#stevemath

[astermath]

hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

-

-

-

-

-

-

[jamesbeachum-blog-blog]

Weight loss babe

My wife admiring a reflection of herself in her black refrigerator. It has a convex door that thinks it’s a fun house mirror. Her comment was, “I look like I’ve lost a hundred pounds!” This image has been enhanced in Photoshop Elements to better view her new, slimmer shape. Posted by SteveMather on 2018-04-03 03:05:19 …

The post Weight loss babe appeared first on International Public Health.

from International Public Health https://ift.tt/2NDW4Hj

[astermath]

steve harrington who comes home late, seeing you sleeping on the couch.

his face radiates warmth when he’s met with the sight of your sleeping figure, draped in a soft blanket with your cheek smushed against the armrest. even asleep and unaware of your surroundings, you manage to be the single most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

he’s as careful as he possibly can be not to wake you up, bending down to press a soft kiss to your forehead and shuffling his arms underneath you so he can pick you up. wrapped in a blanket cocoon of your own making, head resting against steve’s chest as he carries you to your shared bedroom, you couldn’t be more at ease. the scent of his cologne and his gentle grip on you keep you nice and cozy, even when he puts you back onto the bed.

he can’t help himself, so he kneels down besides it, fingers gently reaching out to trace over the curve of your cheek. moments like these make him feel like you’re surreal sometimes, so he likes to touch you to ground himself. even if the feeling of your soft skin only adds to your dream-like appearance.

he presses another soft kiss to your head, whispering an “i love you”, almost lost to the silence of the room. he gets up to change, and he almost doesn’t hear the giggles coming from you on the other side of the bed.

you’d pretend to be asleep on the couch another thousand times if you could experience that again. and he’d play along every time.

[astermath]

steve who’s away from his girlfriend for a week, on holiday with his parents.

steve who can’t possibly be in a worse mood, because he’s forced to spend time with people who don’t even truly care about him, and worst of all, because he’s two states away from his favourite person in the whole world.

steve who calls you every night at the same time, when he knows you get off work and when he knows his parents are out at some event. he just wants to talk to you, but most of all, he wants to listen to your voice.

steve who sends you a postcard, that arrives the day before he’s supposed to be back, about how much he misses you, how awful it is to be away from you, how nothing feels the same, how he can’t even enjoy the sunshine without you besides him.

steve who finds that suddenly, everything he encounters reminds him of you. noticing your favourite flavour at the ice cream shop he visits, remembering how you said you’ve always wanted a cat when he encounters one by the road, shit, he nearly tears up when he sees your favourite flowers somewhere, without you to get all excited about them and point them out.

steve who nearly leaps into your arms when he sees you again, peppering loving kisses all over your face and hugging you so tight you’d think you were separated for a year.

well, at least that’s what it felt like to him.

“i’m never leaving your side again,” he mumbles between kisses, while you giggle at his exaggerated displays of affection, “never, never, never.”

next time his parents decide to force him to go on holiday with them, he’s taking you along. wether they like it or not.

[astermath]

steve harrington, your boss, the ceo. he’s a good boss, nicer than most, but you can’t help but feel he’s extra nice to you.

it’s not that you have to do less work than the rest. he wouldn’t patronise you by just letting you sail by. no, it’s in the way he talks to you.

the way he leans in real close over your shoulder when you want to show him something on your computer. the way his musky cologne overtakes your senses and makes you forget about all the circumstances for a second.

“great work sweetie, keep it up.”

the nickname flusters you, but you try not to let it show. professionalism and all that.

it’s in the way he talks to you on your breaks, and brings you your favourite pastries, accompanied by your coffee, just the way you like it. it’s in the way you get invited to accompany outings, but he’s almost always by your side, talking to you. it’s in the way he remembers your birthday, getting you a thoughtful gift that makes your heart flutter.

but, if you’d have to pinpoint something… you’d say it was in the way he fucks you in his office, pounding into you, keeping a hand over your mouth so no one gets suspicious.

“you’re doing so well sweetie, takin’ my cock like such a good girl—“

it’s in the way he kisses you softly afterwards, apologising gently for the marks he’s left on you.

and everything after, is in the looks you exchange across the office. right before you find the nearest empty room.

[astermath]

touché.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.4K

notes: inspired by this ask, got just a bit carried away and... well here we are lmao. rlly enjoyed writing this one, hope u guys like it!

tags: best friends to lovers, confessions, difficult feelings, comfort, steve being worried he's hurt you, normal sized font below!

lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

send in some touch starved prompts!♡

Steve has been your friend for as long as you can remember.

The two of you have always been close, being childhood friends and remaining so even when your high school friend groups could not have been more different. You’d seen Steve through all his phases, some better than others, and he was seeing you through one of yours.

One of the worse ones, apparently.

Truth be told, you had a crush on Steve. It was a recent development, and though you love him, you really, really do, you don’t know if you want to ruin what you have right now.

Things became especially hard when he’d talk about the unsuccessful dates he went on. It was always the same, how they’d pretend to be interested in what he was talking about, how they were all shallow and just wanted a piece of “King Steve”, how he tried showing people he wasn’t that guy anymore… And every time you told him he’d find that special someone. That they weren’t worth his time, that he deserved someone better.

He agreed. He did deserve someone better.

Someone like you.

But you’d been so distant lately. You blamed it on work, saying your boss had been giving you all the late shifts and that by the time you were home, all you wanted to do was sleep. You barely had time to hang out with him or Robin anymore, and it was concerning him greatly.

He tried to call you, ask you if you wanted to hang out, but you either didn’t pick up or had an excuse ready, which was so unlike you.

So he simply took matters into his own hands.

Which lead to him standing in front of your apartment door, holding a bag of snacks and a tape for an impromptu movie night. Just like you used to. Before you started acting so… Weird.

He raises his hand to knock, but stops himself right before his knuckles connect with the hardwood of your front door. What if this is a bad idea? What if you were giving all the signs to just stay away?

He doesn’t know what he did wrong, he wishes he could ask, but he’s afraid the truth will hurt more than just believing he can still make it work. Make the two of you work. In whatever way you want, as long as you’re still there with him. He’d cancel every date with whatever Heidi or Tiffany came his way, just for a single hangout with you.

And he decides that that makes it worth it.

So he knocks. And he waits, longer than usual. He raises his hand to knock again, but stops himself once he hears the familiar shuffle of your socked feet against the carpet of your apartment floor.

He doesn’t mean to sound rude, but the sight of you does seem to reflect your recent state of mind. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is messy and you’re wearing one of his old shirts and a pair of sweats. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he’s just surprised you didn’t opt for your usual cute pj’s.

“Steve?” Your voice sounds a bit coarse, and it makes him even more concerned than he already was. You, sweet, pretty, so put together and always there for him you, was really going through it. And that really breaks his heart.

So he drops the bag of snacks onto the ground, not caring about the contents inside for the time being. Instead, he envelops you in his arms, holding you so tight you’d think he was scared you might disappear if he didn’t.

He was.

You tense up entirely, not daring to move even a single muscle. A minute ago you were crying your eyes out about a guy you shouldn’t date, you couldn’t date, and now, as if called by some sort of higher being, he’s at your doorstep.

And now he’s hugging you like both your lives depend on it. And you don’t know how to react.

Slowly, your limbs move and wrap around him, your head leaning on his shoulder. Familiarity creeps back into your mind. The contrast of his soft sweater and his rough denim jacket. The scent of his body wash, fresh yet soothing. The tickle of his hair against your cheek.

It’s everything you needed. And suddenly, it’s also way too much.

Your eyes fill with tears at how much you’ve missed this. How much you’ve missed him. How tragic it is that you let your own jealousy and reservations pull you away from your favourite person in the whole wide world.

Steve feels you tremble slightly as you start sobbing softly onto his shoulder. All he can do right now is comfort you, lord knows you need it. His large, warm hand soothingly rubs your back, his head leaning down to press a soft kiss onto the crown of your head. He hates to hear you cry. You look so pretty when you do, but it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there before to help you out. That you wouldn’t let him.

After a moment or two he moves his hands and cups your face, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs to rid them of your tears. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen you in a while, or he just always believes so, but he thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world in that moment.

“Geez peach, how long has it been since someone hugged you huh?” He teases, but it’s not mocking. It's filled with care and concern.

The nickname brings an, albeit slightly reluctant, smile to your face. A feeling of pride swells in his chest at the sight of you not being able to withstand his charm.

“I don’t know… I don’t know what came over me, I just— I’ve been closing myself off and, and I didn’t expect you here and—“

“But why?”

His question catches you off guard. Truth be told, you were only halfway there with processing your feelings, with “getting over him”, and now he’s asking you questions you don’t even really know the answers to.

Or, well— you do. You just don’t want to admit them.

That you’re in love with your best friend.

“Can we… Can we talk about this inside maybe?”

Steve freezes for a moment, before realising that you’re very much still situated in the doorway of your apartment.

“Oh! Yeah, of course, sorry I just—“ a not so subtle blush starts to creep up his face, “I missed you, I guess. I don’t know what came over me.”

You turn, both to go inside and to hide the smile that appears on your face when hearing those words. He missed you. Missed you so much he came to your apartment, unannounced, holding your favourite snacks and nearly leaping into your arms when you opened the door. That’s got to count for something.

Maybe admitting to it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

The two of you sit on your couch together. The same couch you have movie nights on, the same couch he sleeps on when he doesn’t want to go home after a party, and the same couch he lays on while complaining to you about Lauren, Sarah, whoever’s turn it was that week.

The air is different now. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, just— strange. You both know there is something to be said, but neither of you know who should say it first. You were never good at breaking the ice.

"It was really nice of you to stop by--"

"I'm really sorry if I did something--"

The two of you speak at the same time, staring at each other for a moment before breaking out in a burst of giggles. It felt like the first time you laughed like that, since... Well, since you last saw him. He had this way of cheering you up no matter what. Seriously, you're sure the world could be on fire, and Steve would still find a way to make you smile. It's like air to him.

"Sorry, uhm," you smile a little awkwardly, clasping your hands together. "You go first."

"Right," He gives the same thin lipped smile back, reclining back onto the old couch he once helped move into your apartment. It's strange, he was here so much, it felt like it was his already. He usually felt more relaxed here than at his own place. Your presence definitely helped.

"I was just, worried, really worried, that I did something wrong, and you just wouldn't tell me. Which is weird, you know, you not talking? Like at all?"

You scoff, a sort of unamused laugh as you hear him out. There's that unabashed humor you missed again. "Go on."

"It's just like-- you tell me everything. You tell me about your shitty ex boyfriend, the stupid customers at your job, how you can't stand how your mom always comments on how you dress, and how your dad is somehow always working, and-- and it's just not like that right now." He pauses, both to catch his breath and to stop himself from rambling on too much. So that's how Robin feels all the time...

"And like, either the thing you don't want to talk about is just that bad, or I've really fucked up your trust. Either way, I'm-- I'm here. And I want to be, seriously."

You don't really know what to say. Not only are you surprised he remembers all the things you've complained about, but that he thinks this is his fault. You've made him feel like you don't trust him.

'Oh Steve.'

"Oh Steve..."

'I love you.'

"It's not your fault, it's just--"

'I love you.'

"My mind doesn't know what it wants right now, and-- and I wouldn't even know where to begin to explain, and--"

'And I love you.'

You sigh deeply, trying to suppress the voice in your head that's practically screaming at you to tell him those words. It feels like an ache, just climbing up your throat, begging to be said, to be heard, to be accepted and returned. And you just can't take that risk.

But it's worse to lose your best friend over a lack of trust, than over a misplaced love confession.

Your eyes slide shut, and you bring your hands up to rub over your face, groaning loudly.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes." You say, muffled behind your hands.

"Come on," he shuffles over, hands coming up to pry your own away from your face, "let's see that pretty face."

"Steeeeve, seriously," you start giggling, trying to pull away from him. You lean back against the armrest of the couch, his frame caging you in between it and himself. "I can't."

"I know you can, come on," he finally gets your hands off, holding them in his own, and you're pleasantly surprised by how close he is. His face is cheeky, excited in anticipation of whatever deep secret he's about to hear from you.

"I--" you nearly choke on your words, quite literally getting lost in those brown eyes of his for a moment or two. "Steve, I," you gulp, "I think I'm in love with you."

A pause rests between you two as he lets your words sink in. A painful, excruciating silence. He blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth is slightly agape, and you can nearly hear the wheels turning in his mind.

"You think?"

"Steve!" You think of knocking him off the couch in that moment. To your surprise, he simply chuckles in return.

"Took you longer to figure out than me, that's for sure." His nose scrunches up slightly, and if you weren't so busy experiencing emotional turmoil, you'd point out how cute it is.

"I'm sorry?" Your eyebrows raise. "You knew I was in love with you?"

"No!" He chuckles again. "That I'm in love with you."

Another pause. This one, less painful. More so comedic.

"Oh. I don't know if that makes this more or less awkward."

"Me neither."

"But... Then why all the dates? You know, with all those girls you always complained about?" You shuffle back to sit upright, but the close distance between you two remains the same.

"I don't know, why all the sudden avoidance? Why the ignored calls?"

"Alright, alright. Touché." You chuckle, leaning your head back. "So... What happens now?"

He leans back as well, positioning himself besides you in the exact same way. His pinky is just touching yours where his hand rests, and that alone sends shivers over your whole body.

"I think we just... Do whatever we always did. But now we can also do what we really wanted to do as well."

You scoff out a short laugh. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

He turns his head to look at you. "I could think of a few things."

"Really?"

"Mhm." You can see every freckle from how close he is, every twinkle in his gorgeous brown eyes, every crease in his face from that stupidly pretty smile.

"Care to share?" You resist the urge to grin.

"Well," he leans in even closer, lips brushing gently over your own as he speaks, "if you insist."

His lips slot perfectly against yours. Like they were meant to fit perfectly together.

Like it was always meant to be like this.

His hand moves to cradle your jaw as you move closer to him, frame leaning into his own. His other hand comes up to rest on your waist, a touch you've only silently enjoyed before. His lips move so delicately against your own, the kiss blooming a feeling inside the two of you that now, you've finally grown to accept.

It's hard to pull away, but eventually, you do. Your foreheads lean together, and Steve is the first to open his eyes and speak up.

"You wanna know something funny?"

"Always."

"I've wanted to do that for ages already."

"Yeah, well," you peck his lips again, "you got a lot of years to catch up on then."

"You're right," he leans in once more, this time with more confidence, "better get started now."

tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚

@palmtreesx3 @inkluvs

[astermath]

The touch starved prompts are making me be in my feels :') If you're still open to requests for them, can I have either "how long has it been since someone hugged or?" or "you don't need to earn my affection, not now and not ever." with Steve? Those two really hit hard for me... :')

omg i almost completely overlooked this ask i'm so sorry! the first one i answered not too long ago with this oneshot, but i'll happily write the second one!

send in some touch starved prompts! ♡

word count: 1K

You’ve been sick for two days already, and frankly, you’ve had enough.

It’s not that you feel bad for missing out on work. Seriously, you could have used a break from 10 hour shifts a long time ago already. And you don’t really have any other commitments you regret not being able to attend either.

No, Steve is taking care of you.

And it’s very conflicting.

On one hand, you love it. He’s your boyfriend, of course he takes care of you. He makes you soup, makes sure you have a blanket and a nice hot water bottle at your disposal, does everything around the house. It’s like heaven. Well, almost like heaven.

Because you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt about it all.

It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid. You would do the exact same thing for him if he was sick.

But there’s this awful feeling gnawing away at you, making you feel like he’s slaving away for you and that you’re ungrateful, that you don’t deserve it. That he doesn’t even like taking care of you, he just pities you.

That’s why when he comes to sit down next to you on the couch, reaching out for a cuddle, you pull away.

You don’t dare to look his way. You know the expression on his face already, a mixture of confusion and hurt. Mostly confusion. You’re sick, maybe you just don’t want to make him sick as well?

“Come on, we can cuddle, right? I’ve got a strong immune system, I won’t get sick from giving my girl some attention now.” He chuckles, but you don’t give in. It’s starting to concern him now. His sweet girl, not wanting to be enveloped in his arms? Maybe your sickness has gotten to your brain, or he’s done something seriously wrong.

“Hey,” He ducks his head under a little so he can get a look at your face, but you turn away. “What’s up baby? Did I do something?”

That makes you look at him, because you can’t have him thinking your insecurities have anything to do with his actions. He’s perfect, literally the dream boyfriend. And yet you feel like he’s being too good for you right now.

Your eyes are watery, and that you cannot blame on the illness. Steve’s expression softens, and he suddenly feels a lot worse for joking around just now.

“It’s just— you’re being so nice to me, and I… I don’t know…”

“Peach… If I’m doing something wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“No, it’s— you’re not doing anything wrong, it’s just—“ you sigh, sniffling a little. “Feel like I don’t deserve this.” you pause, eyes quickly darting his way and back. “Like I don’t deserve you.”

Steve’s facial expression contorts into one of worry and confusion in a matter of seconds. “Oh, baby… C’mere.”

He reaches out, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders and pulling you flush to his chest. The warm scent of his cologne overtakes your senses, and you can’t help but feel comforted by it. His large hand rubs over your back, gently, soothingly, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Y’know, sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles against your hair.

You scoff; why would the Steve Harrington ever feel that way?

“Seriously, like,” he leans back a little, still holding you, “I used to be such an asshole. And you knew me back then, you’ve seen me during my worst times, when my ego was bigger than Hawkins itself, and you still decided I was worth your time. The fact that you stuck with me all that time, that really does count for something.”

You close your eyes to reminisce for a moment. He’s not entirely wrong, he was an asshole, but if anyone is the living proof that a person can change, it’s Steve.

He looks down at you, eyes full of love, glad to see you're starting to come out of your insecure cloud of thoughts.

"You know, even if you're not sick, you don't have to earn my affection."

Your head peeks out of the embrace he has you in, all curled up on his lap. Your eyes are a little glassy from almost crying, and though he hates seeing you sad like this, you do look so pretty.

"Yeah?" you ask, voice a little fragile.

"Yeah," he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, "not now," peck, "and not ever."

You giggle softly, returning the gesture. The kiss deepens by the second, your lips melting together in what you could only describe as "getting lost in each other". And that's exactly what you do, because while his tongue slips past your lips and your fingers slide into his hair, you forget all about the sickness you'd been so tormented by.

Your eyes open suddenly, a soft gasp erupting from you as you pull away. "Wait, no-- no, I'm sick Stevie!"

He simply chuckles in return, pulling you in again before you can protest. "So what?" he mumbles against the plushness of your lips, "if I get sick, you'll take care of me too, right?"

"Duh," the tip of your nose rubs gently over his, "I'll make you chicken noodle soup and everything."

"Good, so," he shifts your positions, laying you down gently under him, your back flat onto the couch, "a bit of kissin' won't hurt."

You grin, the pure love and affection flooding your body making you forget all about being sick. "You're impossible, Harrington."

"You love it." He leans down to peck your lips once more.

"Yeah," your arms wind around him, "you got me there."

tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚

@palmtreesx3 @inkluvs

[astermath]

the premiere.

pairing: actor!steve harrington x actress!reader

summary: you're a recent addition to hollywood's up and coming promising actors. you'd recently scored the lead role in an emotional period drama, and you're more than surprised to see that top shelf douchebag and america's starboy, steve harrington, has shown up to your premiere. you’re soon confronted with his flirtatious attitude, and you feel the incessant need to put him in his place. it’s a first for both of you.

♡ landing page. ♡

word count: 4.9K

tags: some cursing, mentions of sex, steve is a cocky asshole and will continue to be one, regular font below!

notes: man I do love me some actor!steve because let's be honest, joe keery easily transfers his star power over to all his characters. it's not exactly hard to believe that steve would be a respected actor. let me know what you think and / or if you’d like to be added to the tag list! ♡

They always say life moves fast in Hollywood. Back in your audition days, you wouldn’t believe it. You could practically feel the hours eating away at you as you waited for calls to be returned and scripts to be sent.

Even when you started filming your first big movie, working with such a well respected director and incredible cast, you felt like you were dragging along most of the time. Sure, it was an amazing experience, but the set hours are long, and the time spent overthinking is even longer.

Thinking about if this would be it, if this is what would put you on the map as a talented actress.

You only realised how fast time really moves in Hollywood when you’re discussing the premiere with your manager. Your first big reveal. You’re in the spotlight, everyone will be there to see you. And not just reviewers and fellow cast members, no, people you’ve looked up to before, people you’ve only ever seen on the big screen.

“Are you listening?” Your manager’s voice pulls you right out of your hazy cloud of thoughts. She’s sat across from you, glasses pushed down onto the bridge of her nose, cappuccino in one hand, the other on her laptop.

“Yeah, I’m— I’m here. I’m, uh…” You lean back, clasping your hands together. “You’ve got my attention, sorry Miranda.”

She sighs, readjusting her glasses and bringing her attention back to her screen.

Miranda has been your saviour since day one. She’s got plenty of experience, once having been an actress herself, and now works on managing mostly young women like yourself. She’s a bit tough, stern, but she’s amazing at what she does. Besides, she usually knows what’s best for you before you even know it. She’s got that motherly intuition about her, despite being unmarried without kids.

Your eyes drift over the interior of her apartment. It’s modern, sleek, like her. There’s not much personality shining through it, unless you look hard enough. Then you’d notice she likes orchids, since she has multiple of them potted and well taken care of. Or the numerous photos of the same town in Italy.

She keeps herself busy with scrolling through the list of attendees to the premiere. A bunch of yes’es, a few maybe’s, and the occasional “sorry, however, congratulations on the movie”.

She stills her movements when she gets to the bottom of the list, scrolling up again to see if she’s looking at the right column and then scrolling back down to see if she saw the name right.

“Hm,” she purses her lips, “that’s… Peculiar.”

“What is?” you perk up. Peculiar. That could mean a lot of things. Peculiar as in “your movie is scrapped, actually” or peculiar as in “you’re already nominated for an Oscar”?

“This name. I’ve never seen it on the attendee list before. At least not for my clients.”

“Miranda, you’re killing me with this suspense, please.” You lean forward, your elbows resting onto your knees.

"Steve Harrington." She pauses, and you don't know if she's doing it to be dramatic, or because she's waiting for some kind of elaborate gasp or shocked response.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow, head quirking slightly to the side. "Who?"

You can tell in your manager's eyes that she didn't expect that. Not in her facial expression, of course, she doesn't want wrinkles.

"Christ, sweetie, you're kidding right?" She lets out a dry chuckle, setting down her now empty coffee cup on the end table next to her. sofa. "We've really got to touch up on your media knowledge if you don't know who that is."

"No clue, sorry. What, is he some big deal or something?" You snatch a cookie off the coffee table and start nibbling on it mindlessly.

"Only one of the most popular up and coming actors in the industry." She starts click clacking away on her laptop, pulling up a picture of him and turning the screen around so you can see.

You raise your eyebrows. Damn, not bad. He looks to be around your age, a little older, and you can tell from just that one picture that he knows he's all that. The confidence is practically oozing out of that million dollar smile of his, expensive sunglasses tucked away in his somehow perfectly styled hair.

"So what, he's going to be there. Not like there aren't any other big celebs showing up, I'm sure I can handle myself."

"It's not that I don't think you can behave, starlight, although we'll have to go over some of the red carpet etiquette again later." She takes off her glasses and runs a hand through her short but chic hair.

"Then what is it?"

"He doesn't really... Show up to premieres, usually. Well, none that aren't for his own movies, at least."

Oh, so he is that kind of guy.

You wrap up with Miranda not long after, heading to one last fitting of your premiere gown before returning to your apartment. That's when you start to do your own research on this Harrington fella.

You sit onto your bed, leaned back against a few pillows propped up against your headboard. You open Google and start by what seems the simplest; typing in Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington age?

Steve Harrington height?

Steve Harrington movies?

The third one seems obvious, but you click it anyways. He doesn’t have a bad track record. A few nominations, one Golden Globe, he’s not slacking for sure.

Most of his stuff paints him as the type of guy you’d expect; undercover agent, the bad boy, the mob boss’ son… Makes you wonder even more why he’s showing up to the premiere of your movie. It has virtually nothing to do with the types of movies he stars in. You’re wondering why he even got an invitation to begin with, Miranda doesn’t seem like the type of woman to be sending those out to every C lister in America.

You type in his name again, curious to know more about his reputation.

Steve Harrington parents?

Steve Harrington dating history?

Though it is cliché, it does intrigue you. You’re not exactly surprised when a handful of names pop up, even one you recognise. Nancy Wheeler. You know that girl, she used to do interviews when you were still starting out. Apparently she went more into the crime journalist route, wrote a book… Pretty interesting stuff.

Almost as interesting as the breakup you’re reading so much about.

“Harrington broken in half? Did Nancy Wheeler finally have enough of his ego, or was she just looking for the next thing to report?”

“Geez, talk about a harsh headline…” You mutter to yourself. Besides her, there’s no mentions of other women he’s been confirmed to date. There’s been pictures, rumours, but you’re guessing he… Gets around.

Steve Harrington controversies?

You feel bad for clicking on it, but then again, you’re already in too deep now.

Something about nepotism, but that’s soon debunked when you realise his parents don’t do anything in the movie industry. Then there’s the Nancy thing, and something about him being difficult to work with. You could have guessed as much just by looking at the guy. You just know he flashes that smile like it’s a method of payment, and he probably gets away with it too.

You reach out and shut your laptop before you go too far down this rabbit hole. Your schedule is packed, and the premiere is only three days away. You've got better things to do than go all Sherlock on this random actor that's showing up.

Though it is unusual.

And he is handsome.

-

Yeah. It is true. Life does move fast in Hollywood.

Now you know for sure. Because not long ago, you were looking up Steve Harrington's name, like some deprived fangirl, and now you're on your way to the event he's supposed to be at.

The car seems packed, almost claustrophobically so. Miranda sits right of you, on the phone with someone who you can only assume to be too important to interrupt. On the left is your makeup artist, giving you some final touchups before your big entrance.

You don't know if this is the best or worst part about your rising fame. On one hand, it's all you've ever dreamed of. Of being recognised, making a name for yourself, getting to show the world what you can do. You're appreciated, celebrated, but on the other hand, you feel a bit like a product. The way you're sitting in this car, getting all dolled up, rehearsing what you'll say in the interviews... Miranda tells you you'll get used to it, but you're honestly not too sure.

Soon enough, you’re ushered out of the car by your manager. The same way you’ll never get used to the feeling of fame, is the same way you’ll never get used to having your name called out as you’re bombarded with camera flashes. This is only the entrance to the premiere, and you’re already overwhelmed. But you know that this is the worst part, so instead, you put on a smile and greet everyone.

Although you're having a little trouble walking in your gown, and not to mention those godforsaken heels, you soon make it to the actual red carpet for some photos. Your attention is called by several photographers, some asking who you're wearing, some just wanting you to look into the camera.

You look beautiful.

Your dress is a powdery blue, a close match to the dress you wear for most of the movie. It flows beautifully with your body, the silk catching the light in all the right ways. Your accessories and hair are adorned by white gold and pearls, classy, chic, but not boring. You feel like you're dressing up. Not a "let's go out somewhere fancy" dressing up, more like a "putting on your mom's heels" dressing up.

Part of all of this feels like you're playing pretend. Like you're not really supposed to be there. Like everyone's doing you a favour by being here, celebrating you and your movie. Though nothing could be further from the truth, the impostor syndrome somehow still gets to you, every time. You try not to let it show on your face, striking a casual pose, and smiling softly.

You look beautiful.

Steve thinks so too.

Only now he's reminded of why he came to this event. It's made the extra hoops he had to jump through all worth it. The extra questions by his management, the raised eyebrows when he arrived, the interviewers he, for once, has been trying to dodge.

He thought you looked pretty on the big screen, but no camera does you justice as much as the naked eye does.

He recognises something in you. Something nervous. Not necessarily innocent, just... New. It excites him a little, his mind already wandering to you allowing him to show you all the corners of the showbiz. Because he's a seasoned professional, of course. At least he likes to think so. He might only have a few years up on you, but he knows he's made for this. To act, to be famous. He knows you'd look amazing doing it next to him too.

"Mr Harrington!"

Some photographer calling his name catches him off guard, and so he brings his attention to the lens, flashing a cocky smile.

It catches your attention, too. The name more than the callout. You knew he'd be there, but for some reason you figured you'd have a bit more... Mental preparation. But what do you care, right? He probably wants you to gawk at him, be the little innocent newbie, borderline groupie, who can't believe it's really him.

You know better than to feed into his ego.

Which is why you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he smiles at you instead. You know he won't come up to you, he knows better than to embarrass you in front of all these people. You just don't know if he can resist himself later.

Then again, maybe you've got it all wrong. Maybe he just happens to really like 18th century period pieces about a girl finding a connection with her long lost mother. But somehow you'd find that hard to believe.

-

You go inside the theatre, and you finally get to enjoy the best part. This is when you try to disconnect from your job for a second, from the image you've built for yourself. When you're in front of the big screen, seated with all these people, you're 12 years old again.

You go watch a movie with your mom, it's your favourite time of the month. You share a large popcorn, and you can barely contain your excitement when the lights dim. Somehow, every emotion feels bigger like this. You've watched countless women pour their hearts out in movies, give their everything for their art, their passion. You've always been determined to be like them. To make other people resonate with a character so much it brings them to tears.

When you watch your own movies, you're not watching yourself. You're a little girl again, admiring the performance like you always used to. It makes this career more worth it than anything else, than all the glamour and money anyone could offer.

You bite your lip in anticipation when the theatre goes dark, toying with the bracelet on your wrist. You've seen it before, but not like this. Not like how it's meant to be watched.

Everything fits right. The music immerses you perfectly, the environments are meticulously chosen and everyone plays their part like they were born to do so.

And you're starstruck. By yourself, no less. You've always stayed humble, that's something you'd never give up. But you're also proud. So proud. This is something you've worked so hard for, everyone on the crew has, so you feel no remorse when you admit it's perfect.

The movie is emotional, and nearing the end, the melancholy of it all reaches its climax. Your character runs through a field of poppies, all blooming as she passes each one, chasing what she thinks is a vision of her mother when she was younger. The girl being chased giggles, as the main character keeps calling out her mother's name in tears. She's brought to her knees at the end of the field, the edge of a cliff, reaching desperately to hold onto the memory of her long lost mother.

You let out a tear. Hell, most people do, even Miranda can't hold it. It's one hell of a scene, the orchestral soundtrack alone could make someone cry. It makes your heart swell.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can tell someone else is really letting the waterworks go.

Wait-- That's not just someone.

That's Steve Harrington. Crying. Because of your acting.

You can tell he's trying to hide it a little, hiding his lower face behind a clenched wrist, the tears leaving little stripes of wetness on his skin. Running past his stubbly jaw, dropping onto the fabric of his tuxedo.

You can't imagine this is normal for him. Apparently it was already a rare apparition to see him at your premiere, and now he's publicly crying too. Well, you don't know if anyone else is observing it, but you know what you're seeing. That's pure, raw emotion right there.

You bring your attention back to the screen, hoping he hasn't noticed your staring.

The movie comes to a close, and the audience arises in a standing ovation. You get up, giggling a little coyly at all this sudden attention. The director comes up to you, taking your hand and bringing you along with the rest of the crew to the front so you can take a bow. Your face beams with happiness, and it's contagious.

It makes Steve return the smile, even though it's not even necessarily directed at him. You're just so pretty, all excitement and modesty, so untouched by fame's worst sides. It pulls him straight to you in a way he hasn't experienced before, there's just something so... Sincere about you. Something so gorgeous.

He makes eye contact with you as you come back up from your bow. The smile he gives you is nearly a copy and paste from the ones you saw online, where you can tell exactly what he's trying to say just from his expression. It's like his face just reads "atta girl".

It's really hot. And you hate how it makes you feel.

You exit faster than you probably should. You mutter to Miranda that you just need some fresh air, but really, you need to get away from this Harrington man before you fall head over heels for his stupid tactics. He hasn't said a word to you yet, and you already feel yourself slipping into the enthralling arms of his charm.

You change your mind, earlier was not the worst part. This is. Because now you have to pretend like you're not mentally having a crisis while still answering questions and mingling.

You deal well with most of the compliments and praise. You get a bit of butterflies every time a household name or someone you look up to acknowledges you, and you practically feel like ascending when they say they like your work.

You're in the middle of speaking to one of your co-actors and your manager, when she's suddenly giving you the eyes. With Miranda, this can mean two things;

There is a fire happening, or--

There is someone important behind you.

She's done this before when Robert De Niro was getting interviewed just a meter away from you. But you have a feeling you know who it is this time. Though you're not sure how excited you are by it.

You look over your shoulder, and surely, there he is.

All suave and charm, smooth tuxedo, freckled tan skin and perfect hair. He encapsulates the entirety of Hollywood so well, and you're not quite sure how to respond.

"I'm a little starstruck, I gotta say." he says, and you're not sure why you're even surprised that his voice is that nice.

"Really?" You give Miranda your "help me" eyes for a moment, but she's already off to get more champagne. With no lifeline to hang onto, you figure you might as well entertain him for a moment. "Guess I could say the same about you."

"Hey, I'm not the reason we're all here, am I?" He chuckles, and you're unsure if it's a rhetorical question or not. From what you can tell, maybe he does think everyone's here for him. You try your hardest to fend off those preconceptions of him, but although you are new to all of this, you’re not stupid. You know how men can be once they start getting attention.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on the movie.” He says, voice dripping with honey, placing his large warm hand over your arm. It would surprise you, if it didn’t feel so nice. “Truly a great performance, and I mean that. I’m not even usually one for period pieces.”

He doesn’t realise that makes him look even more suspicious for showing up here at all. Why would you go to a premiere for a movie of a genre you don’t like?

“Thank you, I appreciate that, Mr…” You pretend not to know his name, for multiple reasons. To make yourself seem a little more nonchalant, or maybe you just want to give his ego that little chop it so obviously needs.

“Harrington. Though I assumed you knew, my bad.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes. Of course he would.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” You implore, and Steve’s eyebrows raise a little. He was hoping you wouldn’t ask that, but he supposes it was bound to happen eventually.

“Ah, well, the director is a friend of mine. I figured I’d show up for support, you know, keep the connection up.” He’s lying through his teeth, and you both know it. But part of Hollywood is pretending like you’re all not just lying to each other the whole time. You’ve gotten more used to it over time.

Neither of you mention what you saw inside. Partly because you’re unsure if you were imagining it, and partly because you wouldn’t even know where to insert it. Yet the sight of him getting emotional lingers in the back of your head.

“I thought you uh, didn’t know who I was?” Steve remarks, and you catch your own slip up now too. Why would you care if he showed up, if you didn’t even know his name?

“Oh, I do, your uh… Your name just slipped my mind.” Your nonchalant façade starts to falter, and you’re hoping it doesn’t make you look as much of a fool as you think you do.

Instead of pressing on, he chuckles. It’s a warm chuckle, low, smooth, it sends a shiver down your spine. He seems amused by you, for a reason you can’t quite make out.

He presses a hand to the small of your back, leaning in closely to your ear, and you think you might start seeing stars. He smells so incredibly good, you nearly melt into his touch, whether you mean to or not.

“Well, make sure to make it stick this time, hm, honey?”

You’re pretty sure your entire body has heated up just from hearing that. You hate how well his charm works on you, that silky voice and smug demeanour.

He pulls back, and just as you expected, he’s smiling like the cat that got the cream. “See you around, princess. Enjoy your premiere.”

You’ve had a lot of mind blowing shit happen to you already. The fact that you’re standing at your own movie premiere, surrounded by people you admire is insane to you on its own.

Now you’re getting flirted with by one of Hollywood’s golden boys, and you just have to play it cool. Pretend that you don’t feel like giggling like a teenage girl and getting all flustered. It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you mad. That he can walk off, just like that, all cocky and confident. You don't want him to think of you like the innocent debutante that he can just play around with for a bit, before he moves on to the next young thing. You've seen that movie before.

Before you have a chance to let it get to your head, one of your costars, the younger girl that plays your little sister, comes up to you. "Geez, you okay? You look a little... Pressed."

"'M fine. Just-- a little frustrated. Sorry I haven't said hi yet, this is all... A lot, you know?"

"You'll get used to it." She sips her glass of champagne, and you want to say something about it, before you remember she's only two years younger than you. She's been an actress since she was 6 years old, she knows the industry so much better than you, and yet you feel protective over her.

"I don't think I ever will, to be honest. God, my shoes are killing me." You groan, hoping no one's close enough to hear you complain. The last thing you want is to come across as ungrateful for all this.

"Have some more champagne, that usually does the trick." She looks off to the side for a moment, and you can tell she's a little tense too. "Me and the rest of the girls on crew are going to get drinks and food later, wanna join?"

Her invitation brings a smile to your face. Though you're constantly surrounded by people, Hollywood brings a profound sense of loneliness into your life. You have trouble fitting in, connecting. Everyone is all smiles and compliments, yet no one talks, no one calls. Anything is rarely personal. And making friends is hell.

"I'd love to, seriously. Tell you what, it's my treat. To celebrate our premiere, hm?"

She smiles back, leaving her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. "Cool. I'm off to the bathroom, cab's gonna be out front around 8."

She leaves you shortly after, and suddenly it's there again. That profound sense of loneliness. It's got you left thinking about what Steve said to you. How he talked to you. That tone.

It makes you feel small. Yet you hold on to every word.

How infuriating.

The rest of the premiere is a dazed flurry of conversations and pictures taken in your memory. You've got too much on your mind now to enjoy most of it, and you damn that smug asshole for being the reason for that.

You walk outside, the sky being a lot darker than you expected. You sigh, the air you breathe out coming out in little clouds. April shouldn't be this cold, not in California, at least.

You look around, no cab to be seen yet. Your eyes catch sight of a familiar man smoking. He flicks open an expensive lighter, his hands shielding the flame from the wind.

The fire frames his face in a special kind of light. It shows both the pretty freckles scattered on his skin, and the bags present under his eyes. The strange dichotomy of his personality, represented so simply on his face.

It just pisses you off even more how handsome he is.

Before you realise it, your legs are taking you closer to him, heels clicking onto the pavement as you strut over. He only seems to notice your presence when your shadow casts over him, taking away the yellowish glow of the streetlight.

"Missed me already?" He smiles, lips still wrapped around the cigarette before he takes it between his fingers.

"You can't talk to someone like that. At least not to me." You don't know where this sudden surge of confidence sprouted from, your words even surprising yourself.

"I'm sorry?" He stands up straighter, and though his stature is definitely taller than yours, you try not to let it phase you.

"I know what you're trying to do. I'm not dumb. Maybe you think I am, but I'm not." You cross your arms, partly to shield yourself from the cold, partly to feign courage.

"And what do you think I'm doing then, hm?" The smile on his face makes you want to desperately smack it right off. He really is exactly like people say.

"Don't act stupid with me. You think you've got me all figured out, huh? You randomly show up to my premiere, and the first time we talk, you try to butter me up. Did you expect me to drop to my knees for you or something? Thank you for gracing me with your almighty presence, which for the record, I did not ask for?"

He's speechless for a second. This is a first. Usually, when a woman is cussing him out, it's after they've dated, not before.

He chuckles, dropping his half smoked cigarette onto the ground and stamping it out with his shoe.

"Sounds like you think you've got me all figured out, doll."

"Don't call me that."

"It's not a bad thing."

"I decide that. Not you."

He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning his head back for a moment. "Geez... So much for first impressions huh?"

"I'm not the one trying to get into the other's pants now, am I?"

"Coulda fooled me."

"God, you're fucking insufferable." You laugh dryly, rolling your eyes. "You think I'm some stupid showbiz newbie, that I'm supposed to be grateful you're even talking to me. Maybe have sex with you and see what opportunities I get out of it."

He just looks at you now. You don't know if that's better than a response, because he's neither confirming nor denying it. Or maybe he realises nothing he says will save him in this. He'd be right about that.

"Do me a favour, if you’re just going to treat me like a ditz, don’t talk to me again. I’m already forced to deal with enough guys like you on the daily, so go bother someone else.”

As if called by some higher being, the cab, along with the girls you were supposed to meet, arrive outside. You gave Steve no time to respond, instead offering him a cold shoulder and some time to let all of that sink in. Though you doubt your words are going to make him change that attitude any time soon.

He leans against the wall outside, watching the dark car you got in drive by and away into the nightly city. He’s not sure what to do with what’s just been given to him.

No woman has ever figured him out this early on. Or maybe they have, and they just never told him this outright. It’s not like he tries to hide the type of person that he is, it’s just that it usually never blows up in his face this much. You’ve taken his flirting, turned it around and served it right back at him to make him think it all over. You‘ve practically rendered him speechless, and it’s only your first time meeting.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚tag list

@inkluvs @palmtreesx3

[astermath]

my muse.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a short oneshot of steve's girlfriend painting him, and him being able to see his own beauty through your eyes.

word count: 1.1K

notes: got this cute idea out of nowhere, thought maybe steve would like to know how beautiful others think he is.

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

“Is it done yet?”

Steve sits on a stool in front of the window in your atelier. The slowly dimming light of the sun setting illuminates him from the back, the lamp you have set up besides you letting you see him from the front.

“Almost Stevie, be patient.”

He’s been sitting perfectly still for over an hour. An admirable feat, to be honest. He’s not usually one for sitting idly at all, always fidgeting one way or another or wanting to move about.

But he’s been doing quite well. He wants to do well. For you. So you can do your thing.

He’s been secretly wanting to do this ever since he’s seen your paintings. You’re incredibly talented, something between a Monet and a Renoir. An incredible eye for colour and composition, but most of all, you like to paint people.

You do a hell of a job at capturing someone’s likeness, even through the lens of an impressionistic art style. Steve is sure you’ll make it big with your art one day. You told him most painters only get famous after they die, and that didn’t exactly sit well with him. He'd rather have you alive and famous, but mostly the first part.

You’d been going through a bit of an art block, and so you’ve went through your old sketchbooks. You realised there is a surprising, almost embarrassing, amount of drawings of your boyfriend in there. Like… Pages, upon pages. You’ve always thought he has this effortless, beautiful air about him that just made every pose look like it should be captured onto paper forever.

When you asked him if he wanted to model for your next painting, Steve's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He's always adored your art, supporting you and your passion every step of the way, so to be immortalised on one of your canvases is a huge honour to him.

He was a bit nervous though. He knows you think he's the prettiest boy alive, and though he does think he's serviceable, he's not sure if he's painting worthy.

Still, who is he to deny his sweet girl of using him as a reference?

At first, it was hard. How in god's name do you capture someone as beautiful and complex as Steve Harrington onto something as simple as a blank canvas? You want it to be perfect. You want it to reflect the type of person he is. You want the adoring glint in those gorgeous brown eyes to come through, the dimple in his cheek when he smiles, the constellations of freckles and moles gracing his skin. In a sense, it has to be your best piece yet.

"Alright," you lean back for what feels like the hundredth time already, getting a good look at your work. You take a moment, deciding not to let your nerves get the best of you and not overthink it. The urge is there, but you'd feel awful about letting your boyfriend sit there for yet another hour.

"I think... I think I'm done." you put down your brush, clasping your paint clad hands together in your lap.

Steve perks up in that adorable way he tends to do when he's curious. "Really? Can I come see?"

You bite your lip, unsure once again if the painting truly reflects the beauty of its subject. You sigh, knowing nothing probably ever will. You nod, lifting your hand so you can beckon him over.

He can barely contain his excitement, breaking into a little jog as he makes his way over to you. His arm drapes over your shoulders as he positions himself besides you.

"Woah..." His eyes widen as he takes it all in. The entire artwork exudes warmth. A mix of yellows, oranges and pinks surround him in the way a beautiful sunset would, and his smile looks as if it could cure anything. The brush strokes are a bit experimental, but not messy. Nothing is accidental, every placement and detail has a reason. A purpose.

You nibble on the back of your finger, anxiously awaiting his approval. You find that the longer you look at your art, the more flaws you notice. Now you're conflicted. You just want to do Steve's pretty face justice.

"D'you like it?" You look at him, all nervous.

But Steve looks like he has stars in his eyes. And tears. Yeah, he's definitely about to cry.

"Stevie? You okay?"

He blinks a few times, a stray tear rolling over his cheek as he clears his throat. "Yeah, I, uhm-- wow, it's-- it's beautiful." He looks at you, those pretty eyes he loves, all confused at him.

"Are you sure?" you smile a little sheepishly.

"Peach..." He leans in and presses a kiss to your head. "I love it. It's beautiful. It's just, I... I'm amazed you think I'm so beautiful too."

"I just painted what I saw. 'N what you make me feel."

Steve feels like he's going to melt, your words fulfilling every bit of his loving fantasies. You don't even mean to, and yet you know exactly what to say to pull on his heartstrings.

"Makes me feel so appreciated. Thank you baby, I love it." He grins, all boyish excitement.

"Yeah, I love it too... I think this one's my favourite, actually." You look up and capture Steve's lips in yours in a chaste kiss. "Might have to frame it, hm?"

"I have a better idea."

"I'm listenin'."

"Could you paint the two of us? Like on that polaroid in my wallet?"

He's referring to the polaroid you took when you first met. It was a party, and you were both fairly inebriated. Somehow, you'd started talking, and you hadn't left each other's side all night, leaving the dancing to the others and instead opting to entertain each other. Robin captured the moment the two of you were stuck in a laughing fit together, and Steve has kept it in his wallet ever since. It warms your heart to know he's kept you with him even far before you two got together.

"Yeah, I can do that. What do I get in return?" You smile, faces so close your noses are still rubbing together.

"One million kisses."

"Hmm..."

"Two million kisses."

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington."

"Three?"

"Sold."

"Sold."

"Good." you peck his lips, "better start that down payment now."

tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚

@inkluvs @palmtreesx3

[astermath]

uhhhh for daydreaming <3

[  NIPPLE  ]  *  your muse licks my muses’ nipples.

— @inkluvs / ivy

♡ aster's 1K celebration ♡

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

wc: 0.6K

tags: what the request says lol, thigh grinding, steve being a reassuring sweetheart, some body worship

Steve's kisses leave tingles wherever they meet your skin, soft grunts and words of appreciation being elicited from him whenever they part from your neck.

You were supposed to go out, but you'd been feeling so icky about yourself. The dress you were so excited to wear suddenly didn't look all that nice on you anymore, your hair wasn't cooperating, your makeup didn't look right. Everything was just... Off. So much so that you told Steve you didn't even want to go anymore.

He knew that wasn't true. You'd been raving about this party for days now, and he wasn't going to let your insecurities stop you from going. So, he did what he does best; worship you until you feel better.

You're sprawled out onto the bed, dress pulled down your chest and shuffled up your thighs to give him better access to your skin. He's hunched over you, leaving little love bites all over your neck, shoulders and collarbones.

"So pretty, you're so fuckin' pretty baby... 'M never gonna let you talk about yourself like that." He hates when you talk down on yourself, even though he knows you can't help it.

"Steeeeve..." His name comes out in a long whine, thighs squirming as his frame keeps them spread for him, the fabric of his jeans creating the perfect bit of friction for you to get off on.

"I mean it doll, I won't stop until all you can think about is how much I appreciate you..." He comes up to press a soft kiss to your lips. It's gentle, but assertive. He'll make you love yourself, even if it takes him getting you all stupid on his fingers and tongue, he wants those bad thoughts out.

"And you look so pretty in this dress too, fuck... S'a shame I was bound to take it off you sooner or later, hm?" His fingers trail over the lace on the edge of your bra. "Want me to take this off? Give these pretty tits some lovin' too?"

"Please..." You manage to get out, his thigh between your legs almost being enough to send you over the edge entirely. Steve had this way of consuming all your senses when he was with you like this. Even if you tried, you couldn't possibly think of anything else but your boyfriend.

He obliges, big hands sneaking behind your back, unclasping the last piece of cloth coming between your chest and his eager lips. It slides off your body so easily, discarded onto the wooden floor next to your shared bed.

"God..." He takes a moment to take in the sight of you, hand coming up to cup one of your breasts. "You're somethin' else, doll... You're somethin' special." He leans in, pressing a kiss between the valley of your tits, looking up at you with a loving gaze.

You feel a shiver go through your entire body at the sight of him like this. You know he loved looking at you when making you feel good. And you loved seeing him just as much.

He opens his mouth, tongue dragging from the underside of one of your tits, up to your nipple, giving it a kitten lick or two before closing his mouth around your nipple.

Your back arches off the mattress, hand gripping the pillow behind your neck, a soft whimper leaving your lips that only spurs him on further.

"Hm? You like that honey?" He asks, as if he can't tell.

"Yeah, keep... Keep doing that." You shift your hips, continuing to grind over his thigh. He nudges it further into you, making you gasp and clench over him.

"As you wish." He grins, going down to give the same attention to your other nipple.

Yeah, you've long forgotten about that party. Now you have better plans.

-

-

-

-

[astermath]

the duet: landing page.

summary: you’re america's latest breakthrough actress, stunning the nation in a beautiful period piece that propels you onto everyone's radar. including the one of hollywood's top notch starboy, steve harrington. first he shows up at your premiere, suddenly you're casted together in your biggest movie yet, and before you know it, you feel like you're cracking through that douchebag shell of his. but there's a reason for his reputation, which you soon come to realize. duets have never been easy, but in a sense, that's what make them so beautiful.

♡ part one: the premiere.

♡ part two: the collaboration.

♡ part three: the clash.

♡ part four: curtain call.

contains: strangers to enemies to lovers, actor!steve and actress!reader, rockstar!eddie cameo, journalist!nancy cameo, plenty of tension, plenty of arguing, and plenty of pining.

what? me, aster, writing a series? crazy, i know, but i got so excited by this idea that i couldn't help myself. i'm currently having a real good time writing this, really taking my time writing out the environment, background, all that good stuff. hope you guys are as excited as i am ♡

p.s.: part one is currently in the making!

[astermath]

masterlist.📷 ⋆｡˚

a hopefully clear collection of all my works. ☾ = smut + = angst

STRANGER THINGS ♡ steve harrington

second chance

the duet: landing page

the harrington way ☾

unexpected guest

first kiss

songbird

beauty school gf blurb

sleeping beauty blurb

being held

missing you blurb

touché: friends to lovers

feeling of guilt

my muse.

period problems ♡ robin buckley

memory lane

head over heels ♡ eddie munson

tattooed gf blurb

THE BEAR ♡ carmen berzatto

nemesis: landing page +

sweet like you: part one / part two

happy birthday

lollipop

secret dating

SCREAM ♡ ethan landry

close call

title taken ☾

pierced ☾

mark of mine

skater girl ♡ chad meeks-martin

fucking finally ☾

KICKASS ♡ dave lizewski

"so? whatever" (popular!reader): landing page

“so? whatever” (popular!reader): headcanons

personal headcanons ☾

distracted ☾

take a break

SPIDERMAN ♡ tasm!peter parker

kitchen counter makeout

sunburnt

[astermath]

theres like four i wanted to send but ill pick my favourite i guess... so "oh, sweetheart- come here.” with steve maybe?

the way I’m making all of these emotional as hell ajdkdk am I projecting a little? maybe! but that’s okay (I think). anyways ty for sending one in my dear! have a lovely day! ♡

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.3K

normal sized font below!

send in some touch starved prompts! ♡

You’re a hard worker. Always were. Whenever you were engaged in something, you gave it your all. College was no exception to this rule either. Your parents has sacrificed a lot for you to be able to go, and being a girl, you felt like you had to prove to everyone that you too were worthy of a higher education. Especially in a male dominated field like bioscience.

You’d spent ages putting together a thesis about your research. Steve was sure you were at your desk more than your bed, and as your boyfriend, that concerned him. But he knew better than to bother you with overbearing comments and concerns, so he tried his best to be supportive instead. Stopped by your desk whenever he could to bring you a snack or some tea, remind you to drink water, and always saying how proud he was and how you’d knock that presentation out of the park.

So when the day of your presentation came, he was almost as nervous as you were. Even during his shift at work, he had to stop himself from texting you to ask how it went.

So when he came home and called out for you, but didn’t get an immediate response, he was a bit worried to say the least. Usually he’d already be met with a hug or a kiss without even being fully through the front door yet. Now the apartment feels eerily quiet, not even the sound of a shower running or the stove being on. It feels wrong. Off.

"Honey?" He calls out, his nerves starting to set in. His socked feet padded over the wooden planks of your Indianapolis apartment, making his way over to your shared bedroom. The door was closed, but he could see a sliver of light peeking through below it. He held his breath for just a moment, and soon enough, he heard you sniffling and sobbing quietly.

"Baby, you in there?" You both know he knows you're there already, but he wants you to know you can have a moment alone if you feel like it. As out of character as that would be, since you always shared your toughest moments with one another.

He goes quiet again, hearing the bed creak slightly, and your slow, shuffling footsteps over to the door. He sees your shadow disrupt the light underneath, and the way you're taking your time worries him even more. Usually, the two of you would be in each other's arms already, slumped onto the couch and watching whatever was on TV.

The knob turns and the door opens just enough to reveal you standing there. You're already in pajamas, wearing one of his old high school shirts. He'd find it endearing, if he wasn't so overtaken with concern for you. Your head is dropped, so he can't see your face, but your hair looks messy. He's guessing you've been in bed since you got home a little over an hour ago.

"Hey," He steps into the bedroom with you, "how'd it uh-- how'd it go?" He regrets asking as soon as those words leave his mouth. Clearly it didn't go well, and now it just sounds like he's rubbing it in.

Instead of answering, you look up at him, and his heart aches at the sight of you. Your nose is red and your eyes are watery and puffy from crying the entire time. You look a mess, a sad, cute, adorable mess, but he feels so bad for you.

“Oh, sweetheart… Come here.” He opens up his arms and you practically crash into them, your face hiding into the crook of his neck as you start sobbing into his shoulder again.

You clutch onto him, your hands balling up the fabric of his shirt like he’s going to fade away if you don’t. Your body shakes with every sob that comes from you, it’s almost enough to make him start crying too.

He remains quiet, rubbing your back and holding you tight, his face resting against the top of your head. He presses a kiss to your hair every now and then, his way of saying “I’m so sorry this is happening right now, I’m so sorry this is all I can do”.

He lets you cry, because he knows it’s exactly what you need to do right now. Sometimes you just need to feel, not have to explain or think too much, that can come after.

You mumble something into his shoulder after seemingly having composed yourself a little again.

"What's that baby?" He pulls back a little, arms still around you.

"I fucked up so bad..." You look up at him, puppy eyes still halfway brimming with tears.

"What makes you say that?" He gently rubs over your upper arm. His hand his warm and soft, and it eases your mind just a little.

"I was such a mess... I-- I didn't even get to say or explain half the things I wanted to, and-- and I just couldn't talk. Like my body wouldn't let me."

Steve knows about your anxiety, and your fear of public speaking. You'd practiced so many times in front of him, but that was easy, you trusted him more than anybody else. Then you tried it in front of Robin and Eddie, which was a little harder, but they were your friends too. Presenting something you'd spent the last three months slaving away on was an entirely different thing, and to be honest, your boyfriend was already proud of you for willing to do it at all. Your grades on the thesis and assignment themselves were well past good enough to pass the semester, but you insisted on presenting it. That's how much you cared about it.

"No one's gonna take me serious Steve... Half of the people in my course think I shouldn't be there anyways, I know the way they talk about me--"

"Well they're fucking stupid. They don't know what they're talking about, and they don't know you." He interrupts you before you can psych yourself out even more. "They don't know about how passionate you are about your research, or how amazingly smart you are." His thumb strokes gently over your cheek, and his gaze is so loving you swear his pupils turn into little hearts.

"They don't know you love to sing while you cook, how caring you are, how you seem to bring out the best in everyone, including me."

You can't help but crack a smile now. You're sad, heartbroken, even, but never immune to your sweet boyfriend's charm. The world could be falling apart, and he'd still find a way to warm your heart.

"You're going to be okay, alright?"

"How can you be so sure?"

He pauses for a moment. "Because if they fail you, I'm personally fighting every single one of your professors."

You giggle, and a sense of pride instantly rushes through him. Still got it.

"Steve, no!" You playfully push into his shoulder. "Not Mr. Collister, he always gives us fun snail facts at the end of every class!"

"Okay, okay, everyone besides Mr. Collister. That a good compromise?"

"How about you don't fight anyone, huh?" Your sadness has seemed to flee your mind entirely. At least for the time being.

"Well, I probably won't have to, there's no way they're not letting my gorgeous," he pecks your lips softly, "brilliant," peck, "amazing," peck, "girlfriend pass the semester."

You giggle with every kiss, and wind your arms around him before he can pull away again, your lips meeting again, but for longer this time. He hums softly into it, satisfied that you're feeling better.

"Hmm, I love you Stevie."

"Love you too hun. How 'bout I cook your favorite dinner tonight, huh?"

"Can we maybe order takeout instead?"

He grins. "Anything for you, sweet girl."

@palmtreesx3 @inkluvs

[astermath]

i feel like with steve and alt!reader, when he first sees her he’s a bit shy bc he’s never seen a girl quite like her before, but being friends w eddie he knows better than to judge her or be freaked out by her. when he finally gets the courage to talk to her, he realizes she’s rly sweet and soft past her cold exterior ☹️ once they start dating, one of his fav things to do is trace her tats or help her with her piercings if they snag on something or fall out. maybe he even asks eddie to do her tats/piercings for her since it’s a bit harder for her to find decent artists in hawkins who won’t be an asshole to her since she’s an alt girl

IM SORRY i can go on and on abt this 😭

anon i'm holding ur face i'm kissing u on the mouth ty for indulging me

steve's FAVOURITE thing to do when he lays in bed with you is just trace over your arms, shoulders, whatever part of you he can reach and just go over the lines of your tattoos. and sometimes you'll just be quiet, enjoying the soothing feeling of it, but more often than not he's asking what they mean, how much they hurt, etc

you always thought he'd be the kind of guy to say "you dont put a bumper sticker on a bentley" but oh no. he's a big fan. especially the ones on your back. for no reason in particular.

god i just know he'd be intimidated at first, probably because he knows you have made your assumptions about him just as much as people do about you. he doesn't really look like the guy who would be into a girl like you, yet he's fascinated. he's so attentive and considerate about the things that make you, well, you. even if it raises some eyebrows when you're together in public.

of course eddie gets along with you too, the two of you bonding over shitty stick and pokes and comparing the art on your skin. he doesn't get to see all of them though. some are just for steve's eyes only :^))

[astermath]

need my filthy rich old money boyfriend steve harrington to take care of like. literally everything.

need him to buy me things, send them over to me with the cutest love notes and get all happy and possessive when he sees me wearing them at our next date.

need him to pick up on something I mentioned in passing, like my favourite flowers, only to buy a whole bouquet of them every single time he gets the chance.

need him to take me to his fancy dinners and forced smile encounters with other men like him, show me off like a pretty doll while talking about the company, all while he can’t stop thinking about how he’s going to ruin that dress for me later.

[astermath]

there is such a special place in my heart for steve x munson!reader.

steve who falls for the outsider, the girl on the fringe of society. the freak’s sister. the… honorary freak.

the girl with wild hair and an even wilder attitude. the girl who sticks up for her brother when no one else would. the girl who sprays graffiti over half of hawkin’s walls, who’s apparently absolute killer at the bass, who seems to share a closet with eddie, judging from all her band tees.

the girl with the unabashed, funny jokes. with the loud but charming laugh. the girl who steve just seems to gravitate to so easily. yes, she’s strange. yes, she’s tough headed and stubborn. she’s got an opinion about everything and is somehow the most open minded person he’s ever met. like a breath of fresh air in a town full of smoke.

the girl who makes him listen to new music that he pretends to like. the girl who tells him way too much about her favourite horror movies, and who holds his hand through every single one. she rolls the best joints, and somehow he always catches her eyes when she licks the paper. it sends shivers down his spine every time.

the girl who’s convincing her brother that steve is a nice guy, that he’s not that douche bag anymore.

and eddie, who’s having a long ass conversation with steve about the ways he’ll kill him if he ever makes her cry.