he muffled by him sucking at the skin of your neck. You feel his cock twitch inside of you before he paints your walls white with hot spurts of his come, his hips still thrusting as he fucked his release into your spent pussy.
“Take it,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips against your skin sending a jolt through you. “Take it all, baby. Stand in front of the judge while you’re full of my cum. Let the whole damn courtroom know how good of a girl you are for taking every last drop.”
He finally releases his hand from over your mouth so that he could swallow your whimpers with his lips in a searing kiss, his thrusts finally coming to a stop so that he could pull out his softening cock.
You can’t help but whimper at the loss but Steve doesn’t leave you empty for long, two fingers replacing his cock so that he could continue to fuck it into you, the sound so obsence that you were grateful for the empty bathroom.
“Good girl, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, a final pump of his fingers before he withdraws them completely, pulling your panties back in place with a loud snap.
You readjust your skirt back over your hips with hands that shook slightly, smoothed down your blouse and your hair before you looked back at Steve, who was tucking himself back into his boxers.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?” You say, still a little breathless as grab your blazer and workbag from the hook on the door of the stall.
“Yeah,” Steve smiles back at you like he hadn’t just fucked your brains out. “Later.”
You smile back at him before you carefully and quietly leave the stall. You quickly check your reflection in the mirror before leaving the courthouse bathroom, hoping that no one had noticed your absence and praying Steve would be subtle when he left the bathroom. It wasn’t often that you and Steve were so reckless but since your little arrangement began over three months ago, you hadn’t been able to resist each other for more than a few days. And so—when you found out that you both had hearings in court today, you couldn’t resist.
You can still feel Steve’s cum, flooding from your cunt and into your panties as you make your way to courtroom five. The thought of his release remaining there throughout the course of the hearing made heat course through you. There was a part of you that wanted to head right back to that bathroom and beg him to fuck you again and again and again. But the sight of Lisa waiting for you outside the courtroom stopped you.
“Ready?” She asks, seemingly completely unaware of where you had been for the past fifteen minutes.
You nod, leaving any thought of Steve Harrington at the door as you head inside. Because nothing—absolutely nothing—could throw you off doing your job and doing it well.
The courtroom was quiet, the way it always was. You have grown accustomed to it over the years. You were used to being able to hear your client breathing heavily beside you, the scratch of the journalist’s pens, the defence shifting in their seats.
Today, you and Lisa were representing your client to discuss their bail conditions. In theory, it should be straightforward. You expected you’d be out of court within the next hour or so.
You glance towards the district attorney’s table but see it was empty.
“Reckon they’re having a late lunch?” You whisper to Lisa with a small smile.
“Probably,” she whispers back as you approach the defence table, greeting your client before taking a seat.
You pull out your notebook, taking the few minutes you had before the judge arrived to look over the bail conditions you had proposed. The sound of the courtroom door opening doesn’t even really register. Not until someone clears their throat right in front of you.
“Sorry,” you say, smoothing down your shirt before you look up. “I was just—”
But at the sight of the man in front of you—you freeze. For the first time in your professional career. You freeze.
Because the man standing in front of you was the same man whose cum was still inside of you. The same man who had fucked you stupid in the courthouse bathroom. The same man you had been secretly fucking for the past three months.
District attorney—Steve fucking Harrington.
As the bailiffs announced the arrival of the judge, you stood on shaking legs.
And as you felt a dribble of Steve’s cum leak out of you, you realise that you were fucked. You were completely and utterly fucked.
