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slowandsteddie · 2 years ago

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Y’all voted on this.

“Hey there, big guy.” / “You aren’t Eddie.”

I was really really excited to write this, honestly.

It is VERY important that you read the CW on this one.

I might be working through some things I personally went through on this one, so it’s… darker than I’d normally go.

CW: Steve is drugged, very heavily implied sexual assault (maybe skip the pink font?), ptsd, mention of bad parents, drinking as a coping mechanism, underage drinking, bartender looks like Billy (isn’t btw), very brief mention of Billy’s death, mentions of drugs, mentions of weed

Lots of hurt and little comfort.

Parts of this feel kinda rushed to me, and there’s one part where that is on purpose. But, uh. Not a fan of the ending of this bc it’s late and I’m sleepy. But also I don’t wanna edit this or dwell on it or it won’t get posted at all. So. This is where we are.

Potential for a part two.

2536 words.

—

After the night that Nancy called their relationship bullshit, Steve had sworn off alcohol and any drug stronger than the weed he used to help himself sleep when he was home alone. And he had been able to stick to it, too.

Until Starcourt.

When he had nearly been killed by Russians, confessed his love to a lesbian (while he, himself was mostly gay), and saw Billy Hargrove murdered by some thing from the Upside Down.

Yeah, life was pretty fucked up. And if he found solace at the bottom of a bottle, that was his problem.

No one but Robin needed to know. That girl was his Platonic soulmate and she got to know practically everything. Hell, he had lost track of how many times they had slept in the same bed, just so they could know the other was still breathing. They clung so tight to each other that it was like they were trying to nestle into rib cages and grasp onto bones so that they couldn’t be ripped apart again.

It helped with the nightmares and the panic to have someone so close to him who understood. Someone who knew what he went through without him having to explain it. Someone who knew that the fire cover up was complete shit. Someone who wasn’t a kid that he had to protect and hide his pain from.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved those kids. He would die for them. He’d kill for them. He’d wreck the beautiful car of his dreams for them. He’d even pretend to be okay for them, no matter what. But he could never confide in them. Not about what he went through. Not the way he could with Robin.

The thing about trauma bonding with someone is that there doesn’t have to be secrets. They already knew the worst thing that you have been through, so everything else would be a cakewalk by comparison.

During the day, it was easy to be goofy and laugh and hide the fact that he had been through absolute hell. But at night, everything came back to him. Him screaming that he just worked for Scoops and not being believed. Him offering free ice cream for life, just to get out of there.

Offering his body when that didn’t work because he didn’t have anything else and he knew his parents wouldn’t pay a ransom, even if the Russians had decided to try that route. And if they took him up on that offer, no one had to know. He didn’t even have to know. He could just pretend that the drugs took those memories too and not think about it.

The night time was what had him drinking again. The sun would start setting and he’d find himself reaching for that bottle, as though he needed it as desperately as he needed air and open spaces.

Even when Robin was over, he couldn’t close the door before taking a shower. Though, that didn’t matter much, when she’d go sit on the toilet and talk to him, with nothing but a curtain between them as the water poured over him and he sobbed as silently as he could while he cleaned himself and she chatted away about some random thing that he couldn’t follow, no matter how hard he tried. On particularly bad nights, Robin would find him in the shower, and wearing his t-shirt and shorts, she would help him wash his hair, his body, while he could only lean against the wall, feeling as though he would shake himself apart.

But, he needed to get better. He couldn’t be a mess forever. He couldn’t rely on his best friend always being available to help him through the rough patches. Most people would see the therapist recommended to them after going through things like The Upside Down and days of torture at the hands of Russians in a base under the mall that they used to work in.

Not Steve.

Oh, no.

That made too much sense.

Instead of therapy, he decided that going to a gay club in Indy would be a great idea. It had been long enough that his injuries had turned to scars. Sure, his ears rang a lot and sometimes his vision went a little fuzzy if he turned his head too fast, but he was fine. Really.

He had called and told Robin where he’d be. He didn’t need her panicking because she went to his house and he wasn’t there. He also called Henderson, just to make sure one of the kids knew he wasn’t home. They all talked constantly so the message would get around.

Just because he was stupid, didn’t mean he was irresponsible.

Steve was dressed in his favorite jeans, the ones that made his ass look nice, and a yellow polo. He didn’t really have many options in terms of shirts because it was almost time to do laundry again. He hated the washer though, as he still had times when his ribs panged when he tried to lean over too far. With that stupid washer, he always had to lean too far. There was no other way to make sure he got everything out of it.

He took the time to style his hair properly, even when the effort made his arms shake and the muscles in his hands and wrists spasm. Being tortured had some lasting effects and it was annoying. He was so tired of it. Tired of being forced to remember what he went through, even while doing the most mundane things.

He flipped the collar on his shirt up to try and make sure that the scars on his neck weren’t too obvious at first glance. That was as good as it was going to get as he refused to wear makeup to cover it up.

Then, he walked out to his car after locking the front door. Here goes nothing. He slid into the car that he hadn’t actually driven in a few weeks and started her up. She purred as though it was only yesterday that she was last turned on.

Steve mouthed the directions to himself before buckling up, turning on the radio, and beginning the drive.

Time passed, though he wasn’t sure how much of it. But he did get to the club without incident. He parked his car and locked the door before putting the keys in his pocket.

His favorite thing about this place was that they didn’t ID, something that he remembered from when he had came here before Starcourt. He had just wanted to dance with fellow queers. The first few times that he was here, he had been given water when he went to the bar.

He was glad to find that this time the bartender asked him what he’d be drinking. He was glad that the blond with curly hair and a charming smile didn’t even bat an eye over his request for a shot of whiskey, and just poured the drink.

“First one’s on the house.” God, even his voice was charming.

“Thank you,” Steve replied gratefully.

He threw the drink back and didn’t even make a face over it. The familiar, warm burn of the alcohol was a welcome one.

“How much for the second?” He asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“For you? A dollar a shot.”

Steve placed a 10 dollar bill down. “One shot and one mixed drink that would leave you with what you consider an acceptable tip.”

“Yessir,” the bartender replied with a smile.

It wasn’t fair that the older male had ocean eyes he could get lost in.

Steve took the shot like nothing again, running a hand through his hair. He thanked the bartender, again, before taking his mixed drink and moving to the dance floor.

He was having fun. There were a lot of people and loud music and he had some liquid courage that was also helping to keep his chronic pain under control. After a few songs, he finished his drink before going to take his glass to the bar.

He was dizzy, but he just assumed that was from turning his head too fast a few minutes ago when someone started dancing behind him. He told himself that it had just been because he wanted to know if the guy pressing against his back was cute or not. (He was.)

Steve’s thoughts were incoherent, but he had moments when his brain didn’t seem to work right, especially when he was under the influence. It was his new normal ever since his brain had been starved of oxygen. But he couldn’t think about that again. Not now.

He asked the bartender for water, noticing the name tag this time. Billy. Oh, the painful irony.

He drank it down pretty fast, fully intending to thank him for it after. But then there was an arm around his shoulder and he was moving on to help someone on the other side of the bar.

“Hey there, big guy,” the other male said while squeezing his shoulder.

“You aren’t Eddie,” he said stupidly. It was in that moment that Steve realized who he had a crush on, but that wasn’t important right now.

“I can be whoever you want me to be, handsome.”

Steve pulled away. “I’m sorry, but no. You really can’t.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke. Eddie sent me to take you home.”

“He wouldn’t have sent anyone to get me.” He said defiantly. “He’d come himself,” he added to cover up whatever he had said.

The world was spinning worse and he turned to walk to the bathroom. He was being followed and he knew it, but what other choice did he have?

By the time Steve got to the bathroom, he was mostly out of it. But, he got flashes.

—

The door being locked behind them.

His pants being unbuttoned.

Trying to struggle but it was just so hard to lift his arms.

Being shoved against the counter.

Heavy breathing in his ear.

Pain.

Sliding down.

Curling into a ball.

Clutching his own shirt.

Eddie.

—

When Steve woke up again, the first thing he noticed was that he was in the trailer. The second thing he noticed was that he felt like shit. Everything hurt more than it should for just a hangover, and he didn’t even want to think about why his hips and thighs felt the way they did.

He tried to sit up, groaning over the effort before letting himself lay back down on the couch. The toilet flushed, the water ran, and then there were footsteps coming back toward him. He didn’t know why he flinched and tried to hide in the blanket he had over him, but he did.

“Hey there, big boy,” Eddie said softly.

Steve whimpered. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like being called that anymore. It was something that the older male had called him ever since they started getting friendly. Ever since he had started buying weed from him.

“Wanna talk about it, Steve?” He added.

He shook his head.

“Why’d the bartender call me when he found you instead of Robin? Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered that you thought I was safe.”

“I don’t know. Was kinda falling apart. I guess I wanted drugs more than…”

“More than your girlfriend?”

Steve snorted. “She’s my Platonic soulmate. Capital P. Not my girlfriend.”

Eddie tilted his head. “Want me to call the soulmate?”

Steve shook his head quickly before groaning and holding his temples. “My car?” He croaked.

“I took Jeff with me to pick you up. He drove ‘er back. Your car is in my driveway, safe and sound.”

Steve made a sound and let his eyes close.

“Steve. I’m not going to make any choices for you. But you were assaulted. The only reason that bartender didn’t call the police was that he didn’t want to out you.”

His eyes fluttered. “That… that explains it.” His body chose that moment to let him pass out again.

When he was conscious again, he was still on Eddie’s couch. He could hear the other male talking on the phone. He did his best to pretend that he was still asleep. But he was crying and the sniffling gave him away.

“Hey man, do you want Robin to come here?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “I just… I need a bit to comprehend. Tell her an hour, yeah? Then I’ll go with her and get out of your hair.”

Eddie relayed the message and hung up.

“He drugged me. But I still knew what was up. He flirted with me, but I wasn’t interested. I said he wasn’t you as though I had some kind of right to want it to be you who was flirting, man. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Of course it was only the apology that Eddie picked up on.

“Because I have no right to have a crush on you after how I treated you. Because I have no right to tell you that I have a crush on you after what happened to me.”

“If that’s how you feel, then I have no right to tell you that the feeling is mutual and that I have every intention of finding the guy who did this to you and making him pay. I have no right to feel so possessive and protective. I have no right to tell you that I always run away, but right now I just want to fight for you.”

“Mm. You’re right. We have no right to be having this conversation when it’s too much for me.”

Eddie was about to get up.

“Hold me?” Steve asked so quietly.

And his request was honored so gently. He might have been whimpering and flinching, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the older male’s shirt and clinging to it.

When Robin barged into the trailer, exactly sixty-one minutes later, Steve flinched and his hands gripped on to Eddie’s knees tightly.

Eddie was sitting sideways on the couch, his legs spread so that Steve could be seated between them. His back was against the older male’s chest and his hands had been playing with the loose threads over Eddie’s knees before he was startled. Eddie had been trying to braid Steve’s too short hair as they listened to some music that neither male was paying enough attention to in order to place.

As soon as he saw his best friend, he was struggling to his feet before stumbling over to her with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.

“R-Robbie.”

“Stevie.”

“I shouldn’t have gone.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself.”

They were clinging to each other, both of them shaking.

“Promised to never leave you again.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get through this. Also, Eddie is driving us home because I refuse to let go of you.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“And then you’re staying, too.” Steve added.

“I am.” There was a smile to Eddie’s voice at that.

Despite everything, Steve liked him and felt safe with him. Hopefully Eddie would never do anything to break that.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x eddie #read the cw #read the tw #i’m sorry pls forgive me #steddie fanfiction #so much angst #feat stobin #platonic stobin #platonic with a capital p #robin buckley #robin buckley stranger things #bad guy oc #slowandsteddie

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purerae · 1 month ago

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╭────༺♡༻────╮

YANDERE!PLAYBOY X FEM!READER

Valentine’s day Special! <3

warnings ;; yandere!playboy being a delusional freak (as usual), yandere behavior, MAJOR second hand embarrassment, slightest bit of angst (if you squint), crack.

╰────༺♡༻────╯

Valentine’s Day for Kieran was basically his second birthday. The rich boy never bought candy, why would he, when he could stock up for free just from today alone? His locker was overflowing with chocolates, candies, and love notes—notes that he didn’t even bother reading before tossing them straight into the trash. But the sweets? Oh, he made sure to keep those. Stuffing his bag full, he scoffed at the cheap, store-bought heart chocolates while setting aside the good stuff; the expensive ones, the homemade treats that probably took hours to make. Greedy. That’s all it was. Kieran was just greedy. But even with all the gifts, all the attention, all the adoration, it never really mattered—not until today. Not until he spotted one letter on his desk that actually made his heart skip a beat. Because this one? This one had to be from you. For the first time on February 14th, Kieran felt a genuine rush of excitement, something different from the usual smug satisfaction of being adored that just boosted his already huge ego. The envelope sat on his desk, neat and delicate, like it had been placed there with care—like it actually meant something. His fingers brushed over your initials written in beautiful cursive handwriting, slow and deliberate, his mind already running wild. Finally. You were finally giving in. He could already picture you, shy and flustered as you wrote it, your heart laid bare just for him. A love letter? From you? His sweet little obsession finally coming to her senses? He was grinning, twirling the letter between his fingers, taking his time, savouring the moment. Oh, you were so cute for this.

He carefully opened the letter, fingertips tingling with anticipation. His heart was racing, his mind already running a mile a minute. What kind of sweet words did you leave for him? Were you confessing your love? Finally admitting that you couldn’t resist him any longer? God, you knew him so well! Every detail, down to the paper, the handwriting, the delicate way the envelope was sealed—it all screamed you. This was the first time that the suave playboy turned into a giggling high school girl, biting his lip to keep from grinning too wide. If he was just some regular guy, people would be throwing weird glances at him for nearly stomping his feet in excitement, but he’s Kieran, so no one does.

To be honest, all the girls around him loved it. They giggled amongst themselves, watching him act like a lovesick fool, finding it more endearing than embarrassing. Some of them seething in jealousy at the mysterious girl who got the school's renowned playboy all lovestruck like this. Man, pretty privilege was real. Any other man would’ve been clowned for this, but Kieran? No, Kieran could get away with anything—especially when he looked good doing it.

The white haired male just had to find you, had to catch a glimpse of his princess all shy and flustered from pouring out her emotions in this cute little letter. He was already going to force you into his valentines day plans-- but you, making the move first? Gosh, you never fail to surprise him. Kieran rushed around the school, finally found you hanging around the library. He waltzes over to your table, practically floating with confidence, that stupidly charming smirk plastered across his face. With an easy flick of his wrist, he spun the chair around, plopping down and draping his arms over the back like he owned the fucking place; the letter was in his hand, obnoxiously tapping it against his palm as he leaned in, way too close, eyes glinting with something dangerous beneath all that excitement.

“Sooo...” he drawled, looking at you up and down, voice smooth as ever, “...couldn’t resist me anymore, huh princess~?” the blue eyed male winked as he laughed boyishly, Though his words were condescendingly annoying, a glint of affection is laced in his orbs.

You, the girl who just wanted some peace on this already lame ass day where you enviously stare at the lovey dovey highschoolers with, gaze up from your notebook as you stare blankly at him, forcing yourself not to immediately roll your eyes at the sight of the blue eyed playboy. “Huh?” You blink once, and then twice at him.

Kieran scoffs out a laugh. Still so shy, bless your cute little soul. “The letter, sweetheart.” He waved it a little, like it was obvious. “Real cute of you, by the way. You always did have good taste.” Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the pastel pink letter, squinting at it before looking back at him. “What letter? Dude what the fuck are you talking about?” tilting your head as you grimace at his stupid little smirk. Kieran let out a breathy laugh, tilting his head like you just said the funniest thing in the world. “Ahh, playing shy now? That’s adorable, really,” he mused, tapping the letter against his chin. “Didn’t think you’d get cold feet after pouring your heart out like this, but it’s okay, princess. I get itttt. Big emotions can be scary!” he says with a mocking pout, leaning in closer. He reached out, trailing a finger down your arm like he was so sure this was some flirty little game. Youre playing hard to get as always, its okay! He likes the chase. However, you cant back out this easily when he literally has the physical proof of your love-- no, infatuation towards him. “You don’t have to pretend, y’know. I already know it’s from you.” his other hand tracing the first letters of your first and last name that was engraved onto the envelope.

But the way you just kept staring at him, utterly lost, was starting to poke holes in his fantasy. No. No, you were just messing with him. Testing him. Right? Rolling your eyes, you snatch the letter out of his hand, too tired to deal with whatever weird fantasy he had cooked up this time. With an exhausted sigh, you scanned the handwriting, flipping the letter over to really stare at the initials , and then—oh. Oh, this was actually hilarious. Your hand slaps your mouth as you stifle a giggle.

“Kieran,” you deadpanned, looking him dead in the eyes, “this isn’t from me. It’s from the other girl in our chemistry class. Y’know, the one with the same initials as me?” Silence.

Kieran just stood there, blinking, like his brain was trying to reboot. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, and for the first time all day, he didn’t have a slick response ready. You watched, unimpressed, as his expression went through about ten different emotions at once—confusion, disbelief, denial, a little more denial—before finally landing on something unreadable. “...what?” He freezes for a solid minute before letting out a light chuckle, rolling his shoulders back like this was no big deal. “Ohh, right. Of course. The other girl.” He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, throwing on that easy, practiced smirk. “I knew that! I was just.. I was just joking, silly~!”

But inside? He was tweaking.

'What the actual hell. What do you mean it’s not from you? Then why the hell did it feel like you? Look like it was from you? Sound like you?' His heart was racing, but not in the good way anymore. His palms felt weirdly clammy. His eye twitched. 'No. No, no, no. This doesn’t make sense. This was supposed to be from you. This was supposed to be our moment. So why— who, who even is the other girl??? Has he ever even interacted with her??' Suddenly the heartfelt words that adorned the letter just seemed incredibly corny and cheesy to him. The bright pastel colours decorated along the paper blazed in his eyes, practically laughing at the delusional boy that stood before it.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.” Kieran swallowed. Act natural. Act. Natural. The playboy opened his mouth, ready to spit out some smooth, damage-control comeback—but nothing came out. For the first time in his entire life, he had nothing. Just sitting there, frozen, swallowing the most brutal, humiliating reality check of his existence. And the worst part? You were just staring at him. Not even amused. Not even mad. Just tired and annoyed.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose like you were physically in pain just being near him. “I literally don’t have time for this. Happy Valentine's Day man.” You say with a tight lipped smile, grabbing your stuff as you pat his shoulder. And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Kieran just stood there, gripping the letter so hard it crumpled in his palm. His ears were burning, his jaw tight, but his smirk? Still there. Bruised ego? Maybe. But shattered? Please. A mix-up like this wasn’t enough to shake him. You didn't straight up reject him, it was just a misunderstanding! It was all that stupid girl's fault for having the same initials as his dear soulmate! As if you could ever actually reject him.

No, no, this just meant you were still fighting it. Still playing your little games, still too stubborn to admit what you really wanted. Him. That was fine. He had all the time in the world to let you come to your senses. You’d see it eventually—how you were meant for him, how there was never any other option. And when you finally stop running? Oh, princess he’d be right there, waiting. Besides, there was always next year, and that time; he is certain that the only chocolates he’d be getting is from you.

a/n :: for some reason you guys looveee seeing kieran suffer so heres my early valentines gift for you all :p (maybe not you all but the three anons in my inbox LOL) purerae<3

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