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#steve Harrington
lazylittledragon · 21 hours
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'i'll just do a couple of doodles of mombin™/platonic stobin parents' nevermind, borderline graphic novel
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morganbritton132 · 11 hours
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I want a fic where Robin is adopted.
The only parents she has ever known are her own and the only time being adopted has ever bothered her was when Amanda St. James made fun of her for it in the third grade. But Robin told her that at least her parents wanted her and were not just stuck with her like Amanda’s parents, “And maybe that’s why your Mom and Dad are so unhappy all the time.”
She got in trouble for making Amanda cry and went back to never thinking about her birthparents. She had no interest in knowing anything about them and it stayed like that until she turned sixteen.
On her sixteenth birthday, her mom gave her a letter written to her by her birthmother. Robin doesn’t read it immediately, but eventually gives in to her own curiosity. She reads it over twice before her mind snags on a sentence, ‘I wanted to give you and your brother a better life…’ … you and your brother…. You and your brother…. You and-
“I have a brother.”
This eats at Robin, especially after her dad’s call to the adoption agency goes nowhere. It eats at her so much that she finally gives in – Fred Benson swears up and down that Nancy Wheeler is the best investigator on the school paper – and asks for help.
Nancy says yes and is maybe a little too invested in finding the truth, but honestly, Robin is having fun and she wants to find her apparent twin. She wants to know about his life. Settle the whole nurture over nature thing.
They hit a lot of walls, a lot of dead ends. They break a few rules and maybe commit a felony. They enlist Jonathan Byers to help and even Eddie Munson at one point because he knows how to pick locks, and it’s all for nothing.
One day when they have everything they’ve found spread out across the Wheeler’s dining room table, Steve comes over to pick up Dustin. He looks down at the whole mess and points at her birth certificate like, “Hey, we were born on the same day.” 
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rogue-alien · 8 hours
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Page 66
Prev: page 65
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imfinereallyy · 5 hours
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some of us, and I’m not naming names, need to start being properly tagged on fics.
Angst: Is it me?
No.
Unhappy Ending: Is it me?
……it’s not Angst.
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loveinhawkins · 20 hours
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just have such an image of Steve keeping it together in the direct aftermath, being so calm because he has to be; if he thinks for one second more about Max and Eddie, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he knows it won’t be anything helpful. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t.
He forces himself to have a one-track mind: get out of The Upside Down. Get Dustin to hospital. Fix his leg. That’s easy, that’s only three steps, and sure Dustin isn’t talking anymore, just staring blankly ahead and following wherever Steve leads him, but that’s fine, Steve can do the talking for the both of them, this is easy, this is—
And then they get to the hospital, and it’s chaos, people running, crowding, and Steve murmurs low, urgent, “Stay close to me,” and he means I’m not leaving you.
But the intensity of people shoving just gets worse, and Steve reaches for Dustin too late, he’s already gone, how can he be, Steve promised—
Panic surges in Steve’s chest, and he’s fighting against the tide of the crowd—yelling frantically like he did in The Upside Down, in Nancy’s living room, “Dustin, Dustin!”
Except now he can’t hear Dustin, he can’t hear him, and Robin’s face flashes into view, eyes wide and wet, and all Steve can say desperately is, “I can’t leave him, I can’t leave him.”
“Steve,” comes Nancy’s voice, and there’s a knowing edge to the sound, like she gets it, and when Steve turns it’s to see her point, and—
It’s barely a glimpse, but it’s enough; Steve runs.
And Dustin’s there, swept up in another part of the crowd, and he’s fighting against it too, pain contorting his expression as he drags his bad foot, “Steve!”
His voice cracks, already hoarse from screaming. Someone strikes him in the shoulder, and he almost goes down.
Something inside Steve finally snaps.
“Don’t touch him,” he seethes, and he hits out at people, uncaring if it hurts, all that matters is—
“Dustin,” he says, and they’re suddenly on the ground, Dustin scrabbling into his arms—it seems as if the crowd has finally eased just a little, has parted around them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t realise he’s crying until he hears Dustin sobbing his heart out, too.
“Shh,” Steve says, “it’s okay, it’s okay.”
“Don’t go,” Dustin says, constricted with tears. “Please don’t go, please don’t go.”
And Steve knows that he means something more than just staying here in this awful hospital corridor.
“I won’t,” he swears. Shudders and kisses the top of Dustin’s head fiercely. He can’t hold any of it back now: just clings to the kid still in his arms, and cries and cries. “I won’t, I won’t.”
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upsidedownwithsteve · 3 hours
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.2K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+
LESSON #1
“Oh, come on,” the guy coaxed, voice wheedling and a little slurred. 
You didn’t really know him, a friend of a friend's cousin who was visiting from out of town but he’d been cute enough to entertain five beers ago. He’d grown sloppier now, a little leery, his hand around your wrist as he udder you towards the dock that overlooked Lover’s Lake. 
You’d dug your heels in, smiling through your teeth as you shook your head and tried not to spill the cheap wine Robin had brought down the front of your shirt. The small beach that was hidden in a cove was surrounded by trees, green in the summer, full and making the crescent moon strip of land perfect for a bonfire and for some drinking. 
There were small crowds of people all over the sandy patch, sitting on blankets and cheap camping chairs, familiar faces lit by the small fire, people you didn’t know as well lingering between, bare feet on the edge of the shoreline. 
You’d came with Eddie, riding in the front seat of his van with a rucksack full of corner store liquor on your lap, the smell of weed coming off strong from the pocket inside his leather jacket. 
“A night full of potential clients, sweetheart, please,” he’d pleaded with you, brown button eyes wide. “The Jacksons have their cousins over from the backass of Georgia, they’ll pay for the rest of our summer if I show them the good shit.”
So you’d agreed, albeit grudgingly, letting your best friend haul you off your sofa and to the get together that you didn’t really want to go to. But Robin was there, and Nancy too, a few people you hadn’t seen since senior year, back for the summer to visit their folks and well - it wasn't all bad. 
Then the evening faded into night and the lavender skies turned inky, the same shade as the lake water. And when people got a little looser, whisky and bud light warming their veins, they laughed as they stripped down to mismatched underwear and dove off the dock, splashing and shrieking in water you couldn’t see the bottom of and god—
You’d, grimaced, turning away from the shoreline and sticking close to Eddie, the boy’s arm always brushing your own even when he was busy dealing, twenties fisted in his hand as he passed over baggies to a twenty something girl you’d never seen before. 
But then that guy found you, relatively sober and sweet until he wasn’t, sloppy with his arm around your neck, breath smelling like smoke and beer and he was pulling you towards the people in the water, telling you it was all part of the fun. You’d protested immediately, intensely, eyes wide as the water came closer and your feet hit the wooden planks of the dock. 
Between the gaps, you could see black, dark water rippling, the moon overhead glinting white off the tips of the current. Eddie hadn’t noticed you were gone until the stranger had dragged you half way down the decking. Your wrist burned from how tight he held it, how hard you tried to twist it from his grasp. 
“Hey— hey!” Eddie had barked out, loud and brash and aggressive enough to make a lot of people around him startle. He broke free from the circle that had gathered around him, lips set in a snarl and determination in his eyes. You knew fine well that when Eddie got his hands on this guy, it wasn’t going to be pretty. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Let her fucking go—”
But Eddie couldn’t reach you in time, not when his boots dug too deep into the sand and there were too many people to push out of the way. The guy laughed at a joke you weren’t a part of and then he pushed. 
Your arms swung wildly, windmilling as gravity took over, your balance gone and you were too near the edge of the dock to do anything about it. Your hands grabbed at the air, fingertips just brushing your new acquaintances shirt and his grinning face and beer blurred eyes were the last thing you saw before you back hit the water. 
It was as dark underneath the surface of the lake as it was above it, an icy shock despite how warm the day had been, how the heat still lingered in the night. You gasped, immediately inhaling, murky water filling your mouth and throat and you kicked, hoping that the direction your hands were clawing in was up. 
But nothing happened and your body didn’t move. 
On the beach, people were murmuring, too drunk to consider the consequences, too stoned to fly into action. Besides, only seconds had passed. Bubbles were floating in the spot you’d gone under, ripples evidence of the fact that you’d once been there. Eddie was sweating, shoving at people as he ripped off his leather jacket and prepared to vault himself onto the water after you but someone at the bottom of the deck beat him to it. 
Steve Harrington had dropped his beer at the first sign of the commotion, his part in the conversation with Jonathan Byers and his friend from California dying off as he turned to watch a guy he didn’t know drag you down the dock. The stranger had been laughing but you hadn’t, and before he could say something, Steve only had a second to look at the absolute horror on your face before you were forced backwards and into the lake. 
He was on his feet immediately, facing back up the dock to where you’d disappeared from, watching wildly for signs of you returning to the surface. And then Eddie was yelling at him, pushing past some underage kids from out of town, half of his jacket hanging from his shoulders and he was yelling. 
“Steve! Steve, she can’t fuckin’ swim, man—”
If Eddie finished the sentence or said anything else, Steve didn’t hear it. He launched himself off of the side, hitting the cold water with a splash he didn’t hear. Water filled his ears and fuck, he could barely see. But somewhere a little below him there was a flash of white from your shirt that had tangled itself up around your neck, your arms flailing wildly as you tried your damn hardest to kick up the way. 
Steve had grabbed your arm, your panic making you slip before he curled his fingers around your wrist and then you were being hauled against him, your back to his chest as he moved with a confidence you could never imagine for yourself. You’d been under for a minute, maybe a little more, maybe a little less, but Steve had your head breaking the surface of the lake in seconds. You were gasping and coughing, your fingernails tattooing half moon lines in Steve’s forearm as you held onto him, fear gripping you as hard as you did him. 
You thought you’d heard his voice, a low murmur in your ear that was fuzzy from the water lodged there, from the buzz and clamour that had then awoken on the beach as the music stopped and people were gathered by the shoreline. 
Eddie had been knee deep in the water, readily meeting you and Steve as the boy swam closer with you, and once your feet hit the sandy bottom, you lurched forward, hands held out to grab Eddie’s waiting ones. 
Steve’s were on your back, keeping you upright and steady until he saw that Eddie had you. You and Steve were both dripping and Eddie was swearing, his cheeks red and his eyes wide, unsure whether to rush you to his van first or hunt down the creep that had put you in danger in the first place. 
But Nancy was rushing forward with a blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders and taking in your chattering teeth and panicked stare, the vice-like grip you had around Eddie’s fingers. “He’s gone,” she said to the boy. “He ran off when he saw Steve dive in. Just get her home, Eddie.”
Steve Harrington had ended up in the front bench with you in Eddie’s van, your shivering frame sandwiched between both boy’s and no one said anything until you all got back to Eddie’s trailer. 
You hadn’t said anything as you’d headed for a hot shower, your wet clothes slapping on the bathroom tiles as you had stripped, slimy weeds and grains of sand stuck to your cold skin and your hands were still shaking as you twisted the squeaky handle to turn the water up hotter still. 
And when Eddie was ripping his room apart for dry clothes for you and Steve to change into, his eyes watery with anger, his throat tight with rage, Steve had been leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed over his damp chest.  
“We’ll get him,” he’d said quietly, just in case you could hear above the spluttering of the old pipes. “We’ll find out who he was and— and we’ll deal with him and then I’m gonna teach her how to swim, alright?”
Eddie nodded, movements sharp and jerky and he handed Steve a pair of black sweatpants and an old Metallica shirt. 
“Alright?” Steve had repeated, chin ducked to make Eddie meet his gaze. He had been so serious. “I’m gonna give her lessons. This won’t happen again.”
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The sky was still half pink as you biked down the empty sidewalk. 
A blue-lilac colour, softer than you’d usually witness due to the early morning hour. The sun was still low, the town still asleep, the watch on your wrist telling you the seven am was still to come. Your bike chain whirred softly, brakes squeaking as you slowed by the chain link fence. 
Hawkins community pool was sun bleached and well loved, the old bunting that draped over the water barely red and blue, the shutters for the food stand still rolled down and locked. The aquamarine slide was now more white and it looked like it would give you an infection if your skin was to snag on one of the exposed bolts. But the gate was open, only just, and you sucked in a deep breath as you let your bike lean against the wall. 
Chlorine filled your nose as you walked in, the generator humming and the pool filter trickling, the sun loungers empty and still stacked against the changing rooms. Despite your early wake up call, the air was already warm, a humid kind of heat that Indiana summers brought, sticky and sweet smelling, like someone had left a jug of peach tea on their porch all day. 
The tiles that surrounded the pool were wet, recently hosed down and cleaned, and your sneakers slapped noisily as you walked towards the waters edge. You didn’t go too close, not at all, grimacing at the bright blue rectangle like it would force you in itself. It seemed somehow more menacing when it was still, a glasslike surface reflecting the cotton candy sky above it, no splashing and screaming kids to fill its depths. 
Then a boy appeared - no, more man than boy - from the staff building. 
He had red shorts on, the fabric sitting above his knees and an old white shirt that you assumed must’ve once said “lifeguard.” He was barefoot and tanned, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t even notice you at first, too busy hanging a net back onto the wall. 
Steve Harrington was pretty and tall and he had really good hair. He was quieter than when you’d know him in high school, softer looking than he’d once been. But you didn’t really know him and he didn’t really know you. But he was friends with Eddie and you were friends with Eddie, so somehow, someway, that meant you were kind of, almost friends with him too. 
Except you weren’t and you had no idea why you’d agreed to this. 
“You can change in there.”
You hadn’t expected his voice, so you startled, arms wrapping tighter around your body and crushing the small rucksack that housed your suit and towel. You frowned at the idea, because changing meant one step closer to going into the water and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to do that yet. 
So you said nothing.
Steve just watched you from across the pool, brows raised. And then he shrugged and muttered something that sounded like “suit yourself,” before he threw his sunglasses onto a plastic chair and tugged his shirt over his head. 
You’d barely gotten a chance to really look at the quick flash of tanned, bare skin he exposed before he dove into the water, barely causing a ripple. You were slack jawed as you watched him move seamlessly below the surface, his body a pretty shade of blue as his muscles flexed, strong back and broad shoulders stretching as he swam. 
When he reappeared, much closer to you, Steve braced his forearms on the edge of the pool and dragged a hand through his wet hair, strands of it plastered to his forehead, water clinging to his lashes. 
You didn’t know where to look. 
“You’re not going to learn much if you don’t take your clothes off.”
Despite the way his words warmed you, skin heating up the same way the morning was, you scowled. You didn’t want to be here. Not at the pool, not around water, not with Steve Harrington and certainly not at seven in the morning on a Saturday. 
And now you were standing under the morning sun and the same boy that saved you from the lake was squinting up at you from the pool below and you were only really here because Eddie had begged you. 
It had been a whole week and you could still taste lake water on the back of your tongue. 
“Changing rooms are over there,” Steve motioned to the building behind you with a tilt of his head.
You tried not to look at him, or the water, when you nodded tightly, dragging yourself off to the ladies section. And when you came back out, the sun had risen just a little more and Steve was still in the pool, floating easily on his back as he used his arms to move slowly around the water. The rays were glinting off of the water and him, toned shoulders and soft stomach glittering with water droplets and suddenly the pool seemed an even scarier place to be. 
The old swimsuit you’d managed to pull on was a little on the tight side, all black and supposed to be modest if the too small size hasn’t been cutting into the swells of your ass and chest. It had been a good few years since you’d had reason to put it on, and even then, you hadn’t gone near water. A beach day on the Fourth of July with enough space between you and the ocean that you hadn’t even minded the sand too much. 
So you stood with your arms crossed over your chest, trying to hide the expanse of skin there, your knees pressed together and you looked downright mournful about your current predicament. If Steve hadn’t remembered the fear in your eyes that night in the lake as you scrambled for him under the water, he would’ve cracked a joke or two. 
Instead, he swam over to you cautiously, fingers curling around the edge of the pool as he swiped his wet hair from his forehead. “Hey,” he began gently. The town still hadn’t woken up yet, not really. It was just Steve’s voice and the hum of the pool filter, some cicadas buzzing in a bush behind the far side of the fence. “Nothing bad is going to happen, alright? Not here.”
You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, eyes wide and lips drawn into a tight line. You didn’t move an inch. And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him, not really. You were exactly friends but Steve was close with Eddie and if Eddie trusted him— well. He got an automatic pass from you too. 
Eddie didn’t trust a whole lot of people. 
But the problem wasn’t Steve. It was most definitely the rectangle full of blue water, shimmering and pretty as it was, it looked deep, the slope of it going downdowndown and Steve’s body was distorted under the ripples, his legs looking broken and mangled, the surface lapping way too high across his shoulders and neck. 
Your body felt like lead, a dead weight ready to sink to the pool floor, legs unable to push yourself back up. 
You took a step back. 
“Okay,” Steve sighed and he tried really hard to not sound impatient. The day had barely begun and he’d make a promise to Eddie, one he really didn’t want to break. “We’ll take it back a little, yeah? Come over here.” 
You watched as he pulled himself out of the pool with an impressively low amount of effort. The muscles in his shoulders and back bunched up and he swung a leg onto the tiles before standing, water dripping off of him, cool and splashing your toes. He made a point of not looking at your and all your bare skin as he walked around the edge of the pool, right towards the back of the lot where there was a set of stairs that led into the shallow end. 
He didn’t look over his shoulder to check if you were following and you only hesitated for a second or two before you did. And when he reached the top of the steps, he waited for you and held out his hand, brows raised expectantly. 
You stared back. 
The water didn’t look as scary here, but not by a whole bunch. It was lighter blue, the white tiles on the bottom of the pool about more visible and the numbers that were flaking and painted on the side of the wall said the depth was only two and a half feet. 
You could drown in less, the voice in your head told you. It sounded a lot like your mom. 
So you kept your arms crossed for a little while longer, teeth gnawing unkindly at your bottom lip. Steve just waited, hand extended palm up and after a minute had passed, he took one step into the pool, standing ankle deep in the water on the top stair. He caught your eye then, smiling in what he hope was a reassuring way. 
“D’you trust me?” He asked, eyes squinting in the bright sun. There was a mole on his cheek that disappeared into the lines of his skin when he smiled. “S’okay if you don’t yet, but, I’m a lifeguard here, so like, legally? I can’t let you die.”
You surprised both yourself and the boy when you snorted unexpectedly, a sharp sound of amusement that you used a hand to cover up. But it seemed to encourage Steve, ‘cause he positively beamed at you, his hand wiggling, vying for your own. 
“C’mon, I promise I won’t let you go,” he swore. He leaned further forward, his fingers close enough to brush the softness of your stomach, if he so pleased. He didn’t. “We’ll start nice and easy today, alright?”
It felt momentous, when you slid your hand into his. He was still warm despite his pool damp skin, like the sun lived inside his bones. He grinned, victorious, nodding encouragingly when you moved to the edge of the steps. 
“We’ll do them one at a time, alright?” Steve moved to stand in front of you, his other hand catching your free one until he was guiding you closer and closer to the water, walking himself backwards with every step you took forward. You flinched when your foot hit the first step, the water warmer than you’d anticipated, brushing up just past your ankle. 
You had two feet in the pool and two hands in Steve Harrington’s and it felt like the entire world was about to implode on you. 
“There you go,” Steve murmured, warmth and a little hum of pride in his voice. “See? S’not bad, right? I’ve still got you.” So you took another step and another and suddenly the water was lapping at your knees. You froze, grip tightening around Steve’s fingers and your wide eyes found his, all too aware of the way you were very much in the pool now. 
“Hey, hey,” Steve’s thumbs rubbed over the back of your knuckles, the skin there burning from holding him so tightly. “Listen. Do you trust me?”
There was no joke that followed the question this time. His eyes were earnest and warm, serious as they looked at you, searching your face for any signs that you were going to flee. It took you a few seconds, swallowing dryly and taking a deep, staggering breath before you nodded. You did, you did trust him, and that was as surprising as you being in the pool. 
“Yeah,” you told Steve, voice a little weak and hoarse. “Yeah, I trust you.”
He squeezed your fingers and his smile was gentle, an achingly kind thing that made your eyes water in the corners and Steve let you stand on that middle step for a little while longer. “Good,” he finally said and his voice was as soft as yours had been. You tried not to look at the way the chain around his throat caught the sunlight, the silver turning golden, just like his skin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”
You nodded, feverish and your movements jagged and you tore your eyes from Steve to look at your bare feet on the steps, your toes waving under the ripples, longer and skinnier and then fatter and wider. The sight made you dizzy, stomach tumbling a little but even still, you wished you’d had the forethought to paint your toenails something pretty. 
“Two more steps, alright?” 
Steve’s encouragement broke your senseless wanderings and you nodded again, words caught in your throat and he was leading you forward, hands wrapped around your own and he grinned when you took another step down, the water hitting your upper thighs. It was cooler as you went deeper, a stark contrast to the warm, sticky air above it and your skin prickled, mouth falling in a quiet gasp. Another step, happening almost too fast for you to overthink it, the water at your hips and making you swear as you rose onto your toes almost instinctively. 
Steve laughed, not unkindly, as you moved closer to him, unthinking as your hands left his in favour of clinging to his upper arms. It felt safer like that, anchoring yourself to his solid frame, but there was so much bare skin involved and not a lot of space left between you both as you held on for dear life. His fingertips brushed the sides of your waist before he must’ve thought better of it, cheeks burning before his hands cupped your elbows and he took a little step back so your chest didn’t touch his. 
“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You did it, yeah? That’s it. You’re in.”
Steve was grinning and you tried to smile too, trying to feel proud of your little accomplishment but the rest of the pool was stretched out behind Steve’s shoulder and the water there was so much more blue, cerulean leading into indigo until you couldn’t see the bottom anymore. 
Steve must’ve noticed cause he shook his head, the hand cupping your elbow smoothing up your arm until he squeezed, water dripping from his palms and coasting down your skin. “Hey, hey, none of that. That’s for another day. We’re staying here, alright?”
You grimaced at the idea of ‘another day,’ but his words still didn’t ease you. You licked at your lips, dots of chlorine on them and despite how stupid you felt, you asked anyway. “What if— what if l, like, float over that way? Accidentally.”
Steve smiled like he couldn’t help himself, laughter in his eyes and a grin that he quickly tamed. “We’re not gonna catch any waves in here, this isn’t Maui,” he was still smiling, teasing, just a little. But sensing your growing worry, he continued. “And if that had to happen - which it won’t - I’ll come and get you.”
You stared at him, heartbeat in your throat and so many other questions on your tongue. They died there, fizzing into nothing as Steve held your gaze, a silent promise in his brown eyes. You’d never noticed how long and thick his lashes were, still wet and spiky from when he’d been swimming as you changed. 
Maybe there was doubt in your eyes, or maybe Steve just felt the need to reiterate his statement, but when he said once more, “I’ll come get you, just like last time,” you really did believe him. 
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livwritesstuff · 4 hours
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Honestly, Eddie doesn’t know why it had taken so long for him to realize his and Steve’s children could understand the shit that came out of his mouth.
(It took an embarrassingly long amount of time).
Even when Moe’s third or fourth word was fuck, he didn’t realize it (and she was using it mostly correctly too, which should have been a serious flag, but nope).
What made him realize it was when they started repeating the shit that came out of his mouth. 
To strangers.
In public.
The first time Eddie had been really caught off guard by something one of his daughters said was when Moe, who was three at the time, had proudly announced to an unsuspecting grocery store cashier, “Daddy says my Papa’s a DILF!”
And, like, Eddie had just heard the term for the first time, and obviously he was goddamn delighted by it because…duh. Steve. 
It just hadn’t occurred to him that his toddler might have caught it too, but little pitchers have big ears, or so the proverb suggests, and Eddie had taken it as a wake-up call that Moe isn’t a baby anymore (tragic as it may be).
He’s not the only problem though – Steve is just as bad, (if not worse, because he really doesn’t bother to check where their kids are before he starts running his mouth).
One particularly damning incident was at a restaurant, which is something they don’t even do all that often because, seriously, going to a restaurant with very young kids should be an Olympic event or something.
(The last time they all went out to eat, Nancy and Robin had made a drinking game out of all the times Steve and Eddie had to take a child to the bathroom and ended up so far gone that Eddie had needed to drive them home).
The incident started with the waitress asking, “Can I get you started with anything to drink?”
And it had ended with four-year-old Moe confidently announcing, “My Papa needs a fucking margarita.”
Thank god, the waitress had been a twenty-something college student and thought it was hilarious, but Steve had still been completely mortified.
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wynnyfryd · 10 hours
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Trailer park Steve AU part 59
part 1 | part 58 | ao3
cw: canon-typical horror/gore (like for real this time), emetophobia, reference to minor character death. ty to @thisapplepielife for indulging my weirdly specific research about headstones
Steve tries to follow her — gets shot down before he even gets within speaking range, Max shouting at him to give her a minute the second she spots him coming over the hill. He backs off, hands raised in surrender, and then…
Well, then he’s already out of the car.
Well then his feet know where to take him.
His dad’s grave isn’t far. Maybe a football field away, close enough that he’ll be able to hear it if Max calls for help. He moves toward it without thought, his legs carrying him past simple overgrown markers in the oldest part of the park — crumbling remnants of civil war soldiers, farmers and shopkeepers and factory workers, people who worked the mines, people who died before his grandfather was born. People who might have been loved once, before time and moss and water stripped their names off of the stones.
Up the next slope, the markers get more elaborate, shift from bronze to granite to marble, to monuments and mausoleums and a fucking obelisk; ostentatious displays of the town’s oldest money. The coal barons, the oil tycoons. Rotten bastards, Wayne might say.
The Harringtons aren't that rich. They're further down the hill in a neatly manicured row of Indiana limestone; fresh flowers on each grave, the weeds plucked, the grass trimmed.
Dad's buried right next to Grandpa Otis.
It almost looks nice.
Crisp, clean, dry. Nothing to suggest the messy wet red of his father's demise. Steve shoves his hands in his front pockets and steps up to his dad's plot, toes the edge of it, the rounded lump of earth, sparse grass and loose soil where his father's bones are laid. The ground gives a little under his weight, the dirt compacting. Could he dig this up with just his hands? Could he claw through until he reached the bottom, pry open the box and peer inside? Unbidden, the image forms in his mind: worm food and rot, half a man left inside, somehow still frowning in disappointment with his jaw bone shining clean.
Steve's stomach turns. A sick shiver runs through him, saliva flooding his mouth, sweat beading at his hair line.
This isn't right.
Something's not right.
There's a sudden chill in the air, frigid wind carrying a smell like roadkill in the summer — heat wafting from the pavement, death clogging up his throat. Steve covers his nose and wills his shoulders down from his ears; tries to mutter words of comfort to himself under his breath. “Just a graveyard, Steve. Just a totally… normal…”
Ice on the back of his neck. Steve tenses every muscle, turns his good ear toward the sound of whatever's creeping up on him; something taller than him, something slithering and wet, its rasping rattles of frozen breath sending goosebumps down Steve's arms. His hands twitch inside his pockets.
Then, a voice — a voice that isn’t his, that can’t be anyone’s, because the man it belonged to is dead. “That Munson boy was right about you."
Steve can't fucking breathe. Dark clouds roll in around him, violent as a blooming bruise, and that voice behind him echoes — distorted, vicious; hungry.
"You are a black hole."
Steve grabs two fistfuls of his own hair and tugs; wills the pain to dispel the nightmare, his eyes swimming from the sting.
The thing behind him laughs. "Look how you ruined your mother," it snarls. "Look how you tore her apart.”
"Shut up!" Steve barks with his hands over his ears.
“Steve…” The voice deepens, beckons, thick with malice and rot. Steve slowly turns to face it, trembling all over, pulse thudding in his ears, and his shoes squelch in the dirt, and when he looks down he sees that the dirt has turned to mud that now turns to oozing red, a viscous river beneath his feet, flowing up over his ankles, pouring from his father's grave. And there, in front of him, a mangled remnant stands. The ruined corpse of Richard Harrington, his skin shriveled and gray, the torn parts of him held together by his clothes. There’s a hole in his torso where the exposed ribs glint like knives.
Steve throws up on himself.
The ground gives way beneath him, goes spongy like rotting meat, and the thing wearing his dad's face cackles as Steve sinks into the earth, the grave swallowing him whole, up to his calves, his knees, his thighs. "Join me," it offers, lipless smile full of teeth.
The glamor peels back to reveal a monster underneath, its scarred skin crawling in mucus-coated vines; naked, long-limbed, stitched together with burnt flesh.
Steve screams as he scrambles for purchase, up to his hips now in the muck, his feet on the lid of his dad's casket. He claws blindly at the loose ground but it’s all thick and wet with red, and the air itself is red; blood in the sky, in his eyes, in his lungs. He's going to die here. The voice tells him so. It's in his head now, a bellowing echo as the monster draws near, one hideous hand outstretched, an all-consuming join me, join me, JOIN ME—
“HEY!!!”
Max shouts directly in his face, shaking him hard by both shoulders where they're crouched on the cool ground, Kate Bush leaking from the headphones slung around her neck. Steve gives a startled shout and jerks back out of her grip, falling hard on his ass, landing harder on his elbows.
The world shifts back to blue. To dry, clean grass. To breathable air.
Steve pants up at the sky. His shirt clings to him where he's soaked it through with sweat. When Max offers him a hand, he stands on shaky legs, looks at the ground beneath his feet and screams again, scurrying back until his ass hits a stranger's headstone.
There’s a dent in the earth where he was standing. A smudge of packed dirt where he really did sink in. Steve stares at it; feels it reaching out for him, the dark patch thudding like a heart beat, spreading out like snaking vines.
He clutches at his heaving chest. Max’s eyes are huge on him.
"Okay, what the fuck?" she begs.
"What the fuck yourself!"
No heat behind the words, but they burn him, anyway, pushed out on a weak gasp. Is this what she was talking about? Is this what she calls nothing?
This doesn't feel like fucking nothing.
“Shit," she says, and her eyes go even wider. Steve can see the veins in them. "Shit, Steve, your nose…”
He swipes his arm across his face.
It comes back red.
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
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hungharrington · 18 hours
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i just think that sappy sex with steve would be like one big hug…
like he wouldn’t be able to resist getting as close to you as possible, his hairy chest pressed against your own, his face buried in your neck, his floppy sex-hair tickling at your neck, and your face tucked away in his too, both of you close enough to hear ever whimper, every moan. he has one arm that’s wormed its way under your hips, holding tight at your waist with his huge hand, and the other arm that’s wrapped around your back with his hand buried in the hair at the nape of your neck, occasionally stroking his thumb down the line of your neck— and your bodies are so close it’s just so warm, so sweet, so tender, and steve’s leaving these little open mouth kisses along your shoulder as his hips ruts into you, slow and sensual, muffling his whines into your skin by pulling himself closer to you and losing himself in your body, the rocking of his hips speeding up, feeling so so loved when you hold him back just as tight
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rogueddie · 23 hours
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that trope where Eddie thinks Steve might not be ok with queer men specifically but Steve finds out that Eddie thought that.
would he be angry? Eddie had called him a good guy in the Upside Down, and then turns around and assumes he's a homophobe?
or would he be upset, hurt that Eddie would believe Steve could be so disgusting that he would only act like he was ok with Robins sexuality because he got something out of it.
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disjointed-art · 7 hours
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Stuff is in the works 👀🌸💕
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I have officially finished the epilogue and put the book together. Which has been ordered for myself as a test to make sure it’s the quality I want. Once it gets here I will begin the preorder but till then it’s coming soon.
I will also be making merch bundles for those who don’t want the print copy. A pdf digital download will be available for purchases and all prints will come with that included. An option for a bundle of the book and merch pack will also be there but again this is all still very much in the works.
I plan on opening preorders April 20th since I have a convention in Chicago on the 26th-28th. Thank you all for your patience in the meantime :))
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henderdads · 3 hours
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Steve always gets the mail. It’s become a habit at this point where he stops by the mailbox as soon as he gets home before going inside.
Today isn’t any different, though the small box he finds among the pile of bills, ads, and letters from the kids does raise some suspicion.
It’s addressed to Eddie and Steve has a feeling he knows exactly what’s inside of it.
Of course they’d talked about it. Several times. It was something they both wanted and Steve had agreed to let Eddie be the one to ask. Though he definitely wouldn’t mind proposing himself.
The thing is Eddie had gone out of his way to customize a ring for him so Steve knew to stay out of his way.
Which brings him to this box that was in their mailbox.
He wants to open it.
Technically he could get away with peeking and putting the box back together to make it look untouched before Eddie gets back from work.
He decides to call Robin instead, fidgeting with the cord as it rings.
“Hello?”
“Robs what do I do?”
“Hello to you too, dingus.”
“I’m serious. Eddie’s not home and I think my ring just got here. What do I do?”
“Oh my god! It’s here? That was way faster than I thought it would be!”
“Not helping! What do I do?!”
“I don’t know! Put it back in the mailbox?”
“I get the mail every day. He’d know something is off.”
“Open it?”
“Really?” Steve asks, unamused.
“What?! Just take a peek and describe it to me.”
“You’re a terrible influence on me.”
“So does that mean you’re going to?”
Steve rolls his eyes as he holds back a laugh. “Okay. I’m going to peek.”
Robin squeals on the other end as Steve makes his way to the counter, pulling a knife out to carefully cut the tape to open the box.
He pulls out the small black box that the ring is actually in, letting out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding in.
“Holy shit.”
“Tell me what it looks like!”
“Rob it’s…” he stops as he takes it in. It’s a sleek silver with their initials carved into the inside of the ring.
He hears their garage open then, signaling that Eddie’s home earlier than expected.
“Shit. He’s home early. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call later. It’s incredible! I’ll- I’ll talk to you later.”
He hurriedly hangs up the phone, shoving the ring back into the box and taping the box back together.
“Steve? I’m home, baby.”
Steve practically throws the box onto the pile of mail before running to the fridge to figure out what to make for dinner.
“Hey!” He sets the thawed chicken breast on the counter as he grins at his boyfriend. “Just getting started on dinner. Looks like you had a package come in the mail today.” He says nonchalantly, nodding at the pile of mail.
Eddie glances from Steve to the mail, a fond smile spreading across his face as he sees the box with his name on it.
“I think I know what this is!”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Steve asks, acting like he has no clue.
Eddie giggles and closes the space between the two of them, kissing Steve quickly.
“That is none of your business.”
“Well then, wanna help with the salad?” Steve says as they part, kissing Eddie back a little longer this time.
Eddie takes Steve’s hand and squeezes once, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Let me go clean up and I’ll be right in.”
Steve calls out to him as he heads down the hall. “Miss you already!”
Eddie throws his head back as he cackles, turning around to blow him a kiss.
Steve chews his bottom lip, waiting for Eddie to get out of earshot before he runs back to the phone to call Robin again.
As soon as the line connects, Robin starts talking. “Thanks for hanging up on me, dingus.”
“I had no choice.”
“You couldn’t have just, I don’t know? Changed the subject?”
“Okay, fine. But I had to say hi to my boyfriend- soon to be fiancé.”
“I bet he figures out you looked at it.”
“The box looked completely unopened considering how little time I had to put it back together.”
“So tell me. What did it look like?”
“It’s simple. But perfect.” Steve says, biting back a smile.
“God, you two are gonna be even worse once you say yes.”
“I’m a man in love.”
“Disgusting.”
Steve laughs, “Come over this weekend. I’ve gotta put dinner in the oven now.”
“Why just this weekend? What if I wanted to come right now and eat your food?”
“I’ll save you leftovers.”
“I’m kidding. I’ll talk to you later. Go have fun with your man.”
Steve smiles to himself as he hangs up, shifting his focus to preparing the food.
He acts completely innocent oblivious to what was inside the package the entire night and Eddie doesn’t mention it again.
And of course, Steve says yes when Eddie gets down on one knee just a couple weeks later.
He eventually comes clean about knowing when the ring got there.
Eddie already knew.
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robin-buckely · 20 hours
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Steve & Robin + tropes through the seasons @stcreators event 06: tropes | @pscentral event 25: seasons
tvtropes: Robin / Steve
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strangersatellites · 6 hours
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we all know and love tattoo artist eddie, but hear me out- piercer eddie.
this post is sponsored by the sticker my piercer gave me yesterday that says “i got penetrated by a professional” because i just think that-
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hungharrington · 17 hours
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Yes. Yes. I saw this 🌽 video where he was like, he was on top, his arm was under her and cupping her opposite shoulder, entireeeely wrapped around her. That’s so Steve
YOU GET THE VISION! like my boy wants to be as intertwined with as he can GET
if you have your legs up around his waist and let them drop down to rest on the bed, he’ll start nuzzling up your neck, slowing his thrusts, and just shift one hand down to hook it under your knee so he can draggg it back up over his hip. and he’ll wait til you get the idea and bring the other leg up, your ankles crossing over his tailbone before he murmurs, “that’s it,” kisses your neck and grinds his hips a bit, “that’s better, isn’t it baby?” and then starts fucking you harder so you have no choice but to agree <3
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k33ry · 16 hours
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💕✨💖💫 💕✨💖💫 💕✨💖💫 💕✨💖💫
Older!Dilf!Steve Harrington x afab reader • Explicit content, minors do NOT interact!! • fic includes daddy kink, praise, unprotected sex • Steve’s in his forties, reader is ten-twenty years younger than him <3
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💕✨💖💫 💕✨💖💫 💕✨💖💫 💕✨💖💫
Steve’s lips were pressed to your cheek, his voice slightly taunting when he spoke… “It’s barely even in, angel, and you’re already shaking…?” Although he was right, you didn’t miss the subtle strain in his voice. For all of Steve’s bravado and talk of restraint, he was obviously struggling to control himself, too. He’d barely fit the first three inches of his cock inside you, but it already felt like you were stuffed full…
Steve curved his hips upward, forcing himself another two inches deeper inside you. The length of his cock was impressive, but it was his girth that had your eyes watering. You clenched your jaw and let Steve have you, trusting that he knew what was best for you. “Fuck, honey,” Steve marveled, his voice breathy. “Feel how she pushes back on me…?” His eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, one corner of his mouth turning up in a satisfied grin.
“Think I’m gonna have to break her in a little,” Steve murmured, his voice saccharine, thickened by lust. “Teach her a lesson or two…” He rocked his hips back and forth slowly, stroking your moist, spongy center with a firm but delicate pressure. “…Teach her that it’s rude to push back on her Daddy…To tell him no…”
You moaned softly as Steve sank his cock deeper still, at least six inches filling you at this point. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, panting against your hair. “You’re doin’ such a good job, princess,” Steve gently reminded you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. His cock pulsed inside you, twitching against your plump, dewy walls.
Steve’s left hand palmed reassuringly up and down your back, his right hand cradling your neck. Your legs were wrapped around Steve’s waist as you sat in his lap, his belt and pants undone. Steve had pulled the crotch of your panties aside, pausing to rub the slippery fabric between his thumb and index finger, smiling to himself at your evident arousal. He’d pressed his pink, leaking tip inside the crotch of your panties, and let you rock back and forth over his erection awhile, slicking his cock in your cum, preparing it for yourself.
When Steve was satisfied that you were ready to take him, he’d held his cock by the base and maneuvered his tip so it was resting against your entrance, gently spreading your outer lips apart. With a reassuring kiss against your forehead, Steve had lowered you carefully onto his cock, trying his best not to hurt you. But fuck, you were so goddamn tight, so responsive to his touch, that Steve was struggling not to let his urges overtake him and bury himself to the balls inside you all at once.
He could feel your walls beginning to flutter and constrict around him; Steve knew you were getting close. “No no no,” he murmured at your cheek; you whimpered against his shoulder. “You’re not pushin’ me out, sweet girl, not yet.” Steve tightened his arms around you, securing you in place as your legs began to quiver at his sides. “Good girl,” he purred as your orgasm began to bloom. “That’s a good girl-go on, come as hard as you need to, baby; Daddy’s got you; you’re not goin’ anywhere…”
Even though Steve was right, you certainly felt like you were going to buck off his lap at any moment, your body wracked in a climax so intense, you may well have ended up injuring yourself if Steve hadn’t been holding you down. He remained still while you bounced up and down on his cock like a little bunny, your eyes squeezed shut, the muscles in your forehead contorted in a vivid expression of pleasure.
Every ounce of strength left your body during the orgasm, depleting you entirely and forcing you to hang limp as a rag doll against Steve’s chest for support. He smiled warmly down at you, tilting your chin up to face him. “Now it’s Daddy’s turn to come,” Steve said, his hands gliding down your sides. He secured your body by your hips as he fucked up into you. Every upward thrust of Steve’s cock buried him deeper and deeper inside you, your sopping cunt even slicker after coming, making it easier for Steve to take you.
His forehead fell to your shoulder, breath hot and moist as Steve panted against your tits. He bullied your grateful, exhausted cunt like his life depended on it, punching upward with so much force that his cock disappeared to his bush inside you. Steve locked his arms around your shoulders, gripping you snug against his chest as his body tensed all over. His grunts of exertion dissolved into a broken string of expletives as he emptied his release inside you. Warm, thick loads of semen coated your walls as Steve’s cock pulsed and pumped his ejaculate into you. A light sheen of sweat appeared all over his skin, highlighting Steve’s handsome features in the warm afterglow of his orgasm.
He licked his lips before taking your tongue as his possession, sucking and savoring it. Although Steve was rarely lost for words, he found it difficult in moments like this to describe all the emotions flooding through his heart, body, and mind. So rather than use his tongue to speak, Steve found another use for it. He lifted you off his lap, and gently placed you on your back. Settling himself between your thighs, Steve used his tongue to clean up the mess he’d made inside you, catching every last drop of his seed as it leaked warm and white from your precious, pouty cunt… 💖
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