Author note: I don’t have any one to beta read my content. As stated I've tried to make everything I’ve wrote gender neutral but If I have slipped up somewhere please just let me know and I’ll fix it asap. <3
When you're already in a bad place mentally so you take the dog out for a walk for your stupid mental health but half way into the walk it goes from being sunny to the skies opening cos it's fucking Scotland and the weather gives you fucking whiplash. So you try and hurry back but you can't see Cos your glasses are flooded and then you fall over a hole in the pavement and you just lie in the middle of the path in the rain cos your ankle hurts like a mother fucker like ACTUAL FUCK MY LIFE cos you just fucking give up all while the dog is nuzzling at you like pal you good? You pick yourself up hoping no one saw you and you limp home in shame.
summary: steve isn’t too pleased when you come home with a stray kitten. money is tight, you’re both working full time, and he was never too fond of cats to begin with. somehow, you manage to convince him to keep it anyways.
tags: established relationship, steve and reader are living together in Indianapolis, normal sized font below the cut!
notes: been a little unmotivated recently but nothing motivates me like imagining steve harrington holding a cute animal tbh. he always struck me as a dog type, but I feel like he’d enjoy cats too. thanks to @inkluvs for helping me decide on a title and rambling with me <3
let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content! requests are open!
The pitter patter of heavy rain made for an eerie symphony outside the apartment you shared with Steve. The air is foggy, humid, and it usually wouldn't make him feel this unsettled. No, in fact, he quite likes the rain. When he's inside at least, cuddled up with you on the couch to inevitably watch whatever you wanted on the TV.
But the apartment is empty, at an hour when it normally shouldn't be. Steve's eyes find the faint red glow of the oven's clock; you should have been home an hour ago. Worry settles in his stomach at the thought of all the reasons you could possibly be late. Maybe you were stuck somewhere, kidnapped, or worse.
hurt/comfort with steve where reader doesn’t want kids? tysm <3
i know this was sent to me a long time ago but i finally got inspired to write this today. i know there’s so much content out there for those who want kids/love the idea of kids with steve so this is for those who maybe don’t share those same feelings. i hope you can enjoy this!
warnings: my blog is 18+, angsty feelings, feelings of guilt, hurt/comfort, reader cries a lot, reader does not want children, steve being extremely understanding and the best, happy happy ending , unedited and written rather quickly
word count: 1.5k
You felt nauseous watching the scene in front of you continue to unfold. A pit forming in your stomach, growing deeper with each passing second.
It was cute at first, watching Steve play with Nancy and Eddie’s son. He had got his hands on the small boy within twenty minutes of you being there, making faces at him just to get a loud baby giggle from him.
Then it turned into Steve having the baby on his hip for the next hour, seemingly soaking up all the love he could get from him. He had even gone as far as offering to feed him, insisting it was no big deal.
Summary: Feeling bummed about your dating life, you have a middle of the night run in with the cute guy who lives in the apartment across from yours.
Note: Me? Projecting? Never. Also, yes, Butterbean is a real cat who hangs around mine.
Words: 2.1k
The apartment still has the warm pleasant smell from your earlier baking as you walk out of your room, shrugging on an oversized navy hoodie. A little baggie awaits you on the counter and you snatch it up and shove it into your hoodie pocket. The heavenly smelling sugar cookies you’d made look too tempting as you pass them by, forcing you to grab one. Then halt in your tracks, turn around and grab a second one, before continuing your way towards the front door.
It’s just before two in the morning and it’s quite possibly your favorite time of day. No one asking you to do anything, no one expecting anything of you, time to just be. The whole apartment building seems to have fallen silent—another perk to this time of night. The sound of your feet padding down the thinly carpeted hallway is all that’s heard.
Coolness kisses your skin as you push outside, making sure not to let the heavy door slam behind you, lest it disturb the peace. Only a few wispy clouds decorate the sky above, most of the frills consisting of the glistening stars and beaming moon.
Steddie | 1.7k words
it is (swedish) midsummer so I wrote this based on my favorite old tradition because I can and will make anything steddie, so like glad midsommar (happy midsummer)
“What are you doing?” Steve asks as he follows Eddie to the hallway where he’s frantically putting on his shoes.
“I almost forgot,” he mutters under his breath not acknowledging Steve at all.
“Forgot what?”
“I can’t believe I almost forgot.”
“Eddie,” Steve says a little louder, more adamant.
He does look up at Steve then and almost looks surprised to see him. As if he’d forgotten he was there, as if they haven’t been hanging out for hours.
“Oh,” he says. “Uhm,” he squints at Steve who waits for him to continue, to explain. He doesn’t.
“Yes?” Steve implores because he would really like an explanation. Eddie had just abruptly stood up halfway through telling Steve about some folklore he’s using in his new campaign, just cut himself off mid-sentence and walked off. Steve doesn’t think it’s especially weird or demanding of him to have questions.
“Did you have other plans that you just now remembered?” Steve frowns, starting to feel unsure when Eddie still isn’t saying anything. It’s just past eleven at night and Steve doesn’t know what plans those would be but he had showed up unannounced earlier in the evening so it’s not impossible that Eddie had plans that Steve interrupted.
“No, no, no,” Eddie assures him finally breaking his silence, “it’s- okay it’s a little silly but I read this thing researching and I want to try it.”
There was noise in the apartment when Eddie got home. He could hear talking from outside the door before he even started trying to unlock it.
At first, he thought it was Wayne and Steve. One of the voices had to be Wayne or else Eddie was going to have to deal with two people who broke into their apartment. Wayne spoke as Eddie entered, whoever he was talking to did not respond.
Steve was a frequent visitor to Eddie and Wayne’s apartment. He wasn’t the only visitor, but he was the only one who would be there without Eddie, or at least Eddie knowing someone was coming over.
JADE THE EDDIE ZOMBIE AU WITH SHY!READER IS EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE WISHED FOR! could I request eddie cuddling the reader for the first time? maybe shy!reader gets an infection from her injuries or gets sick and he has to cuddle her to keep her warm??
thank u! eddie zombie au —you and eddie get to know one another and share a shy cuddle. fem!reader, 1.4k
tw throwing up/ vomit mention
You're in the kind of pain that makes you nauseous whenever you move, and medication isn't making it better. Eddie —your saviour, and your new friend— keeps you doped up generously, but you're terrified to take the strong stuff and he's not eager to give you anything too sedative anyhow.
"I don't want you to think I'm being selfish," he says, laying on the floor next to the dusty couch that makes for your sick bed, "but I don't know what dose is right, especially when you've had half a bottle of Tylenol in two days. And you had that rum. I should not have let you drink that."
The rum numbed the pain quickly, but mixing alcohol and painkillers is a terrible idea. You'd been in agony and couldn't have cared less at the time, meanwhile Eddie's adrenaline wore off and he confiscated the bottle. Two hazy days later and you're not feeling any better than you had. It's concerning.
"I think I feel sick," you confess.
Eddie sits up. When he looks at you, it's with all the care and concern of someone who's known you for years rather than days. "How sick?"
"Just… sick."
He holds up his hand carefully. "Can I?" he asks. You nod, and he presses his knuckles to your forehead, moving it an inch lower as he feels for your temperature.
hi jade! <3 i love love love your writing! and i wanted to ask and if possible would you write zombie au steve comforting reader through a bout of depression? if not that’s totally okay!
hi my love! thank u for reading, I hope this is okay! steve zombie au. fem!reader, 1k
Steve smothers a sigh as he sits down. His knees ache from sitting with legs crossed, but he doesn't know if you're okay with him lying beside you right now. Your back stiffened as he approached, but you turn to check it's him. It's an improvement.
"I got you," he begins, a quiet sing-song, "a present. But you have to drink some water first, and then I'll give it to you."
You don't say what you claimed earlier —Not thirsty. Steve is more than thankful.
You sit up on the bed wrap. You'd let Steve take care of your hair so as not to become unmanageable last night, and you'd cried the whole time. The memory is one of Steve's worst. Him trying to be gentle, you trying to be silent.
"I really don't feel well," you say hoarsely.
"I know. I'm not trying to be mean to you, but it's because you're not getting up. I know you don't want to but if we eat something and move to the next house, you'll feel better."
You and Steve are doing something you call a neighbourhood hop, where you spend a night in one house before moving along to the next, in search of food and nice things. If there's no food, you skip houses. For a fortnight, you'd been sleeping in unfamiliar beds and eating different foods, but something in you snapped jagged a few days ago. You couldn't get up.
could you write something with kisses before dinner where avery feels like she’s not your your steve’s favourite and she gets upset?
for you my love! dad!steve x pregnant!mom!you. 3.7k
Steve gives Bethie's hand a tug. "Come on, this way."
Bethie follows without complaint, her rain boots smacking the sidewalk with each step. Steve keeps checking to make sure the umbrella's covering her, though there's little need for his worrying when she's wearing her rain mac, a scarf, and a super thick sweater under her coat.
It's a very short walk to the door for Avery's classroom. She and the other first graders get called out one by one from a huge door that exits a cubby room. Steve stands where he always does, out of the way from most but close enough that Avery doesn't have to look far.
Steve hadn't always wanted kids. When he was sixteen, he thought that having children might be the worst thing in the world, not because he'd ever been around any kids that weren't worth loving, but because they acted like a sort of glue, sticking you to another person. But he got older, and he realised he wanted to be stuck, and then he realised there isn't any glue to children, they can't serve as an adhesive that binds you to someone. You either love your partner or you don't (of course, it's a little more complicated than that) and children are usually separate.
Steve met you. He loved you more than he ever loved another person. And then you had Avery, and Bethie, and Dove, and he somehow loved you more for it. It's immeasurable.
Steve loves you, and he loves his kids most of all. You wouldn't be offended, you feel the same —kids are a different kind of love.
It's why being out in the rain doesn't matter. Bethie's hand is warm where he covers it in his, and when she gives a little shiver he crouches down to rub her shoulders, knowing it doesn't help but wishing it did.
He's so excited to see Avery he can't describe it right, and it doesn't make any sense because he saw her seven hours ago at drop off when she kissed him goodbye and ran away to go play races with her friends. Since then, he's taken Bethie to her doctor’s check up, chased Dove around the house for a bath, put on a load of washing, made dinner preparations, done the dishes, all while acting as a willing serf for a moderately pregnant you on bed rest after a bout of high blood pressure. All of those anxieties and chores and exhaustions —he wouldn't have it any other way— and still he's geared up to see his oldest.
